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ayyy-pee · 3 months

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ℍ𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝔸𝕗𝕗𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕤

Discord 18+ - Twitter

Pairing: Sanemi Shinazugawa x Female Reader

Summary: But you can see - in those deep violet eyes of his - three little words swimming behind them that he's been itching to say to you for quite some time now. You want to say them too, have for as long as you can remember.

But you're both Hashira. It's already enough that you both keep towing this dangerous line, finding yourselves in this exact predicament more often than not.

Sanemi is just so down bad for reader.

Story Warning: Smut, Alley Sex, P in V sex, Profanity bc c'mon...it's me, Vaginal Sex, Jealousy, Jealous Behavior, Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Sanemi being bad at feelings, Secret Flings, Secretly in Love, Sneaking Around, Some canon Giyuu hate from Sanemi, Reader is a Hashira too!

Art by: krit961 (Twitter)

A/N: This is my first time writing for this fandom ever, but the Sanemi brainrot has been so INSANELY strong I just had to write SOMETHING up. It's nothing crazy and I'm rusty because it's been awhile for me but ugh. THIS ONE IS FOR YOU SANEMI!!!! Also shoutout to @lemonlover1110 for helping me with the title!

“We should head back…” You sigh, breaths coming rapidly. “Before…” A quiet gasp interrupts your words when you feel the sting of teeth sinking into your neck. “Before the others notice…”

”Fuck the others,” a gravelly voice growls into the juncture of your neck. Large hands grasp your thighs hard, holding them wide open as a hard form sits between them. “Don’t give a fuck if they notice, either. Maybe Tomioka will stop staring like a lovesick puppy if he figures it out.”

He buries his face further into your neck, grumbling against your skin. Something along the lines of “I hate that guy” and “I should gouge his eyes out”.

Your fingers slip into the snowy white tresses at the nape of his neck, gripping hard and pulling so that you can see his face. Pretty, long lashes cover hooded purple eyes that soften the moment they catch sight of you. The softness is such a contrast to the deep, pitted scars scattered along his face. But he’s beautiful all the same.

“Sanemi…”

At the sound of his name on your lips, he rolls his eyes. “If you’re gonna defend him–”

“Sanemi –”

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

Your lips set into a deep frown, and Sanemi matches your expression, stubborn as ever. “What is your issue with Giyuu anyway?”

Sanemi scoffs, “Giyuuuuuu,” he mocks with a nasally tone. “Stop talking about him.”

“You brought him up!”

His mouth finds yours, rough and hungry, all consuming. It’s all teeth and tongue, nipping at your lips because he knows they’ll still be just swollen enough by the time you both get back. He’s marking his territory in his own way, as much as he can. Possessive and jealous, even when he knows he has no reason to be, no right to be. But he can’t help it.

You don’t belong to him, you don’t belong to anyone. Because you know it wouldn’t be smart to commit to any one person. Not in this line of work.

Sanemi has you pressed against the bamboo fencing in the darkest part of an alleyway, just outside of the Ubuyashiki Mansion with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. It’s your usual meeting spot when you’ve been separated for some time, both of you too impatient to wait until the early morning hours when the Hashira meeting has finally ended to see each other.

“Fuck me,” Sanemi groans against your lips. He places an arm beneath your ass, holding you up as his other hand hikes your uniform skirt up to your waist. “Swear this gets shorter every time I see you.”

A giggle slips past your lips, because it absolutely gets shorter every time he sees you. You do it on purpose because you know it drives Sanemi up the wall to see little peeks of your ass and not be able to do anything about it. Makes him even crazier that he knows others can see it, too, and he can’t do anything but shoot death glares at anyone who dares to let their gazes roam.

But you can’t let Sanemi know that. So you pout, laying your palms against his exposed chest and tracing his scars with your fingertips. You watch as his eyes flutter, sensitive to the touch. “You don’t like it? I can always request a change in uniform…”

Sanemi groans, leaning forward and kissing you hard. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” He presses his groin into your, evidence of his arousal against your soaking core. “You look so good in it.” His hand slinks between your bodies, thumb going straight to your clit, where he presses down, a shit eating grin spreading across his face when your back arches off the wall and you moan. “Look even better in it when you’re making that face.”

Your nails dig into his scars and Sanemi’s reaction is automatic, hips rocking forward roughly and now you’re both whining into each other’s mouths. You’re sure if anyone came across the two of you, you’d appear as this horny couple who couldn’t bother to wait until they got home to dry hump each other. And outside of the couple part, they’d be correct. Sanemi ruts against you, his erection running deliciously along your clothed cunt. Your lips slot together, tongues deep in each other’s mouths as Sanemi grunts into yours, and you keen into his.

There’s not much time to waste, you’re meant to be at the mansion soon. It would be suspicious if one Hashira, let alone two were missing when the Master arrived and if asked, the crows would spill your secrets in a heartbeat. You need to hurry. And Sanemi feels the pressure too. Even though he loves to annoy you pretending he doesn’t care about being late or cluing in the others on what’s going on, he would never disrespect the Master.

Pausing his movements and leaning back to peer down at you, Sanemi sighs. He’s so painfully hard, his length throbbing within the confines of his uniform as he drinks in the sight of your kiss swollen lips, just the way he wanted them. And your face flushed, pupils blown wide as all hell with arousal. He’s sure he looks much the same, knowing you’re just as possessive as he is, though you hardly show it. It’s simply easier to hide your little territorial marks, the scratches you leave on him when they blend in so well among the rest of his scars.

Your fingers ghost along his chest, finding his nipples and you pinch the hardening buds, smirking when you see the way Sanemi’s eyes almost roll back. He can’t take another fucking second of this teasing. Not after he hasn’t seen you in who knows how long. He wants you badly that even your voice is enough to make him ruin his pants right now. It’s the semi-annual Hashira meeting tonight and he’s not willing to wait until Himejima is done yapping to have you.

Sanemi tugs at his uniform, getting his pants down just barely enough to pull his cock out. The tip is angry, red, just as desperate to be inside you as Sanemi. It glistens with his desire for you and you only.

“Gonna fuck you now, okay?” He tells you, hooking a finger into your undergarments and pulling them to the side. He runs his digits through your folds, hissing when he feels how drenched you are. It helps when he slips two fingers into you, mouth falling open when you throw your head back with a cry, your walls clamping around him. This Sanemi’s favorite part. Watching the way your brows knit together, how your pretty teeth dig into your plush bottom lip to bite back your moans, how your pussy makes the most lewd noises as he pumps his fingers into you.

You are glorious.

Always have been. It’s why he can never get enough of you. You’re insanely strong, clearly. You’re a Hashira, standing alongside him and some of the strongest in the corps. But you’re also blessed with a beauty that rivals every woman Sanemi has ever laid eyes on. He’s drawn to you in ways he cannot explain, ways he doesn’t need an explanation for. It’s why he hates catching the little glances from a certain other Hashira. Not that anyone knows what you two have going on, but all Sanemi knows is that he –

“Sanemi…” you whimper, eyes gazing softly at him. “Please. I need you.”

And he doesn’t need to hear more. His lips crash against yours as he swiftly pulls his fingers from you, gripping his length tightly and pumping himself. “How bad do you need me?” He asks. Because he needs you so fucking bad right now he can’t think straight. His mind is foggy, his body burns with his lust for you.

“So, so bad, Sanemi,” you loop your arms around his neck, kissing him just as eagerly as he kisses you. “I need you more than anything.”

Sanemi groans, pressing the tip of his cock to your entrance. But his eyes never leave your face, even as the tip breaches your walls and makes him want to shut his eyes and focus on not cumming embarrassingly fast. He wants to see you, watch the way you lose yourself when he splits you open. The thought of it has him pulsing painfully in his hand. He rolls his hips forward, slowly, gritting his teeth when your wet warmth envelops him. “Still so goddamn tight for me,” he grunts. “Your greedy cunt is sucking me right in, fuck.”

Your nails dig into the fabric of Sanemi’s shirt, hanging on for dear life as Sanemi pushes deeper and deeper into you. As many times as you’ve been in this position with Sanemi, it always feels like the first time. He’s so long and thick, you have to adjust every time he slips into you.

“Oh my god,” you whine, and Sanemi pauses.

“You okay?”

“Yes…just…fuck me, please, Sanemi…”

He grips your thighs, pushing you back against the bamboo fencing to hold you in place. And then he thrusts forward, bottoming out in one swift motion and you both cry out in unison, the overwhelming pleasure making you both shudder.

“Fucking hell,” Sanemi sighs. He places his hands beneath your ass, keeping you still while he rears his hips back, only to slam back into you over and over. He pounds into your pussy at a relentless pace. Half because you’re on one hell of a time crunch, and half because he can’t help it. He feels animalistic when it comes to you, fucking into you mindlessly because it just feels so goddamn incredible. Every thrust feels better than the last, your warm walls clenching around him with each snap of his hips.

“I can’t go that long without you again…” Sanemi croaks, catching himself because he feels he’s getting too sentimental. “...without your pretty little pussy.”

“God, just say you missed me, you asshole.” You tell him, moving your own hips to meet his strokes. Though your words come out as more of this pathetic whimper than an actual demand and it makes Sanemi’s hips stutter. Just briefly. His hands on your ass lift you up before pulling you to sink back down on him.

Sanemi chuckles, leaning back just enough so that he can look between your bodies, watch the sticky strings of your slick connecting you, watch how his dick disappears. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes!” You cry when Sanemi hits a particularly tender spot. “Shit, I missed you so much, Sanemi.”

His brows rise, a little surprised by the confession, and a loud one at that. “Oh?” He kisses you hard, keeping his pace. Your confession turns him on more than he’s willing to admit. He missed you, too, though it’s harder for him to say so. Instead he fucks all of his feelings into you.

How he misses you when you’re apart, because his thoughts are dangerously distracted wondering what you’re doing, who you’re with, if you’re alive.

How he wishes you’d be assigned missions together, so he could watch you tear a demon's head straight from their shoulders. Then find somewhere to stay the night so he can fuck you on every surface possible (He’s done this with you before. He wants to do it with you again).

How he wishes he could open his mouth and tell you how he truly feels.

But those feelings have always been foreign to him. Sanemi is lucky you understand his silence, that you accept his actions for what they are and let them speak for him. You accept everything he gives you happily. And as you tighten your legs around his waist, as you quietly let your pleasure be heard by him and him alone, as your walls clamp down around him with your release, convulsing and pulling him into you, Sanemi can only thank the Gods for every shitty circumstance that led him to you.

Does he deserve you? Probably not. Does he care? Absolutely not.

Because you chose him. This secret…whatever this is. Out of anyone in this world, you chose Sanemi.

And it’s enough to send him over the edge with you, gasping desperately for air as he tries to find your lips again. He closes his eyes, pushing himself as deep as he can as his release floods your walls. It’s so much, a build up over time and he knows his seed will be dripping out of your core before he’s even had a chance to pull out. It’s always this way. Because Sanemi doesn’t bother entertaining other women when he’s away. He only wants you. So the second he’s within the same vicinity as you, he has literally so much to give.

You never seem to mind.

Sanemi breaks the messy kiss, placing gentle, sweet pecks to your cheek before he leans back to stare down at you. That fucked out look on your face almost has him getting hard again. But you don’t have time for that, so he just watches you and you watch him. And he’s glad for the fact that you can’t see the way his mind is racing with only thoughts of you, thoughts of this feeling he’s buried so deep trying to claw its way up Sanemi’s throat.

But you can see - in those deep violet eyes of his - three little words swimming behind them that he's been itching to say to you for quite some time now. You want to say them too, have for as long as you can remember.

But you're both Hashira. It's already enough that you both keep towing this dangerous line, finding yourselves in this exact predicament more often than not.

It's a little more than ridiculous actually, the way neither of you can resist sneaking glances, hiding touches, making excuses to leave on missions together. You and Sanemi…you're drawn to each other, your strings of fate knotted tightly together. It’s become impossible to leave each other alone. You don't think you'd be able to resist what you're doing even if you met as two civilians on the street. Hell, you couldn't resist each other all those years ago when you were low ranked corps members.

Training was a confusing hell back then, every session filled to the brim with fury and a strange and thick tension neither of you could put your finger on until way down the line. It wasn't until one particular training session when Sanemi had you pinned to the ground, his strong hips pressing into yours, that you then understood what that tension was. The evidence was apparent in the way Sanemi's hard stare bore into yours, how the heat between your legs began to ignite when you felt Sanemi’s thick length pulse against you, how something akin to a whimper fell from his lips when his gaze snapped down quickly just in time to watch the hem of your uniform skirt slip further, enough for him to see the way your bodies seemed to just…fit.

Then his eyes were back on your face, your lips, now parted as harsh breaths escaped you. Your eyes, wide and wanting, peered up at him from beneath your lashes and Sanemi remembers this being the very moment he stopped denying what he had always known. You are breathtakingly beautiful. He also recalls this being the moment he knew he was done for.

So when your hands found themselves placed against his not yet scarred chest, balling the sweaty fabric of his shirt in your fists…when he leaned closer and curiously rolled his hips against your clothed core and heard you let out the most captivating sound he'd ever heard, a sound he's been obsessed with since he's heard it…when he pressed his lips lightly to yours and you whispered into his mouth “I've never done this before”.

Yeah, Sanemi knew then that he was fucked.

And though that night was not the night you'd given your virginity to Sanemi - that would happen years later - it was the night Sanemi tasted you for the first time. And he devoured you time and time again like a man starved. He would have you any way and any time that he could, if you allowed him.

That was only the beginning.

Not much has changed in the years that you have been keeping up this arrangement with Sanemi. It's the only thing that you both keep coming back to, the only thing that feels solid. Though you both know it's stupid to feel as if anything in this line of work is not at risk.

Every night that you lie awake, together or not, is a reminder. Every semi-annual meeting with the Hashira, mentally taking a headcount of everyone is a reminder. Every Hashira meeting without Rengoku, without Tengen is a reminder.

Death is always standing just outside your door.

You can't afford to delude yourselves into thinking you can freely love and care for each other. Not until this thousand year war is over. Not until you are free to roam beneath the stars together without the scent of blood, the cries of pain and loss tainting the night.

So, as you and Sanemi slip into the gates of the Ubuyashiki Mansion, your fingers brush together just briefly - a silent display of those words you dare not mutter aloud. You make your way to your respective places amongst the strongest of the Demon Slayer corps; you, next to Tomioka and Sanemi beside the Serpent Hashira. And while you quietly mingle with those around you before the Master appears, you miss the hushed conversation further down the line.

“You reek of her,” Obanai remarks. Resting around his shoulders, his snake whips his tongue out at Sanemi in almost an agreement.

“Shut up.”

“You're more tense than normal. Did you finally confess? Did she reject your advances?”

“I said shut up,” Sanemi growls. The chatter of everyone is already grinding on his nerves and your voice is not helping. He wants to look at you. See what - or who - has you giggling and speaking so sweetly that it's making him sick. It shouldn't matter. You can talk to whoever you want.

‘Except Tomioka,’ Sanemi thinks. But it's only because he's so clearly in love with you! He can't understand how you don't see it.

“Looks like Tomioka is making his move,” Obanai notes quietly, like he read Sanemi’s mind.

Sanemi can hear the teasing tone in his voice. The asshole is really getting a kick out of this. Even still, it's enough to have Sanemi’s gaze snapping over to you just in time to see Tomioka and you smiling sweetly at each other, nodding and whispering amongst yourselves.

It shouldn't make Sanemi as upset as it does, just seeing you enjoy yourself with him, seeing him enjoy himself with you. Your smiles, your laughs, your kindness. It should only be for Sanemi. But you're a kind person…too kind. So kind you'd allow a monster like himself to fall in love with you.

Tomioka is much kinder, more understanding, better for you than Sanemi could ever be.

And so, seeing you and him bond…Well, it fills Sanemi with a rage so hot he finds himself standing, eyes locked on the back of your head. You must feel it, his gaze beating down on you like rays of heat from the sun itself, because you fall silent and your head snaps around. Your eyes find Sanemi's immediately, gaze wide and questioning.

Tomioka looks confused as well. ‘Good,’ Sanemi thinks. He can't wait to see the look on the Water Hashira's face when Sanemi does what he's been wanting to, but admittedly too scared to do for so long – claim you as his in front of everyone.

He lets the fumes of his anger fuel him, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. And then he's opening his mouth to speak, tongue on the roof of his mouth as all other chatter dies and the eyes of the other Hashira land on him.

“I lo-”

“The Master has arrived!” Twin voices call in unison.

And it's like muscle memory for every single Hashira, falling in line on one knee with their heads bowed as the Master approaches. His arrival extinguishes the fire that burned hazardously within Sanemi just seconds before, soothes the scorching left behind. His head is clear now, the reminder of why you both choose to keep your meetings between just you two evident.

You have a job to do. Defeating this evil comes before all things, even you. Though with the way Sanemi almost blew the lid off of your secret, he's not sure how much longer can go on without openly being with you.

But it sparks something within him - a new fire. One that burns solely for one purpose.

To defeat Kibutsuji Muzan…so that he can finally, and fully have you.

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ugh-yoongi · 10 days

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ex-conomics | csc

you supported seungcheol through years of being an aspiring athlete, and all you got to show for it was your undergraduate degree and an awkward, stuttered apology when he dumped you to go semi-pro. now he’s back after an injury derailed his career, and there’s only one problem: you’re the only one available to tutor him. you - 0; the universe - 1. talk about no return on investment.

⚽ pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader ⚽ genre: exes to (lite) enemies to lovers; university au; angst, fluff ⚽ rating: while there is nothing explicit in this fic, there are two brief references to smut. while i can't stop anyone from reading this, i would prefer minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⚽ warnings: cheol is some degree of famous, reader is a grad student/TA, mentions of an injury and coping with the aftermath of it, lots of economics talk that even i do not understand, swearing, one mention of alcohol, some misplaced jealousy, rom-com tropes, dino is kind of a loser but we love him anyway. probably a lot of other things i missed, but this is actually pretty tame for a fic of this length. ⚽ word count: 13.4k ⚽ thank you: a lot of people looked this over for me in the process and i'm sure i will forget some of them so if i do i'm sorry: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, @highvern, and @haologram, who also gave me some wonderful ideas for the vlogs. thank you to MIT for opencourseware existing. i took microeconomics and dropped it, so i couldn't have done this without you. everyone in the discord server for helping me along the way and keeping me motivated. ⚽ author's note: i haven't posted a fic in nearly seven months, so i think it goes without saying that there are parts of this i like and a lot more i'm not 100% happy with. i'd love if this was more fleshed out and 10k longer, but i was able to write anything at all so it's good enough. this was written for the back to school with seventeen collab, hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you both for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories! everyone worked so hard and this collab was a ton of fun to participate in. <3

You look down at the paper. Back up at who handed it to you. Down at the paper again.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

The poor freshman kid laughs, all nerves, and even though the sound is grating, you remember what it’s like to be forced into work study. How far away graduate school seemed; how large your professors loomed over you with all their power and knowledge and credentials; how you constantly felt like the dumbest person in nearly every room you walked into for four straight years.

“Um—”

You sigh, just barely resisting the urge to slam your head onto your desk. “I—it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Your words do little to ease Freshman’s nerves. He’s still hunched over in the doorway of your office, wringing his hands as he shifts his weight back and forth, in for a lifetime of body pain with the way he’s squaring his shoulders. “You’re sure about this, though? Like, I’m really not being set up?”

“I don’t think so?” he offers, slowly starting to turn green right before your eyes. “Dr. Lee ga-gave me the paperwork himself, I don’t think he would’ve messed it up? Oh no, did I mess it up? Should I go back to Student Services and conf—”

Good god, this kid’s anxiety is gonna stink up your office for weeks. “No need!” you interject. “I’ll just…” Sign it, you want to say, but the longer you stare at the sheet of paper the quicker you’re losing your resolve.

TUTORING REQUEST FORM Student Name: Choi Seungcheol Degree: Undergraduate Major: Business Course: ECON04101 Introduction to Microeconomics Instructor: Lee Yeonseok, PhD. Recommended Tutoring: High (3-4 hours per week)

You curse under your breath. Of the two names on the paper, Dr. Lee’s does not come as a surprise. He’s a notorious hard-ass with an infamous attrition rate—most students don’t last more than a week in any of his classes—but he’s also the sole reason you were able to pay for someof your grad school tuition out of pocket with all the tutoring money you made.

That, however, was two years ago.

“Does he know I don’t tutor anymore?” Stupid question. The kid stares blankly back at you, as if to say I don’t know any more than the people in Student Services, let alone Dr. Lee. It is literally my first year here. “I’m Dr. Ahn’s TA this year. I’ve got my hands full with her bullsh… stuff—”

Immediately, you know you’ve said something wrong, because the kid’s eyes light up, all that previous anxiety disappearing like smoke. “Wait, the same Dr. Ahn that teaches the crypto course?”

“No, that one died,” you say quickly. Kid deflates. “Anyway, I don’t really tutor anymore, especially for econ. As you can see”—you gesture vaguely around the cramped four walls of your office—“they’ve upgraded me. They even put my name on a little placard by the door! Go look! They spelled it wrong! If that doesn’t sum up this university I don’t know what does.”

You heave another sigh. Try to school your face and tone into something that exudes professionalism and finality. “Look, I’m sorry I can’t help you. I tutored Dr. Lee’s students for, like, three years in undergrad so I’m sure they just… forgot that wasn’t my actual job here. Who’s in charge of tutoring these days? I’ll shoot them an email and explain all this.”

Freshman gives you a name, and it takes less than a second to find them in the employee directory. You expect that to be the end of it, but he’s still taking up space in your doorway. You quirk an eyebrow. “Yes?”

The hand-wringing returns, along with an embarrassed flush that disappears beneath the neckline of his school-branded sweatshirt. “I just—um. Maybe you could, uh. Send that now? Before I get back there?”

You blink. “Don’t you have to go all the way back across campus? How slow do you think I type?” He shrugs, and you give up on the idea of getting rid of him. “Fine. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Lee Chan. I’m a sophomore. Do you know that guy?”

“Oh. I thought for sure you were a freshman, but you’re gonna need to be more specific, Lee Chan, Sophomore.”

“The guy they want you to tutor.” You freeze. The guy they want you to tutor is—“Choi Seungcheol,” Chan tacks on, and, yeah, you know—knew, you correct yourself—someone with that name, once upon a time.

But there are a lot of Chois and a lot of Seungcheols. It’s been years since you’ve spoken to the Seungcheol you knew, and that was when he’d broken up with you to—“I heard he’s a football player? Well, used to be, I guess. The girls in the office were freaking out so I guess he’s pretty famous, but I don’t know anything about sports, do you? They said they have photocards of him. I thought they only did that for idols.”

You think about being kids together in Daegu. Think about the exasperated looks you’d share when your parents would drag the two of you to festivals: Palgongsan in the autumn, Biseulsan in the spring; transformation and rebirth. Think about being eight years old and watching your father cram into the small space of the Chois’ living room, standing around the TV with Seungcheol’s dad, shouting at Park Jonghwan. Daegu FC made the FA Cup quarterfinals that year, and you think, of everything, that’s what you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

You think about falling in love slowly. Sixteen and clueless, the pair of you were. Didn’t really know any different, just that you’d look at him and feel butterflies. That you’d hold hands in secret. Text beneath the dinner table. That you’d watch him on the football pitch and be consumed by pride. That the future felt impossibly far away, that life would never catch up to the two of you.

You think about all the football jargon you didn’t understand—the academies, the teams, the implications. You think about, I’m thinking about trying out for the FC Seoul U-18, I just don’t think there’s much more I can do here in Daegu. You think about replying, Oh, I applied to university there.

You remember thinking it must’ve been fate, how easy that had worked out. How easy that first hurdle had been overcome.

You think about how fast everything happened. The try-out, the acceptance, the explosion. Remember being unable to go anywhere those first few months without seeing Seungcheol’s face, touted as the next big thing. Think about applying for scholarships when he was applying for international visas. Think about studying for midterms when Seungcheol was studying English for interviews.

You think about the last few weeks of your relationship, when it felt like you were desperately trying to cling to ghosts. Think about how Seoul had once felt endlessly big, both in opportunity and size, and how it now felt suffocating. You think about, So you’re just giving up? Is that what you’re saying? Think about, I don’t know what else to do. It doesn’t feel fair to you.

You think about all the places you’ve watched him. On countless football pitches; shy glances in school hallways; in the passenger seat, wracked with nerves on the drive to Seoul; poised above you in bed, hairline dotted with sweat as he rolled his hips, telling you how much he loved you.

You think about watching him walk out the door, and how you never watched him again.

So you fire off your email, concise and to the point about why you can’t tutor Choi Seungcheol in Introduction to Microeconomics, and turn to Lee Chan, Sophomore.

“No,” you finally answer. “Never heard of him.”

For all intents and purposes, your rejection should’ve been the end of it.

A few days go by. You hold office hours, attend lectures, work on your thesis when you have both the time and the energy. Try to ignore the feeling of bees beneath your skin, anxiety needling each time you check your email. You were well within your right to decline the tutoring request, but you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. That someone somehow knows who Seungcheol was to you and will pull you up on it. That those girls who’d gushed about him to Chan are somewhere laughing at your expense.

But you don’t hear anything at all about it… until you do.

Sunday evening. You haven’t moved from your couch in hours, some variety show playing in the background, barely audible over your keyboard clacking. Much to your detriment, you don’t write many papers these days, so you’re out of practice. Feels like you haven’t done anything besides formulas in years, all of your academic knowledge reduced to fucking math, so you’re about ready to toss your laptop out the window long before the email even comes through.

You see, From: Lee Yeonseok. You see, Subject: Choi Seungcheol - Tutoring.

Your stomach plummets to the floor.

You scan the body quickly. You see the words personal favor… friend of his father… urgent matter… and your hands start shaking. Whether it’s from the sheer audacity of this man or anxiety, you aren’t sure, but it’s not like it matters. There aren’t a whole lot of people on campus brave or dumb enough to go up against him twice.

“Motherfucker,” you spit, bitter the only taste in your mouth.

Where did you go wrong to wind up here? You’d followed the script: got the grades, passed the exams, received half of the required education for the Respectable Career, helped a few others along the way chase dreams that may or may not have been their own. You’d fallen in love. Only had a broken heart to show for it, but that’d been in the script, too: The First Love, followed by The First Heartbreak.

The split from Seungcheol was supposed to have been the end of that chapter. You’d planned on never seeing him again, and you never would have, had it been up to you. Apparently the universe has other plans, participation required.

“Did you spill onion dip on the rug again?” You startle, sending your laptop flying. Kaori, your roommate, is perched halfway in between the living room and the kitchen like a cryptid, clearly not expecting your reaction. “Oh. Were you watching porn?”

Face burning, you fetch your laptop from the floor. “In a common area? Kaori, please, I have far more decorum than that.”

She snorts, resuming her trek to the fridge. “See, that’s what I thought, but then I walked out here and you threw your laptop so fast it was like watching my ex get caught watching furry porn all over again.” She pries the lid off a large container of yogurt. “You think this is still good?”

“Dunno. What’s it smell like?”

She sniffs it and pulls it back to check the label. “Vanilla, I think, which is concerning because it’s supposed to be strawberry.”

You shrug. “What’s the worst that can happen, you get extra”—you pause, trying to remember the correct order of things, before giving up entirely—“...biotics?”

“Mm, so close. Care if I just eat this with a spoon?”

Nose scrunched, you wave her off. “Couldn’t pay me to eat yogurt on a good day, let alone if it’s expired. All yours, babe.”

Spoon in hand and a pleased smile on her face, Kaori collapses onto the couch beside you. You try to return your attention to your paper, try to find your momentum again, and it works for all of ten minutes before you’re groaning and slamming the top closed.

You don’t even need to look over to know Kaori’s staring. “What’s up with you?” she asks. Before she can answer: “Wait, is this serious? Because I can’t have a serious conversation in this t-shirt.” You steal a glance sideways. Ask Me About My Hemorrhoid! it says, and you exhale loudly. “Don’t breathe at me, I lost a bet.”

“And continued wearing it?”

She jokingly rolls her eyes. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.” Nudges you with her foot. “C’mon, spill.”

Kaori doesn’t know about you and Seungcheol. Most people don’t, aside from a few old classmates from Daegu who found you on social media and tried befriending you once he started making a name for himself in Seoul. After that, it was just easier to keep things private while you were together. New friends knew you were seeing someone but not their name or how long you’d been together. Any curiosity surrounding why the Choi Seungcheol was following you on Insta had been waved away easily. Our parents are friends, we grew up together. Then you broke up, and there wasn’t any evidence to delete, and he wasn’t following you on Instagram anymore, and it was easier that way.

So, yeah—even though you hadn’t met her until years later, Kaori knows you have an ex. She knows you’ve had a few flings and situationships in the time since, too, and it’s why she’s none the wiser when you ask, “It’s nothing, really. Just—do you follow football at all?”

“Nah, not really. The new guy’s pretty into it and keeps trying to get me to watch the games with him, but it’s so fucking boring? I dunno, I can’t get into it. Not in real life, anyway—I binged all of Captain Tsubasa in an embarrassingly short amount of time, though. Why?”

“Student Services asked me to tutor someone the other day and I had to turn it down. I just don’t have the time, you know? This semester’s already killer, and Dr. Ahn’s been riding my ass nonstop about grades. Turns out it’s some football player, so Dr. Lee emailed me asking me to do it as a personal favor, which means, on top of all the other shit I have to do, I’m now tutoring some football player four hours a week in Microeconomics.”

Her face distorts. “God, that guy’s such a prick. Like wow, you’re good at the economy! Good for you! Who cares! Why don’t you go balance the national debt or something instead of torturing university freshmen!”

You also wrongly assume that’s the last you’ll hear of it from Kaori.

Two days later, after Student Services replies to your email with the days and times you’ll be tutoring Seungcheol, she materializes in the living room to harass you.

“You didn’t tell me your football player was Choi Seungcheol.”

The panic is instant. You know how she means it, but it’s not how your body interprets it. All of a sudden it feels like an interrogation, an accusation, and a whopping serving of guilt takes up residence in the middle of your chest for not being entirely honest.

“Explains this weird text Ken sent me.”

She slides her phone over to you, open to her text thread with her current flavor of the week. Beneath an article about Seungcheol enrolling in classes at your school:

doesn’t ur roomie TA there Why are you calling her “ur roomie” like you don’t know her name?? Rude. Also yes. ask her to get me an autograph No babe pls he was my fav player before he got injured No 🙄 fine. can i come over later? Starting to think you’re using me for my roommate. Get your own job 🙄

You hand her phone back. “I didn’t think you’d know who Choi Seungcheol even is.” It’s the best you can do, even though it just digs you a deeper grave. “You said you’re not into football.”

“I’m not, but unfortunately I am into that stupid man.” She sighs, wistful and longing. “Babe, you have to understand. His dick is so big.”

You hadn’t wanted to stay in Seoul for your graduate degree, let alone the same university you’d gone to for undergrad.

You’d applied to schools all over—Japan, Europe, even a few in the States. Romanticized the hell out of NYU, went window shopping for an overpriced apartment, picked a favorite pizzeria based on nothing but vibes and online reviews. In those few months after graduation, there wasn’t a whole lot tying you to Seoul. Your and Seungcheol’s relationship had been old history by then, your parents split. Your dad stayed in your childhood home and your mother moved a few hours closer to her sister. They’d waited until your brother was old enough to be out of the house.

