dumbass with a dash of horny

sideblog • joey • 24 • he/they • mdni—🔞 • main blog: @prettycatboy • mainly a place for me to reblog fanfics and art • ‼️I sometimes (often) reblog dark fic content/nsfw‼️

[machveil]

DogHybrid!König who’s so excited to see you after coming home on leave he pisses a little in his underwear at the sight of you. he can’t help it, doesn’t even notice the damp spot forming across his crotch. he’s too busy scooping you up, pressing spit-slick, sloppy kisses across your face. he missed you so much, eyes tearing up as he breathes you in. two months away from you was hell for him, but it’s all made up for when your hands cup his warm face, kissing him back as he whines

[batsandboba]

learning that 5 minute crafts is a russian mafia operation wasn't on my 2026 bingo card but also doesn't really surprise me

[jabibi-posting]

its what

[batsandboba]

russian mafia operation

[isa-ghost]

Hey what

[batsandboba]

oh. i’m sure its fine and normal that a video investigating the massive bot farm/slop channel shell company connections to the russian mafia and youtube’s own implication by allowing it to continue for profit has mysteriously vanished with no word from op.

[batsandboba]

5 Minute Crafts Has A Cybercrime Problem [ CHUPPL] [4K] : CHUPPL : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

Original (now taken down) video of CHUPPL exposing SoulPublishing and 5 Min Crafts networkAn Exposé of the weirdest channel on the internetG

internet archive link

[mintmatcha]

monster fucking but you dont realize he's about to mate you

[followyourfleart]

☤ You're exactly the opposite of what he sees at work...

Shy, sweet, and perfect.

That's all Jack can use to describe you when he raved about you to Robby and Dana.

The two had grown tired of it. They knew Jack had his favorites when it came to the residents and medical students. Joy, Mohan, Ellis, Langdon, just to name a few. Not that they could complain, they had their people they preferred to call on rather than others.

The only thing was that you were the newest addition. Jack wasn't the type of man to announce that. He treated everyone with the same level of respect. He made sure that everyone got a chance to scrub in—this was still a teaching hospital—and be a part of a diverse number of cases.

He was encouraging to those who had crappy days. He was able to knock anyone down a couple of pegs. He could be mean, he could be nice.

But you and Jack's favorites are different, as Dana pointed out with a smirk in her voice, he could hear while he charted.

See, Jack's favorites were the lucky ones who got his attention outside of the hospital. Joy was able to get her schedule perfectly set because Jack kept her updated. Samira's research was spot on because he'd help her for hours. Ellis knew she could crash at his place when she got too drunk. And Langdon could call Jack at any time when his cravings were getting too bad, and he needed someone who got him.

"Certain privileges, as I said before," Dana had said, leaning over the already little space the desks offered, "I'm telling you, everyone and their mom notices."

"Not as mad as Robby..." Jack muttered, but she heard him.

"He's different, and you know it."

"Is he?"

"I'm not here to fight about this. Again." She leaned in closer, eyes looking at him over her glasses, "I'm here to talk about her. Your favorite resident."

That turned Jack away from his screen, his own eyes now squinting at her, "Who? Mohan?"

"No, not her—"

"Ellis?"

"Jack, lemme speak for five goddamn seconds."

"Or are you talking about Joy? Cause she isn't even a resident, but hey, she could fit well here if she truly wanted to—"

"You're such a—" She started, and Jack huffed out a laugh. He found making Dana mad was very easy and enjoyable, "—I mean, your favorite shy, sweet, and perfect resident? Wears that gray hoodie coming in every single day?"

Jack perked up at the description of you. For some reason, his eyes darted around the ER, looking to see if he could spot you. He couldn't, which meant you were probably with a patient. He sighed and looked back at Dana, who had scored a very sour look on her face.

"What? Did she ask for me? Did she? Well, tell her I'm not busy right now, at all. Actually, I'll tell her that myself. I could help her with her case, maybe. I know she said she was going to be working with this older couple, and she isn't used to accommodating their needs, so maybe I could guide her through it—"

"Jesus Christ, not even Romeo was this mad for Juliet..." She whispered under her breath before speaking up, "I'm saying you gotta some flirting with the woman. The rest of us are trying to work, not be a part of your love story."

To that, Jack had frowned so deeply his wrinkles folded more than usual, "Flirting? Evans, those glasses you got, I think you need a stronger kind, cause I don't flirt."

"You're right. No, you lose the ability to even talk properly when she's around. You eye-fuck."

"Eye—" Jack whipped his head around, making sure no one was listening before scooting closer on the stool, "No one is eye fucking anyone."

"Tell that to the rest of the department."

So maybe, Jack favored you over the others just a bit. And yes, he kept his mouth shut with you around. But that was only because you were shy. You barely talked to any of the other residents unless it had to do with cases. He's sure you wouldn't appreciate your attending trying to talk every single moment of the shift.

Plus, Jack had already learned enough about you from a single interaction.

It had been a slow, slow night shift. To the point where charting was the only thing to do. And with that slowness, every single staff member decided to take their meals and eat a quick midnight snack.

Jack was no different. He took his tacos out of the fridge, intending to heat them up—when he saw you silently weave through the crowded room, take your food, and slip out.

How could Jack not follow you?

After his tacos were nice and warm, he looked around to find out. Every room was empty, no desk was occupied by you. Where could you have gone?

He was going to give up hope when, through the small glass windows of the doors leading to the stairwell, he spotted you silently eating your food, watching something on your phone. Jack. couldn't help the grin on his face as he pushed the doors open.

This shift was so dead, not even people from other departments were rushing down to help with surgeries. Meaning, you had all the space you wanted. You didn't even notice him coming in until the door clicked behind him.

You had sharply inhaled and found him before you. Your eyes were sharp and quick, just like how they usually were when you were working deep in someone's chest.

"Enjoying your..." Jack started, head cocking to the side to see what you were eating.

"...tacos." You finished, looking away, "I'm eating tacos, Doctor Abbot."

Was it wrong how he hated how you said his professional title when it was just the two of you? "Speak of the devil, so am I. What's in yours?"

You blinked when he came to sit next to you. You scooted closer to the railing, creating space. You told him everything you put in it. "I got them from a taco stand near the park by my apartment."

Jack nodded along, lifting his own taco, "Sounds good. I got myself some birria tacos."

"Is it good?"

"Amazing. I buy them in bulk sometimes when Shen drowns himself in coffee. He needs something in his stomach other than liquid death."

A tiny smile appeared on your lips, "I tell him every day to slow down, but it never works. Can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved."

"Doesn't help that he drinks them with at least four pumps of creamer."

"Do you think after he buys his coffee, then uses his own personal syrup and adds more because he doesn't want anyone judging him?"

Jack pretended to be shocked that you figured it out. He turned his body to you and fixed a grateful expression on his face, "See? I'm glad I'm not the only person who thinks he's a bit strange!"

"But you call him your wing-man."

"Yeah? But I can appreciate his talents."

And for the first time in the months of knowing, of working, and of spending hours with you: you laughed. You leaned over your little tupawear of tacos and laughed.

Jack hadn't been mesmerized with someone's laugh since... well, since his wife. And it wasn't that your laugh reminded him of her. No, your laugh was purely your own. Just as his wife's had been hers.

Your laugh was chaotic and so out there compared to the persona you crafted at work. You held the rails because your shoulders were shaking so hard. There was even a flush across your cheeks.

And it was because of that smile that Jack learned everything possible about you.

In the short thirty minutes where no one tried to find either you or him, he learned everything there was. He learned about your folks, about your friends—one of them was having her bachelorette party soon—about where you went to school, and even your favorite animal.

And he learned the small details of your life. What you liked to do, what you liked to eat, what you liked in general. The most surprising thing Jack gathered from all this was how many people didn't flock to talk to you. You were funny, overall amazing conversation, and are a good person.

It was only when shouts from the main ER forced you and Jack to stand and move that he found his way.

"Work and home have to be separate, Doctor Abbot." You said with that small smile over your shoulder, "I'd lose my mind knowing someone at work knows my personal life. Not that bad, but just not something I love."

Because of this, despite his "favorite's rule", he made sure to never impede on your personal life. There were no calls outside of work, and there were no meetups. He stuck to eating lunch with you on the rare times it was dead and quiet.

So, Jack understood why Dana had confronted him about his... 'eye-fucking'. Really, it was him intently watching every single bit of you because he knew that outside this setting, he'd never get to see it.

That was the minimum of what he got to see of you, then he would take that. It wasn't like you consumed every part of him. No, no, no. The shy, sweet, simply perfect resident didn't have him thinking what tacos she should try next. If you would eat one of the tacos he brought in if he got a different kind.

Would you even consider breaking your rule and seeing him outside of work?

Unfortunately, that would never happen. Like Joy, you were prompt with your schedule and never worked more than necessary. Maybe you would put in an extra hour and a half, but only if you were feeling kind.

Jack had to accept that. He had his own life to live and other favorites to follow around. Part of life is being a night-shift attending.

And plus, Robby was going through a new phase in his life where he had to go out. Jack, being the glorified babysitter for the over-50-year-old man, tagged along. That meant Dana and Lena came too. And when Al-Hashmi found her footing, she too, came along for the ride that was Michael Robinavitch's midlife crisis.

Tonight, Robby had decided that they should all go bowling. Yes, all these older folks at the bowling center awkwardly shuffling around each other and enjoying beers. No one wanted to say yes. The group chat was dead as Robby texted his plan, until Jack had privately messaged him and told him he'd go if he'd stop embarrassing himself.

He did, and that's how Jack found himself at the bowling alley.

However, he didn't actually expect everyone to show up. Al-Hashmi said her ex was watching her son—that and she really wanted to beat Robby. Dana and Lena came as a duo from the same car, citing that after their shift from hell, they needed a good place to talk and unwind.

Everyone was lazing around, simply trying to make the night last much longer than it should. Beer floated around the five of them, and they all traded stories about their most recent shifts.

"I'm telling you, when that motherfucker spat on me," Lena said, gripping her beer bottle tighter as she watched Al-Hashmi get a strike, "I'd never wanted to slap someone harder. Thank god Ahmad was the one who did cause I would've—oh, I can't even think about it without getting pissed."

"I would've swung, no doubt 'bout it." Dana muttered, "I would've taken the charge, I don't give a damn. You put your body fluids on me on purpose, you ain't gettin' out right, I'm telling you."

"I would've punched them," Al-Hashmi noted as she came to sit down next to Jack. She was ahead of the whole group, Robby—who was next—right behind her. "And then buried them out back. But that's just me."

"And me," Dana said, like it was common sense.

"Make it three." Lena chimed in.

"Did you mean to rhyme?" Jack asked, but he was greeted by groans.

"Oh, can it, Abbot." Dana rolled her eyes, "You aren't a poet, so don't comment."

"Never claimed it."

"But the way you were just blabbing—"

Shireks from his right stopped Dana's words. When they all looked over a large group of women—at least ten—had all surrounded one girl in white as she had also gotten a strike. They all jumped around and clapped and screamed her name, not caring that no one was watching.

Lena sighed at the sight, leaning over the stiff vinyl couch to stare, "To be young and in love. And have that many girlfriends. Sheesh, I sound depressing. Am I depressing Evan?"

"Not at all," Dana sipped her beer, "I remember my bachorlette. I went to the nearby bar and drank myself crazy, then came back home to my husband. Best night of my life."

"Not the wedding?" Jack added.

"Hell no. You think that's the only thing we look forward to?"

Jack thought about that when he looked back. His best day was when he got married. Oh, he loved that day. He loved watching his wife walk down the aisle. The stupid dances he did with his brothers-in-law and her dad.

That was a long time ago. Now, he watched as Robby argued with Al-Hashmi about his using the guard rails. He glanced across the low table at Dana and Lena as they went back to their conversation.

Huh, maybe he should text Joy the schedule of the—

Gush!

Cold, wet liquid ran over his shoulder. He gasped at the feeling, clutching his shirt as he sprang up. It was musky, almost dirty, and it was sticky. Dana and Evans were the first to make any noise, an almost-smile cracking on their face in shock.

Robby blinked at the sight, then looked behind him, and a crack of a wide grin crossed his features. Even Al-Hashmi broke down in laughter, bowling ball in her hand.

The smell, the feel... it was just like the beer he was drinking.

Beer.

Jack just got covered in beer.

"Oh my—I'm so sorry! I-I was backing up talking, and I didn't—holy shit you're covered in it!"

Jack waved his hands, shaking his head with them. "It's okay. Just a mistake—"

"I didn't mean to!" He heard heels click over to his side while his head was turned away. Hands touched his shoulders as they tried to wipe off the alcohol. "I-I'm actually kinda drunk right now. Not drunk! More like buzzed! Buzzed, that's the word."

"I'm serious, it isn't that big of a deal. It's just a shirt."

"I could pay for a new one!"

"No need." Jack huffed while finally looking over. "It's not like it was anything expensive... holy shit."

Right. Jack meant that 'holy shit'.

Because, holy fucking shit.

It was you.

You, but not the you he knew.

This version of you was wearing all black. This version of you was wearing heels that made you taller. This version of you wore makeup that made your eyes pop harder.

And this version of you showed more skin than he'd ever seen.

Your top was low. So low that the pretty swell of your breasts pushed together. Your skirt was short and black, and your thighs were on full display. Your thighs, clad in black tights that held onto you so tight that if he were to pull at them, he was sure they'd snap against your skin.

Jack could tell the moment you realized who he was. He also saw the moment you realized who he was with. Your eyes darted to Jack's follow attendings, to both charge nurses. You let out an awkward squeak and took a staggering step back, the two glasses in your hands clinking together

"Robby?! What're you... and Baran.... Dana and Lena and... and Doctor Abbot. Oh god, Doctor Abbot, I ruined your shirt!"

Jack couldn't give a damn about his shirt. Hell, you could spill the whole bar on him, and he'd take it if it meant you'd touch his shoulders that lightly again. He raised his hands, trying to calm you, "It's okay! I said it was just a shirt, and that still stands—"

But you didn't give him any chance when you were already adjusting the glasses and pulling out your wallet, pulling out three twenties. Did he seem like the asshat to spend that much money on a shirt? He hoped not.

You shoved the cash into his hands, already backing away, "That should be enough to cover it! And—and if that's not enough, find me at work—or text me and I can send you money—holyshitthisistheworst."

"Wait! I'm serious, I'm fine—"

Yet, you had already spun on your heel and walked away. Walked away from him and the silent group of his peers. They all watched as you—flushed and talking to yourself—rushed to your group. They all accepted you with open arms, taking the glasses from you, asking you questions.

Whatever you seemed to say with your face buried in your hands, you got them full on staring at Jack. Not glaring, though. They actually seemed fascinated by his mere presence.

Dana was the first to speak up, "Am I gonna say it, or will anyone else?"

"I'm not used to seeing that much... skin from one of our residents, even at those staff get-togethers." Al-Hashmi finished.

Jack whipped his head at her, "It's not bad, it's just skin."

"Of course you'd be happy about that..." Came from Robby, deep in his chest. Jack shot him an ugly look before sitting back down on the couch, sighing. You'd disappeared among all your friends, hidden away from the whole situation.

Away from him.

It didn't take long after the teasing remarks at Jack's direction that they went back to bowling. Jack used up all the napkins while Lena played his turn, trying to clean himself up.

He wished he'd followed you, despite what both groups said. He wished that the courage he had to be natural and talkative with everyone else, he had with you.

He wished that—

Buzz, buzz!

Jack felt his back pocket vibrate, and he cursed when his phone dug painfully into the back of his thighs. When he pulled it out...

It was an unknown number.

Against his best judgement—his day had already been strange enough, why not look at this too—he unlocked his phone and looked at the chat. He didn't recognize the number at all.

[UNKNOWN]: I'm serious about the money thing.

[UNKNOWN]: If you need more, just text me.

[JACK]: Who is this?

[UNKNOWN]: Are you... serious?

Jack blinked.

[UNKNOWN]: Look up, Doctor Abbot.

And when he did, his breath staggered.

On the other side of the rink, he spots your eyes. You had twisted your body to look directly at him, and in your clenched hands was your phone. It illuminated your entire face, every worried part of your expression.

But most of all, the small smile you sported was there.

Jack looked back down at his phone.

[JACK]: You texted me.

[UNKNOWN]: I did.

[JACK]: You have my number.

[JACK]: You've had my number all this time?

[UNKNOWN]: Yes?

[UNKNOWN]: I asked Shen a while ago, just in case of emergencies.

[JACK]: What would it take for you to text me outside of work and emergencies?

[UNKNOWN]: Take my money, and we'll talk about it.

To that, Jack smiled.

[JACK]: Never.

JACK ABBOT SENT 120 DOLLARS

He watched your face scrunch up, more nervousness filling your eyes. He could spot every detail, because it was all his body was tuned into right now. That's all he could focus on.

Not the chatter around him, or the calls for people's food orders. Not the clatter of pins falling to bowling balls, or his group's conversation around him.

No, it was only you.

[UNKNOWN]: I can't take this.

[UNKNOWN]: I'm sending it back to you.

[JACK]: If you do, I'll block you.

For the first time since that stairwell, you laughed like you did. You leaned over the back of the couch, gripping tight to hold yourself upright as your shoulders shook. He could hear your laugh from so far away. Even your friends had paused to ask you what was wrong, but you were laughing too hard to respond.

Yeah, Jack was so right.

You were shy, sweet, and perfect.

Can you tell I'm highkey projecting?

Masterlist

[readwritealldayallnight]

I love your work!!! Binge reading it all the time. I’ve been doom scrolling card tricks on TikTok and I’m going to assume every ghost simp has a thing for hands (atleast a little bit) and idk if you take requests but I just thought if you’re at the bar with ghost and 141 and he starts doing these crazy card tricks and it’s HOT!

Your first indication that you’d had one too many drinks probably should have been when Kyle had to nudge you when your favourite song started playing over the speakers in the bar and you hadn’t noticed

Or perhaps it should have been when Price had to say your name nearly half a dozen times to get your attention, in spite of being sat directly next to you

Maybe it even should have been when Johnny threw his straw wrapper in your face to get you to realize that you kept absentmindedly trying to drink from your long ago empty glass

It was all background noise at the end of the day though, wasn’t it?

At least, it became so, when one of the sergeants, you can’t remember who it was anymore, pulled out a deck of cards and slid them across the booth table over to Ghost, saying something about how they’d forgotten to give it back to him after the last op

Now, you’d watched the Lieutenant load and reload magazines as easily as someone might tie their shoelaces, had seen him disassemble and reassemble weapons like they were a child’s 10 piece jigsaw puzzle, had noticed him fiddling with his knives on more than a few occasions

You’d seen his hands in action before

But something about the way his large, rough, calloused hands split the deck without even glancing down at the cards, shuffled them as smoothly as any trained card dealer might one day hope to as well, seemingly had a warmth pooling low in your stomach, a tickle at the back of your neck telling you that you might just have a thing for hands

Or at the very least, his hands

It’s not long before the men have started passing cards around the table, intent on playing some game or another as they sip their drinks and wind down from the last job, laughing and messing about

You on the other hand, can hardly focus on the numbers and shapes on the cards in front of you, too occupied with way Ghost continues to shuffle his hand, the cards appearing comically small in his grasp

You wonder what his hands would look like holding-

“Y’alrigh’ there?” His gravelly voice finally snaps you out of your daydream, your eyes dancing across the four other pairs looking back at you, each with their own levels of amusement in them

“Yeah, uh sorry, what?”

“Said it’s your turn.” Ghost replies with a short chuckle, nodding towards the cards still in your grip. “Unless… you don’t feel like playin’.”

“No, no. I- I wanna play.” you cut yourself off, unsure where you were going with this train of thought anyways, the drinks and something else having you far too out of it to focus. “Uh- what game were we playing?”

“S’alright bonnie. Ye can watch me hand this lot their arses on a silver platter and learn somethin’ for next round, aye?” Johnny encourages just as Ghost reaches across and effortlessly plucks the cards right out of your hands, adding them back into the pile

Truth be told, you wouldn’t have been able to tell them whether you were playing poker or go fish at the moment, and though you likely could have faked your way through a turn or two, you’re much more content to sit here and shamelessly ogle at the Lieutenant’s hands sans interruption now

The warmth in your cheeks and the sudden moth infestation in your stomach have you long past the point of caring about the inevitable teasing you’re likely to get from the men tomorrow, hoping they’ll at least wait until your hangover has passed before they start poking fun at you

Ghost apparently seems to have other plans, when he’s walking you back to your dorm later that night, and those same hands are slipping under your shirt to land on the small of your back with the heat of a small fire, the fabric of his mask brushing against your ear when he says lowly, “I thought you said I was the one wit’ the starin’ problem, love.”

[albinogel]

[superhoeva]

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST(S) | PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART | INBOX ✉

˙⋆✮ before JACK and ROBBY'S EX!READER started fucking... robby didn't like to talk... even on the bad days. warnings include language, angst, penetrative sex (mentioned), resident!reader, avoidance, emotional immaturity, essentially a toxic relationship; (0.7k words), mdni

the words just… crawl out of you one night. after you've caught you breath but robby's cum is still leaking out of you while he lies next to you with a far away mind. you know he's knows you're watching him. and he knows that you know he knows you're watching him. that you want him to actually use his mouth for something more than sucking at your chest and those funny–question mark–robby-esque quips.

"you know you can talk to me, right?"

robby stays in his position of an arm behind his head and palming the thigh you have thrown over his. he barely withholds the uninterested sigh at the fact that you're still on this.

his plan of getting you to forget about his very noticeable irritable disposition throughout today's shift by pounding you into his mattress and stuffing you with seed had gone perfectly… up until now, that is.

you and your questions. meaning well, but just not fucking hearing him when he says shit like:

"i do talk to you," robby lies, as he very much does. not about any of that deep, it-feels-like-my-mind-is-breaking-every-time-i-blink kinda stuff, though. you're his distraction from all that. you're his escape, supposed to be anyway. someone he can tug on top of him and forget that the rest of the world exists… someone to stick himself inside of to give and receive what feels like love.

because he loves you.

earlier, robby kissed you in the middle of something he could tell you had prepared beforehand. after he'd thought about it, that was probably the reason why you were so quiet during the ride home, and over a quick dinner of burgers he ordered in some drive thru while you formed the sentences in your head. maybe that'll work again.

the leg you have over him shifts. he keeps kneading the muscle. please stop.

"you know what i mean by talk… real stuff, like why you were snapping like an asshole at everyone today. even me," you remind him, and robby huffs with a crane of his neck to look at you.

the way you're blinking at him with the hint of a pout makes him fake a frown of his own. can he charm his way outta this one?

"oh, i feel like i made up for that last one pretty well, didn't i?

robby wrinkles his nose when you don't grin along with him. damn.

"i'm serious." he's sure you are. and still, you flatten a hand on to his chest to rub. "being here for you is, is something i-i wanna–"

robby stops you. interrupts you.

"it's fine. i'm okay."

"but you're not. it's like how you caught me in that supply closet once after we lost little girl, and you didn't leave until i could finally fucking breathe right. you don't have to hide from me. just… just tell me. what you're thinking. maybe i can–"

"you couldn't handle the shit i think about, honey."

"well, how do you know that if you don't te–"

"because i fucking know–"

"ohmygod, robby. can you just let me fucking speak?"

an accidental wheeze leaves robby to cover how the inside of his stomach squeezes with discomfort at the sight of your eyes trying and failing not to glaze with tears.

shit. you're sitting up now, glaring. he's certain part of the venom to your stare is, at least a little, a result of earlier… when he called you out for missing something that wasn't even your fault in front of princess, donnie, and a couple of others who watched you slink out of the room with the same watery eyes you're sporting now.

he isn't laughing anymore, but his voice is still laced with something much too unserious for the conversation you're trying to have.

