#like if you told the me of a year ago that i would be into homestuck more than toh rn i would not have believed you

[cupid-styles]

a helping hand*

in which y/n can't orgasm and harry is a helpful ex-friend with benefits.

word count: 3.3k

content warnings: mentions of depression/mental health and anti-depressants, discussions of reduced libido, smut (phone sex, mentions of sex toys, dirty talk, description of group sex and mmf threesomes)

this one goes out to all the besties on anti-depressants

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

Harry sighs in frustration before crossing his arms over his chest. If he pursed his raspberry lips into a pout, he’d look more like a petulant child than the young adult Y/N’s known for the past few years. With a roll of her eyes, she lifts her glass to her mouth and takes a healthy swig of her coke and rum. She allows herself to scan the interior of the bar — it’s just barely 6 pm on a Wednesday so she’s not surprised that it’s primarily filled with locals and teams of corporate offices decompressing after a long day. 

“I could always make you come when we hooked up and I bet you I could still do it.”

“Christ, Harry, give it a rest,” Y/N replies, narrowing her eyes at the curly haired brunette. “It’s not just with partners, it’s me, too.”

He quirks an eyebrow and settles his elbows on the sticky table. She huffs when she realizes she’s only piqued his attention even more now that she’s revealed another inkling of her… problem. 

“Can you just tell me what’s going on, then? You know, when I texted you for our semiannual catch up, I didn’t think we’d be getting into your sudden inability to orgasm, but—”

“Can you lower your voice?” Y/N hisses with wide eyes. “I didn’t think we would talk about this either but you’re the one who asked if I’m seeing anyone—”

“Yeah, seeing anyone, not coming for anyone—”

“Just shut up!” she mutters, nearly knocking over her almost-finished drink. “If I tell you, you have to drop it.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“Harry…”

“As your ex-friend with benefits, I have no duty to keep secrets that aren’t about our bedroom-related rendezvouses.” 

“There hasn’t been a ‘rendezvous’ in five years.”

“There could be.”

She sighs and presses her fingertips to her temples. This is why she and Harry never worked out. They’re total opposites — he has the energy of a rowdy golden retriever and she exudes a calm, monotone nature. (She thinks she’s borderline boring if you ask her, but that’s something she’s been saving for therapy.) 

At parties in college, he was always the one working the room, chatting with everyone while she stood in the corner and clutched her solo cup for dear life. 

He had a million contacts in his phone and people remembered him, even if they knew each other from something as small as working together on a project in a class three semesters ago. 

Meanwhile, Y/N could spend two years straight working in the same office and someone would still ask her when she started working there because she looked “new”.

(Seriously. It happened last month, and she had to rush to the bathroom to cry.)

Despite their opposing personalities, they did work for a while, but only as friends with benefits. To begin with, Y/N never wanted anything more — when they started hooking up, they were nearing their senior year of college, and she didn’t want to be tied down to anyone or anything when making decisions about her future. But secretly, she knew feelings for Harry would inevitably pop up. How could they not? Although he was an annoying ball of energy sometimes, bouncing off the walls of her apartment before they even made it to her bedroom, he was kind. He had a good heart — he still does after all these years, otherwise Y/N would never bother meeting up with him without the intention of hooking up — and he was funny, and he made Y/N feel all warm and gooey inside. He was a good fuck, too, and as much as she wanted to widdle his presence down to being purely physical, she wasn’t strong enough for that. 

She was grateful, albeit heartbroken, when six months after their arrangement began, Harry very sweetly told her he had a crush on a girl in his advanced sculpture class and wanted to go for it. As she swallowed a lump in her throat, she told him that was perfectly fine, that she was glad he told her, and that she hoped things worked out between him and Emily.

(They did. For two and a half years. Y/N had never been so thankful when graduation arrived and she could run as far away as possible from the couple.)

Harry tried his best to keep in touch, even after graduating while he was dating Emily — always commenting on her Instagram posts and responding to her stories, even occasionally texting her to wish her well on her birthday or major holidays. Y/N kept him at an arm’s length for as long as she could. That is, until he moved to her city last year.

The only reason why Y/N had a heads up is because of an Instagram story he posted. In his typical overly excited way, he posted a picture of his dog in his new apartment with one of those tacky, premade location tags. (She’s allowed to think they’re ugly — she’s a graphic designer.) So, it didn’t come as a surprise when a week or two later, a text popped up from an unknown number: Hey Y/N! Not sure if this is still your number or if you still have mine, but it’s Harry :) I just moved to your city and was wondering if we could get together! It would be great to see you.

Thus began the tradition of Harry and Y/N’s semiannual meetups. 

It was an unsaid routine they followed — every six months or so, one of them would text the other for drinks or coffee or lunch. They only ever met up in public and they didn’t talk much outside of their scheduled hangouts, though Harry was much more prone to messaging her stupid memes and, on occasion, a picture of his dog, a husky named Fish. 

Much to Y/N’s dismay, the chemistry between her and Harry was still very much there. It had been apparent from their first meetup last February. It was difficult not to flirt, especially when he brought up their past (she would happily pretend none of it ever happened if it meant Harry Styles never made her blush ever again). The thing is, though, is it was fine as long as nothing ever came of it. 

Until now. 

Because as Y/N sits across from Harry in the worn booth of a dive bar a block away from her apartment, she can’t believe she’s seriously considering letting him back in her bed.

“Can you just tell me what you think the problem is?” Harry asks. He slides his elbow onto the table and presses his knuckles up against his cheek, like they’re best friends giggling over some silly gossip. It makes Y/N want to elbow him in the ribs.

“It’s a biological issue,” she mutters, “Like I said, nothing you could fix. Even if I wanted you to.”

“Just spit it out, blossom.”

She narrows her eyes, though she finds it difficult to ignore the way her stomach flips at the familiar nickname. “You’re not allowed to call me that anymore.”

“Tell me what the issue is and I won’t call you that,” he replies easily. “C’mon, it’s me. Remember all the times I helped you pee when you were too drunk to sit up straight? We’ve definitely seen each other in more embarrassing situations before.”

Y/N sighs loudly. He has a point — there was a time where Harry knew her better than anyone else in the world. And frankly, she hasn’t talked to anyone about her problem. 

Scooching her body forward, she attempts to close most of the gap between them. Harry leans closer and she rolls her eyes. To an outsider's perspective, they probably looked like they were performing some kind of sketchy drug deal or like little girls swapping secrets at a slumber party.

“Remember how I struggled with, um… getting pretty sad?”

Harry’s eyebrows draw together and he nods. 

“Right, so it got… worse when I moved here. And I needed to find help, so I started seeing a psychiatrist who put me on antidepressants. They’ve helped a ton — I feel better, and the depression that I do feel is a lot less intense.”

“That’s great, Y/N,” he says, and she can tell he means it by the genuine tone to his voice. “What does that have to do with you not orgasming, though?”

She swallows tightly. “Well, my doctor increased my medication over the winter, and one of the side effects is…y’know. Decreased libido and whatnot.”

His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” she snorts, leaning back against the cracked leather of the seat. “Oh, shit.”

“And you’ve tried vibrators and stuff?”

“Of course I have, I’m not an idiot.”

“So how long has it been?”

She nibbles on her bottom lip as she thinks. Even with flings that she’s had over the past few months, they all gave up at a certain point. The sex was still fun, but she was just the only one who wasn’t coming.

“Well, I can give them to myself if I… work at it,” she mumbles, folding her hands in her lap. “But with a partner? Probably… six months.”

“Six months?!”

The look on Harry’s face is dramatic and theatrical, as if she just told him she was moving halfway across the world and participating in some kind of 90 Day Fiance situation. 

“Shut. Up.” she says through grit teeth, sending him a harsh look. “I don’t need a reminder of how shitty it is.”

“Who the hell are you letting in your bed?” he demands sharply. 

“It can take me an hour, Harry, I don’t expect every person I sleep with to be that patient.”

“They should be, Y/N.”

With a shake of her head, she glances down at her phone on the table. Everything has always seemed so simple for Harry — he’s one of those people where things just come easily for him, no pun intended. A part of her wishes they never delved into the subject matter. Vulnerability somehow always bit her in the ass and this instance was no exception. 

“I’m gonna get going,” she says, pushing her empty glass to the center of the table. “Thank you for the drink, H. It was good to see you.”

His eyes soften as she begins to scooch her way out of the booth. Quickly, he throws a few bills down on the table and gets up to follow her. 

“Can I walk you out, please?” he asks, swallowing as his stomach brims with nerves. She nods, though he’s unsure if it’s a reluctant response. Silently, they leave the bar together, and he nibbles on his bottom lip as she pushes the front door open. The spring air is a welcomed breeze from the sticky interior of the establishment, and she shifts on her feet as she turns around to face him. She parts her lips as if she’s readying herself to bid him a final goodbye, but he beats her to it. 

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he says as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “I just meant— like, you deserve better, is all. Someone who will be patient and care to learn your body.”

Y/N nods slowly. “Right. And you’re that person.”

Her tone teeters on mocking and it sends a harsh hit straight to Harry’s chest. He shrugs.

“If you wanted me to be.”

She doesn’t reply to that, but she doesn’t make a move to leave, either. 

“I’ll think about it,” she finally says, and Harry’s eyebrows shoot up in shock. “My hand cramps up when I’ve been at it for too long. Maybe it’ll be nice to have someone else try.”

He huffs out a breathy laugh. “Just let me know and I’m there.”

. . .

A few days later, when Harry is at a friend’s house, he receives a text from Y/N: Are you free right now?

In all honesty, he’s surprised that she’s — assumingly — taking him up on his offer. Y/N remains to be one of the most stubborn people he’s ever known (one time she spent an entire week trying to put together a desk she’d purchased before asking anyone for help. The only reason why Harry was able to do it for her is because she’d called him over for a “destress fuck” and he finished it while she slept). 

He swipes down on her message, his other hand occupied by some shitty IPA Lizzy’s new boyfriend had bought. He keeps asking Harry if he likes it and he has to lie about tasting the hints of citrus, even though it tastes like every other crappy beer he’s consumed. 

At a friend’s house, he quickly types back, Why? Is your hand cramping?

He can basically feel her rolling her eyes as he bites back a smile, watching as the three dots appear to signal her impending response. 

Yes. I was wondering if you wanted to come over.

He’s unsurprised by the casual invitation on a Friday night at 9:40 p.m. (it seems that, as far as hookups go, Y/N hasn’t changed much since college). Nibbling on his bottom lip, he uses his free hand to type a response. 

I’m sorry, I would if I could. I’m trapped at this “apartment-warming” party for my friend. Apparently people host housewarmings even if they’re just renting a new place.

Y/N immediately types back: As much as I’d love to debate that with you, I’m really just looking for an orgasm. So if you’re busy, I’ll go back to buzzing at my numb clit.

Harry snorts at that before placing his beer on a coaster and excusing himself to the bathroom. Once he’s locked the door, he’s quick to pull up Y/N’s contact and press the pad of his thumb to her number. 

“Hello?”

She sounds confused and frustrated when she answers and Harry smirks at that.

“Hey,” he greets, leaning back against the white porcelain sink. “I’m calling about your orgasm.”

“You’re seriously not trying to have phone sex with me right now.” 

Her tone is as deadpan as it gets, and the monotone nature is enough to make a small bit of insecurity crawl into Harry’s stomach. 

“Well, I was planning on talking you through it. ‘S not really phone sex if only one person’s getting off, I think.”

She lets out a noisy sigh and there’s some rustling on the other side. He waits for her response and is surprised when she agrees. 

“Fine,” she huffs, and he can envision the way her eyebrow raises just slightly when she’s decided to give into something, “Let’s give it a try. Porn is getting boring anyway.”

“What were you watching?”

“Well, when you’ve been trying to come for 40 minutes, you end up in some… odd places,” she says. “I started out with lesbian porn, then found my way into threesomes, and somehow I ended up at double penetration.”

“Ah,” Harry nods, “Sounds like you’re having some sort of craving for group sex, then?” 

A pause. And then: “I guess. I’ve never tried it, I just think it’s hot.”

“What’s hot about it for you?”

He thinks he hears her swallow, but he can’t be completely sure. 

“I just like the idea of pleasing more than one person. I think that’s how I got to double penetration stuff.”

“Oh, I see. You want to be used.”

It’s blunt and it’s to the point, but he’s not wrong — he knows he’s not, because he slept with her for six months straight.

“I guess,” she replies non-committedly, “I guess it’s like… a fantasy of getting two people off and them feeling that way because of me. Through oral or… being inside of me, or whatever.”

“So what’s your threesome fantasy, then?” Harry pushes, though his tone teeters are near carelessness at this point, “Girl/boy? Boy/boy? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Who do you want to be between?”

Y/N exhales shakily, “I’ve never thought about it.” 

“Well, now you are.”

She doesn’t immediately reply, but he knows she responds well to the calloused persona he suddenly obtains. She’s always been this way — submissive and good, always looking to please him intimately. It’s too easy for him to put the pieces together and solve the puzzle.

“I guess I like the idea of being with two guys, but it doesn’t matter much to me.” she eventually decides.

“Okay. And in your deepest fantasies, what are these two men doing to you?”

Another pause, though he thinks he hears a shuttered sigh on the line. He doesn’t mention it — not yet at least.

“Maybe… maybe one’s inside of me and the other one’s in my mouth.”

“And how is he fucking you? Is he on top of you, missionary style, or are you on your hands and knees while he fucks you from behind?”

A breathy whimper departs Y/N’s lips and this time it’s loud enough for both of them to hear. He smirks at the sound of it. 

“I like the idea of him behind me. A-and the other one fucking my mouth.”

Harry hums, almost as if he’s praising her. “Close your eyes and envision it, then. Think about how you’re letting two men take advantage of you and use your body, just so they can get off. One’s fucking into you from behind, spanking your ass and grabbing your hips like you’re just some kind of toy to him. And the other one is thrusting deep into your mouth, making you choke, getting you all drooly for him. You’re nothing but a set of holes for them, honey. Isn’t that sweet?”

On the other line, all Harry hears is a series of shattered moans and low curses. Even though it’s been years, he can imagine the way her muscles are all tensed up, her pussy clenching around a dildo or her fingers. He wishes he would’ve asked so he could envision it, too.

“I-I think I’m gonna cum,” she whimpers out, and Harry palms himself through his trousers at the sound of her high-pitched mewls. 

“There you go, blossom. Atta girl, just let go. ‘S easy, let it go for me,” his voice is a near coo and it makes Y/N’s eyes roll back into her skull. It’s like he knows how easy it is for her brain to ping pong to other far less sexier thoughts — like the dirty plates in the dishwasher or the unfolded laundry in the corner of her bedroom — so he continues crooning through the receiver, his low, soft voice guiding her through every bump and ridge of her impending orgasm. 

When she comes, she comes hard, considering it’s been a solid two weeks since she’s been able to give herself an orgasm. It shoots through her entire body and, even with her eyes shut tight, the fantasy she created still plays through her brain — except now, it’s not two mystery men. Now, it’s just Harry fucking into her, all tan muscles and sweat pearling at his hairline. 

She’s boneless and exhausted when she finishes, her throat dry from the involuntary moans she let go. She only remembers she’s still on the phone with Harry when she hears him clear his throat, followed by a call of her name. 

“Hey, sorry,” she mumbles as her cheeks flush a deep red hue, “T-that was good. Thank you.”

“Yeah? You finished?”

If she had more energy, she would roll her eyes. Of course she finished. The entire neighborhood knows she finished.

“Yeah.” she mutters shortly. “Have a good time at your apartment-warming party.”

Harry huffs a laugh, “Yeah, ‘cos that’s what I’ll be thinking about for the rest of the night.”

She doesn’t have a chance to ask him what he means before he’s bidding her goodbye: “Let me know when you wanna do this again. I’m around this weekend.”

#writing #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one direction #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles au #one direction #harry's house #hs4 #fineline #harry styles smutty imagine #harry styles smutty fic

[emmasbrain]

Miscommunication (the fun kind)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Warnings: slight alcohol consumption? i think that’s all, nothing NSFW in this one

Synopsis: Your good friend Penelope sees you in a bar and begs you to sit with her and her work friends. You realise you like one. She also realises you like one. She however, thinks you like the wrong one.

The moment Penelope spotted you, she gasped. “Oh my god!” You spun round on your seat on the bar towards her running over to you in unrunnable heels, a brilliant smile gracing her face and a surprised one falling to yours as you saw each other.

“Penelope?” You hopped off your bar stool and pulled her into a hug. “It’s been too long darlin’. I feel like we haven’t seen each other in years.” You gushed, definitely over exaggerating your circumstances.

“Didn’t we go for coffee last Thursday?” She giggles, and you see the familiar glint in her eye that she only got after a couple of margaritas.

“Like I said, years!” You giggled right back, and she held your hands, leaning in towards you more.

“Who are you here with?” She questioned, looking around.

You shrugged casually, “I came with some girls from work, but they all left with guys and I decided to drink my loneliness away… Except I haven’t actually had a drink yet because I’ve been sitting here debating whether I really want to drink alone.” Your words, though holding a little weight, came out with a laugh and a self deprecating sigh.

Penelope gave you a look, and you knew she was brewing something. “What if… you come sit with us?” Before you can ask questions or protest, she continues, “You know I’ve always wanted to introduce you to the team, which is who I’m here with, and it would be good for you too ‘cus it means you can drink not on your own.” She gives you puppy dog eyes, and clasps her hands together waiting for your answer.

You relent, deciding the sooner you had an interaction with her FBI friends the sooner it was over. You had heard some things, and they seemed lovely, but they were her friends and you had the feeling you wouldn’t be very welcome with your job as a journalist. “Okay fine, but you can’t mention my job. I don’t want them to hate me on the first impression.”

“It’s okay they know, I told them ages ago about what you do. Alright you stay here, I’ll go tell them and then I can introduce you.” She was practically buzzing, so excited you could see it in the air around her. She shuffled away happily, and came back to drag you over a moment later.

As you approached the group, she introduced you in order of where they sat around the table. “That’s JJ, Derek, David, Hotch, Emily, and Spencer. Everybody, this is my friend Y/N.” She smiles all big and goofy and then scrunches up her face in disappointment. “There’s no chairs left.”

You take this as an opportunity. “Well, I suppose that means I should g-“

“Here, you can have mine. I’ll grab one from over there.” Spencer quickly finds a solution, standing to walk over to an unused table and fetch another chair. You follow him with your eyes as he lifts it over. Doctor Spencer Reid. Penelope had mentioned the man on multiple occasions. Ever the problem solver, you gathered from her ramblings on the things he would do and say.

Penelope sits in the chair between JJ and Derek, and the latter lets his arm rest on Penelope’s shoulders. As you sit down in Spencer’s sacrificed chair, he pulls another one in between you and JJ, and you both awkwardly smile at each other before you look down to your hands in your lap. “Thank you.” You whisper to him.

“What for?” He whispers back.

“The chair.” You mumble, and he nods.

“It’s no problem.”

“Okay, I say we get some drinks. How bout it, pretty girl?” Derek's words snap you from your awkwardness, and you smile, realising he’s given you a nickname already.

“I am in dire need of a beer.” You reply, and Emily looks at you from your right.

“Beer, huh? I woulda coined you for a vodka redbull kinda girl. All for the thrills.” She looks at you with a smirk and you shake your head with a giggle.

“I’m normally a whiskey kinda girl actually, I get that from my parents. I only very rarely drink vodka, it just makes me want to make out with people.” The embarrassment soaks in the moment the words come out of your mouth and you realise you’ve just told a group of behavioural analysts that vodka makes you horny.

“Alcohol oftentimes does have the effect of making you sexually confident and can heighten feelings of affection and make you more open to try things sexually. One could assume that your specific set of hormones are just more affected by the chemicals in vodka in comparison to other alcohols.” Spencer pulls his lips into a straight line, and you giggle at his readily available information. Penelope wasn’t joking.

“Thanks, Doc.” You bump his shoulder, and he looks a little confused but mumbles a “No problem” anyway. As he looks away towards Derek and Penelope, you take the chance to study his features discreetly. The angle of his jaw perfectly contrasts the softness of his eyes, the honey brown colour almost sparkling within the dim lighting of the bar. His cheeks are tinged pink from the currently inaudible teasing from Derek, and there’s a little smile on his lips that you could almost envision yourself kissing.

Derek breaks you out of your head a second time. “Hey pretty girl, you wanna go get those drinks now?” He flashes you a grin and you smile, nodding.

“Yea let’s do it. Does everyone know what they want?” As you’re trying to split everyone’s orders between you and Derek, Penelope gives you a look that says “do you have the hots for my friend?” and you give her a look back that says “maybe..” she gasps and the whole table turns to look at her, making her realise that she’d turned the conversation into an out loud one now.

“You know what? Us girls can handle those drinks, Derek. Why don’t you have a seat.” She drags you up to the bar and orders quickly before she forgets, and then whips round to face you.

“You like him. I saw it on your face. You like him!!” She whisper shouts and you glance back to Derek and Spencer hunched over the table chatting. You smile.

“Look at him! Of course I like him, who wouldn’t like him? He’s simultaneously cute and hot and I swear men aren’t supposed to work like that.” You whisper shout back at her, and her smiles sadly.

“I wish I could set you up, but he’s taken. And his girlfriend is amazing so I can’t even be mad about it.” She sighs, and you slightly deflate.

“Oh man, I can’t believe the first time in years that I actually want a guy he’s taken. Just my luck, I suppose.” You laugh, and grab the drinks that have been sat on the bar. “Well, it was nice while it lasted.” You shrug your shoulders and head back over to the table with her, handing everyone their drinks and sitting back next to Spencer to sip your own.

After an hour or so, conversation was going a tad dry, and you decided to use an old icebreaker your college roommate had taught you to get things flowing again. “Okay, one after the other I want everyone to tell the group something embarrassing. It can be anything, as long as it’s about you.” Everyone nods in agreement, and Derek starts.

“There was this one time I was flirting with a girl while I was out with my mom. Now that was my first mistake, my mom comes over and starts talkin to this girl askin if she’s my girlfriend. I said momma I’ve only just met her, and she said ‘well then you better hurry up, this girl is far too beautiful for you to pass up’. Before I could even speak, the girl says ‘I think you’re too beautiful to pass up’. She was talkin to my mom! And I just thought hey maybe she’s just tryna get on moms good side, you know? You win over mom, you win over me. But then she spent 10 minutes flirting with my mother until I had to drag her away. My mom will not stop bringing it up just to mock me.”

Spencer cracked up beside you at the story, and you couldn't help laughing a little with him.

Penelope pipes in, “Tell them when this happened.” He grimaces.

“Last year.” He barely says it loud enough to hear, but you all catch it and it sends you all into a fit of laughter.

Rossi reminisces about the time he proposed to one of his ex wives, and she said no. In public. Then later in the day said yes, telling him she just wanted to embarrass him the way his public proposal had embarrassed her.

Hotch talks of the time he finished work early and decided to pick up Jack from school. The teacher had asked him if he was Jack’s grandfather, and he had to explain that he most definitely was not.

“I once hugged my friend from behind to tell her goodbye at a party. It wasn’t my friend.” Is all Emily gives for details. She grimaces at the sheer memory of it, and you can’t help the little smile that graces your lips.

“My turn then?” You question the group, and they nod. “I probably should’ve used this time to think of what I was gonna say. Well I suppose I’ll use the only one that’s currently present in my mind,” You turn to face Spencer, “I was gonna ask you out before Penelope had to drag me away and tell me you were taken. Which was slightly embarrassing for me in the moment, but as I’m saying this I realise I’ve just embarrassed myself even more.” You nod through your internal pain at how stupid you felt, and took a deep breath before trying to move on. Spencer looked too taken aback to let that happen.

“You were gonna ask me out? And Penelope told you I was in a relationship? Why would she do that?” He looks plain confused now, and you mirror his expression.

“I never told you Spencer was in a relationship. I told you Derek was in a relationship, because I thought he was the friend you said you liked! Wait. So when you said he was hot you meant Spencer?” Now even Penelope looked confused, although not exactly for the same reason you were.

“Yes! Of course I meant Spencer! No offence Derek, you’re lovely but you’re not my type.” You rushed, giving him a sheepish smile.

“And I am?” Spencer speaks again.

“Pretty much yea.” The smile he gives you at your words makes you look away nervously.

“So what you mean is that if you hadn’t been told I was taken I could have went on a date with you?” He’s looking inquisitively at your face now, tracing for signs of a lie as he waits for you to respond.

“You still could go on a date with me.” You suggest, with a little shrug and a smile that reaches your eyes.

“I’d like that.” He nods, slightly enthusiastic but trying to play it cool.

“Me too.” You nod with him. “I should probably be heading home, I have work I still need to catch up on. But I could give you my number and you could take me to your favourite place or something. Somewhere I can get to know you just from looking around.” You suggest, gathering your things and scribbling your number down on a spare napkin.

“That sounds good- great. That sounds great.” His eyes are filled with a mixture of excitement and something else you’re not sure about, but the look on his face makes you smile.

“Call me then.” You nod finally, getting up to leave. You give everyone their goodbyes, hugging them all lightly and giving Spencer a little wave.

Over the next few days the anticipation of his call is almost overwhelming. And when your phone begins to ring, an unfamiliar number popping up on the screen, you bite your nail before clicking the answer button. “Hello?”

“Hi.”

A/N: I don’t actually really like this, but it’s fine. I wanna do a part two, someone tell me to do a part two plsplsplspls. (May rewrite this once i’m not jet lagged and cramming it between studying but idk)

#doctor spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds

[gglitch1dd]

Well... aren't you a pretty doll? Pt 4

Army Soldier Midoriya Izuku x Secretary Reader

Context: After having spilt your drink on the man, you finally meet him for dancing.

Note: Set in the 1940s/1950s

[PART 3] [Well… aren’t you a pretty doll- Masterlist]

“One… two… three… smile!” The picture was taken as you stood next to Midoriya with a bright smile on your face. He pulled you in for a hug, bright smiles on both of your faces. You couldn’t have been happier. Today was your wedding day and you felt like the luckiest girl in the world to marry the man you loved more than anything in the entire world.

He placed a gentle peck to your lips, finally being allowed to do so in public now that you were both married. Midoriya had the brightest smile on his face as he looked down at you. His eyes were filled with nothing but love for you right now as you stood in your white wedding dress. It had belonged to your mother but just had some few adjustments to suit the modern day and suit you even more.

“Alright, you two.” Bakugou let out with a roll of his eyes, despite how annoyed he seemed, the man was dressed in his best uniform, formally pressed and his hair done just for the occasion. “Enough with all the lovey dovey hum bug.”

Eijiro chuckled as he had an arm around Mina as she stood next to him. “Aww, let them be, Katsuki. You only get married once.” He spoke from experience as he had Mina at his side.

“Come to think of it,” Midoriya started speaking as he looked down at the watch on his right wrist. “It’s time we best be going, doll.”

You hummed. “Alright then.”

Your dashing husband (something you felt giggly about just saying), put his hand to the curve of your back before putting his other hand up with a smile and a wave. “We’ll be heading off now.” He stated as you both started heading away from the front of the chapel and towards his car.

“Enjoy the three days off!” Kaminari shouted, the moment you looked away Kaminari, Sero and Sato made gestures and wiggling eyebrows that made Midoriya roll his eyes but smirk. “We’ll see yall soon! Have fun!”

“You treat her right, Izuku!”

Your green haired husband ignored the words from his friends as he helped you into the car, and the both of you were off. You couldn’t believe you were married. Just sitting next to him now was a dream come true. A year ago, you would have never believed that you were married to the man of your dreams, that you signed the certificate and changed your name to Mrs Midoriya.

Midoriya had a resting smile on his face, one that hadn’t left the entire day and you couldn’t exactly blame him, he was excited and so were you. Excited for this new life together you would be living.

He soon parked outside the new little home you had both bought. Nothing fancy but it was perfect for a start. You giggled as you saw it. “There it is!”

Midoriya laughed as he stepped out of the car first before moving to get you out from the passenger seat. Your feet were barely on the ground for five seconds before Midoriya swooped you into his arms making you shout in surprise. He had a big grin on his face as he kicked the car door closed and moved towards the front door.