And it’d just been… a lot. Overwhelming. Some days you could barely shower or feed yourself, let alone move halfway across the world, so you’d stayed in the familiar and tried not to let it feel like failure.

But the good thing about familiarity is you learn its tricks, figure out the hiding spots. Early on, your first or second week of grad school, you laid claim to a study room on a floor of the library everyone else ignored. You write notes on the whiteboard with faded blue markers that are still there days later. The chair on the opposite side of the table is always exactly where you left it, the space between it and the table enough to only accommodate you. Sometimes you leave books—old paperbacks littered with notes in your writing—or papers, just to see if they move.

They never do.

And all of this is why it feels like a punch to the gut when that sanctity is tainted. When you’re halfway through a stack of Dr. Ahn’s exams and the doorknob rattles behind you. When you don’t even need to turn around to know who it is, because he still sounds the same, still has that overwhelming presence. You’ve always sensed him before you felt him.

“There you are,” Dr. Lee says, ambling into the room before you can protest. He, too, is overwhelming, just in different ways. Immaculate posture that anchors his slight frame that’s always dressed impeccably and expensively. Wears a watch that’s triple your tuition. Shoes polished so bright they’re nearly blinding. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

This time it is an accusation.

Well, you found me, you want to say, but just knowing Seungcheol is behind him, lingering in that half-study room, half-hallway space, is enough to keep you quiet. Like if you speak you’ll summon him closer and you’ll no longer be able to pretend this is nothing more than a nightmare.

You plaster on a polite smile. Say, “Ah, here I am, kyosu-nim,” and put all your energy into trying to glue Seungcheol to the floor with your mind.

Which is fruitless, because Dr. Lee moves further into the room. Gestures for Seungcheol to follow him with an impatient huff, and the study room is small, sure, and with three people it feels cramped, but that’s not the reason it feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.

Seungcheol looks… different. He looks as anxious as you feel, and he sticks close to the wall like he’s trying to disappear. Dr. Lee introduces him with grave importance, unaware of your history, and the forced smile he offers you almost looks embarrassed.

You know Dr. Lee is still hammering away, probably giving you a stern talking-to for rejecting his request the first time, but you can’t tear your eyes away from Seungcheol. Feels like the world around you has reduced to a pinhead, all hyperfocus; feels like your lungs are sucking in stale air one at a time.

“...his father is a very good friend of mine, so I expect…”

You expected to feel nothing. Seungcheol had left to chase his dream—one you’d always been so supportive of that it sometimes felt like your dream, too—and, perhaps naively, you thought the distance and the years would’ve been enough. You expected your heart to have hardened. You expected all those nights you spent crying to hit you at full force. You expected anger, hurt—indifference, at the very least.

“...as many hours per week as you both can manage…”

But you should’ve known better. Should’ve expected the butterflies, the way your palms grow clammy, the way your heart rate spikes. Should’ve expected everything to feel upside-down. You should’ve expected to look at Seungcheol and feel sixteen and in love all over again.

“...you are responsible for his academic progress…”

And that simply will not do. You’ve spent the last few years pulling yourself out of that hole, clawing your way back to something resembling normal. You’ve purged the thought of him from your mind—let his scent fade from your sheets, an old sweatshirt he’d left behind; forgot the way his lips felt against every inch of your skin; forgot the way his entire being lit up when he laughed; forgot the safety he encompassed, the way he whispered all those sweet nothings.

You cannot go there again.

So you roll your shoulders back, smile politely. Say, “Ah, kyosu-nim, Choi Seungcheol-ssi seems very intelligent, I’m sure he is capable of being responsible for his own academic standing, don’t you think?”

Dr. Lee cannot disagree without all but calling Seungcheol an idiot, so he hovers before you in shocked silence. Makes a show of huffing and checking his watch, like he’s all of a sudden remembered he’s late for something and being inconvenienced by this conversation he started, and then he’s halfway out of the library with a terse, “Discuss and figure this out amongst yourselves,” thrown over his shoulder.

You have an entire dramatic exit planned in your head. Gather your things, fake a phone call that makes you sound authoritative and important, and brush past Seungcheol wearing your nicest perfume as if all of this is so far beneath you you can’t even bring yourself to care about it.

Of course, you actually have to brush by him for any of that to happen, and since you’ve already decided you will not go there again, you quickly scribble your email address onto a piece of paper and slide it across the table at Seungcheol, who has steadfastly remained planted just outside the door. “Here’s my email. I don’t have time to discuss this right now.” Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow. You start throwing things into your bag haphazardly. You know you look frantic and affected, but there’s not much you can do about that. “What? Send me a copy of your syllabus and what you want to prioritize. It’ll be easier to get through this if we have a plan instead of winging it.”

He seems to catch on to your distaste because he mirrors it. Scoffs as he rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, no use spending more time together than we have to,” and if you hadn’t gone years without speaking, you would’ve seen right through it.

But you did, so it stings all the same.

As it typically does, the planet keeps spinning after your run-in with Seungcheol.

You grade Dr. Ahn’s coursework. Try running off your anxiety at the gym, even though it’s pretty good at keeping pace with you these days. You meet Kaori’s maybe-boyfriend sneaking out of your apartment early in the morning and he has the good sense not to mention your ex, but you chalk that up to the mess of hickeys covering his neck and not any sense of social decorum.

Other people’s embarrassment saves you a ton of your own, you’ve come to learn.

Throughout all of this, Seungcheol only emails you once to send you his course syllabus. Doesn’t mention tutoring or provide you with his schedule or ask for yours, so when you’re sitting in a bar with your friends, three or four drinks deep and feeling a little petty, you forward him the original tutoring request and make sure to bold, underline, and highlight the “Recommended Tutoring: High” part for good measure.

He doesn’t take your bait—electronically, at least—but he does show up to your office hours the following Tuesday.

Bag tossed onto the floor, he flops unceremoniously into the chair across from you and says, in lieu of a greeting, “They spelled your name wrong. On the door thing.”

“I know,” you reply, your smile polite and terse. Incredible how he has the ability to raise your blood pressure in milliseconds. “What can I help you with?”

“Depends. How long do you have?”

“Well, considering you’ve shown up to my office hours on time, I’m assuming you already know I’m here every Tuesday and Thursday from four to six. So”—you glance at the clock above the door—“assuming no one comes by who needs my help more than you do, you have approximately one hour and fifty-eight minutes.”

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment as he takes you in. His stare is weighted; it makes you feel a little green around the edges. Clinical and sharp, so far removed from the way he used to look at you. You clear your throat. “I looked over your syllabus. The good news is there’s only a midterm and a final and the rest is problem sets. The bad news is there’s only a midterm and a final so they’re weighted quite heavily. You really need to know this stuff inside-out to have any hope of passing.”

“That’s why you’re here, right? Dr. Lee specifically requested you.”

You huff a breath through your nose. “I’m here as supplemental help. I can’t take your exams or do your readings for you. What else are you taking this semester?”

He sighs, sinking further into the chair, very much playing the part of the heir who has no interest in any of this. Which… is unlike him, you think, if you’re even allowed to. The Seungcheol you knew years ago took everything so seriously. Never clipped corners or took shortcuts. Anyone else would think him a spoiled, petulant child. “Business Accounting and International Trade.”

“Could be worse,” you note. “At least those three courses are tangentially related.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Easy for you to say. I haven’t taken a fucking math class in years.”

You return it. “You remember how to add and subtract, don’t you?”

“I ruptured my ACL, not my…” He trails off, looking a little embarrassed that he can’t name a part of the—“Brain.”

Whatever you were going to quip back with dies on your tongue. It's the first time Seungcheol has broached the topic of his injury—the first you’re hearing of it at all, actually—and he says it like it’s a joke, like it’s not a thing at all, but the pain is all over his face. The bitterness of the situation he’s found himself in. The unfairness of it all.

And there are so many questions you want to ask that aren’t your place: if it’s fixable, if he’ll ever play again, how he’s coping. But you don’t really need to—you can’t imagine how you’d feel if someone suddenly pulled the rug out from under you. If everything contained within the four walls of your office suddenly disappeared.

Not that the man sitting across from you hadn’t already done that, but.

“Right,” you continue, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You know Seungcheol—know he wouldn’t want you prodding, sticking your fingers in that particular wound. “I want you to take a look at this,” you say, handing over a printout you have saved from your undergrad tutoring days. “Tell me what looks familiar, what doesn’t; what does and doesn’t make sense.”

He looks down at the paper. Back up at you. Down at the paper again. “What the fuck is this?”

“I—what? Cheol, it’s my old notes on recitation. Surely you’ve already covered this—the syllabus says this is week one stuff.” He looks down at the paper again, and it’s so familiar, watching the life drain entirely from someone’s eyes.

You barely resist the urge to slam your face onto your desk a second time.

You meet Seungcheol at the sports center for your next tutoring session.

He likes the humidity and the smell of the chlorine by the pool. He also likes that it’s not the football pitch, so the two of you sit in the bleachers there and go over his lecture notes. Much to your surprise, Seungcheol talks a mile a minute. Has stars in his eyes when he says he finally understands elastic demand curves, supply shock; tells you he spent a whole hour making flashcards.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him so excited since your tutoring began—the first glimmer of hope you’ve felt since Dr. Lee cornered you in your library hideaway. None of this surprises you. Seungcheol has always been smart, even when football was his primary (and sometimes only) focus. He has more determination and grit than anyone you’ve ever met, so you’re not surprised he’s doing well, excelling, but you are surprised—

“Can I ask you something?” Seungcheol shrugs, shoves half a protein bar in his mouth and swallows without chewing. “Why are you… uh. Here?”

“At this university?”

“Not exactly. I mean, I am wondering about that, but I guess… why business?”

Seungcheol hums. Tucks his good knee to his chest and stares down at the pool. No one’s using it, and truthfully the two of you probably aren’t even allowed to be here, but you understand why he likes it. It’s nowhere near as secluded as the library and definitely not as air conditioned, but it is peaceful. Calm. The water laps against the coping in quiet, small waves.

“Ah, I don’t know. You know how it goes.”

You quirk an eyebrow. Never, in all the years you’ve known him, has Seungcheol done anything he didn’t want to do. All that grit and determination. “What about your father, then? Dr. Lee mentioned this was a favor to him. He’s a pretty important person to have in your Rolodex of favors.”

Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what this is: Seungcheol’s father has new money; worked from the bottom up, made some smart investment decisions that finally panned out after Seungcheol left for Seoul. Started doing his own thing, made a name for himself. Last you’d heard from your mother, Seungcheol’s brother was second-in-command. Hell, even your own brother did an internship there.

So you know what this is: a father helping his son after his dream was shattered, life turned upside-down. You can’t blame him, even if you’ve heard the whispers from all the way across campus. That Seungcheol is washed up now, trying to nepo his way into his father’s company because of it; that all he knows is sports and he should’ve stuck to that, what does he know about business, why is he the one Dr. Lee went out of his way to help.

Doesn’t stop any of them from smiling at him, though; doesn’t stop them from asking for autographs or selfies.

But you also know this isn’t something Seungcheol seems willing to discuss, so you crack a joke—“I mean, business. God, who’d wanna go into that?”—and go back to what he was willing to talk about.

You’ve never hated elastic demand curves so much in your life.

Deep in the throes of tutoring—when you can’t tell if it’s week two or week twelve—you make it back to your apartment just before ten, head pounding.

The door flies open just as you’re about to punch in the code, and there stands Ken, looking far more put-off than you’ve ever seen him. Looks defeated, if you’re being honest, like someone mopped up all his emotions and wrung them out like dirty dishwater.

“Oh, hi,” you say hesitantly. The man in front of you seems too much like a caged animal to let your guard down. “Everything okay?”

He aborts a nod halfway. Mutters an apology as he brushes by you and stalks down the hall, disappearing around the corner to the elevators. Usually he’s a talker—you haven’t been able to avoid a Seungcheol-related conversation in weeks—so you’re a little stunned. Stand there stupidly for a while, and that’s where Kaori finds you a moment later.

“You gonna stand out here all night, or…?”

“Oh—yeah, right.”

You follow her inside. Toe off your shoes and put them in the rack. Focus on the sound of the kettle whistling instead of the overbearing tension in the room. Drop your bag off in your room, throw on a sweatshirt three sizes too big and a comfy pair of socks. Rummage through the fridge for leftovers, contemplate what mindless show you’ll watch as you eat, and you do not, under any circumstances, ask Kaori what happened.

You don’t have to. You knew what this was going to be the first time Ken spent the night—the way he looked mortified to be meeting you in the shared kitchen at seven a.m., wearing a look that begged you not to tell your roommate he was sneaking out.

I, uh, have an early class, he’d said. You know how it is.

Maybe you should’ve called him on it then. Issued a warning-but-not-really. She’ll get attached if you don’t tell her. She should know it’s different for you, if it is.

But you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t your place. Kaori wouldn’t want you in her business like that, so you stayed quiet, just nodded before watching him slip his shoes on and close the door behind him so quietly you wouldn’t have known he left at all if you hadn’t been looking. Gone, just like a ghost.

So, yeah, you know exactly why your roommate looks haunted.

“I’m a few episodes behind on this if you want to watch with me,” you offer, pointing at the television with the remote. It’s a lie—you’ve never watched this show a day in your life, which Kaori seems to know—but she contemplates it nonetheless. “Also, my mom mailed us some cookies. I think they’re in the fridge.”

“Why are there cookies in the fridge?”

You huff a laugh. “They were outside the door this morning before I left for campus. I don’t know—just saw who the package was from and was like, oh, this must go in the fridge.”

She nods. Grabs the container and joins you on the couch. Sticks her feet beneath your butt and doesn’t mention a thing.

The closest she comes is a few days later. Catches you right before you head out to campus and asks how tutoring is going.

“Not bad, actually.”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes when she says, “That’s good. I’m glad things are going well for you two.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore makes his unexpected return at your office hours on an unsuspecting Tuesday.

“Can I help you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just helps himself to the seat across from you. “Maybe,” comes his cryptic retort. “I was thinking about signing up for that crypto course next semester.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, you weren’t.”

He sighs. Looks a little panicked, like he can’t believe that didn’t work. “You’re right, you’re right. I, um—I wanted to come say thank you.” He pauses. “You know, for that… email you sent.”

You blink. “No, you didn’t.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore cracks immediately. Thunks his head on your desk and lets loose a pained sound. It nearly sounds like he’s wailing when he says, “I’m sorry! They put me up to it!”

What you’re able to piece together is this: Lee Chan, Sophomore has become a bit of a celebrity in the Student Services department ever since he met you, Choi Seungcheol’s tutor. And, like any smart, previously unpopular university student would do, he took advantage of it. Might’ve stretched the truth a little to make it sound like he knew more than he did, so now here he is, angling for information the girls with the photocards may or may not have paid him to get.

“They want to know about his girlfriend.”

“His what?”

What you’re able to piece together is also this: the Photocard Girls are certain Seungcheol is dating someone, based on little more than vibes. You suspect these vibes are their three degrees of separation, considering there was an abnormal amount of Change of Major files formed after his enrollment, but you tell Lee Chan that you don’t know anything and, even if you did, you wouldn’t put his business out there like that.

But some part of you still has this inexplicable urge to protect Seungcheol, so you match their offer with interest and tell him to say there’s nothing to report—not that you didn’t know, not that he couldn’t get anything out of you. Seungcheol isn’t dating anyone.

You don’t know if it’s true, but you figure that if it isn’t, he still deserves privacy.

Which is a notion you have trouble explaining a few hours later, when Seungcheol strolls into your office with a grease-stained paper bag full of cheese coin bread, offering one to you with a proud smile that drops slowly when you just stare in return.

“What’s wrong?”

Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Nothing comes out, even though it should be simple. Some sophomore kid was just in here angling for information or the Student Services department is taking bets on whether or not you have a girlfriend would both suffice, but you cannot bring yourself to say the words.

What you settle on is, “Sorry, I just… had an interesting meeting before you got here.”

“Oh. Are you okay?”

You sigh. Tilt your head back to stare up at the ceiling. “It was about you, actually.”

Seungcheol chokes, starts stuttering over words you can’t make sense of. Says, “Me? Why? I passed my last exam—I mean, barely, but I still passed. And that wasn’t your fault! I didn’t study enough! I’ve been losing my mind over my International Trade class, that shit sucks—”

“It wasn’t about your grades, Cheol.”

“Oh.” Then, slowly, a lopsided, pleased smile overtakes his face. “Haven’t heard you call me Cheol in a while.”

“Seungcheol,” you correct.

He seems to forget all about the meeting. Tries again to offer you a coin bread before he threatens to eat them all himself, so you acquiesce mostly to shut him up, say you’ll bring the extras to Kaori. For some reason, you tell him about how much she’d loved the cookies your mom sent, and the nostalgia sets him off, gets him talking again, asking if they were the yakgwa she used to make when you two were kids.

They were, but you can’t seem to tell him that, either.

Seungcheol: sorry it’s last minute - running late. can you meet me at my place instead?

Seungcheol shared a location with you

You’re halfway to replying—I don’t think that’s appropriate—before you sigh and delete it. Midterms are only a few days away and you don’t have time to argue over where your tutoring sessions will be, so if Seungcheol wants to meet at his apartment that’s where you’ll meet him.

You read over the midterm notes on the train. Once, twice, and then a hundred more times until they’re nearly memorized, all so you can ignore the voice in the back of your head saying what a bad idea this is. That you have no business being on your way to your ex’s swanky part of town or integrating yourself into his life beyond tutoring at all. You shouldn’t know where he lives. Maybe you shouldn’t even have his phone number or answer his texts.

Not that there’s much you can do about it now, two stops away.

Seungcheol greets you warmly, if not a little rushed. Apologizes for the mess once you step inside, although it’s less “mess” and more “haven’t finished unpacking,” but there’s enough clear space to study at the dining table, so that’s where you set up, determined to keep things professional.

“Sorry again about this,” Seungcheol says, placing a can of cola in front of you as he takes the seat across. “I had to meet with my father and lost track of time, I guess.”

“Oh. How’s he doing?”

Seungcheol sighs, leans further back in the chair as runs a hand through his hair. A light brown, now. “Same as he always was, I guess. Talked about the business, about my brother. Can’t get him to shut up about that stuff most of the time.”

“The business is doing good, though.” You cough, clear your throat. “My, uh. My brother interned there during undergrad. I don’t know if your father told you that.”

You don’t know why you say it, because it’s clear from the brief flicker of pain on Seungcheol’s face that he hadn’t known, that no one had told him. And it hurts you too that they felt the need to keep it a secret, to protect Seungcheol from you even in tangential ways.

“He didn’t,” he admits, “but I’m sure he was happy to see him. He was, uh—he was glad to hear you’re my tutor. Said you were always smarter than all of us boys combined.”

You laugh. Hope it sounds casual instead of strained. “Well, no need to prove him right. Come on,” you say, tossing a study guide in his direction, “let’s get to work.”

Everything is alright for a while—nearly an hour at least. He has the formulas memorized and attributed to the correct equations. He can explain supply and demand, preference and utility, but things start to fall apart around budget constraints and constrained choice.

The formulas get mixed up. He grows frustrated when he doesn’t know the answers to your questions right away. Rolls his eyes and gets a little snappy when you correct him, try to explain things differently in a way he understands. At first he’s able to temper it, collect himself before things truly start spiraling out of control, but the longer the two of you sit there the more it all unravels.

He snaps, you snap back, and you can’t figure out why. You’ve survived this long in Seungcheol’s orbit even though you never thought you’d be around him again, and perhaps it was bound to explode eventually, but…

It’s the familiarity, you realize.

You and Seungcheol aren’t friends, though you’ve been playing at it for weeks now: meeting outside of the library or your office, the personal conversations bordering on reminiscing, being in his personal space. You don’t belong here. You don’t want to be his friend—you can’t be, not for real or pretend.

“That’s not what I’m say—”

“Then explain it better,” Seungcheol fires at you, eyebrows creasing. “You’re the tutor here.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m trying, okay? All I meant was—your answer isn’t wrong, but I know Dr. Lee and he’s going to want more than that in a response.”

“Right—not good enough, like I said.”

“I’m just asking you to expand on your answer—”

“And I’m telling you that’s all I’ve got. I’m not like you, all right? I don’t have all this shit just floating around in my head all the time. I’m not smart, I barely have any idea what’s going on half the time, and you sitting here being condescending about it is doing fuck-all to help.”

You inhale sharply, taken aback at the hostility in his voice. Suggest calling it for the night, say neither of you will be productive if you keep going like this, and neither of you bother to apologize.

So much of your relationship with Seungcheol was marred by clichés.

The two of you passing notes back and forth during class. You in the bleachers of all his games, screaming along to the team chants, waving a sign around with his name on it. Not realizing you had a crush on him at all until he liked someone else and it made your stomach hurt. Childhood friends turned lovers.

Another cliché: that it’s starting to feel like that all over again.

Seungcheol sits across from you in the library, econ textbook cracked in half in front of him as he pays no attention. Keeps grabbing his phone each time it vibrates across the table. Can’t fight the smile that forces its way onto his face when he reads whatever’s there.

Stupid, you think—both to do this and to think it’d play out any other way. Seungcheol left years ago. Probably lived ten lifetimes while he was away while you were here in this exact spot doing this exact thing. Barely lived half a life, just stuck your nose in textbooks and forced your way through.

“Cheol,” you say, trying to drag his attention back to the study guide. No use. He’s typing away, presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek as he responds. “Seungcheol,” you try again.

Also fruitless.

You have no claim here, you remind yourself—not to his time, not to him. He’s only here because someone else mandated it. You’re only here because someone else mandated it, but it stings all the same. Another reminder of what used to be, of what ended regardless of what you wanted. Another reminder that the role you used to play in his life is not the role you play now. That the space you used to take up created a vacancy, and eventually it was going to be filled.

And if this was anyone other than Seungcheol, if you were more emotionally evolved when it came to him, it wouldn’t gnaw at you as much. All of this would roll off your shoulders.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“If you’re not going to listen, then—”

“I am listening,” he interjects, but he’s not looking at you. Not looking at his textbook or his study guide. Keeps laughing and smiling at his phone, and it’s sick how bothered you are by it. That it feels like your stomach’s been turned inside-out with jealousy; with annoyance, because you don’t want to be here anyway, don’t want to do this anymore, and you’re wasting your time on someone who doesn’t appreciate it.

Perhaps he never did.

“What are we discussing, then?”

Still not looking up: “Consumer theory.”

You laugh—more a huff of air than anything, grin sardonically out of one corner of your mouth. Seungcheol sees none of it. “Wrong,” you answer, already expecting the way he shrugs it off. “I’m gonna skip ahead a few chapters, though. Consider it a freebie for your business class.”

It must be your tone that finally grabs his attention. Cutting, precise, purposeful. Seungcheol lowers his phone, quirks an eyebrow, wonders where this is going to go. It’s clear he’s pissed you off, that you’re itching for a fight. It’s clear the years of silence are finally coming to a head.

“Let’s talk about ROI. You know what that is?” You barely give him a second. “Return on investment. A performance measure used to evaluate the efficiency of an investment or compare the efficiency of several investments. So, let’s say I make one-hundred-thousand won on a ten-thousand won investment: my ROI is 90%. Are you following?”

He nods.

“Great, now let’s try something a bit more hypothetical.” You suck in a breath. “Let’s say I invest years of my adolescence into someone. A friend at first and then something more. Let’s say I played cheerleader, supported every hope and dream he had—went to every game, cheered him on, helped him practice his English. Held his hand and talked him down when the pressure felt overwhelming, when the only thing that felt inevitable was failure. Now, let’s say all I got in return was a stuttered, awkward apology as he dumped me and walked out the door. Let’s say that guy showed up again after years of silence just to once again waste my fucking time.”

The thing about pain is it’s not linear. What hurt five, ten years ago might not hurt today, but it might tomorrow; what hurt yesterday may never hurt again. The thing about pain is it lets you stick your head in the sand until it can’t anymore, and that’s where you are now: that window of time between Seungcheol walking out the door on the assumption you’d never see him again before he bulldozed his way back into your life has been slammed closed, locked up tight.

So you don’t even notice you’re crying until the room goes deathly silent and you can hear the drip drip drip of tears on paper. Until you watch Seungcheol’s hands flex and unflex in mid-air, stuck in that liminal space, wanting to reach out but knowing he has no right to. Until your chest aches so bad you’re sure you’re either about to break into stardust or cease to exist.

Until you say, “What, Choi Seungcheol, would you say my fucking return on investment was?” and he has nothing to say at all.

Kaori invites you to a party.

Just something small to celebrate the end of midterms and a classmate’s birthday. Nothing out of control or raucous, not even the kind of thing that’d earn a second glance from campus security. I won’t even make fun of you if you leave before eleven, is how she sold it to you, in addition to a small amount of begging and bargaining and a powerful set of puppy-dog eyes.

After everything the two of you have been through, you find it hard to say no.

So here you are, nearly eleven o’clock on a Friday, a cup of cheap beer in hand. A friend of a friend of a friend is wailing into a karaoke machine and although your ears are bleeding, it does feel nice for that to be your greatest worry. You aren’t thinking about your classes or how you’ve been prioritizing everyone else’s academic success. You aren’t thinking about whatever’s going on between Kaori and Ken. You aren’t thinking about Seungcheol.

At least you aren’t, until he walks through the door.

You’re going to continue not thinking about him at all—not about the fact he’s alone or how good he looks in a simple black T-shirt that’s a little taut in the shoulders. You’re not going to think about the way the air shifts, like the universe knows he’s important and is willing to accommodate. You’re not going to think about how Kaori catches your eye across the room, recognizes him from all her internet searches, and the way she mouths oh my god he’s so beefy at you.

You’re not going to think about how guilty you feel that she doesn’t know, because if you do you’re certain it’ll take over.

You watch Seungcheol work the room; watch as he floats between conversations, as strangers fall over themselves at the sight of him. How eager everyone is to give him something and how reluctant he is to take them. You watch as he winds up in the same circle as Kaori and how she must mention you, oh, your tutor is my roommate, because there’s a question in return before he turns and meets your gaze.

You wonder why the distance between you feels more insurmountable now than ever before.

Seungcheol finds you in your office.

It’s not a Tuesday or a Thursday, far later than four to six in the evening, but he doesn’t even bother knocking before he’s barreling in, stifling your space with his bad energy.

You haven’t seen him in nearly two weeks. Not since the party, if that even counts. Hasn’t bothered to reply to any of your texts or emails, and that was just fine by you, if that’s how he wanted to act, but it isn’t until he’s brooding on the other side of your desk that you realize you’re still aggrieved, too. Feels a little too familiar, him leaving you behind and in the dark.

So you don’t mean to—typically have much more professionalism than this—but when he tosses a stapled stack of papers with a barely-passing grade on your desk and says, “This is your fault,” the words come automatically and without forethought.

“Fuck off, Seungcheol.” It’s not your words that take him by surprise; more so the roll of your eyes, the accompanying huff. The impression that all of this is beneath you and nothing more than a mere annoyance. That however affected you were two weeks ago is not how affected you are anymore. “That’s what happens when you blow off your tutoring for two weeks because you’re a coward.”

He laughs, incredulous; unable to help the sound the tumbles out of his mouth. “I’m a—I’m a coward?”

“Yes,” you reply, tone giving away nothing. All he sees is feigned nonchalance despite the hurricane you feel brewing beneath the surface. “This,” you continue, pinching the corner of the paper between your fingertips and disposing of it in the trashcan beneath your desk, “is all on you, but do please let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to blame me for. I’m all ears.”

You don’t miss it: the way Seungcheol’s eyes grow wide at your ‘I’m all.’ The way he thinks you’re going to punctuate that sentence with yours, and it nearly has bile rising in your throat. Makes you want to scream, rip at your hair. If the last few months have taught you anything, it’s that you are still hopelessly in love with the man across from you—the man that continues to leave before he’s left, always at your expense.

So, yeah—Seungcheol is a coward, but only when it comes to you.

But he doesn’t look much like one now, gripping so hard at the edge of your desk that his knuckles have gone white, baseball cap pulled down low enough his eyes are barely visible. He’s always been overwhelming, always carried himself with an exaggerated arrogance even when it wasn’t warranted, always took everything so seriously, and maybe that’s why you’d thought he’d treat you the same way. Take you seriously. Wouldn’t just throw it all away on a maybe thing, and that’s why it's been years and you still aren’t over it.

Maybe Seungcheol is a coward, and maybe so are you.

Because not once since he’s been back have you been able to say what you mean. Can’t seem to tell him about the anger, the hurt, the heartbreak. Played it all off as petty nonchalance because you foolishly thought that would hurt him, that you’ve been reduced to simmering ash, no hope left for a fire.

“I could never blame you for a goddamn thing,” he says, voice so deep you could drown in it.

You so desperately want to know. You don’t want to know anything at all. You want Seungcheol to explain everything to you in detail and spoil the ending, but only if it’s guaranteed to be happy. Enduring another loss like the first time—you’re not sure you can take it. Not after you two have crossed paths like this, because you’ve never quite believed in fate but you think that has to mean something. That so much time and life had transpired and you two came back together.

Today, though, it doesn’t look like you’re going to get any answers.

Seungcheol straightens, looms at full height. Digs into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a thumb drive. Wordlessly, he hands it over, and then he’s gone just as abruptly as he’d arrived.

Again.

Kaori wants to spend the weekend moping, and you can’t come up with a good reason not to join her.

She doesn’t mention Ken once. Not when she’s sobbing over A Silent Voice and Toradora! after that. Not when she keeps glancing at her phone every couple minutes to see if she has any texts. Not when you—only halfway paying attention between grading and your own assignments—suggest ordering something for delivery, maybe that new burger place down the street you heard was good, and Kaori shuts it down so vehemently you can only assume it was Ken’s favorite place.

Kaori just cries over the man with the big dick she never expected to take so seriously, and not even your stonewalling makes her feel ashamed of it.

And there’s respectability in that kind of openness and vulnerability. At least whatever she’s feeling is honest; at least she can admit she’s sad. You think watching Kaori process her breakup might help you process yours too, years too late, so you suck in a breath and ask, “Can I tell you something or is now not a good time?”

Kaori looks over at you. Dabs a soggy tissue at her eyes. “Well, I guess it depends,” is her answer, and she doesn’t shy away from how waterlogged her voice sounds. “If you’re going to tell me you’re a Takasu and Kawashima shipper, maybe, but if it’s anything worse I’m not sure I could take it.”

“I—what? Who even are they?” She gives you a half-hearted thumbs up. You sigh in response, sink further into the couch. “It’s, uh.” Clear your throat. “Do you remember when we met sophomore year? At that party? And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything and you said, and I quote, why not, I have a sixth sense for this kind of thing and I know that guy will have a huge—”

She hides her face behind her hands. “Ew, god, yes I remember that. My dick whisperer era. How embarrassing.”

“Right. And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything because I’d just gotten out of something.”

“Not really by choice, if I remember correctly. I told you if it was quiet it should’ve been loud, and then you never talked about it again.”

You nod. “I—yeah, that sounds like something I would’ve said.” You suck in a deep breath. “Listen, this is probably gonna sound bad considering I did never talk about it again, but—”

“Hey,” Kaori says, nudging you with her foot. Meant to be comforting, somehow. “It’s okay. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, too… most of which I’m not sure you should, actually.”