"iiiiis that not what you're doing right now?"

you swallow so loud that he can hear it before peeling away from the man.

"hey, baby, come on. doc..." robby tries to take your arm, but you don't let him. instead, you slip from his bed, wiping a tear with the back of your hand, and all he can do is bite his lip while you sniffle your way to his bathroom.

robby watches your ass as you go, finally blinking when the door slams shut.

fuck, he loves you. you make the bad things feel like they don't exist. hopefully, one day, you'll stop asking about them… stop trying to talk… and just be his one good thing.

it's what you're best at, so stop trying to be anything else. stop trying to fix him.

[superhoeva]

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˙⋆✮ JACK and ROBBY'S EX!READER are fucking... and your ex-husband makes a dreadful mistake–mistake? what mistake. warnings include smut, language, robby pov, penetrative sex, nameless female!oc (girlie, i'm so sorry), mean!robby, mentions of failing relationship, masturbation, boldily fluids, unhappy ending... buckle up! (1.6k words); mdni

this girl is... nice, she's nice.

and pretty! she's that, too.

but, and this is the best part about her... she isn't you.

in fact, she's better than you, whatever-her-name-is from the bar. robby can't remember, and doesn't make the time to. not when she's riding his cock with a rocking of her hips and sounds you forgot how to make a long time ago.

even in the lower lights of the bar he only visited once before, robby spotted her quick. snagged a stool with only a single seat in between them to watch her nurse the beer she kept grimacing at the taste of out of the corner of his eye.

it was a little fumbly, at first. accidentally interrupting each other, not hearing but pretending they did anyway. robby blames you. you're the reason this rust has been collecting.

by their third drink and robby scooting to sit directly next to her, he managed to shake enough of it off to get her giggling. he couldn't tell if it was actually him or the beer, but it sounded real enough to keep going with the head tilts and gravelly teasing.

when they shifted to outside, the bar closing but robby's yearn to fuck something well and wide open, he kissed her against the old brick of the building. curved his tongue against her so quick that she squeaked, but kept kissing him.

they made out in the nighttime air of this thursday evening in pittsburgh until robby felt himself leaking a little. she was a good kisser. let him lick into her mouth and groan louder than she expected, too. soon, he was begging, pleading to take her to his place. laying it on thick between pecks and heavy breaths.

it's not that far from here. we'd be doing each other a favor. haven't kissed lips this nice in a long, long time, baby. i'll make it worth your time, i swear.

now here they are. here she is… whatever-her-name-is… being good for him. unlike you.

fuck, he's hard. he would probably be hard if she wasn't here right now, but that's not something she needs to know. robby needs this or he thinks he'll die.

the doctor has his eyes shut, not even watching her. head thrown back to hold her by the ass while she bounces, punchy groans tumbling from his mouth at the same pattern of their sweaty, smacking skin.

eventually, robby cracks apart his lids, pleased with the tits in his face. tilting his gaze up, the guy grins wider and nudges her into his chest. she pauses for a moment, panting to catch her breath while he kisses along her jaw.

she releases something between a laugh and a yelp when robby clutches her and rolls them onto the floor, and he loses himself in the sound. no one has laughed for him like this, during this, for so long. he's starting to feel whole again. the pieces that you broke him into might be able to find their way back to each other after all…

settling into the new position of her legs wrapped around his waist, robby fucks her balls deep. mess and desperation littered throughout his strokes, robby groans something out. low enough for her to only kind of hear, and for him to not even realize he's saying it–and then he says it again. louder. almost sobbing.

her face falls a bit, still adoring the angle of his thrusts, but a confused enough for her eyebrows to furrow. her hands stays against his back and her ankles stay locked. listening harder now.

"right there, baby?"

all she does is hum. he hums back, jerking their bodies together. bucking his hips and rolling his eyes at the loud squelches of her pussy trying to milk him.

"yeah, right there… shit, gonna make me come soon–"

robby finishes his sentence with the same word he said before. the one he doesn't realize he's saying–no, moaning–against this girl's damp skin.

okay, yeah. she's it right the first time… times.

"hey. hey, hold on," she calls out to robby, who stops his stroke. staying inside but pulling away to look at her.

what? what now?

"you okay? what's wrong?" robby tries to reach up to rub at her cheek, but she dodges the touch.

ruh roh.

the two share a lingering stare. and then, finally…

"who's–"

robby blinks at your name leaving her lips. his body starts to sting with a brutal, sudden cold sweat of shame. huh?

"huh?"

she's looking at him different now. all that soft and sweet long gone, because what does he mean huh?

"i said, who is…" she says your name again, and robinavitch's throat starts to feel odd. his cock is still hard, yet the moment is slipping through his fingers like water.

no. no, no, no, no, no, he didn't.

"i… th–it's…. s–uuuh–what?"

she grins, but it feels mean. propping herself up on her elbows, robby back leans a bit. that's not a grin he wants to see any closer.

"are you fucking serious–pull out. get off."

robby pulls out and gets off. stumbling his way through half sentences and embarrassed huffs.

"that wasn't. look i–you're just. i didn't–"

"you did, actually."

no, he didn't.

"no, i didn't," robby laughs this time, a hint of cheek to the words. obviously the wrong decision, but what's done is done. and no. he did not.

another long pause scrapes by.

"hey, i–"

"i'm thinking."

robby swallows at the sharp of her words, rolling his bottom lip into his mouth with a silent nod. the quiet continues, and eats away at Robby's very soul; what's left of it, anyway.

and then, because robby just can't help himself, he opens his mouth.

it's supposed to sound like a joke. also serious. but mostly a joke by a man whose cock has somehow remained half hard throughout the slow crash and burning of the past few minutes. good thing he never became a comedian.

"jesus, can you think a little faster? figure out what you heard? 'cause it damn sure wasn't that."

she squints at robby. unamused.

"...what's my name?"

robby licks at his lips, smiling a little to cover the fact that he has absolutely no earthly idea. "come on, don't… don't do that. don't do that, we we're having fun."

an astonished chuff pushes from her lips.

"oh, okay. you're just–you're fucked up," she declares, yanking herself off the floor to search for her dress. it's just off the side of the couch, hanging limp until she snatches it up. she turns to him while shoving the fabric back on. ready to leave. "see, i should've known something was off with all that talk at the bar when you just kept laughing and nodding, even though i know you couldn't really hear me."

a bitter giggle, pure denial, shakes robby as he rises from the floor.

fully dressed and now looking for her shoes, she keeps going.

"i don't what the hell you have going on with whoever that was–whoever's name you keep saying–but i think you should take some time to figure your shit out with them before literally begging to stick it in someone else, okay?

the mention of you hardens robby into an unpleasant smile. for a long enough second, she has your head and face and voice. it makes him wrinkle his nose. completely done with this.

robby nods towards the front entrance around the corner. eyes dead. naked and completely still.

"don't let the door hit you."

she lets her stare cut to him no longer than a few seconds before muttering a hearty fuck you, michael, heading for her purse and phone that were thrown on atop table by the front door.

it shuts with a clunk once she's gone. robby can't move until he stops biting his tongue.

he doesn't remember walking back and plopping on the couch. he also doesn't remember grabbing the base of his cock to stroke.

oh boy, was he wrong about her. seriously, who was she to tell him what comes of his mouth. he knows what he said. it wasn't your name, but now that's all he can think as he slumps and keeps pumping at his cock. twirling his hand over the head while cupping his balls like you used to do.

back when you were fun. back when hung onto his every word and argued with him in the way he liked. when you would lap all over his sack while asking him questions about things you didn't know, the things only he could teach you. back on your first day when you choked on your spit after he caught you staring at him.

breath hitching and gut tightening, robby can only see you behind his closed lids. you from before. you and that new tattoo. you with your old hair. you and the words 'attending' by your name. you with watery eyes the first time he told you to 'go away, please.' you, as recent as fucking yesterday, cackling at something with ellis and bridget.

"oh, fuck," robby shudders, the letters of your name pulsing about in his head and all the way down to where he's jerking himself raw. "ah… ughfffuck me…"

your name leaves his mouth as he comes. over and over and over again that it starts to sound like a random sound.

…okay, there he said your name, but not before.

not before.

he's stronger than that.

[ghouljams]

thinking about sex toys in the omegaverse again...

your favorite faceless pornstar releases a line of pheromone sprays and flavored lubes and you guilty pleasure buy the whole line only to get one whiff and realize it smells exactly like the alpha that sits across from you at work...

[ghouljams]

spending the weekend in bed binge watching porn with your favorite toy between your legs, panting into the pillow you'd sprayed with pheromones, liquid sex clogging your nose with gunpowder oolong and licorice. dark and sexy and so hauntingly familiar. you don't have the brainpower to put towards thinking where you've smelled it before when you're wrapped up in this scent.

showing up to work monday morning with a orgasm hangover, feeling like you just got through a micro-heat. dropping your bag at your desk and booting up your computer to start running through updates and catching up on the emails you'd been ignoring. glancing at the clock every so often to see how late your least favorite coworker is.

you took multiple showers before coming in but you feel like the smell of that pheromone spray is still lingering on your skin. you keep sniffing your shirt, your finger tips, trying to figure out what you missed when you were cleaning up.

it keeps scratching at the back of your mind, subtly embarrassing to think that someone might ask you about the lingering stink of synthetic sex, it's weird that it doesn't have that slight chemical edge that most synthetic pheromones have.

the chair across from you scrapes its plastic wheels against the floor as your coworker sits down heavily and suddenly the subtle scent you'd been catching has increased 100 fold. enough to have you jerking your head towards the smell, breathing deeply (rudely) through your nose as he glances at you in the middle of setting his coffee down.

"What?" he asks, clearly annoyed at your staring. gunpowder oolong and licorice stuff your nose, something soft and milky coating your tongue just at the end of the scent. the part aftertaste that synthetic sprays can never quite capture.

your mouth dries.

"nothing." you hastily look back at your computer screen and hear him inhale. your eyes dart to him, his lips just barely crooking up at the corners.

"you using a new perfume?" your skin feels like it's burning, as you lie through your teeth.

"i've always smelled like this."

[ghouljams]

and now that you've noticed your coworker smells like your pornstar pheromone mist you can't stop noticing.

his voice has the same timbre, the same measured way of speaking, purposeful, slightly bored. you'd fawned at every shred of dirty talk, fumbled over yourself to comply with his indecent requests ("don't touch yourself, not yet, I want to get a better look at you, spread your legs a wider, that's it, good.") and it had been exactly the same tone you'd called annoyingly bossy to your friends.

his hands are the same. the dark hair that dusts his knuckles, the outlined veins, you'd watched his fingers curl around his cock more times than you could count, pressed your own hand to your throat and pretended it was his, traced along your sex and imagined it was those same hands. the same hands that you glared at when he tapped your copy edits and told you the red marks meant take out not reword however you want.

his mouth... you try not to stare, try not to pick out the slightly chapped lines of it, try not to remember the video you'd paused and rewatched over and over, the way he'd pushed up his mask to lick his own come off his fingers, and you'd stared at his mouth in awe wishing you could get more, wishing you could catch a glimpse of his tongue to fuel your fantasies.

you hated his smile, that self serving, smarmy smile that tugged at just the corners of his crooked mouth and made you want to punch him in the face. the one he only flashed when he knew it would piss you off. the one that seemed permanently fixed to his face every time you glanced his way.

and his scent, the one you'd spent hours lost in over the weekend, the one that had made your head spin and your eyes roll. the one that you told your work-friends made your nose itch, that you blamed every sneeze on. the one that makes you sniff your shirt again when he gets up to go do whatever the fuck he does when he isn't sitting at his desk tormenting you, just to make sure the spray isn't still lingering on you.

it's so hard to tell when the whole desk seems to reek of him.

something else you've just noticed.

territorial bastard.

[tonycries]

Daisies - T.F.

Synopsis. Five times Fushiguro Megumi and his particularly determined elementary class attempt to matchmake the strong, surly divorced Fushiuro Toji with you—their pretty elementary school teacher. And the one time it doesn’t end in disaster.  (Or in other words; the one time Fushiguro Megumi might just become a big brother?!)

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!teacher!reader, DlLF!Toji, 5 + 1 things, crackfic tbh, Iike MAJORLY, brainrot, sigmas, Megs and co., faiIed matchmaking, Toji’s a YEARNER, but can’t pull, bake sales, cherry bIossoms, SO many references, kids Iearning bad words from Toji (smh), parent-teacher meetings, tension, oraI (m + f), he’s FÉRAL, manhandIing, spítting, p taIking, p sIapping, fíngering, cIit bíting, GRADING, somewhat roIepIay, he’s MEAN, he’s BIG, biiiig stretches, you grade HIM, cervíx smooching, sIight banter, cIit pinching, more p sIapping, sIight bréeding, mentions of kids, feeIing for himself, taIking you through it, creampíes, cúmpIay, stuffing you FULL, brief headIocks, implied marathons, getting together, happy endings, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 15.4k

A/N. And shoutout to Megan THEEEEEE StaIIion for teaching me what rizz was mhm- aIso slightly inspired by my Unckuna fic here <3

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE ONE: RIZZ.

“…and that’s the problem.”

Fushiguro Toji can’t believe this.

No matter how he looks at it—this is weird, right? 

After all, no respectable single father would be hesitant to drop his son off at his elementary classroom- instead lingering by the wide, multi-colored building steps for a few seconds before finally entering like a lamb to the butcher’s. And even worse- no respectable single father would let himself be ruthlessly interrogated by his son over this fact.

And worst of all, reveal - after much intense probing by a nine-year-old - that this was all because…he happened to have…a stupid crush on one of the teachers.

“Which one?” Megumi looks up through jet-black bangs much like his, nose crinkling at the thought of his father having- eugh, feelings. 

Toji sighs. “Don’t mean to push you into your emo phase early, kid, but…”

And then he glances beyond the little one’s frame.

Right. At. You.

The entrance to Tokyo Jujutsu Elementary opened up to the main hallway; with classrooms upon either side, and doorways spaced between walls that were kaleidoscopes of crafts and schoolbag hooks and polaroids of students over the years. If Toji looked hard enough then he’d even be able to find the polaroid where Megumi was flipping the camera off—he’d learned that one from him, see.

That was an awkward parent-teacher meeting.

But that was also the day he properly met you - beyond just the polite nod and hasty small talk at drop-off and pick-up. 

With your adorable flowery apron on - courtesy of elementary school policy - and your lips trying very hard not to twitch up into a smile—very nicely telling Megumi that that wasn’t something good kids do.

Toji agreed then. He’d have agreed with anything you said.

“But you were the one that taught—”

He’d slapped his hand over Megumi’s mouth then.

You’d let a small laugh slip- and he was a goner. 

After that meeting, Megumi may have lost something (iPad privileges for a whole month), but Toji gained something: this little ember of attraction that he couldn’t shake off no matter how much he tried. Every routine pick-up and drop-off, every bake sale, every little notification that lit up his phone—you typing into the parents’ groupchat about some announcement or the other. And though it’d never be anything too personal, his heart always thundered in his chest as he clicked those notifications open. Is it weird that he set a different tone for your notifications?

The harder he tried to ignore it, the further it kindled.

Until he evidently couldn’t even walk inside that damn building without feeling some part of him melt just a little…

Even now, his skin burns as he watches you. 

Biting back a laugh as one of your students hugged their guardian goodbye- so hard that both adult and child topple over. And then you’re being grappled into the same embrace, which you’re letting yourself be tugged into—soon enough, three more of your students join in. One tucks a wildflower from the garden behind your ear.

Sunlight falls across your face as your head falls back in a laugh - and then you’re leaning forwards and grabbing all of those tiny bodies in a hug. 

Toji can’t help but wonder whether you’d like to be embraced just the same. Toji can’t help but wonder whether you’d laugh just like that when you’re picked up and spun around, feet never touching the ground. Toji can’t help but wonder why the hell Itadori Yuji was pointing and laughing at him.

“Mr. Fushiguro’s dad, your face looks funny—!” He squeals. Loud enough for multiple parents to turn and look.

Toji grumbles something underneath his breath and straightens, like the respectable adult - the respectable adult - he is. Cool. Calm. Collected. Mature. “Oh yeah? And your hair looks funny, kid.”

Now those same parents were turning to him and glaring. 

“What—?!” He gruffs out at them, hands raising in surrender. “He started it.”

Itadori turns to them and smiles an utterly precious, gap-toothed smile. 

He tells himself that he’s imagining the way they seem to be pulling their kids away from him.

Itadori stops laughing and ruffles his own coral-pink locks. The boy had strong-armed himself to become one of Megumi’s best friends since their first day; and he always has made himself known as the chatterbox of the group. The sweetheart. The trouble-stirrer (one of them, at least). “My grandpa says it’s um- jeanetic. My father had pink hair, too.”

Toji raises a brow, “Oh?”

“Yeah! Did you know my uncle’s in prison?” The boy looks squarely up at him and beams. “He sets things on fire.”

“Same, bud.”

“I eat dirt.”

“…what the fuck.” Toji whispers underneath his breath- though it must’ve been loud enough for the keenest of eavesdroppers to listen, because before he knows it, a little boy with a face mask and the most atrocious bowl cut Toji’s seen in his life—pulls out a notebook from his backpack and starts furiously scribbling something down.

Assumably the profanity he’d just spoken.

Inumaki Toge, was it?

Now he’s the one stepping away from these damn kids. 

But before he can get too far, Toji feels a tug on either arm—he looks to his right: Itadori. 

Attempting to climb up his forearms and biceps like monkey bars.

He looks to his left: Kugisaki.

Looking knowingly between you and him.

“These partners stink of-”

“What was that?” Kugisaki asks. 

“Nothing.” Toji quickly replies. And then there was the other one: Kugisaki Nobara was impossible to miss in a classroom. If not by her chattering that was just as loud as pink-haired Itadori’s, then by the red, rubber hammer that she seemed to be fond of, smashing it on top of people’s heads if they displeased her. He was just in the middle of wondering whether he could be successfully knocked out if she hit him hard enough when-

“Where…are you taking me?” He quickly narrows his eyes- just as soon as the little girl started pulling him by the hand. Towards your classroom. “Hey—”

“Oh, c’moooon.” She rolls her eyes in a manner that was far too expert for her age. “How is the male lead going to get the heroine if they don’t even talk?”

“I’m not the main character?”

Itadori - who had by now managed to perch atop his right shoulder like some parrot - whispers uncomfortably in his ear. “How’s the rizzler going to get the skibidi?”

Toji whirls to him- “Bless you?” The fuck…

Megumi follows and nods sagely. Deadpanning. “Dad’s not sigma enough for that.”

“Not you, too?!”

“Hi?”

The Earth had given way from underneath him. But in reality, it was just your voice breaking through the chaos of the elementary lobby—Itadori had begun gripping onto his shaggy, black bangs for balance now- and Toji was doing all he could to peak through the boy’s cutely chubby fingers.

A breath catching in his chest once he realizes that they’d walked him all the way over to you.

Apron on. Brows raised. A flower tucked prettily behind your ear. Standing right at the door to your vibrant classroom; you kept a hand on your mouth to stifle your obvious smile. Though nothing could hide the light in your eyes.

And before Toji’s given the opportunity to wax shitty poetics about it in his mind, you’re nodding at the boy latched onto Toji’s head. With a smile- “Down now, Yuji. What have I said about climbing people like monkey bars?”

He sighs and removes his hands covering Toji’s eyes, “To not climb people like monkey bars.”

“And what are you doing right now?”

“Climbing people like monkey bars.” 

“Down, please.”

Yes, ma’am…Toji’s thinking to himself. Snap out of it, man.

It was like a miracle. Itadori Yuji - for however much of a sweetheart he was - was never the type to listen to authority so directly—you could tell the kid to not eat glue and he’d chug down the whole bottle. Toji knows. From experience.

But it’s as easy as butter that he’s sliding off the older man now- and soon enough, his small red shoes are hitting the floor. And he’s staring up at Toji with his scarred mouth gaped open.

In fact, everyone was.

“Um, Fushiguro-san? Is everything okay?” Your brows then pinch in concern.

Kugisaki slaps her forehead, and Megumi seems to sink deeper into his bangs. As quickly as the words are registering in his head—he’s shutting his mouth and faintly puffing his broad chest out. Making sure that you see the way his beefy biceps flex as he scratches behind his neck. “Yeah- yeah, everything’s alright. How about you?”

“Can’t complain.” You giggle. And when there doesn’t seem to be a follow-up question, he flexes even harder. “I see uh…you’ve been hitting the gym lately, Fushiguro-san.”

“Oh, me?” He has the audacity to look a little shocked. “That’s cute, doll. But I don’t hit the gym.”

“You must take steroids then.” Itadori pipes up gleefully. “My uncle takes them, too-”

“I’m all natural—”

As this subsides, you’re taking control of the chaos like the professional you are. “Alright, oh- look at the time!” Sweeping a glance behind you at the classroom clock, “We’re almost late for attendance and rehearsal time. Let’s get inside, kids.” 

You start ushering some of them inside- and Toji squirms as those balls of energy rush past him. Evidently you were preoccupied with them, but you have enough time to look up at the older man and flash him a smile-

“And I’ll see you at pick-up then?”

Faintly, he nods. “Uh-huh.”

“Good.” You cock your head up at him, “Hope you have fun with the gym then~”

“U-uh-huh.”

He can only watch mutely as you whisk a few students inside and clap your hands to get their attention—some of the parents were filtering out and he knows he must look like such a creep…but you were just so astounding. And at least he hadn’t completely fucked up that interaction-

“Mr. Fushiguro’s dad, sorry for your aura loss.” Itadori pats him comfortingly on his side. There were still some students milling about with their goodbyes. 

He whirls, “Fushiguro Toji doesn’t lose aura-”

“But you did.” Kugisaki nods with her arms crossed. “You fumbled, Fushiguro-san.”

He turns to his beloved son for reassurance. 

Megumi looks at Toji blankly. “You never had aura to me, dad.”

“That’s it-”

“But it’s okay.” Kugisaki says, “The male lead never gets the heroine in the first five minutes. They have to suffer first. You just messed up Phase One.”

He almost feels sorry asking. “And…what is Phase One?”

“The rizz phase.” This time, it’s Itadori that answers. “You have zero rizz, Mr. Fushiguro’s dad. But—we have a plan.”

“A plan?”

Itadori holds up three fingers. “Four more phases before you win Ms. Teacher’s heart!” Not so loud…he’s grateful you haven’t noticed them yet. 

Megumi holds up the correct number of fingers. “Four more phases to embarrass yourself, dad.”

What moral support, son.

“I don’t know…” 

Itadori nods seriously, “Take it this way, Mr. Fushiguro’s dad- there’s a red button and a blue button in front of you. If you press the red button you die alone like my uncle probably will. If you press the blue button you totally rizz Ms. Teacher up and live happily-ever-after before she divorces you. Which button would you press?”

Neither?! His jaw drops. “What the fu-”

“We just want to matchmake you!” Kugisaki shoves Itadori aside. 

He eyes the kids warily. Leaving his love life to three elementary schoolers? Has Fushiguro Toji really fallen this far? Oh…he really is getting old. “Whatever. I don’t a shi- damn.”

And the answer is yes, yes he has.

But then Kugisaki clasps her hands together and beams, “Then in the end you’ll be just like Jinu and Rumi from K-pop Demon Hunters!”

