#All while I’m studying for an exam later today

[savetheupholstery]

Having to experience Joel Millers death and then hearing the fucking Pope died within like 5 hours of each other is a surreal experience

[cathnospam]

Content Warning: College MHA AU, Reader is….weird(ish), Bakugo is somewhat clueless

You don’t know why, but your boyfriend being a crash out is hot.

Maybe it’s the toxicity in you, maybe you’re a sadomasochist, whatever the case may be, but Bakugo getting riled up is probably the top 5 hottest things you’ve seen.

Nobody understands why you like it so much, Mina thinks you’ve been brainwashed, Kiri tries not to judge, but calls you weird, Denki thinks it’s scary and you might be in danger, and Sero finds it hilarious.

Even Deku, he was the first to notice how you smirk and get all giggly when Bakugo is cursing someone out on the field and straight up blasting his heart out when he’s sparring with the poor bastard he’s against.

“Are you smiling?”

“What?”

“You’re smiling, a lot. When Kacchan blasted that wall down unnecessarily you started to smile—“

“Don’t worry about it, Izuku.”

Everybody notices it, but him.

He does notice how much clingier you are after a fight, or after he finishes yelling at someone, or even when he’s mad you’re just there stealing glances and grinning . It’s not that big of a deal to him, but he doesn’t know WHY you do it.

He’s always like this. He’s always been a hot head, that was your first impression of him.

But being a relationship with him made you see in him a new light.

He’s yelled at you plenty of times before, he still does, but it’s not similar to how he does Kaminari or even Deku. It’s usually just passive aggressive comments, mixed with grumbling.

Today was no different he was already annoyed Todoroki got the highest score during the exams and he had to spar with Monoma so of course that plus his taunt really had Bakugo in a mood.

You loved it.

Seeing him blast through walls, his fangs more prominent when he yells, the way his veins pop out of his shoulders and neck. You’re so sick in the head for liking it.

You watched, looking as dazed as you usually are when you see your Blondie fight around. You nearly began to bite your lip until Bakugo caught you.

His brows furrowed for a split second, before dodging Monoma’s move. You had to straight up.

Later that evening Bakugo began to watch you with a thoughtful look. In the common area he walked past you before saying, “Meet me outside. Now.”

“Alright what the hell is your problem. You have been staring at me all day like a fucking piece of meat. You horny…..~”

“No you dick.” You slap his arm, sitting beside him on the bench, “You just looked really good today.”

“I always look good—“

“You look AIIGHT?….You just….I like how you look when you’re fighting. And yelling. And mad—“

“You’re a damn masochist.”

“No I’m not!” You scoff making him break into a chuckle, he figured you liked SOMETHING he was doing he just couldn’t put him finger on it. He smirks at you, “Is that why you like pissing me off huh?” He playfully states while he wraps his arm around your neck and nudges you forehead with his knuckles, “Always fucking annoying the shit out me? Like seeing me mad?”

You share a laugh with him and push him off, “Maybe!..SO!? Who cares I’m complimenting you you bastard.”

“Right…” Bakugo ponders, studying your face as you both sit on the bench outside, “You’re a weird ass, is this your way of telling me I should yell at you more?”

“…” You side eye him and he immediately starts pointing at you in fake disbelief, as if he were about to insult you, “I’m kidding! I don’t want you GENUINELY angry at me.”

The blonde smirks, throwing his arm over your shoulder, he couldn’t ever be actually angry at you. He does however like to know that his outburst don’t annoy you as much as he thought they did.

[secretaccountlol]

Tell me i’m good while im weak.

GENDER-NETURAL READER X MARK GRAYSON.

This is a smuttyyy Drabble 18+ no minor plz!

Warnings? : Dom!Reader x Sub! Mark. Reader does call mark some names and teases him a lot. Mark is..a pervert in this lol and soooo pathetic. Also degradation and praise galore. He also like.. lies bout bein sick lol.

Synopsis: Mark has a kink. Praise and degradation, and once you find out you're happy to help him out with it.

I got a beta reader in this hoe! Shout out to lovely, wonderful, stunning @sobbingscripter

Thank her ! Now you won't be subjected to my horrible dyslexia lmao

—-

Author note; Now,, all I kinda went lil crazy with the dialogue, it's like filthy?? Srry if he's a lil OOC, I just wanted to write a down right pitiful mark.. and I think I succeeded!

This is my first ever invincible Drabble! I don't tend to do them very often, so enjoy. Hey btw .: I like comments and reblogs tell me what you think okay?

Mark has a praise kink. You didn’t realize it at first,of course.

Who just randomly daydreams about their good friend’s kinks, not you, at least not intentionally.

It started simple, you had tutored Mark. With all the new hero shit he’s been thrown through, getting his grades up in college was the most difficult thing for him.

That’s when you graciously helped; late night study sessions with him after missions, early morning calls to go over answers before exams.

An unexpected call at 8:30 am in the morning wakes you, and it's Mark screaming about the 80 he just got on the test, worth 60% of his grade.

Your sleepy grin is all you remember as you promise to bring celebratory drinks later, “Good job, Mark! I knew you could do it!”

He pauses before you yawn, letting him know you’re going back to sleep now.

You don’t notice the breathy, stuttered goodbye he says as the phone clicks off.

Next time you're at Comic Con; he’s dressed as Séance Dog, you didn’t tell Mark what you were gonna be dressed as, with you adamant of it being a surprise for him.

His breath falters when he sees you, your legs out and oiled in a “sexy” invincible leotard.

“Surprise~”

Thank god, he was sitting and he had a cape because the boner he popped was massive.

“You look great!”

Your giggle pinpoints his cock, “You look even better, what a good boy you are!” You ruffle his hair, his eyes widen.

“Wha— good boy?”

“Oh, pfft sorry—, cus you're Seance Dog! He’s a dog, dogs are always good boys!”

“Right right right,” Mark’s ears burned, think cold thoughts, think cold thoughts.

“Speakin’ of, the panel of authors and animators is about to start. We need to get there like now, cus I already know people are fightin’ over seats.”

You skip off, not bothering to look behind you, and thank god because if you did, your eyes would be glued to the fucking snake in his pants.

‘ they said I'm a good boy, i'm a good boy, ’ kept chanting in his mind.

His cock did not know a moment of peace that night, with your words echoing through his mind.

His bedsheets dripped with sweat and cum as his cock softened for the 12th time.

Used tissues littered his room as he milked the last bit of cum.

Your phone call shakes him out of his sex haze, it’s a daily ritual of y’alls. You talk about your day and he does the same, trying to keep a sense of normalcy, with him being a hero, it’s hard to see each other every time.

You again, don’t notice his wavering voice as his hands pick up the pace again. His poor cock is beaten to hell, as the sloppy noises fill his room, his mouth press in a thin line.

“Mark, you okay?”

“Yea— yesyesyes, I’m okay…”

Your brow furrows, “Okay, we don’t have to keep talkin’ y’know? I can hang up if your bus—“

“Nonononono, please don’t hang up!” His words rush out in a whimper before he can stop himself.

“Okay! Jesus! ‘M sorry I won’t hang up. You're a needy lil thing today, aren’t ya?”

Mark whines, an honest to god whine. Silence insues, he fucked up.

“Mark, are you sick or somethin’?”

“I— I.. yes!” Mark does a terrible fake cough, “Mmhn, ‘m catchin’ a cold”

“Aww poor baby..”

A whimper slips through his lips, “yes, yeah yeah… mhn… poor me.”

“Wan’ me come over and take care of you, ya big baby?”

“Yesyesyes please,” another muffled plea from Mark as his fingers brush the tip of his head..

“Okay, I’m on my way with chicken soup!”

*Click*

Mark blinks, a dopey smile plays on his lips.

Oh shit.

Oh god, he wasn’t thinking straight, he’s not even sick! His bed creaks from the sudden upright movement.

His eyes darted around his room, oh shitshitshit.

His body zips around his room as he picks up his tissues and throws his soiled sheets in the washer, putting fresh linens on in the span of a second.

The next second, you were already knocking at the door.

“Maaarkkk, you in there buddy?”

His hands move in frenzy, rubbing his nose as hard as he can to make it a rosy red, jogging side to side to give himself a sweaty appearance, and finally a wet, cold folded cloth placed over his forehead before unlocking the door and hastily making his way back to his bed.

Clearing his throat before he speaks, mustering up his best “sick” voice, “Doooorss opppewwennn!!”

The door whines as you enter, Mark’s ears twitch as he hears you set down the homemade soup.

Clashing dishes in the kitchen before your feet shuffle into his room.

Your eyes ooze sympathy when you see his face.

“Awe, my poor baby.”

Mark throws out a helpless whine as he motions grabby hands for you to come to him.

“‘M sooo siick.., think I got somethin’ from space travelin’ too much.”

You back up slightly, “you’re not— like contagious are you?”

Mark shakes his head rapidly, shit. ‘Think, think, make up a lie, make up a lie.’

“Noooo, uh—“ he coughs, “Robot says it isn’t..annd who am I to argue with a super genius!” He coughs another time, for good measure.

“Uh okay!” You slink back over to him, flopping down next to him. “Here, big baby open your mouth up for soup.”

Mark’s mouth opens with a pop, light pink adores his cheek, god he’s pathetic.

“God, you’re shameless, aren’t ya?”

“Immm sickkk—!” He’s definitely milking it, but can you blame him, hearing you pity him like this, it gets him going.

”It’s kinda cute,” you spoon more liquid into his mouth. “I like takin’ care of your needy ass.”

“You do?” His eyes flutter, if he wasn’t ‘sick’, you’d mistake his tinted cheeks as a blush.

“Mm, yeah I like taking care of my friends and family. Plus, you take care of the whole galaxy, Mark. The least I can do is look after you when you need it.”

Mark blinks, then blinks again.

“Sorry layin’ it on too thick? My bad.” You pull back the spoon trembling slightly, the soup swishing around.

His hand hastily grabbed your wrist, “No no not at all, please praise me more.”

“What?”

“Praise me ..more, please”

Your heart burns, bubbling with desire. Shit, should you feel this way about your best friend especially when he’s sick? Is he even in the right headspace?

“You’re.. such a good hero, Mark. I feel so safe when you're around.”

Mark’s breath caught, “‘more?” His fingers squeeze your wrist softly, then release.

“Mark, you’re not — you’re not in the right headspace you aren’t.. you don’t know what you’re sayin’...” your hand caresses over his as you lick your lips.

“If— if I was in the right headspace, would you?”

You bite your lip, sighing “ Yes.. yes—“

“I’m not sick.”

“What?”

“I’m not sick, I lied. Please praise me now.”

Your arms snatch away from him, “You little liar!”

He pouts, sitting up, removing the cold towel. “I wanted you to take care offf meeee!”

“You could’ve just asked, I’d come over regardless!”

Your arms cross against your chest, “you don’t even deserve my homemade soup!”

Mark whines again, “nooo I like your souuup!”

“Why’d you lie! If you like my soup you, again. Could’ve just asked!“

“I—..it’s cus I don’t know! I just thought.. I just couldn’t think of anything else..to get you here.”

“Mark..” your eyes rake over his face. A cute pout plays on his lips and his brows furrowed like a puppy being scolded.

“I just .. mm, thought if I played sick you’d praise me more..”

“Oh..? Oh!” You kiss your teeth, as you stare at your best friend.

“Mark, lift your bed covers for me real quick.”

“Why..” his eyes narrow.

“I think you know why—“

“Noooope.”

“Dude, you totally have a boner right, don’t you?”

“No— I- don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!”

You shift your eyes to the rising spot in the covers, point a finger, “Right.. uh-huh..” your face deadpans.

His legs shoot to his chest nearly knocking the wind outta of him.

“Shit.”

“You’re a fuckin’ pervert dude! Wait wait! Is that why you sounded like that over the phone? Oh my god were you—?”

Mark's eyes dart away from yours, bury his face in his hands after.

“Oh my god, you were! You were jerkin’ off to my voice!” The shrill of your voice carried through his apartment.

“I— SHHH! Keep your voice down!” Mark grabs your collar, the jerky movement causes you to bend over him awkwardly, your chest over his lap.

“Augh- sorry! Shit sorry. I — just— “

Your hand brushes against his cock as you sit up, a strangled groan graces your ears as he grabs your hand again.

“Sorry again— uh don’t touch ther—uh!”

Your other hand grips his covered cock running your fingers over it.

“Tsk no, Mark, isn’t this what you wanted?”

“I— “

Devious grin splits your face as you rip the covers off him, a rush of cold air cools his body, your eyes stare at his boner.

“Ha, got a third leg here, huh?”

“Dude— this is so embarrassing, please don’t tease me..” his hands tug across his face as he speaks.

“Nahh, you said you wanted to be praised, right?”

Another whimper slips past his lip.

“Mark, be a good boy for me, use your words.” God, you were having too much fun mocking him.

“Fuckkk! Don—don’t talk like that!”

Your hand inches into his thin boxer, a hiccup in his breath as you cup his cock.

“You sound so pretty right, you know that?”

“Mmhn no— I “

“No, you’re right, you sound so deliciously pathetic right, I never thought I’d hear you this way.” Your lips ghost the side of his face as you start to pump, a soft sob bubbles from him.

“Imagine everyone knowing the mighty Invincible is such a whiny bitch in bed, hm?”

“Stooopp being meaaan!” Mark’s pitiful wails heighten as his cock twitches in your hands.

“Oh, so you like bein’ degraded and praise? Tsk, what a combooo..!”

“I don’t—! I- just your voice and I’m- I’m over—whelmed! Right now, okay!”

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re throbbing like you’re about to blow, are you? Hm?” Your tongue drags against his ear as your lazy tugs cloud his mind.

“ ‘m nooot! “

“Okay, can you be a good puppy for me and only cum when I tell you to?”

“Uh-huh, yesyes,” his throat bobs, “I can— I can be a good boy, please.”

“Aw okay, I believe you,” your lips slip down his neck, earning another groan, your teeth nip his skin.

“Let’s see how long you can hang on.”

oh, he was fucked.

You realize, he doesn’t just have a praise kink, he has a degradation kink too.

—

[pure-smut]

helping out a friend.

featuring: Kuroo Tetsuro x f!reader

contains: childhood friends to lovers, mutual m*sturbation, missionary, softdom!kuroo, watching p*rn

note: all characters are aged up to 18+!

word count: 2.4k

masterlist

MDNI | 18+ content

You’ve known Tetsuro Kuroo since you were practically babies. You found each other at nursery and you’ve been inseparable ever since. Even though you’re older now and went to different Universities, you video call nearly every day. You’ve managed to break out of your shell a bit and make some new friends at Uni but nothing beats seeing Tetsu’s face pop up on your phone. He just cheers you up.

“Hey, nerd,” Tesu greets you one day. You balance your phone against the stack of books on your desk so you can see each other while you study.

“Hey, loser,” you greet him back. He must be just out of the shower because he’s not wearing a shirt and his chest is slick and shiny. “You couldn’t make yourself decent?”

“What, you don’t like?” he says, grinning. You roll your eyes and ignore him.

If you’re being honest with yourself, there was maybe a time years and years and years ago where you had a bit of a thing for Tetsu. You’re super close, after all, and he’s good-looking so you figured it was normal. After it became apparent that he didn’t view you that way – he flirts with literally everyone – you buried it way down deep until it disappeared. So, yes, at one point a comment like that would have made you blush. Now it doesn’t even phase you.

“You still studying?” Tetsu continues, oblivious.

“Duh. My last exam is tomorrow.”

“And then you’ll be back home, right?”

“Yep! Flights are booked for Friday.” You smile, excited to see him in person again.

“We need to hang out asap. I’ve missed you, dude.”

“I’ve missed you too. But are you not seeing Clarissa on Friday?”

He winces.

“Uhhh… no. That’s… not really a thing anymore.”

“Oh.” You look up from your notebook. “I’m sorry, Tetsu. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, dude, don’t even worry about it. I’ve gotta go but good luck with your exam tomorrow.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you Friday!”

You hang up and shake your head. For some reason, Tetsu can never stick with a girlfriend. Clarissa had lasted the longest and you had actually really liked her. You start to wonder what went wrong before stopping yourself. No, you need to focus on the exam and then you can catch up with Tetsu this weekend. The corner of your mouth upticks in a smile at seeing him again.

*

The exam goes as well as it could and you have a couple of hours to yourself before you need to catch your flight. You text your FWB but he replies with a busy today, sorry x. You sigh and pick up your laptop.

You have a few bookmarked porn videos and, exhausted from the exam, you decide to click an old, familiar one rather than searching through a bunch of new ones. As it starts up, you lick your finger to get it slick and snake a hand down under your panties. By the time the guy in the video is getting started, you’re softly rubbing your clit, your gaze on the screen intense.

Just as you’re nearing your orgasm, your phone rings. You groan with frustration but, seeing Tetsu’s name, you pick up.

“What?” you snap.

“Whoa, hello to you, too,” Tetsu chuckles.

“I’m a bit busy.”

“Doing what?”

There’s an awkward pause and, to your horror, you realise you haven’t stopped the video. The sound of slapping flesh and moaning fills the air.

“Oh,” Tetsu says.

“I-I’ll call you later,” you stammer out and hang up immediately.

Mortified, all your earlier horniess evaporates and you lay back in your bed, your face in your hands. Your phone buzzes with a message from Tetsu but you can’t even bring yourself to look at it. Instead, you push it down before your humiliation overwhelms you and start getting ready for your flight.

*

You arrive in your hometown that evening, exhausted and irritable.

“Did your exam not go well, sweetie?” Mom asks, frowning and pushing back your hair from your face.

“No, it was okay,” you sigh. “I’ve just had a long day.”

And you’ve embarrassed yourself so much in front of Tetsu that you want the ground to swallow you whole, you think but keep that part to yourself.

“I’ve got some dinner in the fridge for you, d’you want me to warm it up?”

“Thanks, Mom, but it’s alright. I’m just going to hang out in my room tonight. Get an early night.”

She seems displeased but doesn’t argue, letting you wheel your suitcase up the stairs and into your room.

It always feels weird coming home to your old bedroom – most stuff you took with you to the University dorms so all that’s left are your childhood things that you don’t want to part with. Even the walls are bare now. They used to be covered with photos of Tetsu and you but you took those to Uni with you too.

You groan at the thought of him and how awkward he must have felt. He’d sent you a few more messages but you haven’t checked them in case they confirm your worst fears – that you’re gross and he doesn’t want to be friends anymore. The thought makes you well up so you pull out your laptop and put on some low-stakes sitcom and bury yourself under the duvet.

You’re deep into your wallowing when there’s a knock at the door.

“I don’t want dinner, Mom!” you call. “I already said!”

“Unfortunately, I’m not dinner but I am a snack,” Tetsu responds from the other side of the door. You snap up to sitting, nearly launching your laptop off the bed. “Can I come in?”

“Uh…” You desperately look around although you don’t know what you're even looking for. “Um, yes. Yeah, come in.”

Tetsu steps in with his hand covering his eyes and closes the door behind him.

“What are you doing?” You squint at him.

“Oh, just in case I’m interrupting you jerking off again.”

A burst of laughter explodes from your chest, despite your burning cheeks, and you throw your pillow at him.

“You’re a dick!” you say but you’re laughing. He takes his hand away from his eyes and grins.

“Didn’t you get any of my messages?”

You avert your eyes and don’t say anything. Tetsu crosses the space between you and sits down next to you on the bed. You hate how embarrassed you feel – Tetsu always puts you at ease and you automatically want to rest your head on his shoulder but it feels too awkward to do so now.

“Listen, don’t worry about it,” he says. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. So you were getting yourself off, so what? Everyone does it.”

“I know but…” You bury your face in your hands. Tetsu reaches across to ease your hands away and looks you in the eye.

“Seriously, don’t be embarrassed. Honestly? It was kind of hot.”

A million butterflies explode in your stomach and your heart sets off at a gallop.

“W-what?”

“Not to be weird or anything,” Tetsu grins and rubs the back of his neck. “And you don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to. But we talk about everything else, right?”

“Right,” you say, breathless. “What… I mean, what would we even talk about?”

He shrugs.

“I don’t know, like, what kind of stuff were you watching?”

Your face flushes but you fight the urge to dive under the covers.

“I… don’t really know how to describe it.”

Tetsu’s eyes glint.

“Why don’t you show me then?”

You give a nervous bout of laughter, your heart still thunderous in your ears.

“Only if you want to,” he adds and you nod your head.

“I do, I just… won’t you find it weird?”

“Why would I? You’re my best friend.”

Tetsu smiles at you and it’s so familiar and reassuring that you smile back. You know that as soon as you reach for the laptop, your friendship will shift and you won’t be able to move it back. But it feels okay. Natural.

You pick up the laptop as Tetsu moves up the bed to sit next to you, his back against the headboard.

Your finger hovers over the link in the bookmark bar, hesitating before you take the plunge and click it. The familiar video starts playing as a man in a suit makes out with a woman in a secretary outfit. Tetsu gives a low chuckle.

“Nice,” he says and you get a weird thrill at his approval. “D’you watch this a lot?”

“Um, I guess. Every couple of days.”

His breathing hitches and he gives you a sidelong look.

“What?” you ask, defensiveness creeping into your voice.

“Nothing. I just like the idea of you touching yourself.”

“Shut up,” you say, your face warm and he gives a wide grin.

You keep watching for a few minutes as the man in the video starts fingering his secretary. His fingers plunge deep inside her and she throws her head back in pleasure. You feel yourself getting wetter and squirm uncomfortably. Tetsu must notice because he gives you another look.

“Touch yourself if you want,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

“I… no. It’s too awkward,” you reply, keeping your eyes forward on the screen.

“I could do it for you.”

You chance a glance at him and his eyes are on you. He’s looking at you in a way he never had before, like he’s hungry.

“Do you… would you want me to do it for you, too?” you say clumsily. You both look down to see the bulge in his jeans.

“Yeah,” he says, his playful smile gone. “If you want to.”

Your eyes are glued to his bulge. Your entire crush, which you thought you’d long buried, suddenly resurrects itself and you find yourself desperate to touch him.

“I do. Want to, I mean.” You lick your lips and he glances down to look at your mouth.

Unsure who should go first, you hesitate. Luckily, Tetsu doesn’t, and you watch him lick two of his long fingers.

“Spread your legs for me,” he instructs and you do so immediately. He pushes his hand down under the band of your pyjama shorts and panties. He doesn’t break eye contact the entire time. When his fingers reach your pussy lips, he finds them already slick with your arousal.

“The video do this to you?” he asks.

“The video,” you say. “And you.”

Emboldened, you reach across and undo his jeans. You slip your hand in and close it around his cock, gently pulling it free. As soon as you touch him, he inhales sharply.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

“Yeah. Definitely.”