A laugh forces its way out, gives you a nice reprieve from the anxiety of the conversation you’re about to have. The need to explain it all, the need for advice. Maybe it’s not her—or anyone else’s—business, but you think you’ve kept this to yourself long enough. You and Seungcheol loved each other, once, and it seems foolish that no one knows.

Maybe Kaori had been right. Maybe love should be shouted from the rooftops; exist out in the open. Maybe something hidden in the shadows can never thrive in the light, and you knew it back then, deep down, but now it seems so obvious.

You think back to a few days before the library. Think about how things didn’t feel good but they felt okay. Think about the frustrated crease between Seungcheol’s eyebrows as he stared down at his textbook and how all you’d wanted to do was smooth it. Think about how you’d rolled your lips and tried not to laugh; how you thought it’d take a miracle to help Seungcheol pass this class.

Think about: What is the difference between the short-run and the long-run from the perspective of production theory?

Think about the short-run of your and Seungcheol’s relationship—that you’d burned bright and fast, even though it’d felt like a million years. Hadn’t dared to consider the long-run because anything beyond that bubble felt impossible.

Think about: Which of the following is not a property of isoquants?

Think about the way Seungcheol’s eyes lit up when he knew the answer. That they’re always linear, he said, and you smiled at his enthusiasm, raised your hand to high-five him and dropped it when he hadn’t noticed.

You think about the explanation—isoquants can be linear when inputs are perfectly substitutable—and what those graphs look like. Downward sloping, left to right. Think about how the graphs change when the isoquants are perfect complements.

L-shaped. Less straight as the inputs become poorer substitutes.

You know what your and Seungcheol’s graph would’ve looked like back then.

So it’s easy, almost, to tell Kaori everything. You tell her about growing up in Daegu, about the smell of the azaleas at Biseulsan in the spring. You tell her about how your parents had befriended the neighbors, how they had a kid your age, that that kid was Seungcheol—yes, that Seungcheol.

She’s able to anticipate the rest from there, but you fill in the blanks of what she can’t: being sixteen and falling in love, holding hands, the clandestine notes. All those football matches and how your throat would be hoarse from cheering. How nauseous you’d felt applying to university in Seoul, how excited you were when Seungcheol said he was coming with you. That, after you arrived, it felt like you were living in fast-forward. Barely any time to breathe or adjust; no time to just be you and Seungcheol. You had to be a student, someone responsible; Seungcheol had to be a phenom.

“Could you feel it was going to happen?” Kaori asks, now sat ramrod straight, all her attention on you. “Like, did you know?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe I did? It’s hard to say now, all this time later. I know things definitely felt different, like life was pulling us in opposite directions.” You laugh, bitterness coloring the edges. “You couldn’t go two blocks without seeing him on some billboard, and I was just… normal, you know? I wasn’t some rising star athlete like he was, I just went to my classes. How was I supposed to compete with something like that?”

Your roommate hums, leans back into the pillows as she stares up at the ceiling. “I don’t think you were. Maybe that’s why Seungcheol was worried—maybe he felt like you were losing your own identity feeling like you had to keep up.”

You want to push back, argue that you weren’t, that you didn’t, but the truth is that it’s possible. That the shadows created by Seungcheol’s dreams were so massive you wouldn’t be surprised if they unintentionally swallowed you up. “It still wasn’t his choice to make,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

And Kaori already knows all about your hurt, listened as you explained it all and laid everything bare. So when she says, “Sometimes that’s just how it goes, though, babe,” it doesn’t feel condescending. “We do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time. You can say now it wasn’t Seungcheol’s choice to make, because it’s been almost five years and you’ve made a life for yourself separate from him. But the—god, this is gonna sound so patronizing, I am so sorry—but you guys were so young. No one has it all figured out at that age.”

She snorts, runs a hand through her messy hair. “Shit, I’m nearly halfway to thirty and I still don’t know anything.” Adopts a frown. “What do you want now? Do you want closure? Want to try to fix things and become friends?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, biting at a hangnail. “He actually, um. The other day when he stopped by my office, he left me a USB drive? And before you ask, no I did not already look at it.”

“A USB drive? Who does this guy think he is, James Bond?” A pause. “Are you gonna look at it, though?”

You do.

Not until the silver, midnight light creeps in through your bedroom curtains and you’ve stared at the ceiling long enough; waited long enough for texts that never came, for divine intervention to, well, intervene. It never did—fair enough—so you decide to take fate by the reins. Grab your laptop, instant headache from the screen, stick the drive into the port.

It takes a second for it to load, but when it does: dozens of videos, organized by date. Vlogs, by the look of them—some from before your breakup but the majority of them from after.

You’re not sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this.

You click on the first one: a month and a half before both of you moved to Seoul. A fresh-faced Seungcheol appears on your screen, cheeks still round with adolescence. He’s in his room back in Daegu, can’t get the camera angle right. Nostalgia hits you like a ton of bricks as it pans to the side, to the wall behind his bed, and you see all his old posters. Mostly football players you couldn’t name, some girl group he used to love, a few movies. Just below them are some of the notes you’d written him in school, and they’re all you can focus on as he talks about how excited he is for the move.

The next: a few weeks after you’d started classes. By then, Seungcheol was well into the swing of things with Seoul FC. Already a big fish in a small pond, tryout offers from European teams starting to roll in. You can hear yourself in the background stressing over your first exam, wishing a generational curse upon your calculus professor. In the video, Seungcheol laughs, whispers like he’s telling the camera a secret as he talks about how nervous he is for his future. I don’t know why, he says, but it just feels like everything is about to change.

There’s a long pause between that one and the next. You understand why when you look at the date: three months after your breakup. Your hands hover uselessly above your keyboard. Whatever answers you’ve been looking for the last few years are probably in this video, but you can’t bring yourself to open it. Not right away, at least.

You click on a different one at random. Seungcheol’s somewhere in Europe, judging from the language on the signs behind him. Snow falls quietly—whenever he filmed this, it must’ve been early. No one else is around, and he cracks a joke that it’s a good thing, people would probably think he was crazy if they saw him. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going but he narrates the entire walk: points out a cafe he’s grown to love. The way to get to his practice stadium from where he’s standing. Pauses near a restaurant and laughs ruefully, shakes his head, says, I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but one of my teammates set me up on a blind date here and I got stood up. You’d probably think that was funny.

(You do. It also makes your chest ache.)

One from two years ago: Seungcheol in a hotel room, clearly nervous. He raises his hand to wave at the camera and you can see the corners of his nails bitten raw. Dark circles beneath his eyes; cheekbones more pronounced than you’ve ever seen them. On the screen, Seungcheol sighs, rakes a hand through freshly-bleached hair. Sucks in a deep breath as he says, I’m so nervous. I’m so—so fucking nervous and I don’t. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. I want to call you because you always knew what to say but that’s so fucking selfish. God, we haven’t spoken in years, and it’s my—that’s my fault, I know, so I brought this all on myself. I just want to hear your voice.

Another from a week after that: the color’s returned to his face, and he’s recording from what looks like a penthouse apartment. Sleek, modern; a small white dog napping on the bed beside him. He smiles, looks like he got his teeth fixed, looks like he’s no longer carrying around the weight of the world. Talks endlessly and excitedly about some tournament. Talks so fast you can barely keep up. Talks around words tinged with languages you don’t understand.

Seungcheol wins a championship. Records a drunk vlog from the same night, hair soaked through with god-knows-what—water, champagne, you don’t know. But he looks radiant. Looks like the culmination of two decades of dreaming. He looks happy, free, at peace. He looks like the reason he let you go, why he had to go away.

You scroll to the bottom of the files. Pause at the last video, dated seven months before the term started.

“Hi,” he says, and you can immediately tell everything is all wrong. Seungcheol’s in the dark, face only visible enough to see the tears tracking on his cheeks. “This is going to be the last one of these I make. I don’t know if you, uh—I’m sure you aren’t paying attention to me—my career—anymore, but. I, um. I got hurt. Ruptured my ACL. They’re not sure I’ll…” A sob escapes him. Has you wanting to climb through the screen to hold him, thumb away his tears, tell him everything is going to be okay. “They don’t know if I’ll ever play again.”

Seungcheol no longer looks happy, free, at peace. “Maybe you’ll be happy to hear that,” he continues. “Maybe it’ll help you to know I threw away our relationship for nothing.”

Cut to black.

The sudden silence is deafening. Has you desperately clicking back to the video you’d skipped, the one from just after your breakup. Seungcheol looks the same in that one, too, like the life has been drained out of him.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s not like I’ll ever show these to you now, since I…

I’m sure I owe you an explanation. To be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing, I just—things have been so hard, and I’m still trying to make sense of it all. I feel like my life went from zero to a hundred before I could even blink and now I’m scrambling. I didn’t think it was fair to—to drag you through that. Me being away, moving to an entirely different continent. I have faith we could do it, I just. I don’t know, baby, I don’t…

You deserve to have your own life. Be your own person. I’m so scared that the world will never see you for who you are—so beautiful and intelligent and kind. You don’t deserve to be reduced to my partner. And if you ever see this, I know you’re gonna roll your eyes. Probably call me a mean name because I took the choice away from you, because you think I’m trying to be selfless and heroic, and you’d be right. It’s not fair, and I wish I could tell you I’m sorry.

I wish I could just… pluck out my brain and give it to you, because even if it killed me to do it, at least it makes sense to me. And I don’t—I don’t want you to think I’m not hurting. I’ve been sick to my stomach since I left. I know I’m making a mistake, I know I am, I just—how do I do what I think is right in the long-run when it’s not what I want right now, or ever?

I don’t want to get over you. I don’t want you to get over me, and that’s how you know I’m not acting selflessly, because you should. I want you to always be happy, I just… wish it was with me.

So, I’m going to keep making these. I’m going to take you along for the ride, wherever it takes us, because you should be here but I can only hope you can one day understand why you’re not. I’m so—I’m so sorry, I don’t…

I’m sorry.

I love you.

You fall asleep and dream that you were the one meant to meet him at that restaurant.

The first thing you do is make a call to your mother.

“Could you send another container of yakgwa?”

On the other end of the line, your mother tuts, motherly intuition audibly kicking into overdrive. Is probably wearing that all-knowing, sly grin she always does when you try to be coy and evasive. “What happened to the last container I sent?”

“Ah, you know Kaori loves those. They barely lasted an hour after I told her what was in there.”

She hums an acknowledgement. Sounds like she takes a sip of tea. “I remember someone else being quite fond of those cookies, too.”

“Well, they are the most popular cookies in the country, so.”

After haranguing you into admitting they’re for Seungcheol and not your roommate, your mother promises to send them quickly. A few days at most, which buys you enough time to figure out how you’re going to approach the man in question.

The vlogs have turned your entire world upside-down. Answered questions you hadn’t even known you had. Took all that anger and resentment you’d been holding onto and set it free, and now you’re just left with… a void. Want to mend things, and it makes you wonder if such a thing is even possible, if it’s too late, but you don’t let those thoughts get very far.

Instead, you let them spur you into action. Have you sitting in front of your laptop at your desk, office hours long since over, silence creeping in the more the department empties. The thrum of the airconditioning and the tick-tick-tick of the clock are all the only company you have.

You worry if it’ll show on camera, how out of sorts you feel: sweating from the nerves, dabbing at your hairline; cheeks warm to the touch. But you suck in a breath anyway, steel yourself. Look at your webcam and the daunting red circle…

And start recording.

He hadn’t gotten it at first. Not really.

There’d been a container of yakgwa outside his door with his USB drive taped to the top of it. No note—not that he needed one to know who it was from, but he wasn’t sure what it was. A goodbye? A please fuck off forever and never contact me again?

He’d just taken them inside. Ate too many of the cookies while feeling sorry for himself. Maybe had a glass or two of wine to compound the issue, and never, ever considered contacting you. Didn’t think he could bear it if you never wanted to see him again, but he just…

Well, he was drunk and alone and he missed you, and he’d rewatched all those videos he recorded a million times before when he was like this, so what was a million and one?

It’d been the same as every time before: he smiled at the happy parts, cried at all his old wounds. Wanted to reach through the screen and strangle his past self for including that part about the blind date, because he never wanted to date anyone who wasn’t you, why would he say that, felt mortified at the thought of you watching that—

And then there it was.

All the way at the bottom. A new video. One that hadn’t been recorded by him—

Hi, Cheol, you say, and that’s all it takes to reduce him to a sobbing, yearning mess. I’m not sure what to say here. I don’t really record much—sometimes for lectures when the professors are too busy, but never anything personal like this, but I watched every single one you made for me and I thought I should return the favor.

I wanted to tell you everything I’ve been up to since you left, but it hasn’t been much. I got my degree. Tutored a lot in undergrad—the same thing I’m tutoring you in now, actually. I was good at it and it felt good to have something that was mine, you know? I almost moved for grad school. Thought for a while I was going to wind up in New York, but then my parents divorced and it felt like too much, too scary, so I stayed. Kaori also stayed, so we got an apartment together. It’s not much, definitely not as nice as your place, but it’s good enough.

I don’t think I ever told you, but she was seeing a guy for a bit and he was… obsessed with you, to say the least. Thought you were the coolest person in the world. They aren’t seeing each other anymore. Ended pretty badly, but—speaking of which, maybe steer clear of Student Services for a while, too.

Sometimes it felt like failure that I wound up staying here. That I had scholarships from all these far-away, prestigious places and didn’t take advantage of them. That I gave into my fear. And now… I don’t know. Maybe there’s a reason I stayed behind. Maybe there’s a reason you ended up back here, too.

Whatever happens—I don’t want you to think I still blame you. Kaori says we do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time, and I understand now that’s what you did. Even though it hurt me, you were trying to protect me. I get it now. And I’m sorry you had to go through all of that alone. I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been to go to all these places you didn’t know. To have to deal with your injury, the loss of a dream.

You said in one of your videos that you just want me to be happy, and that’s all I want for you, too, whatever that looks like.

Here’s my address if you ever want to come by to talk.

I love you, too.

—and then he’d been up and out the door, feeling stone cold sober, running to the front of his building to wait for his ride.

Felt like the drive took hours. Must’ve hit every red light between his apartment and yours. Took the steps two at a time just to get to your door faster.

There’s a man already standing outside your door when he gets there. One that looks shocked to see him, stars in his eyes, and when Seungcheol says, “Oh, you must be Kaori’s ex,” he looks more like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. Embarrassed in front of his idol.

He knocks on your door and gets no response. Knocks again, harder this time, and he has to try really hard to stifle his laughter when your voice yells from the inside, “Fuck off, Kenji, I already told you she’s not here!”

“It’s me,” Seungcheol yells back.

There’s quiet again. Just enough time for it to feel like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest and follow Kaori’s ex down the hall.

Then you’re yanking the door open—slowly, so slowly, like you’re scared it’s not actually him. Your eyes are brimming with tears when they meet his own, and he doesn’t let himself think, just goes on instinct, when he grabs for you, hands on your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours.

Somehow you taste the same.

Somehow you taste like redemption.

You taste like home.

Seungcheol kisses you until the tears slow. Kisses you until the universe realigns, until he could map your mouth in the dark. Kisses you until all you’re all he knows again.

When he pulls away, you’re gripping at his sweatshirt, don’t want to let him go. He presses his forehead to yours, offers up a million more apologies, starts talking nonsense. Says he’s going to drop microeconomics, what the hell does he know, he barely has a passing grade anyway, what does it matter, he’s such an idiot—

And then you say, “You came back,” and nothing else matters.

“I always will.”

(Later on, as you’re trying to steady your breathing, slick with sweat, your thigh thrown over Seungcheol’s hip as he stares down at you, dopey smile on his face, you say, “Choi Seungcheol, don’t you dare drop that class. I have worked my ass off to get you to barely-passing.”)

if you’ve made it this far thank you so much for reading! i am still very new at writing for seventeen, so i hope this was acceptable. i'm now going to throw myself into the warped tour vernon fic and will hopefully not go another 7+ months without posting anything. 😭

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

#seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol angst #seungcheol au #scoups angst #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #jewel writes

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lemonlover1110 · 4 months

Text

𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: You want to catch your husband in the act.

Warnings: Pure Fluff

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

You always wake up to a fresh bouquet of flowers by your side, no matter the day. It’s a sweet gesture that always starts your day off on the right note. It’s been happening since you got married, though Sukuna claims he’s not doing it.

But who else would give you flowers if not Sukuna? He’d kill anyone just for looking at you, anyone leaving flowers next to you each morning is asking for a death sentence. What truly makes you curious is if Sukuna handpicks the flowers himself or if he orders someone to do it. You giggle at the mere thought of your giant husband hand picking flowers for you.

You have the perfect plan, and you execute it. You wake up just as Sukuna does, sneakily following behind him as he starts off his day.

He wakes up just as the sun rises, and immediately goes to eat the breakfast that’s hot and fresh for him. Sukuna loves to eat his meals with you so much so that in the beginning of your relationship he’d force you to wake up to eat with him. Now, he gives you the grace to wake up at whatever time you want.

After a long fulfilling breakfast, he stands up and heads outside which makes your excitement grow. You try to be like his shadow, and even though you make some noise it appears to be working. He hasn’t noticed you yet at least, and Sukuna seems to notice everything.

He’s walking to the garden, and you’re grinning. He really does pick the flowers for you, a sweet gesture that he wouldn’t do for anybody else. You want to watch him pick them, decide which flowers are the most suitable for his wife but you know you have to go back before he catches you. You think you’re safe– Until he stops in his tracks, and glares at you.

“I heard an annoying bug flying around.” He comments, and you purse your lips together. He has such a way with words, it’s definitely why you got married. He steps toward you, looking down at you in disappointment, “I told you I don’t pick the damn flowers.”

“Because you certainly would allow someone else to give flowers to your wife.” You point out, and he sighs. He can’t argue with that… Well he can, he’ll decide not to. “Guess I’ll go back to bed and wait for my secret admirer to show up then. I’ll wait for him, then ask him to marry me because he loves me so–”

“I’ll kill him.” He can’t even listen to the end of the sentence. “Fine, it’s me. I wake you up with flowers, happy?”

“Very.” You smile at him, wrapping your arms around him. He hugs you back, kissing the top of your head.

“You better not brag about this. Can’t have anyone think less of me.” He tells you, picking you up and bringing you with him so you can pick your own bouquet this time around.

You have to admit, it’s hilarious to watch him pick something so small with his giant hands, but your heart mostly flutters. Sukuna loves you enough to personally pick up flowers for you each and every morning.

“Stop staring at me.” He orders, but that goes one ear in, out the other.

“You’re so cute.” He hates that word, especially when it’s referring to him, but he can’t really argue with you.

“Call me cute one more time, and I’ll stop.” He warns you, and you chuckle. He rolls his eyes hearing your laugh, since it isn’t a joke to him. He knows it isn’t true, and you know too which is why you don’t protest at his warning.

No matter what you do, he won’t change his morning routine.

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #sukuna jjk

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danveration · 7 months

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Wherever you go, I won't be far to follow

Parings: Creepy!Vox x GN!reader

Summary: Vox is obsessed with you and he uses his VoxTek to stalk you

Word count: 1437

Warnings: Obsessive behaviour, one mention of Vox getting a hard-on, Vox being delusional, jealousy, k*lling, Vox jerking off

A/N: First time writing for Vox!! I got this idea from some amazing person on discord:’) I immediately went insane w the idea and had to write it up

“I can’t get them out of my HEAD!” He yells angrily, banging his fists on the table.

Valentino and Velvet have noticed his behaviour towards you and tried to talk sense into him.

“They’re nothing special, Vox! Just another sinner. Get over them.”

“You tell us to not ruin our reputation but look at you. You’re a mess.”

“Maybe just.. go talk to them? Instead of being a fucking creep.”

Vox doesn’t listen. He wants to know what you’re doing 24/7 and who you’re doing it with. He has cameras set up everywhere. In your room, bathroom, hotel (as you’re currently living at the hazbin hotel), the street lights. Absolutely everywhere. He doesn’t want to meet you just yet, not until he learns everything about you so he can charm you off your feet.

You don’t even know him. You’ve heard of him through hell, yes. But you’ve never actually seen him face to face. Alastor has told you all that he isn’t anything to worry about, in which you believe him. Apparently he owns all the electronics in hell or something like that? You’ve seen posters of him and you think it’s kinda neat how he has a full on tv head as a face. But other than that, you never gave much thought to him.

———————————————————————

Today was just another day. You woke up, took a shower, went downstairs to have breakfast, and hung out at the hotel. Nothing of which you thought anything of, it’s just a normal boring day.

But Vox on the other hand thought differently. He thought everything you did was the most exciting, interesting thing ever.

“Oh! Fuck fuck fuck, they’re waking up.” He says, getting closer to one of the MANY tv screens he has in this room.

He looks at you in awe, touching the tv screen gently.

“So fucking cute when they’re waking up. Look at them, my god.” He whispers.

He watches you as you get out of bed, yawning. Watches you get undressed, and into the shower.

“Such a perfect body. I’d treat you so right. Better than anyone else could.” He says as he watches you wash yourself. He feels himself get a hard-on, but ignores it. He needs to have all his attention on you.

Watching you shower, learning your routine and what product you use, he stores all the information in one of his computer folders.

After you get out, he watches you choose what clothing to wear.

“Aww, that’s my favourite top on you.” He says in awe.

Then, you go downstairs to eat and hangout with your fellow hotel members.

Vox knows all your favourite foods and least favourite foods, to when you come over to live with him one day. He wants everything to be perfect. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger.

“You’re gonna haaavee..” He starts while you’re picking out what to eat.

“Fruit with cereal!” He shouts just as you pick it up.

“HAHA! Fucking knew it.” He says.

After you eat, he watches you interact with people.

He hates it. Hates when you talk to other people. What if they get too close to you? What if you like them more than him? So many thoughts cross his mind.

“Oh don’t you dare talk to-“ He starts while you’re walking up to Alastor.

You start talking to Alastor about something and Vox’s eye twitches.

He remains keeping his cool, but inside he wants to march over there and take you away. But he can’t do that, can he? That would be a horrible first impression! Even though he’s sure you’d fall for him in no time, he can’t risk it.

Right now, you’re sitting on a chair, scrolling through your phone.

Of course, Vox has hacked your phone too. He has another tv in which he can see exactly what you see.

He’s intently watching you play Angry Birds, when an ad comes up. Not just any ad, but a VoxTek ad.

You’re intrigued because this is the “Vox” you’ve heard of. You click it and Vox almost falls over.

“OH MY GOD. YOU-“ He scrambles to get as close as possible to the screen.

You start scrolling through the VoxTek website. It seems pretty cool, honestly. There’s a lot of “Trust us.” quotes, which you find kinda suspicious. But nonetheless, you’ve been wanting a new laptop since yours broke a while back. Why not give it a go?

You find a good priced laptop that actually seems like it’ll work really well, so you decided to buy it online.

Vox’s eyes widen.

“YOU- I-“ He stares in shock. You bought something from HIS website. You KNOW about him, it’s confirmed now.

He has the great idea to hand-deliver you the laptop. That’s a great first impression isn’t it?

He jumps up and goes to put on his best outfit. Making sure he looks 11/10. He cleans his screen, puts a mint in his mouth, and walks to the room where they keep all their product, finding the one you ordered.

He looks to his right, seeing the one you ordered, but then he looks down and sees one that’s 10x the money you paid for that one, and it’s their BEST laptop. It has so many features that he knows you’ll use. It’s their most high end product. He’s gotta give you that one instead. You deserve it.

He picks it up and puts it into a box, sealing it and putting a nice red bow on it. He kisses it and walks out.

“Vox? Where are you going? You’re looking quite fancy.” Valentino stops him as he’s about to walk out of the building.

“Oh nowhere!” Vox answers as he walks out. He doesn’t want Val to give him a hard time about this.

Val looks in question, but just walks off.

As Vox is walking to the hotel, he’s rehearsing his lines.

“Ah! Y/n. Hello there, I’m here to give you your laptop.” He mumbles. “No that sounds so fucking.. Hi, Y/n! Here’s your laptop.”

He mumbles a bunch of fraises when finally, he arrives on the doorstep.

He adjusts his bow tie and takes a deep breathe, knocking on the door.

You perk up at a knock on the door, you’re the only one at the hotel right now, other than Niffty. You go to answer it, wondering who it’ll be.

As you open the door, Vox’s heart stops.

It’s.. Vox? That tv guy! That’s weird, you literally just ordered a laptop from his site about 20 minutes ago.

He’s staring at you, mouth open.

“Uh.. hello?” You say with a questionable tone.

“Oh! Oh, shit. Hi! I’m here to hand deliver you that laptop you ordered.” He chuckles. “Well, actuallyyy, I got you a better one.” He whispers that last part.

You’re very confused. Do they hand deliver every laptop that someone buys?

“Oh um.. thank you! Thanks a lot.” You say, reaching out to take the box.

“Oh of course!” He says with a smile, handing it over to you.

“Do you like the bow? I picked it out just for you, Y/n.” He says.

You feel a weird sensation in your stomach when he says your name. How’d he..? I guess you have to put your name in the website when you order it. So that’s probably how he knows your name!

“Oh yeah! It’s.. a great bow.” You chuckle awkwardly.

You stand their in silence as he’s looking at you, seemingly so to be admiring you.

He realizes this is probably weird for you and takes a step back.

“Well! Haha. It was nice to meet you.” He says with a smile, sticking out his hand for you to shake.

Adjusting the box to hold it with one hand, you take your other one and shake his hand. As you do, you feel an electric shock.

“S-sorry about that.” He says, pulling his hand away.

“Oh it’s alright, don’t worry!” You answer, finding it kinda interesting.

Vox’s internal monologue is screaming. He just TOUCHED your hand. He’s never washing this hand. Ever.

He doesn’t want to leave but he knows he overstayed his welcome. It doesn’t matter though, he will see you again soon. There will be more meetings, more and more and more until you beg to see him.

“Cya, Y/n!” He waves at you, walking away with a satisfied smile.

“Bye!” You say, walking inside.

He goes home and jerks off to the hand you touched, moaning your name and cumming all over himself.

He’s got it bad for you.

#:vox #my works #hazbin hotel #vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin #vox hazbin hotel #vox habin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #vox x you #vox imagine #vox smut #dark!vox #vox hazbin x reader #vox x reader hazbin hotel

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aftermathing · 2 years

Text

#One day I will meet someone who doesn't make me want to tear out my voicebox when I accidentally infodump!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#I like finish my accidental little rant only to find out they aren't even looking at me #God it makes me want to spray blood from my eyes like a fucking thorny devil #When I was like seven I used to write like 'Silence' on my hand to remind myself to shut the fuck up and #stop making people hate me just by talking!!!!#I wish I could go back to being selectively mute bc I feel like going home and killing myself every time I talk for a little too long #Even when like I post art in a discord and someone posts over it or WORSE no one ever says anything after weeks #I just delete it bro fuck I would rather die than feel like people saw it and didn't care enough to say anything #WHY when there is a lull in conversation do I feel the fucking need to say some shit like 'hey guess what did you know that in star wars..'#Like a fucking toddler??????? What is wrong with me why do I ruin everything just by existing #I thought having a friend who is also autistic and understands being ignored and talked over would make things easier!!!#But no bc they also ignore me even if on accident and it hurts 100x more #I'm sure anyone reading this is like 'bro maybe you ARE the problem maybe you should just stop talking?' like YEAH!! CORRECT!!!!!!#I want to die sooo fucking bad how do I stop feeling shitty for more than ten seconds at a time #I am living for those tiny five second moments of feeling non shitty like when I see a red bird in a tree but bro. I cannot live like this.

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likeumeanit9497 · 3 months

Text

the re-do, pt. 2 | m.s. |

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: one more time won't hurt anyone...right?

warnings: SMUT!!!; established friendship; unprotected p in v; fingering; dirty talk; choking; hair pulling; slapping; sneaking around; 18+

notes: here it isssss. in honour of almost hitting 1000 followers (WHAT?!?!?!), i wanted to release a part 2 to my most loved fic!! im currently posting this less than 24 hours before i leave for my trip to europe (yay!!), but unfortunately it'll be the last one i'll be posting for a while. saying that, i'll be back home august 1st and knowing me ill want to get right back into writing, so pls feel free to continue to drop requests over the next few weeks (as long as ur okay with waiting for a while!!!). thanks so much for all the love ya'll, ur the ones who make this whole thing so much fun!!

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

Walking up to the triplets’ front door, I didn’t knock before turning the knob and entering the warm, familiar home. Nick, Matt, and Chris were finally home in Boston for a few weeks, and I was so excited to see them for the first time in months. They had just landed this afternoon, and although I told them I could give them some time to settle in, I couldn’t stop myself from driving over to theirs as soon as Nick sent me a photo of Trevor; proof that they were home and settled in enough.

“There she is!” Mary-Lou’s cheerful voice greeted me once I walked up the steps and into the kitchen. I didn’t have a chance to say hello before her arms were wrapped tightly around my frame; embracing me in a comforting hug. “How are you sweetheart?” She asked once she released me from her grip. I smiled. “I’m good! I’ve missed you all though.” I replied as she rubbed her hands up and down my arms affectionately. “I’ve missed you too! You hungry? I’m just finishing up some Shepard’s pie.” She walked back over to the oven, opening it slightly to check on its contents. “You know I could never turn down your Shepard’s pie.” I laughed.

“Where are the guys?” I asked, peering at the closed kitchen door. “Oh, they’re in the living room. I had to lock them out of here, they were driving me nuts!” She chuckled, pulling the casserole out of the oven. “You go ahead.” She urged, gesturing to the closed door. Sending her a warm smile, I opened the door and my eyes immediately fell on my three best friends sitting together on the couch in the living room.

“Y/n!” Shouted Nick, throwing his hands up in the air from his place on the couch. Matt and Chris both simultaneously peeled their eyes away from the screen and looked in my direction; their faces lighting up in smiles immediately before they all stood up to greet me. I hurried over to them and went in to hug Nick first, Chris next, then finally Matt.

I hadn’t seen Matt since the last time I visited them in Los Angeles, which also happened to be the time when him and I had fucked after filming their rated r Youtube video. Just like the time we had lost our virginities to each other, we hadn’t let the sex interfere with our friendship at all, and things hadn’t really changed in any way. Obviously, thanks to Matt’s failure at muting the Discord server, Chris and Nick were much too aware of exactly what had happened that night. But besides the painfully awkward morning after when I walked out of Matt’s room to find them eating breakfast — both avoiding eye contact with me entirely — things were fine with them as well. Once we spoke to Nick and Chris about it, we had convinced them both — as well as ourselves — that what had happened that night was simply a fleeting moment of nostalgia brought on by talking about our first time together.

But I would be lying if I said that as soon as I felt Matt’s hands on me I didn’t feel a shiver down my spine; or that when he whispered a breathy “I miss you” in my ear, I didn’t want to tear all of his clothes off right then and there. The sex we had that night, although spontaneous and probably wrong, was the best sex I had ever had. Once I left Los Angeles and made it back to Boston, I had fucked a handful of other guys — just trying to come even slightly close to feeling the way I had that night — only to be left feeling more and more disappointed. Matt and I knew each other far too well, and in some way it was like our bodies were tied to the other — first by losing our virginities to one another but then furthered by the crazy sex we had years later. I had accepted the fact that sex just wasn’t ever gonna be like that again, but now feeling him pressing against me, all of that acceptance just immediately vanished.

