#want to be. They want me to go to college. I don’t want to go to college. They want me to get a learners permit so I can get a job but they

[simpjaes]

BOOK SMART? P*SSY SMART. — P.JS

The one where Jay basically lives in the university library and you live in any and every party you can find on campus. Unfortunately, your grades are suffering over it and you need help. You’re quite lucky though because Jay is quite helpful. 

minors do not interact. 

WORDCOUNT― 10k

PAIRING― inexperienced loser jay x afab reader

CONTENT―  Jay wears glasses even tho the banner says otherwise lol, he’s also a loser ass dweeb in this, open minded and playful reader, college au, jay just rly wants to get in that but doesn't know how to

NOTE― this is a revamp, surprise surprise, nobody is shocked. was originally written for mark lee over on my other blog @/ncteez but i need jay like i need air so….cackling at the title tho, my brain is malfunctioning pls forgive me

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags :: MONSTER COCK AGENDA. Jay is a pervert and smells ur towel lmao, mentions of food and detailed popsicle eating,  reader is very vocal and talkative, slight use of the pet name “pretty”, a lot of cum, cream pie, unprotected sex, mention of bc pills, Jay has a huge cock and he didn’t even know it, inexperienced Jay, experienced reader, finger sucking, nipple sucking, grinding, oral (f recieving), Jay gets on his knees, making out, sex on a table

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         It wasn’t shocking that you were failing but it was shocking that not a single one of your friends were failing with you. They somehow managed to keep their grades up while partying just as often as you do. You don’t know how the hell they did it and you also don’t know why the hell they refuse to help you study now that they’ve seen your failure.

         Not the greatest friends, you think. They won’t help you study because they only have time to study their own classes and to continue partying without you, apparently. You knew you had to come to terms eventually that these people aren’t your friends. They’re just people to party with, people to have fun with, and apparently, people that will watch you struggle.

         It’s frustrating to walk home from classes by the run-down houses with booming music already playing. Without fail, every time, you wish you could be attending instead of studying. It’s even more annoying when you give up on your studies because you’re just not fucking getting it, and you probably would be fucking getting it if you were at a party talking to potential boyfriends or fuckbuddies. 

         Fairness in the world is so hard to grasp. Someone else always has it, but never you. The worst part about all of this is that you’re very aware of how lucky you actually are, you wasted away in college and allowed yourself to get this low simply because you were lucky enough to be well-liked. You prioritized the pointless things over the important things, and now you’re suffering for it. Complaining that you can’t attend parties, looking like a bore to your friends who pity and are embarrassed by you for not being able to multitask like everyone else.

         That’s right. You can’t party and study like everyone else, so maybe now it’s time to focus on the task you’d pushed aside for so long.

         Studying. Ugh.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         You don’t know Jay past the fact that he is in at least three of your classes, extremely quiet, and constantly in the library when you pass by to leave the campus. You’re a little bit ashamed to admit that the majority of people you are well-liked by are the people who are ignoring you right now. The only choice you have is to find someone that can help you catch up on all of the studies you’ve blatantly abandoned. You could go through the student center and “officially” attend tutoring sessions with someone who would likely scoff at you for not getting it, or you could find someone of your own choice to help you. 

         That’s the only reason Jay comes to mind. Again, he is in three of the four of your classes. Every semester, without fail, you’ll look for your name on the dean’s list knowing that it’ll never show up, but you have seen Jay’s name on that list more times than you care to remember. 

         Jay knows of you as well. The girl who cut in front of him in the cafeteria to grab coffee with her large group of friends, making him ten minutes late to be early for his class. The girl who loudly slammed a book down in the library and nearly gave him a heart attack, the girl who came into class stumbling and giggling with one of the guys, clearly still tipsy from the night before. 

         You are everything that Jay isn’t. You are everything he avoids when accepting friends into his life, and his interest in you doesn’t really go past the point of having a stubborn, pretty girl to look at. He is a man after all. A man who is finally away from home, surrounded by hormonal women and men who can’t see past their brain fog of sexual fantasies in class. Never towards him though, he’s usually just on the outside looking in. 

         Jay has those fantasies too, but it isn’t his focus. He is dead set on being a top student, one that people recognize on the academic end rather than the partying end of it all. So, here he is, sitting with his nose in a book, glasses sliding down every few minutes as he munches on a pack of crackers. He’s been here for three hours already and finds comfort in the silence of the library. It’s such a vast place with so many corners to hide in if someone were to come and disturb his peace. Today is no different from any other Friday, where few students choose to study and instead opt for one of the various frat parties or bar hops. 

         You wish you could be one of those people, truly, but instead, you’re making your way to the library in search of Jay. The one student who you assume may actually take you up on the offer of study sessions. You imagine his shocked face when you sit in front of him, and you try your best not to imagine a look of disgust rather than approval. You need Jay now, for the first time in your life, more than ever. His knowledge of the three out of four classes you have will surely work wonders on your GPA, you will probably have to admit how much you’d be relying on him in order for him to even consider your offer too.  

God, you hate begging.

The library is so deafeningly silent when you walk in. You can’t hear even the slightest of a whisper as you walk around and peek into the many empty study rooms and cubicles. After several minutes of searching, the anxiety bubbles up inside of you. What if he decided to do something else? Of all days? The one day where he is needed to be studying? 

Just as you turn to leave, ignoring the entire second floor of the library, you nearly walk straight into him. And by nearly, you actually do  walk directly into him. 

Books clatter to the floor, Jay sighs as he looks down without making eye contact with you. It’s not the first time he’s been walked into and it probably won’t be the last. He is forever wishing that people could just watch where they’re fucking going.

“Hey, I’m sorry–” You go to say as you lean down to help him pick up the mess, he still doesn’t look at you though. Honestly, he barely even notices you there with those airpods in his ears and eyes on the floor. 

To be fair, most people who walk into him just continue walking, so…

         When he does take note of another person helping him retrieve his things, he looks up. You’re not shocked that all he does is nod at you when he takes the book from your hands and makes his way back towards his study space. 

         In an awkward way, you follow him. You feel dumb and kind of lost in this world of books and good students. Up the stairs, towards the floor you’d not even bothered to check, Jay unintentionally leads you to his little corner that already has papers and books laid out. 

         You swallow hard when he takes his seat and looks up to see that you have followed him. Jay is quick to swipe one of his AirPods from his ears and you can kind of tell that he instantly went from relaxed to nervous.

“Uh–” You look around, feeling awkward standing there. “I was looking for you.” 

“Me?” Jay questions with a soured look on his face. He doesn’t really do it intentionally, it’s just, like, what? 

 “Why?”

“Okay, just hear me out.” You start, taking a few steps forward and inviting yourself to sit at his table. There is absolutely no arm space on this side, but that doesn’t entirely matter. You begin your pitch.

“I know it’s kind of weird, but, I’m failing.”

“That’s not weird.” Jay mocks, shaking his head and moving to put his airpod back in his ear.

“Wait! Just, please–hear me out.” You plead now, a little frustrated that he’s already refusing to help you.

         He looks around and then lets out a deep sigh. Rubbing his temples, he nods.

“I know we aren’t the type to like, help each other or whatever– but I’ve asked all of my friends, and they kind of blacklisted me…you are my last resort, I swear.” You say, begging with your eyes. “Can you please just help me study for like, one day a week?”

         His body is stiff and his face is unimpressed by your pitch. 

“An hour a week?” You adjust clapping your hands together to plead even harder. You very nearly start to grovel on the ground before him. “Jay, please. I need to get my grades up.” 

“If you had just given yourself a day a week, you wouldn’t have to be asking someone you’ve never even spoken with to help you study.” He rolls his eyes, still mocking and appearing a bit cocky at the sudden power he’s been given. Of course he only gets approached when someone needs something from him. 

 “How many classes are you failing?”

“I’m failing three classes and have a C in another–” You shamefully admit. “Just an hour a day, please.”

         Jay eyes you over, shifting a bit in his seat before letting out another sigh. 

“Finals are barely a month away.”

“I know! I’ve already got extra credit lined up so I can at least get my grades up by a letter but– I,” You look down, more ashamed than before.

“You don’t know how to actually do the extra credit, do you?” Jay finishes for you and is, for some reason, shocked when you nod. 

         He can see the panic in your eyes, and he noticed for the past week that you’d been looking incredibly tired around campus. Not the hung-over type of tired either. He’s noticed you move your seat closer to the front in one of the classes and even noted that you’re actually taking notes during your time spent there. Maybe he should help you out. If not for the fact that you genuinely seem to need it, but also maybe because he’s like, incredibly aware that he is attracted to you.

 He always has been, but that’s not the fucking point. 

“Okay, you can come study with me whenever you want then. I usually study here because I have a roommate who isn’t exactly the quietest person–” He goes to explain. 

“I have an entire apartment to myself, you can come study at my place. Really, I’ll make food and everything.” You panic, still trying to sell the idea despite him already accepting your offer. 

         Jay is a little shocked and offended that you have your own apartment, and yet you’re failing your classes. No way in hell are you paying for that yourself. This only prompts him to want to help more. Because, like? An entire apartment to study in? Where a pretty girl makes his food? 

“Okay, that can work. What days and times can I be over?” He follows up with a nonchalant nod, noting the three shared classes and the one other you’ll probably need help with. He hopes he’s already taken the outlier class, otherwise he won’t be much help in that regard. 

“You can walk home with me after those classes if you want, and we can study until you’re ready to leave?” You offer. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be every day, but–”

“We can meet up after every class and decide if you want to study or not.” Jay finishes for you yet again, and you nod with a smile. 

“What’s your favorite food?” You ask, wanting to make a mental note of keeping your end of the bargain. 

         Jay thinks hard at that because being put on the spot like this makes answering any question a bit difficult. 

“Here–” You hold out your phone. “Put your number in and you can think about it. I’ll text you so you have mine.”

 You can’t wipe the smile off of your face, the anxiety is practically dissolving from your body at the very idea of someone being willing to help you in the comfort of your own apartment.

         He, on the other hand, is a bit more anxious now. He realizes that now, he’s going to be studying with you. A girl who had never even looked at him twice during the semesters you’ve shared classes. He’s putting his number into your phone, and you’re going to be texting him, and spending time with him instead of going to the parties that he’s never invited to. 

“I’ll see you on Monday?” You ask in his silence, sending a quick text to him so that he can save your number. He nods and looks down at his books. “Don’t forget to text me what you want to eat, okay?”

         He nods again as you stand to walk away. He watches intently at the way you have a little bounce in your step and can’t help but feel his cheeks flushing. God, why is he doing this to himself? 

         Slamming his head on the desk, he, much like you, cannot stop smiling now. All thoughts of studying for the remainder of the night left his head and were replaced with his new study schedule. He thinks he will try and take it easy this weekend, specifically so he is mentally prepared. He’s only talked to you for a total of fourteen minutes and he’s already lost his ability to study and think clearly. 

If he’s lucky, the two of you will pass this semester with flying colors. There’s still that tiny part of him though, that wonders if maybe you’d find interest in him, and maybe he will fail the semester with you because, honestly, you are so distracting.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         On Monday, you sat up straight in class while eyeing the back of Jay’s head most of the time. Mostly to prepare yourself for if and when he makes a break for it. He hasn’t even texted you what he wants to eat today, and part of you wonders if he went back on his promise to you. Not that it was much of a promise in the first place, anyway.

         He was a little shocked that you weren’t the first out of the room once everyone wrapped up though. Like you, he was assuming the same thing. You’d make a fucking break for it and pretend you never approached him in the first place. After all, It was common for you to leave mid-way through class or be the first one out the door. Instead though, he finds himself proud of you. You stood there awkwardly looking at him as the room emptied out, clearly unsure of what to do or say to him.

         Jay nods your way as if to beckon you towards him. 

“You’re still wanting to study today?” He asks with a brow raised in surprise. 

All weekend he had thought about it. Thought about the possibility of it just being a joke to you, or maybe that you’d change your mind and allow yourself to flunk out like you already had been doing. His heart kind of jumps a bit noticing you looking at him like this. 

“Yeah? Wasn’t that the plan?” You ask, nudging him a bit once you get up beside him. “You didn’t text me what you wanted to eat so you’re just gonna have to eat whatever I have in the fridge, by the way.”

         Jay nods, opting to stay silent at this moment. He’s going home with you. He’s going to be seen on campus walking home with you. He’s not the sort to want attention, but this situation feels dangerously attractive to him. Especially when he takes note of how you’re probably going to look all…cozy and at home in your apartment. Like, he gets to be in your space teaching you things that you should have already known. 

         It all shouldn’t be so exciting. After all, his days are filled with the typical boring sessions of reading, writing, noting, and memorizing. It is exciting for him though. Never has he studied with someone like you, or really even gotten to talk to someone that most of the men speak to, the unreachable men no less. The ones with families that own the city, and all the houses in it.

You’re one of the unreachable women on campus, he thinks. The ones with standards based on fun, attractiveness, and chaos rather than charisma, personality, and knowledge. It’s kind of a once-in-a-lifetime thing for Jay to be doing this right now.

“Okay, so...” Jay drones out, avoiding eye contact with you as he packs things into his ratty backpack. “I’m not super hungry right now but–we are going to your place right?”

He needs the confirmation himself if he’s being honest. Nothing would suck more than assuming and being proved wrong.

         You nod with a smile, grabbing his hand as soon as he throws his backpack on. It isn’t intimate to you, but for him, it’s…something. Holding his hand is reserved for intimate relationships with family or girlfriends. He never holds hands.

 He’s never really gotten the chance to anyway, aside from a little cousin when they were crossing the street last summer. He can’t help but buckle in on himself in a shy sort of way as you lead him from the room and out of the building. 

         You’re rambling about all of the things you need to study. All of the snacks you could offer to him. All of the hours you wish you hadn’t wasted partying, yet, all he’s thinking about is how warm your hand feels in his. You seem to be a natural at talking to people. Touching them without a single worry in the world, it’s kind of nice, he thinks. The fact that you aren’t ashamed to be seen together with him, heading towards the place you sleep. Sometimes Jay forgets that this is college. No one actually cares who is hanging out with who unless they are in the middle of a raunchy frat party, seeing their love interest getting touched against a dirty bathroom counter. 

         He smiles to himself as he finally catches up to you and allows you to stop dragging him around. He keeps pace with you now, resting his hand as if to allow you to let go, but you don't. 

“Just around that corner–” You say,  glancing over at him and noting the shade of color his face has become. “You good?” 

         Jay nods, staying quiet and trying to force himself out of his thoughts. He glances down at your hand holding his and then back up at you on instinct. 

“Ah, sorry.” You mumble, releasing his hand and trying hard to understand that maybe you truly are too clingy with most people in your life. You think his reaction was kind of cute though, and now you’re a little determined to help him relax those stiffened shoulders. Jay can’t be as boring as he seems, right?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“I have peanut butter and jelly, eggs, noodles, some leftover pizza and–”

“I’m not hungry, but If I can have some water or something, that would be cool.” Jay cuts you off, slipping off his shoes in an immaculate show of how clumsy he is. You can hear the clatter of your entire coat rack falling to the floor due to his weight leaning on it through that single task. 

“Okay–” You side eye his mess with a slight smile. “Water, got it.”

 You trail off to get him the drink, keeping a small mental note of how nervous he appears to be right now. He’s panicked, frantically trying to balance your coat rack back in place as if you hadn’t walked directly into him just the Friday before. 

“Jay, it’s just a coat rack.” You laugh with water in hand, hearing him mutter a sorry as he hangs one of your empty purses back onto it.

“Thanks.” He says now, reaching out for the drink.

         Watching his eyes go from the glass of water to your apartment, you smile at the look on his face. Such a smart guy acting so incredibly stupid the moment he’s alone in an apartment with a girl. Cute.

“Is this good?” You ask as if you’re offering a change of subject so that he doesn’t have to think about the coat rack he had just knocked over. You point over to your dining table that’s placed perfectly in a little nook against a window and look at him as he stands in place. “We can start whenever you’re ready?”

“Can you show me to the bathroom first?” Jay blurts, hyper-aware of his awkward demeanor. He needs to calm himself down before even thinking about sitting down to fucking study. 

   You point to the bathroom quickly, making your way to the table and adjusting everything so there is space for the piles of books soon to be laid on it. You watch only a little bit at how Jay makes his way over to said bathroom in a show of not-so-confident body language. He seemed kind of cocky on Friday, but today he seems to be like jelly. 

         You sit at the dining table without thinking much more of the man in your bathroom, instead, you pull out some textbooks and lay them out.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         Jay stares at himself in the mirror, he can practically see the blood rushing to his cheeks and ears as he comes to terms with the fact that he probably shouldn’t have agreed to come to your apartment to study. You’re attractive. That alone is a reason in his head to avoid it, but he’s here and he’s already made a fool of himself. 

         He slaps his face a bit with some cold water and tries to will himself to stop acting like such an awkward idiot. Surely you’ll pick up on his inability to talk to women if he doesn’t get it together, right? You’re going to think he’s some weirdo, a pervert maybe, before throwing him out and avoiding him forever.

         Staring harder at himself, he waits for the color to run from his face so that way he can get out there and start the study session, but then his eyes start to wander. 

         Your bathroom is immaculately clean save for some makeup stains on the counter and a few stray hairs that must have been yanked out of your head while you attempted to brush out a night of drinking. It smells fresh and your perfectly hung towels look plush hanging against the wall. Without a thought in his head, he leans towards the towel so that he can dry his face and hands, and that’s just what he does. Except, maybe he buries his face into the towel a bit longer than he needed to, and maybe the smell of it was so astronomically sweet that he nuzzled against it even more.

         He could tell the towel had been used at least once though, solely because he could smell a scent that wasn’t the soap on the counter, nor any laundry detergent he’s aware of. Then…his eyes flick to the actual hand towel that he somehow missed, right beside it? A lace bra. The flush comes back to his face, making him feel even warmer than he did when he entered the room. Which feels like a fucking nightmare if he’s being totally honest. 

         It dawns on him again. He’s in your apartment, smelling your towels, and staring at your bra. Coming to the bathroom in an attempt to calm down has done nothing more than make things worse, and the only option he has now is to stumble out of the bathroom hoping you assume he was in here doing number two rather than planting his face into a towel where you dry off your naked body. 

         Mumbling to himself, Jay prepares himself to face you. Sure, you probably see nothing out of the norm if he does well and hides the fact that he’s hyper-sensitive just for being in your space, then again, Jay has never been the best at playing pretend.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You offer him a bright smile once he finally makes his way back into your living space and seats himself at the table. He seems to be avoiding eye contact with you, bashfully pulling his own books out of his bag with shaking fingers. 

“Are you okay? You sure you don’t want a snack or something?” You look at him, head tilting at him in concern. 

Jay finally looks at you and notes how comfortable you seem while he feels like he’s internally falling apart. There shouldn’t be any fucking issue in his head when it comes to this situation, but here he is, panicking because a pretty girl is in front of him. 

He feels so dumb, so obvious, so embarrassed. Yeah, maybe he should eat something, at least so he can buy some time to focus on something else before he starts stuttering through your studies. At this rate, all you’re going to learn about today is how awful Jay is around women. 

“Maybe I should eat, yeah–” He says in a small voice, still staring at the books as he places them on the table.

“Come look in my kitchen, we can eat something together?” You offer, reaching toward his hand. 

He pulls back from your touch and tries to play it off casually like he was just reaching for a pencil, but you didn’t miss the fact that his hands were cold and shaky.

Taking note, it starts to dawn on you. You’ve dealt with men like him before, and it was always an interesting situation. To check your theory, you rise from the chair and lean over the table, being sure to squish whatever cleavage you have visible to make it more visible to him. 

“Salty or sweet?” You ask, watching his eyes intently and the way they struggle to reach your face. Score one for you, Jay is definitely a man above all. Luckily for him, you have lots of experience in that field, while he appears to have very little in the field of women. 

“W-what?” He drones out, pulling his eyes away from you in an attempt to hide the way his face immediately flushed. 

“The snacks? Savory or sweet?” You laugh, propping yourself back from the table and hopping into the kitchen, checking behind you to see if he follows.

He does stand to follow, but by the time you round the corner, he isn’t behind you like you figured he would be. Peeping your head around the corner, you watch as he holds his hands in front of his groin, looks down at himself, and then lets out a deep sigh. You then watch as he adjusts himself in his pants, uncomfortably hiding a semi-hard on so that he could come into the kitchen without suspicion. 

By this point, you’ve already decided that studying will very likely not be part of today’s schedule. He wouldn’t be able to focus on a damn thing like this, right? You should help him, right?

“Took you long enough.” You joke as he appears in the kitchen, turning to look at him and intentionally trailing your eyes down his body just to see if you can see any sort of bulge. He’s safe though because he apparently must have skills in hiding his arousal during the worst times. 

Jay, on the other hand, can already tell that your shift in mood is intensely different compared to before he went to the bathroom. Twice now you’ve been blatant towards him and it is not helping him at all right now. Is he reading it wrong because he’s very obviously horny right now? Were you really trying to dangle your breasts in front of him like that? Are you really checking him out right now? 

“Sorry–” He looks down. “I– uh, I dropped something.” He offers as an excuse, uncomfortably trying to shift from your view and avoid eye contact. 

“Sure.” You say with a roll of your eyes, knowing full well that he was hiding his cock. “I want something sweet. Sounds good?” You change the subject, reaching out and running your fingers down his arm. 

He swallows hard, stiffening his shoulders and nodding to you. Without hesitation, you let your fingers stay against him for a few seconds longer, keeping eye contact with him before turning and opening a cupboard. 

“Peanut butter crackers, cereal, and oatmeal.” You deadpan, slamming the cupboard and stepping to the fridge. “Pudding.” Then you open the freezer. “Popsicles, and ice cream.”

Jay just stands there when you close the doors to the fridge and look at him in question. He could opt for the crackers but his throat is already dry enough. Choking right now would be even more humiliating. Cereal could work but that would be embarrassing too, for some reason. Oatmeal is an option, solely for how disgusting it looks, surely it would tame his boner. 

But, popsicles? Hell no.

“Grab whatever you want, I'm eating a popsicle.” You say, raising a brow and throwing open the freezer door again to take your pick.

Of course, it’s  intentional. It’s fun to see his eyes light up at the very idea of seeing you eat a popsicle, and even more fun to imagine how flustered he’s going to be in mere minutes.

Jay looks to the floor and heads towards your fridge, also opting for a popsicle despite his very recent internal protest. Mostly so you don’t think he’s a pervert when he inevitably sees you eat it. But also, like, just in case you really are trying to flirt with him right now, at least his lips will taste sweet too. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You had expected Jay to get flustered, and boy did he. What you didn’t expect though, was to become flustered yourself by the image of Jay’s tongue darting over sweet ice, and then over his own lips to suck up the melted and sticky juice. The only image in your head right now is the idea of if he would lick his lips like that if you were to spread your legs for him. Would he lick up your mess on his face, chasing the flavor the same way he’s doing right now?

A dull ache begins to spread throughout your body as you watch him. His eyes still avoid you but you manage to catch him a few times. Each time he makes eye contact with you, your gaze shoots to his lap just to see if he’s gotten hard enough for his cock to leave its tucked position in his waistband. 

Jay is hyper-aware now too, with the way you’re staring and almost leaving your popsicle unattended as he eats his own. He feels confused, like? Are you doing what he was actively avoiding doing to you? Jesus, you really are kind of a whore, god.

By the time the popsicles are finished, your fingers are sticky from allowing it to drip down the stick. You make a point to suck each of your fingers innocently, looking under your lashes at him for split seconds as you begin to shuffle through the papers on the table. 

“So–” You say, popping one finger out of your mouth and inserting another. “Can we start here? I need to have a paper written on at least one topic on this list and have no idea how to find a good source to read from.”

Jay hears and sees you in tunnel vision right now, but he manages to catch the ass end of your sentence and begins to try and focus on the studies at hand. Still watching you suck your fingers into your mouth, he clears his throat and places his own popsicle stick onto the table, pretending he doesn’t wish your tongue would lick him like that.

“I wrote mine based on this topic, and I found a lot of good sources for it. I don’t think our professor would think too hard about us choosing the same subject–” 

“Yeah, especially because it’s me. They’d never guess you’re in my apartment right now.” You laugh, smirking over at him. 

“I would’ve never guessed either–” Jay says without thinking, barely processing how embarrassing he is before you squint at him with a wider smile. 

“Oh yeah?” You ask, raising a brow and leaning forward. “Why’s that?” 

Jay tries to look around but now can’t seem to force his eyes away from you. A much different circumstance compared to before when he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. There’s a connection here, he can feel it. You’re definitely coming onto him and you have been for the past however long he’s been here.

“You’re kind of out of my league, don’t you think?” He laughs more at himself than he does the situation, and to you, he honestly looks pitiful after saying that. It’s incredibly attractive to you in the way he seems to praise you for being a failure simply because he’s attracted to you. At least, that’s the case if you’re reading him right.

“Who said someone like you couldn’t teach me a thing or two?” You have a smile in your voice, and it comforts him, but that comfort is shot down when you stand on your feet and walk over to him. “Who says I’m out of your league?” You ask again, watching him scoot back with his chair as you come closer.

You prop yourself against the table, essentially blocking him from his books and papers. You look down at him now, dipping your head in a playful way. “I don’t think I’m out of your league.” 

Jay notes how you’re between him and the table now. You look comfortable leaning in front of him like this, and when his eyes trail up to your face all his body can do is give in. He looks at you through large eyes, the overhead light is sparkling through them at you. 

In that instant, you can see his embarrassment fill his body because he’s no longer resisting the urge to be himself. He’s staring at you as if you could be a god and saying nothing in response to your words. 

“If anything, Jongie–” You soothe him, grabbing one of his hands and smiling at the way his pen immediately falls out of his grip. “You’re out of my league.” 

He blinks up at you, soaking in the words and not yet understanding in full what you’re doing until he feels warmth enveloping the entirety of his hand and wrist. 

“Do you know how lucky I am that you’re here right now?” You ask him, basking in the way you can see his breath get caught in his throat. “How lucky I am that you’re not only smart but hot too?”

He dips his head at this, a bashful show of your words having an impact on him. He hides his face briefly against his arm and then he realizes–

“Is this okay?” You ask, holding his hand in place as you begin to move your hips against his palm.

Jay watches the way you’ve managed to pull his hand out and plant it between your legs, all so you could grind against it without so much as a warning. He’s not against it though, if anything, his head is shot back to reality and he’s immediately back to glancing around the room and avoiding the scene in front of him.

His palm is against your literal, dampening panties, and all he can think to say right now is, “You could write your thesis on human connection and its effects on the brain.” 

You smile at his attempt to continue to study through this moment.

“I could,” You say with a deeper voice than before, feeling the way his hand stays relaxed in your grasp as you grind against it. “Or we could think about how your brain is being affected right now?”

Jay groans, feeling the warmth of your wet beginning to seep through the fabric, and honestly, it is happening so fast that he’s sure it would be more embarrassing if he walked out now. 

“How are you feeling?” You reword your question towards him, intentionally swiveling your hips so that you can position his fingers into your underwear. 

“You’re warm.” Jay chokes out, eyes now zoning in on your legs slightly spread in front of him. 

You let out a small laugh at this, pulling a bit on his arm to pull him closer, but he doesn’t compute it at all. 

“Do you like it?” You ask again, this time slipping his fingers into you. You let out a deep sigh and roll your eyes back, fucking yourself gently against his fingers before you look at him.

He’s nodding, probably more thankful now that you’d worn a skirt today rather than pants. He didn’t allow himself to take note of your attire, because if he did, he would have made even more of a fool of himself. But he’s nodding now, watching the way you hold his arm in place and slide his fingers in and out of you. 

His silence is louder than his words could be right now, you think. You can feel him straighten his fingers inside of you, you can practically see him salivate at the very idea of how you’re using him right now. You’re not done though, no, no. He’s far too sweet like this, but you want to hear words.

Gently, you pull your hips back effectively slipping his fingers out of you. There, you lift his arm and examine your wetness against his fingers. You smile again, eyes now adjusting to his face rather than his wet fingers. 

Jay watches as you guide his fingers to his lip, and without a second thought, he opens his mouth to taste you against them. He licks circles around each of the two fingers, closing his eyes almost instantly so that he can relish the experience.

He no longer cares how awkward he must seem sitting here like this, letting you do all the work.

“Do you like the taste too?” You ask, releasing his hand and watching how he continues to suck his fingers. 

“Mhm–” Jay groans with his closed mouth around the digits, making damn sure to suck every bit off.

“You’re pretty, you know that?” You compliment him this time, tearing your eyes from him and slipping your panties down your legs. You turn yourself over so that you’re now bent over the table and you ignore the corner of one of the textbooks poking against your ribs, all in favor of what sound Jay will make when he opens his eyes. 

“You can taste more, if you want.” You offer, lifting to look behind you at the way his fingers drop from his mouth and his eyes immediately zone in on your bare pussy displayed for him under your hiked-up skirt. 

He does let out a whimper, one that seemed entirely desperate to do just that for you but–he doesn’t move. He just stares, soaking in the words you’re saying, memorizing each fold and dip in your glistening pussy.

You don’t intend to wait though. Reaching behind you, you grab the back of his head by his hair and guide his face to you. The way you can hear his chair tip over as he falls to his knees makes you quiver a bit before him, and you’re almost surprised to not just feel a face against you. It appears that Jay does know what he’s doing. 

He instantly jumps into action, loving the feeling of your hand in his hair basically telling him to do it. Giving him that green light, letting him.

You can feel his tongue exploring and his other hand reaching to lift your skirt entirely over your ass. His tongue is soft, warm, wet, and so entirely eager to lick and suck every inch of you. It’s not until he starts allowing his moans to vibrate into your flesh that you hike one of your legs up and open your cunt against his working tongue more.

Guiding him by his hair still, you press his face harshly into you with little to no fight for air from him, and you’re loving it. Loving the way he whines for more when his tongue reaches the furthest limit, loving even more when he finally reaches his hands up to your pussy and spreads it out for himself.

He isn’t even thinking at this moment, just tasting and feeling you guide his tongue as if this is what you wanted all along. The thought alone of someone like you wanting to fuck his tongue like this sets his cock on fire in so many ways. He’s so hard right now that it hurts to think about it at all. Jay doesn’t give a single fuck about how pathetic he must sound to you right now, whimpering and panting against you as if this was the only sweet thing in your apartment he wanted to eat anyway. 

You hear a clatter to the floor, knowing for a fact that he’s knocked his glasses off of his face from the angle in which he skewed his neck in order to fuck his tongue into you. You wonder what’s going through his mind right now, because goddamn he’s eating you out like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. He’s impressively messy and loud with it too, making you feel as if you must taste like the sweetest thing on earth to him. 

For some reason, thinking back to all of the non-sexual situations you’d passively seen Jay in? It turns you on even more. The big-brained student who is constantly making straight As and never going out to parties eats pussy like this? Eats your pussy like this? Better than half of the men you’d already been with? Jay doesn’t miss a single centimeter of it,  and you can tell he’s focusing on you more than he has ever focused on his homework or studies before. 

You feel so deeply needed at this moment by Jay that all you can do is let out a desperate moan for him. One so that he knows he’s not the only one utterly stunned by the turn of events, but also because you’re fucking loving what he’s doing to you.

