#reader is of drinking age

[warcats-cat]

Frat Boiz

Summary: The first Friday night of every month was pizza and movies night, and the second Sunday of every month was movies and snuggles (aka date night). There were two reasons for the necessity of this distinction of dates, and their names were Apollo and Dionysus.

A/N: Hello my darlings! (hehe) This one is short and sweet; I've been holding onto for a bit. It's actually the second one I ever wrote (and happened to be Halloween at the time, hence the movies) and I've been debating posting it as always, but I want to bring in more Apollo and some of the other Olympian Siblings **kicks pile of wips under my bed** so I do hope you guys like their dynamic. Thanks as always to @lickoutyourbrains for being my lovely beta, although they may not remember this one actually... 😅

Also, the end note will link to my reference for Apollo, which I am using with credit from the artist. Please let me know if I need to add any other tags, and as always, ENJOY!!!

Read on Ao3 Here!

The first Friday night of every month was pizza and movies night, and the second Sunday of every month was movies and snuggles (aka date night). There were two reasons for the necessity of this distinction of dates, and their names were Apollo and Dionysus.

You’d never admit it to anyone, but you really did adore how close Hermes was with his brothers. He played a lot of pranks on the other Olympians, and many of them gave back as good as they got, but the three of them specifically (and occasionally Artemis when she was feeling especially devious) were engaged in a millennia-old prank war. Your apartment, thankfully, had become neutral ground, after an incident involving a beer keg being poured off of your apartment's roof like rain (thoroughly soaking Hermes and missing you by millimeters) and rather upsetting your landlord…

You could still remember Dionysus laughing: “Get it? It's a golden shower!”

But that also meant that that's where the other two wanted to hang out with the ‘middle child’, because Hermes spent so much of his free time with you instead of with them. Which led to “pizza and movies Friday” - your way of keeping the three of them on relatively good behavior when inside your home.

There was a handsome leopard skin coat hanging by your door at the moment, ten different bottles of alcohol on the coffee table, two empty pizza boxes on the kitchen table, and three ethereally beautiful men passed out on the floor of your living room.

You smiled, gently nudging Apollo’s shoulder with your foot. He grumbled in response, otherwise unmoving.

The four of you (Artemis was out with her hunters this weekend on a girls trip, probably bathed in blood by now) had sat down for scary movies for the spooky season; starting with the original Dracula, partially to laugh at, and then moving forward through the years. Scream, IT, Nightmare on Elm Street, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and a bunch of other Halloween movies had all passed by in a blur until it was three-thirty am and you were half on top of Hermes as he had pushed his brothers off the couch so you could comfortably lay down. You’d forced them to take a break about midnight so you could watch Little Shop of Horrors; you weren't a wimp but you weren't really into the gory stuff either, and since it was your apartment and you’d bought the pizza (and three bottles of wine), they had to acquiesce.

Some time around three am they all started speaking exclusively in old Greek. Which was great.

You nudged Apollo again, which he grumbled at some more and rolled away from your reach, onto Dionysus, who kicked in his own unconscious state and almost knocked over the coffee table. Damn divine strength. Hermes was right under the couch, face down. The wings where his ears would be twitched a little as he slept and your smile widened; you loved playing with his hair and - when he allowed it - petting the silky soft feathers. It was so interesting, the way the wings moved with his emotions; especially with you, when he was more relaxed and let them loose instead of pressed tight against his hair.

It was close to ten am, now; thankfully you'd had the forethought to close your window curtains to keep the light out, so none of you awoke to the screaming brightness alongside a hangover. You hadn't drank a lot, but you did have a headache and a bit of a dry mouth to greet you when you woke.

You weren't really sure how Hermes had fallen off the couch, since he had been behind you and cuddling you like his personal teddy bear when you fell asleep. You also weren't really sure why they'd all chosen to just sleep on the floor when there was a perfectly good air mattress in your front closet that they'd slept on before, but whatever.

Who was a mortal to question a god?

Breakfast would be nice, though…

Carefully, you climbed around the couch to get closer to the kitchen, and leave the sleeping gods where they lay. You didn't really cook breakfast that often, usually opting for pop tarts or granola bars as you left for work, but there were a few ingredients in the fridge you could probably use. Hermes left food in there all the time, anyway, and it never seemed to spoil any more.

That was also a big perk of having a divine boyfriend; groceries that didn't go bad.

Rooting around the fridge and freezer, you found a few basics - eggs, milk, cheese, various meats that were probably dropped off by one of the Twins, and frozen toaster waffles. A veritable feast of a hangover cure.

You set about making some scrambled eggs; the simple recipes were always your go-to, and none of your guests ever seemed to mind. While waiting for the pan to heat with a little butter, you popped two waffles into the toaster and grabbed your phone to look at pictures from last night.

There were a lot of terrible, shaky selfies, but also some really cute pictures you would have to print for your walls. You and Hermes cuddled together, reading something from his phone; all four of you making very dumb faces at the camera; Dionysus posing with his leopard skin coat wrapped around his hips like a loin cloth (covering much more of the back than the front,  but with the sleeves draped just so to hide the important part); Apollo and Hermes arm wrestling. One photo you sent to Artemis - the three men laying in a pile, red-faced and about halfway unconscious, hanging off the couch cushions. That was right before you’d yawned and Hermes had made his brothers move.

You heard grumbling as you cracked the first two eggs, thinking you'd might as well make the whole dozen in one go. Anything they didn't eat, you could have later for a lunch or something. The grumbling got a little louder, and you leaned back into the living room in time to see Dionysus elbow Apollo right in the face, making the sun god yell indignantly.

Oh dear. Oh well…

“Food!” You called, hoping to stop a real fist fight before it started. Hermes sat right up, both wings spread out as if on the alert, but his eyes still glazed with sleep.

“Hm?” He looked at you, sort of though you, and blinked a few times. The other brothers had also frozen mid-attack, and were now staring at you; peering from the dark living room into the lighted kitchen.

It was like three raccoons with glowing eyes watching you from a trash can.

“Food.” You repeated, as they stared. A few beats of silence later and you added on, “Scrambled eggs?”

Like the beasts they were, all three perked up, now smelling the sizzling eggs. Hermes was the first in the kitchen, being both the closest and the god of speed, and he gave you a very sweet kiss on the cheek as he began to help you cook. You couldn't complain, he was a better chef than you; and he was a much better judge dealing with the venison gifted by the Twins. Frozen chicken nuggets were more your speed…

Apollo and Dio joined the pair of you only a few moments later. The sun god stretched, showing off his bare chest and various tattoos which looked like etchings of gold set into the marble of his skin. Meanwhile, the god of wine sat at your little kitchen table, apparently having summoned champagne for mimosas.

The four of you made idle conversation; the three brothers now playing gentlemen insisted that you have the first plate of eggs and waffle, and you sat next to Dio as Hermes handed you a bag of chocolate chips from the pantry. You both had a sweet tooth - he knew you so well. Various questions of ‘how did you sleep’ and ‘how many eggs’ were exchanged. It was mostly a warm morning, and you were just happy for the company. With all four of you finally seated with your plates, more focused conversation could begin.

All three would have to leave soon; they all had jobs to be doing, whether that be on Earth or Olympus. You knew Hermes would be starting off somewhere in France picking up a package from Hera in one of her summer homes - most likely another round of Divorce papers which would be responded to with another round of apology letters. Maybe Zeus would show up in person this time.

You laughed as you showed off the pictures you took, “the three of you are worse than frat boys sometimes,” you teased.

Apollo dramatically feigned offense, “I’ll have you know I am the epitome of class.”

You flashed a mildly evil smile; “sure,” you replied, “lots of class from the man who has swirly gold tattoos on his ass.”

This comment made the sun god turn white; Hermes choked on an egg and Dio snorted mimosa right out his nose.

“Who told you that?” Apollo hissed, looking scandalized. He had several lovers who shared his home and time, and you'd met three of them so far. You grinned.

“Hyacinthus may have let it slip.” You replied. In truth, he had scrolled one photo too far while showing you snapshots of different outfits worn to some fancy event (maybe something related to the Olympics?), and you'd seen significantly more of the sun god than strictly necessary; thankfully from the back… You knew there was no malice in Apollo's actions; at worst, Hyacinth would be texting you later that his credit card privileges were taken away for a week. You’d take him out for a massage or drinks or something sometime soon, and that would restore the balance.

Dionysus laughed, his head thrown back and his eyes tearing up. Hermes was laughing as well, but took a minute to kiss you and say softly in your ear, “god I love you.” Apollo pouted, but his puppy-eyes and trembling lip disappeared as you passed him the champagne. You were certain he'd have something to tease you and Hermes about soon enough.

After a little more breakfast, along with a little more champagne and a little more banter, the three were kind enough to help you clear the table (you could deal with dishes later) and begin gathering their things to leave. You grabbed Dio’s coat to hand it to him, and he ruffled your hair affectionately and said, “next time, we’ll show ya how to party on Olympus,” before leaving - still barefoot.

Somehow that felt a little bit like a playful threat. It was certainly an intimidating thought, you were sure his parties were more wild than any college movie could depict.

Apollo smirked, took your hand, and softly kissed your knuckles, once again a gentleman. “Was my offering acceptable, Lord Apollo?” You asked playfully, referring to the eggs and previous night's pizza. He grinned.

“Acceptable, I suppose.” he replied, giving Hermes a light punch on the shoulder and saying something like “see you later, feathers,” before also taking his leave.

“Feathers. I like that nickname.” You said, as Hermes' arms snaked around you. He smiled, bright and loving, and you could see the silver in his eyes glowing just a bit.

“I'm glad you can hold your own against my siblings,” he said, giving you another kiss. You chuckled.

“Well, I have to hold my own against you, don't I?” You replied, sliding your own hands down to his waist and slipping a hand into his messenger bag. Right at the top, just inside a little pocket, was your phone, which you pulled back out and waved for him to see. He only looked proud - proud of himself and proud of you knowing him so well.

“Yes. Yes you do.” He readjusted his bag and leaned down to tighten his sandals, and you took the chance to muss his hair again, make him stay a moment longer. You grabbed his sunglasses from the coffee table while he put on his helmet, and then he was ready.

You had the rest of the day to yourself, the day off from work and no pressing errands. Maybe you would read a book or scroll on your phone. One last kiss goodbye and Hermes was gone, but you knew he would be back soon.

And right on time as you returned to the couch, your phone lit up with a text. Hyacinthus.

Your life was crazy, but you sure did love it.

-----

Check out Apollo's tattoos designed by @bambiilooloo !!! Thanks again for letting me reference your art! I *still* can't get over those swirlies 🤣🤣🤣🤣!!!

Also "three raccoons with glowing eyes staring at you from a trash can" is probably my favorite line I have ever and will ever write (/hj)

[oobbbear]

Warnings(?) for smooches and bitings

I’ve gathered another 10 for a doodle post

Gitm belongs to @venomous-qwille !!!

[purplestanleypinkblanket]

Clubbing Much to Logan's Distaste:

18+

Pairings: (DP3 Vers.) Logan Howlett x Reader

Summary: Vanessa convinced you to go clubbing with her, claiming that there's 'too much testosterone in that damned apartment.' Logan hadn't realized you two were clubbing until Wade, laughing, shows him a photo of you. Well, Logan greatly dislikes that photo and hunts you down. Vanessa takes advantage of how jealous Logan can get.

Warnings: Heavy drinking, body shots mentioned, age g4p, younger reader (like 21), slight woman on woman (vanessa making logan jealous), angry logan, argument, grinding, drunk reader, sexual themes. 18+, minors don't interact.

Genre: Angst, Slight smut.

Word Count: 1,798

A/N: I've really been wanting to explore various themes, and it's about time I branched into thirsty Logan turf! Feel free to leave feedback, I love knowing what could be improved!

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Vanessa and you swayed on the dance floor, moving to the song 'Nasty Dog' by Sir-Mix-Alot. The club was packed with various sorts of people, all of which you found yourself dancing against as the night progressed. Shot after shot, you found yourself regretting the dress you wore. It was a black off the shoulder, long sleeve dress with a short skirt. As you swayed and danced, grinding your back up against a man you hadn't met before he bought you a shot, you glanced towards Vanessa who was taking a selfie.

"Say cheese!" She announced to you, moving to catch you in the frame. You and the man you moved against.

Wade and Logan found themselves alone in the apartment. It was odd to Logan, he had grown used to you and Wade dancing to suggestive music like 'Goodies' by Ciara in the living room. Tonight was different. You and Vanessa weren't here, and he was alone with Wade who didn't even try to be subtle with his flirts.

"Where's-"

"She's out clubbing with Vanessa." Wade interrupted like a damned mind reader. How had he known Logan was going to ask about you? Logan scowled at Wade, eyes narrowing. And why in hell were you clubbing? Didn't you know how dangerous it was? The ding of Wade's phone interrupted his thoughts. "Holy fuck!" Wade laughed out. "She's getting it on out there!"

"What?" Logan's voice was rougher than usual, strained too. He grabbed Wade's wrist before he could hide his phone. Yanking at the man's wrist, Logan stared at the phone. At the photo of you and Vanessa. Of you...grinding...on another man. "The fuck does she think she's doing?" He erupted with a growl, standing up immediately. The photo still burned in his retinas. The way your skintight dress showed off every inch and curve of your body. That short skirt that was practically nonexistent. The sight of your bare shoulders through the neckline. Logan swore your breasts looked as if they would fall out of it at any given moment.

"Woah there, honey badger." Wade was quick to dive infront of the front door, preventing Logan from leaving.

Vanessa's words echoed in his brain, "Keep Logan here. Make sure he doesn't ruin my girl's night, or I'll-" Wade didn't entirely remember the rest of the threat because God damn did Vanessa look hot when she scolded him.

"Move, lip." Logan growled at him.

"I can't do that." Wade retorted, stretching his body to take up as much of the doorway as possible. "I'd like to keep my dick, and I can't exactly do that if you interrupt their girl's night."

"I don't give a fuck about your dick." Logan huffed, his scowl deepening. Wade was only wasting time by blocking him in. He was going to get you out of that club- even if it meant killing his friend along the way. Or, at least, trying to.

Vanessa and you move against one another, the previous partners you two danced with long forgotten. She knew she had Wade, and that Logan practically claimed you without actually claiming you...but it was still a fun game to play. To flirt with you, to tease you, whether it was friendly or more. It was once only friendly, but after seeing Logan's reaction to when she straddled you and did your make up as you stroked her thighs- well, how could she not amp it up? Vanessa was just as bad as Wade, truth be told. She loved watching Logan's nostrils flare in angered jealousy, in possessiveness. However, he would never interrupt the situation with you present. If he did, then you'd learn how much he wanted you. And that was outright unacceptable. You were too young, too innocent. He felt guilt for even thinking about you. There were plenty of other men your age- but God did he wish you never looked at them.

With your back facing the door as you did a body shot off of Vanessa, Logan's form bursting through the club door went unnoticed by you. His eyes immediately landed on your mouth moving to the shot glass resting in between Vanessa's chest. She had noticed him first and, with a smug smirk. her hand moved to your hair, tugging at it as you downed the shot. Her tongue ran up your face along where a small drip of tequila escaped your mouth. Her eyes remained on his the entire time. Anger coursed through him as he watched you drunkenly melt into her seductions. With clenched teeth, Logan stormed forward to where you and Vanessa were at the bar. Her legs moving to wrap around your hips as she lifted your chin, murmuring a quick apology in your ear.

"Sorry, Hun'" Was all she could get out before you suddenly felt your arm being yanked. Your eyes widened in surprise when you were brought face to face with Logan, who's nose was scrunched in a furious scowl at you.

"Oh-hey, Lo." You smiled brightly at him. His nose scrunched more in distaste. You reeked of alcohol; he could barely even smell the normal scent of you that he adored.

"The hell do you think you're doing?" He spoke through clenched teeth, the vein in his neck popping slightly.

"Um...having fun?" You replied sassily, flashing your own drunk scowl at him.

"That was having fun?" He scoffs, posture straightening as he began to yank your arm.

"Hey, now wait a damn minute!" You huffed, grabbing at a nearby railing that isolated the bar from the dance floor of the club. "I aint going anywhere!"

"The hell you are!" Logan was in your face before you could react, using the only thing he knew- intimidation. He expected you to back down, or at least murmur a smart-ass comment as you surrendered like you always did.

However, you didn't budge. Not this time. You weren't going to be bullied out of having fun. He watched as your cheeks puffed out, a red flush to them from the drinking you had done, your eyes narrowed at him. Your eyebrows furrowed together to in a deadly glare.

"Princess, now is not the time." Logan started, moving to pull your arm once more. You stood your ground firmly, unmoving.

"Don't you princess me, mister. I'm staying." You huffed out, snatching your arm from his grasp as you crossed them over your chest. His eyes flicked to your breasts for a second, he could feel a groan in the back of his throat just at the sight of them. They looked like they'd spill out of your dress's neckline at any minute. He both loved and hated it.

"No, you arnt." He battled.

"You can either stay and party with Vanessa and I or you can leave."

"I aint staying."

"Then you can leave."

"You aint staying either."

"Yes. I. Am."

"Princess..."

"Face it, Lo. I'm not leaving. Now you can either man up and dance with me or leave me the fuck alone." Logan watched as you jutted your chin out, directing your face from his. He sighed over dramatically. You were too damn stubborn for your own good. His hand found your hip.

"Fine."