And beside himself, Toji cracks a little smile. “Yeah…yeah, maybe we will.”

“You’ll die in the end and she’ll become a demon!”

“…let’s just stick to Phase Two.”

.

.

.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE TWO: SWEET TREATS!

Status: Pending…

Why did he agree to this shit again?

Though it wasn’t exactly Valentine’s Day; Fushiguro Toji was lugging a cart ‘round the candy aisles of Maruetsu supermarket, followed by three children with sticky fingers that just kept on piling even more sweets into the hefty chocolate-filled cart. And more. And more. And more-

And though Toji agrees that there was never a wrong day for chocolate - he was just damn relieved that yesterday had been pay day. These brats didn’t even glance at the price before throwing chocolate bars and heart-shaped candies over the cart rim.

Right alongside a bunch of flour, butter, and whatever shit one needed to make cookies. 

Because yes—Fushiguro Toji was apparently the type to make cookies now. 

Itadori tosses a bunch of Daddy Tony’s Chocolonely into the cart. “We’re totally chocolate-mogging everyone in the store right now.”

Why did he agree to this shit again?

It’d been their idea.

Tokyo Jujutsu Elementary’s annual talent show was nearing. The decorations were being made. The kids were rehearsing after-school. And Toji didn’t care too much about such things—the only reason this had stuck in his mind was because you’d sent a message about it in the group chat. And he’d read that little sentence over and over again until he memorized it. 

To raise funds for such an endeavour, the elementary was hosting a bake sale; where parents - should they choose to do so - could contribute their own baked goods and little treats and candies that could be sold. The year before, Toji had honestly just sent Megumi off with a bag of chips that Itadori had scoffed down in all of three seconds. 

Though, in his defense, it wasn’t mandatory and he didn’t know what the fuck a bake sale was supposed to be. 

Phase Two of the plan seemingly consisted of emptying out Toji’s pockets- the three of them had insisted that this bake sale was the perfect opportunity for Toji to make his move on you.

It was simple, really—bake cookies for the sale, sell them there, and when it came to you- woo you with a special heart-shaped cookie and ask you out. Simple! 

Was it obvious that this plan had been concocted by a bunch of nine-year-olds?

Toji sighs.

He glimpses Megumi wandering into the meat section and reaching for ¥50,000 Wagyu-

The next day, after burning the first few batches of cookies and setting fire to his kitchen only twice, Toji found himself crammed into a pretty pink-frilled booth at the official annual bake sale. Equally as pink apron cinched around his waist—and his t-shirt so tight that he catches a few single parents giving him appreciative looks.

Though he wasn’t paying attention to that. 

He was keeping his eyes on you- making your way from booth-to-booth, laughing along with parents and trying out everything your students had to offer. 

Toji lets out a long, lingering sigh.

He was never going to get over this damn crush—

Next to him, Megumi and his two best friends were the ones manning the counter and giving out cookies to paying customers. He hates to admit it, but business was booming. 

“Hey…hey, if I pay you in chocolates would you sell this shit again for me?”

Megumi looks up at him blankly. “I want 60% equity and ¥5 for every unit sold.”

Toji drops a cookie he was holding over the counter—“M-maybe not…”

“Hey, there’s Ms. Teacher!” Itadori squeals. 

And then…and then the most sweet, seraphic sound echoes in his ears- too close for it to be something he’d imagined, too removed from him to be anyone but you. You’re making the tall man freeze where he was leaned over the counter - and the hairs on the back of his neck rise…he’s pausing to listen for you before he knows it.

“Oh, let me get that for you.”

Toji hadn’t noticed you walk over. Toji hadn’t noticed you bending down to pick up the cookie he’d dropped. “O-oh, no you don’t need to—” Not before you’re straightening up and holding it out to him with a beautiful smile. 

“It’s no problem.” You chirp. 

Mutely, he takes the crumbling cookie from you.

He wanted that cookie badly.

“So…I see business is booming.” You nod down at the three little ones manning the counter, “Good job, sweethearts. How are you today?”

“Good.” Both Megumi and Kugisaki echo.

“My grandma got hit by a bazooka!” Itadori beams.

Your smile falters, though Toji’s impressed at how quickly you recover. “Well…that’s certainly a time, isn’t it, Yuji? And how are you, Fushiguro-san?”

“O-oh, me—?” His faze sizzles at being called out so suddenly. And the older man hurries to scratch behind his neck—did his biceps look good in this apron? “Ah…chill.”

“Chill, hm?” You smirk. Eyeing him, “I dunno- I’d say it’s a rather hot day today.”

Features scrunching up, Toji leans his head out and looks at the sky. “Is it? Those damn weathermen always lie.”

Megumi smacks his forehead. 

“No, I just meant…” You’re flitting your gaze at the paper-thin fabric of his t-shirt, wrapped around his chiselled limbs so perfectly. Gift-wrapped. And then you’re shaking your head, instead turning to the rows of cookies put on display. “Anyways- any recommendations you guys have for me?”

Toji furrows his brows at the abrupt change in conversation. Beside him, reaching just past his knee, Kugisaki kicks him in the shin and hisses- “The cookie! The cooooookie! Make a move, male lead!”

“Oh. Oh.” Toji startles. Bending down and whispering back, “Now?”

“Yes, now!”

“But-”

“Go.”

“Wait—”

“Go!”

Finally, he holds one calloused palm out at you. Bandaged and slightly aching from baking all day yesterday. “Stay here, we made something special for you.”

“Oh?”

Toji shuffles around in the box of cookies that they’d brought with them; packaged away and separated from the rest was one particular cookie—your favorite flavor, which he’d probed out of the kids. Specifically made in the shape of a heart.

His hands shake a little bit as he turns to you with it.

Scarred lips parting, “This is…”

“For me?” You cock your head with a sweet smile.

He nods. “Free of charge.”

“That’s too sweet, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Please—” Toji interrupts, fingers weak - barely holding onto the crinkled package - as he holds it out to you. “I insist. For taking care of my son.”

Something changes in your expression, and your fingers twitch closer to his.

The trio watches open-mouthed as your hands close the gap in mid-air before—

“Oooooooo, cookie! Fanum tax!” 

Before one Todo Aoi leans over the counter and snatches the cookie fast- before everyone could even blink, all of Toji’s emotions, hopes, pursuits, and dreams find themselves stuffed down the crumb-coated maw of the little boy. Chomped to bits.

Everyone looks at him in stunned silence.

He polishes off the cookie in three bites.

“What?” Todo asks as the silence stretches even longer- and he notices the stares around him. “Needs a little more salt…”

Toji feels like keeling over. “I am going to-”

“Here, Ms.” Megumi picks up one of those cute, floral-decorated cookie packets on the counter and pushes it into your hands. “Free of charge.”

“Thank you. I…” You look at Toji as though you’re about to say something more—but then a call of your name from across the school field catches your attention. Another teacher was waving you over for something- and with an apologetic smile, you’re bowing your way out of there.

Itadori whistles, “Wow, Mr. Fushiguro’s dad. Maybe if you hadn’t waited around bein’ a scaredy-cat then Ms. Teacher might’ve gotten the cookies before Todo.” 

Immediately Kugisaki gets down from the counter- grabs her rubber hammer, and slams it down on Todo’s head. 

Then before Toji can feel a rush of pride, she grabs two cookie packets and beckons him to crouch down to her height.

Once he does, she presses both packets to his cheeks and asks seriously. “And what are you?”

“A fuckin’ idiot cookie.” 

A small gasp.

From the other side of the counter, he hears furious scribbling as someone jots that particular word down—he doesn’t need to look to know that it’s that Inumaki Toge again. Nooooo—! It’d slipped out accidentally, he promises. Also on the other side of the counter was Todo Aoi who was now eyeing the other cookies enviously- Megumi frowns and starts pulling them away from him.

Itadori turns to Toji and shakes his head as though he’d been the adult in this situation. “It’s a shame, though. Phase Two has also failed - take the L, Mr. Fushiguro’s dad.” 

“L.” Kugisaki echoes.

“L.” Todo.

“L.” Somehow Toge.

Megumi nods. “Loser.”

And somehow that hurt the most—

He groans.

Todo huffs. “Can’t believe you just got framemogged by the TJE class monitor, old man.”

Toji whirls around with a glower. “Mugged? I’ve never gotten mugged by anybody-”

“But since you’re all just begging me—” Todo turns to the bemused others with his arms crossed importantly. “-I’ll teach you the true art of rizzing.”

.

.

.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE THREE: A DATE.

Status: -84834832849 aura.

A date.

Not one he’d asked you out on, of course. 

Spring had neared like a reawakening of the Earth; the breeze was warm. The Sun cascaded softly. The birds were twittering. And Fushiguro Toji was losing it—he had already had enough of making a fucking fool out of himself in front of you.

And now he was about to do it all over again.

Megumi’s elementary school was hosting a picnic with the kids in Ueno Park, in honor of the cherry blossoms beginning to open up. 

Parents were invited too, of course. 

And it was inevitable that you’d be there.

Now with that kid Todo - a student a year older than the trio, it seems he’d found himself attached to Itadori though Toji has no idea how that friendship started - onboard for the scheme, Toji was finding himself pulled around like a marionette. This ridiculous scheme to kinda-sorta try and make you fall in love with him…

That he was going along with.

So for the outing, the four had emphasized that Toji wasn’t to come unless he was looking his absolute best. They’d told him to burn that usual black t-shirt of his - no matter how many times he tried to insist that he had a wardrobe full of identical ones. He wanted Megumi to vouch for him, but the boy had lied.

That traitor. 

Thus on the Saturday morning it’d been planned; Toji spent a good few hours in front of the mirror.

Tugging back the sleeves on his white cotton sweater- he’d been told that people appreciate forearms more this way. Dousing himself in perfume. Putting on one of those face creams Kugisaki had recommended after asking her guardian. Attempting to tame his shaggy, black bangs. He made sure his biceps were looking good that day—and stuffed Megumi into his matching sweater as well n’ rushed off to Ueno Park.

He thought he looked pretty good, honestly.

Todo eyes him warily once he arrives, “…That’s the best you’ve got?”

“The hell’s wrong with it?”

“It’s just…not sigma-”

“Shut-”

A few parents turn to look at him.

“He started it—he—”

After certainly no small amount of bickering (and much apologizing from the woman that seemed to be Todo’s guardian), they managed to make it to the picnic area. Where a row of multi-colored checkered blankets were laid out across the green grass like some form of a quilt—Megumi wastes no time before waddling over to where Itadori and Kugisaki were seated with their families.

And before long, the three kids were tugging several blankets closer together and creating a larger one. 

As Toji sighs and stalks over to them—he’s suddenly stopped by Todo Aoi. Evidently having broken free from his guardian for far, far greater purposes; he holds his hand up and makes Toji freeze. “You have much to learn, don’t you, old man?”

“Haaah?” He balks down at the boy.

“True rizzlers don’t sit around playing teatime with kids—” He throws his arm behind at the other three, “-and my beloved brother, Yuji—” They were related?! “True rizzlers have to be tall and nonchalant even if they’re short and chalant.”

Toji eyes him warily. “…Okay? And what am I supposed to do?”

“Talk. To. Her.”

“How—”

“Go there-” Todo stabs a finger in your direction. But Toji didn’t need it to know where to look. 

He sweeps his eyes across the cherry blossom gardens- and his eyes seem to find you as they always do. Even in a garden of the world’s brightest and rarest flowers, you would be the most beautiful. 

“Brother eugh, you’re getting that sappy look on your face again- nonchalant. You have to be nonchalant!” Todo exclaims.

You were wearing a summer dress that fluttered around you in the soft breeze- and before he knows it, the little boy was pushing him towards where you were standing.

“W-wait—”

“Oh, has Phase Three started already?” Soon enough, Itadori’s voice is piping up right beside him. And he’s pushing Toji, too.

Then comes Kugisaki. “Ooooo they always have a cherry blossom episode! I love those.”

The dark-haired man looks to his son for help, and he pretends not to meet his eye.

Dammit.

“Fine—fine.” An unstoppable force meets an immovable object. Toji’s pushing back against their persisting guidance, and they just won’t have it. You’re going to notice him being made a fool again. “I’ll talk to her. Don’t rush me—I said don’t-”

“Why is it that every time there’s trouble, it’s got something to do with the five of you?” 

Too late.

With your hands on your hips, you’re walking over with a playful smile.

Though there was nothing playful about the way his heart thunders-

High-pitched giggles emanate from behind him, and he doesn’t have the time to compute before all three sets of small hands - and Megumi’s mildly disappointed stare - vanishes. The kids are running off, leaving the two of you alone, once you’ve properly walked up to them—leaving Fushiguro Toji to fend for himself and also…collapsing to the ground. Because of the lack of force from behind now, his ass hits the soft grass and you’re trying not to laugh from above.

Pretty hand reaching out, “Everything alright, Fushiguro-san?”

“Toji.” He somehow manages to blurt out, taking your hand and getting to his feet. “Call me Toji.”

“Of course.” And then you’re sharing your own first name. He repeats it like a spring breeze.

Then, like the fool he is, Toji stands around admirin’ you—long enough that the silence stretches a little awkwardly, and you’re starting to shuffle on your feet. He hears a chorus of small groans from somewhere behind him, and quickly amends- “Uhhh, do you like walks down cherry blossom paths?”

You’re raising a brow in faint amusement, “Yes?”

“Have you walked down cherry blossom paths?”

“Not this year.”

“Will you walk down cherry blossom paths?”

“Fushiguro Toji, are you asking me to walk together?” You bump his shoulder with yours, then loop a hand around arm - he felt like arm candy, but don’t save him—Toji was exactly where he wanted to be - and start walking between pink-shedding trees. “You should’ve just said so. Should we have invited Megumi as well?”

“Who’s Megumi?”

Your startled laugh echoes—and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

The two of you loop around the pathway and then back again in companionable silence; though questions and confessions constantly bubbled up to Toji’s throat. Are you having fun? Is his body too warm? Can you hear his heart beating? Do you like the cherry blossoms? Do you know you’re far more beautiful than them?

Why do you glance at him with that knowing smile? 

What secrets do you hide?

Before he knows it, the two of you have reached the spot where you met once more. And four eager children wait for something to happen- for something to be said.

Toji knows he might not get another opportunity—so as soon as the cherry blossoms are tapering out to more of the green grass, he’s turning to you and stammering. “I-I have something to ask…”

“Yes?” You smile.

“And it might be strange-”

“Yes?”

“And weird-”

“Oh, yes?”

“And creepy- don’t be afraid to say no if it’s creepy.”

“Huh?”

“But…” He feels the question: would you wanna grab coffee sometime? claw at his throat. Toji knows you’re waiting, anticipating—and then a cherry blossom flutters down and lands on your crown—making you look far too angelic. “Would you…happen to know that Japan is turning footsteps into electricity.”

You balk. “Excuse me?”

Toji whispers to himself faintly. “U-using piezoelectric tiles…every step you take generates a small amount of energy. Millions of steps…together…”

“Okay, old man, let’s get you to bed.” Todo’s - Todo, of all people - is coming to his rescue. Ushering him away, whilst his son hopefully manages to cover for his father with a good excuse—

“I do not know that man.” Megumi tells you, then leaves.

You’re left shrugging. Ah…

As they’re walking back to their picnic area, Kugisaki murmurs. “This is the cherry blossom episode. Next is the episode where you get hit by a truck-” Toji really hopes it is. “Guess this’ll be that sort of unfinished love drama…”

“My uncle loves hitting people with trucks.” Itadori beams. 

Megumi smacks his forehead once more-

Toji narrows his eyes. “You’re gonna give yourself a concussion if you keep doing that.”

The boy smacks his head even harder. “I hope so.”

Toji mutters to himself. “Fuckin’ me too.”

Behind him, he already knows that Inumaki is jotting this somewhere in some bushes. 

As the picnic continues—more and more of Megumi’s friends join their combined blankets. Toji notices you fluttering about, too.

So caught up, in fact, that he doesn’t even notice four matchmaking masterminds roping in their schoolmate Yuta into a deep conversation.

Toji sneezes- someone must be talking about him.

.

.

.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE FOUR: THE MARRIAGE.

Status: Toji, you’re scaring the huzzzzz-

It seems that Fushiguro Toji was getting married.

Though not exactly of his own volition.

And to whom, exactly? Well, that would be none other than you—

The wedding shall be held in the idyllic venue of Tokyo Jujutsu Elementary’s sprawling playground; amongst the swings and pieces of chewed-up bubble gum stuck underneath slides. Music shall be provided by the choir team. Snacks are Goldfish crackers and nothing more—you won’t want to miss it. 

Don’t bother to RSVP.

Invitations are open to no one, he’s bound to make a fool of himself.

Again.

Toji should’ve known that something was up the second Megumi told him to come for pick-up a little earlier than usual. Elementary classes ended their day with around fifteen minutes of playtime, before official pick-up commenced.

And though Toji didn’t mind coming in earlier - he usually staved his entrance off for the allocated time so Megumi didn’t have to play with his dear ol’ dad looming over his shoulder.

Something had to be wrong- maybe he was sick? And yet…Megumi was the type to never let out even a peep even if he was—he’d have to be dragged out of class and still try to convince Toji that he was feeling well enough to go back. He’d never leave hints like that.

Maybe he didn’t like playtime anymore? That certainly couldn’t be it- playtime always exhilarated Megumi, no matter how much his deadpan son attempted to hide it. He loved his friends. He loved the small rabbit pen that the school had. He especially loved the twin black-and-white wolf spring riders on the playground.

Or maybe…maybe he was getting bullied-

Toji shakes his head clear of that thought immediately.

He’d no sooner be bullied by his son than have his son be bullied-

In fact, before he’d met Itadori and Kugisaki- Megumi loved the playground for…very…different reasons. He’d pile his ‘opponents’ high like a small kid mountain. 

Toji shudders. 

So what could it be—?

That’s exactly the thought tumbling ‘round in his mind as he walks up to that multi-colored painted building. Instead of going up those steps, however, he’s rounding the corner towards the playground on the other side - where he could hear cheers, laughter, and shrieks. Those youngsters touched the air around them with happiness, and it made some part of Toji’s chest soar to think that his son was one of them.

That’s until he’s actually in-view of the playground and spotting you. Right in the middle of the chaos of elementary classes in playtime. 

At the foot of the slides.

A bundle of weeds in your hands

A paper veil atop your head.

With that kid Yuta from the grade above Megumi’s stood solemnly beside you. An officiant. 

It looked like…a wedding.

And the space in front of you was empty for your partner.

Ah.

He looks at Megumi who was avoiding his eyes- so this was the plan…

Fuck.

He must have made a noise of bafflement- because just then you’re turning and letting a smile splash across your face. You exclaim. “Ahhh—there’s my groom!”

Oh…oh, he might faint.

Toji feels numb to the small hands that tug on his arm- “C’mon, c’mon! You’re late, Mr. Fushiguro’s dad—!” And he’s being dragged all the way to the front of the slide, where his bride-to-be was awaiting him, it seems…“After this we need time for the divorce-”

“No, the divorce should happen like four episodes later.” Kugisaki rolls her eyes.

“There shall be no divorce.” The seven-year-old Yuta speaks above them - out of them all, he seemed to be taking his role the most seriously. And he beckons the happy couple closer to one another—fuck, Toji couldn’t even meet your eyes.

Standing in front of you, he stuffs his hands into his pocket and keeps his eyes trained on the ground- giving you a brief nod. “‘Sup?”

“On second thought, there may be a divorce.” Yuta solemnly declares.

“Hey-” Toji sends a glare at the black-haired little boy with the wide eyes, then crosses his beefy arms. “So are we gettin’ married or not? Chop chop.”

You shake your head fondly, “Don’t worry- we cut into rehearsal time for this, it seems.”

“Start the music…” Kugisaki whispers to Megumi…simply standing on the sidelines and sinking deeper into his bangs with every passing second. “The music—!”

Megumi lets out a sigh beyond his years, and clicks on the classroom speaker they must’ve brought from inside. 

In mere seconds, Stateside by PinkPantheress with Zara Larsson starts flooding the playground. Kugisaki hums to herself with a smile- “PinkPantheress n’ Zara always makes things better.”

Soon enough Yuta’s reading out of a scribbled notebook in his hands, “We’re here today to um- something about marriage.” He looks between the two of you—“Hold hands, please. They always do that in the movies.”

The two of you share a look.

And then you do.

Your fingers are warm n’ perfectly fitted in his - he doesn’t have to think to curl his own fingertips around yours. It’s as if his hands were made for holding yours—the thought zips through his body and he wonders why the hell he was getting emotional as though this was a real wedding…

Yuta continues, “-ummm, something about love.” Toji almost jolts. “Something about caring. Something about taking care of each other when you’re not feeling too good- like my momma always does, heh. She makes this chicken soup that-”

“Get on with it—!” Kugisaki hisses.

“Wait- what sort of chicken soup?!” Itadori pleads.

“That’s my rizzler! Toji bro—!” Todo cries.

“Oh, yeah—” He looks back down at his useless notes. “And stay together forever and ever and ever for at least 67 years no matter how far apart you are, or how scared of your feelings.” Yuta looks at Toji pointedly- who did this kid think he was?! “Does the happy couple have any vows?”

And maybe this was it.

Maybe this was his moment.

Maybe this was…

Toji’s scarred lips open. “I-”

Suddenly the speaker playing music explodes—not literally, though for a moment there it did feel like it. The dance-pop song that’d been playing inexplicably heightens in volume until their ears rung- and Megumi hastens to turn it down. 

Kugisaki smacks the speakers with her rubber hammer a few times before it stops. Then with nothing to play in the background, she elbows the pink-haired boy in his side—“Yuji, hit it!”

“Me?!” Itadori yelps, before noticing everyone’s gaze upon him. It’s slowly dawning upon Toji that this might not be the best place for a real confession when Itadori suddenly starts doing some confusing two-step. “You gotta go and I can’t…ehh, sorry. Uhhhh…Nepal. I just don’t want to say that-”

“Please.” Megumi drones. “Please stop.”

He stops.

Mutely, Kugisaki smacks the speaker once more and Stateside blares again.

Toji turns to the officiant- and shakes his head.

Yuta looks at you, “And what about you, Ms?”

“Oh—my vow is that you’re all getting extra homework if eeeeevery single one of you doesn’t dance to the reception tomorrow.” You look at each and everyone.

Small faces scrunched in glee.

Yuta hisses at Itadori. “Time for the rings—the rings!” And the pink-haired boy startles to hand them to him- just a single one plopped onto Toji’s open palm. It was one of those cheap ring pops; still slightly sticky and encrusted with flecks of strawberry candy from before. The actual candy part of it had been very-obviously eaten…

“Sorry.” Itadori still smiles. “I ate it.”

“And the…other ring?”

“I ate that, too.” He excitedly claims, “Plastic and all!”

“I…love whatever’s wrong with you.” Toji furrows his brows. “But also what.”

“Enough talk—exchange the rings then vow your undying love!” Kugisaki yells. “Then die!” She turns to some of the other kids looking at her strange- “What? I don’t mean it like that—the drama’s just better when they die. Where are you going- where are you-”

“Scary kid.” Toji comments. “But sweet. But scary.” 

Megumi distances himself from everything.

Before long, Yuta’s announcing that they ‘exchange’ rings. 

You mime putting one on him.

From the sidelines, Todo sobs into Itadori’s t-shirt—seriously, were they actually related or not?! “Marriagemaxxing already…I’m so p-proud of you my rizzler…my brother in rizz…my sidekick…”

He jerks. “Side—”

Yuta speaks. “And do you, Ms. Teacher—take this auraless man to be your husband?” He can already tell who came up with this officiant’s script- but before he can throw a glance at the trio and Todo, you’re nodding.