With each moan, Jay picks up his pace, using those same two fingers and spreading your cunt out impossibly wider just so he can attempt to bury his tongue deeper into the messy, wet heat you offer. He’s spreading you apart so well that it almost pains you to move without the fear of being torn open by his tongue alone. Your clit has barely even been reached but he still managed to make you feel sensitive to the point of wanting to beat your fists on the table out of sheer frustration for not approaching him sooner. 

Not only can he help you pass your classes, but he surely could make you feel like a fucking queen on top of it all, licking you open, up and down, as if he were born and trained for you and you alone? Insane.

“You’re so–” You groan out, releasing his hair from your grip but pressing your ass out more so that you can feel him slip his tongue back to your clit with impossible reach. He continues that, sliding his tongue from your clit to your entrance, dipping in and swirling the muscle before going back to your clit. All while he’s moaning, groaning, and panting against you. 

It’s too much, he’s so incredibly eager that you’re honestly too sensitive to let him keep going. You hate it when you pull your hips forward and lift from the table. Your legs are shaking when you do this, and shaking even more when you turn to face him and lean against the table again. 

“How–?” You look down at him in pleasant surprise, watching him lick his lips much like you hoped he would. “How are you so good at this?” 

Jay is stunned by your question because in all fairness, he’s only ever eaten a girl out once and like, it wasn’t that great because she made him stop within like a minute. He wasn’t really thinking about what to do with you though, or how to do it. He just…did it. That’s all. So obsessed with the taste and smell of you to the point he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. He’d still be licking you right now if you didn’t move away. 

“I–don’t know.” He shamefully admits, nonchalantly moving his hands to his pants and unbuttoning them. Not to fuck you or anything, mostly just to release his cock from the chokehold of the denim rubbing against him. 

“You’re lying.” You deadpan, running your hand between your legs and quivering the moment your fingers run over your swollen clit. “There’s no way you haven’t practiced doing this.” You gasp, looking at him as if no other man exists. 

He shakes his head, looking up at you from the floor with innocent eyes. His lips are wet, his eyes are hooded, his hair sticking up from your fingers guiding him– it’s a lot to see him like this when you’ve only ever seen him as that goody-two-shoes student who doesn’t know how to have fun. Clearly, Jay knows how to have fun.

Your gaze on him makes him feel more bashful as he looks down to the floor, feeling embarrassed that you’re praising a complete amateur at this. 

Using your leg, you nudge him.

“You did all of that and didn’t even touch yourself?” You ask in curiosity, noting how he had only just now undone his pants to relieve pressure. “Let me see it.” You say again, almost demanding as you hop up on the table and spread your legs even more.

Frantic at your tone of voice, Jay stumbles to his feet and pushes his pants down to his thighs. His cock springs out and stands erect in front of you. You could stare all day, honestly. Jay, of all people? He’s the one with a cock this big? He’s the one with a size that could make you feel as if you’re being split in half? Well, fuck.

“God.” You comment, mouth falling open at the way it twitches in mid-air. “All of the girls would be fucking swooning, Jay, really.” You get a bit flustered yourself because only now do you understand who you just seduced and what he’s got to offer outside of brains. 

In all of his shyness, Jay hides his face from you again despite his cock out in all of its glory. Your mouth could honestly start watering if he hadn’t just eaten you out to the point of needing him to stop. Meaning, your throat is too dry right now to start drooling. 

Without another thought, you pull your shirt and bra off all in one go. No way in hell is he leaving without fucking you stupid with a cock like that. Absolutely no fucking way  would you let this go to waste.

“When’s the last time you’ve done anything with a girl?” You ask now, reaching for his arm and pulling his gaze back towards you, now almost completely naked save for your skirt hiked up to your waist. 

Jay stares at you again, much like he did when you spread your legs in front of him, this time zoning in on the way your nipples are erect and begging for his mouth to be put to use again. He nearly forgets that you’re talking to him because of the way you’ve presented yourself to him. The reality is right in front of his face, but he still wonders if this must be a dream.

“I–um– right out of high school before she broke up with me,” He says in a lazy voice, slightly raspy. It sounds as if it doesn’t even matter to him because he is so focused on you in front of him. “I’ve only had sex two times.”

“Aw–” You pitifully look at him. “What a waste, you’re such a pretty boy.” You coo, wiggling your hips as if to entice his cock to make its way towards you. “You’ve got the brains and the cock for it. You must feel so neglected.”

All he does is nod, because yes, he does feel fucking neglected, partly because he let it happen and mostly because he knows he doesn’t know how to talk to girls. Right now, Jay could genuinely start crying if you keep talking to him like this though. He can’t tell if you’re mocking him or being genuine, but the only thing he wants to do is bury his cock so deeply inside of you that all you can do is moan out mantras of how pretty he is again. He wants to hear you moan over how much time has been wasted without his cock inside of you, how badly you’d want him again and again after this. 

You can see his facial expressions change every few seconds and to be fair, your body yearns to be filled. With the way he is looking at you, there’s no way he doesn’t want to.

“Wanna fuck me, Jongie?” You ask, realizing that you much prefer calling him this rather than his full name because he seems to lean directly into it. 

“God,” He sighs out, hanging his head to look at the way his cock still stands painfully erect throughout the conversation. “Can I?” He asks now, making eye contact with you through pleading eyes.

You reach out for him, grabbing his waist and pressing his cock directly against your core. You lean your head back a bit to look at him and the way his eyes sear straight through your own. His pupils are dilated, his cheeks are rosy, and his lips are glistening. You lick against them, and the way he immediately starts to kiss you makes you think he’s a liar. He knows exactly what he’s doing with his mouth regardless of where it is. His tongue presses into your mouth so beautifully that you genuinely could argue that this man has only ever had sex twice. 

Maybe he’s a natural? 

Jay knows exactly when to grind his cock between your folds, knows exactly when to pull back to kiss your neck, and knows exactly how to lean you back with his hand protecting the back of your head so that it doesn’t slam against the table. 

He slips his cock so beautifully as he trails his kisses to your tits too, suckling gently against one of your nipples before he nearly can’t stand it anymore. He’s in his own world, barely recognizing that he’s not the only one experiencing this right now.

With an eager hand, Jay grabs his cock and presses it directly into you without waiting any longer. He isn’t slow or gentle with it. You can feel how desperate he is solely because of the way he can’t seem to fathom taking it slow. He doesn’t let you adjust, no. The second the head of that thick cock slips in he’s slamming in. All the way, forcing a yelp from your throat and a tight grip to his back.

He’s lost himself in the moment and you’re loving it. Loving the way his tongue picks up against your nipples, and the way there is no rhythm or rhyme to his thrusts. His size alone is enough for you, and you can admit to loving every single push and pull his body is offering.

The room is silent save for his whimpers, your gasps, and the wet sound of skin slapping against skin. You’re quick to wrap a leg around his waist so that when he presses in again, you can force him to stay in place, if just to let him genuinely feel what it’s like to have a pussy clenching around him.

“You feel it?” You groan out, feeling his teeth pinch against your nipple and sending a sharp pain down your body. 

He nods frantically, pulling your nipple with his lips as he does it. You can tell he’s drooling, wetting your chest in such an embarrassing way, but he’s so–Jay. He’s Jay. This is Jay.

You watch his face and the way he winces with each pulse of your hole quivering around the sheer size of him, and you coo out at him when his cock twitches in response. As if you can handle yourself right now, as if he can too.

Neither of you can comprehend the pleasure.

“Can’t believe I get to be your third.” You sing out. “You’re so good, so–”

“S-stop talking, fuck-” Jay calls out in a broken and choked gasp, feeling too turned on by the way you speak. He can’t help it when he forces his hips to move against the pressure of your leg trying to keep him in place. This time he fucks at a quicker pace. His mouth falls open against your breast and his hands shoot to your waist as he pulls himself up and opens his eyes. 

He watches the way your sticky cunt coats him as he slides in and out of you, fingers pressing so hard into your hips that you feel he could be bruising you. 

You’re so in awe of him losing complete control that you want nothing more than to cum with him inside of you. You quickly reach your hand down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive spot almost to the point that you could start crying out at how painful it truly is at this moment. You’ve never been this sensitive for a man, and yet, you’re coming undone beneath him and nearly losing as much control as he has. 

A mess of moans and groans is filling the room as Jay chases his high, and you are at the point that you want to say the nicest and dirtiest things to him out of sheer arousal. So you do, you talk, and you talk. Whispers of “girls would die to be fucked by you,” turn to screams of, “yeah, fuck Jongie, just like that!” 

It wasn’t until you moaned out, “Cum with me, now, Jongie, I can’t hold it–” when Jay ’s hips stuttered and his eyes closed tightly in a frustrated groan. “Stop–” He grunts, hips pressing impossibly hard against you. To the point that you scoot up on the table. “Stop, I’m–” He groans again, attempting to pull out so that he can release against your pulsing and empty pussy.

But you don’t let him.

Your legs hold him in place as you release your clit and pull yourself up on your arms just to grab against his neck and pull him down with you against the table. 

“Cum in me.” You nearly demand, holding his face so that he can’t look away from you.

You watch the way his pupils dilate more at the words and you feel the way his cock twitches inside of you. Then? His pupils are gone. He’s rolling his eyes back now, looking so fucking beautiful while doing it.

Jay’s eyebrows fall much like his mouth does when he cums. His hips are frantic but his face looks calm, and not a single sound releases from his lips. His breath is caught in his throat with each twitch, shooting ropes into you so deeply that you feel each wave of his pleasure hitting your cervix. 

  You’re very quick to rub your clit again, harsh and rough circles being amplified by the way his abdomen adds pressure to your hand with each push of his cock in you. It sends you over edge so fast, even he feels the clench, choking out each spurt of his remaining orgasm. 

You grab onto him harshly now, without a thought in your head besides kissing him. He kisses you back, realizing that despite having sex before, this may be the first time he’s ever made a girl cum. It’s certainly the first time he’s ever felt his cock being tugged by the walls of a pussy as it works itself through an orgasm, anyway.

Crazy thing is…he’s not done. Like, he can’t stop cumming. Lasting entirely far too long and far past sensitivity. Jay opens his eyes to look at you when you’re reaching the end of your own orgasm, all while he’s still filling you up, and even feeling his load bubble out from around him with each tight thrust. Your voice is beautifully raspy, and the way you hold onto him makes him feel like you should never let go. 

Upon his ears popping and finally emptied, he genuinely feels the mess between the two of you. Quickly, he pulls back and notes that the hem of his shirt is absolutely fucking soaked. In an attempt to take a small step back in order to remove himself from you, he nearly trips over his pants that had fallen to his ankles.

“Oh.” You laugh, wincing as you feel his cock leave you empty. “Probably should have undressed you.” Your eyes sparkle at the large damp spot, nearly making his shirt entirely see-through from just how soaked it really is. 

Jay steps out of his pants silently and just kind of stands there awkwardly, watching the cum spill from you. Then panic spreads across his face. 

“Um,” He croaks out, voice cracking almost immediately. “I– I couldn’t pull out…I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t want you to.” You soothe him, noting how he’s right back to his awkward and shy persona the moment he’s finished fucking you. “It’s fine, I’m protected” You confirm for him, just to see the relief replace that panic.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“So–” You comment, looking down at the wrinkled papers in front of you. “You really expect me to try and write at least 1200 words tonight?” 

Jay tilts his head at you, sitting with a blanket covering his entire body as his clothes go through the cycles of a wash. “If we hadn’t gotten off track, you could already be almost done with it.” 

“God, you are such a fucking bore.” You laugh, shivering at the cold air hitting your bare skin. “I’m literally naked right now and you’re making me do this right now?” 

“Finish your paper and we can talk about that. Besides, I kind of need to recover for more than thirty minutes from that, you know? I’m sensitive.” He shoots back, not afraid to sound as embarrassing as he truly is now. 

To his surprise, you nod with a cheeky smirk. Promising you any amount of him after what happened was enough to force your focus on your school work for now at least. Just because he did it once doesn’t mean he will always want to fuck stupid girls. If anything, Jay deserves someone who respects his work ethic and need to help others right? The huge cock is just a bonus when you think about it.

You know it’s going to be a hell of a month after tonight, but for the most part, you think that studying with Jay may have been your best college decision to date. You can learn a lot from him, and apparently... he can learn from you too. You just hope he doesn’t run off and use that knowledge on other girls once he realizes he’s definitely got the ability to break hearts. 

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.12 how you get the girl

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 12/x (probably 18)

ᰔ words. 11.3k

a/n. man the color scheme for this chapter is kinda giving BRAT lolol...i mean gojo IS brat. anywho, i don't have much to say at the beginning of this chapter but i do have a LOT to say at the end of it sooo see y'all at the bottom!! hope u enjoy. also BIG THANK YOU to @whereflowerswenttodie who beta read parts of this chapter for me n convinced me not to scrap it lol

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

11:03am you: hi! 11:03am you: good luck today 11:03am you: incase i don’t see you

11:05am Gojo Satoru: Why wouldn’t you? Aren’t you gonna be on the field for your newsletter shots?

11:07am you: i mean yes but idk where i’m gonna be stationed so 11:07am you: it might not be on UTokyo’s side of the field

11:08am Gojo Satoru: Okay then I’ll look for you before the game starts

11:10am you: no pls don’t. coach yaga thinks i distract you. i don’t want to get yelled at again. he scares me :(

11:12am Gojo Satoru: Haha you’re silly 11:13am Gojo Satoru: East side entrance at 2 11:13am Gojo Satoru: Be there

11:14am you: or be square?

11:15am Gojo Satoru: Yea whatever shape you wanna be in is fine cutie

It’s a bright sunny day outside, perfectly blue sky with a scattering of fluffy clouds seen outside the window of your shared room in your apartment, and you realize spring is fully here from the way birds chirp past the glass. You’re stuffing your camera case full of chilled Kodak film rolls, your last stash left, and it’s the last piece of equipment you pack before slinging the strap over your shoulder and heading out the door.

Mina had offered to give you a ride to the stadium since your car’s still at the shop, but you’re happy you opted for the bumpy bus ride and although you come close to low-grade concussions from the bang of your head to the window at every other speed bump, the music in your ears while someone else is operating a public transport vehicle helps you think creatively before shooting shots.

It was surprise enough that Mina of all people was going to this game, and when you questioned her about it in the morning, she looked at you like you were absurd to assume anyone from UTokyo wouldn’t be at this game, and sure enough, it’s all anyone on Instagram has been repping on their stories or talking about in the bustling minutes before lectures. Even Utahime was going to this game, and she hates all intercollegiate sports. You knew the game was a big deal, given the way Coach Yaga was yelled at via email by the Dean of UTokyo to make sure the team wins today because a multimillion dollar Nike sponsorship would be greenlit by the prospect (for some reason you were cc’d in an email chain among divisional higher-ups, but you weren’t opposed to snooping in on conversations that were entirely outside of your tax bracket).

It’s because it’s the second to last home game before the season ends, and apparently this has been statistically the best season the UTokyo D1 Men’s Soccer team has played since the new millenia. No pressure to the players on that fact, but failure wasn’t much of an option for them anymore. 

And you can feel the stakes the second you step inside the stadium. Packed would be an understatement, there were people flooding the aisles, overbooked for the sake of the university pocketing an extra buck no doubt, but spectators could care less since they were able to at least get in on the basis of that irresponsibility in the first place, despite the stadium’s capacity having long been reached before the pregame festivities even start. Banners and signs drape over railings with the school’s striking blue and golden colors, every single replay screen is lit up and brightly pixelated at every north, south, east, and west entrance for inclusive viewing. As you pass VIP security and make it into the lower field-level entry, the scattered chants from the crowd amplify in volume and you almost wince a little to yourself from the noise. The stadium felt like a living, breathing entity, pulsing with the collective heartbeat of everyone inside. 

You’ve never been more overstimulated in your life, except instead of finding it frightening, it was electrifying. And for once, you think you can understand what an athlete must feel when playing on their own home turf surrounded by those that are wholeheartedly rooting for them.

Hana is quick to spot you, panic clear across her face as she regards you with a couple pages with your assigned vantage points, a rushed briefing session, and then she’s darting down the sidelines to make sure equipment is set up appropriately where needed. She’s understaffed, given you told Utahime about Kai’s little intervention last week and she made a nasty point to the university (and possibly a handful of legal threats) and they relented in firing him. So now the three of you were down a photographer, and the extra work shows in the instructions she gave you as you skim the sheets. 

A glance at your phone tells you it’s close to 2pm, and your eyes take in the expanse of green on the field. UTokyo’s players practice kicking shots off to the right goal post, while YCU’s players practice shots off to the left. You can’t spot where Gojo is, but you faithfully head down to the East Side entrance like he asked you to. 

When you round the corner, you almost crash right into an Ichiko mascot, but swiftly dodge, and then you stop in your tracks when you see Gojo standing right at the concrete entrance. He’s leaning back against the adjacent wall, arms crossed at his chest, and he’s stretching his neck side to side with a creased brow, an intense look in his eyes, lost in serious thought, scanning the wall across from him like he’s mapping out plays in his head. 

When you approach him and catch the corner of his eyesight, he leans off the wall and flashes you one of his so extremely charmed to see you grins on reflex, and suddenly there’s nothing your senses seem to pick up on except him. Like everything else around you just disappears.

“Hey, you,” he says when he comes up to you, and you walk him like a dog back to a corner that’s tucked further away from noises and sights. You lean your back against the wall now, the coolness of concrete seeping through the fabric of your shirt, and he stands a step in front of you. Your hands toy with the strap of your camera.

“Are you ready to win today?” you ask him, and look off to the right into the flourishing seats that are still being filled to the brim, “clearly there’s no pressure.”

He breathes in deep, and releases it slowly, like there really was tension to relieve. “We’ve got no choice but to win.”

“Is that something Coach Yaga says to you guys often?” you ask him, because the man recited the same thing about five times in that email chain. “Also, apparently you take years off of his life.” Another thing he recited about five times in that email chain.

Gojo only addresses what he wants to address, as per usual. “Yeah, it’s something he says to us often.” 

“So,” you say, “what did you want to talk about?”

He looks at you puzzled, tilting his head to the side. “Nothing. I just wanted to see you.”

It’s hard to assume that he didn’t have something to talk about with the intention of telling you to meet him here, because this is the same place you confessed to him a few weeks ago, and so is also the place he so painfully rejected you. But maybe he doesn’t think about these kinds of things as much as you do. “I see.”

His tongue pokes to his cheek as he studies your anticipating expression, and then he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “What are we doing? I mean, I like you, and you like me too, at least I hope you still do. Why don’t we—…why don’t we just give it a go already? I don’t see how we can move forward if you won’t at least let me take you out on a date.”

Your hands stop fidgeting with your camera strap from his words, and you lick your lips, suddenly unable to keep eye contact with him so your gaze drifts down to his chest in front of you. His uniform is clean, no smudges of dirt or grass, just pure white fabric underneath heat-pressed blue and golden accents, and of course, that signature number 10. You’re sure he’s all you’ll ever think of when you see that number now for the rest of your life. 

You know when you want something so bad you don’t know what to do once you have it? Because it almost seems too good to be true? 

“I just wanted to let stuff between us breathe for a little bit,” you confess, “it’s just, it was a lot to deal with. Being around you when I thought you didn’t want me the way I wanted you. I don’t know if this is odd to say, and maybe I’m overthinking it, but I just feel like somewhere along the way, I kind of…forgot who you were for a little bit.” This kind of vulnerability would have you running away with your tail between your legs with anyone else, but not with him. Not after everything. 

His expression softens, melting away that confrontational energy he had earlier, and he nods slowly. He opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t seem to find words. The presence of them is there, though, you can feel them. But what good are his thoughts if not voiced? 

“I just wanted to spend a little bit of time getting to know you again, I guess.” You squeeze your arm in reassurance of yourself because he wasn’t giving it to you. You let out an awkward laugh. “I don’t really know what I’m saying right now, to be honest.”

You can tell he’s at a crossroads, and you think back to this week and his efforts to get you to open up to him again. You know how he feels right now, because it’s exactly how you felt when he rejected you. Like when someone is so close, yet so far, you can feel that they’re within arms reach but never truly. And they’re slipping away for some reason that you may never know, but all you can do is assume that it’s a fault of your own. You’re not really sure what he can do to make you feel secure about this whole thing anymore, and you can see the slight panic in his eyes when he realizes that too.

“I don’t mind waiting,” he tells you, rushed with a desperation entirely contrary to his words, “what’s a week or two when I want to spend a lot more of those with you anyways.” But he takes a deep breath, like he’s already mentally preparing himself for an agonizing wait in his head.

There’s a sound over the stadium speakers, something technical and sporty and goes entirely over your head in dismissal, but to Gojo it seems to have a different effect, as he’s suddenly attentive and stands up straighter, that focused expression on his face from earlier resurfacing. You realize he needs to get back to the field. 

“Can we continue this conversation after the game?” he asks you hastily, already turning towards the center of the stadium. And he adds an obligatory, “sorry.”

“Yeah, sure,” you quickly agree, suddenly feeling like you’re taking up his time. 

He gives you a small smile, unsure in its presentation but pure in its intention. But he can only take one step towards the field before you reach out and pinch the fabric of his jersey to keep him still. He feels the tug of it and fully faces you once again. 

“Um. Just a sec,” you say, “I have something to give you before your game.”

“Oh?” he looks at you with interest, “I fucking love things.” 

“You have to close your eyes though.”

“…what is the thing…” He squints at you with a what are you up to expression.

“Just close your eyes!” you snap at him.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face and then he closes his eyes. “You’re scary as hell sometimes. Excuse me for being cautious.”

You roll your eyes, useless because he doesn’t see it, and then take a step towards him. You cup his jaw with the palm of your hand, his cheek twitching slightly from the unexpected contact, and then you raise on your tiptoes to press your lips to his cheek. It’s short and sweet with the sound of a peck.

“For good luck,” you whisper, then you quickly lower yourself back onto your heels, take a step back and tuck some strands of hair behind your ear. The ground suddenly interests you.

He opens his eyes, blinking a few times with shock and his hand comes up to brush the tips of his fingers against the spot you kissed him, and then his gaze goes comically dazed when he reaches out to hold you. “Alright, c’mere you,” he says, closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he leans down to kiss you but you laugh and push his face away.

“No no no, only on the cheek for now,” you say with a small laugh.

He does nothing to restrain his frustrated groan. “You can’t do something that cute and then expect me to be chill about it.”

“If you win, then, maybe I’ll let you kiss me for real.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes. Maybe.”

He’s close, towering over you near this bustling east side entrance that he seems to like so much, and his eyes drop to your lips. “Alright. I like those odds.” 

You give him a smile and slip away from him to get back towards the field, and you feel his eyes on you as you walk away.

The pregame events are a blur, with blaring music accompanied by the sounds of the sports announcers clipping across the speakers, finally quieted down in time for the players to line up on the field for the national anthem which was then followed by UTokyo’s alma mater. 

You’re stationed on the same side of the field as Minato, UTokyo’s side, while Hana is covering the sidelines of the opposite end with the opponents goal post. Minato’s filling up a cup of Gatorade for himself at the athlete’s station and then he comes back around to find you.

“Are you ready to take your shots? I see Hana wanted you to shoot on film today,” he says to you as he sloshes around Glacier Freeze in a flimsy plastic cup.

You twist your aperture dial with your thumb. “Yesss, all set. I’ll try to keep up.” 

He nods at you in approval.

The atmosphere feels nerve wracking. Something felt different about this game, the stakes feeling high. Well, of course they’re high, because if they lose today then they’re out of the tournament. But the stakes feel high for other reasons too, an energy you can pick up on but can’t quite discern. 

Your eyes drift across the field where you can see a referee placing a ball at the center of the field. Off to the right, you can see Gojo standing with a few of his other teammates, including Geto, Nanami, and Choso, and they’re all gesticulating to various corners of the field as they discuss what you can only imagine have to do with their plays for today. And you realize— it’s their last college soccer season. Their second-to-last official home match before the championship, and for those of them that haven’t qualified for the national league, it may be their second-to-last match of this caliber for the rest of their lives. One of the final chances that they have to prove something of themselves. The determination was palpable. 

The chief referee’s whistle cuts through the air with three short chirps, and that gathers the attention of all the players on the field. UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kickoff, and YCU’s players choose to attack the left side goal.

Your stomach churns with anticipation, the crowd hushing too as all the players take their places on the field. If you feel nervous, you can only imagine how the athletes feel. There’s a rhythm that you’ve learned over the past couple of months getting to know the sport, where players stretch out their necks and kick out their feet and take subtle deep breaths as they survey the stands. Idle moments before the start of the match where they have no choice but to look forward and only forward, so they take a moment to stay in the present for as long as they can gather. You’ve never been much of a sports spectator, and perhaps you’ve only recently had some personal interest in the team, but you realize you feel pride in your school as you stand behind chalk sideline and see UTokyo’s colors scattered across the field in uniform. And fuck, you wanted them to win. You wanted them to win with fierceness and wrath, and it’s a desire you share with the crowd. 

Gojo spends a minute talking to the referee before the black and white striped man pats him high on the back in the good sport and urges him towards the center of the field. He lifts his foot up onto the ball, rolling it back and forth underneath the spikes of his cleat, and you can see it in his eyes, even from all the way over here, that he seems to have different ideas in mind for this game too. High stakes. Pre-determined, set with will, evident in the clench of his jaw and the concentrated furrow of his brow as he surveys the field with his eyes, and you’re lost in the sight for what feels like forever because you can hardly register the chirp of the ref’s whistle. 

And then the kickoff starts. 

The ball is tapped to Geto to start the play, and the first few minutes were intense as the ball was passed back and forth between UTokyo’s players, placing pressure on YCU’s defense as they inched closer and closer towards the goal. A pass between UTokyo’s #4 was intercepted by YCU and the ball was rushed down towards the left side, the crowd’s horror evident in the uproar as they raise to their feet in fearful anticipation, and with ruthless offense, YCU’s forward takes a clear sink shot towards the goal, and the crowd holds their breath before they watch Choso lunge for it in air, gloved hands firmly grabbing the ball and then pulling it to his chest with a possessiveness you can only expect to see from a skilled goalie, before he crashes down into the ground and the crowd releases relief in the form of rowdy roars.

Ten minutes in, with everyone on their toes, each team tested each other’s defenses. UTokyo were known for stellar offense, especially within the past few years with players like Gojo Satoru and Takuma Ino joining the league as powerful forwards, but UTokyo’s overall offense was still statistically second to none other than YCU. And the pressure YCU was putting on UTokyo’s defense was wearisome to say the least. You glance to see Nanami, who is UTokyo’s best defensive player, huffing and puffing as he stands between two light-footed YCU players in an attempt to guard, and fails an attempt to steal the ball before it gets to the feet of YCU’s striker #6, passed in a split second off to his teammate, with a fake so seamless that it has Choso just a couple inches away from touching the ball before it’s sent flying into the net. 

The noises from the crowd are still loud, but dampened in spirit. 

With the referees hand signal up in the air, the current score is confirmed. 0-1, YCU. 

Coach Yaga calls for a sub, in which he switches Nanami out for who you believe is a 2nd-year defensive player name Yuta you’ve seen around practice with a promising statistical record for interceptions, and you watch as Nanami takes the bench before he swipes the sweat off his face in exhaustion. God. Just fifteen minutes into the match, and YCU already has UTokyo’s defense winded from play. 

You bring your camera up to your face, forgetting for a moment that there was still a job to do here, and you position the direction of the lens towards the center of the field, where Gojo takes his place at the ball once more. Yuta briefly passes by him, signaling some play to him by holding up a number three, likely something Coach Yaga asked him to pass on to Gojo, and you see him briefly nod, his mouth slightly agape as he breathes slowly and pulls his jersey up to wipe at the sweat at his forehead. 

The referee chirps the whistle, Gojo taps the ball to Yuta, and the play starts. 

YCU immediately puts pressure on UTokyo’s offensive play once more, with eager movements to steal the ball, but it’s passed between UTokyo’s players with ease, more practiced and more sure. The kind of play that you and the rest of the school was used to seeing from them. However, Geto loses the ball on a left-back pass, but right when YCU makes attempts to cover field in a long-shot kick towards the left, Yuta intercepts the ball and swiftly passes it to Gojo.

The crowd immediately rises to their feet in anticipation, watching as Gojo shuffles the ball down the field, dangerously close to off-field boundaries, a signature tactic he uses because he knows there’s not a single player in the league that can match him in precision and control to keep the ball in-field on a steal, and he swiftly passes it towards Geto with a side-swept kick, beelining down towards the goal post, in perfect time for Geto pass-back to meet his feet and when Gojo was this close to a net, there was no stopping him. 

He draws his right foot back, and explosively kicks the ball forward, chipping the grass under it in the motion, and it’s sent flying towards the goal, and then threaded past the goalie right to the back of the net. The cheers that erupt across the stadium rumble the ground beneath you. 

1-1, even match.

UTokyo spends no time celebrating, other than a few pats to Gojo’s back as he nods in acknowledgement, no emotion on his face other than pure concentration and greed. The greed to win, like a righteous sin. He stretches his neck out, panting slightly as he takes his place towards the right side of the field and the referee chirps his whistle to signal YCU to start the kickoff.

They quickly make attempts in moving the ball towards their scoring-end of the field, but face push-back from UTokyo’s defense, unable to make it much further past the midfield line, and you bring your camera up to take a snap of Gojo, who you see is still standing off to the right side of the field. But when you position it and peer through the viewfinder, that space he once stood at was empty. You pull your camera down, and blink at the sight, and then the crowd is picking up in volume once more.

Gojo sprints down the flank, cutting past every defender, and moves towards YCU’s attacking goal, which was a shocking place to be for a center forward, but you could feel his desire and determination to steal this back-and-forth ball, and succeeds when YCU makes an open pass, thinking they were in the clear, only to have Gojo sneak in at the last moment and get the ball at his feet. 

The play moves by in a flash, a blur that you or anyone else in the stadium could hardly keep up with it, movements so fast you were shocked a human being was capable of even running that far in such a short amount of time, and in an almost embarrassingly easy play, Gojo makes a fool out of YCU’s defenders as he slips the ball through the legs of his last obstacle before he struck it with sharp precision, sending it soaring to the corner of the goal, past the outstretched arms of the goalie, and into the net. 

2-1, UTokyo.

It was electrifying, the feeling that strikes through the stadium, one that reaches you in your own blood. You’re shocked, standing here, after witnessing Gojo score two goals within the matter of minutes, against one of the top three teams in the league. It’s a shock that reaches everyone, including Coach Yaga who’s standing about ten feet down the line from you, his arms crossed, and you see his eyes for the first time as he takes his sunglasses off to get a better look at what he’s seeing.

You trail his sight, dragging your gaze across the field until it lands at Gojo, who is barely acknowledging the encouraging pats and shakes and goodhearted shoves that his teammates were giving him, because he was focused. It might sound crazy to say, but you swear his eyes looked like a fiercer shade of blue, like they were lit up, and you’re insanely glad you’re not one of YCU’s defensive players at the moment because you feel fearful of him even just standing on the sidelines. 

Your gaze trails back to Coach Yaga, who slowly puts his sunglasses back on but his brows are narrowed tightly as he crosses his arms over his chest tightly.