A grin broke onto your lips as you registered his words. Leaping up, you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Oh! This will be so much fun!" Logn instinctively caught you, gently guiding you back to standing on the floor as you leaned against him, staring into his eyes adamantly. He knew it was wrong to relish the way you pressed against him. It was wrong to enjoy it. You were too young for him, he knew it. Too sweet, too innocent. He didn't deserve you, or your attention. But the way you stared at him now, eyes lidded from a sense of...hell, was that affection he saw in your eyes? It was directed at him? Why? Logan made no move to resist as you pulled him to the dance floor of the club, soon grinding your ass against him.

He watched your hands fly above your head, into your hair, and into the air. He forced his ears to focus on your drunk singing instead of the music the club blasted. He couldn't help but find himself entranced by you. Logan's cock twitched as you grinded your rear against him, his hands instinctively found your hips, guiding you how he wanted you to move as he swayed against you. His mouth soon nipping at the revealed skin of your neck and shoulders.

A groan escaped his throat when your hands moved behind you and into his hair. His hand slid off your hip and towards your thigh, slipping under your dress as his fingertips trailed your inner thigh. Logan buried his face into your neck, sniffing deeply to inhale your scent. The disgusting scent of liquor wafted into his nose. You still smelled too much like cheap gin and shots for his liking. He always considered himself a connoisseur for the smell of alcohol, but he found himself hating it on you. He wanted to smell you, not gin or tequila.

His hand slid out from under your skirt, grasping your hips to stop your movements against him.

"Stop." He grunted out, ignoring the way his body ached to have you against him.

"But..." You pouted softly as you looked back at him, however, upon seeing the seriousness of his expression, you stopped. Pulling away, you turned to face him. "What's wrong?" You asked.

"I can't." He decided with a shake of his head.

"Lo, I'm 21, I'm legal and-" You began, you hated the way he distanced himself from you just because of your age.

"I know you are, Princess." Logan interrupted. "Thats not why I'm stopping." He forced his voice to be softer as he spoke to you, knowing the wrong tone could send you into a drunk crying mess.

"Then why...?" Was all you could get out before his lips pressed against yours, silencing you.

"Because I want you to be fully there when I show you why I'm better than all the shitty men you've taken home." Logan murmured; tone filled with venom when he mentioned your previous flings. A hint of possessiveness clear. You found yourself nodding, silently appreciating the fact that he wasn't going to take advantage of you- even if you were the one throwing yourself at him. "Now come on, let me take you home." His voice was demanding but you were confident it was a request.

"Okay." You nodded, moving to interlock your hands. "Let's get Vanessa."

When Wade saw Vanessa storming his way an hour later, and Logan carrying you over towards his room, drunk and asleep, he was glad he had hidden the knives.

[emonaculate]

Looking Out for You

Modern AU!

Pairing: Teenage!Satoru Gojo x Black!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Y/n is awkward and painfully unaware of her crush on Gojo, Gojo is SMUG, mentions of grief, miscommunication, Gojo is pining so bad lol, Black cat x Golden retriever trope, SUPER CLICHE, found family trope, ANGST

Plot: Yn is grappling with the humbling experience of being gifted kid burnout, burdened by family turmoil, and the weight of her inner demons. Just before her senior year of high school, she's reluctantly roped into volunteering as a counselor and teacher at a winter camp. There, she formally meets Gojo Satoru—an aggravatingly handsome hockey player with an ego to match his skill, all charm, smirks, and know-it-all energy. Y/n doesn’t realize that beneath Gojo’s confident exterior lies a storm of his own—wounds he’s hidden just as deeply as she has.

Chapter Synopsis: Y/n’s resolve is slowly but surely shifting. What started as a reluctant stay at a winter camp she never wanted to be part of has begun to spark something deeper. After a hidden moment on the ice where old instincts awaken and memories blur into motion, she remembers why she’s really here. Not for the camp. Certainly not for the kids. And definitely not because of the irritatingly charming, white-haired boy who watches her like he knows a version of her she hasn’t met yet. Y/n is determined to uncover the truth about her father—piece by piece, story by story. And if that means stepping into a role she never asked for, then so be it.

The week leading up to the kids’ arrival had been more or less a big blob of events and activities. For someone who spent their time and energy avoiding people and making connections like it was the plague, to say the past few days for Y/n had been hell on earth would be a total understatement. She was exhausted—and just when she thought she was finished with one task, another would pop up like some cruel game of emotional whack-a-mole. Yet, amidst the madness, something unexpected had begun to take root. Choso.

Y/n wasn’t sure how it had happened—if it was the way he always seemed to be nearby without forcing his presence, or the quiet way he spoke to her like he wasn’t expecting anything in return. But somehow, in the slivers of downtime carved between mandatory bonding sessions and endless counselor prep, she found herself drifting toward him. And he never made her feel like she had to earn her space. It was nice... calming even.

Choso, with his low voice and warm, slow blinks, talked to her about small things: how he wanted to be a tattoo artist, the best snacks to sneak from the pantry when Shoko wasn’t watching, or how the moon looked best when reflected over the frozen lake. He listened to her without pushing, and spoke like silence didn’t bother him. For a girl whose walls were always up, Y/n found herself resting easier when he was nearby. It surprised her how fast it became natural—this quiet friendship with the boy who felt more like a shadow in the best way possible.

And still, even with that fragile connection forming, she couldn’t shake the pressure of the coming storm—of kids arriving with expectations, of being called “Counselor” like she had earned it, of skating lessons she still felt unworthy of giving. That gnawing anxiety drove her to the ice rink every night after lights out, hoodie zipped up and skates slung over her shoulder.

The first few nights were painful. She fell. A lot. The sting of cold against her skin became familiar, the bruises blooming across her knees like angry warnings. But she kept going. She practiced turns and footwork in clumsy, crooked lines, and every time she got it wrong, she took a breath, cursed like a sailor, and tried again. What she didn’t know—what she never would have guessed—was that someone else was watching.

Satoru Gojo leaned quietly against the edge of the dark viewing platform, his silhouette lost in shadow. He never said anything, never moved to make himself known. Not once. But he was there. Every night. At first, it had started as pure coincidence. He’d gone to check on the rink out of habit, bored and curious. Then it became routine. He told himself it was just for amusement. Watching the same girl who rolled her eyes at every camp tradition stumble and curse her way through pirouettes and backward glides was admittedly entertaining. But the more he watched, the more the humor slipped away.

There was something about her on the ice, it was so different from the usual 'i can't be bothered to care' attitude she walked around camp with. She came alive out here. Her movements, once clunky, were becoming fluid. Confident. And when she skated just right, with the wind catching the loose strands of her hair and the moonlight carving out soft curves across her focused face, she looked... pretty free.

Her usual aura was nothing other than dim, withdrawn, heavy with some invisible burden, flared into something radiant and infectious, like a spark too long buried finally meeting air. Gojo, against his better judgment, slipped on his prescription glasses, the ones he rarely wore unless he wanted to really see something. And he did. Every sharp turn, every gentle landing. The furrow in her brow as she concentrated. The way she’d laugh softly and cheer to herself when she got something right, like she didn’t even know she was doing it.

All he could think was wow. He didn’t understand it, not fully. Not yet. But something about the messy, dry, and perpetually indifferent girl with bruised knees and a too-small hoodie was starting to take root somewhere in the back of his mind.

That morning, as the camp woke to the smell of breakfast and the distant crunch of frost outside, Y/n sat at a corner table in the mess hall, toying with her spoon as her thoughts spiraled. Today was the test. The skating evaluation that would decide if she was fit to instruct children on the ice. Choso sat across from her, already halfway through his miso soup. He didn’t speak at first, letting the silence stretch until it no longer felt suffocating. He simply watched her, the way her brows drew tight with worry, the subtle way her leg bounced beneath the table.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he said finally, voice low but clear.

Y/n blinked, looking up like she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone.

“I’m... just nervous,” she admitted, her voice barely above a murmur. “It’s one thing to skate. It’s another to be responsible for teaching it.”

Choso tilted his head slightly, as if studying her. Then, without a word, he leaned forward and reached out—his silver decorated fingers brushing gently against her temple as he tucked a stray strand of her thick hair behind her ear. The gesture was soft. Intimate. Y/n stiffened for a fraction of a second, caught between the comfort of it and the unfamiliar warmth it stirred in her chest.

But Choso’s expression didn’t waver. He simply said, “You’ve been practicing literally every night. You’re ready. You just need to remember to breathe and you'll be fine.”

Y/n swallowed hard, unsure what to say. Her throat felt tight.

At the counselor table across the room, Gojo’s chopsticks paused mid-lift. His eyes were locked on the quiet interaction, a look of something sharp flickering beneath his usually playful gaze. His usually bright azure eyes narrowed into a steely, cold blue as he glared at the unknowing pair.

“Someone’s getting real cozy,” Shoko murmured around a sip of coffee, following his line of sight without missing a beat.

“Mm,” Geto hummed thoughtfully. “Didn’t know Choso had it in him.”

Gojo scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a scoff that was too casual to be real. “It’s breakfast. He’s brushing hair, not proposing.”

Shoko arched a brow. “You jealous?”

Gojo didn’t answer. He just popped a piece of tamagoyaki into his mouth and chewed slowly, eyes never leaving the pair by the window. Back at the table, Y/n gave a small nod and finally took a bite of her toast.

The mess hall emptied, but Y/n remained for a moment longer, staring into the remnants of her now-cold tea. Choso’s words lingered like warmth in her chest—You’ll do great. Simple. Steady. Exactly what she needed. She muttered a quiet goodbye to him as he stood, watching him disappear through the doors like a calm tide rolling back out to sea. Alone again, she exhaled through her nose, clenched her fists for a second, then rose from her seat and headed toward her cabin. Each step felt like she was walking further into something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

By the time she got to her room, her hands were shaking. Pull it together, Y/n. The door clicked behind her, sealing her off from the outside world filled with uncertainty. She paused, eyes scanning the quiet, dim space before slowly walking toward the mirror. Her reflection stared back—puffy-eyed, tired, curls flattened beneath the hood she hadn’t taken off since the night before.

She swallowed hard. If you’re gonna do this, do it right; go big or go home. Right? Dragging her stool over, Y/n sat in front of the mirror and stared herself. Her fingers hovered over the drawer before finally yanking it open and pulling out every neglected hair product that had been provided. They really had thought of everything. Leave-in. Curl cream. Oil. Denman brush. The holy grail lineup of hair maintenance that she hadn’t bothered with in too long to admit.

The routine took time; a really long fucking painful time. She spritzed water section by section, working the moisture in gently with her fingers. As the knots gave way to soft spirals, her frustration melted with them. One curl at a time, the image in the mirror softened. The brush glided through her hair with a satisfying rhythm. She worked in the curl cream and sealed it with a bit of oil, watching as each strand began to bounce, come alive, frame her face. By the end, her arms were sore. But her hair was pulled into a high ponytail that sat like a crown on her head, rich coils springing from the band and falling in elegant rebellion around her face and neck. Loose curls kissed the tops of her cheekbones and the base of her neck, escaping the slicked-back sides.

Next came her outfit: the black flare leggings she trusted to hug everything in place, paired with an oversized off-the-shoulder olive green sweatshirt. It teased just enough—a peek of her black bra strap at her shoulder—to remind her she was still her, still sharp under the softness. She checked herself once more in the mirror. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. Y/n actually looked like someone who gave a damn.

Y/n laced up her skates and slung them over her shoulder. With one last breath, she stepped outside, letting the door click behind her as she made her way to the rink. The walk was muscle memory for her at this point. As she neared the open-air rink, the familiar burn of nerves returned, climbing up her spine like a second heartbeat.

She saw them before they saw her—Nanami standing stiffly, clipboard in hand; Utahime and Shoko chatting beside the equipment table; Suguru adjusting the edge of a barrier. Mr. Soraoka stood tall at the center, his arms folded, face unreadable. But one face stood out. Satoru Gojo. He leaned casually against the railing, messy white hair ruffled by the wind, that damn grin already on his lips as she stepped closer. His eyes caught hers—hidden behind prescription glasses today (the glasses only amplied his charm somehow)—and the smallest flicker of something unreadable passed over his face.

Before she could pass by, he pushed off the railing and fell into step beside her. His long legs taking single digit strides to close the gap between them.

“You clean up nice,” he teased, voice low enough not to carry. "I'm a little shocked by how much I actually miss the fresh out of bed look you love to rock.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t answer, too focused on the ice and the people waiting for her to let herself be fully baited. Satoru didn’t seem to mind. He leaned in slightly, walking backwards now, effortlessly keeping pace with her.

“Hey.” His tone shifted slightly—still playful, but with an edge of sincerity. “Don’t let the stares rattle you. You’ve got this.”

She paused, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

“What makes you so sure?”

He smirked, eyes glinting behind the lenses of his glasses. “Let’s just say I’ve got a good eye for talent. Especially the kind that sneaks out every night to practice like no one’s watching.”

Y/n blinked, a rush of heat hitting her cheeks before she could stop it.

“You—? Were you watching me?”

Gojo just turned with a wink, hands in his pockets as he strolled away toward the others.

“I have eyes and ears everywhere. I'm called Six Eyes for a reason, short-pint.”

The rink loomed in front of her like a frozen stage. Y/n stood at the edge, the cold air biting at her nose and ears, her skates already laced but her knees wobbling in quiet rebellion. Just breathe. You’ve been practicing all week for this. The others watched from the sidelines: Shoko leaned back on her elbows beside Utahime, Geto stood with his arms crossed, and Nanami scribbled something on a clipboard with his usual meticulous attention. Mr. Soraoka stood near the center, waiting. And a few feet back, almost half-hidden in shadow, Satoru stood—hands tucked into the pockets of his baggy cargo shorts (did he ever wear pants??), ever-still, ever-watching.

Y/n stepped onto the ice… and immediately slipped forward with a sharp intake of breath. Her leg flailed before she barely caught herself, gripping the barrier with both hands. Laughter erupted from somewhere to the side—probably Geto, his mean ass—and Utahime hissed something sharp at him. She didn’t have to look to know Gojo was already grinning.

“I—sorry,” she muttered.

Mr. Soraoka raised a hand calmly. “No need to apologize. Happens to the best of us. Take a moment.”

He cleared his throat and began to speak, his voice carrying clearly across the ice. “This evaluation is not about perfection. We’re not asking you to perform professionally. What we’re looking for is confidence, balance, and your ability to command the ice. The children will need a teacher who is steady, engaging, and most of all, patient—with themselves and others. Understood?”

Y/n nodded slowly. Confidence. Steady. Right. But she couldn’t find her footing. Her body felt stiff, like her limbs didn’t belong to her. She’d done this every night for the past week, hadn’t she? So why did the pressure now make her want to melt into the ice and disappear?

Mr. Soraoka stepped forward just slightly, his voice softer this time. “Don’t think too hard. Feel it. Let the ice meet you halfway.”

Y/n stared ahead. The world had gone too quiet. She closed her eyes. And then… she moved. One foot pushed off, and the other followed, gliding her forward. Slowly. Cautiously. But with a familiarity she hadn’t expected to return so easily. The cold air bit at her cheeks, but with each push and turn, her limbs loosened. Her arms moved with her torso, gently shifting to maintain balance. The sound of blades cutting into ice was her only companion—until it wasn’t. Because suddenly, there was something else. A memory.

Her father’s voice spoke clearly in her head “You lead with your heart, not your feet.”

His laugh echoing from behind her. “Come on, sweetheart, you got it. Just like that.”

And his hand, steady, warm, guiding her lower back, pressing with the gentlest of touches. She felt it again now, like a ghost trailing her spine. Y/n’s form shifted, blossoming into something elegant. She bent one knee, twirled outward, and spun once—twice—landing smoothly into a backward glide. The cold danced against her neck as her arms extended, catching the wind with an instinctive grace. She weaved across the rink in arcs and ribbons, her breath syncing to the rhythm of her motion.

A deep spiral. A toe loop. A clean spin with her head tilted back, curls flying out behind her like fire unraveling in the air; her hair band had snapped from the sheer force and speed of her movements. So much for a secure ponytail. Curls bounced freely against her face as she continued to move. Suddenly, she was that girl again. Not the tired, irritable, indifferent Y/n everyone had met. But the version her father once believed in. The girl who could fly when her feet were on the ice. To her right now, nothing else existed. She didn’t hear the murmurs from the edge. Or see the wide eyes. Or notice Utahime frozen mid-sip of hot cocoa. Or Geto’s mouth hanging open. Or Nanami lowering his clipboard, stunned. She didn’t even see Mr. Soraoka, who had stood up halfway through and was now clapping—no, applauding—like a proud father who couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

Only one person didn’t look surprised. Gojo. His glasses had been pulled down to the bridge of his nose, his crystalline eyes following every motion. His grin was softer now, curved with something that felt like reverence.

“...Amazing, isn’t she?” he murmured, more to himself than anyone.

Y/n’s skates slowed gradually, one leg extended behind her as she coasted to a stop at the center of the rink. And for a moment, she stood still—chest rising and falling, curls sticking to her sweat-damp forehead, arms relaxed at her sides. She hadn’t realized she was finished. She hadn’t heard the clapping. Or noticed the echo of stunned silence following the applause. She blinked, finally meeting the wide, teary-eyed gaze of Mr. Soraoka.

He nodded, still clapping. “Absolutely incredible.”

Y/n’s lips parted, confused. “...I-I did okay?”

Mr. Soraoka laughed. “You did far more than okay, young lady.”

From the sidelines, Geto finally spoke, breaking the stunned silence.

“Dude,” he whispered. “What the hell was that?”