“Sorry, Y/N but I always wanted to try this since I was a boy.” He told you excitedly as he brought you up the two steps of the porch up to the front door. He moved to unlock the door, holding you with one arm for a moment, catching you off guard at such strength. Once the door was opened, he went back to holding you in his arms. He looked down at you. “Time for me to carry you through the threshold of our first home together, doll.” He spoke lowly, his eyes on you and nothing else.

You moved to wrap your arms around his neck and you smiled. You put your noses together. “Together.”

He couldn’t help the full blown grin on his face as he kissed your lips for a few seconds making you melt in his arms. He separated with a soft chuckle before carrying you across the threshold into your new house. You looked around at your home. It was nowhere as big as your parents house, but you loved it even more. This was the home you and your husband would occupy. The thought made you warm inside.

Midoriya carefully put you down onto your own two feet. “So what do you think? Spruced it up myself.” He told you.

You turned to him with an excited look on your face. “Oh Izuku, I love it!” You told him honestly as you quickly moved around to check the ins and outs. You picked up the skirt of your dress as you went walking to the kitchen. The setting sun cascaded a dark orange glow around the house. “The kitchen is wonderful!” You told him honestly. “I have counter space.” You walked back into the entrance hall by the living area with a smile. “Oh…”  You put a hand over your mouth. “We can entertain our friends here for poker nights!” You motioned to the dining table as you looked at him. You quickly looked towards the back. You gasped. “YOU GOT ME-”

“A washing line.” Izuku chuckled with his arms folded as he watched you in fascination to how excited you were over a small house that you could now call all your own.

You let out an excited squeal as you went back over to him. “Now I don’t have to hang clothes inside anymore.” You told him happily. “Was that a hen house I saw outside?”

“Mhm.” He nodded his head. “They’re coming in tomorrow and next thing you know, we’ll be having eggs in the morning.” He had his hands on your hips as you smiled up at him as though he gave you the world, which you felt like he did. He took you gently, guiding you further into the house to the bedroom hallways. “Then there’s our room and the spare.” He motioned to the left and to the right.

You turned your attention to the room on the left, the spare one. It didn’t have much inside other than some of your and his boxes from when you had your things moved here. You looked around at the blank room that had so much potential. “What are we going to do with this one?” You asked. “Is it storage?”

“Well…” Midoriya started as he walked slowly over to you, moving to stand behind you, his head moving to rest on your shoulder. “It could be junior’s room.”

You turned to look at him with a face that felt like it had been right in front of the fire. You raised an amused eyebrow at the green haired soldier. “Junior?” You asked with a soft giggle. “My, my, Izuku. I thought we just got married five minutes ago?”

He chuckled as he buried his pink face in the crook of your neck. “I can’t help it doll.” He let out lowly with a kiss to your neck. “With you in my life, I couldn’t help but think about it.” Slowly he took you by the hand and pulled you over to the master bedroom.

You looked around with wide eyes at the room. A bed for the both of you, a dresser too with side tables too. Before your husband could open his mouth and speak, you turned around and started pushing him outside. “Out.”

“Huh?!” He asked surprised.

“I need to get ready, and I can’t do that if you’re here. Out, out you large man!” You hearded him out of the room with light shoves before closing the door in his face.

Your poor husband was probably so confused but you had to calm your racing heart. Your mother had told you about what would happen on your wedding night, she had told you about the likes of any committed relationships between two grown consenting adults. So you knew that now was the time for something you had decided to wait for marriage to do. You took a deep breath as you got to work on undoing your dress.

It took some shuffling, tripping, a five minute pep talk and your best perfume before you cleared your throat, opening the door. “Izuku.”

You didn’t even have to wait long as not more than three seconds later, your man appeared in the doorway. “Am I finally allowed in doll, cause-” Midoriya stopped talking as his eyes landed on you.

You sat on the bed with your hands on your knees. You weren’t sure what to do as you sat in a short nightgown. You tried to fight off embarrassment as you looked away from him. You cleared your throat as you shuffled. “W-well?”

Midoriya was speechless as he took slow steps closer to you. His pupils were blown out, leaving small slivers of green. He let out a stuttered breath as he cupped your face in his large hands. “You look gorgeous, Y/N.” He told you gently, making you smile. “Are… are you sure you want to do this?” He asked you genuinely.

You put a hand over his own. “I am.” You nodded your head. “However, Mina told me that I might just make a mess. I’m not sure what she meant but I’m sorry if I do.”

Izuku paused before the side of his mouth twitched in a smirk as his eyes went half lidded with a dark veil of lust over his eyes. “I think you’ll be alright doll.”

You both jolted out of bed at the loud abrupt sound. You gripped the mattress as everything started to shake. Before you could even respond, Izuku quickly got out of bed and went to grab your dressing gown. “Honey, we got to go.” He told you, his voice trying to be louder than the distant bombings.

You shakily got out of bed but stumbled into his arms. “An air raid?” You asked.

He nodded his head, and when you looked up at him, you were surprised. The look on his face wasn’t one like yours. It wasn’t fear nor anxiety. It was almost as if a switch flipped. It was a dull empty look in his eyes that you had never seen before. Midoriya held you as you just managed to slip on your gown but then another bomb fell nearby making you shriek and by instinct cover your head.

Midoriya picked you up, sweeping you off your feet and started racing out of your bedroom. He opened the back door and looked up at the sky. Planes flew over head, the dull flags of your enemies painted at the bottom. He frowned but raced down the steps to the backyard fence. You saw some of your new neighbours that you had just got to meet a week ago after your wedding, were going down the alley at the back of your houses.

You saw Kirishima and Mina, the large redhead motioned to the both of you, still shirtless from bed and Mina had her curlers in and was in her night gown. “Come on!”

Midoriya carried you as you raced to the bomb shelter that was nearby for your block of the neighbourhood. He slid down the dug out where an officer in uniform stood with the door open. He motioned for all of you to come inside. Midoriya placed you down on your feet, allowing you to enter with him as you and other neighbour’s stood together huddled in the bomb shelter. Just as Kirishima stepped in, with Mina in front of him, another one went off.

You gripped onto Midoriya who held an arm over your head and kept you against him, a serious look on his face as the shelter shook for a moment at the sound and impact. You felt tears in your eyes, but you held him for dear life as the lights flickered.

“Izuku, we just got married a week ago!” You stressed as you stood in your army secretary uniform.

Your husband combed his hair back. “I know doll, but it’s gotten real serious now. They are calling out everyone to head out.” He told you honestly. If he could stay here with you, he would. The week that you were married was heaven on earth. It was a week where he could forget he was a soldier and the two of you were just two young people happy and in love. Just twenty-one and happily together. However, the bombs were horrible last night and in the early hours of the morning after the bombs had stopped, a call came. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

And that was the reassurance he told you even as you stood by the train going to wish him off. You frowned as you hugged him for dear life, your arms wrapped around him, afraid he would slip fade away. He placed a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll be right back.” He whispered.

You buried your face in his shirt and nodded. “Come back to me.” You whispered.

“I always will.”

“Don’t get yourself killed, Izuku.”

“I promise I won’t, doll.” He moved to tilt your head up to look at him, a gentle smile on his freckled face. “We’ve got the rest of our lives together.” He reminded you. “And everytime I look at this…” He pulled out a silver locket, a locket that revealed a picture of you. You eased at the beautiful item. You had got him the locket as a wedding present but you didn’t know that he would put that photo there. He smiled at the look on your face. He pointed down to it. “I’ll remember what I’m fighting for.” He reminded you.

You sighed but nodded your head. You held your hands towards yourself, knowing that if you didn’t you’d never let go of him and end up following him onto the train. He gave you a tip of his hat as he turned to board the train. You felt fear wash over you as tears flooded your eyes. “Remember I packed you and your friend’s scones! Eat while you can!” You called after him as the train let out a chuft as all the men started boarding.

He smiled at you as you watched him disappear on. You tried following the few glimpses of him further as he entered another cart where you saw other soldiers you knew. Midoriya chuckled as he peaked out the window at you. “I promise I will, doll.”  He called out to you.

“Also sleep while you can! A delirious man is a dead man!” You called out to him. “I put your rosary in your pocket so don’t forget about it! Pray every night, Midoriya Izuku, I mean it!”

A loud chuckle came as Kirishima put an arm around Midoriya, with a sharp smile on his face. “Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll keep him alive for yah!” he told you. You gave him a grateful smile. Mina let out a nervous sigh as she looked up at her husband. Kirishima gave his wife an air kiss. “I’ll see you soon Mina!”

Mina looked up at her husband as she clutched at her necktie in anxiety.

You looked back up to Midoriya and tried giving him somewhat of a smile, just for him. He looked at you with a gentle one but then you saw it slowly start to dissipate. He frowned for a moment before he pushed forward. “BOYS!” He shouted at the new cadets that were far too green to be sent to war yet but they stood on standby. Some of them jolted at being called out from a higher ranking officer. “Lift up my wife please!” He motioned towards you. They quickly scrambled over to you, making your eyes widen. “And don’t you dare grab her behind! Any one of you get smart ideas and I’m making sure there’s an extra seat on this train just for you!” He shouted making some of the other soldier on board with you laugh.

You were lifted up onto two shoulders and hosted up halfway closer towards your husband. He took off his hat as he basically pushed half himself out the window, Kirishima and Sato holding him so he didn’t fall out. With one arm he pulled you close to him and pulled you into a needy kiss. You ignored the cheering from soldiers and the heat on your cheeks as you held his face in your hands. For that moment, there was just you and a man who didn’t want to go to war, didn’t want to fight in this hellish bickering of leaders, but he was going for you.

The train let out a whistle and he separated from you. Tears lined his eyes as he looked down at you. “I’ll write to you everyday doll. Everyday that I can! I promise you!”

You were put down back on your feet as you held your hankerchief with his initials on it. You tried to wipe the tears but you gave up. You waved to him. “I’ll be waiting!” You told him.

Mina stood beside you as you finally took a few steps back just as the train let out steam, ready to leave. “I haven’t told Eijiro.” She finally revealed.

You looked at her wide eyed. “You haven’t!” You asked shocked. “Well Mina you have to tell him now! You don’t know how long he’ll be gone.”

She glanced at you and then at the train. She let out an angry groan but quickly ran up. “Eijiro! EIJIRO!”

“HUH?” Kirishima peaked his head out as he looked to his wife. Her pink curled hair framed her beautiful brown face. He smiled as he waved his hand. “Bye Mina!”

“NO! Eijiro!” She let out frustrated as she looked up at him. “I’m-“ The train let out another whistle as the gears creaked as the train started to move.

“WHAT!” He shouted as he squinted to try and read her lips.

Mina broke into a brisk jog. “I’M PREGNANT!” She shouted up at him as she ran next to the train.

“You’re-” Kirishima’s big ruby eyes widened in shock, as he looked at her bone pale. His hands gripped the window tightly as he nearly leaned out the window the entire way, his red hair blowing in the wind. “YOU’RE WHAT!?”

“YOU’RE GOING TO BE A DADDY!” She shouted as she stopped running, halting at the railing that forbid her from going any further. She took a few steps back as she watched her husband disappear as the train kept chufting on. Tears went to her eyes as she covered her mouth.

You walked up to her and pulled her into a hug. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay.” You assured her.

“What did she say?” Midoriya asked him as him and Sato finally pulled him back into the train cart.

Kirishima looked as if he was out of his body for a moment as he shakily sat down on the leather seat with wide eyes. Bakugou raised an eyebrow wondering what got the redhead so spooked. He let out a stuttered breath. “I’m going to be a daddy.” He let out unsure.

At that news, Midoriya looked at him surprised before laughs spilled out all around. Supportive pats on the back and shoves were sent Kirishima’s ways. “Congratulations, Eijiro!”

Kirishima put his hands in his hair. “And I left her all alone.” He let out pale. “I know she’s a strong woman and hell would rather freeze over than her give up on something but…”

Midoriya saw the fear in his eyes, not at being a father but at leaving his wife and unborn child alone during such an important and scary time in their lives. He leaned over to his friend that was opposite him. “Eijiro.” He put his hand on Kirishima’s shoulder. The redhead turned his ruby eyes to look up at the green haired man. Midoriya gave him a smile. “We are leaving behind some strong women, they’ll be just fine. But you’ve aught to remember, we fight for them. We fight for our wives, and our families. That’s why you’re here and she is back there. No one likes war, but we fight to save those we love.”

-Glitch1d

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #mha x y/n #deku x reader #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #bnha midoriya #midoriya x reader #izuku x y/n #bnha #deku x y/n

[thestarsarebrightertonight]

fresh out the slammer // mattheo riddle x fem reader

playlist : fresh out the slammer - taylor swift

summary : after a 6 month relationship with the narcissistic cormac mclaggen youre finally free and ready to move on asap.

gryffindor reader , y/n used , swearing

"fuck you mclaggen!" you screamed as you ran out of his dorm , having caught him snogging a random ravenclaw girl.

your anger was going wild as he chased you down the corridor , shouting pleas of forgivness. but you couldnt help feel relieved to finally have an excuse to break up with him , the happiness and fury seemed to merge into one in your mind.

"mclaggen speak one more word and i swear to merlin ill FUCK YOU UP!" you screamed in his face making him abruptly stop before you turned around and stormed out of the portrait hole.

"yeah well youre ugly anyways!" he deperatly shouted after you as you laughed , making sure he would hear ,"and youre a bitch!"

"and your dick is small!" you shouted back at him , flipping him off just in time before the portrait hole slammed shut.

you let out a sigh of relief when it finally shut , the fat lady staring down at you with suprise before giving you a soft hum of approval , getting back to her normal position.

your whole face brightened into a grin as the realisation sunk in , you were single....but you were free from mclaggen!!

practically skipping to the great hall with a bright grin you waved and greeted every person that passed happily , many were confused by your happiness.

but your friends were even more confused when you ran into the great hall , sprinting to the gryffindor table and stopping infront of them.

"IM FREE!" you cheered before jumping up and down on the spot.

they all stared at you like youd gone mad as you quickly realised hogwarts gossip was quick- but not so quick your breakup from 3 minutes ago wouldve reached them yet.

"free from what?" harry finally broke the silence as you grinned at him.

"MCLAGGEN!" you squealed in excitement before sitting down next to ron.

they all seemed confused until hermione face morphed into pure shock , "you broke up with him?!"

both harry and ron quickly let out "ohh"s of realisation as you nodded with happiness , "i caught him snogging a ravenclaw , great right?! i was so angry at the time but when i realised i was free of him , i practically danced here!"

hermione held back a laugh , "y/n im so sorry thats awful!".

"the only awful thing about it is mclaggens breath," ron muttered as you laughed and shoved him arm causing him to gasp , "thats the first time youve ever laughed at a mclaggen joke , you usually smack the back of my head!".

"yeah well now that im not tied to that physco , i can laugh again!" you beamed like the sun as they all couldnt help but smile.

"im happy for you , happy break up," harry supported with a smile.

"thanks harry!" you then turned serious , "maybe i should be single for a while , i need to recover from the trauma that is being that goblins girlfriend."

ron snorted besides you as hermione let out a small giggle before spotting something behind you and smirking , "yeah i dont think being single will last too long."

"youre right , i just want to kiss someone right now ,because i can!" you laughed.

"yeah well i think i know someone very willing to volunteer for that," hermione said as you smirked and looked at her 'who?' she flicked her eyes back behind you , "riddle. the boy has been obsessed since third year everyone knows it."

"seriously?!" you asked in complete shock as heat rushed to your cheeks , the truth is youve liked him for a very long time , but his cold nature made you dismiss it as a unrealistic crush.

"y/n he hexed mclaggen twice when he found out you were dating." harry said blankly as if this infomation was well known.

"that was him?! mclaggen told me his nose was abnomrally large because the twins pulled a prank on him."

"oh yeah that was the twins but the boils all over his face and the uncontrollable itching? riddle." ron nodded.

"i just thought it was a rough week for him wow" you whispered , all the peices falling into place as you finally decided to turn around to look at mattheo.

and there he was , staring right back at you with his head in his hands , seemingly in a daze. until he quickly snapped out of it when you winked at him.

in mattheos opinion you were the prettiest and funniest girl he knew , and you didnt know him. so when you winked at him and giggled at the scarlett blush that formed on his cheeks , he nearly passed out.

"look at little mattys cheeks!" theodore teased having seen the whole thing ,"did the pretty gryffindor finally give you a glance matty?"

mattheo threw him a cold glare before looking at your back that was now turned to him , he had learned to tune out his friends teasing , especially since it had plagued him every day since third year.

but what he didnt expect was for you to get up out of your seat and run over to him with a bright smile , stopping infront of him and sitting down in the empty spot beside him. even his teasing friends had gone dead silent seeing the gryffindor girl infront of them.

"hi! mattheo right?" you grinned at him as he stared back with wide eyes.

"y-yeah yeah thats me," he struttered.

"sorry , i do know your name its just my friends call you riddle so much i had to make sure. i mean how could i forget such a handsome face?" you winked as everyones jaws dropped, mattheos especially.

"i- thank you..you....youre gorgeous!" the last part came out in a flustered shout as the whole hall turned around in surpise and his friends hid the giggled behind their hands.

you blushed. YOU BLUSHED?! mattheos brain was going into overdrive as the pink hue lit up your cheeks , he never knew it was possible for you to get even prettier.

"t-..thank you mattheo. look i know weve never really talked before , but ive always thought youre funny and nice eventhough you keep to yourself, and obviously hot" his face turned fully red as you so casually gave him the most compliments hes ever recieved in his life, "i was wondering if you wanted to go to hogsmeade with me?"

you smiled hopefully as he stared back with pure suprise on his face. you sat like this for a few moments as he recollected his thoughts , unmoving.

"YES PLEASE!" he said loudly making you laugh as people turned yet again.

"youre cute! see you there!" you said adoringly before kissing his cheek and walking back to the gryffindor table.

the whole of his friend group sat in silence before mattheo banged his head on the table letting out a loud groan of frustration, embarrassment rushing through his veins. this cued the loud howls of laughted from his friends.

"yes please!! he said yes please!!" lorenzo wheezed.

"ive never seen something so awkward in my life!" pansy choked through hysterical laughter , clutching dracos arm for support.

"mattheo for someone so cold and untouchable , you acted like a ten year old!" blaise laughed at him.

mattheo lifted his head from the table , face still as crimson as the ribbon in your hair , "remind me to throw myself off the astronomy tower."

draco dramatically gasped , "not before your big date!" he said in a sarcastic teasing.

and from the gryffindor table you also radiated a crushing embarassment , "i asked if he was called mattheo , UGH!".

#harry potter x reader #harry potter #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle x y/n #gryffindor #hp fanfic #hp fandom #slytherin #theodore nott #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #pansy parkinson #blaise zabini #hermione granger #ron weasley #cormac mclaggen #x reader #taylor swift #fresh out the slammer #hp #riddle #fluff

[pin-k-ink]

friction // gojo satoru

tw ⇢ teacher-student relationship, pet names cx i refuse to use y/n any more than necessary, mutual pining, implied age gap, gojo being a fucking tease, mentioned violence and injuries, sexual tension, unprotected sex, fingering, praise kink, dirty talking

wc ⇢ 10.4k

a/n: meh

If looks could kill, Gojo would be dead and buried 6 feet under right now. You glared at him from across the training hall, your eyes narrowed and your jaw clenched tight. The audacity of this man never ceased to amaze you. Just moments ago, he had casually commented on how your technique needed work, followed by a wink and a smirk that made your blood boil.

It wasn't that you didn't appreciate his guidance. Far from it, actually. Gojo was an incredible teacher, with a wealth of knowledge and experience that you could only dream of. His insights and advice had helped you grow tremendously as a jujutsu sorcerer. But sometimes, his teasing remarks and playful attitude made it hard for you to not wish he was dead.

Gojo, for his part, seemed utterly unfazed by your glare. He stood at the other end of the hall, hands tucked into the pockets of his baggy white pants, his signature smile playing on his lips. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a soft glow on his silver hair, making it look even more ethereal than usual.

"What's the matter, beautiful?" he called out, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Don't tell me you're giving up already?"

You gritted your teeth, your hands curling into fists at your sides. The nickname, as always, sent a flurry of butterflies through your stomach, but you refused to let it show. You couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing the effect he had on you.

"Not a chance," you retorted, shifting into a fighting stance. Your feet were shoulder-width apart, your knees slightly bent, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. "I'll show you just how much my technique has improved."

Gojo's grin widened, his pearly white teeth gleaming in the light. He beckoned you forward with a lazy wave of his hand, as if he couldn't be bothered to take you seriously. "Then by all means," he said, his tone dripping with amusement. "Come at me with everything you've got."

You didn't need to be told twice. With a burst of speed, you lunged forward, your cursed energy crackling around you like a storm. It was a sensation you had grown accustomed to over the years - the tingling in your fingertips, the rush of power surging through your veins. You channeled that energy into your fists as you threw punch after punch, kick after kick, each one infused with all the frustration and determination that had been building up inside you.

But Gojo was too fast, too skilled. He dodged and weaved around your attacks like they were nothing, his movements fluid and graceful. It was like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. Every now and then, he would reach out and tap you on the shoulder or the hip, a light touch that sent shivers down your spine and made you lose your focus.

You gritted your teeth, pushing yourself harder. Sweat beaded on your forehead and trickled down the back of your neck, but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was the man in front of you, the infuriating smile on his face, the way he made everything look so effortless.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally stumbled back, your chest heaving and your face flushed with exertion. Your muscles burned with fatigue, and your lungs felt like they were on fire. Gojo, on the other hand, looked as calm and collected as ever, not a hair out of place.

"Not bad," he said, his tone teasing. He walked towards you, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall. "But you're still relying too much on brute force. You need to learn to control your cursed energy, to use it with precision and finesse."

You let out a frustrated huff, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. It was a criticism you had heard before, and one that never failed to get under your skin. "I know," you muttered, looking away. "I'm trying."

Gojo's expression softened, and he took another step towards you. He was close now, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. "Hey," he said, his voice gentle. "I know you are. And you're making progress, even if it doesn't always feel like it."

He reached out and tucked the loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek for just a moment too long. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest as his fingers moved a bit lower, gently tilting your head up towards him. His touch was electric, sending sparks of sensation across your skin.

"Keep practicing," Gojo murmured, his eyes locked on yours. Even through the blindfold, you could feel the intensity of his gaze. "And don't be afraid to ask for help when you need it. I'm always here for you, pretty."

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The nickname, combined with the low timbre of his voice and the way his fingers curled around your jaw, made your knees feel weak. It was a feeling you had grown all too familiar with over the months you had spent training with Gojo - a heady mix of attraction and frustration, desire and irritation.

With a final, lingering touch, Gojo pulled away, his hand dropping back to his side. He turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with your mind reeling and your skin tingling from his touch. You watched him go, your lips parted and your heart racing.

It was moments like these that made you question everything you thought you knew about your relationship with Gojo. He was your teacher, your mentor, the person who pushed you to be better every single day. But he was also something more, something that made your pulse quicken and your palms sweat.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You couldn't afford to get distracted, not now. There was too much at stake, too much you still had to learn. With a sigh, you turned back to the training dummy in the corner of the room, ready to start again.

Days turned into weeks, and you threw yourself into your training with a renewed sense of purpose. You spent long hours in the training hall, perfecting your techniques and honing your skills. When you weren't training, you were out on missions, putting your abilities to the test in the real world.

It was during one of these missions that things took a turn for the worse. You had been tasked with taking down a particularly nasty curse, one that had been terrorizing a small village on the outskirts of Tokyo. It should have been a routine mission, something you had done a hundred times before.

But you had underestimated the curse's strength, and it had caught you off guard. One moment you were on the offensive, your cursed energy pulsing through your veins. The next, you were on the ground, your body battered and bruised, your vision swimming with pain.

You don't remember much of what happened next. There were flashes of light, the sound of shouting, the feeling of strong arms lifting you up and carrying you away. When you finally came to, you were back at the school, lying in a bed in the infirmary.

Gojo was there, sitting by your bedside. He looked haggard, his hair disheveled and his clothes rumpled. When he saw that you were awake, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"You gave us quite a scare there, beautiful," he said, his voice hoarse. "What were you thinking, taking on that curse alone?"

You winced, both at the nickname and the accusation in his tone. "I didn't have a choice," you said, your voice weak. "It was going to hurt those people. I had to do something."

Gojo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know," he said, his voice softening. "But you can't keep putting yourself in danger like that. You're not invincible, you know."

You couldn't help but smile at that. "Look who's talking," you teased, your voice still weak but with a hint of your usual snark. "Mr. 'Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer' himself."

Gojo chuckled, shaking his head. "Fair enough," he said, leaning back in his chair. "But I mean it, you know. You need to be more careful out there."

You nodded, your gaze dropping to your hands. They were bandaged, the white gauze stark against your skin. "I know," you said softly. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

Gojo reached out, his hand covering yours. The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, chasing away the chill that seemed to have settled into your bones. "Just promise me you'll be more careful from now on," he said, his voice low and intense. "I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you looked up, your eyes meeting his. There was something in his gaze, something that made your breath catch in your throat. It was a look you had seen before, in stolen moments and lingering glances. But this time, there was no mistaking the emotion behind it.

Before you could say anything, a knock at the door startled you both. Gojo pulled his hand away, and you felt the loss of his touch like a physical ache. He stood up, clearing his throat.

"I should let you get some rest," he said, his voice back to its usual nonchalant tone. "I'll check on you later, okay?"

You nodded, watching as he walked towards the door. Just before he left, he turned back, his gaze locking with yours one last time.

"Remember what I said, pretty," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Be careful out there. I need you to come back to me in one piece."

With that, he was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the memory of his touch. You leaned back against the pillows, your eyes drifting shut. Despite the pain and the exhaustion, you couldn't help but smile.

Because even though things were complicated, even though there were a million reasons why you shouldn't feel the way you did, you knew one thing for certain. Gojo cared about you, more than just as a student or a colleague. And that knowledge, warm and bright and shining, was enough to chase away the darkness, at least for a little while.

It was a few days before you were cleared to leave the infirmary, your wounds healing slowly but steadily. Gojo had been a constant presence during your recovery, stopping by to check on you whenever he had a spare moment. He would bring you books and snacks, regaling you with stories of his own misadventures as a young sorcerer.

But as much as you enjoyed his company, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between you. There was a new tension in the air, a crackling energy that made your skin prickle whenever he was near. You found yourself watching him more closely, taking in the way his muscles moved beneath his clothes, the way his lips curved when he smiled.

It was maddening, this newfound awareness of him. You tried to push it down, to focus on your recovery and your training. But it was always there, simmering just beneath the surface.

Which is why, when Gojo barged into your room one morning, you nearly jumped out of your skin. You had been in the middle of getting dressed, your sleep shirt halfway over your head when the door slammed open.

"Rise and shine, beautiful!" Gojo called out, his voice far too cheerful for the early hour. "Time to get back to training!"

You yelped, yanking your shirt down and whirling around to face him. "Gojo!" you shouted, your face flushed with embarrassment and anger. "What the hell? Can't you knock like a normal person?"

But Gojo just grinned, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. "Where's the fun in that?" he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Besides, it's not like I haven't seen it all before."

Your jaw dropped, and you sputtered indignantly. "What are you talking about? You haven't seen anything!"

Gojo just shrugged, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into your room. "If you say so," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "But I seem to recall a certain someone forgetting to wear a bra to training last week."

You felt your face heat up even more, and you crossed your arms over your chest self-consciously. "That was an accident!" you protested, your voice coming out higher than you intended. "I was in a hurry and I forgot!"

Gojo chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure, sure," he said, his tone making it clear that he didn't believe you for a second. "Whatever you say, pretty."

You glared at him, your eyes narrowed. "Don't call me that," you snapped, your voice tight with anger. "I have a name, you know."

Gojo's grin only widened, and he took a step closer to you. "I know," he said, his voice low and intimate. "But I like calling you pretty. It suits you."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. He was so close now, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, the brush of his breath against your skin. Your gaze flicked down to his lips, and you felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to close the distance between you, to taste him and feel him and-

Suddenly, Gojo's hands were on your shoulders, and you were being spun around. You yelped in surprise as he pushed you towards the door, his grip firm but gentle.

"As much as I'd love to continue this conversation," he said, his voice strained and a little breathless, "we have work to do. Meet me in the library in ten minutes. And don't be late, or else there will be consequences."

With that, he was gone, leaving you standing in the middle of your room with your heart racing and your skin tingling. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. It was going to be a long day, you could already tell.

