#wonder if anyone will see this through the warmth tag. wonder what's there

[suguann]

LOVE IT WHEN YOU CALL ME LOVER—JJK MEN.

✎. jjk men showing you how much they love you. | wc. 2k+

tags. fem!reader, window sex, possessive behavior, mirror sex, oral sex, public sex, pregnancy, fingering, praise kink, size kink

featuring. gojo, nanami, geto

masterlist

↬ GOJO

He doesn’t think you’ve looked more breath-taking than you do right then, humming softly to the music on the radio while painting your toenails, the last stretch of daylight kissing your exposed knees through the window. You’re so lost in your own little world that you don’t notice him watching you.

The important emails on his phone go unanswered, saved for another day when you’re not there to distract him. You stretch your smooth legs to inspect your work and glance across the living room to give him one of those soft smiles that sends warmth through his middle.

“What do you think?” you ask, little sunflower yellow toes flexing on the coffee table. 

“They’re pretty, baby.”

Another smile stretches across your face, that full lower lip caught between your teeth. “You think so?”

“Positive.” His phone lies forgotten on the cushion beside him, and he leans back to make room for you. “Come here.”

His eyes make a lazy trail up from your delicate ankle bone to the soft slope of your collarbone that peeks out from one of his t-shirts as you walk towards him, getting his fill until his fingers itch to touch and retrace the invisible path. 

Gojo can’t help it. He’s struck by the sight of you.

He wishes he could trap the shocked and delighted sound you make when he pulls you into his lap, keep it tucked away in the untainted nooks and crannies for him to return to later. A little melody on repeat for the days he feels undeserving of such sweet things, how he treads the fine line of corrupting that wide-eyed innocence you have of the world.

Still. Still, the truth is, he’s a little greedy, and he doesn’t really care how bad of a person that makes him.

Everyone looks up to him in some way. Nobody ever called him a saint. 

Gojo works out more of those soft sounds—pressing you against the chilly, tall windows in the living room, fist in your hair, and his mouth attached to the long column of your throat—that make his mouth go dry. Your back arches to ease the way he fucks up into you, tits brushing up against the glass, and he loves how the distant city lights below shimmer around you like a halo.

A high-pitched whimper, sharp breaths fogging over the window. “‘Toru people can see.”

He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of how your soft and silky little cunt sucks him in—wrapped up all warm and wet around his cock—cursing under his breath when he tells you he doesn’t care. You’re his, anyway. 

“Let them see,” he grunts into your neck, teeth catching along your skin before licking at the vulnerable spot above your pulse. “Let them see how I fuck you because they can’t have you.”

Gojo can barely control himself at the mere idea that anyone would ever think they could. He’ll be the last and only one to know how you turn into a fucking vice when he hits particularly deep—how you shake like a leaf, legs coltish, after he makes you cum hard. 

↬ GETO

It feels like the epitome of terrible days: from the tomato stain on your skirt to your boss forcing deadlines down your throat and surprising Suguru at work only to find a pretty, willowy brunette sitting on the corner of his desk, her hand resting on a stack of graded papers, and fluttering her long lashes at him. 

The final nail in the coffin (a stupid nail, but a hammered-down nail nonetheless) is how she laughs and touches his arm, and Suguru doesn’t brush her off. He actually laughs back, all perfectly straight teeth on display and eyes crinkling at the corners. One of those heart-stopping smiles stretching across his face that you foolishly thought were all yours. 

Suddenly, you wonder if it was out of obligation that made him compliment you that morning in your dress—look at you, a kiss to your cheek, I’m going to fucking ruin you—a perfunctory greeting after being together so long (like making coffee or picking out paint), to make you feel better, or if he meant it—

A tap with sticky fingers to your cheek. “C’mon, watch.” 

You feel like you’re looking from the outside in, a spectator with a front-row seat that has your breath catching in your throat at the sight of his spit-slick chin and cheeks resting against the crease where thigh meets hip. He gives you a syrupy grin that tightens something in your stomach like a screw. 

“Not me,” he says, words laced with amusement. 

Hesitantly, your gaze trails up from his to the floor-length mirror perched in front of the bed, and what you see has your fingers sinking into the sheets. 

You can hardly pull your eyes away from how your leg looks draped across his broad, muscular back, making you look so small even though you sit above him. And it’s like Suguru knows what you’re seeing because his grin grows wider. 

“See, look how perfect you are. That woman in the mirror is so fucking pretty, I can’t believe I get to tell everyone she’s mine.” His thumb parts you open for his mouth. “Why would you think you look otherwise, huh?”

“I…don’t know,” you whisper, head a fuzzy mess of weak excuses that evaporate before they even have a chance to make it onto your tongue.

“Hm, that’s not a good enough answer.” 

Your hips twitch when he noses at your clit. 

“Awe, I bet that feels good, huh? I’m gonna show you what happens when you talk bad about my pretty baby,” then he sucks it into his mouth, making you squeal.

He can’t blame you for squeezing your eyes shut at the slick, hot pressure dragging through your folds—shaky fingers tightening in Suguru’s long, dark hair. It feels equally like everything and not nearly enough until he suddenly pulls away, taking that jittery feeling in your belly with him.

“Why’d you—”

“If you look away, I stop.” He chuckles lightly at the little pout you give him before his lips suck at the tender spot near the crease of your thigh, “so watch.”

↬ NANAMI

After lunch, he drags you across the street where there’s a park for him to set up a picnic blanket under a tree. Kento rests his head on your lap, slipping an arm around your waist and rubbing the sore spot in your lower back from being on your feet for too long. 

It’s all very innocent: him kissing your round pregnant belly, you running your fingers through his soft hair and talking about the latest work gossip. 

You hum when you feel his fingers crawl up your thigh, slowly at first and with no destination, just soft, aimless circles here and there, until the calloused pad of his thumb skirts over the front of your underwear, making you jerk with a small squeak.

“Kento,” you giggle, fingers tightening in his hair. 

He smiles at the scandalized look spreading across your face and leans forward to press another kiss against your stomach.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, hand pushing up your dress. 

You glance around the park to see if anyone is paying attention to the two of you—an elderly couple feeding the ducks frozen peas by the pond, a mother and father playing with their giggling daughter in the grass, college kids throwing a frisbee, all far enough away to be out of earshot (but that’s not the real problem here)—before you look back at your husband. 

“W-what?” you sputter, wide-eyed realization taking over.

He presses another open-mouthed kiss to your thigh. “Do you trust me?”

A soft whine slips past your teeth, the hand not in his hair curling into the blanket. “But everyone will notice because I’m—I’m—”

(A beached whale. An air balloon. A carnival-sized melon. You get the gist.)

“Gorgeous.” He smooths a hand over your bump, open-fondness radiating across his features, the subtle hint of possessiveness there making you shiver. “You look so fucking gorgeous with my baby growing inside you. Let me take care of you.”

“B-but—”

Everything else melts away to the pulsing heat between your legs and your husband groaning from the wetness he finds there. Your shaky thighs fall open wider when his fingers hook under the edge of your underwear (unflattering things worn for comfort over sexual appeal), pulling them aside to run his fingers through your slick seam. 

Pregnancy brain clouds your judgment, and before you can think twice about your actions, how you definitely shouldn’t let Kento eat you out in the middle of a public park, you nod your head. 

His lips ghost over the tender flesh of your upper thigh. "I need to hear you say it."

It’s a low and shaky yes that has his fingers finally sinking into you to the third knuckle, steadily pumping in and out of you. You buck down onto his hand, trying to bite back the moan threatening to alert everyone in the park of the head under your skirt.

“You’re going to cum for me, just like this,” Kento tells you, voice muffled by a layer of powder blue cotton. “Alright, darling?” 

[springtyme]

hii!! i saw ur inbox open and was wondering if i could request this; so, imagine dad!simon (or konig idm!!) having his son / daughter see his face for the first time since they were born and theyre just kinda sitting there like :000?? hes so pretty?? while yn is just screaming in the back?? <33 have a great day n thnaks for reading x

𝐔𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 ♡

Thank you for the request, I had such a good time writing this! I love writing dad!Simon so much! ♡ but also, ngl, the image of this big bloke wearing a mask in front of his baby seems borderline comical to me.

Simon Riley x afab!reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist

summary: Your daughter finally sees her father's face for the first time.

word count: 2.2k

warning/tag: Mostly just dad!Simon fluff with a little hint of angst. No gendering terms are directly used for the reader, but they are pretty fem coded. It's mentioned that they were pregnant. No use of y/n.

As the soft morning light filters through the curtains of your bedroom, you slowly begin stretching your limbs and blinking away the remnants of sleep. As you slowly settle into wakefulness, you hear the screeching sound of the baby monitor on your nightstand coming to life and you feel how your heart flutters happily in your chest as a familiar sound comes through. The sweet sound of your daughter’s happy coos, accompanied by Simon’s deep, gentle voice, fill the room with sweetness. 

“Morning, sweet pea,” Simon’s voice crackles through the monitor followed by the sound of your baby happily gurgling at her father and then exclaiming a little more whiny sound. “Yeah, yeah, I know you’re hungry, but we have to get you changed before we can make breakfast, lovie.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you lie there, basking in the warmth and comfort of your bed. The love and joy that echo through the monitor remind you of just how much love fills your home. It’s moments like these that make your heart swell with an indescribable sense of happiness.

Your mind wanders, and you find yourself reminiscing about the journey that brought you here. 

From the moment you and Simon first met, there was an undeniable connection, a spark that ignited and grew into a love that was both fierce and tender. However, it hadn’t been that easy to convince him that he in fact was deserving of such love. He had been scared that he would mess it up, mess you up, convinced himself that he wasn’t able to make anyone happy and that he was broken beyond repair. But you had been rather insisting, and he had finally let his walls crumble and let you into his heart. 

And as you had expected, all his worries had been unfounded. He is the best, most loving partner you could ever have dreamt of. 

The love you share with him is a love that feels like home.

And then, the arrival of your daughter added a new dimension to your love story. From the first time you had held her tiny hand, you knew that your family was complete. Watching Simon transform into the most loving and doting father has only deepened your admiration and affection for him.

And as you lie here,  reminiscing on your life, you can’t help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the love that surrounds you. 

With a content sigh, you finally pull yourself out of bed, ready to start the weekend with your little family. 

As you make your way down the stairs you can hear the sound of your daughter’s laughter from the kitchen, filling your heart with warmth and you can’t help but smile and make your way towards the source of the joyful commotion. As you enter the room, the morning sun gently illuminates the kitchen, casting a soft glow over the room, and you are greeted by a heartwarming sight. Simon is standing at the stove, stirring a pot of millet porridge, your daughter’s favourite, while she is sitting in her highchair, which has been moved away from the kitchen table and closer to the counter, so she can see what Simon is doing, clapping her hands in delight.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the comforting scent of the porridge. You can’t help but feel a surge of immense love and gratitude for the man who stands before you, effortlessly balancing the roles of partner and father.

Simon turns towards you. “Good morning, love,” he greets you, his eyes twinkling with warmth, the bottom half of his face covered by a black mask. He had started to wear it around the house again after your daughter had been born.  

“Good morning,” you reply, your voice filled with a mix of amusement and adoration. “I see you two are having quite the breakfast party.”

Simon laughs softly and nods. “We thought we’d surprise you with breakfast in bed, but it seems that someone couldn’t wait,” he says, glancing at your daughter, who just giggles in response.

You walk over to them, planting a soft kiss on Simon’s masked cheek before planting another on your daughter’s, much chubbier, one. “Well, I can’t say I’m disappointed. This is the best way to wake up,” you say, gazing at your little family with a heart full of love.

Together you finish cooking breakfast, porridge for the baby and scrambled eggs and turkey bacon for you and Simon.

You begin to set the table as Simon picks up your daughter, supporting her with one arm as he settles her on his hip, so he can move her chair back to the table, but before he can grab the chair he stops dead in his tracks.

Your little girl has grabbed a fistful of his mask in her tiny hand. She doesn’t seem to be pulling on it, or otherwise trying to take it off him, but she also doesn’t seem to want to let go of it when Simon gently takes her hand to get her to release her grip.  

“Sweetheart, please…” Simon says softly, but he trails off, a wave of emotions flickering over his eyes, but they end up having a sort of determinant look to them as they lock with his daughter’s.

You feel how your heart skips a beat as Simon lets go of her little hand to instead grip the place his mask is fastened.  

With a deep breath, Simon removes the mask, revealing his face to your daughter for the very first time in her young life. You feel goosebumps rise along your arms as Simon’s features come to light. The room falls silent, and time seems to stand still.

Your daughter’s gaze is fixed on Simon, you can see a whirlwind of emotions flickering across her little face. 

It’s a pivotal moment that holds the power to change everything. You can see how Simon, too, feels a mix of emotions coursing through him. 

He has once mentioned to you that he was afraid that his scars would scare her, but you have had a suspicion that something else might be the reason he has kept the mask on in front of her for. 

He does have a few scars from his work, but they are nowhere near severe enough to scare anyone. You do have another theory to why he has kept it on, one he hasn’t directly confirmed, but a conversation from your pregnancy has stuck with you. 

He had voiced his concern that something would happen to him on the battlefield. not because he was that concerned for his own wellbeing, he knew what the risks of his job was, but because he was afraid of something happening to him, leaving you and your little one alone in the world. He had, on the whole, had many worries about becoming a father. 

He had been worried that his past had broken him so severely that he couldn’t be the dad your daughter needed him to be. Like the fear he also had about you and your relationship in the beginning of it, the fear that he couldn’t be the man you deserved. 

He has, in all the time you’ve known him, done everything to disprove that concern, he is the best partner you could ask for and now the most lovable dad to your little girl, but you know that he still has his concerns and that his feelings about them are valid. 

You think the mask has served as a sort of safety blanket for him. Like he thought that it would be easier for you and your daughter to lose him if your little girl couldn’t remember his face, or something like that. You find that thought heart rending.               

You know that his job comes with a risk, you had known it when you got together and you had known it when you married him and you had known it when you got your daughter. Losing him on the battlefield would be your worst nightmare come true. You know that he is smart, strong and capable, but you also know that there are no guarantees in war, which, to you, is just all the more reason for  your daughter to know her father’s face, but you have let Simon choose for himself when he was ready for that.  

But you don’t want to think about any of that right now, so you push those thoughts away, and instead let yourself be completely mesmerised by the sight before you   

Your little girl focuses on his, now revealed, face, taking in every detail. Her eyes widening in surprise, curiosity, and perhaps even a hint of fear, her little mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ of surprise as she absorbs every detail of her father’s face. 

“It’s just me, princess,” Simon tells her, his voice filled with a mix of amusement, nerves and an overwhelming love for his little girl. His eyes, once guarded, now shine with warmth and affection. 

The confirmation of his voice is what convinces her. A wide smile spread across her little face, revealing the adorable dimples she has inherited from Simon, on her sweet, chubby cheeks. She lets out a happy squeal, as she realises that it really is her father who’s now smiling down at her, a set of dimples matching hers on his cheeks.    

She giggles happily, which, to you, is the most beautiful sound in the entire world. Her little hands starting to explore Simon’s face, her tiny fingers tracing the lines and contours of it. It’s a gentle and tender gesture that speaks volumes. You watch in awe as the beautiful moment between your daughter and her father unfolds in front of you. It’s a moment you will cherish forever. 

When she finally seems satisfied with her mapping of his face with her small hand, she turns her head to look over at you with an excited expression on her little face, one that conveys something along the lines of ‘you seeing this too?’ Her eyes lighting up, reflecting the genuine joy that fills her little heart.

“Yeah, baby, that’s your daddy,” you smile at her, and she lets out another happy shriek before looking back at Simon again, happily nuzzling her little face into his neck. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?” You continue as you step forward, placing a hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles over the dusty rose bodystocking that she is wearing, one that Simon picked out when he got her ready and you still laid in bed.   

You look up at Simon, a soft smile on his lips as your eyes lock. 

“He never wants to believe me when I tell him, but he is actually the most handsome man I know,” you say, with a playful glint in your eyes. “He’s probably the most handsome man in the whole world, actually.”           

Simon chuckles, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “Oh, come on now,” he replies, his voice a mix of embarrassment and amusement.“I think you might be a bit biassed there, love.”

You shake your head, a warm smile spreading across your face. “Nah, I don’t think I am,” you state, wrapping your arms around both Simon and your little girl in his arms. “Just stating facts. I actually got the most handsome husband and the most beautiful daughter in the whole wide world.” you say with a content sigh, hugging your little family tightly.  

It’s a hug that speaks volumes, conveying love, affection and acceptance. In this embrace, you know that you truly have the most beautiful family in the world.  

As you finally let go of them you place a sweet kiss on your daughter’s little nose. She giggles joyfully, and you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratefulness over what a happy little girl you have. Simon seems to be thinking the same as he smiles down at her.  

But your adorable little troublemaker doesn’t seem to be done with causing havoc yet.   

She reaches out her tiny hand and grabs for the mask again. Simon hesitates for a moment, looking down at the fabric in his hand, the symbol of his past, before letting her have it. The mask, once a symbol of his doubts and fears, now becomes a simple toy for your daughter as she happily shakes it up and down, a cheeky grin on her little face. 

You and Simon lock eyes, and then the two of you burst out in laughter.  

As your laughter fills the room, a sense of pure joy washes over you. You look at Simon, his eyes sparkling with happiness, and you know in this moment, that the love and bond the three of you share is unbreakable, and it fills your heart with an indescribable warmth.

With a deep sense of gratitude and contentment, you take a mental snapshot of this beautiful moment. It’s a memory that will forever be etched in your mind, a testament to the strength of your love and the joy that radiates from your little girl.

As the laughter subsides, you gather your family close again, embracing the love and happiness that surrounds you. In this embrace, you know that you have everything you could ever need.

Your daughter’s laughter and Simon’s unwavering love fill your life with immeasurable happiness, and you couldn’t be more grateful for the beautiful family you have created.

[ddejavvu]

hiiiii! i love ur sirius x animagus!reader collection :)

how about one where the girls dont know that r is the cat they see sirius hanging out with and one of them knits a sweater for sirius' 'cat' and sirius and the boys r just like "shes vicious when it comes to costumes :(" feeling bad for whoever made the sweater but then r like lets them put it on or smth and theyre surprised?

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9

i've sort of twisted your prompt just a teeny tiny bit!! i hope all of the parts you liked most are still in there, though :') // also this one was hard to tag 'cause again technically it's sirius x reader but he's not present and she's not with james either so i used both of their tags just because they're technically the central focus of the overarching story even if this part is a little less defined

--

James thinks it might be the worst day of his life so far, and isn't sure what mischief he could have inflicted upon anyone to possibly deserve this cruel of a punishment.

Lily Evans is standing before him, face kind instead of pinched in annoyance as it so often is at his presence, and she's handing him something. As in, he will take it from her and their hands will brush. As in, her skin will touch his. As in, he's never going to wash his hand again.

"I'm glad I found you,-"

She's glad she found him!

"-I couldn't catch Sirius before he left Potions," She laments, "Could you let him know I made this for his cat, Potter?"

James's stellar brain and above-average intelligence supply him with the phrase, 'Huh?', which might possibly be the least embarrassing thing he's ever said to her, and that doesn't fare well.

"That's Sirius's new cat, isn't it?" She presses on, and James forces himself to tear his eyes off of her ethereal face to glance at you, draped lazily over the couch cushion beside him soaking up the warmth of the fire. Your eyes were lazy before Lily had shown up, but at the sight of what she's holding out; knitwear, they narrow and sharpen. It's an odd shape, not human size, with openings for four legs.

"I thought she might be getting cold now that the snow's started up," She tilts her chin towards the window, glazed over with frost, "And I just figured I could knit her a little sweater."

Not even James's fear of your claws can deter him from accepting the gift from Lily. He takes it - and their hands brush! Just like he'd hoped for! - grabbing you unceremoniously around the middle and dragging you onto his lap.

"She loves sweaters." He fibs, shamefully distracted by Lily's face as he tries wrestling you into the garment. You're well aware of why he's lying to her, because the last time you'd been faced with cat clothes, you'd ripped a hole in his bedspread. But this is Lily, and you refrain from shredding the fabric of his pants as he shoves you into the sweater.

He's clumsy with it, because he's not giving you his full attention, and you let out a disgruntled meow as he smears the fabric of the sweater over your face instead of tugging your head through the hole.

"Now, Mittens," He chuckles tensely, "Just- put your paw through there, don't scratch me-! And- there." He announces proudly, hoisting you up into the air just beneath the joints of your front paws. He displays you to Lily, and you steel yourself as she croons and reaches out to pet you. She's far gentler than the man holding you, and you'd appreciate it at any other point in time, but the sweater she'd knit you is itching against your fur and dragging it against the grain, and you'd like to leave it in ribbons as you bolt up the staircase. For everyone's sake, you won't.

"Look at that," James announces proudly, "She loves it. Thanks, Lily."

She smiles, a soft gesture, but not a weak one. She nods, "James," And takes her leave, heading towards the girls' dorms staircases, inevitably about to find your bed empty and wonder where you are at this hour of night.

"She said my name," James breathes, only after the door to your dorm has been safely shut, and she runs no risk of hearing him. He looks incredulously at you, in your tense, rigid stance on the couch cushions, "She didn't call me Potter! She- you're a miracle." James levels you with an intensely grateful stare, thumbing fondly at the knitwear that's itching viciously at your fur, "You're my wingman, Y/N. I mean it, you're putting that sweater on every day, I'll manhandle you into it myself."