Shoko, arms crossed and smirking, added dryly, “Ice skating this year is about to be interesting; that's for damn sure..”

And Gojo? He just smiled, watching her as if he’d seen it all coming from the very beginning.

The moment Y/n stepped off the rink and unlatched her skate guards, a wave of counselors swarmed her.

“Yo, that was insane,” Geto said, his usual aloof composure completely cracked. “You’ve been hiding Olympic-level skills from us this whole time?”

Utahime gave her a once-over before smirking. “I thought you hated this place. You looked like you were born out there.”

“I… didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” Y/n muttered, cheeks flushing from the barrage of praise. Her hands fidgeted with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, pulling them down over her palms. “It was just muscle memory or something…”

“Don’t be modest,” Nanami cut in, sliding his clipboard under one arm. “You executed three different mid-level competitive tricks. I’ve only ever seen that during actual competitions.”

Shoko sauntered up beside her, nudging her with an elbow. “Guess all those late-night vanishing acts paid off.”

Y/n blinked, eyes darting. “You knew I was sneaking off?”

Shoko snorted. “You think any of us don’t notice when someone’s creeping through the cabin halls at 2 a.m. with skates over their shoulder?”

Y/n pressed her lips into a tight line, looking at the floor. Compliments never sat right with her. It was like trying to wear a dress that didn’t fit, awkward and uncomfortable, no matter how well-intentioned. She felt exposed.

Mr. Soraoka clapped his hands together, regathering the group. “Alright everyone, now that we’ve had our moment of awe—let’s refocus. Monday, the kids arrive. That gives us three days to finalize preparations. You’ll each receive your assigned task lists by tomorrow morning. For now, enjoy what little freedom you have left. Sleep in. Relax. Because once those little demons—I mean angels—show up, it’s over.”

Laughter rippled through the group before they all started to shuffle out in pairs and clusters, leaving the cold rink behind with the warm chatter of voices echoing down the corridor. All except Satoru. Y/n stood frozen for a second, her heartbeat finally slowing, the adrenaline finally ebbing. He leaned against the wall just near the rink’s edge, arms folded, the faintest smirk on his lips. He looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“Gonna pretend I haven’t been watching you practice every night?” he asked, his voice light and teasing.

She rolled her eyes and groaned, “God, you would be the type to spy on people skating alone like a damn cryptid.”

“Hey,” he said, dramatically pressing a hand to his chest, “I wasn’t spying. I was appreciating. It’s different. Classier, y'know?”

Y/n gave him a slow side-eye. “Appreciating? That’s what we’re calling peeping now?”

“You’re the one sneaking around the rink like it’s a forbidden temple. I was merely protecting camp property from potential trespassers.”

Y/n barked a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But I’m not wrong,” he grinned. “Besides, I finally saw you drop the whole ‘leave me alone or I’ll set you on fire’ act today. And I gotta say—kinda adorable.”

She narrowed her eyes but couldn’t fight the twitch of a smile on her lips. “Don’t get used to it.”

“No promises.”

They slipped into a rare, quiet pause. The kind that didn’t need filling. The silence stretched comfortably between them, like shared breath.

Gojo glanced sideways at her, his voice softer now. “Seriously though, that was... amazing. You’re a completely different person out there.”

Y/n looked down at her skates, suddenly shy again. “It’s easier on the ice. I don’t have to talk, or think. I just... remember. I used to skate with my dad, back when things weren’t a mess. It’s like he’s still with me, guiding me.”

Gojo studied her, his teasing smirk fading into something thoughtful. But before the silence turned heavy, she nudged him playfully with her elbow.

“So,” she said, shifting gears, “what’s this I hear about you being a hockey hotshot?”

“Oh?” Gojo perked up again immediately, eyes twinkling. “Thinking about switching teams already?”

“I’m thinking,” she said, tone dry, “you owe me a crash course. If I’m gonna be the Ice Queen, I might as well know how to play with sticks too.”

He laughed. “Careful, Y/n. That almost sounded like a flirt.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Gojo.”

“Oh no, you teasing me is already more than I ever thought I’d get from you. I’m gonna savor this. Might even write it down later.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no bite behind it.

“Fine,” she said with a mock sigh, “I’ll show you a few of my tricks. But only if you can keep up.”

He arched a white brow. “Challenge accepted. But just so you know, I’ve been skating since I was six, and I never go easy on beginners.”

She gave him a wicked grin. “Perfect. Neither do I.”

They stood there for another minute, the cold forgotten, the empty rink behind them echoing with the faint ghost of blades on ice.

The next day Y/n had found herself taking Gojo up on his offer regarding hockey. It was only because she was curious about the sport.. no other reason. AT ALL. The air still held the soft hum of applause from the previous day as Y/n and Gojo stood at the rink entrance. The other staff had cleared out, their chatter fading into the distance, but the quiet between the two wasn’t awkward—it was anticipatory.

“So," Gojo said, leaning over to snag a pair of sticks from the rack, twirling one like a baton before tossing the other to her. "Ready to learn from the best?"

Y/n caught it with a skeptical look. “Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?”

He grinned. “Impossible when you have a voice this sexy. But lucky for you, I'm also devastatingly skilled.”

They stepped onto the ice together, gliding with mismatched grace. Y/n, though better on figure skates, still wobbled slightly in her new borrowed pair. Gojo, smug and sure-footed, looped around her with ease.

“Alright, Ice Queen,” he called teasingly. “First rule of hockey: stance. You gotta look like you mean business. Bend your knees. Stick down. Don’t make that face.”

“This is my concentrating face.”

“It looks like you’re trying to calculate taxes in your head, short-pint.”

Y/n huffed and tried again, but the stick wobbled in her grip. Gojo skated up behind her before she could protest.

“Here,” he murmured, voice lower now, wrapping his arms around her to adjust her hold on the stick.

Y/n froze. His chest brushed her back, the warmth of his body bleeding through their layers. The scent of his cologne—cool mint, something slightly spicy, like cedar and clean linen—washed over her. It shouldn’t have made her nervous. But it did. Her brain blanked.

“Relax,” he said softly. “You’re holding it like a sword. This is finesse, not battle.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. “You’re not the one being hovered over like a damn hawk.”

He chuckled, the sound soft near her ear. “Maybe I like hovering over you.”

Y/n tried to ignore the flutter that stirred in her chest. She tried harder to ignore the feel of his large hand sliding down from her forearm to settle on her waist. A gentle, firm touch that guided her stance as he slowly moved them forward.

“Okay,” he whispered, their steps in sync, “now glide. Small push. That’s it.”

She nodded mutely, hyperaware of every place their bodies touched. Gojo, meanwhile, was grinning like a fool. He wasn’t sure when teasing the grumpy girl with sharp eyes and sharper wit became the highlight of his day—but being this close to her? It made his pulse skip. Her hair, which was styled into two low puffs, smelled like something sweet and soft. Her tanned skin was warm beneath his gloves. It didn’t make any sense. She was chaos personified. Always biting, always sarcastic. And yet—

He barely realized she was slipping until her skate twisted.

“SHIT—!”

He caught her in one fluid motion, one arm braced around her lower back, the other still holding her wrist. She blinked up at him, lips parted, breath caught in her throat. They were too close. She could count every silver lash framing his pale eyes. He could feel her heartbeat against his ribs. If Gojo stared long enough, he could make out the beauty marks on her face and how the placements of each one combined could appear to look like a constellation. Neither of them moved.

Until Gojo tilted his head and whispered, grinning, “You fall for me already?”

Y/n groaned and shoved at his chest, nearly slipping again. “You’re impossible.”

He laughed and let her go, skating backward. “So I've been told.”

Y/n’s breathing was finally starting to steady, her limbs no longer trembling from the rush of skating under pressure. But now? Now she was in Gojo’s world.

He backed away a few paces, twirling the hockey stick effortlessly between his gloved fingers before lowering his tinted goggles over his eyes. His trademark smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Alright, now that you’ve shown me how pretty you are on the ice,” he drawled, “let’s see how tough you are.”

Y/n raised a brow. “Tough?”

Gojo’s grin widened. “First to five. You win, I’ll be your assistant for ice skating classes. I win…” he paused, tapping the blade of his stick against the ice as if thinking, “you owe me hot chocolate duty for a week.”

Y/n snorted, “That’s it? Sounds like you’re going easy on me.”

“I figured I’d save the real stakes for when you actually win something,” he teased, gliding backward effortlessly. “Game on, hotshot.”

And then—just like that—he was gone, a blur of white and navy as he bolted toward the puck.

Y/n blinked and scrambled after him.

For someone who avoided attention like it was contagious, there was something exhilarating about trying to keep up with him—like chasing a spark that kept darting just out of reach. Gojo was in his element: eyes sharp, reflexes perfect, every turn smooth and confident. His tall figure weaved across the ice like it was second nature, and Y/n found herself staring more than once, nearly crashing into the boards because of it.

But she was a fast learner. Her legs burned, lungs heaved—but damn it, she was determined. Maybe to win. Maybe to impress him. Maybe both.

They clashed over the puck, sticks meeting with a sharp clack that echoed in the empty rink. Gojo easily stole the first point, gliding past her like wind. “That’s one,” he called over his shoulder, smirking. “You blinked.”

“Oh, you’re so annoying.”

She came back with surprising force, faking him out with a turn and scoring. Her triumphant cheer echoed through the rink. Gojo gave a slow clap, skating lazily toward her. “That was almost convincing.”

Almost. The way he said it made her cheeks flush beneath the cold sweat. Y/n was drenched in sweat. The grey cropped sweatshirt she wore, now clung to her like a second skin, and her two low ponytails had all but fallen apart—curls bouncing wild around her flushed face. She was gasping for breath, legs burning, lungs on fire… but she wasn’t backing down. Gojo, on the other hand, barely looked winded.

He skated backwards lazily in front of her, twirling the hockey stick in one hand and flashing that infuriating grin. “What’s the score again?” he asked, all faux innocence.

“Four to two,” she growled.

“Right, right. My bad.” He gave a long, dramatic sigh. “Only one more point and I win.”

Y/n’s fingers tightened around the stick. She was fast, but Gojo was something else. Watching him move was like watching poetry in motion—lean, fluid, unshakably confident. She hated how easily he made it all look. Even more, she hated the giddy little thrill crawling up her spine every time his hand brushed her back or when his too-pretty mouth curved around a cocky tease.

“You ready?” he called out, puck already at his feet.

“Drop dead.”

He lunged forward. Their blades clacked. She pushed harder than she thought she could, nearly knocking into him—but he barely flinched. He stole the puck, only to skate slow circles around her.

Y/n narrowed her eyes. “You’re stalling.”

Gojo glanced over his shoulder, eyes gleaming. “Am I?”

“You are. You could’ve scored five minutes ago.”

He pivoted smoothly, skating backwards in front of her again, lowering his goggles with one finger so she could see the glint in his cerulean eyes. “Maybe I’m enjoying myself.”

Y/n flushed and looked away.

“Or maybe,” he leaned in closer, the words brushing her ear, “I just like watching you try so hard.”

That did it. She growled, barreled toward him with everything she had—but he dipped low, spun around her, and gently bumped her hip with his own. She stumbled slightly, and his large hand instinctively shot out to catch her by the waist, steadying her with infuriating ease. The heat of his palm burned through her layers. Y/n froze. So did he. Their faces were close. Too close. His breath ghosted over her cheek, warm despite the rink’s chill. Her hands were gripping the front of his hoodie, and neither of them moved. For a second, the world was silent, just the hum of the rink lights and the pounding in her ears. Then Gojo let out a breathless chuckle and straightened up, smoothing a gloved hand through his messy white hair.

“Well,” he said, tone light, “if you wanted to fall for me, you could’ve just said so.”

Y/n shoved him with a groan. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he pointed his stick toward the puck, “you keep showing up.”

She skated past him, grabbing the puck with a quick pivot, and before he could react, she actually got within scoring distance—but he caught up fast, laughing as he stole it right back.

“Alright,” he sighed dramatically, “let’s wrap this up. I’ve got hot chocolate to claim.”

He moved, swift and lethal, and tapped the puck into the goal with a flick of his wrist. The sound echoed.

“Five.”

Y/n let out a sound between a groan and a growl. “You toyed with me.”

Gojo slung an arm lazily across her shoulders. “What can I say? You’re fun to mess with, short-pint”

“You’re evil.”

“But handsome.”

“Debatable.”

He laughed—full and genuine—and Y/n tried not to smile. She really did. She failed. She felt like a mess, standing beside him, flushed and sweaty. Gojo, in contrast, looked like he hadn’t even broken a sweat. His hair was perfectly tousled, his hoodie clinging just enough to hint at the body beneath, and his grin—smug, bright, and infuriating permanently fixed in place.

“You’ll get better,” he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Especially if I’m your coach.”

Y/n tilted her head. “You offering private lessons now?”

Gojo winked. “Only for you.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, ignoring that flutter in her chest that had absolutely nothing to do with hockey. The sun had begun its slow descent behind the trees, casting the trail in long, golden streaks that filtered through bare branches and made everything glow with winter’s hush. The cold air bit gently at their cheeks, their breaths curling in soft clouds as Gojo and Y/n walked side by side along the winding path skirting the edge of the camp.

Gojo had insisted on the walk as a “cool down,” but if anyone had been watching, they would’ve thought it was a casual stroll between two longtime friends—except, maybe, for the way their hands kept brushing unintentionally. Or the way Gojo’s eyes flicked to her face every so often, like he didn’t want to miss a single expression.

He talked the whole time. Animated, expressive, teasing—Gojo filled the silence with tales of past camp years, of prank wars between counselors, of kitchen disasters and winter bonfire mishaps. Every person they passed on the trail: staff, counselors, even shy teenage volunteers—was greeted by name and with a radiant grin, some of which came with high-fives, a ruffle of someone’s hair, or a fist bump.

“Yo, Aiko!” he called out to a petite girl dragging salt bags toward the cabin steps. “Don’t forget to stretch after that or you’ll end up walking like Nanami.”

The girl giggled and waved, cheeks flushed. “Thanks, Gojo-senpai!”

Y/n watched from the corner of her eye as Gojo moved through the camp like a star in orbit, drawing others in effortlessly. Every kid seemed to adore him. Every counselor seemed to either admire him… or want to be him. And Y/n—messy, quiet, guarded Y/n—couldn’t help but feel the knot of something unfamiliar twist in her chest. Jealousy? No. Envy. Not of the attention he received, but of how easy it all was for him. How natural it seemed to connect with people.

“People love you,” she said, not quite realizing the words had left her mouth.

Gojo turned to her, eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “Do they?” he asked innocently.

She shot him a dry look. Now you know damn well..

“Okay, maybe they do,” he admitted with a dramatic sigh. “But I can’t help being ridiculously lovable. It’s a curse.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, hiding her smirk by tugging the collar of her sweatshirt up a little. Gojo chuckled but let the silence stretch for a beat as the trail curved around the back of the ice rink, the lake barely visible through the trees. It was quiet now—just the crunch of their boots on snow and the occasional chirp of a bird lingering for winter.

Then Gojo asked, far too casually, “So… you and Choso.”

Y/n blinked. “What about us?”

He kicked a chunk of ice off the trail. “You two seem close. Breakfast buddies. Hair-touching level of close.” His tone was light, but his eyes… sharp.

Y/n didn’t answer right away. She just stared straight ahead, then shrugged. “He’s… easy to be around.”

Gojo’s brows rose. “Easy, huh?”

“Not like that.” She shot him a sidelong glance. “He listens. Doesn’t push.”

“Sounds like a catch,” Gojo murmured.

Y/n stopped walking.

He turned back, surprised, as she looked at him, the wind brushing stray curls into her eyes. “Are you asking because you’re curious,” she said slowly, “or because you’re jealous?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for once, Gojo didn’t have a ready quip.

He took a step closer, smirking just enough to play it off. “I’m just making sure my hockey protégé isn’t gonna ditch me mid-season for a guy with darker eyeliner and moodier playlists.”

Y/n huffed, lips twitching at the corners as she kept walking. Gojo fell into step beside her again, hands shoved into his pockets.

“But hey,” he added, peeking over at her. “For what it’s worth, I like that you’re starting to let people in. Even if it’s not me.”

Her steps faltered just slightly, the compliment landing softer than it should have. She didn’t reply, but this time, it was Gojo who stayed quiet, watching her out of the corner of his eye, smile faded but gaze still warm.

They walked the rest of the trail in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t demand to be filled.

Y/n sat cross-legged on the floor of her cabin, a mountain of papers fanned around her like a storm had hit her clipboard. Her brows were knit tight, lips twisted to the side in concentration as she tried—and failed—to make sense of the week’s schedule. Behind her, Choso sat calmly on the edge of her bed, long legs stretched out, leaning back on his hands as he watched her silently unravel in real-time.

“Okay,” she muttered, flipping one sheet over and holding up another. “So, if I’m on ice-skating lessons in the morning, and Satoru’s running hockey drills right after, that means we need a break period between activities. But if I take lunch shift on Monday, I have to move the first-aid refresher to Tuesday morning. Unless—shit. Wait, no, I already have water safety Tuesday morning.”

Choso blinked slowly. “...Did you sleep last night?”

Y/n didn’t answer. She mindlessly twirled a loose strand around her finger and grabbed another paper. Her fading red curls were already frizzing at the edges, strands falling out to frame her stressed face.

“Y/n.”

“I’m fine.”