Ten minutes later, you walked into the library, your footsteps echoing on the polished wood floor. Gojo was already there, seated at one of the long tables with a stack of books and papers in front of him. He looked up as you approached, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"There you are," he said, his voice warm and teasing. "I was starting to think you weren't coming."

You rolled your eyes, dropping into the seat across from him. "I'm not that late," you grumbled, pulling one of the books towards you. "What are we working on today?"

Gojo pushed a sheet of paper towards you, his fingers brushing against yours as he did so. "Your essay on cursed techniques," he said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "I've made some notes on areas that need improvement."

You nodded, your eyes scanning the page. Gojo's handwriting was neat and precise, his comments and suggestions written in the margins. You felt a swell of pride as you read through them, noting the things you had done well and the things you needed to work on.

For the next few hours, you worked in companionable silence, the only sound the scratching of pens on paper and the turning of pages. Every now and then, Gojo would lean over to point out something in one of the books, his shoulder brushing against yours as he did so. Each time, you felt a jolt of electricity run through you, a shiver of something that had nothing to do with the chill of the library.

As the hours ticked by, you felt your eyelids growing heavy, your head nodding forward. You had been up late the night before, studying for an upcoming exam, and the lack of sleep was catching up with you. You tried to focus on the words in front of you, but they seemed to swim and blur on the page.

Suddenly, you felt gentle fingers curl around the back of your neck, and you blinked your eyes open. Gojo was leaning over you, his face soft with concern. "Hey," he said, his voice low and soothing. "Why don't you take a break? You look exhausted."

You shook your head, sitting up straighter in your chair. "I'm fine," you said, your voice thick with sleep. "I need to finish this chapter."

But Gojo just shook his head, his hand still on your nape, his thumb absently rubbing your skin. "It can wait," he said firmly. "You need to rest. Here, why don't you put your head down for a bit? I'll wake you up in a little while."

You wanted to protest, to insist that you were fine. But the warmth of his hand on your skin, the gentle pressure of his fingers, was too much to resist. With a sigh, you nodded, lowering your head onto your folded arms.

As your eyes drifted shut, you felt Gojo's hand move from your neck to your hair, his fingers carding through the strands. It was a soothing motion, gentle and rhythmic, and you felt yourself sinking deeper into sleep with each passing moment.

As Gojo watched you sleep, he felt a profound sense of peace wash over him. It was a rare thing for him, to feel so content, so at ease. But something about your presence, the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft curve of your lips, made all the troubles of the world seem to fade away.

Unable to help himself, he reached out, his fingertips ghosting over the delicate skin of your face. He traced the slope of your nose, marveling at the smoothness, the perfect symmetry. His touch was feather-light, a whisper of sensation, but even so, he felt a thrill run through him at the contact.

His fingers drifted lower, skimming over the soft swell of your cheeks, the strong line of your jaw. And then, almost of their own accord, they came to rest on your lips.

Gojo's breath caught in his throat as he felt the plush fullness of your mouth beneath his fingertips. Your lips were slightly parted, soft and inviting, and he felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to lean down and capture them with his own.

He imagined how it would feel, to press his lips against yours, to taste the sweetness of your breath. He wondered if you would sigh into the kiss, if you would reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him closer.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine, a heat pooling in his belly. He had kissed countless people before, had experienced pleasure in all its myriad forms. But somehow, he knew that kissing you would be different. It would be a revelation, a moment of perfect clarity in a world that so often seemed shrouded in shadow.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, a ghost of a touch, and he heard you sigh softly in your sleep. The sound was like a siren's call, tempting him, beckoning him closer.

But even as the desire surged through him, hot and insistent, Gojo knew he couldn't act on it. Not now, not like this. You were his student, entrusted to his care, and to take advantage of that trust would be a betrayal of the highest order.

And so, with a herculean effort, he pulled his hand away, clenching it into a fist at his side. He took a deep breath, then another, trying to calm the pounding of his heart, the rush of his blood in his veins.

Minutes ticked by, then hours, and still Gojo sat by your side, his hand resting gently on your back. He knew he should wake you, send you back to your room to rest properly, but he couldn't bring himself to disturb your slumber.

Finally, as the sun began to set outside the library windows, Gojo knew he couldn't let you sleep any longer. Carefully, he gathered you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he stood.

You stirred slightly, your eyes fluttering open. "Sensei?" you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. "What's happening?"

"Shh," he soothed, his voice low and gentle. "It's alright. You fell asleep while we were studying. I'm just taking you back to your room so you can rest."

You hummed softly, your eyes drifting shut again as you nestled closer to his warmth. Gojo felt his heart skip a beat at the trust in that simple gesture, the way you curled into him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He carried you through the quiet halls of the school, his footsteps echoing softly on the polished floors. A few students passed by, their eyes widening at the sight of their teacher carrying a sleeping student, but Gojo paid them no mind. All that mattered was getting you to your room, making sure you were safe and comfortable.

When he reached your door, he shifted you slightly in his arms, freeing one hand to turn the knob. The room was dark and quiet, the only sound the soft whisper of your breath against his neck.

Gently, Gojo laid you down on your bed, pulling the covers up over your shoulders. You sighed softly, your face turning into the pillow, and he felt a rush of affection so strong it nearly took his breath away.

For a long moment, he simply stood there, watching you sleep. He knew he should leave, knew that staying any longer would be inappropriate. But he couldn't seem to tear himself away, couldn't stop himself from reaching out to brush one last strand of hair from your face.

"Sweet dreams, pretty," he whispered, his voice so low he wasn't sure you would hear it. "I'll see you in the morning."

With that, he turned and slipped out of your room, closing the door softly behind him. His heart was racing in his chest, his mind whirling with thoughts and feelings he couldn't quite name.

But one thing was clear, as clear as the memory of your warmth in his arms, the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He was falling for you, hard and fast and irrevocably. And though he knew it was wrong, knew that he shouldn't feel the way he did, he couldn't seem to stop himself.

All he could do was hope that somehow, someday, you might feel the same way too.

The next day, you found yourself back in the training hall with Gojo, your heart still fluttering madly at the memory of his gentle touch as he carried you to bed. You tried to push those dangerously tempting thoughts aside and focus on honing your cursed techniques - but Gojo, it seemed, had other ideas.

From the moment you stepped into the hall, he was on you, teasing and taunting, pushing your buttons in all the ways he knew so well. He corrected your stances with lingering touches, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned in close to adjust your posture.

"Come on, beautiful," he purred, voice low and intimate. "You can do better than that. Show me what you're really made of."

You gritted your teeth, frustration mounting with each passing moment. It was hard enough to concentrate with him invading your space, his presence an electric current setting your nerve-endings alight. But as he kept goading you, pushing and pushing until you felt like screaming, something inside you finally snapped.

With a growl of unadulterated rage, you lunged at him, hands outstretched to grab him by his shirt. Gojo's eyes widened in surprise but he didn't dodge, letting you tackle him to the mats, your body pinning his down.

For a charged moment, you could only stare at each other, chests heaving. You were suddenly hyperaware of every point of contact - the press of his strong thighs between yours, the firmness of his abdomen, the intoxicating heat radiating off him. His muscles flexed as he shifted slightly but made no move to throw you off.

He breathed your name like a prayer on his lips. "What are you doing...?"

Blinking, you came back to yourself, a hot flush creeping up your neck as you realized the position you were in. Straddling your teacher, hands fisted in his clothes, faces inches apart... Mortified, you tried to scramble off him, only for his hands to tighten around your hips, keeping you on top of him.

"I-I'm so sorry," you stammered, refusing to meet his eyes. "I don't know what came over me. I shouldn't have let my emotions get the best of me like that."

But Gojo just sat up slowly, gently letting you slide down his stomach and onto his lap as he waved off your apology. "It's alright. I pushed you too hard. I know how much your training means to you."

Glancing up, you found him watching you with a soft, almost vulnerable expression that made your heart clench painfully. He reached out, hand cupping your cheek and tilting your face up to his blindfolded one.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You're doing your best and that's all anyone can ask. I'm proud of you."

Hearing those words in his deep baritone, you felt emotion welling up, threatening to spill over. Throat tight, you managed a weak smile, leaning into his touch briefly before sliding out of his lap.

"Thank you, Sensei. I think I'm done for today though. I need some time to clear my head and refocus."

His hand fell away reluctantly but he nodded in understanding, rising fluidly to his feet and offering you a hand up. You allowed him to pull you up, hyperaware of the way his long fingers wrapped around yours, the rough calluses from years of fighting scraping pleasantly along your skin.

"Of course. Take all the time you need. And remember, I'm here if you ever want to talk. Or not talk." He shot you a playful wink.

Rolling your eyes fondly, you thanked him again before beating a hasty retreat from the quickly shrinking training room. You felt his heavy gaze on your back the entire way out.

The next few days passed in a blur of intense focus. You threw yourself into your studies, determined to master new techniques and grow stronger. But no matter how hard you concentrated, Gojo lingered at the edges of your thoughts, a phantom touch ghosting along your cheek.

He remained an inescapable presence even outside of training - "accidentally" brushing against you in the halls, showing up at the library during your study sessions, barging into your room unannounced at all hours. His teasing and flirting ratcheted up to nearly unbearable levels now that he knew the depths of his effect on you.

And lord, but you wanted nothing more than to give in, to grab him by his stupid collar and kiss that infuriating smirk right off his face. However, you couldn't let your desires interfere with your duties. The world of jujutsu was dangerous and letting yourself get distracted could mean death for you or innocent civilians.

So you grit your teeth and endured his antics, ignoring the knowing gleam in his eyes and the heat pooling in your core whenever he shot you a particularly roguish grin. You had to be strong, to remember your place as his student.

Even if every fiber of your being ached to be so much more.

Matters finally came to a head one rainy afternoon during an advanced technique lesson. Soaked to the bone and exhausted from hours of practice, you found yourself pinned to the mats yet again, Gojo's knee pressing into your thigh as he loomed over you.

Blowing a damp lock of hair out of your face, you scowled up at him petulantly. "Okay, I get it. I over extended on that last kick. No need to rub it in."

But he made no move to release you, head cocked slightly as if deep in thought. There was an odd tension in his frame that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Gojo...?"

His gaze snapped back to you, unseen eyes boring into yours with startling intensity. Without warning, his free hand came up, thumb tracing along your lower lip in a slow drag that left you trembling.

Your mouth parted on a shocked gasp just as he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear in a ghost of a touch. "You have no idea what you do to me. How badly I want to ruin you."

And then he was gone, leaving you splayed across the floor, body throbbing and mind reeling. By the time you gathered your wits enough to sit up, the training room door was already swinging shut behind his retreating back.

Staggering to your feet, you headed for the showers in a daze, thoughts a chaotic whirlwind. Did Gojo really feel the same way you did? Was he implying what you thought?

No. You shook your head, sending droplets flying. Indulging in this fantasy would only end in heartbreak. He couldn't possibly return your feelings. More likely this was another strategy to fluster and throw you off balance. Just a new twist in your increasingly dangerous game.

Still, you couldn't stop the tiny kernel of hope from taking root in your chest as you let the scalding spray beat down on you, imagining elegant fingers tangling in your hair instead.

Dangerous game indeed.

A few days later, you found yourself back in the training hall again, feeling more centered and focused than you had in a long time. You went through your usual warm-up routine, stretching your muscles and getting your blood flowing.

As you bent forward to touch your toes, you heard a low whistle of appreciation from behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw Gojo leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk playing on his lips. His gaze raked slowly up your body, taking in every curve and plane, and you felt a shiver run down your spine at the blatant desire in his eyes.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, voice rich with amusement. "Looks like someone's been hiding a secret talent. I had no idea you were so...flexible."

You straightened up, turning to face him fully. The air between you practically crackled with tension as you met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down from the challenge in his tone. "There's a lot you don't know about me, sensei," you said, voice low and teasing.

Gojo pushed off the wall, stalking towards you with a predatory gleam in his eye. "Is that so?" he murmured, stopping just shy of touching you. "Well then, maybe it's time for a private lesson. Just you and me, working on your flexibility."

Your heart stuttered at the implication, desire licking through your veins like wildfire. But you forced yourself to keep a coy smile in place, unwilling to let him fluster you so easily. "I don't know, sensei," you purred. "Do you think you can handle me?"

His answering grin was positively wicked as he leaned in close, breath fanning hotly over your ear. "Oh, beautiful," he purred back, "I think the real question is, can you handle me?"

Before you could formulate a response, Gojo was guiding you into a new stretch, hands firm on your hips as he positioned you. The heat of his touch seared through the thin material of your clothes and you bit your lip harshly, fighting back a whimper.

He led you through a series of increasingly challenging poses, hands roaming your body under the guise of deepening each stretch. You arched into his touch, skin burning everywhere he made contact, desire clouding your mind until all you could focus on was the low rasp of his voice in your ear and the delicious ache building between your thighs.

At one point, he had you bent nearly in half, chest pressed to the floor with your legs splayed out in a side split. Gojo knelt behind you, hands kneading your lower back as he urged you to sink deeper. "That's it," he murmured, "Just a little further. You're doing so good for me, pretty."

The praise ran through you like a live current, sparking along every nerve and setting you ablaze. You could feel the solid heat of him at your back and had to choke back a moan, fingers curling uselessly against the mats.

Just as you thought you might actually combust from the tension, Gojo eased you up, hands gentle on your waist as he helped you stand. "I think that's enough for today," he said softly, though the roughness of his voice belied his innocent expression. "You did great. I'm proud of you."

You managed a shaky nod, not trusting yourself to speak around the lump in your throat. He was so close, radiating warmth and barely leashed power, the clean scent of him filling your lungs until you felt dizzy with it.

For a suspended moment, you both stood frozen, lost in the gravity of everything left unsaid. Your eyes traced the strong line of his jaw, the tempting curve of his lips. When his tongue darted out to wet them, your self-control nearly snapped then and there.

But Gojo stepped back before you could do something foolish, putting much-needed distance between your bodies. "I'll see you tomorrow, [Y/N]," he said, casual and cheerful once more. "Get some rest, okay? You've earned it."

With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered off, hands tucked in his pockets. You watched him go, equal parts frustrated and relieved. These stolen moments were getting harder and harder to write off as simple teasing between teacher and student.

How much longer could you keep dancing around this inferno threatening to consume you both? Sooner or later, something would have to give. You only hoped you'd survive the fallout.

Sighing, you gathered your things and headed for the showers, resolutely ignoring the persistent ache low in your stomach. Tonight would be another long one with only your fantasies for company.

The joint mission a few weeks later was grueling, both physically and emotionally. Tracking down the malevolent curse spirit took every ounce of skill and power you possessed, pushing you to your limits and then some. But in the end, you emerged victorious - if a bit worse for wear.

Stumbling into the hotel lobby, you barely registered Gojo handling the check-in process, too focused on remaining vertical. Every muscle screamed in protest and your clothes were caked in dirt, blood, and things you'd rather not think about.

It wasn't until you were standing outside the room that his words finally sank in. "I'm sorry," you said, blinking hard. "Did you say there's only one bed?"

Gojo shrugged, looking entirely too unconcerned. "Yep. Apparently they messed up the reservation. But hey, I'm sure we can make do. We're both adults, right?"

He shot you a pointed look over his shoulder as he unlocked the door, lips quirking up slightly at your gaping expression. Before you could formulate a response, he was ushering you inside the lavish suite.

You froze just over the threshold, eyes widening at the sight before you. Plush carpet, elegant furnishings, a bed big enough to fit five people - it was easily the nicest room you'd ever stepped foot in. But all you could focus on was that single, massive bed dominating the space.

Gojo, however, wasted no time making himself at home. In a few long strides, he crossed the room and flopped backward onto the sinfully soft-looking comforter, spreading his arms out with a contented sigh.

"Ah, this is more like it! Way better than those stiff dorm cots, don't you think?"

Forcing your gaze away from the distracting stretch of his body, you gave a noncommittal hum, edging further into the room. The door swung shut with an ominous click, sealing you in with the one person you simultaneously most and least wanted to be alone with.

Dragging your eyes back to Gojo, you fought down a shiver at the blatant invitation in his posture, the teasing curl of his lips. With his rumpled hair and half-lidded eyes, he looked like pure sin sprawled out on the bed, begging to be debauched.

"Well? Aren't you going to join me?" He patted the space beside him. "There's plenty of room for two."

Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest at the implication, mouth going bone dry. This was dangerous territory - you were exhausted and aching, defenses worn down to nothing. If you lay beside him now...

Scrambling for some semblance of composure, you cleared your throat and looked away, deliberately casual. "Actually, I was thinking we should probably get some sleep. Separate sleep. It's been a long day."

The pout Gojo leveled at you was downright deadly, plush bottom lip enticing you to catch it between your teeth. "Aw, c'mon beautiful! The night's still young. And we've got this big, empty room all to ourselves..." He trailed off meaningfully.

Flushing, you turned your back on him completely, rummaging through your bag for something to sleep in. "I don't know, sensei. What exactly did you have in mind?"

In a blink, strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you back into his firm chest. You gasped, nearly choking on air when his lips brushed teasingly over your ear. "Come here and I'll show you," he purred, hands settling low on your hips.

You settled down beside Gojo on the plush hotel bed, your heart fluttering nervously in your chest. The mattress dipped slightly under your combined weight as you perched on the edge, trying to maintain a respectable distance. For a long moment, you simply sat there in charged silence, acutely aware of his presence mere inches away. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, hear the soft rustling of fabric as he shifted almost imperceptibly closer.

Gojo's face was unreadable behind his ever-present blindfold, but you swore you could feel the intensity of his gaze raking over you, taking in every detail. The air practically crackled with unspoken tension, the space between you ripe with possibility. Your own eyes drifted unbidden to his lips, tracing the curve of that infamous smirk. What would it feel like, you wondered, to lean in and finally taste it for yourself? Your breath quickened at the thought.

Just as you gathered the courage to break the stalemate, Gojo's hands shot out lightning-quick, long fingers finding the sensitive spots along your ribs. An undignified yelp escaped your throat as you squirmed away, body instinctively curling in on itself even as surprised laughter bubbled up.

"Gojo!" you gasped between breathless giggles and half-hearted swats, "What are you doing?"

His grin only widened, eyes glinting with mischief behind dark lashes.

"Just trying to liven things up a bit," he replied, voice dropping to a low, playful register that sent shivers down your spine. "You looked like you could use a little fun."

Two could play at that game. Narrowing your eyes in mock outrage, a wicked idea suddenly struck. "Oh, is that so?" you purred, saccharine sweet. "Well then, sensei, prepare yourself."

Quick as a flash, your hand darted out to snatch a downy pillow and, with a mighty swing, you brought it crashing over his silver head in a magnificent explosion of feathers. His shocked bark of laughter was muffled by the impromptu weapon as you pressed your advantage, raining down fluffy blows.

Thus began the most epic pillow fight to ever grace the luxury suite. You traded volleys back and forth, a whirlwind of flying bedding and unrestrained glee. Propriety utterly abandoned, you rolled about in a graceless tangle of limbs, each trying to gain the upper hand. Your cheeks hurt from grinning, lungs burning with giddy exertion.

In that stolen moment, you weren't teacher and student, sorcerer and subordinate. You were just two young, bright souls, reveling in a reprieve from the darkness constantly nipping at your heels. Here, now, nothing existed beyond this room and the carefree laughter ringing between you.

An eternity later, chest heaving, you finally collapsed side by side in the carnage, utterly spent. Glancing over, you took in Gojo's flushed, boyish face, usually perfectly coifed hair in complete disarray, a smattering of errant feathers clinging stubbornly to the wild silver tufts. Something warm and fluttering took roost behind your breastbone at the sight.

Basking in the afterglow, it took you a moment to register your compromising position - sprawled on your back, body pressed along the solid line of his, faces scant inches apart. His arm draped loosely across your middle felt unnaturally heavy, intimate.

For a single, suspended second, you forgot how to breathe, drowning instead in this strange new awareness buzzing just beneath your skin. Gojo seemed similarly affected, features slipping into something contemplative and tender as elegant fingers traitorously began tracing delicate patterns over the exposed sliver of hip where your shirt had ridden up. You shivered at the whisper-soft touch.

"Gojo," you breathed, barely audible over the roaring in your ears.

"Shh," he hushed you gently, hand coming to rest soothingly at your waist. "It's okay, pretty. Just relax."

And then, rather than pressing the burgeoning tension simmering between you, he tugged you closer into the shelter of his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin. The embrace was chaste, devoid of ulterior motive, and yet all the more earth-shattering for it. Closing your eyes, you let yourself sink into his steadying warmth, lulled by the rhythmic drumming of his heartbeat against your cheek.

A huge yawn suddenly overtook you, eyelids growing heavy. The adrenaline of the day was quickly seeping away, leaving pleasant exhaustion in its wake. "Get some sleep," Gojo murmured into your hair, voice rumbling through his chest. "I'll be right here if you need me."

And though your racing thoughts screamed that you shouldn't, that this was toeing a dangerous line, you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Surrounded by comfort and safety, bonelessly relaxed in a way you so rarely allowed yourself, you drifted off into a dreamless slumber, content in the knowledge that he would guard you through the night.

The next morning, however, you awoke alone, the space beside you long since grown cold. Disappointment and uncertainty churned in your gut, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. Had you simply imagined the intimacy of the previous evening? Mistaken a meaningless moment of pity for something more? With a groan, you buried your burning face into the pillow.

It was only when you rolled over that you spotted it - a folded square of hotel stationery perched neatly on the nightstand. With trembling fingers, you retrieved the note, heart pounding as you unfolded it to reveal Gojo's elegant scrawl.

"Had to run out for a bit," it read. "See you back at the school. Sweet dreams, beautiful."

A broad, silly grin split your cheeks as you traced reverent fingertips over the words, lingering on the private endearment. Clutched to your chest like a talisman, you fell back onto the bed with a giddy sigh, staring up at the ceiling with stars in your eyes. Your smile never wavered the entire trip home.

A few weeks later, you found yourself standing morosely in Gojo's apartment kitchen, every available surface covered with an explosion of baking supplies. It was a dizzying array of flour, sugar, chocolate, fruit - everything you'd need to whip up an impressive assortment of mouth-watering desserts.

Unfortunately, this wasn't some cozy bonding activity - it was a punishment. After your abject failure on a recent mission, Gojo had been understandably livid. His normally unflappable composure had fractured, revealing the sheer depth of his terror and concern.

The cursed object you'd gone after solo was more dangerous than anticipated and you'd been severely injured in the ensuing scuffle. "How could you be so reckless?" he'd demanded, voice ragged with some unnameable emotion. "You could have been killed. Do you have any idea how that would have made me feel?"

Shame had burned through you like acid, head bowed under the weight of his agonized stare. "I'm sorry, sensei," you'd mumbled, fighting back the sting of tears. "I didn't mean to let you down."

Running a hand through his wild silver locks, Gojo had deflated slightly. "I know you didn't," he'd sighed, "but you need to be more careful. I can't lose you, pretty."

Your heart had stuttered at the raw admission, eyes wide and disbelieving as you'd finally met his gaze. But he'd looked away before you could respond, expression closing off into something unreadable once more.

That's how you'd ended up here, consigned to a grueling weekend of non-stop baking. "And I expect nothing short of perfection," he'd declared with that familiar smirk. "Since you're so determined to waste your talents, we're going to put them to the test."

Countless hours in and you were ready to well and truly throttle him. He hadn't been content to simply observe your cake-fueled toil, oh no - he'd posted up in the kitchen alongside you, providing a ceaseless stream of 'helpful suggestions' in that low, melodic drawl.

Whisk clattering into the mixing bowl, you slapped an indignant hand over your mouth to muffle a traitorous whimper as Gojo materialized at your back. His chest pressed flush to your spine, breath curling sinfully around the shell of your ear as he bent to examine your handiwork. "Make sure you cream the butter and sugar together really well," he purred, palm skimming down to rest at the small of your back. "Nice and slow, just like that."

Squeezing your eyes shut, you prayed to any merciful god that he'd attribute your full-body shiver to the chill of the refrigerator still wafting over your overheated skin. And lord have mercy, his hands - those long, dexterous fingers you'd spent far too many lonely nights imagining on your body were definitely, unequivocally sliding down to grip your hips, thumbs tracing maddening circles over the jut of bone through your thin leggings.

A sharp inhale had you glancing over, catching him in the act of slipping a digit into the mixing bowl for an illicit taste. He made a low sound of approval as he brought it to his lips, tongue peeking out to swipe broad strokes over the creamy coating. "Mmm, delicious," he sighed, hooded eyes ensnaring yours. "But I bet it would taste even better off of you."

You sucked in a sharp breath, the very air seeming to thicken with tension as Gojo's darkening gaze bored into yours. Before you could so much as form a coherent thought, his hand whipped out to capture your wrist in an unforgiving grip. Calloused fingertips skated over your knuckles before tugging your hand towards his mouth with agonizing slowness.

Heart pounding wildly, you could only look on in rapt fascination as he purposefully dragged the pad of your sugar-dusted index finger between the plush seam of his lips. The soft, lived warmth of his mouth engulfed the very tip as his eyelids fluttered in apparent rapture. An embarrassingly needy whimper punched its way past your constricted throat at the erotic display.

Gojo's stare remained locked on yours as his tongue slowly unfurled, swiping in languid, maddening stripes to lave up the sticky-sweet trail. You watched, transfixed, as his cheeks hollowed minutely on each indulgent suckle. The bolt of molten, aching want that lanced straight to your core was dizzying in its intensity, leaving you flushed and swaying dazedly into his solid frame.

When at last he released your fingertip with one final, lingering lap of his rough tongue, the tortured sound he dragged from your parted lips bordered on the obscene.

Suddenly, the once-spacious kitchen felt stiflingly small, air too hot and heavy to pull into your lungs. Unbidden, your gaze darted down to trace his mouth, lingering on the sheen of saliva clinging to his plush lower lip. What would it be like, you wondered wildly, to surge up on your toes and lick it off? To finally give into the temptation that had plagued you since that night in the hotel room and discover if he tasted as sinful as he looked?

It was only when his smirk widened into a full-blown Cheshire grin that you realized you'd been caught staring like a dog with its tongue lolling out. Heat rapidly flooded your cheeks as you whipped back around, praying to spontaneously combust on the spot. A ghost of a touch through your hair had you swallowing harshly, fingers white-knuckled against the edge of the countertop. You could practically feel the path of his gaze as it dragged up the rigid line of your spine but you refused to turn, terrified of what he might see written across your face were you to meet his eyes right now.

The press of lips just behind your ear had you jerking, an embarrassing squeak punching out of your throat. "Good girl," he rumbled, and the blatant satisfaction in his voice made you want to drown yourself in the bowl of egg whites you'd just finished whisking within an inch of its life. "I knew you had it in you."

Gritting your teeth, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand, losing yourself in the soothing monotony of measuring, mixing and portioning out heaping trays of dough into uniform spheres. Soon enough, you found yourself pleasantly adrift in the familiar haze of concentration that came with long hours in the kitchen. The sweet scent of vanilla and cinnamon filled your senses as you bustled about from oven to oven, carefully monitoring pans of cookies and intricate latticed pies.

Lulled into complacency by the peaceful atmosphere, you never even heard Gojo sneak up until large palms were wrapping securely around your waist, tugging your back into the solid heat of his chest. Blinking sluggishly, you glanced down at the thick pot of bubbling caramel you'd been methodically stirring moments before.

"Careful, pretty," he chided gently, maneuvering the spoon to the far edges where a few darker swirls were beginning to creep in. "Don't let it burn."

Only when he was certain you wouldn't scald yourself or ruin the batch did he release you, though not without a teasing little squeeze that had your cheeks coloring all over again.

By the time the last tray finally emerged from the oven, golden and steaming, you were dangerously close to faceplanting right into your latest culinary creation. Gojo eased the spoon from your cramping hand, brows furrowed as he scrutinized your slumped posture.

"Hey," he prompted gently, "You okay, beautiful?"

Too exhausted to bother fudging the truth, you shook your head, fighting to keep your drooping lids from sliding shut altogether. "Just tired," you yawned, "Guess it really has been a long day."

Something soft flashed across Gojo's face then, gone too quickly to properly parse. Large hands settled on your hips as he turned you to face him fully, head cocked assessingly. After apparently coming to some silent conclusion, he bent at the knees and, without warning, hoisted you up onto the countertop in one fluid movement, fingers pressing against your hips.