“I do.”

Toji feels his heart flutter. He grows warm.

And his fingers are just as tender and sweet as they slip that ring pop onto your left hand—“Then I announce you married- uh. Smooch?”

“Euuuuuuuugh! Gross-” Megumi wails.

If Toji thought that he’d been warm earlier—then he wasn’t prepared for right now. It feels as though his entire body was on fire from the inside; every vein, every cell, every single part of him that hummed with delight at the notion. That made him blush.

So embarrassingly, as though this was his first-ever crush.

Toji catches your eye- and you give him the briefest of nods. 

And then he’s leaning in…he’s hearing your breath catch- and pressing his lips to the back of your hand - just the lightest of grazes, where the ring pop stood out - before pulling back just as quickly. Nothing indecent. Nothing that would give away anything to you—

That ring…

It tasted sweet on his lips.

The surrounding kids cheer- loudly. Now it seems that everyone in the playground had joined in on this little act—and that’s exactly what it was.

Just a little act.

Toji’s lips quiver with the beginnings of a sentence he’s been aching to say for so long-

And then the school bell rings denoting time for pick-up.

Around you, the kids run to their classrooms and their backpacks - excited to tell their parents about what they’d just done in the playground. And as the sea of small bodies moves and thrashes against the two of you…Toji just remains standing. Staring. 

Something within him still unfinished and unsatisfied—

You’re keeping his gaze for a few more seconds, before finally dropping it and unscrewing the plastic ring from your finger. “I uh…sorry about that- and thank you for playing along.”

“Yeah…” He faintly says. “Yeah, no problem.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile. “And if you don’t mind, I should probably…”

You gesture to the parents that had started walking in now, and he jerkily nods. “Yeah- yeah, go do…that.”

“Yeah, I…” You’re then holding your hand out to him- nodding at him to keep his palm open. Then dropping the strawberry-scented ring pop into his hand. “Guess the divorce came a little sooner than expected, huh?”

“Two seconds, that’s a new record.” 

Starting to walk back—you briefly wave. If he was a cockier man, he’d have called you nervous. “I’ll see you at the talent show, ex-husband.”

“Hopefully sooner, ex-wife.”

“Oh- yes, the upcoming parent-teacher meetings.”

“That…” Toji murmurs to himself. That too, he supposes. 

And as he watches you leave…Kugisaki is the first to speak up. “Not even a date? Awww man, I hate slowburns.”

He gapes, “I uh…”

“No, he got scared of his feelings—” Itadori adds. Toji squirms. “Did you know my uncle says he doesn’t have feelings? My grandpa agrees.”

“Dad.” Megumi pulls on Toji’s t-shirt to get his attention. 

“Yes, son?”

And so deadpan, so unexpected- “You fumbled just like Klay Thompson.”

Dammit, son.

Speedwalking to the school with them. “The fuck just happened?”

That one he mouths- he mouths. But Inumaki writes that one down fast-

.

.

.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE? CURRENTLY ON HOLD…

Reason: Parent-teacher meetings.

Status: Dire. Auraless. Megumi doesn’t claim him.

Will the plan have to be abandoned?!

“So.”

“So…” You’re twiddling your thumbs together on top of the desk, eyes trained on Toji whilst his own dart around the colorful classroom. “Megumi’s such a good kid- honestly there’s nothing more to say about him.”

Because today was the day of parent-teacher meetings; that half-an-hour where parents sit before you and leaf through crayon drawings and mathematics that made them cringe. Toji himself hadn’t been the biggest fan of them when Megumi was younger—why the fuck would kindergarteners need parent-teacher meetings?!

But now that his teacher was you…

At least it gave him something even more to look forward to.

So he sets his elbows on your desk and leans in—every meeting had been conducted sitting on opposite sides of your teachers’ desk. It was far too much proximity for his poor heart to take—but you sure as hell won’t hear him complaining.

Not a single peep.

He glides his roughened fingertips over the pages before him- Megumi was never the type to be cagey about his grades. And either way he did get everything above an 80%. 

Toji tries not to let the tips of his lips twitch upwards into a smile—especially as he looked over one of the artworks that Megumi had done: a slightly-smudged drawing of three small figures, one with pink hair, another with a brown bob-cut, and then a portrait of himself. 

And then two larger figures on either side of them

Toji and yourself.

The prompt had been Megumi’s family…

“You should be very proud, y’know.” Your gentle voice breaks through the quiet air in the classroom. 

Toji had come slightly after the other parents, as organizing Megumi’s little sleepover at the Itadori household (with Kugisaki and Todo in tow) had been absolute chaos. Today they’d offered to take the children in because apparently Itadori had gotten some earthworm movies he’d wanted to share. And though Megumi didn’t seem particularly excited at the prospect of earthworms, he’d been begging for weeks to have this sleepover. 

Now. The sunlight dipped beneath the horizon outside, casting the classroom into its warm embrace—like kindling fire. The light bounced off your features and touched his lips, too. Where things were perpetually encased in day and the hours were hot and lazy—like the leaping spark from a fireplace. 

For the first time in a long time, Toji lets himself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

You’re nodding with a smile- “He speaks about you a lot, did you know that?” Once Toji shakes his head, you’re continuing. “About how strong you are, about how you’re funny—” Your nose crinkles, “-but an awful cook.”

“Hey!” Toji squawks, indignified. “I try.”

“I know.” Something about that felt so knowing. “It really is a pleasure having Megumi in my class- he’s quiet but I think Yuji and Nobara are slowly bringing him out of his shell. He’s diligent. He’s quietly kind. He’s a sensitive kid, he notices things faster than most.”

“I’m sure he gets that from me.” He smirks.

You hum, staring at the blood-orange sky outside. There’s a long pause before you speak again—“And I think it’s sweet how he’s trying with his friends to set the two of us up.”

Toji’s jaw drops.

Actually drops.

For a moment he’s speechles—hell, he thinks he might be speechless till the end of time. Sure, he’d guessed that you must’ve noticed something being off…but he never thought you’d actually realize the two of you are being set up—!

You catch the look in his eyes- “Oh, c’mon. You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice, did you?”

“I uh…”

“The cookies. The wingmanning. The wedding. The plans-” Stifling a laugh. “Elementary schoolers aren’t very good at whispering, you know that?”

“Damn.” Toji fists his hands, softly thumping them against the table. “And here I thought a bunch of elementary schoolers could fix my love life…”

You hum—something coy in your tone. “Why don’t you fix it yourself?”

And Toji’s snapping his head up so fast that he thinks he might’ve caught whiplash-

“Would you…” He swallows. He starts off unsurely. “…maybe…like to get coffee sometime-”

“Yes.”

Barely waiting till the sentence flies off his tongue before you respond- it makes Toji wonder whether you’ve been waiting for this as long as he has. 

Embarrassment shows in your slightly-frantic movements, as you start picking at the stationary on your desk and smoothing out your clothes. Nervous. It hits him. “I uh…you’re my last meeting of the day, actually. I’m free to grab some coffee now, if you want?”

He’s never agreed to anything faster in his life.

Less than twenty minutes later and the two of you have found yourselves in the cute new coffee shop down the road. The faintest memory of sugary goods still etched on your smiling lips, and your cups of drinks warming your hands—the two of you were sitting and talking at a window booth when the rain had started.

“Oh, shit…” You peer outside. “You were right.”

“Hm?” Toji takes a sip of his black coffee.

“The weathermen always lie.”

More than the panging warmth at the idea that you’d remembered a throwaway comment he’d said- was what you’d followed that sentence up with.

“Hey, I know this is out-of-the-blue, but…I don’t have an umbrella with me, and taxis are costly this time of evening.” You shift in your seat, avoiding his eyes for perhaps the first time since he’s met you—“My apartment’s close by if you’d wanna maybe grab an umbrella from there? You could even hang around until the rain subsides, if you want…”

This time, it’s his turn to reply embarrassingly fast. “Fuck yeah.”

And so you’d ran.

You’d ran hot on each other’s heels as though someone was chasing you—maybe fear, maybe your inhibitions, maybe the feeling that Fushiguro Toji wanted to kiss you so badly.

So bad. 

You’re sploshin’ the five-minute walk it takes to reach your apartment- before you’re both darting inside and closing the door to the world. Just the two of you. On opposite sides of the narrow vestibule connecting the entrance to the living room. To your bedroom.

Toji presses himself against the cream-colored wall and breathes in. heavy.

This entire place carried your sweet, sweet scent—and it was driving him crazy. 

In front of him, your hands seemed to absent-mindedly reach for the umbrella holder- blindly clasping around one polished handle. “I uh…”

“You-”

You’re both attempting to speak at the same time—then abruptly stop when the other speaks. You gesture for him to continue, and he does the same for you-

“I just meant- here’s your umbrella.”

“Thanks.” Like a zombie, he’s reaching out and clasping it. 

This was it—this was really it.

He was about to leave.

He was about to wake up from this dream.

Before Toji’s letting the umbrella drop to the floor- and you’re both crashing into one another. It’s built and built—and the coil of tension had tightened and tightened before finally snapping—!

Lips against lips.

Tongues against teeth.

His lips sliding against yours and positively ravishing you—one of his large hands finds purchase on the back of your head. His warm touch. Toji feels the pretty pulse on your neck quicken as he tips your head back and delves his tongue even deeper - memorizing the taste of you to every crevice in his brain. 

Your essence…he wants it imbued into him.

Absolutely starving.

He just couldn’t get enough of you.

He just couldn’t get enough of you.

The two of you are making out sloppily- and the sounds of lips lifting from lips permeates your entire apartment. Punctuated occasionally by the hollow grunts that Toji himself was letting off. 

Your cunt twitches between your legs - and you’re pressing yourself into Toji even further. Pushing against his toned body. Rolling your hips against the raging, hot erection that’d found itself home in his pants. Just the sheer size of it- the thickness, the way it throbbed against you was enough to make you let out a soft, simpering nose.

One that he’s gladly swallowing up whole—greedily, even. Because that’s exactly what he was.

A fucking greedy man for everything that’s to do with you.

And he’s waited for far too long.

In no time, you’re taking him by his larger hand and pulling him to your bedroom. Leaving the umbrella and your reservations behind. 

Toji lets out a hallowed groan as he’s being pushed back into the bed- the backs of his knees hitting the mahogany bed frame. Your hands flying to the ties of his trousers. Your own knees striking the floor—

“Easy there…” Toji brushes one hand down the side of your face- reaching back into your scalp and tightening. “Don’t want my girl to get hurt.”

“Your girl?” You grin. “You haven’t even asked me out on a proper date yet.”

“And you should be buyin’ me dinner before this. Lecher.”

You’re huffing as you’re able to tear that wretched fabric off his muscular legs- finally. And your jaw…drops…

He was so…

Fucking big. 

From the moment his achin’ cock’s freed, Toji springs out and seems to pulse even thicker—the start of his base reminding you of one of those soda cans. Toji reaches down to wrap his other hand ‘round it, his palm covering some of the dark curls decorating his pelvis, and he seems to look even bigger when framed like this.

Rock-hard. Covered in numerous veins.

They were dappled all across his inches and throb-throb-throbbing- so ravenously hard that Toji’s length twitched the moment he’s feelin’ the cold bedroom air. 

And not only was he big, but that curve of his shaft was delicious.

It made you wonder what it’d feel like to have him curve up inside…

Upwards tilted. That crown of his craning up at the ceiling. The pointed end of his cock ended off with his blushin’ mushroom tip- so fat n’ already soaked in his wads of sopping precum. The color of it was the prettiest tannish pink you’ve ever seen in your entire life—and so you really couldn’t help but lean down and press a chaste peck-

The taste of his salted-caramel pre takes over your tastebuds immediately.

“O-oh…” Toji’s head throws backwards with a gravelly groan. “Don’t go teasing me now, doll.”

“You’re the one that’s been teasing me this entire time.” You counter. Though you’re loosenin’ your jaw and taking him in even further. Inch by solid fucking inch.

It’s hard to stuff Toji’s cock all down your throat like you so-badly wanted- he was big. N’ those zig-zagging veins down his length made you want to linger…massaging the roof of your mouth with a few semi-gulps that rub his inches on top. Again and again.

You’re shuttering your eyes and moaning deep into his shaft at the carnal scratch he somehow seemed to soothe.

“Ah ah—” You’re hearing him before you’re feeling him- suddenly, two thick fingertips are pinching your poor nostrils together. Eyelids flapping open to stare up at him.

Toji has the most cocky smile across his beautiful scarred lips as he peers down at you. “Now what’s this about refusin’ to take me anymore?” He asks you, punctuating the that of his sentence with a thorough nudge of his bulbous tip down your throat. “You don’t wanna take me any further, doll? Or you…”

And another.

Though, this time, it wasn’t a nudge at all.

And Toji’s massive length is pushing apart the wet walls of your throat- and mazing his throbbing cock inside. The noises you’re letting out when you slurp him up are so pretty—

And the older man uses his second hand to wipe a stray tear off your cheeks, “-can’t?”

“Mmm–mmmfg.” Choking down both your needy sobs n’ your breaths. You’re clawing at his thicks- so thick and toned. 

“What? Whaaaat?” He pinches your nose even harder. “Wha’s the matter, teach?”

“You-” Barely able to mangle out some semblance of coherent syllables - you’re going cross-eyed trying to both take him in deeper, and look at the fingers blocking off your airway. “Mmm- ngh.” Whatever mess of a sentence that was meant to be, it’s coming out embarrassingly jumbled.

Embarrassingly so.

And tears are just starting to stream down your cheeks- your cunt’s getting even wetter at his actions and pushing against his toned calf- once he finally lets go. Finally. 

With a loud pwah! you’re removin’ your swollen lips off of his cock. Feeling for your poor nose that’s startin’ to sting—“So mean, Toji. I should’ve bit that dick off.” You joke.

He looks at you with a leer, “We both know that out of the two of us, you’d be the most disappointed with that.” And it was true- it really was true. But Toji takes it a step further by lazily reaching his calf over and pushing it against your cunt. Dripping wet even through those panties of yours- your pretty dress was hiked up n’ already exposing that sweet puddle that’d formed in the middle of your underwear. 

His mouth waters at the sight. 

“See what I mean?” Then Toji straightens up and pats the top of his manspread thighs. An invitation. 

“But, I haven’t even…”

“S’okay.” He nods at you reassuringly. You didn’t have to worry about any of that needing to please shit with him- he’d be the one driving you wild tonight. “I have something even- heh, sweeter in mind.”

And hopefully every night after that.

In a mere few moments, you’re settling yourself on Toji’s lap. And then he’s attacking your mouth in a mind-numbing kiss, tongue swipin’ between your lips before ultimately sucking on those tastebuds of yours. Sucking. Like candy. 

He then maneuvers the two of you to then drape you across the sheets; slightly sodden with lust and perspiration. The blankets stick against your clammy skin as Toji presses your hips down on the mattress- “Down, girl.” His fingertips dig into the side of your waist.

“What’s that about not teasing?” You pant.

With a low chuckle, Toji presses a peck on the left side of your hips—then creeps himself down until his handsome features were huffin’ and puffin’ against your sodden cunt. His own hot breath seemed to reach out to you—curling, cloooouding, it seemed to stroke down that watery slit of yours. “Fushiguro Toji never teases.”

“You’re teasing right-”

“M’just waiting for the perfect moment.” And there’s not a second wasted- before Toji lurches himself nose-deep between your legs and gives your dripping pussy a good lick!

“O-oh…” Your mouth waters at the brazen touch- body jolting just a little. Though if you thought that Toji would let you so much as squirm whilst he’s locked between those thighs of yours, then you’d be sorely mistaken. His fingers dip down the expanse of your legs and clutches you close against his ravenous maw—“Aren’t you going to take off my panties, Toji?”

“Don’t be vulgar, doll.” He mutters- just to tease you. “M’gonna eat you through your panties, of course.”

And it’s the only warning you’re getting.

Before Toji latches his puckered lips to your cunt- properly, this time. And his loooooong tongue was lavishin’ across every inch of your pussy he can reach. Through your panties—Toji gapes his mouth open and laps like a fuckin’ animal at the leaking slit your underwear was stick to, your swollen folds, your utterly needy button. 

“Mmmmpf-” Toji’s prominent nose pushes apart your pussylips, and he’s feelin’ for that puckered, pretty nub. Already throbbing like you’ve been so impatient for him this entire time.

He presses himself closely against your clit for a few seconds—throb-throb-throb!

Like a ticking time bomb. He’s driving himself absolutely wild; before snakin’ your panties to the side and thrashing his tongue against your raw cunt. Slurping. Sucking. Everything and anything of you he could find - he’s pushing himself so nose-deep into your pussy that he damn-near can’t breathe—and eating you out like an animal. “Mmmm, don’t you move a s-single inch now.” Toji tightens his hold on your quivering legs. “I haven’t even started yet.”

“Started what…?” You babble out - your hips were yearning to push off the creaking mattress.

Though all it took was a fraction of his strength to pin you back down, roverin’ his tongue on the slick-glued insides of your folds. Rooooound and round in circles that left your mind dizzy. “Heh- what else d’you think?” Toji answers. “M’teaching this pussy how to take Fushiguro Toji, that mouth of yours barely could.” 

“Rude.”

Before you could pipe up anything more witty, he’s spankin’ four fingertips down on your glistening pussy. “S’not rude if it’s true.”

“I’m the teacher here, though.”

“Then maybe I’m the principal.” He leers- swabbing the fat edge of his tongue into your hole. “Gonna grade you and everything…”

“That’s fuckin’ corny—”

“Made your pussy weep, though.”

And just in good time, too- because almost immediately he’s letting that first inch of his tongue fuck inside your cunt. Just the first inch. But it was already enough to make your toes curl n’ your back arch—Toji’s wet muscle was just so thiiiiiiick.

He’s pluggin’ up your orifices with a mere few thrusts - the ridged texture of his tastebuds kneading your tight walls. Shovelling you open. Shovelling himself deeper inside. The flickerin’ tip of his tongue laps against some of your most tender areas n’ then pushes up into the sensitive roof of your cunt- 

“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re keening out in the prettiest trill he’s ever heard. Toji has the audacity to let out a wet giggle at your dripping core - clenching ‘round him.

His ears burn at the musical note- and before long, your folds are burning at the searing smack! that he’s planting on top of your cunt. Your head drops down to stare at him in shock.

“That’s a C- for handling yourself.” He echoes. Two more spanks follow—before Toji nuzzles your gummy pussy n’ laps his tongue across your clit. “But an A for pretty moans.”

“I th-think that grading syllabus is a little- ngh! skewed, don’t you think?”

Yet another spank.

“Not at all.”

He was merciless. Ruthless. 

Absolutely impounding you with those slashing, scouring strokes of his - Toji’s thrusts manage to reach so much deeper than you’d have ever guessed. And when he felt that his tongue was stuffed inside your pretty pussy far ‘nough, he’s flaring those edges outwards and scraping his tastebuds down the sides of your walls. Stimulating your snug channel sooooo fuckin’ good—

“S’that so?” Toji flutters his long, dark lashes up at you. It takes a second for you to register that you might just have said that last thought out loud. 

Though you’re merely steeling your expression and nodding-

He’s plasterin’ his fingertips against your puckered pussy with a chuckle. “Cute. But flattery’s gonna get you nowhere- with all this damn squirming you’re doing, your C’s dropping down to a- haaaah, D.”

Your eyes pop open. “B-but…”

“And just think-” Toji continues without a single speck of mercy for you. His tongue’s tunneling and thrusting- faster than your frenzied mind can keep up with. “-that if you’re reacting like this to just my long tongue…” Thrust after thrust after thrust—the curvaceous inches of his tongue don’t leave a single bundle of nerve unprobed. Zig-zagging and swabbing wildly - your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. “-yer gonna fucking run away when it comes to my cock, doll.”

“Oh—” You’re tumbling your hips constantly up to him. Attempting to heighten the friction. “Promise I won’t. Promise-”

“And now look at you.” And after all he’s taught you…Toji grasps his left hand underneath your arching body. Grabbing a nice handful of your ass cheeks- it makes him smile to watch your mouth drop in shock at the lecherous action. “Dropped down to a D-.”

A fucking minus.

That earns you several more wet spanks. And then a fucking pinch—right on your clit. 

And Toji merely trundles, “Where the fuck does this pretty pussy think she’s going?”

Crashing his lips into…yours. Quiverin’ your weakened limbs around the back of his neck- 

Your ankles are weakly latching themselves there- slightly glissading down his glossy strands. It messes up his hair just a little, and Toji’s soon finding himself smirking against those pussylips.

“Tch…fine, you get a B for neediness.”

Only a B?!

But perhaps it was better that you’d kept your mouth shut - mostly because you couldn’t speak over the primal moans that kept escaping your throat - because then Toji’s sinking his canines ‘round your clit and swervin’ his face aaaaaaall around your pussy. Every corner and inch.

He’s fucking coating his features in a layer of your shimmering slick.

Like a damn medallion.

It clings to him in long, ropey excess. 

“O-oh my god—” And then your trilling vocals break the very second that he’s intruding your hole once more- this time, with his fingers…

You weave your own hands into Toji’s sweat-dampened hair and hold on for dear life. 

“Hmmm, a little possessive, huh? M’bumping that neediness to a- hah, A+...heh.”  As a reward, you’re getting his textured lips encasing your sopping clit—just so desperate and damn-near flinching with how hard you were pulsing between your legs. Needing. Needing. 

Your breath comes out in stuttered bursts, and it takes everything in you to echo. “A-and what do I have to reach to- mm, get your cock, Toji?”

“I dunno, aren’t you the one with a t-teaching degree?” He’s babbling- before that haziness in his eyes clear up once he realizes what he’s just said. “No, wait—I’m pretending to be…I’m the one gradin’ now…”

Toji looks down at your pussy as though offended. A spank wasn’t enough, he’s properly spitting. 

“This pussy’s made me pussydrunk, heeeeh?” He scoffs n’ edges in to suckle on your clit—all while his two bulky fingers were scissoring between your pussylips. “An A+ for that…”

Pussydrunk.

Though you’re not doing too well yourself.

You’re just sizzling from the very insides - even your very vessels seemed to be vibrating with that carnal sort of needy for him. And as Toji’s slashing strikes with his fingers accelerate, so does that kindling pit of pleasure in your stomach. “I th-think m’close, Toji…”

“Close?” Toji’s breath hitches. “Close? And we haven’t even finished the grading yet—buck up, doll, because m’not holding back anymore.”

“Th-that was you holding back?!”

Evidently so. 

And you can surely attest to that—in mere moments, he’s adding in a third finger with a lecherous slurp! of his honed inches bein’ all sucked in. Down every single joint. Down to his damn knuckles; you’re feeling those mountainous ridges push up against your sensitive pussy, and Toji’s three fingers were rovering and reeeeeaching every single spot inside. 

Claiming them as his. 

Toji laps up a silken line of slick that’d dripped from your cunt and down his wrist—you were claiming him as yours, too…“Got a second to hear your grades, doll?” Whilst the desperate pleads start to bubble at your throat- “Won’t be given’ you this cock until you do…”

“Then tell them to me—” You shriek. Haaaauling at the thick tufts of his scalp, “Fucking tell them, Toji.”

“Well, manners fuckin’ F.” Toji huffs- but he couldn’t fool you. Ohhh, the expression on his face was pure ecstasy as you guided his lapping face around your cunt. “But manners for this pussy…hmmmm…B.”