Choso didn’t argue. He never did. Instead, he sat up a little straighter, resting his forearms on his knees as his eyes followed her getting up and pacing around the tiny cabin. The air was thick with tension (hers— not his). He remained still, calm as a quiet lake, while Y/n muttered to herself about supply checklists, allergy forms, emergency contacts, and bunk arrangements.

“You know,” she said breathlessly, hands on her hips, “you’d think they wouldn’t just hand me a whole group of kids like I have the slightest idea how to do this. But no. Apparently if you can stand on ice and not die, you’re qualified.”

She flopped back onto the floor with a groan, landing in the middle of her paperwork. Choso’s lips twitched.

“Want me to take over ice safety briefing?” he offered softly.

She rolled her head to the side to look at him. “You’d do that?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I already memorized the handouts. And you’re spiraling.”

She huffed a half-laugh, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I’m not spiraling. I’m just... underprepared.”

“You’ve gone through the schedule six times,” he said, voice patient and even. “You’ve got this.”

She peeked at him between her fingers. “You sure you’re not just saying that to calm me down?”

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean,” Choso replied without missing a beat.

That silenced her for a moment. The stress still curled in her shoulders, tight and tense—but there was something grounding about his presence. Something solid in the way he didn’t rush her or try to fix everything. He just sat there. Existing in her space. Listening. Letting her panic quietly.

“You’re weirdly good at this whole support thing,” she murmured, sitting back up and scooping the mess of papers back into a semi-organized pile. “You’d make a great therapist.”

“Too much school,” Choso said simply, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Y/n chuckled and got to her feet again, papers clutched to her chest. She glanced around the cabin, eyes lingering briefly on the skates at the foot of her bed before refocusing. “I just… I don’t want to screw this up. Not when I finally feel like I’m doing something that matters.”

Choso nodded. “You won’t. Just breathe. You’ve already done more than most people would.”

Y/n turned to face him fully now, her expression a mix of gratitude and nerves.

“Thanks,” she said, and meant it.

He stood and moved toward the door, brushing past her lightly—barely a graze of their arms—and paused before stepping out. “Let me know if you need help setting up later.”

“I will,” she said, smiling faintly.

As he left, closing the door softly behind him, Y/n finally exhaled. Her eyes dropped back to the scattered papers. She was gonna be okay. This was fine.

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the snowcapped treetops, casting long golden beams through the canopy and painting Camp Jujutsu in a warm, fleeting glow. The air buzzed with an odd cocktail of nerves and excitement—tomorrow the kids would arrive, and everything would change. The camp wouldn’t be theirs anymore. The quiet would be swallowed whole by laughter, screams, and chaos. But for now, it was still, and everyone was busy.

“Nanami, do we really need laminated chore lists in every single cabin?” Gojo called out from where he stood atop a wooden bench, hanging a directional sign pointing toward the mess hall. “We’re not running a military operation.”

“We are,” Nanami replied dryly, clipboard in hand. “And if you’d read your assignment sheet, you’d know you’re also late for inventory check.”

Gojo frowned slightly, before coughing into his hand murmuring something under his breath. “Killjoy.”

Utahime rolled her eyes as she hung fairy lights around the rec cabin with Suguru, the two of them forming an efficient, quiet team. Shoko strolled by with a cigarette in one hand and a bundle of name tags in the other, muttering under her breath about needing a drink stronger than coffee (Mr. Soraoka refused to bend his rules further for Shoko). Y/n was outside the main bunkhouse, kneeling in the snow with a bin of sports equipment in front of her, organizing helmets and shin guards with growing intensity.

“Hey,” Choso’s voice cut through her hyperfocus. “You’re doing it again.”

She blinked, looking up. “Doing what?”

“Organizing like your life depends on it.”

She sighed, brushing a curl away from her face. “It feels like it does.”

Before Choso could respond, a loud whistle pierced the air. Nanami, standing near the staff bulletin board, lifted his hand.

“Everyone—gather up,” he called, voice firm but calm. The counselors slowly drifted into a loose circle, all of them dusted with snow, paint, or glitter depending on their assigned prep task.

“Tomorrow’s the big day,” Nanami began, “and we’re as ready as we’re going to get. Good work today. We’ve done what we can. If anything explodes after this point…” He glanced sideways at Gojo. “...it’s probably not worth trying to prevent.”

“That’s the spirit,” Gojo grinned, resting his chin on Shoko’s shoulder. She elbowed him off.

“To celebrate our final night of peace,” Geto spoke up, voice smooth and relaxed, “we’re hosting a bonfire tonight. Hot cocoa, marshmallows, music. You know, all that classic cheesy camp stuff.”

“It starts in two hours,” Utahime added. “Dress warm, don’t be late.”

“Mandatory?” Shoko asked, speaking for everyone.

“No,” Nanami said, “but if you don’t show, we assume you’re dead and send a search party.”

Y/n bit back a grin, tucking her frozen fingers into her jacket sleeves. Around her, the group started to buzz with renewed energy—plans were made, side glances exchanged, a few people already deciding who was on cocoa duty.As the crowd began to break apart, Gojo fell into step beside Y/n, hands tucked lazily into his coat pockets. Cold enough for a jacket but still not cold enough for him to wear pants... what a weirdo.

“You coming to the bonfire?” he asked, voice casual.

“I mean… yeah. I guess,” she replied, still thinking of the to-do list she hadn’t finished. “Kinda seems like I have to or risk being declared legally dead.”

“I’d mourn you,” Gojo teased. “A little. Maybe. Depends on who inherits your skates.”

Y/n gave him a sideways look, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “You’re a menace.”

He gasped, mock offended. “You wound me. That’s the second time today.”

“Guess you’re not as universally adored as you think.”

“Oh, I am,” he grinned. “But your approval? That one’s just more fun to earn.”

Before she could come up with a reply, Gojo winked and veered off, calling something to Suguru across the field. Y/n stood in place a moment longer, watching as the camp glowed under the late evening sun, flickers of excitement starting to burn through the stress in her chest. A bonfire; the final night of quiet before the storm of tiny humans descended. She could handle that, probably?

The camp looked like something out of a postcard. The bonfire blazed tall at the center of the open clearing near the lake, its golden glow licking at the falling night and casting warm, flickering shadows across bundled-up teens and counselors scattered around its radius. Smoke curled into the sky, mixing with the crisp bite of the winter air, and the scent of toasted marshmallows, pine, and something vaguely alcoholic from the “punch” filled the space like an invisible fog.

Y/n stood at the edge of it all. Her bleach-faded, baggy jeans sagged just enough at the hip to look intentional, the ends fraying where they met her well-worn boots. The navy and black quarter-sleeve shirt clung to her just enough to reveal the curve of her waist beneath the number 67 emblazoned across the front, a sliver of her stomach exposed when she shifted too much. The layered grey vest and black zip-up hoodie gave her a bulky warmth she appreciated, and the navy blue beanie over her head completed the look. Her curls were parted into two sleek low ponytails, and silver clips adorned the sides of her head like little snowflakes, holding the shortest pieces out of her face.

Shoko and Utahime had practically dragged her into their cabin, forcing her to sit while they plucked, brushed, and styled her like two chaotic fairy godmothers. And while Y/n had protested at first—loudly—she couldn’t deny how… good she felt when she finally saw herself in the mirror. Presentable. Warm. Her fingers curled around the red cup in her hand, the liquid inside suspiciously fizzy and tart. She grimaced after taking a sip, unsure if it was a fruit cocktail or just cleverly disguised jet fuel.

As she scanned the bonfire crowd, her eyes landed on him. Gojo. Satoru stood near the fire, practically glowing under the firelight with his usual magnetic charm turned up to eleven. A girl stood next to him—tall, pretty, maybe older than her—with long lashes and flirty confidence in every move. She laughed at something he said, hand trailing too comfortably down his arm, lingering near his wrist before rising to smooth nonexistent lint from his sleeve. Again. And again. Y/n tried not to stare. Tried harder not to care. But that sour taste in her mouth had nothing to do with the drink.

She didn’t want to be annoyed. She barely knew him. Still—something about the casual, intimate way that girl touched him, leaned in close like he was hers to touch—it made her grip the cup tighter. She tore her eyes away before the ugly jealousy curdled into something visible on her face. No. Not tonight. She had made so much progress especially with how much she had learned regarding her father. So why did she feel like lashing out? She needed to get it together. She needed.. Choso. Where was—

Ah. There he was. Further off, his usual calm posture softening ever so slightly as he stood beside her. Yuki. His longtime crush, the one he only ever mentioned when his voice dropped half an octave and he pretended not to care. She was radiant in the firelight, smiling warmly, her body angled toward him in a way that made Y/n’s heart soar in happiness for her friend(?). She took a slow sip of the suspicious punch. Nope. She wasn't interrupting that.

Head down, Y/n weaved her way back through the crackling warmth and idle conversation until she spotted two familiar faces lounging near the firepit’s edge—Shoko, puffing on a vape pen she snuck in under her coat, and Utahime, wrapped in a scarf and aggressively roasting a marshmallow with laser focus.

“There she is,” Shoko drawled, exhaling a thin plume of vapor. “Finally decided to rejoin the rest of us humans?”

“Was that jealousy I saw brewing on your face earlier?” Utahime asked without looking up, her tone innocent but her grin sharp.

Y/n flopped down beside them, arms crossed over her chest, doing her best to look indifferent. “I was just looking for somewhere not drenched in hormones and desperate flirting.”

“That sounds like jealousy,” Shoko said around a smirk, eyes half-lidded. “We should take your temperature.”

“Don’t start,” Y/n muttered, tipping her drink back.

But she couldn’t lie to herself. Not really. Because despite the fire, despite the music, despite the girls by her side, her gaze flicked back to Gojo. And it burned her more than the flames ever could.

The fire crackled lazily, painting everything in a soft amber hue. The buzz of teen voices and distant laughter floated through the night air, carried on the scent of roasted marshmallows and pine. Y/n sat cross-legged on a log between Shoko and Utahime, hands wrapped tightly around her half-empty cup of overly sweet, suspiciously spiked punch.

She watched the flames dance, her face blank but her eyes flickering restlessly. Her lips were drawn in a thoughtful line—like she was chewing on words she didn’t plan to say aloud.

Utahime passed her a freshly toasted marshmallow sandwiched between two chocolate squares. “You okay?” she asked casually, but there was a note of curiosity beneath it.

“Hm? Yeah. Just thinking,” Y/n replied, voice flat, distracted. She didn't look at them, but they saw the way her gaze kept drifting across the fire—toward the noisy group where Gojo stood, holding court like usual.

Specifically, where she stood beside him. The girl. With her hand on his arm again. Y/n’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

Shoko raised a brow, following her gaze. “Lot of touching going on over there,” she murmured, tone light.

Utahime leaned forward, trying to peek discreetly. “What, her?” She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, she seems like the type to laugh too hard at his bad jokes.”

Y/n didn’t respond, choosing instead to sip from her cup like it had something deep and philosophical to offer.

Utahime nudged her gently. “You’re not mad, are you?”

Y/n blinked. “About what?”

Shoko hummed lazily. “Nothing specific. Just wondering if a certain ice queen might be feeling a little... warm?”

Y/n furrowed her brows. “You two are so weird.”

“We’re weird?” Utahime echoed with a grin. “You’ve been zoning out ever since you got here.”

“I’m just tired,” Y/n said, brushing a curl behind her ear. “And the punch is disgusting.”

Shoko let the silence sit for a beat before she tilted her head. “Mm. Maybe. Or maybe someone’s realizing they do enjoy company after all.”

Y/n side-eyed her, suspicion blooming. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Utahime said, drawing out her words with a teasing lilt, “you might want to admit that you're not as unaffected by tall, loud, white-haired men as you pretend to be.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but the tips of her ears were a traitor.

“He’s just…” She paused. “He’s a lot. And kind of obnoxious.”

“But funny,” Shoko offered. “And sweet when he’s not being a menace.”

Utahime nodded. “Plus, you’ve been stuck to his side every chance he gives you.”

Y/n scoffed. “That’s not true.”

Shoko smirked. “You sure about that?”

Y/n opened her mouth to argue—but instead sighed and looked back toward the fire, where Gojo was laughing about something, all teeth and charm. She didn’t watch long. Just enough to frown and turn away again. Utahime gave her a knowing look but said nothing more.

Y/n bit her lip, then mumbled, “I don’t know what you guys are trying to say.”

Shoko leaned over and bumped her shoulder gently. “That’s okay. You don’t have to know. We’re just watching the story unfold.”

Y/n blinked. “What story?”

“Yours,” Utahime said, smiling into her cup. “Whether you realize it yet or not.”

They fell into a quiet moment after that, letting the warmth of the fire speak for them. Laughter swirled in the air, and the music picked up in the background. Y/n stared at the orange glow, her features unreadable, but her fingers tapped restlessly against her cup. She didn’t look again—not at him, not at her, not at anything but the fire. But Shoko and Utahime just exchanged a glance over her head, the kind two friends share when someone is still a few steps behind their own feelings. And they didn’t press her. They just stayed with her. Letting her catch up in her own time.

The bonfire blazed brighter as the night deepened, casting a warm glow over flushed faces and echoing laughter. Music pulsed low in the background, blending with the sounds of crackling wood and the occasional pop of pine sap in the flames. Y/n had somehow wandered from her quiet spot with Shoko and Utahime, the cup in her hand refilled once... twice… maybe three times. The punch had gone from "questionably sweet" to suspiciously smooth, and now the warmth in her chest had spread to her limbs and made her brain feel like it was wrapped in cotton. She found herself beside Geto, who sat comfortably on a log near the fire, legs stretched out and cup lazily dangling in one hand. Y/n leaned into him with surprising ease, her head wobbling slightly as she spoke more freely than usual.

“I just think,” she said with a soft slur, “that squirrels aren’t real. Like—think about it. They're too fast. You never see baby ones. And they look like spies.”

Geto, always the picture of calm, blinked at her before letting out a soft chuckle. “That’s a new conspiracy.”

“I’m just saying,” she mumbled, turning her bleary gaze to the fire. “If a squirrel ever looked me in the eye I think I’d die. Like spiritually.”

From across the fire, Shoko and Utahime burst into giggles. Utahime had her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking, while Shoko openly laughed, clearly enjoying this rare glimpse at unfiltered Y/n.

Geto raised a brow and turned to them. “Okay, seriously. What the hell is in this punch?”

Neither answered. Shoko just waved her hand innocently, still laughing.

Y/n sighed and tilted her head against his shoulder, blinking slowly. “You smell like... incense. And sandalwood. That’s weirdly comforting.”

Geto looked down at her, surprised. He wasn’t used to Y/n talking this much—let alone offering observations that sounded suspiciously like compliments.

“You're way more talkative like this,” he noted with a small smile.

“I never talk,” she agreed proudly, pointing to herself. “Very mysterious. I’m like... an enigma.”

“An enigma that just gave a five-minute rant about undercover rodents.”

Y/n snorted. She wobbled again, and this time Geto instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. She sagged into him without protest, warm and loose-limbed, her cheeks tinted from the heat or the alcohol or both.

“You’re not gonna throw up on me, are you?” Geto teased lightly.

“Noooo,” she slurred. “I’m good. I’m just... bonfire drunk. I think that’s legal.”

“Debatable.”

Y/n turned her head lazily toward him, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. “You ever feel like... like everyone else just gets it? And you’re just kind of watching everything happen around you?”

That, more than anything, caught Geto off guard. He stared at her for a moment, surprised by the sudden depth in her tone.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “More often than you'd think.”

Y/n nodded solemnly, as if he’d just confirmed a great universal truth.

“Don’t tell Gojo,” she added in a whisper. “He’ll make a joke. He always makes jokes.”

Geto chuckled again, softer this time. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

From across the fire, Shoko leaned toward Utahime and whispered, “He’s gonna have to carry her back to her cabin at this rate.”

Utahime giggled. “She’s going to die of embarrassment tomorrow.”

They both smiled fondly as Geto kept his arm around Y/n, steady and patient, letting her talk until her words slowed into silence, the warmth of the fire and the buzz of the night lulling her into drowsy quiet.

Gojo's laugh was half-hearted at best as the mystery girl continued clinging to his arm, her hand sliding down to lightly graze his. Her fingers toyed with the silver rings that adorned his hand, but he barely noticed. Because across the fire, he finally spotted her. Y/n. Tucked into the crook of Geto's side like she’d been there a thousand times. Her head rested low against his shoulder, face hidden in the hollow of his neck. She wasn’t just tipsy—she looked completely at ease. Comfortable. Soft in a way Gojo had never seen firsthand. The kind of softness that made his pulse throb in his ears. His brows knit briefly before smoothing out into a practiced expression of amusement. His eyes didn’t leave the sight in front of him. Geto's hand was at her waist, fingers splayed against the hem of her hoodie like they belonged there. That hand should not look that natural there. Gojo’s teeth clicked together behind the stretch of his smile. His fingers twitched at his side, and the laugh that passed his lips was strained and hollow. His chest burned with something unnameable, bitter and hot.

The girl beside him tugged gently at his sleeve. “Satoru?” she asked, watching his profile.

Without glancing at her, he suddenly grinned—sharp and bright.

“Hey, wanna get out of here?” he said smoothly, finally looking at her with a tilt of his head.

Her eyes lit up. “Like… now?”

His smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, letting his voice dip into something lower, more playful—but unmistakably suggestive.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, watching her expression carefully. “I know a place… a little quieter.”