"Rest," he commanded, cutting off your half-hearted protest with a stern look. Long fingers carded adoringly through your hair, brushing stray strands back from your clammy forehead. You nearly purred at the soothing contact, lashes fluttering wildly against your cheeks.

When he shifted to pull back, one of your hands shot out of its own accord, fisting in the front of his shirt to tug him stumbling into the bracket of your thighs. Wide eyes locked on his, so close you swore you could see a ring of silver around those striking pools of blue. For a charged moment, the only sound was your shared breathing and the faint bubble of cooling caramel on the stovetop.

A muscle ticked in Gojo's jaw and then he was leaning in, the warm brush of lips at your temple practically scorching in its tenderness. "I'll finish up here," he promised in a rough whisper before disentangling himself to shoo you off towards the nearby couch. Already half-asleep, you were powerless to resist as your legs moved on autopilot.

Burrowing into the plush cushions, you watched through heavy lids as Gojo puttered around the kitchen, putting away ingredients and packaging up an explosion of colorful delights. The low rumble of his absentminded humming buoyed you gently into slumber as your heartbeat slowed to match the steady cadence.

These quiet moments of care and support, you thought drowsily, were worth more than a thousand love songs blasting from the rooftops. Here, in the shelter of his presence, the world narrowed down to just the two of you, separate from the darkness and chaos outside.

Hand outstretched in hopeless yearning, you finally succumbed to sleep's inexorable pull, dreams full of silver hair and secret smiles. A single word ghosted past your lips like a prayer just before you went under.

"Satoru."

And then there was only blissful darkness.

Your eyes fluttered open at the feeling of gentle fingers carding through your hair. Gojo was seated beside you on the couch, gaze soft as he watched over your slumber.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," he murmured, voice a deep rumble that sent tingles down your spine. "Feel any better?"

You hummed an affirmative, stretching languidly before settling back against the plush cushions. "Much. Thank you for letting me recharge."

Gojo's smile broadened and he shifted closer, arm draping along the back of the couch behind you. "Of course. I know how hard you've been working." His tone sobered. "I don't want you running yourself ragged like that again though, okay pretty? Promise me you'll take it easier from now on."

Meeting his intense stare, you felt yourself getting lost in the molten blue of his eyes, deeper and more turbulent than any ocean. "I promise," you whispered, transfixed.

Something flickered across his expression then, tender and wanting. Slowly, giving you ample time to pull away, Gojo leaned in until his brow rested gently against yours, breaths mingling in the scant space between you. Your eyes slid shut of their own accord as his nose brushed tenderly along yours in an achingly intimate caress.

And then, softer than a sigh, his lips were on yours - a gossamer brush at first before settling in a warm, unhurried glide. Instinctively, you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer until the hard planes of his body bracketed you against the cushions. He went willingly, slotting one lean thigh between your parted legs as his tongue teased at the seam of your mouth in a silent request for deeper exploration.

A low keen escaped the back of your throat as you opened for him eagerly. He surged forward with renewed fervor, mouth moving over yours in a heated glide of searing, slick heat as he coaxed your tongues into a sensual dance. Utterly intoxicated, your fingers wound into the thick strands at his nape, holding him close as your senses drowned in the taste, smell and feel of him surrounding you.

Gojo cradled you reverently, one broad palm cupping your jaw while the other mapped the dip of your waist through the thin material of your shirt. You arched shamelessly into his touch, chasing that electrifying tingle that sparked across your nerves with every heated caress. An embarrassingly needy whine slipped free when he finally pulled back, putting barely an inch between your lips as you both struggled to breathe.

"Satoru," you rasped out, practically delirious with wanting. You could feel his smile against your mouth as he reclaimed it in another breathtaking kiss, slower but no less intense.

"I've got you, pretty girl," he purred between devastating sweeps of his talented tongue. "I'll always take such good care of you."

You believed him wholeheartedly in that moment, drowning in sensation as his touch grew bolder, both cherishing and claiming every inch of newly exposed skin. Rational thought fled in the wake of his ardent worship, the world shrinking down to just his body, his hands, his sinful mouth rendering you into an incoherent, needy mess.

Distantly, you recognized this as a line you could never uncross - a point of no return. But Gojo was so warm, so solid and reassuring around you that you couldn't find it in yourself to care about consequences. Not when he was pillaging your lips with such fervent devotion, hands mapping out every shudder and whimper he pulled from your rapidly unraveling form.

All you knew was that you never wanted this to end, this sublime sublime torture of hands and lips and roaming caresses that stoked your desire ever higher into an inextinguishable blaze. Fisting in his hair, you pulled him impossibly closer with a wounded sound.

"Please," you begged against his mouth, though you weren't quite sure what you were asking for. More, everything, a lifetime of this sublime rapture - you needed it all like you needed air to breathe.

Gojo simply hummed low in his throat, the vibration doing devastatingly sinful things to your already overheated skin. "Always so greedy for me," he purred, rolling his hips in one lazy, purposeful grind that punched the air from your lungs. "Don't worry, baby. I'm going to take such good care of you."

True to his word, he lost himself in lavishing every inch of exposed skin with hot, open-mouth kisses until you were trembling and writhing beneath him. Only then did he trail scorching paths lower, intent on learning exactly what sounds and caresses could reduce his normally unflappable student to a whimpering, pleading mess.

Your clothes quickly became a haphazard pile on the floor, joining the growing heap of his discarded layers. His dexterous fingers found purchase everywhere they touched, sending lightning bolts of pleasure zinging through your veins until all you could do was cling to him desperately.

Gojo was no less affected, his usually immaculate silver locks falling in a disheveled halo around his head, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide with lust. The sight was almost enough to send you careening over the edge right then and there.

His smirk told you he knew precisely the effect he was having. "Look at you," he praised in a low, silken drawl, "so beautiful and needy for me. Are you gonna be a good girl and come for me?"

You nearly sobbed as his clever fingers curled perfectly inside you, coaxing you higher and higher, until you were practically vibrating with the strain.

"So perfect, my sweet girl. Such a good little slut, taking my fingers like that. C'mon, let go, beautiful. Come for me."

With a strangled cry, you shattered, back arching off the couch as his mouth latched onto one rosy peak, teeth catching on the hardened bud in a delicious bite of pain. He worked you through the waves, whispering sinful praises into the sweat-slick skin of your breasts as you shuddered and quaked around his hand.

The aftershocks still hadn't abated when he was flipping you onto your hands and knees, kneeling behind you with his cock in hand. You watched with lidded eyes, heart skittering in your chest as he pumped lazily, his other hand coming to grip your hip.

"Gonna make you feel so good, pretty," he promised, dragging the flushed head over your entrance teasingly. "Want to see you fall apart on my cock. You're gonna look so gorgeous when I fuck you full, mark you up so everyone knows who you belong to."

The words set your entire body alight, a fresh surge of arousal trickling down your trembling thighs. A breathless whimper was all you could manage, eyes rolling back at the delicious drag of his cock against your oversensitive flesh.

With a groan, Gojo sheathed himself fully in one slow thrust, burying his cock to the hilt. Your head fell forward with a breathless cry, spine curving instinctively to deepen the angle.

"God, look at you, baby," he gasped, sounding utterly wrecked. "Fuck, you're so perfect, so tight around me. Such a good girl, taking me so well."

And then, without further preamble, he was pulling out nearly to the tip before snapping his hips back home in a relentless tempo that had the couch squeaking and shaking beneath you.

The room was filled with the obscene sounds of your skin slapping together, punctuated by his rough grunts and your high-pitched keens. You couldn't even muster the strength to move, could only kneel there and take whatever he chose to give you, his grip on your hips the only thing keeping you upright.

He pounded into you hard and fast, the delicious stretch of him nearly overwhelming in its intensity. Every nerve was lit aflame, a wildfire racing through your veins. You were so close, you could feel the precipice rushing up to meet you.

"Touch yourself for me, pretty," he urged, hips slamming into yours. "Let me feel you come."

Your hand shot down to frantically circle your clit, fingers slipping over the sensitive nub with practiced ease. Within seconds, your body was locking up, vision whiting out as clear fluid gushed out of you, drenching the couch beneath you.

"That's it," Gojo groaned, hips stuttering. "Fucking squirt for me, beautiful."

With a muffled curse, he buried himself balls deep, fingers digging painfully into your waist as he pumped rope after rope of hot cum into you. You could feel every throb, the pulse of his cock as he filled you up.

Afterwards, you collapsed into an exhausted, sweaty heap, utterly boneless. You floated on a cloud of endorphins, drifting hazily through the haze of afterglow.

It was only once Gojo's breath had slowed and steadied that you finally dared to glance up, half-afraid you'd see regret or remorse etched into his features. Instead, he met your questioning gaze with a soft, tender smile, brushing the hair back from your flushed cheeks with surprising gentleness.

"I've got you, pretty," he murmured again, thumb grazing your flushed cheekbone. "Sleep. We'll figure out...this...in the morning."

Tilting your head back, you searched his lidded gaze, looking for any hint of hesitation or regret. But his striking blue eyes were clear, open and certain in a way that squeezed the breath from your lungs. Whatever came next, you realized with a strange sense of calm certainty, you wouldn't face it alone.

Offering him a small, private smile, you pressed one last lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth before tucking your head under his chin once more. He tightened his protective arms around you as your breathing gradually synced.

As the world shrank down to just the two of you cocooned together on the couch, you let your eyes drift shut.

You had both crossed a line tonight, whether you were ready or not. There was no going back to the way things were before. But as sleep began pulling you under, you felt a strange sense of peace settle over you. Whatever came next, you would take it on together, come what may.

Nestling closer, you let out a slow exhale and surrendered to the pull of slumber, secure in that singular certainty. The rest could be figured out later.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru smut

[angelstitss]

here’s a bunch of hazbin hotel incorrect quotes for u losers 🥰💗 (if yall want more of this lemme know)

angel, to alastor: why is lucifer not talking?

alastor: i’m playing the silent game with him.

angel: well, then you just lost.

alastor: i lost two hours ago. i gave him ear plugs and told him to close their eyes. it was the only way i could think of to get him to shut up.

_________________________________________

husk: come to dinner tonight. i can’t cook, but i’ll bring plenty of free wine.

angel: marry me.

_________________________________________

vox: alastor, i…

vox: i love you!

alastor: not my problem.

_________________________________________

angel: hey, husk, what do you think it would be like if we had kids?

husk: what would it be like? inconvenient, mostly.

angel: no, i mean, what would they be like, the kids? you ever think about it?

husk: can't really say i have.

angel: you know, you can be boring as fuck sometimes.

husk: sorry, angel. for what it's worth, i’m picturing them now. a boy and a girl. two perfect little freaks of nature raised by people who've clearly got no business bringin' up anybody.

_________________________________________

(ep 1-3 dynamic)

husk: go fuck yourself.

angel, smugly: sure, but only if you watch

_________________________________________

(before they started dating)

vaggie: i’ve been dropping them the most insanely obvious hints for like a year now. no response.

charlie: wow. they sound stupid.

vaggie: but they’re not. they’re really smart actually. just dense.

charlie: maybe you need to be more obvious? like, i don’t know… “hey! i love you!”

vaggie: i guess you’re right. hey charlie, i love you.

charlie: see! just say that!

vaggie: holy fucking shit.

charlie: if that flies over their head then, sorry vaggie, but they're too dumb for you.

vaggie: charlie.

_________________________________________

husk: i feel like doing something stupid.

angel: i’m stupid, do me.

_________________________________________

charlie: hey cherri, wanna third wheel on my date with vaggie tomorrow?

cherri bomb: sure.

charlie: pentious! wanna third wheel on my date with vaggie tomorrow?

charlie: great! i’ve always wanted to go on a double date!

cherri & pentious: ...

vaggie: charlie...

#hazbin hotel #radioapple #incorrect hazbin hotel quotes #huskerdust #radiosilence #chaggie #cherrisnake #charlie morningstar #vaggie #hazbin hotel vox #alastor #lucifer morningstar #cherri bomb #sir pentious #angel dust #hazbin hotel husk

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Thinking again about the darknesses that lurk underneath the surface of Sense and Sensibility (I have talked before about how Edward despite being the eldest is subjected to what we can argue is emotional and financial abuse by his family for years, and how the Dashwood women are disinherited on a whim of their great uncle), and this time specifically about the Brandons.

We get so little about them, and what we do get about them is all bad:

This lady was one of my nearest relations, an orphan from her infancy, and under the guardianship of my father... At seventeen she was lost to me for ever. She was married—married against her inclination to my brother. Her fortune was large, and our family estate much encumbered. And this, I fear, is all that can be said for the conduct of one, who was at once her uncle and guardian. My brother did not deserve her; he did not even love her... I have never told you how this was brought on. We were within a few hours of eloping together for Scotland. The treachery, or the folly, of my cousin’s maid betrayed us. I was banished to the house of a relation far distant, and she was allowed no liberty, no society, no amusement, till my father’s point was gained... My brother had no regard for her; his pleasures were not what they ought to have been, and from the first he treated her unkindly.

Mr Brandon Sr is shown to us as being a greedy man, a bad administrator of his estate, and a cruel father. His first son seems cut of the same cloth, and his pleasures were not what they ought to have been is one of the most, if not the most sinister line between all the Austen novels. But there's more about him!:

Her legal allowance was not adequate to her fortune, nor sufficient for her comfortable maintenance, and I learnt from my brother that the power of receiving it had been made over some months before to another person. He imagined, and calmly could he imagine it, that her extravagance, and consequent distress, had obliged her to dispose of it for some immediate relief.

The Brandons were married for two years; the colonel returns to England and starts looking for her 3 years later. Young Eliza was then a 3 year old toddler. We are obliquely told that Brandon cut all ties with his brother:

It was a valued, a precious trust to me; and gladly would I have discharged it in the strictest sense, by watching over her education myself, had the nature of our situations allowed it; but I had no family, no home; and my little Eliza was therefore placed at school. I saw her there whenever I could, and after the death of my brother, (which happened about five years ago, and which left to me the possession of the family property,) she visited me at Delaford.

Eliza is now 17, so the eldest brother died when she was 14, which is 16 years after his marriage with the older Eliza. In that period of time, he managed to squander the whole of her fortune, and put the estate in debt again, as we are told earlier on by Mrs Jennings:

Poor man! I am afraid his circumstances may be bad. The estate at Delaford was never reckoned more than two thousand a year, and his brother left everything sadly involved. I do think he must have been sent for about money matters, for what else can it be? I wonder whether it is so. I would give anything to know the truth of it. Perhaps it is about Miss Williams and, by the bye, I dare say it is, because he looked so conscious when I mentioned her. May be she is ill in town; nothing in the world more likely, for I have a notion she is always rather sickly. I would lay any wager it is about Miss Williams. It is not so very likely he should be distressed in his circumstances now, for he is a very prudent man, and to be sure must have cleared the estate by this time. I wonder what it can be! May be his sister is worse at Avignon, and has sent for him over. His setting off in such a hurry seems very like it. Well, I wish him out of all his trouble with all my heart, and a good wife into the bargain.”

We know the Bennets, with five daughters, and without a saving mindset, still manage to live very comfortably with 2000 a year, and if they had had any mind to save money, they could have provided all five of them with decent dowries/money enough to keep them out of poverty when their father died if they were single. It is clearly not that the money isn't enough, or that Delaford is an unproductive estate; in fact, it is described to us as almost paradisiac:

Delaford is a nice place, I can tell you; exactly what I call a nice old fashioned place, full of comforts and conveniences; quite shut in with great garden walls that are covered with the best fruit-trees in the country; and such a mulberry tree in one corner! Lord! how Charlotte and I did stuff the only time we were there! Then, there is a dove-cote, some delightful stew-ponds, and a very pretty canal; and every thing, in short, that one could wish for; and, moreover, it is close to the church, and only a quarter of a mile from the turnpike-road, so ’tis never dull, for if you only go and sit up in an old yew arbour behind the house, you may see all the carriages that pass along. Oh! ’tis a nice place! A butcher hard by in the village, and the parsonage-house within a stone’s throw. To my fancy, a thousand times prettier than Barton Park, where they are forced to send three miles for their meat, and have not a neighbour nearer than your mother.

One interesting character, though forgotten because only mentioned in passing, is the Brandon sister. On one of the quotes above we get that she's in Avignon for her health, and we know her husband is wealthy (and probably abroad with her) because it is his estate that the planned picnic is for:

A party was formed this evening for going on the following day to see a very fine place about twelve miles from Barton, belonging to a brother-in-law of Colonel Brandon, without whose interest it could not be seen, as the proprietor, who was then abroad, had left strict orders on that head. The grounds were declared to be highly beautiful, and Sir John, who was particularly warm in their praise, might be allowed to be a tolerable judge, for he had formed parties to visit them, at least, twice every summer for the last ten years. They contained a noble piece of water; a sail on which was to form a great part of the morning’s amusement; cold provisions were to be taken, open carriages only to be employed, and every thing conducted in the usual style of a complete party of pleasure.

It is implied that Brandon and his BIL are in very good terms (and we know he's not afraid of cutting ties with bad relatives), and one can safely guess that at the very least he cares enough about his wife as to have her travel for her health. Another guess can be made about her getting married about 10 years before the events of the book. Whether she lived at home before that, or was at school or somewhere else, it isn't said.

But this way you can feel there's a parallel in a way, between the Brandons and the Tilneys: a greedy, cruel father, a son that follows on his steps, and a younger brother and sister managing the toxicity as best they can. Talking about this with @bad-at-names-and-faces, she brought up the idea that in that scheme, Cathy would be Eliza (if it wasn't her not being an orphan, or a rich heiress, and how that connects with Austen's line about Cathy not being born to be a heroine at the beginning of Northanger Abbey). Certainly part of it is the romantic gothicness of the Brandon backstory, united with NA's commentary on Gothic tropes, but to me it drove home with even greater force how such a situation would break a man; losing Cathy that way would have definitely broken Tilney, and if we had met him 14 years down the line, would he have appeared to the unacquainted much different than Brandon appeared to the Dashwood sisters?

#jane austen #sense and sensibility #Northanger Abbey #colonel brandon #Henry Tilney #these are the spaces in the novel where you can see how Austen's craft evolved and changed #The mystery about Brandon's past works well in the context of keeping the surprises and the twists coming #but it doesn't lend itself easily to relate to the character and understand him properly #which I somewhat delusionally hold onto hope that it would have come across much better in the original epistolary form #Austen is kind of trying to pack a Wuthering Heights size and Tenant introspection levels story #into one and fractions of infodumps within her comedy of manners #And that's really A LOT to put on the plate of your first novel

[pit-and-the-pen]

Eris-Mating Ceremony

Part of my Eris x day court! OC series.

Previous parts of

[Pt 1] [Pt 2] [Pt 3]

Bit of a time skip here but I needed to get this out of my head. This series is non-linear after part 3 so be on the lookout for more with this character. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for this particular character.

Warnings: smut (18+), soft Eris but also a little bit of dom!Eris if you squint. Slight dumbification of reader but it’s only because of the mating frenzy.

WC:~4k

Divider as always by @cafekitsune

-------Eris Pov-------

Eris was sure he had never seen anything as beautiful as she walked down the short aisle. For the first time in his life, he felt his hands sweating as their eyes locked. Her smile rivaled the very sun itself as he truly got the chance to drink her in. A flowy maroon dress, peaks of emerald green underskirt and deep green fern leaves embroidered up the front of the dress that wrapped around her waist the same way his arms would. His clothes suddenly felt itchy on his skin and he cannot for the life of him figure out why he suggested the big ceremony. Mentally cursing himself for all the times she tried to offer him food and he told her to be patient and wait. Oh how those words had come to bite him in the ass.

After what felt like an eternity, she was standing in front of him. Cheeks flushed the most delicious shade of pink. He could almost smell the joy radiating off of her and his heart softened even more for her. How could he not? Standing before him, eyes wide and shining with love, he knew that he would burn the world around him if it would keep her safe.

The priestess behind them said the usual prayers and said both of their names, Eris jumping slightly because he had been so lost in the female in front of him. Vows. Yes, he had written vows and now had to say them in front of everyone. His hands shook slightly as he grabbed hers, she gave him three little reassuring squeezes.

I vow to love you with all that I am, with all the I ever will be and all that I have. That you will never know a day of pain and loneliness. I vow to do all in my power to protect and honor you. I pledge myself, my name and my court to you. All that I have is yours.

Less than two years ago, those words would have never tumbled so freely from his mouth. He never would have risked loving someone as much as he loved her, having seen the consequences of love with his brother. But Beron was long gone, rotting in the family catacombs, not even his ghost would spoil the chance he had been blessed with.

Once he was done, he continued looking into her eyes. A small sob slipped past her lips, mouth tugging into a smile. Eris reached a hand up to wipe away the tears. “Happy tears.” She mumbled against his hand. It took every ounce of strength he possessed to bring that hand back down to grab hers.

He held his breath while she spoke her own vows. Each word that came out of her mouth had him thanking the mother. He pushed down that part of him that said he didn’t deserve her, that she was too perfect to be with someone like him. He knew she would shut that down instantly so he tried to do the same.

The priestess had them join hands and pulled the ribbon from the table behind them. She held the black ribbon up for them to each place a small kiss against before nimble fingers started lacing it around their wrists. The final knot was left for them to pull tight, each grabbing one piece and pulling it until it slipped in place. Eris knew the priestess was saying words behind them but all he could focus on was his mate standing in front of him, eyes still shining with tears. He could feel his own tears welling with emotions. Before he knew it, she was leaning forward and finally Eris felt her lips against his. HIs free hand came up to delicately lay against her cheek. He felt electricity zip through his skin at the contact and from the way she shuddered into the kiss, he could only assume she felt it too. He all-too-reluctantly pulled away but only enough to lay his forehead against hers and whisper “I love you”

------- Sunbeam POV---------

I saw Eris shift in his seat and I tried to keep the grin off of my face. One look at him and I knew it was taking all his strength not to pull me from the party right this second. Not taking my eyes off Hazel as we talked, I placed my hand on his knee and started rubbing small circles. His whole body tensed at the contact. Pulling my gaze away for a second, I bit back a laugh at his pained expression. His free hand was tightly gripped onto the arm of his chair, the one connected with mine gave my wrist a slight pinch.

He leaned in close rough for the hair on my neck to rise. “Don’t think all these people will stop me from dragging you into my bed, sunbeam.” Heat flared through my whole body. We still had arguably the most important part of the ceremony left. Dinner had yet to be served so the bond wasn’t officially accepted yet. I counted down the minutes until then. Idle chatter filled the time but I knew Eris was wound tight. Hazel finally was called by someone else and politely excused herself. I felt the male next to me let out a sigh of relief.

“Now I get you all to myself.” He said and pulled my face to his. His face was warm, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide. It was my turn to shift in my seat, a motion that Eris clocked. That was all it took for Eris to signal the attendant near the table. Signaling to start bringing out the food. This wouldn’t be a formal sit down dinner like those during court. People would watch our first meal and then the party would continue long after we had left.

Eris had given me full control over the menu for tonight. So I picked a mix of our favorites. And as the food popped into existence in front of us, I saw realization wash over his face.

“Thank you.” He said as he kissed the side of my face. I blushed and grabbed his hand under the table.

He refused to let me grab my own food. Ignoring my protests of “I’m supposed to feed you” with a smile. I couldn’t help but laugh as he held up a bite of food and placed it in my mouth. He didn’t so much as let me grab a plate for him until I finished half of mine.

I heard the noise in the background fade to whispers as I copied his earlier motions. His favorite dish, a spicy autumn court tart made of apples that his mother taught me to make, offered in front of him. My hands shook slightly as I felt all eyes in the room on us.

“It’s just you and me my sun. Pretend they aren’t even here.” His voice was soft and comforting. I did my best to listen to him. Focusing on the amber in his eyes as I brought the fork closer to his mouth. Time seemed to still as he wrapped his lips around the metal utensil and finally ate something I offered him.

The effect was instant. The bond fully snapping into place had me breathless. The cheers and clapping of our friends and family all bit forgotten as I couldn’t look away from Eris. When I was eventually able to pull my eyes away, I scanned the crowd and smile widely at my friends all dressed in black. There wasn’t a sting in my chest as my eyes caught the blue siphons. Azriel smiled, a real smile, at the clear joy in my face. My eyes quickly glanced at my old family. All so full of love for me that I had to look away. That and I felt Eris’ hand tighten against my thigh.

“Sweetheart. I know you’re happy but seeing you look at anyone else right now makes me want to pull their head off their shoulders.” He said through gritted teeth. I laid my head on his shoulder and felt his arm wrap around me. His whole body instantly relaxing.

“Please, just rip it off.” I whined as I felt his hands going to undo the corset holding my dress on. His hands were sending chills up my back as he dragged his fingers along the newly exposed skin. We had barely made it to our room before he was beginning to pull at the ribbon holding my dress together. He paid no mind to the hurry in my voice as he responded

“Where’s the fun in that?” He paused long enough to get the words out before he continued his slow movements. I shifted my weight slightly, trying to push back into him. Eris let loose a heavy sigh but still didn’t stop

“You wrapped yourself up so nicely for me, is this,” He pressed a kiss along my spine, “really so bad that you can’t be patient.” I could only mewl at the feeling of his hot lips gliding along my spine. Despite my impatience , my back arched into his touch. Eyes fluttering shut as I bit back a deep moan. Finally the dress pooled at my feet leaving me in only my panties. My back still faced Eris and when I turned to face him my mouth went slack at the hunger written clearly across his face. Hands clutching the bedsheets with white knuckles as he drank me in.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous.” He stretched out his hand for me to take and I couldn’t help the laughter that was ripped from my mouth as he pulled me into him. Arms bracing myself against his chest, I still felt the soft fabric of his jacket against my nipples. They hardened and I watched his pupils grow even wider as his gaze dipped down.

“Eris.” I had only just said his name before his mouth was on mine, one hand locked on the back of my head as the other one trailed over my front. I jerked against his hold as he tweaked a nipple between his fingers. His tongue claimed my mouth as he pulled me down onto his lap. Legs spread along his muscular things. All the thoughts cleared out of my head as I felt his hardness under me. When I went to move my hips, he held me still. Fingers pressing deep into my thigh. I could smell his arousal in the air.

Suddenly unable to stand the clothes separating him for me, I started undoing the buttons of his shirt. He let me push the fabric from his shoulders and my hands were all over him. Touching the planes of his stomach, hands running through the small patch of hair in the center of his chest then running over his back as we continued to kiss. His teeth ran lightly along my lower lip and I pulled away panting. The heat in my stomach had turned into a raging sensation that I could not ignore any longer.

“Please… touch me. I can’t…” the words felt like mush in my mouth, tongue already heavy from the lust coursing through my body. No smart comment from his mouth to be found as he gently flipped me over onto my back, legs half hanging off the bed.

Seeing Eris slowly kiss down my stomach was a sight I would never forget. My eyes closed as I honed in on the feeling of his lips. Unable to focus on anything other than that one point of contact. His fingers hooked into the sides of my panties, pulling them down as his kisses descended lower. My breath speed up as he pulled them completely off, my foot flicking them somewhere in the room. It didn’t even process that this was the first time Eris had seen me fully naked. Nothing mattered as he hooked my leg over his shoulder exposing me to him. A delightful groan left his mouth before he placed a loving kiss to my center. I moaned loudly at the contact and he pulled my hips closer to his face and licked a long slow stripe up my folds. His hands went to hold my thighs apart as they tried to snap closed around his head. My own hands latched onto his hair and tugged gently. I tried to pled for him to not tease but found myself unable to speak as he latched his lips around my clit.

He took his time, ignoring my cries of faster. Working me slowly to the brink. When his fingers joined his mouth I thought I would pass out at the pure pleasure of it. His fingers were gentle, opening me up despite the fact that I was already soaked for him. The sounds of my wetness filled the room as he pumped his fingers in and out of me, the sound managed to make my cheeks heat up. I could nothing but take what he gave me. My back leaving the bed as my spine arched. One hand tangled in his hair and the other searching for his free hand. I locked our fingers together, resting on my thigh. My moans falling out of my open mouth in pants, almost too breathy to hear. My toes curled along his back and I felt my orgasm beginning to crash through me. He didn’t stop his fingers or his mouth as I screamed his name. My grib in his hand and hair tightening as my eyes screwed shut. Aftershocked wracked through my body as his name continued to drip off my lips. He didn’t stop as I used my legs to push him away. When I saw his face I almost laughed. The slight pout in his lips when he had to pull away was almost comical.