“Only a fucking B-”

“Roughness: used to be C- but oh, m’thinking it’s now an A.” He comments - the more and more frustrated you become, the more your carnal urges surface. Your grip is searing on his scalp. Your legs are locking around his neck. “Doesn’t mean you can go easier on me now, teach.”

“Fuh-fuuuuck, Toji—”

“Wetness: A+ of course.” Rolling his eyes as if that should be obvious, “Sweetness: A++.”

“Fuck-”

“That mouth of yours? D.”

“Fuck you.”

“M’trying to. And hmmmm, about the way she clenches…” He ponders- before then directly diverting his round, rotund fingertips to the spot just a few inches into your channel. He’s already mapped your smallest ridges n’ crevices out by all of these thrusts- and you’re feeling pure white-hot pleasure run down your spine as Toji then rams his dexterous fingers into your fucking g-spot. “That’s an A+++”

Because of course, you’re keeping him hostage.

Of course, you’re squeezing your velvety walls around him until his joints were turning white—and Toji’s fingers were havin’ a tough time moving back and forth stuffed between those clingy walls of yours. 

And yet…he’s scissoring apart your needy grip and rammin’ into your deepest, most sensitive depths. 

Again and again and again- “Yeah…this pussy’s definitely gonna take me now. Isn’t that right, teach?” But the only thing your fried head can urge you into doing is nodding. “Tha’s what I thought. Dumbification: A.” Toji cocks his head. “Don’tcha think I’m being too nice with these grades?”

Shaking your head fervently- through sobs.

“Mmmm…well, I think I am.” His canines teasingly grip your clit and draaaaag that swollen nub out. “S’alright doll. After this, you can grade my cock when s’time…”

He smirks - still keeping that firm attachment onto your most sensitive place - and you can feel it. You can feel it—

“And you can be as fuh-fuckin’ ruthless as you want.” Toji’s long fingers then curl inside your cunt for a final time before…“Because I know m’gonna be fucking my girl right.”

Before you’re shattering.

Breaking into your high—it first starts with an explosion of pleasure between your legs- before teleporting right up to your fuzzy head. Your thighs were quaking. Your pulse was thundering so loud you could hear it with your own ears- and it felt as though those torrential waves of bliss were just taking you over.

“Oh—oh, fuck.” Clawing your hands through Toji’s hair. The only anchor you had was this- and the tunneling digits that were fingering you to ecstasy- he was hitting at every peak. He was elongating your orgasm more than you ever thought possible. “Fuck, fuck, fuck- fuuuuuck, Toji.”

“Tha’s right- say my name.” He grunts. Such lecherous slurps! echoing from between those legs of yours as he sucked n’ sucked on your clit simultaneously. “Say my name- say my name. Who’s making you feel this good?”

“Toji.” You hiccup. “Y-you, Toji.”

A sudden spank! resounds across all four corners of the room.

Your high crescendos even further than your limits- or at least what you’d assumed them to be. 

“I was lookin’ for sir, but that works, too…” Your jaw drops at the boldness of this man. 

“Sir? D-don’t think that you’re getting off easy when I- ngh, when I finally ride you stupid.” As the last few pangs of your orgasm shimmer through your body, you’re managing to gather your thoughts better than before. “What do you think you’d get anyway?”

Toji pulls off your oversensitive pussy with a loud plap! “A’s across the board.”

“Oh, don’t be so humble.”

With that said- you’re reaching out and grabbing Toji by the collar. He gets dragged upwards—the bed dips as the larger man cages you in with his strong forearms. He leers, “I think you pass, don’t you?” You could see that somewhere during makin’ out with your pussy, Toji had tugged down his pants- likely to jerk himself off as he did so.

And his long cock stood aching and rock-hard between his legs.

That round, reddened tip of his seemed to wink up at you as he dribbled out a single bead of precum. Aaaaall the way from the edge of his cockhead, and aaaaaall the way down to his bushy black curls at the base. 

Your mouth waters. 

Hands on his body- his fingers tearing through your own fabric. Soon enough you’re naked beneath him—and he’s just as devastatingly bare. Perfectly-aligned abs. Chiselled pecs. Fushiguro Toji had a body that made him look as though he was hand-carved by Hercules himself- it was just so sensual the way his ladder-like core pushed down against yours.

And it’s so difficult to keep a stern face facing him when those bulky biceps of his were flexing—right next to your face. 

But somehow you manage- you were a professional after all, weren’t you?

“I’m serious about what I said on riding you stupid.” You’re murmuring up at him, “Flip over.”

He smirks, “And if I don’t?”

Within split-seconds, you’re grabbing a fistful of his hair and watch as his cock twitches at the rough manhandling—at the way you’re turning the two of you over and straddlin’ his hips. Toji bucks with a groan underneath you, but you’re quicker than that- and you’re clasping a hand around his gulping throat. Sweaty and scorching to the touch .

“Ah ah-” You tut. “You already had your fun. Now it’s time for mine…”

“Aye aye, teach.”

“Quiet coyote.”

Toji mimes zipping his lips shut—but there’s openin’ back up again almost instantly once he feels your sultry hips swivelling down his cock. You duck a hand underneath yourself to grab his throbbing hilt- and before long, his wet tip’s smushing apart your pussylips. He’s intruding that hole of yours and bucking up into where you needed him the most. 

He shovels in a few more inches with an echoing sluuuurp! of your pussy viciously gulping him up.

“What did I…oh.” Beside yourself, your head’s throwing backwards at the sheer pressure he was creating inside. “What did I say about staying still?”

“Actually…you didn’t say anything about that.” That grin of his was infuriatingly handsome. “Still, mmm, cockdrunk?”

“You wish…” Though that wasn’t an outright denial.

It was true that your mind was coiled with fog after your last orgasm; the dopamine still coursing through your body. And the way that Toji’s thickened, textured length was pushing your walls aside wasn’t helping—it was making you feel sensations so raw and carnal- that saliva’s dripping down one side of your mouth after a mere few semi-thrusts.

Just the bulging edge of Toji’s tip scourin’ your channel inwards.

“Awww, don’t tell me I was right?” He asks you- and it registers as mere distant words. Toji reaches out his right hand and wipes away that splatter of spit - before bringing it up to his own mouth and sucking. What an animal. “Can’t grade ol’ Toji’s cock? Or is it- heh, so good that I’m breaking all the scales?”

“You fucking-”

“Yeah yeah, wish- right?” He scoffs meanly. But honestly…he might be teasing you but he was completely infatuated with the idea of your smart mouth babbling for him like this.

The way you were twitchin’ with every light graze of his flared tip.

Your insides were getting used to him, and Toji was only stuffing himself even deeper. “Right…” Though of course- Toji himself wasn’t doing all too hot. Just a single one of your adhesive-like clenches and he can’t help but buck—

“Easy, eeeeasy- you can take me, my girl.” He grits his teeth. He blinks back the tears in his eyes. He’s guiding your impatient hips n’ grinding your cunt dooooown onto his pelvis. “Fuck- fuck, and how d’you grade the stretch?”

Your eyes pop open. “The stretch?”

“Mhm- the streeeeetch—yeah?” Toji’s chest rumbles in delight as he watches your every microexpression and reaction. Even the smallest curlings of your toes. “Such a big stretch feels good, yeah?”

“Mhm- I rate it a…” Your jaw hangs open- as though to purposefully influence your grading, he’s shovelling his length a few more times. Faster. “B.”

And that…what the fuck?!

“A fucking what?” That makes Toji’s maw gape, and his handsome face twist into something of bewilderment. You look at him and you honestly let out a little chuckle - but that seems to only spur his driving hips even further. “Oh noooo, doll. You’re joking.”

“I said what I said.” Biting back. “It’s a B because…” Throwing your head back and arching—you’re gaining more movement in your hips and letting him push inside. “-you’re just not- fuck. Bottoming. Out. Fucking do it already—!”

His feet plant ever-so-slightly on the ricketing mattress- and that means you were feeling the plushness of his muscular thighs against your back. Those tendons and rippling strength. There’s honestly nothing more for you to do but gnaw down on your trembling lower lip in the hopes that those embarrassing noises won’t escape-

Because Toji then glues his hands upon either side of your hips and slams your cunt down onto him.

It’s such incredible friction. It’s so many of his winding veins- pushin’ apart your walls and scouring you all over—

You’re arching your back into him and gasping- “A…”

“A what?” 

“A for your veins.” And that honestly manages to catch him off-guard and make him let out an exhilarated bout of laughter. Being in your presence was like four shots of espresso—fucking you was four shots of vodka. Straight. He’s dizzy and he’s clamorin’ his numerous inches up your pretty channel, watching as you drip glittering globs of slick all ‘round him. 

“Oh…” Toji seems to grow even bigger inside you. He grips you as hard as your pussy was clenchin’ him. “Keep going-”

“And a- fuck, an A for your pace—” Just perfect. Dizzingly fast; whilst still being steady and balanced enough that you were able to feel his textured length slipping into every spot he needed to slip into—“And a…a fucking F for your attitude.”

“Hey…” Toji juts his scarred lip out in a mock-attempt at a pout. “Don’t imply m’sassy when your pussy speaks like that to me.”

Right on cue, you’re letting out some of the most sinful slurps as your cunt slaps right down onto him. Onto his hefty balls. 

Toji’s thick brows raise at the sounds- even he didn’t think that your pussy could get this chatty. Mouth falling agape as he watches you drip-drip-driiiip.

You’re grabbing onto both of Toji’s sculptured deltoids for balance, increasing your pace as your legs start to grow limp. Perhaps noticing your little struggle, he’s supporting one of your legs with his left hand—and thumbing over your clit with his right. “And then? What else—dick got yer tongue?”

“You fuckin’ wish.” You snipe back.

“Yeah.” Toji simply replies. Without a single warning, he’s craning his head up and signalling you to open your mouth- instinctually, your tongue sticks out. Perfect for him to spit—a heaping mess between your lips. “You looked so pretty with my cock stuffed down your throat, too.”

Grumbling - though it was just for show - yet you swallow. “That was a B- since you almost missed.” One of your hands reaches up to swipe at the splattered saliva piled on the edge of your mouth.

“Oh, no.” With such a loving glint in his eyes, he’s leaning up and kissing the mess he’d just left behind. “That was totally on purpose, doll.”

“F-filthy…”

“You know it, teach.”

Both of your bodies were slick with sweat and glissading against one another- Toji himself was especially frenzied with his movement. His thrusts. His battering rams. The way his pointed tip struck the end of your cervix—bottomed-out, and then smeared apart your channel to drag aaaaaaall the way back down. Aaaaaaall the way back in.

And through it all- you’re sputtering out the same ruthless grading of his cock. Red-hot and ruining your insides with every thrust. Pump after pump- “Deepness…B.”

Bruising his tip’s circumference at the very back of your pussy. Dribbling out ribbons of pre. 

“Hmmm, alright a B+.” Pleasure runs through your body the more n’ more Toji grows irritated- because that meant the more he was trying to prove himself. The harder he was fucking you. “And the- hah, curve: an A.”

“Damn right.” That, he could most certainly be proud of. That slightly upwards curve of him was the perfect shape to mold your walls- to let his honed tip be the searchlight.

And your sweetest spots were what he was aiming for.

After a few more vulgar strokes, Toji’s rediscovering and ramming himself into none other than your g-spot. That throbbing bundle of nerves that’d just kept on and on waiting for him to probe you with his shaft—perhaps a bit too long at that…“What took you so long to find that spot again, Toji?”

“Take it easy on me…” He pleads with a slight hint of amusement. “Your pussy was to- mmm, hypnotizing. You can’t blame a guy for taking a little time…needy fuckin’ pussy.”

That last bit was said to himself- underneath his breath, in fact.

And yet, your proximity means that you’re catching onto every single word - and without a split-second of hesitation you’re countering back. “Oh? What was that…I’m sorry, maybe I was- hngh, hearing things? Because it just sounded to me like you wanted all your g-grade to plummet to an F?”

His lips part. “You wouldn’t…”

You peck him on the mouth. “Try. Me.”

And fuuuuuck—it’s clear he’s not expecting the way that sends pangs of excitement coursing through every inch of him. It’s clear he doesn’t know what to fucking do with himself- once he propells his ruddied cockhead to hit against the door to your womb.

And Toji’s thighs are left shivering at the way your walls immediately rush to embrace him.

Suctioning him.

A ribbon of drool drips slowly from the edge of his mouth, “A-and what do I have to do to make it up?”

“Hmmmm?” The fact that you made the Fushiguro Toji stutter so blatantly like this…it was driving you wild. It was making the cockiest smile plaster across your face- he wanted to kiss it away so bad but you were teasingly inching your lips away, making him work for it. 

He growls and repeats- “What do I have to fucking do to get- hah, extra credit? To make up for my…” Toji’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs. “-mistake.” 

“There now. Was that so hard to- hah, admit?” You coo. “Gimme a D.”

“Huh?” Toji gapes. “Aren’t you the one supposed to be- ngh, giving out the grades?”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just telling you to shut up and fuck me harder with your fat dick—”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

He lightly stirs his hips in semi-circular motions to get the most out of his veiny cock- to make sure that those prized n’ precious vessels were massaging your insides just right. “Fuck-” Your entire upper half is shaking from stimulation - “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck—just like that.”

“Hngh, oh yeah?” Honed canines beared.

“Faster-” And he listens.

“Harder.” And he listens once more.

“Fucking-” You’re it escape you in a trilling tone. “-b-breed me…”

Toji’s breathless once the words register to him. “Yes, ma’am…” 

Pumping up into you - meeting your bouncin’ cadence - like he was angry with you. Like he was trying to shove to your deepest depths n’ then probe his erect cock even further. Like he was trying to meld your bodies into one—

He was fucking you in a way that was so animalistic.

And Toji can’t help it- fuck, he can’t help but throw his head back—it just feels so good. Eyes shuttering. Brows furrowing. His hips unsticking from the now-dampened bedsheets to arch properly up into you-

But that’s when he feels those familiar fingers ‘round his throat again.

“Ah ah ah—” You tut. Your vision was just a little bleary from all the tears and pleasure clogging up your mind- “And who said you could- hah, move, hm? Seems like you’re the one running away, not me. What? Scared m’gonna milk you too hard, Fushiguro Toji?”

He growls. “You little…”

“F- for handling yourself.” Remembering just how much he’d teased you earlier for similar reactions just made these words so much sweeter on your tongue. “In fact…”

Toji looks eagerly up at you through his bangs.

To which you’re taking your lazy time changing your sloppy cadence into figure-eights instead. It swerved n’ stirred his pussy around your depths; and made it so that the most sensitive parts of Toji’s veins - that pinkish line underneath his slit, the frailest of his veins, where his balls rested - were being stimulated. Making him pour out wads of precum into you as though it was a waterfall—

“See me after class.”

“Fuck yes.” Toji grunts to himself- his hair was flying into his face, and every bit of his skin seemed to be furiously flushed. “Fuck—fuck, I need to cum inside you.”

Plap after plap after plap! of his hips hitting yours. “Mhmmm—”

“I n-need to fill you up until here-” His thumb briefly detaches from your clit to graze your lower stomach, where your womb was wont to be. “I need to feel it pouring out of you- then fuck it all back in.” And he was pistoning into you like it, too.

“Shit, m’close-”

Hard. Fast. The wads of his sappy precum only get stronger and more frequent - “I n-need to…”

Toji’s voice hatches into nothingness in his throat, and you’re cooing down at him cutely. “What’s thaaaat?”

“Need you to make me a f-father for a second time.” Toji utters.

And then with a particularly hard press on your heart-shaped, swollen clit—you’re both tumbling into your highs together. Tumbling into one another as you both hold each other through your strong orgasms - even stronger than the one you’d had prior.

Zaps and twinges of pleasure. 

Goosebumps dapple across your skin.

Your spine arches into him. 

Now you have Toji’s ravenous cock bulging into your walls- his globular tip searchin’ for every sweet spot and pinpointing them using his shape. That only elongated the sparks of your high until it felt never-ending; and dopamine washes over your body and leaves you wracking. Hands clawing down wherever you could latch onto the older man. Your knees squeezing tighter around his waist to milk him through his own euphoria. “Yes—yes, just like that.”

“Oh…oh, look at the way m’dripping out of you…” Toji’s mouth unfastens. Your cunt had already been bloated around his cock- now with his volumes of cum being webbed up inside, it was almost too much for you to handle.

And Toji’s orgasm rips through him strong—even his powerful limbs were wrapped around you as he powered through it. His thumb tremblin’ as he rolled and rolled.

He breathes out hot and heavy when those fingers of his dare to wonder…right along where a sheen was spreading along your inner-thighs. Every satiny drop of cum he was pouring out gets slid down your cervix- and then trickles deep inside of you. “So messy, this pussy o’ mine.”

“Yours?” You gasp. Though even that tiny reaction meant you feel his warm wetness splosh! inside you.

“Mhmmm—” He nods drunkenly. Left arm wrapping behind you and pulling you to him - resting you against his chest. “But don’t worry…this cock is yours, too.”

You scoff. “The audacity. Didn’t I give this cock an F?”

“Yeah, you sure did give me a fuck.”

You decide that the only way to shut up him is to overstimulate him by fuckin’ him—perhaps unfortunately for you, Fushiguro Toji seemed to have had the same idea.

“Mmm, now what about the parent-teacher meeting? We already- oh, handed out the grades, didn’t we?” He’s whispering in your ear once he’d somehow manhandled you into a doggy position. Sculpted abs pressed against your spine. Beefy arm wrapped around your throat in a headlock—

“T-to say what?” You’d wheezed out.

“That m’not done fucking this pussy pregnant.”

.

.

.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE FIVE: 𝕲𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖚𝖕…

It’s so over.

Today was the day of the talent show; and Fushiguro Megumi had never felt more untalented. 

And no…it wasn’t because of any of the other competition—if he had any idea how these things go, at the end they were going to say that everyone won and everyone gets a prize. This was elementary school, after all. And he was quite grown up. 

Anyways—the point is his, Itadori, and Kugisaki’s magic show had been quite the hit amongst parents especially.

And that wasn’t why he was feeling untalented. 

It wasn’t because Todo’s PG-censored version of a Megan Thee Stallion song had been honestly…quite good. It wasn’t because Yuta’s puppeteering act had been something that’d drawn endeared laughter from both kids and parents alike. It wasn’t even because of the act that was happening right now…where Inumaki was standing alone on center stage with a notebook opened up in his hands. The last act of the night.

The rest of the show had gone swimmingly.

Inumaki was a bit more of the quiet type, but at this moment he speaks into the mic loud and clear. 

“For my talent today, I am going to read out vocabulary words taught to me by Fushiguro-san. Thank you Fushiguro-san!”

The audience coos and turns to try and find the aforementioned man.

From his position peaking-in from backstage, Megumi watches his father pale from the first row. And then sink deeper into his seat.

Deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper-

“Bud.”

Though the rest of the audience nods in sweet endearment- Toji’s damn-near jumping out of his seat in surprise. That was…clearly not what he had been expecting.

Not at all.

Inumaki continues.

“Cookie.”

And Toji has gathered enough bravery to…perhaps properly sit up in his seat. Clapping along with the other parents- looking around to make sure that he wasn’t just hearing things. And this was actually what Inumaki was reciting.

“Concussion.”

That one draws some admiring sounds. Such a big word for such a small kid—good on Fushiguro Toji, right?

He might just be safe…

“And divorce.” That one draws mixed reactions- but Inumaki closes his infamous blue notebook, and Toji lets out a sigh of relief - one that was nearly audible backstage. 

Along with the rest of the parents, he can whole-heartedly start clapping now. Maybe even throw in a cheer or two.

Let the audience know that he was the mastermind behind such academic advancements. Yeah, maybe they should pay him.

But Inumaki wasn’t done yet.

“And my favorite yet—” Which one was it? Which other important vocabulary word had Toji so graciously bestowed upon this kid? Which other aspect of his life had Toji alleviated by the sharing of precious, precious knowledge? Inumaki firmly grips the mic. “Is fuc-”

Megumi leaps onto stage and snatches the microphone out of Inumaki’s hand before he can complete that specific word…

But the implication must have been evident either way, because then each set of eyes turns behind to the black-haired man. And glares. Toji flips them off. The applause is more polite than willing now. Then he decides that he’s never showing his face ‘round here again, he’s never stepping a foot through those damn multi-colored doors if it fucking kills him, he’s never—

Just then, you’re stepping onto the stage and graciously taking the mic from Megumi. He’s so back.

“Hello? Is this thing on?” You chuckle into it. 

And Toji…Toji knows. He knows he wouldn’t mind being thrown a dirty look from every single person he meets- so long as you’re there to spot him out in a crowd. Tugging his son close to you—as you beckon all the other kids on-stage and start your speech.

It’s mostly thanking those that made it possible; the parents, the staff, and especially the students. Toji isn’t quite ashamed to admit that he’d been too busy drowning in your gorgeous tone to even register your words—

Expectedly, you were telling the kids that everyone won - and Principal Yaga had been called on-stage to hand out prizes to every one of the kids. And as Fushiguro Megumi holds his prize - a custom trophy with his name, a certificate, and a bunch of art supplies - he’s suddenly remembering why he’d been feeling so untalented.

It had been a week since Phase Four of the mission to get you and his father together. And it had been a few days since parent-teachers meeting and Toji had come to pick him up the next day, smiling dopily.

Megumi’s sure his father’s losing his marbles. 

And he has the strange, sinking feeling that after tonight- they’d either forget about the plan or abandon it altogether. Feeling so hopeless—it’s so over.

“Hey, Fushiguro…” Itadori not-so-successfully whispers to the black-haired boy, ultimately drawing attention from whomever was around the two of you. “Fushiguro, isn’t that your dad coming up the aisle?”

“And why does he have such a big bouquet of flowers?” Kugisaki adds on.

Though…once Toji reaches the foot of the stage everything becomes very clear.

Because with a hand coming up to your mouth, and the spotlight shined on you, he lovingly hands you the plush bouquet of roses from below. Roses. Red, red roses.

With a silent thank you—you’re kissing Toji on the cheek.

Every. Single. One of their jaws drop-

Inumaki starts scribbling something down in his notebook.

Yuta sticks an approving thumbs-up.

Even some of the parents in the audience whisper to one another - most nod approvingly. 

And Toji catches Megumi’s eye to wink. “We’ll talk later.” He mouths.

Megumi nods mutely- excitement thrums through him so fast that his fists clench—and Itadori has to clasp onto them. They succeeded? They really, truly succeeded?

His eyes are glimmering as he turns to Itadori and Kugisaki- both nodding excitedly in agreement. They couldn’t squeal like they wanted to right now with Yaga’s speech droning on in the background, but after…after, they had a loooot of questions for the new couple. 

Together; they loop their arms together in a silent victory.

They’re so back.

Though being silent was never something for Todo Aoi.

Yelling. 

“Fushiguro Toji rizzed Ms. Teacher before GTA 6—?!”

Status: W. 

A/N. Honestly AHAHAH- this was so unserious.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[lovelake]

ALL THE BETTER TO LOVE YOU WITH

despite your knowledge on how transformations come to be, it never crossed your mind that one could occur because of gwylan. needless to say, this only brings you closer to him

m!gwylan x gn fox tf!reader | mdni, 4.1k wc, penetration, unprotected sex, breeding kink, knotting, fluff, not beta read

note: i need that gwydick inside me

masterlist read on ao3

Three weeks and two days. Gwylan has gone three weeks, two days, and fifteen hours without seeing you—and no, it isn’t because of his avoidance of intimacy, surprisingly. Those days are somewhat behind him now that you’ve torn down all his walls with your infuriating (endearing) persistence. 