His cock is velvety soft despite being rock solid and it feels hot against your fingers. You begin to stroke him slowly.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his hand still down your shorts. “I want to make you cum but I can’t fucking think straight with your hand around my cock.”

You keep stroking him regardless, enjoying him melt beneath your fingertips. He repositions himself so he’s closer to you and his fingers begin circling your clit. You give a small gasp at the jolt it sends through your body and Tetsu groans, his eyes glazed over.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he murmurs so quietly you almost don’t hear him.

“Do what?” you whisper as his finger continues playing with your swollen clit.

“Touch you,” he breathes. “Fuck you.”

The muscles in his arm are taut and hard, his stomach solid as you start jerking him faster.

“I want you, too,” you tell him, your voice laden with need.

“Really?”

“Yes, Tetsu. Fuck me, now, please.”

“Oh, fuck,” he groans and, with effort, pulls himself free of your grasp.

Your pussy feels bare without his hand but it doesn’t last long as Tetsu positions himself over you. There’s something unspoken between you – that you can take this slow another time, that you can explore each other’s bodies afterwards. Right now, you need each other too much to wait.

Tetsu quickly strips you of your pyjama shorts and panties, the only thing in between his cock and your pussy. You wrap your legs around him, using your feet to push down his jeans just enough so that his cock is free. He lines up the head with your entrance before looking up at you, a question in his eyes. You nod without hesitation.

Tetsu pushes his hips forward. He starts slow, only sinking in a few inches but he’s hard and thick and it’s enough for your eyes to roll back in your head. You can feel him stretching you, rubbing against all your nerves.

“Fuck,” you gasp. When you open your eyes, his are watching you.

He draws back ever so slightly before pushing in even deeper, waiting for you to adjust to the size of him before going any further. Every stroke sends your nerves alight. He continues until he’s buried completely inside you, filling you.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans.

The walls of your pussy clamp down on him and you can see the muscles in his arms bulging as he holds up his weight over you. He pulls back until he’s nearly fully out. In the light of the laptop, you can see his cock glistening with your juices before he slams back inside you. He picks up speed, finding a rhythm, and each time he pounds you, you hurtle closer to an orgasm. Your pussy starts to contract around his cock.

“T-Tetsu, I… I’m going to…” you gasp but you can’t finish the sentence.

Your orgasm rocks through your body, your pussy squeezing Tetsu’s cock. Your legs wrap tightly around him, encouraging him to go harder, deeper. Tetsu gives a long, low moan and you feel his cock throb. His hand grips your hip, pinning you beneath him as he unleashes thick ropes of his cum inside you. You both collapse onto the bed.

After a few moments, while you both catch your breath, he pushes himself up on one arm. While still inside you, he presses a gentle kiss on your lips – your first kiss. When he pulls back, there’s a grin on his face.

“That was way better than jerking off.”

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[emmylksblog]

MY WARRIOR // PAU CUBARSÍ

summary: after pau gets injured during a match, you do everything you can to support him, even if he gave you the scare of your life

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: none, just mentions of blood and the injury not too descriptive

a/n: been in my drafts since it happened, now it's proofread i guess. am i wrong if i say he's hot in that pic? like i know he's injured but who gave him the right to look this good with smeared blood all over his face omg

You already had a feeling today wasn’t going to go well. You’d woken up late, barely made it to your exam, and it went terribly despite all the nights you spent studying. To make things worse, your week was just starting and you still had another exam on Thursday. Frustrated, you left university early to rest a bit before continuing to study… only to find out the buses were on strike. Your phone was at 5%, and it felt like the universe was laughing in your face. Desperate, you called a friend, and thankfully, they picked up and offered to take you home. Once there, you showered, ate, and passed out on your bed for what you thought would be a short nap…

3 hours later…

You woke up groggy, the kind of nap that feels more like getting hit by a truck. Your phone, now charging, buzzed nonstop. You grabbed it, heart racing when you saw it was Fermín calling, as it was very unusual for him to call instead of texting. You answered immediately, still disoriented, and waited in silence for him to speak. A chill ran down your spine.

“Hey, just calling to let you know Pau had to get stitches on his face. He tried calling you before going in, but you didn’t answer, so I thought I should try.”

Your brain froze. What?

“What happened to him?!” you asked, voice rising in panic as you rushed to get dressed, putting him on speaker. Fermín explained that during the match against Estrella Roja, a player went straight for Pau’s face instead of the ball, cutting him along the jaw with his boots. By the time he finished talking, you were already in a taxi headed to the hospital he mentioned.

Your heart was pounding. You kept picturing Pau, your strong boyfriend who always smiled, covered in blood and scared. The thought of him being alone in that room made you feel sick. If only you hadn’t fallen asleep… maybe you could’ve been there to calm him down. According to Fermín, only the team’s staff had been able to go with him; his parents were still in Girona and wouldn´t make it on time till tomorrow.

Your footsteps echoed down the sterile hospital hallway until you reached the room. The moment you stepped in, your whole body tensed. Pau was lying in bed, half his face bandaged, the other still stained with blood. Your heart dropped. And yet, he smiled at you.

You couldn’t believe it. He was smiling.

In two quick steps, you were at his side, pulling him into a tight hug as tears streamed down your face.

“Stop smiling, idiot… it’s only gonna hurt more,” you sobbed, running your hand down his back. You could feel his jersey under your touch and were relieved that he came straight from the game.

“I’m fine, love… it’s just a scratch. Comes with the job, you know that,” he whispered into your ear, struggling to speak but still trying to comfort you.

“Pau, don’t try to calm me down when you’re the one looking like this,” you said, pulling back to meet his eyes, barely holding back your tears. Pau didn’t respond, maybe because he agreed, maybe because his jaw hurt too much.

The team staff member came in with the doctor’s update: Pau needed rest and shouldn’t chew anything hard for a while to avoid reopening the stitches. You paid close attention, determined to follow every instruction once you got him home.

You ended up going to Pau’s place, you already had clothes and essentials there from the nights you stayed over. While he took a shower, you got to work making soup so he wouldn’t have to chew.

You expected to feel his arms wrap around you from behind like he always did, but that hug never came. When you turned around, drying your hands, you saw him sitting on the couch, head down, hands fidgeting.

The energy in the room had sunk into the floor. You’d never seen Pau this sad. Always smiling, always keeping it together. But you knew the real him, the one who carried more than he ever let on. And you knew he struggled to show vulnerability, even with you.

You walked over quietly, knelt in front of him, and gently took his hands to stop their anxious movements.

“Pau… look at me,” you said softly.

He winced at your voice, shutting his eyes tightly, like he was bracing for impact. But you just watched him with your heart aching, seeing him fight back the tears like always. You’d told him before that it was okay to be vulnerable with you, that you’d carry each other’s burdens. But he never wanted to be a weight on anyone.

“You can cry, Pau,” you whispered, your brow furrowed as your own tears welled up.

He gripped your hands tightly, then slowly slid off the couch and into your arms, burying his face in your neck. You froze for a moment, not expecting him to let go so quickly. Then you wrapped him tightly in your arms, brushing his hair gently and whispering how brave he was, how proud you were of him.

“You’re a warrior, Pau. Barça wouldn’t be what it is without players like you. I know you live for the colors, and I admire that, but I hope this helps you see it’s okay to be careful too. Think of yourself, just a little.”

You pulled back gently, cupped his face carefully, and looked into his teary eyes to make sure he heard you loud and clear. My poor baby.

“Don’t say anything, okay? Your jaw must be swollen. I’ll get you some ice later,” you said when he tried to respond. “Tonight, your only job is to say yes or no to my excellent nursing services 'kay?”

He almost smiled, but winced at the pain. You chuckled.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop being funny for your sake,” you teased, giving him a kiss on the nose, then one on his uninjured cheek. You leaned in slowly and kissed the stitched side too, praying it didn’t hurt. Pau exhaled deeply, like he’d needed that more than anything.

He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and looked at you with so much love, then pointed at himself, then you, and made a heart with his hands.

“I love you.” You understood instantly and melted right there.

“I love you too, idiot. Even if your way of playing scares the hell out of me.”

You kissed him gently on the lips, careful not to hurt him, but when he kissed back, you leaned in with more confidence, your hands on his chest and his on your waist. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his and stroked his neck, listening to his calm breathing. His grip on your waist tightened with affection, and you wiped the rest of his tears away.

Remembering the doctor’s instructions, you took his hands and guided him to let go.

“I know it’s hard to let go of me,” you joked, smiling when he resisted. “But I’ve gotta check the soup. I’ll be fast.”

Pau nodded, already missing your warmth. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you. You reminded him of who he was, something easy to forget in moments like this. He thought you were perfect for him.

He smiled softly at the thought, interrupted when you returned with a tray: a bowl of soup, a glass of water, and his meds.

“Alright, pretty boy, I hope you finish this as fast as you throw yourself into tackles on the field,” you joked, sitting down next to him on the carpet.

“Thank you,” he whispered, trying not to move his jaw too much.

“De nada, amor. Want me to help?”

He shook his head, took the spoon from your hand, and kissed it as if saying 'don't-worry-i-got-it'.

After a quiet, comforting dinner, you both headed upstairs to sleep. You changed into your usual “pajamas”, a pair of shorts and one of Pau’s black Nike shirts. You breathed in his scent like it was medicine.

In the bathroom, you found him wincing every time his toothbrush brushed the left side of his mouth. He turned and winked at you when he noticed you watching.

“I can’t imagine how much that hurts, and you’re still brushing your teeth? You know I’ll love you even if your breath stinks, right?” you teased, grabbing your pink toothbrush and gently nudging him with your hip.

Pau chuckled lowly at your antics, turning his head with a small, pained smile.

After doing your little silly dances in front of the mirror, you both rinsed and headed to bed, Pau wrapping his arms around you from behind on the way.

“You look gorgeous,” he whispered in your ear. He loved how his t-shirts looked on you, it drove him crazy. He would’ve shown you just how much he would love to see you without it, but with how exhausted he was, he settled for soft kisses that didn’t hurt too much.

Snuggled up in bed, with him still holding you from behind, you both warmed up instantly under the covers. Taking advantage of the position, Pau gently moved your hair aside and placed little kisses on the back of your neck. It tickled, but you tried not to move too much, though you couldn't hold in the giggle. He loved that sound when it came from you.

“I love you,” he said after pressing his lips to your neck a little longer. It sounded so genuine it made your chest tighten with emotion. You turned around to face him and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“I love you too, mi guerrero,” you murmured, resting your head on his chest, enjoying the way his hands instinctively wrapped around you. He turned off the light and tucked you in better, caressing your back in the process. (my warrior)

Pau knew that with you by his side, he could throw himself a thousand more times on the field without fear, because no matter what, you’d be there, supporting him. And you were just as sure that you would do it again and again, even if it meant worrying about him.

[girlgenius1111]

study buddy

solstråle engen ft. @wileys-russo 's fresa! sol struggles with school, and facing the threat of having to repeat the year, ingrid and mapi try to get her some study help. it doesn't go... exceptionally well.

—

It was more frustrating than anything. For years, you hadn’t really given school much thought, or put in very much effort. And then, suddenly, you’d been shipped off to Spain and everything was different. Everything changed again six months later, and suddenly, school felt like something that held a lot more weight.

You didn’t have many opportunities to make Ingrid and Mapi proud of you. Sure, they’d say they were proud of you when you asked for help while having a panic attack, or for setting some sort of boundary. That just didn’t feel… right. It didn’t feel like it was enough. They were bending over backwards, every day, to make you feel known and seen and loved, and the least you could do was show that they were helping you, right?

So, very suddenly, school was important. Grades were important. It seemed, though, that the years of not caring and not paying attention had taken their toll. Because you studied, and you actually tried but it wasn’t enough. Your grades were still… mediocre. Nothing to brag about. 

You worked harder, to no avail. You tried different methods of studying, you devoted hours and hours to your schoolwork, and… no improvement. So much of your work felt like it went way over your head. 

You had promised yourself you wouldn’t be upset when you handed Ingrid the test you’d gotten back. She had a busy week and she really didn’t need you breaking down over a stupid test, like you had earlier in the school bathroom. Your plan was to bypass your sister and her girlfriend, head straight to your room, and maybe slam the door. If you acted angry, they were more likely to give you space to calm down, which meant there was much less of a chance you’d get all pathetic and upset.  

Only, you’d forgotten that Ingrid had known you were getting the test back today, having seen you study and study and study for it. Your sister was sure that since you studied so much, it must be a good grade, and she had a magnet all ready to attach your exam to the fridge. 

The minute you walked into the house and saw her waiting in the kitchen, freshly showered from training, an expectant and excited look on her face, you shrunk in on yourself, very suddenly wanting a hug more than you wanted to cry silently into your pillow all alone.

“How’d you do?!” Ingrid asked excitedly, her smile only faltering when your lip began to wobble. “Solstråle?”

“I’m sorry.” You choked out tugging the collar of your shirt up over your eyes before she could see you begin to cry. Ingrid’s arms were wrapping around you only a moment later, holding you tight against her as she floundered, confused as to what had upset you.

“Hey, it’s okay. Whatever happened, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” Ingrid promised, making eye contact over your head with Mapi, who had wandered into the kitchen and caught sight of you trembling against your sister. 

Ingrid thought something must have happened at school, and Mapi quickly came to the same conclusion. The thought that you’d done poorly on your test, and this was the reason behind your distress, never even crossed her mind. Ingrid had never known you to care much about your grades, and while you were trying harder now, she didn’t think something like a bad result could get you this upset. 

“I’m really sorry. I tried my best.” You whimpered, briefly wondering when you’d turned into this person who cried at the drop of a hat and allowed her sister to hug you whenever you were upset. It was so different. Everything was so different. 

“What are you sorry for?” She asked, heart melting a bit as Mapi walked closer and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, before perching on the counter. “Tell me, Sol, tell me what’s wrong.” 

Wordlessly, you withdrew from the comforting embrace of your sister and swung your bag off your shoulder. You unzipped it, pulling out the exam from the red folder Ingrid had neatly labeled for you. You handed it to her, eyes brimming with tears again at the sight of all the red marks all over the first page. 

Ingrid’s first instinct was to sigh, but you’d been with her long enough for her to know you’d just shut down. Not to mention that she knew how much work you’d been putting into this specific exam. Prepared to ask you what had gone wrong, she looked up to see that the tears had stopped. There wasn’t a hint of emotion on your face, like you were preparing yourself to be yelled at. Ingrid had no such plans.

“Oh, Sol. Kjære, come here.” She said instead, pulling you back into her. There was some hesitation on your part, but after a second you melted into the hug, knowing that if Ingrid was upset, she would have told you so by now. “You studied so hard, I’m sorry it didn’t go well.” 

“I’m sorry.” You said again, frowning when Ingrid pulled back and placed both her hands on your face, tilting your head up to look at her. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You tried your best, that’s all I want from you.”

You shook your head, but didn’t say anything, instead opting to stare at your shoes. You hadn’t taken them off at the door, breaking one of Ingrid and Mapi’s rules. This additional mistake, regardless of how small it was, made you feel even worse. You couldn’t do anything right. 

A tattooed hand grabbed yours, and you looked up at Mapi. She had moved closer, holding the exam in one hand, her other gripping yours. 

“This is a passing grade, mi sol. Why are you so upset? It’s not like you to get so worked up over school.” Your face flushed, but before you could step away, Mapi’s grip tightened, as if she’d sensed you were about to run. “Come on, it’s us. You can tell us.” 

“I.. It’s not good enough.” You stammered, looking between your sister and her girlfriend with genuine despair written all across your face. ���I wanted to do well. For both of you., I wanted you to be proud of me.” 

“Oh, Sol,” Ingrid sighed, exchanging a look with Mapi that only served to make you feel even more foolish. It had taken so much for you to admit why you were working so hard, and though you knew, logically, that Ingrid wasn’t trying to make you feel dumb, she had. 

You wrenched away from her, suddenly deciding that you didn't need her pity. Backing up until you hit the wall on the opposite side of the kitchen, you began to ramble. Unable to look either Ingrid or Mapi in the eye, you missed the sadness on their faces. “No, forget it. It’s fine. It’s really fine. It’s not a big deal, It’s my own fault, I’m too stupid to learn stuff my classmates already know-”

“Hey!” Mapi cut in, sounding uncharacteristically stern. “You are not stupid. Don’t ever say that again.” 

You froze, staring at her with your mouth agape. Ingrid took a cautious step closer, aware she was toeing a thin line between you breaking down again, and pushing you into anger. 

“You aren’t stupid.” Ingrid echoed. “You’re not stupid, and you know you aren’t. It’s just one exam, Sol, it doesn’t make or break anything.” 

At this, you averted your eyes, a blush creeping up your neck. This exam could be a determining factor in your educational career. Ingrid just didn’t really know that information yet. Like a bloodhound, though, Ingrid caught the scent of your secret, her eyebrows raising as she stared at you. 

“It doesn’t make or break anything, right?” 

It was a staring contest for a few moments, one you and Ingrid both knew she would win, yet you kept it going all the same. The silence became too intense, the gazes of your sister and her girlfriend breaking your resolve rather quickly. With a heavy sigh, you reached for your bag yet again and pulled out a slightly wrinkled envelope. 

Ingrid held her hand out expectantly, apprehension clear on her face. You handed her the envelope, eyes still training on the floor. 

“Solstråle. This is addressed to me.” Ingrid huffed, removing the letter from inside and beginning to read it. Mapi moved forward, peeking over her girlfriend’s shoulder, eyes quickly scanning over the letter. You braced yourself, prepared for the worst. 

The last time you’d brought home something like this… you’d ended up living in Spain. Which was potentially the best thing that could have happened, but you had a feeling the consequences of this letter wouldn’t work out as well. 

Your sister placed the paper down on the counter, raking her fingers through her hair as she thought for a moment. She wasn’t quite sure what to say. Part of her wanted to yell, but when was that ever the right choice? Before she could decide, María’s shoulder bumped into hers. Her girlfriend nodded in your direction, clearly trying to get Ingrid to see how terrified you were. 

And Ingrid couldn’t yell at you when you were like this, all sad and scared with your head bowed and your arms folded across your chest protectively. 

“Sol?” She said, her tone much quieter and kinder than you were expecting it to be. You looked up at her, shocked further to see that she didn’t look very angry. “Why didn’t you give this to me last week when they sent it?” 

Ingrid nodded towards the date on the letter, and you exhaled shakily. “I… I was hoping I could just try really hard for the rest of the year and do really well in all my classes and it would be fine.” 

Your sister nodded slowly, reading the letter over again. 

Mapi took the opportunity to chime in, her hand absentmindedly resting on your sister’s back, even as she fixed her warm gaze on you. “Nena, that is a lot for you to carry all by yourself. Having the threat of maybe needing to repeat the year hanging over your head… you should have told us.” 

You shrugged, blinking away the moisture pooling in your eyes at Mapi’s tone. “I didn’t want to disappoint you guys.” You mumbled. 

“You haven’t disappointed anyone!” Mapi exclaimed, frowning when you just scoffed in response. “I’m serious, Sol. We saw you study and study for this exam. You did your best, you’re doing your best. That’s all we can ask from you.” 

“My best isn’t good enough! I’m going to fail and have to repeat the year.” You cried, throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation. The mere thought of another year of school was horrifying. 

Ingrid finally put the letter down, a blazingly determined expression on her face. “No. You’re not going to fail anything. We’ll help you, we’ll reach out to your teachers, we’ll get you extra help. We’ll figure it out, Sol, but you’re not going to fail. Not if I have anything to say about it.” 

For anyone else, that may have sounded overbearing. For you, though, it just felt supportive. It felt like you weren’t dealing with this yourself anymore, and that was a relief you didn’t know you needed. 

“Okay.” You said quietly. “Thanks.” 

Luckily, your sister knew you well enough to understand that after such an intense conversation, you’d need some time to yourself to process. 

“Hey,” Ingrid said, catching your wrist and turning you around slightly before you could leave the room. “I’m already proud of you, and the person you are. You could fail every test for the rest of your life, and I’d still be proud of you. Okay?”

You blinked at her for a prolonged second, before you nodded jerkily. Turning to head up the stairs to your room, you changed your mind, spinning back around and falling into your sister. She hugged you tight, as she always did, and you wondered briefly how you got so lucky. 

—

It was the following day that Mapi and Ingrid proposed their plan. Before they’d even said anything, you knew a few things. 

One, that they were excited about whatever plan they’d cooked up that day at training. 

And two, that you weren’t really going to have a choice in the matter. 

As a general rule, Ingrid and Mapi didn’t make you do many things. If they thought something was important, they’d encourage you to try it a few times, and then they’d let you stop if you still didn’t like it. That was how it had been for the school’s climbing club, the school’s hiking club, and the school’s baking club. All those were activities you enjoyed, but… activities you enjoyed doing yourself.

Well, not always.You loved to climb and hike with Ingrid. Frido, too, sometimes. And you could bake for hours with Mapi helping, measuring out ingredients and getting baking flour everywhere. But doing any of the above with strangers who spoke in rapid, fluent Spanish or catalan, was not fun. It was anxiety inducing. 

You knew this was about to be another one of those ideas, the ones you had to give a fair shot. 

It was at dinner, and you were trying to hide the wince everytime you picked up your water glass with your right hand, your wrist intensely aching after the time you spent in the climbing gym after school. It always hurt when you climbed for too long, though it was getting worse with every passing day. Another problem for another day, you decided, seeing the barely contained glee on Mapi’s face as she cleared her throat. 

“What?” You said suspiciously, putting your fork down and narrowing your eyes at the Spaniard. 

Mapi opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Ingrid chimed in. 

“Mapi’s made you a playdate!” She said, smirking when her girlfriend wacked her in the arm. 

“Ingrid, that is not going to help me convince her.” Mapi huffed, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. 

Still unamused, you continued to frown at Mapi. “I’d love it if you didn’t keep proposing ideas that you’d need to convince me of. Teaching you how to rock climb, trying to get that stain out of my favorite sweatshirt yourself, being the keeper while you practiced your free kicks, helping you build that bonfire–”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mapi dismissed. 

“You got stuck on the rock wall, my sweatshirt has a hole in it, the ball hit me so hard in the stomach I threw up, and both of us lost part of our eyebrows!” 

Mapi glared at you, while Ingrid hid her face behind her hand as her body shook with silent laughter. 

“Well this plan,” Mapi sighed, “is Ingrid AND Alexia approved.” 

That wiped the smile off your face. 

“Alexia? What does she have to do with this?” 