She nodded eagerly, flustered, and Gojo looped an arm around her shoulders like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. Because when he led her away from the firelight, his eyes flicked back—one last time—to Geto and Y/n. She hadn’t even noticed him. Didn’t see how his gaze lingered on her. Didn’t see how he tightened his jaw the moment she laughed at something Geto said. She didn’t see any of it. But maybe that was better… because even Gojo wasn’t sure he wanted to understand what this feeling was. All he knew was this: if he saw her in someone else’s arms again, he might not be able to keep pretending it didn’t matter.

Geto chuckled lowly, one brow raised in amusement as Y/n tried to wiggle from beneath the weight of his arm. “Whoa, where are you going?” he asked, his tone gentle, his grip attempting to anchor her in place.

Y/n huffed and half-laughed, cheeks flushed from the fire—or maybe the punch. “More juice,” she muttered, determined, brows furrowed in a mix of concentration and rebellion.

“Y/n—” Geto began, clearly unconvinced that she needed more of whatever was in that infernal bowl. But she’d already slipped from under his arm with a surprising burst of resolve. She stumbled a little as her boots met the uneven ground, but her focus didn’t waver.

Her solo cup dangled from her fingers, the last few drops swishing near the bottom as she made her way across the fire-lit clearing. It was only once she got to the table, however, that she noticed. Gojo was gone. She blinked at the empty space by the edge of the fire where he’d been not ten minutes ago, still hearing the echo of his too-loud voice and the way he’d cupped his hands to shout something at the DJ. Now? Vanished. And so was that girl. Y/n’s eyes swept the crowd, scanning the dancing silhouettes, the half-drunk counselors swaying to the beat, laughter rising like smoke. No sign of his stark white hair, his ridiculously long limbs, or that cocky grin.

Something buzzed in her chest—low and instinctual. Unsettled. Clutching her cup, she wandered further past the ring of firelight, steps guided by something that felt more than just tipsy curiosity. Her boots crunched softly over the pine-needle-strewn ground as she veered off the main path and into the shadows beyond. That’s when she heard it. A low, breathy laugh. A soft moan muffled into someone’s jacket. Y/n froze just as the clearing came into view. There—on a wide tree stump, nestled between two half-fallen logs—was Gojo. His arms were wrapped lazily around the girl from earlier, her fingers twisted in his hair, their mouths pressed together with the kind of ease that only came from practice… or too much punch.

Y/n couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t meant to find them. She hadn’t even known where she was going. But now, standing just within the tree line, half in shadow, she couldn’t look away. Her fingers tightened around her cup, the plastic creaking beneath her grip. It felt like her stomach had been scraped clean. The haze of alcohol cleared in an instant, replaced by a cold clarity that hurt worse than any hangover ever could. She stared a moment too long. Long enough to see the way Gojo’s hand slid down to the girl’s hip, how he whispered something in her ear that made her giggle and tug him closer. Y/n stepped back. Her foot crunched a dry branch beneath her boot, and the sound jolted her enough to finally drop the cup. It landed with a soft thud, rolling into the dirt, forgotten. She didn’t wait to see if they noticed. She turned on her heel and walked back the way she came, head down, hands in the pocket of her hoodie. Her heart thudded against her ribs, each beat louder than the last. The bonfire was still glowing in the distance behind her, laughter and music still echoing through the trees like nothing had changed.

The walk back to her cabin felt longer than it ever had. Maybe it was the way the music from the bonfire grew quieter with every step she took, swallowed by the hush of the forest. Or maybe it was the ache in her chest—dull, but spreading like wildfire. She didn’t cry. Y/n didn’t cry.

Her hands stayed shoved deep in her hoodie pocket, fingers curled into trembling fists. Her boots thudded dully against the worn path, the cool night air biting at her cheeks as she kept her gaze locked forward. When she reached her cabin, she didn’t bother turning on the lights. The darkness felt safer. The door closed behind her with a soft click. That was the only sound. She stood in the middle of the room for a long moment, eyes slowly adjusting to the familiar shapes around her—her unmade bed, the mess of clothes by the dresser, the skates still drying by the heater.

Then she moved. Her hoodie came off first, followed by her vest. She peeled her clothes off with robotic precision, tossing them aside carelessly before collapsing onto the edge of the bed in nothing but her tank top and sweats. She sat there, hunched over, elbows resting on her knees, fingers dragging through her hair—undoing the neat little ponytails that Shoko and Utahime had helped her with just hours ago. The clips clattered to the floor.

It hit her then. Not all at once—but slowly, like the way frost forms across glass. Cold, creeping realization. She had no right to be upset. She and Gojo weren’t anything. Not really. There’d been banter. Teasing. That stupid smirk he wore whenever she tried to act unimpressed. The way he stood too close, talked too loud, paid attention like she mattered in a way most people never did. But that was just… him. Right?

She let out a shaky breath and leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, her thoughts a chaotic blur. It wasn’t just the kiss that hurt—it was how easily it happened. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like she was just another observer in the story he already knew how to write. Her hands found the blanket and clenched the fabric tightly. Why did it bother her so much? Why did it feel like something had been taken when nothing was ever hers to begin with? Y/n rolled over, burying her face into the pillow to stifle the soundless frustration clawing up her throat. The punch had worn off, but the haze it left behind was replaced by something worse. Clarity, and it hurt like a bitch.

Outside, laughter echoed like ghosts she couldn’t escape. But inside the cabin, Y/n laid still in the dark—wondering why it was so much easier to push people away than admit how badly she wanted to be wanted.

[xxsabitoxx]

Fushiguro Megumi hates clubs.

Quite literally nothing about the club scene is inviting to Megumi. Too many people crowded into a too-small space, too dark, too many lights, odd smells, constantly being bumped into, music blaring way too loud… the list goes on and on.

But there’s you. Someone who lives for going out to a club maybe once a month just to let loose… and he’ll be damned if he lets you leave the house alone in that way too short dress. So he sucks up his dislike for clubbing and accompanies you.

Every. Single. Time.

He usually stays off to the side, sitting in a booth or leaning against a wall. Somewhere his eyes can follow you regardless of where you wander too. You’re usually accompanied with friends, whether it be your old jujutsu tech classmates or some friends you made after graduation when you attended uni.

But tonight was different. You had nobody with you. “You still want to go even though nobody else can?” Megumi had questioned you earlier that day, a bit perplexed when you nodded enthusiastically. “I’m not going alone, Meg. You’re coming with me, remember?”

Yeah… he remembered alright.

Remembered so much that he had let you convince him to drink. Now, three shots and two mixed drinks later, he’s crammed into the packed dance floor with your back pressed flush to his front. It’s dizzying, the music vibrating the dance floor, the alcohol seeping through his veins, your body on his.

He can't think straight, his face feels like it's on fire and the rest of his body is not faring any better. Your hips guide him, swaying dangerously to the beat of the music as you lean into him. Megumi's grip on your hips is as strong as steel, skin feeling clammy from an accumulation of factors but he couldn't care less.

He lets you take the lead, since you're far more accustomed to this than he is. He lets you spin, your pupils dilated as your fronts are now pressing together as you beam up at him. He can see your lips moving but he can't hear a damn thing you're saying.

Your bodies are still moving in time to the music, your arms snaking up to wrap around his neck as you guide him.

Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's how close your bodies are, or maybe it's the girl who accidentally bumps into your back and pushes you impossibly closer to Megumi. It doesn't matter though, because the next thing he knows, his lips are crushed to yours.

It's suffocating, he's pulling away with flushed cheeks as you gasp for air. That doesn't last long either, your hands pulling him back down to you in a series of feverish, needy kisses.

Fushiguro Megumi hates clubs... but you've changed his mind

*Alexa play Heavy Metal Lover by Lady Gaga” Hehehe Megumi makes the brain go brrr >:3

Banner from @/cafekitsune

[seranextdoor]

TIPSY ~ LEON S. KENNEDY

Summary: Fucking a bartender in the back seat of his car was the last thing Leon had in mind after successfully retrieving Ashley back to safety.

Word count: 4.495k / Warning: Mild dubcon because Leon is tipsy. Anything is just pure filth.

Pairing: Post Re4 Remake! Leon S. Kennedy X Fem! Bartender! Reader.

Author note: got horny and accidentally vomit out 4k words of leon fucking you. sorry, it's just the girl tendencies in me. read the tags to know what to expect!!! 🤍

mature contents below the cut. mdni.

Leon needed some sort of a quick stress reliever.

His knuckles gradually turned white as he tightly gripped his steering wheel. His chin leaning on his other hand, the faint buzzing noise from the radio accompanied by his soft breathing was the only company he had. Leon had debated with himself, a part of him missed his bed like crazy, all he wanted to do was bury his body between the soft cushions and dozed off into a long, serene slumber. But a part of him itches for something. He needed a drink, anything to get that surge of dopamine in his body. Need the familiar bile taste to settle in his mouth as he chugs it down his throat, letting it burn his chest.

Leon Scott Kennedy needs some alcohol in his system. Desperately.

Running his gloved fingers thru his damp hair, Leon let out a soft chuckle upon seeing a bar from afar, almost as if his desperate plea was answered by God himself. Its neon sign flashing OPEN 24/7 in bright red LED lights, he could see a few drunkards already passing out on the sidewalk, holding onto their beer bottles before he parked his car around the corner. Putting his car keys in his pocket, Leon budged open the door of the bar, greeted by the sound of the bell atop the door chimes. The heavy scent of tobacco, hard liquor and sweat was evident as it clings to the air— not to mention the odour of sex grows stronger and pungent as he goes even deeper into the crowds to reach the counter.

Leon finds himself a seat on one of the stools, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips before the feeling of someone standing over him crept onto him. He lifted his face, sparing a small, tired smile at you as you returned with a polite one.

‘Cute,’ He thought.

“You look tired, want me to fix you up with something?” You raised your voice a little, making sure he can hear you amid the blasting music as you leaned closer to him, Leon got a slight whiff of your refreshing, floral perfume. It was pleasant, a stark contrast from the stench that the bar seemed to be festering with. You were pretty, clad in a black blouse with your sleeves rolled to your elbow, a beige apron wrapping around your waist as you pressed your hands on the counter with a bright smile on your face.

“Just a shot of Vodka, please,” Leon replied, his eyes remaining trained on your face. You give his request a firm nod, turning your back to Leon as he watches you step on a stool before reaching for the bottle of Vodka on the top shelf.

“Need some help there?” Leon teased, a soft chuckle emitted from him as you rolled your eyes teasingly. “Thanks, but no thanks.” You replied to him, getting off the stool before you turned to face him again.

Putting the shot glass in front of him before you pour the Vodka in, making sure not to overflow the shot glass. “Thank you, pretty girl.” He whispered, his voice dropping an octave lower before you flash him a grin, your cheeks heating up before you remain your composure.

“Anytime, handsome.”

Sure, you’ve been flirted by your customers before. Mostly by married older men who're too drunk to even form a proper sentence, easing you into coming back home with them and they’ll show you a great time. You wouldn’t be too phased with it, assuming it was just the liquor talking— but this? This was different.

Somehow hearing this attractive man you have never seen before calling you a pretty girl sent heat coursing up your cheeks. Maybe it’s his looks or his voice, or the fact that you hadn’t been able to fuck for weeks since you were too busy with bartending and college classes hence you being fairly sexually frustrated but you paid extra attention to him.

Not that he’s complaining, Leon’s not the type to turn a lady’s attention away from him.

“You’re new here?” You strike up a conversation with him which is something you would normally avoid to do so. Leon smirked at you, chugging down the Vodka shot in one go before he let out a sharp breath. His eyes met back to yours before he cocked his head to the side, “Yeah, just wanted to find somewhere to rest, past weeks have been crazy.” He replied, his eyes shifted to the empty shot. “I might be here for a while, mind keeping a tab for me?” Leon poured himself another shot, his finger grazing around the rim of the shot glass before looking up into your eyes.

“Aren’t you too young to be bartending?"

“What are you a cop or something?” You raised your eyebrow with a teasing smile on your lips, jotting down his tab before pushing it to the side. A chuckle left his lips before Leon speaks again, “Eh, kind of. So how old are you?"

“21. No breaking laws here, officer.” Slightly raising both of your hands in the air jokingly, Leon grinned at your antics, chugging his second shot of Vodka.

“No worries, pretty girl. But why here, though? Why work in a bar?”

“It pays me well plus I needed some quick cash. My dad isn’t too keen on giving me some money so here I am.” You said, pouring him his third shot of Vodka as he smiled at you.

“How come?”

“Let’s just say he's not the nicest.” You shrugged, watching as his adam apple's bobs every time he chugged the Vodka shot down his throat. His pale cheeks already began to redden up a little, adoring his porcelain skin with a pink tint. Leon extended his hand to you and you happily accepted it, giving him a firm handshake before you exchanged introductions with each other.

“Leon Kennedy. And you are?”

“[Y/N] [L/N].”

The two of you converse for hours, pouring him shot after shot and with every shot he takes, Leon would flirt with you. He’s still pretty sober despite the high intake of Vodka shots, he seems pretty calm in his seat— occasionally winking at you when you’re serving other customers and throwing cheesy pick-up lines between the conversation.

Leon can’t lie but finds himself attracted to you, ordering more and more drinks in hopes of keeping your attention on him. He loves the way you blushed at the slightest contact of his hands or the way you would look at him back with a twinge of desire circling behind those eyes of yours. Fuck, you’re too hot for him to be this tipsy.

Once in a while when you were talking, his eyes would shift down to your lips, cock straining against his pants as you licked your lips and looked up to him with that evident obliviousness plastered all over your pretty face to his impure thoughts.

“Your total is 200 dollars. Cash or card?” You smiled at him, handing him the tab you had for him with a card reader in your other hand. Leon ran his card swiftly on the card reader before he put them back into his wallet and stuffed them back into his pocket. Shifting your eyes to the clock, a hint of disappointment could be seen on your face before you quickly muster a small smile for Leon.

“It’s already twelve? Well, it’s been nice talking to you, Leon." Untying the beige apron around your waist, you placed it on the lower counter. Leon was quick to wrap his fingers around your wrist to stop you in your tracks.

“I can give you a ride back home if you want.”

You can definitely say this was a different type of a ride back home.

“Your lips taste so fucking sweet."

Straddling his hips with your thighs wrapped around his waist at the backseat, Leon has his arm around your waist. His other hand cupped the right side of your face, circling his thumb on your cheek as you intertwined your lips with him. His tongue goes past your slick lips as his hand guides your head to tilt a little to deepen the heated kiss. Leon breaks away from the kiss, leaning his head back on the car seat as you look at him with a dazed smile.

“Shit, this is insane.” He muttered, his fingers running thru his dirty blonde hair. “What’s so insane about this?” You softly replied, your lips finding their way back to him as he happily reciprocated, kissing you back with his tongue swirling with yours. His hand on your cheek moved to the back of your head, keeping your lips locked with his as you moaned into the kiss. Pulling away from the kiss for air, Leon strokes your hair as he runs his fingers thru your locks.

“Never really made out with a girl prior after knowing her for a couple of hours." Leon chuckled, his head slightly tilted as he looked back into your eyes with a half-lidded stare. He can feel the heat radiating from your cunt and God knows how much of the effect you had on him. “Well, I don’t usually accept a ride back home from a stranger but here we are.”

“It’s a first for the two of us then.” He grinned, a devilish smirk playing on his lips before his hand removed his hand from the back of your head. Unwrapping his arm around your waist, Leon moved both of his hands and settled them on your hips. His thumb makes a circular motion on the surface of your stomach as hummed with satisfaction. “You can do more than that, can you, officer?"

Right. You don't even know what he actually works as. That’s how little you two know of each other and yet his bodies and yours slotted perfectly like two pieces of puzzles. As if the two of you had known each other forever. Leon preferred the anonymity between the two of them.

“You’re going to make me lose control if you keep calling me that," Leon chuckled, the sound of his husky voice ringing in your ears. You noticed how your lipgloss was all over his lips, the beautiful pink sheen smeared on his lips down to his chin. “What should I call you then? Daddy?”

Leon let out a groan, his smile widening at the way your voice sounded when you rolled the word daddy off the tip of your tongue smoothly— you’re can’t be teasing him when he’s this horny and tipsy. He can't even think properly, too fixated on the positions he can put you in at the back seat of his car, clouding his mind with endless indecent imagination. He swallowed thickly, looking back at your eyes as you bit your lower lip back at him and flashed him a playful smile. “Say it again.”

“Daddy.” You breathed out, eyes shooting wide when his fingers brushed against your collarbone as he pried your blouse open, sending the buttons of your blouse to fly everywhere. Your body tensed up from the sudden action, his warm breath hitting against your skin as he kissed your collarbone and stopped between your chest. “Yeah, call me that.”

“Gladly.” Pulling away from your chest, he leaned in closer to your face, pulling your face into his as he smashed his lips on yours— engaging you into a messy, sloppy kiss. His tongue forcefully parted your pursed lips, exploring every corner of your mouth as you let out a pathetic whine when he pulled away. “God, you’re so needy. My needy little girl,” You can feel the ache between your thighs building up when he called you a little girl. Your cunt throbbed against the thin fabric of your cotton panties as he slipped his hand down your pencil skirt, his index finger teasing the pulsing little clit thru the fabric of your panties in a circular motion as he softly chuckled when you began to squirm in his grasp.

“You're already so wet. You’re excited for daddy to fuck you stupid?” He whispered into your ear, shooting shivers down your spine as you nodded at his question. “Let me hear your voice, pretty girl.” Leon landed a firm spank on your ass, sending your back straight as your fingers cling to his black T-Shirt. “I-I am excited...”