This is simply too cruel of you. You’re more addicting to him than the sweet nectar of the plant people he tends to, how can you so abruptly pull away after giving him a taste of everything he’s been yearning for? There’s a never–ending anxiety in his mind whispering into his ears at all times telling him that you’ve left him for good. The only solace he has is the knowledge that your life is full of chaos. You’ve gotten wrapped up in life many times, but you’ve always returned and told him all your stories.

To your credit, the first week of your disappearance wasn’t your fault at all, but the fault of a hysterical Kylar prodding at your recent changes.

Yes, recent changes. Because why in the world have you suddenly grown a soft tail and pair of ears resembling that of a fox? You know that Gwylan also has these traits, but it never occurred to you that they could spread to you. Does he also have some kind of magical property in his cum like the rest of the wildlife in the forest? How ridiculous!

Being away from him for so long feels like torture. Home is wherever he is; you have a bad case of homesickness. There’s a Gwylan–shaped hole in your heart that you’re eager to fill now that you’re free.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, the forest is even more beautiful than you remember. Flowers always beg for an admirer, and the birds for a listener. You’re more than happy to fulfill their wishes as you make your way home. 

After twirling a flower in your hand and whispering an apology for pulling it from the Earth, you start plucking each petal.

“He loves me.” 

Pluck. Images of the first kiss he has ever initiated with you drift to your mind.

“He loves me not.” 

Pluck. What about the time you asked him to say I love you back and he responded with: I’ve lied to you enough?

“He loves me.”

Pluck. Your collar feels warm—the same one he crafted specifically for you, the same one that keeps you safe from some of the advances of others.

“He loves me not.”

Pluck. Well. Is there any reason to doubt his love for you other than the fact he can’t directly say it to you?

“He loves me.”

You pluck the final petal off as you arrive. It’s a childish and inaccurate way to get an answer, but the result fills you with happiness regardless.

The shop’s wooden door opens on its own with a loud creak as a way of eagerly greeting you. With all the clattering noises coming from inside, you get the impression that furniture is being scrambled around. A sweet smell drifts over to you the second you step in, one so thick it feels like it’s enveloping you whole and sweeping you off your feet. You stand there in a daze, heart thumping wildly beneath your ribcage.

When you come back to reality, you’re on your back with a familiar figure hovering over you. It’s none other than your—

Master! 

“There you are.” His cheeks are flushed, he’s barely managing to restrain himself from putting you into a mating press right then and there. “Where have you been, dear? I’ve been waiting for you, the shop’s been so lonely without your sweet stories.”

Your insides are burning with a flame that can only be put out by him. Being around him has always made you feel dizzy, but it’s never been this strong before without the help of the hallucinogens he uses during his rituals. “Gwylan, I—”

“I know.” 

“But how?”

“You smell different. In the past, you’ve entered my shop sharing the traits of wolves, cats, birds, cows, and yet…I think this is my favorite. Don’t be shy, show yourself to me.” 

Resisting him is no easy feat now that you’re this lost in him. Your ears and tail immediately appear out of thin air. 

His legs kick behind him, he’s clearly giddy. “So, how did this happen?”

“From having so much sex with you! How else could it have happened?”

“Ah.” Gwylan isn’t surprised in the slightest, and he doesn’t have an ounce of shame either. “Seems my pet has a bit of an attitude today. I’m the one who should be irritated, you owe me an explanation for disappearing on me.”

“Did you miss me?”

He stares back at you in unsettling silence. There’s no shift in his eyes—not one of surprise or agreement—and it makes your heart drop to your stomach. There have been so many conversations between the two of you where he reminds you that what he has for you isn’t love, and that you’re not the first to harbor his affections. If he can’t say I love you to you, he can at the very least say that he missed you.

As he continues to say nothing, you look away in shame. Trying to put on a poker face is futile when your ears give you away by turning downcast. 

Gwylan, on the other hand, is completely exasperated. Did he miss you? What kind of a question is that? Did he not just pounce on you? Do you need everything to be said to you? He holds you so dearly to his heart that it would crumble if you didn’t come visit from time to time. In the grand scheme of things, after all the loss in his previous lifetimes, three weeks is basically nothing. He can bear the pain but is by no means unaffected by it.

Before you can tell him to forget it, he leans in and captures your lips into a kiss that soothes the sting of rejection you had felt just now. White roses fill your vision, the brightness of them make your descent into an abyss of questions feel like a heavenly experience. It isn’t until he pulls away that you feel the need to breathe.

He averts his gaze away from you as rosiness blossoms over his cheeks. “I missed you, of course I missed you. Didn’t I once tell you that I’d miss you if you were to stop coming around? So, don’t ever be late again.”

I missed you so much that the entire world seemed just as tainted as it was before I started cleansing it. I missed you so much that the shop covered the windows to stop me from looking out to check if you were coming. I missed you so much that it felt like I was drowning underneath the strongest of currents all alone.

Gwylan, of course, leaves this all unsaid. He tries so hard to act stern even though he wants nothing but to coddle you. “Now, explain.”

“The day I woke up looking like this, the first thing I tried to do was come home—I mean, to the shop. I unexpectedly ran into Kylar, or I guess that’s not unexpected because hello? It’s Kylar. Anyway, things escalated and I found myself under his basement again.”

Gwylan casts you an unimpressed glance but lets you continue. 

“I think he was already prepared for me trying to escape after last time, so it was even harder this time and it took me longer. When I finally managed to get out, I hurried back to the orphanage and of course Bailey just had to be in the hallway at that time collecting everyone’s rent. I barely had enough money, and then I had to work as much as I could to make it all back and it…took a lot of time.”

“You’re forgiven, but you need to make it up to me.” 

“Okay!”

At this, he finally breaks and giggles. “You’re not even going to ask what? Keep being so obedient and I’ll consider bringing your pet bed back out.”

“You took it away?” Hearing that upsets you, it’s the only bed you’ve ever felt safe sleeping on.

He chooses not to explain why, instead appeasing you by petting your head. You melt under his palm, whining blissfully as his attention turns towards your ears. The sound of calm ocean waves and some distant whispers are all you hear for an unknown amount of time. 

Something pulls on your collar. 

You’re completely naked in the garden, just like Gwylan (except for the large hat atop his head, like usual). A thin string of green light connects your collar to his index finger.

“Oh good, you’re back! Sit.”

You drop to your knees on the comfortable blankets. From this angle, you get a closer look at his erection. You’ve seen him naked so many times, but it never makes it any easier to not get hot and bothered. It’s not like he isn’t aware of his effect on you, given the seductive smile on his face.

Gwylan hums, satisfied. He rubs underneath your chin to give you a small treat before carrying on. “Good kit. Now, turn around. On your hands and knees.”

Your tail wags as you follow his instructions. You feel him get behind you and prep you with lube.

His quiet panting easily reaches your ears. As much as you hated being away from him, the knowledge that you’re able to make him so sexually pent-up that he sounds like this while simply touching you is exciting.

“I’d usually play with you some more but…forgive me, I don’t have much patience right now.”

Slowness and gentleness are a forgotten concept when lust goes unattended for too long, even more so when mating is part of your instincts. 

You feel his fingers quickly draw something on your lower back, and the next second, he’s buried inside you. You’re just grateful there isn’t a headboard in front of you or you’d be at the risk of a concussion from the pace of his thrusts.

This is hardly the time to be as equally amused as you are aroused, but you can’t help it. You might as well speak your mind before all coherent thought slips from it. “Someone was pent-up.”

You can’t see it, but his tail beats in irritation. “This is your fault, dear. You…drive me mad.”

This is the same person who looked entirely unaffected the first time he had sex with you—stoic and calculated like it was purely for the sake of the ritual. Oh, how times change.

“It must’ve…ah!” It seems like he’s thrusting harder just for the sake of shutting you up, but it doesn’t work. “It must’ve been so hard without me.”

“Stop it.”

“Did you use the fox plushie I bought you to get off?”

His breath hitches and he immediately leans down to bite your neck, right beneath your collar. It always hurts when you don’t have a transformation, but at the moment, it feels like nothing more than a mark of love.

You try to apologize, but nothing comes out. It feels like trying to speak under water, just bubbles come out. In this case, the bubbles are moans and whines.

“Don’t be surprised, you were being rude. Consider it a time-out.”

It isn’t easy to make Gwylan lose himself during sex. Before he met you, he had held countless rituals on his own—and even then, the most he would do is let out a pleased sigh and feel his face flush during his act. Intimacy with you is an entirely different world altogether, a dream he painted as a nightmare for ages in order to make it seem unappealing. But with you, he has no control over his whines and yips that fill the forest.

He’s as passionate about you as an artist is with their creative outlet. His hands itch to be on you at all times, just like a musician with their instrument. He has every detail of your body committed to memory, just like a sculptor with their finished work. 

You feel his desperation all over you. His hands are electrifying and practiced as they caress your body, the tips of his fingers dedicate more time to the places you have any kind of marks or scars. 

You’re close already, it’s impossible to hold out when you’re with Gwylan.

But he always uses his knowledge of your reactions to his advantage. He comes to a stop immediately. “Not yet.” 

He always does this, and yet it feels like a surprise every single time. No matter how much effort you put into trying to move your body back against him, it won’t budge. You look back at him, eyebrows knitting with frustration.

“Aww, that’s a mean glare you’re giving me! Where does my pet want it?” He places his hand on the curve of your ass. “Here?”

Mind melting with want, you quickly shake your head. There’s no other option but for him to come deep inside you, you won’t settle for anything less.

“Mm, here?” He leans down to tap on your lips.

You instinctively take his fingers into your mouth and briefly suck on them. Regardless, you shake your head again. “Mm–mm.”

“Really? What a shame, you’re awfully skilled with your tongue. What about…on your chest?” 

“Ah…” Your nipples harden under his touch, pert and attentive to each swipe and tug. Another shake of head.

His palm slides down to your stomach and slowly makes its way to your pelvis. Your tail starts wagging immediately.

He whispers into your ear. “Do you want me to breed you?”

Just the thought makes your vision all starry. He once told you that foxes mate for life and now you understand. No one else will ever come close to eliciting the same thrill that he does. You want to take everything he has to give and be bound to him in every way possible. You want it so bad that you’d feel heartbroken if he denied you of it. 

Just how long have you been nodding for that it has Gwylan giggling in between heavy breaths?

“Someone’s eager—I like it. Beg for it.”

The word please is replaced by a drawn-out whine.

“G-Good kit. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re full of my litter by the end of this.”

He resumes his pace and kisses you. The closeness is still so utterly terrifying to him—it feels so good, too good. If he lets himself be swept away by the feeling of your lips, he won’t be able to withstand all the emotions that come with it. He worked so hard to shield his heart with stone walls just for it to crumble so easily.

Each round reminds him of all the other ways he has had you in the past.

One. His head dipped between your thighs, the tug of his hand on your leash to keep your eyes on his. Tongue swiping all the way up so he can press gentle kisses on the most sensitive part of all. A deep flush spreading over his cheeks when you run your hands through his hair and pet his ears. 

Two. The times during rituals where you’ve managed to overpower him both physically and mentally. Gwylan always has so much to say, but all that leaves his mouth when he’s on his back are yips and breathless demands for you to go faster. He submits oh so easily, turning into putty in your hands and quivering with pleasure.

Three. Pinning you down in the deeper parts of the forest after a fun chase. Pawing at your clothes and rutting against you like he can’t help himself, like he’ll die if he isn’t able to take you on the spot. 

Four. Softly moaning each time his tip hits the back of your throat. He doesn’t stop stroking your head for even a second—how can he when you’re being such a good pet for your master?

“One more.”

Somewhere between the rounds, your ability to speak came back to you. Not that it was of much use, though.

“I can’t…” You weakly shake your head, on the verge of tears from the constant waves of pleasure. He has coaxed you through so many orgasms that all your limbs feel sluggish. “I really can’t anymore.”

Noticing that your arms are about to give out on you, he tugs on your leash to bring you up so he’s chest-to-back with you.

“Nonsense.” He flutters kisses all over the nape of your neck. “You’re strong, I know you are. Be good and give me one more.”

“But—ah!”

Your back arches as he resumes his pace. If it weren’t for his arm around your torso and his pull on your leash, you’d be face-down on the ground right now. You’re so full that some of his cum leaks out with each thrust, it makes you wonder how he has more left.

Reaching to hold onto his forearm, your nails dig into his skin just the way he likes it. “Gwylan…” 

“There you go, let it out for me.”

There’s nothing you love more than listening to him. You let yourself sink into the ocean with him one final time—there are no thoughts of rising for breath or reaching the shore. 

His lips are against yours and you taste salt. Are those his tears or yours? He brings you back down towards the ground. Your insides feel warm with each rope of cum he spills, but there’s something missing. 

It isn’t until you regain your bearings that your bleary eyes suddenly widen and you frantically try to move away from him when you feel something else trying to force its way in. “W-Wait—”

It’s no use. Grabbing your hips, he holds you still and presses deeper until his knot is fully inside.

There’s the missing puzzle piece. 

You let out a single cry, thighs still quivering from the orgasm you haven’t recovered from. Your head drops down onto your folded arms.

Panic washes over him at your abrupt silence. He made sure this wouldn’t be painful for you by drawing a shape on your back beforehand like he does every time he penetrates you. Or did he simply imagine himself doing so? 

“Oh dear…does it hurt?” 

“No.” You murmur shakily, sounding like you’re about to start sobbing any second now. Your tail swishes. This feels natural, things were always supposed to be like this. “I like it. I really like it. I just don’t understand how it happened.”

He came inside you multiple times, after all. How come this didn’t occur during all the other rounds?

“Don’t think too hard about it.”

There’s a lot about Gwylan that you don’t completely understand. “I’ve had one of your tentacles inside me before.”

His face reddens. “…Was there a point in you saying that? How do I get out of you?”

In spite of his complaint just now, he starts gently grinding against you, ears twitching as they pick up on your faint whimpers. Leaning down, he fishes one of your hands out and slots his fingers between yours. 

“Are you in control of this? The…knot, I mean.”

“I try my best to hold back. Being with you again felt really good, though. I couldn’t help myself.” 

“Don’t hold back anymore.”

He nuzzles against your shoulder. “I won’t.”

When his knot deflates and he pulls out, you turn over to face him, pulling him into a deep kiss that he immediately reciprocates. It doesn’t last very long, though—kisses never do with him, but you always cherish what you can get from him.

“Am I officially forgiven?”

“Of course, dear. You did so well!” He pats your head and helps you get up. “Let’s go get cleaned up.”

In the bath, you sit on Gwylan’s lap and cling onto him as he gently scrubs your body all over. You feel so safe in his presence that it’s hard to not doze off on the spot.

“I’m so happy.” The apples of your cheeks hurt from smiling.

“And why is that?”

“I already felt really close to you before so I didn’t think it was possible, but I feel even closer to you now. All the transformations I’ve had in the past were helpful in some ways, but the attention they brought was enough for me to always hide them. With this one, though…well, isn’t it all the better to love you with? I won’t hide it from now on.”

He blinks his tears away as soon as they start gathering in his eyes and pulls you into a tight hug. He truly doesn’t understand how a heart as kind as yours was drawn to him, he doesn’t feel worthy of it.

There’s so much he wants to say to you, so much he has to confess about his feelings towards you. He isn’t quite there yet, but he trusts you’ll be patient with him. “You have a beautiful way of thinking, dear. Never change. I can’t imagine not having you by my side.” 

His words echo in your head like a catchy melody. Driven by instinct, you start lapping at his fox ears to groom him, content that his hat isn’t in the way now.

He’s completely flustered by the unexpected move and tries to shy away from it, though he knows he won’t have the heart to do so in the future—being groomed by his partner is a dream come true. “Stop that, I already cleaned them. Turn around and let me wash your tail.”

“Fine, fine…” You do as you’re told and face the other way.

He stares at the back of your head for a moment and gets even more emotional, just like a dog owner does when seeing the back of their dog’s head.

“You did a good job brushing your tail, I don’t feel any matted areas. What kind of shampoo have you been using on it?”

“Just the regular human kind. I figured you’d know more about how to care for it and I didn’t want to risk wasting any money since I was hiding my tail most of the time.”

“The shampoos and conditioners at the pet shop work well enough. Some brands are better than others, though. I can write you a list of them later along with which brushes to get. If you’re aiming for a sleeker look, though, you can always come to me. I’ve been working on making my own shampoos and oils over the years, I’d be more than happy to share them with you and teach you the recipes.”

A loud moan suddenly escapes you when he presses his fingers above the base of your tail.

“Sorry.” 

He doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest.

“All done. You can turn around again, I want to get a proper look at you.”

It takes you a second to focus again, but you eventually turn back around.

His thumb brushes over your bottom lip. Once you obediently open your mouth for him, he prods at your sharp fangs. “I kept feeling them during our kisses and I…really liked it.”

His inspection continues until he’s finally satisfied, he stabilizes his breathing.

Worried, you ask, “what if I accidentally hurt you with them, though? Like when I’m—you know, when I’m…down there.”

“Silly pet, a little pain is nothing to me. And with enough practice, it won’t be an issue. You’re sweet for thinking of me, though.”

His gaze then goes to your ears.

He quietly whistles and watches them immediately perk up. When he speaks, it’s in an indecipherable language to you. Your ears remain facing forward, but they twitch a little and your head tilts to the side.

The more he stares at you, the faster your tail starts wagging, making the water slosh behind you.

“Now you’re just playing with me.” You grumble.

“You’re so cute, dear!” He pinches your cheek for a moment before bringing you in close, rubbing the side of his face against yours. “And very…very alluring.”

Even when he lets go, you lean back in, resting your head nice and snug atop his shoulder. Somehow, you feel ten times clingier than you were before.

He happily encourages your behavior, stroking your head and humming a tune to lull you to sleep. For a moment, the forest seems livelier—like it’s celebrating the sight of him with his cherished companion. The trees have witnessed all of his solitude-filled years, after all. 

Forever may not be promised, but he truly has the greatest treasure in the world: you.

[mishascozynest]

Youre an odd little thing. A worker on base, some kind of maintenance around the archival building, Ghost thinks.

He barely sees you, but sometimes while hes driving recruits around the obstacle course with sharply barked commands, he sees you laying in the grass seemingly focused on the ground, legs kicking slowly in the air.

Only on good weather days of course. Sometimes he watches you fall asleep on soft sunny days right there in the grass.

One day he finally decides to satiate his curiousity and wanders over to where youre currently focused on the grass.

"Wot're you lookin at?"

You flinch a little, not having heard him approach. It takes you a second to stop staring up at him and reply

"Weevil"

Ghost tilts his head before crouching down and staring at the same patch of grass. You in turn also keep looking. Ghost thanks himself for his sniper abilities to spot even the tiniest movements through a scope, since he spots the tiny blue weevil in less than a second as it pitterpatters across grass stalks.

"Proper weevil"

He grunts out and you nod fixated on the scampering bug.

"Proper weevil"

Ghost raises an eyebrow under his mask as you mimic his accents. No one did that, too scared of the Ghost. Hes a little puzzled, either you hadnt heard the rumors or didnt care. Either way it was refreshing.

The next time he spots you staring at the grass he just walks up and asks what youre seeing. It becomes a little routine, a daily little thing he quite enjoys.

[beebymoonlight]

[cyberdrream]

18+ mdni simon riley is a horrible lay, everyone says.

that’s what you’ve heard around base, from men and women alike. he’s too fucking big, apparently, fucks like the mean bastard that he is. hurts. apparently, he’s so cold he doesn’t even care for his partner. and apparently, every time anyone’s tried to sleep with him, they’ve always stormed out of his room, pissed off at him because his room is a hellhole. 

apparently. it’s all word of mouth, but you believe it. 

but after the end of the month drinks at the local spoons, you can barely get simon off you, he’s pawing at you with his big hands. the two of you split a cider in two, and he looks at you with his big brown eyes, “y- you’re really fucking hot.” he blurts out, kissing your nose with chapped lips.

his face is red, blushing deeply as you try your best to not flush the same. “and johnny told me you can’t ever think about the pretty lass on floor 3 with the filing cabinet, but guess what, i can.” he kisses you on the side of your head this time, and you’re enjoying his affections.

it’s only back in his room on base that he fumbles with his belt, before he looks at you again, “s-sorry, it’s just, i don’t really get to spend the night with pretty women like you-“

you want to hide your face in his pillows, his room is really fucking nice. he has plants, actual plants growing from gaz, sketch drawings from johnny, photographs of him and the captain. 

his cock is huge, hard and leaking, slapping against his stomach, but he still looks at you with his sweet brown eyes, “love, it’s okay if it’s too big…” he sounds dejected already, but you just shake your head, it’s nowhere near as big what the word around base was. 

“it’s fine simon-“ you whisper, licking your lips and placing kitten licks on his length, feeling the taste of him coat your tongue. 

“no no no-“ he shakes his head, pulling away before his hands touch your wet panties, “fuck, you’re so wet love.” 

and then he dives in, tugging them off, before licking at your cunt with a sloppy tongue, he doesn’t have a technique down but whatever the fuck he’s doing it’s good, your legs are shaking as his tongue dips inside you.

“gotta make sure it’s good for you-“ okay, what the fuck was anyone talking about?

he slides into you with ease, and thrusts into you? his hands above your head, his eyes still looking at you. “you’re very fuckin’… mmmph… hot.” he says, with a grin on his scarred face that would look terrifying if it wasn’t for the way his brown eyes shone with sweetness.  

it wasn’t long before his cock twitches inside of you, and his eyes roll back, “oh fuck love, right there— fuck!” he was filling you deep, his cum thick in your stomach. 

“love?” he asks, whimpering, his head on your chest, “love, did you find it good?” he’s desperate for your fucking approval. 

you kiss his head, his soft curls growing out of army regs.

“yes darling.” fuck the word of mouth, did anyone even try this with him?

“th-thank you dove-“ he pants, his cock deep inside you as you keep stroking his hair, feeling his breath even out. 

__

[l3ibnest]

Soap with dogs!

Gaz with dogs!

Price with dogs!

Ghost with demons! TF 141 with dogs🐶 It's been a while painting full rendered pieces, enjoyed a lot! Inspired from awesome @yourfaithfulauthor's request.

[snowfieldstories]

In Life and Death [Chapter 22]

Kim Dokja x Reader/Original female character

<< Series masterlist

Summary:

In which a reader finds herself tossed into the pages of her favorite web novel after her untimely death. A novel of a novel within reality. It's a reader's dream, right? Well, this reader vows to bring the right epilogue to her beloved character, Kim Dokja. She will give him the happiest of endings. Or she will die trying. ...Good thing death isn't always permanent in this new world.

⚠️MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ORV WEB NOVEL AND MANHWA!!!!⚠️

Episode IX. Chapter 22 — Peace

We tumbled onto soft soil under a thicket of trees. I didn't let the feeling of Dokja's arms around me linger and hopped up, backing away. My head was spinning from the Warp Crystal. I willed the nausea away.

[The main scenario 'Abandoned World' has begun.]

Dokja stood up slowly, watching me with sharp attention as one would an unstable predator.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" I said.

"Yoo Joonghyuk said it was fine."

"That bastard," I seethed, "doesn't know what he's saying."

Dokja shuffled, hands fidgeting. The yellow ring on his finger flashed under a beam of sunlight. Mocking me. "Yeona, I needed to talk to you..."

I turned on my heel and sped deeper into the forest.