You yowl at him, a sound that typically scares him off, but he doesn't yield, grinning impishly at you instead.

"Whatever you say, Mittens."

[silkscream]

HEAVEN SURROUNDS US

ੈ✩ summary: gojo likes that you make him feel human. admittedly, he also likes that sometimes, you make him feel like a god. ੈ✩ warnings: smut (18+), fingering, unprotected sex, slight dacryphilia, begging, soft dom!gojo, kind of mean gojo lol, workplace relations, reader can see curses but that's it, gojo has a god complex, dirty talk, not proofread bc i do not give a fuck ੈ✩ wc: 3.1k ੈ✩ a/n: i am having intense gojo brainrot. i was thinking about 'i'm your man' by mitski the entire time i was writing this btw. ALSO I LITERALLY HAD A GRAPHIC AND DIVIDERS FOR THIS BUT EVERY TIME I INCLUDE THEM this shit doesn't show up in the tags. i've given up!

Gojo Satoru has the smell of death burned into his senses to the point of complete apathy. He’s sure that Shoko feels similarly, though as a healer and a doctor, she’s often only met with the aftermath – the quiet decaying, the dried blood.

Gojo has encountered it all. The stench, the last pleas for salvation, the battered and torn-apart limbs. Even when the dying beings are cursed spirits suffering from the carnage created beneath Gojo’s hands, sometimes he wonders if an angel is nearby that weeps for them.

He has held grief inside his core to use as a weapon ever since he lost Geto. Nothing fazes him anymore. After the tragedies of his late teens, Gojo chooses to devote himself to his students rather than ruminating in sanctimonious thought loops. Gojo Satoru knows he isn’t a god, but sometimes, when he levitates in the sky with blood on his hands, he certainly feels like one. It’s safe to say that he may be the closest thing to one in the world of Jujutsu sorcery. It’s nothing that he despises – he’s known since his powers took shape in the awkwardness of his child-body.

Gojo likes to think he isn’t as cruel and indifferent as a god should be because of how protective he is. The warmth he’s had in his heart for Megumi alone confirms this as such, and now for Yuuji. Despite toying with the idea of divinity, he likes to remember that he’s human.

You are the only thing that reminds him of this.

Ever since Gojo had laid his eyes on you, he figured you were a delicate thing. He’s not completely wrong – although you can see curses, you lack any techniques. After becoming an assistant at Jujutsu Tech, he had taken more than a liking to you, more than he would be willing to admit to anyone else. He also never thought that the girl who was so quick to sardonic banter with him would be so vulnerable. 

When you’re underneath him, maybe he does consider himself a god, just for a second. And then he feels the silky touch of your skin and he can’t help but wish for a life of mundanity with you until the earth stops spinning. 

He likes that he can feel how fast your heart is beating. He likes that you become so pliant just from having his hand on your thigh.

It’s not like he exploits the little affair you have. It’s not that he wants to exploit you either, but the power trip that surges through him when you preen to his touch feels better than winning any battle. It’s those big eyes of yours. It’s a miracle you had reciprocated your attraction to him – he doesn’t know what he’d do to any other man who happened to pursue you. The thought of that kind of violence doesn’t make him feel any guilt. He’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant that he could have you forever, unconditionally.

Within the few months you’ve been working at Jujutsu Tech, you learn a few things about Gojo Satoru. He has an incredible sweet tooth. He cares about his students. He likes the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair. Lives for it, even, but he could never tell you that.

That’s how you ended up here, you suppose. Writhing and wet and oh so obedient for him. 

You like that a man that is worshipped by all enjoys worshipping you.

“Satoru,” you whisper. The sound of your voice makes him fucking melt. 

God, it’s so much worse when you beg. Satoru wants to be gentle with you, careful, because he knows that if all of his morals were thrown out the window, he would devour you completely, leaving bruises in your wake. But he waits, titillatingly, smirking as his long fingers grasp the flesh above your hips.

“Please,” you whine. Your lower half bucks up into him, squirming just a little, but he grounds you with his large hands once again. 

Satoru knows better than to toy with his prey, but the flush on your cheeks is so fucking cute that he wonders what you would look like with tears rolling down the soft blush of your skin.

“Be patient, baby,” he rasps. “Just like lookin’ at you.”

“You look at me all day.”

“Someone’s got quite the attitude.”

You’re about to protest until you feel his knuckle brush against the peak of your clit, teasingly. A nasty grin spreads across his face as he grazes his fingertips along your slit, marveling at how wet you are when he’d barely touched you.

“So pretty for me,” he muses, mostly to himself. 

“Should see how pretty I am when you’re inside me.”

Satoru scoffs. Despite being so human, you have quite the mouth, so much confidence in the way you move and speak that he often forgets how easy it would be to lose you. To break you. Though, of course, that privilege is for him and him only. 

He kisses you to shut you up, but not nearly for long enough. You can’t even get your tongue inside his mouth. You whine pitifully as he pulls back. 

“Poor baby,” he coos. “So on edge today. What’s got you so desperate like this, huh?”

“Just want you,” your voice is meek, which is an anomaly. The honey-sweet cadence of your words is barely above a whisper.

“You have me.” Unbeknownst to you, you always will, whether you tire of him or not.

He makes his point by circling the pad of his thumb to your clit while his other hand claws at your chest underneath your dress shirt. The sound of your gasp has him reeling already, has his cock rock-hard in his slacks. 

“More,”  you whimper. “S-Satoru, please.”

You’re surprised when you feel the palm of his hand over your mouth. You whine against his hand, soft gasps dissipating underneath his touch as your eyes roll back. You feel two fingers enter your sopping cunt and it renders you brainless, docile just how he likes you. 

The rhythmic ministrations of his fingers touch upon the spot inside your core that makes your legs shake. You like being smothered by him despite your personality. You don’t even have to tell him – he knows already, he’s known ever since he noticed your reactions to him touching you casually during the working day.

The more you crave his touch, the more you become dependent on him, even when you don’t realize it. You always pride yourself on being an independent soul, refusing his insistence to pay for your meals, the way you express to him quietly that you want to be able to fight back one day. You could perfect a certain violence in between your fingers just like he can if you put your mind to it. But you have too much dignity to request his guidance as a mentor or teacher. 

He thinks about it now as he touches you. The idea of him training you to use cursed techniques. The idea of him making you in his image, shaping you like he had created you himself.

If anyone truly knew the extent of how you are the object of Satoru’s affection, of his obsession, one would render him pathetic. But he knows he’s too powerful. He knows it’s easy to make you seem like the pathetic one. You’re already begging for his cock, after all. 

“I‘m gonna… I’m–”

There’s a squelching sound when he retracts. His fingers are wet with your slick and you’re on the verge of tears when you feel the loss. You’re already falling apart without his touch. It doesn’t help when you watch him lick your wetness off of his own fingers.

“Why are you being so mean to me today?”

“‘m not,” Satoru purrs, licking a stripe from your collarbone to your earlobe. You try to kiss him since his face is so close to yours, but again, he restricts you. His long, slender fingers squeeze the base of your neck. “I could be a lot meaner to you, y’know. You’re lucky. This is mild compared to what I’ve thought about doing to you.”

“Wanna cum,” you whisper. You don’t even realize that there are tears falling because you’re too focused on Satoru. It isn’t fair, the way he’s toying with you. The moment he relinquishes his grip, just barely, you reach over to palm his cheek. He lets you pull the blindfold from his eyes.

“Dunno if I can let you. You’re being so greedy. Such a selfish fucking girl.” He pinches your nipple as he says it. His voice is smooth, dripping like honey, dulcet in the way his words manage to make your eyelashes flutter despite how filthy the subject matter is. He’d ruin you if he could. Perhaps, he’d ruined you the moment he touched you.

He’s touching your clit again, but not rhythmically. You feel a sense of loss every few seconds. He’s fucking teasing you now, but you’re smart enough to not snap at him despite how much you want to. 

So you say his name instead. Like a hymn or a prayer. Like it’s the sweetest thing to come from your tongue. From the way your voice sounds, Satoru is convinced that his own name is a blessing just because it comes from your lips. He can’t get enough of it.

You make Satoru feel human, but the way you react to him at the moment makes him want to pretend he’s a god.

“S-Sat–Satoru. Oh.”

“You cryin’ already, baby? Thought you liked it when I played with you.”

His voice is low, raspy. Almost cruel. 

Your brain is so foggy that it feels like he’s been doing this to you for hours. You can’t even form words, can’t bitch to him or dominate him the way you often attempt to. There’s a secret part of you, deep inside, that is unlocked by the way Satoru handles you. As much as he loves control, he still doesn’t know the extent of what you would let him do to you. How you wished he’d wrap a silk ribbon around your neck and collar you like a puppy. How you think you would do anything for him if he asked.

You don’t even know that he would do the exact same for you.

Now, you’re at your peak again. Your legs are wobbly, senses so heightened by the way he plays with your pussy that it takes you a few moments to notice that his cock is prodding against you, bare and pink and fucking leaking. 

Maybe if you tell him you’re close, he’ll stop. You can’t stand the thought of it. So, naturally, you cry instead, and the sight makes him want to keep you for as long as he’s alive. Satoru would make sure nothing slights you, and that nothing out of his control could possibly vex you. This desire usually scares him. At the moment, it doesn’t. At the moment, he feels drunk with it. 

He knows when you cum because he has you memorized. It’s a little death, truly, because when your legs tremble and your moans fade into a sharp gasp, Satoru knows for sure that your brain has turned to mush. Your body melts against his. Maybe you’d melt right into his mattress if he didn’t have more energy to play with you. 

Gojo Satoru does not believe in a higher power, but he thinks that if one existed, one that was more powerful than him, he would thank them. He would thank them for you, the creation of you, the very essence of you living and breathing in the same wretched world as him. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, you were made just for him. 

You recover in a succession of exhales. Blinking rapidly through blurry vision as you feel Satoru’s face nuzzling your neck, almost too domestic and sweet to bear. You had never thought of anything serious with him because of his reputation, but every time he has you like this, underneath him, you often wish that he would reassure you that he wants to keep you.

And he does. He is devoted to you in a way that feels holy. He just doesn’t know how to tell you that. Satoru hopes you can figure it out just from the way he touches you. 

And maybe, like him, you’re just above human. An angel, he thinks. A set of wings would suit you. 

“I– I– please–” you strain. You feel embarrassed from the tears, but Satoru cherishes you. He kisses and licks them right off your face.

“I know, baby. I won’t make you beg any more than you have,” he sneers. 

You’re fucking doe-eyed, angelic when he enters you. Just the tip, for now, just so he can see how you react. It isn’t the first time but you are certainly acting the part from the way your whole face screws up. Your perfect mouth parts and he touches your bottom lip with his thumb.

You whimper like a wounded thing. Like you should be begging for mercy. He hasn’t dipped too far into his God-complex yet to coax that reaction for you.

And without a warning, he pushes himself into you completely, bottoming out. He groans at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. So warm. So fucking wet.

“Fucked you enough to mold the shape of your pussy to my cock, huh? Feels so fucking– fuck,” he exhales, rutting into you with eyes shut. 

You whine his name, clutching at him, scraping your nails across his pale back. He loves the way you need him. He wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything else in the world.

Made for me. God made you for me.

You slur your words against his neck and his chest as he thrusts into you – cries of his name, of begging for more, of your usual expletives. He grins like a predator. He bends you in half and thinks briefly about breaking your limbs for the sake of his pleasure. (He doesn’t. You’re too delicate, too human.)

In reality, you’re sarcastic and sometimes brash. When Satoru has you writhing underneath him, you’re a little more shy. He wants to tease the desire from you, whatever filth that permeates in your brain. 

“Tell me what you want.”

“Want– I want– aah!”

“Feels so good for you, I know. Use your words for me. I know you can,” Satoru taunts.

“Want you to make me cum on your cock. Please,” you beg. “Need it deeper, ‘Toru. Need you.”

“Need me, don’t you? Say it again so I can hear it.”

“Nngh– Need– Fuck, I can’t–”

He slows the speed of his thrusts and rubs the length of your jaw softly with his palm. His other hand rubs your clit gently, making your body spasm. He tucks the hair sticking to your forehead behind your ear so he can see all of you. You and your swollen mouth and glassy eyes.

“Don’t do that,” you whine.

“Do what, baby?”

“Teasing me like this. Wan’ it rough.”

“What else?” he breathes into your neck, palming your breast as he thrusts into you deeper.

“Want everything. Want it to hurt.”

And with that, he gives it to you. He gives you all of it. 

You drape your arms around his body so that you’re closer than ever, both of your bodies ready to mesh into one if they could. Satoru pushes your legs up, knees bent and ankles near your ears, and he basks in the sound of your pathetic mewls. 

“Such a good… fucking girl,” he groans. “‘m so close.”

“Me too,” you reply in a hushed tone. “Right– right there.”

Satoru has fucked you plenty of times. He’s called you a slut, a greedy whore – but he can’t bring himself to degrade you like that even though he knows you like it. You’re splayed out for him, limbs limp and grateful for his embrace. You’re too fucking precious for him.

You’re too dazed to think about the moral implications of your affair. It's a miracle you can't enter his mind so deeply when you're fucked out like this. Where his thoughts flash from lecherous to monstrous, yours are rendered sluggish. There’s almost nothing in your brain, save for him and his blue eyes and the feeling of his cock. It consumes the best of you. You welcome it with open arms.

Another kiss. It’s mostly Satoru working his tongue into your mouth and you dissolving under his tongue. He tastes so sweet, so fresh all the time. His lips are so fucking soft it drives you insane.

“Pleasemakemecum,” you cry out in a jagged mumble. “Please. Need it so bad. Please!”

He groans in response. You’re begging more than usual. You are frantic and desperate and welcoming his hand to shape you in his image. 

The way he grinds into your cunt becomes more aggressive, which is easy for him. There’s no resistance – your pussy is so fucking wet for him in that way. The cloying heat in his pelvis spreads to the rest of his body, warmth enveloping him like hot water in a bath.

You whine his name again and it dissipates into his mouth.

“Cum with me, fuck, I can feel you–” he moans. Both of you reach your peak in the way he grasps your body, calloused hands worshipping the length of your waist until his fingertips bruise your thighs. 

His hips stutter as he indulges in his pleasure. In the sound of your hushed whimpers. In the way your nails claw across his back. 

Both of your labored breaths fill the silence. Even in the dark, you admire the brightness of his blue eyes. They could replace the divinity of the stars themselves, you muse. 

Both of you are hazy, intoxicated on the touch of each others’ skin. You shiver in your skin. You’re only soothed when he buries his face into your neck, long limbs splayed over your smaller frame.

“I should fuckin’ marry you,” he breathes into your skin.

“What was that?” you raise a brow.

He clears his throat. Despite the daze, he’s able to give you one of his signature cocky grins. Something flashes in his blue eyes, you think.

“I think I wanna keep you.”

If he was god, you were his seraphim, he’s decided. He almost tells this to you, out loud, because your big eyes drink him in. He knows better.

“You have me,” you reply softly, echoing him from earlier in the night. The way he smiles reminds you of the sun. 

Gojo Satoru knows it’s an affirmation from you, maybe even pillow talk. But he knows that sentiment to be truer than anything he’s ever known. He is yours and you are his.

For now, you don’t know the half of it. Maybe someday you will.

[kleine-joost]

After Midnight 18+ MDNI

Joost Klein x AFAB Reader

'Cause everything good happens after midnight.

WARNINGS: THIS IS RPF! IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, MOVE ON! drinking, smoking, piv sex, umm yeah

You didn’t go clubbing very often. It just wasn’t really your scene, only when you were begged to tag along by friends on special occasions would you make the effort to get all dolled up and wear one of the three dresses you owned that could pass at club appropriate.

And all of these nights would start out the same, a nightmare. With music too loud, people surrounding you that were too sweaty and apparently had no regard for personal space. But you always obliged in your own personal hell for your friends. 

You laughed while you watched your group drunkenly scream the lyrics to The Spice Girls’ Wannabe from your spot against the wall near the dancefloor. They were coaxing you to join them, but you were overly aware of your presence in the club, and you worried about the stares you would get. You knew it was silly, and arguably conceited, to think you would be watched, but you were right.

~

Joost watched you as you walked in, and when you ordered your first drink–a gin and soda with a splash of lemonade–and then your second. He stood not far from you, waiting for you to finish that glass so he could offer to buy you a third, before anyone else could get the chance. It was like everything stopped when he first saw you, the universe slowed as his eyes scanned your face, your body, and your hands which were shaking with anxiety. He was sure you hadn’t even looked at him yet, if you did he somehow missed it. Maybe this was just one of those moments when the universe dangles an opportunity in your face, only to take it away so it would only exist in some alternate timeline. Like that movie with Gwyneth Paltrow, only hopefully much happier.

~

You were beginning to feel a buzz that upped your confidence at around halfway through your second drink. When the DJ played Gimme Gimme Gimme by ABBA you couldn’t help but take the hand of one of your friends as you were dragged into the circle they had all formed in your corner of the floor. Your feet and shins ached as the song finished, and your face was flushed from all the excited jumping you did–which was pretty much the only dance move you could do in the crowded club. With adrenaline, you burst into a fit of laughter while trying to catch your breath and downed the last few fingers of your drink. The lights in the building were beginning to blur, you leant into the comfort of it, and the warmth in your chest from the gin.

~

Joost was sure this was just about as close as he could get to love without coming across as a total creep. Your smile was so infectious, he couldn’t hear your laugh over the loud music but he was sure it was just as beautiful as the rest of you. His heart felt like it was going into palpitations, he needed a cigarette to calm down.

~

Your energy was slowly depleting after your brief exertion. You needed a moment to yourself, you told your friends you were going for a smoke–not a regular vice for you but when you drank, the two went one after the other for you. You really didn’t want to have to go and buy a packet of cigs, you never liked to commit to infirmities. You were praying you’d find someone kind enough to lend you a smoke just this once. 

The air was cold in the small courtyard, you were surprised you couldn’t see your breath when you let out a long sigh at the heat immediately escaping your body. There were only a few other people outside; a couple in the midst of an argument (from what you could gather she apparently looked at another guy the wrong way and her boyfriend was not happy about it) and a guy, about your age, scrolling on his phone while he smoked. You saw under his heavy jacket he was wearing a white t-shirt that read ‘I ❤️ ABBA’. It made you chuckle just a bit to yourself, you wondered if he went as wild as you did not ten minutes beforehand. The angry couple’s screams were getting louder and louder, so you figured he was your best bet.

“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you…” He looked up from his phone when you spoke, there was a look you could almost read as surprise in his eyes. Some of the bluest eyes you think you’d ever seen, but maybe it was just the lighting out there. “Could I bum a smoke from you?”

You gave your best kicked puppy smile, well the best you could with the buzz that was now sitting in the base of your neck.

He nodded ardently, and opened the pack in his hand and held it out to you. You took one and placed it between your lips, he was quick to leap off the brick retaining wall he was leaning on to light the cigarette.

Nothing beat that first drag on a night out. You closed your eyes as you felt your bones get lighter. Exhaling, you muttered a ‘thanks’ to the blond stranger.

“No problem,” he smiled. 

You stayed standing near him, trying to ignore the argument which was now unravelling into an incident that happened last New Years. You saw the kind stranger’s eyes dart from his phone to you every so often, and back to his phone when he realised you’d caught him. You were sure it was the alcohol that was giving you the confidence. 

Eventually the lovebirds took their quarrel back inside, leaving you and the stranger in its wake. You both let out a laugh once you were alone, something about that awkwardness had bonded the two of you. Like the groups of strangers who get stuck in elevators, you imagine.

Through the giggles, you didn’t notice yourself moving closer to him and placing a gentle hand on his arm. You weren’t sure if he noticed either, at least until you both calmed down enough to breathe again.

You quickly pondered the options, and that newfound confidence decided to pitch in again. You kept your hand on his arm, leaning against the wall next to him.

“I-I’m Joost,” he stuttered out after a moment.

When you introduced yourself, he repeated your name. Though not to you, more like he was trying out how it sounded in his mouth. It must’ve been good, he hung his arm over your shoulders and brought you closer. 

A few people emerged from the dark room for a smoke, and you utilised your new closeness, now more so whispering (well, a loud whisper) in each other's ears while you finished your cigarette.

You asked him about his shirt, he laughed and told you he had no shame in loving Abba. And he asked if you were with friends, and when you said yes he told you he was as well.

Part of you didn’t want to leave his side, you felt so comfortable with him so quickly. But when you heard the start of Americano by Lady Gaga, a bolt of excitement ran through your bones. You frantically stubbed out the rest of your cigarette and grabbed Joost’s hand, pulling him with you to your group of friends who had gotten increasingly messier in the time it took you to smoke. Each of them eyed Joost as you pulled him against your body to dance.

~

He was nervous, at the very least. At the most, his heart was beating out of his chest and he could barely keep control of his limbs. He could smell your perfume as you moved around him, it was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

He placed two soft hands on your hips, swaying with you as you both got lost in the music. That was the routine for the next few songs that played.

~

In lulls, he was introduced to each of your friends, with an explanation of how you had met. One of his hands stayed permanently on the small of your back as you went to the bar to order another drink–which he insisted on paying for. Joost’s friends approached you as you waited for the bartender to make your drink and he was more than happy to introduce you to them all. The feeling of him proudly introducing you, and telling them all about you made you giddy. They were all friendly, and happy to try to embarrass Joost as much as possible by telling you stories from when he was a dumb teenager.