The “athletic zone”... You’ve heard of it before. A state of pure focus, of peak performance, where an athlete experiences optimal concentration and a sense of effortless control over their actions. In which they perform at their highest level, where time slows down, any and all distractions fade away, and they’re completely immersed in their sport at hand. At the task at hand.

Coach Yaga seems to pick up on the fact that Gojo was on the edge of tapping into that state. 

YCU makes a substitution, and you watch in anticipation as they begin the kickoff. 

There’s fire in their veins with desperation to even out the score once more, rushing the ball down the off-field line, one of their center forwards mimicking Gojo’s signature attack pattern, and Yuta struggles to keep up with the expert dribbling of a fourth-year player with more experience on him, so much so to where he completely leaves the ball unguarded and there’s an open shot, but Geto places pressure at the last moment, in a fierce battle for the ball, before YCU’s center forward loses the ball over the goal line. 

Choso picks the ball up, tapping on it harshly a few times as he surveys his eyes down the field, and all offensive players begin to shuffle towards their attacking goal in anticipation for the goal kick. He signals his hand down and then holds up two fingers in the air before placing the ball down on the six-yard box. He tightens the strap of one of his gloves, eyes squinting, and you follow his gaze down to a part of the field where you note UTokyo’s best aerial players are located and being guarded by YCU’s defense. And with complete trust in his team, that’s exactly where he kicks the ball. 

Geto makes first contact with the ball, his chest colliding with two other YCU players as his head comes out on top and he headbutts the ball closer towards the inner field, and Gojo immediately gains access to it with a bounce of his knee. The crowd holds their breath, fear that they’ll lose the ball to a steal in the split second it spends floating in the air, but Gojo urges it forward with a bounce off of his chest and then rushes it straight down towards the goal post. 

You wonder what sight he sees right now. Where you’re dead center, at no angle, lunging towards the sight of an open goal with a sole goalie standing in the center, anticipating to block your shot, and three defenders on your tail. There’s no room for error, no time to think, only instincts that you cultivate in the last leading milliseconds. They say that, in sports, athletes channel one hundred hours of practice in just a brief second on the field. A split second success that was years in the making. You can’t even imagine possessing that level of perfection in your body, or possessing that level of confidence that you can follow through with it in a moment as dire as this.

It was unreal, the way Gojo fades away from all the defenders, and faces no fear when confronted with the sight of the goalie in front of him while drawing his foot back to kick the ball. You lift your camera up at the last second, no time to think about aperture or ISO, just like he had no time to second-doubt a single twitch in his muscles, and his foot makes contact with the ball so harshly that you can hear the explosive sound even among the delirious cheers from the crowd, before he hook, line, and sinks it straight past the goalie’s head, rushing by like a scarcely deflected bullet, and into the net behind him. 

3-1, UTokyo.

The whole stadium is momentarily speechless, all players and referees and recruiters and reporters and coaches and employees alike, before the most deafening cheers you’ve ever heard in your life scatter across the stands.

There’s a moment of brief reprieve, where the players can catch their breath while YCU makes yet another substitution, as if they’re just trial-and-erroring it at this point, and the cheers in the stadiums remain idle as you can’t tear your gaze away from Gojo.

It’s one of those moments where you realize that someone who you thought was so familiar to you was actually someone you hardly knew at all. You knew he was a talented soccer player, everyone on campus knows it, potentially one of the best to ever grace the league, and the amount of times you passively watched his plays on a lecture hall projector screen as your professor enthusiastically broke them down during class, even before you met him, was good enough for you to realize that he was insane, a one-in-a-million, a talent you cannot replicate, one you have by divinity. One you were born with. 

And yet, somehow, getting to know him these past couple of months, he just felt so human. For someone so seemingly beyond you, he felt so…close? In those moments where it was just the two of you, it was hard to imagine that he was capable of such greatness, and that so many people were rooting for him with wholehearted tears in their eyes and cheers from their hearts, because most of the time, when he was with you, he was just a dorky idiot. You find that your heart is beating fast in your chest, that feeling of being unsure of what to do with what you’ve been wanting resurfacing powerfully. 

“This is insane,” you hear Minato say from beside you and you jump a little from your thoughts being interrupted.

You twiddle with your camera straps. “I know…almost done with the first half and we’re up 3-1…I thought YCU are number one in offense for the league?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean, yes, that is insane too. But what’s even more insane is that three of the goals so far have been scored by one player.” He tips his chin towards the right sight of the field and you trail his line of sight. “By Gojo Satoru.”

Your brow furrows as you watch Gojo, his hands on his hips and his mouth slightly open as he indulges in a few shallow breaths to gain energy while YCU prepares for kickoff. Three goals, by just one player. Your eyes widen when you realize that is insane, especially for a D1 semi-final qualifying match.

“You know what the divisional record is for most goals scored by a single player during a championship match, y/n?” Minato asks you as he lifts his camera up to take a picture of the area Gojo was standing in. 

You shake your head and wait for his response.

He drops his camera down and glances at the photo on his screen. “Four. During Keio Uni vs. Osaka Uni, near the beginning of the tournament back in 1997 by Osaka’s center forward number 24, Yuji Nakazawa. Meaning no one’s managed to beat that record since the new millenia, for a couple decades. Although a few players came close.”

You blink at him, and Minato is jerking his chin over in the direction of Gojo again.

“I think he’s trying to beat the record.”

You can only widen your eyes at Minato in realization, and then the chirp of the referee’s whistle draws everyone’s attention back to the field. 

The sports announcers go wild on the speakers, the crowd raving all the same, standing to their feet like the team just won the championship match.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! We are watching HISTORY in the making!! Gojo Satoru, UTokyo’s very own 3-year consecutive MVP, has scored his 34th goal of the season, highest of any player in this year’s season so far, and is now on the road to beat the league’s long-standing record for most goals scored by a single player in a championship match since 1997!!” And the crowd roars even louder as you stare out at the field in awe.

YCU starts the kickoff following the prompt short chirp of the referee’s whistle, and with two minutes remaining on the clock for the first half, make desperate attempts to book it down the field towards their attacking goal, one of their midfielders making a clumsy attempt to strike the ball to the net in the final minutes of the half, and Choso easily catches it in his arms, right before the buzzer of the timer sounds, and the match moves into halftime. 

All of UTokyo’s players immediately flock towards Gojo in sportful glee, finally having a chance to surround him and harass him with harsh pats on his back and ruffles of his hair for his play in the first half. Choso even puts him in a headlock because they all don’t know what else to do with their excitement and adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Their win for today was basically confirmed with the way he was playing. 

You catch a glimpse of him through the crowd of people, and he has a boyish grin on his face, reveling in the embarrassing amount of attention from his teammates, that focused look from before dissolving into his normal self again. But you can see through him, as well enough as you’ve learned to at least, and you can tell he’s not satisfied. He’s thinking it’s not enough. There’s still more to be done, and it’s not time to celebrate yet. 

His eyes scan down the sideline until they find you. 

Your heart jumps a second in your chest. He stands up straighter, despite his teammates still clinging to him, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes when your eyes meet. 

Cheerleaders take their place out onto the field, performing their numbers with loud music blaring, and the recruiters seated at their white tables get up to roam across the sidelines in discussion with referees and with Coach Yaga and with whatever players they can sink their greedy teeth into, as well as sneak at refreshments while they’re at it. You can see off to the right that Hana has reunited with Minato and she’s showing him some of the shots she took over at the opponent's side. 

UTokyo’s players start to make their way to the benches to grab for towels and drinks of water and to sprawl across in rest, and you hear loud familiar laughter approaching as you watch the players sprawl across the benches, so you avert your eyes towards the source of the sound. 

You see Gojo approaching the benches, two of his teammates slung with their arms around him in some type of adrenaline-drunken glee as they talk dramatically and theatrically which Gojo entertains with his own drunk-off-of-adrenaline glee. And you raise an eyebrow at his demeanor when he makes eye contact with you.

“There’s my freaky little photographer,” he says, and he’s standing up straight and—wait, is he puffing his chest out as he makes his way towards you? Oh for fucks sake.

Gojo has always been confident around you, for as long as you can remember, but in the fair few moments he’s been cocky, he’s been a menace. And you can only assume the testosterone-induced high of being on the verge of breaking a league record in front of the entire school then subsequently getting homiesexually praised by his teammates for the better part of the past five minutes, not to mention with the crowd and the reporters feeding his ego with a spoon across the speakers, he’s been transformed into the final boss of cocky.

His teammates surround you too, their hands on their hips as they assess you and Gojo when he meanders right up to you, arms held out to hug you, a sleazy sight you’ve seen probably six times this week, and you feel a rush of warmth in your cheeks as you place a hand on his chest to keep him away.

“You’re sweaty and gross, please stay away from me,” you reprimand him, “this is an expensive lens that is not humidity-proof.” 

“Hey, you’re the girl that Kentaro socked in the face with a ball the other day at practice, right?” one of his teammates asks, leaning in towards you to take a closer look at your face.

“Oh yeahhh, ‘cause Satoru wasn’t paying attention,” another one of his teammates chimes in teasingly, hardly heard over the loud remix playing in the background as the cheerleaders continue to perform on the field. 

You shrink a little from where you stand. Gojo’s got an irritated look on his face and he’s shrugging his teammate’s elbow off of his shoulder.

“I really hope you’re getting my good angles,” his teammate to the left comments before winking at you, and you purse your lips together. 

The one on the right leans in too, looking at your cheek with an assessing look in his eye. “At least it didn’t leave a scar on your cute face—”

Gojo shoves the both of them back and away from you by elbowing them in the chest, and they make deep eugh noises before stepping away and rubbing at their sternums with pouts on their faces.

“Get the fuck away from her,” he grumbles, “she’s mine.”

Your cheeks flush slightly with warmth at the attention, and you watch as his teammates scurry away to adhere to some social hierarchy Gojo seems to possess over them.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Yours?”

“Yes. Eventually. Whatever, did you see me out there?” he turns his torso towards the field and points behind himself with his thumb, “when I—”

“Oh god, you know what’s soooooooooo super sexy to me?” you interrupt him. “When guys are humble.”

“Oh c’monnn,” he curls his arm around your waist and pulls you to him, to where you stumble a little on grass and he holds you when you fall into him with more clumsiness than grace. “Tell me you aren’t at least impressed by me.”

You pout, because you are, and you’d really like to give him some reassurance and validation, but for some reason his cocky attitude is setting you off. “Satoru,” you sigh, wiggling a little in his hug, but he holds you tighter, “I’m working right now. Cut it out.”

He lets go of you at that, sober enough from the adrenaline to realize you’re being serious, but he steps into your space so only you can hear him. “What? Are you embarrassed?”

“Of what?” Your face twists with confusion.

“Of me. Are you embarrassed of me?” he asks.

“No. Why would I be embarrassed of you?” you ask with sharpness.

“I don’t know, just, sometimes I feel like you’re always annoyed by me,” he says with a sigh. “It’s like, you’re really sweet sometimes, and then kinda rude out of nowhere, and it’s sort of messing with my head.”

You pout. “You were messing with my head for weeks.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” he quickly interjects, like he already knew you were brewing up that counterargument, “but you don’t have to act like you’re all disinterested and indifferent just to get back at me for it.” He places his hands on his hips and wipes his temple on the round part of his shoulder when he feels a drop of sweat trickle down from his hairline. “You don’t have to act embarrassed around me either.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” you deny, and your cheeks feel hot, and for some reason you feel angry. “In fact, I’m the one that should be asking you that question. Because I still very clearly remember that time you said I was just someone you know in front of your friends.”

He groans and tilts his head back with frustration. “Can you just let that go? Things have changed between us since then. Move on.” 

“You kissed me and then pretended I was just a stranger to you in front of your friends,” you grit as you cross your arms. “That’s the level of sincerity that I know from you, Satoru.”

“Oh, okay, so there’s nothing else I’ve done that shows you that I’m serious about you?” he asks rhetorically with incredulity, throwing his hands up in the air in disbelief.

No. That’s not true, not true at all. But he’s pissed you off now and so all logic was to the wind. “Doesn’t matter. If you’re not embarassed of me, and if you’re really serious about me this time, then fucking prove it.” You’re speaking out of spite, and you fear you’ve just set him off too.

“Fine,” he says, and he grabs the microphone straight out from a passing reporter’s hand, replacing it with a gatorade bottle. The reporter stares at the bottle he’s now holding with confusion. “I will.”

“W-Wait—” you squeak out, feeling the hair at the back of your neck bristle in anticipation and a shiver gets sent down your spine. The cheerleaders are making their way off the field at the end of their routine, and you can hear the thumps across the loud boisterous speakers when Gojo whacks his palm to the microphone to make sure the thing was on before he jogs to the center of the field.

The crowd is already cheering, ecstatic to see the afternoon's star player and pride & joy of their school, and Gojo takes a moment to soak in all the glory in comical appreciation with bowing towards all 360 degree angles of the stadium.

“Uhhh,” you hear Choso from beside you, who’s strapping his thick goalie gloves tightly to his wrists, “Why the fuck does Satoru have a microphone while standing in the middle of the field.”

“It can’t be for any publicly decent reason,” Geto muses.

All you can do is watch.

“Hi, uh,” Gojo starts, static blaring slightly across the speakers and the crowd winces with him, “sorry. I’m Satoru, Gojo Satoru, you might know me from—uh, the game you’ve been watching?”

Cheers all around, because as if a single person wouldn’t know who he is. The stands were rowdy and most definitely drunk off of sidestep beers the stadium has been serving all afternoon long. 

Gojo is about to continue speaking, when he catches sight of the table of recruiters in the corner of his eye and he turns to face them out of respect. “Oh, yeah, uh, number 10,” he tugs his jersey up at the shoulder to stretch out the fabric, the 1 and the 0 flattened in view, “division player ID 233-997. Coach Yaga keeps my business cards in his purse if you want one.”

“SAAAAATTOOORRUUUU!!!!!” you hear Coach Yaga yell from somewhere in the distance.

“Anywho,” Gojo continues, and the music dims slightly, so he glances at the stop clock on the screen, which shows him he’s got roughly five minutes left to pull off whatever idiocracy he had in mind before the second half of the game starts. “Just here to say that there’s this girl I really like.”

The crowd gets louder, almost deafening, and sonically mostly feminine in (delusional) hope he’s gonna name call one of them.

Gojo’s voice is crisp and clear through the speakers as he clarifies. “She’s standing over there,” he says as he nonchalantly points to your exact latitude and longitudinal direction, “with the big camera slung around her neck that looks like it could pull her down to the center of the earth. Yeah. She’s super cute and I really like talking to her.”

“Uh-oh,” Geto murmurs from beside you, and you glance at him to try to get a read on the situation but you can’t.

Gojo starts to pace across the center of the field now, like he’s working the crowd. “But get this—she thinks I’m not fuckin’ serious about her!!!”

The crowd groans with him in unison. Yep, most certainly drunk. Or high off of glee. Either way, he’s playing them like a violin.

“Huh?” Gojo’s voice sounds distant now, away from the mic, and you can see on the large pixelated screen that he’s being interrupted by someone that looks like one of the videographers, “oh, what’s that? This is being broadcasted? Uh-huh. Oh. I’m not allowed to cuss? Oh fuck, okay. Er— shit, okay. Wait—shoot, okay.”

Choso’s smirk is heard from beside you, and you catch Geto and Nanami shaking their heads in your periphery.

“LIKE I SAID,” Gojo continues into the mic, “the girl I like thinks I’m just messing around, so. Uh. To show her that I’m serious about her, I’m gonna…” He looks up at the sky to ponder, and you can hear people shouting all sorts of suggestions of nonsense from the crowd. And instead of saying proclaim my undying affection for her through a romantic soliloquy straight from my heart in the presence of the entire school, he says—“I’m gonna strip. Yes. Down to my tighty whities, Imma strip.”

H–

Huh?!?!?

You don’t even have time to be horrified or scared, you’re just bewildered beyond belief that that’s what he came up with.

What the fuck kind of reassurance did you ask for. And what the fuck kind of reassurance were you about to get?

The crowd goes wild, it’s no surprise to say everyone and their mothers wants to see him naked, even the straight dudes would dig it for the gym inspo. And he points straight to you, sleazy look on his face and you’re going to ignore the fact that he just winked at you too as he crosses his arms to hold the hem of his jersey and pulls it up over his head in the most raunchy and slutty way a man can take his shirt off.

The music manager is quick with the bit, and is most definitely a fellow Gen Z college student, because Justin Timberlake’s SexyBack (ft. Timbaland) starts playing across the speakers and the crowd goes ballistic.

“Ayo why’s Satoru Magic Mike’ing the field right now?” one of his other teammates calls out through a mouthful of protein bar, “What the fuck did I miss?”

The cameraman does God’s work in a hella zoom-in of Gojo’s sweat glistened abs, then pans up the naked expanse of the perfect taut skin across his chest, and you can’t help but stare even among all your horror. It’s like when a male bird embarrasses the fuck outta himself to attract a female bird sitting on a perch, except instead of within the context of a NatGeo documentary, this was your real life. Everyone wants him, but he’s making a fool out of himself for you. 

He pretends to stretch his arms up into the air, a cover-up to flex his biceps, and then he kicks his cleats off, and the socks come off too. Entirely unnecessary, as showing one's ankles is simply too slutty, but alas he’s a whore. And when his thumbs dip into the waistband of his shorts, and there’s anticipating screeching from the crowd, he finally gets chased by security. 

Except he’s an intercollegiate D1 athlete, why the fuck wouldn’t he be able to outrun a bunch of dudes in black?

The camerawork on him is phenomenal as he runs across the sidelines of the field, eliciting a wave down the bleachers. So good in fact that you’re pretty sure the camera man could shoot for the Olympic track and field, with the way the stadium’s got a clear sight of Gojo mouthing the lyrics Them other fuckers don’t know how to act from the song still blaring with satirical rage on his face as he makes a fool of the men chasing him around the perimeter of the field.

And then he does it, drops his shorts, discards them with a kick, and he’s down to his tighty whities as promised. Cameraman has got to be displaying some previously undiscovered level of talent as he zeroes in on a shot of said tighty whities, with Gojo’s—forgive me, I need to be crass—huge bulge prominent in Big Dick Energy fashion except his tighty whities have little red hearts in rows across the fabric so do with that duality what you will.

He’s outrun security with a steady grin on his face as he eats up the drunken crowd’s cheers and riots and roars and you feel like you’re the only sane person in this stadium, or maybe you’re just not used to the fanatics of a college sports crowd. You peep the men in black trailed all the way on the left side of the field where they abandoned their pursuit of Gojo.

He taps imaginary pockets at his thighs, very muscular thighs you take indulgence in noticing, as if he expected to find something there, and he looks around when he doesn’t. He shrugs and grabs the microphone of the next passing sports commentator he spots, and then he makes his way back to you.

His breathing is a little shallow, and he inhales deep to catch his breath. “Baby.” The crowd SCREAMS at the way he purrs the word into the mic. “Will you do me the honor,” he’s huffing and puffing, heard across blaring speakers, “of being my lawfully wedded girlfriend?” And then he holds the mic to your lips.

“W-Wha—” you stutter, and there’s chanting across the crowd with words that barely make sense until you finally realize they’ve started to yell say yes! say yes! say yes! “Oh my gosh, okay, yes, fine, now please, for the love of god, put some freaking clothes on!”

The crowd goes wild with cheerful glees, and Gojo shoots fists up in the air in celebration as he runs all the way towards the center of the field with high knees, and you’re gawking at the sight, before he falls backward onto the grass and makes delirious snow angels on the ground. You see Coach Yaga’s vein popping in his neck from pure agitation as he storms off towards the center of the field to knock some sense into Gojo, but you know that Coach Yaga can’t kick him out, because they still have a game to win. The perks of being the most valued player in the league is getting to act like an absolutely insane idiot because you know they still need you in the end to bring it home.

You glance to the right, seeing his teammates nodding slowly then getting back to wrapping athletic tape around ankles and stretching out shoulders, with immediate acceptance of his actions like it wasn’t even out of character for him to do. And you realize again that you don’t know Gojo as well as you think you do.

And then the halftime timer is up.

You see Gojo approach the benches in a quick jog, squeezing some water into his mouth with his green gatorade squirt bottle, and when your eyes flit up to the screens on all four entrances, you see that the cameramen are still all focused on him accompanied by the continued buzz of conversation among the crowd following his public spectacle. But he seems to already be past any semblance of embarrassment as he takes the attention with ease, before he glances up to make eye contact with you and then lightly jogs right up to you.

“Did that prove to you that I’m not embarrassed of you?” he asks you, cocking a brow with a smug look on his face as he gets all up in your personal space. 

“I don’t know, but I’m certainly thoroughly and expeditiously embarrassed of you now,” you say, cheeks feeling flush when he leans forward so he can make eye contact with you at eye level. “I’ll have to move to a different country.”

His grin is relaxed. “Yeah well you asked for it.”

“Maybe. But I underestimated what a lunatic you are.”

“You’re my girlfriend now, you’ve gotta get used to it.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. “Satoru–”

“Tomorrow,” he cuts you off, “Hinode pier. I’ll pick you up at six. It’s a date, so wear something cute. And preferably easy to take off.” And then he’s attentive to the chirp of the referee’s whistle in the air before jogging backwards towards the feel and eventually turns on his heel towards the field while you’re left with warm cheeks and a heart that felt like it was moving at a mile a minute.

The timer for the second half refreshes on the screen while you loosely hold your camera in your shaking hands. It occurs to you that you haven’t taken a single photo of him before the start of the kickoff, and so you bring the piece of consolidated metal up to your eyes, peering through the viewfinder and focusing it on the center of the field. And there he was. Your muse.

Gojo lets out a breath, which you can see even from here that it’s shaky and staggered with resistance, and he lifts his jersey up to swipe at the sweat trickling down his face as he eyes the ball underneath YCU’s player’s foot just prior to the start of the second half. There it was—that look again of pure focus. 

3-1, forty-five minutes on the clock. And the referee chirps the whistle to start the second half.

It’s immediately evident that YCU has returned to the field following halftime with renewed energy, pressing high down the flank relentlessly past UTokyo’s defense, so fast it was hard for anybody to even keep a steady eye on the ball with the fluidity of their passes. The persistence pays off in the fake double-pass that slips past Geto’s feet, a moment of hesitation in the broken flow of UTokyo’s defense, and one of YCU’s strikers has the perfect line of shot towards the goal before digging his foot under the ball and sending it flying towards the corner of the goal post, scoring themselves a goal within just the first five minutes of play.

3-2.

The pressure mounts at the next kickoff, and with about seven minutes of solid play, with back-and-forth passes, multiple attempts at both goal posts to no avail on either side, it was clear that exhaustion was bustling in the veins of all the players.

One of YCU’s offensive players seems to capitalize on this, jumping on a defensive lapse of a pass Nanami attempted to make towards Yuta, and the ball is swiftly stolen then raced back towards the goal post. Choso prepared himself at the line, light on his feet paired with a solid stance, but in a millisecond of a moment, YCU’s offense unexpectedly passes the ball to a player racing up the midfield, and the player chips the ball neatly into the exposed corner of the goal despite Choso’s attempt to lunge for it in mid air.

Equalized, 3-3 game, momentary shock across the players’ faces, and the crowd bustles with something that sounds less like glee and more life fear. YCU was prepared to live up to and hold onto their title as the league’s number one offense, and as Minato explained to you during your time working in this job, an offensive team isn’t good at scoring goals, but rather exceptional at breaking down the other team’s defense.

Your eyes zero in on Geto, who stands in the center of the field for kickoff, and he’s huffing and puffing. He's the lead of defense for the team, and you can only imagine the level of pressure he feels right now. He glances around to his players, over to Nanami who seemed to share the same level of exhaustion, and then he glances towards Gojo who stood in front of him off to the right. Except you notice that Gojo looks relaxed, albeit still exhausted, but there’s a composed expression on his face even in the moment of heightened stakes. With locked eyes, Geto nods at Gojo and raises two fingers up into the air to signal a play, of which Gojo seems to respond to by closing more distance between him and the goal post prior to the kickoff, positioning himself almost directly in front of it, to which YCU’s defense immediately begin to guard him in a tight radius. 

The kickoff begins, with Geto making a few passbacks with Nanami as they close distance towards the field before passing it off to UTokyo’s string of offense and then receding back to their defending goal. UTokyo continues to close distance, raising stakes for YCU as their defense begins to falter under pressure, and the ball gets passed to Gojo, who only keeps it in possession for less than three seconds before he passes it back to Yuuji, a risky decision to make in the second half of a semifinal match, but the first-year swiftly unleashes a powerful shot that rockets past YCU’s goalkeeper, up towards the corner, except–

It bounces off the metal of the goal post, shot off with projectile speed back towards the center of the field, but with razor-sharp reflexes, Gojo headbutts the ball in air, twists his torso and strikes the ball with his foot past a dumbfounded goalie who can’t even move an inch to guard the ball that he already knew was going to sink right into the goal, and that’s exactly what it does. 

The stadium erupts with the momentum.

4-3, UTokyo. 

It was a sweet moment, one you manage to capture on camera of Gojo running up to Yuuji and ruffling his hair in reassurance, despite the missed goal. Your heart feels warm in your chest, feeling your own sense of melancholy that this was one of the last times they’ll ever get to play together on a team. 

Your eyes widen when you glance at the scoreboard, realizing that he’s tied. Gojo is tied for the most goals scored during a championship match. There were less than three minutes left on the clock. UTokyo either preserves their lead, or they risk moving into overtime, which, judging by the exhaustion on the UTokyo players’ faces in the wake of YCU’s relentless offense this entire game, moving into overtime would be a hefty, hefty risk. 

YCU’s center forward takes his place in the center of the field, fire evident in his eyes as he glances across the field. YCU are light on their feet, channeling everything in their bodies into these last moments of the game as they prepare to start the kickoff. You glance across UTokyo’s players, and although they look spent, there was a resolute look to all of them. It wasn’t the time to give up or feel at ease even near the end of this grueling battle. Now was the time to play. 

The referee chirped his whistle, and the kickoff began.

YCU immediately presses hard, as all their other plays have been all game, in their desperation to score. You can already see UTokyo’s midfielders move sluggishly in comparison to YCU’s offense, a drag to their feet as YCU pushes past the first layer of defense towards their attacking goal. Geto takes an aggressive approach, making moves to steal the ball while Nanami and Yuta guarded both flanks, and there was a relentless pass-off happening that ate up more than a minute of the remaining time.

Nanami succeeds in stealing the ball, but immediately loses it under his feet by a YCU midfielder, who makes a broad pass down the sidelines to YCU’s star forward who then powerfully kicks the ball towards the unguarded area of their goal, a dangerous shot that was clear towards the crossbar and Choso makes a leap for it, high into the air, his glove brushing against the ball, the entire crowd holding their breath in anticipation–

And the ball lands in the net. 

4-4, tied game. With one minute and seventeen seconds left on the clock. 

There was no time wasted in getting back to center field. No time spent dwelling in the horrific roars of the crowd as they watch with anxiety and fear. No time spent to process or consider or signal any plays. Not even a single second used to catch breath. When there is this much at stake, an athlete thrives on momentum. 

To your surprise, Gojo isn’t the one that takes place at the center of the field to start the kickoff. Yuta stands there instead, and you notice his eyes are erratic as he surveys all corners of the field. 

The referee chirps his whistle. 

Yuta immediately passes it off to the side to UTokyo’s midfielder, who curls it towards their attacking goal with a swift pass to Ino, who closes distance towards the goal, but one of YCU’s defender slips in, undoing any progress they had made in their offense by stealing the ball and sending it back towards mid-field. Forty-three seconds. The crowd���s roars heightened as YCU continued to push forward, thirty yards now from scoring, and UTokyo’s defense was desperate to stop them but their momentum was cracking in the wake of their exhaustion. 

It was a moment you don’t think you could ever fully or truly recall, one that you wish you had focused all your energy and attention to so that you could commit it to memory for the rest of your life. The image of Gojo pushing all the way to ten yards before their defending goal, a place where no center forward should really be at in a game like this, but it was exactly what their defense needed. It was exactly what the team needed. It was exactly what the school needed. For the ball to be in his possession.

With twenty-two seconds left on the clock, he steals the ball from right under YCU’s offensive feet, and then charges towards the opposite side of the field. The crowd rises to their feet, thunderous roaring that overtook any and all senses, as Gojo weaves through forwards, center forwards, midfielders, and defenders, covering the entire span of the field in lightning time. Fifty yards, forty yards, thirty yards, twenty hards, ten yards–

In a moment you couldn’t believe, he digs his foot underneath the ball, and sends it flying out towards the goal. There was not even a margin of an inch in which it slipped past the goalie’s hands, past his head, and swiftly flew right into the net.

With three-two-one seconds, the match was over. 

5-4, UTokyo’s win.

The final whistle blew, and for a moment, there was silence. As if the world paused to catch its breath. Then, all at once, the crowd erupted with glee that shook the entire stadium at its core. Flags waving, scarves held high, toasts of beer held up to the sky, it was deafening, and it almost makes you want to cry. Thousands of voices shouting in unison, celebrating the hard-fought victory of their school’s team. A type of pride that was fostered, and well-deserved, and long-lived.

You quickly glance towards the field again, and see Gojo standing right at the same spot where he had kicked the last and final goal, staring towards the net. You can’t see the expression on his face, but it surprises you how still he is. Like a statue, staring at the goal with the ball tucked into its corner. The very epitome of what it means to succeed in this sport was right in front of him, and it seemed like he wanted to soak the visual in for as long as he could.

His trance is abruptly interrupted when his teammates swarm in, rushing over like a wave of pure adrenaline. They slap him on the back, ruffle his hair, shout his name, the sounds of gleeful disbelief mixed with exhausted sighs of relief swarming into the air. And Gojo finally melts away from the tension of the match and into the celebration as he weakly returns the embraces of his teammates while he catches his breath. 

“IT’S OFFICIAL!! IT’S OFFICIAL!! UTOKYO’S VERY OWN GOJO SATORU HAS OBLITERATED OSAKA UNIVERSITY’S RECORD FOR MOST GOALS SCORED BY A SINGLE PLAYER IN A CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH!!” 

The speakers are blaring the voices of the sports announcers, along with ambient music to match the intensity of the match that everyone had just witnessed. 

You should probably be doing your job. You know, take a picture of the huddle of players on the field as they bask in the glory of a close victory, but instead your feet start moving on their own. Like a magnet drawn to him, you make your way towards Gojo, only a slight hesitation in your step as you stop about ten feet away, suddenly unsure. But when he makes eye contact with you, all that fear melts away.

He hastily pats the backs of some of his teammates, acknowledging their praise at the center of the huddle before tightly squeezing past them to make his way over to you. Your heart is beating fast in your chest, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of pride in your school’s team, but more importantly, in him. What was the acceptable thing to do? Run to him, into his arms, and hug him while he twirls you around? Tackle him to the grassy ground? Kiss him like your life depended on it? You have no clue what the acceptable or sane or normal thing to do is. But he’s made his decision for you when he walks right up to you, his hands holding your waist as he pulls you towards him. He smells earthy, of grass and salt and sweat and of all the hard work he poured into today, the wear and tear of the game evident in the wear and tear of his jersey. He only manages to huff out an exhale at the sight of you, like some relief washing over him just by looking into your eyes. Forget the fact that the crowd was all watching and that all of the screens you could see past his head were focused on the two of you, because all you could hear or see or think was him.