There was no clear path, but I zig-zagged between the trees anyway. Dokja caught up easily. He chose to remain silent this time.

"Where are the pygmies?" I mumbled to myself.

To our left, I could spot a stretch of plains through the trees. It would be best to avoid meeting any other disasters until we could find the target—the "snake"—of Dokja's Underworld-given scenario; we were also more likely to encounter other disasters in wide open spaces.

"Maybe we should—"

"No," I cut him off. "We keep to the forest."

Dokja did not argue.

We came across a small pack of steel wolves and killed them. Already, I was growing weary of the frequent glances I could feel latching on to the side of my face, even as we fought beasts.

"It was smart to leave quickly," said Dokja. "Everyone here knows that new scenario entrants are warped there."

"..."

"Your instincts are always good."

I felt a vein tick on my forehead. Did this idiot really think I wouldn't notice him trying to butter me up like a piece of toast?

The stickiness of the steel wolf blood on my hands was beginning to bother me, too, and we wandered a bit further until we found a stream. The water was icy, and stiffened my fingers uncomfortably. The sun was already beginning to dip lower, both of us very clearly lost, and we were no closer to finding our companions or the "snake". And there was that awful, wounded look flashing across Dokja's face every so often.

I was sick of it all.

"If only we had someone to lead the way," I grumbled.

Part of it was my own fault. We could have made contact with the pygmies or Japanese disasters sooner, but I didn't trust the outlier, Michio Shoji. Or, Suzuki Tatsuya. Figuring out which character that man would be was not the path I wished to take. I also wasn't ready to become miniature yet by fighting them.

"This area of the forest isn't so large that we won't run into another group within a day or two," reasoned Dokja.

"Still. Yoosung's beast communication would be really useful right about now. Or Gilyoung's."

"Yes."

His unconcern was enough to set me off.

"Did you send them in here together? Alone?"

Dokja frowned. "Of course not. Hyunsung-ssi took Yoosung. And Gilyoung is with...Yoo Joonghyuk."

I grew more incensed. Yoo Joonghyuk, that selfish asshole, had wanted to hoard Gilyoung's connection to his sponsor for himself; it was no wonder he had agreed to switch pairings so easily.

"Tell me why," I said, voice tight and smoldering, "you thought it was a good idea to mess with your grand plan for the sake of talking. Do I look like I want to talk to you, Kim Dokja?"

"...No."

"No. So, enlighten me. Why would you ruin a good setup?"

Dokja's eyes flickered between my hard expression and the ground. A breeze ruffled his hair, obscuring his face. Then, his voice, soft.

"I missed you."

My breath caught. Fuck. Right, this was what my heart truly felt like. With three simple words, the layers I had painted over to cover that feeling cracked, and then crumbled.

[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is wiping away tears.]

[500 coins have been sponsored.]

[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' is scoffing.]

I felt a twinge of betrayal at Uriel's sympathy. She was easily won over. (Let's ignore the fact that my own heart ached with longing at the idea that Kim Dokja had actually missed my presence...)

Before either of us could say anything further, a loud, slow splintering sound filled the air. The forest began to tremble.

It was transforming into the belly of a beast.

[The constellation 'Prisoner of the Golden Headband' is disgusted by the terrain.]

Tree roots were growing larger by the minute, twisting into thick vines. A sticky, green sap began to ooze from the surface. My arm stung suddenly, a glop having landed on it from a nearby tree.

[The exclusive skill 'Sacred Light Lv. 8' is activated.]

I formed a bubble of light around each of us. "The forest will digest us if we don't hurry." I thought of my limited experience in Peace Land from the previous round. "We need to find rocks."

Dokja jumped up high, searching the area. There should be a rocky outcrop in this warping zone...

"That way."

He led us off to the right. We hopped over the knotted ground, sap oozing out in puddles under our light-covered feet. My fingers weren't burning from strain yet, but I knew I couldn't keep this up all night.

"Wouldn't it be better to find water?" asked Dokja.

I shook my head. "Water helps break down food more quickly in the stomach. And unfortunately, that food is us."

There was a small clearing in the forest where the moon shone from above. A large and flat rock jutted out high, and a giant boulder propped up behind it. At least our backs would be covered by the stone as we took shelter here for the night, should anyone—or anything—be crazy enough to wander in the forest.

I cancelled my skill, 'Sacred Light', as we climbed up and sat.

"Rocks aren't digestible," I said, smoothing my hand over the surface.

"There is no specific way to escape from the forest at night in Ways of Survival," Dokja noted. "But you found one."

I opened my 'Bank of Lady Fortune' account and began sifting through all of the new luck deposits. "I had Asuka Ren to guide me last time I was here."

"Ah, I see."

There was an awkward silence until I stood and stretched. "I'll take first watch. Rest a little."

In fact, it was a bit lucky that the forest was actively trying to kill us. Otherwise the constellations might grow bored and prompt the dokkaebis to make us hunt the pygmies. For now, our predicament was enough.

[The constellation 'Queen of the Darkest Spring' is looking between you and 'Kim Dokja'.]

And perhaps something more tense.

Dokja couldn't have slept more than an hour or two before he stirred. He suggested I take my turn, face earnest under the moonlight. I rolled over and knocked out quickly.

When I awoke to a white coat over me, I couldn't even muster up anger. The coat was warm and comforting, its scent distinctly Kim Dokja, woven from threads of heartache as they blanketed my body.

I sighed, holding it out to him. "Thanks. Weren't you cold though?"

"You were shaking." Dokja slipped his coat back on. He looked out at the landscape. "The digestive forest has receded. We should be able to move safely now."

"Yeah," I said quietly.

We ate from our rations as we moved through the forest. Rabbits the size of my pinky bounded in and out of bushes.

I wondered how Yoosung and Gilyoung were faring. Who knows where that bastard regressor had taken Gilyoung... Had they already shrunk into pygmies? I hoped the children could set aside their differences and communicate through creatures. But judging by their suspicious behaviour, resulting in me getting stuck with Dokja, cooperation might be possible.

"Our companions have probably been captured by the Japanese already. We should seek them out first," I said. A conflicted look crossed Dokja's face. "It's the quickest way to fulfilling your quest from Persephone."

"Yes, maybe that is best..."

"What is it?"

"In order to defeat the snake, I need Kyrgios Rodgraim."

My brow wrinkled. "I know. But Asuka Ren has been captured as well. By that prime minister."

"So we go to him first." Dokja nodded. "Alright."

Much of our trek was carried out in silence after that. The sun grew warm over our heads, so we stopped to cool in the shade for a water break.

"Yeona."

Dokja's voice was heavy, just as it was yesterday. It weighed in my chest like a hot stone.

"We should keep moving," I muttered.

I applied another round of sacred light to the acid burn from the tree sap. Dokja clutched my arm, moving to check the injury himself. I yanked in his hold. "I've got it."

Whatever spell had possessed me to allow such ease in his presence before had now vanished.

Dokja's hand slid down to my wrist, lifting. Observing. I was acutely aware of my bare finger and pulled away.

[The constellation 'Prisoner of the Golden Headband' is leaning forwards intently.]

"Where..." Dokja swallowed hard. "Where is your ring?"

My temper flared. "The ring? That's what you're worried about—the ring?" I fumbled to get the necklace out from under my shirt. It was pulled over my head and shoved into his chest. "Here, take it if you want it back so bad. Keep the tusk, too, for all I care."

[Many constellations are watching the situation with excited eyes.]

The relief in Dokja's expression quickly shifted into distress. "No, it's for you. I gave it to you."

"It's yours."

(Everything I have and everything I am is yours, Kim Dokja. As it always has been.)

He held the necklace out, staring at it like it had personally offended him. Then it was balled up into his pocket.

"Yeona, what is going on?"

My mouth dropped open. "How dare you ask me that?"

He swayed, as if wanting to draw closer but afraid to. "Is it something I did?"

I was stunned. It was almost like he was playing dumb on purpose, but the Dokja I thought I knew was never that heartless of a person.

"Kim Dokja." He flinched at his full name. "I need some space from you for a while."

"I—I don't understand..." Panic burst across his face. "I thought you had snapped out of it—"

"'Snapped out of it'?"

Dokja went noticeably pale.

"Snapped out of it—yeah, maybe someday. But right now it still fucking hurts to get rejected," I bristled.

He mouthed "rejected" like it was a foreign word. "But...you don't actually like me?"

"That's—what? Of course I do."

I was torn between laughing, crying, or punching him in the face. By now, it wasn't only hurt stirring in my heart, but humiliation once again. My affections really were that unthinkable to him.

"How? Why?"

My voice finally cracked. "I didn't know you could be this cruel."

Somehow that made him even more upset, as if there were some other third party hurting me instead of himself. My eyes were smarting, and it would have been so fucking pathetic of me to cry about this in front of him, so I leaned into the anger to ignite a shield around my heart.

"It's fine. I'll get over it. You don't have to worry about my feelings, or anything," I said stiffly.

"Wait, stop—I don't want—"

"I really do love being your friend, Dokja. I shouldn't have wished for more."

"Yeona!" Dokja rushed forwards, clutching my upper arms. "Please listen!"

But then he didn't speak.

That twist of emotions was tight in my chest, burning and throbbing and horribly, horribly wanting. I knew there would never be a part of me that wouldn't desire Kim Dokja. Even if it hurt.

I looked into his eyes, large and stuck on mine. They shook. As if his Fourth Wall was shuddering, protesting at every emotion hurled its way.

His breathing picked up. The short puffs of air on my face made me realize how incredibly close he was, our noses nearly touching. The tension in the air was now thick and syrupy.

We were so close.

I could grab him. Connect our mouths, press our bodies together, until we could feel the warmth of each other's skin through our clothes. Until he could feel everything I felt for him. I wanted Kim Dokja so bad it sickened me.

But I didn't move. He had already turned me away once.

Dokja's hands slid over my shoulders, leaving a blistering heat in their wake. His scent clouded my senses as he hovered.

"I read it all. Your letter."

I wasn't sure what he wanted me to say to that. Thanks? Or—

"Okay."

Yes, I was sometimes a spiteful person.

Dokja winced with understanding. His eyes flitted between mine, rapid and intense. "You really meant it? All of it?"

"...Every word."

His thumb brushed my cheek. Soft, as if I were something precious he was forbidden to touch.

"It was hard to believe. But I want to," he said in a hopeless, desperate voice. "I want..."

Subconsciously, I leaned into him. It was slight, but that small action caused his eyes to widen and squeeze shut.

And—oh.

It was a soft, trembling kiss. Featherlight. Dokja's long lashes fluttered against my cheek. He wavered like he expected me to push him off in disgust. My hand curled at his chest to bring him closer, returning the kiss. Cautious, but aching.

He froze.

I started to pull away, unsure once again, when he groaned, "Yeona," and pressed into me fully. My mind blanked.

...

Kim Dokja was a greedy man.

Devouring.

Dokja kissed me like I was the first taste of air after nearly drowning, hands seizing my jaw and drawing me into his mouth to consume me. He kissed with that same desperation, deep and reckless, as if someone might try to tear him away at any moment.

I melted into him, meeting his frenzied movements with my own. A noise in the back of his throat bordered on a moan. My hands wrenched him near by the coat.

Dokja drew back, his lips parted with a wet shine and shallow breaths. He said, in hazy astonishment, "You didn't stop me."

"Shut the fuck up, Kim Dokja."

I claimed his lips roughly, twisting my fingers in his hair to tug him back down. It was urgent and messy. His suppressed moan from before now shuddered into my mouth.

My back hit something solid as Dokja's hands pinned me, one at my hip and the other still cradling my jaw. Dimly, I registered the continual ping! of constellation messages—but then he tilted my head and stole the thoughts away with the hard, open press of his mouth on mine.

Our kisses became less feverish and more intentional. Instead of clawing and gripping our way together, there was now a message to every touch, like we were both trying to say the things we struggled to verbalize.

His thumb stroked across my skin. Up, down, up, down.

Eventually, we broke apart, suspended and breathing each other in. I sagged against the tree trunk behind me. Dokja drew away slowly like it pained him to do so.

I had the irrational urge to run my fingers over my mouth. An exhilaration bubbled in the thin spaces of my chest as the feel of him still lingered on my skin. Dokja's cheeks were flushed red, his lips dark and swollen. Alright, maybe he did reciprocate. Then why...?

"I sincerely hope that wasn't your way of rejecting me for good."

Dokja pulled his attention from my mouth, my tone harsh enough to snap him out of his daze. He blinked until my words set in, and whispered, "I—I'm sorry."

I remained silent. His face creased, the hand at my hip trembled and dropped.

"I made a mistake."

"So this is regret taking over? Or...you pitied me," I tried to say casually.

"No," he croaked. "Yeona, I have wanted you—"

CLANG!

"AAAACK! The disasters have appeared!"

"Watch out for their feet! Their feet!"

"Hahaha what? This is a really easy scenario!"

I was yanked down among the bushes, hidden between Dokja and the tree.

"Can we please talk about this later? I have something I need to say to you still," he breathed against my ear. His body enveloped mine as he craned his head to peek out. The sound of clanging metal from the pygmies were soon drowned out by raucous laughter. The Japanese incarnations, presumably.

"Yes," I whispered. "Dokja?"

He shuffled back as I moved to stand. 'Sacred Light' formed my long sword.

"You'll keep me safe even after I grow tiny, won't you?" The light bloomed in his irises, a ring of gold as he gazed up at me.

"Always."

[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' cries out with joy!]

[10,000 coins have been sponsored.]

[10,000 coins have been sponsored.]...

[The constellation 'Prisoner of the Golden Headband' is nodding proudly.]

[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' is silent.]

[Many constellations are ecstatic over this development.]

[Some constellations are mourning their great loss.]

The backed up messages came pouring in. Blue flooded my vision for a few seconds before winking out of existence. I looked at Dokja.

"I asked Bihyung to hold them off for a while longer."

"Good thinking," I said, relieved.

Dokja continued to watch me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Despite my sharp tongue before, I had begun to realize what Dokja meant. How he really felt towards me. Though I had lingering questions, those answers could wait until a better time. The knowledge that I wasn't alone in this feeling was enough for now.

I stepped out from the foliage to face the disasters.

To be honest, the following events played out as if I were reading the novel. I shrunk after killing the Japanese incarnations. Suzuki, or Michio, was still nowhere to be found, but Dokja and I encountered the colony of disasters we were seeking.

Dokja fought the prime minister, old lady Boksoon dealt the finishing blows, and we escaped through the forest with Asuka Ren leading the way through the forest. We were attacked, Dokja became miniature at last, someone rushed to our aid. Which brought us to...

"Hmm shouldn't you show more courtesy to this goddess?"

"Goddess-nim! Goddess-nim, hooray!"

Han Sooyoung in her short dress peered at our group with a haughty gaze.

I waved. "Sooyoung!"

"It's been a while." She cocked her head at me, and then turned to Dokja. "Kim Dokja. Big surprise, you are still ugly."

"It takes one to know one."

Sooyoung scowled.

"Hey, by the way...who are you?" asked Jihye.

Sooyoung's mouth gaped for a second, and the tips of her ears went pink. I smothered a smile and said, "Our friend. Han Sooyoung. We were in a book club together." I pointed to Sooyoung, Dokja, and myself.

"You were?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "We read power fantasy web novels."

Dokja's mouth pulled into a grimace. Gong Pildu crossed his arms, disbelieving.

Jihye snapped her fingers. "Aha! That's why you and ahjussi seem so prepared for the scenarios. Nerds," she sniggered.

"Sooyoung is the nerdiest. She formed the book club." I slung an arm around her shoulders. Instantly, she locked up.

"I will kill you," said Sooyoung to me.

Yoosung glowered at her. I pinched Sooyoung's shoulder and addressed the others, "Sooyoung takes role-play very seriously as you can see."

I dodged her swipe.

Hyunsung smiled thoughtfully. "That is admirable, Han Sooyoung-ssi."

Dokja and Asuka Ren ceased talking to inform the rest of us it was time to leave for Veronica Castle. I fell into step beside Yoosung.

"Yoosung." She flinched. "Hey, I'm not mad. Actually...I'm grateful. Your little scheme worked well. But in the future," I softened my voice, "our problems, or any of the adults here, are not your responsibility."

"I want to help you too, ahjumma."

I sighed and squeezed her hand. "You're a sweetheart, you know that?"

Yoosung blushed.

"By the way, did you make the plan with Gilyoung?"

"Gilyoung a—" she stopped short "—yes. We planned it all."

I eyed her for a moment. "Have you contacted him since coming here?"

Yoosung nodded fast. "He's with Joonghyuk-nim!" Nim? So formal. "They went somewhere north. He was very angry to be paired with Joonghyuk-nim, but ahjussi said that it couldn't be me, and that I needed to go with—" She paled. "I—I mean we said that! Um, Gilyoung, no—I wanted to go with Hyunsung-oppa...!"

While Yoosung fretted over her slip-up, I glanced at the front of our group. I huffed. A faint smile met my lips.

"Kim Dokja, you weasel."

Next part ->

THIS IS NOT THE APOLOGY

So I'm not a fan of the "they kiss and the conflict magically disappears" trope, and I know it seems like that's where this is headed. It's not. But I don't see Kim Dokja as someone who could get out his feelings through words (let's be so fr, he is absolutely balls when it comes to using his words) and he was in quite the desperate pinch to show her those feelings.

Never fear, the Communication Warrior (that's me btw) will bring a *proper* discussion to the table once all of the scenario fighting gives them a break! The "Peace" arc isn't over yet after all...

Until next time xx

[devdozes]

pound it from the back !

loewkey suggestive giggles, i just made this to thirst over yjh's chest belt and boobs, we a FREAK, #NEED yjh in me or i need to be in yjh

You were so not going to stare.

Absolutely not.

You had dignity. Poise. An ounce—maybe two—of self-control. You were a working artist, a professional with deadlines and commissions and paint constantly under your nails. You were not, under any circumstances, the kind of person to drool over a man in broad daylight, least of all a military man with arms that could snap a tank in half and a voice so deep it probably registered on submarine radar.

And yet. There he stood.

Yoo Joonghyuk. Colonel Yoo. God-tier military thirst trap in the flesh.

You almost dropped your damn sketchbook.

He hadn’t even tried. That was the worst part. Just casually strolled into your shared friend’s little rooftop barbecue like he didn’t look like the cover model for a limited edition tactical gear calendar. His military uniform jacket was unzipped, revealing a black turtleneck that was clinging to every ridge of his torso like it was in love with him—tight across his chest, dark from sweat, and tucked into his combat pants that were cinched at the thighs with belts. Not utility ones. Strapped ones. Leather. Firm. Secure. With buckles. His legs looked like they'd been sculpted out by the gods themselves

And then the goddamn garter belt.

You weren’t even sure it was standard-issue. It was clipped across his chest diagonally, the matte strap hugging across his chest in a way that made your brain blue screen. There were loops for holsters, dog tags, radio units, none of which mattered, because you were too busy biting your tongue and trying not to combust on the spot.

You swore you could see the indentation of his body through that top. You were not okay.

“You’re staring.”

His voice dropped beside you like a missile. You flinched,actually flinched—because you’d been caught ogling him like a starving stray cat looking through a butcher shop window.

You looked up.

And up.

And up.

He had the audacity to look annoyed, as if he hadn’t walked in here dressed like a whole problem. Arms crossed, biceps bulging under the sleeves, jaw clenched like someone had personally offended him by existing. And that pink blush was absolutely not from the sun.

“I’m sketching,” you lied, flipping your sketchbook open and making a valiant attempt at pretending you weren’t salivating behind your lips.

“That’s a drawing of a gun,” he said flatly, eyeing the page.

You flipped to another.

“That’s also a gun.”

“It’s a metaphor,” you said quickly. “For war. And restraint. And… inner conflict.”

He squinted at you, hard. The tips of his ears were red now. Good. If you were going to die from thirst, he could go down with you.

You leaned back against the wall, crossing your arms with the most fake-ass casual tone you could muster. “So. Is the garter belt, like, a regulation thing or are you just trying to cause international incidents?”

Joonghyuk choked.

Like, actual full body stiffen, jaw tighten, eyes wide, sound leaves the building kind of choke. His hands twitched at his sides like he couldn’t decide whether to fold them or hide behind the grill.

“It’s a load-bearing harness,” he gritted out, like that clarified anything.

“Right,” you nodded solemnly. “So if I hang off of it, it’ll hold?”

“You’re deranged.”

“Just saying. That’s a very strong-looking strap.”

His hand slapped to his forehead. “You are not allowed to talk anymore.”

“I’ll stop talking if you tell me where else you keep those straps,” you said with a slow blink, lips parting into a mock-innocent smile. “Like… thighs?”

The silence that followed was filthy.

Not because of anything said, but because of the imagery.

Because you knew.

You knew.

You’d seen the glint of it under the hem of his combat pants when he shifted to grab a soda from the cooler earlier. Just a flash of the belt hugging around thick muscle, a silver buckle winking at you like sin incarnate.

You were a painter. You remembered details.

Joonghyuk visibly short-circuited.

His eyes dropped to the floor, jaw tensed so hard you could hear his teeth grinding. He looked like he wanted to throttle you with his bare hands or run into the ocean. Probably both.

Then, quietly like it pained him-he muttered, “It’s for holding knives.”

“Oh, same,” you breathed. “I like to hold knives too. Emotionally.”

“I am leaving.”

He turned on his heel so fast it made wind. But you saw the way his ears were crimson, his posture just a little too tense. You grinned and leaned into the wall, smugly watching him stalk across the rooftop like a flustered lion.

You’d won.

Your sketchbook was still open on your lap, but instead of guns, you started idly sketching out that damn thigh strap, the perfect curve of his leg beneath it, the angles of tension and strength and maybe a note in the corner-“Thigh belt: For artistic purposes only.”

Another note: God help me, I’m going to flirt with him until he arrests me.

It was purely for the sake of art. Absolutely, one-hundred-percent, no ulterior motive involved.

You sat cross-legged on a shady patch of grass near the base's open-air training field, sketchbook in your lap, pencil dancing lazily between your fingers. Your face was passive, maybe even bored. A gentle breeze passed, rustling your loose shirt, and the only sign of life on your expression was the slow lift of your brow as you squinted at your subject.

Colonel Yoo Joonghyuk. Doing pushups.

God must have looked at him and said, “Let’s just go feral with the physique.” And then did. Repeatedly. With no regrets.

He was shirtless today.

Shirtless.

No tank top. No jacket. No distraction. Just pure, unfiltered male warfare happening twenty feet in front of you. His back arched with each press upward, muscles taut and carved like a sculpture from wrath and divine punishment. His arms flexed with every slow push, veins snaking up his forearms, sweat sliding down his spine like it was trying to seduce you too.

You hadn’t spoken a word in ten minutes.

You were just sketching.

Blunt graphite lines captured the bend of his shoulders, the sharp tilt of his jaw when he turned to the side, the wild mess of black hair sticking to his temple. Your fingers moved without hesitation, precise, practiced. This wasn’t new. You’d drawn plenty of human forms before. But you’d never drawn this man, and that made all the difference. ni hao fine shyt

His body was a battlefield. A museum piece. An obsession you were trying very hard not to frame on your bedroom wall.

Your eyes flicked back to him. His belts were still on. Of course they were. The thigh straps flexed with each movement, riding up against the thick muscle of his legs with every pushup.

You added a separate full-body outline to the side. Shirtless. Focused. Knees barely touching the ground. And next to it, his face-a scowl etched into marble, thick eyebrows furrowed with concentration. You shaded in his lips with careful detail. Slightly parted. Probably swearing under his breath.