He rose off his knees and I saw that he had unlaced his pants. The loose waistband caused them to slip lower on his hips as he stood, showing off the prominent vee that had my mouth watering. The line of hair on his stomach guiding me to exactly what I wanted, needed. When I lurched forward to sink to my knees, he caught my chin with his hand forcing me to look in his eyes.

“Tonight’s about you. There will be time for that later.” I went to argue but the look he gave me let me know he wouldn’t hear it. That didn’t stop my hand from darting out and reaching for him. He didn’t stop me as I pulled down his pants and boxers in one motion. His hardened length springing free and slapping against his stomach. I could only stare with wide eyes as I saw him.

I knew he would be pretty, every single part of Eris was pretty. But as I looked at his thick cock, slightly curved and the same color as his lips I felt my mouth water. I couldn’t stop my hands from running lightly along the underside of him, exploring and I all but purred at the feeling of the soft skin. A firm contrast to how rock hard he was under my touch. Warmer than the rest of him I kept exploring every inch of him. He cursed under his breath as I squeezed my hand, hips already starting to chase after my movements. His hand went to capture my wrist, halting my movements. Eris was already breathing heavily above me. I spread my legs slightly for him, an invitation to where I wanted him most. He didn’t need to be asked twice.

I felt his thighs meet mine as he lined the tip up with my aching hole. Teasingly, he just barely pushed in before he pulled his hips back.

“Don’t tease.” Was all I could get out, my own lips forming into a pout as I already missed the heat of him. He chuckled softly before pushing in another inch. Inch by inch he pushed inside of me, my walls fluttering around him. Both of us let out long moans at the feeling.

“Gods you feel perfect. This, you, were made for me.” He gritted out as he bottomed out. I felt him deep in my stomach. It’s all I could do to nod at his words as I adjusted to his size. He didn’t move, just stayed buried to the hilt inside of me until I was crying for him to move. So slowly I could feel every ridge and vein of him inside of me, he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into me. The motion had me sliding up the bed slightly, chest bouncing with the force of his thrust. He kept that same deep and slow pace, working me just as slowly as he had before. My hands were joined with his above my head, his arms caging me in. He had emptied out all other thoughts in my head except for him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this. Gods I love you so much.” He spoke into my neck, lips placing messy open mouth kisses along my jaw and collarbone.

“I love you. With my whole heart and soul. My husband. My mate.” At my last word, he stilled his hips. Still deep inside me, I tried to push against him to move but he stared deep into my eyes as he said

“Say it again.” His voice held so much adoration that I could do nothing but comply.

“My mate. My beautiful, strong, loving mate. You’re mine and I’m yours.” He groaned at my words and resumed his slow thrusts. I felt my high start to creep up on me again. Eris must have sensed it too because his thrust became shorter, grinding somehow deeper into me until I was wailing underneath him.

He pulled one of his hands away from where ours were connected to trail down my front. When his fingers started swirling slow circles on my clit, I erupted around him. He swallowed my moans with his mouth. My second orgasm devoured any part of me that could live without Eris. He worked me through my orgasm and as he went to pull out, I locked my legs around him keeping him against me. He was about to protest as I used my thighs to flip us over. He was suddenly underneath me and I let out a scream at the feeling of him so deep in me.

Adjusting my hands so they were now resting on his chest, he pulled us further up the bed so his back was resting against the headboard. Fully seated on his lap, I wrapped my arms around his neck as I took a hesitant bounce. We both groaned at the new position. I started moving my hips faster and he wrapped a hand around my waist to pull me down onto him. He was meeting me thrust for thrust and I joined our lips again. It was too much and not enough all at the same time. I couldn’t get enough of the feeling of his skin against mine. I felt the tears running down my face at the tidal wave of emotions that rushed through me. This was the male I had gone through so much to be with. The second chance I didn’t know I would be granted. I laid my head against his shoulder as I continued moving against him. His arm only wrapped tighter around me. Our pace was unhurried, almost lazy as we clung to each other. I wasn’t so much riding him anymore as he used his grip on my waist to push up into me. His stomach brushing against my clit with every thrust of his hips. My third release squeezed through me without a warning, still so sensitive from the other two. He cursed as I felt him twitch inside me, holding me down tightly against him I felt his warm release inside of me. He panted my name against the top of my head, pressing me closer still to him until I was unsure where I ended and he began. We stayed like this, both of us riding out the waves of pleasure until I was finally able to open my eyes.

Tears began again at the pure undiluted love I both felt through the bond and saw on his face. I saw his own eyes get glassy as I brought my nose to his, brushing against his face softly. I nuzzled my face against his and just stayed wrapped in his arms, still full of him.

I leaned my head against his shoulder again and stayed wrapped in his arms until I felt a small motion of his hips under me. His slight groan had me meeting his eyes once again. The tentative roll of my hips confirmed that he was hard again. Much to my dismay, I pulled myself off of him faster than he could push my hips back down.

“What are you…” I heard his words cut off as I pulled myself onto all fours, arching my back further than needed for him to get the hint. I heard him suck in a breath as I felt his release seep out of me and run down my thigh. That little release of breath was all the warning I got before he was fully inside me again. This is what we both needed. The frenzy that I had heard about. He pulled my hips higher up until my face was pushed into the mattress, his hips pistoned into mine. While I loved the slow pace from before, the bruising pace of his thrusts soothed the ache that wouldn’t seem to go away. I pushed back on him with all the forced I had. Begging him to go harder, faster. His hand wrapped around my hair and he pulled me flush up against his chest. His hips didn’t slow as he truly began to fuck me. My hands went to rest on his thighs, nails digging into his smooth skin leaving angry crescent marks. I screamed as I let him set a punishing pace.

His hips lost none of his earlier dexterity as he claimed every inch of my body. His mouth was sucking harshly against my neck. I lost count as orgasm after orgasm rolled through me. And he gave me one last hard thrust before he spilled into me again with a cry of his own. I collapsed against him, chest sagging as I attempted to catch my breath. Once I could breathe again, he rolled over so we were both on our side. I didn’t let him pull out of me yet. His warm fingers traced lazy patterns over my shoulder and down my back. We didn’t speak as we wrapped ourselves in our own little bubble of warmth.

“Sleep or bath first?” He asked me. And curled up in his arms, I knew there was no way I was making in to the bathroom. The idea of him not being inside me almost bringing tears to my eyes again. He must have felt that through the bond because he pulled me tighter against him and kissed my cheek.

“We can stay right here for as long as you want Sunbeam.”

I stopped counting the amount of times we made love throughout the night. Night that slowly turned into day and I still that feeling clawing in my chest wouldn’t go away unless Eris was buried deep inside me. He had managed to coax me into the bath with the promise that he would fill me right back up the moment we sat down in the water. He only pulled me off long enough to help me clean between my legs and even that had me frantically climbing back onto him. I let him wash my hair and he smiled as I reached for the shampoo to wash his in return. I scratched his scalp as I washed it and his responding groan had the smell of my arousal floating into the air again. The water had started to cool slightly as he wrung another lazy orgasm out of me. Satiated for the time being, we dried each other off once all the soap had been washed off. He carried me to our bed and I curled myself against his chest, leg draped over his hip. My hands rubbing over his chest, feeling that amber hair under my fingertips. The small circles he rub into my back had my eyes growing heavy and I drifted off to sleep.

Judging by the sun reflecting through the windows, it was almost evening when I started to wake up. Looking up at Eris I found his eyes were already on me and I blushed under his heavy gaze. I pulled my head off his chest and gave him a small peck on the cheek.

“I love you Eris.” I mumbled already half asleep again.

“And I love you Sunbeam.” Was the last thing I heard before I drifted back to sleep.

Tag list: @starsandsins @nocasdatsgay @daycourtofficial

#acomaf #acosf #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #eris acosf #eris vanserra #high lord eris #eris x you #eris x oc #eris x reader #Eris venserra smut #eris smut #eris fluff #mate!eris #Eris x day court!reader

[nomazee]

THIS EVENT IS SO CUTE!!🩷🩷😭

could i req childhood best friends dan heng x reader word(s) is sneaking out if you want a timestamp, it's 11:42 p.m. thank you so much!!!

THIS REQUEST WAS SO CUTE i had way too much fun with this this hit 1.5k words which is way over the limit i set for myself... but i do not regret it at all. I LOVE CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND DAN HENG AAAA THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING

my 1k event!

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The ringing of your phone is cut off by the automated voicemail message for the nth time in a row. Your neck hurts from how long you’ve been staring up at Dan Heng’s bedroom window,  where the lights are off and the curtains are drawn and he’s definitely asleep. 

Anticipation makes you bounce on your feet, itching to just break into his front door and shake him awake yourself. Fortunately for Dan Heng’s family, it doesn’t quite reach that point, because your phone suddenly vibrates in your hand with Dan Heng’s contact flashing on your screen. 

Incoming call. Jackpot. 

“Dan Heng,” you answer the call with no formalities whatsoever, because those aren’t needed after knowing him for so long, “come outside! I’m here to pick you up.” 

“What is wrong with you,” he grumbles out. The grit in his voice is endearing and familiar and makes your breath stutter. “It’s— almost midnight.”

“I know, and you’re already asleep? You’re such a senior citizen,” you hear the exhausted sigh he makes at another one of your old-man-Dan-Heng jokes. “There's a carnival tonight. Like, one of the cool ones that only open at 10 o’clock. March just texted me about it, she’s already there with Stelle!”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me earlier?” You hear shuffling, and spot movement in your peripheral vision. Craning your head up to look at his window yet again, you see the flicker of his bedside lamp being turned on (and you can already picture it from how well you know his room—that goofy-looking toucan table lamp that you got from some vintage store years ago for him), and the curtains pull back to reveal Dan Heng in all his half-asleep glory. He looks terrible, bangs sticking up and his corny galaxy-printed sleep shirt all wrinkled. It’s a charming look, though. 

“I told you, March just texted me about it! Literally five minutes ago.” 

“So, you ran here just to tell me about it?” 

“Well, yeah, duh,” your tone is incredulous, because he should know by now that he’s the first person you go to for anything. The first person to hear about your failing grade in calculus, or your embarrassing run-in with your middle school ex girlfriend, or the bitter orange that you had as an afternoon snack. Dan Heng’s call history is probably full of your contact (which is just your name, no fun emoticons or inside jokes, and no profile picture, much to your everlasting dismay), and every call would show that he answers every single one without fail. 

And, really, if you’re going to be honest with yourself (which you really hate doing), there’s a hopefulness twitching in your fingers tonight, something carried to you through the wind. You’re thinking of the carnival, about the sticky sweet snacks that you’re going to split with Dan Heng, the ferris wheel cart that you’ll be cramped in, the view of the stars from way up there and the tender way he’ll look at you. 

Because he does that, sometimes, with no explanation, and you’ve never had the strength to respond in any way but a hesitant smile and a smack on his shoulder and a stupid joke. But there’s a tote bag slung around your arm now, full of money and two water bottles and the weight of your heart. 

“Listen,” you tell him after a bout of his reluctant silence, “I brought you a jacket and your scarf, because I know you’re vitamin deficient and you’ll blow away in the wind unless I hold you down. It’ll be so fun if you come with me! Please? And I’ll get you home before your family notices!” 

Both you and Dan Heng know that’s a lie, because you have a tendency to drag him out for long periods of time where both of you forget to check your phones. In your opinion, it does more good than harm, because it lets you live in the moment—or so you tell Dan Heng’s parents when they question you about keeping their son out past sundown. 

“I’m not vitamin deficient,” Dan Heng tells you, but the argument is weakened by the fact that you’ve had to carry around a spare jacket for Dan Heng since you were both stumbling on your tiny baby legs. He must realize that, too, because you can see the way his face softens as he looks at you from his window, peering down. Despite the minimal light, you can still see the vibrant sheen of his eyes, the way that his mouth presses into a thin line to hold back a smile. 

It takes only a moment of contemplation before he lets out a yielding sigh and mumbles, “Okay, fine. I’m coming downstairs to let you in and then I’ll get ready. Don’t be loud.”

“I’m never loud!” 

The call ends with a click and Dan Heng slides his striped curtains closed. Circling around to get back to his front door, you made sure to be as quiet as possible and not trample his family’s gardenias. When the door opens to reveal Dan Heng’s beautiful, sleep-swollen face, an overwhelming warmth blooms in your chest and leaves your lungs dry and aching for air. The smile that appears on your face is instinctual, as most behaviors are for you around Dan Heng. 

“Hi,” you whisper, really truly whisper, because he told you to be quiet and sometimes it’s good to do what Dan Heng wants (only sometimes). His lips are still tightened into that thin line, and you think, I’ll make him laugh tonight, which is a goal you’ve always set for yourself, ever since you befriended him in first grade with a paper flower and a loud, blatant, childish proclamation of best-friend-ship. 

“Wait on the couch,” he directs you quietly, stepping aside to let you in. “Get a water from the fridge and pack it.” 

“I already brought two for us,” the apples of your cheeks strain with the force of your smile, and you’re trying not to giggle. The water thing—that was established forever ago, too, just like the spare jacket, and staying out late, and the toucan lamp, and the paper flower. You always shared a water bottle, reminding each other and passing one between your hands until the last drops were wrung dry from it, and then you’d spend half an hour trying to find a fountain to refill it because you never packed more than two on any given day. 

“Dan Heng,” you stop him with a hand on his shoulder before he can go back up the stairs to get ready in his room, and he looks back at you with the same look that you were envisioning before. The color of his eyes has gone dim, but in a fond way, in a way that tells you his breathing is even and his pulse is steady. 

You take the brief moment where his attention is on you to wrap your arms around him, the sleeves of your jacket pulling him close, warm, tender to you. Your tote bag dangles awkwardly to the side, but you try not to let it stop you from squeezing him tight, letting him know you’re here, right here. 

“What’s this about,” he mumbles into your shoulder, hands going up to grasp at the back of your sweatshirt and tug you just a few millimeters closer. A gentle weight sits between your hands and in your chest and you stifle a laugh into his barely-covered shoulder. 

“Nothing. Just really happy you’re coming.” 

“Okay,” he says, because he’s awkward and awful and so are you, but his hands still squeeze between your shoulderblades and keep you against him. A whistle of wind makes the gutters of the house creak, and you think of the stars that you’ll see from the top of the ferris wheel tonight, glinting in the sky and in Dan Heng’s eyes. 

“Let me go so I can change.” His voice is monotone, seemingly disinterested, but you don’t take offense to it, you never have. Reluctantly, you loosen your grip around him, and let him pull back the rest of the way because you can’t bear to do it yourself. 

The look, the glimmer, the depth of his eyes are all still there, accompanied by a new rosiness in his cheeks that you know isn’t caused by the heat of your hands or the cold wind outside. You don’t get the chance to laugh at the waver in his mouth as he fights back a small laugh, because he’s already turning back to rush up the stairs, stance wobbling as he tries to hide from his own embarrassment, and it’s so terrible and familiar and you ache with the urge to burrow into this home and make it your own. 

Your phone is flooded with dozens of texts from March, you’re sure, but even as it pushes midnight, you take your sweet time walking to the carnival, fingers clasped with each other as your jacket hangs off of Dan Heng—like it always has, like it always will.

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gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin @flower-yi

event taglist: @confusion-star

fill out my event taglist (pinned) or general taglist (navi) to be tagged in upcoming works!

#nora hits 1k #hsr x reader #dan heng x reader #honkai star rail x reader #danheng x reader #honkai x reader #dan heng hsr x reader #dan heng drabble #hsr drabble

[brucewaynehater101]

Ok but Tim finally getting to mess around with his son a bit now that Bruce is finally doing better and so he absolutely gives him shit. ‘Yeah I told Damian to grab all the birds. Don’t your remember when you wanted a contingency plan for scarecrow so you might me catch a bunch of crows and put them in the cave for weeks? Damian can do the same’. Tim just doubles down on whatever the other bats said.

Tim puts strict rules on Bruce cause that man used to pummel purse snatchers. The other Bats? Absolutely not.

Just Tim leaning in full throttle to the others' shenanigans because he finds it funny.

I also think it would be hilarious if Tim straight up does unhinged things with certain batfam members for the hell of it.

Jason? The man has watched Tim cause a body to disappear. It was on purpose. When the man confronted Tim, the teen looked him dead in the eyes, grinned, and said, "No one would believe you."

He was right. No one did.

Duke keeps finding food on patrol when he swears there wasn't any food there a second ago. He'll eat it (despite common sense saying he shouldn't accept food in Gotham on random rooftops from strangers [cause he doesn't know it's Tim]), but it's definitely weird.

Tim let's Steph know whenever another batfam member hasn't slept in a while. No one else knows how she knows, but she'll find out herself their location so she can pull pranks on the tired person.

Tim lies straight to Bruce's face and dares his son to tell him otherwise when it comes to Damian. Whatever shenanigan the kid pulls that resemble something closer to a kid doing dumb shit than the traumatized baby assassin he was raised as, Tim supports full heartedly (he consulted a few textbooks on age level activities). It's fun seeing Bruce struggle internally on whether to tell Tim to knock it off or to fall back on years of Tim acting like his father.

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #bruce wayne #dc au #thank you for the ask!!!!

[c4ttheart]

zuko x fem!reader, angst, 1.6k wc (whoopsi)

supposed to be a gn reader but i put that they went to the royal fire academy for girls ; also timeline makes no sense LMFAO sorry ab that

summary : he says he loves you. that’s not fair, that’s not something best friends should say to each other. but his favourite colour is blue, and so is yours.

"zuko" you breathe out, "you’re back."

he furrows his brows when he hears you approach. he notices the hint of surprise in your voice, and somehow, he doesn’t know if it’s a good thing.

a mumbled "yeah" in response leaves his lips, and you smile. you quirk your lips upward as if he had never left. as if the last time he saw you wasn’t three years ago.

you want to ask him more, hold his hand and drag him through the gardens or sneak out into the city buying things you would never even need. but he turns away, leaving you to stand there in the middle of a palace that isn’t yours. zuko did not return with the avatar. zuko returned with blood on his hands, the price to pay for the victory of your kingdom. but that doesn’t feel right. that is not the zuko you know. then again, they really aren’t that different, three year gap or not, as they soak in the glory of what they have done.

why does he think it’s an honourable thing to have caused the demise of a city ? all that for what, the privilege of bathing in warm water and gold again ?

he ignores you throughout the month that he is here. you thought you were best friends, but apparently his stay at sea made him forget. one could say you’re not on the same footing anymore, since he is promised to the throne.

and it’s fine, you are fine, you can deal with whatever temper tantrum he is having, or the fact that he doesn’t have time for you. you don’t know what he went through, so you try to be fair. but then mai comes into the picture, and all of a sudden you’re fourteen crying on the floor of your dorm at the royal fire academy for girls because word is out that prince zuko has lost his agni kai. and you didn’t even have the time to say goodbye.

it’s not like you were dating. but he can’t just do whatever he’s doing. you waited for him to come back. every day. you still referred to him as your best friend and fed the turtle ducks in his absence. and he just waltzs back into your life and breaks your heart again.

mai is a sweet girl. she’s only a year younger than you. you know she’s a good student. but she doesn’t deserve to replace you. she doesn’t know his favourite colour and why it’s his favourite. she doesn’t know half of the things about him that complete your personality.

maybe that’s how you find yourself thumping on zuko’s door. it’s probably three in the morning, and you’re tired with red rims under yours eyes. he opens the door after some time, with messy hair and his room lit with candlelight. when was the last time you saw him ? he looks so real, so close and you are so, so grateful that he is here and that he is him, that you break down. what was once fury is replaced with desolation as he looks at you funny in front of the door that leads to his quarters.

"i uhm, thought you were at the academy." he mumbles awkwardly. the opening is only wide enough for you to see his face. why is he hiding ? what is this conversation topic ? when have you become such a stranger ? his favourite colour is blue. so is yours.

you sniffle. "it’s the middle of summer."

"oh."

he nods and moves to shut you off again. your tears run thicker against your cheeks.

"you can’t close the door zuko. you told me you loved me. you can’t keep on turning your back on the problems that require something else than military attention."

you don’t even know how you manage to speak the words correctly, considering the hiccups and the sniffles and the ugly crocodile tears. you don’t know how you manage to speak so correctly considering the state of your heart.

he scoffs. "you’re the one that left me."

"i did not leave you, zuko. i chose to stay." you laugh and croak out.

"that’s the same fucking thing." he whispers under his breath, his eyes rolling every time you blink water from your eyes.

it’s okay. you know he still loves you, somewhere inside. deep deep down, you know he does. it’s not wishful thinking, because his favourite colour is blue, and so is yours. blue like the waves back in ember island, blue like the water the turtle ducks swim in, blue like the sky in which he wishes he could soar. blue like the flames he never got.

"you can leave now, y’know ? " he speaks again, every single drop of formality run dry on his lips when he sees you. is that a good thing ?

and yellow used to be your favourite colour. not his, yours. yellow like the sun, yellow like the small buttercups, yellow like the jewellery your mother would wear. yellow like his eyes. and then all of a sudden, zuko came along, and yellow morphed into blue. what he liked, you liked. what he did, you did. what he said, you said. somewhere along the way you forgot yourself in the name of love. and all that for what ?

"i-i don’t understand, zuko." you hiccup. you try to remember the warmth of the yellow sun but all you can focus on is the harsh yellow in his eyes. it looks much less appealing than blue.

"god, what more is there to understand ? people move on, (name). maybe it’s time you do the same. grow up a bit, and maybe you’ll get a real personality."

you gasp.

"oh and, it’s prince zuko to you."

this horrible feeling settles in your stomach. like needles, piercing over and over again. or a dam being broken by a tidal wave. you do not feel good. and he is dressed in red, like his curtains, like his door, like the walls and floors and windows and carpets and when you finally reach the gardens you have never felt so nauseous watching the fountain blue.

when you glance up, you realise the sky is red too.

your tears are all dried up now. you should go home, probably. but the sun is rising and the last thing you want to do is let your parents know you snuck out, that you’re not at all at the friend’s house you were supposed to be at. you’re seventeen, yet you are still so reliant on your parents. you should take control of your life, you think, but you still have a favourite colour and you still like the same guy than when you were a child. maybe zuko is right, you should grow up.

best friends should never be able to love each other. it ruins lives, love. you think it would have been best if zuko had never loved you at all. but his favourite colour is blue, and so is yours, because your personality is completely attached to his. maybe you loved him too before you even knew it.

you watch people get up and about from the tower you’re in. you don’t know which one it is, just that it is high off ground. when a bird squeaks, you bang your head against the wall. messenger hawks scare you.

something falls besides you, and it sounds light. a key, sitting still and yellow on the middle of the paved floor. it’s an ordinary key, yet it looks too unused to be one leading to the bird cages. you nervously look around, with puffy eyes and dried cheeks, because you should not be doing this but god, do you need something to get your mind off zuko.

fuck him and his little girlfriend. fuck him and his petty ways, fuck him and his fancy baths, fuck him and his golden eyes. he should have told you if he hated you. if he didn’t wish to be best friends anymore. you would have taken it easier than now. but he just vanished, and when he came back, he wasn’t himself anymore. maybe he lost himself like the people of ba sing se lost their lives because of him.

you spot some sort of square locker imbedded in the wall. it looks quite private but the key fits when you insert it, and when you turn it the door silently opens. then something falls on your face. it’s small and not very heavy. looks like a messy envelope when you pick it up. you open it subconsciously, like it was meant to find you somehow. maybe it was, because your heart drops when you read who it is addressed to. you skip the contents only for what you thought were your dry eyes pour again.

inside the box, is a year worth of letters. they’re all from zuko. and they’re all sealed with blue wax.

you don’t speak with zuko the following week, but rumours spread fast and all of a sudden the whole country knows he’s gone. it’s alright. you didn’t get to say goodbye the first time, so why would you now ? when you go back to your dorm at the academy the next day, pretty petunia flowers sit on your bed, sealed with a blue ribbon. you clench your jaw.

it is quite a feeble gift, but it is better than nothing at all. you keep them in a vase on the windowsill, even when you learn they mean resentment, because his favourite colour is blue, and so is yours.

it always will be.

i like read iver this once to make sure some sentences made sense that is it

this was supposed to b fluff but uh,,,,,

#anime x reader #atla zuko #atla #atla x reader #atla x you #atla x y/n #zuko x y/n #zuko x you #zuko x reader #avatar zuko #fire lord zuko #prince zuko #zuko #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbenber netflix #avatar 2009 #avatar live action

[beatrixstonehill2]

"Since you asked so nicely..... this is how well my transition is going, big bro!" Hayley said on a Zoom call, setting up her phone on a tripod to flaunt her extremely pregnant body for her brother, Sean.

"Holy shit, you look incredible. How many kids are crammed in that belly?"

"Hmmmm, good question. I think I feel at least eight? Maybe more?"

"You don't even know how pregnant you are?"

"Nope! It's not that important. My medical team just tell me they're injecting me with a lot of fertilized eggs and do their thing."

"So you have no say over whether you get pregnant?"

"Nope! My doctors are gonna keep me pumping out babies forever, a girl's gotta keep her womb nice and full, don't you agree?" She smacked her belly playfully a few times.

"God damn.... I didn't even know you got a uterus."

"Well, you've been away, Mr. College Boy, leaving your poor adorable trans sister so alone...."

"...... Mom and dad say you fuck new guys like every night, Hayley."

"Well, aside from that I'm totally lonely! I miss having you around. You're why I transitioned, you know?"

"Hayley.... please, that was forever ago. We can move on past that."

"Why would we? You encouraged me to dress like a girl, act like a girl, you told me how much you fantasized about having a younger sister for company...."

"Ew, don't be gross."

Hayley bit her lip. "Why? Gross is fun. Besides I'm twenty-one and you're like twenty-six. We're both adults who know what we want."

"Are you planning to be like this the whole time I visit?"

"About that..... so, mom and dad use your room for their exercise equipment and storage now, so you'll be sleeping in my room, with me."

"..... And how will I fit in bed with you? You're gigantic."

"Don't worry, just snuggle up real close, my belly's so warm I'm sure you won't mind. Isn't this always what you wanted? You used to watch so many pornos and hentais about older brothers breeding their younger sisters. Mom and dad even think it's cute that I have a crush on you."

"Seriously? They're cool with it?"

"Of course! They already told me they can't wait to hear us upstairs catching up for lost time, shaking the walls, my pretty moans filling the hallway as you fuck my fat, girly ass. Doesn't that sound divine?"

"Fuck.... you're for real? You actually want me to fuck you, when you're that pregnant?"

"Don't worry, my womb isn't connected to anything. I stay pregnant til my team decides to give me a C-section. Usually I'm forced to stay pregnant for a whole year. The contractions get unbearable, but feel amazing! And as a surrogate mom living as a baby incubator, I'm paid very handsomely. Mom and dad already retired. They live mostly on the money this giant womb rakes in....."

"Jesus, you really committed to being a breeder, huh?"

Hayley reached in her shorts, pulling out her swollen, ten-inch cock off to the side for him to see as she stroked it. "That's what you wanted me to be. Watching those perverted videos every day, talking me into wearing girls' clothes, learning to do makeup, telling me at length how hot you think it'd be to have a submissive breeder sister. You even dared me to come out to mom and dad and ask to be put on hrt and blockers asap! You're the reason I'm a beautiful girl with a perpetually stuffed womb, flooded with more kids than my dumb, girly brain can probably count. This is all for you, big bro. I'm a knocked-up breeder slut dreaming every day to feel your cock inside me...."

"Fuck, you turned out better than I ever could've hoped, Hayley!"

"I take it that's a yes?" She enthusiastically jerked off, watching her brother stroke his cock under his jeans.

"Damn straight. I can't wait to fuck that fat ass of yours so hard you cry. Every day, every night. I'm going to fuck you in front of mom and dad. I'm going to fuck you in public. I'm going to humiliate you, grab your tits, jerk you off on the train. Everything I ever fantasized about doing to you."

"Mmmmm, ohhhh fuck...." she softly moaned, shooting rope after rope of cum out of her cock. "Look what you made me do, big bro." She showed him the cum all over her hand, then licked it up, off each finger.