“I believe you owe me a kiss,” he says, huffing as he catches his breath but that doesn’t stop the smile that makes its way onto his face.

You nod your head, giving him your own version of a sweet smile as your arms slide up past his shoulders, crossing behind his neck, and he leans down to kiss you.

You hear a swell from the crowd, some teasing comments off in the distance from some of his teammates, you’re pretty sure you hear Coach Yaga yelling at him to get back to the benches, but it all melts away with the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he kisses you at the center of this stadium.

It was a moment so pure, so sweet, so picture perfect, and for once, you’re not the one behind the camera taking the photo. You’re the one that’s in it.

.

.

.

.

.

[end of kickoff ch12]

a/n. aaa thanks a lot for reading!! pls the fucking public stripping scene was so stupid i apologize on behalf of kickoff gojo for his behavior 😂😂 i’ll put him in his cage dw this chapter had some of what i consider to be the most challenging aspects of writing for me (internal conflict, grand public gesture, sports jargon) and so writing it felt like an uphill battle the ENTIRE time i wrote it and edited it. i considered scrapping it sooo many times cuz i just wasn't happy w it...but whatever i can't expect to be 100% happy w every chapter i put out there haha. i think kickoff has become a lil sacred for me since i've been working on it for a while now but likeee...sometimes u just gotta say fuck it we ball (tbh kickoff gojo probably says that to himself before a match) anywho, i am veryy thoroughly excited for what i've got planned for the chapters to follow, especially moving into the last angsty arc before the end of the series!! so i look forward to picking up momentum w this series again :0 honestly chapters 10 through 12 were the most difficult things i've written so far for a lot of reasons, but i have a feeling things will go more smoothly for me creatively going forward since what i've got planned falls well within my writing comfort range oh also there seems to be a little confusion about the number of chapters left, as i know i had originally said 12, but i anticipate that there will be about 18 chapters of kickoff total!! so still around six chapters left before the end :)) much lovee thanks for reading!!

OH WAIT ONE LAST NOTE I'M SORRY i didn’t really have a way of organically incorporating this into the story n i’m not sure if i’ll get a chance to in the upcoming chapters, so i just wanted to share this part of ch7 (gojo’s pov chapter) that is relevant to this chapter:

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant. 

the record that gojo broke in this chapter is the same record that his father almost broke before he got the call that he was going to be a dad :0 

➸ you're all caught up!

additional notes. please do not pressure me for updates or ask when i will next update (read rules); taglist is currently closed (consider subscribing to the story on my ao3 for email updates if you'd like! :0)

taglist:

@megumisdivinedogs @witchbybirth @avatarl0v3r @mwtsxri @asherheed

@wynney @delulux3 @higurumapet @zombriesworld @xenop0p

@phoenix-eclipses @who-can-touch-my-boob @mo0nforme @reagan707 @lost-resonance

@foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @beabadobeee @thexmistress

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@ri-sa20 @thexmistress @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @sashisuslover

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[taglist is closed]

[cvpidzcvrse]

Nah, I'm Better.

divider by @cafekitsune

✦A/N: OK! this took longer than expected but LISTEN! I'm here now and probably will be dropping more frequently (hopefully). Reader is also a slut I mean she could talk me through it and I'd let her. But I tried to eat down as much as possible for this fic so the girlies and the gays wouldn't starve. Gojo is driving my dream car, a girl can only imagine.

⋆.ೃ࿔*･Synopsis: You and Satoru have been best friends since elementary school. By the time you both made it to college he’s hated every single partner you’ve ever had. Your recent ex isn’t any different, but he’s doing something about it this time.

⋆.ೃ࿔*･wc: 2,886

⋆.ೃ࿔*Warnings: best friends to lovers, praise, car sex, arguments (ish), cowgirl, choking, handjob, p in v, no protection, finishing inside (practice safe sex)

(the reader is black)

If you had a dollar for every time you and Satoru got mistaken for a couple you’d be rich, not richer than him. He loves it when people mistake him for your boyfriend. It’s the ego boost he doesn’t need. He’s liked you for a while but you always shut him down. Either for another guy or because you see him as just a “friend”. You knew that was a lie, you didn’t want to ruin the friendship between you guys. So to buried your feelings for Satoru and used other men as a distraction. Fuck buddies, friends with benefits, sugar daddies, you name it. Nothing was ever successful; it always ended in heartbreak or fights. Satoru hated that you went for men who were lower than your standard.

He hated that you didn’t go for him. That’s part of the reason why he’s parked outside a fancy restaurant waiting for you to walk out.  

You thought this guy was the one, you’d been talking for a couple weeks, going on dates, even fucked a few times. But no people always have to ruin it, it was fun while it lasted. Mahito was a guy you met off of Tinder. He was nice, sweet, and probably the realest guy you’ve ever met. That was until date number four when he brought up his love for podcasts. Specifically a podcast by the name ‘Fresh and Fit’, you know the podcast that goes around and hates on women for a check. 

What a loser…

After learning that information you left the date immediately. Leaving him with a “Get a life, nigga.” before quickly walking out of the restaurant. The cold drizzle of rain calms your nerves as you heave out a soft sigh. Your eyes meet a familiar and sleek all-black Ford Bronco. An air of comfort travels throughout your body. You haven’t been this excited to see Satoru since…ever. He’s already looking in your direction with his cheeky smile, flashing you his pearly white teeth. He’s always been handsome, your whole life was spent watching girls and even guys swoon over him. You can’t even remember if he accepted any of the advances, you don’t even think he’s had a girlfriend that you know of.

His jagged blue eyes met your dark brown ones and it’s like a firework went off in front of you. Your waist-length knotless braids, glossy plump lips, and warm brown skin have him in a chokehold. The way your honey-glazed skin complimented your outfit made him want to rip it off right there. Luckily his windows are tinted enough to hide his very noticeable lustful gaze, but you felt his eyes burning holes into your head. With a visible frown on your face, you swiftly open the car door. You come face to face with Satoru’s fuck boy grin, you almost melt on the spot.

“When I said ‘call me for emergencies.’ It didn’t include shitty dates.”

You roll your eyes before playfully punching his arm. Satoru speeds out of the parking lot before you can even put your seatbelt on. Your back hits the seat roughly before you send a glare Satoru’s way.

“Chill out, nigga damn. You didn’t even hear how the date went and you’re already mad.”

“I’m mad because you didn’t listen to me. I told you not to trust that fucking loser, now look at where we are.”

You could hear his eyes rolling before you saw it. He’s the leader of the sassy man apocalypse and he never denies it. You grimaced at the undeniable truth that he was right, and you knew it. You cross your arms over your chest and gaze out at the widow districting yourself with the scenery. 

“Hey…look at me.”

His light-hearted voice quickly melted in your ears like honey. He softly gripped your chin and turned your face to his. He analyzed your expression for a moment. Admiring your features, planning your future, imagining his cock inside of you. He’s quickly brought out of his thoughts when you playfully push his hand away. 

“Hands off, this makeup took time.”

He scuffs at your statement before looking back at the busy road. You analyze him for a while, taking in his features. Your thoughts are more innocent than his, and you hope it stays that way. 

“Listen…I’m sorry I didn’t listen. But, niggas man you don’t understand. They’re all so annoying.”

The more you think about your past rendezvous the more it turned into torture. Satoru knew about every failed date. He was always there to be a shoulder to cry on and a dick to ride if you asked him. He knows very well about your tragic love life, he doesn’t remember a successful relationship you’ve been in. He lectured you every time he picked you up from a bad date or situationship ending in ‘So, what are we?’. He wasn’t upset with you, he was more upset that you refused to see his obvious feelings for you. 

“This is just starting to get repetitive. (✧), This is just...nevermind”

He smacked his lips at the end of his statement. A habit he picked up from you after all of the years you two have spent together. His mouth opens to say something else but nothing comes out. He huffs and runs his hand through his hair, he’s frustrated by the current events.

“Don’t get an attitude with me. You think I want to date guys like this?”

Your accusatory tone makes his attention shift slightly from the road. He scans his brain for what to say. He doesn’t want to upset you anymore but he also didn’t want to sugarcoat anything. As a wannabe lover, he wants nothing but the best for you even if it means telling you a harsh reality. 

Your taste in men is shit. 

He doesn’t have enough fingers or toes to list off the amount of guys that hurt you in the past. Nanami was too formal for you, Toji was a bum that leeched off of you, Sukuna was an asshole, and Satoru would’ve killed Suguru if he even attempted to flirt with you. 

“No, you know what I mean. You deserve better than these dumbasses you go after.”

The venom in his voice is very noticeable. Satoru’s carefree nature is cracking under the stress of your love life. Your stubborn nature refuses to let you back down to him, especially when he’s like this. 

“Toru’ I can date and fuck who I want! I don’t need to be lectured by you. I understand that you care, but let me live my life.”

Your response almost sent Satoru out of the car. His eyes twitched in annoyance and his knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel. You watch the way his jaw tightened and his muscles flexed. It turned you on, a lot. As much as you hate to admit it, you looove making him mad. It was just the way his relaxed facade melted away when you threw careless sentences at him. His foot softly pressed on the brake when coming to a red light. He slowly shifted his body to face you, if looks could fuck he’d be fucking you right now. Just the thought of him bending you over the center console had your clit aching. 

“Do not say that, I will crash this car right now and kill us both.”

He glanced at you with a smirk trying to lighten the melancholy-stricken mood. You scuff at his childish antics.

“Oh my god, be for real-”

Ring…

Your phone buzzed in your purse, and your soon-to-be lecture got cut short. Your eyes widened when you saw the caller I.D. read ‘Mahito’. You let it ring for a few seconds before finally answering it. 

“Why are you calling me? I told you we were over.”

Satoru's ears perked when he heard the hostility in your voice. There was a snarky voice on the other end and they were loudly throwing a fit. His eyes analyzed your expression and the way your calmness was replaced with annoyance. 

“You don’t think I can do better than you?…You’re one goofy ass nigga, you know that?…Whatever, fuck you!”

You harshly shoved your phone into your purse and groaned. The awkward silence was almost tangible; you would have to cut it with a chainsaw. Mahito’s words circled in your head and it pissed you off more and more. Who does he think he is? You hum slightly when a very filthy idea comes to your mind. 

“Satoru, I need you to take me somewhere.”

｡.｡:∞♡*

“Why the fuck are we here? Please don’t tell me you’re about to do something stupid.”

Satoru’s tone is laced with worry and confusion. He has no clue why he was parked outside of Mahito’s house right now and he didn’t know why you wanted to come here. You give him a cheeky smile before unbuckling your seatbelt and slowly leaning over the center console. You’re incredibly close to Satoru’s face, your nose practically touching his. All you can do is stare sensually into his ice-blue eyes, but the sense of longing is undeniably visible. 

“What are you doing?”

His voice spills out lowly like silk touching your ears. You take in a breath before crashing your lips into his. He’s caught by surprise but that’s quickly replaced with lust. His veiny hands quickly trace every curve on your body and tangle his fingers in your braids. You pull away taking in the wonderful scenery that Satoru was turned into. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is messy. You both stare at each other in awe and affection. It’s like something was unlocked in the middle of this little plan of revenge. 

“Get in the back.”

You nod before watching him walk out and around as you climb in the back. He opens the back door and stares at you for a moment, taking in the way your skirt is hiked up and your shirt tousled around. He quickly gets in and closes the door, basically pouncing on you. His mouth attacks your neck quickly, leaving several bite marks and hickeys. Without breaking the kiss you roughly pushed him onto the car door behind him. He lets out a low groan and rests his hands on your waist. You reach down and fumble with his belt buckle before finally breaking the kiss and using your hands. 

“If you need help you could’ve just asked.”

“Shut up.”

He chokes out a gasp when you take his cock out of his boxers. You wrap your manicured hand around his big cock and slowly massage the length. You trace circles around his tip with your thumb. A low groan settles at the bottom of his throat as silence sighs escape his lips. He unscrewed his eyes to meet the brazen expression on your face. His chuckles and mixed moans are sending you over the edge. You reach down and caress your clit through your panties. Satoru doesn’t fall ignorant of this and quickly grabs your hand to stop the satisfying motion.

“Suck it, I want your mouth.”

He let out a low chuckle as you took his full length into your mouth. You let out a whine as the tip of his cock touched the back of your throat. Satoru’s head flew back in pleasure as his hand rested comfortably on top of your head. He can sense your greed from the way your tongue moves along his tip. He sighed out a moan and softly pushed your head down further. 

“F-fuck…you’re doing so well.”

He stifles a throaty moan with his free hand and laces his hands in your hair. You were quick to grab his wrist and yank his hand away. You trailed soft kisses up the length of his cock, from base to tip. 

“I wanna hear you, pretty boy. Let me hear you.”

Your voice was soothing and soft it probably could’ve put him to sleep if it weren’t for the current circumstances. He melted at your command and quickly left his hand to the side. You tease his leaking tip with your tongue before putting it all in your mouth again. His mouth goes agape as slutty moans spill out and his hands grip your hair tightly. The way your head is bobbing up and down on his cock has his mind going blank. His cock twitches in your mouth before he quickly shoves your head away.

“I don’t want to cum yet. C’mon get on top, ride what’s yours.”

You swiftly straddle his lap and he pushes your panties to the side. You wrap your arms around him as he slowly pushes you on his hard cock. You let a soft moan and tug at Satoru’s hair. He moans in response and pushes you down deeper.

“Shit…fuck me, c’mon.”

His mouth is hovering over your ear and his voice is low and seductive. You slowly start to rock your hips and grind on his cock. After adjusting to his size you messily start bouncing on his cock. Strings of curses spew out of his mouth and his grip on your waist gets tighter. 

“Like this baby? Mmph…you’re so big.”

The constant praise is making the blood rush to his face. He hides his blushing face in your shoulder and leaves several bite marks. The car windows turn foggy and the only thing illuminating the car is the moonlight. Satoru’s moans can probably be heard from blocks away. His hands are under your sweater groping and squeezing your plush breast. His fingers pull and twist at your nipples as your pace gets messy. 

“Give me your hand…”

His voice is carnal and vibrating in your ear. It makes your clit twitch and your tempo stagger. You untangle your hand from his hair and place your hand in his. He takes two of your fingers and places them in his mouth. He doesn’t break eye contact, he’s just looking at you like a meal waiting to be devoured. He slowly sucks them and swirls his tongue around them. The scene in front of you is so sensual and slow, you’ve never experienced something so intimate before. He slowly pulls your fingers out of his as a saliva trail is the only thing left behind.

“Play with your clit for me. I wanna watch while you bounce on my cock.”

His voice moves like velvet through your body. It’s like he’s talking right to your pussy and she’s answering very loudly. The moment your hand reaches your clit Satoru plunges his cock into you. His thrust gets more violent and his large cock attacks your cervix. Your head dips back in pleasure in the constant assault on your insides. 

He’s starting to unravel like a present. His strokes get messier, sweet liquid spilling everywhere, his moans getting louder and more frequent. His nail prints are embedded on your love handles and your thighs are a wet mess. 

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. C’mon baby you can do it.”

His pleading sends shivers down your spine. You’ve never seen him so desperate before, it was empowering that your pussy brought him down a few notches. His pussy drunk stare is intoxicating to look at. The way he’s looking at you with his eyes half-lidded with nothing but lust in them. There was something about the way he looked at you; it wasn't just lust. It was like you were a necessity to him, he needed you.

“Mmph…baby I’m ‘bouta cum!”

“Cum for me, you’d make me so proud. Cum on my cock princess.”

Satoru replaced your hand with his and traced circles on your clit. With his hand working its magic and his cock peppering kisses on your cervix sends you crazy. The car is rocking very noticeably but you could care less. Your climax crashes onto you like a brick. Your juices spill all over his thick cock and coat his length in a slippery mess. His warm and sticky ropes decorate your insides, leaving his pants soaked and a wet ring around the base of his cock.

“That’s it, I’m so proud of you baby.”

 He tenderly pulls out and holds you tight to him, taking in the moment. You rest your forehead on his shoulder, you both desperately trying to catch whatever air is left in your lungs. You hear Satoru chuckle slowly while tracing kisses on your neck. 

“What’s so funny? Did my pussy make you delirious or what?” 

He shakes his head and lifts your head softly and turns it towards the window. While swallowed by lust you didn’t notice Satoru rolled the window down. Mahito is staring in awe and anger; he looks like he is about to explode. Satoru’s chuckle turns into a full-blown cackle as he glances at Mahito, sending him that cheeky smile that you love so much. You join Satoru in his joyous laughter before reaching over and rolling up the window.

“At least my plan worked. Let’s do it again but this time with handcuffs.” 

[whytheylosttheirminds]

june gloom - part 2: is this gonna end ever?

(Rafe Cameron x pogue!reader, 6.9k words)

part 1

summary: Six months after Rafe walked out of your life, you're finally picking up the shattered pieces he left in his wake. When you accidentally find yourself working at his wedding, your thrown right back into the chaos you thought you were free from.

content: angst/smut, 18+ minors do not interact!, mentions of alcohol abuse and drugs, mentions of cheating, what could be considered infiedelity

a/n: as a fair warning, the angst only gets worse in this one. however, I promise the third and final part will see a satisfying and happy ending for these two if you stick with me. also, this one got wordy, but after struggling with it for a while i'm very happy with how it turned out. thank you to this anon for inspo and for everyone's support on pt. 1.

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊

Crickets chirped a chorus around you as you laid back on the flannel blanket, the grass beneath making a soft pillow for your head. Your lips wrapped around the blunt, lungs expanding to welcome the smoke. You hummed in pleasure as the high-end strain went down way smoother than any of the trash you would usually get on The Cut.

“God, this is good shit,” you said with a lazy smile.

“Only the best for you,” Rafe smirked, leaning over on the blanket to pull the joint from your lips so he could join in your revelry.

He took a long drag and let it go in a smoke ring that rose above you and disappeared into the starry sky. You tried and failed to stifle your laugh.

“What’s funny?” He asked, eyes glazed over with his high.

“Nothing,” you chuckled. “Just…what frat house did you learn that in?”

“Shut up,” he teased back, making you laugh harder.

“No, I’m sure the sorority girls found that very sexy,” you continued.

“They did actually, thank you,” he joked. “You would’ve too.”

“Yeah right, I’d make a great Phi Beta Whateverthefuck,” you huffed sarcastically.

“Did you go to college?” He asked.

You’d known Rafe for about three months, spending nearly every night together since you first met at that club. You had talked about just about everything under the sun except yourselves, you were caught off-guard by this excavation into your history.

“Um, no,” you answered, taking the blunt back from him.

“Why not?”

You shrugged, taking another hit, “didn’t wanna.”

“Do you regret it?” He continued.

You sat up and pulled your knees to your chest, looking down at him with a frown.

“What?” He questioned.

“Why the sudden interest?” You said, harsher and less playful than you’d intended to.

Rafe sat up next to you, pulling his knees towards himself to mirror you. His eyes were intense on your face as he mumbled, “you don’t want me to get to know you?”

Truthfully, you wanted that and so much more, but you couldn’t tell him that. You knew this was just a way for him to pass the time until he could get you in bed again, and maybe you were okay with that. You decided you’d entertain the line of questioning, just this once, not knowing then that this was just the first of many deep, meaningful conversations you’d share with him.

You took a deep breath and said, “what do you want to know?”

He looked up at the stars as he considered the answer to that question. You took the opportunity to admire the way the moonlight reflected off of the sharp angle of his jaw.

He decided on “what’s your biggest dream?”

You bit your lip and looked down at your bare feet, digging them into the blanket, not used to this kind of conversation and yet feeling curiously comfortable opening up to him.

“I want to go to India,” you answered honestly. “I read a book when I was a kid about a little girl who grew up in India and I’ve wanted to go ever since.”

Rafe nodded in approval, “that’s a good one. You should go.”

“Yeah, as soon as I win the lottery, it’ll be my first stop,” you joked bitterly.

“Or I could just take you,” he shrugged.

You smiled at him, incredulous. 

“What?” He asked, genuinely unsure of the meaning behind the look you were giving him. You realized he might actually be serious, even though you knew it would never really happen.

“Nothing. That’s sweet,” you smiled. “But I want to get there on my own. I wanna earn it.”

“I can respect that,” he conceded. 

“Anytime you wanna lend me that private jet, though, just hit me up,” you teased.

Rafe chuckled, eyebrows raised, “oh I see…you’re using me.”

“I thought that was obvious,” you smiled coyly. 

“Uh-huh,” Rafe said, playfully shoving your shoulders so you fell back onto the blanket. 

You giggled as he climbed over you, caging you in between his arms as he held himself up, looking down at you, tucked perfectly beneath him.

“I think I’m okay with that.”

He leaned down and kissed you, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip tenderly, lowering himself down until you were chest to chest…

“Are you listening to me?”

Your friend waved her hand in front of your face, trying to get your attention.

“Sorry, what?” You were pulled from your thoughts.

“I said they want us there at four this friday,” she showed you an email on her phone.

“Oh,” you blinked, coming back to the moment. “Where is it?”

“Some mansion on Figure 8. It’s a wedding, but they're doing like a whole weekend thing, so it’s Friday through Sunday. Last time I worked one of these I made over five hundred.”

When she first told you about the catering gig this weekend, you turned her down. You’d been carefully avoiding the north part of the island for the last six months, and a whole weekend would be a high-risk endeavor. However, you didn’t have to check your bank account to know you were near broke, and Figure 8 was where the real money was made. You agreed and ironed your white button down and black slacks, your go-to outfit for catering gigs.

As you pulled up to the address your friend had sent you, you cursed under your breath. The estate was huge, the old house immaculately kept and towering proudly under a crystal blue sky. You turned down the radio as your beat up car sputtered its way up the long, grand drive.

“We’re definitely not on the south side anymore,” you joked to yourself. 

You pulled around back to the service entrance as directed by your friend’s text and tracked her down in the crowd of other blue collar workers. Everyone was moving quickly, arranging the massive party space according to the wishes of some unseen bride and groom. 

You were put to work right away, polishing silverware and arranging it as instructed by the very specific, color-coded diagram you had been given. Tonight was only the rehearsal dinner, and there were two-hundred names on the guestlist. You chatted with your friend as you did various other chores, speculating about who could possibly be the owner of this massive property.

“Maybe it’s a crime lord,” your friend joked. “Like some mafia type shit.”

“Maybe it’s a celebrity,” you guessed. 

You didn’t have to wonder for long. 

“Hey! A little help here!” A delivery driver called to you as he struggled to lift something large and rectangular out of his truck, the mystery item protected with a large, black sheet.

You ran over to give him a hand, and he directed you to a big easel he had set out, “picture of the happy couple,” he explained. You called your friend over, informing her you were about to have all your questions answered.

Once you had set the canvas down, you asked the delivery driver if you could remove the sheet. “I don’t give a fuck, my job’s done,” he said, hopping back in his truck and driving off. You and your friend giggled as you did a little countdown and drumroll routine. You pulled the sheet away and her mouth fell open

“Of fucking course,” she immediately took out her phone to take a picture.

You stepped back to look at the giant, blown up portrait. Every muscle in your body tensed and the blood drained from your face, you grabbed the back of a nearby chair for support. 

There on the oversized canvas, smiling that perfect, crooked, arrogant, beautiful smile, was Rafe Cameron.

He had his arm around the woman you recognized to be the one he’d left you for, calling off your whirlwind love affair in pursuit of something more optically appealing to his family. He’d found it; they were gorgeous together.

Six months had passed since you’d last seen him. The first few months were the hardest you’d ever faced. At first, you went out almost every night, needing to stay shitfaced to keep your mind from wandering to him or your fingers from dialing his number. Eventually, you had to delete him from your phone, not trusting yourself in those late night moments when you missed him so much you thought you might die. No amount of booze or weed could make you forget the feeling of his hands on your body, the sound of his voice, the look in his eyes when he fucked you that last time. Your friends started getting worried. You blacked out so often, you couldn’t keep a job. After three or four months of your reckless behavior, they called a sort of intervention and convinced you to calm down. 

You decided if you were going to be alone, you’d make yourself good company. 

You stopped drinking, and even gave up cigarettes. It took several false starts, but the patch got you through it. You picked up good habits, too, starting your mornings with yoga and meditation. You were planning to go back to school, tired of career-hopping through dead-end minimum wage jobs. You stopped eating take out so much, started grocery shopping and saving every spare cent you had for a travel fund. You even cut and dyed your hair, finding freedom in the ability to change whenever you wanted, in the fluidity of answering to no one but yourself. You were still untamed, but for the first time in your life, you felt a semblance of control. You decided you’d build a beautiful life even if you had to scratch and claw your way to it. And you’d do it all by yourself.

Slowly, and with the most effort you’d given anything ever, you were finally starting to get over Rafe Cameron.

Or so you thought. Now, standing in his backyard, decorating for his wedding, you felt like you were right back where you were that night in June, lying naked on your bed while he walked out of your life forever.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A high-pitched, angry voice startled you, pulling your eyes away from the picture.

You whipped your head around to see her, even more stunning than she was in pictures, her wide Disney-princess eyes shooting daggers at you. Your first and most irrational thought was that she somehow knew who you were. The delusion of that concept was quickly made apparent.

“The picture was supposed to stay covered until tonight,” she barked at you and your friend, who looked at you with wide-eyed panic. “Aren’t you the fucking caterers? Why are you even out here?”

“S-sorry,” you stammered out, your mind reeling as it tried to connect to your reality. You picked up the sheet off the ground. “We’ll cover it back up.”

“No, don’t touch it! Where’s your manager?” She demanded, her hands on her hips. “They need to know about this. What are your names?”

Your friend looked at you with wide eyes, you knew she needed this job even more desperately than you did. Plus, she’d stuck her neck out to get you hired and now she’d lose the money and her credibility.

“It was me,” you blurted out. “Not her. Don’t worry, you don’t need to get anyone fired, I’ll just leave.”

It wasn’t a big sacrifice, considering you were already thinking if you stayed another minute you might have a full blown panic attack. At least if you threw yourself under the bus and got fired, your friend would have no reason to question why you ran from the property crying.

“Fine, whatever,” she dismissed your act of loyalty with a wave of her manicured hand while your friend looked at you with grateful eyes. “What’s your name then?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you handed her the sheet, which she snatched from your hands irritably. “I’ll just go.”

You tried to keep your composure as you walked back toward the house, praying you’d remember your way back to your car. Your heart was pounding, your anxiety and shock threatening to bubble over, you could feel tears springing up and your hands shaking.

You rounded one of the many corners of the massive house, finally out of her line of vision, and broke into a sprint. You passed through another courtyard, where more preparations were underway. There were far too many eyes on you. If you remembered correctly, there was only one more turn before the part of the property you were parked on.

Dirt crunching under your feet, you slid around the corner and straight into something hard and large. You let out a sharp “ouch” as your face burned with the force of the collision. To your horror, you realized you’d run into a person. You kept your eyes low, looking at the man’s feet as you held a hand over your face, wondering for a moment if you’d broken your nose. Then, a familiar scent flooded your senses, and you felt a large hand rest on your shoulder. 

“Woah, I’m sorry, are you okay?” Rafe’s voice asked, clearly unaware of who he was talking to, you looked so different than you did six months ago.

You raised your wide eyes to look at him, hand still cradling your throbbing nose. You took him in through rapidly blinking lashes, begging yourself not to cry. His face shifted slowly from concern for a stranger to recognition of someone all too familiar.

He pulled his hand from you in shock, his mouth opening and closing and opening again, trying to form words that just weren’t coming. You knew you needed to get out of there before they did.

“I’m fine,” you said firmly, hoping he understood you were talking about more than just your injured face.

You sidestepped him and kept running, leaving him standing wide eyed and ashen faced as he watched you get into your car and peel away from his home, and away from him. 

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

The key rattled against the lock, your hands shaking as you tried to get into your apartment. When you finally got the door opened, you peeled off your clothes quickly, as if they were covered in something radioactive. You pulled on a tank and some sleep shorts, fully ready to get in bed and stay there for days. Everything in you was unraveling. The sight and sound of him undoing the steel backbone you had built for yourself. You climbed under the covers, curled into a ball, and sobbed.

You cried so hard, it knocked you out. Without trying to, your body fell into a hazy, uneasy kind of sleep, haunted by images of Rafe. When you woke, blinking confusedly at the fuzzy outline of the time on your alarm clock, it was dark outside. The clock read 11:03pm. You pulled yourself from your bed with a groan, craving something to comfort you in your post-meltdown emptiness.

As you stood at the sink, filling the kettle for some tea, your mind replayed the events of the day. He’s getting married tomorrow. The rehearsal dinner that you helped set up for was probably over by now. You pictured him saying goodnight to her with a kiss, hanging his tux for the morning, making sure he had the rings ready. You already knew you’d lost him, but the permanence of tomorrow’s events felt like a boot on the neck of the small part of you that still wondered what if.

Your phone rang out loudly on the kitchen table, making you jump, so startled you almost dropped the tea kettle, the water now overflowing. You set the kettle down on the stove and turned on the burner before looking at your phone screen, which read “unknown number.” You hit decline and let it go to voicemail. After a minute, you poured your tea and sat at the table, watching as your phone lit up again with notification of a new voicemail. You unlocked it and pressed play.

You knew the voice immediately, though it was coming out slurred and strained. You clutched the phone to your ear with both hands to hear better.

“Heyyyy baby. It’s me. I’m sorry for calling so many times, blowin’ up your phone and you’re probably out somewhere, looking fuckin’ gorgeous like always. Shit there’s probably guys lined up to take you home. Do you remember when we met? Fuck you looked so hot. I thought if you said no to going home with me I might literally die. But you said yes! You said yes and you took me home and we, fuck…god…it was so good, you’re so good. Not just the sex. I mean, yes your pussy is so perfect, but…shit it’s raining…but you were- you are…jesus Rafe get it together. I can’t remember what I was saying. I’m so drunk, I- ouch, fuck!- I miss you, baby. It's cold out here but I don’t care, I couldn’t be there anymore. I couldn’t listen to them talk about this fucking wedding. Fucking flowers and table settings and shit I don’t care about any of that…just, please…baby…I need-”

Your phone beeped loudly, the voicemail cut off for length. You replayed it, twice. Outside your kitchen window, you could see the rain getting heavy. The low was in the 30s tonight, and it was supposed to keep raining for hours. You couldn’t hear much in the background behind Rafe’s drunken rambling, but you could tell he was outside. You pictured him stumbling into a ditch somewhere. He had hurt himself on the voicemail, did he fall? You couldn’t stand the thought of him alone, out in the cold rain, hurt.

Despite every instinct, you pulled up the number he called from and texted him.

Today 11:14pm

Where are you?

Today 11:16pm

‘Unknown’ shared their location with you.

You grabbed your coat and keys and ran out the door before you had time to second guess yourself. You found him lying on the beach, his clothes soaked through from the rain that was still falling heavily. He’d clearly thrown up, just a few feet from where he was laying now. You ran to his side and quickly checked that he was breathing.

“Jesus, Rafe,” you recoiled at the overwhelming aroma of booze radiating off of him.

His eyes flew open at the sound of your voice. 

“Baby?” he groaned.