Then-

His gaze flicked toward you.

Mid-pushup. Still hovering just above the ground. His expression faltered.

You didn’t blink.

You stared right back.

“...What,” he gritted out, voice low and already breathless.

You tilted your head slightly. “You’re off-rhythm.”

“I’m not-” He grunted as he pushed up again, more aggressively this time. “I’m training. What are you doing.”

You held up your sketchbook.

He squinted. His eyes caught the page and froze.

And then.

It hit him.

The full-body rendering. The glistening back muscles. The chest belts. You’d shaded in the strap lines across his chest, for God’s sake. You even added a note that just said “Holy fuck look at this man*” in the margin like a cursed annotation.

You watched the chaos unfold in real time. Yoo Joonghyuk, Cold-hearted, iron-blooded, highest-ranking combat freak in the Air Force, had a visible meltdown.

His elbows buckled. He stumbled as he got up. His eyes snapped to your face like you were the criminal here and he was preparing for execution.

“You-why-delete it.”

“It’s a drawing.”

“Burn it.”

“No.”

“You drew my chest.”

“You put belts on your chest,” you said plainly.

His mouth opened. No words came out. He looked like a cat thrown in water.

“I can see that,” he growled.

You looked at him, completely deadpan. “You’re very symmetrical. It’s helpful for anatomy studies.”

“I don’t care.”

“You didn’t complain when I drew your arm last week.”

“That was covered.”

You blinked slowly. “You’re shirtless now.”

“I know,” he hissed, dragging a hand through his hair in pure agony. “Why the hell are you so calm about this?!”

“I’m an artist.”

“You’re a freak.”

“And you wear gear designed to make artists suffer,” you said, eyes narrowing slightly as you nodded toward the glinting chest strap now clinging tighter to his sweat-slicked torso. “You walked out looking like a tactical lingerie model and expected me to not sketch you?”

He choked again.

Visibly. Audibly. Like your words hit somewhere deep.

He turned away with a strangled sound in his throat, shoulders tensing like he was preparing to break the sound barrier. His hand twitched at his thigh strap. You swore he almost unbuckled it, thought better of it, then marched to the other side of the field.

It was supposed to be a normal day. Just a walk through the corridor near the aircraft hangar. Light footsteps. Quiet hums of cooling vents. You, sketchbook under your arm, sipping from a lukewarm iced coffee like you weren’t harboring at least twelve anatomically obsessive renderings of Yoo Joonghyuk’s absurdly strapped torso. In your defense… he made it so easy. He didn’t even have the decency to try and be unappealing.

And maybe, maybe you’d been staring too much lately. Maybe drawing him in profile mid-sprint had been too far. Maybe sketching him from memory in the damn mess hall was… not entirely subtle.

You didn’t expect him to notice. You definitely didn’t expect him to drag you by the wrist into an empty storage room and shut the door behind you like he was about to interrogate a war criminal.

“Y-Yoo-” You stumbled as he let go, heartbeat already knocking into your ribs like a prisoner trying to escape.

The air shifted. It was dead silent. Dim light flickered above, casting long shadows along the walls stacked with storage crates and spare gear. Your breath caught as you turned to face him.

Yoo Joonghyuk.

Tense. Flushed. Unhinged.

His chest was rising and falling like he’d sprinted the whole way here. The black chest belt clung to him like a second skin, straps taut across his pecs and digging slightly into his skin with every inhale. His skin glistened faintly with sweat—whether from training or pure frustration, you didn’t know—but it made the belt shine, and your brain just short-circuited.

“Why,” he finally breathed, voice dangerously low, “do you keep drawing me?”

Your heart launched itself into your throat.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again, but all that came out was, “You… have a very aesthetic combat form.”

He blinked at you like he didn’t understand language anymore. “What?!”

“I mean—your posture is good! And the proportions are really balanced. Like, stupidly so,” you blurted, holding your sketchbook against your chest like it would shield you from his very large presence. “It’s hard to find models who hold tension in their core like that, and the way your gear fits? It’s-”

“Gear?!”

“The chest belt, God, the chest belt—” You were spiraling, voice cracking like dry paint. “Who designed that?! Because they need to be either arrested or given a promotion, I don’t know! It’s so much! It wraps around like-like a damn sculpted pressure point! I’m a civilian, Colonel, And your face- you're jsut so damn beauitufl!- I’m not built to handle-!”

“Shut up.”

Your mouth froze mid-word.

He stepped forward.

Your brain flatlined.

The distance between you evaporated. He was right in front of you now—taller, broader, chest rising just barely an inch from yours. The scent of steel and sweat and subtle cologne slammed into your lungs. You could see the buckle now. The faint lines where the belt dug into his chest. The way his jaw clenched, how his brows were drawn tight, not out of anger. Out of panic.

He looked like he didn’t know what to do with you. Like your very existence had short-circuited his emotional circuitry.

“I can’t think when you look at me like that,” he muttered, voice hoarse, barely audible.

You blinked fast. “I’m not looking-”

“You look at me like I’m going to fall apart if you touch me.”

Your knees turned to soup.

You tried to say something anything but the words died the moment he leaned in. His hand braced beside your head on the wall, and your whole body went into meltdown. You couldn’t look away. His face was so close now, just a tilt of your chin and your lips would graze his. The belt across his chest flexed as he shifted, catching your eye, and you let out the softest, most broken little breath.

“You’re cute when you malfunction,” he said quietly, with so much heat it made your toes curl in your shoes.

You exploded.

Your face went bright red instantly. You covered your mouth with your hand, stumbling back against the wall like your body just decided it couldn’t function anymore. Your sketchbook slipped from your fingers and fell to the floor with a dull thud.

“You—?! I—?! SHUT UP!” you wheezed, grabbing at the wall for support because his gaze hadn’t moved, and your legs were absolutely giving out.

Then, then-he leaned in—

And kissed your cheek.

A soft, chaste press of lips. So quick you could’ve convinced yourself it didn’t happen.

But you felt it.

And your knees.

Gone.

You slid down the wall like a deflated balloon, landing on your butt with a thump, clutching your own face like it had betrayed you.

Yoo Joonghyuk, meanwhile, turned away in the most cat-like, “if-I-don’t-make-eye-contact-it-didn’t-happen” manner ever recorded in history.

His ears were red. His neck was red. He was seethingly embarrassed. And yet he muttered:

“…I like the sketch from this morning.”

You should not have kissed him.

You should not have kissed him.

You were a functioning adult. A person with morals. Self-respect. Basic dignity. You were not the kind of unhinged civilian artist who cornered a highly ranked Air Force colonel in a dim supply room and on the tail end of a spiraling obsession with his chest harness and flustered blushes grabbed him by his damn shoulders and kissed him.

But you did.

God help you, you did.

Your fingers had twitched before your brain caught up. Something about the way he looked at you, dangerously close, silently challenging, jaw tight and eyes on fire just shattered the last remaining boundary in your system. You didn’t think. You just acted.

You grabbed the belt across his chest, tugged him downward with a startled grunt, and kissed him.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. Not at first.

It was tense—panicked—like every sketch, every silent stare, every note in your margins had finally detonated in your bloodstream. His lips were warm. Firm. He gasped into it, and you swore your heart exploded. The belt under your grip pulled tight. You felt every shift of his muscles as he steadied himself, like even he hadn’t expected it.

And then-he kissed you back.

Hard.

One hand gripped your waist. The other braced against the wall. And the moment his mouth moved with yours, confident, smug, teasing-you malfunctioned. Fully. Openly. Pathetically.

Because you were the one who started it, sure. But you were not prepared for Yoo Joonghyuk’s revenge.

When he finally pulled back—barely an inch of air between your mouths- you were already slumped against the wall, lips parted, breathless, eyes wide like you just got hit by a whole-ass aircraft.

He didn’t even look flustered.

In fact…

He looked downright evil.

Smirk curling his lips. Hair slightly disheveled. Chest rising with controlled breath. That damn belt still clutched in your hand—your hand, which was now trembling slightly, traitorous thing—and he knew.

“Oh?” he drawled, voice low, amused. “So that’s what happens when I fight back.”

You jsut internally scream.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, grabbing your own face. “I kissed a colonel. I kissed a colonel. I kissed you. You let me—You kissed me back?!”

He leaned in again, breath tickling your ear. “You initiated contact. That’s military provocation.”

“Shut up-shut up-Shut the hell up!” you wailed, turning around like that would somehow make him disappear from your reality.

But he just laughed.

A real, deep one. His chuckle reverberated straight through your chest like a siren call of doom. You could feel his satisfaction radiating off him like heat, smug bastard. You'd melted in his hands, and he knew it.

“That’s not fair,” you muttered, hiding behind your hands again. “You were supposed to -! You were supposed to explode. You were supposed to fall apart like a cat dropped in water- why am I the one- ughhh?!”

Yoo Joonghyuk stepped back, adjusting his belt, looking like the literal embodiment of post-kiss victory. “I told you not to look at me like that.”

“And I told you,” you gasped, cheeks fully glowing, “to stop wearing gear that makes me think unholy thoughts.”

He shrugged, turning toward the door with that stupid satisfied calmness.

“I’m off-duty in two hours.”

You blinked. “...So?”

He paused at the doorway, glanced back at you—completely wrecked against the wall, face flushed, legs still barely working—and said,

“My Place or Your place?”

me asf when a bad bitch tells me to do smth: 🫡

[sheepispink]

pt 2 of neglected weapons specialist reader!

Part one here

————

You wake up with a pounding ache running from your eye sockets, all the way through your temples right to the back of your head. It feels like someone’s actively trying to pull your eyeballs out of your face, and you have to scrunch your eyes, hands clenching as you writhe in pain.

Then as you seethe, you feel the horrible burn in your lungs, like acid had burned holes across the expanse of the organs. “Easy— easy, careful-“ A nurse rushes over, latching an oxygen mask over your face and finally you breathe properly again, chest starting to slow down.

“What..” Your voice comes out hoarser than it should, eyes blinking rapidly now as you look around the room in sheer confusion. “Where..?”

“You fainted from the toxic fumes in your lab. In fact, it’s all being investigated right now, so don't worry.” The nurse's hand settles on your hands, holding you down a little too firmly— almost wearily.

“Investigated..?” You blink slower now, settling flat against the bed as your brows furrow in confusion.

“The chemicals in your lab were strong enough to damage your organs, thankfully not harshly enough that they wouldn't recover though.” The nurse explains, not caring much about your wince as they push the iv you had accidentally loosened back into place. “We have reason to believe you also may have self destructive behaviour with the chemicals, so you’ll be banned from your lab for a whole month.”

The last sentence is what has been ringing in your head practically all day now.

Banned from the lab.

For self destructive behaviour?

Sure, you often pushed yourself hard but the safety guidelines were embedded into your bones since you held your first welding gun. Truthfully you can't believe how they could’ve even come to that conclusion— you were always on time for your checkups too! Something had to be wrong, this had to be a mistake.

It’s only later than afternoon that you finally get discharged, although very reluctantly from your constant coughing. Thankfully you were supplied with an inhaler to manage it, and you tuck it into the pocket of your clothes as you change out of the hospital gown. Just as you secure your belt, you notice how loose it sits in its usual notch, your loss of mass confusing you.

Before you can question it, a knock sounds at the door, startling you. “It’s the Captain.”

Immediately you still. If your sudden ban had agitated you so much, there was no way he wouldn’t be just as furious. It was like all of the memories of the past months had crashed down, and it didn't help that the thoughts had lingered in your dreams all night. But.. you knew you werent self destructive. He knew that too. If anyone was to help you contest this ban— he could!

You move forward to open the door, teeth gritting as your entire body straightens up, preparing to argue your case. “Captain—”

“How are you doing?”

His question immediately catches you off guard, making you hesitate before stepping back and letting him into the room. “Well..” You begin, but hesitate. If there’s one thing you’ve learnt through all of this, its that only the mission matters and not any personal problems. And it’s better you don't anger him with fluffy details. “You probably heard I'm banned from the lab, but i think there’s been a mistake, i’ve never one intened to harm—-”

“That’s enough, I already agreed to their decision. It’ll do you some good.”

You blink, surprised but he just steps forward, hand settling on your shoulder. “You really need to take a break— we never intended for you to harm yourself like that.”

——————-

“Hey, you’re alive!” Soap exclaims as you line up and grab your tray. You barely get a second before his hand slaps your back, sending you into a fit of coughs..

“Wha— the — he—ll?” You wheeze each syllable out. The chemicals had left you still suffering from a shortness of breath, making you gasp desperately as you rummage in your pocket for the inhaler they prescribed. His face falls as you pump air into your lungs with far too much force. Though the pressure in your chest finally settles, leaving you with a deep frown..

“I didn’t mean tae—” He begins, reaching out but you just shrug him off, too annoyed by his careless actions. “Ah’m sorry. Just glad to have ye back again, Price said he found you.. errr.. passed out or somethin”

So first he had the audacity to hit you and then he admits he didn't even care enough to know what happened?

You blink away the anger bubbling in your chest, not wanting to have yet another fit in this very busy hall.

What the hell is up with you anyway? Just snap out of these rebellious thoughts already— he didn't mean to harm you.

“Yeah, well, I'm okay now.” You mutter back, afraid to say more else you really do bark at him. Damnit you were so tired.

“Well, that’s good eh? So im thinking for my next weapon-“

“I’m not allowed in the labs for a month, don't even bother.” You knew you were being harsh, assuming that his only concern was his next weapon and not your wellbeing. Surely you’re villainising him again— stop that.

“Really?” He seems surprised and it only serves to anger you more.

“Yes, really.”

He falls quiet as you serve the rest of your food, seemingly at a loss for words now. It’s only when you finally grab your water bottle does he get it for you, placing it on your tray.

“But you can still draw up plans, right?”

You’ve never wanted to punch a colleague more in your life but of course, you can't. So you grit your teeth, and force a smile. “I suppose, if I'm not too ill to move that is.” And with that, you leave him standing, walking off and out the mess. However, despite your heart screaming that it was a win in your books, you couldn't help the heavy weight on your chest. Why did you have to be so rude to him? He just wanted your expertise— if anything it should be considered a compliment.

The food doesn't even interest you anymore, and you barely have most of it before throwing it out.

——

The next day doesn't fare any better for you. You’re overwhelmed with coughing fits even in the shower and it didn’t help that your entire body ached. Something about damage to the nerves in your hands and feet, apparently. You couldn't listen to the nurses much over the whirring oxygen machines.

“You alive..?” The short knock at your door has you agitated, the pounding headache that’s been eating at you all morning only throbbing harder.

“Barely..” You mumble beneath your breath, slowly padding over to the door before weakly opening it to meet Gaz.

“You know you shouldn't hole yourself up here doing work all day— it’s good to take breaks.”

“Actually I haven't done anything today..” You hate that you have to fight off the urge to mention the harsh symptoms you’ve dealt with for the entire morning. After all, only focus on the mission, that’s it.

“Oh—? Are you on medical leave? I know you’re banned from the labs but..”

You’re half tempted to close the door right in his face at this point but something tells you that would be a very bad idea. It’s just so ironic, that he only knows the facts connected to your job but not the medical symptoms they caused—

You have to shake your head to snap yourself out of it, giving him an awkward shrug instead. “No, technically I'm not on leave.”

“Oh.. so why aren't you working?”

You honestly wish you could make him feel the pain throbbing through your body at this very moment, but you can't because that’d probably make you guilty of assault. You force another smile, swallowing firmly. “The chemicals I work with have left me with bad shortness of breath and nerve damage. Maybe tomorrow I can write up your plans, Kyle.”

You watch as his face slowly drops, but it doesn't make you feel any more satisfied.

“Oh- I didn't know.. Did you not follow the safety protocols?”

That was your last straw, and honestly you felt way too close to your legs giving out right now so you just do what you do best, shrugging. “Probably.” Agreeing with his words are easier than contesting them, and soon enough you get to slump back into bed again and pass out.

——-

Two weeks have passed since then, mainly because you’ve been avoiding them like the plague this entire time. But it’s also good for you too, finally able to settle your mind from the months of stress you’ve been put through. You sleep more hours, finally do the things you’ve been putting off, and you’re starting to find love in your work again. Besides, having a break from them has given you time to sort out your feelings and the mismanaged anger you always seemed to have towards them. They were soldiers with a job! You couldn't expect them to chase after you.

You stop by the mess hall at a later time today, and since you already ate with them that morning you don't really mind doing the same now.

“Hi.” You grin as you take a seat at the end, Gaz shuffling up for you. “How’d your training session with the lower ranks go?” Of course, you grin, only focusing on his day because you’ve learnt now not to talk about yours.

“Went quite well, actually. Got a good bunch for once.” He replies, scooping a final spoonful into his mouth whilst you grab your first.

You hadn't been eating in the mess that much recently, mostly from being too weak in your first few days off. Now you couldn't help but salivate at the food sitting there, no matter how crappy it could be sometimes.

That means you end up eating a little too quickly— the dessert actually looks good today, and this was one of the few serotonin boosters in your life.

“Arent you going to slow down?” Ghost comments, sitting opposite, and his eyes narrowed on your plate. Immediately you pause, giving him a sheepish smile as you swallow down the last bite you shoved in.

“Sorry, ‘m pretty hungry today.” You chuckle, because you’ve all had your moments, especially how they usually scoff their food down after a hard mission.

“From what, eh? Yer not even working right now.”

You turn to see Soap snort at his own words, after practically licking his own plate clean. He pats Gaz who snickers too, leaning back in his chair and locking his eyes onto you as well. “He’s right, you know. Like- we’re actively doing physical work all day, and then paperwork on top of that.”

“I guess- i’m still a bit ill and—“

“Dont you just sit in your room for most of the day?” Ghost adds, tilting his head in your direction, especially when your fork reaches for the dessert next.

It’s so embarrassing, your stomach feels queasy as you feel the burn of all of your eyes on you. They’re staring— judging— your choices. They don't even think you deserve to eat, and hell, they’re right, aren't they? You haven't been doing any work so they’re not actually wrong. They keep on looking at you expectantly though, like you have an answer for why you’re hungry despite the fact you don't deserve it.

The worst part was that Price wasn't even here to defend you right now. He would, right? Surely. You were told he was the one that brought you to the infirmary in the first place, so he definitely would say something.

“Oh.. I guess so.” You say awkwardly, eyes darting downwards as Soap laughs before reaching over to snag your dessert plate.

“Here, i’ll do ye a favour? Ye don't want it, do ya?” All you can do is shake your head slowly, watching as he scoffs it down without a second thought, continuing a conversation with Ghost like they hadn't just humiliated you.

—-----------------------------------------------

“Captain..”

You slip into his office, the nerves in your fingers tingling but not as queasy as the ones in your stomach. It’s been two days since, and not only has their behaviour worsened but your increasing annoyance has only come back full force again. The guilt is only hitting you full force, especially as you draw closer to snapping. All you want is to be good.

“Hm? What brings you here?” He looks up from where he’s sat at his desk, a box of cigars peeking out one of his drawers as you get closer.

“Your soldiers, that’s what.” You huff, trying to make it seem more like a joke than anything. It’ll lessen the blow but not the churning feeling in your gut.

“Those muppets? If they’re trying to convince you to go back into the labs, you’re still banned.”

“I know, i know.” You slump into the small chair to the side, limbs crumpling almost immediately. This was almost the same as the first time you made a successful weapon.

It was so long ago now, but you remember them finding you immediately after the mission was over, Soap practically squeezing your half awake body so tight as he rambled over how well it worked. From then on, you were asked a million things all the time, even from other Lieutenants and as much as you loved to see your work thrive, it was exhausting. So you had found yourself escaping into the Captain’s office, just like you were now. Except that time he let you talk about whatever, and he also conversed back with you, until you even came over to help him with organising the more menial paperwork and the clock starting flashing midnight.

“What did they do?” His voice snaps you out of the memory, and you sit up a little more, one hand rubbing your neck.

“Feels like none of them even acknowledge i’m sick.” It came out way more bluntly than you intended, but even as you glance up, his eyes dont meet yours.

“Cant expect them to know everything about you.”

You let out a laugh at his words, assuming he’s being sarcastic; he had to be.

“I mean it’s hardly more than the bare minimum. They remember whenever i say i’m working on something they want but not that i passed out two weeks ago?”

“Everyone passes out— they’ve had more broken bones than you can count.” His nonchalance on the matter has you furrowing your brows until you sit up properly so you can watch him.

“I passed out because of prolonged exposure to chemicals, pretty sure that’s not as simple as a broken bone.”

“Well what would ya like then, huh? You want em to deliver your food and rub your back?” He huffs and leans back in his chair for a moment, fingers pinching his brow as you just look at him in confusion. You were supposed to come to your Captain for help, but he looked like you just told him that you had plans to revolutionise.

“I’m just saying.. they keep demanding things of me that I can't give. I’ve been able to make the prototypes on a good day, but even then sometimes i lose my breath just from small things and —“

“Are you here just to complain?”

Taken aback, you just stare at him blankly, before slowly standing. “What..?”

“Look, kid. This is the military, yeah?” He says it so condescendingly it makes your brows start to narrow, especially by how his eyes pierce into yours. “We’ve all worked through injuries and tough times before. Torture sometimes too. Your incident caused a lot of trouble, you know? We’re lucky I convinced them you were self destructive.”

“You.. told them that?“ It suddenly clicks in your head, why the nurses watched you like you would snap, why the psych eval had taken much longer and was far more intrusive than ever. You had no idea why you had been attending therapy sessions regularly either. “I’m not— you know that. Why would you blame it on that?”

“I cant afford a bloody inspection right now, kid. We have lives to deal with, missions to plan. It wasnt even hard to argu you breached the safety requirements.”

“You’re the one who made me push past the safety guidelines— you and the others demanded that of me!”

“I lied for everyone's sake. Your job would be hardly affected by that kind of claim unlike the others.”

“No— this was never about me, was it? It’s always you- Soap, Gaz— always you all!.”

He lets out a long sigh, eyes closing for a long second before he stands, right before you with his arms crossed. “Like i said— this is the military, not your university. We’re here to get the job done, and if you cant handle a bit of roughing up, then maybe this isnt for you.”

“Are you.. asking me to quit?” After everything you’ve done, all the weapons that helped them through every mission. Every prototype, every plan.

“You’re either in or you're out— I want no more of this nonsense and complaining.” He huffs, turning around to place the files in another cabinet. It’s obvious he clearly expects you to stay in; it was more of a rhetorical question. He knows you’ll never actually leave.

“Fine.. then I’m out.”

“Good now—- what?” He turns, watching your hand tremble as you grip onto your access card. “Stop your games, you’ve got work to do too you know.”

“I quit, Captain Price.” You say, knowing it’s the right decision. You’re terrified of just quitting everything right here and right now. But you’re also angry, and frustrated, and most of all, betrayed. By yourself for not realising sooner, by the taskforce for treating you like a tool and by him for expecting you to follow his every whim.

The card clatters as you drop it on his table, leaving you with your id so you can still sign the official resignation and then leave through the general access doors.

You step back before he can say more, letting the door swing behind you as the tears well in your eyelids.

———————

i wanted more angst hehe

no more kofi links this months, if you liked my content and fics and would like to support please consider donating to a charity! Whether its to palestine, sudan, congo, the uyghurs in China or even supporting the civilians hurt in Iran, please do what you can. Even if you dont have any money to give, think about clothes you can donate to your local womens/homeless shelter or other items you dont use anymore. please support your local communities even if it means getting your coffee from a local spot rather than a usual and please remember to be kind to yourself first and foremost. Thank you all for your support on the last chapter!

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