A lively conversation eventually started in the group, and you were missing a lot of the context of the inside jokes being quipped. You could see your friends on the other side of the room, from the looks of it, none of them were far off being ready to leave. You decided to cut your losses and peel off of Joost’s hand and make your way back.

As soon as you took a step away from him, Joost immediately resigned from the conversation and looked at you, worried.

“Where are you going?” He whispered in your ear while you were still just in reach of him.

“I’m going back to my friends,” you answered. “Keep talking, though, have fun!”

He gave you a look that you couldn’t quite read. Maybe confusion? Hurt? Sadness, even? Without another thought he interrupted the story that his friend, Lyon, was telling.

“See you guys later, alright?” He grabbed your hand and said quick goodbyes to all his friends, each of them telling you it was great to meet you.

Only when he was walking you back to our group of friends did you manage to tell him, “you didn’t have to come with me, you could’ve kept talking.”

He hummed in response. “I talk to them all the time, I’d rather be with you.”

You couldn’t hide your smile, you hadn’t ever met someone so sweet. You eyed your friends beginning to all walk with limps, which was the universal symbol for ‘these shoes are making my feet hurt and I need to go home right now’.

 “I think we’ll be heading off soon if you want to come with us?” You asked, you knew it was forward but the third drink you’d just downed made it difficult to care.

“Like to your place?” He asked in a gentle voice you could barely hear over the music–if not for the fact that his face was buried deep in your shoulder as you both swayed to the music with his arm over your shoulder.

“Or yours. If you want.” You smiled at him. His eyes softened, and his smile got wider. You felt a burning in your body that could only be read as anticipation of what the rest of the night had in store. 

He nodded, nervously. “Yeah, I-I’d like that.”

You liked the idea that you made him nervous. It somehow made you more and more confident the more you saw his face blush when you caught him looking at you, and his indecisive hands placed on your back, your hips, and in yours. Something about him made you want to trust him. Like when he helped all your friends find their purses and phones and whatever else they didn’t want to leave in the club before you all departed, and helped each of you down the steps of the entrance of the old concrete building. He even gave you his jacket when he felt you shiver on the walk to the Avondwinkel down the street, you tried to protest but he was adamant. It smelt like cigarette smoke mixed with some kind of musky cologne, it was comforting. 

The inside of the small convenience store was just as packed as the club, full of people buying every snack and drink they could think of. The shop owner was being a good sport about it though, he had some techno pop song you were vaguely familiar with playing over the shop’s speakers and he was talking to every person who approached his counter, asking about their night and making sure they were all okay.

Throughout it all, Joost barely left your side; when you were paying for your packet of gummy worms and bottle of Pepsi, as your group sat on the curb outside for some fresh air, when you called the Uber to your apartment, and in the car on the way there.

In the backseat you tried to focus on anything other than his hand resting heavy on your thigh for fear that you would commit a felony in pouncing on him right there and begging him to have his way with you. It was quite busy on the roads, surprisingly, so it took much longer than expected to get to your little apartment building with its rickety lift that you didn’t dare use, always opting for the stairs. 

Your buzz had died down, mostly, now you were just feeling tired. You rested your head on Joost’s shoulder, feeling that flutter inside you that was becoming all too familiar when he laid his head on top of yours. You both were silent, letting the driver continue his phone conversation in a language you couldn’t understand and listening to the faint radio playing some late night discussion show. It all felt so comfortable, like you’d known each other forever and this was just another night. You wondered if it was a fluke or if this was something truly special.

Joost rested his hand on your thigh. It could’ve just been an innocent gesture, but you knew not when you turned your head to be able to look at his face. A grin, but with no eye contact. 

Two can play at this game, you thought. You placed your hand on top of his and slid it ever so slightly up the bare skin of your thigh. You heard him try to stifle a gasp, you were winning.

At the next set of lights, he lifted his head and placed a soft kiss on your cheek. You got a tingle through your skin, he was painstakingly close to your lips. His face didn’t move, just apart from yours. All you would need to do is–

Before you could finish your thought, he had leant forward and pressed his lips to yours. You froze for a second with the shock of processing what was happening, but quickly shuffled to a more comfortable position for your neck. 

The kiss quickly deepened, you opened your lips to let his tongue explore your mouth. You shuffled as close as you could to each other, until there was absolutely no room in between you both and your seatbelts were threatening suffocation.

Joost made you feel lightheaded, you weren’t sure why–or how. It was a blur from the car to your apartment. 

Your skin was burning under his touch as he held onto you while you struggled with the sticky lock on your door. Like floodgates, your door opened and the two of you poured into your tiny home. 

He kissed you again once you closed the door. This one was…much more tender, like you both suddenly had the realisation that all this lead-up was heading somewhere and it wasn’t just something you could fantasise about later when you were alone and horny. His jacket–which you were still wearing–got pushed off your shoulders and abandoned on the floor while he left wet, hungry kisses across your neck, your shoulder, just at the hem of your low-cut shirt.

A haze came over you as you looked over his body, arms littered with tattoos and chest hair that was just a shade or so darker than the hair on his head. You had the most primal urge to just devour him.

It was a blur, you both hurried to your bedroom in a rush of clothes being torn off your burning, sweating bodies. Your hands began to explore every inch of each other as you made yourself comfortable on your double-sized bed, all that you could fit in the small room.

He hovered over you, holding himself up with one hand next to your head, kissing a gentle line from your lips to your cheek and to your ear.

“Please, Liefje…” He whispered, his warm breath made all the blood rush to your ear–you were sure it had reddened. “Please let me fuck you.”

You practically melted at that. He was still wearing his boxers, you were sure if they had come off in the flurry of clothes he wouldn’t have had to ask. Your hand inched its way closer to his waistband, gently running your fingers over his abdomen. You watched him with unwavering confidence as he shivered at your touch. It only spurred you on further.

Your fingers drifted below the waistband. You slowly, agonisingly ran your hand down the length of his cock. He was already half-hard, though you could barely talk–you’d been feeling that burning ache in your pussy since the car. You could feel his slick precum, making your torture even more excruciating for him.

You watched Joost’s face. His thick-framed glasses had been discarded on your nightstand so you could properly look into his eyes, see his furrowed brows. He let out a small, guttural moan as you ran your hand over his tip. You could feel him growing harder and harder in your hand.

You kissed him again, and whispered to him. “You ready now?”

He nodded urgently, so you released him from your grasp. Part of him felt the excitement of what was next, but he also painfully missed your touch.

“Do you have any rubbers?” He asked.

You shook your head. You didn’t do this sort of thing very often, you just didn’t have the need for them.

“I have one in my wallet.” He sprung up from his spot on your bed and stumbled out of the room to retrieve his pants that were left in the hallway. 

You didn’t have to wait long for him to return, metallic wrapper in hand.

“Wishful thinking or are you just very confident?” You asked, a smirk across your face.

He scoffed as he flopped back next to you. “Just well prepared, Liefje.”

Joost quickly discarded his boxers and rolled the condom on. Finally, as the tip of his cock rubbed against the slick of your core, you let out a rasping moan that only dragged on as he slowly slid into.

He was bigger than you were used to, but the pressure was sort of comforting, in a way. He waited a moment to let you adjust, your breathing deepened as he placed two soft kisses on your cheeks. You were burning for him. You gave him the green light to start moving.

He started slowly, easing you both into it. But when he heard the soft mewls coming from you with each thrust, he couldn’t help but thrust faster and faster.

Soon the room was a cacophony of both your moans and the sound of skin on skin. Joost’s face was buried in the crook of your neck, you felt every sticky breath he let out as a sheen of sweat collected on your bodies.

He could have been fucking you for hours, you wouldn’t know–each thrust, each slam into you felt like an eternity. You could feel your core begin to tighten, on instinct you reached to your clit, gently massaging it. 

You heard Joost tut at you when he saw what you were doing. He grabbed your wrist and halted your movement. “Let me, Baby.”

It felt like electricity coursing through your veins with Joost’s fingers rubbing your clit and his thrusts hitting deeper and deeper. You were so close to the edge.

“Mmmh… don’t… stop…” You managed to stutter out between moans.

You could tell Joost was close as well. You both carried on, closer and closer…

A rush of cold and warmth and everything in between ran over you as you came. You released an almost primal moan as your body froze in its tracks. 

Joost was still slowly thrusting, panting into your neck, his skin growing red from the exertion.

“Keep going,” you mumbled into his ear. “Come for me…please.”

It took only a few more small pumps for a low groan to erupt from his throat, emptying into the condom. You let him breathe for a moment, before placing a gentle hand on the back of his neck and directing him to face you. He had a couple droplets of now-cold sweat on the bridge of his nose, you wiped them off with your other hand, smiling when he let out a light giggle. You simply weren’t expecting a noise like that out of the man who was still inside you.

“You’re incredible, Liefje,” he sighed.You place a gentle kiss on his lips. “And you’re perfect.”

[bucketsofmonsters]

Deep Water - Part 2

cw: the ocean, talk of being drowned, loss of a sibling, more tags to be added as the story continues

merman x fem reader

Word count: 4k

read on ao3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, drying off under the morning sun. It was easier than getting up and doing what you came here to do. But eventually, the rocks under you began to dig into your skin through your clothes and the warmth of the sun and your drying clothes stiffening from the salt in the water made you restless. You had to get up, to go somewhere. 

The dock was the last place you wanted to be. It held a horrible ending and an even worse beginning. 

But everywhere else in this new, unforgiving place seemed worse. At least you knew what was waiting for you on that dock. However horrible it was, it held something you understood. 

And so you got up on stiff legs and stretched, fighting against pins and needles to walk towards the moment you’d fought to get to, the moment you’d been dreading more than anything. 

The ground beneath you shifted from unstable stones to steady, aging wood, vibrating with the steps of dozens of people rushing around you. 

It was just as hectic as the dock you had left from. There it had been a boon, the exact thing you had used to sneak onto that accursed ship. 

You appreciated it here too. With dozens of people that had a thousand things to do, you felt invisible. No one had time to gawk at you, to ask if you belonged there. They didn’t have time to care. 

You watched them as they passed and couldn’t help but wonder how many of them knew Isobel. How many of them greeted her with a smile every morning? How many people looked forward to seeing her every day?

You imagined it was many of them. She’d always had that effect on people. 

But she wouldn’t any longer. And you were left to struggle to fill the hole she’d left behind.

That was why you were here. The pretense was that it was for her funeral arrangements, contacting the only family she’d ever told anyone about while she was still here. But really, you were here to take her place, replace her in the job she’d carved out for herself. They’d said as much in the letter, that they’d found her a shocking loss and you were welcome to pick up where she’d left off. 

It was said more tactfully, of course, with much more focus on her coming to arrange the funeral for her dearly missed sister. However, they all knew it would hardly be a lavish affair, just whatever would be paid for by the church. She could mourn her sister just as easily back home as she could here. But a job, that was enough to have her hiding on a cargo ship. 

Isobel has been an inventory taker, keeping the sailors honest, a job that probably would have been aided by you not being caught as a stowaway, but you weren’t particularly worried. They’d barely gotten a good look at you in the dark and even if they did, it had been for just a moment. With any luck, they wouldn’t dock here again, had left while she was sleeping on a quiet little island with a typically deadly monster.

The more you thought back on the last day, the less it made sense to you. It all felt fast and addled. Everything in you wanted to think you’d hallucinated it. If it weren’t for the fact that you were still standing here, alive, you’d be convinced you’d had. 

And then you saw the last thing you wanted to see. You saw a ship that was sickeningly familiar. You didn’t recognize any of the men’s faces. You hadn’t had any real chances to see them, other than through holes in your hiding place and in your panic in the endless rain. 

They looked like normal men. If they weren’t standing on that awful ship, you wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart from anyone else. 

It felt wrong. 

Something in you didn���t expect them to look like average men. In your head, they were monsters, the evil visible on their faces. 

Your eyes darted over them, your mind trying to catalog as many of their faces as possible. The idea of seeing one of them someday and not recognizing them, of just seeing them the same way you’d see anyone else, sent a bolt of panic through you. You needed to know them, you couldn’t let yourself be caught off guard. 

And then one of them locked eyes with you and you froze, unable to move, to run, to do anything without outing yourself. You knew that there was no way he knew who you were and yet somehow you were convinced that he knew, that exactly who you were was written all over your face. 

He started walking towards you while you stood frozen. You willed your feet to move, tried to tell yourself there was nothing strange about just walking away, but some instinct deep inside of you screamed that if you moved he would know, that it would be just as obvious as turning around and running. 

He greeted you with a smile and you felt a bile rise in your throat, fighting to keep the terror off of your face. 

“You’re Isobel’s sister, aren’t you?” he asked, oblivious to the disgust and fear settling inside you. “You look just like her. Maybe a bit more nervous, but I never met her on her first day.” He chuckled as he spoke and you wanted to hit him, to run, to do anything. How could he just stand here and talk to you? How could he not know, not sense it somehow? “You’ll do just fine. I’m sure it all runs in the family, you’ll pick it up in no time. It is a shame what happened to the lass.”

“It was,” you said, your voice sounding stunted to your ears. 

“Aye. Well, just take the run of our ship for me, let’s get everything sorted as soon as possible.”

You tried to shuffle off, refusing to meet his eye. “I haven’t even started working here yet.”

“It doesn’t really matter, you just need to make it official. Don’t worry, I’ll see to it you get paid. We’re all rooting for you, you know. God knows we’ve heard enough about you, Isobel’s brave, clever little sister.”

As he spoke, he laid a hand on your shoulder, one that you were sure was meant to be reassuring. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was one of the people who threw you overboard, if those hands were one of the ones squeezing your wrists so tight you had just begun to see the bruises. 

You agreed quickly, more in a rush to get away from him than anything. You knew you weren’t in any real danger but still, being anywhere near that cursed ship made you feel queasy. 

You boarded the ship, knees feeling weak as soon as your feet hit the deck. 

You hurried below deck as fast as you could, knowing you were doing a very poor job of looking unaffected by the whole ordeal. You quickly found yourself in the same room you’d hidden in. You saw your shawl stuck behind the heavy boxes, sitting, abandoned and smashed, against the wall.  

You weren’t taking inventory of anything while you were down there, with no means with which to do so or any idea of what you were looking for. You didn’t really know what you were doing. It was a difficult job to do without guidance but you knew they didn’t really want you to do it. All they wanted was the stamp of approval that they were sure meant little, the one that you did not have the authority to give. 

If you’d had the ability, you just might have given it, although not for the reason he’d imagined. You just wanted them gone, considering risking a job you needed badly just to get them away from you. 

Maybe you’d feel different when you left the ship, when you were no longer being faced with reminders of what had happened.

It seemed too calm like this. Like surely some signs of your struggle and terror should be strewn around the room. The only thing that even marked your existence was that abandoned shawl, barely visible behind crates that were stacked high. 

You stood down there, listening to the sound of boots on the deck above in the familiar room until they got more and more distant. Finally, with no idea how long you’d been standing down there, the echoing footfalls largely dissipated and you peeked your head out the door, set on slipping away. 

As you did, slinking off the skip back onto the dock, working to get lost in the crowd before any of the other sailors could spot you as you fled, you heard the sounds of shouting surrounding you. 

You turned to see severed fishing nets held in the hands of deeply upset sailors. 

It was hard to make out exactly what they were saying but you caught wind of cursing at sea monsters amidst accusations that some ravenous creature has chewed through their nets for the easy prey. 

Despite the frustrated cursing at sharks and monsters, you thought that, at least to your untrained eye, they didn’t look like they’d been chewed through. The cuts were too neat for that. Instead, they looked like they’d been cut, cleanly and meticulously. 

“You know what I think,” someone said, and it took a moment for you to realize that the voice was speaking to you. You turned to see a man, one of the younger ones here, leaning conspiratorially into your side. “I think they’re getting cut on the rocks.”

You hummed noncommittally.

The man didn’t seem to mind your lack of response. “A group of piss-poor sailors, can’t even miss something that doesn’t move.”

That managed to earn a quiet chuckle from you. 

He turned, really taking you in for the first time. “Hold on, you’re new, aren’t you?”

You nodded, sparing him a glance before your eyes darted back to the upset men and their shredded net. 

He was a rather ordinary boy, a medium brown hair, lightened from long hours of working in the sun, dark eyes, and freckles creeping up his cheeks. He seemed altogether more interested in you than you were in him but then again, you were the newcomer here. 

You should probably be friendlier, make nice with him. He looked like he worked here so you imagined you’d be seeing a lot of him.  

He stuck his hand out, having to back away from you a little to create enough space between you for a handshake. 

You took his hand and he gave it a quick shake, his hand warm and rough. 

“I’m Finn. Are you taking Izzy’s job? I should’ve guessed, you look just like her.”

You shrunk a bit at the comment. You didn’t think it was true, not in the ways that counted. You saw so little of yourself in her. 

But this man couldn’t know that, couldn’t know anything about you really. You hadn’t so much as spoken a word to him. 

“I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said, your voice coming out quieter than you’d meant it, a breathiness sneaking its way into your tone. 

He gave you a big, bright smile. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. Has anyone helped you or have you just been milling about? Your first day here and we’ve already failed you. What would poor Izzy think?”

You gave him a halfhearted smile as he spoke, in no mood to hypothesize about what your dead sister would think of you now. 

Finn didn’t mind, taking your hand in his once more and leading you through the crowd of people towards a building to the side of the dock, just barely on dry land. 

He turned to you, another brilliant smile plastered across his face. “Here you are, ma’am, they’ll be able to take care of you in here. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early. If no one else offers to show you the ropes, come find me, alright?”

You offered him a smile that you hoped was even half as big and genuine as his seemed to be. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

With a stilted little bow in parting, he walked away, leaving you with nothing to do but enter the building. 

It was a small building, with not much room for anything inside. Most of the space was taken up by boxes and papers, with one lone desk against the back wall. An older man was sitting at it, hair looking overgrown and unkempt, streaks of gray working their way through it. He had a rather severe look about him, eyes sharp and pointed. He was reading something carefully as you entered. 

His head jerked up to see you and it hit you suddenly that you should have knocked. 

“I’m Isobel’s sister,” you blurted out. “You sent word to my family that she passed, you said if I hurried here I could take her place?”

Recognition flashed in his eyes and he settled back in his chair, eyes darting up and down to fully take you in. “Ah yes. Shame, that. She was a hard worker. Begged me for the job for days, swore she’d do anything to keep this dock running, that we’d never find a better worker. Smile on her face the whole time.” There was something unspoken in his gaze as he looked at you, a quiet challenge asking if you’d do the same. “And they sent you?”

You decided not to mention that really, there was no they. Your family was an independent people.  Frankly, you hadn’t even known whether Isobel was alive or dead between the letters you got maybe once a year, if you were lucky. That’s what you’d thought that awful letter was, written on the same stationary she used. You imagine she borrowed it from whoever had written of her death. Or stolen it. You liked to imagine she’d stolen it, the little bit of extra danger she would have gone through to write to you leaving a warm feeling in your chest. 

“They did,” you said, with the sweetest smile you could muster. 

“Good. And you can read, we know that. How’s your attention to detail?”

“Immaculate, sir,” you said, straightening your back as you spoke. “I will be just as good as she was, I swear it.”

It was a lie, but it was one you could stomach. 

“Good. I’m taking a chance on you, you know. But then again, I was taking a chance on her and anyone who works on this dock will tell you she was the finest worker we ever had.”

You smiled, and this time you meant it. “I’m sure she was.”

“Now, down to business,” he said as he shuffled some of the many papers on his desk around. “We’ve had some issues before, people fudging numbers, sneaking off with pieces of shipments. We have a reputation to uphold. If anything happens with any of them, it's on your head. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now what was special about your sister is she took the inventories in the ships without being largely despised like some of the others before her were. My advice? Play nice. Those men out there can make your life real easy or real hard. They’ll be nice to you, you’re pretty like she was. Try to keep it that way. Just don’t let anything they say go to your head. You report to me every morning and every night. Any questions?”

You shook your head. “No sir.”

He gave you a firm nod and then you were onto paperwork, setting up matters of payments and of reporting in. You took careful note of everything that he said, intent on getting this right. You had no other choice. 

By the time you managed to get out of there, everything signed and squared away, the sun had begun to fall below the horizon. The docks were quieting, although they were far from empty. People bustled around in the orange light of the dusk. 

The glowing sky reflected in the waves, shining back up at you from below. And amidst the reflections of auburn light and a dusting of clouds was a face, shaggy blonde hair framing cheeks with white scales reflecting the fading sun. 

Just the top of his head was peeking above the surface, everything below his nose still under the water. His eyes were staring right up at you, watching you patiently. 

You frantically looked around, making sure no one on the almost empty dock had noticed him. 

“Shoo. Go away,” you hissed down at him when you ensured the coast was clear. 

He splashed water up at you, wetting the bottom of your skirts. 

Your eyes widened and you did your best not to yell. “You cannot be here, you need to leave.”

He stayed put exactly where he was, staring incessantly up at you. 

His message was clear. He wasn’t going anywhere.

You paced off the dock, running over to the shore to try and pull him away from the lights and the people on the dock. The shore was largely abandoned, at least at this time of night. 

His tail snaked across the surface of the water as he swam away, following after you and disappearing faster under shallow water than you were comfortable with, ideas of what else could be lurking under the surface flicking through your mind.