"You're perfect. Maybe if you're a really good girl, someday I'll even marry you, and make you my submissive little pregnant bride, so I can humiliate, fuck, and torture you every day for the rest of your life."

"That sounds like every little sister's dream come true. ❤️"

#incest kink #brother x sister #mtf pregnant #trans pregnant kink #pregnant nsft #breeding k1nk #huge pregnant belly #mtf breeding

[catopoliscat]

nail day / fem!reader/atsuya kusakabe.

you always had a way of catching atsuya off-guard in your relationship. you decide to take things to a whole new level with just your nails, and then atsuya's doing things he never thought he would be doing, in places he never thought he'd be doing them.

tags: nsfw. 18+. fem!reader. afab!reader. established relationship (you've been together a few months). ‘get your nails painted the colour of his tip’. canon!verse. atsuya gives me heavy boomer energy ngl. sexting. semi-public sex (kind of, solo masturbation). mentions of edging (reader). shades of dom!reader but feels more like more sexually-open!reader lmao. shades of insecure kuskabe. man has feelings but don’t tell him. toge, maki and panda cameo at the start because i love them. no use of y/n or any other placeholders. ever.

wc: 6.9k

a/n: a masterclass in how to stretch a 2k concept into nearly 7k for no reason ft. an overlooked side character, blegh

mdni.

The ‘ding’, though faint, rings out through the quiet walls of the classroom, disturbing the languid, tranquil air. 

Atsuya purses his lips around his lollipop, eyes slowly opening. He’s reluctant to move his body from its semi-comfortable position—feet propped up on the edge of the worn desk in front of him, hands behind his head. It was a favourite of his during the warmer hours of the afternoon on a slower work day, like today. From his spot, the soft sun filters in through the windows just right, warming his body and making him just the right amount of relaxed. 

He doesn’t have to look at the clock above the dated chalkboard to know what time it was, his body told him that. Just another twenty minutes and then it was home-sweet-home. 

Swinging his eyes lazily across his cluttered desk, he spots his phone amidst the ungraded papers and documents. The screen is lit up, lighting up the cracks on the glass he is still yet to replace. He can make out the faint outline of a text message, from you no doubt, but once again, he’s reluctant to move to check it just yet. 

Astuya rolls his tongue around the sweet in his mouth once, then twice. The stick rolls from the left side of his mouth to the right. 

His eyes flick up to his students across from him, his gaze moving across each one. Panda’s head rests in his large fist (paw?), his beady black eyes slowly blinking, clearly still trying to stay awake although his teacher was almost napping mere moments ago. Toge was reclined in his chair, feet kicked out across the aisle, fiddling with his phone underneath the desk where he presumed Atsuya couldn’t see it (he could, and he could definitely recognise the sound of Candy Crush when he heard it). His eyes finally meet Maki’s where she sits, arms folded, spear resting against her desk like a faithful dog. 

She holds Atsuya’s gaze with a strength a sixteen-year-old shouldn’t have, something searching in her gaze. After a few moments of uncomfortable eye contact (at least on Atsuya’s behalf), she raises an eyebrow at him, the thin arch peeking above the rim of her glasses. 

The ‘ding’ rings out again. 

“Are you going to answer that?” she finally says. Panda jolts in his seat, straightening up, looking across the classroom as if expecting someone to come running in. Toge’s eyes do not move from his lap, ‘delicious!’ echoing through the classroom a second later. 

“Get back to work,” Atsuya grumbles, shooting Maki a withering look before reaching for his phone anyway, pulling it toward his eyes. 

pain in my ass sent you a photo. 

He squints, just about making out the small icon of the photo in the corner of the notification. It looks like your hand. 

Oh yeah, he thinks to himself, nail day. Even when you were away on a mission, you always seemed to make time for it. 

Atsuya flicks his gaze across his students again and sees three sets of eyes trained on him despite his earlier order. Seems like he was the most interesting thing in this classroom right now. 

Ignoring the expectant look of his students, he unlocks his phone with a swipe of his thumb. He pulls up the text thread with you, presses on the photo and low and behold, there’s your hand, nails adorned with a fresh new colour. A pretty kind of dark pink.

Atsuya exhales a gush of air through his nose, admiring the contour of your hand for a moment. You hadn’t sent a message with it, and for a moment he’s tempted just to leave a thumbs up on the picture and call it a day. After all, what the hell did he know about manicures? Your nails looked nice, he guessed, but you always looked nice, even without them.

But then he remembers the lecture you had given him about his ‘lacklustre’ responses once and he hesitates. Despite having a sister, he still didn’t get women. At all. And it showed sometimes. Sometimes.  

He clears his throat and glances across at his students. “Woman sends you a nail picture, what do you say? Go.” 

Maki raises an eyebrow at him again, her expression the definition of the question ‘really, idiot?’

Panda perks up a little though, scratching at his chin. “Something complimentary, maybe? How about… ’looks very nice?’” 

Atsuya nods, pursing his lips around the lollipop in his mouth for a moment. It sounded good to him, at least. 

Toge shakes his head, a small, negatory ‘fish flakes’ falling from his lips. Atsuya frowns at him for putting doubt in his mind—and for the fact that the speech-user didn’t give him any sort of clue as to what he should say instead.

“Is this really necessary?” Maki drawls at last, kicking one heel over the other, “She’s your girlfriend.” 

A beat of silence passes in the classroom. 

“Give me a good response and I’ll let you leave now.” 

Maki holds his stare for a moment longer, before pushing back her chair with a loud scrape. She walks over to Atsuya’s desk and holds out her hand, even that small movement is somehow aggressive. 

Atsuya hesitates for a second, glancing down at the girl's slightly calloused palm. His eyes flick to the message thread after, scrolling up a little, making sure there wasn’t anything… obscene, before handing her the phone. 

He watches as she types something, both thumbs moving faster than Atsuya could ever manage before he hears the little familiar ‘woosh’ of a message being sent. She hands him back the phone a moment later. 

She folds her arms across her chest again. “Well?”

Atsuya raises a finger, looking down at the message. 

Gorgeous as always. I love that colour on you. 

He keeps his finger raised as he stares down at the message, watching as the small ‘read 2:37 pm’ pops up underneath his forged text. 

A little heart pops up a second later, and Atusya clicks his fingers before jabbing his thumb in the direction of the classroom door. His students waste little time in grabbing their things and filing out of the classroom, the door shutting a moment later. 

Wow, who knew you could be so adorable, Cutiekabe? 

Atsuya smiles, a touch smugly, to himself. He briefly contemplates how weird it would be if he got his students to write more of his texts to you. They clearly understood something he didn’t. 

what can I say? I try

He slumps back in his seat a little more, pleased with himself. His pride quickly melts away, however, when you reply again. 

So, who was it? Maki or Toge? 

Atsuya mutters a small ‘shit’ around his lollipop, before pulling it from between his lips with a pop. He should have known better. You had always been freakishly… aware of things. 

… what gave it away? 

The correct grammar.idiot 

Dumping his phone in his lap with a sigh, Atsuya scratches the back of his neck, wondering how he can try and salvage the situation. He knew you weren’t mad-mad, but still. It wasn’t exactly a good look for him—and he knew he wouldn’t hear the end of this for a good long while. A grown man having a sixteen-year-old write his message because he was useless with genuine affection and emotion? Embarrassing. 

The phone dings again, and he picks it back up, shoving his lollipop back into his mouth. 

Do you like them though? The colour’s special.Really special.

Raising an eyebrow, he scrolls up back to the hand photo to see what he just missed. Was pink your favourite colour? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t think so… but now he was doubting again. He had already messed up once, and now he was on a fast track to digging himself a deeper grave. 

i like them  a lot its a real nice pink

Atsuya cringes at his choice of words and wishes he could unsend the message, but he knows you’ve already seen it. 

You should. You look at the same shade every day, you know. 

…?

“…the fuck did I miss?” he mutters to himself, frowning down at the screen. 

It’s the colour of your tip, Kusakabe. 

He raises an eyebrow at his phone as his thumbs tap out another reply. 

the tip of my what? 

It takes Atsuya three heartbeats before he realises what you’re saying.

He almost drops his phone in his haste to scroll back up to the photo, his feet sliding off the desk as he leans forward in his seat. That pinkish shade on the tips of your nails glares back at him, and his eyes grow wider and wider by the second. Only now you’ve pointed it out, the shade is really fucking familiar, and it’s all he can see now. 

His lips part, the lollipop falling from his mouth and onto the floor. 

The tip of his dick. You got your nails painted the same colour as his fucking dick. 

ur kiddingreally? why

There’s a pause before he sends another stream of messages. 

is this some trend thing? or a prank?seems fucking weirdu couldn’t have done my eyes or something? anything that wasn’t to do with my actual dick???

It’s as if he can hear the echo of your laughter in the room with him right now, even though he knows you’re a few hundred miles away. In his mind's eye, he can make out the crease of your eyes and cheeks as you take in his borderline shocked and repulsed expression. 

Atsuya knew you were younger than him, though only a little—but sometimes it felt as if you two were worlds apart when it came to things like this. He didn’t know how you kept up with it all. Especially if the main trends of today were getting your nails painted dick-colours. 

What, you don’t like it, baby? It’s like I have you with me wherever I go, now.Or your dick, anyway.  

He rolls his eyes, your teasing tone heard loud and clear. He briefly contemplates letting the message hang, let you bask in your own foolishness while he heads back to the apartment—though he had been spending more time at the school lately. Home felt a little weird without you there, as much as he loathed to think about it. 

Another ding. 

It’s gonna be so much more fun touching myself later. 

And just like that, Atsuya feels his whole world grind to a halt with just a few words. In a flash of smoke, all thoughts of his dick shade (was it really that pink though?) disappear out of the window, replaced instead with an image that comes as clearly to him as his own reflection. 

You, sprawled out on some dusted futon in a rundown hotel, naked and flushed—thighs parted, pussy glistening and wet, ready for him; clit swollen underneath those pretty pink fingertips and—

Atsuya’s head whips over his shoulder left and right, clutching his phone a little tighter to himself, despite the classroom being blissfully empty. Still, he’s cautious—as he should be while at work. In a fucking school no less. 

goddamn womanare u trying to kill me? im still at work

Atsuya’s hand drifts down, adjusting himself as discreetly as he can manage. He’s not fully hard, but his cock is definitely sitting a little heavier in his slacks just from the mere thought of your words alone. You always had that affect on him. 

Well, that, and two weeks (15 days to be exact) without you was starting to drive him insane. His hand could only do so much—even with your panties wrapped around them. 

Atsuya curses, trying (and failing) not to think about that as he feels himself swell a little fuller. Luckily, another ding registers before he can dwell on what he’s more than likely going to do as soon as he gets home. 

Why? I bet you sent the kids out ages ago. 

He purses his lips. There was that freaky-woman-sixth-sense you seemed to have. That, or he was just that predictable. 

still!!!u know what u do to me…u really gonna do that tho?

Atsuya pauses, his thumbs stilling a moment, before he continues on. 

send pics if u do 

He hesitates again, his face pulling into some sort of grimace. 

i really fucking miss you

Cringing a little, he locks his phone before you can reply, shoving it into his pocket and standing from his desk. He couldn’t deal with anything else right now, not while he was at work. Not with Satoru hanging around too. 

The last thing he wanted in the world was for that white-haired fool to see him walking around with a goddamn boner. 

Packing up his things in an even more harried and rushed way than usual, papers half-spilling out of his briefcase, he throws on his coat before heading out the door. All he had to do was pick up a few things from the store for dinner and then he was home free and he could… indulge.

Although the idea of another night fucking up into his fist imagining it was your hand around him wasn’t ideal, it would do for now. Maybe you really would send a few pictures to help him along. Hell, at this point he’d use that damn hand picture. 

Continuing down the hallway, his mind a million miles away, he tells himself he won’t check his phone until he gets back home just in case you do. It was safer that way. You were… unpredictable sometimes. Especially when it came to sex.  

“Not until I get back home,” he mutters under his breath as he strides down the hallway. 

He tells himself that, anyway. 

What Atsuya Kusakabe tells himself and what he actually does are sometimes two separate things. 

Standing in a small supermarket an hour later, looking at the different packages of instant ramen (God, you’d moan at him if you knew he was eating ready meals instead of something sustainable, but what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you), he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. 

His eyes move from the rows of brightly-coloured plastic packaging down to the square lump in his slacks. He chews on his bottom lip indecisively for a moment, telling himself it was probably just you goading him for actually admitting he liked having you close—and not the pictures he had already spent an entire train journey fantasising about. 

Atsuya swallows, ignoring the vibration as he pulls a random ramen packet from the shelf and dumps it in the basket on his arm. 

He’s standing in the beer and wine aisle when his phone vibrates again, reminding him about the notification. His eye twitches, but once again, he ignores it—dumping a four-pack of cheap beer into his basket alongside his cheap meal. 

Again, his phone vibrates in the fresh-food aisle (he doesn’t pick anything up, just passing through on the way to the candy), and again, he ignores it. 

Three more times it chimes, in quick succession, as he picks up a lollipop. His fingers twitch around the stick as he stares at the packaging—strawberry and sakura-flavoured! 

Flushed pink colour, stick included. 

Atsuya swallows, throwing the lollipop back on the pile quickly and instead grabs a watermelon-flavoured one. Bright green. 

His phone vibrates once more on his way to the checkout, and Atsuya’s resolve breaks like a taut wire. Impatience finally wins out. 

As he digs his hand into his pocket, fishing out his phone, he tells himself it’s because he cares. After all, you rarely texted him this much. What if you had run into trouble? Maybe you were asking for help? Burying the voice that tells him that if that were the case, then you’d at least call him—he swipes open his phone— 

—and then he nearly drops the damn thing on the floor. 

Phone opening straight back up on the message thread, he’s greeted by several photos of you—fully naked, spread out across sheets, just like in his earlier fantasy… but fucking better because this was real. Right in front of him. So close, yet so far. 

Atsuya slams the screen against his chest so fucking quickly it makes a loud thump, and an older woman further down the aisle sends him a strange look. He offers a strained smile in return as he turns his back to her, his heartbeat thumping against his ribs. 

Close the damn thread, Kusakabe, he tells himself, wait until you get back home. 

What he tells himself and what he does, however… 

Atsuya walks quickly, quicker than he ever did at work, until he disappears down an emptier aisle, heat prickling at the back of his neck. His footsteps draw to a stop right next to some laundry detergent, and with a quick look left and right, he peels his phone from his chest like a bloodied bandage, slowly, as if scared of the damage underneath. 

He takes another peek at the images, and sure enough, there you still are. It might not have been some rundown motel or futon (thank fuck), but the white sheets underneath make the familiar flush of your skin practically glow. The first few images are of your face and chest, smiling up at the camera above you all sweet and saccharine like you have no idea what the fuck that look does to him. His eyes trail over your face, your lashes and the curve of your lips, before slowly dragging downward, down your neck and across your collarbone, until his eyes lock onto your breasts. 

You’ve got one hand squeezing one of the mounds, freshly done fingernails digging into the plump flesh just enough to leave indents. The pink of your nails shines in the low light, and his mind snaps to the thought of his cock between your tits, sliding between the valley slick with spit and pre-cum as you looked up at him from underneath your lashes. It was something he hadn’t done yet but fuck if he hadn’t thought about it. Dreamt about it sometimes too.

“…oh fuck,” Atsuya mutters under his breath, glancing around him once more to make sure he was still alone. He was, but this was dangerous—he knew it. He became distinctly aware of the potential of cameras around, scoping out for thieves and delinquents. All it would take was one dedicated employee who was paying attention to see a grown man lusting at pictures of a naked woman on his phone in the middle of a fucking store. 

Was it… wrong that Atsuya kind of liked that idea? Not the thought of anyone else seeing you like this, fuck no, but… the thought of someone seeing that this was the person he got to go home to every day. The woman he called his own. The woman he got to see like this in the flesh. The woman he got to touch, feel, fuck. He’s always been proud to show you off in his own way, but this was a whole new level. 

Atsuya’s really glad he adjusted himself earlier, but fuck if the growing thickness in his slacks wasn’t uncomfortable. And embarrassing. 

Glancing down at the photos again, he releases a shuddering breath. The POV of the pictures taken above makes Atsuya feel like he’s there, right above you, hips between your thighs like he fucking should be—not about to pay up on some groceries and go home alone to an empty apartment that still smelled like you. 

Another picture comes through, this time of between your thighs, and Atsuya has to suck in his bottom lip to stop from groaning aloud. 

Those pretty folds of yours, already glistening with arousal; underwear hanging off the soft thigh of one leg… the sight is fucking sinful. Your middle finger is already buried deep inside you all the way to the knuckle, the rest of your fingers splayed out around. 

That fucking shade of pink is staring at him once again, reminding him of your choice, your reasoning, and Atsuya finally gets the prank, the trend, whatever it is. He fucking gets it now. 

As his grip on his phone tightens, threatening to bend the already damaged plastic underneath his fingers, another message comes through. 

I miss you too, ‘kabe. See how much? Two fingers deep and all I can think about is your cock instead. 

Atsuya’s mind spins, clouded with lust and thoughts of you and you only. He feels like he might sway on his feet as the full force of his need and longing seems to hit him square in the chest, sending him dizzy. 

Oh, how he missed you. He missed you so fucking much. 

He leans up against the shelves, some of the boxes of powdered detergent rustling underneath him, but he pays it little attention. His eyes are locked on those photos, and the reminder that you missed him just as fucking much as he missed you. 

Are you hard for me too? 

Atsuya’s quick to adjust the basket hanging off of his arm as he brings both hands up to his phone. 

u have no fucking ideaur so goddamn sexy you know that??i’m hard as a goddamn rock right now

Show me. 

Atsuya’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead in surprise. He glances over his shoulders once more and sees a young couple walk past the aisle and onto the next one, giggling about something. 

i canti’m in a storenot in the mood for getting arrested for public indecency

Oh?Opening my nudes out in public? Dirty old man. 

Atsuya can’t bring himself to disagree with you, although the use of ‘old’ does sting a little. 

Do they have toilets? Go there. I want to see you. 

Oh, now you were playing with fire. Opening your messages in public full-well expecting what was in them was reckless enough, but if this was heading where Atsuya thought it was—and it probably was if his resolve was all that was holding him back—then this was downright idiotic. Dumb. Stupid. Gojo-coded. 

And yet the sound of his shoes against the tiles rings out across the store anyway as he marches toward the public bathrooms, the half-filled basket abandoned on the floor.  

He swings open the door of the male bathrooms a touch more forcefully than necessary, quickly scoping out the space. It’s clean, thankfully, although the scent of bleach and other cleaning chemicals hangs heavy in the air. Hardly the sexiest place, but it’s empty—though that’s always in danger of changing. 

Striding past the sinks and urinals, he heads toward one of the stalls, pushing open the door and stepping inside before shutting it once more—and locking it too. He rests his back against the door with a sigh as he swipes open the camera app on his phone. 

The fluorescent lighting isn’t the best, but it’s all he has to work with as he takes a slightly shaky picture of the swell in his dark trousers. His cock sits thick and proud against his zipper, the outline of it abundantly clear. 

He sends it to you without a message and without a second thought, staring down at the screen intently as he sees those familiar three dots immediately pop up. 

Fuck, you really are hard. Just for me? 

Atsuya scoffs out loud, though the sound is weaker than usual. 

who else???u think I’d send pics like this to anyone else? in a public bathroom??u drive me goddamn crazy

So cute.Take it out. I want to see it properly. 

Atsuya freezes for a moment. Although getting your dick out in a public bathroom wasn’t exactly new, this was… different. For him, anyway. Sexting, sending nudes, let alone in a public place… he wasn’t exactly well-versed in this type of thing. It had always seemed a little young for him. None of his previous partners had done anything like this. 

But he had no idea whether this was a regular thing with your past partners though… 

…and the thought of that alone has his one hand fiddling with this button on his slacks, trying to tug it free of the hole. He just about manages, though his zipper requires a little more finesse, but eventually, that gives too.

He heaves a small sigh of relief as the constriction on his aching cock finally lessens, and inching his trousers and boxers down just enough, he lets it spring free. He shivers slightly as the cool, stagnant air of the bathroom hits his overheated skin, the flushed head (pink, pink, pink) shining up at him. 

With a slightly shaking hand, he wraps his free hand around the base of his cock, twitching at the minute stimulation. He snaps another picture and sends it once more.

see what you do to me? god I wish u were herethe things I’d do to you right noweven in this fucking bathroom

Your reply is almost instantaneous. 

Touch yourself and tell me. 

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He wonders if that would be too far for him right now considering his environment. He wonders how the hell he’s even meant to type one-handed. He can barely do it with two. 

A second later, you’re answering his questions for him as he sees his phone light up in his hand, displaying your caller ID. A picture of you and him on one of your first dates stares back at him, the pair of you smiling together in a dimly lit booth, his arm around your waist, your head on his shoulder. You look so happy to be there. Atsuya still looks faintly surprised you turned up. 

It’s one of Atsuya’s favourite photos. His students had teased him for it when he had set it as his lock screen, so he had changed it back to default and set it as your caller ID instead. It’s how they had found out you and him were even a thing. He still remembers feeling smug at his student’s surprised faces… before the questions had started. You and her?! Is she okay in the head or…? 

Atsuya stares down at the vibrating phone in his hand, looking at your soft smile staring back at him. It’s a romantic picture. Doesn’t quite fit the vibe of what he’s about to partake in at all. 

He answers the call, holding it up to his ear. He’s immediately greeted by your breathy purr, dispelling all doubts or hesitancy like wind on sand. 

“Hey, baby,” he hears you say down the line. “You have no idea how fucking wet I am for you right now.” 

Atsuya groans, his head hitting the cool door behind him with a dull thunk. 

“Fuck, don’t say it like that,” he groans, before wedging his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Why not? It’s the truth.” 

Atsuya doesn’t doubt your words, because he can fucking hear it. Behind muted moans and breathy sighs, he can hear the sound of your fingers plunging in and out of your heat, the wet squelch so audible it’s lewd. His cock twitches at the sound, and he scrunches his eyes closed.

In his mind's eye, he can almost see himself with you, between your legs, thrusting into you like his life depended on it. Though your fingers are slower than what he’d do if he was there right now, he lines his imagination up with the audio queue you’ve given, and another guttural groan seeps past his bitten lip. 

“Come on, baby, talk to me,” he distantly hears you purr into the receiver. “Are you stroking your cock for me? Just like I would?” 

Atsuya spits a curse as his free hand curls around his shaft on instinct, giving the base a small squeeze before he drags his hand up to the flushed tip. He repeats the motion a few times, practically milking himself, trying to mimic those irritating fucking teasing motions you always worked him up with. 

Not as if he needs much working up though, not now. 

“Yeah,” he exhales shakily. “Fuck, ‘s pretty fucking s-sensitive right now.” 

He hears a breathy chuckle in response to his words. “Aw, too worked up?” 

“Pent-up, more like,” he replies, fighting back another groan as he feels himself leak. He quickly collects it with his fingers, smearing it down his shaft and lubricating the way. 

“Been saving yourself for me, ‘suya?” 

Atsuya huffs a breath that’s almost like a chuckle. “N-Nah, not really, ngh—“ His hips buck up into his palm as he grazes over the sensitive tip. “Just ‘s not the same without you.” 

You coo down the line in response but the sound abruptly cuts off, replaced by a breathy moan instead. Fuck, those were amongst his favourite sounds of yours—almost as much as when you’d moan his— 

“Fuck, Atsuya,” you moan, and his cock practically jumps in his fist. He hears the sound of your fingers working faster, and his eyes roll back underneath his closed lids. 

He widens his stance and leans back further against the door, his hips jutting outward as he quickens his pace to match yours. He can feel his loosened slacks dropping lower on his thighs with every buck of his hips, his untucked shirt ghosting across his lower abdomen. His mind is trying to scream at him that this isn’t the place to be letting go like this, but it’s been so long without you, without hearing you, without touching you that he feels like God himself could break down the bathroom door and he wouldn’t care. Not while you were moaning his name like that. 

“God I miss you so fucking much,” Atsuya groans, his voice thick and choked. He works his fist a little faster over his cock, focusing on the tip mostly—just like you would when you really wanted him to make some noise. “Are you close? God, tell me you’re fucking close.” 

The urge to say ‘please’ is on the tip of his tongue but he just about resists for now—but his pride was quickly melting down into pure, unadulterated desperation as he felt his balls draw tighter and his stomach clench harder. He thinks this might be the quickest he’s ever cum. 

“Mm, I’m so close,” you reply in a semi-strained whisper. “I’ve been close for days.” 

Atsuya’s hand stutters on his cock, his eyes slowly blinking open. “…days?” 

There’s a pause before you answer, and he can already picture the way your brow arches pointedly. “You should know me better by now, ‘suya,” you chuckle. “I don’t mind edging myself now and then, especially when I’m away from you. It’ll just make it all the more better when I finally do see you.” 

Atsuya’s breathing is still ragged as he stares at the far wall of the toilet stall, his brows pinched in slight confusion. He realises that those wet noises on the other end have stopped too.

“You haven’t… cum since you left?” 

“Of course not,” you chuckle. “You think I want to cum around anything other than your cock?” 

Goddamn, does Atsuya’s cock throb something fierce at that. His breath hitches in his throat, his eyes widening at the wall. He immediately stops moving his hand, pinching his fingers around the base instead in the hopes of stopping the climax that just snuck up on him like a tornado in the dark. 

Your words, fucking hot as they were, put Atsuya in a little predicament though. Whilst he liked (actually loved) the idea that you were waiting just for him… did you… expect the same of him? Was this just all a little fun? Because he was hard as a rock right now, throbbing in his own palm, and all he could think about was how close he was and how this climax was probably going to knock the breath from him. Not the little ports-in-the-storms he’d been having since you had left fifteen days ago.

“Did you stop?” 

Atsuya blinks, feeling strangely awkward like some teenage boy on his first date all over again—exactly how he had felt on his first date with you, seeing you all dressed up for the first time, just for him. 

He becomes distinctly aware of how loud his breathing is, how it carries against the cold tiles around him. “Yeah… I mean, did you want…” 

“Don’t stop,” you say, saving him the agony of asking. “Just because I like edging myself doesn’t mean I expect the same of you.” He hears the rustling of sheets on the other side as you change positions. “Keep going, baby, let me hear how much you want me—and I’ll return the favour and then some when I get back.” 

Words fail him for a moment, because all he can think about is how much he wants to kiss you right now, to cover your body, head to toe, in kisses that he hopes portray his gratitude for you better than his words ever could. For once, he wants to leave his cock neglected and bury his face in your cunt until you’re screaming out, clawing at his scalp as he shows you just how much he fucking loves y-

Slowly, his hand starts moving again; slow, languid pumps from base to tip. His eyelids flutter, a half-choked moan pushing out from the bottom of the chest.

“I don’t deserve you,” he mumbles, his words thick and laced with something not even he knows. “You’re so fucking sexy, everything I want.” 

“Mm, you’re always so sweet when you get worked up,” you purr into the phone, the words so breathy that Atsuya swears he can feel the heat against his ear. “Keep going. What would you do if I were there, right in front of you? Would I be on my knees?” 

Atsuya’s eyes roll as his lids shut, his chin jutting up toward the ceiling as he picks up the pace on his cock. He can picture it so fucking clearly that the stagnant air of the bathroom fades away. The image of you on your knees, looking up at him from underneath those lashes of yours… you’d swipe your tongue over your bottom lip just to tease him, and it’d work every damn time. 

He nods his head in eager, stuttered movements, as if you could actually see him. “On your knees, on your back—ngh!—I don’t fucking care,” he groans. 

Through his haze of lust, he knows what you’re trying to do, what you always tried to get him to do. Dirty-talk. It wasn’t his forte, you usually took the lead with that (he much preferred actually fucking you rather than talking about it… that and his imagination wasn’t exactly the best), but you seemed to lap up whatever pathetic attempt he usually tried to give you. 

Swallowing thickly, he clears his throat once. “Y-you’d be naked, just for me,” he mutters, his eyes fluttering open again as he gains a little confidence. “You’d use your mouth just how I like, y-yeah?” His grip around his shaft tightens, his pace quickening a touch more. His breathing grows ragged, harsh puffs slipping past his bitten lips. “F-fuck, you always look so goddamn sexy when you look up at me with my cock in your mouth.” 