“How’s mom doing on dinner?” Chris asked, startling me out of my trance and walking in the direction of the kitchen door as I pulled away from Matt. “I think it’s almost done. But I was told you were banished from the kitchen, so stay away please.” I replied, walking over to him and tugging on his arm to draw him away from the door. Just then, the door opened and Mary-Lou appeared holding her own plate of food. “Please don’t destroy my kitchen.” Was all she said as she walked to the dining table with her plate, sighing as she did.

𓆩☆𓆪

After we all polished off the Shepard’s pie, we ended up on the couch watching a hockey game. I had curled up in a blanket between Matt to my right and Chris to my left, and was bathing in the contentment of just sitting with them in their family home, just like we did as kids. Even though I couldn’t give a shit less about whatever was happening on the screen, I couldn’t help but smile when one of them would scream, curse, or cheer as the game continued. As Chris was doing just that, I was pulled from my languid stupor by Matt tugging on the blanket that was wrapped around me; clearly wanting to share.

After spending some time with the guys, my filthy thoughts of Matt began to dissipate. After months of not seeing them, I had far too much time to stew over all of the flashbacks I got; causing me to create a certain image of him in my mind that had differed to the one I had of him before. But, after spending time with him in-person, I was reminded of the fact that he’s the same old Matt that I’ve known for years, and I was just too caught up in that one night.

Then, as if he was reading my mind, I felt fingertips gently graze my right thigh under the blanket. Immediately, my body began to react, and every place he touched felt like it was being set on fire. I gulped, and adjusted myself slightly before forcing my eyes to focus on the screen in front of me; deciding that ignoring these touches was the best thing that I could do. Still, he was relentless. His hand continued to travel all across my thigh, just a whisper of contact as if he knew it would drive me crazy. I shuddered, but played it off by pulling the blanket against me as if I was cold. Even though I knew he could tell that I was affected by his touch, I knew that my lack of acknowledgement was surely driving him crazy. My hunch was confirmed when he brushed his fingers lightly against my clothed heat; causing me to intake a sharp breath that I had to immediately hide with a cough.

This caught Chris’ attention, and he fixed his gaze on me. “You okay Y/n?” He asked, and I nodded frantically. “Mhmm. Just a cough.” My response was hitched as Matt’s fingers continued to tease me, and as soon as Chris fixed his gaze back on the tv, I grabbed his hand under the blanket and held it still; turning to give him a sharp glare. Once I turned to face him, I was met with a taunting smirk that caused something to stir inside of me. He then used his eyes to wordlessly gesture to the staircase; clearly proposing that we go upstairs.

I’m not sure how I gained the self control, but somehow I was able to shake my head sternly before drawing my attention once again back to the game. His hand stayed still, but it still rested on my thigh and I could feel myself vibrating under his touch. Then, he retracted his hand from the blanket and I had to stop myself from groaning from the loss of contact; knowing that I shouldn’t want to feel it again. From the corner of my eye, I saw him unlock his phone and felt myself relax slightly knowing that he had something to distract him.

Think again.

I felt my own phone vibrate in the pocket of my hoodie, and reaching under the blanket, I pulled it out to find a text from no other than Matt.

Matt: I need you

I had to fight to keep my jaw from dropping at his text, and I turned to face him but found him looking straight ahead at the game. Sighing, I decided to respond over text after turning my brightness all the way down to keep Chris from catching a glimpse.

Y/n: matt. we can’t.

I heard his phone vibrate beside me, and kept my gaze away from him as he picked it up. I only had to wait a few seconds for a response.

Matt: Yes we can

Matt: Please Y/n.

The clear desperation in his texts went straight to my core, and I felt myself on the verge of dissolving into a puddle right then and there. To make things even worse, Matt snaked his hands back under the blanket, grabbing my own and drawing it towards the crotch of his jeans. There, his cock was already rock hard, and I really had to keep myself from straddling him right there. I turned to my left to get a quick glance at Nick and Chris beside me. Nick was curled onto the couch, seemingly sound asleep, and Chris was fully entranced by the hockey game. Just then, a commercial break came on, and I turned to face Matt and gave him a soft nod. Immediately, a sinister smile crossed his face before he put his phone away and cleared his throat.

“Oh my god Y/n I forgot to show you the clothes I bought before I left LA. Remember you texted me earlier today telling me you wanted to see?” His lie fell from his mouth effortlessly, and if I didn’t know that he had ulterior motives I would never come even close to feeling suspicious. Without missing a beat, I followed along in his little lie. “Oh yeah! Where are they?” I responded, doing everything I could to keep my tone as nonchalant as his. “Up in my room, I haven’t unpacked yet. Wanna go see them now?” I bit my lip to keep myself from smiling. “Sure.” Was all I was able to say in response before hurriedly standing up from the couch. Matt shifted slightly under the blanket for a moment, obviously tucking his boner into the waistband of his pants so that it wouldn’t be noticeable, before following me towards the stairs. “Don’t be long!” Shouted Chris from behind us, “Ya’ll are gonna miss a good ass game.”

Quickly, the two of us climbed the stairs, doing our best to keep our composure until we were behind closed doors. We rushed into Matt’s bedroom, him entering before me, and I turned to quickly shut the door. Before I could even face his room, Matt pinned me to the door and his lips were on mine. A groan immediately fell from his lips as I opened my mouth to grant his tongue access; losing all sense of control as his hands roamed every inch of my body. My own hands flew to his hair, holding his face against mine as the kiss deepened even more. Our tongues swirled around each other, our mutual hunger for one another taking an almost literal form.

One of Matt’s hands travelled up my chest, tearing my hoodie up over my head in the process, before attaching to my throat. I gasped at the pressure, feeling my panties flood with arousal, and he tugged at my bottom lip with his teeth as he pulled away from the kiss; gazing down harshly at me. “How many guys have you fucked since I saw you last.” His voice was gravelly with lust, and his tone was so ominous that if I hadn’t known Matt for as long as I had, I would be afraid. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my cheek as he slapped it. “Answer me, Y/n. How many?” I couldn’t keep the small smile from travelling to my lips from how turned on he was making me, but finally I was able to get myself to respond. “A few.” His pupils dilated.

“Oh yeah? How were they?” He was smirking, and I was thrown off by his words. Again, in my silence he slapped my cheek. At that, I couldn’t keep the lustful squeal from falling from my lips. “T-they were okay.” I lied, feeling myself tremble against the doorframe. At that, his thumb that had been soothing my sore cheek traveled to my mouth, pressing down on my lips and encouraging me to open up. I obliged, letting his thumb rest on my tongue before slowly wrapping my lips around it and sucking lightly. Matt’s eyes were glued to my mouth, but he continued speaking. “Just okay, huh?” He knew what he was doing, and I did as well, but in the state I was in I had lost all impulse control; so I fell for his trap.

“None were as good as you, Matty.”

I batted my eyelashes as I spoke, and immediately his lips were back on mine. Our mouths moved in sync as his tongue dominated mine, and I relished in the familiar taste of him. His burning desire for me fuelled my own, and as I continued to kiss him I felt myself growing more and more needy. As I released a frustrated groan into his mouth, I felt his hand travel to the waistband of my jeans where he hurriedly worked at the button and zipper. As soon as he peeled the rough material down my legs, his hand went to my heat; causing me to release a sharp breath.

“Mmm. So wet, just like last time.” He purred, dragging his mouth away from mine and down my neck; dropping wet kisses in its path. I was shaking from his touch, and subconsciously I widened my legs to give him better access to my aching core. Noticing this, he released a husky chuckle before slowly rubbing two fingers along my folds. “You missed this, didn’t you?” I immediately nodded my head as I nibbled at my bottom lip, needing him to touch me more. “I knew it.” His fingers slowly began circling my clit then, drawing satisfied moans from my mouth. “Yeah. I bet you touch yourself thinking of that night in LA,” His mouth was nibbling at my neck just below my ear, and the heat from his breath caused goosebumps to raise on my skin and my nipples to harden. “And I bet you pretend that your fingers are mine.”

Just as the words left his lips, he plunged two fingers up into me, causing me to gasp in pleasurable shock. Immediately, his fingers went to work curling up to my spongey g-spot and forcing my knees to buckle. Desperate for more contact, I wrapped a leg around his waist so that his fingers could reach even deeper into me. Hushed moans fell thoughtlessly from my mouth, and I prayed that no one in the house could hear them. I gripped helplessly onto the back of Matt’s neck as he rested his forehead against my collar bone, putting all of his effort into his plunging fingers.

“You feel good sweetheart?” He asked, his words coming out in short bursts as he continued his movements. “S-so g-good.” I replied carelessly, arching my back off of the door as I felt tension like a stretched rubber band grow in my stomach. Aching from the pressure, I reached in between my legs and began frantically rubbing my clit; desperately chasing my high. After just a brief moment, Matt looked down between my legs and, upon realizing what I was doing, slapped my hand out of the way and replaced it with his own. His fingers worked on my clit and my core simultaneously, and I lost all control over the erotic noises that poured out of my mouth.

“Shh.” Matt demanded, placing his own mouth on mine in a motionless kiss to stifle my moans. The stimulation was almost too much to handle, and I felt myself teetering on the edge of an overwhelmingly strong orgasm. “G-gonna cum.” I managed to spew out against Matt’s open mouth, and he hummed in response; keeping his pace on my heat steady. “Look at me while you cum, Y/n.” Matt’s voice was commanding, and without thinking twice I opened my pinched eyes and was met with his focused yet aroused gaze just before being overtaken by an earth-shattering orgasm.

As pleasure rippled through my body, my blurry vision never veered from his face as his fingers fucked me through my high. I bit my lip so hard that I left indents to suffocate my stream of moans before they could leave my lips. I felt myself squirt, the pressure that had built up inside of me immediately being relieved, and as I did he removed his one hand from my core and used his other to continue rubbing my clit so that the fluid sprayed all over the front of him and down my legs.

As I was still trembling through my high, I watched as Matt used his free hand to yank his jeans and boxers down his legs before plunging his hard cock into me. “Fuck.” We both gasped in unison as he sunk every inch through my walls, shuddering from the immediate pleasure that we both felt. Matt stayed still for a moment, clearly collecting himself, before pounding into me strenuously. Grasping onto his shoulders in order to stay grounded, I muttered nonsense as his cock slammed into my g-spot relentlessly.

“Fuck. Missed this pussy so fucking much.” Matt groaned in my ear, causing me to cry out as he drove his cock harder and harder into me; so hard that my head began smacking against the door frame. Suddenly, Matt’s hands snaked down to my ass, cupping it in his grasp and lifting me up. Still inside of me, he began walking me towards his bed on the far side of the room, where he placed me on the end of the bed and spun me around. I lay there like a rag doll as I let him reposition me into doggy, before I felt him slide his dick back through my opening.

“Jesus Christ.” I moaned, the new position deeper than the last as I felt every inch of him stretch out my walls and reach even further into me. Matt grabbed a fistful of my hair and I cried out as he used his grip to pull my head up off of the bead. With my back pressed against him, he covered my mouth with his hand as he peppered my sensitive neck with wet kisses. “You love my cock, don’t you baby?” He asked in a rough voice against my ear, and I nodded. Suddenly, his hand made contact with my throat and he tightened his fingers around it again. “Words, Y/n.” He said tauntingly, and I whined. “Y-yes. I love it Matt.” I managed to reply before he loosened his grip on both my throat and my hair, allowing my body to fall back onto the bed.

His hands found my hips, and he held them tightly as he continued thrusting into me. His pace was growing slightly choppier, and I smiled to myself maniacally, knowing that he was feeling good. As his rhythm slowed, I began moving my own hips up and down to meet his length. Noticing what I was doing, Matt stopped his own movements and allowed me to fuck myself on his cock. I heard his heavy breathing behind me as I continued to throw myself down on it, picking up the pace with each pump.

His hands gripped my hips tighter before he spoke. “Mmmm, slow down honey, gonna cum soon if you keep doing that.” I smiled to myself once again, and even let out a small chuckle as I continued at the same quick pace; wanting to make him feel good. The sound of wet skin slapping skin filled the space between us as I worked his cock up and down my walls, and I felt another orgasm approaching down my spine. “Matty, gonna cum again.” I whined as the build up became un-ignorable. “Me too. Turn around. Wanna see that pretty face while you take it.” His words went straight to my core, and I struggled to find the strength to do exactly what he said.

With his help, I flipped around so that I was now on my back looking right up at his naked frame. He gazed down at me with eyes so dark and filled with lust that I almost gasped from the stark difference from the Matt that I typically saw. Leaning over me, he drove his length into me again, grabbing onto my tits as he did; making me see stars. Matt grabbed onto my legs and bent them at the knees before pressing them down and allowing his cock so much access to the deepest part of my core that I almost cried in addictive pain. “You want me to cum in you baby?” He asked, his voice a whole octave lower than usual due to his aroused state. I nodded, before remembering to use my words. “P-please cum in me.” I added, feeling my own orgasm causing my walls to already begin to convulse slightly. Holding onto my knees tightly, Matt’s jaw went slack before he released a guttural moan, enough to push me over the edge for the second time tonight.

With his cock pulsing inside of me, I shook uncontrollably as my second orgasm tore through me without mercy. I clung onto anything that I could as I fought the urge to scream profanities out at the top of my lungs as my walls milked his shaft dry. Matt continued to thrust into me slowly, pushing all of his cum deep inside as he helped me come down from my high. Once my moans halted, he planted a soft kiss to my hand resting on his chest before slowly pulling his cock out of me; watching the mix of his and my cum drip from my opening.

Walking over to his closet for what I assumed was a towel, he chuckled. Still catching my breath and recovering from my tornado of an orgasm, I struggled to lift myself off of the bed. “What’s so funny?” I asked as I watched him walk over with a towel just as I suspected. Still smiling, he shook his head as he began cleaning me up. “Nothing. It’s just that shit is way too good.” I laughed myself at his words, because I unfortunately agreed. “It probably wasn’t the best idea.” I began as I stood on shaky legs to retrieve my lost articles of clothing. “The first time was purely practical. The second could be called an accident. But a third time? There’s no explaining that away.” I said as I dressed myself.

“What?” He started, walking over to where I was standing to retrieve his own pants. “You’re the one that said that good friendships include fucking each other every once in a while.” I rolled my eyes. I had said that in Los Angeles, but had meant it as a joke at the time. “I don’t know if fucking every time we’ve seen each other constitutes as ‘once in a while’.” I replied, running my hands through my messy hair in an attempt to remedy my fucked out appearance. With a sheepish smirk on his face, he shrugged. “I don’t know, I think it’s working out fine, don’t you?” I couldn’t contain my smile at this, giving away that I agreed. “And besides, no one has to know about this time. No brothers barging in, no Discord servers being left on. No one knows so there’s no need for an explanation this time.” He pulled me to his chest and hugged me for a moment, and I instantly felt more reassured.

“Ready to go? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see the score.” I laughed before pulling away from the hug and heading to his bedroom door. We walked down the stairs in a single file, and walked back into the living room with the intention of looking as inconspicuous as possible. Nick was still sound asleep, but Chris was wide awake, still staring at the tv. He was suspiciously quiet, but I allowed myself to believe that it was just because he was locked into the game, so I nonchalantly sat down on the couch beside him. Just as Matt settled onto the couch to my right, Chris cleared his throat before speaking. “So, Y/n. What was your favourite piece?” I turned to face him in confusion, and mentally scrambled to try to figure out what the fuck he was talking about. “The fuck?” I asked just as Matt pinched my thigh gently under the blanket.

As I realized that he was talking about the excuse that Matt and I had made to go upstairs, I watched as Chris’ eyes shot open and he pointed a finger between me and Matt. “I fuckin’ knew it!” I tried to speak, but I was completely incapable of forming a coherent sentence; let alone a believable lie. I heard Matt groan to my right. “You two fucked again didn’t you!” Still, silence.

Our lack of retaliation was enough to give Chris the answer he needed, and he rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ, you guys are a couple of dogs.” He turned back to face the screen, but not before dramatically scooting a few centimetres away from me on the couch. I slowly turned my head to face Matt, and found him closing his eyes and biting his lip to stifle a laugh. At this, I had to cover my mouth to to the same, and I prayed that Chris couldn’t see my shoulders shaking as I laughed silently. My silent laugh seemed to be contagious, because I watched as Matt’s body began to tremble in laughter as his hand went back to casually resting on my thigh under the blanket.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo x reader #the sturniolos #the sturniolo triplets

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elanorpam · 4 months

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it's been way too long since i last did wildly self-indulgent fanart, so of course i did it for an SVSSS AU that doesn't even have any actual fanfiction written of it yet. but what can i say! it's a compelling scenario! Just check the original post for details!

here's a workplace doodle for his mess of an outfit, too:

Xin Mo is floating behind his back, wrapped in talismans. the collars are meant to be vaguely inspired on a flower bud.

Some notes i came up with for this version, copied straight from a month-old discord convo:

he may have protagonist halo now, but he's for sure not a stallion protagonist. he literally exchanged fates with his favorite person in the world in order to spare them a hellish trial-- that's romantic as fuck!! damn!! this is old CLAMP shoujo and no mistake!!

binghe may no longer be the protag, but he's still a half-heavenly demon. power-wise, heavenly demons can't be topped, and all the remaining heavenly demons are accounted for. so, SQQ can't be a heavenly demon, even in part.

HOWEVER, as a protagonist, there's a factor more important than power! it's the CHUUNI FACTOR. what's more CHUUNI™️ than being part demon?

one option is being part demon and part angel.

how would that even fucking work??????? IDK man, you can either pull from chinese folklore for fairies or heavenly beings or spirits, or you can blame Airplane and go "he accidentally implied the existence of christian elements by means of importing unexamined anime tropes"

Shen Jiu conveniently has a big fat blank on his parentage. We as fans can and have put whatever the hell we wanted there.

SQQ would jump into the abyss still under the impression SJ was a shallow villain. If his trip through the abyss involves recovering SJ's memories somehow, that sure would be fun times, huh?

so he awakens a mysterious ancestry and survives the abyss and takes Xin Mo, but he probably takes longer than Binghe did due to being squishier.

but Xin Mo isn't ACTUALLY his! so he papers it over with sealing talismans, and to battle the temptation to wield it he takes to wearing these longass sleeves. they're probably covered in talismans as well.

guessing Xiu Ya stayed behind to be mooned over by the clown trio in Cang Qiong. let's go full sparkle-sue here and say he's now fighting almost entirely via musical cultivation. i like swan-necked konghou harps so let's go with that, it'll look dope.

why is he barefoot? why WOULDN'T he be, is the question. fragile!! suffering!! dainty!! he's a shrinking flower, tormented by the weight of the One Sword To Rule Them All!!

also for extra pathos, his constant mental struggle against Xin Mo means he can't spare energy to front. it takes constant focus! he's still a bit in his delusional shit, but even when he's going "oh no, binghe is only latched throat-deep onto my dick because he's a good boy who's concerned about me and the danger i could pose by losing control" he'd probably… well, he'd probably say that out loud to anyone who asked. he's in a half-trance, mentally battling the crazy-making sword. lying is too much work.

Wouldn’t resisting Xin Mo’s influence be the mental and spiritual equivalent to training under 400x gravity or something? his wife-beam is going to be off the charts when he puts it down.

also also: who the hell dressed him like that? fucking shang qinghua, of course, after SQQ showed up in the northern palace to punish MBJ for hurting binghe in the conference. did the system explain shit to SQH? on the one hand, extremely funny if it updates him on the role change out of nowhere mid-alliance. on the other hand, extremely funny if he only finds out because Binghe is crying safely in Qing Jing while the scum villain apparently jumped into the abyss.

Here's another link to the original AU post! I've had it open on a tab all this time just so i could point to it when I was done, so make sure to check it out!

#svsss #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #scum villain's self saving system #paulart #fanart

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loveanton · 3 months

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my universe | lee anton

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: if anyone were to ask your husband what matters most to him he’d undoubtedly respond with, “my family.” you and your three children, soon to be four, are his whole universe.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: husband!anton x f!reader

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: slice of life au

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 4.7k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: screaming kids, tantrums, mentions of pregnancy, protective anton, fear of water, accidental hitting, you and anton shower together, overall just cute family time hehe :)

⏤ 𝑎/n: want anton to father my kids 🫨

"Mama, up!"

You glance down at your youngest, his small arms reaching up towards you from the floor as you hover over the stove, carefully tending to breakfast for your bustling household. His sleepy eyes and rumpled pajamas tug at your heart, but you know you have to keep moving.

"Just a little longer, sweetheart," you say gently. "Mama's making breakfast."

But your explanation does little to soothe him, and his pout quickly turns into a full-blown tantrum. He wails, stomping his little feet in frustration, the noise echoing through the kitchen. Before you can intervene, Anton's calm, firm voice cuts through the chaos.

"Buddy, come here."

Your son turns, still sniffling, and runs into Anton's waiting arms. Anton scoops him up effortlessly, his voice soothing as he explains, "Mama's making breakfast. She can't pick you up right now, okay?"

Your son, now snuggled against Anton's shoulder, seems to understand. He buries his face into his father's neck, his cries subsiding as sleep overtakes him once more.

Just then, the twins burst into the kitchen, their energy filling the room as they dart around. The two children create a whirlwind of laughter and shouts, making it almost impossible for you to continue cooking. Your son stirs and starts to cry again, overwhelmed by the sudden noise.

"Hey, hey, calm down, everyone," Anton says, his voice authoritative yet kind. "No running around in the kitchen. Go wait in the living room until breakfast is ready."

The twins, recognizing the seriousness in their father's tone, grab each other's hands and run out, still bubbling with excitement but now more contained. You sigh in relief, though your son's cries continue, his small body writhing in Anton's arms.

"Here, let me take him," you offer, stepping towards Anton.

But Anton shakes his head, his eyes gentle but firm. "No, love. I don't want you carrying him. Remember, you're pregnant."

You roll your eyes slightly but smile, appreciating his concern. "I'm fine, Anton. I can handle it."

"I know you can," he says, brushing a stray braid from your face. "But I'd feel better if you didn't pick him up for a while."

You relent, understanding his worry, and return to cutting up the fruit, grateful for his support. Anton sways gently, soothing your son until his cries turn to soft snores. Just then, your mother-in-law descends the stairs, her presence warm and reassuring.

"Good morning," she greets, taking her grandson from Anton with practiced ease. "I'll take this little one."

"Thanks, Mom," Anton says, his hands now free to help you finish breakfast. He moves to your side, starting to plate the food with efficiency born of practice.

The sound of breakfast preparations and the occasional clatter of dishes fills the kitchen. You and Anton work in a seamless rhythm, a testament to the years of shared mornings and teamwork. As you place the final touches on the plates, Anton calls out, "Okay, breakfast is ready!"

The children come running back, their excitement renewed. As they crowd around the table, the twins start to bicker over who gets to sit next to their dad, their voices rising in discord.

"Girls, you can share the chair," you interject, cutting off the argument before it can escalate. "No more fighting, okay?"

They nod, clambering onto the same chair, their brief squabble forgotten in the excitement of breakfast. As they dig into their plates, the sound of footsteps inform of the arrival of Anton's father.

"Grandpa!" The chorus of excited voices fills the room as the kids rush to him, wrapping their arms around his legs. Even your youngest joins in, having wriggled free from his grandmother's grasp.

He chuckles, bending down to tickle them. "Alright, alright, let's finish breakfast first," he says, his eyes twinkling with affection.

Anton hands you a cup of tea, his eyes meeting yours with a loving smile. "Good morning, Dad," he says, taking a sip of his own coffee.

"Good morning," his father replies, settling into a chair with a contented sigh, watching the lively scene before him.

You take a deep breath, feeling a sense of peace amidst the chaos. Anton often tells you that your family is his whole universe, and in moments like these, it's easy to see why.

As breakfast progresses, the noise level rises again, though this time it’s filled with the happy chatter of children and the clink of utensils. Your mother-in-law, having settled your youngest comfortably on her lap, joins in the conversation, sharing a story from Anton’s childhood that has everyone laughing.

"Did you know," she says, "when your dad was your age," she points at one of the twins, "he used to run around the kitchen with his brother just like you, driving me up the wall!"

Anton shakes his head, grinning. "And now it's come full circle. Thanks for that, Mom."

The twins giggle, and you see them exchanging looks that promise future mischief.

As you move to enter the kitchen, Anton stands and follows you, placing a gentle hand on your back. "Need a hand?" he asks.

"Just need some water," you reply with a smile.

He obliges, pouring a glass of water for you before topping off his own cup with some more coffee. "You know," he says quietly, "I think we should tell everyone soon. About the baby."

You nod, looking through the kitchen entryway at the gathered family, feeling a wave of warmth and gratitude. "Yeah, soon. But not just yet. Let's keep this little secret between us for a bit longer."

Anton agrees, his eyes twinkling with anticipation. "I can't wait to meet this one."

___

As breakfast winds down, Anton’s father stands up, signaling the end of the meal. "Alright, girls," he says, clapping his hands. "Who’s up for a game outside?"

A chorus of cheers follows, and the twins scramble to clean up their plates, eager for the next adventure. Anton helps you clear the table, his hand occasionally brushing yours, a silent reminder of his love and support.

Your mother-in-law, still holding your youngest, stands and stretches. "I'll take him for a little walk in the garden," she says. "Give you two a bit of a break."

"Thanks, Mom," you say, truly grateful.

As the children spill outside, their laughter echoing back into the house, you and Anton share a quiet moment in the now peaceful kitchen. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.

"You know," he murmurs, "I wouldn't trade this for anything."

You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "Neither would I."

Anton and you retreat to the kitchen, the comforting sounds of family now a backdrop to your conversation. Together, you start washing the dishes, working side by side. Anton takes up the sponge, scrubbing at a stubborn spot on a plate, while you rinse and stack the clean dishes.

“Remember when we first found out we were having the twins?” you say, smiling at the memory.

Anton chuckles, his eyes warm with nostalgia. “How could I forget? We were both in shock. Two babies at once.”

You nod, laughing softly. “I thought we’d never sleep again.”

“And we didn’t, for a while,” Anton replies, shaking his head. “But look at them now. They’re growing up so fast.”

You both pause, gazing out the window above the kitchen sink. The large yard, a non-negotiable for both of you when buying this house, stretches out in front of you. The twins run around with their grandpa, their laughter ringing through the air, while your son clings tightly to his grandmother’s hand, exploring the garden.

“I’m so glad we insisted on a big yard,” you say, watching the children play. “I wanted them to have the space to explore, to grow up with nature. Not glued to screens all the time.”

Anton nods, his arm brushing yours as he hands you another plate. “They’re having the kind of childhood we always dreamed of for them.”

You turn to look at your husband, your heart swelling with love and gratitude. “Our son looks just like you, you know. Acts like you too. It’s like having a little Anton running around.”

Anton smiles, a tender look in his eyes. “And the twins are all you. They’ve got your energy.”

As you share this quiet moment, your oldest twin comes barreling into the kitchen, her voice high with excitement. “Beach! Daddy, Mommy, beach!”

Anton’s father follows her in, looking a bit sheepish. “Sorry about that. I told them about how much you and your brother loved swimming in the ocean when you were their age. They got a bit obsessed with the idea.”

You and Anton laugh, your kids’ enthusiasm infectious. The twins cling to your legs, their faces pleading as they beg to go.

“Please, Mommy! Please, Daddy!” they chant, their eyes wide with anticipation.

Anton glances at you, then back at the kids, a smile spreading across his face. “Well, it is nice out. How about a family outing to the beach?”

The twins squeal in delight, racing off to their shared room to pick out their outfits. You chuckle, shaking your head at their energy.

“Looks like we’re going to the beach,” you say, leaning into Anton.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “Mhhmm, excited to teach Chanwoo how to swim.”

With the dishes done, you start gathering the necessary items for a beach trip. Towels, sunscreen, snacks – everything you’ll need for a day of fun in the sun. The twins reappear, dressed in their swimsuits and hats, bouncing with excitement.

“Ready, ready, ready!” they chant, unable to contain their enthusiasm.

Your mother-in-law comes in, your son still in her arms. “Looks like we’re all set. This little one is ready for his first beach day too.”

You take a moment to look around at your family, feeling a profound sense of happiness and fulfillment. Anton catches your eye, and you share a smile, knowing that these are the moments that he appreciates most.

As you all pile into the car, the kids chatter excitedly about the waves, the sand, and the fun they’re going to have. Anton starts the engine, and you lean back in your seat, hand resting on your slowly growing belly. Anton's parents follow in their own car, ready to join the beach adventure.

The twins, Yechan and Chanmi, start firing off questions as soon as you hit the road. "Mommy, how big are the waves?" Yechan asks, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"And will we see dolphins?" Chanmi adds, bouncing in her seat.

"The waves can be pretty big, but we'll stay where it's safe for you to play," you reassure them. "And maybe, if we're lucky, we might see some dolphins."

Your son, clutching his favorite stuffed animal, pipes up. "Mama, what about cwabs?" He tries to say 'crabs' but stumbles over the word, making you smile.

"Crabs, sweetheart," Anton corrects gently. "Can you say 'crabs'?"

"Cwabs," your son tries again, furrowing his little brow.

"Crabs," Anton repeats, and the twins join in, encouraging their brother.

"Crabs, crabs, crabs!" they chant, giggling.

Your son concentrates hard, then finally says, "Crabs!"

"Yay!" The twins cheer, giving him high fives, which makes him giggle in delight.

You feel your heart warm at the sight of your children supporting each other. Anton reaches over to squeeze your hand, his eyes reflecting the same affection you feel.

“Daddy, why don’t you swim anymore?” Yechan asks suddenly, her question catching you off guard.

Anton glances at you before answering. “Well, sweetie, I stopped swimming to follow another dream. I wanted to sing, so I chose that instead.”

Chanmi gasps, her eyes wide with admiration. “You’re so cool, Daddy.”

Anton laughs, his voice soft and even lower than usual due to his bashfulness. “Thank you, Chanmi. That means a lot to me.”

When you arrive at the beach, the twins are practically vibrating with excitement, ready to dash into the water. You manage to corral them long enough to apply sunscreen, with Anton helping to ensure they’re properly covered.

“Can we go now? Please?” Yechan begs, hopping from one foot to the other.

“Alright, alright,” Anton says, laughing. “Let’s go.”

He tries to take your son along, but the little boy screeches and buries himself in your arms, clearly frightened of the water. “Looks like he’s not ready for the waves yet,” you say, soothing him with gentle pats. “We’ll stay here and build a sandcastle, okay?”

Your son nods, his grip on you tightening. You find a good spot on the beach, and soon, you’re both immersed in building an elaborate sandcastle, complete with moats and towers.

Your mother-in-law and father-in-law join you, sitting down in the sand to watch and help. “This is such a lovely day,” your mother-in-law says, her voice warm with affection. “Thank you for making our son so happy.”

You glance up, surprised. “Oh, it’s my pleasure. Anton means the world to me.”

She smiles, her eyes softening. “I was always worried, you know. With Anton’s job, I feared he’d never find someone who truly loved him for who he is. But you’ve been his rock. Despite the hate and the invasive fans, you stayed by his side. There’s no one else I could ever see him loving.”

Your father-in-law nods in agreement. “We’re grateful for you. You’ve made him so happy, and that’s all we’ve ever wanted for our kids.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away, smiling. “Thank you. That means a lot. I love Anton, and I love this family we’ve built together.”

As you chat, you keep an eye on Anton and the twins in the water. They’re laughing and splashing, Anton’s strong arms steadying them against the small waves. It’s clear they’re having the time of their lives, and your heart swells with pride and joy.