You weren’t sure when a siren following you had managed to land firmly in the non-threatening part of your mind but it had, his alien appearance nothing other than vaguely alarming in the presence of sailors who did not feel as nonchalantly towards him as you did.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed when you both managed to make it to the shore and you stared down at him, disapprovingly. 

He was clearly built for deep water, shifting uncomfortably in the shallows, and yet here he was. 

He shrugged, staring at you from the water, eyes only leaving yours to flick down to your wet skirts. If you hadn’t been so set on getting him away from here, you would’ve scolded him. 

“Do you want something from me?” you asked, trying to get some sort of answer out of him, like you just had to ask the right question to be able to send him away. “Look, there’s safer ways to call in a favor. It’s not that I don’t want to help, I just don’t want to put you in danger.”

“Don’t want anything,” he said with a huff. “Not now anyways.”

“Then why are you here?” you asked, a sense of desperation bleeding into your voice. He’d saved you, if you got him killed now you’d never be able to live with yourself. It was out of the question. You needed to get him to leave. 

He did not want to see reason. “None of your business.”

You sat on the shore, rubbing your temples as you lowered yourself closer to his level. “Okay. Sure, that’s fine. You know what? As long as you’re here I might as well ask. What’s your name?”

He paused, looking to the side for a moment before responding. “Simon”

“Is that true?”

He shrugged. “It’s a name.”

You stared incredulously at him for a moment before he decided it was time to try again. "Peter.”

This did not aid in your confusion. “What?”

“You didn’t seem to like the last one.”

“Do you not have a name?”

“Not your kind,” he said, his nose scrunching a little as he did. 

“What kind then?” you prompted. 

He shrugged. “Our kind.”

You sighed, frustration bubbling up inside of you. “Okay, well where’d you get Simon from?”

“Heard it.”

“Where?” 

“From people.”

“What people?” you asked, feeling a little like a child who’d just learned the word why. It wasn’t really your fault though. If he’d simply answer a question properly he’d be freed from this endless barrage of questions. 

“The ones on the ships.”

“Why were you…” The realities of sirens and ships flashed through your mind and you decided that you should probably end that line of questioning. You shook your head, set on getting back on task. “You’ve got to at least talk to me. Are you here for a reason?”

He shrugged again, nose drifting back below the water as he sunk down into the shallows.

“Look, they won’t take kindly to you if they see you. We can set something up, somewhere where you can contact me so you don’t have to put yourself in danger to see me. We can find a nice abandoned section of the shore, I’ll visit every day so if you need to talk to me, you can.”

He shook his head. “I can find you.”

“I know you can, but you really shouldn’t.”

“We will meet here at dusk,” he said, gesturing to the little slice of shore you were on now, the same one he’d left you at the night before. “And also when I want to, I will find you. 

“Look… Simon? Is that what you want to go with?”

He shrugged noncommittally, eyes flitting towards the dock.

You sighed. “I’m not going to convince you, am I?”

He shook his head, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

You groaned. “Fine. That’s fine. Get yourself killed if you want to, I don’t care.”

That knocked the smug look off his face, and he said hesitantly, with a bit of a pout in his voice, “You do care.”

“Not if you don’t want to listen. Why would I care if you won’t listen?”

He studied your face for a moment before a determined look set itself onto his face, saying with more certainty this time, “You do care.”

He turned and disappeared under the water before you could respond. 

And then you were alone on the cold shore. 

You sighed as you settled against the rocks, where you’d be spending the night you supposed. It was no worse than anywhere else you could think of in this city you knew so little about. 

You had nowhere to stay, no money to get yourself a room. If you’d had it, you would’ve spent it on fare for a ship to get yourself here. 

Or maybe you wouldn’t have. Maybe you would have been set in your ways, convinced you could just sneak on and save your money for where it would really count. Maybe things would have turned out exactly as they did. 

As you leaned back onto the rocky shore where you’d be spending the rest of your night, you tried to put the spiraling thoughts of what might have been out of your head. 

You stared up at the stars, already forgoing any thought of sleep. It wouldn’t be safe to sleep here anyway. Hopefully you could figure some sleeping arrangements out in the coming days. Keeping on like this might drive you mad. 

But for now, there was nothing to be done, no use worrying over it. All that was left was to wait til morning. 

[wherethefireliliesgrow]

Birds of a Feather

Pham Hanni x F reader

GENRE: fluff, slight angst

TAGS: college love, friends to lovers

TYPE: One Shot

Inspired by: Birds of a Feather - Billie Eilish

A jump and rustle in your bed woke you up with a start. Your heart raced at the shock and possibility of an intruder. But before you could turn on the lights, the familiar smell of citrus and raspberries filled the air. It was your best friend and flatmate, Hanni.

She had flopped face-first onto your pillow next to you, her annoyed groan slightly muffled. Your heart thumped loudly at the close proximity of her skin next to yours, but you quickly rubbed your eyes, trying to wipe away the drowsiness and the tingling feeling in your chest.

“What the hell, Pham?” you muttered, glancing at the clock on your nightstand. “Why are you in my room at 3 in the morning?”

She merely pushed her face deeper into your pillow and inhaled, sighing in defeat.

Hanni was many things—she may be a tiny little thing, but she was insanely loud, vibrant, and expressive. So her silence meant something was seriously wrong. That was when you remembered she had left last night for a date with another boy from her major. She had been so excited, but it seemed the date did not go well. You secretly cheered at the thought of her not falling for another guy, but guilt quickly followed. Your friend was here, wallowing in misery, and all you could think about was your own feelings.

“I take it the date with Jun didn’t go well?” you softly asked, reaching over to stroke her raven-black hair.

Finally deciding to answer, she turned around and buried her face in your neck, her small body curling toward your warmth. You wrapped your arm around her and pulled her close, soothing her like you had since you met in freshman year. Your bodies fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle, or birds of a feather.

“It was… okay,” she muttered defeatedly.

“Then what’s wrong? I thought you liked him.”

Hanni let out another sigh, her cool breath brushing against your neck and sending shivers through your body.

“I thought he was cute. But it just doesn’t feel right. There’s no connection, no spark.”

“Don’t force it if it doesn’t feel right,” you said, rubbing her arm soothingly.

“But when will it ever feel right?” Her voice raised slightly, a hint of tears in her eyes.

“I’ve been on at least twenty dates in the past few months, and none of them ever feel right. I’m so tired of this. Maybe I’m just not meant to be with anyone. Maybe no one would ever like me.”

Your heart twinged at hearing Hanni say this. It pained you to see such a wonderful and sweet girl doubt herself so much, beaten down by all the failed dates and rejections.

“Don’t say that, Hanni. From my time with you as your best friend and roommate, I can assure you that you are very lovable and one of the best people in the world. You deserve all the love you can find. Don’t ever let anyone else make you think otherwise.”

Hanni paused in silence at your words, and you started to sweat, worried that she had caught on to your feelings. The room was too dark for you to see her expression, but finally, she softly leaned her head toward you and pressed her lips on your cheek gently before drawing back.

“Thank you, Y/N, for being here, for being my best friend,” she whispered, before cuddling back into you.

Her breathing slowed, indicating that she had fallen asleep.

Your face burned where her lips had touched. You knew this was the closest thing to love you could get from her, but you were content with just being her friend.

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The blow of the whistle echoed in the gymnasium, along with the roar from the crowd in the stands. Your volleyball team had managed to catch up to the competing team, head-to-head in the final round of the quarter-finals. Hanni knew her friends were talking about something, but her eyes stayed glued to you, watching you furrow your brows in concentration as you listened to your coach discuss the next game plan.

“If you stare any harder, your eyes are going to fall out,” Minji, one of her close friends and the class president, teased the shorter girl, nudging her gently out of her trance.

“Huh?” Hanni finally drew her eyes away from you and looked back to see her group of friends all looking at her with stupid, knowing grins on their faces.

“Sorry, what were you guys saying?”

“We were talking about when you were going to ask Y/N out,” Haerin drawled, her cat-like eyes glinting with mischief.

“What?” Hanni quickly shook her head, her heart pounding at the thought. “I don’t like Y/N.”

“If you say so,” Haerin snickered, enjoying watching her friend panic.

“Seriously, I’m not gay,” Hanni’s voice raised slightly, tinged with both anger and fear that they had caught on to her feelings.

“We know, Haerin was just joking,” Danielle quickly cut in. Ever so sweet and a ball of sunshine, she smoothly changed the subject to soothe Hanni’s nerves. “What do you guys want for dinner after?”

As the girls chattered around her, all Hanni could hear was her blood rushing in her ears. She wasn’t gay; she couldn’t be. She only dated boys, even if the dates were always disappointing. She just cared for you as a friend—a best friend. Yes, that must be it. She liked paying attention to you because that’s what a good friend should do. She tried to push the thoughts of how much she enjoyed your attention, how nice it felt to be in your arms, out of her head.

You leaped up high and struck the volleyball, the ball moving so fast that Hanni couldn’t see anything but a blur of white, followed by the sound of a slam and the referee’s whistle. The crowd roared in glee as your teammates all piled on top of you. You had made the final point and secured your school’s ticket to the finals.

Hanni jumped to her feet and screamed your name, waving a towel with your last name on it in celebration.

“Whipped,” Minji muttered to Haerin, and Hyein snickered. Danielle quickly turned around to shush the older girl, but was also grinning as they watched Hanni run from the stands and onto the court to congratulate you.

You caught her mid-jump and twirled her around, the number on your jersey catching the court light as it mirrored the one on Hanni’s body.

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Ever since the girls mentioned the idea of Hanni having feelings for you, she tried her hardest to avoid having these allegations whenever you guys hung out in public. Hanni, who was always around, who always filled the room with her bright energy, began to drift away. She started to avoid you. It wasn’t immediate, but you noticed. It started with her not sitting next to you  in classes, then she stopped responding to your texts as quickly as she used to. Eventually, she stopped joining in on Friday movie nights in the living room. She used to look forward to these so much.

You couldn't understand what had changed. Everything was fine until the game. The closeness you two shared, the comfort in each other's presence, was suddenly replaced by a wall that the shorter girl seemed determined to build. When you asked her if everything was okay, she’d shrug it off, avoiding your eyes.

“I’ve just been busy,” she’d say, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her honey-brown hues eyes. “Lots of assignments, you know?”

But you knew it wasn’t just assignments. The warmth that used to be in her voice when she talked to you had been replaced by something cold, something distant. She no longer confided you in her problems, no longer snuggled up towards you, and no longer wanted to spend time with you.

Your friends noticed too. Minji, Haerin, and Danielle would exchange glances when they saw the two of you together, the awkward tension between you crushing the room. They didn’t say anything directly, but their concern was evident in the way they tried to lighten the mood, filling the silence with jokes and stories. But it wasn’t the same.

One evening, after another failed attempt to talk to Hanni, you lay in your bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering where things went wrong. Your chest felt heavy, like you were carrying around a weight that you couldn’t shake off. All you wanted was to understand, to know why she was pulling away. But Hanni kept her distance, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the growing ache in your heart. Did she somehow, figure out your feelings for her? Did the thought of you liking her make her withdraw in disgust?

The dreams of her haunted you once again.

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A few week passed with little change. You decided to get some fresh air, clear your mind from the confusion that had been clouding it. Your shared flat was too quiet, and Hanni’s door was always shut, as if she wanted to keep you away from her as much as she could.

You went off campus, deciding to visit your cousin Jimin. She always knew how to help you make sense of things. As you sat in a small, cozy coffee shop, you poured your heart out to her, explaining how Hanni had changed, how you didn’t understand what had gone wrong.

Jimin listened patiently, her eyes full of empathy. “Maybe she’s going through something she doesn’t know how to talk about,” she suggested, placing her hand on yours in a comforting gesture.

Unbeknownst to you, Hanni had walked past the coffee shop at that very moment. She had heard you leave the dorm and decided to go for a walk herself.

Though she seemed nonchalant, the time away from you had taken a toll on her. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and she couldn't eat. All she wanted was to crawl back into your arms and apologize for pulling away. You must be so confused about the sudden distance. She was confused herself. She had finally come to terms with the fact that the reason all her relationships and dates had failed was that she had feelings for you all along. A part of her wanted to confess, but a bigger part had convinced herself that she could get through this silly crush on you if she just avoided you, that it was just a phase.

But maybe, just maybe, you liked her too. This thought lingered in her mind, fueled by her friends who kept insisting that you had feelings for her.

She promised herself she would talk to you soon.

As she walked through the town, the autumn chill made her pull her jacket tighter. She couldn’t help but think of the times you would take off your scarf and wrap it around her because she was too cold, or the way you’d laugh at her pink nose and buy her a cup of hot coffee.

Just when she thought things couldn’t get worse, her heart sank as she saw you in a random coffee shop with another girl. The way the girl’s hand rested on yours twisted something painfully in her chest. She felt a sudden surge of jealousy, something she didn’t want to acknowledge. In her mind, she began to piece together a story that wasn’t true—that you had moved on, that you had found someone else, or that you never liked her in the first place.

After all, she was a girl who could never find love.

The rest of the day, Hanni couldn’t focus on anything. All she could think of was the pretty girl paying attention to everything you said, the way your eyes sparkled when you talked, and the sight of her hand in yours.

That night, Hanni took a pair of scissors and chopped her hair short, the long locks that you used to run your hands through falling to the floor. Snip after snip, she chopped off her hair the way you had broken her heart, piece by piece. She stared at herself in the mirror, her heart racing as she tried to convince herself that this was a fresh start, a way to move on from the confusing feelings she had for you.

The next day, when you saw Hanni with her new haircut, you were shocked. She looked different—fierce, determined, but there was something else behind her eyes, something that didn’t quite fit the image she was trying to project. You couldn’t help but wonder what had driven her to such a drastic change. She had always adored her long hair. Though you thought she looked just as good with short hair and choppy bangs, you thought she looked good in anything, to be honest.

“You cut your hair,” you said, trying to sound casual, but the surprise in your voice was evident.

“Yeah, felt like a change,” she replied curtly, not meeting your gaze.

“Why?”

“It’s really none of your business.” She snapped, instantly regretting it when she saw the hurt look on your face.

Hanni quickly grabbed her bag and left for her morning class, the one she had with you.

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.

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The tension between you both only grew thicker. The silence that used to be comfortable now felt suffocating. Days passed without much exchange until one evening, something snapped. Hanni had had a terrible day and overheard NingNing, her classmate, talking about considering asking you out since you seemed to be open to dating now.

You were in the kitchen, preparing a late dinner, when Hanni walked in, her expression hard to read.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Why would anything be wrong?” Hanni shot back, her tone sharper than you expected.

“I don’t know, Hanni. You’ve been acting strange, avoiding me. If I did something, can’t you just tell me?”

She clenched her fists, her breath quickening. “Maybe you should go ask the girl you were with at the coffee shop.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You blinked, trying to process what she had just said. “The coffee shop? What coffee shop? What girl?”

“The one by the train station.” Hanni rubbed her forehead in frustration, trying to calm herself down. “Aren’t you dating her or something?”

Your eyes widened, and your mouth formed an O. You looked so stupid and adorable, and all Hanni wanted to do was punch you (or kiss you).

“Hanni, that was my cousin Jimin.”

Her eyes widened slightly, the color draining from her face as the realization dawned on her.

“Your cousin? I never knew you had a cousin.”

“Yeah, she was here on a business tri—”

Before either of you could say anything more, a loud thump echoed from the window. Hanni let out a scream, her scream scaring you more than the thump itself. The room fell silent, both of you turning toward the sound.

“What was that?” Hanni whispered, her voice shaky.

You moved toward the window, your heart pounding.

“Y/N!” Hanni hissed, reaching to pull you back. “Don’t go too close. It might be a serial killer.”

At that comment, you snorted and decided to walk forward.

Pulling the curtain aside, you saw a pigeon lying on the ground, its wing awkwardly bent.

“It’s just a pigeon,” you said, opening the window carefully.

“Get it out of here,” Hanni said, her voice rising with panic. She backed away, her fear of birds evident in the way she trembled.

“Y/N, I’m serious. Pigeons are covered in germs.”

Ignoring her protests, you gently brought the pigeon inside, placing it on the table.

“It’s hurt, Hanni. I’m calling Dani. She’ll know what to do.”

A few minutes later, Danielle arrived, her vet kit in hand. She worked quickly, soothing the frightened bird and bandaging its wing. Hanni watched from the doorway, her fear momentarily forgotten as she observed the tenderness with which you handled the situation. You looked at the pigeon so softly and caringly, while Hanni just thought it was the ugliest bird ever. It was balding, and just a flurry of gray and white spots.

“Thank you, Dani,” you said as she finished up, giving you a reassuring smile before she left.

“It’s never a problem, Y/N. Bring it to the clinical room tomorrow, and our professors can check it out.” Dani said cheerfully, her grin brightening the whole room.

“I’m glad you guys are talking again,” she giggled, before shutting the door behind her.

As the door closed, the room was quiet again, but the tension between you and Hanni remained. She looked at you, her eyes filled with regret, and for a moment, you thought she might say something. But she simply averted her gaze and focused her attention on the bird.

“That bird is not staying in my room,” she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

You shrugged, at least she was talking to you again. “I’ll keep it in mine then.”

“It’s one of the ugliest birds I’ve ever seen.” She walked a bit closer to the pigeon, which gave a weird squawk and turned its bald head to look at her.

“Yeah, it’s kinda ugly.”

The two of you stood in the middle of the living room awkwardly, looking anywhere except at each other.

“I’m going to name it Pablo,” Hanni said suddenly before walking back to her room.

You laughed at her randomness, feeling a bit better than you had in weeks.

The door to Hanni’s room was left half-open.

.

.

.

.

.

Neither of you addressed the weird distance that had grown between you over the past few weeks. But Hanni seemed to be in a better mood, and you noticed that she was slowly warming up to you again. She even visited Pablo with you, despite her initial disgust toward birds. Sometimes, she would bring bird seeds for the pigeon to snack on or sing to him with her beautiful, sweet voice when she thought you couldn’t hear her.

You weren’t back to normal, but you were getting there.

Hanni, on the other hand, had a plan. After all the heartbreak and misunderstandings she had accidentally caused, she was determined to set things right. She couldn’t imagine herself dating anyone else but you, and the thought of you holding someone else made her heart ache.

So she was thinking of a way to confess to you. She wanted nothing more than to be in your arms again, but as the days blurred into weeks and winter’s snow melted away into spring, she still hadn’t mustered the courage.

That was until the day you were to release Pablo back into the wild.

It was spring, and Dani had said that Pablo’s wing was fully healed and that it was the perfect time for him to rejoin nature.

As you and Hanni said your goodbyes to Pablo (you teared up a bit, while Hanni, still wary of the bird, merely poked its now fluffy head with her forefinger tenderly), she insisted on tying a small pink ribbon on one of Pablo’s feet.

“Just in case he ever flies by, I’ll recognize him,” she explained with a shy smile.

You drove to a nearby park with Hanni, talking and laughing along the way, similar to what you used to do, but with a sense of shyness hanging in the air.

Hanni opened the cage to let him go.

The two of you watched as he took flight, joining a flock of pigeons in the trees.

Finally, deciding to brave yourself again, you asked, “Hanni, what did I do before to make you hate me?”

Hanni’s face fell, sadness washing over her as she realized how you’d been feeling.

“I never hated you. I hated myself.” She whispered.

“Why?”

Hanni took a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke. “I was confused about how I felt about you. I like you, Y/N, and I was so scared of that. I was scared that you didn’t like me back or that maybe I wasn’t really... you know, into girls.”

You sighed, relief and understanding flooding your heart.

You reached down to grab her hand, squeezing it gently. “I’ve always liked you, Hanni. I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Hanni’s eyes lit up with a mix of surprise and happiness. Her sweet face broke into a smile, the smile that she reserved only for you, and stood on her tiptoes.  She wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you closer, so close that you could feel her breath on your lips. The smell of citrus on her skin was dizzying, in the best way.

The flock of pigeons took flight behind the two of you, their wings flapping in the background as if in celebration.

Hanni looked up at you, her voice soft and full of meaning. “I kept thinking... that’s us.”

You frowned, confused. “The pigeons?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, her smile growing. “We’re birds of a feather. We belong together.”

You chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. “Hanni, you’re scared of birds.”

Hanni playfully rolled her eyes. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

As Hanni’s words hung in the air, a playful smirk danced on her lips, but her eyes shone with a deep, genuine vulnerability. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the world around you fading into the background as the moment between you grew more intense. The light breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the soft scent of blooming flowers, but all you could focus on was her.

When your lips finally met, it was gentle at first—soft, tentative, as if testing the waters. But then, as if something clicked, the kiss deepened, full of the emotions you’d both been holding back.

Her hand slid up to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, while you wrapped your arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. The world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you in that moment.

When you finally broke apart, it was only because you both needed to breathe. Hanni’s forehead rested against yours, her eyes half- closed, a soft smile playing on her lips. Her cheeks were flushed, and there was a sparkle in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. You could feel her breath on your face, still quick and uneven, and you realized yours was the same.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. Your thumb gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

Hanni chuckled softly, her laugh full of relief and happiness.

“Me too,” she said, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to your lips before pulling back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes again. “Me too.”

.

.

.

.

The start of the new semester filled you with a sense of excitement. It had been just a year since you and Hanni had gotten together, and everything seemed brighter.