“We gotta get out of here, Rafe,” you struggled to help him up.

With an enormous amount of effort, you got him into your car. He leaned his head against the cold window as you drove, his breath fogging up the glass with each exhale. You looked over at him every few seconds to make sure he was still conscious. 

Once in your apartment, stumbling through the door with his arm over your shoulder, you led him into the bathroom, guiding him to sit on the edge of the tub while you ran the shower, water heating slowly.

You tapped his arms. 

“Up,” you instructed. He lifted his arms obediently and looked up at you through half-lidded eyes as you peeled off his wet polo, doing everything you could to avoid staring at his bare torso.

“Think you can do the rest yourself?” You motioned to his lower half.

“No,” he said with a smirk.

“Rafe,” you warned, not playing around.

“I can do the rest myself,” he said with his hands up in defense. 

You left him in the bathroom fumbling with his belt. While he showered, you brewed a pot of coffee and poured two steaming mugs, sitting uneasily at the table when he finally emerged from the bathroom. He was in only his boxers and you blushed aggressively, as if you hadn’t seen him naked a hundred times before. He caught the redness in your cheeks as you looked down at your hands, swallowing hard.

“Sorry,” he said earnestly. “My clothes are still wet.”

You pushed back your chair and walked to your bedroom, returning with folded clothes in your hands. He looked suspiciously at the men’s t-shirt and basketball shorts you gave him, cocking his eyebrow at you. You just glared back at him, tilting your head slightly as if to say I dare you to give me shit about where I got them. He didn’t push it, pulling them on wordlessly.

“Coffee?” You offered once he was dressed.

“Please,” he slumped into the chair across from you, sipping the coffee with a sigh.

“Feeling better?” You asked.

“Much better, thanks,” he said. “Never mix rum and redbull.”

You snorted, “I could’ve told you that.”

“Well you weren’t there were you?” The sentence started playfully but ended with a bite.

You sipped your coffee, wondering who would be first to acknowledge the elephant in the room. You sat in silence for a few minutes, both drinking your coffee and letting the air grow thick between you.

Finally, he caved and spoke first, “why’d you leave?”

“Why would I stay?” You responded, voice dripping with spite.

“I- I guess I don’t know.” Now it was Rafe avoiding your eyes.

“Does she know…about me?” You asked timidly.

“No,” he mumbled, before sipping up the last drop of his coffee.

“And where does she think you are right now?” 

“My bachelor party.”

“We should get you back there, then.” You stood and collected both mugs, bringing them to the sink.

Rafe scoffed, “you’re kicking me out again?”

“I never kicked you out, Rafe. You left,” you said, clutching the edge of the sink, bracing for an argument.

But he didn’t argue, he just let the silence settle between you for a long moment before finally saying, “I wish I hadn’t. I miss you.”

You turned, expecting to find him still slumped over the table, but he had stood and was now startlingly close. You jolted, squaring your shoulders in defense as he got closer to you.

“Don’t say that,” you pleaded. “I can’t do this with you.”

“Then why’d you come get me?” He asked, his eyelids low as he looked down at you. “Why’d you bring me here?

“Why’d you call me?” You asked back.

“I asked you first,” he said, no playful smile to match his childish words.

“Why does it matter?” You sighed.

“‘Cause it does, it matters to me, please just give me a reason,” his voice grew more desperate as he stepped even closer to you, his looming body caging you against the sink. He searched your face as he waited for you to respond, needing an answer you couldn’t give him.

“Are you gonna marry her?” Your words tightened the tension already growing between you, causing Rafe to close his eyes in frustration.

“I don’t want to talk about her,” he shook his head. 

Rafe lifted his hand slowly, placing it on your waist. He squeezed gently at the soft skin of your side. You leaned into his touch for just a second before coming to your senses.

“Are you? Going to marry her?” You repeated stubbornly.

“Yes,” He said, eyes falling from your face to his hand on your side.

“Then you shouldn’t be touching me,” you grabbed Rafe’s hand and lowered it from you. “I won’t be a mistress. I won’t be that dirty pogue who fucks a married guy, I wanna be something better than that.” 

You slipped out from between him and the sink, pacing to the other side of the room, but his body turned aggressively to follow you.

“You are. You’re so much better,” his voice cracked with urgency as he rushed to reassure you.

You shook your head in anger, raising your voice as you snapped, “then why are you marrying someone else?”

“Because I have to!” He matched your heated tone, as if he was the one to have something to be mad about.

“We’re going in circles, Rafe! We are in the exact same spot we were six months ago! Except I’m a different person now. It changed me, losing you. I got better, I got healthy, I got sober. I got over you!” You were yelling now, searching for the words to make him understand that he wasn’t the only one who had something to lose now.

“Well I didn’t get over you,” he stated simply.

“No, you got engaged,” you pointed out.

“Fuck that, fuck her, you know I don’t love her!” He scoffed. “You saw her today, you know she’s a bitch.”

“That’s really nice, Rafe, you should put that in your vows,” you huffed sarcastically.

“Oh c’mon, she doesn’t love me either,” he rolled his eyes. “She still fucks around, everyone knows it.”

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but it took you by surprise. You searched his face for a sign as to whether it was true or just something he made up to make you sympathize with him. The way his eyes fell to the ground and the apples of his cheeks blushed slightly told you it was true, she cheated on him, and he was ashamed of it. It made you sick, the thought of someone having him so close and caring so little. The only thing worse than the thought of her treating him like that was the thought of him accepting it as if it was what he deserved. You should’ve felt sad for him, but it just made you angrier.

“Then why, Rafe? Why?” You knew you were becoming a broken record but you just could not wrap your head around his choice. “Why are you still with her?” You hated the way it made you sound like you were blaming him for her actions, but you needed to understand.

“Because I’m going to have to end up with someone like her anyway, I may as well just get it over with,” he said with a resigned shake of his head.

“That’s fucked up, Rafe,” you said, even though you knew he already knew it.

“It is what it is,” he shrugged, defeated.

Your eyes caught the clock on your stove. It was almost 1am. Rafe was supposed to be saying his vows in twelve hours, and you knew if he stood here in your apartment for another minute, looking at you so helplessly, you’d crumble for him.

“I think you should go home,” you said, trying and failing to mean it.

“Not yet,” Rafe said, his tone implying there was something more he was waiting for.

And even though you wanted to, you just couldn’t give it to him. 

Mustering the last of your pride, you took a deep breath and said, “If you’re waiting for me to ask you not to marry her, we’re both gonna be disappointed. I’ve been doing good, Rafe. I got my life together, and I won’t be responsible for ruining someone else’s. It’s not on me, you have to decide. If you don’t want to marry her, then don’t marry her. But do it for you, because I’ve got me covered.”

Rafe considered your words, standing completely still as they washed over him. He had to choose. He could either ruin his reputation and potentially lose his family to be happy with you or keep the lifestyle he’d grown so accustomed to and be miserable with her. He looked so sad, and you desperately wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but you stayed silent, wanting him to say what he was feeling all on his own for once. You needed a simple answer.

But Rafe Cameron never did anything the simple way.

He didn’t say anything,  he just started walking toward you. Once he was close enough to touch you, and your back was against the wall, he reached up to touch your face gently with one finger, silently asking if you were still in pain from your collision earlier. When you didn’t wince or push him away, he leaned down, bringing his lips dangerously close to yours.

“Just one more time, please. Don’t kick me out, be with me one more time,” he whispered against your skin.

You shook your head slowly, whispering back, “I won’t kick you out, but I also won’t let you touch me and then marry her.”

“Fine, I won’t touch you.” 

Rafe leaned back, only slightly, pulling his face away so you were level with his chest. He folded his hands behind his back to show you he meant it. You could smell his familiar musk, his chest so close to your face you could hear his heartbeat as you looked up at the pulsing veins in his neck. His hair, still wet from the shower, flopped messily over his forehead. A single drop fell from his bangs and landed on your collarbone. Rafe’s eyes darkened as he tracked the droplet rolling across your exposed skin, down your chest, over the curve of your tits and finally disappearing into your tank top.

Eyes locked to Rafe’s, you lifted your hand slowly, placing it over the spot the water had fallen, sliding your fingers delicately down the drop’s path. When you reached the neckline of your tank top, Rafe’s eyes consuming every movement, you reached up with your other hand and lowered one of the straps of your top slowly. You dragged your hand down further, cupping your breast through your lacy bralette and biting your lip at the pressure.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. He put one hand on the wall next to your head to steady himself, bringing his body impossibly closer while still not touching you. His other hand fell to his side, moving dangerously close to his dick.

“You better not touch yourself either, or I swear to god I’ll stop,” you warned him.

“Don’t stop,” He brought the drifting hand up to the wall on the other side of your head. “Please, baby.”

Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his voice, raspy and strained with need. With two hands on the hem of your shirt, you pulled it slowly over your head, leaving you in just the see-through undergarment. 

“Take that off too,” Rafe tried to sound dominant, but his voice cracked, betraying him.

“You’re not in any position to make demands,” you scolded with a shake of your head. “And you’re not going to see me naked. You have a fianceé for that.”

Rafe was pained by this, his nostrils flailing as he clenched his jaw in frustration. You ignored him and put your hands back on your body, palming both of your tits again before trailing lower over your stomach. Rafe’s tongue darted out of his mouth and licked his lips as he watched the way your stomach flexed with anticipation, hands finally landing on the waistband of your sleep shorts. One hand pulled the elastic back while the other slid beneath it slowly. When your fingers ran over the fabric of your panties, teasing your clothed clit, your head fell back against the wall and your jaw fell slack. Rafe ran one of his hands through his hair as he watched pleasure flood your face, desperate to touch something, anything. The hand still on the wall closed into a fist. You started rubbing circles over your clit through your panties, the fabric already soaked through, wet since the sight of him in his boxers. Your breath hitched when you found the perfect rhythm and you closed your eyes tight, a melodic moan rising from your throat.

“Fuck baby, you’re so fucking sexy,” Rafe growled through gritted teeth.

Your eyes flew open and you pulled your hand from your shorts, suddenly very aware of the lack of space between you and the vulgarity of what you were doing. You slid under his arm and hurried to the other side of the kitchen.

“You should go,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself and shivering at the sudden loss of his warmth.

Rafe stayed still, trying not to spook you. His head dipped low, looking down at his ringing hands.

“I missed you,” he mumbled helplessly.

“You mean you missed fucking me?” You asked spitefully.

One agonizingly slow step at a time, Rafe crossed the room. You turned from him as if to push him away, literally giving him the cold shoulder. But he wasn’t deterred, he just got closer and closer until he was right behind you, close enough for his breath to sweep across your shoulder as he said, “yeah, what if I do? I miss it so much. There’s not a day that passes without me wishing I was here, fucking you so good you scream my name.”

His arrogant words made you so fucking angry, and so fucking wet.

What little resistance you had mustered disappeared. Breathless, you whispered, “what else do you miss?”

“I miss your little moans,” he continued, the corner of his lips raising slightly at the sight of the goosebumps that shot up your arms. “I bet you still cry out for me when you make yourself come, don’t you? I want you to show me.”

“We can’t do this,” you shook your head.

“No, I can’t do this,” he corrected you. “You can do whatever you want.”

No fight left, you took his suggestion, and soon you were laying back on your bed, your shorts thrown on the floor, your hand moving feverishly under your panties. Rafe laid next to you, his body drawn in as close as it could possibly get while keeping his promise not to touch you. You’d made no such promise, the hand you weren’t rubbing over your slick folds gripping his arm for purchase as you moaned at your own touch.

“Talk to me,” you begged.

“Yeah?” He said excitedly, as if he had been waiting for permission. 

You nodded desperately, bringing your eyes to his as one of your fingers dropped down to enter yourself.

“You remember the first time we fucked?” He began. “Right here on this bed. I took you from behind. You were so tight around my cock, like you were fucking made for me.”

You added a second finger, driven by his filthy words. His jaw clenched, restraining himself with more effort than he’d ever given anything as he watched you writhe.

“Keep going,” you whined, eyes squeezed shut.

“I had to turn you around, I had to see that pretty face when you came for me for the first time,” he recalled. “God, I bet you wish it was me stretching you out right now, don’t you? You wish it was my cock pounding you into the mattress until you can’t breathe, huh?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, lips pouting, overwhelmed by the memories and your need to feel him.

“Best pussy I’ve ever had,” he groaned, feeling himself twitching in his pants, desperate for his own release but committed to yours. “I need to see you come, baby, one more time. Please come for me?”

You cried out as you clenched around your own fingers, their size so inadequate with him so close, knowing what he could be doing to you. But you meant what you said, you couldn’t let him touch you, not while his bride was sleeping just across town, no idea her groom was in some pogue’s bed, begging her to come for him. Maybe it was sick, but the thought of him being so desperate for you that he was risking everything with her made your thighs clench around your hand, nearing the edge.

“Tell me about the first time you saw me,” you pleaded, the rasp in your voice warning him you were close. 

“Holy shit, baby, you were so fucking sexy,” he said, rising up from the bed and propping himself on his arm to hover over you, the proximity throwing you into even more of a frenzy. “Dancing in that club, the way you move, shit, I wanted to lay you down on that dancefloor and fuck you right there. So did every other guy in there. But they didn’t get to have you, I did. And I’ve never been the same since I first touched you.”

It was all too much, his words, the memory, the sensation of your fingers sliding in and out so easily, the way he was talking making you so wet. Your high crashed into you like a truck, your back arching off the bed, your chest bumping into his as you came with his name on your lips.

“There she is, that’s my girl,” Rafe exhaled as you rode out your high. Eventually, your muscles gave out from the pleasure and you slumped back into the bed.

He watched you in rapture as your chest rose and fell with labored breaths, struggling to recover. Neither of you knew what to do next, the shock of what just happened washing over you. Your body was so exhausted from the chaos of the day and the aftershocks of your orgasm, all you wanted was him, and you were too tired to fight it.

“Rafe?” You whispered into the darkness of your bedroom, the light of the moon the only thing illuminating the small space.

“Yeah?” He whispered back.

“Can you hold me?” Your voice sounded so small, and you hated the vulnerability of your request, but at this moment the only thing you wanted in the world was to feel his arms around you.

“I thought you didn’t want me to touch you?” He teased gently.

“I said I’m getting better, not that I’m perfect,” you smiled, turning your body towards him. “And I want to know what it feels like to fall asleep in your arms. Just once.”

“Is it gonna be an issue?” He asked. You knew what he really meant was, “are you going to regret sleeping with an engaged man?”

The answer was yes, but you didn’t care.

“Just let me be a little selfish,” you said, turning around so your back was against his chest, pulling his arm around you. “I had you first.”

“You still have me,” he whispered against your neck, pulling your body into his.

“Shhh,” you said, lifting your fingers gently to his lips. “Go to sleep, Rafe.”

He smiled and did as he was told.

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

The sunlight landing on your face is what woke you from the deepest and sweetest sleep you’d had in six months. Your first instinct was to smile, humming in satisfaction as you stretched your well rested muscles.

Your second instinct was to reach for him. 

You shouldn’t be surprised, shouldn’t pull your knees to your chest, shouldn’t be crying alone in your cold bed. Of course he left. He was always going to leave.

Some small, pathetic voice in the back of your mind said, “maybe he just went to break things off with her.”

Even though it made you feel like the most pitiful girl in the world, you checked his location, still available from the night before. He was on Figure 8, the address you had gone to yesterday. He was at his wedding. 

He had wanted you to ask him not to marry her. He never would’ve said it, but you could see it on his face. He had too much to lose, too many people depending on him, too much weight on his shoulders. But maybe he would’ve given it all up, if only you’d asked.

You threw your phone across the room in frustration. Maybe you should’ve just asked him to stay with you, maybe you should’ve put your pride aside this one time, maybe this was all your fault. 

You were up and out of bed before you had time to talk yourself out of it. You pulled on your catering clothes from the night before. Surely, they wouldn’t let you in the gate if you looked like some wedding crashing pogue, but maybe you could slip in undetected if it seemed like you still worked there.

You don’t even remember driving there, your stomach on fire with nerves and something that might even be excitement, as you raced across the island. The clock in your car read 1:03pm, and you prayed to whatever god was listening that the ceremony had started late.

As you planned, they let you right in the gate when you said you were with the caterer. You didn’t even bother to park at the service entrance, your tires squealing as you came to a stop right in front of the house, leaving the engine running as you ran towards the ceremony site. You could hear music playing in the distance, hoping it was the processional. 

But when you turned the corner, you heard a large crowd break into applause. You came to a halt, backing up to hide under the cover of a tree a few yards from the end of the aisle. You watched as Rafe appeared, his beaming bride on his arm. He dipped her low, giving her a kiss as the crowd cheered again, the gold ring on his left hand glinting in the sunlight.

You were too late.

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

pt. 3 coming soon

[lightaflaem]

𝐩𝐨𝐯: 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭.

pairing: tattoo artist!suna x f!reader

genre: semi-angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive

word count: 5.1k

content warnings: profanities, suggestive themes, mentions of needles, sticks, poking, sharp objects, blood, mentions of abuse, scars, violence, trauma, addiction

summary: after countless attempts to convince your tattoo artist college friend, suna rintaro, to do your body art, you couldn’t understand why he keeps on rejecting you. not until he told and showed you the real reason why.

“Is this the chair where your clients sit to get their tattoos done?” you asked, pointing at the leather chair in front of you.

“Yeah, where else do you think I got it done?” Suna answered, not removing his eyes from the patterned tape he’s been wrapping on the grip on the gun.

“So, when are you going to do mine?” you hopped on the leather material, arm resting on the extended side as you clean your antecubital area with your other free hand. It’s obviously not set for your height as you tried making yourself comfortable on the depthness of the chair.

“Very funny, Y/N. Now get off that chair and help me set these up. There's small sized gloves under the cabinet beside that chair, wear those before touching anything.” he ordered, not giving a single fuck about your question. Rolling your eyes, you stood up and started searching for the gloves in the compartment.

“Why won’t you do my tatts?”

“‘Cause you're my friend.”

“Seriously, Rintaro? You have favoritism.”

“Seriously, Y/N. I don’t have favoritism and I don’t do tatts for my friends because I already know them. My brain becomes a mush when it comes to thinking of designs when I already know the person.”

Your jaw dropped at his answer. You don’t buy it. Seriously, what the fuck is he playing with? Irked, you intentionally wore the pair of latex with much more force, making it slap against your wrist hard enough to leave marks. You placed a sterile mat on the stainless surface of the table, aligning the vaseline-coated small cups horizontally and started loading it up with black and red inks.

“You’d make a great apprentice.” he commented as he watched you do the preparations the same way he does it before every session. Each and every step was done with fragility, just like how you retained his routine by watching him do the same thing for the past few years of being with him.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to get a red tattoo,” you spoke as you continued filling the cups. “It’s sexy and I think I’ll look hot in it.”

“But you always look hot, with or without that red ink.” Suna said casually, making your heartbeat accelerate but you didn’t let it get into you because he probably said it to his clients most of the time.

“I know right. That’s why when my college friend became a tattoo artist, the force of getting it done doubled up. Specifically by him.” you know that you didn’t fail to emphasize how badly you wanted to get your body art done by him but maybe for him, he saw it as nothing but a mere compliment for his works.

Who would have thought that the quiet kid from one of your elective classes way back in college a few years ago who subsequently also became your close friend because of a mutual friend, the Miya twins, who were your classmates since you’re in elementary school, will become a famous tattoo artist specializing in line arts, minimalism, and patchworks.

Suna also probably never saw that his future will be like this. From just surviving everyday to a big time personality of inks and needles. With the freedom and peace he gained from following his calling, he also took a leap of faith to change his physical appearance from cropping his hair shorter, both arms, chest, and neck full of patchwork of random tattoos, and his signature snake bites that captivated the hearts of his crowd.

He never liked fame, though. He always hides whenever he’s got the chance to escape from paparazzi and respectfully declines the clients he doesn't want to work with and cannot work with. He's hard to get. That makes him more fascinating in the eyes of others. It’s like he’s hidden behind those inks and it will take thousands of needles to uncover. He’s surely one of a kind.

His skill in generating different designs specifically for each client is no joke. A lot of local and international artists and internet personalities are hitting up his instagram direct messages, asking for his details of booking. You vividly remember one of his interviews wherein he was asked if he ever recycled a design for different clients and what makes him unique from other tattoo artists. He answered“Each client has their own blueprint depending on their cup of tea. That’s what makes me unique from other artists. I created my own scheme and let it align on my client’s skin like it’s running out of breath and ink’s the only thing it needed to satisfy its hunger.”

He’s distinct. He’s consistent. He’s a genius.

But why the hell wouldn't he do your tattoo?

“You're an ink virgin, right? Why do you want to get your tattoo done by me so much?” With much curiosity, Suna leaned against the chair, arms crossing against his chest as his eyes squeezed, waiting to scrutinize your answer.

“Why not? It’s because it’s you.” you simply answered back, finally capping the bottle of ink. In your peripheral vision, you saw how Suna’s eyes dilated but still kept his unpleasant posture. “But if you don’t want to ink my body then it’s fine with me. I’ve been pestering you about it since you started and it’s been a few years. I’m not getting any younger, that's why I wanted to at least get my first tattoo before I turn 27.”

Taken aback by your statement, Suna stayed quiet for a few seconds. Finished with your extra lending hands with his set up, you threw the pair of gloves into the yellow trash bag and finally faced the 6 '1 guy. Suna’s lips were pursed before he licked the lower part, tasting the cold metal of his lip piercing.

“Where do you want to get your first tatts?” he questioned as his gaze started lingering on your bare skin.

“I don’t know, do you have a preferred part?” you threw back, not having a single clue on where you wanted to get your first one.

Removing himself from the chair, he took a step forward, slowly making his way towards you. You weren’t sure why but your feet felt like it was glued on the ground. The vision started to get blurry, almost feeling dizzy but you found your vision focusing more on Suna, who’s already in front of you with a small curve of smile written on his face.

“If you ask me where,” he lifted his hand, letting his delicate fingers glide from your shoulder up to your collarbone that sent shivers to your spine. “I prefer it to be somewhere where others can’t see it. Somewhere where I’m the only one who can see it. Somewhere exclusive only for me.” he smirked and pulled himself away from you. “Kidding. Your body, your rules.”

His touch left your skin yet you could still feel his cold fingertips against yours. You felt your breathing stopped as you held it the whole moment he was in front of you and whispered those words to you. Damn you, Suna. He surely knew how to shake your whole existence in a few words.

“I’ll be going away for three days. I’ll go to Tokyo to attend a tattoo convention.” he spoke, not letting his gaze wander to anywhere except you. “If you happen to finally be decisive about the placement before I get back, I’ll do your tatts. In exchange, I’ll tell and show you something.” 

You grinned, finally hitting the jackpot. Bingo.

“Deal. I’ll see you in three days.” 

Suna let out a small chuckle when he saw how happy your eyes were. Silly, he thought. Who knew that a single tattoo could mean the world to a 25-year-old adult like you?

“Oh before I forget,” he suddenly remembered, turning to you once more. “Don’t worry. I’ll update for the next three days.”

“Holy shit, Rintaro finally agreed to do yer tatts?!” Atsumu exclaimed, almost flipping the table.

“Shut your mouth, you’re spitting the best burger in Hyogo all over the place!” His twin brother, Osamu snarked at him.

Despite graduating from college and living your lives separately, one becoming a professional volleyball player for Japan, the other opening his own onigiri business, and you having your own clothing line, you couldn’t ignore the fact that the Miya twins literally have a special place in your heart. So here you are, sitting across them in a fast food chain with burgers and fries stuffed in your mouth as you continued catching up with each other’s lives after a few months of not seeing each other.

The twins know how much you wanted to get your first tattoo from Rintaro. Giving all their best shots and trying everything within their might, they still cannot lure their old mate into the trap. They were always shut down by Suna, especially Atsumu since he’s the one who’s been doing all of the talking and bargaining because apparently, he’s got a big mouth according to their fox-eyed friend.

They even went as far as recruiting the innocent Sakusa Kiyoomi, also one of their tattoo artist friends who recently opened his shop to blackmail Suna into inking your body; however, the latter just scoffed at their failed idea and told them to try harder again next time. With that, Atsumu shouldered Sakusa’s business permit expenses as a “payment” for pestering him.

“I mean, I’m also surprised, ‘yah know? It took me years to persuade him and now I just have to decide for the placement. But I would love to get it in red ink, though.” you shared your thoughts as you sipped from your diet cola.

“Did you already have a placement in your mind? Maybe your shoulders?” Osamu pointed at your exposed skin from wearing a tank top.

You just shrugged because honestly, you haven’t given it much thought yet. “I have an idea. But Rin told me that he prefers to do it somewhere exclusive only for him.” 

Atsumu bursted out, laughing his whole ass off that earned a few stares from the people around you. You and Osamu were puzzled, giving him a tyrannical look.

“Fucking hell, man. I am so proud,” he said between his laughs. “Rinrin has grown into a man! He’s got balls, Y/N! He finally got the dick, Samu!”

The rest of the night went well as you guys hit karaoke and arcade after dinner just like the old days. If it wasn’t for Atsumu’s official schedule the following day, the three of you plan to invite Suna for a drink because he’s finally returning back tonight from his 3-day tattoo convention in Tokyo. 

He kept his word on updating you. The very first thing that you saw when you opened your eyes on his first day in Tokyo was a ‘good morning’ text, followed by a mirror picture of him wearing a featured shirt from your summer collection. You blushed at the fact that he’s wearing your own creation even though he’s very supportive of it since the very start. He looked really good in your design.You told him that he doesn’t need to update you that much but his response was ‘Na uh. I’ll still update you so hurry up and think about where you wanted to get it, Ma’am.’. You knew that it was just a polite term yet, it’s enough to make your knees feel weak. But you were quick enough to shake the thoughts off, thinking that it’s just a friendly term to address his future client.

As the darkness engulfed the sky, the twins dropped you off in front of your apartment and bid them goodbye. It’s already 9 in the evening and you wonder if Suna’s already back in Hyogo because your message was left delivered and you haven’t received a single text from him since this afternoon.

As if on cue, your phone buzzed, flashing Suna’s contact photo on the screen.

Rintaro is calling…

“Yo.” you answered, unlocking the door of your unit.

“Ma’am? Did you just get home?” his raspy voice boomed on the other line of the phone. You never knew how much you longed for his presence, not until you heard his voice again for the first time in 3 days.

“Yup. We went to karaoke and arcade after dinner. We’re supposed to invite you for drinks but Tsumu’s got an official sched tomorrow.” you paused, kicking your shoe on the rack. “How about you? Did you just get home?”

“Yeah. Just got here and the first thing I did was to call you after fully charging my phone. It’s been dead since afternoon because I lost my charger. M’sorry for not messaging you.” you don’t know if you’re just a little bit tired from earlier but you could sense the hidden craving behind his voice.

“It’s okay, Rin. It’s no big deal,” you assured, as it was really not a big deal for you. “So, about the offer.”

You heard him clicking his tongue, followed by a soft chuckle. “Have you thought where you wanted to get your first ones, Ma’am?”

“Mhm. You wanna know where?” 

“Surprise me.”

It made you giggle like a highschool kid talking to her crush for the first time. Suna is really good with his words. On the other line, Suna was leaning his head against his black bed frame, unintentionally scratching his bare chest as he’s not used to wearing a top inside his house and saw it. He took a deep breath before biting his lower lip to surpass the fact that he’s thrilled with the thought of him finally marking your skin.

“Where do you want to get it done? It can be in my studio but I can also do home service, exclusive only for you.”

“I want to get it done in the studio. I wanted to experience sitting in your leather chair as a client, Sir.”

Damn. Something ignited inside Suna when he heard you calling Sir, right back when he started calling you Ma’am. It’s like a switch being flipped on. Composing his mind and shaking any thoughts, he nodded as if you’re seeing him right now.

“Alright then. We’ll start tomorrow at nine in the morning. Make sure to get enough sleep, eat breakfast and drink water. I’ll brief you tomorrow once we’re there, Ma’am. Remember that in exchange, I’ll tell and show you something.” he reminded, knowing that you don’t like going to bed early.

“Wow, your customer service is top tier.” you commended as your mind started intensifying with the thought of finally doing it tomorrow.

“Exclusive only for you, Ma’am.” he reminded once again, trying to hint you up.

“Okay, Sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you. Good night, Y/N.”

Fuck. It’s not the first time Suna has said that to you but your insides are rumbling. You felt your blood rushing as your vital organ increased the pumping because anytime now, you could feel suffocated from the excitement. Calm down. Calm down.

“Good night, Rin.”

With that, he let you hang up the call. Later that night, you tried your best to get a good night's sleep yet in your fantasy, you still feel like you’re sleep calling with Suna. You couldn’t take your mind off with his words earlier. He’s going to tell and show you something? Still trying to squeeze every cell of your brain, you cannot pulp any idea on what it’s going to be.

You just hope it’s nothing serious because it’s actually scary, the thought of him being dead serious on something. You shrugged off any negative thoughts and wished that it's nothing because you wouldn’t be able to grasp if it’s going to significantly impact your life in a pessimistic way. You might lose your shit because you know that you’re clearly, madly, deeply attached to Suna Rintaro.

“So this is how it feels like to sit right here.” you spoke with awe as you comfortably aligned yourself with the chair’s depth. It was adjusted perfectly for your height.

Suna grinned, setting up the materials on the stainless table beside you. You offered to help but he quickly declined it, reasoning that you’re here as a client today, not as his self-labeled apprentice.

Despite being here lots of time already, it felt like this was the first time you’ve seen his studio. The details you didn’t notice before suddenly popped in your vision, such as the fern green wallpaper and plants that he’s been watering regularly. On the outside, it looks like Suna’s more of a monochrome guy but in reality, he adores green so much because according to him, it brings the dull color into life. For him, it feels like life.

You also noticed the usual well-lit led ceiling lights wrapped around the four corners of his studio are now dimly-lit as well as the aroma of lavender mint from his scented candles that he ignited for the first time since he got it lingering probably to cover up the smell of blood, dead skin, and ink. Oh, and there’s also an inspired portrait of his favorite characters from his favorite movies drawn in his own artstyle framed and hung on the walls. His usual arctic monkeys and heavy metal playlist was replaced with some 88rising, r&b, and keshi which are you favorite artists and genre at the moment,

You never took your time to appreciate Suna’s studio this much until now. 

“Okay Ma’am, show me where you wanted it to be placed.” he asked, almost ordering you. Taking a deep inhale, you were surely nervous as heck right now but you already made your mind. Somewhere where he’s the only one who can see it. Somewhere exclusive only for him, huh?

You slowly lifted your white shirt, revealing your red lace bralette that perfectly hugged your breasts. You specifically chose this outfit for this occasion. Swallowing a lump, you pointed at your waist up to the side of your right boob, passing it and nearly up to your armpit. “Here. I wanted to get it here.”

Suna was quiet the whole time yet his widened foxy eyes tell you otherwise. He’s speechless. His eyes were fixated on you, admiring the view which he saw for the first time. He knows that you’re sexy and elegant, but he didn’t expect that you’re this sexy. In his eyes, you are the most beautiful art he’s ever seen in his whole life. He fought the urge to hold you in your waist because he wanted to feel your skin against his.