Your son, now more relaxed, starts to enjoy the sandcastle project, his little hands patting the sand into shape. “Look, Mama! Big tower!” he exclaims, showing you his handiwork.

“That’s amazing!” you praise, giving him a high five.

Your mother-in-law watches the scene with a tender smile. “He’s so much like Anton at that age. So determined and full of wonder.”

“He really is,” you agree, looking at your son with love.

After a while, Anton and the twins return, their faces flushed with excitement. “Mommy, did you see us? We went so far out!” Yechan says, her eyes sparkling.

“I saw! You were so brave,” you say, hugging her.

Chanmi nods vigorously. “Daddy was the best lifeguard ever!”

Anton grins, ruffling their hair. “You two were amazing swimmers.”

As the excitement of swimming subsides, you turn to your son, who’s been contentedly building sandcastles by your side. “Do you want to try the water, sweetie?” you ask him gently.

He hesitates, looking out at the waves with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. “Mama, water scary.”

You smile reassuringly. “I know it seems that way, but Mommy and Daddy will be right there with you. We’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

He looks up at you, his little face thoughtful. After a moment, he nods. “Okay, Mama. I twust you.”

You stand and take his small hand in yours, feeling a swell of pride at his bravery. “Let’s go to the shore, then. Daddy, can you help?”

Anton joins you, taking your son’s other hand. “Ready, buddy? We’ll take it slow.”

Together, you walk toward the water, your son gripping your hands tightly. When the first wave gently rolls over his little toes, he shrieks at the sensation but doesn’t pull away.

“See? It’s not so bad,” Anton says, smiling down at him. “Do you want to go in a bit deeper?”

Your son looks up at you both, then back at the water. With a firm nod, he says, “Yes, Daddy. Deeper.”

You caress his cheek, your heart swelling with love. “That’s my brave boy.”

As you walk in a bit further, the water rises to his knees. He giggles, now more accustomed to the feel of the waves. He pulls his hands free from yours and starts splashing around, his laughter echoing over the beach.

Anton giggles along with him, scooping him up and tossing him gently in the air before catching him. Your son squeals with delight, his fear completely forgotten. Anton tickles him, and the two of them laugh together, the joy of the moment infectious.

After a while, you head back to join the rest of the family for lunch. You spread out the picnic blanket, and everyone gathers around, their faces glowing with happiness and the warmth of the sun.

“Look at this spread,” your father-in-law says, rubbing his hands together. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

You smile, handing out some gimbap. “I had a lot of help.”

The kids settle down with their food, and soon the air is filled with the sound of chatter and laughter.

“Grandpa, do you like sandcastles?” Yechan asks, her mouth full of mango.

“I love sandcastles,” he replies, winking at her. “Especially when they’re built by my grandkids.”

Chanmi, always the curious one, turns to her grandmother. “Grandma, did Daddy build sandcastles too?”

Her grandmother smiles, brushing a stray hair from Chanmi’s face. “Oh yes, he did. Your daddy loved the beach when he was your age. He used to spend hours building the biggest sandcastles you can imagine.”

“Wow,” Chanmi says, eyes wide. “Daddy, did you really?”

Anton nods, taking a bite of his sandwich. “I did. I loved making towers, just like you do.”

“Can we build one together later?” Yechan asks, looking up at her dad with hopeful eyes.

“Of course,” Anton says, smiling. “I’d love that.”

Your son, having finished his sandwich, looks up at you with a proud smile. “Mama, I not scared of water no more.”

You ruffle his hair. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. You were very brave.”

Anton’s mother looks at you with a soft smile. “You’re doing such a wonderful job with them. Thank you for giving Anton such a beautiful family.”

You feel a lump in your throat, touched by her words. “Thank you. It means a lot to hear that.”

Your father-in-law chimes in. “We couldn’t have asked for a better daughter-in-law. You’ve made our son so happy.”

As the afternoon progresses, you enjoy the easy camaraderie of family, the children’s laughter mingling with the soothing sound of the waves. You build more sandcastles, take turns flying a kite, and even manage to get your son to dip his toes in the water again, this time with even more confidence.

As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you gather your belongings, tired but content. The kids are still buzzing with energy, talking animatedly about their day.

“Can we come back tomorrow?” Yechan asks, her eyes shining with excitement.

“We’ll see,” Anton says, chuckling. “But for now, it’s time to head home and get some rest.”

You pile back into the cars, the kids’ chatter a comforting background noise as you drive home. Anton reaches over and takes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a tender gesture.

“I love you,” he says softly.

“I love you too,” you reply, feeling the truth of those words deep in your heart.

As you pull into the driveway, you can’t help but reflect on the day’s events. It’s in these simple, yet profound moments that you find true happiness. However, as you prepare to go inside, you realize the day isn’t quite over yet.

Anton carries your son, who fell asleep during the car ride, into the house. “Looks like someone’s completely worn out,” he says, smiling.

Inside, the twins start arguing as soon as they hear Anton mention showers. “If he’s not going to take a shower, then we won’t either!” Yechan declares, crossing her arms defiantly.

“That’s not fair!” Chanmi adds, mimicking her sister’s stance.

Anton sighs, his tone firm but gentle. “Everyone will be taking a shower tonight. No exceptions. We’ve all had a long day at the beach, and we need to get cleaned up.”

Yechan and Chanmi groan but relent, seeing that their father won’t budge. Anton carries your son to the bathroom while you start running the water, getting everything ready.

“Sweetheart, it’s time to wake up and take a quick shower,” you whisper, gently shaking your son awake.

He stirs, his face scrunching up in protest. “No, Mama, too sleepy.”

Anton chuckles softly. “I know, buddy, but you’ll feel better after a quick rinse. We’ll make it fast, I promise.”

Reluctantly, your son allows himself to be undressed and placed under the warm water. Anton keeps him steady, washing off the sand and salt while you help the twins get ready. Despite the initial resistance, the warm water helps soothe everyone, and soon the bathroom is filled with giggles and splashes as the day’s adventures are recounted.

After the showers, you wrap your son in a fluffy towel and carry him to his room. He’s barely awake, his head resting heavily on your shoulder. You and Anton moisturize his skin before dressing him in some pajamas and tuck him into bed, kissing his forehead. “Goodnight, my brave boy,” you whisper, brushing his hair back.

“Night, Mama. Night, Daddy,” he mumbles, already drifting back to sleep.

With your son settled, you head to the twins’ room. They’re in their pajamas, bouncing on their beds with boundless energy. “Alright, time for a bedtime story,” you announce, trying to wrangle them into bed.

“Yay! Storytime!” they cheer, finally settling down.

Anton picks out a book and starts reading, his voice soft and animated. The twins listen intently, their eyes wide with fascination. As the story ends, Chanmi immediately pipes up. “One more, please, Mommy!”

You shake your head gently. “No, sweetie, it’s time to sleep. We’ll read another one tomorrow.”

This answer doesn’t sit well with Chanmi, who starts to pout. “But I don’t want to sleep!” she declares, her voice rising.

“Chanmi, we agreed on one story,” Anton says, his tone firm. “It’s time for bed now.”

Chanmi’s frustration hits a head, and she starts to cry, thrashing around. In her tantrum, she accidentally smacks your stomach with her little hand. Anton’s eyes flash with anger, and he steps in immediately. “Noémi Chanmi Lee, that’s enough!” he says sternly. “You need to stop this right now. Hitting is not okay.”

You wince slightly at the impact and the use of your daughter's full government name but try to reassure Anton. “It’s okay, I’m fine,” you say softly, placing a hand on his arm.

Anton shakes his head, his eyes still on Chanmi. “She needs to understand what she did was wrong.” He kneels down to her level, his tone gentler but firm. “Chanmi, you need to calm down. It’s not okay to throw tantrums and hit. Even if you didn’t mean to, it’s still not acceptable.”

Chanmi’s tears start to slow as she realizes the gravity of what she’s done. “I’m sorry, Mommy,” she says, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”

You kneel down beside Anton and pull Chanmi into a hug. “I know you didn’t mean it, sweetie. I forgive you. But you need to listen when we say it’s time for bed.”

Anton wipes away Chanmi’s tears, his expression softening. “I’m sorry for yelling, but I was worried about Mommy. It’s important to behave and not throw tantrums, okay?”

Chanmi nods, sniffling. “Okay, Daddy. I’ll sleep now.”

You and Anton tuck the twins in, kissing them goodnight. “Sweet dreams, my loves,” you whisper, brushing a stray hair from Chanmi’s forehead.

“Night, Mommy. Night, Daddy,” they murmur, finally settling down.

As you close the door to the twins’ room, you and Anton exchange a look of shared relief and exhaustion. “Parenting is no joke,” Anton says with a tired smile.

You chuckle softly. “No, it’s not. But we’re in this together.”

Hand in hand, you head to your bedroom, the weight of the day’s activities starting to settle in. Once inside, you start getting ready for bed. You change into your robe and begin to wrap up your hair. Anton watches you with a soft smile, his love and admiration evident in his eyes.

“Shower?” he suggests, his voice warm and inviting.

You nod, feeling the day’s weariness melt away at the thought. “Yes, please.”

In the bathroom, Anton turns on the water, adjusting it to the perfect temperature. He helps you out of your robe and then sheds his own clothes, leading you under the warm spray. The water cascades over you both, washing away the sand and salt from the beach.

Anton takes the soap and lathers his hands, starting to wash your body with gentle, loving strokes. He’s careful and thorough, his touch tender as he cleanses your skin. When he reaches your growing belly, he bends down and kisses it softly, his lips lingering for a moment. “Hello in there,” he whispers, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

You smile down at him, your heart swelling with love. “You’re so sweet,” you murmur.

He stands back up and finishes rinsing you off before taking his turn. You help him wash, enjoying the intimacy of the moment. After you both are clean, you step out of the shower, drying each other off with fluffy towels. Anton wraps you in a warm embrace, his hands resting on your hips.

Back in your bedroom, you both get dressed in comfortable pajamas. You slip into bed first, sighing contentedly as you sink into the soft sheets. Anton follows, climbing in beside you and pulling you close to his body. His arms wrap around you protectively, his warmth seeping into your skin.

You nestle against him, feeling safe and loved. “Today was wonderful,” you say, your voice a gentle whisper in the quiet room.

“It really was,” Anton agrees, his hand resting on your belly. “The kids had so much fun, and I loved seeing them so happy.”

You nod, placing your hand over his. “And seeing our little one growing inside me, it makes everything feel even more special.”

Anton smiles, his eyes softening. “I’ve been thinking about the baby a lot. I really hope it’s a boy this time.”

You laugh softly, teasingly. “You scream girl dad, Anton. You should be thankful you have at least one son.”

He chuckles, giving your belly a gentle pat. “I know, but it’d be nice to balance things out a bit. The girls have such strong personalities, and sometimes I think it’d be fun to have another little guy running around.”

You smile, feeling a sense of contentment. “Well, whatever this little one turns out to be, I know we’ll love them just as much as we love the others.”

“Absolutely,” Anton agrees, his voice filled with sincerity. “I just want our family to be happy and healthy.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes meeting his. “And they are. Thanks to you.”

He shakes his head slightly, a modest smile on his lips. “Thanks to us. We’re a team, remember?”

You nod, your heart swelling with love for this man who has given you everything. “Yes, we are.”

Anton leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he whispers against your mouth.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice filled with emotion.

As you settle into his embrace, you close your eyes, feeling completely at peace. The day has been long and tiring, but it has also been filled with love, laughter, and precious moments with your family. And as you drift off to sleep, you know that no matter what challenges come your way, you and Anton will face them together, with love and gratitude for the beautiful life you’ve built together.

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bluesidez · 5 months

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Can’t get Firefighter Miguel out of my head because of the Miggy discord.

content warning: nothing but fluff...for now 😗

word count: 1.3k, not proofread

Next ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅𓌉◯𓇋 Masterlist

Imagine you’re trying to get into baking or something and you’re not used to your oven AT ALL.

Cherry pies? Ruined.

Apple fritters? Apple crisps.

Chocolate chip cookies? Charcoal chip cookies.

Brownies? More like burnt brownie brittle.

Your process would be going so well until it was time to actually put your dessert in the oven and it was like your oven plotted against you.

You set the right temperatures. You pre-heated. You even placed things in the right part of the oven. How is it that everything goes wrong?

The only desserts that saw the light of day were the no-bake ones. You’re not sure how much more no-bake cheesecake you could take anymore.

The day that really sets it off is the day that you attempted to make a simple vanilla birthday cake. Your friend’s birthday was coming soon and you wanted to gift her one of those cute bento cakes.

Your icing is finished and delicious. You’ve been practicing the decorations all week and they were pretty cute! The cake just a few more minutes left to bake, then you could take it out to chill.

As you’re piping a bag of baby pink icing, you look up to see that the room is a little foggy. You turn in a panic and notice puffs creeping from the oven.

“No, no, no!!!” you cry as you turn to open it.

You can’t do anything but cough as a ton of smoke hits you in the face.

Your cake on fire. Orange and yellow light illuminating the oven.

You panic as the fire seems to grow brighter once it hits the air.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god!”

Where was your fire extinguisher? You tried fanning at fire with a towel, but to no avail. You couldn’t even get to the knobs to switch the oven off.

You step back, terrified. You felt like sobbing watching the flames take over. Why aren’t the sprinklers on?

By the time you run out of your house, the fire alarm decides it can sing its tune. You call 911 with a shaky voice, hoping they can get here faster than your alarm decided to make itself known.

You stand outside peeking through your eyes as you could see the flames grow near your kitchen window.

Thankfully the firetruck makes it in time, the firefighters working quick to get inside.

One of them asks is anyone else inside and you shake your head no, thankful that it was just you.

It doesn’t take long for them to put it out and come back outside.

“Are you ok?,” one of them comes to ask you. You look up to this tall, dark, and handsome man. He’s sweating a bit obviously from the summer heat and the fire as he takes his helmet off. His hair is curly and dripping. You ogle him a bit, watching his chest move up and down.

“Do we need to call you an ambulance?” he says, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Oh! No! So sorry, I’m still a little…winded from everything,” you say, embarrassed.

“Ok, well as long as you’re fine. Do you mind telling me what you were doing?” he asks.

You cast your eyes down. Here was such a fine man standing before you and you had on pajamas and a frilly maid apron with flour splattered on top.

“I was trying to make a birthday cake. As we can see, it completely failed,” you reply. “I don’t know what happened. I followed every instruction. The oven was set at 350 degrees.”

He tilted his head at you as you whined away.

“Is this the first time that something like this has happen?”

You shake your head no, “This is the 3rd burnt dessert in a week.”

“Hm. Well I’ll have the crew here check it out.”

An hour and some change later, one of the firefighters tells you and the tall glass of water, who learn is a captain named Miguel, that you have a damaged gas line.

“You’re really lucky that you were only getting blackened sugar. One more cake and that could have been the end,” Miguel says to you with hand on his hip and another on your shoulder. “And also, never open the oven if there’s a fire. If this happens again, turn the oven off and wait until it dies down.”

You felt your head nodding, heart beating at how awkward everything felt.

Miguel looked down at you again, “Do you have anywhere you can stay over night? Or until I can get someone up here to get this gas fixed?”

“My grandma lives a couple of streets down,” you say, cheeks heated at his intense eye contact.

“Tell you what, how about you settle there for the night and I’ll come back personally to help you grab your belongings tomorrow morning?”

“That would be amazing! Thank you so much. I’m sorry for all of this,” you gesture to your house.

“It happens. Nothing you did here was your fault. Besides, I’m the captain. Fighting fires is what I do. Now, how about a ride in the truck to your grandma’s?”

You feel giddy when he practically pulls you in the truck. No seats are left so you have to settle for sitting on Miguel’s lap, heartbeat racing.

The other firefighters try to hide their smirks and snickers watching their captain hold you so softly in his arms. One big bump in the road has you clinging to him to not fall off.

You straighten back up, embarrassed by the little slip. Miguel chuckles at your actions.

You pretend not to hear their wolf whistles as he guides you to your grandma’s front door.

Miguel knocks firmly, waiting with you until she opens it.

She’s about to fuss at you for not stopping by sooner until she looks up at Miguel.

“And who is this?” she says, a bit shocked.

“My name is Captain O’Hara. I just wanted to drop your grandbaby off. Had a little baking accident.”

Your grandma listens to Miguel as he explains the situation calmly and professionally. It doesn’t stop her from fussing over you, grabbing and turning you to check for any damage.

“I’m ok grandma. I just have to stay here while my gas gets fixed.”

She thanks Miguel profusely, “Son, what’s your favorite food? I’ll have it made and sent down there for you.”

Miguel laughs heartily. You’re about to tell him he doesn’t have to answer that until he beats you to it.

“Whatever your specialty is, I’ll take it,” he says with a sweet smile on his face and holding your grandma’s hands.

“Cap! We gotta another fire at the college dorms. Someone burnt noodles in the microwave again,” a firefighter yells from truck.

“Well if you all can excuse me, duty calls!” he says and runs back to the truck.

“I can’t believe you burnt a cake! Haven’t I taught you better? And you know you’re making him that food, right?” your grandma says as you step inside.

“Grandma,” you say, affronted. “It was the oven, not me! And he might not want to even eat what I make after this.”

“Hmph,” she says, with a click of her tongue. “Well, you better get ready to use this kitchen here. You need that man as a husband.”

“Grandma.”

“I have some ham hocks in the freezer, some turnip and mustard greens. I think the church sent me some potatoes. We need to go to the store too. You gotta get him through his stomach.”

“Grandma!”

There was a silence as you and your grandma stared at each other.

“So are you thinking pork chops or catfish to go with the side dishes?” she said, grabbing a pencil and an empty envelope.

You just groaned and crumpled in your chair.

divider by: @benkeibear ❤️‍🔥

the grandma convo is heavily inspired by my own grandma lol. tagging @miguelhugger2099 @kit-and-wolfe @huniedeux @ugh-ok-fiyn because I want y’all to see this 😗

#love lab drabbles 💊#Firefighter!Miguel ❤️‍🔥#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o’hara x gn!reader #miguel 2099 #spiderman 2099 au #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #x black reader #miguel x black reader

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rumisgf · 5 months

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DENKI BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS

summary: here’s some denki headcanons if he was your boyfie bcs i rlly love this boy sm and he don’t get enough love for my liking :[

warnings: college!au, suggestive, crack, feminine terms for reader used, black!reader ofc and always

✧ you’ve earned yourself a himbo gamer bf congrats

✧ denki is so loud about how much he loves you and he makes it very known that you’re his

✧ while it annoys people like bakugou when he constantly goes on tangents about you, it’s honestly such a green flag

✧ by nature, denki’s a very flirty person so you assumed you’d have to work that out with him a lot

✧ not only that but as denki got older, ladies (and boys) definitely started flirting with him first

✧ it definitely irked you when yall were js talking/in a “situationship”

✧ sometimes you genuinely wanted to rip the hair out of not only your scalp and his

✧ it was only because you wanted him so bad

✧ surprisingly tho, if you bring it up to him he stops immediately

✧ and when you do start dating he pretty much tunes out anyone who even tries to make a move on him

✧ he definitely owns one of those “i love my girlfriend” shirts and will genuinely style it

✧ overall, denki’s one of the most reassuring partners you could ask for after y’all make it official

“i promise i’m literally obsessed with you.”

“you’re the only one i see, princess”

✧ if yall see the way he talks in the show, he definitely is in tune with his feminine side

✧ and in the best way possible, the only reason he might have a lot of friends who are girls is because girls feel so comfortable around him

✧ and i’m a huge believer in the ‘denki with an older sister’ headcanon so that’s definitely where he gets it from

✧ he always helps you with outfits and he even knows how to do makeup to an extent

✧ the first time you were running late but still had to do your makeup so he just came over and did a perfect winged eyeliner, you were just like ‘…..someone cooked here.’

“kaminari….what the fuck.”

“what?”

✧ he always calls you “girl” when you say something weird or dumb and it really just slips off his tongue

✧ denki also loves gossiping. he’s so messy

✧ if he peeps something, you’re the first person he texts and y’all definitely make fun of people together

✧ when he’s gaming you’d think he’s one of those dudes who just completely ignores their girl

✧ which sometimes is a habit when you’re on the phone

✧ but usually, he’s able to have a full conversation with you and play the game with bakusquad on a seperate instagram or discord call (yes, he has this talent because of his adhd)

✧ besides he makes up for it when you get to take facetime photos of him with his camera set up, his bedroom lights off, the lights from his computer monitor/tv and his led lights highlighting his features so beautifully

✧ if you ever need his attention, he’ll get off in an instant with the excuse ‘i wanna go hang out with my girl’

✧ and he also loves gaming with you. it’s 50/50 though, sometimes he’ll let you win and sometimes he’ll absolutely obliterate you then laugh in your face

✧ it’s ok though because you get kisses after :)

✧ in person, kaminari’s always is touching you in some type of way

✧ whether it’s you sitting between his legs on the floor, his hand on your thigh while you sit next to him, occasionally hugging your waist if you stand up next to him

✧ his favorite though is definitely having you sit in his lap

✧ he’ll play with the hem of your pants or your shirt, wrap his arms around your waist while holding the controller, or let you bury your face in his neck and fall asleep

✧ speaking of, he loves when you fall asleep on him

✧ even around other people, he always likes pulling you on his lap or having your head rested on his shoulder

✧ both of y’all’s friends definitely take pictures whenever this happens but he honestly loves it and doesn’t care when bakusquad sends it into their groupchat

✧ he’s just like yeah, that’s my cute lil girlfriend what abt it?

✧ he really does think you’re so adorable and he loves babying you

✧ yk how the one episode where he said nejire was cute because she was kinda stupid (😭) ? yeah, he loves when you have little dumb moments because he likes to make fun of you and tell you how adorable you are

“awww, you’re so adorable baby!”

“IT’S NOT FUNNY!”

✧ besides, it does make him feel better for him to not always feel like the “dumb” one in the relationship, it makes yall more balanced out even if you are smarter than him

✧ he also really likes flustering you. he’ll grab your belt loop, let his hands go a bit too low when you hug him, randomly pull you onto his lap, give you kisses all over your face, and purposefully stare into your eyes while you talk

✧ though, he does equally enjoy being babied. he loves when you play with his hair, laying his head in your lap, and being little spoon when y’all cuddle

✧ which is often the case unless you’re laying your head on his chest, his only other favorite cuddling position other than you being big spoon

✧ he loves playing guitar for you and if you can sing, he’ll play a song to have you sing the lyrics along with him

✧ denki is just a music lover in general, it’s often what’s in the background if y’all are making out or just chilling together

✧ if you like dying your hair, he will practically beg to help you do it because he thinks it’s a great bonding experience

✧ he’ll even dye a strip of his hair to match yours

✧ based on the ova where the big three were playing as villains and class 1-a were the heroes, i like to think denki was one of the first out of his friends to learn how to drive

✧ so he definitely was eager to make you his passenger princess. he loves taking you out to eat, driving you home, picking you up from places, and taking you shopping

✧ even if he barely has the money, he’ll spoil the hell out of you and (sometimes you gotta remind him to be responsible with his money 😭)

✧ his lock screen is definitely a picture of you in his passenger seat or you holding his hand while he’s driving

✧ he loves showing you off and he puts all your instagram posts on his story within seconds, and he will spam your comments

✧ he’ll also convince you to do tiktoks with him

✧ his favorite dates are at arcades, he just loves having fun with you and watching you get competitive with all the games

✧ he also loves when there’s a photobooth and will practically drag you to take cute pictures with him, which he’ll later put in his room on full display

✧ in general he takes tons of pictures of you and you take up a lot of his storage, his phone is really on its last leg.

✧ this also means he as the worst bangers of you imaginable. his birthday story posts are lethal.

✧ overall dating him is like having a built in best friend, except yall kiss a lot

✧ 10/10 boyfie

@ rumisgf

#denki headcanons #denki kaminari x reader #denki kaminari #kaminari headcanons #mha #denki x black reader #my hero academia #mha spoilers #mha season 7 #bnha 421 #denks !!

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ayyy-pee · 1 year

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Discord 18+ - Twitter

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Female Reader

Summary: You can run all you want, but Toji will always find you.

Story Warning: Stalker Ex-boyfriend Toji!!!, Threats of Violence, Shitty Date (literally), Smut, Voyeurism, Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Toxic Behavior, Jealousy, Jealous Behavior, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Possessive Sex, Threats of Pregnancy omg, Possessive Behavior, No condoms we get plan b 'round here

Artist: Idk! But if you find out, let me know and I'll update my post

Your lips turn down in a frown, eyes widening as you swipe your mascara over your lashes one last time. You blink as you take in your appearance in your bathroom mirror for the last time, slipping your mascara wand back into the tube and twisting it tightly shut.

You have a date tonight.

The first one you’ve had since moving to Sendai from Tokyo. You met him at your new accounting job. He’s nice, a little boring for your usual taste, but he’s exactly what you needed to date. Someone your age. Someone with their life together, and someone who isn’t fucking crazy. And god did you need the not crazy part.

Your ex was an older man who seemed to have it all together when you first met. Things were easy with you two. He worked a job that required a lot of travel. He supposedly worked for the government, never asking questions because every answer was a stern “It’s confidential”. And that was fine. You didn’t need to know what he did for a living as long as he was good to you, and he was at first.

Two years of dating and everything was going well…save the bouts of jealousy and possessiveness your ex sometimes let slip. When he wasn’t making sure to watch your every move, monitor any man who spoke to you, he was fantastic. Loving. Doting. Funny…All of the things you wanted in a partner. It was just when his jealousy reared its ugly head, it became everyone’s problem.

He never hurt you physically, no. He would never. But that didn’t apply to anyone else within your vicinity.

It was flattering at first, how he’d lose his shit just at the sight of you with another man. But then it became too much. Breaking up with him didn’t work. He’d just show up wherever you were, telling you he loved you, that he can’t do this life without you, to give him another chance and he’d be better. And every new chance always ended the same. With some random man on the floor with a bloody nose after talking to you at the bar, your ex looming over him, jaw tight, nostrils flared with anger and you storming away.

You thought dating an older man was going to be different, that you wouldn’t be dealing with the same childish shit men your age would put you through. But apparently, age didn’t make a difference. At his prehistoric age, your ex proved that wasn’t the case.

He was never going to change.

No matter what you did, he was never going to leave you alone.

You soon realized your ex was more than jealous and possessive. He was downright insane. You remember what it was like every time you broke up, the vicious grin he would wear after ruining one of your nights out, chasing you down until you gave in to him…and then he was ruining you back at your apartment.

And you hated yourself for that. How easy it was for him to break down your walls with little effort. How easy it was for him to get you to forgive him. He didn’t have to do much. He just needed to show up, tell you sweet nothings and you were putty in his hands, opening the door to your life for him…And your legs.

It’s why you moved so far across the country. The further, the better. You’d blocked his number, packed up and didn’t even tell your closest friends where you were going. You needed a complete revamping of your life. Because you loved him too much to resist him if he ever showed up again.

With a sigh, you check your makeup and dress one last time before you head out. You’re going to the movies. It’s a simple date. Doesn’t require you to do too much, but you want to make a good impression. It’s your first date since moving to Sendai and you deserve to have a normal date for once.

When you arrive at the theater, you’re immediately hit by the smell of butter and the sounds of kernels popping in the machines behind the concession stand. Your date is already waiting inside with popcorn and your tickets. He flashes you a bright smile, tells you you look beautiful tonight and you feel your cheeks warm beneath his gaze. It’s a little weird to be out with someone new, but isn’t that what you wanted?

He’s nice. Give him a chance.

The attendant checks your tickets and points you to your theater. You climb the stairs, glancing down at your ticket to ensure you’re on the correct row, right in the middle of the theater. The perfect view.

Your date sets the popcorn down between the two of you. “I heard this movie is really good.”

“Me too,” you nod, reaching into the tub of popcorn at the same time as your date. You both smile shyly at each other when your fingers touch, grabbing a handful of popcorn just as the theater lights dim and the movie begins.

- - - - - -

The movie blares in the back of the theater, the music building to a crescendo as some action scene reaches its climax. But that’s not what the man at the top of the theater is watching as he shoves another handful of popcorn into his mouth. No, there’s a much more interesting sight in front of him, right in the center of the theater.

You.

Who gives a fuck about the movie when he has a perfect view of you?

Well, of you and the fucker sitting a little too close, whispering in your ear any chance his gets and slipping his arm around your shoulder.

He wants to march down and kick your little friend in the head, splatter his brain across the floor. But he’s off the clock. A random body to clean up wouldn’t look good for him and it definitely wouldn’t increase his chances of getting back to you. And that’s the goal here. To get to you. So he has to be patient, like he has been all this time.

He could always barge into your new place and make you talk to him. He could always call your phone even though you blocked his number and changed phone providers. That’s lightwork for him, child’s play. And he wants to have some fun before he makes a move.

Emerald eyes watch in the darkness as your date leans into your ear to whisper something, your shoulders shaking slightly as you laugh. It almost makes him break his promise to bide his time, watching that man put his lips so close to your soft skin.

The skin he misses running his large hands over. The skin he misses kissing, running his tongue over. The skin he misses admiring after coating it with his own release. Fuck, he misses you more than anything. He’d damn near lost his mind after realizing you left Tokyo, up and gone in the middle of the night without so much as a word. Not even your friends knew where you’d gone. And he would know if they were lying.

But now that he has you in front of him, he’s determined to never let you go.

Your date leans over to whisper once a-fucking-gain in your ear and his jaw tightens, teeth clenching so hard it makes his head throb. Your date stands, heading for the stairs, leaving you alone in the theater to watch the movie. There’s too many people around for him to approach you so soon. It’s not the right time, but he has an idea of what he could do until then.

The man in the back stands, casually following your date down the steps and out the theater door. Your date is an idiot, not even aware for a second that someone is behind him and closing in on him quickly. The easiest prey he’s had in awhile. Green eyes watch as he turns into the bathroom and he follows after silently.

Your date closes himself into the further stall, the largest and takes a seat on the toilet.

Even better. Out of sight.

The man doesn’t sense any other presence in the bathroom as he enters the stall next to your dates and stands atop the commode. He peers down boredly as your date sits, toying with his phone. Clearly he was going to be in here for awhile anyway, but now it may seem he won’t be returning.

“Got any good games on there?” The green eyed man asks, smirking when your date practically jumps out of his skin, dropping his phone with a loud crack.

“What the fuck, man?!” He shouts, face red with anger. “Get the fuck outta here, fucking freak!”

“I’ll cut to the chase.”

Your date fixes him with a look of confusion.

“Leave your date.”

Your date looks even more confused. The green eyed man rolls his eyes, sighing with annoyance. He grits his teeth. “Leave. Your. Date. Go home, forget you met her.”

Now your date’s red face has returned, his anger rolling off of his skin. “Fuck off! Get out of here or I’ll call security, you fucking weirdo!”

The man sighs again, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He tried to be nice. He really did. With ease, he hops over the wall of the bathroom stall, landing before your date, one foot smashing his phone into pieces. He digs the heel of his foot into the device for good measure, the sound of glass scratching the floor filling the space between them.

And then he’s leaning over, meeting your date at eye level, green eyes glaring into his wide and terrified ones. “Leave. Your. Date. Or you’ll be lucky to leave this bathroom with only your phone crushed in.”

He can see the way your date trembles, the sweat beginning to bead along his forehead and above his lip, the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a loud gulp before he nods silently.