A resonant hum greets him in response. “Oh, yeah? What else do you like?”  

“The way your tits bounce as I fuck you, s-shit.” Something scarily close to a whimper coils at the back of Atsuya’s throat as he feels himself nearing that precipice again. His thighs tense up and tremble, most of his weight supported by the stall door behind him now. “W-When you, mmf, dig your nails into my b-back like you’re trying to fucking kill me—oh fuck—“ 

Atsuya’s hand is working almost fervently now, the slick sounds mingling with his harsh breaths and low voice. He’s loud, far too fucking loud for a public bathroom, but he’s so close, so worked up that it barely becomes a concern anymore. If he focuses, he can smell your perfume instead of cleaning chemicals, feel the heat of your body against his instead of the cool door against his back—feel the heat of your pussy hugging his cock so tightly it’s like you’re begging him to fill you up with every stroke— 

“I’m close,” he rushes out, his tone almost panicked as he feels the intense prickles working up the base of his spine. His skin feels like it’s burning, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention like there’s a storm coming. He knows this climax is going to be intense—intense in a way that only you can ever work from him, even if you weren’t actually here. 

“Waiting for my permission?” you giggle, and Atsuya wants to snap at you but he can’t, not right now because… well, he is. He just wants to hear you say it, that you want it. That you want him. 

“F-fuck, don’t joke right now I c-can’t hold i—“ 

“Cum for me, Atsuya.” 

And just like that, Atsuya lurches over the edge so fierce it sucks all the air from his lungs. 

A sharp gasp catches in his throat as his cock pulses in his hand, ropes of his essence shooting from the tip so suddenly it makes his back arch. A loud, guttural groan bursts from his lips, his hips stuttering, expression pinched into something almost pained as he cums harder than he can ever remember before. Thick, pearlescent ribbons land across his fingers, shirt and tie, some even hitting his collar too. Pitchy curses leave his lips in a symphony, his vision swimming. 

Distantly, over the pounding in his skull and the blood rushing in his ears, he can hear you coo praises down the line as he continues draining himself of every drop he has, stiff grunts accompanying each stroke. His hand only stops when the sensation becomes far too much to bear, and he lets his hand fall from his cock back to his side with a ragged sigh.

His body slumps against the stall door, his eyes hooded as he tries to catch his breath. He can’t even bring himself to look down at the state he’s in, not right now—not while his head was swimming with endorphins and he finally felt sated for once. 

Fuck that warm, sunny spot at his desk. That had nothing on this. 

“Fuck, I wish I was there to see that,” you finally say after a moment of silence. “Feel good?” 

“…you have no idea, babe,” he murmurs, a small, lazy smile tugging at the side of his lips. “God I needed that.” 

You chuckle again. “Sounds like it, babe. I’m surprised the whole store didn’t come running to see what that groan was.” 

Atsuya can’t help but chuckle in response, though his smile is a touch embarrassed. He makes a mental note that he should probably avoid this store in future. It was going to be awkward enough leaving. 

And he still had to get something for dinner. He’d probably order takeout. 

Fuck it, it was worth it. 

Going to raise a hand to his clammy brow, he swiftly pauses, the sight of his soaked fingers making him curse. His eyes finally flick from his hand to his stained shirt after, the mess causing him to grimace, almost repulsed. “Fuck, it’s everywhere,” he grumbles, wedging his phone in the crook between his ear and shoulder as goes to grab some tissues. 

This, of course, makes you practically howl with laughter into the receiver—but Atsuya can’t bring himself to be pissy. Not when he hears you like this, not after you just talked him through an orgasm so explosive his legs are still trembling. 

Not while you were… well, you. 

As Atsuya does his best to wipe himself down and pull his trousers back up, your laughter eventually dies down. “Now I really wish I had been there to see that… just a pity it wasn’t inside me.” 

Atsuya pauses as he curses under his breath, his oversensitive cock twitching in his repsonse. “You and your goddamn mouth,” he mutters, dumping the soiled tissues in the toilet and flushing. “You’re the whole reason I’m in this toilet, you know.”

“Hey, you chose to open those photos in public, perv.”

He doesn’t argue with that. Though he would never admit it aloud, lest he give you the pleasure, he was weak for you. More than even he was aware of–and time away from you was only proving that.

“When are you coming back?” 

“Tomorrow morning,” you reply easily, making Atsuya wonder just how the hell you were so relaxed after supposedly edging yourself for days. “The cursed spirit was dead before twelve today. Got my nails done afterwards as a little treat.” 

Atsuya shakes his head with a snort as he steps out of the stall finally, making his way over to the sink as he continues to try and fix the damage he caused. He places his phone gently on the counter. “You’re strange, you know that?” 

You hum in agreement, and he can already envision the way your lips pull to the side in that little smile he loves so much. “You love it.” 

Atsuya washes his hand in the sink, glancing up to catch his reflection in the mirror. His face is still a little flushed, his clothes still dishevelled—he’ll definitely have to throw out his tie probably—but he realises he looks… 

…happy. 

“Yeah,” Atsuya mumbles, shaking his hands in the sink. “Yeah, I do.” 

masterlist.

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #atsuya kusakabe x reader #kusakabe x reader #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

[haitani-maki]

*⋆.ೃ࿔⋆.I sʜᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ

18+ MDNI

Yotsurugi Taira x Fem!Reader

TW: friends to lovers, cheating mentions(ex bf), mentions of alcohol, pussy licking, fingering, squirting, overstimulation

English is not my first language

It was already 2 am, you had already lost count of how much you had drunk. Trying to forget the horrible argument you had hours ago with your now ex-boyfriend after discovering a cheating.

Wondering what you did to deserve such shit, inside a bar where there was no one friendly. You didn't care, sitting next to the bartender and you didn't intend to leave sober.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel someone sit down next to you

The person doesn't say anything, just asks for a drink.

All the effect of the alcohol you were feeling went away, a familiar voice makes you look to the side

It had been a few years since you two had seen each other, Taira Yotsurugi was your friend who you had a crush on during your teenage years. Unfortunately, you had to stay away from him because your parents didn't accept you dating the son of a Yakuza. But now you're an adult, there's no one to stop you.

He hasn't changed much. Taira stood a little taller, his lazy cat eyes that you still remembered perfectly, his blue and black hair now a little longer, he looked a little colder than before and definitely hot.

Taira hadn't seen you there, he seemed distracted

"Taira?" - You call him

"Y/n..." - He whispered your name in surprise - "Y/n, how long has it been!"

You spent a few hours talking about the events since you last saw each other, remembering some things from the past and smiling about silly things.

He looks at you as you continue talking, Taira missed you. He never told you about his feelings, he knew how strict your parents were. Taira thought it would be better this way, he thought it would hurt less...

But damn, how he missed you. Those were dark days for him, not being able to hear your sweet voice, not being able to receive your warm hugs, your beautiful smile whenever you saw him.

You stop for a few seconds, blushing a little when you notice Taira looking at you.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Taira?"

"Just thinking" - He says simplistic

"Thinking about?"

"About everything. About that time, I shouldn't have walked away from you and I shouldn't have let you go."

"Taira, I'm so-" - He interrupts you

"I know what your parents were like, y/n. I also know there wasn't much we could do." - Taira held your hand - "But I really missed you, I won't let you leave again."

And now here you are at your boyfriend's house, or better said, with your boyfriend between your legs

Lewd sounds coming from your mouth and your wet pussy as Taira's two fingers scissor you.

Your thighs trembling as Taira sucks hard on your clit, you came on his tongue.

Taira removes his tongue from your pussy, licking her lips, slowing down the movement of his fingers

"Shit, such a good pussy. I need one more, princess."

Before you could say anything, Taira's tongue flicked through your pussy again, making you scream from the overstimulation.

His fingers returning to a frantic rhythm, touching that spot that makes you see stars

Your thighs shaking around him again, your back arching and your mouth opening in a perfect "O"

You feel that knot in your stomach tightening, suddenly breaking apart into a gushing squirt into Taira's mouth

"Shit princess. I wonder how many times I can make you squirt in my mouth."

It was a long night with Taira saying "Just one more." leaving you an exhausted mess.

©Reblogs are welcome, do not copy or translate

#☾ ⋆⁺₊Makiᡣ𐭩 #taira yotsurugi #yotsurugi taira #taira yotsurugi x reader #taira yotsurugi x you #taira yotsurugi x y/n #taira yotsurugi smut #yotsurugi taira x reader #negai no astro #astro royale #negai no astro taira #taira x you #negai no astro x reader #negai no astro smut #nna #nna taira #nna x reader #nna smut #astro royale taira #astro royale smut #astro royale x reader

[magicshopaholic]

Past Lives (Hoseok x OC)

Summary: Faced with an ambiguous relationship from your past, you start to doubt your blossoming relationship with Hoseok.

Pairing: Hoseok x OC

Genre: I wish I could tell you what genre this is but let's go with contemplative flangst (fluff + angst)

Word count: 4.6 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: mentions of parental death

A/N: A lot of OC focus in this one. Takes place about a month after Caterpillar, the same weekend as A Day in the Life.

Tagging: @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @meirkive  @faearchives @margopinkerton  @dreaming-with-happiness  @confessionsofamarshlily  @purpleseoul7 @sumzysworld @xjoonchildx @infinitehobi @handfullofcandids

Listen to: "it's hard to get around the wind" by alex turner

hoseok masterlist | main masterlist

Chaeyoung spots the restaurant across the street and checks the map on her phone to make sure it’s the right one. A notification pops up on the top of her screen at the same time.

Hoseok [12:40] This interview is taking a bit longer than expected. I’ll keep you posted. 

Her heart leaps lightly, unexpectedly. It’s not that she’s looking forward to hanging out with him exactly, but amidst the chaos of his tour, it’s the friendly thing to do to catch up with him during the few days he is in town.

Right below Hoseok’s message, though, is the one she’d gotten earlier today - unexpected, but unavoidable.

Hi, Chaeyoung! How are you, darling? I’m in Seoul for the weekend and I was hoping we could grab lunch if you’re free? I would love to see you. Let me know!

Hesitating for a fraction of a second outside the restaurant, she wonders if she can still fake an excuse and make a break for it. But then she sighs, knowing she won’t do that. Once, she might have - and she wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But the years have passed and Chaeyoung has grown, and while the past may not have escaped her mind entirely, her reaction to it certainly has.

Stepping in, she’s about to ask the hostess about a possible reservation but then spots a table for two at the far end next to a large window, already half-occupied. Taking a deep breath, she walks over, waving when her companion looks up and spots her.

“Chaeyoung!” Soyeon’s face lights up, the faint smile lines creasing around her eyes. She stands up and moves towards Chaeyoung as if about to give her a hug but hesitates at the last moment. Chaeyoung pauses as well, before leaning forward a bit and meeting her stepmother in a slightly awkward hug.

“This is a really nice restaurant,” remarks Soyeon as they sit down. “Especially these little menus on every table,” she adds, touching the framed cocktail menu with white waves around the edges, a little trinket hanging on the side with a string. “Good choice.”

“A friend told me about it,” says Chaeyoung, glancing out of the corner of her eye at her stepmother. In her late forties, she looks fresh out of a lifestyle magazine, her long summer dress modern but with a subtle bohemian print along the edges. Years ago, that kind of clothing used to make Chaeyoung fume, for it wasn’t what the rest of the mothers wore and Soyeon stood out like a sore thumb. Today, she can’t help but appreciate the originality, wondering if trends really had changed so much over the years. 

“Oh, before I forget -” Seoyeon rummages through her white tote bag and retrieves a clear box with gold tape around it. “Tim Tams. They restocked it at the Foodhall in the mall after ages.”

It takes all of Chaeyoung’s willpower to not lunge for the box. Hands trembling slightly, she takes it at a normal pace, exhaling at the sight of her favourite dessert in the whole wide world. “I - oh, my God. I haven’t had these in so long. I’d given up on ever having these again.” She bites her lip. “Thank you.”

Soyeon beams. “I haven’t seen them in a long time either but I had to go to the mall yesterday to buy a couple of things for the trip, so I thought I’d stop and check.” She shrugs, clearly relieved at Chaeyoung’s reaction. “Guess I got lucky.”

“I mean, I’m dieting right now but Tim Tams I can make an exception for.”

“Why -” Soyeon frowns but stops abruptly. “Well, as long as you enjoy them.” She smiles as Chaeyoung sets the box to the side. There’s a few seconds of silence; now that the initial bit of this lunch has gone without any major hiccups, the pressure to keep the delicate cordiality going is surfacing. A waiter appears and a couple of minutes are occupied while they order drinks (margarita for Soyeon, mojito for Chaeyoung), and then the silence returns.

Soyeon speaks first. “So… how’s work going?” She leans forward with her hands clasped under her chin. “Are you enjoying it?”

“Um, I guess.” Chaeyoung shrugs. “It was a bit daunting at first but I think I’m getting the hang of it.” Not sure how to elaborate further, she lets her eyes wander to the rest of the room. She was right: it is a nice restaurant, breezy and floral, with tons of natural light.

“Your brother mentioned you might have to start travelling a bit,” she says, as their drinks arrive. At that moment, Chaeyoung’s phone lights up on the table.

Hoseok [12:55] The blooper reel for this interview is going to be so embarrassing. Who serves drinks and then tells jokes?

“Cheers?”

“Oh -” Chaeyoung, who had been about to absently take a sip, sheepishly clinks her glass with Soeyon’s. “I don’t know. No one’s said anything yet. I did have to go to Busan last year to cover the arts festival but -” She shrugs. “Nothing since then.”

“You covered the arts festival? That’s amazing!”

“Well, not really covered,” she clarifies, not really wanting to get into something she’d been bemoaning for a while last year. But then she catches sight of Soyeon’s full attention on her and something loosens in her stomach. “I’m still just doing research. It’s not bad, but… you know what, it’s fine. Not everyone in Conde Nast who wants to become a columnist actually becomes one,” she mutters, taking another sip of her drink.

Soyeon nods sympathetically. “I understand. Everyone starts at the bottom but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t get frustrating now and then. But don’t give up,” she adds after a moment. “You have the talent.”

Chaeyoung frowns. “For research?”

“For writing.” She gives her a look. “You used to always do so well in your Korean language class - oh, and you won that essay competition, too.”

Her memories stir. “That was… eighth grade,” she murmurs, touching the edge of her fork. “I think the quality of writing at Conde Nast is probably higher than that.” She glances up to see Soyeon nod and look away. “But… you’re right. I didn’t even remember that competition,” she admits.

Soyeon raises her eyebrows. “It was a beautiful essay. The one about the mother searching for her children after the tsunami? Drove me and your father to tears when we read it.”

“Really?” Chaeyoung frowns, a faint smile appearing on her face. “My dad?”

“Oh, yes. He pretended he didn’t but I saw him tear up.” She grins. “Everyone was very proud of you that day.”

Chaeyoung says nothing. It’s coming back to her now, the fact that her father couldn’t make it to the middle school award ceremony because he worked long hours back then. Soyeon had offered to come but Chaeyoung had immediately rebuffed that by claiming only babies brought their parents along to things like this. The only person who had been cheering for her in the audience was Chanyeol - and his best friend who had been begrudgingly dragged along.

As the waiter stops by again to take their food order, Chaeyoung sneaks a glance at her phone, hoping to see another message from Hoseok. But there isn’t one; pursing her lips, she locks the screen and places it next to her plate.

“So what else is going on with you?”

“Oh, um -“ Chaeyoung tears her eyes away from her phone. “Nothing, really. How’s my dad?” she asks after a moment.

“He’s okay. Getting a little restless after retirement, but he’s adjusting.” Soyeon gives her a small smile. “He really misses you two.”

Chaeyoung tries not to scoff. “Chanyeol, maybe.”

But Soyeon shakes her head. “You, too. He tells everyone that his daughter works for a big magazine in Seoul.”

“But his son works for a tech company in Busan. The saddest day of his life was the day my brother moved out,” she points out. She looks up to see Soyeon’s expression shift to resemble something like sympathy, and immediately changes the subject. “Do you talk to him often?”

“Chanyeol? Sometimes. I travel to Busan every few months so we catch up if he has the time.”

Chaeyoung frowns slightly, unsure of what kind of answer she was expecting. It was no secret that as kids, he got along with their stepmother much better than she did, making an effort to be polite to a grown-up. 

The food arrives then and Chaeyoung clings to a couple of minutes of silence as they dig into their plates of pasta. She wonders briefly why her brother hasn’t brought up Soyeon in their conversations if they indeed talk that often. 

“He told me about his new girlfriend,” says Soyeon, sprinkling some oregano on her plate. “She sounds great.”

“Hayoung? Yeah, they were in the same class in school. She, Chan, Hoseok - all of them. She’s nice.”

“What about you?” She raises her eyebrows with a smile. “Any special boys in your life?”

Ignoring the weak jolt of her heart, Chaeyoung shakes her head. “From high school? Not a single one. I don’t think boys started liking me like that until college.”

“Well, Chanyeol was quite protective of you,” says Soyeon in a matter-of-fact way. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the boys in school thought twice about messing with you.”

It’s not that it’s a surprise, really, but she feels a sudden rush of affection for her brother. She remembers the ice creams and the free use of all his toys and his generosity with pocket money, but maybe it extended further than that. Maybe, just maybe, her childhood idea of she and her brother being a team against the world wasn’t entirely in her head.

“He can get annoying sometimes, too,” she says nonchalantly, recolving to call him later tonight, just to chat. “He pesters me endlessly to download this app that’s supposed to track my spending and savings for me.”

Soyeon doesn’t say anything but the look in her eyes makes it clear she isn’t fooled by the blasé tone. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I’m just going to run to the ladies’ room.” She scoops up her phone and slides out of the chair, walking away as her dress flows behind her.

Chaeyoung picks up her phone. There isn’t a message from Hoseok yet, but she sends him one anyway.

Chaeyoung [13:30] Having one of the stranger afternoons of my life. I’ll tell you about it later. If you’re ever done with your interview, that is.

She sends both messages, hoping a second later that she isn’t coming across as desperate. She begins to panic but then a reply appears.

Hoseok [13:32] Can’t wait to hear all about it.

Her heart leaps as Soyeon returns, a faint citrus scent following her. “Sorry about that. What is it?” she asks.

“What is what?”

“You were smiling just now.” 

“Oh.” This isn’t a topic she wants to get into with anyone, least of all her stepmother. There’s the latent fear that whoever she talks to will automatically think she’s regressed into her obsessive teenage self, while the much more real fear is that it might just be true.

It’s not just you. He kissed you, too. He’s texting you, too. He wants to hang out with you, too.

The mantra repeats itself in her head, objective truths that make all the difference between their old dynamic and their new one.

“It’s nothing.”

Soyeon pauses but evidently lets it go. “Okay. Actually, there is something I wanted to talk to you about. It’s not really the kind of thing I wanted to say over the phone.” She licks her lips, looking slightly nervous.

“Okay,” says Chaeyoung slowly, setting down her phone and sitting back in her chair.

“Um… so, your father and I… well, we’re doing our estate planning. You know, working on our wills.”

“Why?” Chaeyoung asks sharply, hearing the sudden anxiety in her own voice. “What’s - what’s wrong with -”

“No, nothing!” Soyeon shakes her head immediately, holding up her hands. “Your father is fine. It’s just run of the mill stuff, you know. Just so we have all our affairs in order. Nothing is wrong,” she clarifies, waiting for Chaeyoung to nod before continuing. “So… he is, of course, dividing his assets between you and your brother, but since I don’t have children of my own…” She clears her throat, eyes flickering downward.

Chaeyoung says nothing. This conversation is taking an unexpected route and this is the last topic she wants to deal with today.

“Well… there are some things I own that I would’ve probably left to my daughter, if I had one. Jewellery and the like, things I got for my wedding - and I’m not saying you’re my daughter or that I’m your -” She clarifies quickly, and Chaeyoung nods again, wordlessly. “But… I would like to leave that to you, if you’re alright with it.”

Her phone lights up again, another message from Hoseok.

Hoseok [13:45] Fucking hell. There’s a road blocked on the way to the airport so I’ll have to leave earlier than planned. Filming might get pushed up but I’ll still try to make it. Letting you know just in case.

The disappointment in her stomach feels faint, like she’s imagining it - or hoping for it. Chaeyoung forces herself to respond in a steady voice.

“Um, I think you can leave your things to whoever you want. I don’t think you need to ask.”

Soyeon nods, and her eyes fall slightly. “I know,” she says softly. “But I want to ask. We aren’t very close and… I don’t want to presume anything.”

Chaeyoung bites her lip. Her chest feels uncomfortable, and she tries to work out which road on the way to the airport might be blocked. Why it would, today of all days, how much earlier Hoseok would have to leave to catch his flight, and what the odds might be of him actually meeting her at Sephora later today. 

“Chaeyoung?”

“I -” Chaeyoung clears her throat. “Of course, you can. Thank you.”

Soyeon raises her eyebrows for a moment, as though surprised at this quick response. “Oh. Okay. Wonderful. That’s - that’s really… thank you.” She smiles and reaches for her drink, taking a quick sip. “I should ask for some more ice. What about you? More ice?”

“Sure. And… I know we aren’t very close.” Chaeyoung looks down at her plate before forcing herself to meet her stepmother’s eyes. Her stepmother, who made sure that not a single birthday went by without wishes and a gift. “But that’s on me,” she mutters.  “You did your best.”

The waiter stops by and it seems to take Soyeon a moment to remember why she had called him. As she requests him for more ice and to clear their plates, Chaeyoung glances at her phone out of the corner of her eye and feels the knot in her chest loosen. Maybe the road will get unblocked by the evening. Maybe filming will end early, or maybe there won’t be traffic between Big Hit and Sephora.

“You know, you can leave jewellery to Chanyeol, too,” she half-jokes when they get their dessert menus. “He’s not bad at accessorising.”

Soyeon chuckles. “You might be right. I am planning to give him something, though.” She hesitates. “In a year or two, if everything looks like it’s going well… I was thinking of giving him my engagement ring. I’m hoping he’ll propose to Hayoung with it, if he wants.”

Chaeyoung raises her eyebrows. “Wow. That’s… wow, an engagement ring. Oppa’s growing old,” she remarks in wonder, making Soyeon laugh. “He and Hayoung make a good couple, though. I could see her as my sister-in-law.”

“Yes, but I want to ask him when the time is right.” She leans forward slightly. “Can it stay between you and me till then?”

Chaeyoung nods, somewhat endeared by the prospect. They order a tiramisu to share and return the menus, when another message pops up on her phone.

Hoseok [13:55] Interview just got done. Do you think you can meet me at Sephora in about an hour?

Chaeyoung grabs her phone and immediately types out a reply. “Sorry,” she mutters to Soyeon, hastily sending a Yeah, I��ll be there to him.

“No problem. Everything okay?”

“What?” She sets her phone down. “Yes, everything is… okay. It’s good.” But she can feel the smile starting to spread across her face, suddenly glad she had the foresight to bring the gift card with her to lunch.

“Yeah? Someone interesting been texting you all afternoon?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” she answers automatically. “I mean, not interesting, just… it’s Hoseok,” she admits lamely.

“Our Hoseok?” Soyeon looks both surprised yet somewhat knowing. “Chanyeol mentioned you two were friendly now, but are you…”

“Friends?” Chaeyoung guesses. “Yeah, I guess. We both live here and I guess we started hanging out last year…” She shrugs, trying to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. “It’s not a big deal. But, yeah… we’re friends.”

“That’s nice,” she says. But there’s that knowing look in her eye again, and Chaeyoung isn’t sure if it’s a guess or if she’s being that obvious. “You two kind of… clashed growing up.”

Chaeyoung rolls her eyes, grudgingly appreciating Soyeon’s attempt at being diplomatic. “That would be an understatement. But, yeah, I guess once I stopped being a creepy stalker and he got his head out of his ass… we actually get along pretty well.”

Soyeon waves her hand as the tiramisu arrives and they each grab a small silver spoon. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she says as they attack the dessert together. “You were a kid - and everybody that age wants validation from someone they look up to. You had a crush,” she tells her. “We’ve all been there.”

Chaeyoung knows it’s meant to be comforting, but it struggles to get through. What if I’m still there?

“Can I tell you a secret?” she blurts out. It suddenly occurs to her that there are two people at this table who lost their mothers when they were children. “You can’t tell anyone - especially not my brother.”

“Of course,” says Soyeon instantly. “Is everything okay?”

At this pivotal moment, Chaeyoung’s voice seems to give up on her. It’s happened before, the couple of times she’d been about to confide in Sooah before chickening out, for there was no guarantee anymore that she wouldn’t tell Jimin. Sunmi would be no help in general, her work friends weren’t close enough and had zero context, and Chanyeol was simply out of the question.

She clears her throat. “Hoseok and I… kissed,” she confesses before she can lose her nerve. She sees Soyeon’s face start to relax and hurriedly continues. “It was the night of my birthday. He came over, brought me a Sephora gift card and cupcakes… and we hung out. He offered to go skincare shopping with me and told me about his tour. And then right before he left… he kissed me. Or we - we kissed,” she finishes awkwardly, wishing she was less incoherent about this.

“Oh. So, are you two dating?”

“No,” she answers immediately, realising now that she was also possibly dreading an over-the-top reaction by Sooah, one that would make her want to crawl under her bed covers and never reappear. “No, we’re still friends. We haven’t really talked about it. He’s been abroad ever since. It’s… kind of confusing, that’s all.” When Soyeon doesn’t respond, Chaeyoung worries she may have overshared. “What?”

“Nothing…” Soyeon bites her lip. “I’m trying to decide between the advice I should give and the advice I actually want to.”

“The second one.”

“Okay, then.” She sets her spoon down, their half-eaten tiramisu abandoned between them. “I watched Hoseok grow up and while I love him like family… I would tell you to protect yourself.”

Chaeyoung pauses, not expecting this. “What’s the advice you should be giving?”

“You know…” Soyeon shrugs. “Follow your heart, tell him how you feel, don’t be ashamed of your feelings.” She purses her lips. “I’m not saying you should be ashamed of your feelings or that you shouldn’t follow your heart, but… maybe you want to see where this goes before confessing anything? He’s doing so well for himself and we’re all very proud, but I can’t imagine that that life would be a walk in the park to put up with. Just… don’t be in a hurry, especially if you’re not sure how he feels.” She pauses. “Or how you feel.”

There are too many grudging truths in this piece of advice. For the first time all day, she doesn’t immediately glance at her phone when it lights up with a message.

“Did I spoil your mood?” Soyeon asks as they’re heading out. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t my intention. I was just trying to -”

“No, I know.” Chaeyoung interrupts her. It’s raining now; the sunniness of the day has disappeared as though it never existed and they stand under the roof right outside the door of the restaurant. “You didn’t spoil anything. Maybe… maybe we’re just meant to be friends and nothing more.”

“Maybe. I’m not pretending like I know everything about your relationship with him. I know that he’s a good kid with a good heart, and so are you. And teenage reactions don’t mean much when you’re grown up.” Soyeon tilts her head and places a hand on Chaeyoung’s shoulder. “I’m not at all surprised that you two get along. And he would be incredibly lucky to be with you. But maybe I’m biased.”

They exchange a small smile. It feels a bit more real now: the kiss, the feelings, the fact that Jung Hoseok isn’t just a teenage fantasy anymore. 

“Thanks. That’s good advice. I could’ve used more of it over the years,” she adds. 

Soyeon averts her gaze for a moment before looking up again and smiling. “We have time,” she says. “I’m just a phone call away.”

Chaeyoung nods. One of the stranger afternoons of my life. “And thank you for the Tim Tams.”

Soyeon laughs. “Don’t worry. I bought a second box just for myself.” Chaeyoung grins as Soyeon’s phone pings and a cab pulls up in front of the restaurant. “How are you getting home?”

“Oh, I’m going to Sephora - er, the mall. I’ll take the bus,” she says, pointing at the bus stop across the street. “It’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Soyeon raises her eyebrows. “Alright. Text me when you reach. And… say hi to Hoseok for me.” Her eyes twinkle and without thinking, Chaeyoung steps forward and hugs her stepmother. Soyeon seems to freeze for a fraction of a second before hugging her back. “Take care of yourself, sweetheart,” she murmurs, stroking her hair. “And have fun at Sephora.” Stepping away and tucking a strand of hair behind Chaeyoung’s ear, Soyeon hurries out into the rain and into the waiting cab. 