“Tough spot. Damn Ma’am, you’re courageous.” he commented on your preference. You felt your cheeks heating up as embarrassment started creeping in because Suna hasn’t removed his gaze yet on your body. “Can I…touch it? I’ll just…assess it.”

You nodded, pressing your lips together as Suna’s gloved hand made its way to your body. He traced your torso up to your ribcage and he couldn’t help but to squeeze a small smile in between.

“Will it hurt?” you hesitantly asked.

“It will. But I’ll be gentle, I promise.” you almost choked on his answer because it gave you other ideas. “Now make yourself comfortable. Tell me if it hurts, we’ll take a break. I’ll do my best to make it painless but I cannot guarantee.”

You fixed your position on the inclined chair, making yourself at home on your left side but your torso was slightly flattened down, facing him to get a better access to the area, especially your sides up to your armpit. Suna sat down in the swivel stool and faced you from your left, maintaining his demeanor as he grabbed the stencil he prepared. You intentionally didn’t ask about the design he planned because you also wanted to surprise yourself with Suna's creativity. You wanted to astonish yourself and it pretty much tells how big your trust is when it comes to Suna.

Once he’s done with shaving the excess hair, the paper hits your side, tickling your skin as Suna’s gloved hand starts flattening it against your body. It was followed by the cold sensation of the adhesive washing the paper. His right pinky accidentally brushed against your boob, making you scream internally. In no time, he’s already removing the piece of paper, indicating that the stencil’s already in place.

Suna licked his lower lip and you noticed how he wore his usual snake bites differently today by swapping the horseshoe jewelry into a plain one. He pushed himself forward but still maintained the distance between the two of you. Reaching out for the tattoo gun, you’ve already had an idea how it sounded but when he tested it and made a whirring sound that buzzed on your ears, you found yourself clutching the hem of Suna’s shirt due to the tense building up inside your stomach.

“You alright, Y/N?” he asked, staring down at you. The whole point of view sent you to spiral as you never imagined yourself being under Suna.

“Yeah, sorry. I hope you don’t mind this.” you pointed at your hands curled into his shirt which earned him a few laughs. Suna thought that it was so fucking cute when look so small to him.

“You’re free to hold me wherever.” he smiled, caressing your exposed shoulder as a sign of assurance. “Remember that if it hurts too much, just tap out and we can take a break, Ma’am.”

Bobbing your head, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath as the sound of the gun reverberated once again. Suna started poking the needle against your skin. The first five minutes were much more uncomfortable rather than painful - almost feeling like a slow rug burn. However, as he moved upwards and started hitting the bones of your side ribs, it started feeling hell that you couldn’t help but small whimpers escaped from your mouth. It stings like crazy.

“Are you okay? We can take a break. Do you want some water?” Suna offered concern as he saw your forehead creased into an agonizing expression.

“N-no, just continue. I’ll eventually get used to it.” you declared, not wanting to raise your white flag.

Suna nodded and started working on it again. You could feel like he’s outlining something in more of a swivel way. You could also feel like there’s a lot of lines and shading going on. The next 30 minutes were spent with the two of you talking about college, reminiscing the memories you shared together as well as with the Miya twins. Another 30 minutes and he’s already wrapping up by taking one last wipe before applying the tattoo jelly on the area. 

“I thought that it will be painful as fuck,” you said truthfully. “You wrecked my expectations, Rin.” 

“Well, it’s an honor to be complimented by you. I told you, I’ll be gentle.” he winked, removing his gloves on his hands. “Congratulations, Y/N. You’re no longer a tattoo virgin.”

Laughters echoed in the room as he clapped at your achievement. He grabbed the mirror that was lying beside your chair and signaled you to sit up. Obeying him, you lifted yourself as you felt your skin being stretched.

“I hope you like my design, Y/N.” flipping the mirror, you saw your inked skin for the first time.

Your mouth parted, eyes filled with wonderstruck. 

There’s a lot of fine lines from the upper part of your side, down to your ribs, and finally your waist. The lines were broken yet some of them were connected with each other. In the middle, there’s multiple flowers drawn in outline, looking like they have bloomed together. You couldn’t elucidate the design in words yet your brain could tell how it looks and your heart could tell how it feels like to be inked distinctively.

You finally understood why they call Suna a genius. Because he’s the only one who has the ability to make you feel like you're abstract and he’s the only one who can understand you.

“Do you like it?” he asked, a little bit nervous as you stayed silent.

“Like?” you questioned. “I fucking love it, Rintarou. I love it so much that it made me speechless… Thank you. Wow…Seriously, thank you.”

You’re not kidding. You’re not exaggerating. You were at a loss for words because only the silence of appreciation could speak for right now on how you feel about the design.

Pleased, a genuine smile carved on Suna’s lips as he watched you beaming with joy on your first body art done by none other than him.

“Now in exchange, I want you to pop my shirt.” he cleared his throat, bringing the mirror down as he signaled you.. Your face was puzzled. Pop…his shirt? “Come here, Y/N. Take off my shirt.”

You were hesitant at first but you gradually moved towards him and lifted his shirt out of his body. You have never seen him shirtless before because as far as you know, it makes him uncomfortable to show some skin to others before that’s why you never saw him wearing sleeveless before. And now he’s asking you to pop his shirt for what reason?

Pulling the fabric above, Suna’s exposed skin was hit with the cool air. You gasped when you saw multiple scars across the chest and lower body. Some of them formed multiple layers above each other, making the skin rise from its base. He doesn’t have any tattoo in his lower body but he has one in his chest, near his heart. And it was…shit. Could it be…?

“You see, Y/N, I never really talked about this before but my dad used to uh, beat me up with a socket wrench when I was a child,” he spoke, voice filled with coldness. “He’s an addict and whenever he doesn’t have the money to support his damn addiction, he’ll find another way to release his stress and that is to beat me up whenever he’s got the fucking chance.”

You felt like all the nerves in your body were paralyzed as your eyes slowly widened, sinking his words inside your head. He’s dad is what? Beating him? With a socket wrench? Fuck.

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to reach college, ya know? That’s why when I was given the privilege to still continue my education, I didn’t let it go to waste as I thought that it was the only way to escape from the madness of my life.” his fingers brushed against his scars. It was healed, probably years ago yet you could visibly see the paint being painted on his face as he felt the trace of his yesterday.

“And suddenly, all of this turned all the way around when I became friends with the twins and you.” he lifted his gaze, maintaining his eye contact with you. Something ignited inside Suna when he met your orbs. He felt like colors bursted in his eyes. “When my dad finally got the help he needed and I made peace with whatever demons I have, that’s when I felt like I had another chance with life. That’s why when I started taking interest in inking, I took it very seriously because for the first time, I saw that I finally saw that I got the chance to stand in life. To live, not just to survive.”

The sincere confession made a short pang inside your heart. All this time, he was hurting. All the damn time, he’s living his life in hell. And being friends with him, just being by his side, made him realize that he can finally free himself from the uncanny of his life.

“The reason why I keep on rejecting your request is because I am not ready yet. Y/N, I spent my whole career crafting the most unique design I could ever create for you. Just for you. I wanted to make it the best among the rest. Also, as cheesy as it may sound, I wanted to be the man worthy of inking your very first tattoo.”

You felt like your heart’s going feral inside your ribcage. Suna stood up in front of you, bare bodies touching each other. You could feel his minty hot breath tickling your nose despite the coldness of the room. Slowly, he grabbed both of your hands and intertwined your fingers together before bringing it in front of you to plant a soft kiss on it.

“I’m sorry that it took me this much time to be worthy of everything. Thank you for not giving up on me. You may notice the lines in your tattoos, it represents the thought of despite being broken, you could still find your way back and bloom within it. Y/N, you gave me that reason to bloom again at my own pace.”

He dragged your hands in his chest, making you feel the only tattoo he has on his upper body. “Y/N, this is your initials. This was my very first tattoo and I intentionally got it in my heart so that whenever I hold my heart, I’ll always remember that you’re here.”

Suna’s eyes glimmered, mirroring yours as you could feel him getting more emotional any second. Giving up, you stood on your toes, enclosing the centimeters given between the two of you by latching your lips to his. Without giving it a second thought, Suna pulled you closer, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. It was a hot, wet kiss that the two of you shared as tears started tearing down in your cheeks. When Suna tasted the salty liquid, he finally let his guard down and cried himself between the sloppy kiss.

Pulling away, both of you were panting as your cheeks were stained with the liquid that you shared. You let out a chuckle and pulled him into a tight hug which he gladly returned.

“You’re never late, Suna. You will always be the tattoo artist that captivated my heart, no matter what and no matter how long it takes. I’ll always wait for your creations, and I’ll kiss every one of your flaws until you realize you’re love.”

© lightaflaem. do not repost on any platform.

bonus

y/n's "exclusive" tattoo made it to suna's instagram :]

[spicyspiders]

old man logan part 4

1.1k words

I was going to make this angsty, but decided to make it smutty (to no one's surprise). Warning for rimming and rough/unprotected sex.

Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

“Logan,” you whine, “he’ll be back soon,” you bite into your bedspread trying to muffle your moans as Logan’s tongue flicks over your hole. 

You didn’t just need Logan out, you also needed enough time to air out your dorm room to rid the air of the stench of sex. 

“I could go faster if you’d fuckin’ relax,” Logan said before biting into the flesh of your ass cheek. You’ve grown used to his rough fingers, but still it makes you gasp to have them on your skin, especially on your hole, slick from his spit. 

“Maybe if you weren’t so rough,” you responded angrily as you moved back into his fingers. 

“Don’t you fuckin’,” he groweled, one of his hands going to the back of your neck to push you roughly down into the bed, “sass me. You want me to stop?” He whispered in your ear after blanketing his body on top of yours. 

“No,” you said into the blanket, your voice muffled. 

“Speak up!” He barked. He moved his hand to the front of your neck to pull you back into his chest, “I can’t hear you,” he said into your ear. 

“No,” you repeated louder. 

Logan’s hard cock rubbed wetly into the small of your back, smearing precum into the sweaty skin. You could sass him further by telling him he probably wasn’t able to hear you because he was the one that pushed your face into the bed, but you knew there wasn’t enough time. 

Logan chuckled before responding, “I can tell,” he says as he presses two fingers slowly inside, “you’re swallowing me right up,” he observes as his fingers slide inside. He makes a noise of bewilderment, “what’s this?” He asks as they go deeper. 

“Before you came over,” you began before your voice fell off into a moan. His two fingers gilded against your prostate, mixing in with lube already in your hole. “I-” you tried to continue, but Logan cuts you off by turning your chin to get his lips on yours. 

“Shh,” he says softly after he’s pulled away from the kiss, “you do this in the shower before I got here? You hafta hold your hand against your mouth so no one would hear?” He asks as he scissors his two fingers. 

You groan through the burn, “I couldn’t wait,” you whimpered, pushing your hips back into his fingers. 

“I can tell,” he repeats with another laugh as he adds another finger to the mix. “You’re so wet,” he says softly through the squelch of the lube. “I probably didn’t even need to lick you open,” he says to himself. 

He pulls his fingers free once he’s deemed you adequately prepared for his fat cock. He rolls you onto your back before he smears the lube along his cock, his eyes dark as they look you over. 

“Did you cum while you were in the shower?” Logan asks as he lifts your legs onto his broad shoulders. He presses his lips to yours, not even giving you the chance to answer, the head of his cock at your stretched hole. 

“Wanted to wait for you,” you gasped as he thrust slowly inside. 

Above you, Logan moaned before he ducked down to once more get his lips on yours. “So sweet,” he says against your mouth after he’s pulled away. “It almost makes me feel bad,” he says as he slowly pulls his cock free, “fucking you like this,” he finishes as he thrusts back inside. 

Your cock lays hard against your stomach, hard and neglected. Instead of reaching down to wrap your hand and stroke to the rhythm Logan sets, you wrap your hands around his neck to pull him in for another kiss. 

“I’m just the dirty old man,” Logan says after he’s broken the kiss, “fucking the sweet college boy,” he says punctuating his point with harsh thrusts. The headboard knocks against the wall, the noise ringing alongside the smack of his skin against yours. 

“Slow down,” you groan, you run your nails down his back, a hot flashing running through your body at the noise of pain and pleasure he lets out, “we’re being too loud.”

He laughs loudly as he comes to a stop, “never thought I’d hear you say those words,” he says, swiping a hand across his face. You didn’t think it was funny enough to warrant wiping away tears, but your brain was too fucked out to realize he was wiping away sweat and not tears. 

Logan leaned close, his hips circling your ass, causing his cock to rub right against your prostate. Before his lips were on yours, his voice came out soft and gravely as he spoke, “missed you,” he said, lips brushing yours. “Missed taking care of you,” he said as he reached between your sweaty bodies to wrap his hand around your cock. 

To try and muffle your moans when you cum, you kiss him once more. Logan’s tongue does little to cover the noise, but still he does his best to swallow the noises. You cum in messy spurts across his fist, right between your bodies.

Logan’s head falls to your shoulder as you clench around his cock, the man moaning at the sensation. He brings himself up on his forearms as he picks up the pace momentarily. His thrusts are stuttered and uncoordinated as you continue to milk his cock through the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

You watch with half-lidded eyes as Logan brings the hand that was just around your cock to his mouth. Your cock gives an involuntary twitch as Logan licks up the cum on his fingers. You watch his fingers disappear into his mouth, and moments later, Logan’s hips still.

It reminds you of earlier when you were in the shower as you had to use your hand to muffle your moans as you fingered yourself open. You hadn’t even been able to finish earlier after you had gotten harder faster than you expected, fearful that it would ruin your time with Logan if he had to get you hard again in the little time you had together before your roommate got back. He moans around his two fingers, his hips twitching as he cums as deep as he can inside you.

His sweaty body collapses on top of you once it’s over, the bedsprings groaning in protest at the sudden combined weight. “When’s your next break?” He asks into your neck.

You laugh breathily as you tangle a hand through the sweaty locks on the back of his head, “you’re still inside me and you’re already asking when I’ll be home so we can do this again?”

Logan pulls his softening cock free before asking the question again, “there,” he says, “happy? Now, when will you be home?” He asks, nipping at the sweaty skin closest to his mouth. 

The word home sends an emotion through your body you don’t want to think about, “next month,” you respond softly, trying to ignore it when it happens again when Logan leans into the touch of your hand in his hair.  

[satorusugurugurl]

We Can Be Louder

Summary: When staying in a hotel, a couple next door is a little too loud— but you and Nanami can be louder.

Characters: Nanami Kento x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: hotel smut, unprotected sex, loud, vocal, moans, dirty talk, p in v, creampie, language

Word Count: 1.9K

A/N: I have a mighty need to grope Nanami’s butt rawr! 💚💚💚

“Ooooooh God,” a high pitched voice rang from the hotel room right next to you. “Oh God, baby fuck.” Your eyes widened as you turned your head to look back at the wall behind you. The sound of their bed slamming against the wall was almost deafening and powerful enough to cause your own bed to shake.

The sound of their phony moans made your nose turn up in sympathy for the girl and embarrassment from how loud they were. Nanami sat beside you in bed, placing his book down as the moans grew louder. From the whimpers and grunts, you had an inkling that this was not going to last long for them. Your best guess was that it was a young college couple; maybe it was their first time, or they weren't as experienced. Your hypothesis was all focused on the girl who was practically moaning like a porn star. It's wholly fake and unnatural.

“She’s faking it,” You announced to Kento as you took a sip of your wine, “and the poor guy has no idea that she is.” Nanami chuckled, furrowing his eyebrows as he placed his bookmark in place, turning to watch you closely. “I bet you twenty bucks he doesn't last longer than five minutes.”

“Oh, Love,” Nanami chuckled deeply, the sound igniting a fire inside you. “It's going to end way faster than that.”

“Oooh, my goodness, Ken, what makes you say that?”

“Nngh!” the stranger next door shouted as the bed started creaking again. “D-Don’t squeeze so t-tight!”

The corner of Nanami’s mouth twitched as he fought against a grin. “That right there speaks volumes.”

You found yourself unable to focus on your book, more intrigued by the young couple next door. You kept stealing glances at the wall, listening in on their not-so-quiet conversation. The girl kept screaming, ‘Oh my God, ’ while her companion kept asking questions like, ‘Oh yeah?’ and ‘You like that baby?’ It was quite entertaining. They both were inexperienced, unsure of what to say in bed, only having porn or books to use as a reference as to what sex would be like. They were mixing fiction into reality.

The bed pounding got faster and louder. “Oh,” you laughed, “he’s gonna finish soon.” Nanami laughed as you fist pumped in the air to the sound of the bed frame being slammed into the wall.

“I’m gonna-” the young man shouted, “I’m gonna blow my load!” You choked on your wine at his declaration, the alcohol coming out of your nose. “Oooooooh fuck!!!” You covered your mouth, coughing roughly as the man moaned loudly. It wasn’t short after that the girl gave a very poor performance of her own orgasm. Apparently, she didn’t want him to feel bad that she hadn’t finished with him. The moans that had barely started died down, leaving you and Nanami staring at the wall with sympathy. Glancing down at your watch, you grinned, holding it out for Nanami to see. “Five minutes on the spot.”

He shook his head, laughing slightly, “Pretty good for a first time; I can’t tell you how long I lasted my first time.” He grabbed his glass of wine and drank before running his tongue over his lips. “I’m relatively certain the girl I was with just laid there awkwardly.”

“Yeah,” you turned on your side, looking up at him, “my first time was at this guy's house. I was so excited to do it finally.” You held your fist, putting a single finger up as you spoke. “There was hardly any kissing, we undressed ourselves, no foreplay, he got on top, and it was over in literally one minute.”

“This is the part where you tell me you’re kidding me, right?”

“Nope, one minute was all I got. Hell, I didn’t have my first real orgasm until I was twenty-two.”

“Well, that’s unfair,” he put his book down on the nightstand. “what do you say we make up for that first time?” You giggled, grinning ear to ear as Nanami undid the buttons on his shirt. “I’ll make sure to give you the best orgasm you’ve ever had. Make up for the ones you’ve had to fake all those years ago.”

You lay flat on your back as Nanami removed his shirt, dropping it to the ground. Slowly, he crawled on top of you, looking at you as if you were his prey. There was a dark and needy gleam in his eyes that caused your breath to catch in your throat. You knew right there that it would be a long, sweaty night with him. He began running his long fingers underneath your nightgown. He slowly pushed the silky fabric up, bunching it at your hips. His lips slowly pressed kisses along the inside of your thighs as you ran your finger through his hair, tugging it softly.

A growl that was full of desire escaped his lips as he tugged the nightgown off all the way, throwing it across the room. Before you knew it, he was pulling his pajama pants off, exposing his hardened erection. Licking your lips, you spread your legs open, giving him a better view of your body that he loved. His eyes wandered down, taking you all in, inch by inch, before he grabbed both your legs, putting them over his shoulders. Your mouth suddenly went dry as the head of his cock brushed against your opening.

“God, you’re soaking wet.” He whispered, rocking his hips slowly, the swollen head of his throbbing cock brushed gently against your clit. “I need you. I need to make up for the first time.” Rolling your eyes, you rocked back against him, moaning at the pleasurable sensations rushing through your pussy.

“Nanami, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, so yes, every time we have sex, it’s better than my first time.” You dangled your feet over his shoulders, the head of his cock pressed firmly against your opening. “So what do you say? You stop teasing me and fuck me already. Let’s show these college kids how it’s done.”

He chuckled before kissing you deeply and pressing his forehead against yours. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” Slowly he pushed into you, his cock slipping past your slick folds, stretching your walls. The sensation left you moaning loudly as you gripped the sheets underneath you. You squeezed around his cock, taking all of him inside of you as he pressed against your cervix. “Fuck Love,” he groaned, nipping at your lip, “no matter how many times we do this, I’ll never get over how good you feel.” As soon as he was entirely inside of you, his body relaxed. The two of you relished in the feeling of each other's skin.

His hands traced over your body, his hands groping your breasts before sliding down and running down the curves of your body. You mirrored his actions, trailing your hands down his bare and muscular back. Your nails grazed him softly before meeting the fat of his ass. It was at this moment that he pulled out of you, looking into your eyes before he plunged back into you. You cried out, your head falling against the pillows, and your lips parted. His thrusts left your eyes watering at the intense sensation. Nanami hissed, repeating the action several times, each thrust harder than the previous one. The intensity of the rhythm had sweat beading against his neck and over his chest as sweat ran down your own collarbone, trailing over the swells of your breasts.

Your hands grope his ass, allowing you to feel it flex with each thrust in and out of your tight wet pussy. With each push of his hips, the bed slams into the wall behind you. With each thrust that was angeled right against your g-spot, you screamed. As your screams increased in volume, Kento slammed his lips against yours as you cried out in pleasure, shouting his name to the heavens. You wanted everyone in the hotel to know who was fucking you this good. Who was exploring and ravishing your body, treating you like a goddess. When you were with Nanami, it was like experiencing heaven on earth. It was so surreal and so perfect.

The bed slammed harder into the wall as Nanami’s grunts and growls of pleasure grew louder. Your name was like a curse on his lips; it came out like a hiss, a groan, and a gasp. His name escaped your lips like a prayer as you begged him to make you feel good.

“Nanami! Oh fuck Kento!” He stared down at you, smirking at your moans. “Fuck me, baby! Fuck me harder!” He captured your lips against his, his hips hauling harder as he lifted one of your legs in the air. “Oh my God!” you cried out, your eyes rolling back as his cock slammed into your cervix.

“You like that, Love? You like my cock buried deep inside of you?”

‘Y-Yes Ken!” You cried out, digging your fingers into the skin of his arms, “I love it! I love it when you fuck me!”

“That’s my girl,” you clenched harder around him. “Oh darling, are you going to cum already? Cum all over my thick hard cock?” The pleasure inside began to tighten along with the coil in your lower abdomen. Nanami reached down, rubbing your clit as he continued to thrust. Your inner walls throbbed around him as the tightening coil within you threatened to snap at any given second. “Don’t hold back, cum for me, Love, cum for me.” Another brush against your clit had the coil in your abdomen snapped, sending you over the edge.

“Kento!!” You screamed, your walls clenching down around his cock. They fluttered as the immense pleasure rushed through you. Causing your body to wither and jerk underneath him, nails digging into his skin as you came. “Oh my God!”

“Love, fuck nngh!!” He grunted, hips stilling as he came deep within you. You shuddered, mouth falling agape as you felt hot spurts of cum coat your walls. “Oh fuck!” Kento let your leg go before he collapsed on top of you. His chest heaved as he pressed kisses along your shoulder before burying his face against your skin, remaining there.

As he lay on top of you, mumbling how much he loved you, you couldn’t help but smile. Glancing down at your left ring finger, you giggled happily. The ring glimmered in the low lights of the hotel suite. Only two days into your honeymoon, it has been amazing so far. It was a reminder that this was how the rest of your life would be. You and Nanami in bed together, going on trips, loving your loves to the fullest.

“Say, Mrs. Nanami?” Nanami grumbled, lifting his head to look at you. You pushed some hair out of his face, pressing your lips together.

“Yes, Mr. Nanami?”

“Let’s put our books away for the rest of tonight; I would much rather spend the night here inside of you.” He trailed his calloused fingers over your sensitive skin. His request fluttered your heart as you kissed his forehead, nodding in response to his question. “Good, let’s see how long it’ll take for the couple next door to regret getting the room next to the honeymoon suite~.”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree

[lunaritex]

CHASING REDEMPTION. . .ᐟ — kinich.

—✩ content: modern+spiderman au, established relationship, reader is gender-neutral, both reader and kinich are in college, reader knows kinich’s true identity, angst with comfort, character death.

—✩ author's note: ever since i saw this one edit of peter parker jumping down to save gwen… i knew what i had to do, except there is a small twist at the end. @kazuhaiku

Kinich swore he had planned the entire process in his mind. Everything was in place and all he needed was to be mentally and physically prepared to tell you the truth. But no matter how many plans he came up with, he did not take into account how a sudden robbery happened, resulting in him having to leap into action. He did not take into account how the robbery was not what it seems, with the robbers more than prepared to stand their grounds. They were armed with dangerous weapons that one could only obtain through illegal means. 

One thing led to another and he ended up arriving hours later than the agreed time. Kinich arrived at the agreed venue for your date and he was not surprised to spot no sign of you. He pointedly ignored the pitiful look the staff threw his way when he left in a hurry. Not wanting to waste anymore time, he used his spiderwebs to zip across the sky, turning a blind eye to how some people stopped to glance at him. 

It took him exactly five minutes to arrive at the balcony of your apartment. He nimbly landed on his feet, peering through the windows as his eyes furiously scanned your room. He swore his heart shattered when he saw a lump laying on the bed, covered with a blanket from head to toe. 

Knock knock. Knock knock. 

You raised your head when you heard someone knocking on your window, revealing your swollen eyes and tearstained face. You frowned when you realized it was your boyfriend. A part of you wants to leave him outside but you knew he was too stubborn for his own good. Surrendering, you unreluctantly crawled out of bed and moved to the window stand, unlocking the lock and slid it open. Shivers ran down your spine when the freezing wind grazed your skin. 

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be busy saving the city or something?” You asked, the sarcasm dripping in your tone made Kinich winced. 

Normally, you would have felt remorse at how you snapped at him but you have had enough. Clenching and unclenching your fists, you looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Look, I’m not in the mood to talk to you right now. You can come back another time-”

“No, I know you’re mad at me and I want to talk about it now,” he interrupted.

And that was the final straw. 

“It’s always all about you, you, you! When have you ever thought about me!? I bet the thought of me sitting in a cafe or restaurant, waiting for my boyfriend for hours, only for him to never turn up has never crossed your mind! Do you know how downright humiliating it is for me to leave and how I have to tolerate the sympathy glances thrown my way, as I walk out of the place? I know you’re doing a good deed by saving the city but sometimes, I wish you could set aside some time for me.” 

Your voice cracked like a whip, startling Kinich into silence. The fire in your eyes was undeniable, a mix of betrayal and exasperation. He tried to respond but you didn’t let him. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this. It feels like you don’t even care about me anymore and this relationship is starting to feel one-sided,” your voice grew a notch softer, exhaustion evident in your voice; as if you had already given up trying to fight for something that was no longer there anymore. 

“If you’re not going to say anything, then I think it’s best to end this. Goodbye Kinich and I wish you the best of luck,” you forced a teary-eyed smile at him, sliding the door closed and pulling the curtains, not wanting to see him a second longer. 

Kinich on the other hand, was rendered speechless. He wanted to talk to you again but since it was clear you had cut the line, he had no choice but to respect your decision. After sparing your window one more glance, he zips away into the dark sky. 

~

The next three weeks passed slowly. Both of you were busy preparing for your final exams of the semester. No matter how hard you try to focus on your studies, you just cannot seem to stop thinking about Kinich. Random thoughts like ‘is he doing fine?’, ‘has he eaten?’ and sometimes ‘I hope he’s not hurt again…’. You have not consulted your group of friends about your relationship but judging from how he was not constantly by your side, they already knew what happened. 

Currently, you are heading home after spending hours cramped in the campus library. You were too exhausted to be mindful of your surroundings. You had no idea that you were being followed, until it was too late. 

“Mphmf-!?” 

Your startled shout was instantly muffled when a gloved hand covered your mouth. Your sight turned blurry after you accidentally inhaled something. The last thing you heard was a man saying something along the lines of using you as bait for Spiderman, before everything turned black. 

When you regained consciousness, it took all of your willpower to not scream at how you were dangerously dangling in the air. The only thing supporting you was the rope tightly tied around your waist. Your wrists were tied and held behind your back. You didn’t dare try to move about, not wanting the rope to snap into half. You looked around, squinting your eyes as you tried to make sense of where you were through the darkness. 

All you could see was long and rectangular-shaped steel bars and you knew you were on a construction site. The pockets of your jeans were empty, meaning your kidnappers must have taken your phone after you were knocked out. There was nothing much you could do, except to play the role of a waiting duck. You sighed, lowering your head to look down at the ground and for a split moment, the thought of death flew through your mind. 

“Look who’s awake? Are you getting anxious that Spiderman isn’t here yet?” A sinister voice pierced through the silence. 

You raised your head to see two armed and masked men approaching you, coming to a stop at the edge. One man has a muscular build while the other man was as thin as a branch. Not wanting them to know they have the upperhand, you merely remained silent and looked at them with a bored expression. 

“I won’t rely on him that much if I were you. I doubt he knows that you guys are waiting for him,” you replied. 

The muscular man laughed. “Hah! Nice try, kid. But we’ve managed to drop him a nice little text using your phone, telling him to meet us here at nine sharp. And if he doesn’t, then I guess you can say bye to that boyfriend of yours.” 

Your blood ran cold at his words. 

“I’m here now, let them go.” 

A familiar voice interrupted your brief conversation. The two men turned around and there he was; Spiderman in his glory. You knew Kinich was seething with rage, judging from how his fists were clenched tightly the moment he was informed that you were held hostage. The men smirked in triumph as they slowly approached him, leaving you there to observe the scene unfold by itself. 

“About time you show up. It’s time for revenge for what you did to my face,” the muscular man said, pointing at his masked face with his thumb as he pulled out a gun. You gulped when you saw how dangerous they looked. 

“I don’t remember doing such a thing to you, but perhaps it might be a good thing for you,” your ex(?) replied, and you would have snickered if not for your current situation. 

“How dare you! I should have killed you when I had the chance!” He roared, enraged and started running full speed at Kinich, with his fellow partner-in-crime hot on his heels. 

From your vantage point, you watched with bated breath, heart racing as Kinich faced off against the two heavily-armed men. The tension crackled in the air, thick and electric. Kinich moved with a mix of agility and determination, dodging a flurry of blows while keeping his focus sharp. You could see the muscles in his jaw tighten as he assessed the situation, calculating his next move.

Each clash of steel rang out, echoing in the stillness around them. The men were imposing, their weapons gleaming menacingly in the light, but Kinich stood his ground, a fierce intensity in his eyes. With every punch and counter, you felt your own pulse quicken. You could only watch, willing him to outsmart his opponents and to emerge from the intense battle unscathed. Just when the fight was about to hit the climax and the two men were on the verge of being defeated, the skinny man turned to you. 

You watched in pure horror as he raised his weapon, aiming at the rope and fired. Whatever happened next was in slow motion. Your vision made an abrupt turn to the right, as gravity took over your body and pulled you down. The high-pitched scream you let out was not enough to describe the pure fear pumping through your veins. You made eye contact with Kinich and you could imagine the look of disbelief mixed with horror behind the mask. 

“Kinich!”

You screamed his name at the top of your lungs as your body began its descent to the hard concrete ground at lightning speed. Kinich forced himself to move, dodging the poor attempts of the men trying to stop him. Just for good measure, he shot a few webs aimed at their limbs to prevent them from moving. He jumped off the edge without hesitation, reaching out his hand as he tried to grab you. 

“Hold on, I’m coming!” He shouted, pure desperation heard in his voice. 

With a swift, fluid motion, he shot his web toward you, the silken strands glistening in the air before they wrapped securely around your stomach. Before you could even react, he yanked you towards him, the world spinning as you felt the force of his pull. Just as you landed against him, he swung into the air, the rush of wind whipping past you. Your heart raced as he propelled you both over the danger, each swing taking you away from the chaos below.