A large hand comes up to pat his cheek, tapping it lightly a few times. “Smart kid,” the man says before standing straight. “Don’t even think about calling security either or you won’t make it out of the theater in one piece.”

He turns, kicking the door to your date’s stall open before waltzing out and heading back toward the theater. He ascends the steps, bright eyes locked on your form as he squeezes past the other moviegoers on your row to get to you.

He takes the seat next to you, slipping an arm around your shoulder and loving the feeling of you snuggling in closer. He leans over, lips pressed to your ear as he asks, “What’d I miss, sweetheart?” And he revels in the way your body tenses in his embrace, trying to pull back but he holds you to him.

“Toji –”

“Shhh, it’s rude to talk during the movie.” Toji reaches into the tub of popcorn you and your date were sharing, offering you some. You shake your head in refusal and Toji shrugs, shoving the handful into his mouth.

- - - - - -

The movie flies by, your stiff body held by Toji the remainder of the film. When the lights turn back on, he holds you there until all the other guests have dispersed. When the last guest is gone, he looks at you, a wide grin stretched along his face.

“Missed y–”

You shove his arm off of you, brushing past him and hurrying down the stairs. Angry would not be a strong enough word to describe what you’re feeling right now. Maybe irate. Enraged. Incensed. No, still not enough.

You push out of the theater doors, Toji hot on your trail. Your eyes scan the empty halls, seeing no signs of your date who you noticed after Toji’s arrival just happened to never come back from going to the bathroom and grabbing a quick drink. It’s like he vanished into thin fucking air.

“Sweetheart, talk to me.” Toji pleads, grabbing hold of your arm and you snatch yourself out of his hold.

“Don’t sweetheart me, Toji. What are you doing here?” You hiss and you hate the way his stupid pretty green eyes hold mirth in them. Like he’s enjoying that he’s made you mad. “What did you do?”

Toji’s smile widens more if that’s possible, the crescent scar on his lips only becoming more prominent. “What do you mean?” He asks innocently.

You shoot him a glare. “You know what I mean. What did you do to my date this time? Knock him out in the bathroom? Drown him in Dr. Pepper? Hang him upside down from the roof until all the blood rushed to his head and he died?”

Toji hadn’t even thought about the last two, but he takes mental notes…for research.

He shrugs, though. Because he didn’t do any of those things. “I didn’t touch him.”

You stare into his eyes, getting even more pissed because you know he’s being honest. “Then what did you do?”

He steps towards you, holding his hand out. “Nothing bad at all. Can you really blame me if your date’s a flake? Maybe he just doesn’t appreciate you the way I do.”

You peer down at his hand, rolling your eyes as you turn on your heel and storm down the hall. You leave the building making a sharp turn around the corner towards your car. This dumb ass theater only has one entrance and exit which has to be a fire hazard, you think. To get to it, you have to go down one of the alleys down either side of the building.

Your feet carry you down the alley, Toji’s hurried steps rapidly catching up to you. His hand catches your wrist, turning you to look at him. You don’t pull away this time, knowing the more you push him away, the harder he’ll try to get closer.

“Hey. Hey, stop. Please,” he pleads and in the darkness of the alley, beneath the soft glow of the moon, his green eyes shine brightly. You have to close your eyes so you don’t immediately fall back into his hold. The second you look into his gaze, you know you’ll be his again. You shake your head.

“Toji, please. I left to get away from you. You can’t keep doing this.”

“I’m not doing anything, baby,” he says softly. “I just don’t understand why you’d leave without even saying anything.”

He genuinely sounds hurt. You do feel guilty, but you needed to do what was best for you and your life. Toji would ruin any chance you had at happiness with anyone else if given the chance. He would have never let you have a life in Tokyo, but here you were hundreds of miles away from the city…and he still won’t let you be happy if it’s not with him.

“You know why, Toji,” you breathe softly. “I can’t keep doing this jealousy thing with you. You just…get too crazy. Look at tonight.”

“Okay. That’s fair, but tonight, I really didn’t do anything. Your date broke his phone and I just…suggested he go hurry and get that fixed.”

Behind your closed eyelids, you roll your eyes because while that may be somewhat true, it’s not the whole truth and you know it.

“Still, Toji–”

He cuts you off, his other hand coming up to hold your cheek and you melt into his touch just like you knew you would. It’s annoying that literally closing yourself off to him does nothing because every part of Toji is your weak spot, crazy as he is.

You open your eyes to gaze up at him, those beautiful eyes of his peering into yours and you know you’re done for.

“I came all this way to see you, baby,” he rasped. “I missed you. Didn’t you miss me?”

You did. Fuck, you did miss him. You know that makes you an idiot to miss his crazy ass. You ran away from your entire life, from everything you’d known to get away from him and now that he’s standing right in front of you, your body is reacting in a way you couldn’t resist even if you tried. You know you should move, step away from his hold, but you don’t. You can’t.

Weak. Don’t do it!

It feels like you have an angel on one shoulder, a devil on the other. Your brain is screaming at you to not give in to Toji, to turn around and leave him standing alone in this alley. But your heart is screaming for your brain to shut the fuck up.

You nod, inhaling deeply before sighing, giving in because you always knew you would. “I missed you, too, Toji.”

You don’t know why you miss him. Is it the excitement that comes with being with someone like Toji? Is it the way he wants you and only you even to the point he’d practically kill someone to keep you to himself? Maybe even actually kill someone to keep you to himself? Maybe you’re just as crazy as Toji – but you’re his all the time.

A small smirk curls at the corner of Toji’s lips, his other hand releasing your wrist to cup your other cheek. “That’s my girl.”

Toji leans forward and you think for a moment he’s going to kiss you, your head tilting up to meet his lips, but he doesn’t. Instead he runs the tip of his nose up and down the bridge of yours over and over, letting out a shaky breath before he presses his forehead to yours.

“I might’ve threatened to crush your date's head in in the bathroom while he was taking a shit…” Toji confesses suddenly before he presses his mouth to yours.

This might’ve pissed you off before, but now, Toji’s confession goes straight to your core and you gasp. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, shoving his tongue into your mouth. His hands tilt your head so he’s able to have more access to you, to take everything you have to offer like he always does.

The kiss heats up in no time. Toji grunts as your tongue tangles with his. Your hands come up to grab on to his shirt, tight as ever, bunching the fabric tightly in your fists. Toji steps back, guiding you to the wall of the alley, his kiss growing feverish, desperate. You moan into his mouth, rolling your hips forward when he presses his hard body against yours.

Toji breaks the kiss, panting as he drinks in the sight of your half lidded eyes, kiss swollen lips, that damn dress you’re wearing that’s keeping him from the rest of you. His fingers glide down the side of your face, along your neck and down your chest. They ghost over the swell of your breasts, over your nipples and he stops, running his thumb slowly back and forth over the hardening peaks, smiling to himself when your back arches off of the wall. He lets his hand continue their journey wandering down your form under he reaches the hem of your dress.

Then he feels his jealousy begin to crawl up his throat. He can’t help it when he thinks about you wearing this pretty dress for someone else.

“Beautiful,” he mutters, though the venom is dripping from the word. “You wear this for that fucker in the theater?”

Wide eyed and maybe a little dazed by the sudden change in attitude, you nod. Toji fists the hem of your dress, tugging the fabric gently.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you wore it for him?” He wants to hear you say it.

“Yes,” you gulp, heart thumping against your ribs. Not in panic, not in fear…but in excitement. “Yes, Toji. I wore it for him.”

Toji hums to himself…and then a loud shredding noise fills the empty space of the alleyway as Toji absolutely destroys the fabric of your dress. Heat pools in your core immediately, a soft gasp rushing past your lips. His hands come up to your waist, spinning you around. He presses his body against your back, your front pushing against the wall of the alley.

“So sweet of you to dress up for him,” Toji breathes as he leans down, running his nose along your neck, inhaling your scent. “Hope you had fun tonight.” His hands find the remnants of the hem of your dress and he pulls it up, bunching the fabric up at your waist. Then his hands are running along your body again, against your bare ass, brows lifting in surprise when he feels the thin line along your waist.

“Oh? A thong, too,” he hums, his voice sending chills up your spine. “Looks like you were planning on having fun tonight. Weren’t you?” You nod, but Toji clicks his tongue. “Words, baby.”

You yelp quietly when Toji brings his large hand down on your exposed cheek. The loud smack echoes through the alley. “Yes,” you say breathlessly. “Yes, I was.”

“Hmm, that’s too bad your date left you then.” He tells you, and you can hear the fake pout coating his words.

Toji toys with the band of your thong before he hooks a finger into the band and easily rips the fabric of your underwear, too, and you think you’ll be lucky if you leave with even a single piece of clothing on after he’s done.

“I’m gonna touch you now. That okay?” He asks, because even through his jealousy, he’s a gentleman…sometimes.

“Yes, Toji.”

Toji presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Oh, you’re so good for me.” He slips his fingers between your folds, hissing the moment he feels your slick coat his hand. “So damn wet for me already. I’ve barely touched you.”

“Toji, please,” you whimper when his fingers find your clit, rubbing soft circles over the sensitive nub. It’s enough to make your skin ignite with chills, but not enough to bring you even a little closer to the edge.

“I’m a little upset with you, you know?” Toji tells you casually. He slips one of his fingers into your cunt, grunting when your walls immediately squeeze down on him. “Fuck, you thought you could take this sweet little pussy and run away, huh?”

He pumps his finger in and out of your hole slowly, torturously. Your legs are trembling, hands pressed against the wall as you bite down on your lip to keep quiet. You’re in the open, getting fingerfucked in an alley. It would only take one person turning the corner for you to get caught literally with your pants down.

Your brows knit together as Toji keeps up his pace, leisurely adding another thick digit into your pussy. The coil in your belly grows tighter and tighter with every pump of his fingers, with every quiet squelch of your pussy.

“Fuck, you feel so good squeezing me like this,” Toji groans from behind you. “Wish this was my cock.” You whimper, pushing your hips back against his hand. “You want that, sweetheart?” He coos, curling his fingers into that spongy sweet spot that brings tears to your eyes. You gasp, rolling your hips back to meet his thrusts, riding his hand.

He continues, “Yeah? You want my cock to stretch this tight little pussy, huh? Want me to fill you up like I used to?”

“God, yes! Toji. Fucking fill me up, please, please,” you beg, reduced to a teary mess against the alley wall.

Toji chuckles, stopping his ministrations and you wait for him to start again, chest rising and falling rapidly with anticipation. When you feel his fingers leave your core, you damn near feel like sobbing. You hear his zipper come down, feel his cock springing against your ass and the stickiness of his precum smearing against your asscheeks.

He leans forward, a hand resting next to your head as he whispers into your ear, “You ready for me?” Then he pushes forward, his thick cock stretching you wide open for him. It burns in the most delicious way, but you still whine quietly. And it makes Toji pause.

“Tapping out already?” He chuckles, kissing the side of your face as you squeeze your eyes shut. “Come on, baby. How many times have we done this? You can take it, right?”

“I can take it, Toji,” you mewl softly. “I can take it.”

“Good girl.” Toji nudges your cheek with his nose and you turn your head on instinct, your mouths connecting as Toji pushes forward, his cock slowly filling you. You pant into his mouth as his length stretches you open him, makes you accommodate him until he bottoms out, a deep groan leaving him.

The weight of his cock stretching you is enough. The moment Toji hits your sweet spot, your walls convulse, your orgasm catching you off guard just as a couple of patrons are walking past the dark alley. Toji puts a hand over your mouth, muffling your moans as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He doesn’t move…his gaze locked on the couple as they stand at the end of the alleyway talking to each other and laughing. They’re none the wiser to the way your pussy is clamping down so hard on his dick he could cry. It feels too good and he doesn’t have the patience to wait for them to fuck off. He’s been waiting. He’s done with that.

He grits his teeth as he pulls his hips back, hearing you gasp at the sudden emptiness and then he rolls his hips forward, hard. You cry out into his hand, eyes squeezed shut as Toji watches the couple from afar.

“Shhh. You don’t want them to hear, do you?” He taunts.

Them?

Your eyes shoot open, your blurry vision clearing enough to see a couple at the end of the alleyway. Right when you see them, Toji pulls back for a second time before he slams into you again over and over and over, grunting roughly into your ear as you both watch the couple at the end of the alleyway deep in conversation.

You pray they don’t come your way. You pray they turn around and go back the way they came…And some sick part of you prays Toji fucks you even harder because something about being so close to being caught has your arousal absolutely dripping down your thigh, coating Toji’s cock.

“You like this, huh?” Toji groans. “Hiding in plain sight, getting fucked like a slut? This is new for you.” He slams into you again, bottoms out into harder and harder, his hand squeezing down over your mouth to muffle your cries.

“This is why I love you so damn much,” he grunts, pressing his cock as far into you as possible before pulling back and doing it again. “You’re perfect for me, made for me.”

The couple at the end of the alley finally walks off, going the opposite way. The moment they’re out of sight, Toji releases your mouth, letting you cry out for him freely.

“Fuck, Toji!” You moan as he pounds into you with reckless abandon.

“Did you think…” he groans, hands coming down to squeeze your ass as he fucks into you. “There’s anywhere on this earth you could run to…” he’s panting, squeezing your ass so hard you know you’ll be sore tomorrow. “Where I wouldn’t find you?”

You’re keening into the open air now, taking every fucking harsh thrust Toji gives you. You press your forehead to the wall, feeling that familiar coil building up again, ready to snap at any moment.

“You’re mine, fucking mine, sweetheart. I’ll always find you,” he grits, dragging his lips against your cheek, pressing possessive and wet kisses along your face and neck. “You could never run from me.”

He bottoms out again, his slick balls slapping hard against you, muttering, “Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum. Gonna fucking fill you up, put a fucking baby in there so you can never leave me again.”

There it is. The jealousy. The possessiveness. The craziness that you fucking love. And that’s all it takes for that coil to snap again. Your release crashes over you as you scream Toji’s name out, not caring who hears. He thrusts into you hard, fast, grunting, kissing your face sloppily until he pushes his cock into you as far as he can go. You feel him cum before he says he’s cumming, the warmth of his release filling your pussy, painting your pink walls white.

Toji buries his nose into your hair, trying to catch his breath as you both come down from your highs.

You’re an idiot.

You tell yourself this as you come down from the high of your back to back orgasms.

You’re an idiot…And maybe just as crazy as the man you ran away from in the first place.

Toji pulls out of you, tucks his cock away back into his pants and spins you back around. Toji places a wet kiss on your lips and takes your hand in his.

“Let’s go home.”

#toji x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jjk fic #ayyypee answers #toji smut #toji drabbles #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro smut #anime smut #anime x reader

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goodlucktai · 3 months

Text

now the darkness comes alive

rise of the tmnt movie canon divergence word count: 10k characters: raph & leo

welcome to a very self-indulgent roleswap au that i started dreaming up in my friend’s turtle discord. big thank you to rem for the song rec that gave me the insp to finish (and name!) the fic, and also to lake, sara and meeks for enabling my insane behavior <3

oh, now the darkness comes alive it comes for me and i come for you

—brother, the rural alberta advantage

read on ao3

The Krang’s spike pierces through plastron and flesh with a sickening crunch and Leo makes an awful punched-out sound. Raph is seconds too slow, and seconds is all it takes for his entire world to end.

For the past two years, they’ve been at constant odds, Leo going out of his way to undermine and annoy him. Every interaction was laced with frustration, hurt, worry, confusion. Why are you being like this? Raph wanted to ask, wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake until an answer came out. What did I do to you?

It was a miserable way to live. Being angry at someone you love more than anything, having nowhere to put it down, forced to hold onto it and hold onto it and hold onto it. Every day another argument, every night laying awake and hoping that tomorrow would be different.

He missed Leo. He missed how they used to be. He didn’t know why Pops’ announcement had turned them against each other. He hadn’t thought anything would be able to do that.

Once or twice Raph had a moment of weakness and imagined what it would be like if he just quit. If he went to Splinter and told him he was done. Let someone else be the oldest, the biggest, the one who carried everyone else. But that thought was always followed instantly by another, louder one—how small would he feel if he didn’t have little turtles climbing on his back and sitting on his shoulders? How empty would his arms be if he didn’t have anyone to carry in them?

That’s the whole point. That’s why he’s so afraid. That’s why being left alone drives him straight past anxious and into a blackout. He can’t lose them. He can’t lose them. He can’t lose them.

And now he’s living his worst nightmare. He’s living outside his own body, watching from somewhere else. It doesn’t feel real.

His little brother, his little Leo, crumpled beneath him, blood staining bright blue an ugly rust color. His chest is heaving as if each breath hurts and his eyes are wide and wet. He’s gazing up at Raph like they’re children again. It’s the way he looked when he was afraid of a thunderstorm or he was about to get in trouble and he needed Raph to make it better. He always looked at Raph first.

The monsters behind them are laughing. One of them starts talking, the sound coming closer at a leisurely pace. They aren’t safe. Leo is bleeding. Raph is afraid to touch him, shaking hands hovering over his cracked plastron. He doesn’t know what to do. His mind is white with panic.

He has the escape pod in his hand, not yet activated. He doesn’t know if it’s safe to use it. Leo is skewered to the ground, pinned like a butterfly to corkboard. Donnie’s tech is highly intuitive, all of it programmed into S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s AI infrastructure, and maybe the pod would know to account for the particulars of the situation, but there almost definitely isn’t a way to remove Leo safely in the seconds they don’t really have to work with.

Leo blinks, and the wetness in his eyes spills out, and Raph just wants to pick him up. Carry him somewhere safe. Leo has always been larger than life, but right now he looks impossibly small.

“Hey, hey,” Raphael soothes, the same way he has a thousand times before, after bad dreams and skinned knees, “you’re okay. Raph’s here, you’re okay.”

Those gold eyes slide to the side, looking at a point behind Raph. Leo’s arm moves, and something cold and solid presses against Raph’s chest. It’s the key, and Leo’s hand is trembling so hard that Raph’s closes around it instinctively, taking the weight of it from him.

Because he’s Leo, the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile.

“I told you,” he says hoarsely. It somehow manages to sound wry, like they’re in on a joke together. “I got it.”

Then he uses the hand that Raph isn’t holding to activate the escape pod lingering between them and pushes it those scant few fatal inches forward. Raph doesn’t realize what the beep means until the pod unfolds in front of him and yanks him unceremoniously away from his brother.

“No,” Raph says, light-headed with fear, “no!”

But a machine couldn’t possibly understand the wrong it was doing. What it was leaving behind. Raph pummels the inside of the pod hysterically but without his ninpo he can’t do enough to damage something Donnie built specifically to safeguard their family. It lifts him up and away and Leo’s crooked little smile gets smaller and smaller until it’s gone.

——

When the pod touches down in the lair and releases him, the world around Raph is strangely muffled. There’s a ringing in his ears. He thinks he can hear voices but it’s all just noise. Nothing fully clears the chaos in his own head.

Donatello is directly in front of him, and his hands are white-knuckled on the side of an empty blue pod. He looks like he already knows something went very wrong. His eyes are bright gold, a mirror of his twin’s, and the quiet fear in them places Raph directly back inside the warehouse, surrounded by monsters, too late to protect anyone, Leo’s blood on his hands, Leo looking up at him—

Raph’s stomach lurches and he turns sharply away. His gaze lands on Casey Jones instead, who appraises him warily in turn, slim shoulders going stiff beneath the battered Genius Built armor.

“Leo went back for the key,” Raph says, his voice a deep growling thing that cuts through the noise and brings down a curtain of stillness. He holds the stupid thing out, and if it were made of anything less than strange alien stone, his grip would have crushed it into pieces. Casey’s eyes drop to it and brighten, like it’s a good thing that it’s here even though Leo’s not. Relief floods every inch of his face until he looks even younger than he did already.

“He got it,” the boy says reverently, taking it in both hands. “I knew he would.”

Raphael wants to scream. He wants to step back and let some other version of himself take the reins while he finds a hole to cry in. He doesn’t want to turn at his father’s firm call of his name or force himself to lift his chin until Splinter can meet his eyes and find all the miserable failure festering inside him, but he does.

April is looking around and behind Raph, her eyes jumping to the red pod still standing open and then back again, as if finally noticing that Leo wasn’t tucked in there, too. As if it is only just occurring to her that there is a universe that exists where Raphael leaves Leonardo behind, and it’s this one, and it’s horrible.

Donnie might as well be carved from stone, but Mikey is starting to get worked up, looking between everyone else with huge red eyes, trying to hear the thing they’re all not saying.

“He went back for the key,” Raphael says again, choking the words out. “I couldn’t—I wasn’t fast enough to—”

He clenches his fists and it drags his siblings’ attention to the blood on them. April covers her mouth and Mikey takes in a breath so sharp it must cut and Donnie starts to flap his hands. Splinter closes his eyes, looking as though he’s aged about a hundred years in the last few minutes.

“What? That’s not possible,” Casey interjects as if he can’t help it. The young soldier glances around the room, like Leo is going to pop up from behind the turnstiles and rib them all for being so gullible. “Master Leonardo is the greatest ninja the world has ever seen, he wouldn’t just—”

“He’s not master anything!” Raph only barely manages not to roar. “He’s a sixteen-year-old kid!”

Casey flinches away from his anger and Raphael brutally wrestles it into submission. It’s not doing any good here. Casey is a kid, too.

“Raph,” Mikey blurts, too loud and too fast, “is Leo dead?”

The word sucks the air out of the room and Donnie makes a noise like he’s been kicked in the stomach and Raph says, “No. No, Angie, he’s alive.”

Even though their ninpo is locked away, and with it that subconscious knowledge of each other always lingering comfortably in the back of their minds like a warm afterthought, Raph knows they would know if Leo was gone. They would be able to tell. The world would be fundamentally changed, nothing would ever be the same again.

He puts his hands on Mikey’s shoulders and adds, “We’re gonna bring him home.”

The plan isn’t much of one, but their resident schemer is very much not present, and no one questions Raph when he lays it out. Donnie robotically admits that he has the means to track Leo, so the turtles and Future Boy are going to head that way and retrieve him, while Splinter and April babysit the key.

“Use the shell hogs and just keep moving for now,” Raph says. “They have something we want, we have something they want.”

April nods, grimly understanding. If the only Hail Mary shot they have of getting their brother back is handing over the key and finding an opening to steal it back later, that’s just what they’ll have to do.

Pops abandoned the Hamato Clan’s teachings in the first place because he didn’t agree with their preachings of self-sacrifice and martyrdom. He handed over the final piece of the dark armor without flinching when his sons’ lives hung in the balance. Even if the rest of their ancestors wouldn’t understand, Raphael does.

He remembers the jar of oozesquitos he held onto once, trying—and failing—to call Draxum’s bluff. He may be a slow learner, but he only needs to be taught the lesson once.

Leo risked his life to return this key to his family, so Raph is going to fight for it like an insane person for as long as it makes sense to. But if it comes down to abandoning one to save the other…

He’s his father’s son. He knows which choice he’ll make.

——

In the Turtle Tank, Mikey and Donnie distract themselves on the trip to Metro Tower station by peppering Casey with questions about the future. The human answers readily, describing Master Donatello’s technological genius—holding out his arms so the entirety of his battered, cyberpunk-style kit is on display—and going on at length about Master Michelangelo’s mystic prowess.

“I could fly?” Mikey squeaks, drumming his hands on the dash rapidly. “Was it cool?”

“The coolest,” Casey is quick to agree. “And you opened a portal that sent me through time.”

But the warmth in Casey’s eyes doesn’t last very long, fading into something that looks uncomfortably like grief instead. He tends to look at all of them like that, like he’s in a room full of ghosts.

He darts a sidelong glance in Raph’s direction and quickly faces forward again, staring out the windshield from Leo’s seat. He’s avoided speaking to him as much as possible, and Raphael can, unfortunately, put two and two together.

Casey is familiar with everyone else—even April and Splinter—but he dances around Raph as if he’s a stranger. He didn’t know Raph in the future, he knew of him—someone to be respectful of and fall in line for, but certainly not one of the uncles he could brag about to their younger selves.

When the Tank has gone as far through the tunnels as possible, drawn to a stop at a massive tangle of alien vines, they get out and continue on foot. Raph can feel his little brothers walking as close to him as they can without outright admitting that they’re unnerved, all of their guards completely up, senses dialed to eleven.

The underground is home to them, always has been, and generally speaking if you’ve seen one subway tunnel you’ve seen them all. But the floodlights from Donnie’s battleshell illuminate a scene that looks like it belongs on another planet. Impossible masses of pink-purple mess dangle everywhere like Halloween store decorations, and the subway cars have been upended off the rails and twisted out of shape.

Casey’s mask is down, the lenses glowing green as he prowls forward without missing a beat. If he came here from a future where the Krang won, Raph can only imagine what the New York City he grew up in looked like.

“I hate to be painfully obvious, but since my other half isn’t present, I suppose it falls on my shoulders,” Donatello says after a moment, the sardonic tone of voice at odds with his very low register. “Something feels off.”

He’s barely got the words out when hundreds of little lights blink at them from the jungle of purple vines—not lights, glowing eyes. The silent tunnel explodes into chaos a second later as they’re ambushed by parasite-controlled people and creatures and even objects.

Raph and Casey are neatly separated from Donnie and Mikey within a manner of minutes. Raph’s heart is in his throat as he pummels through wave after wave of the infected, and it doesn’t settle until he hears on the comms that his little brothers have taken shelter in the Tank.

He and Casey are pushed farther and farther away, chased down one of the tunnels by an animated subway car on what looks like spidery crab legs, towards a dead end. When Raphael feels the ground start to give beneath them, he acts on seventeen years of big brother instinct and very little else, seizing Casey around the middle and curling around him completely as they fall.

It’s a dizzying, topsy-turvy couple of minutes, falling from the subway tracks into a maintenance tunnel underneath, and it takes awhile for his ears to stop ringing. He glances down at the human in his arms and notes with relief that Casey seems to be okay–tucked up small and compact against Raph’s plastron, all limbs accounted for, in such a practiced way that Raph thinks he’s been protected in exactly this manner more than once before.

Neither of them speak right away, coming down from the rush of adrenaline and waiting for the shifting of crumbled concrete to stop and the dust to clear. Raph’s shell was made of sturdy stuff even before he became a chaotic alchemists’s bioengineering experiment, so when he’s certain they’re relatively safe, he pushes off the ground with his hands and lets the debris roll harmlessly off his back and shoulders.

“Are you hurt?” Raph asks, sitting back to give Casey room to collect himself.

“Um, no,” Casey says, tugging his cape down from where it had caught around one of his pauldrons. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, but more like he doesn’t really know what to do with himself now that it’s just the two of them, looking up at Raph and then away again.

Raph can’t help it. He says, “I died, didn’t I? In the future.”

Casey jerks, as if he was surprised to be asked so plainly. Then his shoulders hunch, and he nods.

“You all did,” he says haltingly. “Uncle Tello when I was thirteen, and sensei and Uncle Angie just… just before I got sent back.”

Cold dread slams into Raph’s stomach. He doesn’t want to believe he and his siblings could ever truly be divided, but the proof is sitting in front of him. It’s hard to hear that the end of the world managed to take Raph from his little siblings. Donnie from his twin. That Leo and Mikey were left all alone, with a kid to take care of, and a losing war to fight.

Casey swallows hard, and curls his hands into fists, visibly forcing himself past the loss that probably sits in his stomach and throat like barbed wire.

“But you—it happened when I was little. I wasn’t really old enough to remember you.” Each word mincing and careful, he goes on, “Growing up, sensei talked about you all the time. He used to say you were the best—best brother, best leader. And he was so afraid when Master Splinter put him in charge, because he had no idea how to be as good as you. He didn’t want things to change, he was happy being your right-hand man. Sensei made it sound like he was really childish about the whole thing. He said he must have been a real disappointment.”

Raphael absorbs the words like a blow.

Leo, his little brother, his little star, outshining everyone and pulling the world into his orbit, earnestly giving them the light and warmth they needed to live and grow and flourish, a disappointment?

Raph has been angry with him more times than he can count. Hurt by him, even, because that’s what people tend to do when they don’t understand each other. Frustrated and antagonized and fed-up, sure. But disappointed?

He has a shining, crystalized memory of being a child, no more than eight years old, crying over a picture book because the monster in the book looked like him. It was big and hulking, with dangerous-looking spikes and an alligator tail. Raph hadn’t realized Leo had found him until tiny hands took the book away and a serious little face, not yet grown into its stripes, assessed the situation.

Even back then, Leo was too clever for his own good. He tossed the book on the floor and said, “They got it wrong. That author must not have ever seen any real monsters if they can mess up that bad. Who let them write a book?”

Raph was hardly able to see through his tears, making a distressed rumble in his chest, but his arms opened automatically. Mikey was in a phase where he had decided he was too big to be carried and Donnie had a hot-and-cold relationship with touch that his siblings all knew to maneuver carefully, but Leo absorbed any and all affection like a hungry little plant soaking up sunlight. He climbed right into Raph’s hug and his arms looped around Raph’s neck and hung on fiercely.

“My Raphie is a better hero than all those knights and princes and wizards anyway,” Leo had said with conviction so huge it was better suited to someone five times his size. “I have the real deal. I should be the one writing books!”

From then on, Leo vetted any and all shared reading material that made it down to the lair before allowing it to be distributed with a very grown-up gravitas. Some things went straight to Donnie or Mikey’s rooms, or back into the garbage if Leo was feeling vicious about it that day, and no one ever said a word about it.

About three months ago, April had brought them a bundle of the subscriptions they got mailed to her apartment, and Leo picked up a comic that came for Raph and started to flip through it like they were seven and eight years old again. He caught himself too late and looked embarrassed, sliding it across the counter and quickly making his escape, but Raph felt warm all the way down to his bones. That was proof his Leo was still in there, that he still cared, despite doing his best, for some reason, to convince everyone he didn’t.

His Leo, who always cared. Who cared too much.

Casey gives Raph another one of those searching, sideways glances, there and gone again.

“Sensei said he let you down once and he never wanted to do that again. He said he would live the rest of his life making up for it, making you proud. Is—is this what he was talking about?”

Raph looks at the boy in front of him, Leo’s kid from a future that doesn’t exist yet, wearing tech his Uncle Tello must have meticulously built to outlast everything else, Uncle Angie’s smiley faces etched into the knee guards in a pop of silliness that somehow still existed in the apocalypse, his sensei’s red stripes painted proudly front and center on his mask. He carries his family with him with every step he takes.

It’s no wonder Casey is so cagey around him. If he was raised even in part by Leo, then he was probably raised on stories of Raph that only painted the good and the funny parts of the bad, because that’s how Leo loves. And it left Casey to reconcile how everyone’s hero Raphael could have ever thought poorly of Casey’s hero Leonardo.

“Sounds like that sensei of yours had no clue what he was talking about half the time,” Raph say gruffly. “Raph may wanna pick up him and rattle him like a snowglobe about a hundred times a day but that’s just the Leo Effect. Ask anybody.”

Casey blinks up at him, one corner of his mouth giving into a reluctant smile. “Commander O’Neil said that before,” he admits.

“Now her you can listen to any time of day or night, because she’s never wrong,” Raph says, pushing himself upright and offering Casey a hand up, too. “Leo could never do anything to make me love him less. It kind of seems impossible after a lifetime together, but I actually only keep finding reasons to love him more.”