“There's my good girl. Open your mouth for me.” You obeyed him, parting your lips before he stuck the same index and middle finger he teased your clit earlier. “Get it nice and wet for your pussy, baby.” Leon smiled, occasionally letting out a grunt as the warmth of your mouth and your hot tongue wrapped around his digits.

All Leon could do is wish it was his cock you were sucking, taking every inch of his shaft down your throat. He wanted to see the outline of his cock on your throat, fucking your mouth while his balls slapped against your chin as he leaves you breathless. But for now, he’d settle with fingering your pretty pussy open.

“You’re so cute sucking my fingers like that,” He breathed out, pulling his fingers out from your mouth as it let out a small pop. “Thank you, daddy.” You shyly muttered, cheeks heating up upon feeling his cock twitching in his pants and grazing against your clothed sex.

“Spread your legs up a little for daddy, baby.” Your knees dug into the cushion of his car seat as you leaned your body on his front seat. His hands helped you roll your skirt up to your pelvis. Your fingers reach down to push your panties aside, spreading the lips apart as his breath hitches. Leon mumbled a curse, his pants getting tighter and tighter by each time as he salivates over the sight of your sopping cunt.

“All this pretty pussy just for me?” You nodded at his question in which he slipped back his hand between your thighs. Leon removed the gloves from his hands before throwing them to the front seat.

“S’all for you,” Your words were slurred from fixating on the ache between your legs so much. He grinned upon hearing your answer, inserting two digits past the tight muscles as your body shuddered in pleasure. His thumb makes its way to your clit, rubbing them at a slow pace and in a circular motion. Arching your body into his touch, Leon let out a chuckle— his other hand pushing your bra up your breast before the rough surface of his palm quickly fondled your tits.

“F-Fuck... Just like that...” You moaned out, throwing your head back from pure ecstasy as his hand massaged your tit while his fingers were pumping in and out of your pussy. Apart from the sound of your wanton moans, the squelches of your cunt sucking in his fingers and the low buzz coming from the radio filled the limited space of his car. “You like that? You like getting fingered by a stranger? God, I bet you did this to all of your customers, don’t you?”

You should’ve found that disrespectful, should’ve snapped back at him for thinking that way but somehow it made you wetter. His voice was soothing and had the right amount of hoarseness that you can’t help but get off from him shaming you. Either way, you shook your head in the heat of your bliss, looking back at him with misty eyes. “No, just you, Leon... You’re the only one that I-I let you do this...”

“Good. That's what I wanted to hear from you.” He smiled before he picked up the pace of his fingers, rubbing your clit in a rougher and sloppier manner. Lips parting slightly, you gasped for air, seemingly taken aback by the sudden change of pace as your nails dug deep into his shoulder blades, gripping him tightly with the familiar knot in your lower stomach threatened to break. He loves the feeling of your spongy walls wrapped around his digits, pulsing and sucking his fingers deeper and deeper until his fingers brushed against your sweet spot.

“Oh, you love that, don’t you? Filthy whore.” The name-calling made your pussy clings onto his digits tighter as a sly smirk painted all over his lips. “Such a slut for getting off to me calling you a filthy whore, huh?” You weakly nodded, feeling yourself nearer to your limit as a whine left your lips when his fingers were pumping deep inside of you, abusing your sweet spot to its limits. Your teeth bite back your lower lip when he spits on your clit, smearing his saliva all over the bundle of nerves with his thumb.

“You’re so fucking hot, I can’t wait to have you crying on my cock.” He said in a whisper, making sure you heard him despite the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling at the moment. “L-Leon, I'm... Fuck!... C-Cummin’” You cried, not caring if anyone that walked past his car would notice how your bare body is played by Leon like a piece of instrument. God, being seen nude by people now was the least concern you had, the only thing you could think about now is finishing on his fingers.

But what’s the fun in letting his little girl have everything her way?

“No, no, I’m not letting you cum, yet.” Leon pulled out his fingers out of your sensitive cunt, wrapping his tongue around his digits as he cleaned your juices off his pruney fingers. You pouted at his words, a frustrated sigh left your lips as you leaned your head on the window. “Why not?” You asked with your eyebrows furrowed into a small frown, it was clear you weren’t happy with him suddenly edging you. His eyes on you softened before he wrapped his arms around your body, his lips pressed on your bruised lips before he gave it a little lick.

“You don’t want to cum all over daddy’s dick?” Leon asked, once again, his thumb rubbing the bone of your hip in a circular motion. His eyes looked back at yours as he put his finger under your chin, lifting your face up to make you look up at him.

“It's going to feel nicer, princess. Don't you want that?”

He was right. God, why does he always know what to say to you? He arranged words in a way that weakened your knees and sent the same aching mess rushing back between your legs.

“I do, I do want it...” You weakly replied to him. Leon doesn't think you know how pretty you are now, looking up at him with those dew eyes, the clear desperation painted across your face and the way you already began to rub your thighs together. Getting you off his lap, he opened the right door of his car. You couldn’t help but stared at his erection, straining against his black jeans as Leon unbuckled his brown, leather belt. “Come here, princess.” He gestured for you to be closer as you listened to him, inching closer to him as the cold air from the outside hits your skin. His hand reached down to tease your hardened nipples, letting a glob of his spit fall down to your chest as he lathered your nipples with his saliva and pre cum using the tip of his cock.

“It's cold, isn’t it? Don’t worry, I’d heat you up just in a sec. Ass up, face down, pretty girl.” You nodded, turning your back to him before bringing your hips higher as the leather of his car seat sticks to the sweat on your face. His cold fingers removed your panties, letting them hang just above your knees as his eyes stared at your dripping cunt with hungry eyes. A small gasp emits out of you when he tapped his cock on your slit several times, teasing your swollen clit with the head of his dick as you bite your lips back.

“Keep quiet, okay? I need you to take every inch of me like a good girl. Just let me know if it hurts.” A grunt left his lips when he pushed the tip past your lips, his other hand holding onto the doorframe of his car while the other settled around your waist. Leon wanted nothing but to push his cock and filled every corner of your tight cunt but he controlled himself from doing so. After all, the last thing he wanted to do is to hurt you after how sweet you are for him this whole night. “The head’s in... I’m going to start pushing more and more, okay?”

“O-Okay...” You whine, breathing heavily as your chest heaves up and down in an erratic pattern.

“Fuck, [Y/N], you need to stop sounding like that before...” Leon cut himself short, by now he was already halfway in you, the feeling of your velvet walls throbbing around his cock made his mouth dry before a shaky breath left his lips. A low whimper guttered out of his throat as you trembled under him, allowing him to bury his cock deeper and deeper into your pussy until your ass met his pelvis. “Feel that, princess?”

You moaned out a high-pitched yes to his question, throwing a glance at him over your shoulder as you looked at him through blurry vision. Salty tears clinging to your lashes with your bruised lips parted slightly, your eyes looking back at him with nothing but sheer desire. Leon spared you a smirk, pushing back his hair from his face before his hand landed yet another spank on your ass— seemingly turned on by the way you yelped and squeezed around him.

“Keep your eyes on me while I fucked you like the filthy whore you are.”

Leon begins to rock his hips at a slow pace, making sure you’re still adjusting to his size, his eyes shifting back and forth from your face to the way your cunt wraps snugly around his cock. Leaning closer to you until his chest pressed against your back, Leon planted a kiss on your earlobe. “You’re making me drunk from how good your pussy is, baby.” He said, kissing down the nape of your neck before he stood up back straight and began to move his hips faster.

This might just be the relief Leon needed after all of the fighting he had to endure.

“Hey, no looking away.” Every so often, he’d spanked you for not looking him in the eyes. He needs to see every contortion of expression on your face while you locked eyes with him. Leon knows you struggled to keep your eyes open, losing yourself in the pleasure as his throbbing cock goes in and out of you at a steady pace. And Leon loves it. He loves making sure your eyes are still on him, whether by spanking your already sore rear or suddenly thrusting deep inside of you to hear the small little scream you make when you’re surprised.

“Sorry, daddy.” And every time he does that, you never fail to apologize to him between your choked sobs and broken moans. It was endearing to watch, seeing you try your best to not disappoint him while he’s fucking your pussy raw in the back seat of his car. The shape of his fingers is already bruising into the skin of your flesh, the mixture of both pain and pleasure sending you over the edge as you curl your toes every time the tip of his cock grazes against your cervix. The prominent vein on the side of his cock rubbed against your walls with every thrust, fishing muffled moans out of you.

“Touch your clit for me, baby.” You’re so pathetic like this, being fucked in the backseat of a guy you just knew a few hours ago. But you knew what would happen the second you agreed to a ride back home from him. Not that you regretted it, being dicked down by Leon has been nothing but heaven for you. Obeying to his order, your hand travelled down between your thighs, putting your index finger on your swollen clit before easing it in a circular motion. “Good girl.” He growled, picking up the pace of his thrusts before he stopped in his tracks. Sweat hanging at the tip of his hair as he looked down to the ground, the pleasure was too much for him.

He can just cum any second now if he moves. Taking notice of his sudden pause, you grind your cunt into his dick, pushing him back into the warmth of your pussy as his eyes shoot wide. “F-Fuck, baby, you can’t…” He stuttered, the feeling of your tight cunt pulsing around his cock and the way your ass bouncing on him was too much for him to handled. Gritting his teeth, Leon pushed your head back down onto the leather seat, his other hand keeping a firm grip around your hips as he started to snap his hips at a rougher pace.

“Fucking slut, can’t even give daddy a rest.” He cursed under his breath, his cock ramming into your pussy deeper as if he were moulding the shape of his dick into your sweet cunt. Every last of self-control left his body the second you started bouncing on his cock. Leon couldn’t care less at the fact that you had already cummed on his cock once or how he rendered you into nothing but a crying mess— all he cared about is the high he was chasing.

Leon needed that sweet release. He needed to cum deep inside of your pussy despite having no rubber on. “I'm going to cum inside, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck….” You probably can’t hear it but Leon finds it adorable how you’re nodding your head to whatever he said. Throwing his head in pure bliss, Leon finally comes undone inside of you, shooting sticky webs of his seed deep into your cunt before he stays inside of you for a couple of minutes as he catches his breath. His cum overflows out from your pussy the seconds he pulls out, dripping down between your thighs and dirtying his leather seat with his cum and your juices.

“You're so pretty like this, [Y/N].” He groaned, putting his pants back up. Leon fished out his cell phone from his pocket, pressing the camera icon as he started recording.

“You’re recording…?” You asked, instinctively hiding your face from the camera as he laughed. “Yeah, I wouldn't want to forget a moment like this.” Leon calmly said, his fingers running between the lips as he scooped up his cum and started writing his initials on your lower back. He dragged the white, translucent liquid as he formed the L. S. K. alphabets on your skin.

“Perfect.”

p.s send me any thirsts (dc are welcomed) abt leon pls or carlos or any cod members. thank u ♡ english isn't my first language so if any of the sentences sound weird, just ignore it!!!!! anyway, thank u 4 readin’ this messy pornfic lol

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 21 | Uninvited Judgements

summary: you were invited to a party by one of your friends, of course you brought Matt, your boyfriend along despite him being slightly younger, everything was going by smoothly and everyone was having great fun until you went out to the bathroom and when you came back you saw your drunken friends surrounding Matt, not suggesting anything good by their loud laughter…

warnings: ANGST, heavy language, arguing, party setting, drunk guests, bullying, age discrimination, age gap, all of the drinking characters are of age please drink responsibly and be aware of the possible consequences! & possibly more

authors note: nnn is soon coming to an end and the Christmas season will start which means… more Christmas fics! (And more smut) I am already feeling the spirit and love this season so much, also sorry for not posting this fic when I was supposed to but something personal happened and I couldn’t finish it that day and I hope y’all understand , but anyway luv y’all sm and hope y’all enjoy this one

The music bounced through the walls of the small apartment, a vibrant background to the laughter and conversation that filled the air. Matt adjusted the collar of his shirt, visibly feeling a little self-conscious under his excitement. He was still getting used to being around my friends, most of them were several years older than him. We had been dating for a few months now and while I loved spending time with him, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was still trying to prove himself.

I took his hand and squeezing it gently. “I’ll just be gone a minute,” I said, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Just need to use the bathroom. You okay to hang out here?” “Yeah, I’m good,” he replied, forcing a smile. “I’ll grab a soda or something.” As I slipped away into the crowded bathroom, Matt leaned against the counter and glanced around. Most of the partygoers were off in groups, cups in hand and laughter mixing with the music. He was about to reach for a drink when he noticed a couple of my friends gathering near him, their faces flushed and attitude high from the alcohol they have consumed.

“Look who it is!” one of my friends Mary slurred, her eyes shining with mischief. “Little Matt. What’s he doing here all by himself? Waiting for his mom to pick him up?” Matt felt heat rush to his cheeks, an uncomfortable mix of embarrassment and irritation. “I’m fine,” he muttered, trying to brush off the comments but the lack of a reaction from him it only encouraged the others. “Oh come on!” another friend chimed in with her laughter ringing loud. “You’re dating a woman who could practically be your aunt! What is she like, 25?” The group burst into drunk giggles, clearly enjoying the show of the younger guy, considering him as an easy target.

Matt clenched his fists at his sides, feeling a swirl of emotions and his gut twisted in upset. The teasing only got worse, the insults sharper, the references to our age gap digging deeper until he just couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m not a kid for gods sake,” he shot back but his voice barely cut through the intense crowd. Their laughter only grew louder, cutting off his words. When I finally returned with a bright smile lighting my face while Matt was the opposite, livid and his skin prickling with anger. I noticed the tension immediately as I maneuvered through the crowd toward him.

“Everything okay?” I asked concerned looking from him to my drunken friends who had just finished their turn of jokes. “They think it’s hilarious that I’m younger,” he said, unable to keep the annoyance from his voice. “Why do you even hang out with people who think it’s okay to make fun of someone like that?” I looked caught off guard while blinking rapidly. “I don’t think they meant anything by it, Matt. They were drunk and you know how that goes. They joke around, they don’t always know where to draw the line.” “A line?” he snapped and frustration spilling out of his expression. “It feels fucking disrespectful to make jokes about someone’s age! Like I’m some boy toy you’re just playing around with. Do you think I like being the center of their jokes?”

“Matt, just chill out for a second,” I ushed, raising your hands for him to calm down. “You know they didn’t mean for it to hurt you. It’s just banter! They were drunk—” “No, it’s not just banter!” he raised his voice louder than he intended. “It’s condescending and you’re just brushing it off like it doesn’t matter!” I felt my heart racing, a mixture of anger and hurt beginning to swirl in my veins “You’re making a huge deal out of this. They’re not bad people, they were having a good time! You can’t just get upset over everything people say when they’re drinking!” “It’s not ‘everything’! It’s just this! Ugh!” he exclaims, frustration lacing every syllable that left past his mouth. “Sometimes I feel like you don’t even see how it affects me. You just make excuses for them.” With that, one of my friends—a guy named Jake who had been listening nearby—snorted. “Who knew Matt had such thin skin? Can’t handle a little fun?”

Matt’s gaze flicked toward Jake, becoming stiff in his stance. “And you’re an ass.” “That’s rich, coming from someone who’s basically a kid,” Jake retorted and shaking his head. “Matt, just ignore him,” I pleaded but he was too far gone now. “No, fuck this…” he muttered, stepping away from the group who had been laughing at his expense. He turned to me with his eyes blazing. “I’m not playing this game. I’m not gonna sit here and take your friends’ bullshit. I’m done.” Before I could get a single word out past my lips, Matt turned on his heel and moved toward the exit, the door slamming behind him. The sound echoed in the now silent apartment as everyone exchanged glances, the party suddenly feeling much less exciting.

I tried to process what had just happened, a storm of emotions swirling inside of me. My friends still buzzing from the drinks, didn’t have the capacity to understand. They were just drunk and careless. But Matt? His feelings were painfully real and visible for anyone and my heart sank knowing I would have to find him and somehow make sense of this mess my drunk friends have put me in now.

@hearts4werka |

𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 🏷️ | @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknott - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - @sturniolosiphone - @sophand4n4 - @zombiesturniolo - @luvleyangeldust |

[yawujin]

woaa could i order some uhhhh russia, turkey, america, and england with a gn!reader who's a lightweight w alcohol and gets real sappy, more affectionate n touchy ykwim? thank youuu :3

ofc !! 🍻 as someone who has a very low alcohol tolerance, this will be a breeze for me to write lmao. thanks for the req!!

request | russia , turkey , america & england x lightweight! reader

type | head canon format , cute , mentions of drinking alcohol , gender neutral reader

russia/ivan braginsky ♡

he's always amused when he is accompanied by someone who gets tipsy after one drink, and drunk after two

he couldn't imagine what it's like to be like that

he isn't one to judge, but he likes to observe

if they ever need someone to hold their cup for any reason, russia would be the first to volunteer

they'll give him a big hug to thank him for being such a gentleman, leaving him wondering if their affections mean anything more than just them being extra friendly due to the alcohol 💭

turkey/sadık adnan ♡

i feel like turkey is a happy drunk, after he's had so many drinks he'll find everything funny

he is the extrovert you would want to bring to a party, club or bar

he is extremely affectionate to them back, pulling them into his arms for a tight hug

he'll begin to praise them and say things such as "i'm glad you're here!!!"

america/alfred f. jones ♡

much like turkey, america finds himself laughing a lot after he's had a few drinks

their ability to get intoxicated after only 2-3 drinks makes him feel better about himself seeing as he usually has the lowest alcohol tolerance in whatever group he's with

he'll poke fun at them as they lean unto him, feeling their own body become more feverish little by little.