He landed gracefully in a safe area, setting you down gently. Your breath caught in your throat as you met his gaze—eyes fierce yet filled with concern. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, urgency in his voice, the adrenaline still coursing through him. You nodded, shaken but alive, gratitude swelling within you.

Your entire body was trembling like a fallen leaf. Kinich gently placed you on the ground, still holding you as your legs gave way. You remained still, the adrenaline and fear of experiencing close death still pumping through your veins as he removed the web from your frame, wincing at how some were still stuck on your clothes. None of you said a word after that, unsure of what to say to break the silence. 

“I-”

He wanted to speak, but you threw yourself at him, hugging him with a vice-like grip as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. Kinich fumbled about due to your combined weight but he managed to catch himself before he could hit his head against the ground. He removed the gloves and pulled the mask off, placing them on the side as he returned the embrace. Your sniffles and sobs were the only thing occupying the silence and Kinich knew you were beyond terrified of what you had just gone through. 

“Hey, it’s fine now. You’re safe, don’t worry, I got you,” he murmured, speaking in a soft and gentle tone as he reassures you. He ran his hand through your hair; an action he knows you love by heart. 

“I was so scared… I thought I was going to die…” You whimpered through your tears as you moved away from him, resting your hands on his shoulders. 

“Kinich, I’m sorry for snapping at you. That wasn’t nice of me, especially when you are doing something good which is saving the city and people,” you apologized, but he shook his head. 

“You don’t have to apologize. You weren’t in the wrong, in fact, it should be me. I shouldn’t have neglected you to the point where you felt like the relationship had become one-sided. I promise you that from now on, I will give you more of my time,” he gave you a small smile, reaching out to wipe away the stray teardrop on your cheek. 

“But, I don’t want to get in the way of your duty,” you protested. 

He merely shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure the police can handle the troubles themselves for a day or more.” 

You chuckled and his features softened when he heard your laugh. You flinched when he suddenly carried you bridal-style in his arms after he stuffed his gloves and mask into his pocket. 

“Now that we’re done here, it’s time to go home, shall we?” He asked, looking down at you with a loving smile. 

“Indeed, we shall, Spiderman.”

[wandaslovey]

Hey, just wanted to say love all ur mommy Wanda content and can’t help but reread them all the time.

I was just wondering if u would wright something along the lines of reader injuring her leg some how, like a sprained ankle, and is having trouble walking on it but is to stubborn to rest up and not walk on it. Hence mommy Wanda having to take manners into her own hands, however u wish to interpret that.

Possibly with praise sprinkled in plz

If not it’s all good :) 

Her Stubborn Girl

a/n: hi nonnie!! thanks for the request! hopefully this (sorta) lengthy drabble is the sort of thing you were looking for :))

a/n: i wrote this in 45 minutes so please forgive all spelling/grammar errors thaaanks🫶🏻🫶🏻

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•

you fumble with your keys, almost dropping them twice as you all but wrestle with them to stick it through the lock. you were tired physically and mentally. you had three in-person college courses every wednesday, and now being 4 weeks into the semester, you were seriously regretting your decision to be an “over-achiever.” your ankle hurt like a bitch. it was still healing from a sprain, but you hated walking around with those stupid crutches. you’d be damned if you drew more attention to yourself any more than your wrapped ankle already gave away. you finally enter your shared home with your girlfriend, wanda. you saw that her car was parked in the driveway, so she must have decided to work from home today. you huff, tossing your keys on the little table beside the door, carefully chucking your shoes off. you hear wanda’s feet padding against the hard wood floors to the kitchen. you mentally curse yourself as you know she’s going to immediately notice that you walked to your classes today with no crutches. you had hoped you’d have time to go and grab them from where you left them last but, no such luck.

“hi sweetheart, welcome h—“ wanda pauses as she rounds the corner, taking in your appearance and the lack of what should be the accompanying crutches. you offer her a weak smile and turn to get a water from the fridge, not in the mood for her to berate you for your carelessness.

“Y/N! did you seriously go to your classes today without your crutches??” she walks up to you from behind, her arm swiftly wrapping around your back to pull you carefully to the table. you sigh, running your fingers through your hair. you knew how sensitive she was when it came to your health and well-being. “yes. my ankle is almost healed,” you say to placate her, though you know putting so much weight on it today surely didn’t do you any favors. you could feel a throbbing sensation shooting up your leg, even though you were now sitting down. wanda takes the seat next to you, gently lifting your hurt ankle and settling it in her lap. “almost healed my ass…oh honey, look at it! it’s all swollen!” her fingers gently caress the area over her careful wrapping job. “you— stay right here.” she says, her tone chiding. she gently sets your leg to rest on the chair as she gets up to retrieve an ice pack.

she comes and sits back down, resettling your foot in her lap and gently placing the ice pack around your now extra swollen ankle. you suddenly feel a little bit guilty, knowing that you hurting yourself hurts her just as much—maybe even more sometimes. you didn’t mean to upset her. your shoulders slump forward, an apologetic look on your face as she looks at you with nothing but sternness. “i don’t take kindly to you not taking care of yourself Y/N. you know that.” your posture falls, the guilt weighing even heavier on yourself as her words affirm your suspicion. “i’m sorry, mommy.” you use her honorific, hoping it would help in smoothing her over.

your apology seems to fly in one ear and out the other as the firm expression remains plastered on her face. “you’re not going to put any more weight on this ankle of yours for the rest of the day. do you hear me?” you look down. avoiding her gaze as you nod your agreement. she grasps onto your chin with her thumb and first finger, lifting your head back up to look at her. “words. i need to hear you say it.” her grip on your chin is firm and you find that your previous defiant attitude when you first came home had all but vanished into thin air. “i won’t put any more weight on my ankle for the rest of the day,” you say quietly, your lip slightly pouty and your eyes wide, full of sincere apology. “good girl,” she nods, releasing her hold on your chin. she takes pity on you, knowing that she had scolded you enough already.

you sit in comfortable silence for several moments, her still holding the ice pack to your ankle. “how about we watch a movie together before i finish up my work for the day? then i can make us some dinner and you can tell me all you learned in your classes today.” you smile, quickly agreeing with her suggestion.

you move to stand, but she grips onto your foot to keep it there, giving you a warning look. “sorry..” you quickly readjust into your seat, remembering your recent promise to not walk on your bad ankle the rest of the day. she stands up, settling your leg back over the chair. “where did you leave your crutches?” she asks, looking around the room for them. you whine, not wanting to see or use those stupid things ever again. “don’t make me use those. i hate those things. they just make it more difficult to move around and they hurt my armpits..” you complain, your voice sounding petulant like a stubborn child.

she rolls her eyes at your tone, a small affectionate smile tugging at her lips before she suddenly reaches down and pulls you up into her arms. you make a small noise of surprise, but she makes no moves to put you down, instead carrying you to the couch that’s in front of the tv. she settles you onto the cushions, lifting both your legs so your feet were resting in her lap.

she lets you choose the movie and you put one on that you’ve both seen many times together. throughout the movie she’ll glance over at you, smiling kindly whenever your eyes meet hers. somewhere towards the end of the movie, her hands begin massaging your uninjured foot but you find the sensations felt more tickle-y than anything else. you squirm slightly in your seat, your foot twitching in her gently grasp. her lips curve into a knowing smile as she takes notice of your fidgeting.

“does that tickle, detka?” as she asks, she lightly scratches her fingernails over the arch of your foot. you press your lips together, unwilling to give her the reaction she was looking for.

“no,” you say stubbornly, barely glancing in her direction as you opt to keep staring at the screen ahead.

“oh, so you don’t mind if i do this then?” her fingers then move up your foot, tickling the sensitive little spaces in between your toes. you try to jerk and pull your foot back but she was quicker than you—using her other hand to firmly hold your ankle in place. a low whine and a stream of reluctant giggles bubble past your lips as her fingers scratch at your toes. “what’re you laughing at, huh? i thought you said this didn’t tickle…” she teases, keeping up her playful assault on your poor foot for a few more moments before stopping.

she leans closer to you, kissing you sweetly as she gives your foot a soft squeeze. she looks at you, love and adoration evident in her gaze. you melt under her affectionate look, feeling that warm fuzziness seep into your skin and brain.

“Y/N, i don’t ever want to see you without those crutches until the doctor gives you the all clear. if i do see that, you won’t like what i’ll have in store for you.” she turns more stern again for a moment, making sure she gets her point across. you decide to tease her a bit, her little tickle attack making you feel a little giddy still.

“like what? you’ll spank me?” you smirk slightly, knowing that that particular punishment isn’t normally so bad.

“oh no.. no, no. i know you enjoy your spankings far too much, my darling. i was thinking more along the lines of writing me 500 lines stating ‘i will take care of myself and obey my mommy.’”

she mimics your expression, also smirking as she knows you and how much you hate writing lines. you groan and her smirk stretches into a victorious smile.

“how about i throw in a sweetener? if you be the good little girl i know you can be, i’ll let you choose your reward once the doctor clears you.” her offer instantly makes you perk up, your eyes lighting up as several ideas instantly pop into your head.

“really??” you ask excitedly, almost bouncing in your place on the couch. she chuckles, nodding her head. “really, really.”

[pitviperofdoom]

High School Time Travelers, Part 2

It's finally here! Follow up to this story.

***

“So. Spill. What the fuck is going on with you and Angelique?”

Raph fidgeted uncomfortably, and something within Erin roared out in protest at that. They were in her room, surrounded by her clutter and band posters and the stuff he kept at her house to keep his mom from throwing it away. He wasn’t supposed to be uncomfortable here.

Eventually, he took a deep breath. “I time-traveled last night.”

“I’m serious—”

“So am I,” he said wearily. “I woke up in a house I haven’t set foot in for years, across the hall from someone I promised myself I’d never talk to again. It happened, and if you’re stuck on that part then this conversation can’t continue.”

Erin got up and paced her room, kicking aside her backpack, nearly knocking over the guitar stand in the corner. “What the fuck.”

“That’s what I said.”

“What the fuck, Raph.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

The absurdity hit her instantly—he didn’t mean to time travel, as if they were talking about him forgetting his homework or getting in Monica Dillon’s way during passing period. She wanted to laugh.

But then she remembered some of the weird things Angelique had said—about friendships imploding, about college, about shit not mattering in high school, all with the easy certainty of experience.

“Prove it,” she said. “Can you do that thing where you predict what I’m about to say?”

“I’m not stuck in a time loop, dumbass, yesterday I was thirty-three!” Raph snapped. “I had to go through math class trying to pretend I still remembered my teacher’s name!”

“Okay, okay, Jesus.” Erin held up her hands placatingly. “There’s gotta be something.”

Raph sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I dunno. Anything meaningful and unchangeable I can remember won’t happen for a while, so if you’re willing to wait for the Trump presidency or the global pandemic, there’s that.”

“The what.”

“Wait, who’s president right now? It’s still Bush, right?”

Erin pulled a face.

“Next one’s Barack Obama, he’s gonna do two terms,” Raph informed her. “First black president.”

“Oh, huh. Cool,” Erin said faintly.

“Let’s see, what else, um… Balloon Boy? Has Balloon Boy happened yet?”

“No, what the fuck is Balloon Boy?”

Raph brightened. “Yeah, so at some point this family is gonna release like, a homemade weather balloon? Or something? And there’s gonna be this huge panic because they think their son is stuck inside it, but then it turns out he was fine and hiding in the basement the whole time and it was a hoax.”

“Okay, I’ll keep an eye out for that I guess?” Erin sat down again. “You’re seriously not fucking with me right now?”

“I mean, if you want, we could forget this conversation ever happened,” Raph offered. “Continue with our normal lives, while I keep under-reacting to devastating world events.”

“Christ, I don’t know.” Erin pressed her palms into her eyes. After a moment, she lifted her head again. “Wait a minute, we’re getting off track. What does this have to do with Angelique?”

Raph’s silence could not have been louder.

“Raph,” Erin said, a little desperately.

“First you have to promise you won’t be mad,” said Raph.

“Did you sleep with her in the—” Erin paused to do some arithmetic in her head. “—eighteen years between then and now?!”

“She’s my wife,” Raph blurted out.

Moments later, Erin’s mother knocked politely on the bedroom door. “Everything okay in there?” she asked. “That’s an awful lot of screaming for a Tuesday night.”

Erin continued howling into her pillow. “She’s fine, Mrs. Yokota!” Raph called. “We’re looking at—uh—creepypastas!”

“Creepy what?”

“Uh—crap, are they still called that?—like, ghost stories and stuff!”

Placated, she left them to it. Eventually Erin recovered enough to lie back and stare listlessly at the ceiling.

“Dude.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What the fuck is your life?” Erin demanded. “How did that even happen?”

“We ran into each other at—so my friend Hazel got roped into being in their college roommate’s bridal party and dragged me along for moral support, and Angelique was in the same friend group but with like six degrees of separation from us,” Raph explained. “It took half the reception for her to recognize me because at that point I’d been on T for a few years, but the second she realized we went to the same high school she turned fishbelly-white, pulled me aside, and apologized for how much of a bitch she was back then. It was really awkward.”

Back then, he called it, even though for Erin it was still right now. “And you married her?”

“Like eight years later, yeah.” Raph ran his hand through his hair, not quite hiding the small smile that stole over his face. “She really turned over a new leaf.”

Erin was silent for a while, mulling over this new information, combining it with what she already had from that afternoon.

“Is your name still Raphael?” she asked. “She sounded really surprised about it. And I know you said you were just taking the name on a trial run, but you really seemed to like it. Not that there’s—you know,” she added. “I know that—just because I picked it, I knew you might not… you know. It’s fine, I was just wondering. If I should call you something else.”

“I did—I do like it,” Raph assured her. “But, uh, some stuff happened. My dad found me.”

Erin’s eyebrows shot upward. “Wait, really? What’d he have to say for himself?”

“That Mom ghosted him when she got pregnant because her side guy had more money.”

“Dude, fuck your mom.”

“Don’t fuck my mom, she’ll ghost you for money, weren’t you listening?”

Erin burst out snickering. “Fuck, sorry, this isn’t funny.”

“It will be in eighteen years,” Raph said with a wry smile. “Hindsight. Anyway, he found me in—he’s gonna find me in two years unless I reach out first. He’s a good guy. My stepmom’s pretty cool, too. And I have sisters? So that’s awesome. And yeah, he had this friend who passed away when he was younger, and he always wanted to name his son after him, but then Mom disappeared and he only ended up having daughters, so when he found me, it kind of worked out.” He hesitated. “I’m Damian. Damian Raphael Harker.”

“That’s such a cool name,” Erin sighed.

Raph—Damian—tilted his head back to grin at her. “Yours is cool, too.”

“Shut up,” she said fondly.

“No, seriously,” he said emphatically. “Your name is unspeakably cool.”

There was something odd in his tone, sticking up and catching like a loose nail. It bothered her, the same way something Angelique said earlier had bothered her.

“Hey, Ra—Damian?” Erin said cautiously. “Earlier, when Angelique sat down with us, she didn’t recognize me.”

“She does, don’t worry.”

“No, she didn’t,” Erin pressed. “It took her a second to realize who I was, and she stopped herself from saying why.”

Suddenly Damian looked deeply uncomfortable. “I, uh.”

She took a deep breath. “Was I dead in your time?”

“Wh-no! No no no no, of course not!” Damian looked horrified. “We played Pathfinder like last week, you’re not dead.”

“What’s Path—no, never mind. Something’s clearly up. If we just played whatever-that-is last week, and Angelique is your wife, then why didn’t she know who I was?”

“Uh…” Damian’s hands had worked their way deep into his sleeves. “You look different, that’s all. You kind of reinvented yourself in college.”

“Oh,” Erin said, momentarily relieved. Then— “Wait.”

“What?’

“Damian. You’d—” She hesitated. “If I was a guy, you’d tell me, right?’

“Oh my God,” Damian mumbled into his be-sweatered hands.

“Damian.”

“You’re... not...”

“You’d tell me, right?”

“See, I don’t know if I would!” Damian answered, in a strained high-pitched tone. “That’s—look. If you were a guy, that’s something you’d have to work out for yourself!”

“Damian, I swear to God.”

“I can’t crack your egg for you, that’s like violating the Prime Directive!”

Erin seized a pillow and started to buffet him with it. “You are such a nerd!”

“It’s your personal journey, you can’t use me to cheat!” Damian cackled, fending her off with a plush horse.

***

“Yeah I’ll get the banana split.” Angie bounced on the balls of her feet, eyes raking over the array of toppings. “Can you put caramel and chocolate sauce on it? And Heath bar pieces, chopped strawberries, and M&Ms.”

“Yeah, sure thing.”

It took all of her self-control not to press her nose against the glass as she watched them make it. Some small part of her balked at the sight of three huge scoops of ice cream and all the toppings, but she quieted it. She had a second shot at being a teenager, and that meant never taking her garbage disposal stomach and body made of rubber bands for granted ever again.

She hummed absently to herself, only to pause halfway through the tune. How did it go again? She tried repeating the first half, only to get stuck at the same spot. Oh, this was going to bug the crap out of her. It wasn’t like she could look it up, not when the song wouldn’t come out for almost ten years—

Her phone vibrated in her purse, and she checked it absentmindedly, zeroing in for a moment on the DAD displayed on the screen. After a moment, she put it back without answering. If it was that important, he could text.

Sure enough, her phone gave a short buzz. New text message—he hadn’t even bothered to leave a voicemail.

DADI need you to talk to your brother.

Angie checked her banana split’s progress with a glance, and replied.

lol why

DADHe’s not listening to me. We both know the courts favor the mother so if we’re going to beat her I need both of you on your A game.

Angie ground her teeth until her jaw creaked.

what do you need me to do

DADJust coach him on how to talk about her. You’re a smart lady, I know you can do it. He’s always getting scuffed up at practice, just have him say the bruises came from her. Throw in a drinking problem if you have to, just keep your stories straight.

why father dearest i’m surprised at youyou want me to lie under oath?

DADJust talk to him, will you? Keep your stories straight, don’t get too outlandish, and we’ll get out of this with everything we want. You’ll never have to hear the word no again, I promise.

ok daddy ill do my best!

DADGood girl. You’re the smartest girl I know. Smarter than your mom, smarter than her bitch lawyer. Love you!

“Order up!”

Angie brought her banana split to the table with the clearest view of the door. It took her a moment to decide how to begin, then nearly a full minute balancing equal parts ice cream, banana, and toppings in a single spoonful. She managed it in the end.

Mood lifted, she unlocked her phone again and made a call. “Heeeey, Anika.”

“Need I remind you that phone calls are billable,” her mother’s lawyer said dryly.

“Yeah, I’ll be quick, I have some incriminating text messages I think you’ll be interested in?”

The sound of rustling papers paused. “Go on…?”

“Dad just told me to lie to the judge,” Angie explained, twirling a thin ribbon of caramel around her spoon. “And to coach Eric to lie to the judge. I took screenshots.”

Anika cursed softly under her breath. “Thank you for telling me. Send them to your mom, okay? Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

The bell above the ice cream parlor door jingled, and Angie perked up as both Damian (Raph?) and Erin walked in. She waved them over, grinning when both pairs of eyes widened at her treat.

“That thing’s half the size of your head,” Erin pointed out.

“Sure is, you guys came just in time.” Angie nudged it across the table, along with the two extra spoons. “If we split it, I’ll have enough room for a milkshake chaser.”

“You’re a monster,” Damian said delightedly. “Oh shit, are those Heath bars?” He dug in without waiting for an answer.

“They’re peanut butter cups,” she said solemnly, once he’d taken a bite and could probably tell they weren’t. “I added them just to hurt you.” Damian rolled his eyes and dug his spoon back in.

Erin stared at her, probably still baffled by the gentle banter, but at least she looked more curious than infuriated, like instead of being suspicious she simply didn’t know what to make of Angie.

“So, you guys talked?” Angie asked carefully. “Are we… all good?”

“I think so,” Damian replied, shooting a cautious glance at Erin.

“You’re on thin ice,” Erin informed her as she helped herself to the chocolate scoop.

“Fair.” Angie didn’t remember Erin putting up quite as much of a fight, but then, it had been years when they’d reconnected before. This time around, it was still fresh.

“The ice cream helps,” Erin added, slightly muffled by the spoon in her mouth.

“Noted.” Angie paused, weighed her options, and shrugged. No harm no foul, probably. “Hey, you’re a musician, right?”

Erin swallowed. “Yeah, why?”

“And not just a performer, but you write music too, right?”

“Yeeaaah?” Erin squinted suspiciously. Beside her, Damian shot Angie a warning glare.

“If I give you half a tune, could you resolve it?”

Erin was staring at her like she’d grown a second head. “Probably.”

“Great!” Angie hummed the earworm from earlier. “How would the next part go?”

Erin repeated it to herself, nodding along. After a moment, she said, “Probably like—”

And sure enough, there it was. The rest of the chorus’s tune came rushing back to Angie’s memory, and she breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Thanks! That was driving me nuts.” Angie returned to her banana split, ignoring Damian’s growing scowl.

Later, when Erin was in the bathroom and  Angelique was standing in line to order her promised milkshake, Damian dug his elbow into her side. “You’re not as slick as you think you are,” he muttered.

“What?” Angie said innocently. “I didn’t give anything away.”

“You just taught her half the chorus of a song she’s eight years away from writing!”

“I’ve planted a seed,” Angie insisted. “I’ve created a stable time loop.”

“That is not what you did and you know it.” Damian pursed his lips, clearly trying to stay annoyed with her. “I barely avoided spoiling her transition, and that’s after she asked me to my face.”

Angie grinned. “So you haven’t told her she’s a genderfluid punk rocker yet?”

“No. Because she’s not a genderfluid punk rocker yet.”

“And now, when she becomes one,” Angie said with a smile, “she’s going to look back on this day and laugh.”

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

“Don’t touch me. We’re fighting.”

Quinn pleaseeee 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

I'm gonna put a warning on this because I like it so I don't feel like rewriting it. Warning: shitty relationship with father.

Drabble Masterlist

"Don't touch me. We're fighting."

Quinn didn't seem to care that you were pissed. But pissed didn't even describe the soreness in your jaw from clenching it so tight or the fact that your body temperature was elevated or that all you wanted to do was scream. Glancing over as he stood on the other side of the kitchen island, his face was as it always was calm, his thoughts were probably collected while your brain was firing off things to add to the fire if needed, he looked like he was in control of his body while yours was being controlled by the rage inside you. Looking at Quinn only pissed you off more so you just looked away.

After a minute, you decided it was best to walk away and cool off before you said something you'd regret. Quinn on the other hand, wasn't done fighting he wanted you to understand his point of view and he didn't wanna wait till morning. As you made your way down the hall you could hear Quinn's footsteps behind you.

"Wait Y/N, Let me explain." He went to gently touch your arm in hopes that you would stop walking away from him.

He got his wish, you turned around talking through your teeth you grunted. "Don't touch me. We're fighting."

Quinn has never pulled away from you so quickly before. Even with how angry you were at him it still hurt you how fast he pulled away. Quinn was looking at the floor, for the first time showing emotion since your fight started. "I was just trying to help."

All you could do is sigh. "By telling my father off?" you question defeat clear in your voice. "Quinn I've been over this with you, my family isn't like your family. You can't just voice your opinions to my dad, especially if it's you disagreeing with him or his choices."

Quinn looked up at you finally, he frowned his eyebrows in annoyance but you knew it wasn't at you. "Well I am mad at him. He shouldn't be allowed to talk down to you and blame you for not getting along with your stepmom when all she does is talk down to you. I couldn't sit there and let her talk down to you at dinner. Okay. And I guess I'm sorry for how it came up, but I am not sorry for standing up for you."

"Quinn I know you were trying to stand up for me. But I don't need you or anyone to stand up for me, especially against my family. Okay?" you ask waiting for him to acknowledge you.

"No. I'm sorry because how can you let them tell you that you aren't as far in your career as you should be as if they helped at all with the cost of college. Or the fact that all they did all dinner was telling you everything you were doing wrong with your life?" His tone was accusing and you found yourself taking a step back, your body was exhausted and all you wanted to was get out of this ichy dress and go to bed.

"I don't wanna have this conversation tonight." you begged.

"I just don't understand why do you even keep him around Y/N!"

"Okay since you seem to not be able to understand why I let them talk that way to you let me explain it to you so we never have to talk about this again got it?" you ask waiting for Quinn to nod his head before you continue. "Look my dad might be a piece of shit, but guess what he's my piece of shit father not anyone else's. Everyone always ask me for years 'Y/N if I were you, I'd cut him off why don't you.' For a long time I didn't have an answer for them but as I got older I do and it's this. Because he might be a piece of shit but without him I wouldn't be standing here physically because he is physically half of me. And I know you have lovely parents Quinn and brothers. But not everyone does and I am terrifed that if I do cut him out all the way vs seeing him three times a year like I do now. That one day I will get a call and he will be dead and I will have regret for not at least having him in some capactiy in my life. So because of that fear of regret because I know many people who have it now since their parents passed. I keep him around and if you can't understand that fine, not everyone does."

Taking a step closer to Quinn you add, "but whether you agree or not, you don't get to judge me for the choices I've made when it comes to the relationship between my father and I. Because that is exactly what it is." Pointing to yourself. "It's MY relationship not yours and you also don't get to make it more shaky then it already is by yelling at him in the middle of the steakhouse."

Quinn and you aren't sure how long you stood in your apartment hallway, it could of been seconds it could of been minutes. At some point Quinn looked at you and said "agree to disagree." All you did was nod and you both said true to your word you never talked about your father and your relationship ever again.

[msschemmenti]

monday morning guest

emily prentiss x reader

summary: emily gets a surprise visitor in the bullpen on monday morning.

a/n: crack idea i got driving past my neighbors house.

monday morning— bright and early. the bau team was finally back from a two week stent of back to back cases and emily was finally starting to settle into her role as unit chief. she was no hotch, but she was relying pretty heavily on her interpol experience and the bond the team had built over the years. with such a close knit team, it was always very easy to spot new comers in the office.

so when a woman breezed through the glass doors of the bullpen, emily wasn’t surprised to catch garcia’s bright pink cardigan hurrying after her to intercept the mystery woman. what she was surprised to see was a face she knew all too well.

y/n y/ln. in dc. in her bullpen? what alternate universe could she possibly have walked into this morning. she turned hastily to the mirror she kept in her office and started fluffing her hair quickly. she hadn’t seen y/n since her college graduation and it’s safe to say she looks very different now. not bad per say but older. feeling satisfied with her hair she rifled through her purse for some lipstick and anything to make her not look like it was monday morning.

down in the bullpen, y/n smiled at the brightly colored woman she’d just been stopped by. she scanned the bullpen over her shoulder hoping to catch sight of emily. after hearing the older woman had returned [allegedly from the dead], she hoped on the opportunity to pay her a visit while she was in town.

“good morning beautiful stranger. welcome to the bau, my name is penelope. can i help you with something?” the woman bounced in anticipation.

“hello, penelope. i’m actually looking for someone. your new unit chief actually.” y/n spoke as she shuffled the folder in her hand to shake penelope’s hand.

“emily? emily prentiss? do you have a crime case you’d like assistance on?” garcia asked.

“yes and no. she and i have some business to take care of, now that she’s returned stateside.” y/n smiled waving the folder in front of garcia.

“oh? business to take care of…” garcia repeated sweeping her eyes from the woman in front of her and emily’s office.

“mmhm. do you think she’s available for a little chat?” y/n asked nodding in amusement at the quirky woman.

“well i would think so— who should i say is here?”

“oh where are my manners, i’m y/n. she should remember me.” y/n smiled as garcia nodded her understanding before heading up the stairs to emily’s office.

“ma’am,” garcia spoke knocking on the open door of emily’s office.

“please stop calling me ma’am.” emily sighed wearily.

“sorry, im just nervous. there’s a really pretty woman down there saying she’s here to see you. and that you’ve got official business to take care of. well i don’t think she said official but she definitely said business. and she waved a folder in front of me. are you being sued or something?” garcia rambled.

emily eyed the tech analyst as she rambled and as she took a breath she held her hand up to stop her before she could start again. “y/n y/ln, right?”

“y/n— yes. i don’t know her last name but she said you should remember her. do you want me to go get her?”

“no, no. i’ll come down myself.” emily rose from the desk, giving herself another once over in the mirror before moving toward garcia and the door.

“wait, what was that?” garcia asked curiously.

“what— what was what? what are you talking about?” emily asked obliviously.

“did you just check yourself out? are you primping yourself? did you reapply your lipstick? oh this just got so much more interesting. who is this woman?” garcia jumped.

“i-what no to all of that,” emily lied as her cheeks heated. “and she’s just a friend from my college days.”

“yeah but what kind of friend? i don’t primp in my office when my college friends come to see me.”

emily peeked around the door frame into the bullpen and caught sight of y/n looking right back at her. the woman sent a flirty wave up toward the office and laughed softly as she watched emily’s cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“not now garcia.” emily mumbled as she straightened her clothes out one more time before descending the stairs to meet y/n. “y/n, what a surprise. what’s it been 10 years?”

“far more than that, em. you look good.” y/n smirked.

“wow, obviously not as good as you. garcia said you came on business?” emily replied trying and failing to tame the blush she’d been sporting since she headed down to the bullpen.

“well yes. and may i just say, you are one hard woman to track down.” y/n shook her head with a laugh.

“oh don’t i know it!” garcia piped in from her placed leaned against jj’s desk. at the intrusion, emily sent a glare her way. penelope grimaced and turned to face jj in fear.

“you’ve been looking for me?” emily asked curiously.

“i have for quite a while actually,” y/n smiled softly before waving the folder in emily’s direction. “we’re still married. and have been for about 20 years now. and let me just say, you’ve got a hell of a lot of anniversary gifts to make up for babe.”

“married?!” garcia exclaimed before slapping her hand over her mouth.

emily’s eyes widened exponentially as she caught all of the team’s eyes on her. the shock was evident on everyone’s face and she honestly couldn’t wash it off her own face.

“how about we go to my office and talk about this?” emily recovered, grabbing the folder and nodding toward the office upstairs.

“of course.” y/n nodded and followed emily into the office.

emily pointedly closed the door on prying eyes and turned to face y/n, “now that you’ve successfully fueled the office gossip fire for at least the next month. married for 20 years? is this about the netherlands? didn’t we get that annulled after we got back?”

“i thought so too. until i was a few weeks out from my wedding and they let us know that i was still in fact married according to netherlandian law.” y/n shrugged collapsing onto the couch.

“well i don’t think they call it netherlandian law,” emily paused catching the first part of what y/n said. “oh! you’re engaged. and i’m keeping you from getting married. i can try to get garcia to pull some strings online to help get the divorce finalized faster. or i can call someone over at interpol, im sure they can do something.”

y/n chuckled affectionately, “well while i appreciate the fact that you’d abuse your access to government resources for my sake. that ship has long sailed. the fact i was still married was the least of our problems. but i found that out and tried to track you down and that’s when your mother, still as lovely as i remember, let me know you had died.” y/n deadpanned, leveling emily with a look she knew very well.

“yeah, that was a whole thing.” emily grimaced.

“uh huh, im sure it was. after that, i just went with the whole widowed thing for a bit. until i heard again from your mother, so lovely, that you were alive again.”

“i didn’t realize you and my mother spoke so frequently.” emily mumbled taking a seat on the couch as well.