Sliding his much smaller hand into Raph’s huge one, Casey lets himself be tugged to his feet. He’s gazing up at Raph with wide eyes, tugging on the wrist of one glove absently.

“Leo is as silly as they come,” Raph says. “He needs practical people like you and me in his life to set him straight.”

All at once, Casey’s face brightens, glowing from the inside out. His spine straightens, shoulders going back. It’s every inch Leo’s expression when he receives honest praise from his family in any direction. And Raph realizes abruptly that at least part of the reason Casey has been so nervous around him is because he doesn’t want to disappoint his father’s hero, either.

——

They find a maintenance shaft and climb the rest of the way out of the tunnels, regrouping with the whole clan in the Metro Tower station. Donnie brings Leo’s location up on a screen and they all huddle around him—falling silent after a moment as they take in what the tracker is telling them.

“He’s right—right on top of us,” Donnie says haltingly. “He should be—”

April seizes his arm and he cuts himself off mid-word. With a sense of dread, Raph follows her wide eyes across the room.

Leo is standing there, watching them. He’s been standing there the whole time. Unmoving, completely silent, and covered in the same squishy, fleshy pink parasitic slime that every other infected they’ve encountered up until now has been manipulated by. There’s a mass of it concealing the lower half of his face like one of the respirators Mikey wears for his spray paint projects, baring dozens of large serrated teeth in a sneer.

Leo’s eyes are pink, the pupils slitted. If Raph couldn’t see him breathing, he wouldn’t know for sure if he was even alive.

“Leo?” Mikey calls out in a warbling voice, hands trembling. “Can you hear us?”

It doesn’t get a reaction.

Raph takes one slow, careful step towards him.

That gets a reaction.

Leo explodes into motion so quickly it doesn’t make sense, going from zero to a hundred in seconds. He slams into Raphael with the force of a freight train, sparks flying from where his blades meet the sai Raph only barely manages to throw up in time.

Their siblings scatter, Donnie yanking Mikey firmly behind him, April putting out an arm to keep Casey back, too. Splinter dives in to help his oldest son, the two of them fighting to subdue but not to injure, hyper-aware of the cracks in Leo’s plastron and the matching wound on his shoulder. The last thing Leo’s father and big brother want to do is hurt him any more.

Leo doesn’t give them an inch of the same consideration, as cold and methodical as a knife. His swords are fully in action, a very present danger to the rest of them, singing and sweeping with fatal precision.

They’re only fighting for minutes, even though it feels like hours, when Raphael feels it. An insistent tugging on the front of his mind. He and Leo are locked together, swords caught for a moment in the guards of Raph’s sai, and Raph spares a daring second to look into his possessed brother’s pink eyes.

They glow white instantly, a successful connection. Leo’s mind pours into Raph’s like a flood.

Take them take them TAKE THEM TAKE THEM TAKE THEM

As if moving on autopilot, Raph’s hands fly to Leo’s wrists and wrench—not hard enough to sprain, but hard enough that the slider’s grip flies open and the katana clatter to the ground. Leo rips himself free and darts back to give himself room for the next attack. He makes no move to recover the swords and Raph scoops them up a second later, heart pounding.

It was so quick, so clean, that no one watching from the outside would be able to guess what had just happened. Leo surrendered his weapons to his family in the only way he possibly could, begging with his whole body to be disarmed before he hurt anyone, so desperate for Raph to hear him that he triggered a mind meld for the first time in two years.

The room comes alive, infected creatures spilling inside and surrounding them all, punching up through the floor from the tunnels they had just escaped from. A subway car covered in pink slime rears back and roars like a beast. Leo moves through the crowd of Hamato like water. The only one he touches is April, a brush of their shoulders together.

She makes a distressed noise in the back of her throat, hand flying to her bag where the key is. Where it was.

Leo has it in his hand, facing them with unseeing eyes. The grotesque, fleshy mask covering his mouth twists into a stranger’s ugly smile.

Raph thinks, No wait. It’s not supposed to happen like this.

They’re not supposed to lose.

April uses her bat to knock the rest of the deforestation chemicals toward the Krang, causing an explosion that stalls the hoard of infected just long enough to create an escape route. Donnie scoops Mikey’s shell into his arms and Splinter has to tuck a hand around both Casey and Raphael’s elbows and yank to get them moving. Casey doesn’t make it easy.

He must know a losing fight when he sees one. He must be familiar with this scene from the world he came here from. But he struggles anyway, eyes locked without blinking on the shape of a Leo they’re leaving behind.

Raph wants to struggle, too. He wants to stay behind and fight until he can’t lift his arms or stay on his feet. He wants his lost little brother to know someone’s fighting for him, that someone will keep fighting for him for as long as it takes.

But responsibility perches heavy on his shoulders. More than one person is depending on him. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done to let himself be pulled one step away, then another. It hurts more than every single other thing he’s survived.

“Raph’s coming back for you,” he calls out, voice thick, swords weighing a hundred pounds each in his hands. “Hear me, Leo? Raph’s coming back.”

Leo doesn’t give any impression that he heard. He turns at some silent command and walks away, taking the key with him. The Krang got what they came for.

——

Kneeling on a rooftop, watching the Technodrome come through a hole in the sky and rain destruction down on their city, Raph finds himself thinking I wish Leo was here.

It’s a stupid thought to have, because Leo being there would solve a very large part of the whole problem. But specifically, Raph finds himself wishing he had his clever, charming brother at his side, who always knew what to say. Who always had an idea. Who understood exactly how to reach out to people and lift their spirits, rekindle their hope. Leo isn’t the strongest of his brothers, or the fastest without his ninpo, or the smartest next to Donatello, but that doesn’t mean he can’t outshine the rest of them in his own way.

He’s always been the one they followed, really. It just so happened he was always going the same way Raph was.

“He was happy being your right-hand man,” Casey said.

How could Raph have misunderstood him so completely? How could he have just left him behind, twice now? What if it becomes a pattern? What if Leo thinks this is all he can expect from them?

Raph’s family is arguing behind him, unwilling to accept their failure but unable to see any path ahead to victory. It certainly looks hopeless. New York City is burning, people are screaming, parasites and infected are filling the streets by the dozens.

A familiar hand lands on his arm. Raph feels like he’s wading chest-deep through mud, but he manages to turn his head and look down into Mikey’s big red eyes.

“What did Leo say earlier?” Mikey asks in a small voice. “I sort of felt it when you connected but I couldn’t hear either of you.”

“It was like being aware of people talking in another room,” Donnie adds, leaning into Raph from the opposite side. “You can just make out the cadence of their conversation but no words come through clearly.”

Raph looks down at his hands, the katana he’s still holding. He rubs his thumb over the guard on one, remembering Leo’s glowing pride the first time he manifested them. He felt so buoyed by Leo’s smile in that moment that he could have fought the Shredder a hundred times over and won.

I miss you, he thinks. I miss having you on my team.

“He wanted me to take these,” Raph says. “He was really scared of what he might do with them.”

Donnie’s golden eyes are very sharp, staring without blinking at the only proof of his twin with them here on the outskirts of the apocalypse. Behind the turtles, Splinter and April are still going back and forth with each other, but Casey’s voice has tapered into silence.

“What else did he tell you?” Donnie asks abruptly.

“Nothing,” Raph replies, numb.

“C’mon, Raphie,” Mikey says, mustering a sweet smile for him, even though smiling is probably the last thing in the world he feels like doing. “Our Leo? Keeping it brief? I’ll bet he had a hundred things he was trying to say.”

“Let us in,” Donnie says, pressing his head a little harder into Raph’s arm. Dogged and determined, fully ready to dig in with his teeth and not let up until he gets his way. “Let us see.”

Raphael is exhausted, and hurting, and missing the absent piece of their whole so keenly that he could lay down right here and cry for days. But the one thing he’s never been able to do is deny his little brothers anything they care enough about to ask for this earnestly.

“Okay,” he says and sets Leo’s swords in front of him carefully. With his hands open, Donnie and Mikey each seize one in both of their own, and Raph tries to center himself.

The first time Raph and Leo did this, it was well before they had fully realized their ninpo. He doesn’t need the mystic powers they’ve come to rely so much on to recognize the brilliant purple lightning and laughing orange bonfire on the fringes of his mind and let them both in.

The lightning and the bonfire both skirt familiarly over the steadfast red mountain that makes up their eldest brother, at home together. They all feel the painful absence of a mischievous blue wind so strongly that it takes their collective breath away.

The mountain guides them to the things the wind had given him. Above everything else, fear—of what’s happened and what hasn’t happened yet, fear of the parasite wriggling inside him, fear of his own two hands, fear of failing his family even more than he already has—

Stop, the bonfire says, burning warm and bright. Focus.

The lightning strikes forward, knowing the wind better than the rest of them from a lifetime of sharing the same sky. It follows the wind’s twists and turns unerringly, illuminating the way in thunderclaps until it’s possible to break past the dark storm of fear entirely.

Behind it there are a hundred other things. Stubbornness and bitterness, a familiar grit that comes from being on the losing side and refusing to give up anyway. Anxiety that his efforts won’t be enough. Love, as deep and rich and unknowable as an ocean. Regret. Loneliness. Hope.

Take them, the wind had said in the fleeting seconds it had to say anything at all, shoving as many secrets forward as it could. Take this and this and this and this.

Leon, you devious little creature, the lightning says, with scorching pride and mean-spirited glee.

It goes both ways, the bonfire cackles. The Krang can see into Lee’s head, but Lee can see into the Krang’s head, too!

This is it, the mountain realizes. This is how we win.

——

Galvanized, the Hamatos split up one more time. Casey, April and Splinter to get the key back and keep the Krang occupied, and Raph, Mikey and Donnie to save Leo.

Once Raph and his brothers are inside the Technodrome, they all understand exactly where to go. Everything the Krang knows about how to operate his ship, Leo knows, through that unwanted window between their minds. And everything Leo knows, he shunted as hard and fast as he could into Raph’s brain, hidden in a tangle of emotion so thick that it went entirely undetected by the parasite riding along. And since Raph shared the knowledge with the other two, Donatello could probably pilot this weird spacecraft blindfolded with one hand tied behind his back.

Mikey is swinging one of his ‘chucks restlessly, ready for whatever fight comes his way first. He’s already a force to be reckoned with on a good day. He’s a walking natural disaster on a bad one, up there with hurricanes and tornadoes.

And this is definitely a bad one. It’s the worst day they’ve ever had.

“Dee’s got the ship and I’ve got Dee,” Mikey says firmly, sounding much older than he did this time yesterday. “You get Leo.”

Raphael moves with ninja stealth and speed, picking his way through the halls. It smells awful, like raw meat left out in the sun, and in the gloom it almost seems as though the walls and floors are squirming.

From what Leo gave him, Raph knows better than to hope he and his siblings can go undetected for very long. The ship is almost a living organism itself, and can probably feel each step of progress Raph is making toward the bridge.

It doesn’t slow him down. Every second Leo spends here is a second too long already.

The maze-like halls open up into a cavernous dome, where a catwalk stretches toward a huge bulbous window. Outside, Raph can see a panoramic view of Manhattan engulfed in fire. It looks like a warzone. The air leaves his lungs in a rush.

It’s Raph’s city, the place that raised him, and for the first time in his life it’s hard to look at.

His hindbrain pings to awareness a split-second before he hears the movement of metal against metal, and Raph spins around to look up at General Krang.

He’s seated in a throne on a dias, a smug, toothy smile on his face. Leo is standing like a statue at his feet, this tiny slip of green and pink and muddied blue. His discolored eyes gaze listlessly forward into nothing.

Little Leo, who always wanted to be carried. Little Leo, who hunted down each and every opportunity to make his brothers laugh. Little Leo, who wanted so badly to be even just half as important to them as they were to him. Little Leo, who Raph wouldn’t know how to begin to live without.

“You again,” the Krang says. “Nothing smart to say? This one wouldn’t shut up until I improved him. And here I thought it was just an unfortunate hallmark of your species.”

Raphael sees red at the way the wicked metallic fingertips of the Krang’s armor cage Leo’s head and jostle it carelessly, like he’s nothing but a cheap toy. Raph bares his teeth, a furious rumble in his chest, but doesn’t dare to say a single hateful word while Leo’s life is literally held in the Krang’s hand.

“You probably would have made a much more impressive puppet, with all that brute strength,” the Krang goes on. “Oh well. All in due time.”

The alien must give a nonverbal order, because he retracts his hand and Leo springs forward.

He doesn’t have his swords anymore, since they’re strapped to Raph’s shell for the time being, but the pink slime has trailed down his arms and tapered into two sharp points that he wields like knives instead.

They meet in a ringing clash, Raph catching the pink knives with his sai.

“I know you’re in there,” Raph says. “I know you don’t want to hurt me. It’s okay, Leo. I’m gonna make it okay.”

The way Leo fights is vicious. He’s fast and he knows where to hit. There’s no joy in his body, no cocky gleam in his eye. Raph can’t help bu remember the way his mind felt when they connected so briefly earlier—the surround-sound of wailing panic and self-hatred, confined behind a stranger’s cold expression.

Bearing down on his little brother, forcing him to his knees, Raph chokes out, “I’m not leavin’ you behind this time. I’m not goin’ anywhere without you ever again.”

“Empty promises seem to run in your family,” the Krang sneers.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about,” Raph says through gritted teeth. “Don’t listen to him. Just listen to me.”

“Don’t I? Let’s ask the others, shall we?”

Black vines shoot up from the organic mass that makes up the floor of the bridge. Donnie and Mikey are suspended inside them, fighting like animals—Mikey in particular is using language that there is no way Splinter knows he knows.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice vermin slinking around in my ship?” the General asks. “Is this really the best the three of you can do?”

Leo is scratching and clawing at Raph’s hands, trying to break free of him at any cost. Raph is much bigger and much stronger than he is, and it hurts to hold him down like this, but he knows it would be so much worse to let him go.

“This whole time, we just weren’t listening to each other,” Raph says, lowering his voice. Everyone else can probably still hear, but he wants Leo to know Raph is talking to him. “Somehow, I convinced myself you didn’t care, when I know better. You care so much it makes the inside of your head a nightmare to live in. The only thing you think about is being good enough for us.”

Leo finally manages to twist free, Raph releasing his arms at the last second when it becomes clear the parasite doesn’t care if its host’s elbow or shoulder gets dislocated. Leo rolls away and comes up on one knee, hand braced beneath him, the other white-knuckled around a knife.

He can hear the Krang becoming agitated, because Mikey and Donnie refuse to be still. The vines holding them snap and give one after another, faster than they can be replaced. There’s something stirring inside of Raph, too, a fire in his chest that wants to roar to life.

Leo strikes again. Despite everything, even with all the horrors they’re surrounded by, Raphael wants to smile.

When they started training together, Leo was the first of the four of them to perfect a technique. Raph lifted him up onto his shoulders in victory and let him crow about it for the better part of an hour, flushed with joy and pride. Since then, Leo has never once landed that particular move wrong.

An outsider wouldn’t clock that he placed his hand nearly four inches too far to the left, but Raphael knows those four inches made a fatal difference between a bad puncture wound and a severed artery.

Leo has no true autonomy left but there’s a sliver of him awake behind the wheel. He’s still fighting tooth and nail in there.

There isn’t any force in the entire goddamn universe prepared for how tricky and stubborn Raph’s little brothers can be.

“I’m listening now, Leo,” Raph says, alight with how much he loves him. “I’m here. You’re not alone. You’ll never, ever be alone.”

Leo strains forward, dropping the knife and grabbing at Raph’s arm instead. Between one blink and the next, his eyes go from pink to shining gold.

Raph seizes him, holding his face in the cradle of both hands, his heart soaring around in his chest like a bird.

“Yes! That’s it! Come on back, big man, Raphie’s got you!”

With a slam, Leo goes to his knees, scrabbling desperately at the fleshy mass on his face. His fingers dig into the slime, but he can’t get a solid enough grasp to tear himself free. His chest is heaving, whole body shaking. He’s fighting so hard but it’s not quite enough.

And Raph’s ninpo reacts to a sibling in distress the way it did when Raph used it for the first time, breaking past the Krang’s seal like it’s nothing. It surges forward in the shape of a river, finding the familiar place inside of Leo where his connection to their ancestors lives, and making a temporary home there. Raph’s armor limns his brother in rosy red, swelling from underneath his skin in a powerful flood and pushing the parasite out. It loses every inch it had to cling to while Leo continues to pull.

Finally the worm is ripped completely away, shrieking as it goes, and Leo gasps. He drops the squirming creature and scuttles away from it, gulping in unobstructed air. The corner of his mouth is torn deep and bleeding sluggishly, and his face looks pale and hollow.

But his eyes are the color they’re supposed to be, and they’re looking right at Raph and seeing him, a connection as meaningful and important as any mind meld.

Because he’s Leo, the first thing he says is, in a croaky, exhausted voice, “Do you have a sword I can borrow?”

Raph barks out a laugh, tears in his eyes. Earlier today he had reached a point where he thought he’d never smile again.

In this moment, he feels like he could hold up the whole sky and grin while he’s doing it.

Purple and orange spark madly all around them, a lightning storm and a forest fire ready to rain merry hell upon any unfortunate soul in their path, just enough to keep the General busy while Leo finds his footing.

Raph wants to scoop them all into his arms and carry them someplace safe from all of this, but he knows he can’t. That place doesn’t exist yet. They have to fight for it.

Leo breathes in deep and lets it go, takes the swords that Raph passes him in hands that don’t shake, and reaches out for his brothers’ light with a light of his own.

A gale rushes down from the mountain, leading the charge.

“Hey, ugly,” Leo calls out hoarsely, pointing a blade at the Krang. “I’ve been dying to tell you this all day. The decor in here fucking sucks.”

“Oh my god,” Raph says, half despair, half delight.

Landing beside him, twirling a glowing bo, Donnie stands shoulder to shoulder with his twin and says, “I would cite you ‘time and place’, Nardo, but honestly you have a point.”

“No because it’s so distracting,” Mikey pipes up, dropping weightlessly into a crouch on Raph’s carapace, narrowed eyes glinting in the dim light like a smug cat’s. “Presentation matters! Zero out of ten, would not be held hostage here again.”

“At least it matches the Six Flags Fright Fest he's got going on upstairs.” Leo indicates his own temple with the hilt of one sword. “There’s something to be said for consistency, am I right?”

It’s as much of a hint as it needs to be. The Krang isn’t stupid, which is a big part of the reason why he’s been such a difficult opponent. He understands within the space of a few seconds what Leonardo is saying—what it means for him to have any idea what the Krang’s headspace looks like. This whole time, there has been a subtle, calculative undermining at play right under his nose.

He clenches those claws into fists that have enough power to bring down skyscrapers.

“You really don’t know,” the Krang intones ominously, “when to shut your mouth.”

“Says you and everybody else I know,” Leo replies, unflinching and fearless. “Get some new material.”

Raphael gets it now. Maybe he always has. He understands what Splinter was thinking when he looked at Leo, still growing up but ready at sixteen for the beginning of something greater, and decided he should be the one to lead.

His brothers would follow him anywhere. Raph would walk straight into hell without looking back if that’s where Leo decided to go.

——

It’s an instant relief to have those singing silver blades back on their side. Leo’s portals open and close with dizzying speed, moving his brothers like chess pieces around a board, somehow keeping track of it all. For a moment, it’s easy to think they might win.

And then the Krang blows them all away with the flick of his finger.

Raph thought his world had ended when he was too late to save his brother in the warehouse. Then he realized the world was actually ending in slow stages all around him when he had to leave his brother behind again at the mercy of a monster.

It turns out the end of the world happens here. On the quiet, abandoned expanse of Staten Island, listening to his little brother’s wrecked voice over the comms say, “Casey, get ready to close the door.”

“I’m ready, sensei!” Casey reports, prompt and reliable. “Tell me when you’re home free!”

There is a split-second of hesitation from Leo—the barest pause, practically nothing—that sends Raph’s heart straight into his throat. Donatello jerks all the way upright from where he was nursing what’s almost definitely a broken wrist, and Mikey goes dangerously still. They heard it, too.

“Yeah,” Leo says, just barely too late to be believable to the siblings who know him inside and out, “I’ll tell you.”

“Belay that order, Casey,” April cuts in sharply, every inch the Commander she was in another world. “Leonardo, think twice before you lie to me. What’s your play?”

There’s another pause, and Raph can imagine in crystal-clear detail the way Leo’s throat works when he thinks he’s in trouble with their sister, the way he’s probably clenching and unclenching his hands while he wars with that stupid self-inflicted mission to never make himself vulnerable to anyone for anything.

The little brother need to be liked wins out. Leo admits, “I can’t think of how else to make him stay there.”

The ground falls out from beneath Raph’s feet.

“No!” Mikey shrieks, fully at his limit of shit he’s willing to deal with. “No no no no!”

“Sensei I can’t just—I won’t just trap you in the Prison Dimension!” Casey says, horrified at what he was almost tricked into. “There has to be another way!”

“We’ve tried everything,” Leo rasps. “I don’t know what else to do. I can’t let him—let him get you. Any of you. I have to stop him while there’s still a chance.”

“It’ll be a real shame if you save the world from the Krang this way, only for me to destroy it myself when I rip the universe apart to drag your sorry self back here,” Donnie bites out. “And I will, Nardo. I swear to every imaginary higher power you can think of, I will.”

“Leonardo,” Splinter says sternly from April’s end, the leaping panic in his tone well-hidden from everyone but his two eldest, “you will not sacrifice yourself for us today even if it means the world ends tomorrow. That is not what our family does. We are taking you home one way or another, Baby Blue.”

If being in trouble with April is bad, being in trouble with Splinter is cataclysmic. Leo is a daddy’s boy through and through.

He hesitates again, seconds they don’t have to spare inching by, then says, “How?”

Before anyone can answer there’s a ring of metal and a heavy slam, and his line goes silent. Leo is fighting for his life a thousand feet above their heads, but at least he’s fighting. At least he’s willing to wait for help.

He sounded afraid, Raph can’t help but think. He doesn’t want to go, but he will if he has to.

“I’ll get him down,” Mikey says, planting his feet, ready to move mountains. “I become a badass mystic warrior at some point, right? Might as well be now.”

“Wait, Uncle—Michelangelo,” Casey blurts, self-correcting a beat too late, “you can’t, when you did it last time, you didn’t survive.”

“If future me can open a portal through time and space and send my entire nephew through safe and sound, all by myself,” Mikey says, “then this me can do at least half of that with my brothers here to help.”

“The math is sound,” Donnie says, eyes trained unblinkingly upwards. “We haven’t met a single universal constant that we haven’t been able to turn upside down and inside out just for fun.”

“I’ve got ‘em, Casey,” Raph adds, his heart going out to the kid who stands to lose his whole family all over again if the wind blows the wrong way. “I’m the biggest, big enough to carry everybody if I have to. Nothing bad’s gonna happen while Raph is here.”

“Oh,” the boy says, very soft. “I remember you saying that.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it now!” Leo shouts suddenly, his comm coming back on with a burst of static and a strange ambient whine that must be what the inside of the portal sounds like. “Now, please, now!”

Mikey lights up, a tiny self-made sun of burning, shining gold. He grits his teeth and lifts his hands, trembling under the pressure of the cosmic forces he’s wrestling into submission. Donnie wraps both arms around him and braces his little brother with his entire body, absorbing as much as he can. The feedback is halved instantly, and when Raph steps in and holds them both, it’s reduced even more.

With a little huff, Mikey works his shoulders, like this is nothing more complicated than the tricky recipe he once found for an eight layer Doberge cake on one of those unreadable walls-of-text baking blogs. If he can figure out that, he can do anything.

Lightning and fire and rock-solid, steady earth stretch out their hands, reaching past the open gateway and through empty space, searching for the windy blue thing that doesn’t belong in this darkness.

The wind reaches back eagerly, desperate to be grabbed up and taken home and held forever.

Inside the Prison Dimension, bright chains flare into existence—some to tangle around the Krang and immobilize him, still more to wrap around Leo’s chest and haul him back through the door while it’s still open, at a reckless, break-neck speed.

It would have been dangerous for a squishy human, but Leo lands on the surface of the Technodrome in a roll and manages to find his feet.

“I don’t have a sword,” he blurts, panicked. “I don’t know how to get down.”

Mikey clenches his fists. Ready to open up the portal that killed him in another world, after all, if that’s what it takes to get his big brother down here where he belongs.

Then Donnie says, “You don’t need to have a sword, dumb-dumb. I have one.”

It materializes in his hand, a purple construct of one of the matching lightsabers he made for his and Leo’s eleventh birthday. They were very quickly confiscated but Leo laughed like a maniac for the three minutes they had them, and Donnie kept the schematics for a rainy day.

“Will that work?” Mikey asks, too breathless to sound as terrified as he probably is.

“It’ll work,” Donnie says shortly. “A sword is a sword. Now’s not the right time to be a snob, Leon. Come here.”

Leo makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan and feels for the shared space between them where their ninpo lives, where the mountain and the bonfire and the lightning and the wind all live. Raphael can feel it when that mischievous blue energy finds a brand new rule to bend and decides sure, that sounds fun.

Runes etch themselves into the handle of the Genius Built lightsaber.

Raphael shouts, “Casey, now!”

At the same time the looming portal above their heads sends a shockwave over New York City, popping and sparking along the edges like a downed transformer as it shrinks and shrinks until it closes around the Technodrome, a flash of bright cyan heralds the abrupt head-on collision of Leo into Donnie when he swaps places with the sword construct his twin was holding.

They go down in a haphazard pile of limbs, groaning where they lay on the concrete, and then groaning again when a hundred pounds of little brother gleefully joins the pile with an enthusiastic flop.

The explosion above them is an afterthought. April and Splinter and Casey are all talking over each other on the comms, frantic for confirmation that they all came out of this alive. That they haven’t lost anything they won’t survive losing.

“We’re all here!” Mikey says, crowing it to the wide-open, smoke-filled sky. “We won!”

Raph should probably elaborate on that for his dad, sister and nephew’s sake—let them know that everyone’s really okay, describe the little miracles Mikey and Donnie just pulled out of thin air like it was nothing, tell them about Leo trembling like a leaf in the wind but tucked securely into his twin’s side and absorbing the warmth of another living person like it was something he’d always taken for granted before—

But there’s something else he needs to do first.

“Noooooooo,” three little turtles protest as their biggest brother rounds out the turtle pile, flattening them to the ground.

“Tough luck, bozos,” Raph rumbles. “I ain’t lettin’ a single one of you out of my sight ever again.”

Mikey giggles, half-hysterical, a contagious, familiar sound. Donnie shuts his eyes to hear it better. Leo hides his cold face in Raph’s neck and doesn’t say anything else at all. Raph holds them all tight, and imagines a universe where he’s strong enough to never lose them.

Maybe it’s this one.

——

Casey, who is both medically trained by Leonardo’s future self and entirely immune to the slider’s particular brand of treatment-avoidant bullshit, turns out to be a godsend. Leo uses every trick in the book and still winds up in a bed in the infirmary.

For someone who craves attention as much as he does, it would make more sense for him to milk a hospital stay for all he’s worth. But it’s always been exactly the opposite, Leo escaping at the first possible opportunity and hiding out somewhere until negotiations are made.

After all these years, Raph finally has him figured out.

Leo’s face is still puffy and red where it’s healing, but it’s inevitably going to scar—through the right side of his mouth and down his chin, where the parasite clung the hardest. And for the three days that they’ve been home, Leo ducks his head when anyone looks at him, talking to his hands or his knees instead of to their faces.

Don’t look at me, Leonardo is screaming with his whole body. Raph doesn’t need a mind meld to hear that, loud and clear.

Too bad, he thinks, not unkindly. His heart aches as he sits on the side of Leo’s bed and watches his brother tuck his chin immediately.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he says, lifting Leo’s face again in one large hand, gentle and implacable. Leo resists briefly, but gives it up for a bad job when Raph rumbles at him.

“Don’t,” Leo manages.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Raph challenges. “I missed you.”

Leo’s eyes are downcast and wet, his mouth screwed stubbornly to one side in a manner that probably hurts, given the stitches. Raphael is a professional at outlasting moody little turtles, and he’ll sit here until the next apocalypse if that’s what it takes.

Eventually, Raph’s patience pays off. Slowly, gingerly, Leo opens his hands. He lets Raph take them and squeeze strength and warmth into them, and clings back for as long as it takes to cobble together the remarkable courage he needs to look his big brother in the eye.

“I lost the key,” Leo starts damningly.

“You got it back,” Raph says, ignoring the nauseous lurch in his stomach at the memory of the warehouse, Leo pinned to the floor, the escape pod activating and leaving him there alone. His nightmares always start right there these days. “We’re the ones who couldn’t keep hold of it.”

“I almost hurt you,” Leo says, a note of desperation entering his tone. “I almost—”

“You didn’t,” Raph counters firmly. “You have no idea how much more incredible it is that you didn’t.”

“I was so mean.” Tears drip down his face as he finally loses the battle not to cry. “When the Krang was in my head he saw everything and he said—said you must hate me, and he did all of you a favor getting rid of me, and I thought—I thought that makes sense, because I was so mean, and I’m nothing but trouble, and I don’t contribute, and even when dad gave me the chance to step up and be something I still wanted—I just wanted—”

Little Leo, who invented games of make-believe so Raph could feel like a hero. Little Leo, forever finding ways to make recalcitrant Donnie play, pleased as punch every time he pulled it off. Little Leo, who could listen to Mikey ramble for hours without getting bored or short-tempered, his bedroom walls an ever-evolving art collage of his little brother’s best work. Little Leo, who just wanted to be held and held and held.

Raph lifts Leo into his arms, as easy now as it was when he was three and nine and twelve, and holds him. Leo shakes with how hard he’s crying, even though he’s not really making any noise. His hands scramble to grab onto Raph’s shell and he lets Raph squeeze him into something young and small and hurt and loved.

As a general concept, Raph disagrees with murder—but he thinks he could make an exception for the monster who forced his way into Leo’s brain and turned it into an echo chamber of all the worst things he had ever thought about himself.

An eternity alone in the dark with nothing but his failures is as close to justice as they’ll get. It’s kind of poetic, right? is all Mikey will have to say about it when it comes up a week from now, a mean-spirited little smile on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Leo chokes out. “I’m sorry, Raphie. I’ll do—I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll be better, I swear. I’ll never let you down again.”

“He said he would live the rest of his life making up for it, making you proud,” Casey said.

“Blue, this thing you think you gotta make up for—this price you think you gotta pay for existing—it doesn’t exist,” Raph tells him in a tone that brooks no room for argument, barely managing not to grind his teeth together. If anyone else had said anything even half as bad as Leo had said about Leo, he would’ve punched them straight through a wall by now. “You mean more to me than what you contribute to the team. Even if you brought nothing to the table, which is not true, you’d still be stuck with us forever. Non-negotiable. You could be a hateful little brat every single day of your life and I would still take a bullet for you, no questions asked. Are you hearing me?”

“Hearing you,” Leo mutters, knowing better to disagree with that tone.

“All I want from you is you. All I need is my Leo. Whether he’s feeling goofy or annoying or pissed off or scared—I want every shape of him. Every version. Don’t you dare,” Raph adds, punctuating this by a little rattle of the Leo he’s holding, “make me go a single day without him ever again.”

Leo is fully hidden beneath his chin, so there’s no way for Raph to tell what his face is doing. But he hears the little punched-out breath, and feels it a second later when Leo’s white-knuckled grip on his shell loosens, just a bit. No longer convinced he’ll be ripped away for some imaginary offense.