There were a few things you knew for certain about Mapi. One, she didn’t give up easily. Another, that she wanted more than anything for you to be friends with Alexia’s little sister. And from the sly smile on her face, you were almost sure you knew where this was headed. 

“I asked her to ask Fresa to tutor you!”

“No.” You said immediately. 

Mapi continued like you hadn’t spoken. “Fresa is a bit younger than you, but already finished your year! She’s studying to be a nurse, she’s very smart. Fres speaks English and she can help you with your Spanish and any other school things you need help with.” 

“No.” You repeated, looking helplessly at your sister. Ingrid looked to finally be taking the situation seriously, a familiar look on her face; one you knew meant that no matter how much you argued, she was going to get her way. Meanwhile, Mapi was still droning on. 

“–get along great with her! I think you guys have a lot in common, and it could be fun and educational!” 

“And you know all the best things are fun and educational.” Ingrid chimed in cheerily, this time her face telling you to go along with Mapi’s idea because she was excited about it, or else. 

“Educational.” You said sarcastically. “Super!” 

Still, you agreed, Mapi grinned at you, and Ingrid patted your back reassuringly. Mapi had a lot of bad ideas. You were pretty sure this would turn out to be the worst. 

—

You always spent more time at the climbing gym when things were rough. Back in Norway, you’d spend multiple hours a day, everyday, there. It was one of your tells; Ingrid always knew something was bothering you if you went to climb right after school. It was your way of shoving your emotions down before you could feel them, before your sister could read the hurt on your face and give you one of those tight hugs that brought tears to your eyes. 

Only, sometimes climbing didn’t do it. Sometimes, it felt like the walls were closing in, like you were about to suffocate, if you didn’t have some time completely by yourself to think. On those days, you really preferred to hike. You hadn’t felt that urge in a while; the urge to just disappear for hours, walk until your legs felt like they were going to fall up, and sit at the top of the trail until the world felt like a place you wanted to be in again. The last time had been back in Norway, after a day you didn’t even want to think about. 

Yet you found yourself in that same familiar mindset after your first study session with Fresa. 

It hadn’t gone well. You tried to go into it confident, sure that if you acted chill enough, she’d maybe miss that you had no idea what you were doing with your schoolwork. 

Confident, even as you arrived 15 minutes late. Scout had gotten his favorite toy, a small tiger that squeaked, stuck under the sofa, and it had taken you time you didn’t have to get it out for him. You could have left it, but Ingrid and Mapi weren’t home and you knew Scout would just sit by the couch and cry the whole time you were gone if you didn’t get his tiger out for him, and you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him to be so upset. And then you’d had a hard time finding a parking space at the library, and the directions inside were all in Spanish and Fresa had texted you to follow the signs to the study rooms but you misread the sign and went to the opposite end of the library before figuring out your mistake. And you would have texted you were going to be late, because you hated being late, but your phone was dead and the cord from your car had gone missing. 

When you entered the room, Fresa already looked annoyed. 

Annoyed, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, twirling a pen repeatedly in an almost unconscious manner. She looked very… put together. 

“Llegas tarde.” She commented, rolling her eyes when you didn’t reply. Your face flushed a bit as she must have picked up on your confusion, repeating herself in english. “You are late.” 

Any other time, you would have known what she said. Your issue wasn’t really understanding Spanish, it was more speaking and reading it. You felt weirdly flustered though today, like your brain was distracted and not quite able to follow what the other girl was saying. Anxious, too, at this social situation you’d been forced into. 

Briefly, you thought about explaining about Scout and the tiger and the parking space and the signs being in Spanish, but then you realized Fresa wouldn’t care about any of that. So instead, you just nodded and apologized, feeling your heart start to pound from the anxiety of the situation. 

You didn’t like talking to new people. Especially pretty new people who spoke a different language and were looking at you like you weren’t very smart. Even if you thought that yourself… you didn’t want anyone else to think so. Any intention of actually asking Fresa for help with the mountains of stuff you were confused with went out the window, then, and you almost subconsciously decided to just… try to get through without letting her know quite how lost you were. 

Fresa was alarmingly smart. She kept asking you questions about your work, about what you needed help with. Everything didn’t feel like an answer you wanted to give. Fresa seemed organized, though, and you assumed letting her take the lead and decide what to work on would placate her. Instead, she just looked more and more annoyed with every passing second.

 She kept asking questions about this paper and that paper and you didn’t know what papers she was talking about. You felt so stupid. More stupid than when you’d failed your test last week. 

“How do you even find the right paper in there?” Fresa asked, pulling a judgemental look as you rifled through your bag, searching for the article she was asking for.

Your bag was a mess, you knew it was a mess. You’d knocked your coffee over all your folders a few days ago, sitting at the counter when Scout barked and startled you. That was oddly upsetting in and of itself because Ingrid had gotten you the folders and labeled them for you and you felt like you’d destroyed something nice she’d done for you. You hadn’t told her, not wanting to hurt her feelings or anything, so now your school papers were living crinkled and disorganized in your bag.

And you were pretty sure the article Fresa was asking for had been a casualty of the coffee incident, because you’d scanned the paper and thought it wasn’t important before throwing it out. The Spanish had confused you, and you hadn’t realized you’d need the article for an assignment. Stupid. 

 You were feeling more and more embarrassed as the minutes passed. And, maybe, your reaction to feeling embarrassed was always anger. You pulled out a random piece of paper, slamming it down onto the table with more force than necessary in your haste to give the Spaniard something. 

Fresa instantly knew that what you’d given her wasn’t the right article, asking again if you had it as you shoved the other paper back into your bag. 

Logically, you knew you should just… admit you threw it away because you didn’t realize you needed it. For some reason, you just couldn’t get the words out of your mouth. You couldn’t get any words out of your mouth, feeling shockingly like crying. Nothing was going right and you were making yourself look like an idiot and all you could do was shrug as Fresa looked at you and took a deep breath. 

Then, she seemed to come to some kind of realization, her expression softening slightly. 

“Can you not read this? The spanish?” 

You flinched, feeling your face flush. Again, the reply of ‘no I can’t, would you please help me?’ seemed to evade you. Instead, you spewed some lie about being able to read the article, calling Fresa’s questions stupid and telling her she was wasting your time. 

Fresa seemed to have reached her breaking point, her voice rising as yours had. You didn’t really hear what she said, much too distracted by the way her eyebrows knitted together when she was frustrated, and the way her hand tightly gripped the pen she was holding. 

Then, she made an offensive impression of your shrugging. And if you hadn’t been angry before, you were absolutely fuming now. 

So what if you were quiet? It wasn’t like you really needed to talk much, considering how many questions she’d asked. You were furious at being called out for all your bullshit, feeling like a mess compared to the perfect girl next to you. A very angry mess who’d had a long day and was cursing one María León for making her do this and cursing the beautiful girl next to her for being so infuriating.  

“Alexia’s super little sister. Everyone says you are so smart. Can you not see I do not want your help? You want to be a doctor, no? So go find someone who does.” 

Fresa’s nostrils flared as she shoved her chair away from the table and got to her feet. She began angrily putting her stuff into her bag, and you remained completely still, unable to stop this whole meeting from going up in flames. 

“Eres un maldita idiota!” Fresa snapped, her face red with anger. 

There wasn’t really anything worse she could have said to you at that moment. 

“Snobbete kjerring.” You threw back, feeling a sharp spike of satisfaction when she zipped her bag angrily, completely incapable of understanding what you’d called her. 

“You know, I did this as a favor, tonta. I have worked all day, I came right here after my shift, on time. I have my own studies to do because yes, I want to be a nurse. I am smart, and I know what I want to do with my life. Maybe if you get your head out of your own ass, Engen, you might too! And you are right, this is a waste of time. My time!”

Fresa stomped out of the room, then, and you waited until she was out of sight before dropping your head into your hands with a deep sigh. 

That couldn’t have gone… any worse. And though it was probably all mostly your fault, you couldn’t help the resentment building for the intelligent, stuck up girl that had thrown insult after insult at you, hitting you in all the places it hurt. You packed your own stuff up once you were sure you wouldn’t run into Fresa again in the parking lot or something, shuffling dejectedly to your car.

The overthinking had begun. Was it really overthinking, you wondered, if you’d actually completely fucked up and the reasons for your anxiety were entirely reasonable? You weren’t sure, and you supposed it didn’t matter, your thoughts quickly spiraling as you rewinded the short meeting in your head. 

The shrugging had really gotten to her, but you weren’t sure what else to do. When in doubt, you had learned silence got you the best results. Often, no one really cared what you had to say anyway. Fresa was different, though, looking at you with her wide eyes, expecting an answer. It was intimidating. It scared you, honestly, how well the other girl seemed to see right through you. 

And maybe… maybe there were some other feelings brewing. Ones you didn’t want to consider. Feeling that didn’t even matter given the way Fresa had stormed out. It didn’t seem like there would be another study session.

This led you to your other problem. You’d fucked this up. Something your sister and Mapi had gone out of their way to set up for you, because they didn’t want you to have to repeat the year. 

You didn’t like to make mistakes. Every single one you made carried the risk that Ingrid would lose her patience with you, and give up. She hadn’t yet, and you’d messed up a fair amount in the past several months, but you couldn’t let yourself believe that no mistake could push her away. That just wasn’t a possibility. So, rather than face your failure, tell Ingrid and Mapi how awkward and weird you’d been, you ran. 

Or walked, you supposed. Your study session with Fresa had ended at 4:00, and it was almost 8 when you found yourself at the top of your favorite trail, legs scratched and aching, as the sun slipped below the horizon. Your phone was still dead and now Ingrid was absolutely going to kill you for going off the grid. 

You broke traffic laws on the way home, any peace you’d found at the top of the hiking trail entirely gone as anxiety began to build up inside of you again. 

Stepping into the house, you slipped off your muddy shoes, wincing at the blood trickling down the few cuts on your legs. Before you could even set your car keys down, though, footsteps were pounding down the hallway towards you. 

“Oh, thank god.” Ingrid gasped, sounding alarmingly emotional as she rushed forward and crushed you into a hug. “She’s here!” 

“Dios  mio.” Mapi muttered, appearing over your sister’s shoulder a moment later. Ingrid pulled away from you, her hands on your shoulders keeping you at arm's length. Her face quickly transformed from relieved to furious. 

“Where the hell have you been?” She hissed. 

“I–”

“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? You didn’t call, you didn’t text. You were supposed to be home hours ago, Sol. Your location wouldn’t show up on my phone, Fresa even said you ended your meeting early,” Ingrid ranted, though you began to tune her out at the sound of her name. 

“You talked to Fresa?” You interrupted, ignoring the incredulous look on Ingrid’s face, turning your attention towards Mapi who was staring stonily at you. 

“That doesn’t fucking matter right now. Where were you? Are you drunk? High? Were you fighting?” Ingrid demanded.

Each accusation felt like a bullet to the heart as Ingrid grabbed your chin and yanked it towards her, looking intently at your eyes. You shoved her away angrily; Ingrid wasn’t supposed to see you as that person anymore. She had promised that she didn’t, that she knew you weren’t a bad kid, that you had just been having a hard time. Now, though. She was looking at you like she didn’t trust a word that was about to come out of your mouth. 

“No.” You spat at her, grabbing your phone from your pocket and slamming it on the front hall table. “I went on a hike after I met Fresa and my phone died. I lost track of time. I wasn’t getting drunk or high and I wasn’t fighting anybody, but thanks for having some faith in me.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm, and even though you expected Ingrid to soften with a bit of guilt, she only seemed emboldened with anger. 

“Don’t you dare turn this around on me. You were supposed to be back four hours ago Solstråle. Four! This was so irresponsible. Do you not care that we were worried? Do you not care that we were here waiting for you? That Mapi made dinner, and you were going to work on her bike? Or that we were supposed to make cookies? After everything we’ve done for you, Solstråle, I expect more.” She was shouting at this point, pacing back and forth in front of you. 

You looked to Mapi, hoping for her to step in and talk her girlfriend down, but she looked almost as mad as Ingrid was, and you shrunk in on yourself.

“You are…. you are grounded. This is unacceptable, and you better never let it happen again. That is not how family behaves Solstråle. Did you think about how worried we would be? I am so upset with you, so disappointed that you didn’t think about anyone but yourself, that you were so selfish–”

“Alright, Ingrid. Enough.” Mapi cut in finally, stepping forward to grab her girlfriend's hand and squeeze it. You were frozen in front of your sister, fighting the sob that was building in your throat. 

Ingrid stepped back, her face still red with anger. A hint of regret flickered across her face at the sight of your lip trembling and the tears in your eyes. Still, you looked confused, and Ingrid couldn’t shove her anger down at your lack of understanding. She turned, stomping off towards the kitchen, leaving you and Mapi behind. 

“Sol-”

“I’m going to shower. Sorry, Mapi. I’m sorry.” You mumbled, pushing past her and heading up the stairs before the Spaniard could get out another word.  

Mapi sighed tiredly, rubbing her hand over her face. Her Engens were going to make her go grey. 

—

You had only just pulled some pajamas on after your shower when Mapi knocked, her gentle voice calling to you from the hall. 

“Yeah?” You called back, voice gravelly from all the sobbing you had done in the shower. 

Mapi entered, the first aid kit in her hands and a much calmer expression on her face. She was in her pajamas, too, clearly having been waiting up for you to get out of the shower. It had been a long one. Another thing to be sorry for, keeping Mapi awake. 

“Can I help with your legs?” She wondered, gesturing to the many cuts that littered them.

Shrugging noncommittally, you sunk down onto the edge of the bed, Mapi soon taking a seat opposite you. She pulled your calf up to rest across her lap, getting out the antiseptic spray and a few bandages. You purposefully looked away, barely having been able to get the blood off in the shower without getting light headed. 

“Are you okay, mi sol?” Mapi murmured, fanning her hands over the cuts so the spray would dry faster. Mapi had a way of looking at you, eyes crinkled with concern and kindness, that made you want to burst into tears. You fought that instinct. 

“I am fine.” 

Mapi sighed, unwrapping a few of the bandages and beginning to carefully put them on you. 

“Then someone else was crying in the shower while you were in there?” 

No reply came, and Mapi sighed again, tapping your leg to tell you she was done with that one. 

“Look, I know Ingrid was harsh, but you have to understand how worried she was. How worried we both were. I know you still remember the things you wrote in that letter all those months ago. Things like that don’t just go away, Sol, and when you disappear for hours without a word, we worry.” 

This time, Mapi got a shrug in reply, and a small sniffle. She finished up with your other leg, gently pushing it off her lap and pulling you into a soft hug. “It’s okay, Solstråle. Everything is fine now.” 

You scoffed through your tears. “Nothing is fine, Mapi. I screwed up with Fresa, I screwed up with Ingrid. They both probably hate me. Please, just go. I’m tired.” 

Mapi shook her head. “You’re upset, I just want to–”

“No Mapi, just leave me be.” You tried to sound firm, but your voice was shaking almost as much as your hands were, and you were sure you just came off as pathetic. 

“Alright, nena. I love you, hmm? Don’t be too hard on yourself.” 

You remained silent, flopping back onto your bed as Mapi walked out of the room. Scout hopped up on the bed in her absence, licking your cheek twice before curling into your side. 

It wasn’t being too hard on yourself; the self hatred you felt in that moment was completely justified. You were very sure of that. 

—

You were tucked into bed when the door creaked open again, Scout not even bothering to lift his head from where it was tucked into the comforter draped over your leg. You blinked your eyes open and they widened in surprise at the sight of Ingrid walking into the room, hair messy as though she’d been tossing and turning. She neared the edge of your bed, leaning down and kissing your forehead gently. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I don’t hate you, okay? I love you very much. Everything is going to be okay, so just try to get some rest.” 

You nodded weakly, impatiently pushing a tear off your cheek with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry, Ingrid. Really sorry.” 

“It’s alright. You’re safe, yes? And that’s all that really matters.” Ingrid promised, and you nodded, sniffling pathetically. “We can talk more tomorrow, but just go to sleep, okay? Everything is fine.” 

“Love you.” You mumbled, Ingrid smiling softly down at her. You didn’t often say that first, something Ingrid attributed to having said it to your Mamma and not heard it back so many times. 

“I love you.” Ingrid replied, patting your cheek twice before tucking the covers up tighter around you, and heading out of the room. 

—

You woke up to a few unexpected things the next morning. One, it was almost 11 and Scout hadn’t woken you up demanding a walk. In fact, Scout was nowhere to be found. Two, the sounds of Mapi’s Spanish soap and Ingrid’s clanging around the kitchen echoed through the house. You’d forgotten they had the day off today. Ingrid must have taken Scout out to let you sleep in. 

The first two unexpected things, then, were explainable. The third… was not. 

A text from Fresa. 

Tuesday at the library. If you want to give it another shot. I think I can help. 

You thought about the way you’d behaved, and the way Fresa had spoken to you. Before you could delete the thread with her and close your phone, though, you thought about the letter you’d hidden from your sister. The excited smile on Mapi’s face when you’d agreed to let Fresa tutor you. 

Before you quite knew what you were doing, you pulled the message back up, your fingers typing away without you telling them to.

Yeah. I’d appreciate that. What time? 

There was something that drew you to Fresa, even as she infuriated you. Maybe it was how her voice had softened when she’d asked if you couldn’t read the Spanish on the paper, or maybe it was how she’d smiled unconsciously, watching Alexia score a goal the past weekend. It was a nice smile. And she had a nice voice. 

None of it really made any sense to you, but you’d already sent the text. 

—

For some reason, you felt a bit awkward. There was something very odd about knowing Mapi had been upset with you, because normally that was just Ingrid. But you knew Mapi had been just as worried last night as Ingrid, and just as upset. She’d been in the garage all morning, too, and you wondered if she was avoiding you or allowing you to decide to come to her if you wanted to talk.

After the 5th time you glanced at the door to the garage, though, Ingrid rolled her eyes from where she was sitting at the other end of the couch, typing away on her computer. 

“Go talk to her. She’s not angry, I promise.” 

Ingrid wasn’t angry anymore, either. You’d spoken with her practically first thing when you’d woken up, apologizing again and again and emphasizing that you hadn’t really realized how your actions would have affected Ingrid until it was too late. 

You’d told her about a time back in Norway when you’d stayed out all night after a fight with your Mamma, and when you’d come home the next morning, she hadn’t even noticed that you’d been gone. Ingrid understood a bit more, then, and was quick to hug you tight and whisper that she forgave you.

And even though Mapi had come in last night and tried to make you feel better, you knew she might have been waiting to be upset until she knew for sure you were okay. That made you even more nervous. 

Ingrid snorted from behind you when you knocked on the door to the garage, as normally you just walked right in. You shot her a glare, stepping inside the garage at the sound of Mapi’s quiet come in. 

The defender didn’t glance up as you walked in, but you took a seat in the chair next to her. Your chair. 

It was quiet for a moment, the sounds of Mapi’s metal tool gently clanging against the bike. 

“What did Fresa say to you last night?” You blurted out, face flushing red because why was that the first thing out of your mouth. 

Mapi fixed you with a half amused look, shaking her head. “That is what you’re asking?” 

“No.” You sighed. “Are you mad at me?” 

“No.” Mapi echoed, going quiet for a moment as she thought. “Not mad. It’s just hard for me, Sol. Last night, you didn’t even think that we’d be worried about you and where you were. It just makes me a bit sad.”

“Oh.” 

“And it’s not your fault, nena. I just worry for you.” 

You nodded slowly. “I’m really sorry. I should have thought about how worried you guys would have been.”

Mapi gave you a half smile. “I know you are. And you won’t do it again sí?” 

Your head bobbed up and down rapidly as you agreed, more sure than you’d ever been that you’d not be doing something that stupid again. 

“Now. Why are you so concerned with what Fresa said to me, hmm? What did you do?"

—

[itzariafiles]

customer service & other disasters  

— one-shot | fluff, slice of life | fem!reader

— ft. k. bakugo

— file brief : katsuki takes a bet too seriously and ends up learning how to make lattes and having a crush.

— content log : use of [name], pure caffeinated fluff. 

— author’s note : had this idea before new barista in town but never finished it—until now. soft and grumpy Katsuki? comfort for a tired student? barista AU? yes, please. Hope you enjoy <3 

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　　 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Kirishima and Bakugo made a bet.

“You won’t last a week.”

“Tch. I’ll be there two full months, shitty hair.”

So, yeah.

That’s how Katsuki Bakugo ended up as a barista.

(Aka: his “vacation job”, courtesy of Kaminari and Kirishima’s dumb idea of a challenge.)

It started because Katsuki refused to go on an actual break. Being off-duty made him restless—like his hands were too steady, his brain too loud. Kirishima said he needed to chill. Bakugo said he could survive anything.

Anything.

He wasn’t wrong.

He survived UA.

He survived villains.

He survived living with Kaminari.

But nothing—nothing—prepared him for customer service.

Or more specifically: people.

He prided himself on excelling at anything he tried. And to be fair, the man was annoyingly good at almost everything: origami, cooking, crocheting, drums, photography, Rubik’s cube, you name it.

Training to become a top hero? Child’s play.

Mastering a double shot oat milk cortado while someone cried on the phone behind him?

…That was another thing entirely.

That’s when you walked in.

You were what the other baristas affectionately called “the coffee gremlin”. A known regular, especially during exam season, you had your go-to drink memorized and always brought a laptop, a million highlighters, and zero tolerance for distractions.

At first, you didn’t notice him.

He wasn’t rude exactly, just… grumpy. Efficient. Kept to himself.

He noticed you, though.

The first time, it was because you didn’t speak at all. Just held up your order on your phone’s Notes app, eyes tired but kind. “Sorry. No voice today,” it said.

He stared. Then muttered, “Whatever,” and made your drink.

The next time, you left a doodle on your napkin. A dragon. Badly drawn, scribbled in green. “Thanks for the fuel,” it said.

He scoffed. But he kept the napkin.

You kept coming.

He kept pretending not to notice.

(Except he did. Every single time.)

Eventually, your napkins started having dumb jokes and random trivia. “Did you know octopuses have three hearts?” one read. “You look like you’d like black coffee, but secretly love iced vanilla,” said another.

He hated how accurate that one was.

He started writing back. Just a word or two. “Wrong.” “Maybe.” “Lame joke.”

Sometimes he just drew dumb little explosions in the corners.

It became a weird little thing.

Then one day, you stopped coming.

No napkins. No notes. No gremlin. Nothing.

He wouldn’t admit it, but it threw him off. He messed up three drinks and scowled at every customer who wasn’t you.

“She’s probably just studying somewhere else,” Rin told him.

He didn’t answer.

When you finally returned, ten days later, you looked exhausted.