One morning, as Hanni was drying her hair with a towel, a loud thump against the window startled her. She let out a small scream, her hands flailing in surprise and nearly poking her eye.

“Are you okay, babe?” you called out from your shared room, the term still feeling endearing and intimate.

Hurrying out of the room, you found Hanni standing by the window, her eyes wide with fear as she pointed at something outside.

You sighed and walked over to her, gently pulling the curtains aside. The scene outside was familiar yet baffling—an ugly pigeon with a pink ribbon tied around its leg was perched on the windowsill. But this time, there was something different: the pigeon had made a nest and was now sitting on a batch of eggs.

Hanni blinked in disbelief and turned to you, her confusion in her voice.

“Pablo is a girl???”

A bit rushed 🥶 Getting kind of rusty after not writing for a while

[rerefundslocals]

Slow motion [jjk]

Summary: you only wish to love jungkook for as long as the world allows you to.

>>pairing: idol!jungkook x fem!reader

>>trope: exes to lovers

>>genre: angst,smut,fluff.

>>word count: I'll add later

>>warnings/tags: feelings discussed, arguments, shyreader, Dom!jungkook, sub!reader, unprotected sex, choking kink, backshots, dirty talk,petnames, spit kink, aftercare <3(lmk if I missed anything)

a/n- a recommended song is slow motion by Don toliver ft. Wizkid. Show love through likes, reblogs,comments and asks. Keeps authors very motivated<3 enjoy!! + this is not proofread and a repost.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"Did anyone see you?" You sigh out as you walk towards the door of your apartment.

Jungkook, by the door undresses as he removes his Nike puffer jacket and ridding himself of his shoes as well ; left in his shirt and sweatpants, he only walks closer to you, grabbing your hand as he leads you to your couch ignoring your question completely.

"I had a long day, skip the questions,___." He groans out as he lays back on your pink velvet sofa,pulling you on his lap.

You simultaneously lay your head on his chest carefully as you hear his heart softly beat in his chest. "I just wanted to know." You mumble.

"It's okay. Did you eat?" He asks, hands rubbing the small of your back as he makes his way to your ass, rubbing at the flesh, clothed by your flowy dress.

You only sigh as you trace the patterns on his tattooed arm, reeling in the silence and the comfort of your ex-boyfriends arms.

It wasn't always so sullen between you two. You always believed that you'd be more happy if you were able to love Jungkook freely without having to sign heaps of papers and worry about publicity.

But that was not the reality of this relationship. Though you did try to get through that phase, it only teared down your relationship. Having to book private dates and seeing each other atleast two times every month. Three if you were lucky.

It was bad enough that your relationship went public, and when it did, it was your worst nightmare having spent two years of your relationship with Jungkook private and signing nda's .

From the Twitter comments and Jungkook having to face the worst times during his lives. You had decided to end things with him after three years of bliss. He took it hard and so did you.

Days turned into Weeks, and weeks turned into months ; that's when Jungkook decided that despite being broken up, he will find every way to meet with you, and kiss you, touch you, tell you he loves you as if you two were still together.

That's what leads you here, on his warm lap, soaking in the little time you had left as the company would be livid if they knew Jungkook left work to go straight to you.

He wonders why you have yet to answer his question, but he doesn't let it bother him. You probably had a long day too.

"Baby, are you hungry yet?" He finally asks. Head leaning down to get a better view of your face.

Feeling wary and skeptical, you look up at him, finally responding to him. "I'm really trying to be nice...but Kook, you should be gone right now. I'm scared you'll get in trouble." You pick at your nails, head hanging low.

He immediately responds. And it is not in a nice tone. "You and this fucking worrying of yours. If I wanted to be gone I would be right now." He scoffs out. Ever so gently removing you off his lap, warm hands ridding themselves of your ass.

"If you want me gone. I'll do just that."

You're quick to scramble to your feet, fluffy socks meeting your wooden floor as you follow him to your door.

"Kook, wait- I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that..but I'm just scared okay? Please understand that." You softly say.

Jungkook turns to look at you, eyes showing the clear emotion of sadness. Your heart clenches at the sight of a sad Jungkook and you reach your hand into his, engulfing in the warmth of his bigger limb.

"You're the reason we never worked out. You know that?" He asks, his hand tightly engulfed in yours.

Your brows furrow as you frown at him, "w-what do you mean,Kook? I broke us up because it was best for you. I did it for you." He chuckles, and it's not jolly or happy.

"You did it for me? Are you fucking crazy? I put my foot in this relationship when everything was going haywire,___. I tried and tried to fight for this. I am sorry that you're too weak to render that in your brain. But I love you. I do love you and I wish you weren't so selfish all the time ; because you know deep down in your heart that you want this. You love me like I love you. So cut the shit and forget the company and the nda's, the fans too. Just focus on you and I. That's all I want."

"Its harder than that." You mumble shyly and Jungkook loses it completely.

"What's fucking hard?! What is huh?!" He growls, "Tell me,___!" He finishes, chest heaving with anger. Completely unfazed that you flinched at his voice raising higher.

It's a stare off now, as you and him stare intensly in each other's eyes.

It's then you decide, that maybe he is right and that you can trust him, hope that everything would be better..if you just shut the world out, that being the company, his fans and the contracts.

Your eyes soften as you walk closer into jungkooks personal space, your arms wrapping around his waist as you hug him, your hair being mushed by his chest.

Jungkook sighs at the sight, eyes looking down at you as he contemplates hugging you back. "Touch me, please." You plee.

"Will you shut me out when we're done hugging?" He chuckles playfully.

You chuckle along with him, chests vibrating against each other, "I won't. Because I love you and I want this to work no matter what, Kook."

"I love you so much." You whisper once more, as you lift your head, frail fingers going up to caress his cheek.

Now on your tippy toes, you lean up for a kiss that Jungkook responds too, as he latches both your lips in a loving kiss. Lips moving in sync, as his hands come to wrap around your waist, fingers fighting the urge to grab the flesh of your ass.

The kiss becomes more feverish than it was softer as you let out moans into Jungkooks mouth and he groans jn response when you tug at his hair, "mhm - fuck, baby." He let's out as he props off your mouth for a second.

You continue to make out by your door while you peel off Jungkooks clothes, from his shirt to his sweats, leaving him naked in front on you since he did not wear underwear, though you don't question it.

"Hold on, baby." His lips leave yours as he tries to remove your dress from off your body and over your head.

Left with your thong, you lean down to pull it off and kick it somewhere in the kitchen.

With so much frustration to let out, Jungkook wastes no time lifting you up as you curl your legs around his waist, leading you both to your bedroom.

It's everything jungkook has seen before. From the Polaroids of you with family and friends hanging on the wall and the pastel pink wallpaper on your walls.

"Get on the bed, your back facing me and arch your back." The tone is instructive more than it is demanding and it radiates pleasure onto you, making you unbelievably wet for him. So you do comply and do just as he says.

Foreplay has never been one for yours and Jungkooks sex life, As much as Jungkook loves getting his dick sucked and you loving the pleasure from getting eaten out, you both just love to feel each other and be binded as one with no time to waste.

He wants to feel you squeeze around him and he wants to fill you up so good. Maybe after that would he eat you out and same with sucking him off.

Now he lines up with your hole, slowly inserting thr tip of his hard cock, precum leaking.

You both audibly moan in sync when he fully enters, slow and teasing thrusts at first.

You whine pitifully as you shake your ass as to pry Jungkook to move faster."Jungkook please."

"I know,baby, I know." He teases with a sly smirk that you can't really see from behind.

He complies with you, moving faster as the squelching sounds of your wetness and his pre cum fill the room.

Along with your moans and jungkooks low but raspy moans that have you curling your toes, you become a leaking faucet, getting tighter around his cock.

"Mm- fuck! You're so tight, baby." Jungkook moans, "keep squeezing my cock, baby."

It's a sloppy mess now as your moans sound like cries now, high pitched, whiny much and loud. Very loud.

Your poor neighbors :(

You squeeze tighter around him when he slaps your ass quite a few times, groping at the flesh when he let's go. Jungkook quietly groans at the tight fit. "Wan' me to squeeze you just like that?" You coyly remind him.

"Hmh, just like that, baby." He replies, a breath of relief is what it sounds like.

You feel your high approaching when your stomach coils tighter and tighter and tears pool at your eyes, one leaking from your left eye and onto your cheek.

What a sight.

Jungkook pulls you with your hair and onto his chest, his thrusts sloppier at this new angle.

"So pretty." He presses a kiss onto your cheek. He forces your mouth open with his free hand that isn't gripping your right ass cheek, leaning forward to spit a glob of saliva into your mouth.

"You gonna be a good girl and swallow? Hmm?"

You only swallow in response, feeling the warm spit go down your throat. You like it, quite tasty to you, everything about him is tasty.

"Fuck- I-im cumming, Kook!" You exclaim, feeling your knees go weak.

"That's it, baby. Soak my dick."

And on cue, you cum undone on his cock, jungkook moaning along with you as he spills into your hole.

The sticky white substance, thick and messy in your tiny hole.

You fall limply onto the bed when Jungkook let's go of your hair, and he gets up to get a warm cloth to clean you up.

"You Okay, baby?" He questions when he's done wiping you clean and covering you up.

You lazily nod at him, smile playing on your lips. "You did not say you loved me back, earlier on."You playfully tease.

Jungkook chuckles in response, running his hands through his hair for the first time today.

"Wellll," He drags, "you didn't exactly give me that chance since you kissed me crazy."

"I'm giving you a chance now. And come lay with me!" You whine.

"Okayyy, fine woman! I love you so so much." He hops in the bed beside you, pulling you close to his chest immediately. Desperate to feel you on him. "That's what I like to hear." You kiss his chest and he kisses your head above you too.

"I love you,too."

[bitchlessdino]

Dearest friend (m)

pairing: bsf!seungcheol x afab!reader Genre: angst, smut Word count: 2.8k tags: unrequited love, mentions reader in heels and wig, mentions of TOXIC romantic relationships, public kisses, unprotected sex, please let me know if im missing anything Summary: When you're in a toxic relationship, there's no way of understanding that right away. There's typically much trial and error, such as Seungcheol and his unsuccessful relationship with his on-and-off partner that he keeps getting you involved in. In one of the countless schemes to get them back, things take an unexpected turn with you, his best friend, who does something that may change their dynamic forever. author note: I'm back lovies. hopefully for longer this time. teh wedding planning has honestly kept me very busy but i've finally got back in tune with writing again. let's see how long this last.

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @wonuhour @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @himbocoups

He had been with them throughout high school. Throughout college. Into their mid-twenties. Before anyone could realize it, a decade had passed.

You were friends, his specifically, and you lived through every suffocating second while trying to balance your own lack of love life. Night after night, bouncing from body to body, one candlelight dinner to another, and for nothing to come out of it. You weren’t one to judge the relationship coming apart and sewn back together redundantly.

However, this on-and-off relationship had become a constant in your life–one both annoying yet entertaining depending on the circumstance–as well as their mind games that they constantly used to get back together. And they wonder why it never fucking works (you’re practically screaming it into the void).

This was their off period and for Seungcheol one of the most terrifying periods to have. This instance in particular because it’s the rare occasion that his ex was actually out on a date with someone. That’s when he conjured up a plan, a despicable one. One that not only would so-called ‘help’ his long-time former lover to realize what they’re missing being apart from him but would put you in a deeply comfortable situation. 

You’ve been a part of of schemes before, but they were usually surprise events, mitigating, or simply becoming the one end of Newton’s cradle, providing collision and causing friction until the balls lose momentum. This assistance unfortunately required more participation on the field, and you preferred being behind the scenes, but Seungcheol had forced your hand.

“You look awkward. Stop slouching.”

You offered the man a quiet, but deadly, middle finger at your waist as you struggled to stand in the tight outfit he deemed necessary for the plan to work. 

It had been a while since you’d seen his ex, enough time that they wouldn’t recognize you, especially after the extreme makeover Seungcheol decided to bestow upon you on a random Friday evening. You can’t emphasize enough that what you were doing wasn’t by your own will. Your best friend just really knew how to push your buttons. It was as if he had the manual of the ways you operate. Now you were wondering how you had yet cut him out of your life because of it.

“Fuck you, you blackmailed me into a pair of heels and a wig.”

His lips tugged up at a single corner, pulling you by your waist as he noticed his ex’s eyes flicker towards them. He mused in a smile as his lips drew closer to your ear intimately, fanning his breath against your cool cheeks. “The eagle has landed in the coup,” he whispered, blatantly ignoring your complaints.

“This is so…stupid.”

He erupted in boisterous laughter–emitting feigned warmth and life–as he trained his eyes on you. “You’re so cute,” he tucked the locks of the wig behind your ear, softly hurting his teeth as he spoke through them. “Laugh.”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha.”

He scoffed lightly enough that it couldn’t be detected from afar, caressing your arm to maintain the facade. “That was awful.”

“Well you’re unfunny and this is an unfunny situation.”

“But it’s working,” he retorted, giggling to himself. “They can't bear to take their eyes off of me.”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to pay attention to his hand softly stroking your waist. You’ve managed to get past its initially ticklish sensation until it became as natural as breathing. You sighed exaggeratedly, causing him to brush against you closer. He sharpened his features, stern written all over his face. “Take this seriously or they’ll see under our ruse.”

You scoffed. “It’s so painfully obvious. They’re not an idiot.”

The tip of his nose brushed against your cheek, and he could practically feel the rage radiating off his target as they too pressed closer to their date in plain sight. You felt his smile against your skin, festering body heat until it was seething. “Tell that to them who’s giving me sex eyes right now. God, they look amazing.”

“Really? I’m right here,” you said light-heartedly, trying to joke in the awkward situation.

“Shit, why do they look like they're trying to leave?”

“Uh, maybe because they’re in the same room as their ex? Seriously. Think, Cheol.”

Impatience was never Seungcheol’s favorite activity. He was as jittery as a child with sugar. “Kiss me.”

You squinted at him accusingly. “Excuse me?”

“We need to really push them to the edge.”

“Yeah, but is kissing necessary?”

He determinedly nodded. “Yes, absolutely. Just do it.”

“Now hold on, let’s think about this.”

“You do it or I will.”

“Fine!” Your hands reached out for his collar, tugging him against you to crash into his silky, pillowy lips.

Even after his persistent pestering, the kiss came as a surprise to Seungcheol, who found the pleasantry in record time. His once stiff hands on your body simply melted around your figure just as your lips have and the warmth both comforting and delicious. Arousal pooled between your clamped legs, your hands tightened their grip on the cotton of his shirt. You could feel every muscle of his firmly wrap around you like a safety blanket, while his jaw engaged in following your pace. You flushed under his touch and your knees were losing strength as they buckled, nearly falling to the ground.

Seungcheol picked you right back with his palm flat over the small of your back, feeling the thud of your unresting heart beneath your clothes. Your hand crept against his cheek, his teeth softly pierced your bottom lip and pulled in his direction, muffling your whimpers between his lips. The position of his hands, squeezing your flesh shocked you back to consciousness and finally you jerked away, meeting his eyes long enough to see the darkness in them.

Your gaze fell to your feet, the whisper of his kiss lingering on your skin. “Are t-they gone,” You asked in a flustered hush.

For the first time, his eyes are finally on you. Truly in you, as if you were the only other person in existence. “Why did you pull away? Why did you stop?”

“I-I don’t know. It felt right to stop.”

“Well, it wasn’t.” The crook of his finger pulled you by the chin and brought you right back where you were, enraptured by the spell of his lips, somewhat more intoxicating than the first instance.

Your fingers combed through his hair as the small gap of your mouth is filled with his presence. Your vessel vibrated, tingling in the dryness of your throat as he moved against you starved, not at all bothered by the marble bar counter rearing in his lower back. His grunts were addictive, drunk without the substance. Without fearing doubt, you swallowed your pride–and Seungcheol’s lips–you fully took advantage of the current circumstance.

A fire kindled in Seungcheol’s stomach, instigating a roar that could only be tamed by the furnace of your body clenched to his sides. The mumble of his name on your lips was mistaken for a moan, and maybe it was, revving Seungcheol’s engine until determined to take you here and now, in the middle of a crowded bar where anyone could see.

Before the moment could prologue, your hands flattened against his chest and shoved him, gasping for air while he was frustrated to have been interrupted again. He met your eyes, ready to scold you, until he registered how shakey your presence was with eyes barely able to level with his. His watch softened at you as he reluctantly let go, overwashed with a sense of shame. “Hey, I—“

“I’m gonna take a second in the restroom. Please.”

He nodded, guilt seeping into his throat, droughting what was inside. “Okay.”

The second the door stall closed behind you, you took a deep breath and tightly shut your eyes. You rubbed your hands over your chest, feeling it pulse under your palm. Inhale and out. Shallow panicked breaths escaped the narrow gap of your lips, trying to relive the overwhelming pounding.

Right about now his ex must be throwing themself at him and they're seconds away from being sewn back together. Just like always. You expected this. You’ve accepted this. This was how things always were.

Why aren’t you over that by now?

You mustered whatever courage you had within and forced your feet out of that restroom, facing exactly what you expected, Seungcheol’s ex on him like a wild animal around fresh meat. You tore away from the scene immediately retreating to take the closest Uber out of the bar as soon as possible.

You abandoned your disguise near the door, hearing your wig fall limply to the ground. A sound of relief escaped your lips as you trodded off to the bathroom to wash away the grime of sweat and embarrassment. Your tears fell in sync with the shower head that enveloped you in desirable heat. Heat that you wished belonged to a body instead of a body of water. Your hands felt your face as you sobbed, knowing it wouldn’t escape past the bathroom door, or your apartment being alone, once again, like you always have been.

After the night you’ve had, you’re ready to go back to your regular routine and forget the mental break of indulging in fantasy. You were only meant to ever help a friend and now that friend is back where he should be: in the arms of someone he actually loves. 

As toxic as their dynamic may be at least there is something romantic about it. You and him have been and will always be just friends, a side plot to the main story in his life. You are simply a pawn in this twisted game of chess and you have no one to point blame on but yourself. You let this happen.

Gathering your pathetic self to your room, you drowned in your duvet, cuddling up next to your pillow and burying your face in the fabric. After some time of thinking and crying, you at last find slumber, determined to erase any and all thoughts of your best friend.

As though this night couldn’t get any worse, someone else had to ruin your sleep too.

Annoyed, you rustled out of bed to head to the front door. Your heavy steps move with reluctance, fisting over the door knob as it swung open and suddenly you’re wide awake. He stared back at you, eyes glistening, shoulders falling at your comforting site. “Hey.”

“Hi,” You greeted back softly. “What—What happened? You and—“

“They asked me to come back.”

You blinked at him, stretching a faux smile on your face. “That’s great. That’s amazing! That’s exactly what you wanted…So why are you here?”

“Uh…” He closed the door behind and you let him step inside, placing himself dangerously close to you. “I said I’d think about it?”

“What? It’s all you’ve been wanting the entire time you were apart. The system, Seungcheol. The system.”

“I don’t know. I just wasn’t sure anymore after…”

You waited for him to finish for as long as you could. His steps towards you only resonated louder, prouder. Everything in you told you to back down, yet you stood your ground and met his eyes in anticipation. “After…?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Well, what does that mean…Cheol?”

Suddenly, it was so much harder to breathe and his body got only closer and closer, tightening your airways and overwhelming your senses. You didn’t push him away when his lips daringly landed on yours, hands finding purchase on your cheeks as you softly caressed them like fine china. Your torso lined up with his as you tossed your arms around his neck, deepening your connection.

He parted briefly to reassess the situation, the tip of his nose timidly tracing over the bridge of yours. “It means I want to…explore this more. Whatever it is.”

“And them?”

He shook his head. “They’ll have to keep on waiting because I can’t stop thinking about you since that kiss and by the way you're looking at me…you can’t either.”

“Seungcheol…”

“Don’t tell me I’m wrong,” he begged, “Please.”

“You can’t tell me you aren't still madly in love with them.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I was. Do you think I would be here if I didn’t have doubts?”

“… I don’t want you to end up doing something you’ll regret…forever.”

His hand clasped against your cheek, adoring the vulnerability that glows in your gaze. He admired your soft features, drinking in the quiver of your kiss-bitten lips as the flutter on your delicate lashes shielded from his bold light. He held you closer, drawing his lips nearer, and he breathed a breath of defiance. “I don’t think I regret a single second I’m with you.”

The kiss you shared didn’t express a moment of doubt, only flurries of passion as your clothes found their way to the ground. He kissed down your navel, balling fists of your flesh, nipping at your skin, inhaling your clean scent. You said his name in a swoon, bounded to him like warm clay, melting into one another with no points of separation.

Your hands roamed up his upper back, palming at his shoulder blades. He softly winced as your nails dug into his skin, his tongue lightly licking at a spot that emits the most sound from your lips. Your name on his lips comes in your ears, churning your stomach, burning your thighs. Your legs clamped to his side, feeling the brush of his cock as it twitched in your direction. 

You ached to be filled, climbing his build in desperation. His familiar tufts of hair found their way between your fingers until you pulled, eliciting his starved moans. You beg and beg, meeting his eyes with much desperation. He was kissing your body, embracing you with so much love, but you knew you wanted more. More of him.

Seungcheol seemed to be a mind reader as he was already positioning himself. He towered over you with gratitude in his eyes, gratitude for the trust you gifted him. The vulnerability you finally gave into. The body and love that you once hid. He would appreciate it and not waste a single second to do so.