Chaeyoung waves to her as she leaves, too many mixed feelings churning through her. But it’s lighter somehow and as she crosses the street in the rain, cringing slightly as her hair gets wet, she suddenly feels older and more capable.

There’s too much to unpack from this afternoon so she decides to keep it aside until she gets home. As she nears the mall, the city caught in an unseasonal shower, the only part of her lunch with Soyeon that seems impossible  compartmentalise is the bit about Hoseok.

He would be incredibly lucky to be with you. Part of her knows she’s jumping the gun; apart from the one kiss they shared and the innocent flirting at best, there has been nothing to indicate that they’re anything more than just good friends. 

But there’s the other part, the part where he’s been texting her whenever he can, joking around with her, moving his schedule around just to shop with her. She isn’t imagining it, but the more she has to convince herself of it, the less special is feels.

It’s still raining when she reaches the mall. Splashing through the small puddles in the pavilion, she hurries into the mall, the AC making her shiver.

“Shit,” she mutters, tugging her thin cotton shrug around her. She catches her reflection in a mirror by the door of a clothing store and groans inwardly; her long hair, painstakingly shampooed, conditioned and straightened this morning, is damp and wavy down her shoulders, strands sticking to her forehead. Her eyeliner seems to have smudged as well, making her look like a drowning raccoon.

Hoseok [14:30] Just reached. Where are you?

Chaeyoung sighs and glances back up at her reflection. Taking a selfie of herself scowling, she superimposes it on a dramatic graphic of a stormy sky and sends it to him.

Chaeyoung [14:32] [photo] Got caught in the rain. I look like a crack addict.

Hoseok [14:33] OMG You still look cute, haha. Very punk. Like, bubblegum punk.

Chaeyoung feels a smile spread across her face at the response. Looking back up at her reflection, she shakes out her damp hair so it falls tousled down her shoulder. A lot more confident than she was a few moments ago, she makes her way to the escalator.

Sephora is on the second floor of the mall, with all the other cosmetics and skincare stores. It’s the biggest one, though, looking shiny and expensive.

As she approaches the store, she spots Hoseok inside. He’s wearing a hoodie, a baseball cap and a mask, but Chaeyoung recognises him instantly. He’s standing a bit to the inside of the store, in a corner by the eye creams, rubbing his eyes and looking down at his phone.

At the exact same time that Chaeyoung’s heart flutters at the sight of him, a different part of her conversation with Soyeon resurfaces out of nowhere. She takes a step back so she’s behind a pillar; she’s sure he can’t spot her now. Opening the camera of her phone, she holds it up to her face to look at her reflection again.

It can’t be. A simple text from Hoseok can’t change her opinion in an instant, not this much. Is it true, though? Is she, after all these years, still looking for validation from him?

It’s a more humiliating thought than any memory of her childhood crush. Liking Hoseok all over again is something she can handle; wanting his validation, his approval - it’s a path she can’t go down again.

Chaeyoung lowers her phone to sneak a look at Hoseok again. He’s taken off his mask now. A few people seem to have recognised him, but his attention is on his phone, face pensive.

She realises she hasn’t replied to his last message. Her thumbs hover over the screen; it’s not her finest moment, but she knows she can’t do this until she’s had some time to reflect, alone.

Chaeyoung [14:38] I might need to take a raincheck, literally. It’s pouring and I can’t get a single cab. I’m sorry.

With a heavy heart and hoping she doesn’t regret this, she sends the text. Peering from behind the pillar, she watches as Hoseok gets the message. He stares at his phone for a few seconds, his shoulders falling, before visibly sighing and taking off his cap. He runs a hand through his dark hair and puts the cap back on.

Hoseok [14:39] Oh. That’s cool. Let me know when you get back home safe, okay?

Chaeyoung almost gives it up right then but when she sees Hoseok exiting the store, she immediately flattens herself behind the pillar. Taking great care to not be seen, she watches Hoseok go down the escalator and disappear into the crowd.

—

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

#hoseok x oc #hoseok fanfic #thebtswritersclub #bangtanwhq #micdropnet #k-vanity #houseofddaeng #wkcnet #hyunglinenetwork #bts jhope fanfic

[writingonleaves]

were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? (did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?) - jeremy swayman

pairing: jeremy swayman x original female character

warnings: swearing, pretty angsty. hopeful ish ending because i can't do sad endings, very personal but i think many can relate in their own way, cliche ish, barely proofread

inspired by + title: "the smallest man who ever lived" by taylor swift

word count: 5.6k

author's note: i'd argue almost every piece any author writes is personal, because it has their life interspersed through the words. but this one really is, because a majority of this is the exact same words i wrote years ago after a break-up. heard the bridge to this song and immediately knew i had to write something inspired by it. also trying a new format of sorts (maybe a bit meta??), so i hope you enjoy and lmk what you think!!

~*~*~

When Noelle Betsko walked away from Jeremy Swayman, holding back tears until the call dropped, she knew it was going to be a tough time for the foreseeable future. 

It didn’t matter that the pandemic had forced them apart. She knew she would still feel him for months to come.

She did the only thing she knows how to do when trying to deal with things. The one thing she always resorts to as an aspiring novelist. Sometimes on her laptop when the words were spilling out too quickly for her brain to catch up, tears littering the keyboard. Usually in her old beat-up journal, scribbling in the cursive that Jeremy claimed he always loved (“It makes your handwriting unique”) with the pens he had gifted her just a few months prior. 

At the age of 21, Noelle got her heart broken for the first time. At the age of 26, she’s about to publish her first poetry collection of sorts, all of the poems modeled after journal entries written throughout her life. So not really poetry, though her mother would say otherwise. 

She swallows as she thumbs through the middle part of the first known and binded copy of “miscellaneous.” There are only eight entries in the whole collection that are taken verbatim from her past writing. These are the eight.

May 13, 2020 (three days post-breakup, crying in my childhood bedroom)

I don’t even recognize who I was and who you were in those writings before these pages filled with love and hope and happiness. I can’t even summon up those feelings anymore that I knew existed at one point. Those feelings of complete bliss and love for someone so deep you can’t explain it. 

I’m mad at myself for not being able to conjure those feelings, because at one point, I did love you. How could something that was part of my daily life for over two years just disappear so quickly? 

But now, I’m not mad at myself. I’m mad, but I don’t know where to direct that anger to. I feel a bit empty sometimes, but then frustrated the next. Sometimes I get sad, but not so much compared to the other feelings. I spent enough time being sad during our relationship.

When we broke up, on an annoyingly beautiful Tuesday in May — over the damn phone, mind you, which whatever, it’s COVID. Fine — You told me you felt like you had been putting more effort into us. 

At the time, I didn’t react, but I’ve been thinking about how angry that statement made me. Makes me, actually. I was always very open with how much I gave to that relationship. How much it meant to me. How much it affected me. But I understand that with some people, sharing everything too much equates to things not meaning anything anymore. But you out of all people should’ve known that I mean everything I say.

I felt like I gave so much. I know I gave so much. When I told you I loved you, I always meant it. Every single time. When I told you I missed you, I always meant it. I wished you were right next to me at that moment. I mentally gave so much, because to me, I wanted to. You were always on my mind, always high up on my list of priorities. I never took us for granted.

I’ve been questioning if that was the same for you. Did you start becoming complacent?

The second thing you said that day that hasn’t left my head is that you knew me pretty well. And initially, I remember not thinking much of it. So I don’t doubt that; you always knew right when I was about to cry, even over the phone. You often knew when I was mad or upset, but when I look back now, you never pushed. Which is a good thing, to an extent. But it was a bad thing sometimes too. I knew you often wanted to give me space, but sometimes I didn’t want space. I wanted you to push. To try to understand. Maybe that’s unfair of me; it probably is. I should just say I want to talk about it more, right? 

But if you genuinely knew me, you would’ve known.

After two years, seven months and 12 days,  I still feel like I didn’t know you. Did I ever know you at all?

When people talked shit about you, I always defended you. And I still would defend you now. But lately, I've questioned what I’m even defending. All those good qualities that I thought you had, were they even real? Of course, I know some of them were, to a certain extent. But as I look back on us, there’s a lot of doubt about whether I even knew the person I called my boyfriend for so long. I know there was a point where you cared about me, but I can’t remember when. 

I often felt like I was letting you know so much about my life, but you didn’t do the same. I get that sometimes a person just wants to forget about the bad and focus on the good with a person you like for awhile. I get that. But once that was happening every damn time? That should’ve been a red flag. 

June 7, 2020 (twenty eight days post break-up, outside my childhood room on the deck) 

I don’t understand how you can give so much to something or someone and have it not be recognized or appreciated or enough. If I wasn’t enough for you, how will I be enough for anyone?

I hope one day you’ll truly understand how much this hurt. Not just the breakup, but feeling like I was always being pulled in a direction I didn’t always want to be pulled in. Feeling I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and never ever being able to win. I hate that I settled so much in the last year. Because I should’ve demanded more, even though deep down I knew you were never going to be able to give it to me.

I think back to our past daily texts, and I just don’t get it. At one point, we both meant the things we said to each other. 

Yet we still hurt each other. 

This fucking hurts.

You’ve hurt me so much, but most of it wasn’t intentional, which I think is somewhat even worse. Because I’m not totally mad at you for causing the pain. You never did anything outright to cause me pain, but I still feel like you did. 

Unintentional pain almost stings more than intentional. 

When I asked you out that night after we were both on an emotional high, I took a chance. For once in my life, I took the leap, knowing that I could get humiliated or hurt or just straight up shot down. 

Where did it all go wrong? Or, more realistically, how did we think that we could go through the wrong when it was there at the start?

I’m trying not to blame myself too much. Trying not to tell myself that I should’ve known better. 

All those times, especially at the start, when I would ask you if you genuinely liked me, you always thought I was just trying to be annoying. But you never understood that I genuinely thought that way. My self confidence from the start was lacking, and you didn’t try to understand that, because I come across to everyone as confident and self-assured. 

It hurt, when you would brush things off like that. I felt like you didn’t care.

And then, it got to the point where I stopped asking that question. Part of that is because I did become more confident and you did show that you cared, and part of that was because I knew it would piss you off.

The amount of things I was scared to talk about with you because I knew it would piss you off? I don’t wish that feeling on anybody.

I shouldn’t have been scared. I shouldn’t have been uncomfortable. But I was. And if you did notice like sometimes you claimed to, why didn’t you make it more comfortable for me? Was that too much to ask for? 

So larger than life that at the end, you faded into just the smallest man who ever lived. Fuck you.

Was it too much to ask for when I just wanted to know why you were upset? You didn’t have to ever tell me the full story (lord knows there were times I didn’t), but was it too much to ask for something? You told me once that I’m the person you’ve told the most to. How? You barely told me anything. And when I wanted to talk to you, whether it was about growing up in Alaska or why you were in a bad mood last night, you always brushed it off. Always. 

So I don’t feel so bad about feeling like I gave more effort. I gave so much of myself to you. If you really cared about me like you claimed you did, why couldn’t you show even just 1% of that care back? Or just meet me in the middle?

I could’ve tried harder to meet you in the middle, I’ll admit that. But you didn’t even give me a map or a clue how to. 

I felt so fucking left in the dark. I felt left in the dark about my own fucking relationship, something that I should be completely sure about. If you really love someone and care about them, how can you leave them in the dark? How could you not even see that I was struggling to find a flashlight?

You did care about me. I know that. To some extent and at some point in time, you did care about me. But caring about someone and their well-being isn’t always enough.

Why couldn’t you have worked with me? When I was extending my hand out, why didn’t you reach for it? How can someone just be so blind? I mean, I’m practically always spelling it out for you. 

Maybe I am being selfish. But fuck, I just wanted to be happy. At some point, you made me happy. When did I start making you feel like I wasn’t enough? Why wasn’t I enough for you?

It’s useless, in a way, to keep going about this. Because I know I deserve better. And we’ll both find people who are better for us. We just couldn’t be that person to each other.

I fucking loved you.

I wish it ended differently.

July 8, 2020 (fifty nine days post-breakup, in front of the lake)

I really really fucking miss you. 

I do. 

I miss being able to text you that i love you and not necessarily expecting a response until the next morning. I miss knowing that as soon as you wake up, you’ll text me back and assure me that yeah, you love me too. 

I’m left feeling bittersweet as I look back on memories that are just splashes and not definite strokes on the canvas that used to be us.

I miss having you as a friend. 

I’ve been having more urges lately to want to text you. And it isn’t even anything important. Just moments I experience throughout the day.

Do you get the urge to do the same?

July 19, 2020 (seventy days post-breakup, still in the same damn house)

It’s hard. It really is. And it kinda just hits you at random parts of the day. Sometimes I wake up from a dream that you were in and have to remind myself that it didn’t happen. 

Sometimes it physically aches when I realize that you won’t ever help me put on my jacket again, or complain that my hair is in your face when we’re lying on the couch watching Brooklyn Nine Nine, or groan when I drag you up to dance with me (which you never improved on, no matter how many times I tried to teach you basic rhythm). I can’t view our song the same way anymore, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. 

The other day, I read some simple thing on Twitter. I don’t even remember what it was, but I do remember that for a split second, I could see your smile in my mind. But it wasn’t just any smile. It was the smile you gave me when you took me ice skating that first time. I remember asking you what you were smiling at, and you said that you just were taking in this moment. I don’t know if you took a mental picture that day, but I know I did. That day seems so long ago now. 

In almost anything I do, you somehow pop into my mind or into the conversation. And it’s not even in a harmful way either. It’s because you were part of my life for so long. I see a dog on the street, and it reminds me of how you always stopped to pet every single one we’s see I write something in my messy handwriting, and I remember how you always used to complain that you couldn’t read the notes I’d occasionally leave around your place when you went away. I went to the doctor’s the other day, and they said I was 5 feet and 3 inches, which is just definitely not true, and I almost reached for my phone to text you, because you would’ve cackled and insisted that no, I’m 5 feet 2 inches and it wouldn’t even matter because I’ll always be shorter than you. It’s simple and minute things that make me miss you that much more.

I still can’t listen to some songs the same way anymore, but I can at least listen to them now, which is a feat in itself. I was unpacking from college and found the teddy bear you sent me the first extended time we had to be apart and had to immediately put that out of my sight. From those boxes also came photos that I had decorated my dorm room with, and to be honest, I’m glad now that I let you keep our best one. I deal with all my emotions, besides writing, by making Spotify playlists, and I made a new one earlier this week. I think it’s helping. It’s a slow process, this whole moving on thing, but it’s one that I’m trying to be grateful for, because like most things in life, you just don’t truly know until you go through it.

Sometimes, I find myself wondering how you are and how you’re healing. But, even though we’ve both changed since the day we met, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re incredibly strong and stubborn. I hope that you’re finding some growth in this process too. 

October 17, 2020 (one hundred fifty seven days post-break up, apartment in orono)

It’s been almost 5 months, and you still cross my mind everyday. 

Why wasn’t I enough for you? Why didn’t you fucking tell me what you were thinking? Why was I the one who had to approach you just because I was just so done with the silent treatment?

But I’m not mad at you. Not anymore. The mad phase passed ages ago. 

Closure is a fake word. Even a breakup as mutual and smooth as ours was still left me with so many questions that will probably never be answered. 

Any breakup fucks you up to some extent. I knew it was going to mess me up even back when we were together. But not like this. Never like this. 

But like anything in life, I guess you can never really prepare for what you think you might feel, because most of the time, you discover a whole new side of you that you never thought existed. 

I don’t miss you. I don’t. I don’t feel that love in any way anymore. 

But I did once.

You did too, right?

November 15, 2020 (one hundred eighty six days post break-up, fogler library)

I hate Halloween. 

Though, it did bring me to you three years ago. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you right then and there. 

Three years later, you texted me on Halloween, five months after our breakup. The universe really, really wanted to fuck with me. 

It was a tough night for you. I knew that. Because I know how you are after losing a game you should’ve won. But that didn’t mean that I owed you anything and had to respond. 

We agreed on no contact if we ever wanted to stay friends. Clearly, friends is out of the picture now, but come on. A vulnerable text after a bad night because you know I would feel bad for you?

Fuck, you know how much I would hate that. You had to have known. 

Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean that everything about you just disappears. I still know your tendencies. I still know exactly how my head burrows into your chest during a hug. I still know the actions I used to do that would be followed by you attacking me with a hug. I still could point you out in a crowd. 

I looked for you in every crowd for years. 

That stuff doesn’t just go away, no matter how much I want it to. But fuck. Fuck. Why did you text me? 

I don’t regret how I handled it. I probably would’ve responded months ago. But just like you, I’ve grown these last couple of months. 

It was comforting, for a split second, to know that maybe, just maybe, these past couple of months have been hard for you too. It makes me feel human. It makes me feel like I’m not crazy.

I’m glad you texted me. You gave me another level of closure I hadn’t known that I needed until then. 

But fuck, dude. You know me better than that. You should know me better than that. 

I hate Halloween.

November 26, 2020 (one hundred ninety seven days, at the coffee shop i brought you to when you came home with me two years ago)

I don’t regret loving you, but I hate you for what you did to me. 

Or maybe not. 

I hate knowing that even though we haven’t been in a relationship in a bit, it feels like sometimes, you’re on my mind the exact same amount when we were dating. I hate knowing that I gave so much of myself and my love to you, and it always felt unrecognized. 

Fuck, will it ever stop hurting? Will I ever be able to have to stop myself from thinking about you? Will it ever stop?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Happy birthday. I hope you enjoy it.

June 12, 2021 (three hundred ninety five days post-break up, in boston, visiting a friend)

Tonight, when a friend asked me about you and how I felt about how we ended, I was able to articulate my thoughts clearly. I’m really proud of myself for getting to a point where I can take the lessons I learned the few months after we broke up and acknowledge them in a succinct way without breaking down into tears. Just watery eyes and the occasional voice crack 

I’m also proud that I can say that when we were dating, I lost a bit of myself. For months, it was really hard to admit out loud.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Sometimes, I wish I could call or text you about it, because I think you’d be proud too. And I know I’d be proud of you. I am, to be honest. I do break resolve once in awhile and check on you through various avenues.

I still haven’t seen you in person since the last time COVID made us say goodbye. Maybe I never will again. But day by day, I’m starting to accept that and be okay with it. I’m accepting that memories that used to be so painted in my mind are blurry or almost completely erased now. But that’s okay. Honestly, it’s probably for the best. 

I wonder, when you think about it, if you think about different moments that I do. That’s the thing when something ends. You have to be okay with letting go of those moments and realizing that just because you forget them, doesn’t mean they weren’t important. 

I don’t think I miss you. I hesitate in saying that. Because I’ve moved on and handled the aftermath of it better than I think both of us ever thought I could. When you hung up the phone for the last time, I proved to myself again that I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. I think we all are. But we don’t realize it until we’re thrown into a situation that we think we’ll never be able to overcome. 

But we do. Whether it’s because we’re forced to because there’s no other option, it doesn’t matter. Because we get through. We move on. 

I hope you're moving on. 

And then it goes into other topics, graduating during a pandemic specifically and losing what’s supposed to be your last year of no responsibilities before adulthood. There are other poems in here that reference a past relationship, but not as much as these eight. 

If there’s one thing that Noelle did change, it was taking out the details. Jeremy may have hurt her, but he doesn’t deserve someone possibly making a connection between these poems and their shared background. She’s not a famous author by any means, but she wanted to be careful.

Not that she makes that part of her life publicly known. People don’t need to know that her brother was Jeremy’s captain for two years at Maine and that’s how they met. 

Noelle grew up going to rinks. She hasn’t gone to one since they broke up. 

But also, what the fuck? It’s been five years since she’s dated the guy. She really is over it by now, even if his rise to stardom in the Bruins flittering on her social media feeds still sometimes has her swallowing a bit before she can continue with her day. 

Brooklyn is far enough from Boston. But sometimes it feels like it’s right outside her door. 

She’s proud of her first published work. She really is. People believed in her and after numerous notes swapped back and forth with her editor, she did it. She always knew she wanted to work in publishing. She never knew she herself would publish anything.

And here she is now, two weeks after the book release, in Boston, about to do a q&a and a signing. Apparently, “miscellaneous” has been on top of numerous lists and it’s flying off the shelves. Noelle can’t really believe it and tries not to think about it too much, trusting her agent with all of that. 

She’s happy to talk about her work and process though. That she can handle. And she’s grateful for all the love.

After a signing at a local bookstore, she decides to walk the 20 minutes home in the Boston fall. It’s a bit brisk, but she doesn’t mind and she just wanders, belly filled with delicious sushi she inhaled for dinner with an old friend.

Of course it happens the one time during her walk when she doesn’t avoid eye contact with someone. The song playing in her earbuds fade out of her focus and she almost stumbles. 

Jeremy’s eyes were always Noelle’s favorite thing about him. She thought she would’ve forgotten what they looked like by now. But clearly she hasn’t. 

Her eyes quickly cast to the person next to him. It’s definitely a girl. They’re a bit too far away for Noelle to pick out details. But it’s enough. He’s walking on the side closest to the street. It’s a Friday Night in a bustling part of the city. 

It hurts. She wishes it didn’t.

Even from far away, she sees his eyes blink in recognition. Noelle puts her head back down and walks faster. 

(She cries in the shower when she gets back to the hotel. She had debated feeling super sorry for herself and going to the hotel bar but refrained)

She has a few free days in Boston before flying back to New York. When she wakes up the next morning, she debates on going home early. But no, she won’t let a three second glance at someone ruin her time here. She used to occasionally come here during her college days. She loves this city. 

The city may be Jeremy’s, but she can make space for herself here too. 

She takes her time at a cafe, people watching and eating some breakfast. As she takes her coffee to-go, she looks out the window at the bookstore she was in the night before for the signing. She almost drops her coffee. 

Jeremy walks into the book store. 

Now, Noelle is debating her options. What she should do is continue with her day and walk in the opposite direction. But she’s always been too nosy for her own good. And maybe a bit self destructive. She decides to leave the cafe and cross the street immediately, so impatient to where she’s almost tapping her foot as the pedestrian signal stays red. 

As a writer, she’s no stranger to movie moments. The scenes written in books or movies where the timing is too accurate to be real. The situation too good to be true. But after a car speeds through an orange and she can finally walk, she stops in her tracks instead, feet glued down to the sidewalk.

Because Jeremy is right in front of her on the other side of the street. Her book in his hand. And he’s looking right at her. 

The first feeling she can recognize in herself is anger. Anger at the way their relationship panned out. Anger at the way they ended. Anger at the radio silence the years following. Anger at him for everything. Angry at herself for everything. 

The second feeling is, weirdly, shame, which she’s embarrassed by. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. But she feels it anyways. 

The third, and perhaps the most prominent, is emptiness. Five fucking years later, and she’s brought back to the emptiness she felt immediately after they broke up. The emptiness that the person you loved isn’t yours anymore — who maybe wasn’t ever yours to begin with. 

Before she can run, he’s already crossed the street to her. He looks naturally different as someone who you haven’t seen in five years would. But he also heartbreakingly looks the same. 

“We should get out of people’s way,” Noelle manages to chokes out. 

Jeremy laughs a bit. Her heart lurches. “Yeah.” He starts walking and she follows him wordlessly. This is his city after all. 

He leads them to a bench under a tree with beautiful fall foliage. She puts at least a foot between them as they both sit down, staring out at the people passing. She can’t take the silence. 

“I see you bought my book.”

“I did,” he replies evenly. “Congratulations. I always knew you would do it.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe if she squeezes hard enough she’ll forget when she originally pitched Jeremy the bare bones idea of the exact same book that’s currently in his hand. “Thank you. Congratulations to you too. On everything.”

“You’ve been watching?”

She shakes her head. “No. But, you know Seth and…yeah. It comes up during family calls sometimes.”

“Why didn’t you say hi last night?”

She looks pointedly at a couple walking their dog. “You seemed busy.”

“She wasn’t-that-it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh. Because that makes me feel so much better,” she spits out, before taking a deep breath. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We broke up ages ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she gives him a look and is slightly proud of how he seems to shrink into himself a bit. “I-I know it’s five years too late. I know I didn’t handle it as well as I should’ve. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

The thing is, Noelle always thought that maybe hearing an apology someday would make her feel better. But now that’s heard it, she’s not sure she does. 

She swallows. “I appreciate that.”

“I’ve already read it, you know.”

“Read what?”

Jeremy runs a hand through his hair. “Your book. One of my teammate’s girlfriend recommended it and I asked to borrow it. It’s fantastic,” He looks down at the book in his hand. It’s like the cover is taunting her. “I wanted my own copy.”

“Oh.” 

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me off the hook with the poems I know were about me,” he scoffs, shaking his head at himself. “You could’ve written way worse.”

She can’t help but let out a chuckle. “I thought I was pretty mean.”

“Your definition of ‘pretty mean’ is tame compared to a lot of people,” he says, mindlessly flipping through the pages of the book. “You were always the kindest person, even when you shouldn’t have been..” 

He puts his hand out in her direction, the hand with the book in it. She furrows her eyebrows. “What-”

“Could I get a signed copy?”

“Jeremy. What do you want from me?”

He sighs, taking his hand back. “A chance to apologize?”

“You’ve already done that.”

“Not in the way I want to and what you deserve.”

She lets out a sigh, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know if that would be worth my time or yours. I know the book just came out, but that was five years ago. I’m over it. Forgive and forget, right?”

“But do you?” Jeremy counters back. “Clearly, you don’t forget, which I deserve. But forgive?” 

“We’re just going in circles now.”

“No we’re not,” he says firmly. “You’re just shutting me down because you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had five years to prepare what I would say to you if I saw you again. You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“Of course I have,” Noelle tips her head back. “But also, what’s the point?”

“The point, is that I still love you.”

“Fuck you,” she says in a strained voice. “You can’t just-you can’t just throw that shit out there. Fuck you.”

He bites his lip, and to her annoyance, he laughs. But she listens more carefully, and it sounds very self deprecating. “I deserved that.”

“Yeah,” Noelle looks down at her feet. “So…what? You still love me?”

“I do.”

“And what are you going to do about that?”

“What are you going to let me do?”

“I live in Brooklyn.”

“I know,” she whips her head up. Jeremy looks sheepish, which she didn’t even think was something he knew how to do. “Seth mentioned it when we caught up a bit ago. I also still follow you on Instagram.”

She tries again. “It’s been five years.”

“And I’m here sitting with you and still feel the exact same way I did back then. Even more, to be honest.” He eyes her pointedly. “Any more excuses?”

Her voice softens. “You really hurt me.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, Noelle.”

“I hurt you too.”

He shrugs. “We were young and stupid.”

“And we’re still not?” Noelle says with a snort before swallowing. “I’m not the same person you fell in love with.”

“I’m sure I’m not either. But I don’t know if there’s a world where I don’t love every version of you.”

“Even after reading the book?”

“Especially after reading the book,” he sighs. “Noelle, I know this is unfair of me. All of this. And I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to reach out. But I always intended to. And then you’re here? And I see you twice in two days? I’d be an idiot to not try. More of an idiot than I am, anyways.”

“Try for what?”

“A second chance? To be friends? Whatever you want.” He suddenly deflates. “Even if you don’t want anything to do with me. At least I’ll know.”

“Why did you never text me?”

“I thought about it a lot,” he admits. “I tried once, actually, after the high of a really good win. But it didn’t go through. I got the message.”

“The message?”

“You blocked me, right?”

Oh. “Yeah,” she lies. “I did.” She reaches into her bag for a pen and gestures for the book, which he gives to her, a curious gleam in his eyes. “I’m in Boston for two more days, including today.”

He takes the hint immediately. Eagerly. “I have a game tonight, but I’m free tomorrow.”

“Who are you guys playing?”

“Toronto. And I’m starting. Should be a good one.”

She hums non-committedly, scribbling on the inside of the front cover. She hands it back to him with a small, close-lipped smile. She nods at him to read the message.

to my first fan, 

i still love you too. 

xxx-xxx-xxxx

yours, 

noelle

He looks up, eyes shining but a bit confused. 

“I never blocked you. I just changed my number.”

“Oh.”

“And even if I still love you, I’m still mad at you.”

“I know. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t.”

She stands up, adjusting the bag on her shoulder and putting her sunglasses on. “Text me?”

His mouth splits wide into a grin. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

She backs away with one last attempt at a smile before turning down the street.

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