There were smudged highlighter stains on your fingers. You whispered an apology, voice rough as you explained,

“Sorry. Power Loader and Mei’s ideas combined hit like a truck. Plus, I caught a cold. And I had to send in the final report for my summer gig.”

He grunted. Then set your drink down with a napkin — and another, folded into a tiny origami heart.

You blinked.

He stared anywhere but at you.

“I’m off in five,” he said. “Wanna go get something that doesn’t taste like burnt beans?”

You smiled, a little surprised.

“Like… a date?”

“…Whatever,” he muttered, turning away. “I cook better than I make coffee, anyway.”

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　　 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

even i wouldn’t copy your behavior. and i copy quirks. – monoma (fr)

© itzariafiles 2025 ✧ do not copy, translate or feed to AI.

[sillyteecup]

Second wind, but make it sweat

Aaron Pierre x black!o.c

Warnings:

18+

Language/swearing

Smut

Fingering

Oral (fem receiving)

P in V sex

Unprotected sex (🗣️ONE CONDOM ONE WHAT?)

Spitting

Hair pulling

Roughly translated Patois

Word count: 2799🧍🏾

A.N: I saw the picture when I woke up, wrote this during my study break (writing Psychology soon). So here’s something cool, calm and short. Also, new o.c unlocked!! If ever I write for Aaron himself again it’s gonna be with Sam, so just in case everybody say “hi Sam!” Anyway, I’m gonna disappear for the next 3 weeks for exams so I really hope y’all enjoy this for now. Thanks for reading❤️

~Tee❤️

If their walls could talk, oh the freaky little stories they would tell. The worst ones being of the days Aaron and Sam went to the gym together. A lovely tale of adrenaline and lust carried by affection.

How there would be no warning before the front door flies open with them stumbling through it. Mental maps guiding their steps through the house while their hands wandered freely on each other’s skin.

Soft hums and light gasps chronicling their desire for one another; the occasional smacking of lips like a little ad-lib. Not much of a word exchanged as Aaron awaits a command of direction.

“Kitchen.”

“Bedroom.”

“Bathroom over the sink.”

“Fuck it, right here,” a breathy word or two from Sam, activating him like a sleeper agent.

Their movements would grow more frantic; rushed. They understand how much time they have. They know they should probably take a shower first. But what’s a little more sweat? And why later when sooner is right there? So he’d hoist her up into the arms she adored so much and take her wherever she asked-we’re going to talk about the bathroom today-and alter her consciousness.

Another door flies open, banging against the wall with a force that would have had them both knocked upside their heads by their mothers. Sam’s usually nimble fingers tug at the hem of his shirt before lifting as far as she can reach. From there Aaron finishes the job, pulling it over his head and tossing it behind him, leaving his chain to gleam against his salty sheen covered chest. He returns her initial favour, but more gently to preserve her hair.

He was horny, not cruel.

His wide, soft palm cups the back of her neck while the fingers on his other hand tug her body closer by the waist band of her black Nike tights. Her honey coloured gaze speaks to him. Tells him she wants this as much as he does. Tells him she needs him. As much as he needs her. It calls him in, and he complies, fingers digging into some of the hair at her nape to angle her head upwards.

Their lips mingle for only a moment before getting comfortable with one another like old friends. Their tongues embrace and their bodies collide. Once again he has her entire weight in his arms, walking towards the large bathroom sink. He gently places her there and trails his lips across her jaw with the occasional soft kiss and tender pull of suction.

Her hands move across his shoulders, fingers trembling in need as she studies the skin of her constant undoing. Her parted lips are an instrument of his unraveling control. His kisses grow desperate, paired with teeth and grunts bordering on primal. Biting into her soft, chestnut skin, his hands make quick work of her tights. She assists with the quick lift of her ass from the granite the small counter space. Soon they’re but a distant memory. All Aaron and Sam can think about is what’s next.

Soon, Aaron is on his knees, soft lips planting a wet trail across her thighs. He doesn’t linger there too long though, as the scent of her arousal draws him to what lies beyond them. Aaron was never really a gentle eater. He was more of a “last supper” kind of guy. His tongue’s attack on titan was nothing new to Sam, yet it never failed to rock her world. The way he’d devour her with his entire face in it would always leave her breathless and numb in the head. 1, 2, 3 orgasms with nothing but the power of the tongue; it’s no wonder it doesn’t take much for her to get dick-dumb.

As the echoes of her desperate cries and her thighs vibrate against the sides of his head, he pulls back. His hazel irises have darkened considerably and his clean shaven chin is drenched in her. Always a messy eater when it comes to her. Slowly, he rises to his full height.

“Get down, let me see you properly first,” what should be a soft whisper, comes out as a gruff rasp. But his accent-oh his accent-keeps it tooth-rotting nonetheless. As she instinctively obeys, she just hopes her needs aren’t too weak.

The low yellow light illuminated her body, hypnotising Aaron. She looked like an angel whose skin was the halo. The mirror behind her reflects his thirsty ass expression and her rounded ass; stretch marks, cellulite and hand prints from 2 nights ago nearly send him into a spiral. The previously solid ponytail holding her goddess braids was looser now. The free curls framed her radiant face; gym days meant no makeup, just an intense glow from the workouts, and now having her thoughts ate out of her. The days didn’t matter much to Aaron though. To him, Sam always looked like a dream he never wanted to wake up from.

A cocky smirk stretched at her lips. “You like?” she teased, her silky voice making Aaron’s nervous system act a fool. Something inside him switches as his throat dries. His dick makes a bit of scene by jumping against his cotton sweats. Although his eyes narrow seemingly like a predator zeroing in on its pray, there isn’t a single thought in his brain anymore. No, that’s not true. There is one thought. Only one.

“I fucking love you.”

Without another breath, his hands plant themselves onto her waist, turning her around. His tattooed arm reaches around her neck. Her chin firmly in his hand, he tilts her head to the side as if creating access. Eyes trained hers through their reflections, he drags his tongue across her shoulder, stopping at the base of her neck. Back across the same shoulder he went, this time by wet, gentle kisses.

“Never forget that.”

Before Sam can respond, the hand cupping her chin is on the back of her neck, firmly folding her over the edge of the granite edge. His fingers find her slick folds and parts them for the pad of his thumb to find her clit. Her body shivers against his as his thumb works her into a pleading mess.

“Aaron-“

“Baby please.”

“Fuck me, please! I need you!” she cries, eliciting a dark chuckle from Aaron who increases the pressure of his thumb. For an extra gift, he inserts 3 fingers inside of her, stretching her sweetly around them. The action pulls out one of the most pornographic noises he had ever heard from her. All it does push him further.

His fingers curl.

They scissor.

They retreat.

They plunge back in.

Orgasm number 4 was more of a splash into his hand. Wetter than the previous 3 that’s for sure. Maybe that explained the tears in her eyes. And suddenly her ignored attempts to grab his wrist make all the more sense.

“You alright over there?” he taunts. Her teary browns met his playful greens, struggling to grasp the audacity of this man. Then her eyes widen in what seems like fear as she detects a certain glint in his irises. His lips curve slightly as a silent response. “What did I say you should never forget?” he asks her, his tone deceptively sweet.

“That you lo-AH!” she cries, her answer being sharply cut off by his fingers plunging right back into her. Two curls against her warm walls is all it takes for a 5th orgasm. And in a way she didn’t even know was possible, it’s messier and wetter than the 4th.

Aaron retracts his soaked fingers with the ghost of a sinister smirk across his features. His dry hand grabs the loose ponytail and wraps it around his fist. As if she weighs nothing, Sam’s back is arched inwards, bringing her face to face with Aaron.

“Hey,” is all he says before shoving his pussy covered fingers into her mouth. His fingers dance over her tongue as he essentially uses it to wipe them off. Right as it seems like he’s about to remove them however, they slide further down her mouth right past her uvula. She gags and chokes mindlessly, catching him wink as fucks the back of her throat with his fingers.

Okay, maybe he is a little cruel.

“You know, I’ve always found it fascinating how you still manage to look this fucking beautiful while being the nastiest little whore I’ve ever had the pleasure of encountering. Absolutely fucking amazing I tell you,” he muses. It’s at this point that Sam fully accepts her oncoming fate. However she still can’t tell you for the life of her what she did to earn it.

His fingers leave her mouth but not before using her spit to paint her lips. “What did I tell you not to forget just now?” Aaron asks again as his fingers run up and down the valley of her breasts.

“That you love me,” her reply comes out as a croak as a result of him treating her gag reflex like a toy.

“And I do, Sam. I really do,” he pauses to lean in and place a soft kiss on her cheek. “But now I’m going to ruin you.”

His hands are on her waist again as he takes a step forward, pressing her front against the sink. He pushes his pants and briefs to his thighs, releasing his impatient looking cock. A few quick strokes and a slight lift of her waist is all the prep she has before Aaron pushes roughly into her. A ragged moan is all Sam has to offer as her man bottoms out inside of her, stuffing her like a garage pie. With no hand holding her up, the pressure folds her right back over and has her hands inching for something to grab. Aaron isn’t having it though; he reaches for her ponytail again and yanks, only this time she’s flush against him. Holding her there is his meaty tattooed bicep, keeping her in what could be a headlock if she finds a way to test him.

With his other hand on her waist, he wastes no time with waiting for her to adjust and instead just rams into her torturingly slow. Each time he pulls out, her brain is tricked by his tongue and lips peppering kisses on her skin and it confuses itself with false relief. Until he slams right back into her, reaching her soul with his girthy tip. “Look at you…such a pretty little slut aren’t you? Mi deh fuck yuh foolish an’ yuh still look perfect, yuh si?” he groans. The pure eroticism in his tone mixed deliciously with the Patois he had taken to using as a weapon formed against her…

Samkelisiwe Pierre never stood a chance.

Aaron’s strokes, although measured and deep, are unrelenting. The precision at which he hits that sweet, sweet spot makes Sam feel like there’s a secret mission afoot. Like there are other forces at hand. If only she had the power to at the very least fight back against them. Never resist or stop them though. Not when they had her seeing stars like this. Not when they had her stomach doing cartwheels around the pressure building up.

“Fuck, daddy…feels so mmh…gonna cum,” she breathes out.

“Is that right? ‘Cause I don’t recall you asking me to.” To the untrained ear, it sounds like an observation, a comment, a note. But Sam’s ears are seasoned. She’s fluent in “Aaaronese” and to her, this is a veiled warning. He’s daring her to do it without asking.

Unfortunately for both of them, she spoke too late and is too close to turn back. There’s nothing she can do to stop the orgasmic freight train that’s coming at her at lightning speed. Nothing she can bite hard enough to quell the guttural scream that escapes her throat. And unfortunately, there’s no amount of clenching that could stop the 6th wave of pleasure pouring from her onto his dick.

All of it happens so fast; so hard, that she can’t even feel the subtle change in pace as she rides it out. He’s going slower, but only so little that she can’t tell the difference. He should be upset…in fact he should be livid at her blatant disregard. But damn, he couldn’t help but be softened by the way her features twisted and relaxed in euphoria. He also understands that there wasn’t much she could do to stop it. Not after a whole workout and…well.

His arm releases her neck, allowing her more breathing room. She places her hands on one of the sinks, using it to brace herself while she takes in their reflection in the mirror. Aaron is still knee-deep inside of her, letting her recover with a more gentle tempo.

“I’m sor-“ she’s quickly cut off by an even sharper stroke. Then another. Then another. All increasing in pace until all it is is just Aaron pounding into her like a mad man. He may have forgiven her last transgression; that doesn’t mean he’s in the mood to hear her lie about her remorse.

The soft grunts painted on his lips accompany her cries of wanton. He’s chasing his own release. He hadn’t originally planned to do it this soon, but Sam derailed his plans. Now he just wants to paint her walls then clean her off in the shower; take care of her for the rest of the night.

He continues to slam into her, pace completely unrelenting but tempo growing sloppy. He’s close, and judging by the way she’s clenching around him, she was too. He leans forward, kissing her along the jaw and her cheek. Her dazed eyes find him through the mirror. There’s drool on the corner of her lip, so he does what any good man would do. He licks it up and lets it mingle with his own saliva before using one of his hands to cup her chin and turn her face towards him.

Almost like she can hear his thoughts, her mouth is slightly open with her tongue sticking out. Little phantoms of his name trail out, waiting on the gift he’s about to give her.

And it comes in the form of a slow, long line of spit, directly on her tastebuds. And like that, the hard earned white ring around his dick grows. Sam’s grip on him warrants one last punishing thrust; one that shakes her to her core and drowns her in powerful tides of pleasure. Her walls hug him tightly and coax his own release out of him. Aaron has no choice but to comply. With a strained groan, his dick twitches, spasms then let’s go, making a complete mess inside of her to match the one outside.

Having emptied himself completely, he pulls out, still leaning on her back. “You know, other couples usually take showers after the gym,” she giggles, back vibrating against his head.

“Love that for them sweetheart. I generally prefer a snack and some cardio,” he teases hoarsely, planting a soft smack on the side of her ass. Sam glares playfully through their reflections, shaking her head at the innuendo. “I won’t hold you though, that shower does sound like a good time right now,” he adds.

“I hear you. But then knowing you, it could turn into you catching your third wind,” she jokes. His head snaps up, mischief shining in his eyes.

“I mean if you don’t mind-“

“Hayi hayi hayi! Mna, I’m tired. Actually, get off my back before you put that thing back inside me. In fact, ingathi I’m going to shower alone,” her tone is firm, but Aaron can hear the humour below. Besides, she hates showering alone so even if he couldn’t, he would know she’s bluffing.

Still, he listens, standing up straight and moving to lean against the sink himself with his back facing the mirror. He pulls her in for a soft kiss, their lips having a tender little slow dance. The taste of her still on his tongue mingles with the taste of litchi flavoured water and his spit.

Sam shifts a little, finding herself in between his legs with her hands against his chest. His hands travel down to her ass, offering a quick squeeze. A sharp gasp escapes her lips and is quickly stolen by Aaron. Her smooth fingers trace his skin, skating down his abs and stopping right where his happy trail starts. Suddenly, he feels her palm him, and it stops him in his tracks.

Surely they can wait 20 more minutes for that shower. He’d even cook for her right afterwards, whatever she wants too. Just one more round-

“Don’t even think about it big boy. You’re not getting another workout out of me.”

[pucksandpower]

The thing no one tells you about being a medical student, is that you’re simultaneously taught to put everyone else’s health first while putting your own last.

The thing is, we don’t get days off. So when I started feeling extreme pain back in January, I brushed it off. I had clinical rotations I couldn’t miss, and an exam at the end of the week to study for, and being behind even one day in medical school feels like you have weeks of material to make up for.

So I waited. I didn’t go to the physician. Or urgent care. Or ER. I sat it out … until the pain became a 6/10 and then an 8/10 and then the most excruciating 10/10 I’ve ever felt in my life.

But even then, I did nothing. I had other priorities and they weren’t my own physical wellbeing.

Until I woke up one night with my teeth clattering like a cartoon and a concerningly high fever. That was a sign I couldn’t ignore — the pain must have been caused by an infection that had become systemic.

I drove myself to the emergency room at 3 AM. I was told that if I had waited even another day longer, I would have had sepsis. I was alone, with all of my family halfway across the country, terrified out of my mind, and still somehow thinking about how I’m going to fall behind in school now.

The ER physician was able to perform a procedure as a temporary fix, but that’s all it was … temporary.

Now, almost seven months later, complications from waiting too long to get treated have caused a chronic issue that affects my daily life.

I have an appointment to see my fifth seperate specialist later today, and all I can do is pray for a miracle, because the surgery I have been offered has a 25% chance of major complications and the other option is just to live with something that already makes life more difficult and could just keep getting worse and worse and worse.

So … I guess this was just a lot of words to say that the entire healthcare system is severely broken, starting from our own education. We’re taught to hurt ourselves to focus on school. I didn’t understand how bad the consequences of that could be until they happened to me. And please, if something is wrong, don’t be like me. Don’t wait.

[satoruhour]

i need jealous racer geto hes js so whudurieiw and the way u write about himm🤭🤭

LUVRGIRL

a/n: eeuuughh idk whether to like this or not but enjoy nonetheless !!! not so much of racing but the sentiment is there lol. previous part (lloromannic) here / @screampied @kizoken @t4kio @redskyvenus @mysugu @suguruplsr @slttygeto ✶

wc: 6.3k

warnings: racer!geto, soft dom!geto, fem!reader, sprinkle of fluff, pet names, praise, ldr, phone sex, masturbation (both f and m), fantasising, daisuke is being annoying again!!!!, sorta jealousy plot point, brief dry humping, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, clit stimulation, fingering, unprotected p -> v sex, breeding / creampie kink, implied multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

the next six months were torture, indefinitely. it was an endless heap of assignments, of deadlines, of long-distance calls with your love that you both were so close to booking flights of your own. university was brutal, too. on top of tuition fees and getting the materials for your classes, it was heart-wrenching to even look at the prices of the flights from your country to japan, so you bit down your pride and subjected yourself to settling for the long-distance arrangement.

“hey, baby,” geto mumbles sleepily and your frown deepens upon forgetting that tuesdays was where he slept early. you still had to call, though, but you realise it too late when he answers with that groggy, raspy voice of his. there’s some ruffling behind the call, no doubt the sounds of his bedsheets as he gets himself comfortable while you huddle at the small nook of your room that’s next to the window.

from here you can see the sun setting, a totally different story in japan where you can hear geto yawn and down a glass of water next to his bed.

“shit . . sorry su, i forgot—”

he scrambles to reassure you, awake and sat up, “no! no— no, it’s okay . .” you wince when you hear him yawn yet again, but this time he sounds a little more in the realm of consciousness. you’re unaware of the smile forming on his face just from hearing your voice, fidgety fingers squeezing and releasing the duvet over him, “what are you up to, my love?”

you hum into the phone and you’ve never wanted to backpack across the seven seas to see someone so bad before. now on month nine, your excitement’s become even more prominent at wanting to end the semester as soon as possible, willing your lips not to mutter out the arrangement you’ve been planning with his group of friends.

“just needed a break from studying for finals. i’m dying,” you lament over the line and your heart flutters at his chuckle, something you miss against your ears and skin immensely, “just wish you were here . .”

“yeah?” and you have to squeeze your eyes shut and rub your thighs together at the soft, rough yeah he mumbles out. you can imagine it too: sitting against his headboard half-naked while the duvet pools around his waist area. he’s sitting there like plaster sculpted by Monti while his hair flows around him. you almost squeal and your boyfriend only catches just the start of it.

“what? what was that?” he asks and your hand is clasped so hard over your mouth like a captor’s got your hostage, but you only let out a breath.

“n-nothing,” you laugh, picking yourself up from the nook and getting yourself comfortable in bed. it’s been a long day of studying, anyway, and your next exam isn’t until five days later. you could afford some downtime, right?

“but,” you sigh, turning on your side and sneakily slipping a hand into your pants, “my day’s boring. it’s all studyin’. why don’t you tell me what you did today, instead?” you can hear your parents already preparing dinner outside, but you press on and try to drain out the intrusive noises of cutlery and porcelain and the incessant calls of your mom to your dad for some help on the stove. 

“alright,” he drags the word out and laughs again, getting comfortable in his bed just like you do, but your end goals are entirely different, “but it is pretty boring as well. it was maintenance day today.”

“oh!” you remember him briefly mentioning that the other day — since halloween was approaching, there was bound to be more patrolling policemen around the streets and underground, so races had to be put on hold for the meantime. there was still other more secluded areas to race, but geto didn’t want to risk his Mazda being taken away nor for a stain to appear on his clean academic record.

“changing the crankshaft? i know the old one was giving you loads of trouble,” you mumble, feeling your cunt pulse and throb from the breathing you can hear over the line, “among . . other things.”

“yeah, my baby’s so smart for remembering, huh?” he praises, continuing to go on about his day. while it was merely taking-care-of-his-car day, it was still way more eventful than yours. he had went on a solo day out to your beloved café to relish in the good times, he had hung out with gojo for a while and drank some beer atop the mountain they frequented, even went out for some arcade fun.

“unfortunately—” geto’s low voice spurs you on. you’ve been lazily rubbing at your pussy, just humming into the phone while you only descend more and more into pleasure, “it’s taken a hole out of my allowance, i guess. my dad’s more generous with the parts that he gives me but at the same time i feel like he knows what i’m doing underground.”

he laughs and you fake a giggle, but your breaths are starting to get heavier with each sentence he utters, mind filling with flashbacks of how many ways he’s bent you over to fuck you, drunk on the phantom-like winds upon your ear that sound like he’s whispering all those filthy things to you. “and . . just missin’ my girl.”

“how’ve you been, baby?” he asks with a low voice, like he knows what you’re doing and the term of possession only has you sucking in a breath, fingers slip inside you after possibly a decade of teasing and you find it hard to answer. “darling?”

“y-yeah, ’m still here,” you pant out, afraid of being caught, but your voice quivers enough just for geto to catch on to what you were up to. he didn’t fault you, though (he never blames his girl), but there is a small smirk that forms on his face. he purposely lowers his voice even more, if it was possible, mirroring and mimicking your breathy tone when talking to him.

but with one hand that goes down to his pelvis, he doesn’t have to mimic you at all, hand palming languidly at his bulge. in the dead of the night, there wasn’t much need to keep his voice down in order to hear the pretty moans falling from your mouth; he does anyway.

it’s too shitty of a reception especially with your nokia’s, so he hears the artificial, metallic-like voice coming from his phone, but your sounds are just too lovely, transcending the robotic-ness of a phone call. and it’s like you’re actually there, smiling mischievously at him while stroking his cock and teasing him the way he liked to be teased.

“s-sugu?” you mumble, mind heading into the extremes and confident now that he’s just weirded out and silent, but it’s anything but that.

“yes, baby?” he hums, smiling to himself when he hears rustling over the phone and he can imagine you lifting your hips to remove your panties, tossing it somewhere across the room. “wanna tell me what you’re doin’?” 

you suck in a breath — so he knows — but suguru always knows everything so you’re whining into the receiver, pleasantly surprised when he replies with a deep groan that only makes you clench around nothing.

“that’s right . .” he drawls and you hear a soft thud over the line, and now you’re the one quieting your movements just to hear your boyfriend, the faint shlick shlick sounds of his hand along his cock. geto gasps when he squeezes his tip just like how you do it, pre-cum starting to leak. “need you h-here, doll . .”

you mewl softly and start the hand on your clit again, abandoning the tight hold around your phone just so you can use the other to slip your fingers into your warm cunt. it doesn’t even compare to the thickness and length of geto’s dick, but you have to work with what you have. with head turned toward the speaker, your boyfriend has gone non-verbal, too, moaning like a slut into the receiver.