"dude, you're like so drunk and we just started drinking!" he pats their head, completely charmed by them

england/arthur kirkland ♡

takes him a BIT to get to complete drunkenness

so, in the meantime he takes care of them

ie: making sure they don't trip, holding their drink if they need him to do so, maybe ordering them a water instead of another pint lol

but as soon as he starts getting drunk...

he starts to become just as sappy as they are

he throws compliments like he never has before, not hesitating to touch them back

help??? why did that sound so 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

[arcane-vagabond]

This Victorian Doctor AU for Dr. Robby is quickly becoming an Alienist type AU just FYI

[viperwhispered]

If you're still thinking of making a playlist, feel free to add "Be Mine" by Ofenbach and "Kick up Your Heels" by Jessica Mauboy ft.Pitbull.

Context: During the early 20th century, alcohol was prohibited in the United States. This lead to uncontrolled secret distribution of alcohol and secret bars everywhere (fun fact: it was alcohol dealing that made Al Capone so powerful). The most iconic of these bars were speakeasies: secret illegal clubs that sold good alcohol while playing jazz (fun fact: these bars went a long way to pushing gender and racial equality by having everyone being able to dance & drink together).

Which brings me to this scenario: Jamil sneaking out of weekends to dance the night away and enjoy precious moments of freedom without Kalim. During these escapades, he meets the reader and the two get closer of months of several encounters. At some point they meet outside of the bar, but they pretend to be aquaintances at most. They get so into each other that they start subtly flirting even outside the bar.

Eventually we get to the moment that ecompases the songs (Be Mine is Jamil's perspective and Kick up Your Heels is the reader's). After weeks of subtle flirting, the two are finally tipsy enough to flirt more openly. Jamil goes in first and the reader playfully flirts back. They dance the night away and end up leaving together back to reader's apartment (don't worry Jamil has the weekend off and Najma owes him so she'll cover for him).

Cue adorable morning after with kisses, cuddles, Jamil making breakfeat, and the reader wearing his clothes.

(Boy if the music video for the Ofenbach song doesn’t look like it was made for total wish fulfillment for the artists, lol. Song's a total banger, tho (after listening to it a lot while working on this).)

I’m also gonna add Shut Up and Dance by Walk The Moon to the list because the vibes totally fit (and I’ve definitely thought of it in regards to Jamil before).

I do love the idea of reader meeting Jamil in an environment where he can be more free. Just, how different of an experience is it, when the dance floor is your first impression of him, rather than the Jamil at NRC or the Asim estate? When he’s actually letting go, being himself and just having a good time.

Plus like, presumably in the Scalding Sands Jamil’s job is not so 24/7 anyway, since there’s other servants around too to look after Kalim. So yay for actual free time.

And because I totally vibe with this & have thought of something similar before, I wanted to turn this into a bit of fic.

Post-NRC, Jamil x reader, written with a fem reader in mind, nsfw

The club, 22:30

You surveyed the club, your eyes insisting on looking for one person in particular, but to no avail.

No matter. Whether or not your favorite dance partner - or your acquaintance, or your crush, or whatever the hell he was to you - would turn up tonight, you could still have fun.

So, when a good song came on, you slid to the dancefloor, determined to dance the night away one way or another. You still had the whole night ahead of you, after all.

Not that you would have minded the company.

The club, 23:12

While you were queueing up for a drink, Jamil was the one who found you.

“I was wondering if you’d turn up,” you said with a grin, leaning closer to be heard over the music.

“And miss you? No way.”

You laughed and shook your head. It really was unfortunate how attractive that cocky grin was on Jamil.

“Wouldn’t have been the first night I’ve had to make do without you,” you said lightly.

“Well, tonight I can be all yours,” Jamil replied, his hand ghosting at the small of your back.

You grinned - you had to admit, you quite liked the sound of that.

The club, 23:27

Over the past few months there had been times when you caught Jamil looking at you as if he was evaluating you, measuring you. Yet, whenever he actually got close to you, that was all gone, replaced by pleasantries and barely concealed playfulness.

Today, however, there was a particular determination to him, one that had him shamelessly inching closer to you as you were talking over your drinks - as much as one could have a meaningful conversation talking over the thudding music.

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind,” you said, looking at Jamil from under your lashes while you sipped your drink.

“Well… I’ve been thinking that I wouldn’t mind sharing more than a dance with you,” Jamil said, his own drink nearly forgotten in his hands.

“Oh? What are you thinking?” you asked, stirring the remains of your drink with your straw, trying to affect a casual air despite your curiosity.

Jamil got close enough that you thought you could feel his breath on your skin.

“That I want to get to know you much better,” Jamil replied, an unmistakable sultry undercurrent to his tone. His hand had found its way to your arm, tracing light patterns on your skin.

Your eyes widened, a surprised laugh bubbling to your lips. My, what had gotten Jamil so bold tonight?

“Oh, and here I was just looking forward to some dancing,” you said with a playful grin.

Jamil might have gotten your heart to flutter, an unmistakable heat rising to your cheeks, but that didn’t mean you’d be that easily charmed.

“Just be prepared that once I get hold of you, I might not let go,” he said, lightly squeezing your arm.

“Dance with me, and then we’ll see,” you said with an amused shake of your head.

“Let’s start the show, then.”

With a laugh you grabbed Jamil’s hand, dragging him to the dancefloor, the beating of your heart rivaling the thud of the music.

There was such confidence to him, like Jamil had already ensured he’d get what he wanted and was just biding his time.

And you had to admit, you kinda liked it.

The club, 23:51

The song was one of your favorites and you couldn’t help singing along, moving your body to the beat. People were trickling in, but there was still space for both you and Jamil to let loose.

It was its own kind of delight, seeing how well you two could synchronize your movements. Stepping back and forth, circling each other, claiming a part of the dance floor all to yourselves. You grinned, watching the way Jamil leaned to the side, shrugging his shoulder, and you copied the move to the other direction, adding your own flourish with the snap of your hips.

After a few repeats there was a stutter in the music and you leaned forward, Jamil coming in to meet you, chest to chest. You lingered there for the briefest moment, your eye meeting, noses nearly brushing, before you pulled back and threw your hands up in the air for the chorus. You sang out the lyrics, let your body move as it wished, full-heartedly just enjoying yourself - and your company.

Sure, there was a part of you curious to find out just what Jamil could offer. But you’d come out here to have fun, and have fun you would.

Whatever would come later, would come later.

The club, 01:25

You were sweaty, your feet sore, your hair undoubtedly a mess at this point. Yet, you couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop relishing your time with Jamil.

Jamil’s hands were on your hips, following your movements, his chest flush to your back.

You had to admit, you loved the feeling of his body against yours, the way you swayed together. 

You also delighted in teasing him like this, feeling the hardness of his arousal when you ground your ass on him.

“I want you to be mine,” Jamil mouthed the lyrics of the song, his breath hot by your ear.

He brushed his lips by your skin, something akin to a kiss, and you could feel the warmth of it shoot straight to your core.

Idly, you wondered if Jamil would be able to hear your soft groan over the music as you leaned back, your hand fumbling in his hair to pull him even closer. That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed, his mouth now more insistent on the corner of your jaw.

At this point, it was getting harder and harder to remember all the other people around you, your decency slipping from your hands.

Oh, you had a good enough idea of how Jamil’s body fit against you, how it felt under your hands.

But it was not enough.

You wanted to see Jamil, every bit that was hidden under those clothes, wanted to pull his hair loose - or just pull it in general. Wanted to see how he’d look beneath you, above you, between your legs…

Just the thought of Jamil unraveling with you had warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach.

And the thought of his touch on you, unobstructed…

He really was such a temptation, one that you might not even want to resist at this point.

Your apartment, 01:44

You were not prepared for the hungry way Jamil devoured your lips, how firmly his hands pulled you flush against him.

Or the way he groaned into your mouth, the sound shooting straight to your core.

Oh, you needed more of that. Much more of that.

Your hands shot up, gripping onto him tightly, just as unwilling to let him go. You sought out that hair tie that had been taunting you all evening, your tongue sloppily meeting Jamil’s as you pressed yourself as close to him as you possibly could.

There were so many places you wanted to touch, so many spots you wanted to unveil, your hands racing all over Jamil in a desperate attempt to fulfill all your desires at once.

Jamil’s lips were so wonderfully kiss-swollen, his hair hanging loose and his shirt halfway off him. If you hadn’t been so eager for more, you would’ve stopped to admire the sight and commit it to memory.

Instead, your greedy hands slipped under his top, relishing in the skin to skin contact while Jamil was busy with getting you to a similar state of undress, his eyes burning as his lips descended upon you again, stealing your breath away.

Your apartment, 2:20

You rolled your hips, slowly, your palms resting on Jamil’s chest. He did indeed look absolutely ravishing beneath you, his tongue slightly sticking out through his parted lips, his gorgeous hair spilled over your pillows. Jamil’s hands on your ass were helping you move, urging you to take his cock even deeper.

You’d yield to him soon enough, but first you wanted to savor this. The hungry look Jamil bestowed upon you, the needy way his hands kept on mapping your body, the way his hips bucked beneath you.

At this point, simply calling Jamil your favorite dance partner certainly didn’t do him justice.

No, you’d love to have so much more of him, wanted to find out just how far you two could go.

You leaned down, your lips meeting once again. You braced your arms against the bed as you began to move in earnest. Your efforts were rewarded by Jamil’s needy groan, the way his grip tightened on you. He seemed to be just as drunk on you as you were on him, and just that fact was enough to make your head spin.

Your apartment, 9:40

It was a slow realization, remembering that you had company over, only to find the other side of your bed empty. However, as your senses slowly roused, you soon caught the sounds and smells coming from the kitchen.

Of course he had to be perfect enough to even cook for you, you mused with some amusement.

With a stretch you willed yourself to leave the comfort of your bed, freshening yourself up quickly before padding your way to the kitchen.

You kind of hoped you’d been the one to wake up first. At least you could’ve cleared some of the mess.

It was such a domestic sight, Jamil busying himself at your stove, and you unexpectedly felt your throat tighten with the impact of it.

“I’m amazed you found something to work with,” you said, your words somewhere between apologetic and joking.

“It’s not how I’d keep my own kitchen, but it’s workable,” Jamil said matter-of-factly.

You couldn’t help a snort. What a way to sugarcoat your messy counters and sparse cupboards.

“Well. I’m glad it didn’t drive you off, at least,” you said with dry amusement.

You walked past Jamil to the sink, letting your fingers trace along his back and upper arm as you passed him by, conscious of not bothering his work.

Jamil, however, grabbed you by the waist and pulled you close, making you yelp in surprise.

“Good morning,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

All you could do was melt against him.

Bonus scene which didn’t really seem to fit the flow but I had to do something with these lyrics, too. A flashback to another night, maybe?

Jamil certainly knew how to move. Yet, there was still something carefully controlled about him.

You’d seen him, sometimes, when the night was late, how he really could let go and get swept up in the music.

Then again, you supposed you still hadn’t quite warmed up yourself, hadn’t forgotten about the way his eyes were on you.

Would another drink be a terrible idea?

Still, seeing the way Jamil was looking around, checking the crowds, made you frown. You tugged on his hand, turning his attention back on you.

"Oh, don't you dare look back. Just keep your eyes on me."

“You’re holding back, yourself,” Jamil said with a knowing look.

“Shut up and dance with me,” you said, smiling even as you rolled your eyes. 

Ngl, I’ve not done much song fics and it was fun weaving in bits of the lyrics and vibes in here - even if I chose to be a silly goose and use 3 songs at once.

Tag list: @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist

@perilous-pasta @twstgo

Do let me know if you'd like to be tagged for my future works!

[sp-growingpains]

I got a little more done today!! I'm so excited for more of Joel! Been thinking about him!

I take such a long time building new OCs. Building his playlist definitely helps. How do you guys usually go about making characters?

[timetravelstudies]

GOD I LOVE people and humans beings and such. Yeah❤️

[victorluvsalice]

After much editing, the third chapter of "Londerland Bloodlines: Downtown Queensland" is up! Featuring Alice snatching a certain briefcase for Fat Larry; murdering a certain Russian mafia boss for Venus Dare; and questioning a certain homeless fellow to get more information on those plaguebearers. Plus dealing with everyone's favorite annoying ghoul Patty along the way. This one's a bit of a doozy -- I recommend you pace yourself!

[youcaneven]

GRETA VAN FLEET

[mistymisfit]

Btw yeah, I'm alive and I'll post part 3 of my fic soon. I'm just unmotivated and busy (got drunk as hell and haven't recovered ever since). I posted a bit of part 3 on ao3 if you want to read it!

[chelliebelle]

I DON'T SEE A RING ON YOUR FINGER | n. kento

꩜ SUMMARY . . having just finalized his divorce, a bitter kento tries to find the end to his sorrows in the bottom of a liquor bottle. but when a pretty young thing comes fluttering by his side, he decides there's no better time to get laid than now. ꩜ WORD COUNT . . 4.9k words of flith <333 ꩜ CONTAINS . . smut, divorcee!kento, reader is described as slutty, age gap (reader is in her early twenties and kento is in his late thirties), sexual frustration, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, pussy slapping, spanking, rough sex, biting, spitting, they're kind of drunk, choking, bruising, pussy drunk!kento ꩜ AUTHOR'S NOTE . . kento's balls practically shriveled during his sexless marriage so best believe he's gonna enjoy himself!!

Nanami Kento had it all. 

A two-story house in the suburbs, a high-paying job, a beautiful wife—he had the perfect life. And damn did he hate every second of it. He hated waking up in that house to greet his nosy neighbors, hated driving to his soul sucking office job, and especially hated going home to his wife every night. She’d leave him leftovers in the fridge and kiss him goodnight before bed, and Kento would stay up every night wondering how to escape this limbo.

Tonight was the first time he felt free in years. Sitting at some shitty bar he can't remember the name of, he absentmindedly fiddled with his wedding band. Months ago, this little piece of metal meant everything. A loving marriage. A promise of a future. A sign of success. Now? It's just a worn-out ring that he can't throw out.

Kento sighed, setting it down on the table in favor of a glass of whiskey, letting it burn down his throat as he took a sip. He was never a drinker, but maybe it was something he repressed over the years. What else had he missed out on while trying to play Mr. Perfect?

Right, sex.

Kento was so obsessed with a picture perfect life that he even married someone he barely knew. She was pretty and nice enough—boring as fuck now that he thought about it—but that was enough for him to get down on one knee and take her down the aisle. What he didn't take into account was his own needs. All a man needed after a long day of work was some pussy, and he was no different. Mrs. Nanami was beautiful, sure, but one hell of a prude. If he was lucky, he got laid about once a month. Even then, she'd just lay stiff on the bed while he fucked her. If Kento didn't see the rise and fall of her chest, he'd assume he was sleeping with a corpse.

This meant that every night after his wife fell asleep, he'd go to his study to jack off to porn on his computer. It was enough for him to go to bed without a raging hard-on, but only having his hand to rub his cock raw all the time took a toll on him. Kento stopped initiating anything with Mrs. Nanami, opting to go straight online whenever he felt his dick twitch. For years, he lived like this.

Wake up, go to work, get home, say goodnight to wife, jack off.

Until a few months ago when his wife said she wanted a divorce. She must've been expecting him to start a fight, because her face fell when Kento nodded without a second thought. It was a long time coming. Sure, he believed he should've been the one to divorce her, but at least he was gonna be free. The days after she moved out was the happiest he had ever been. Waking up in an empty bed and coming home to an even colder bed filled him with a sense of contentment he thought he'd never feel again.

Cheers to being single, he thought to himself as he ordered another drink. As he waited, he couldn't help but sigh. The ink on his divorce papers hadn't even dried yet and he was already thinking of getting his dick wet. Kento hadn't had good pussy since he was twenty. The thought of cheating never even passed his mind during his marriage, opting the company of his own right hand over breaking the promise he made to his wife. Ex-wife.

He brought the rim of the glass to his lips, eager to drink himself to sleep, until the scraping of a barstool broke his concentration. "Drinking alone, handsome?"

The voice was soft and feminine, making him turn his head in curiosity. It came from a young girl, probably still in college but wearing a tight dress that looked like it came off a stripper. Kento wasn't a boomer by any means, but he still found himself disapproving how there was more skin than fabric on her body.

Kids these days.

Retrieving his gaze, he let out a quiet hmm before turning back to his drink. That didn't deter you, a girlish giggle leaving your lips as you leaned towards him.

"Seriously, there's no way you're here alone. Is this a set up? Where are the hidden cameras?"

College kids were so weird these days. With a scrunch between his brows, he shakes his head as he lets out a low rumble that makes your stomach twist. "Sorry to disappoint, kid. It's just me, no hidden cameras."

When he turns his head to face you, he's surprised at how close you were to him. Kento could smell the vodka shots off your breath. It reminded him of when he was as young as you were, getting drunk off cheap liquor. A soft pink dusted your cheeks, along with a tipsy smile that made his chest warm for some reason. You seemed to catch him staring, reaching out to rest your hand on his bicep.

"You look like...really put together. Like you do your taxes and sleep early or something."

The choked cough he lets out when you touch him makes the whiskey burn up his nose, hand coming up to cover half his face. Just a friendly gesture from a girl made him act like this? Get it together, Kento. Scoffing, he shrugged off your hand as he looked away. You pout as he does so and the sight fills him with regret immediately. Before he can apologize, you knock your head against his shoulder, nuzzling against him like a spoiled kitten. Guilt pools in the pit of Kento's stomach when his cock twitches in his slacks. Not now!