With a single hand caressing your face and one on his cock, he watched your eyes change as he plunged inside. He felt your thighs come up to the sides, hooking around his torso. He jerked his hips, memorizing the shape of your walls, and how they massaged him well, squeezing every inch of him until you were filled. Your head knocked back into the sheets, your nails now clawing up his arm. “Cheol…”

“I’m here,” he whispered.  “I want to take care of you,” he admitted, “Let me know if anything goes wrong.”

You nodded back, accepting his kisses as they became signs of worship. He would touch every inch of your body, fill your warmth until it was coated in thick, sweet arousal of your own doing. He whispered your name, moaning sweet praises. “You feel so precious in my hands…I want your body and soul to bind with mine…I don’t think I could ever forget what this feels like…”

He moved faster, his hips buckled harder, and your fingers indented into the smooth texture of his back. He kept thrusting deeper and harder inside you until it was a blissful pain but you don’t remember ever replicating. With his sweet cherry-shaped lips on yours, you feel your sweat mix into a cocktail of pure delicious nectar. He mouthed a flush of your skin, clutching you to his body like a man getting mad, unwilling to give up his most prized possession. 

His groans became ingrained in your brain and you felt waves of arousal stagger you, paralyze you. Your mouth dropped. “Oh god…” Your hands trembled. Your toes curled. “That’s so good, more please.” You begged and begged and begged and begged—

A knock at the door. A panicked one that.

You rose from bed, empty, cold alone. Your hand ran over your head, feeling the clammy, distressing remnants of your wet dream. Overwashed with guilt, you reluctantly pulled the covers off and got out of bed, dragging your feet towards the door, ignoring the wig that stared back at you in your peripheral. It swung open the familiar way it does, and déjà vu hits you.

Seungcheol stood before just like once did in the dream. He walked closer towards you, and word seemed to halt in your throat.

“They asked me to come back.”

Having already rehearsed this in your mind, you stretched in another fake smile, finding its chirp through your tired voice. “That’s great. That’s amazing. That’s exactly what you wanted. So why are you here?”

“I-I don’t know…I just thought I should tell you. Um, thank you.”

You nodded solemnly. This was reality after all. “Glad I can help as always.”

“You really are a great help. I’m lucky to have you as my dearest friend.” He grinned, not quite reaching his ears as if holding back something secrets he couldn’t bear either.

You didn’t think much of it and smiled. “Of course. Dearest friend.”

[suguann]

tags. fem!reader, the overused 'i know we're supposed to be fwb but i fell in love with you anyway' trope, confessions, gojo mentally spiraling during sex over how much he's in love with you because that's a very him thing to do [18+ only]

Gojo can’t tear his eyes off you as you move above him—riding his cock like this would be the last time you’d ever feel it inside you. That thought twists his insides, his fingers digging into your hips as if you might float away before he ever really had a chance to voice the words he’s been too scared to say.

But he couldn’t really stop you if you wanted to leave—that’s how the groundwork of uncomplicated arrangements like these work, at least in the beginning. He likes to think that a lot has changed since that night in your living room between two drunk, lonely people with nothing to lose aside from your torn underwear in his haste to get them down your soft legs and an old condom tucked away in his wallet.

The feeling sneaks up on him without his knowing, a throbbing in his chest that festers and grows over time until he can’t ignore it anymore or contain it in the proverbial cup of his hands no matter how hard he tries.

It doesn’t dampen how much he wants to mold the shape of his cock inside your tight little cunt, to ruin you for anyone else who thought they even had a chance, to have his name be the first thing you think of when you cum. He wants to make every part of you his, and he only hopes you want the same thing, too.

He groans at the thought, gripping you tight to slam his hips up into you. “Tell me who’s fucking you so good. Tell me who’s the only one that gets to make you cum.”

“You, Toru!” you sob, holding onto his biceps to keep yourself from falling against his chest. It has his balls drawing up tight, and he sucks in a breath to stop this from being over too soon.

“That’s right, pretty girl,” he grunts. “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. I’m the only one who gets to feel this sweet princess cunt.” He leans up to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, groaning when he feels you clench down around him.

“I-I’m gonna cum,” you choke out.

“Yeah?” His fingers circle over your clit as he shoves his cock deeper inside of you to take you there faster, nipping at the swell of your breast. “Fuck, give it to me, baby. Lemme feel it.”

His name is soft and sweet on your tongue as you cum, squeezing around him until his eyes roll back from how good it feels. It has him following after you, grinding his cock as far as it can go while he pulses and fills you to the brim. There’s so much that he feels it leak out of your little hole and drip down his balls to pool in an uncomfortable wet puddle forming beneath him.

He rolls away from the mess when you both catch your breath, his softening cock still tucked away between your wet thighs. You stroke his hair, your nails lightly scratching his scalp, and he buries his face into your chest, words weighing heavy in his chest.

Maybe he should cut the bullshit already, say what he wants to say, and get let down easy while he still has a chance to recover from rejection—

“Sleep with me?” he asks, voice muffled and a shade of red high on his cheeks.

You giggle, lightly tugging on his hair. “I probably need at least—”

“No,” he cuts you off nervously, heat rising to his ears. “No sex. Just to sleep…here. With me?”

When you don’t say anything right away, he wonders if there’s any way he can take back his words and whether you’d believe him if he told you it was all a joke. But then you tug the blanket over both of you, tucking the corners in so the air from the ceiling fan doesn’t reach your cooling skin, and continue running your fingers through his hair.

There’s a warmth in his chest, which he thinks might be what love feels like.

After a moment, you say, “If you steal the blankets, I’m kicking you off the bed.”

Gojo snorts, smiling against your breast. “But it’s my bed.”

You hum. “Yes, and I’ll do it anyway.”

“Just so we’re clear, I’m still going to fuck you later.”

“Go to sleep, Satoru.” He can’t see it but knows you’re smiling, too.

Masterlist

[saekkas]

𝐎𝐇, 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐄𝐁 𝐖𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄

summary: itoshi rin has never been good at keeping secrets. this fact becomes increasingly clear when you catch him in the middle of his part time nightly activities of saving the world.

tags: f!reader, spiderman au, kissing, spiderman rin, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, stubborn rin, rin is touchy, hopeless fools in love

wc: 1.3k

prompts: "i'll carry you." + "when were you planning on telling me this?" + "you're not going alone." + "i'm coming with you whether you like it or not." + "i need to know if you're okay."

your childhood friend, itoshi rin, has always been stubborn. in elementary school, he insisted on giving his share of broccoli over to you every recess because he claims it'll finally trigger your growth spurt.

it never came even after eating his portions for a whole year, and you bickered every day because of it.

now, you're both turning 21, and he's still the same stubborn boy he was. the only difference is his height and the skintight spandex that now covers his face and muscular body.

"itoshi rin, put me down!"

your voice is shrill, your fists banging against his chest. he has you in his hold, one hand around your waist as he keeps you both suspended midair with a web in his other. "i swear! i'm going to tell your mother about this."

the rain drips into your eyes, blurring the image you have of him. you can't see his eyes, not with the mask covering them. you wonder how he's able to see from behind the horrid thing. you know he's going to scowl if you ask.

"ma'am." his voice sounds gruff from behind his mask, deeper than what you know it to be.

you roll your eyes, scoffing because the cover-up attempt is nothing but desperate. after all, if anyone would know the sound of his voice, it's you. "please be quiet, you might wake up the whole neighborhood."

"sir," you parrot, your tone drowning in sarcasm. "i think it's best to put me down before i punch your pretty face."

his silence does nothing to sway your glare, it only worsens it.

"ma'am-"

"quit it." the rain pelts against you both, and you eye him in anger and concern. you've seen the news, you know he's been soaked and drenched for the past two hours.

spiderman may be able to take a punch but rin, your best friend who sneezes every second when rainy season comes along, has always had a weak immune system. "i know it's you. let me go."

he sighs from behind his mask, and you perk, ready to finally feel the pavement under you again. you scowl when he wraps his arm around you tighter, shaking his head. "i'll carry you. just stay still."

he doesn't let you answer. the wind roars against your ears as rin swings you both through the busy street. you squeak, hiding your face in his neck as you latch onto him with all your strength.

you're trembling when you reach your fire escape and he doesn't let go, not even when your feet finally touch solid ground.

"hey."

his tone is smooth as he adjusts your position, moving so that the rain hits his back and not you. his hand glides from your waist, up your back, and to the side of your neck. it lingers there, a steady warmth you can rely on. "we're home."

your prolonged silence worries him more than the way you're shaking. rin can only sigh as he lifts you up, carrying you bridal style through the balcony and into your bathroom.

"what do you think you're doing?!" you gasp, floundering around in his arms before stilling. you watch as he treks puddles of water into your apartment and you sigh, deflating at the idea of mopping. "you're an asshole, spidey."

you feel his chuckle as much as you hear it.

your bathtub is big, a moving present from one of your grandparents. it functions as a stool when rin places you on the edge, slotting himself between your parted legs.

"i need to know if you're okay."

his lips curl around the syllables of your name and it sends a heat through you. since when has rin ever said your name so softly? "i need to know if you're hurt."

"i'm fine," you sigh. there are words unsaid between you, tension that threatens to snap like a coil. the ring on your finger is shiny, and you feel looking at it is better than looking at him. "thanks for the lift home."

a gloved hand encases yours. you watch, silently enraptured as rin leads your hand to the edge of his mask. his hand then trails down to wrap around your wrist, letting you do whatever you wish.

he's always been hopeless when it comes to you.

in one swift movement, obsidian hair tumbles down his face, covering the teal of his eyes. the color contrasts with the bright blue and red of his mask. you realize belatedly that his bangs have grown, covering the sight that's been your favorite since fifth grade.

silence stretches a minute into a lifetime, and rin can only watch as you pick and prod at the mask in your hand. his hand lingers on your wrist, gently squeezing before it slides down to your waist.

"how are you even able to see through this thing?"

your attempt of a joke is weak, and even rin knows this. he sighs, running a hand through his hair, before leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

"ask," his whispers, his voice raspy. his eyelashes flutter and you curse whatever god there is because the thought of keeping your relationship with him strained leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

"when were you planning on telling me this?" your gaze moves from his face and you motion down his body. "were you ever going to?"

"i was," his reply comes, strained. you quirk an eyebrow because as stubborn as he is, rin's never been a good liar. "sometime in the near future."

"did you think i wasn't going to notice?"

you watch with amusement as rin huffs, blowing a breath of air to move his bangs. he shakes his head after, leaning his head down to press a kiss on your collarbone. "no. you know me better than anyone else."

"you're right." you let him pull you up to your feet, let him tangle his hand in your hair and around your waist. god knows you're as hopeless as he is too. "so, going to tell me about your double life?"

the moment rin stiffens, you think it's because of your words. you scramble to take them back only for him to dash out of the bathroom, out of your arms.

"rin!" you shout, watching with wide eyes as he runs to the balcony while quickly pulling on his mask until only his lips are visible. "where the hell are you going?"

your heart stops when an explosion sounds, the familiar red and orange colors filling up the sky, coming from somewhere across town.

"oh no, you don't," you grumble, marching towards the open balcony to take his wrist before he goes flying off. "you're not going alone."

the way he says your name, so soft and pleading, it almost sends you to your knees. he swivels to look at you and his mouth is twisted into a smile. you can't see his eyes and yet, you're sure you don't like whatever look he's giving you.

"you need to let me go," he sighs, lifting your hand to his mouth. he kisses every single knuckle with love, achingly similar to a farewell. for what is desperation if not the pursuit of love?

"i'm coming with you whether you like it or not."

he chuckles at your stubbornness, seeing the version of you from elementary school. he pulls you close, placing a searing kiss on the edge of your lips only to jump out of the balcony.

"itoshi rin!" you move, ready to climb down the emergency stairs only to realize the webbing connecting your hand to a heavy drawer behind you. "you little-"

the sound of his chuckle rings out and you only have a moment to react for when he tugs you into a kiss. it's awkward, confusing because of his position. he's hanging upside down from the rooftop, pushing against your lips with a bruising hold.

"i'll see you tomorrow." his voice comes out soft, airy compared to his natural gruff. he leans back slightly to kiss your forehead, whispering the three words you've been dying to hear for years.

and then he's off to save the world.

[asahiee]

𝗔𝗡 𝗢𝗥𝗕𝗜𝗧 𝗔𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗨𝗡 ⟡ satoru gojo

contains : fluff / angst / bittersweet moment author note : prob gunna hate me how i didn't rlly make it that fluff + not proof-read taglist : @vxmieen . @mel1mak . @crocodilethesir (srry if u didn't wanted to be tagged) FIRST PART - DEAD LOVEBIRDS

you were everyone's dream, a girl who could swirl hope towards any dim heart, a girl whose smile can light up anyones world. you were indeed the world's last shinning sun, and then there was satoru who'd orbited around you like a planet

satoru was a man who carried everyones worries, a man who had lost his way, a man who couldn't find any light anymore, a man whose world is corrupt and nothing can change him, a man who lost everything. he in the end had lost all hopes around the world.

how ever did a girl with bright hopes had fallen in love with a man who had died, metaphor and literally. in the end there was three memories you'd cherish deeply in your heart.

under the stars

the sound of your heart beat thumping like drums, were ringing in your ears. as satoru covered your eyes with his palm, as you can make out little snickers from him. "y'know i love you soooooo much, right?" he whispers towards your ears, as he presses soft kisses towards your neck. this simple touch had made your cheeks flamming pink.

"Y-..yeah i know.." you quietly spoke, as you fingers interwined with themselves. you for once felt satoru smiling brightly. "so i decided to spoil you.." and then his hands left from your eyes, as your bright eyes stared the blank space as you tilted your head, a bit confused. but soon your confused look would turn into wonder.

staring down at satoru, who was on his knee smiling brightly with eyes of a child. "I can't anymore, i want to marry you and show you my love." he spoke as your eyes were shimmering with tears. "yes yes yes yes...oh my god.." and that was the start at you lunched your body onto him, hugging him tightly as you cried happily into his arm. oh the overwhelming warmth between your heart and feelings...

this was the start of every dream and heartbreak

and the stars knew that to well, as they kissed there blessings onto you

2. towards the moon

"I can't shoko! what if i fall on my wedding dr-..." your overwhelming thoughts were cut of by shoko shoving her palm towards your face. "first of all you wont just randomly gall off your wedding dress.." the brown hair girl said firmly, as she grabbed your arm leading you, towards the grand wooden doors.

"secondly focus on the idiot guy you love.." she whispered to your ear, with a warming smile as you returned the soft gaze. breathing in and out you had grabbed ahold of your feelings and swallowed it, as you opened the doors with a bright smile.

this was the start of every marriage and love, but who knew this was the start of a sad love story ... ?

had he truly loved you or did he just pushed you away...

3. moon cycles

after ten years of being with satoru, the love of your life was all for nothing.

waking up early in the morning to make breakfast, and then staying worried till the sun sets, then welcoming yourself from the cold wind of nothing. it was just a never ending cycle you haven't noticed, not yet. after seeing him with another girl everything went downhill...

did he know? did he abandoned you? did he even love you..

no, no, and no..

and like any other dam, it burst with water as you met the men you wasted your whole heart, on sliding a divorce paper towards your hands. his cold but alluring precense was just like ice. he was not the men you had loved ten years ago...

and like all tragedies one must leave to heal

the humid air bloomed through the tree's leaves, as a soft welcoming. as you sat staring outside the window, eyes watching a young awaited love. your warm hands clasped the untouched and cold cup of coffee, taking a sip as you hummed happily.

seeing the sight of satoru with his new lover had made you smile for some reason.

maybe it was the warm beat of love you still felt?

or maybe it was that you truly missed him?

no, it was the joy that filled every ounce of your body

knowing that the man you use to love, was happy with another one.

and just like that in the end, you weren't everyone dreams and thats fine. cause you can always look up in the stars, and remember the first feeling of love, once again.

[honestsycrets]

before anyone else II: the reverent | admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader

❛ pairing | admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader

❛ type | double-shot, explicit

❛ summary | politics and murder? easy. but if he thought he could stomach forcing the princess he loves into marriage... he was wrong. or reader forces admiral miguel o'hara into marriage.

❛ tags | forced marriage, royal!au, admiral!miguel, princess!reader, mention of murder, betrayal, treason, angst, f!reader, persuasion inspired, Spanish is not translated, female led breeding session, hand jobs, spicy bath time, ignoring miguel.

❛ sy's notes | the update no one asked for. the first chapter felt very incomplete without this one, so i just wanted to complete this series with a little bit of angst and smut.

“And what is that? Up there, Lyla.” 

Lyla is closer to you than he remembers. In his make-believe voyage to Stone’s home, he would need a new ship. Today Lyla invited you to sail imperial seas, cutting through the waters with a new ship, the Reverent. He hadn’t shown you much of anything in his rush to leave the capital eight years ago. He makes that right with Gwen at your side, donned in the clothing of the guard. You opted for a soft blue gown, a navy blue rebozo thrown over your shoulders. The fat bow that drew in your stomach tumbled down against the dress’s long train.

“That’s the Crow’s Nest.”

His men and women were ogling. It wasn’t exactly normal to have a soft woman on board—much less their princess. You held the top of your hat, glancing up at the beam. Sun bounced in your eye, and you laughed delightfully, clapping your hands together. “A crow’s nest? Why do they call it such a thing?” 

“The Vikings would release crows from the crow’s nest if they could not see,” Gwen answered, he did not know she cared so much about ships. You looked at her in delight as she explained. “Chart the path they took toward land.” 

“¡Qué chévere! Lady Gwen, you are quite knowledgeable.” 

“All sailor legend,” Miguel responded, the string of jealousy coursing through his bones, before he jerked his head toward those gathered along the main deck. He never did like crowds. “Back to shore! Off to your work, then!” 

“Thank you for showing me proper sailing,” they dispersed to the sound of your many thanks, a slight bow in your waist. If it were your father, he would never do such a thing. Gwen stepped to the side, holding her hands behind her back. “You have a wonderful crew.”

"You heard the admiral, off you go!" Lyla rushed off to the stern to take the ship's wheel.

“And Lyla?” she stopped, turning her big brown eyes at him. She probably knew what was coming as you slipped by Miguel, sliding your hand around his inner elbow. “No rum.” 

It was one time, she threw a curse. 

“Have I missed something?” you asked, setting your head against his thin poet’s shirt. He smelled of the salty sea and the thin film of his own sweat. The warmth of the sun must have drained you already, donned in tumbling full-body fabrics.

“I’ve something for you.” 

“Have you?” you asked, turning around to face him. Miguel reached around his neck, loosening the cord. His gift was not a necklace. If it were, he’d be far outmatched with jewels like sapphires, diamonds, and topaz nestled between your breasts. He pulled a ring from the cord, slipping onto his knees. You recognized the ring that he presented to you immediately. A modest ring of pearl set with tiny bits of a jewel that wasn’t quite diamond on either side.

“Oh, Miggy. You kept it?” you slipped your hand down to his waiting fingers. Miguel slid his ring onto your finger.

“It isn’t much. A guards pay, yes?” He began, realizing he was stumbling over his words. “But I… couldn’t help but think you would prefer it to something new.” 

You pulled your hand free, kneeling to catch his lips in a small, patient kiss. He was grateful for anything he could get-- repressed as he was. Gwen bit back a smile, a soft murmur of princess, to urge you not to draw out such attention in front of a band of sea-numb sailors. You slid back onto two feet, your hands coming together one over the other. 

“I love it. I always have, Miguel.” 

“Yes, well--” he cleared his throat. He pushed past Gwen toward the steer of the boat, barking some orders in intelligible sailor slang. “I should check on Lyla. Lest she beaches us on some obvious outcropping.” 

Gwen and you both knew it was to loosen himself of the embarrassment of a kiss well deserved. You glanced down at the engagement ring glittering on your finger, a smile working over your cheeks.

“Perhaps I should not have asked Lyla for her help,” you leaned over to whisper in Gwen’s ear. “My Miggy will never let her live it down.” 

“Yes,” Gwen agreed. “Perhaps not.” 

Hours ago, Miguel was on the salty sea. Tonight, Miguel held a bloody seax, wiping away kingly blood from its blade with a handkerchief that he’d promptly dispose of. For all his talk, the king took death well. Admirable, even! Barely a coward’s cry, a simple do it mijo, as Miguel drove his blade across his neck. Perhaps he expected his death, perhaps he missed his sons. Miguel couldn't help but think he knew what would happen by asking Miguel to deliver you to Stone like a hunk of precious cargo.

“I would say that went quite well. No fuss from the council members. No fuss from the king,” Lyla relaxed at the king’s desk, her breeches smattered in blood. Miguel lifted his eyebrows at her, a bit of sweat dripping down his neck. “How about your fiancé? Think she’ll make a fuss? You did slit--”

“¡Callate! Go with the men and take the body to the undertaker.” 

“You’re no fun,” Lyla threw her boots off the desk, guards flanking her side, heading toward the king’s chambers. Miguel replaced his seax in the sheathe, cupping his face in one of his large hands. The door creaked wide open. Jess, whose frame was also streaked in blood, strode in. Miguel threw her a handkerchief.

“Council members are done and dusted.”

He mulled over what was undoubtedly coming: talk of the next steps. Miguel braced himself for her prodding.

“It has been a long time, years maybe since the people favored the king. I dare say not ever."