“suguru, i’m— please . .” you whine softly, hips bucking into your hands, “doesn’t feel as g— good.”

geto coos inwardly at your needy voice, mouth falling open at his rock hard cock. it’s so hard that it hurts, left to merely fuck his fleshlight whenever he could and use his hand on other days. he missed your sweet fucking pussy so, so much, just picturing your beautiful arched back that lifts off the sheets and your shaking thighs. he imagines your perfect pout on your face as you finger yourself, unsatisfied, obviously, begging him with tugs to his hands and his eyes flutter close.

“i know, baby, and ’m sorry,” he mumbles, taking the nokia from his ear to put it right up to his relentless pumping and you swallow, the slick, wet sounds more clear now. “but you hear what ya do t’me, don’t you?”

“mhm . .” you trail off, thinking of his fat cock impaling you instead, and you follow his actions to a T, bringing it right to your sopping cunt and geto has to scrunch his already shut eyes just to wish that his hand was your pussy. your hand is getting tired, he’s sure, but you finger yourself so prettily his hand easily speeds up, giving his shaft periodic squeezes.

“so wet, suguu . .” you drag out his name, already feeling your high approach soon, but you want the both of you to cum together. “i miss you stretchin’ me out . .” a hiss from suguru, “i miss your cum spilling out of me.”

that has geto choking out a whine, “f—fuck, sweetheart, don’t say that. i do miss g-giving you all of my cum—”

the filthiness of everything contributes to all your senses, parents omitted from memory, your finals at the back of your mind and only focusing on the envelope that resides on your bedside table containing a plane ticket. in one week you’d be able to see him again — a sweet treat given to you by gojo and nanami with their combined expenses.

you didn’t even know how you could thank them and while nanami waves you off for any payback, gojo did say you could treat him to anything in that café. it was difficult not to be excited, a louder whine drawn from your throat again and he laughs breathlessly, voice down low and distraught.

“any particular reason w-why my girl’s so needy lately—?”

geto basically chokes out his question while you shake your head until you remember that he can’t see you, answering with a broken “no”.

you resist the urge to spill on the exact reason — your mind spiralling from the anticipation of meeting him, the many, many lewd memories you’ve made over six months, his just-woken-up voice — because he’d never let you live it down.

“c-close, suguru—” your thighs are squeezed tight around your tired hand, sensitive from the immense overstimulation, “’m g’nna cum soon—!”

“me too, my love,” geto’s eyes are back open, trained on his cock and watching the sheer neediness shown in his weeping tip and bucking hips. he needs this, he needs you, and once you’re submitting your final paper, he’s sure to look at flights right to your doorstep.

“i’m c—” you’re whining out, body totally turned over and lying on your stomach as you chase your high, fuelled by the deep guttural groans of your boyfriend. your lips and mind are only filled with suguru, suguru, suguru, not even caring that your sheets are soaked and your fingers are cramping.

“baby, baby, baaaby . . s—shit—” geto reaches his release first, mind filled with replenished memories of your tight pussy hugging his cock, spurts of white spilling all over himself with a loud groan and you’re left to listen out for the desperate sounds of your boyfriend miles away, lengthening his climax as he continues to pump himself. “cum all over your fingers, doll . .”

suguru coaxes in that sweet voice of his, mumbling deep into the phone only for you. “doing so, so good, aren’t ya?” the quietness on his end, the slow lazy stroking of his hand again, and you’re cumming all over your fingers, eyes blown wide from the orgasm that he talks you through while you ride it out on your mediocre fingers. your mouth is stained with endless profanities and moans mixed with geto’s name, muffled by the bedsheets you’re so harshly biting into to prevent any loud, unbecoming sounds.

“that good?” he asks with a laugh, yawning yet again and you feel guilty again—

“i’m sorry, s—”

“no. don’t, doll, don’t apologise,” suguru brushes his thumb over his thigh, partially wiping off the cum and partially hoping he can relax the furrow of your brow like he always does. “you’re frowning and your shoulders are up, probably, relax . .”

you sigh, another thing that geto values a lot and has taught to you; deep breaths and untensing all parts of your body.

“good girl, was that good?”

“the phone sex or the deep breaths?”

geto grins. god, he missed you so fucking much — “both.”

“both was very good, thank you very much,” you giggle, not paying much mind to the way you remove your fingers from your cunt, turning over to the bedside table to take some tissues, “although the sex was a little better.”

“aw, no wins for the intense, groundbreaking, spirit-calming deep breaths?”

you shake your head (you’ve got to stop doing that), “ehh . . it was alright.”

geto’s reluctant sleepiness grants you a few more minutes together, his words starting to slur more and more the longer you were on the line, but you can’t say you don’t enjoy it. with fatigue came the words laced with unhindered affection, murmuring softly about hoping to see you soon, to feel you, to kiss you, and you expressed the same sentiment back to him.

the other switches the output to speaker, wanting to take in the messily taken profile pic he set your contact with. a blurred, blinding smile with his face squished against yours; a little below the two of you, berry and cherry clutched within your palms, doing the same. “can my girl do her best for her finals?”

“i can’t promise the best, but i’ll try . . okay?”

geto hums, a soft smile on his face. he’s cleaned up by now, new sweatpants on and duvet pulled right to his neck while he stares at your face, the pixels of the nokia never diluting your beauty.

“attagirl. have a good dinner, lovergirl.”

that knocks some breath out of you, and you grin like a schoolgirl.

“have a goodnight’s sleep, loverboy.”

you bounce on your heels impatiently when the plane finally lands, waiting for the throngs of people on the flight to leave through the bridge, but it’s taking ages, speed walking once you’re out. you wanted to be the first at the luggage conveyor belt, you needed to be the first passenger of your flight to be out of the arrival doors.

without the rush of the people and the striking colours of your boyfriend’s friends’ hair colours, it wasn’t too difficult to run up to them for a big hug.

“(y/n)~!” gojo drags out your name, waving you over excitedly and bringing the both of you into a group hug. nanami is adamant on being the ever broody racer, but you catch the ghost of a smile when he wraps a careful arm around your shoulders.

“how was the flight, (y/n)?” the blonde’s firm but concerned voice cuts through the chaos of the white-haired man.

“don’t ask lame questions like thaaaat, nanami! you’ll just bore me—” and a resounding smack! is then heard, and gojo’s clutching the back of his head in pain, the other taking the opportunity to lead you away from gojo’s antics and offering to help with your luggages. without words, nanami already feels your nervousness, patting your back in solidarity.

“hey— hey! oi!”

gojo slams the door to his car. “okay, we’ve painstakingly tried to hold suguru back whenever he was about to book flights—” gojo mentions in the car on the ride there, taking way too quick turns for your liking with your luggage going to town in the trunk. its thumps against the roof and sides always seem to interrupt the conversation with the white-haired man, but he seemed too much in a hurry to care. “think it was almost eight separate times!”

“thank you— ah!” you almost lurch forward at the amber light, but gojo decided at the last minute that he was just going to run it — braking then speeding it up all over again.

“you know, for a racer, you’re a terrible civilian driver . .” you groan once you reach the mouth of the familiar car park that you frequented in your six months in japan, but now that gojo’s easily manoeuvres the car to a slow, the adrenaline of the fast drive changes into something of dread, of a dizzying feeling.

what if suguru didn’t want to see you anymore? what if he already booked himself a flight and was nowhere to be found? what if he’s cheat—

your hands are clammy, not even present to how gojo calls out from you from the driver’s seat. cautiously, he’s putting a hand on your shoulder (because god forbid gojo touched anything of suguru’s, both Mazda and girlfriend), and shaking you out of your daze.

you catch glimpses of his sentences: “all  . . talks about . . trust . . no girl has . .” but you stop his rambling with frantic slaps to his shoulder. you know you shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions but it’s hard not to when the scene is clear as day. suguru is never one to cheat — from the six months you’ve known him, from the many calls and check-ins the two of you do over the line.

defying time zones, fighting fatigue . . for this?

but you know better to list your lover as the instigator, especially from how this other girl was just hovering all over his Mazda, sticking her ass out and trailing her hand all over his finishing. that was one thing — but geto isn’t making any move to shove her off, only looking at her through hooded lids that could definitely drive anyone off. she wasn’t affected, though.

you’re not listening to gojo even when you step out of the car, already used to the curious eyes that rake over you and your figure — curiosity turns into recognition and then shock when they see how your boyfriend acts, but before you can actually make your way toward them, another man sidles up to you.

oh my god, it’s daisuke. you sigh loudly, knowing how gojo had dealt with him before and how much of an asshole he is, but all he does is look you up and down, not giving one fuck to how the subject of his embarrassment was sitting right in the driver’s seat.

“hey, babygirl.” you want to vomit from that one greeting alone, but you try not to pay him much mind. “what’s a pretty lady like you doin’ out here?”

“don’t your sorry ass have a girlfriend?” daisuke doesn’t even begin to digest the insult, and you think that he’s a masochist with how much he sets himself up for getting insulted, but then the girl’s eyes meet yours — she’s in his pictures, she’s in his wallet, you’ve seen her when this loser beside you blatantly brags about his girl. you’d feel sorry for her but it seems she’s as stupid as him.

they’re exactly that — realising you just walked yourself into one big jealousy scheme planned by the biggest jokers of the underground racing scene, your suspicions are confirmed when his eyes are also locked on his girlfriend with your boyfriend of all people, making sure she sees that he’s all up in your space. she’s doing the same, but when she actually tries to touch him is when geto finally does something, and the jealous burn in your heart quells a bit.

geto’s too smart to be mingling around with her, you hope, when you hear him mutter something to her and you smile to yourself when she cowers under his stare and words.

“you touch my fuckin’ car one more time and i’m sure to drive both you and your loser boyfriend, out of here forever. you can take your clown asses to another parking lot and race there and then i won’t have to see your faces any more,” his hold around his wrist isn’t harsh, but it is firm, and he prevents her from leaving until she gets his message, “plus i have a girl i’m obsessed with. take your lame jealous charade somewhere else and maybe go to couples’ therapy. you two clearly need it.”

and when she looks at you again — you think it’s how your identity settles in her mind — she yelps and finally runs away at the daggers you give, not even sparing a glance to daisuke who’s carefully scooching closer to you. but just as he tries to wrap his arm around your waist, your eyes catch suguru’s.

his eyes soften for just a moment; it was just like the café. his palms turn sweaty and he feels like he could collapse — but now you’re looking just a little different. he wasn’t sure if it was because of your hair or the tiredness from exams, but you’re still as stunning as the day he led you out of the parking lot.

geto cannot resist giving you a big grin, but it quickly fades when his gaze falls on daisuke beside you and a scowl appears. and while your body’s already distancing yourself from the man’s crusty ass lips, you feel a throb go right down to your core when the same annoyed glower forms across his features: eyebrows pulled taut, long strides, muscles bulging in the wifebeater he’s got on.

six months away from your man has clearly done things to you.

with one smooth swoop, geto has you pulled flush against him, not even looking as he uses his free hand to grab at daisuke’s neckline before he leans in to kiss you. it’s admittedly a little embarrassing, cause your body reacts so readily to him, tits pressed against his chest while your fingers tangle themselves in his long hair. he tastes like cigarettes and cherries like always and you moan softly into his mouth when his hands wander right down to your ass to give it a squeeze.

“satoru’s not very good at hiding secrets, unfortunately,” geto spills and you pout, surprise ruined by the loud mouth of his friend, but before he gives you his undivided attention, he tugs daisuke closer, roughly. “but that don’t mean i ain’t happy to see ya, baby.”

geto laughs at your flustered state, until his expression darkens again — “you have a lot of nerve touching my girl.”

“I—i didn’t! she was basically begging for me to touch her.”

“don’t you—”

“p-plus! my girl was all up over you too, so i thought i’d give her a little lovin’—”

geto almost smashes his jaw in. either way, he lands a clean punch to his face that has daisuke writhing on the floor, clutching his mouth in pain but that doesn’t deter daisuke one bit who sits up . . and then is immediately beaten down again with a boot to his chest. your boyfriend leans down and looks him straight in the eye.

“i’m cancelling my race just so i can make my girl scream my name loud enough for you, because you could never fuck her or anyone that good with your shit dick game,” geto scoffs, “and forget girls, you can’t even win enough races to rise up the ranks. you’ve embarrassed yourself enough, don’t you think?”

suguru doesn’t bother waiting for an answer, only ushering you toward his Mazda parked in the familiar corner, easily shooting a text to gojo to cancel the race as he mentioned just so he could . .

with windows down, you relish again in the tokyo night air, the hand that you miss so much on your thigh, the alluring voice he’s speaking to you in, the beauty of geto suguru. everything looked the same since you left, from the photos he’s put up on the dashboard, the berry keychain hanging from the rear view mirror, the outer orange coating of his car.

“i—”

“i’m sorry, my love,” suguru leaps forward to apologise, stopping the car abruptly. you’ve already reached your destination but, it seems he wants to say something first.

“why are you apologising?”

he frowns, bringing his hand to cradle your cheek. easily, you’re leaning into the touch, closing your eyes. “for ruining the surprise, for that stupid fight with daisuke, for letting my emotions take over.”

you mirror him, features also deepening in somberness. “you didn’t do anything — if anything, you were a victim of his girlfriend too. but . . seeing her be all over you, made me think the worst after not seeing you for six months.”

geto’s eyes soften yet again (he simply can’t help it around you), using both hands to hold you, now, and you float into his arms like a feather, like he’s in command. you let him guide you into the driver’s seat, faces so close and just hoping to touch after so many months apart.

“i . . i love you,” he swallows, brushing the hair from your face. you find that he’s shaking and breathing so heavily you’d think he was hyperventilating, but he gathers courage on a deep breath and continues, “i have since you left. right after, i went home to cry.”

“oh . .” your lip juts out, eyebrows downturned and eyes filling just a little, “oh, sugu . .”

“i just have always wanted to say it, i guess,” he chuckles, sniffling to hide his true emotions, “i just didn’t know whether i should say it over the phone where it would sound cheap; b-but, you don’t have to say it back, of course—”

you smile through tears, pressing a peck to his forehead in gratitude, “it wouldn’t sound like it to me, but i appreciate you waiting until i returned,” geto relishes in your lips upon his skin again, and he doesn’t think he could survive another day, another minute, another second without you, “i have, too, but i’m not sure when. it definitely includes the time you set alarms to wake me up for exams, though.”

he laughs freely at the memory now, of alarms interrupting his dinners and his parents asking “another call?”, but they let him do whatever, happy to hear their boy joking and laughing over the call with his mystery partner. you giggle, using your thumbs to wipe away the tears that did fall, letting the interior fluorescent light of the Mazda illuminate the features you love so much, all belonging to the man you pined over from many miles away.

“i love you too, suguru — stumbling into that random car park was the best thing i’ve ever done.”

“well, it might’ve not turned out as well if some other group had gotten to you first,” his thumb plays with your bottom lip and brings you to him, “’m just glad i got to ya in time . .”

“yeah? what if you didn’t at all?”

“then i would’ve made sure i’d find you in any way that i can, even if i had to beat up a thousand daisukes.”

that makes you giggle at little, a sliver of eye contact shared with your lover before he engulfs you in a rough kiss and your moan reaches the heavens, body so sensitive from being away from his touch that you jolt when he wraps an arm around your waist. 

“relax, baby,” geto chuckles, speaking against your lips, “take it slow.”

“but i don’t wanna . .” you whine softly, clinging to him in surprise when he pulls a lever next to his seat and the backrest falls all the way down.

“ah!” you grin, “new mod?”

suguru barks out in laughter, “ya caught me. i got it modified yesterday.”

“so you could do dirty things like this?”

he rolls his eyes with a blinding smile, just so, so happy he’s got you back in his arms again, “exactly that.”

the other willingly shows you just what the modification can take, both hands spread out on your ass and pulling you onto his crotch. your core already feels the half-hard bulge under him, using your hips to grind down even more along him. everything feels like too much, after so long away from him that you already feel your high approaching from simply grinding your clit against him and he teases.

“you g’nna cum, already?” he grins slyly, suddenly moving his hips to meet yours that has a broken mewl leaving your throat.

“b—been too long away from you . .” you admit a little sheepishly, using his shirt as an anchor while you continue to grind your cunt into his front, only your panties and his trousers separating the contact of skin. but with how your body jerks in pleasure, you’d think there was nothing between the both of you. “i need you, quick.”

geto says nothing but help you with small pants, the backlighting from the headlines accentuating your figure so nicely that he grunts out your name in between swears, soon stuttering your syllables once he feels you still on his lap with arched back and throbbing cunt. he can feel you, feel you squeezing around him even when he wasn’t in you.

“guess your fingers were pretty crap, h-huh?” massaging your sides, you hum in disapproval at his cheeky smirk, hoping to change that when he lets you do whatever: you pull him up by his shirt and open the door to his car, pushing at him to get out. you don’t day anything and he already knows what you want when you spread your legs, biting his lip at the wet patch on the pretty set you decided to don.

and even with witnessing this sight over and over, you’re never used to the way geto worships you, reveres you, when he kneels down on straight gravel. he doesn’t care if his pants are littered with small specks of dust and dirt, whether he knees start to hurt, but he only has his eyes set on your alluring cunt, finger delicate when he pulls your panties to the side but just brutal when his mouth meets your clit.

“su— s-shit—!” is all you can manage, hearing the other breathe through his nose once his mouth latches on your pussy. it’s something that he hasn’t tasted since long ago, and he’d be damned to let you go again, so he takes the opportunity to savour your arousal, switching between flicking and sucking on your clit like a starved man.

“she tastes so fuckin’ good hmmff—” his eyes meet yours and he feels you squeeze around nothing, making a show of letting you watch how his tongue circles your bud, down to your hole and up again, slurping up your juices sloppily. “i hope this pussy’s missed me as much as i missed her, yeah?”

“y-yeah . .” you moan out softly, legs moving apart more to get more of him, pelvis humping against his face so much that he has to hold it down with a hand. your pre is dripping all over his leather seats and onto the floor, but he makes sure not to spill any more from the way he scoops it up and prods at your entrance. 

“let your pussy do the talkin’, baby,” he mumbles drunkenly, pushing in a finger past your walls and the stretch is already so much better than your own. your jaw hangs open in ecstasy, body already bucking and craving for more when he pushes his thicker finger all the way in and it’s no problem for geto to slip the other in, “she’s sucking me in so well, can she do this to my cock too? hm?”

wordlessly, you’re nodding, catching a whisper of good girl before he’s back on your sopping pussy, sucking up and swallowing all of your arousal that it’s downright filthy, the noises echoing throughout the space. geto doesn’t waste any time pumping his digits, moving them in tandem with his tongue.

“s—suguru . .” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes open from the sheer pleasure, and you’re met with the vision that you can never get enough of — your racer boyfriend’s tongue out, hooded lids and soaked chin — and he grants you a little more of euphoria, groaning loudly into your pussy. with each minute, he’s only getting harder, unbelievably so, so your fantasy cut short when he removes his fingers and mouth with a pop! and laughs at your needy whine.

“you’ve been away too long, come,” geto stands to give you a kiss first, letting you taste yourself, “i need to be in you, darlin’.” 

and so when he first slips in, it feels like heaven on earth, his leaking tip nudging past your folds and right into your warm cunt that he whines so loudly, long hair falling all about his face and body. you’re not different, nails digging in his skin at the stretch that you’ve missed, cock so much longer and thicker than your fingers.

“t-this is better than any fleshlight, fuuckk . .” he mutters to himself, one hand holding your ankle up and the other holding your bent knee. he’s hoping the modification he made to his car wouldn’t give up on him, because he knows he won’t be able to hold back once you’ve adjusted. but when you start moving earlier than he expects, he doesn’t give you the chance, slamming right up to the hilt until you’re shivering and clenching around him.

“g—god, r-right there, sugu—” you preen, nothing but incoherent and repeated sentences mumbled by you over and over, “feels s’full . .”

“y-yeah? tha’ it?” you don’t need the shitty light of the abandoned parking lot to make you look beautiful, you’re doing it all on your own when your body arches towards him and your legs shiver in his hold, catching glimpses of just how wet you were — juices smeared along your inner thighs, a clear sheen of it along his length, all thanks to the lighting. “so sloppy, huh . . listen to ’er.”

geto emphasises his thrust, in, out, and in, out, just for you to hear your dripping pussy dragging along his shaft, one of the things of yours that makes him go insane. 

“all because of you,” you babble mindlessly, fingers expressing your need for him and he listens like he always does, body hovering over yours just to kiss you and because of that he’s thrusting all the more deeper into you as you break the kiss with a loud moan. geto laughs against your lips, hips making quick work to make sure he stays in his new angle, and he’s rewarded with your lewd pleas for him.

he’s ramming into you so perfectly, mushroom tip just barely brushing against your cervix each time that it has your mouth permanently open in pure pleasure.

“well . . you’re the only doll to get me hard and needy like this . .” he chuckles again, kissing down your neck to make sure you get blue and black into your skin, “and i fuckin’ love her for it.”

with a shaky hand you pull on his ruined ponytail, “s-say it again.”

“i love you,” suguru almost whispers, afraid of breaking the silence.

“again . .”

“i love you, sweetheart,” that makes you bend into his hold, undoubtedly.

“again, suguru—”

his hips are relentless, still moving even through his pussydrunk confessions, “i love you— i-i love you, i love you. so, goddamn, much— s-shiiit . .”

“m-me too, su . . i love you— i—” your arms trap him, circling around his neck and making sure he stays close to you and he pushes on your knees more, fat cock fucking into you in a more open mating press, knowing you’re close by how your toes curl and your stomach contracts, by how your pussy flutters around his mouth and soft needy sighs turn into wanton moans. he’s got you mapped out, memorised, all from his devotion to you.

“i know, baby, you’re close, y—yeah?”

he feels you nod, thighs starting to burn from the position but while your pussy keeps sucking him in, he’s sure to continue to slam into you, making sure all four walls of the parking lot hear the obscene sounds of his balls slapping against your ass.

“c’mon, cum with me, princess,” he murmurs, lightheaded with the tightness and warmth of your pussy. it’s a wonder he hasn’t cummed already, sneaking one hand in between your bodies to rub at your clit. your moans are rendered inaudible, only managing pathetic squeaks before you’re tipped over the edge and you’re whimpering so loudly into his car, cum dripping down and out your cunt and right to your ass.

your pussy flutters with geto’s continued thrusts, prompting him to reach his release right after with a deep groan, hips stuttering in your sensitive pussy until he’s spilling his load, white and hot. it’s just so, so goddamn much, stuffing your hole full of his cum that it has no choice to spill and dribble out when he removes his cock, the sight just so mesmerising to him.