"Do you have a name, handsome mystery man?" you mumble against his shirt, the action making his loins burn. He seriously considers pushing you away but decides you're probably too drunk to function right now. After a few beats pass, he reluctantly grumbles a "Kento" in response. You're quiet save for a soft hum and Kento is left hating himself for getting hard at how clingy you're being.

Poor girl, you're clinging to someone who you think looks dependable in this shady ass bar. Or at least that's what he thinks until you grab his wrist and bring it up to your face. For a moment, he assumes you're trying to get a look at the Rolex around his wrist, the sleek gold glinting in the air. He has to repress a sigh—until he realizes your attention is actually on his hands. Kento's fingers are lengthy from years of typing at his desk everyday, the digits at least twice as thick as yours. Pretty veins run along his knuckles and up his forearms, disappearing under the fabric of his rolled sleeves. You can't help but sigh, eyes flickering up to his with admiration.

"Your hands are like, really...big."

He immediately pulls his hand away with a bewildered look, clicking his tongue as he adjusted the watch around his wrist, ignoring the whine you let out.

"What does that even mean?" he huffs, his fingers twitching at the traces of heat from your delicate hand grabbing his. You giggle at his reaction, slumping against him until your chest presses against his arm.

"I wonder what you can do with them, m'sure you'd know how to use them good."

Oh. Oh. When his gaze connects with your breasts that are almost spilling out the top of your dress and the sultry look in your eyes, only then does he realize that he's being hit on.

"Look, kid. I'm m—" he catches himself before he finishes his sentence. Fuck, was he going to say he was married? The wedding band in his other hand suddenly felt much heavier and he quickly shoves it in his pocket.

"...much older than you, I'm almost twice your age."

Another mellifluous giggle leaves your lips and Kento has to hold himself back from shutting you up so that blood stops rushing to his dick.

"I think you're flirting with me," you tease, rubbing your chest against his arm. If he focuses, he swears he can feel your hardened buds brushing against him through your dress. Not even wearing a bra, you're begging to be fucked. The thought of being the one to take you home tonight passes his mind but he shoves it away. You're drunk and almost half his age, it'd be wrong. All rational thought comes flying out the window when your hot breath fans against his ear.

"But, I also think you're really hot, Kento. So maybe we can..."

Your words fall on deaf ears as his eyes flutter shut and his head tilts back. Kento was never a religious man, but in this moment he prayed to the gods above for clarity. You were offering yourself up to him like a hog on a silver platter, tied up with an apple in your mouth for him to devour. He couldn't help but imagine your glassy eyes rolling into the back of your head, your sweet lips hanging open when he drives his cock deep into your tight and wet cunt—

Fuck it.

Will he ever get another chance to bring a pretty young thing like you home? The thought is what drives him as he grabs your wrist to drag you out the bar and into his car.

When you approached the hot stranger earlier, you sure didn't expect that it'd end with you moaning with his hand between your legs.

Drunk out of your mind, your gaze had fell onto the brooding man at the bar, eyeing his rippling muscles under his crisp blue shirt. Now that was a back you'd love to scratch up. It didn't take long for you to stumble on your too-high heels towards the blonde man. You were never this forward but something about him had you squeezing your thighs together. Maybe it was the silent classiness that screamed luxury, the heat in his eyes that burned every time his gaze lingered on you—or maybe it was how he practically flung you over his shoulder and ran all the red lights to take you home.

But never in a million years had you expected that man to be this nasty.

His lips tasted like heavy liquor, tongue sloppily tangling with yours as he slammed you against the door, one hand coming up to cup your jaw. You were used to bad french kisses from frat boys, all teeth and smelly breath, but the way Kento was devouring you made you lightheaded. 

"What a dirty mouth, wonder if you pussy's even wetter."

He pushed your legs apart with his foot and let his hand wander up your inner thigh. You gasp when he finds your mound, panties thoroughly soaked. The scoff that leaves his lips makes your cheeks flush. He cooes as he drag a thick digit along the clothed slit of your cunt, swallowing up your weak moans with his mouth.

"I don't even need to prep you," he chuckles, shaking his head as his thumb prods at your bud hidden beneath your folds.

"You have such a smart cunt, s' already drooling for me."

Kento pulls his hand from between your legs and grabs the back of your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist. Head still spinning from the alcohol, you lose your balance, but the death grip he has keeps you upright as he carries you to his bedroom.

It's scantily decorated and you note that the bed it a bit too big for someone living alone, but you forget all about it when your back hits the plush mattress.

His eyes are wide as if he's trying to commit the sight of you to memory, every exposed sliver of skin and plush flesh permanently burned into his mind. Before you know it, Kento's hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, squeezing your thighs, yanking your dress up like he's unwrapping the first real gift he's ever had. Your slutty dress is long forgotten on his bedroom floor, and fuck, he's hard. Painfully so.

How can't he be when your sweet body is all on display for him?

Kento can't find it in him to give a damn about some dress when all he can see are your perky tits, so soft and malleable. He doesn't spare a moment to admire the view, slapping your breasts till they jiggled deliciously. Before you can whine about how mean he's being, he attacks your tender chest, lips wrapping around the mounds of flesh. It catches you off-guard and you tug at his hair, but he only bites down around your nipple, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud.

"Don't." 

His voice is a low growl you never heard before, and damn if it didn't make your clit throb with need. Right on cue, he pries your legs apart and gets on his knees between them, mouth never leaving your breast. The way his hips grind against you is vicious, as if he's been waiting years for this. Which, in a way, he has. Kento has spent too many nights in his cold bed, jerking off to the thought of someone warm beneath him. Now that he has it? Best believe he's not letting you go tonight.

Your heat seeps through the fabric of your underwear and he can tell that you're making a mess all over the front of his slacks, his bulge covered in your slick. Clicking his tongue, he pushes your knees against your chest to come face-to-face with your clothed core. His thumb tugs at the lace of your panties, lifting your hips to slide it over your ass and letting the flimsy fabric dangle on your ankle.

He intended to teach you a lesson, but his brain short-circuits when he sees your weeping cunt. Your chubby lips were glistening with slick from his teasing, that pretty clit hidden under your swollen folds. Kento hasn't had a taste of pussy in years, so he can't resist leaning forward to roll his tongue against your slit.

Immediately he's gone.

He laps at you like a man starved, locking his arms around your thighs to keep you spread open for him. Mrs. Nanami was never this wet for him and it had messed with his confidence for a while, but your sweetness was all it took to bring him back. His cock twitches at the sight of you writhing under him, the front of his slacks now completely stained with precum. Kento nearly forgot to breathe with how absorbed he was in your pussy.

“You're like a piece of candy,” he mouths against your sensitive cunt, pushing the tip of his tongue into your warm entrance. “So sweet, can eat you up all night.”

Your thighs tremble and clamp around his head, the action only pushing him closer against your waiting heat, nose bumping against your clit. Kento moaned as he flattened his warm tongue against you, making out with your cunt with more fervor than when he had kissed you. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, Kento completely forgets about his aching hard-on, hips instinctively rutting against the mattress with every swipe of his tongue. Your lips were so puffy that he couldn't resist biting down, latching his lips onto your neglected bud and sucking hard.

You almost cry out at the sensation, reaching your hand down to pull at his hair as you thrash under him, feeling your thighs quiver. "S'too much! Gonna make me come—"

SMACK.

His palm had landed flat on your cunt.

"None of that. You wanted my attention, now take it." 

The mean rumble of his voice along with the harsh slap against your sensitive heat sent you over the edge, coming onto Kento's face as your back arched off the bed. He was more than eager, lips hanging open as he swallowed up every drop of your sweetness.

Like heaven on his tongue.

Your taste was addictive, making him groan with every bob of his Adam's apple. Kento slurps up all the wetness he can get, chin glistening with your essence once he pulls away. The sudden orgasm had you panting, only coming back to your senses when you heard the sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor, lifting your head up at the exact moment Kento tugged his ruined boxers down.

His heavy cock slapped against his sweaty washboard abs, leaking onto his abdomen. You had seen enough subpar dicks in your life to know that he was big, the idea of it stretching you open making your pussy drool. Pretty veins ran along the base, leading up to his thick tip that was already dribbling pearls. It was an angry red, sensitive from rubbing against the fabric of his slacks. You could've sworn his cock twitched when his eyes locked with yours.

He reluctantly rolls on a condom, mumbling something under his breath as he strains against the pink rubber. Should just fuck this pussy raw. Luckily, he still had enough common sense to stop him from begging you to let him go in without protection. Kento grabs your thighs, hefty length dragging down your slit as he positioned himself between your legs. With his cock resting on your mound, you can tell he's gonna be so deep in your tummy that you'll feel him tomorrow.

“I'll make sure of it, pretty girl,” he chuckles, slapping his member against your puffy clit.

Did you actually say that out loud—?

Your cheeks puffed up at his words, an embarassed flush on your face at your little slip-up. He's so heavy between your legs that you wonder how he'll even fit. Kento's hand reaches to pull you flush against him by the ankle, propping your leg up his shoulder, groaning as his cock dragged between your lips.

"You're so wet," he muses, pumping himself lazily before he lined himself up your entrance. "Bet you're gonna take me like a good girl, hmm?"

You gasp when he pushes his flushed cockhead between your swollen folds, struggling past tight rings of muscle. So tight. Fuck, he should've known—you were just a little brat who thought she could handle him. He hisses as your walls clamp down around his tip, nails digging into your hips as he tries to catch his breath. 

"Loosen up, sweetheart. You're gonna snap off my dick."

Kento stayed like that, tip twitching inside your warm pussy, before he pushes forward once more. He's bigger than any cock you've taken before. Unprepared for the stretch, your brows knit together when he bullies his way into your cunt. He barely makes it a few inches in before your eyes start to water. Your insides were being stuffed to the brim. You take a deep breath, weakly shaking your head as your thighs tremble.

"K-Kento, please—" Please? 

You didn't even know what you were begging for, did you? How cute. With a sigh, he pulls out from the comfort of your pussy. You let out a sigh of relief, before a warm liquid hit your bare lips. With the viscosity dribbling between your folds, you realized that was Kento's spit. Your gaze flickered up towards him but he focused on other things—like the way your clit twitched when his saliva hit the neglected bud. Eyes dark and brows knitted, he reached down to thumb at your sensitive nub, a choked moan leaving your lips.

"Ease up, that's right," he praised, using the wetness to roll his hips forward. 

Your walls fluttered around him, your moans egging him on as he continued to feed you more of his monster cock. Kento never needed this amount of prep with Mrs. Nanami, considering she always seemed so...bored. He was even beginning to think he was bad at sex! But the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head told him all he needed to know. A low groan rumbled in his chest when he finally bottomed out, his tip kissing your cervix. After so long with only his hand as company, he worried he'd come the second he was inside you. The way you were squeezing his dick didn't help either. Kento swallowed hard, trying to take deep breaths as he let you adjust to his size.

"How are you so tight?" 

When his panting reached your ears, you let out a slurred mumble, eyes unfocused as you tried to look up. He leaned down, forehead resting against yours to regain his composure. Body covering yours, he only buried himself deeper all the way to the hilt. It was like your mind went blank.

"Ngh—you're just too big!" you managed to shout, eyes glassy from how he kept nudging against your womb.

That was all it took for Kento to lose his mind.

Locking an arm around your leg, he fucked into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as his hips snapped forward. His pace was merciless, knocking the breath out of your lungs with every mean thrust. 

"Yeah? How deep am I?" he growled, his grip on your waist bruising.

 All the way in my tummy, you try to say, but you were too fucked out to answer. Just a few thrusts had you dumb on his cock, glossy lips hanging open weakly. The sight makes Kento chuckle, holding onto your thighs as his skin smacked against yours.

It had been years since he had been in a pussy this wet and eager for him. He was in love with your cunt. The slickness as he slid past your folds, the way your walls tried to milk him—but the cock drunk look in your eyes was the cherry on top. Kento turns his head to the side, pressing kisses onto your calf as he fucked you. 

Come back, pretty girl.

When he notices your lack of response, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh, emphasized with a harsh thrust that made you scream. "Kento, slow down," you cry out, heat churning in your belly from the cruel pistoning of his hips.

He only chuckles, shaking his head before he sped up his pace. The shocked look in your eyes made him reach down to rub tight circles on your clit for relief. Loud squelches and the slapping of skin-on-skin filled the air, the room reeking of sweat and sex. Kento's eyes locked on the way your ass bounced back against his pelvis with every thrust, cock twitching as he thought of taking you from behind. He continued to jackhammer into you, strings of profanities leaving his lips. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into. As you mumbled incoherently on the verge of tears, a hand wrapped around your throat.

"Shh. Your sweet pussy's talkin' to me," he tuts, squeezing your throat to shut you up. 

His hand completely engulfed your neck, rough palm pressed tightly against your pulse. Gasping for breath, you could feel your head spin from the lack of air. You rake your nails along his back, digging crescents into his skin to try and make him let go. Kento hissed at the sensation, cockhead slamming hard against your g-spot. It was too much—the delicious stretch of his cock, the way his tip kissed your gummy insides with every thrust, his hand around your throat—the knot in your stomach snapped. Even when you tried to push the heat down, your climax ripped through you like white lightning. 

Your back arched off the bed, cursing out Kento's name as your orgasm shook through your body. The man nearly collapsed on top of you, a sharp groan leaving his lips as your walls clamped down and milked his cock so suddenly. His grip on your throat loosens and you thrash under him. 

You might die from how good he's dicking you down. 

Rolling onto your stomach, you stumble as you get on your hands and knees to try and crawl off the bed. A pair of rough hands grab onto your waist, followed by heavy panting that makes your blood run cold.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Kento spits, dragging you back against him. 

He'd be damned if he let the first good pussy he's had in years get away. Even when you try to thrash and break free, your body is too weak from coming so hard! His palm lands a harsh smack against your ass, your arms collapsing under your body as you cried out. Kento pushed your head down into the pillows, propping you up by the back of your knees. Face down, ass up. The sight of you so vulnerable with your glistening pussy on display made him lick his lips, quickly positioning himself behind you. 

"Naughty girl, trying to run away from me," he tuts, swiping his tip up and down your creamy folds.

As punishment, he reached down to pinch your clit, earning a choked sob from you. He rolled the bud between his fingers, resting his free hand on the plush of your ass. Cock throbbing for release, he buried himself to the hilt in one thrust, setting up a mean pace immediately.

Yep, might die from this dick. 

Every slam of his hips against yours had you sobbing into the pillows, the fabric damp with your salty tears. Your body was still reeling from your multiple orgasms, cunt fluttering around him. Even if it was too much, Kento was fucking you so good your insides had molded to every ridge and vein of his cock. Your tits jiggled with every thrust and he wasted no time in grabbing your hefty breasts, playing with your soft nipples. He buried his head in the tender area where your neck and shoulders connected, groaning against you. 

Kento was getting close, you could tell from how frantically he rutted into you. His cock throbbed inside you, pulsing against your gummy walls. You couldn't resist the urge to push your ass back into him, making his dick hit even deeper inside you. You were half sure he was bulging through your tummy at this point. The action made him suck in shallow breaths through his teeth, keeping a death grip on your ass as he bulllied your cunt.

"Fuuuck, I'm gonna come," he groans into your shoulder.

His face scrunched up in pleasure, panting heavily into your skin as he buried his cock deeper and deeper. Seeing such a composed man this broken made your cheeks flush. Your walls were heavenly, every clench pushing him closer to the edge. 

Screw his hand. Coming from your pussy squeezing him was better that jacking off to any porno he could watch online. 

With a strangled moan, Kento shot thick spurts of cum into the condom, as if he hadn't finished in years. He collapsed on top of you, the orgasm rendering him unable to even hold himself up anymore. It was like losing his virginity all over again. You whine as the rubber began to fill up with his load, heavy in your pussy. After a few moments to catch your breath, you tried to push yourself off him, worried he'd spill into you.

"We should probably take that off—" 

Kento shut you up immediately, grabbing your waist to drag your hips back on top of him. Now straddling his lap, his still hard cock prodded new places you had never even touched before, a pathetic moan leaving your lips. His blonde hair was messy and dripping with sweat, eyes glazed over as his cheeks flushed. You felt him twitch inside you when he met your gaze, the same fucked-out look in both your eyes. He definitely wasn't done with you yet.

"It's only midnight, sweetheart."

You'd be lucky to come out of here alive.

You spent the rest of the night going several rounds, trying every position possible before collapsing from exhaustion. What's for sure—sex would never be the same ever again. How could you go back to one night stands with shitty frat bros when an older man just gave you the dicking down of your life? 

The next morning, you roll on your side to see Kento sitting at the edge of the bed. His bare back was wrecked, littered with vicious nail marks and lipstick stains. You chew on your bottom lip, pulling the duvet over your chest. 

"Are we gonna see each other again?" you croak, voice hoarse from last night.

The muscles in his back tensed at your words. Kento didn't want to see the hickeys and bruises on your skin, undeniable marks of the years of frustration he took out on you. He actually slept with a girl almost half his age right after getting divorced.

Talk about issues. 

Though his stomach churned with guilt, the memories of last night flashed through his mind. How eager you were for him, your sopping cunt, your sweet whines. He was even starting to imagine what it'd be like to sink into you raw.

He couldn't deny how addicted he was to your body. Doing this once was one thing, but agreeing to meet you again? Kento let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a few moments, he spoke up.

"Let me check my schedule, pretty girl."

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