"What of the imperialists?"

"My guards are posted to suppress those still loyal to the king." 

“I can't imagine they were happy under his rule.” Miguel moved toward the king’s rum cabinet, grabbing a bottle of glass. He sniffs the pretentious liquid, striding around the front and pouring Jess a cup first, then himself. “He did nothing for them but levy heavy taxes. She is the one who handled public relations. They’ll welcome a new king.” 

“Well, it is better to have a warrior king over a puppet king. Even the corrupt will be happy not to fall to Stone.”

He hummed in agreement. 

“About your rule."

Oh, here she goes.

"You’ll marry her before the end of the rose festival. It is the perfect time for romance.” Jess drank her rum, clinking their ringed fingers together in a toast. “Everyone knows of her standing engagement to Stone. We can frame the wedding as an act of love and her father as an obstacle to it. The women will love it.”

“If she’ll have me.”

“Miguel. We agreed. She has no choice.”

The sound of it grated something low in his belly. His fiancé with no choice but to marry the man who murdered her father. Murder was in no way his preferred choice... It was unavoidable. He had no other choice.

“I know.” 

Miguel threw back the rum. He cast a glance to the window, the sun rising over the horizon. She watches him push off the side of the desk, his claws scratching lines of blood behind his neck. He spoke to himself as much as he spoke to Jess with his next words.

“My woman is gentle. I do not know how to tell her-- that I’ve waited a decade to marry her only to force her to."  

Jess had no answers. The king is dead, sang some distant lament, a panic echoing through the halls. He wondered which you would agree to attend first: the funeral or the wedding.

Your mother was assassinated when you were just a girl. Your brothers met their deaths while at war with Stone. That was the nature of war and being a royal. For much of your life, you were accustomed to the pain of loss. Creating connections with your subjects was what you always aspired to develop. You could talk to people in the crown city you knew would be there year after year. Like the willowy brunet who sold you rose oil even after Miguel left. That was why the rose festival was so important to you. 

It was tainted that early morning with the shrill scream of the king is dead-- bouncing off the halls, sending your heart strumming in your chest as you lurched up in your silky sheets, throwing your feet over the bed onto the cold marble floor.

“My father is dead?” you asked one of the two sentinel guards who stood wordless at your door. Gwen was parked in one of your great lounge chairs, rushing to stand upon the sound of your sleep-laden voice. You picked the bottom of your sleeping gown, rushing down from your place on the bed to the double doors. Gwen stopped you short of them. 

“By order of the Chief of the Imperial Guard, I’m afraid you can’t go out, princess,” she spoke smoothly. She cleared her throat. “It is not safe.”  “Safe?” you repeated. “The last man I could call family is dead and you long to speak to me about safety?” 

She steeled her face. Guilt trickled in, inking in her stormy eyes. She strode in front of the double doors, her hand over the pommel of her sword. You couldn’t believe your luck-- not only to be alive, drawing breath, but to at the same time be sequestered in your quarters like a small bird in a gilded cage. 

“Yes, princess. It is for your own good.”

The doors swung open. In place of your father, with his jovial hops, your fiancé. Miguel took measured steps, swinging the door shut behind him. The doors boomed as they came to a close. Like the other sentinel, Gwen took her place in protecting the only feasible exit. Your chambers were high in a tower, looking before the beautiful coast and its silvery waves. You often looked out the window and thought of him.

“I take it you have heard.” 

Something in his countenance set off an air of distrust. His chin was level as if it was cut out of marble, and effortlessly the words spilled from his lips. There had never been a day in your life that you did not trust Miguel O’Hara. That though he was curt, sharp, and decisive, he always bore your best interest in mind. That was something you reconsidered now.

He stood almost too pieced together. Miguel stood in a clean militant uniform, the finest set of regimental you ever did see him in. Any other time you may have drooled over the sight. Over the way he combed his hair back, tickling his broad throat. Or how tightly the shirt fit when he moved forth, then swayed back on his heel. His thumb hooked on the clasp of an iron belt.

“What have I heard, Miguel?” 

“Of the military coup.” 

His words carried no recognizable trace of remorse. They only communicated the facts of your situation.

“You…” you faded off. It couldn’t have been. ”It was you?” 

“I had no other choice.”

Though he said the words, he knew you would find them inadequate. Wholly untrue, even. Your mind buzzed in disbelief, pacing backward to your bed. You glanced at the clothes your maid set out for the day, settled over bundles of fluffy pillows. As the sun raised over the glittering ocean, one that you visited often in his memory, you felt stilted. “I asked you not to--” 

“Talk ill of the dead, yes, I know. I will not.” 

“You missed my point entirely. I asked that you would not blame them for the past. To not dwell on it. You've done just that!” 

It was perhaps an impossible ask to ask a man like Miguel, cocky as he were, to bury the past when your father made such requests of him. You could handle your father’s death by any other means. By an assassination by Jess or the many others who sought his head. With your heart something akin to numb, you dropped onto your bed, scratching at the ribbons laced in your hair from the night before. You pulled them free. Miguel made his way close, bending onto one knee between your own, sliding his gloved hand up your exposed skin. 

“Perdóname,” he spoke candidly. You gazed at him with watery, bright eyes. If anything on this earth could fill him with remorse, it would have been that. He pressed a kiss to your knee. “It had to be done.” 

“You say that but I wonder if you truly understand what those words mean,” you bit out. He appeared contrite, lowering his head lower, if at all possible. “What would you have me do next, hm? I have no more brothers to rule the crown. I care nothing for politics, only the health of my society, and what of Stone? Do you not think he will feel disrespected?” 

“I did it for you.” Miguel simpered. 

“For me? None of this is for me,” you repeated after him, knocking his hands from your knee. You replaced the skirt over the spot he kissed, finding the feeling of his slightly chapped lips blooming blisters of hot anger through your body. “No, you did it for yourself, Miguel. You are so selfish. My father gave you an ounce of power and you repaid him by taking his life.” 

“I am selfish? He gave me nothing but years of pain.” Miguel’s facade cracked, his face going insipid. “I took these positions to please him. For you.” 

“And how is it that these choices are now my fault?” you interrupted Miguel, looking up at his hard features. “Now where do I figure into this-- bloodlust of yours? What do you want of me?” 

“I want you to marry me. You will marry me. You have no other choice.” 

You weren’t going to let him skate by this time. You wouldn’t allow him to be this wonderful, handsome, caring man you fell in love with at first sight as a girl. The certainty with which he said those words was enough. You pushed past him, Miguel snatching your slight wrist in his thick grasp, holding you there. He couldn’t let it be. Not so easily. 

“Get out,” you whirled your wrist around in his grip to break it. He easily could have overcome you, the admiral that he was. You heard the rumors of his swashbuckling run-ins with pirates and saw him in action as a guard. You knew the depths of his strength. He let you slip away. “That is an order from your princess, Miguel. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but it is the rose festival. I have duties to maintain peace that don’t require things such as murder and treason to the crown.”

He snapped his head down, inspecting something wildly interesting on the stony floor. His hands flexed and curled into tight fists, as though he could do or say anything more that would talk you from throwing you out of your quarters. His anger piqued before he absolved it of outward expression, instead speaking with a hard voice.

“We will speak of this again.” 

“Out.” 

He never wanted this. But it was necessary.

Miggy, Miggy, me duele. 

The pain will pass, mi amor. 

The only type of hurt Miguel wanted to give you preceded pleasure. One that could be fixed with patience and doting attention. That was what the rose festival provided nearly eight years ago. Today-- that reality couldn’t be any different from his reality. 

Jess’s military presence was intense. Normally, you could cut bundles of bouncy rosy flowers and interact freely with others attending, creating rose products that could be bought, traded, or sold. Your chamber ladies held wicker baskets jam-packed with long flowers to be given to expecting or aged mothers, a small gift for their motherly worries. A parasol blocked the warm Mediterranean skin from your exposed skin. 

“She looks beautiful today, eh?” 

Lyla nudged him with a sticky creampuff between her fingers. Its rosy pink filling was smeared over her slight lip. Miguel’s arms turned one over the other, not a complaint on his lips. She was right as she usually was. You never wore red-- but the occasions that you did never failed to render him breathless. Unfortunately for him, the long dress hugged your curves beautifully, a fat bow behind your back, the diadem settled neatly along your head. You looked beautiful-- like that night, sliding into a hot bath of nothing but warm petals and rose oil purchased from some overly excited peasant. What he wouldn't give to hold your parasol, or the baskets, to simply be close.

“Suppose you didn’t think this bit through,” she leaned in, whispering words in his ear. “The whole let’s assassinate what’s left of her family.” 

“Shut up,” Miguel pushed off the wall. “If you’re so knowledgeable, help me.” 

“I could do that. Princess!” Lyla waved, rushing over. He followed her like a second shadow, nipping on her heels. Your gaze snapped to hers. A slightly forced smile worked at your lips as you brought your red-gloved fingers to the basket your chamber lady had. He tried to make eye contact-- but found you looked anywhere but his eyes, avoiding him in the cruelest way you could. 

“Lady Lyla, I have something for you.” 

“For me?” she laughed, a teasing thing. “I never receive gifts.” 

“I give you casks of rum.” Miguel protested. You looked at Lyla for a moment, eyes flickering gently, before continuing your search. 

How did you punish him? You look anywhere but at him. You ignore his existence. He longs.

“Yes,” you plucked out a ruby red crown of roses. “Well, girls, perhaps Lyla would like to feel like a woman for once. Trapped on the admiral’s battered and broken ship does not serve for much of a love life. Other than brief encounters at distant ports. Which I am sure you do not care much for.” 

“Eh,” Lyla shrugged off the suggestion, slipping onto a knee so that you could set the crown of flowers on her head. She stands back up, nodding her head appreciatively. “I’ve had relations with some beautiful women.” 

“Oh, please tell,” you took her thin arm and pulled her from his side, pinching your skirt between your fingers and walking on. As if he were fucking invincible-- “I am sure the admiral has taken on many lovers during the years. Have you?” 

“He’s not even had one.” Lyla laughed, “Unless you count his hand.” 

She thought she was so funny. Your chambermaids certainly thought she was, chittering in laughter among one another. He quickly understood that you not only did not want to speak to him but by peeling his-- begrudgingly said-- best friend away from him, you sought to make a point. To make him feel as lonely as your grief made you. In this busy, love-filled festival, he certainly felt it. 

Miguel doesn’t buy things often. But there was something in the way the tiny stick of a man spoke. The glitter in his plain brown eyes invited Miguel to buy the stupid oil treatment that he spilled into his bath now. I think I remember you, you were the princess’s guard, the man said. You bought the princess this treatment years ago!

He couldn’t have remembered it. Miguel abandoned the towel by a gilded chair, sliding his sore muscles into the hot water. He shouldn’t have left to help his men at the docks. His muscles were tight with the tension of moving crates of products onto ships all afternoon and into the late hours of the night. The subsequent days of the rose festival proceeded much the same. It was nearly over. Jess would come soon to press him about his marriage. One that he was not certain would proceed-- not if things kept in this vein. Yet, he couldn't bear to walk to your chambers again, to force you into it.

“I’ve thought about it.” 

Miguel would have jerked out of the bath if not for your hands sinking into the warm waters of the bath. Your gloves were thrown somewhere else, not here, dipping around his broad torso and below the waters. You wrenched your hand around his cock, gently pulling his dick to hardness underneath the waters. It did not take much-- it had been so long. He couldn’t quite process your words with the way you stroked him, milking him as if he were detached from his cock. 

“Miggy."

"Yes...?" he didn't know what else to say.

"You murdered my father because you want to be king,” you said, the words held a vein of resentment. You enjoyed it, stroking the soft skin of his dick, tracing the veins that rushed to his head. You especially loved how he stiffened and grew in your silky hands. Miguel gripped the sides of the bath, his knuckles growing white as he held the rim. 

“I don’t want to be king. I want you, I’d-- carajo-- murder him a hundred times over,” he supplied the truth, the words falling from his lips with great effort. Your other hand sunk lower, grasping his balls in your palm and melding them. You squeezed him in some mock punishment. But it wasn’t-- not nearly. It felt good. He cried out, a small pant of air filling the room. 

“Hush, Miguel.” 

“No-- te necesito. I need you, I’m so fucking-- I’m hard,” your languid circular strokes of his shaft were agonizing and caused him to ache. His nails dug into the side of the bath, mesmerized by how gently you treated him, settling a kiss at the side of his neck. Your pace quickened, jerking him more insistently. The many days at sea that he stroked himself just like this-- with the dream of your hands being the one to do it, to do just this, all culminated in Miguel’s harsh panting, trying to obey-- to be good for you, just as you had years ago. 

“I know you do. You want me to marry you?” you murmured against his neck, tracing his pulse. He dropped his head back, closing his eyes, offering you only a small nod. Your hands drew back, leaving him bobbing in the water, so hard it hurt. So hard-- “Stop it.” 

Miguel complied. You drew back your deep red cowl, drawing the strands loose as you moved in front of him. He bore at you in an incredible amount of awe, his hand pulling at his cock like it were second nature. He pounded into his own hand, so high on the lovely sight before him that it surged in his chest, the beautiful way your nails pulled at the frilled bottom of your nightgown, lifting and pulling it off your body. His mind was a haze, skin warm by the hot oil in the bath. What remained was a desire to be touched by you. 

“¿Qué? I didn’t hear you,” your fingers teetered along your clit, stroking along your wet lips. Miguel soaked his own lips with the hunger that rose from the need to touch and be touched by you. 

“Sí,” Miguel murmured, the words short and slight. You slipped into the water, gripping the rim of the bath and presented your ass to him. Miguel’s eyes caught your puffy lips, flecks of rose matted to your skin. He didn’t dare move-- lest you tell him to get out. 

“Come mount me,” you urged, the words soft, gentle, inviting him to climb over your body. He didn’t know why-- but happiness bloomed in his chest, “Since you murdered what family I had left, you’ll give me more.” 

“Give you… you want me to…” Miguel’s mind fizzled out, all cognizant thought of what you meant left field. In its place was the certainty of what you wanted. You wanted him-- his children. He clambered over you, nudging your lips with his cockhead. 

“Sí, mi amor, I want you to impregnate me.” Your hand reached back, nails clawing into his muscular hip. Miguel flinched, the blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance. Water sloshed over the rim of the bath onto marble floors. What you asked for was to be used, to be filled. He couldn't equate the depths of your need when just a few days ago you banished him from your chambers.

“Is that so? Then I won’t pull out.” 

“I expect you not to,” you bit back. 

“Fuck,” Miguel murmured, taking his time in sliding forward. He wanted to savor the feeling, the way his cock slid apart walls that hadn’t been used in years. Your body stretched to make room for him, the feeling of burning pleasure dancing down your spine. Miguel gasped, realizing he should have fingered you first-- because your body was tight, so warm and good, full of his cock deep in your belly. You moaned his name, sounding so beautiful in ways that Miguel had only dreamed of in the past few years. 

He snapped his hips in forceful but short thrusts, his fingers gliding up your sides to your breasts, his thumb and index finger rolled and pinched your nipples. “Dios mío,” he found himself panting. “I’ve missed this.” 

“So Lyla says,” you threw back. “Ah, there, faster--” 

“As you wish.” 

You were talking far too much for his liking. His hands snapped down to your core, fingers delving against the clitoral hood, that sweet little spot he knew would cause a weakness in this facade of yours. You gasped, lowering your head down over the rim of the bath, accepting his thrusts with helpless cries of his name, growing in their intelligibility, until felt it more than he heard it. Your pussy spasmed around him, milking him for his seed. Not yet, he wanted to remember the way you cried for him-- for his children. He snapped his hips hard, short thrusts snatching any relief of orgasm far away. 

“Por fa Miggy,” you whispered, something soft and hot. His eyes went wide, failing to focus on anything but your voice. “Don’t be a tease. Give me your seed.” 

He responded with nothing short of a sharp growl, turning his hands onto your hips. He threw his hips forward in a harsh, punishing pace, as if he were taking out every second you punished him out on you now. Water soaked the floor, replaced with the ringing slap of his hips thrown against yours, his heavy balls full of cum that-- seconds later, he released. Miguel choked loud grunts, scratching at your back for relief. You felt his warm seed fill your walls, his chest bowing over yours as he spurt his cum seated against your cervix. His claws drew lines of blood free of your unmarred hips, marks of his claim. 

“Stay-- stay there,” Miguel murmured against your back, pressing small kisses along your back to your shoulder. “If you want a baby, my seed needs to take.” 

Soon enough, Miguel grew soft and fell free from your body, globs of his cum spilling down your thighs. He stepped out of the bath, drying himself off and throwing the towel on the slippery floor. He extended his hand out for you to take. You did, sliding over the crumpled clothes Miguel threw on the floor so that you would not slip. 

“You marry me tomorrow,” you supplied. Miguel’s bushy eyebrows pushed up, suddenly realizing why Jess had not yet come to bother him about his failure to secure a fitting date for marriage. You must have arranged it. 

“What do you mean tomorrow?” 

“Then our honeymoon. I want to have a child in my arms before the year is up, Miggy. You can handle politics, war, Stone. I care not for any of it.” You settled your hand on Miguel’s chest, drawing it down over his firm pecs to the muscles of his stomach. He glanced toward your core, cum soaking your walls. “You have no choice.” 

“You mean to say you are forcing me into marriage?” Miguel bit out, a heavy breath slipping out of his lips when you grabbed him again. Already? You walked him back out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, pushing him onto the silken sheets. He fell with a grunt, catching your body and dragging you on top. Cum from your leaking cunt soaked his thigh. You brought your thumb to his lips, quirking it against one of his fangs. Miguel turned his face to the side, glaring into the dark night.

“As if it were so hard. Now, the correct response is yes, my princess.” 

He chuckled, small and pleased.

“Yes, my queen.” 

Queen did sound so good when it came from his lips. 

[marigold-hills]

june 7: imaginary | @wolfstarmicrofic | word count: 448

PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART • FIRST PART

Sirius dreams before he falls asleep.

(Remus said I’m here he said I’m with you and touched him so gently. Put a hand in his hair, pulled on it until Sirius was forced to look him in the eye. What is it, Sirius? He asked.)

His bed is comfortable and familiar, notches on the wood from years of leaving marks, canopy spelled to show stars. He sinks into it gladly because the night is half-done and he wants to salvage the rest of it, sleep off the morning’s exam and the knot in his chest like he’s swallowed a stone along with his words.

(I don’t know, Moony. I don’t understand.)

He closes his eyes and sees a soft golden glow and eyes and curls. He can feel a hand in his, pulling him forward through the castle and into the safety of their dorm. Fingers tracing the lines of his tattoo.

Lips at his ear, words spoken like autumn wind.

(Tell me when you figure it out, mo réalta. There is no rush.)

Remus is in his own bed and the space between them is three steps but it’s as vast as a wait for a next breath. Sirius thinks I could cross it and imagines he does: opens the heavy canopy, climbs under Moony’s (his, his) many blankets. Falls into the warmth of the wool and of another body next to his.

Imagines: how would your hand feel between my shoulder blades? Your hip bone under my lips? Would you gather me to you and be soft and sweet, or would your fingers span the width of my throat and your nails drag down my spine?

(Go to sleep, Padfoot. I’m sorry I kept you up this long.)

Would you speak to me? Would the words be English or Gaelic, would you weave them like you weave new spells or would they be sharp and precise?

He imagines there would be soft light around the bed, like first rays of a summer sunrise. Thinks of the shadows it would cast and how it would illuminate moon-brought scars.

(Remus said: mo réalta. Sirius hangs onto both parts, the one which calls him mine and the one which calls him star. Remus said my star and from all the hundreds of things he has called Sirius, this one is different. My moon, Sirius wants to respond in kind, but he doesn’t know the words or how to make them sound sweet like Remus does. He doesn’t know how to give instead of taking.)

Sirius wakes up. Weird dream, he thinks. I wonder what that was about.

(Sirius feels each touch he dreamt like a wound in his skin.)

NOTES:

Part 7! I’ve mildly given up on trying to make these all fully stand alone as I want to give the characters a bit more depth and that only really works if I can build on what happened before.

mo réalta as far as I can tell means my star in Irish. Anyone who knows better please let me know. Lovely as the language is I cannot boast of being able to speak it.

I can’t believe this isn’t even 4K words all together so far? It feels so much longer.

@moon-girl88 @digital-kam @tealeavesandtrash @sweetstarryskies @alltoounwellll @hunnybeemarie @hoje--aqui

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged in next parts)

[adverbally]

Together We Can Take It to the End of the Line

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Soulmates” | wc: 1,031 | rated: T | cw: major character death | tags: AU where soulmates can feel each other’s pain, no happy ending | title from “Total Eclipse of the Heart” by Bonnie Tyler

———

Steve was sure this had to be one of the strangest ways to find one’s soulmate that anyone had ever experienced.

One minute, they were former classmates who had never spoken more than a handful of words to each other. The next, they both felt the jolt of connection pass between them, from Eddie’s hand to Steve’s throat, as he shoved him against the wall of a dark, dirty boathouse.

There was no visible mark to indicate that they were soulmates; just the warmth radiating from the spots where they first touched, glowing under their skin like a hot coal. Steve suspected it was that shock of heat, not Dustin’s begging, that made Eddie let go.