“p—please,” your energy is far from used up, turning your body over just so you can present your ass to him. face squished into the driver’s seat, you use both hands to spread your cum-filled pussy, just asking for more and geto only smiles with a certain lilt in his voice. “need more, suguru . .”

“that’s my lovergirl.”

[cherriies-snake]

Kisses & Pickups ✶⋆.˚

PAIRING : James Kelly x College!reader

WORDS : 766

WARNINGS : Age gap, James (33) & reader (23), mild sexual references at the end, rest is entirely fluff.

James Kelly is the type of guy who’s really thoughtful with you, even if you don’t ask for it.

Need help with a project? He’s already looking for ways to help, even if he doesn’t fully get it. Or when exam week is stressing you out so much that your hair is a mess, he immediately makes you a cup of tea and tells you to take a short break to clear your mind. Usually, those “short” breaks turn into cuddling sessions that never seem to end.

Of course, he would never admit in public just how much he loves those cuddly sessions full of hugs and sweet kisses.

Because let’s be real, James Kelly, the tough guy who works fixing cars, has tattoos all over his arms, and has even been to prison, totally matches with the kind of guy who lets himself be pampered by his cute girlfriend.

So, it’s no surprise that in the mornings, he wakes up earlier than his work schedule requires, just to pick you up and make sure you get to college on time.

The ride is usually filled with morning conversations about whatever interests you both, with the radio playing rock music, though sometimes you sneak in your catchy pop songs.

He pretends he doesn’t like them too much, but deep down, you know he loves hearing them, especially when it’s with you.

“There you go sweetheart, have a great day. And don’t forget, later I’m taking you for lunch.”

He said goodbye with a sweet kiss on your lips, which were warm as honey and soft as rose petals.

“Thanks, but Jamie, you know you don’t have to take me to college every morning. I can take the bus like everyone else.”

“I know you can, but I don’t want you to.”

And just before you could argue, he started the car.

No matter how many times you tried to explain it wasn’t necessary, he was stubborn about it. And no matter how hard you tried to hide it, you loved it.

Also, when he had a break at the workshop, he made an effort to pick you up when you finished, and today was no different since he promised to take you out for lunch afterward.

As soon as you walked out of the university, you could spot James’s car on the opposite side of the street, always so punctual, you thought.

“Just in time, right? How was your day, Angel?”

He asked sweetly as always while you climbed into the passenger seat.

“I think it was okay, some professors didn’t make their classes too hard today.”

You told him, sighing tiredly after a long day of studying, and not to mention you had probability homework for Monday, which was a total disaster for you because you hated anything related to math with all your heart.

“The only bad news is I have probability homework.”

Then you leaned back a little on the seat, looking at him like a puppy abandoned on the side of the road.

“Your favorite subject, huh?”

He said, laughing quietly since he knew you had even failed it once.

“Don’t worry about that right now, okay sweetheart? First, I’m taking you to lunch like I promised.”

He gave you that sweet smile he always did while gently caressing your thigh.

He knew exactly how to calm you down.

And just like that, he took you to lunch at your favorite diner.

Those vintage 50s-style restaurants with those cushioned red seats you love so much, and of course, the typical menu with burgers, milkshakes, and those kind of things you can get all day long.

Now, both of you were eating burgers and fries, you with a vanilla milkshake, and him with a chocolate one.

As he ate or rather devoured his burger, he got a little ketchup on the corner of his lips. So, you dipped your finger in a bit of saliva, leaned over the table, and gently wiped it off. His reaction told you that you caught him off guard.

And you love to do that.

He gave you that look, the one where he melts at any subtle and innocent touch you give him. Your soft hands contrasted beautifully when they touched his rough face, and James found it intoxicating.

Everything about you seemed so hypnotic to him.

That’s why he takes the time to take care of you and protect you, his sweet girlfriend, his little world, because he wouldn’t want to see his world shattered in tears because of something or, more importantly, someone.

Since he could be the only reason for your tears, something that only happened when his dick was completely inside you.

TAGLIST: @anakinstwinklebunny @bxbyysstuff @sinisterminist3r

[bambinababyy]

summary: Y/N and Lu’s fierce academic rivalry takes a turn when Lu’s harsh words in the tension of the moment leave him filled with regret. His heartfelt apology & attention to Y/N’s passions sparks an unexpected shift from enemies to something more. As tension turns to longing, they realize their competition was only the beginning of their story.

tropes: enemies to lovers, academic rivals, introver(ish) reader x extrovert luigi, mean/bully luigi, fluff, slow burn romance!

୨ৎ authors note:omg this fic is my first ever one so hopefully i wrote it well. I’ve had this scenario running in my mind for so long & now I’ve finally wrote about it! also this song reminds me of lulu soso much?! hopefully you all enjoy reading it. if anyone has any tips on how I can improve my writing please do share! anyways happy reading! ily all sm!!

“Studying again, Y/N?” Lu drawled, his smirk laced with condescension as he plopped down at the desk beside hers in the library. “You do know there’s an entire world outside of textbooks, right?”

Y/N didn’t even glance up from her notes. “And you do know that stuffing your face with food while pretending to be an academic weapon doesn’t actually make you one?”

His jaw tightened, a flash of irritation flickering in his caramel-brown eyes. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

Y/N finally turned, leveling him with a cool stare. “And neither does arrogance, Mangione.”

Lu huffed, crossing his arms. “Call me that one more time, and I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow. “Beat me in our next exam? Oh wait, you’ve never done that before.”

The tension between them was suffocating, their unspoken rivalry a fire that never seemed to burn out. For years, they had been at each other’s throats—vying for the top spot, trading barbed insults between lectures, and tearing each other apart in debates. It wasn’t personal. Or at least, that’s what Y/N had always told herself.

Until one day, Lu took it too far.

“You know, Y/N,” he said, leaning against the hallway lockers, his voice laced with something crueler than usual, “it’s kind of pathetic how you spend all your time studying. No friends, no social life—what’s the point of being the smartest in the room if there’s no one around to care?”

Y/N froze, her fingers tightening around the books in her arms. The words stung more than they should have. Maybe because there was truth in them.

Lu’s smirk faltered. He hadn’t meant to say it like that, hadn’t meant for the flash of hurt in her eyes. But it was too late.

Later that evening, regret clawed at him as he sat at the dinner table, picking at his food. His mom and sisters exchanged a knowing look.

“What’s wrong?” his sister, Maria, asked, nudging him.

“I… I said something really awful to Y/N today.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know why. We were just—caught up in the competition, I guess.”

His mom frowned. “Apologize properly, like a man. Own up to your mistake, and she will forgive you.”

Lu nodded. “Yeah. I was thinking… she likes homemade cookies.”

“and how do you know that?” Luciana his other sister asked.

“I heard her talking to someone once, on the phone. She was talking about all the things she likes to do but doesn’t have time for any of it.” he mentions.

Which is how he found himself standing outside Y/N’s house the next afternoon, a baby pink container with a ceramic bow on top holding freshly baked cookies in hand, and his mom hovering beside him with a too-pleased expression. His friends—because of course they had to come and witness his misery—stood nearby, grinning.

Y/N opened the door, her eyes narrowing at the sight of him. “Mangione?”

He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. “Uh. These are for you. I—” He sighed. “I was an ass. I shouldn’t have said that. I know you work hard, and—look, I just, I’m sorry.”

Y/N glanced at the cookies, then at his mom, then back at him. Slowly, she took them. “You made these?”

“With help,” he admitted. “But mostly me.”

His friends erupted into teasing remarks.

“Wow, Mangione’s got a soft side.”

“Just date already.” Tracy his friend yelled out, teasing.

Lu groaned. Y/N rolled her eyes, but a faint pink dusted her cheeks.

And somehow, after that, everything shifted. The insults became playful. The rivalry felt lighter. The long nights of studying became shared instead of solitary. And somewhere between the stolen glances, the laughter, the way their fingers brushed when they reached for the same book.

They stopped being enemies.

And they started being something else entirely.

[the0doreslover]

Stuck forever by the... glue? | t.n x fem!reader

summary: you and theodore are quite literally “stuck together”

warnings: a few innuendos

a/n: so i’ve been MIA for a little while but i hope this 4k piece makes up for it 😬😬😬

‘just make it to friday’

‘just make it to friday’

‘just make it to friday’

These were the five simple words that played in your mind since the beginning of the week.

Maybe it was because your mother had been sending you a letter every day, reinforcing the importance of your success in any exam you are to partake in, or because your professors had seemed to be putting extra pressure on you at the moment, or maybe… just maybe it was because you were simply tired, that every day seemed to be getting harder.

Your friends weren’t much help, it wasn’t their fault, they just couldn’t understand the pressure you had been going through over the past few weeks. You had unintentionally pushed them away.

Friday morning at last.

You had a little while to kill before your first lesson of the day and had decided on sitting in the courtyard.

You were walking towards your usual seat behind the large oak tree when you noticed

a rather peculiar looking sketchbook in its place

You picked it up, and opened the first page, and there in the neatest writing was the words; Property Of Theodore Nott

Great.

You were just admiring the pattern on the front of the book when a hand on your wrist startled you.

Looking up, in all his glory was Theodore Nott.

You didn’t have a chance to fully clock him, when he snatched the book from your hands.

“Did you open the book?” he asked, seeming to be catching his breath

“What?”

“i said did you open the book?” he urged, louder this time.

“No… Nott i didn’t” you answered

“right… well your blouse is undone” he nodded towards your chest.

You gasped slightly pulling your fingers towards the buttons, you felt around for a second until he started laughing “i lied”

“why do you have to be such a dick” you groaned noticing he tried to change the subject away from his sketchbook

“i guess i was born that way” he shrugged, with a slight grin on his face “why do you have to be such a prat?”

“i guess i was born that way” you huffed before walking away from him

Seeing as you had only a few minutes before your lesson, you had decided on going a bit earlier.

Professor Flitwick's classroom was already half-full, the usual chatter filling the air as students settled into their seats.

After what felt like an eternity, Flitwick clapped his hands together, drawing everyone's attention. "Alright, today we're going to practice some partner work. Pair up and choose the most interesting charm you can think of, the winning pair will be free from the assignment i am giving out later”

You groaned inwardly. Partner work meant having to socialize, something you didn't feel up to after the morning's events. You stayed seated, hoping someone would approach you. Instead, you felt a presence next to your desk. Looking up, you saw Theodore standing there,

"I’ll partner with you” he said taking the seat next to you

You blinked in surprise. Maybe he was trying to sabotage you in revenge of the morning…. but seeing some of the other options for partners, he didn’t seem so bad

"fine"

The two of you moved to an empty corner of the classroom, while you grabbed a study guide to charms.

“We’re not using that” theodore laughed

“well unless you’re secretly a charms dictionary i’m not sure what you think we should use”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a thick grey book, labelled “A masters guide to charms”

“Sorry Nott i didn’t know you were a master” you mocked him bowing your head down

“yeah yeah funny” he rolled his eyes opening the first page to its contents

“how about this one?” you asked pointing to a picture of a beautiful ocean

“no way i don’t really want to drown today”

you glared at his reply

“let’s do this” he hummed

“no way, i’m not turning everything edible”

“boring” he sighed

“lets do this” “we’ll do this”

you both said at the same time pointing to a photo of a man appearing to be stuck to a tree.

After agreeing on the spell and practising it without wands for a little while, You decided you should try it out.

“i have a pencil and a sharpener. Try on them” you said pulling both out your pocket and placing them infront of him

Stepping back you watched theodore perform the spell.

one

two

three

“nothing happened?” you sighed

“i think i can see that myself” he grabbed the pencil and placed it closer to the sharpener

“let’s do it at the same time. That way it might be stronger” you suggested and picked your wand up.

“one” you looked at him to ensure he was doing it correctly

“two” he watched your hands to ensure you had placed your wand at the right point”

“Three!” Just as you both cast your charm, a sudden jolt sent your wands askew. You glanced up in surprise to see Fred and George Weasley barreling past.

"Watch it!" Theodore snapped, but it was too late.

The spell went haywire. You felt a strange pull on your hand and looked down to see your fingers stuck to Theodore's. His eyes widened as he tried to pull away, but your hands were firmly glued together.

"Fred! George!" you called after the twins, who had stopped and were now doubled over with laughter. "What did you do?"

"Nothing, love, it seems we just gave your charm a little nudge," Fred grinned, winking at you.

"we are very familiar with this charm" George added, chuckling.

"So you can fix this?" Theodore demanded, his usual cool demeanor slipping into frustration.

"Afraid not, mate. You'll have to wait it out," Fred said, still laughing. "The charm wears off in a 24 hours."

“Even if we performed it at the same time?” you asked

This seemed to make the twins laugh even harder

“let’s say an estimate of 48 hours then”

As the twins walked away, still laughing, you turned to Theodore. "This is your fault," you accused, trying to free your hand but only managing to make the bond tighter.

"My fault? You're the one who suggested we practice that spell," he shot back, though there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“You said it too!” you argued

“Okay stop pulling! it’s my hand too!” he said

"Well, now what?" you sighed, looking at your joined hands.

“we need to find Hermione"

Theodore sighed "why?"

“because she is literally smarter than you”

Navigating the crowded corridors of Hogwarts with your hand stuck to Theodore's was an exercise in patience.

Students cast curious glances your way, and whispers followed you down the halls. You kept your head down, focusing on getting to the Gryffindor common room as quickly as possible.

As you entered the common room, heads turned, and the chatter died down. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting by the fireplace, deep in conversation. They looked up simultaneously, eyes widening at the sight of you and Theodore hand-in-hand.

"What in Merlin's name?" Ron blurted out, almost dropping the chess piece he was holding.

Hermione stood up, her brows knitting in confusion. "What’s happening?"

You cleared your throat. "We had a bit of a mishap in Charms. Fred and George decided to 'assist' our spell, and now we're stuck like this."

Harry snorted, trying to hide his laughter. "Of course it was Fred and George."

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment as Hermione approached, examining your joined hands. "Hmm, let me see," she muttered, pulling out her wand and waving it gently over your hands. "It's a strong charm. They must have amplified it somehow."

"Can you fix it?" you asked, desperation creeping into your voice.

Hermione bit her lip. "It might take a bit of time. This isn't a simple charm to reverse, especially if they boosted its strength. Let's sit down, and I'll see what I can do."

You and Theodore awkwardly made your way to a nearby table, still joined at the hand. Hermione began leafing through her Charms textbook, occasionally glancing up at your hands.

"Are you sure it wasn't intentional?" Harry teased, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Shut up, Potter," Theodore shot back, but there was no real malice in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising in your face. "Can you please just help us, Hermione?"

"Alright, alright," she said, waving her hand to shush the boys. "I think I found something. It says here that a reversal spell should work, but it needs to be performed perfectly, or it could make things worse."

"Perfectly?" you echoed, feeling a pang of anxiety. "And if it goes wrong?"

"Well, we might end up with more than just your hands stuck together," Hermione admitted. "But don't worry, I've got this."

“Okay i’m ready… let’s do it” you breathed in

“Wait… i can’t do it now, i need some time to practise it. As i said, it could go very wrong of not performed perfectly”

you groaned and fell backwards onto the sofa.

Theodore glanced at the clock on the wall, then at you, his expression shifting to one of mild panic. "I have to cut our despair short. I have Quidditch practice now."

You blinked at him, still processing the absurdity of the situation. "Okay, go then."

He raised your joined hands, giving you a pointed look.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione burst into laughter. Ron clutched his side, gasping for breath. "Good luck at practice, mate!"

Harry smirked. "Maybe you can use the bonding time to strategize."

Theodore rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed. "Yeah it’s all fun and jokes now potter, but we have a match against you tomorrow."

Hermione cleared her throat, trying to stifle her giggles. "Alright, you two. I’ll need some time to figure this out. Why don’t you… well, make the best of it?"

You groaned again, feeling the weight of the situation. "Great. Just fantastic."

Theodore tugged gently at your joined hands, pulling you toward the door. "Come on, i don’t have all day."

As you approached the Slytherin locker room, you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. Theodore seemed to sense your apprehension.

"I need to get changed," he said leading you into the locker room. The room was empty, the rest of the team already on the pitch.

You looked around, feeling incredibly awkward. "Um, how are we going to do this?"

Theodore glanced at his Quidditch uniform hanging on a nearby hook, then back at you. "We'll have to cut the sleeve of my uniform."

You stared at him, unsure if he was serious. "Cut the sleeve? Are you sure?"

He nodded, his expression resigned. "It's the only way. Unless you have a better idea?"

You shook your head, feeling a bit guilty. "No, I guess not. Do you have scissors?"

Theodore rummaged through his locker, producing a pair of small, sharp scissors. He handed them to you, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady your hands.

"Alright, hold still," you instructed, carefully cutting through the fabric of his shirt sleeve. The sound of the scissors slicing through the material was oddly loud in the quiet locker room.

Theodore watched you, his expression unreadable, but you could feel his gaze burning into you. His breath hitched slightly as you drew closer to his skin, "You're surprisingly good at this," he said

You glanced up at him, surprised. "Really? I feel like I'm ruining your shirt."

He shrugged, "It's just a shirt. Besides, you can sew it back together later, right?"

You smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. "Yeah, I can do that. Don't worry, I'll fix it."

With the sleeve cut, Theodore carefully slid his arm out of the shirt, keeping your joined hands steady. He then reached for his Quidditch uniform

"Now for the hard part," he said, looking at the uniform's sleeve.

You repeated the process, cutting the sleeve of the uniform with as much precision as you could muster. The fabric was tougher, but you managed to make a clean cut. Theodore slipped into the uniform, and you couldn't help but admire how the green and silver suited him. His muscles flexed under the tight fabric, and for a moment, you found it hard to look away.

He smirked teasingly "stop checking me out."

You rolled your eyes, your face flushing. "you’re insufferable… i’m trying to make sure the sleeve fits right," you retorted.

The reality of your situation hit you again as you exited the locker room, your hands still firmly stuck together. Navigating the hallways and the field together was awkward, to say the least.

As you approached the Quidditch pitch, the rest of the Slytherin team was already in mid-practice, flying through the air, tossing Quaffles, and practicing their Beater drills.

The sight of you and Theodore hand-in-hand drew immediate attention.

Draco was the first to approach, a sly grin on his face. "whats happening here?" he laughed, "Nott, I didn't know you needed a babysitter for practice."

Theodore shot his friend a warning look. "Shut up, Draco."

Draco chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “i thought you guys hated each other? when did you make it official?” he laughed louder this time

"You are the only one laughing" theodore said chuckling at him

“i feel sorry for you” draco said towards you “anyway, let’s continue with practise”

You did your best to stay out of the way,

draco had allowed you and theo to simply sit in the stands while someone threw a bludger at him to try and hit.

he clearly didn’t try hard enough as you got hit in your head twice.

A few of the players couldn't resist taking jabs at you and Theodore as they ran past.

"Hey, Nott, maybe she can be our good luck charm!" one of them called out, laughing.

"Or a distraction for the other team!" another added, snickering.

You clenched your jaw, trying to ignore the comments.

“they’re all stupid” theodore would say

Finally, one player took it too far.

"Hey, Nott, why don't you just sleep with her already? Maybe that'll break the spell!"

Theodore stopped dead in his tracks, his face flushing with anger. "That's enough!"

a few members of the team fell silent, taken aback by his outburst. The player who made the remark, Marcus Flint, sneered. "What's the matter, Nott? Can't take a joke?"

Theodore scoffed. "Shut up you tosser, yes, she is a girl, but she didn’t ask to be surrounded by you idiots, so the least you can do is respect her"

You could feel the tension radiating off him, and it was clear that his patience had reached its limit. Flint opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say anything, you stepped forward.

"It’s okay," you said, "We didn't ask for this to happen, but we're dealing with it. So if you're done acting like children, maybe you can focus on your practise."

"Alright, enough," Draco said, his tone firm. "let’s end here today yeah, let’s just hope today was enough to get us our win tomorrow”

As the Quidditch practice ended, the players dispersed, heading towards the locker room.

"I can't go in there," you said, tugging on Theodore's hand to stop him from entering. "I don't want to see anyone...you know, changing."

Theodore paused "Fine, we'll wait out here until they're done."

You both sat on the bench outside the locker room, Silence hung heavily between you, neither of you wanting to break it. Finally, Theodore spoke.

“you should of punched flint, no one would’ve of said anything”

“well, i’m not one to start fights, that would make me reckless” you sighed

Theodore’s smirk widened. “well you did suggest we do this spell” he lifted up your hands “together, that’s pretty reckless.”

“Oh, please,” you retorted, turning to face him. “Like you didn’t push for it too. That ‘I’m a master of charms’ act? Such a joke.”

Theodore’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned in slightly. “well you’re always whining about how hard life is. If you’re so tired, maybe you should’ve stayed in bed instead of trying to impress everyone.”

“Impress everyone?” you shot back, your faces inches apart. “Nice try, but your house is all about being superior, right?”

“Well, if we’re talking about superiority,” Theodore said, his breath warm against your face, “maybe you should look at your own house, the loudest bunch of show-offs.”

“Loud?” you challenged, your fingers brushing against his arm. “At least we’re not sneaky and backstabbing. I’d rather be loud than be a two-faced snake.”

Theodore’s eyes flashed. “Better sneaky than a blabbering idiot. At least I don’t go around pretending to be perfect.”

“Perfect?” you scoffed, leaning in so close that your lips nearly brushed his. “You think you’re so high and mighty. Well, you’re not.”

“Yeah?” Theodore’s voice dropped to a low murmur as he leaned even closer. “Maybe I’m just tired of you acting like you’ve got it all together.”

“You mean like you’re tired of being a pompous jerk?” you spat, “I’m tired of your attitude.”

Your faces were so close now. Just as it seemed like something might actually happen, Theodore suddenly pulled back.

“Honestly, can’t we just have one conversation without it turning into a drama?” Theodore said, crossing his arms and turning slightly away from you.

“Oh, so now you’re the expert on handling disagreements?” you retorted,

“Well, you’re not exactly making it easy to like you,” Theodore snapped, turning towards you for the tenth time. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a complete—” you began, but your words were cut off as Theodore’s lips almost touched yours again.

you both sat back

“Let’s just get this charm sorted and go our separate ways.”

You nodded, your jaw clenched.

“your blouse is open” he said staring at the pitch

“yeah nice try”

“i’m not joking” he urged

you discreetly looked down to see that your two buttons were, in fact undone.

you slowly dragged your hand towards your top, pulling theodore’s hand with it.

Your fingers failed to do the button with his hand in the way.

“Nott, please flatten your hand” you said lowly

he cleared his throat “if i flatten it… it would be on your chest”

you breathed out and closed your eyes slowly, before flattening his hand yourself.