“you just keep giving us reasons to gab. anyways, i was in the states and figured id try to catch you after all these years. i brought the papers and figured you could sign them.”

“of course. i wouldn’t want to keep you from another marriage.” emily nodded hastily grabbing a pen to sign off.

“ah i figured you’d have run into the issue before me.”

emily dotted her and slid the folder back to y/n, “no, no one worth marrying. well besides you apparently.”

y/n smiled and giggled, “had i been aware, i would’ve been a far better wife to you but at least i didn’t widow you.”

“oh come on! what do you want me to say? had i known we were still married, i wouldn’t have died?” emily laugh incredulously.

“you had a wife to come home to, it could’ve been motivation.”

emily’s smile was free and contagious, “god you haven’t changed a bit.”

“not much sweet, but i can tell you have. lot of responsibility you got here agent.” y/n smiled sadly. “i hope you’re taking care of yourself. and your team.” there was a beat of admiration that washed over y/n’s face before she sighed and gathered the papers. “listen i’ll get out of your hair. thanks for divorcing me. always a pleasure seeing you.” y/n stood from the couch, emily following.

“of course, are you headed back right away?” emily asked hopefully.

“no i’m in the states for a bit for work, why?” y/n asked.

“oh i was just curious. figured maybe i could make up for this 20 anniversary dinners i missed.”

y/n grinned, “agent prentiss, are you asking me on a date?”

“i think i might be asking you on at least 20, if you want to of course.”

y/n walked over to emily’s desk and grabbed a pen and sticky note. scribbling something down and tucked the post it in emily’s blazer pocket with a smirk. “you better get planning then.” y/n threw a wink over her shoulder and left the office with a smile. all the agents scattered to make it seem like they weren’t intently trying to figure out what was going on behind the closed door. y/n stopped at garcia and smiled sweetly, “thank you penelope. have a good day everyone.”

everyone mumbled their replies and watched as emily’s alleged wife exit the bullpen. as soon as the elevators closed they all hurried up the stairs to emily’s open door.

“you’re married?!” garcia was the first to exclaim and emily sighed in exasperation. she eyed her chosen family and knew she wasn’t getting out of answering this. at all.

[albertasunrise]

Work Wife - One

Masterlist

Summary: Working as a Secretary and Miller & Sons c”Construction, you fall hopelessly in love with the eldest son Joel. What you don’t realise is that Joel’s completely in love with you too. What will it take for the two of you to realise whats’s right in front of you?

Pairing: Young Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3, I choose not to give any so the plot isn’t spoiled. This fic is 18+ (So here’s the first chapter as promised! I hope you all enjoy. Let me know what y’all think ♥️… I wrote half of this on my iPad so sorry for mistakes 😅)

Series Masterlist

Working as a secretary at Miller & Son's Construction had its highs and lows. You loved the job. The pay was great, and all the guys treated you impeccably, but there was just one slight problem that, if you were honest with yourself, wasn't really a problem but more of a personal issue. 

You were in love with Joel Miller. 

At 21, Joel was already shaping up to be a fine businessman, taking on a lot of the work from his father so that Cole Miller and his wife Lucia could take more time for themselves. The youngest Miller brother Tommy was shaping up to be a troublemaker. At 17, he was often out drinking with his friends and getting himself arrested and it had fallen to Joel to bail his little brother out every time. 

You were a year younger than Joel but as he always said, years ahead of him on the maturity scale. You had always been an old soul but that hadn't stopped you from developing the biggest schoolgirl crush on Joel the day you had started, two years ago. What had started off as a temporary job before you went off to college became permanent when your mum had gotten sick and your dreams of going to college were dashed. 

Her illness took her a year after she had been diagnosed and with no father to speak of, you were left alone in the house you'd grown up in. Alone, with nothing but the photos on your walls for company. That time had been what had brought you and Joel closer together but had also forged your crush into what it was now. Unrequited love. 

Or so you thought. 

"Sup Pip." Said Joel as he placed a paper coffee cup down beside your keyboard "How's my favourite secretary this mornin'?" 

"I'm you're only Secretary Miller." You chuckled as you picked up your cup to take a sip and hummed at the perfect coffee flavour that exploded across your taste buds "Better now you've brought me coffee." 

"Always happy to assist Pip." He said with a wink and you prayed your flushing cheeks didn't give away how much his wink affected you. 

Pip had been a nickname Joel had affectionately given you around three months after you had started. You had been eating a plum at your desk, not a care in the work and engrossed in the customer email that you were reading that you hadn't noticed that the next bite you had taken had contained the pip. Joel had walked in just in time to witness you choking and, using his first aid training he'd acquired just the week before, had managed to save you from a fruity death. 

From that day he had called you pip. 

Because you'd almost choked on one. 

"Anything I need to know about before I head to the site?" Joel asked, pulling you from the memory of your near-death experience and you shook your head slightly before giving him what you hoped was a bright smile. 

"Yes." You replied as you pulled out the list you had compiled for him "A Mr and Mrs Cork have emailed, wanting a quote for an extension and kitchen refit." You stated as you handed him the email with a post it note with their number on top "You have a call with a new cement supplied at 2 and Gloria Mullins called this morning asking that you call her when you get a chance, apparently her boiler is on the fritz again." 

"I need to tell that woman one of these days that I'm not a plumber." He chuckled to himself as he took the rest of the notes from you. 

"You just need to stop being so nice." You chuckled "You've set their expectations now." 

"I think you're probably right." Joel chuckled as he grabbed his own coffee cup and took a large swig "Anything else?" 

"There's just one more thing." You said shyly as you smiled awkwardly "I need to duck out a little earlier today." 

"Hot date?" Joel asked and you knew he could see you blushing now. 

"Actually yeah." You answered as you looked down at your hands, missing the way Joel's expression dropped "Simon asked me to dinner." 

"Simon Richards?" He asked and you nodded "Oh, wow. I uh... I didn't realise you were into him." Joel shrugged before taking another sip of coffee to try and settle his nerves. 

"Well, he's cute and sweet and it's not like I have guys lining up to ask me out." You replied, your smile almost sad "So I thought I should at least go. See if there's any chemistry there." 

"Sure... Of course." 

Joel knew his response was cold but he couldn't help it. Learning that you were going on a date just made him want to find the nearest pillow and scream. These feelings he had for you drove him crazy and it didn’t help that all his employees knew how he felt about you too. He’d allowed them to plant false hope when they told him that it was obvious you felt the same way. It was becoming painfully clear now that that wasn’t the case. 

He needed to get over you. 

You couldn’t help but notice the slight icy tone that had coated Joel’s response to your request and you couldn’t help be feel a little confused by it. You never asked for things. Often worked late to make sure everyone and everything was up to date. You would argue that you were one of his hardest workers so sue you for wanting to let your hair down a little. 

It’s not like he felt for you the way you did for him. 

“Sure.” He said after a short and awkward pause “Lord knows you deserve an early finish.” He chuffed before gathering his bag, the papers you’d given him and his coffee “And, seeing as I won’t be back today and Friday, I suppose I’ll see you Monday!”

“That you will!” 

“Enjoy your date, Pip.” he finished before giving you a friendly wave and then leaving. 

“I’ll try to.” you said sadly as you watched him walk away. 

...

"You are my hero!" Hailed Gloria as she clapped in delight at Joel's handy work. 

"Was an easy fix." Joel shrugged as he waved the older woman off. 

"You always talk yourself down." She chuckled, her Jamaican accent coming out thicker with her statement. 

"I'm just speaking the truth ma'am." 

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Gloria?" The older woman chuckled and Joel winked as he replied. 

"At least once more."

"Auntie G... you home?" Came a voice that Joel didn't recognise and he looked up just as the owner walked into the room he had occupied with Gloria.  

"Ah, darlin' this is that fine man Joel I was tellin' you about." Said Gloria as she smiled at her niece. 

Joel was instantly aware of the fact he was wearing paint-stained jeans and a t-shirt so worn that he was sure this mysterious girl could see his nipples through it. 

"Joel, darlin' this is my niece, Eliza." Gloria stated and Joel quickly rubbed his hands down the front of his jeans before taking the hand that was being held out to him.

"Nice to meet ya' darlin'." He said sweetly as he gave her a shy smile "Was just helpin' Gloria here with her boiler. Darn thing needs replacin' really but-"

"I won't replace something just because it's a little saucy with me sometimes.' 

"You won't replace it because poor Joel here keeps fixing it for free." Eliza teased and Joel scratched the back of his neck nervously as he replied. 

"Well not completely free." He chuckled "She sends me away with weeks worth of food." 

"You're too skinny." Gloria chuffed "No girls gonna want to marry a man with no meat on his bones." 

Joel chuckled at the older woman's statement before looking back at Eliza who was grinning at him as she practically fluttered her thick black lashes at him.  

"Well, I need to get to that meeting I was talking about." Stated Joel as he coughed nervously. 

"Don't forget to pop by later for your food!" Gloria ordered as she watched him collect his tools "I made you my famous jerk chicken with rice... peas on the side." She finished with a wink.

"Why on the side?" Eliza asked and Gloria simply rolled her eyes as she said.

"Boy don't like them mixed in." 

Eliza mouthed an 'ooooooh' before watching as Joel started to leave. 

"I'll see you later to grab that food." 

"Or I could bring it by?" Eliz suggested, "You give me your address and I can swing by and drop it off when you're home."

"Oh that's-"

"Ah, splendid idea." Gloria interrupted, leaving Joel looking like a fish out of water "Don't worry dear, I'll give her your address. Get her to drop it by around 9. You're normally home then, right?"

"Right but-"

"9 it is now you best get going or y'all be late." Said Gloria as she practically herded Joel out the door. Leaving him speechless when he made it back to his truck. 

What an earth just happened?

...

The restaurant that Simon had brought you to was nice. Not too fancy but not exactly a dive either. Conversations had been a little awkward at first. You'd not really been on many dates but after being honest with Simon about your lack of dating experiences, he put you at ease and now after one glass of wine and a very large meal, the two of you were chuckling away as subjects came easier to you both.  

"So how long have you worked for Mr Miller?" You asked as you sipped at your second glass of wine. Simon had already been at the company when you had started and was a few years older than you and Joel. 

"More or less straight outa of high school." He replied as he took a swig of his soft drink "Have always been good with my hands so when Cole put up an advert for an apprentice I marched myself over to his office and waited till he got back to speak to him..." 

"Wow." You chuckled around the rim of your glass. 

"Guy liked my tenacity. Offered me the job on the spot." 

"Well, you know my story so..." You trailed off, smiling sweetly at him as he grinned at you.

"So glad you agreed to come out with me." Simon confessed, his cheeks tinging pink "Been wantin' to ask you out a while but didn't outa respect for Joel, but can only wait so lo-"

"What do you mean, out of respect for Joel?" You asked and Simon's expression took on one of a deer caught in headlights.

"Well... with him being into you and all." Simon clarified and your brows drew together as you shook your head.

"Joel isn't into me." You pushed and Simon grew more uncomfortable with each passing moment. 

"He's been crushin' on you more or less from day dot." Your date continued when he saw you needed further clarity "We've always teased him for it but he never made a move so I thought, you know, with him not trying to date you it'd be okay for me to." 

You weren't sure what to do with the information you'd just received. For years now you had pushed your feelings down for Joel because you believed he didn't return them. So to learn that he might really put a spammer in the works for you. 

The subject moved on after that but the atmosphere wasn't as relaxed. After Simon dropped you home, you allowed what he'd told you to run on repeat in your brain. Keeping you from getting to sleep until late that night. Yet, you came to a decision before you finally drifted off. You were going to go to Joel's in the morning and ask him.  

You had to be sure.  

...

Joel wasn't surprised when there was a knock at his door at 9 pm sharp. He opened the door to see a beaming Eliza on the other side, her arms full of food containers. 

"Shit, come in." Joel said before grabbing a few containers to ease the load. "Let me take some of those." 

"Auntie G likes to feed you huh?" She chuckled as she followed Joel into his kitchen. 

"I had to buy a second freezer." Joel stated and Eliza barked out a laugh, taking Joel by surprise. 

"She's always been a feeder." She chuckled before placing the food down beside where Joel had put the other containers "Think it's a Caribbean thing."

Joel chuckled before turning to face his guest. 

"Thank you for dropping this by. You really didn't have to go through all the trouble."

"It's not trouble is I offer." Eliz chuckled and Joel chuckled at her reply. 

"Either way... that you for bringing the insane amount of food your aunt,

made me over."

"You are quite welcome." Eliza replied as she placed herself within kissing distance of him "I wanted to see you again anyway." 

Joel blushed at her statement. Taken aback by how forward she was then, in what felt like the blink of an eye, she was kissing him. Starting softly and gradually growing hotter as tongues tangled. 

"I uh... I feel like I should tell you that I'm kinda getting over someone so I'm not looking for anything serious right now," Joel stated and Eliza chuckled. 

"Who said I wanted anything serious either?" She whispered against his lips "I think I can be of great help... assisting you in getting over whoever this person is." 

Joel looked into Eliza's eyes a moment, trying to discern her endgame. Then, when he was sure that she was being honest with him he kissed her again. The food is forgotten as clothes are discarded in a breadcrumb trail to his bedroom. 

... 

You let out a steadying breath before knocking on Joel's door. Your slightly shaky left hand clutching the to-go coffee tray that contained your and Joel's favourite coffees. You chuckled when you heard Joel inside, calling out to wait a moment before suddenly opening the door, looking rather flustered. 

"Pip." He said as his expression turned from surprised to confused "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you about something." You replied with a smile "I brought you a coffee. Mind if I come in?"

"Now's not a great time... what was it you wanted to talk about?" He replied nervously, smiling awkwardly as you handed him the coffee. 

"It's just about something Simon told me on our date last night." You chuckled "You see he said that you have-"

"Who's this?" Asked a woman that you didn't recognise, dressed in a shirt you assumed was Joel's and nothing else. Her brown skin glowing in the early morning light. 

"Oh, I didn't realise you had company." You said awkwardly as you started to take a few steps backwards "I'll um... I'll see you Monday." You choked as you fought to keep your tears at bay, but in doing so you missed the step down and went tumbling onto your backside. Your coffee going all over your arm. 

"Shit... Pip, are you okay?" Joel shrieked as he leapt towards you, stopping dead when you held your hand up to stop him... 

"Fine... I'm fine."

"That coffee'll be skalding." He said as he took another ginger step towards you "We need to get your arm under some cold water or else it'll blister." 

"Please just let me go." You choked, your resolve crumbling under the weight of your sadness and embarrassment "I... I just need to go." You affirmed and Joel nodded, giving you a small smile before stepping back into the threshold of his home "Bye Joel."

The older Miller brother watched with concern etched into his features as you left. Glancing at Eliza who was watching you and looking equally worried. 

"You think she's okay?" She asked and all Joel could do was shake his head as he replied. 

"I don't know."

...

You spent the rest of the weekend dreading Monday morning. You felt like such a fool going over to Joels to, you had hoped, profess your love but instead, you had fallen ass over tit in front of him and his date and burned yourself in the process. Said injury was now wrapped in gauze and throbbing with each knock and graze of your arm on your desk. You had spent the morning wishing you lived somewhere colder so you could hide your accident. 

But alas, it's 100 degrees outside and you were forced to wear a short-sleeved blouse. The air-con once again broke at the most inconvenient moment.

"Morning Pip." Said Joel as he stepped into view, placing your coffee down as he did every morning. 

"Morning." You replied, not takimg your eyes off your computer screen. 

"How's the arm?" He asked upon seeing the brilliant white bandage wrapped around it. 

"Killing me." You answered shortly, still not looking at the man who was desperately trying to pry any form of conversation out of you. 

After a long, heavy pause, Joel spoke again. His question finally tearing your eyes away from your monitor. 

"Did I do or say something to upset you?" He asked, his signature kicked puppy look making your stomach twist.

"No." You answered simply and he nodded. 

"What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?" He asked and your brows drew together "On Saturday... you said you needed to talk to me." He clarified "Said Simon had told you something on your date."

"Doesn't matter now." You bluntly replied before returning to the email you'd been writing before. 

"Seemed important then." 

"Well, it isn't now." You growled, your tone stopping the conversation dead.

"Okay." He couldn't hide how your aggressive tone wounded him. He didn't understand why you were suddenly so cold towards him. What could he have possibly done? 

He opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by Simon as he blasted into the office. 

"Morning Boss!" He said chirpily before turning his attention to you "Morning beautiful."

"Morning" you replied with a smile that he returned tenfold. 

"Fancy going out with me again on Friday?" He asked and you nodded without hesitation "Great!... see you later beautiful."

You grinned at Simon as he left. Not seeing Joel's crestfallen expression.

Perhaps he did need Eliza. 

Next

For updates follow @albertasunrise-ficsblog

[maidragoste]

hey hun! im sorry for your loss and i saw u post abt needing distracting. so could u write a jace x reader? it could be any plot you want whatsoever and could it be a modern au? as well fluffy! is that okay?

Hi, how are you?

Thank you for your message 💖 I'm sorry it took me so long to upload your request (in the end it cost me more than I thought to recover and then university and trying to find a job overwhelmed me) but I hope you like the result 🥰💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

It hadn't really been Jacaerys' intention to wait for you to come back from your date. He should be doing some college work but instead, he's watching TV without paying attention to it thinking about how the hours are passing and you still haven't come home. Your date should be fun if you don't text Jace anymore. Jace shouldn't be worried about you because he knew Rhaena would never have set you up with an idiot but he still couldn't help being worried.

Jacaerys wanted you to come home and see if you were okay. It would hurt him to hear the details of your date and see you all excited about another boy but he would bear it.

If only Jace wasn’t afraid of ruining things between you two then he would have taken you out himself after hearing you complain about how your love life is dead instead of letting Rhaena set you up with one of her friends. But Jacaerys is sure that you don’t see him as more than a friend and he doesn’t want to risk losing you so he doesn’t make a move. He's content with being able to be in your life, with the chaotic mornings of the two of you getting ready before going to class, with your text messages telling him everything that happens to you during the day, with the nights cooking together and with the breaks where you watch series snuggled together on the couch.

Jacaerys looks away from the TV as he hears the keys clicking into the lock. You walk in and Jace feels a pit in his stomach because you don’t look excited, you look defeated? Your eyes meet his and you give him a tired smile but you quickly break eye contact to take off your coat and sneakers and then run to the couch with him.

“So you wanna talk about it?” Jacaerys doesn’t even finish asking how much you’re already talking.

“It was fine. He’s nice and we talked for hours. Everything was going well until the end because he tried to kiss me.” If you hadn’t been busy fidgeting nervously you would have noticed how your roommate seemed to tense up all of a sudden. “I declined and he wasn’t bothered but it was awkward.” You sighed.

“Why did you reject him? Are you the kind of person who has a rule of not kissing on the first date?”

“Because I don’t like him” you declared, suddenly looking up and for a moment, at the intensity of your gaze, Jace forgot to breathe. “I could be his friend, but I’m not interested in him in any other way.”

“Oh” was the only thing that came out of the surprised man’s mouth.

“Oh,” you repeated, “Why did you wait for me, Jace?”

“Who said I was waiting for you? I was watching TV” he denied instantly.

“Jace”

Seeing your beautiful eyes looking at him pleadingly for a moment, Jace was afraid to give in and confess everything to you, as for more than a year he can’t stop thinking about you and wants to be more than your friend. But again, he’s afraid of making you uncomfortable and losing your friendship, so he asks instead.

“What does that have to do with you not liking your date?”

“While I was with him I realized that I actually wanted to be home with you” you confessed and instantly regretted it when you saw that he remained silent. “Forget it. I'm sorry for making it weird” You got up ready to go to your room so you could have a crisis alone about ruining your friendship with Jace when he took you by the hand and pulled you causing you to end up on top of him.

“Oh no, I don’t plan on forgetting it, not when I’ve been pining for you for over a year,” he stated making you smile.

“You’re a coward,” you mocked without malice. “Over a year and you never made a move. You’re lucky I decided to act.”

“You’re right,” he said smiling unbothered. “Now that we’ve established that I’m a fool and you’re the best, can I kiss you?” he asked and you laughed feeling delighted with him.

“Try not to sound so desperate to kiss me.”

“Can you blame me?” He arched an eyebrow, any embarrassment or fear he felt disappearing the moment he knew his feelings were reciprocated. “I thought a lot about kissing you and I finally have the chance.”

At his confession, you felt heat on your face and your smile grew. “You're such a fool.” You took his face in your hands and felt your heart warm at the softness with which Jace looked at you.

The moment your lips touched his Jacaerys knew he would become addicted to your kisses. He would look for any excuse to kiss you as many times as he wanted. You would probably become the clingy couple that his friends would make fun of. But he didn't care and he didn't think you would either because you were kissing him with the same intensity.

Taglist for all my House of the Dragon works

@chaotic-fangirl-blog @venus-flytrap3 @ajordan2020 @iloveallmyboys @sweethoneyblossom1 @fudge13 @crystal-faith @tita004 @ichanelvxgue @snowprincesa1 @joyouart @rosey1981 @alastorhazbin @papichulo120627 @apollonshootafar @jasminecosmic99 @partypoison00 @labellapeaky @rebelliuna @bxdbxtxh15 @impartinghades @thegirlnextdoorssister @angeliod @snh96 @aleemendoza2425-blog @natashaobo @watercolorskyy @nyenye @savagemickey03 @kishie8 @ewwwitsel @arabis-world @missusnora @nzygftoji @alisoncdariel @cookielovesbook-akie @partnerincrime0 @klara-lily @427120lxld @justhereiguess2 @buckylahey @wa801 @artistadistrada2002 @thelastemzy @justanotherkpopstanlol @yn-jackson @jacesvelaryons @pictureofcaroline

hotd masterlist

[honoredalone]

𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍’ 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘

and i say fuck the rules and let ‘em find out, but that’s just how i’m feeling. — i don’t wanna share, it’s a damn shame. i’ll still play it fair, won’t drop no names.

content warning: 18+, mouth watering smut (hopefully), college au, unprotected sex (cover for your lover pls), virgin gojo because i can’t get over him, riding, semi-public sex (at a party), basketball player gojo, filthyyyyy sex but it’s hot so.. let me know if there’s anything else

authors note: hi my lovely friends! please let me know your thoughts on this, i value your opinions so so so much and i cannot say thank you enough for all of the support. if you have any suggestions for content always feel free to ask, i would love to hear from all of you and your amazing ideas! thank you so so so so sooo much for 500 followers, i love you all so dearly and i hope everything is well for everyone! i’m sorry for my inactiveness but school has been killing me and i have the worst writers block ever so i’m sorry if this isn’t up to par :(

you swore to yourself that when you began university, you would focus on your studies and not pay any mind to boys but gojo satoru is not just any boy. he’s the star basketball player, a candidate for the boys youth all japan olympic team, the gold at the end of the rainbow and you have him, all to yourself.

after the most awaited college basketball game among campus, tokyo tech versus kyoto stem college. two rival teams, going all or nothing. tokyo tech took home gold at home stadium, so of course the campus erupted in parties all throughout the property. all day, all night, everyday for the next week. a party not even 100 yards from the last. celebrating the boys and their extraordinary wipe against their long term rivals

how you ended up at the biggest party after the game? you had no clue. how you ended up in satoru’s large bedroom during the biggest college sport afterparty? you had no clue. how you have gojo satoru under you right now? you have no clue.

you’re sat so pretty atop his strong quads, the muscles flexing below you. he’s hot, the room is sweltering, thin sheen of sweat attempting to cool his upper bodies exposed skin. “gotta tell you somethin’. pretty girl like you deserves it, yeah?” you whispered a cute approval before burying your face in his neck, nipping the tender skin near his adam’s apple.

his body is on fire, head is dazed in your soft, serene touches and his strained cock so close to being suffocated by your silky hole. the hard shaft hovering over his sculpted abdomen. “never— fuck.. never done this before. gonna be extra sweet to me, baby?” his normally confident facade crumbles to rubble when you pull back from your gentle attack on his neck, looking at him with the sweetest eyes he’s ever seen.

his hand that are perched on the dip of your waist slither up the small of your back, toying with the clasp of your elegant lacy bra, slowly disconnecting the small metal pieces keeping the undergarment sat on your pretty tits. you let the piece fall from your soft body, him throwing the lace to the floor. satoru’s pupils dilated in the dimly lit bedroom, his oceanic eyes nearly black. he’s seen tits in porn and unsolicited nudes he’s been sent, even woman that flash him before, after and during his games but none of them compared to your beautiful body. he suddenly wraps his arm tightly around you, attaching his lips to your hardened nipple and his unoccupied hand rolling the other between the callused pads of his forefinger and thumb.

“need you. god, let me— is this okay?” he leaned back, newfound confidence fizzling out, his dick throbbing and the perfect pink head now blanketed in precum. you nodded, flustered and desperate for him. “words, pretty girl. use your big girl words, can’t hear ya.” satoru’s flirtatious tone had you gushing all over his lap, your juices soaking his thighs and clean sheets below you two.

“yes. want to so bad ‘toru.” you gasped, hands flying to satoru’s shoulders to balance yourself as he yanks you closer to his chest, lifting you to align his fat cock head with your wet core. he slowly pressed himself between your folds, loosening his grip against you to allow you to take this at your own pace. “‘s so big, not gonna fit.” he pouted at your complaint, drawing an invisible line right below your belly button.

“‘m gonna be right there, sweetheart.” he cooed, looking at your already blushed face while his thumb tracing comforting shapes on your hip bone attempting to soothe your worry. “we can stop, ‘s okay.” you protested, slowly pressing yourself closer to his lap. moaning in tandem with each other. his stretch, your squeeze was intoxicating and he immediately knows he isn’t going to last.

once his cock is fully sheathed inside you grind down, his pubic bone stimulating your neglected nerves. choking his erection in your walls he couldn’t help but fuck up into you forcibly. after a couple of minutes to adjust, you begin to bounce on his lap, fucking him for everything he has. satoru cried and twitched and felt the ecstasy coursing through his body.

“f-fuck. so.. ngh, so good!” satoru mewled, he meets your brutal thrusts, bruising grip tight on the top of your pillowy thighs. “baby, baby. slow, s-slower. ‘m not gonna last like this.” a soft chuckle rumbled through his chest, holding you tight for a moment so you both could catch your breath. he kissed down your neck, to the valley of your chest while he ground his head against your cervix. taking hold of your waist once more, slowly bouncing you on him again. “so tight, shit.”

you felt like you were being let into heaven. satoru is longer than he is thick but that did not mean he lacked in girth, the veins rubbing every inch of you. he felt unreal. better than any toy or any man ever will. satoru cries out your name into the hot, sultry air. his eyelids are heavy and mouth hung open, singing chants, desperate and needy. “good boy, ah! such a pretty cock.” you praised, his eyes meet yours. pupils heart shaped, brows furrowed like a begging puppy, snowy strands sticking to the crown of his head.

“say it again. please.” he begged dipping his head down to cover your chest in bites, continuing the assault on his organ. he whined when you repeated your sweet words, his ears perking at your honeyed voice. “‘m your good boy. oh fuuuck.” his head falls back onto the plushy mattress, you press your hand down onto his bladder, teasing his climax but the action only made him fall over the edge. “gonna, mmm! gonna cum, where.” he was frantic, he didn’t know where was an appropriate place to cum but when you continued to apply pressure to his lower body and swing your hips like a temptress he can’t help but let himself go.

a sound breaking groan escaped his throat like it was punched out of him, your stomach warmed and fluttered at his state. his pale skin a pretty rosy pink and lips swollen, bitten, his neck and chest is marked in possessive bruises. satoru’s chest is heaving, abs tensing and heart nearly beating out of his chest.

later, after he caught his breath, he lays you down. before you can process what he is doing satoru is spreading your thighs with his big callused hands, coming face to face with your glazed pussy and he feels his cock jump in excitement. the sight addicting, his seed slowly seeping out of the tight muscle but he takes his long, slender fingers and pushes the fluid back in. slowly scissoring his digits and curling them against the sweet spot inside of your body.

“hey sweets?” he kisses and sucks on the fat of your thighs while waiting for you to respond. you slowly lift your head and prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him adoringly.

“teach me how to eat her? she’s begging for it, dripping all over.” god you were in for a long night and the party is just getting started.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Some of @render-me-usless' Fav Fics!

If you want to make me a list let me know in IM. You can do whatever you want, fave fics, fav tropes or even check out the pending asks page and fill one of those.

Where to Search for Snow by suburbanmotel

(1/1 I 8,954 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles and his Gigantic Repressed Feelings accidentally affect the weather. A lot. Like. A lot.

//

  “It’s snowing, Stiles,” says Derek.

Stiles looks up. He nods. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

Derek looks at him. “It’s snowing, Stiles. In your bedroom.”

Stiles and the Seven Wolves by SylvieW

(1/1 I 10,421 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles is Snow White, Kate is the Evil Queen, and when Chris the Huntsman doesn't kill him, he runs off to live with seven werewolves.

Somewhere to Start by Lissadiane

(1/1 I 33,552 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles has always known that he isn't quite human - the plant life that tends to sprout around him whenever he gets upset or excited gives it away. He's never really fit in among the regular people in Beacon Hills and is determined to wait it out, go to college, and find somewhere to belong. He's forced to abandon those plans, however, after he desperately agrees to enter into an arranged marriage to save his father's life.

An arranged marriage with an angry, sometimes furry dude with trust issues. It's all very Beauty and the Beast, without the singing candlesticks.

Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(2/2 I 81,018 I Teen I Sterek)

Not wanting to think on it too much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derek’s mouth.

“Not too close, he bites.”

Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting.

“He what?” Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton.

The man looked a little amused. “Don’t worry, only if he doesn’t like you.”

“Well, he probably hates me, now!” Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek.

He looked extremely displeased.

Three Marks by sanam

(8/8 I 113,736 I Mature I Sterek)

"And then there was pain again, but this time it was in only three places—his arm, below his clavicle, and next to his heart, all on the left side. It felt like the skin was being sliced apart, ripped open, flayed off— And suddenly it was done. Derek looked across the room and saw the boy on the floor, looking about as bad as Derek felt."

Derek and Stiles learn that bonding is probably best done with ridiculous amounts of video games and maybe a little bit of time.

A Desperate Arrangement by mikkimouse

(25/25 I 115,506 I Explicit I Sterek)

"I'm sorry, I believe there's something wrong with my hearing," Stiles said. "Because I could have sworn you just told me you set up a betrothal agreement with the Hales. A betrothal agreement involving me. Me."

Scott smiled his easygoing smile and nodded, which told Stiles no, he hadn't misheard a damn thing.

After seven years of lengthy negotiations, the treaty between the Hales and the Argents has fallen apart and the two countries fell into war.

Months later, there's an uneasy truce, thanks to the intervention of King Scott McCall, but it won't last. In a desperate attempt to maintain the peace, the Hales sign a treaty with the McCalls to marry Prince Derek to Prince Stiles Stilinski, King Scott's brother.

In the history of the world, there have been many better ideas.

Black and Blue by charlotteinlace

(50/50 I 209,549 I Explicit I Sterek)

Stiles knows what he should be doing, finding a good Dom and seeing a few dozen therapists. But that shit can wait, right now he's got a gang to infiltrate and a murderer to find. A murderer who killed his father.