It’ll take more than one conversation to fix everything, but they’ve got more than one. They’ve got a million. They have the whole rest of their lives on each other’s team.

“I missed you, too,” Leo whispers, like they’re four and five years old again, huddled under the blankets after bedtime and telling each other secrets.

Back then, monsters were easy to conquer. Nothing scary or sad dared to follow little brothers to Raphie’s room. A warm nest and a turtle pile was the answer to every heartache.

Some things stay exactly the same, Raph thinks fondly, amused by the way Leo’s already drifting off. He settles in for a nap on his plastron, Leo tucked securely under one arm. He gives it about thirty seconds before Mikey and Donnie stop listening outside the door and sneak inside to complete the pile, and starts the count in his head.

He makes it to twenty-seven before the mattress gives tellingly beneath two pairs of hands, and he smiles.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt movie #raphael hamato #leonardo hamato #michelangelo hamato #donatello hamato #my writing #tmnt fic #a team #now the darkness comes alive

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shina913 · 2 months

Text

Merger | KNJ, CSC

Merger

Pairing: Namjoon x Fem!Reader x Seungcheol

Rating: M 🔞; NSFW

Genre: Smut; pwp; non-idol AU

Warnings: Threesome; porn with the barest of plots; cussing; alcohol consumption; voyeurism; fingering; clit play; breast play; oral sex; spit-roast(😬); handjobs; penetrative, protected sex; masturbation; multiple orgasms; pearl necklace; soft aftercare

Word count: 6.1k words

Summary: “Oh, so you guys are like a package deal then?”

A/N: It’s been ages since I’ve written and finished any WIP! This is probably the filthiest thing I’ve written--ever! It's completely indulgent, and since my moots and I have been kicking around the idea of a leader-line/crossover fic, I figured, why not? Thank you, @roaminginthenights and my Discord loves for enabling me!

Full disclosure: I’ve never written a poly fic before, so please be kind! Anyway, I'll shut up now. Enjoy!

You’re still shaking hands with Namjoon and Seungcheol, when you suggest getting celebratory drinks. They’ve just accepted your firm’s very lucrative offer to invest in their business, one you identified and insisted your firm consider. There’s still plenty of paperwork to complete, documents to sign, but for now, after securing the biggest deal of their lives, they (and you) deserve one night to bask in their success before the real work begins.

As a new partner at your firm who finds and manages ventures, you want to be seen as both an advisor and a peer. You aren’t just another representative of the new majority shareholder; you listen and care about their needs.

Just hours ago, they appeared as slightly awkward but well-rehearsed tech geeks, hoping to secure funding for their business. This more casual setting is exactly what they needed. And frankly, after a couple of drinks, you realized that you needed it too.

In a quiet corner of the bar, with loosened ties and rolled-up sleeves, your newest clients seem much more relaxed, blending in with the tech and finance crowd that frequents this part of the city.

Unlike the old crowd, Namjoon and Seungcheol stood out to you. They brought new energy and enthusiasm instead of the burnt-out, jaded-looking faces you usually saw. They had a spark that made you believe in their vision, making you excited to see where this partnership could go. It also didn't hurt that they were very attractive (objectively speaking), which was rare for guys in their industry.

“We can’t thank you enough,” Namjoon says. He handles operations for the business, led the pitch, and hasn’t stopped expressing his gratitude since you left the office.

“We promise you won’t regret taking a chance on us.” Seungcheol adds. He oversees the tech front and was quieter in comparison. He let the demonstration do all the talking for him, and you were very impressed, but now he seems to be livening up.

“Well, you guys made a convincing pitch. I think that the service you offer and your business model is unique and we see a significant untapped market for it. All you need is scale, and we’re very excited to be involved in that effort.”

Namjoon turns serious for a moment, “To tell you the truth, we’ve been used to hearing ‘no’ in the last few months, so we were shocked by your offer—I mean, we still are.”

You smile. “All you need is that one ‘yes,’ to get you going! I’m glad you both persisted and that we can be part of what we’re confident is going to be a huge success.”

“To getting rich!” Seungcheol roars, raising his glass, making you and Namjoon laugh in response. You then tap your glasses against his, echoing his sentiments.

Peering past the rim of your drink, you observe their banter and laughter at techy inside jokes you're not privy to. Outside the conference room and clearly more relaxed, you start to see their individual charm, which would knock the socks off anyone who stopped and paid attention.

You shift in your seat, leaning just a tad closer to Namjoon—close enough to catch a hint of his scent, but with enough distance to keep things semi-professional.

“So! I feel like I've been going on and on about how we like to work with our portfolio companies. But what about you guys? Tell me more about how this partnership works,” you ask, gesturing between them.

To your surprise, Seungcheol clears his throat and answers first. “We complement each other well. Joon is more articulate than I am, while I’m more comfortable working on the technical side of things.”

He seems shy, often hiding his face when laughing as if to avoid drawing attention to himself. Yet, his confident demonstration today—and the obvious technical expertise behind it—suggests that he’s more self-assured than he initially lets on. He may not talk as much as his counterpart, but when he does, he demands that you focus on him and nothing and no one else. With those dark, deep-set eyes and plush lips, you wouldn’t even think of diverting your attention elsewhere.

…Unless Namjoon was in the same room.

“Cheol is quicker at troubleshooting and debugging,” he says. “He prefers rectifying things right away, figuring things out as he goes. My approach is more theoretical. I prefer to take my time, gathering more information, maybe drawing things out a little longer than they need to be…”

Namjoon had your full attention from the moment he introduced himself. He had a boyish, dimpled smile that could make anyone swoon—a stark contrast to his tall and broad frame. He was mostly formal during the presentation but unafraid to go off on smaller tangents that showed his passion and kept you hanging on his every word. At certain points, you wished he would keep going, especially with that deep, rich voice of his.

However, as the night progresses, Seungcheol gradually draws your attention toward him as well.

“Let’s just say that Joon likes to play with his food, while I just want to get right to it and eat,” Seungcheol says, tipping his glass to his partner and winking playfully at you.

Your jaw drops at his unexpected comment, surprised by how bold it is. Normally, you'd think something like that would be out of line, but instead, you’re amused by it.

Little by little, you start to pick up on the subtle nuances in Seungcheol’s behavior. He has this laid-back attitude that contrasts with Namjoon's more reserved demeanor. It's fascinating to see the differences between the two, and you can't help but be drawn further into their intriguing dynamic.

Namjoon clears his throat, giving Seungcheol a subtle warning. “Uhh… please excuse my friend here. He offers the most colorful analogies.”

You wave him off. “I think he’s pretty funny, actually.”

“Why, thank you!” Seungcheol beams, takes it as a compliment then takes a sip of his drink.

“Besides, we need a little humor to get through the day, right,” you add.

You see Namjoon’s shoulders visibly relax. Your carefree reaction seems to give him a sense of relief.

With that awkwardness out of the way, you press on to get to know them better. You feel there's something more about them you can't quite put your finger on. Against your better judgment, and maybe due to one too many drinks, you’re dead-set on finding out.

You switch tact to keep the conversation going. “Has anybody ever pulled one of you aside to offer you an individual deal?”

“It’s happened before, but we’ve always turned them down,” Seungcheol replies.

Having been friends for over a decade, Namjoon nods in agreement. “Cheol and I have this pact—it's either both of us or neither of us.”

They’re young, business-savvy guys who haven’t lost their earnestness despite the ruthless competition. But the skeptic in you decides to test their ‘pact.’ “Oh, so you guys are like a package deal then?” you tease.

Seungcheol lets out a low laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”

The look he gives you after he says it makes the words sound naughtier than they seem. But you brush the comment aside, keeping your thoughts PG since this is still technically a business meeting. Though, if you’re being honest, Seungcheol’s responses have been toeing the line between professional and provocative. His comment about preferring to eat his food rather than play with it makes you curious about what other colorful analogies he can come up with when he does cross that line. Frankly, you hope he would run through the entire spectrum.

Namjoon gives him a furtive look. “What he means is that this business wouldn't succeed if one of us walked away. It's better to hire both of us so you can get the best possible return on your investment.”

You scoff in disbelief. After years in this industry, you know that somebody is always looking to get ahead, as long as the price is right. “You mean to tell me that you’re perfectly fine settling for a 50/50 share when one of you could just take it all?”

“We don’t mind sharing.” Seungcheol bites his lower lip to stifle a smile, while his eyes glistened hotly in the muted lighting.

And just like that, this business meeting has evolved into something completely different. You’re not stupid, and neither is he. Deep down, you want to squeal from excitement. At least one of them is feeling you.

Before you jump to conclusions (or onto Seungcheol’s lap), you turn to Namjoon, expecting him to once again rein in his friend’s spicy comments. Instead, you’re surprised to find him staring, a smile ghosting his face.

“Do you disagree?” You ask him, rubbing the back of your neck to relieve some of the tension you were feeling inside. You’re interested to hear how he would try to spin Seungcheol’s comment.

There’s a slight pause before he smiles wider, flashing a dimple on his cheek. “Nah. I don’t see anything wrong with sharing… or taking turns, for that matter.”

You inhale sharply, holding that breath for a moment as your stomach drops. “Taking turns?” you ask carefully, brows furrowed in curiosity.

Unfazed, he answers, “Leading projects, of course!”

Your lips form an ‘o’ shape, and you nod slowly. “Right…”

The room suddenly feels hotter. Feeling parched, you tip your glass to your lips and drink, but it doesn’t help. Your body is telling you that you need something else to relieve your thirst.

Namjoon tilts his head, still appearing nonchalant. “What did you think I was referring to?”

“Nothing,” you reply. Narrowing your eyes at him, you ask, “What did you think I was thinking?”

They both stare at you quietly before bursting into laughter. Touché.

You’re laughing along with them when your phone chimes, reminding you about tomorrow’s meeting—something your boss has mentioned multiple times this week. When you look up from your screen, you notice the bar is nearly empty. You didn't realize it was so late. Even though you're reluctant to leave things…unsettled tonight, duty calls.

You motion for the server to bring the check, then hand over your credit card with a sigh. Guess you'll have to handle things on your own tonight.

Noticing your change in demeanor, Namjoon turns to you again. “So, are you one of those partners who pays for dinner and drinks, takes their commission, then we never see them ever?”

You soften at his question. “I’m sorry that’s been your experience in the past but I guarantee you, that’s not how I, or my firm, operate. I actually answer my phone and return calls,” you assure him.

He nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer. At least one of you is. You watch him toss back the last few drops of his drink, some spilling onto his chin. He picks up a napkin to clean up, but before he can, you see an opportunity and take it—swiping your thumb across his chin, surprising him and Seungcheol.

“I like to be hands-on with my clients.” Enough with the innuendo tennis! You're done playing games and want to see if one of them is willing to put their money where their mouth is. Meeting be damned, you’ll deal with the fallout later.

Namjoon is stunned into silence, trying to process what just went down. While you wait for him to get his head around it, Seungcheol jumps in. “Hmm, is that right?” His voice is low and husky, sending a chill down your spine.

You turn your head towards him. He appears to be pouting slightly, clearly jealous of the attention you're giving his friend and business partner. You smile, satisfied to provoke that bit of aggression in him.

You shift and bring your face closer to his, your voice steady. “Why? Is that hard to believe?”

He purses his lips, his dimples prominently on display. Normally, you'd find them adorable, but not now, as he looks like he's stalking you as his prey. “Well, there are two of us, you see…” He glances at Namjoon past your shoulder, as if giving him a silent signal.

Not a second later, Namjoon’s hand is under the table, sliding up your thigh. You’re thankful your table is tucked away in the back corner of the bar, keeping the lewdness out of sight.

“And we can be very demanding,” Namjoon breathes into your ear, while Seungcheol, humming in agreement, nuzzles his nose against your neck. “You think you can handle us both?”

Now that ache in your chest has traveled down between your legs. You press them together to hold off a bit longer, but it’s a futile attempt.

“You shouldn’t underestimate me, you know.” You lean in, your mouth hovering close to Namjoon’s. “I’m an excellent multitasker.” You push him to the brink when you touch the tip of your nose to his. Pulse racing, he closes the gap and seals his lips over yours. The kiss is soft at first, before he gradually deepens it. You succumb to the moment, letting out a soft moan when his tongue licks into your mouth.

You’re breathless when you pull away from him and turn to Seungcheol. He cups your chin to draw you closer, his eyes dark with desire, and captures your mouth in a hungry kiss. There's a hint of urgency in it that could be mistaken for impatience. But you like it, just as you enjoy Namjoon’s unhurried pace. You lose yourself between them, forgetting all the professional boundaries you were supposed to maintain.

You barely step into the room when Seungcheol tugs at your wrist, pulling you back and kissing you. Your fingers tangle in his hair while he holds your jaw, his mouth moving over yours, licking and sucking. You hear the door shut in the background, then feel Namjoon’s arms wrap around your waist. He starts kissing the exposed skin between your neck and shoulders.

Two pairs of hands explore your body, taking off your clothes, mouths trailing kisses everywhere. Your head spins as you’re caught between these two in nothing but your underwear, and all you can do is moan as they ravish you. You’re aching for attention. You arch forward, grinding your hips against Seungcheol’s thick thigh, desperate for some friction to ease the ache between your legs.

He pulls away, chuckling. “Someone’s a little eager.”

Namjoon murmurs in your ear, “Are you in a rush or something?” His hand slides between your legs, pulling you against him so you can feel his stiff cock against your ass. He cups your clothed pussy, fingers grazing over the damp material. You moan in response, your neck falling back on his chest.

“No rush,” you manage to say, “But aren’t you guys a little overdressed?” You reach back to palm Namjoon’s hardon through his pants, making him groan in your ear. You were wound up so tight at this point that you hoped one of them would break that seal, and fast.

“Ooh-ho-hoo…alright. C’mon then,” Seungcheol chuckles softly, pulling you away from Namjoon.

He leads you further into the room, until you find yourself standing by the foot of the bed.

“Before we start, is there anything you won't do?” Seungcheol asks.

“Or is there something specific you’re curious to try?” Namjoon adds, gauging your comfort level.

You appreciated their thoughtfulness and took a moment before sharing your boundaries with them.

“I’m not into DP or any kind of anal play. Choking is a no-go, and hard pass on any degradation. Besides that, I’m open to trying stuff.”

Namjoon nods. “And hey, if you're not feeling it, just let us know. We'll stop right away.”

Nice to know that chivalry isn’t dead, even in a threesome.

“Alright, that's settled then,” Seungcheol grins, but his smile quickly shifts to something more serious. “Now, sit,” he says softly. Without missing a beat, you sit down on the edge of the bed.

With his eyes locked on you, he slowly unbuttons his shirt, then moves to undo his pants with the same deliberate pace.

Your pulse races, your body buzzing with excitement and impatience. “We don't have all night, you know,” you said, watching his hand slip past his boxer-briefs’ waistband, stroking himself underneath.

“I know,” he says.

Movement from your periphery distracts you. You see Namjoon settling into one of the chairs by the window. He looks just as mouthwatering outside of his suit, all bare-chested and—

You yelp when Seungcheol jerks your hips to the very edge of the bed, your thighs on either side of him. Lowering himself, he whispers a warning into your ear. “And I also know that you want him…”

He glances at Namjoon, then back at you. Suddenly, you feel sheepish, like you've been caught trying to sneak another serving of cake before you've taken a bite out of the first slice you were given.

“I can make you feel good, too,” he breathes. He nips your earlobe, then rubs his hard length against your center to tease you. You moan, bucking your hips to feel more of him, but he’s got you pinned to the mattress.

“Besides, my buddy here prefers delayed gratification, and you—look really needy right now,” he points out. “I can help with that.”

Your core clenches desperately at his offer. “Please,” you whine.

He decides to taunt you, to make you squirm a little more. “Please, what? Use your words,” he says with a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Make me come… please.” You smile sweetly and bat your eyes at him. “Didn’t you say you preferred to get right to it, and eat?” You remind him of what he said earlier, hoping he'd finally end your torment.

He grins at your pouting, clearly amused. Teasing him a bit more, you reach back and unhook your bra. As you slide it off your shoulders, you catch his gaze and notice him licking his lips in anticipation.

He tilts your chin up and leans in for a kiss. Your hands instinctively wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. You sigh in contentment, lost in the moment, as his tongue explores your mouth, savoring you.

“Let’s get rid of these,” he says before slipping your panties off. He moves down, leaving a trail of kisses on your chest. He takes a hardened nipple in his mouth. You inhale sharply at the feel of his tongue circling and teasing it.

He moves lower, settling between your legs. Spreading them wider, he traces your inner thighs with his lips. He gently sucks at the flesh, purposely avoiding your center, prolonging the ache between.

He lifts your legs and props them on his shoulders. With his mouth lowered, his nose grazes your folds, making you shudder. He inhales deeply. “You smell intoxicating,” he says, before you feel his mouth on your clit. You let out a lingering moan at the contact.

“Ohh, right there,” as you push your hips shamelessly at his mouth. Your hunger builds as his tongue licks and flutters over your slick.

Your back arches, gripping the sheets as he inserts a finger, then a second. You throw your head back, eyes shut, lost in complete pleasure.

The mattress dips gently above where you lay. Feeling a warmth on your cheek, you open your eyes to see Namjoon lowering his lips onto you. You moan softly into his mouth while Seungcheol continues to lap at your soaked core, with his fingers dipping in and out of you.

Namjoon palms your breasts, teasing and pulling at your overly sensitive nipples.

“I love how responsive you are.” His tone carries that deep rasp that tickles your senses. You were incredibly turned on, feeling both the thrill of submission and the power of being serviced by two insanely hot men. Every touch, every whisper heightens the intensity, leaving you on the edge.

“I cannot wait to taste you,” Namjoon says, punctuating every word.

His voice triggers your release. That last bit of control snaps, and your body goes rigid. Your jaw goes slack as your orgasm takes over.

“F-uck…” you barely manage to say. Namjoon keeps caressing your face, helping you come back to reality.

Just as you're catching your breath, Seungcheol looms over you. He reaches above your head to grab something from Namjoon. After slipping on the condom, he hooks your leg around his waist to open you up for him. In one smooth move, he's in deep.

You moan breathlessly, wrapping your other leg around him as he finds his rhythm. Your fingers dig into the curve of his ass, leaving little crescent marks all over his skin.

“So good…” he breathes out.

Hearing rough groans above your head, you crane your neck. Namjoon is leaning against the headboard, fisting himself. His eyes blown out with arousal while watching you get fucked by his best friend. You want to take him in your mouth, but his cock is out of reach.

“I want him,” you say with a hungry look in your eyes. Then, turning your attention back to Seungcheol, “But I also want you to keep fucking me.”

His brows shoot up in surprise at your bold request, and he and Namjoon exchange looks, slightly taken aback.

“I did say I could multi-task,” you remark with a smirk, your confidence unwavering.

Slowing his hips, Seungcheol grins devilishly, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Greedy girl, huh?”

Your reply is straightforward and unapologetic. “I want what I want,” you shrug.

With a quiet laugh, Seungcheol pulls out, leaving you feeling bereft, but the promise of what’s next keeps you eager. Then, getting on your knees, you crawl over to Namjoon, your movements slow and calculated, savoring the anticipation. You look up at him and smile, then plant a swift kiss on his lips.

You dip down and give his cock some light licks, teasing the sensitive skin with your tongue. A deep groan rumbles from his chest, giving you a surge of satisfaction. You lower your mouth, taking your time, making him inhale sharply when the tip hits the back of your throat.

As you find a rhythm, Seungcheol watches intently, riveted at the sight before him. He traces your spine, trailing his fingers down your lower back. He presses lightly, urging you to bend further and lift your ass higher. He uses his thigh to push your knees wide, ensuring you're in the most optimal position for him.

Your cheeks hollow as you take long, deep pulls. Your tongue traces his length, flicking the tip when you reach it. Then, your body stills, pausing to let out a strangled moan at the shock of Seungcheol burying his cock in you from behind.

Namjoon looks down at you, his eyes filled with lust. “Don’t stop,” he begs softly.

Once you gather your bearings, you lower your head again. He runs his fingers through your hair, gathering it in one hand to keep it away from your face.

“Ahh…shit,” he hisses through his teeth. With a hooded gaze, he watches his cock slide in and out of your mouth.

He writhes in pleasure, giving into your ministrations, resisting the urge to push your head down and fuck your mouth mercilessly. His self-control turns you on even more, so you take him in deeper, pumping him with your hand while your mouth works up to the tip. You moan around Namjoon, and the vibrations from your lips send him into a frenzy.

Although you wish you could fully relish in satisfying him, you can’t help but get distracted by your own arousal as the heat in the pit of your belly grows.

Seungcheol’s hips churn, rubbing and thrusting into you, hitting the spot that makes you want to come more than anything. His fingers dig deeply into your flesh, likely to leave bruises the next morning, but right now, you couldn’t care less. You are getting fucked good and plenty tonight.

The air fills with the sounds of your moans and the rhythmic smacking of skin against skin. The room is thick with the unmistakable scent of sex. It’s a heady mix that you’re happy to surrender to. Your free hand finds your pulsing clit, knowing that one stroke would send you right over the edge.

You pull away from Namjoon seconds before you cry out, your core spasming with your climax—this one more intense than the first. Your walls clenching within sets off Seungcheol’s own orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m coming,” he breathes out, followed by a drawn out groan when he releases inside you.

As the euphoria fades, he pulls out and collapses to one side of the bed, utterly spent. Meanwhile, you slump onto the mattress, feeling the lingering warmth and the aftershocks of your orgasm.

He gets up, intending to make his way to the bathroom, when you suddenly reach out and give his ass a playful smack, catching him completely off-guard.

With a soft laugh echoing in the room, he continues toward the bathroom, his hand instinctively rubbing at the stinging skin, a smirk playing on his lips.

Namjoon lays next to you, his fingertips gently brushing over your bare skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Leaning in closer, he presses a kiss to your shoulder. It’s a sweet gesture, considering the debauchery that just occurred moments ago, and you don’t mind one bit.

“You okay?”

Your lips curve lazily. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Fine,” he replies.

You roll over to face him, drawing closer.

“You should rest a little more.”

Your hand playfully traces patterns on his chest for a moment before sliding down to his stomach. “I’m good to go, and you,” your eyes flit downward, “…look like you’re ready, too.”

He was half-hard seconds ago, but just before you can touch him, he grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to his lips to kiss it.

You can’t help but frown at his rejection. “But you still haven’t—”

“I know. Let’s just take a minute,” he suggests. “Relax.”

Usually, when someone tells you that, you do the exact opposite. But his voice was so soft and reassuring that your furrowed brows start to ease. He seems to have other plans.

You keep your eyes on him, watching his every move—deliberate, and intentional. He gently strokes your cheek. You watch his hand travel slowly down to your neck, savoring the warmth of his touch as it lingers there for a moment. His hand continues down to your chest, pausing to stroke your nipple. Your eyes shut at the feather-light touches that send goosebumps racing across your skin.

When he reaches the juncture of your hips, he gently pushes you flat on the bed, with little to no resistance from you.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he breathes into your ear. You do so, then feel his hand move past your stomach. You hold your breath, expecting his fingers to touch your wet folds. But instead, his hand stops on your upper thigh, leaving you a bit disappointed.

His lips graze your cheek. “Tell me what to do next.”

Whatever complaints or protests you were about to voice out die out instantly, and instead replaced by growing anticipation. “Rub my clit,” you gasp quickly.

You hear a light chuckle from him before his hand reaches down between your legs.

“Like this?” He asks, then begins to rub slow circles on the sensitive flesh.

“No, up and down,” you tell him. You let out a sharp breath when he does so, and at the right pace. “Ahh, yes…up more…” You hum in pleasure when he strokes the most sensitive spot.

“What next?” He patiently awaits your instruction.

“Talk to me,” you croak out.

His breath blows gently by your ear. “What should I say?”

“Anything…” you pant, “Just want to…hear you.” You didn't think you had a voice kink, but listening to Namjoon speak earlier today was…a revelation, to say the least.

With his silky-smooth tone, he starts whispering the naughtiest, filthiest things you can think of, each word dripping with seduction. His voice wraps around you like a cozy blanket, pulling you deeper into his steamy fantasy.

You’re so wet for me.

So sexy.

As soon as you walked into the room, I wanted to bend you over that table and fuck you senseless.

You beg him to finger you, and he does so, sliding into you, working your sensitive nerves, and building up your need even further with every movement. There's something incredibly erotic about him asking you what you want and you telling him exactly how to please you. This is the kind of fantasy fulfillment that most people can only dream of.

“Should I eat that pussy after I make you come like this? You were making a lot of noises back there for Cheol. Will you do the same for me?”

You nod frantically.

“Yeah? Will you come hard for me?”

You nod again. “Yes, yyesss…don’t stop…”

“Tell me when you’re close.”

“Ahh yes, I’m there…s-slow down.”

He does as he’s told, coaxing your orgasm out of you. “C’mon, baby…let go.”

“Mm…coming—” As you say the words, he presses his fingers up against the roof of your cervix, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“Let me hear you.”

You let out a deep, prolonged sigh that echoes in the room.

Namjoon’s fingers continue to pump slowly into you, stretching out your orgasm. “There we go, atta girl.”

Your legs tremble, breaths turn into shaky gasps as your walls clench and release around his fingers.

“Holy shit, that’s hot,” Seungcheol says from afar. Fresh out of the shower, he finds himself wishing he hadn’t missed the scene that has your face contorting in pure, unbridled pleasure.

While you’re still reeling from coming, Namjoon turns you onto your side. He then pulls your back flush against his chest, wrapping his arms around you to hold you close.

“You ready for me,” he asks, his teeth grazing your ear. Your body responds instinctively, trying to roll your hips into him. You feel his hard cock against your ass cheek.

“I want to ride you,” you plead.

“You do?”

You want to set the pace, the rhythm…the depth…You turn to face him, tilt your head up, and playfully bite his lower lip. “I want to be on top.”

He laughs, deep and husky, and eventually gives in. He pulls away to reach for a foil packet on the nightstand, sitting up against the headboard as he sheaths himself.

You move up to him, even though your legs feel like jelly. You straddle his hips and drape your arms over his shoulders, pulling him closer. With your eyes locked on each other, you slowly lower your hips. Your lips part with an involuntary sigh as you sink deeper. You fight to keep your eyes open, savoring the feel of him stretching you, filling you completely.

Catching your hips, Namjoon looks up at you. “Ride me good, yeah?”

Your core clenches reflexively at the challenge.

You lift again, slowly, making you both feel every nuance of that mind-numbing friction. Then, you slam back down, the fullness, the connection, was too good to contain. He shifts restlessly, his hips moving tightly, wanting to feel more of you.

Seungcheol sits beside Namjoon, wanting to get a front row seat. He reaches for your breast, palming it as he lazily strokes his cock. “She feels good, huh? Nice and tight.”

“Mm-hmm,” Namjoon agrees. “Sweet mouth on her, too.”

Seungcheol hums, his lips curling into a dark, enigmatic smile. “Mm, I’ll have to try that for myself,” he says, his voice dripping with need.

Just thinking about having Seungcheol's thick, hard length in your mouth drives your senses wild, making your walls clamp around Namjoon, causing him to hiss through his teeth.

Seungcheol chuckles softly and decides to tease you a bit more. He rolls and tugs on your nipple. “Can I come on your tits?”

“Hmm… yeah…” you hum vaguely as another wave of throbbing hits your center.

With a soft growl, Namjoon captures your mouth, sliding his tongue into it. His hand cups the back of your neck, holding you right where he wants you. You kiss him back, matching his ardor while you rock back and forth against him.

He pauses the kiss and supports your back as he changes position. He gently guides you to lean back, allowing him to go deeper. You place your hands behind you for balance, steadying yourself on his thick thighs as he moves inside.

Seungcheol watches with a lust-filled gaze, his eyes darkening with desire as you and Namjoon fuck. Each movement heightens his arousal, and his breaths grow rougher. His hand moves in sync with your rhythm. His strokes grow more rapid, but still controlled; he wants this to last as long as possible.

You gaze at them with heavy-lidded eyes. Namjoon looks so tempting beneath you, his neck straining with effort, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, and his breath coming in ragged gasps. Seungcheol, with his jaw slack and eyes half-closed, has every muscle in his body taut with anticipation.

A sob escapes your lips as your entire body trembles with another promise of an orgasm.

Namjoon places his hand just below your belly, teasing your clit with slow strokes of his thumb as his thrusts turn messier.

“I’m close…don’t…stop,” you stutter, thighs burning as sweat breaks through your skin.

“Fuck,” he bites out, his teeth grinding,

Burying his face in your neck, he tightens his grip on your hips, holding you firmly in place as he continues to slam harder and deeper into you.

You cry out, your body shuddering as pleasure washes over you. Every nerve ending is alight, and you’re fighting to catch your breath.

His hips start to slow down, and you can feel his muscles tense. He tightens up for a second before finally letting go, the rumbling in his chest reverberating as he groans deeply into your shoulder.

Peering in Seungcheol’s direction, you wrench away from Namjoon, a soft moan escaping his lips as you get off him.

“May I?” Your lips hovered over his cock, waiting for him to give you permission.

Nodding, he moves his hand to give you enough space to scoot closer to him. You lick your lips, then take him in. He throws his head back and lets out a deep sigh, gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white.

You hollow your cheeks, and his response is immediate, his breath hitching as he fights to maintain control.

He sucks in a sharp breath when you run the flat of your tongue up his length before your head dips down again. “Geez….ffuuuckk, this feels so good.”

He looks down at you, cups your jaw, and holds your hair with one hand to guide the pace. With a deep groan, he shifts his hips, pushing into your mouth.

Driven by the desperate sounds he made, you suck harder, determined to make him come again. Face flushed, and stuttered breaths escaping through his parted lips, he is completely at your mercy.

“I’m close, I’m close,” he says in a hurry.

You pull away, but remain bent over, pushing your tits up toward him, offering yourself to him.

He sits up, balancing on one knee. With a few definitive strokes, he spurts onto your chest. His moans of pleasure fill the room, his face grimacing in agonized bliss as he rubs out the last remnants of his release.

Namjoon approaches, handing you a warm, wet washcloth. A shower would be ideal, but this will do for now as exhaustion finally hits you. You fall backward onto the mattress, with Namjoon and Seungcheol sitting up against the headboard on either side of your legs.

The three of you lay in silence for a few moments, staring at the ceiling, heartbeats settling, basking in your post-orgasmic haze.

Namjoon interrupts your thoughts. “Are you alright?”

With heavy eyelids, you look at him, muster a hum, and offer a weak nod before your head lolls back on the bed.

“Tired?” Seungcheol asks, massaging your ankle.

“Naaahh, I can totally go for a couple more rounds,” you reply sarcastically, making everyone burst out laughing.

“Well, now you know how our team works,” Namjoon remarks with a chuckle.

You snort. “Interesting team-building activity.”

“I think we should do more of these, don’t you think?” Seungcheol counters.

You sit up, laughing and shaking your head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

He raises an eyebrow. “We could always arrange another meeting if you need more... convincing. Over dinner, maybe?”

Namjoon chimes in, “We can add it to the contract? Make it official?”

They both stare back at you with eager eyes, waiting for your response.

Pursing your lips, your mind races with possibilities, and you can't help but feel a thrill deep within you.

“Maybe,” you smirk.

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