In the chaos of the days that followed, there wasn’t any time to process what it meant to find each other like this. There wasn’t any privacy to talk about what happened and how they felt. Eddie watched Steve, eyes sharp with worry, and Steve caught the way Eddie’s hand kept drifting to his own abdomen as he felt the echo of Steve’s wounds, and they didn’t talk about it.

Steve should’ve said something. Maybe while they tried to find a way out of the Upside Down, maybe when they stole the RV, maybe while they prepared for the fight at Weathertop. When Steve told him not to be a hero, he hoped Eddie could hear what he left unspoken— don’t die before we have a chance. Don’t leave me wondering.

He, Robin, and Nancy were already making their way back to the gate when ice flooded Steve’s veins and stopped him in his tracks. The feeling blossomed across his body, faint but undeniable, as he felt Eddie’s pain for the first time. It was everywhere, biting, tearing, and this was only a fraction of what Eddie was going through.

Steve wasn’t sure if his breathlessness was from his own panic or Eddie’s injuries, but it wouldn’t change his actions. He took off running toward the swarm of demobats.

His only source of hope was the cold that seemed to pierce him everywhere, stabbing with every thud of his feet over dirt and broken asphalt. As long as Eddie was hurting, and Steve hurting with him, it meant he was alive to feel the pain. Steve would bear it gladly, gratefully, to keep it that way.

He had just come into range of Dustin’s cries, saw him collapsed on the ground with Eddie in his arms, when Steve started feeling numbness in his fingers. Eddie’s fingers. It was like sensation was fading away and leaving static behind, and the absence of pain was worse than Steve could’ve imagined.

“Eddie!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, stumbling a little as his feet also lost feeling. He was almost there. He was too late.

Steve’s knees gave out just feet away from them, forcing him to drag himself across the ground to reach for Eddie’s hand. The warmth there was fading, cooling like the touch point at Steve’s throat.

“No, no, Eddie, it’s okay, I’m here. We’re gonna get you out.”

He couldn’t hear Eddie’s reply, drowned out by the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, but he could see the way Eddie’s eyes struggled to focus. The whole lower half of Steve’s body was numb, as if he had waded into an icy lake up to his waist, and he gasped every breath alongside Eddie.

“Eddie, c’mon, keep your eyes open.” He pulled Eddie’s hand up to his neck, hoping the contact would amplify their bond and allow Eddie to draw strength from Steve. The flare of warmth was like lighting a match, not the bonfire it had been at their initial meeting.

Steve’s next exhale was a sob. “Don’t do this, please.”

“Sorry.” He saw Eddie’s lips move more than he heard the words. They were pale and bloodless, and his eyes were dull, and Steve’s arms were so full of static that he shook with it. All he could do was shake as the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest slowed and his vacant gaze stared up at Steve.

Robin appeared beside him with a hand on each of his shoulders. “Steve, we gotta—”

“No, he’s still alive,” he protested, raking his nails through the dirt as Robin and Nancy worked to pull him to his feet. Away from Eddie.

“He’s not,” Robin told him mournfully, tear tracks streaming down her cheeks.

If Eddie was dead, how could Steve still feel the icy stab of his pain in his chest? How could he explain that Eddie couldn’t be dead because their soulbond still resonated with every beat of Steve’s heart? His hand came up to rub at his sternum. “Rob, I still feel him.”

Her eyes told him she understood as a fresh flood of tears welled up. He wished she didn’t have to find out like this. “I think maybe your body is having trouble telling what pain is yours and what was his.”

“No, it’s his, I know it’s his!” Steve argued. “When he— it feels like the pain I felt from him before. It didn’t stop, shouldn’t it have stopped if he…?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought. Saying it would make it true, and it couldn’t be true.

“Steve, how does your touch point feel right now?” Nancy asked him calmly.

He couldn’t think about that, either. If he let himself think about the terrible gaping emptiness he felt, like someone had torn out his jugular and left a hole in his neck where Eddie had touched—

“No,” he whimpered.

“We have to leave. Now,” Nancy told Robin.

“Please don’t make me leave him!”

The girls all but dragged him away.

Steve thought about fighting, thought about throwing himself to the ground and refusing to move, but he was too weak. He reached for his bond with Eddie and felt nothing. The shockingly cold pain, the numbness of Eddie’s feeling fading, the warm glow of his touch point that had comforted him for the past several days, they were all gone.

Having lost everything worth fighting for, Steve just stumbled along with his friends and felt nothing.

[itsgrimeytime]

Maneater (Part One) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Dialogue Prompts: "Don’t play friendly with me." + "Try me."

Summary: You and Rick Grimes had a backstory, one no one knew except you and him. It's one you refused to share, you never really wanted to get into it. All anyone needed to know was you hated the man. When you're in a rough spot, and you could use the shelter the question is... does he hate you?

TWS: Blood, gore, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), swearing, angst, a touch of abandonment, grudges, and all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: y'all ever heard of TENSION?? Or enemies to lovers??? Because I'll tell you what, I have :))) Lowkey, you have a good reason to hate Rick, but like... you'll see. also I am living in delusion for what Rick looked like in the Alexandria timeline, so just know I picture the gif, okay? Thx <3 ]]

Before you go thinking this is another long series, this is just a two/maybe three-parter. There was more to this idea than what I felt I could naturally convey in one one-shot. So, let me know if you want to be tagged for the continuation.

"Shit."

This really, truly, was never supposed to happen. This was the worst-case scenario, the kind of thing that plagued your dreams with things that were so not probable they shouldn't be scary. And yet here you were, in nightmare territory.

"Y/N? Really, is that- is that you?" the familiar face spoke -Glenn, you realized now.

God, it had been so long, you'd thought for sure at least half of that group had vanished.

Well, maybe they had. You weren't exactly sure, but Glenn hadn't really looked worse for wear. He suited the lifestyle well, actually, which you were a little impressed by -the pizza delivery guy had come a long way.

"We thought you..." he faltered off, still a bit in disbelief.

"Died? Nope," you finished, bitter, sure, but you'd never really had the chance to get over it, "-despite your wonderful leader's best efforts, I remain unscathed."

Glenn frowned.

The joy from moments before dissipated in the now fairly tense air between the two of you -others you recognized weren't there, but you imagined they were wherever he came from. Which you were currently trying to keep in the very back of your mind -you'd never follow him to them, you just couldn't.

"I should've..." he began, words seeming to come to a stop, "-Any of us should've stuck up for you. It wasn't right."

There was a bit of pleasure hearing that, somewhere deep in your chest, you appreciated it. But while the idea was good, it was very much too late. The resentment that had developed in your chest, had only solidified there -unbreakable and set in stone. You hadn't trusted a soul since, not fully anyway.

This world was filled with broken hearts, and yours was one of them.

And that was something Rick and his group had to live with, whoever they were now because that... was their fault.

You hadn't meant to hate Rick Grimes specifically, above everyone else, but the words came out of his mouth.

'Get out of here, we can't... we can't have a group this divided.'

You could still see him now in your head, clean-shaven and dressed in his uniform, taking the world by storm despite not knowing what the fuck he was doing. You were different then, scared but ready to do what you needed -hell, the first time you'd ever even held a gun was against a walker. It was with that group, they'd taught you.

You swallowed down the bile in your throat, and pushed through the rubble -your feet ached from being on the move for so long. You couldn't remember the last time you slept, or even sat down.

You couldn't not in this world, it was all about motion, about survival, about getting through the next few hours at a time.

"Look, I know you're upset, and you have every right to be," Glenn began -following you close behind, "-but we have a place... It's safe, you could sleep. You could eat. There are houses, hot water-"

You froze in place, the idea spreading a sort of warmth in your chest, something you'd forgotten somewhere along the path. Hope. Yet, there was still a sting there -deep under your skin, "Glenn-"

"It doesn't have to be forever," he added, and now that you looked at him, he did seem clean -his clothes washed and the desperation that dusted your skin was so distant you could hardly see it, "-just for a few days."

Feet frozen to the spot, you exhaled -the breath shaking you to the root, it had been so long, but how could you trust him? How could you trust any of them?

You remembered Glenn had looked hesitant, that day, his own suspicion drawn in his eyebrows but it hadn't gone farther than that. He hadn't said a word. No one had. But now, he was here offering solace, safety. And you knew it wasn't just out of pity.

The world had enough of that on its own. You had enough of that on your own, your story spilling to listening ears -they'd all been the same. Still, you could use a break.

And as much as you didn't trust the group, whatever it had become, you knew that if anyone had survived this long -they'd been skilled. Skilled enough for you to breathe, for you to close your eyes and sleep.

You sighed, wiping the sleep from your eyes, or rather the lack of, "Just a few days?"

"As long as you need," Glenn reiterated, somehow conveying that you never had to leave, it was a small thing. But comforting.

"I get to decide when to leave?"

Glenn frowned, his own body almost shrinking in on itself, disappointment. You'd never thought you'd see this, someone from so long ago -the regret, the remorse, "Yeah, of course."

And you were thinking about it. As your joints ached and your throat burned for water, the breeze felt cold against your bones, and you truly couldn't imagine it getting any warmer. The sun setting only meant it could get colder, and you were currently without a roof.

"Okay," you quietly agreed, despite the churning in your stomach saying otherwise.

That was when one of the others, neither of which you knew, spoke, "But, didn't Rick say-"

"Shut it," Glenn exhaled, tone icy and you suddenly realized maybe they were new to him too.

The walk was long, not grueling since Glenn had known exactly where he was going -he'd always had that sense of direction though. You remembered the early days when he'd been the one to volunteer to go back to the city, he'd known so much. Maybe he was just made that way? Or it was some sort of thing they'd invented. It had been a long time.

"There's a few of us that'll be happy to see you," Glenn spoke, casually walking beside you as the other two paired off behind you.

You swallowed the tensing of your shoulders, the last time you'd been in a group it hadn't ended well, and every time before that too actually. You didn't meld well with groups, let's just say that.

"I don't think so," you hummed, remembering so far back in your brain that day -the eyes all set on you, strong and decisive. You couldn't imagine who else survived other than Rick Grimes himself. Because this world wasn't what you expected, you shouldn't have survived more that a week... but here you were.

Glenn didn't say anything else, you assumed he noticed your more pressed tone -as the opposite of an invitation to keep talking. It stung a bit, watching the man's face solemn considerably, but there was also a sick part of your brain that had been waiting for this day.

As you approached the new community, Glenn spread out his hands -with a voice close to an announcer, "Welcome to Alexandria!"

Alexandria was big, bigger than you thought really. When you pictured the homes, there was bordered up windows and broken glass -blood stained into the wood. But these?

They were almost pristine.

Your head spun as you made your way through the gate, Glenn casually guiding you through the space without much forethought. It seemed he'd known this daze, he'd experienced it himself, maybe?

You knew how this world was, Alexandria seemed to be a new wave of something fresh.

Actually, you'd seen signs once or twice but never pursued it. Things like that didn't quite work in this world, you were scared of what it may truly have been. But Glenn had brought you hear with the promise of a bed to sleep in, so you assumed whatever kinks were there had already been worked out.

Or maybe you hoped they would.

In your haze, you hadn't noticed the two other members bump ahead -headed straight for a particular place, you assumed. Nor did you really notice Glenn kind of easily navigating in front of you.

Until, you heard the voice you'd vowed to never hear until the day you died.

"Glenn?" the drawl was deeper now, older and a touch more dangerous, "-The others told me you brought someone back, I thought we talked about-"

"Rick," Glenn interrupted, voice steady and calm -he had been prepared for this, "-it's Y/N."

There was silence there, as you trailed your fingers along the trim of the house ever-so-gently -the dirt stained into your fingertips didn't need to smudge there. It would've ruined it.

"What?" His voice was low, and despite how much you wished you could understand the tone, you couldn't -you didn't know him.

He could be angry, in disbelief, in shock. You had no clue, instead focusing on the ivy running up the sides of some of the houses -rubbing the leaves with your thumb, muttering, "Wow."

"Y/N?"

You blinked out of your haze, stilling at the direct contact with you -it felt odd, hearing your name out of his mouth. So familiar yet, so so far off. Yet, the sting still burned deep under your skin -it would probably never go away.

Without turning around, you acknowledged him simply -direct and without much other force, "Rick."

Then the space grew even quieter, the tension laying thick into the air -you could feel it set the prickling of goosebumps on your skin.

With a heavy breath, you turned around -equipped to set your eyes on his skin.

He looked... different. His hair was much longer, curled at the nape of his neck, and he had a beard -now littered with grey. It suited him, he'd been too uptight back then, now though, he'd seemed more adjusted.

"Y/N, I-" he began, and you could hear it -the pity, the 'I'm sorry'. You couldn't take it, not from him. Not now.

It was too late, it made you want to rip your hair out. And thrash and cry and scream. Scream for all you'd lost, scream for the fear you felt that day, pushed into the woods -separated.

You spoke, pushing back the bite in your tone as much as you could, "Don't play friendly with me. I'm here for a few days, at most."

Rick's mouth snapped shut, jaw setting. He seemed frustrated, but that was hardly your problem, the whole thing was his really. He could die with that regret, aching to give an apology for his wrongdoings... and you would let him.

The area, which you now realized was slowly filtering people in, eyes all beginning to focus on you and Rick. Questioning, mostly, but you figured any pushback on Rick and you'd end up dead. So, you pushed back -the strength of your tone settling and the brush of the cold warming.

You didn't need to make enemies.

And then you heard it, a familiar voice, older than you'd expected, you'd known that voice younger... what was-

"Y/N?"

Your breath stuttered, as you spun on your feet and there he was, taller and older, "Carl? Oh my god-"

You hadn't even thought about it, that where Rick was Carl would follow. You had less than high hopes that he'd even survive this far, and yet, here he was right in front of you.

You'd known Carl early on in the group, he had been so young. Lori needed help sometimes, and she'd grown close to you, so, pretty quickly, she'd trusted you with him. In the early days, he was stuck to your side -playing games with the sticks and rocks you could find nearby, giving him comfort when his Mom seemed too far to touch -she was often like that. Her eyes were far, and her mind farther.

Without much less of an introduction, he ran to you with ease, despite the filth you must've been covered in. Especially compared to him, who seemed to be as perfectly clean as the rest of them. He ran into you, arms wrapping tight around your figure -and god, he was so much taller. You bit back a sob, how much had you missed?

"I thought you were dead," he spoke, muttering into your shoulder and his hands gripping desperately at your shirt.

You remembered the tiny version of him kicking and screaming, 'Why do they have to leave, Dad?!' He had been crying so hard his body was shaking, they practically had to tear him off you. You'd told them you'd leave in the night when he was sleeping, so it wouldn't be so hard on him. He couldn't put up as much of a fight if he wasn't there.

"You've gotten so tall," you laughed, pulling back and wiping at your eyes -gesturing to his stature.

Carl laughed too, wiping away his own tears.

You forgot for a second where you were, and how long it had been. Only reuniting with someone you cared tremendously about. The moment was bittersweet with the eyes of many sliding across your figure, the scar detailed across your arm, or maybe the bandage wrapped around your head. You'd had some run-ins, but you'd taken care of them with what you could.

The next few days were a bit stuffy, the doctor (who you didn't bother to learn the name of) had been keeping a close eye on you -consistently telling you to rest and sticking the one and only sheriff on you when you resisted.

Apparently, she thought that it was the best idea.

The single thread that didn't have you running out of this place wore a sheriff's hat and seemed to relish in your arrival. Carl had been by your side frequently, introducing you to practically everyone (including Glenn's wife, Maggie, what-) -which you had originally been strictly against, but the kid was your soft spot.

You'd felt more at ease after a run-in with two familiar faces, Daryl and Carol. They both did similarly to Carl, and you couldn't seem to fault them too much. Not at that moment anyway. It was midday and Carl had run off with some people his own age, which you refused to separate him from that. It was important, he needed it.

And you needed something too.

The space felt cramped, with someone constantly looking over your shoulder and someone else always in your area. It was a far cry from your previous loner life where your days fell to silence and the slice of whatever your blade was echoed through it. Before Glenn, you hadn't spoken out loud in months.

So, with new energy from the hot water and regular meals, you'd found yourself roaming the streets towards the fence. Just for a sense of normalcy, you needed to taste the adrenaline, feel the blade in your hands, and the urgency in your movements. Dancing with death.

Trying to watch your back, you kept your eyes behind you -ducking behind some of the unused houses that you'd scouted out earlier in the day. It wasn't like you were leaving forever, just a few hours that's all you needed.

"And where are you going?"

You jumped, turning to the sound in front of you, and because god simply hated you it happened to belong to one Rick Grimes. His eyes leveled with you, standing confidently in your way like he'd expected you. And shit, maybe he had.

Stammering, you regained your composure, "Where's Carl?"

"Asleep," he responded with ease.

"Look, I'm not-" you groaned, "-Why are you keeping me here like a prisoner?"

"Doctor told me to keep an eye on ya," he answered, once again too prepared, it infuriated you to no bounds, "-you don't think I'd notice you scopin' out an exit?"

"That's not-" you straightened your posture, pressing your lips into a thin line, "I don't have to explain myself to you. So, kindly, if you would get out of my way, I'll be back in an hour."

Rick chuckled, not in a really joyful way either, neither of you was quite joking, "Yeah, not happenin'."

"Rick," you echoed, tone ice and hand tightening on where your blade rested on your hip -a handmade hilt someone had made you a long time ago, "-move, or I'll make you."

He paused, licking a line across his teeth, and slowly making his way into your space. Your breath caught in your throat, but you stayed strong in your place -eyes set on his and shoulders set in place. He didn't speak until his face was right in yours, a breath away, and his expression remained unchanged -his eyes only betraying the heaviness of his words, "Try me."

Rick didn't reach for his gun, which sat with was at his hip -inches from his hands. You knew he wouldn't pull it on you, it wasn't in his character, but there was a chill in his tone -something new.

What happened to him?

You washed out the worry that settled under your skin for a second, that didn't need to be there. He'd abandoned you -they all had.

Setting your jaw, you exhaled -pulling back and letting your hand fall to your side, "Look, I just need an hour."

Rick stared at you, you couldn't read him -years of age, and most likely tragedy by the missing faces, gracing features you once knew. And even then, he was new -you hadn't known him.

"This place is-" you faltered off, looking back to the houses, where most lights were switched off in the dark -except for just a few spare ones, "-suffocating. I've been on my own for so long, I feel like I'm having an out-of-body fucking experience here. This isn't... I need something familiar."

He still hadn't said a word.

"So," you began, strong, before deflating, "-just let me kill some of the dead, yeah?"

Rick pursed his lips, before sighing deep and heavily, "Okay."

You opened your mouth to rebuttal, before the words set in, "Okay?"

"Just let me tell Michonne and Daryl I won't be around for a bit," he continued, seeming to waltz on past you, and then those words hit you.

"Rick, I don't need a babysitter," you answered, that lick of bitterness slinking through your skin again -your mouth opened before you could stop it, "-you weren't worried years ago, were you? Why now?"

He stopped in his motion, frozen solid by your words. A part of you felt vindicated, he deserved it -it may have been years for him, but that was the way your way in this world had started.

You hadn't expected him to speak, but he did.

"You can't do that."

A flash of frustration hummed under your skin -burning hot and bright -who was he to say anything to you, "I can't do that? Do what? Talk about what you did to me? The day you kicked me to the curb at the beginning of the fucking apocalypse...?"

"I've been tryin' to apologize since you got here-" he started, tone angry in the way of hands shaking not voice raising, "-you won't let me."

Something in you snapped.

"So what?" you started, tone shaky and you'd say it was for rage but you could feel the tears burning behind your eyes, "You think I want an apology from you?"

Rick looked lost then, and something in you begged to keep going. The dam was cracked now, and the water could flood out -who better than the man who hit the nail in the coffin, "What...?"

"You, you don't get the resolution that would get you. You don't get to sleep well at night because you said sorry, no."

He didn't speak.

You laughed, the tears were free now, years of being locked behind something as thick as the shell you wore after that day -your breaths were ragged and you felt like maybe your heart would be out of your chest, "I never wanted to live through this."

"Y/N-"

And there was something there in those words, heavy and gravelly against the cool night air. But you couldn't dwell on it. You had too much to say to him, to all of them really, but just him would do.

"No," you exhaled, taking a deep shaky breath in, "-Rick, I just need to know one thing."

He opened his mouth, assumedly to answer your question, but you still couldn't let him speak. Your brain was going so fast, you had to keep up.

"Did you ever ask them why?"

Rick spoke then, slowly, "Who?"

"Shane," you spoke, the air seemed to get heavier, "-and Lori. Did it never seem odd to you that it came out at the same time? That they'd both seen me that exact same day?"

Rick stilled, and his jaw seemed to set.

That was what had gotten you kicked out, Shane and Lori had alleged you'd taken more supplies for yourself -stolen from everyone. You weren't sure of the specifics, whether it be an extra graham cracker or a tissue to wipe your busted lip, as you didn't let them get too far into it. They'd been egging him on, Shane on some sort of masculine level and Lori using their love as a pawn -you'd seen it clear as day. Rick hadn't.

"I was going to tell you," you spoke quietly, barely a brush over the wind of the chillier nights.

He didn't have to ask what. He knew you assumed he had known pretty much immediately after you noticed their absences. Something had happened, maybe not long after you'd left. You could only assume so much.

"I didn't know," he echoed out, his voice strained in a way you'd never heard from him -pained, regretful.

Without much else, you turned back the way you came -voice steady and strong across the space between you two, "I know."