Theodore shifted, his hand still pressed awkwardly against your chest. His eyes met yours, and for a brief, unsettling moment, the anger seemed to dissolve into something else.

“You’re such a...” Theodore started

“Don’t start,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You make me feel... things I don’t want to deal with.”

After visiting Hermione, who delivered the disappointing news that you and Theodore might be stuck like this for another day, the reality of the situation set in. The idea of spending an entire night with your hands stuck to Theodore's was less than appealing.

After agreeing on it, you both reluctantly made your way to the Astronomy tower. The tension was high, and you could feel every small touch between you—whether it was Theodore adjusting his position or the slight bump of your hands against each other.

“I guess we should figure out where we’re going to sleep,” Theodore said

“Right,” you replied, trying to sound collected despite the discomfort. “Do you have any suggestions?”

Theodore shrugged, glancing around the tower as if searching for an escape route. “We could just sit here until morning?”

You sighed, feeling the exhaustion of the day catch up with you. “Fine. Just... let’s try to make this as bearable as possible.”

You both found a quiet corner of the tower and made yourselves as comfortable as you could, given the circumstances.

“So,” Theodore began after a moment of silence, “since we’re stuck together, we might as well talk.”

“Talk?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “What could we possibly have to talk about?”

“Plenty,” Theodore said with a shrug. “We’ve been arguing nonstop. Maybe it’s time we actually had a proper conversation.”

You considered this for a moment. “Alright, fine. What do you want to talk about?”

“Let’s start with why you always act like the world is out to get you,” Theodore said, leaning back against the wall.

You stared at him, taken aback by the question. “What makes you think I act that way?”

“You always seem so stressed and ready to snap,” Theodore explained. “It’s like you’ve got this cloud hanging over you.”

“maybe i do”

A brief silence followed, during which you both seemed to be lost in thought.

“So,” Theodore said, breaking the silence, “what annoys you the most about me”

You laughed slightly. “Your carelessness.”

Theodore chuckled softly. “i care about a lot of things actually”

“yeah? like what”

he stared at you in a comfortable silence, leaving that question unanswered

You smiled faintly

As the evening wore on, you both found it increasingly difficult to ignore the closeness of your situation. The moonlight made even the smallest touches feel more significant.

Eventually, you both fell asleep, leaning against each other for support.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “Oh, this is just perfect,” you groaned, pushing yourself up and realizing just how tangled up you were. “We need to get to our dormitories and change. It’s almost time for the Quidditch match.”

You glanced around the tower, feeling the urgency of the situation. Theodore sat up, still a bit dazed, and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Then we need to find hermione”

You both maneuvered to stand up, your hands still firmly attached. It was a delicate balance, trying not to trip over each other as you made your way out of the Astronomy Tower.

The corridors of Hogwarts were quieter at this hour, but you still drew curious glances from early-rising students who whispered and pointed as you and Theodore hurried by.

Once you got to your dorm you instructed theo to turn around while you changed.

after you had gotten ready you both sprinted to the locker room and sighed in relief at hermione waiting there you.

You both lifted your hands infront of her ready to be freed

“i can’t perform the spell”

“what?”

“it’s too dangerous, i even consulted with mcgonagall, she said that we will just have to wait it out”

You sighed, feeling frustration “It’s okay, Hermione. Thank you for trying.”

Hermione gave you both a sympathetic smile. “I’ll head to the stands and watch the match. Good luck”

As Hermione walked away, you turned to Theodore, “I’m really sorry about this, Theo. I know how much this match means to you.”

He looked at you, his eyes softening. “It’s okay. We’ll have to try and manage.”

The tension between you seemed to dissolve slightly as you both stood there

The Quidditch match was about to start, and with the stands starting to fill up, you found yourselves standing closer than you had all day. The space between you seemed to shrink and In a moment of impulsive decision, Theodore leaned in, and before either of you could second-guess, your lips met his.

When the kiss ended, you pulled back slightly, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you. You noticed, with a jolt, that Theodore’s hands were now resting comfortably on your waist. The realization hit you, and you looked at him in surprise. “Theo… your hands are on my waist.”

Theodore blinked, confusion crossing his face, before it dawned on him. “Wait—” he started, looking at your hands which were now free.

You both stared at each other, “I guess we really did have to kiss to break the spell,” you joked with a light laugh.

Theodore chuckled and a genuine smile lit up his face. “I suppose so.”

“Well,” Theodore said, “I’d better get changed before the match starts. I’m sure the team’s been waiting for me.”

“yeah” you said, smiling slightly. “good luck.”

he quickly leaned forward to kiss you one last time before fake saluting you with a smile on his face and turning towards the locker room.

“wait theodore”

he turned around

“your buttons undone” you pointed to his trousers

[anni1309-blog]

please more step brother smut with felix. it was amazing !:)

that’s so kind of you to say, thank you <3

here you go 🎀

felix catton! stepbrother x reader

warnings: smut, face-fucking, slight size kink, semi public

summary : felix is stressed out during exam season and needs relief

felix and you were like royalty at oxford. it’s not like felix’s family lineage isn’t royal anyways. they were always surrounded by a small crowd. some might even call them admirers. it wasn’t hard to love them, always kind and friendly, charming everyone with their beautiful looks.

when someone was looking for felix, you weren’t far either. this was felix’s way to protect and show his love for you. you two weren’t siblings by blood, but that didn’t stop felix from taking care of his baby sister.

sometimes gossip was heard about your close proximity to felix. you would admit that your relationship is definitely closer than most normal stepsiblings might be but your love fell so deep for each other you wouldn’t have it any other way.

lately though, felix grew a little more distant. you knew that the exams were getting to him, he was always so determined. you would only see him when at night he would sneak you into his dorm, pulling a blanket over you while holding you close and softly stroking your hair while you would cling onto him placing your head on his chest. you missed him, more than you would admit. his heart broke knowing he had less time for you, he yearned for your touch, your giggle and your adorable smile when you sat in his lap during break. but he couldn’t have any distractions from studying.

when you woke up the bed was empty. this was your breaking point. felix would normally wake you up to give you a little kiss goodbye or at least leave a note. there was none of this today. you bursted out in tears and started sobbing uncontrollably. when you calmed down a bit, you got ready to face felix to pour out your heart. putting on makeup was no use to your red and puffy eyes from crying.

you made your way to the library, which was almost empty since it was still very early in the morning. you found felix sitting in the back, surrounded by books writing down notes.

he looked up “good morning baby, did you have a good-“ he stopped, his initial reaction was that he was happy to see you but his eyebrows furrowed when he saw your distressed expression. he knew he had to make time for you now, so he wordlessly scooted his chair back and opened his arms for you to sit on his lap. you took a seat there and clung to him tightly, which he returned.

“lix, you were gone this morning, and I was all alone, I don’t even see you that often anymore, I- I just miss you so much” you sniff slightly as big tears fall from your eyes.

“shhhh, I know sweetheart, I hate it too, but you know how it is, I’m just very stressed right now” he pulls you close rubbing you back softly cooing quietly for you to calm down a bit, takes your face in his hands as he wipes away your tears with his thumb. he hates seeing his girl like this, it upset him deeply.

felix took your chin between his fingers to tilt you head upwards to slowly capture your lips. this wasn’t new to you two, he kissed you often, also in public, he knew it made you feel safe.

“lix? would it be okay for me to try something to relieve your stress a bit?” your big eyes looked up at him with a small smile as you relaxed a bit.

“sure princess, I’d love that but what do you want t-“ his words got stuck in his throat when you slowly dropped to your knees, already trying to fumble at his belt, opening it.

felix was almost shocked at your plan but obviously wasn’t appalled by your idea. none of you cared that you were in public, people wouldn’t come by until later in the day. your nimble fingers pulled the zipper of his pants down slowly, your lips parting and mouth salivating in anticipation.

he caressed your cheek with his thumb looking down at you with soft but hungry eyes, signaling that you could do whatever you felt comfortable with. as you continue undressing his pants his fingers were back at your face, his thumb brushing over your wet bottom lip and pushed his digit past your lips and into your mouth, and you sucked greedily.

you slowly pulled his already hardening cock from his underwear, giving his tip soft kitten licks to which he threw back his head in pleasure, brushing your hair, slightly buckling his hips towards your mouth

“you can use my mouth lix, I can handle it, I promise” lapping at his slit and batting your eyelashes up at him innocently.

“you’re gonna be the death of me, doll” he groans at your invitation and didn't waste a second to shove his cock into your mouth, pushing your head down his impressive length.

gurgling and gagging you looked up at him for reassurance that your were doing fine, he slowly started moving his hips, fucking your mouth.

“such a good doll, doing so good f’me” he praised in a deep voice. your doe eyes just looked at him, tears escaping them as he kept diving himself into you thrusting in and out of your mouth quickly and desperately as you moaned around him.

he shifted his hips forward so you could take him further down your throat “such a tiny mouth, taking all of me hm?” he grinned proudly his other hand cupping your jaw and holding your mouth open for him as you choked around him, saliva escaping your mouth.

“you can take it, hm? my good little angel” he grunts looking down at your face tears just streaming down your face now. you hummed happily, the vibrations sending a shock through him that made him twitch and ram his hips forward into your mouth harshly.

“gonna come in your mouth okay doll? you’re gonna be a good girl and swallow it all right?” taking out his dick for you to answer and traced your glossy lips with his tip, your tongue darted out to flick over it and relish in his salty taste as you looked up giving him affirmative nods.

his thrusts became more frantic, feeling close, he lets out a long, gutteral moan, holding your head there as he thrust his hips up feeling your nose press against his pelvis, cumming down your throat.

“I know it’s a lot, be strong,” he groaned as he continued to spout cum, it was so much you thought you might bloat but swallowed all as he pulled off, you were coughing at bit.

you looked wrecked but smiled up at him proudly as he leaned down to kiss your lips softly taking your face in his big hands to admire you.

“what would I do without my favorite girl?”

[pursued-by-the-squid]

iv. cop out

pairing: gi-hun x gn!reader x in-ho

word count: 6.5k

ao3 | masterlist

1 Year Later, May 2024

“I have my final exam next week and no classes today, so I’m gonna be at the library for a while. Let me know when you want to do dinner.”

The voice message goes through with a little hum and a chirp, showing that it’s been delivered to Gi-hun before you have the chance to turn the screen off. You scan the apartment a few extra times, patting down your pockets and double checking your backpack for your charger because you are not doing a repeat of last week and leaving the study session early because your laptop died. While you’re at it, you snag a few bags of chips, some fruit, and refill your water bottle to keep you energized for the rest of the day.

Hefting your backpack onto one shoulder, you grab your keys and open the door, only to catch the tail end of a piece of paper as it flutters to the floor. Huh, it must have gotten caught in the door jamb. Knowing your luck, it’s probably an advertisement or some weird pastor coming to proselytize, so you have every intention of tossing it in the trash later. You nudge the paper with the toe of your shoe so it slips inside – it’s a later problem and you are very much trying not to be late for your bus – only to stop when you spot something familiar.

There are numbers on the back, a phone number, though you don’t recognize it. But there’s something about the typeface and the background they’re stamped on… Kneeling down to pick it up, you turn the card over in your hand and are instantly flooded with nostalgia of the worst kind. The businesswoman, the ddakji, Gi-hun in all his righteous anger. Three simple shapes shouldn’t have this much power over you, but the instant you see it, you’re awash with fear.

Trembling hands go scrambling for your phone. “Pick up, pick up, dammit.”

You dial a second time and he answers after only two rings. “[___]-?”

“It’s them,” you gasp, your throat raw from the effort of holding your screams in. “The ddakji people, t-the business card! I opened my door and there was a card jammed in there.”

Even from across the city, you can sense the change in Gi-hun’s mood. It permeates the air until it’s vibrating between the atoms separating you both. “Are you safe?”

A quick scan of the surrounding hallway confirms that you are alone. “I’m okay. I’m still at my apartment, I haven’t left yet.”

“Lock your door and stay inside until I get there.”

“Okay,” you nod, already dragging yourself to your feet to follow his instructions. “D’you want me to–”

“Listen to me,” he grits out, and it’s achingly familiar to the night he had first come to your apartment, all his hardened edges and quiet desperation. “Grab whatever you need – clothes, homework, anything. Just be ready to go when I get there.”

Your breath stutters in your chest for a second. “Ready for what? What are you talking about?” As if you don’t already have an inkling nudging at the back of your mind, as if this is all just a bad dream that you can talk yourself out of.

“I’m getting you out of there.”

It should have been me.

But he was the one who put you in harm’s way, wasn’t he? Thinking he could swoop in and save you from a life of poverty and misery, patting himself on the back all the while because he had done a good deed. He had done what Oh Il-nam could not and helped someone who couldn’t help themselves.

The tires lose their traction for a few moments, accompanied with the high-pitched scream of the brakes when he slams on them. He very nearly takes out a street sign and another vehicle, but he doesn’t. Neither does he care. There is only one thing in the forefront of Gi-hun’s mind and until he sees you with his own eyes, safe and unharmed, he will not rest. He can’t. Because it should have been him.

He barges into your apartment minutes later with his pistol drawn, his heart slamming itself against his ribcage, his throat so tightly constricted that he thinks he might actively be choking, and your name is already breaching his lips.

“What are you doing?” he hears you screech. Immediately drawn to the sound, he turns his head, searching and searching until finally he sees you, curled up into a ball on your sofa with your things gathered around you just as he’d asked.

You had said that the apartment was empty, that there was no way anyone could have gotten inside while you were sleeping, and he knows that’s probably true. He trusts you’ve been using all the proper safety precautions. But that doesn’t change the facts – you are not safe and you never have been.

“Where is it?” he demands, already stuffing the pistol into his coat pocket as he surges toward you, but you cower before him. You’re afraid of him. You don’t know, you don’t understand, not yet, and he doesn’t have time to explain it to you. “The card, [___].”

“I-I tore it up,” you stammer. Your eyes are wide and wild and so painfully afraid, and it guts Gi-hun to the bone. “It’s in the trash–”

His fingers close around your wrist and pull. “Good. We need to go.”

And while you do stand at his beckoning, you don’t allow him to pull you further. Your feet dig into the carpet until you’re able to tear yourself free, and Gi-hun wishes that you would’ve chosen any other time to fight him, any other place except here and now.

“[___]–”

“You’re scaring me.” And he can see when he looks in your eyes that you mean it with every fiber of your being. “Why do you have a gun?”

Because the only power these monsters respect is the power of a bullet. But you don’t even know what kind of monsters you’re running from, do you? He never told you.

He never wanted to.

Gi-hun swallows the despair lodged in his throat. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

Your eyes flicker from his face to the ominous swell of fabric in his pocket, the gun that presses into his hipbone. “Okay. So, why do you have a gun.” This time, it isn’t a question.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” You don’t actually think he’s capable of that, do you?

“I… I didn’t think you were,” you answer, but he can see the uncertainty on your face, tainting your trust until it grows murky like blood in the bath water. “But you can’t just run into someone’s apartment with a gun in your hands. What if someone saw you?”

His teeth grind painfully together when he grimaces. You have so many questions, and you have a right to each of them, but now is not the time! “It’s alright. I’ll explain in the car, yes?” Your hesitation is reasonable, he has to remind himself. He can’t blame you for it. But oh, how badly he wants to shake you, how badly he wants to drill into your skull that every minute of hesitation is another mark on your death warrant. “Now, [___].”

He doesn’t let his shoulders unwind from around his ears until after he has you in the car, your bags stuffed into the back seat and the boot, your apartment far, far behind the both of you. You don’t look at him and Gi-hun tells himself, pretends, that it doesn’t bother him. You don’t understand yet, but you will. He’ll take you to the motel and tuck you into a room where you’re safe from the recruiters, from the game runners, from the world, and he will make you understand why this is so important, why you have to trust him.

Your head tips back when he pulls to a stop in front of the motel. Your confusion is as blatant as your uncertainty, both growing steadier and stronger with every passing moment. “What is this place?”

He shoulders one of your bags, a reusable canvas tote overflowing with clothes. One leg of your favorite trousers, the dark ones you always wear when it’s cold, is hanging over the side between the loops of the handle. It slaps harmlessly against his ribs when he walks.

“Pink Motel,” he offers. The gesture feels as useless as he does.

You furrow your brows at him and finally, he sees a glimmer of something other than fear in your eyes. He’s not terribly fond of you being angry with him, but he supposes it’s better than the alternative. Like your tear-stained face or your bloodied, lifeless body.

“Yeah, I see that.”

The padlock on the front doors clicks open. He decidedly doesn’t notice how your movements suddenly still when the security chains shudder and clank against the metal, heavy in his hands and even heavier in his heart.

“I just mean… why are we here?” The midday sun casts a shadow on your face. He tries not to notice that too. “How is this safer than my place?”

If he didn’t feel so guilty about being the reason you’re in danger in the first place, Gi-hun might have found it in himself to smile. He doesn’t, of course, but he thinks about it. Because there is some twisted piece of him that festers deep within the rotting cavern of his ribcage and it delights in knowing, in protecting, in providing, even in circumstances such as these.

He offers you his hand to help you up the single step. “I live here.”

“You don’t have an apartment?” You’re trying so hard not to sound surprised and to instead be polite about asking.

He guides you through the empty lobby, across dusty floors and rubbish leftover from an unfinished renovation, to the elevator, his hand hovering over your back. Not quite touching except in the spaces between moments when he thinks he can get away with it.

“The motel is mine,” he says, waiting until the elevator doors close to do so. He stares at the floor numbers, watching them tick by like seconds counting up, like money pouring into a display case, and he reminds himself to breathe. “I’ve been searching for the recruiters from here, keeping track of things.” Keeping track of you, too. Another fraying thread in the tapestry he has tried to weave out of bloodstained won and bullet casings.

“How long?” It seems a strange thing to ask until he realizes what you’re really wondering – how long has he been living out of an empty building where the lights rarely come on and no one is allowed entry except by the virtue of their discretion?

Since I met you. “A few years.”

Your knuckles tighten around the straps of your backpack. “Why?”

The elevator dings. The doors open to reveal a long hallway, painted in shades of pink and maroon and almost-black, dimly lit, and he suddenly realizes how just miserable he’s made his life. He hadn’t thought much of it before. But that changes the instant the light hits your face.

You don’t belong in a place like this. For as long as he has known you, Gi-hun has seen only hope and vitality in your eyes. You are the very thing he’s fighting for, the part of the world that he wants so desperately to protect from the predators running the Games. Bringing you here dampens that light. The illumination is cold and the walls are barren – a far cry from the warmth and welcome of your cozy apartment.

There’s no hope for a rundown old motel with no lights on inside, he thinks, with no guests to keep it warm, no hospitality to speak of beyond a few worn mattresses, a single functioning bathroom, and an entire armory tucked into the cracking walls. Yet this is all he can give. This is the only thing he can offer you.

It has to be enough. It will be.

“Sit,” he says, though he doesn’t even give you the time to respond. He grips you by the shoulders and directs you to the edge of his bed, pushing you down until your legs give way and the mattress accepts you with an undignified squeak.

“Gi-hun–”

He stops you with a raised hand, palm out and definitely not shaking. Not at all. “Do you remember what I told you about the recruiters?”

There’s a lump in your throat that bobs when you swallow and it makes Gi-hun feel uncomfortably warm, so he distracts himself, allowing you both the distance to think. The wooden chair by the coffee table is pulled out so he can sit across from you. His fingers curl around the slope of his knees while he waits.

The red glow behind the frosted glass of his only window casts a strange sort of halo around you from behind. “You said they were dangerous. That you were tracking them or something, right?”

He nods. “Yes. Them, and the people that they work for.”

“What kind of people do they work for?” The light from the bathroom, a faint yellow-orange, glints in the depths of your pupils. Like starlight, perhaps, or fire. Or the glow of a plexiglass pig, half-full with stacks of won and shining obnoxiously in the back of his mind whenever he sleeps.

Squeezing his eyes shut is the only thing he can do to keep from screaming.

“The recruiter I met was different. A man.” Tall and broad shouldered. He had smiled once or twice, in a way that wasn’t entirely threatening, but then he’d seen him after the airport. Then the smile had changed. “They approach people in need of money. Gamblers, fraudsters, unemployables – the vulnerable. They let you play a bit of ddakji, let the money sit in your pocket, and then they give you a card and tell you to call the number you see. That you can play even more games for even more money.”

If only he’d known then what he knows now.

“All that card will bring you, [___], is death.” He can feel it still – the blood on his hands, the marbles in his palm, the glass beneath his bare feet. And he can see them all, even with his eyes wide open. “They take you somewhere no one can find you and they make you kill other people for money. Every death is worth something. Every life is a dollar amount.”

Sang-woo’s face swims before him, filling the space that your body takes up in his vision. The knife in his throat, the rain in his face, the pain – the pain. That could have been you. If he’d never stepped in to save you from your own debts and student loans, would the recruiters have found you? Would you have found yourself trapped inside those arenas as he once was? Would you have died alone and afraid?

“I watched 455 people die before my eyes. My friend… My friend killed himself. He almost killed me.” He killed Sae-byok. Ali. The glassmaker. And perhaps, if you had been there, Sang-woo would have killed you too. He’s grateful that he’ll never have the chance to prove himself right or wrong. “I won’t let the same thing happen to you.”

Silence hangs between you for a long few minutes, thick enough to suffocate. In your eyes, Gi-hun sees the same horror he had once felt reflected back at him. You’re doubtful, of course, wary. He understands it. That had been him too, three and a half years ago.

He takes your hand in his, the one that’s been clutching at your bag like it’s the only lifeline you have left, and he smooths his thumb over the bones that shift beneath your skin. “I am trying to stop the Games. That’s why I live here, why I track the recruiters, why I told you that it was safer not to know me at all. I was afraid they would hurt you.” They haven’t yet, but tracking you to your apartment and shoving a recruitment card into your door jamb is a step too far. “But I can protect you here, [___]. Do you understand?”

You don’t respond and Gi-hun doesn’t like that. You can be quiet sometimes, yes, but rarely ever with him. He doesn’t want you quiet. He wants you alive, he wants you curious and clever like you always are.

He squeezes your hand and ducks his head down to catch your drifting eyes. “[___].”

Trust me.

Your head shakes after a moment, your expression distant in all the wrong ways. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you understand.” Say you trust me. Because he’s doing this for you. Don’t you trust me?

Long eyelashes flutter in Gi-hun’s shadow as he leans in, his silhouette falling across your face. “I’m trying to.”

He tries so hard to make his space comfortable for you, the effort is clearly carved into every line on his face. He gives you his room. He lays out the cleanest sheets and blanket that he has – you’re at least 75% sure they’ve been washed within the last month – and carries the rest of your things in from the car. He switches his pillow out for yours, though the difference in theme and color between your bedding and his is enough to make both of you laugh, and that is blessing enough. He crawls behind the bedframe to plug your charger into the wall. He encourages you to arrange the bathroom to your liking and swears that no matter how desperate he is, he won’t wake you in the middle of the night if he has to take a leak.

He tries and you love him dearly for it, but it’s impossible to turn this place into a home when it feels like the entire world is falling out from under your feet. You lay in a strange bed that night, your mind ablaze with images of ddakji games and bodies scattered in a formless void. You picture a faceless man, his unnamed friend, bleeding out and Gi-hun crying, screaming for help. You picture greed and rage mixing until they become indistinguishable from one another, and then you think of the man you’ve come to know these past few years, and you find the broken pieces of his kind heart and anxious mind suddenly come into focus.

455 people. How could such mindless death go unnoticed by the police? 455 people all worth a handful of cash. You’re not even sure how much money could go into such a thing, but if the cash flow Gi-hun has been supplying you with is anything to go by, it’s a lot. Hundreds of millions of won worth, maybe even more. And anyone with the power and money to design modern day gladiator games of that scale would surely be able to bribe whichever police department or federal jurisdiction they pleased.

And Gi-hun wants to stop it all.

It’s hard to imagine Gi-hun stopping much of anything apart from a crying college student in a back alley on Christmas night. But then, you’ve never seen him hold a gun before today. The gun changes things. So does the calling card.

You turn over onto your side, placing the expanse of the room behind you so you can stare at the red glow emanating from the other side of the window. You try very hard not to think about the blood of 455 lives. Instead, you focus on the things you can feel, the things you can sense, the things you know to be true beyond a shadow of a doubt.

You are alive. You are as safe as you can be, for the time being. You are in a strange place and a strange bed. It smells faintly of Gi-hun. You don’t usually like the smell of sweat and stale cologne, but in the midst of such uncertainty, you find that the familiarity of his scent is soothing. Pleasant, even. If you close your eyes, you can almost pretend he’s in bed with you. Not that you would ever want to, of course, because that would be weird, but is it so wrong to crave the comfort of an arm around your shoulders or the warmth of another soul after the day you’ve had?

You’re in the middle of trying to decide whether or not you should be chastising yourself when your phone buzzes. Glancing over your shoulder, you just catch the tail end of a name in your notifications before the screen goes dark again, and your heart leaps into your throat.

Rolling over onto your opposite side, you unlock the screen and read through the text. ‘Missed you for coffee earlier. Everything alright?’

Shit. You were so distracted by the business card and Gi-hun coming to whisk you away that you hadn’t even thought to warn Young-il that you weren’t coming. ‘Sorry, had a bit of an emergency at home. I hope I didn’t make you wait too long??’

‘Not at all.’

Your phone vibrates again a moment later, and you curse yourself for the way your face flushes and your pulse quickens. He’s just being polite, that’s the only reason he’s asking. That’s all this has ever been – polite – and truthfully, you’re not even sure you want it to be more than that, but sometimes his attentiveness makes you feel a bit gooey inside. He has this uncanny ability of always sensing when you’re upset and knowing exactly how to make you feel better… It’s endearing, to say the least, and a welcome distraction.

‘I’m okay, promise.’ You pause for a moment to find a believable excuse, Gi-hun’s earlier warning not to tell any of your friends about your temporary relocation ringing in your ears. ���Family drama, you know how it is. I’m really sorry I ditched you though :(’

‘Will I see you tomorrow?’

The words turn over and over in your mind until the screen finally goes dark. He wants to see you – to make up for the lost time? To check on you? Yes, you want to say. I don’t want to be trapped in here like a rabbit in a cage. But then you think of the card wedged into your doorframe and the gun in Gi-hun’s hand, and you think of the 455 lives lost so that he might live, and you think that maybe the outside world can wait one more day.

‘Probably not, unfortunately. Next week might be better.’ Next week, you might have the courage to go outside without fearing for your life, among other things.

Young-il’s response warms your heart more than it probably should. ‘Keep me updated. If there’s anything I can do to help, please tell me.’

Well unless he can magic away the impending threat of a series of death games, there’s not much he can do to help you. The thought is still appreciated.

You sleep fitfully, waking every couple of hours in a dead sweat, heart racing, and terror in your bones. There’s so much you don’t understand. Too many unknowns crowd your mind and leave you restless, shaky, and paranoid. Did Gi-hun kill people? He must have in order to make it out of those games alive. Does he feel guilty for it? Is that why he chose you, to atone somehow? Old anxieties from the first year of your friendship are starting to creep back in, tinted in shades of violence. You trust Gi-hun, really you do, but the gun, the padlocked motel, the wall of security cameras blinking at you from across the room – none of it inspires any confidence.

Normal people don’t do this kind of thing. Normal people don’t burst into your apartment with a pistol in hand and wild, blazing eyes. Normal people don’t stalk strangers in business attire. Normal people make you feel safe, they take you out for coffee and smile when you crack a joke.

But perhaps you lost the right to normality the day you decided to accept several thousand won and a phone number from a stranger.

It’s been years since he last shared his bed with anyone. There was the occasional winter night where it was too cold to sleep alone and he’d crawled under the blanket beside his mother, huddled together in their shared apartment like children. Before that, he’d shared a bed with his wife. Sometimes Ga-yeong would climb in to sleep between them and he’d soothe his hand over her face, chasing her nightmares away with promises of her favorite dumplings and a bad scolding for the monsters in her closet.

After the Games, it was a concept that made little sense in the context of his new normal. He knew he would never share his bed, let alone his life, with another soul for however long he managed to stumble through this mortal coil. So sharing a bed with you is… difficult. Strange. Not that he is truly sharing the bed with you – it’s yours now, for as long as you’re here, but the memory of that bed is all him. His sweat and tears have stained its fabric for years now. The ashes from a few of his cigarettes have burned spots into the edges. His dreams have overpowered him in that bed. His anger, his fears, his carefully constructed plans all formulated on that bed. And now you’re sleeping on it, unconsciously sharing every piece of him that has soaked into the mattress.

Some invisible hand squeezes around his heart. The sudden need to shift the waistband of his trousers confuses him, but he’s careful to turn his back when he does. The last thing he needs is for you to wake up and catch him doing something inappropriate while you sleep. Not that he’s actually doing something wrong, because he’s not. It’s muscle memory, he tells himself. A remnant of a life he can no longer live come back to haunt him at the most inopportune of moments and nothing more.

He takes the opportunity to study the security cameras, as had been his original intent, and is pleased to see that everything looks normal. No pink soldiers laden with guns, no game runner and no sleek limo parked out front. No recruiters breaking the door down to get at you.

Gi-hun sighs. He’s content to have you under his eye because it means he can keep you safe, but it comes with a price he’s hesitant to pay. The recruiters are still out there. Jeong-rae is a capable man, of that he has no doubt, but paranoia prickles at the base of his skull when he isn’t out on the front lines himself.

But he can’t just leave you here. Locking the front doors wouldn’t be enough to convince him that you would be safe in his absence and he isn’t about to padlock you in like a prisoner. He can’t give you a gun, either, not yet. He’s not even sure you know how to use one and you may not want to learn.

Then he remembers you sitting in the car yesterday, your backpack clutched against your chest, your face pinched with confusion. He swallows the pressure rising in his throat. He could always take you with him. He isn’t terribly fond of welcoming you into his world because it’s not meant for someone like you, that’s the entire reason why he’s kept you at arm’s length for so long, but the longer he ponders, the more he realizes that a compromise needs to be reached. The recruiters are his priority, but so are you. Can he truly manage both?

“I want to show you what I do,” he says when he extends the offer some hours later, already far beyond his usual starting time. He hadn’t had the heart to wake you any sooner. The offer is also the most blatant lie he’s ever told you. It’s the very last thing he wants to do, but he knows that making you choose between glorified house arrest and a chaperoned car ride isn’t going to endear him to you. “So you can understand.”

Your responding frown is remarkably unencouraging. “Is it dangerous?”

“No,” he lies. The handgun tucked into the back of his waistband burns against his spine.

This time your face shifts and it makes something in Gi-hun’s stomach twist. “Do I have a choice?”

“You are not a prisoner here,” he says, and that, at least, is true. He would never force you into anything you didn’t want. If it came down to your safety, though, he thinks he might be inclined to be more persuasive than he usually is. He doesn’t want to think about that, but the potential of your betrayal lingers in his head and his heart. “I’m sorry if I made you think that you were.”

How he wishes he could turn back the clock and do things over. He wouldn’t have rushed you with a gun in his hands. He wouldn’t have frightened you. He would have made sure none of this ever happened. Until he learns to bend the shape of reality to his will, however, he will settle for this – your hand within his, warm and pliant and safe.

It takes you a few minutes to come out of your shell, but Gi-hun is grateful for the effort. He’s unaccustomed to your shyness. He much prefers you when you’re like this – asking questions, eyes alight with curiosity, daring to smile in the moments when you think he can’t see.

“Four cell phones is a lot, you know. I really think you just need one.”

Gi-hun feels the corner of his mouth twitch. “I’m trying to be thorough.” He flicks the ash off his cigarette and watches it catch on the wind for a moment before taking a long drag.

“Thorough is… certainly a word.”

You think he’s obsessed. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out and maybe you aren’t wrong. Maybe this stopped being a mission a long time ago and it’s turned into something more severe.

He flicks his cigarette again.

An obsession. A gamble, even. Perhaps so, but it’s a gamble he’s willing to take if it means he can sleep at night, if it means that you and every other vulnerable person walking the streets of Korea are safe.

“So… you do this every day?” There’s a notable vulnerability to your voice, like you’re hesitant to ask and even more hesitant to know the answer.

“Most days,” he nods.

“And you haven’t found them yet?”

Ironic, isn’t it? The recruiters always seem able to find him at their leisure, but Gi-hun can pour millions and millions of won into his search and still turn up empty handed after two and a half fucking years.

He scans the five screens displayed across his dash, checks and double checks each chat box, surveys the map of the subway system that he’s sure, by now, is burned into his retinas. Nothing. Time is running out and still, there’s nothing. If you hadn’t awakened to find a business card stuffed into your door, he might almost think that the Games have ended. Too little funding, maybe, or too few players, but he knows that’s a fool’s hope. The Games are alive and he has to put a stop to it.

“What will you do when you find them? The recruiters, I mean.” Your foot taps lightly on the belly of the car.

Honestly? He isn’t entirely certain. Sometimes he fantasizes about drawing blood – one life in exchange for the 455 lost. Sometimes he thinks he’ll use them as a hostage. He could get the game runner’s attention and demand something. Sometimes he thinks about meeting his recruiter on the squid game field, defeating the man who had doomed Gi-hun to either a brief existence or a tortured one, and finally exacting his revenge.

Right now, though, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t even know if there’s a point in hoping or fighting anymore.

“I want to find the ones responsible for the Games,” he says finally. Smoke burns in his lungs and the sun warms his skin until he’s sweating, and he’s glad for it because it means this indecisive, in-between existence isn’t some kind of waking nightmare. “I’m going to put a stop to this, one way or the other. And their recruiters are the only way I know how.”

You can’t seem to find anything to say to that, and Gi-hun doesn’t know what more he can add that hasn’t already been uttered. Silence settles between you, uneasy perhaps, but not entirely unwelcome. It allows Gi-hun the chance to think, to plan and plot and strategize. With you by his side, no matter how temporary, he finds that the drive to continue fighting comes a bit easier. The memories don’t weigh on him so heavily.

He will find them. It’s no longer a question of if or when. If it takes the rest of his life, he will fight to uncover the corruption and the greed and the sick, twisted desires of men far less tortured than he is. And until that day comes, Gi-hun is going to protect you. He’ll even teach you how to protect yourself so that when he dies with a bullet in his brain, you can keep fighting for all the things he sees in you, all the light you bring to his windowless world.

“Like this,” he instructs, twisting his arms so you can see the shape of his hands and the gun nestled between them. “Keep your finger on the outside of the trigger. If you keep it inside, you might fire before you’re ready and hurt yourself.” He’d learned that lesson the hard way when he almost shot his own foot off about a year ago.

Your mouth is twisted in concentration, your eyes laser focused on his hands as you attempt to copy his position. Your trigger finger carefully shifts and then the butt of the gun is readjusted so it fits more snugly in your palm.

Gi-hun nods approvingly. “Good. How does it feel?”

“Heavy.”

His chest tightens. “Too heavy?”

“No. It’s just different, is all.” The light glances off the cool, matte black exterior as you tilt your hands one way, then the other. “I thought it’d be lighter.”

You’re probably fine – in fact, he knows that you are, but he can’t help the spike of anxiety, the burning need to make things perfect for you, easy for you. “There are smaller ones,” he says as he drops his weapon, already turning his attention to the makeshift arsenal and the array of pistols, revolvers, and derringers on the wall.

You shake your head as he passes. “I’m okay.”

A derringer might be better suited for you. It’s much lighter than the pistol already in your hand, so the recoil won’t be as intense.

“Gi-hun. Gi–”

He steps back into the bathroom, toggling the light switch as he surveys the variants. Which one would fit in your hands just right? The derringers are small, yes, but he worries they won’t be powerful enough to stop an advancing attack. A revolver instead, then. He’s just about to pick one when he hears your gun go off.

His blood runs cold, then violently hot. He damn near trips over himself, nearly throwing himself through the wall, in his rush to find you, too preoccupied with the thought of you hurting yourself because you were too impatient and too stubborn to wait for him, too preoccupied to think of anything more than the gush of your blood and the panic in your eyes.

He sees the smoke trailing from the mouth of your gun, then the slight wobble of your hands. He calls your name, and then you fire three more rounds, each one carefully aimed and measured between by the steady rise and fall of your chest.

Four shots in total. Two of them made it onto the target and close enough to the center of each shape that Gi-hun might have been mildly impressed were he not already struggling to breathe. You, on the other hand, are elated. It’s clear in the way your shoulders unwind and your chin tilts up, how your eyes flicker excitedly in his direction.

“Can I try again?” you ask, and he’s bowed over by the weight of your breathless enthusiasm.

In the years he’s known you, not once could Gi-hun have ever guessed you might actually enjoy this. But you do. With every round fired, your aim grows sharper and your confidence stronger. Pride settles within your chest and flares out across your shoulders. He has to correct you a couple times – “feet like this,” he’ll urge you with a quick demonstration; “shoulders back,” he murmurs, tapping you lightly on the upper curve of your arm – but you take to each direction with a nod or a hum and you transfer it into a hundred rounds buried in the splinters of the far wall. He's never been prouder in his life.

It becomes a new habit, even after you’ve convinced him to return you to your apartment and your scent has faded from his bed. You go about your life, doing whatever it is young people like you do in the summers between courses, and he goes about his, tracking a man who doesn’t want to be found, but the weekends are yours and his. He picks you up in the morning (or early afternoon, more often than not), buys you a cheap cup of ramyeon from the corner store, and drives you to the motel so you can practice your aim.

He doesn’t have to keep correcting you by this point, but he still does sometimes. He likes being close to you, likes watching the way your hair shines in the light and your jaw sets in determination, how your body stills when he touches you. He likes it so much that he thinks about it when he can’t sleep (which is most nights), or when he’s out on his watch and can’t focus (which is most days now), or when he studies the photos Jeong-rae sends him each week to confirm that you are, in fact, alive and safe within the walls of your apartment.

For so long he had feared tainting you, carving your kindness from your bones if he so much as looked at you and you caught a glimpse of all the death that hides behind his eyes. What would happen to the too-trusting and unassuming college student he met on the street, crying to an alley cat about your troubles, if he let you see the misery that’s been eating him alive? The violence?

But you aren’t tainted. It’s strange to say it, but Gi-hun thinks he might actually prefer the person you’ve become. Fear doesn’t come to you as readily. You still won’t accept any weapons from him, and he still hesitates to offer them, but you’ve become familiar enough with their presence to no longer worry over what-if’s and might-be’s.

So no, he hasn’t tainted you. Perhaps he has somehow managed to make you stronger. And perhaps he can learn to be okay with that.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

Could I request for Clark? That the reader is expressionless. Also that the reader is calm, nurturing. But they only show their expressions when they are embarrassed, could it be spicy too?👀👀👀…

Why yes, I can😁 im so sorry this took so long, my mid year exams are actually kicking my ass😔

Heart on Your Sleeve

You're not really sure when it started- Maybe it was Thanksgiving with Martha, Jon, and Clark. His parents are both such lovely people, never thinking twice before helping out or offering a meal. And you are, too- Martha was absolutely overjoyed when Clark brought you over for your first family holiday. Clark was pretty sure his mother was going to cry out of pure joy when you offered to help cook and wash dishes.

"How's that grease comin' off for you, darling?" Martha's voice has always been sweet, like a bird chirping upon a window sill. If you didn't know the woman, you'd almost think that the honey-ish tone of her voice was mocking. But you did know your boyfriend's mother, and you absolutely adored her.

"It's alright, Ma." Your hands were busying themselves with the pans piled in the sink of hot, soapy water. The response was natural, coming without any thought or malice behind it.

Martha was silent for a short while, her eyes taking a moment to study the completely uninterested look on your face. Not that you knew you were making it, of course- it's just how you look when you're not going out of your way to think about your face while responding to someone. But coming from Smallville, where everybody always shared a smile even in the worst of times, it hurt a little.

When Martha slipped out of the kitchen, you just presumed it was to speak to Clark. About what, you honestly couldn't say. But as far as you were concerned, you just made some small talk with the mother of the man you plan to marry.

Later, after the dinner had been served and everyone was enjoying dessert in the living room, you noticed Clark had been unusually quiet beside you. He had his arm around your shoulders, but there was something subtle in his gaze that you couldn’t quite place. He seemed distracted, like he was looking at you but also through you.

“Clark?” You glanced over at him, noticing how his jaw was slightly clenched.

He blinked a few times before turning his head toward you. “Yeah, sorry, just… thinking.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot today.” You nudged him with your shoulder, trying to lighten the mood. You weren’t sure what had gotten into him, but you were sure it wasn’t anything serious. Clark was usually the first person to brush things off, so this sudden shift felt odd. “What’s going on in that handsome head of yours?”

Clark hesitated, then his eyes flicked to his parents in the next room. They were laughing and talking, clearly in their element. He sighed, his hand tightening slightly around your shoulder as if unsure how to begin.

“Earlier, with my mom,” Clark started, his voice barely above a whisper. “She… uh, she told me that you didn’t seem too happy to be here.”

You blinked, confused. “What?”

Clark bit his lip, clearly uncomfortable. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it, but she thought you looked like you were upset. Like, I don’t know... that you didn’t want to be here?”

You felt a pang of guilt twist in your stomach. The last thing you ever wanted to do was make Martha think you were ungrateful for her hospitality. “Clark,” you started, but he held up a hand, stopping you.

“It’s not that I think you did anything wrong,” he said quickly, looking at you earnestly. “But, you know, my mom… she’s just so used to everyone smiling all the time around here. She probably took it the wrong way.” He smiled softly at you. “You know how she gets.”

You winced, hating the idea that your default expression might have hurt anyone, least of all Martha. You never meant to come off as cold or unappreciative, and it stung to think that she could have seen it that way.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. “I didn’t mean to make her feel like that. I really like her, and I love being here with all of you.”

Clark chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I know, I know you do. It’s just… well, you’re not the most expressive person, are you?”

You looked up at him, feeling your cheeks flush slightly. “I’m not trying to be. I’m just—this is just my face.”

Clark grinned. “I know. You don’t have to smile 24/7 to show you’re happy. It’s just, well… it doesn’t always come across like that.”

You sighed, feeling a little embarrassed. “I wish I could control it more. I don’t mean to come off as grumpy or upset.”

“I know,” he said gently, his tone soothing. “But maybe you could try to be a little more… expressive? For my mom, I mean. She just doesn’t always get it.”

You chuckled softly, imagining Martha’s over-analytical gaze as she scrutinized you. “Okay, I’ll try to work on it. Maybe I can throw in a smile or two for her next time.”

Clark laughed, his fingers brushing your arm lightly. “You don’t have to force it, but… yeah, a smile wouldn’t hurt every now and then. Besides, you’ve got the most beautiful smile, you know that?”

You couldn’t help but smile then, albeit a little sheepishly. “You really think so?”

He leaned in, brushing his lips against your temple. “I know so.” He pauses for a moment to give your temple a proper kiss, his large fingers moving to gently massage at your shoulder. "I know just how beautiful... all... Of you is," He whispers the last part into your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"Clark, cut it out," you chastise, giving his arm a playful smack as your cheeks burn red. Even as you voice the order, you both know you don't mean it. But you couldn't have your boyfriend being so playful with you right now- not with his parents sitting on their respective recliners merely a few feet away.

"Smiley, over here," Clark starts in a louder tone looking at his parents as one of his hands rubs at your back slightly, "isn't feeling too well. I think we're going to head up to bed for the night and see if she's feeling better in the morning." What. Utter. Bullshit.

It's not like Martha and Jon didn't notice, either- they were young and in love once, too. Either way, they'd be damned if they called you and their lovely son out for whatever may happen in his childhood bedroom. "I hope you start feeling better, darlin'," Despite knowing the lie Clark had just told her and her husband, Martha still mustered up the same empathetic look she's always given. In a way, it reminds Clark of the few times he got sick as a child.

It isn't long before Clark is practically carrying you up the stairs, giving his mother a small nod of acknowledgement as you both pass. It's funny, in a way, just how easily he could sweep you off your feet- literally. Before you knew it, the familiar 'click' of the lock on his door can be heard before he places you gently on the bed.

"Just how much of a reaction can I get out of you tonight, hm?" His deep, smooth voice vibrates against your lips slightly as he leans down for a kiss. The pressing of your lips is soft and intimate with his body hovering over yours. You could tell he wasn't laying his full weight on you. In fact, he'd probably suffocate you if he did. You'd be lying if you said you didn't want him to suffocate you.

You pretend to give a short, thoughtful look as you pull away from the kiss slightly, your hands coming up to rest on his broad shoulders. "Depends..." You whisper playfully against his lips, your breath brushing against him slightly in the close proximity, "how hard are you willing to try, Superman?"

In the darkness of his room, you almost could have sworn his eyes glowed red at the tease. There wasn't much time to ponder on it, however, as his lips come back down to connect themselves with your own again. Like last time, the kiss is slow and intimate, just like most of your shared kisses are. The soft presses of your lips goes on for what seems like forever, the two of you simply basking in the moment.

As always, your hands had started to wander. Trailing down from his shoulders and resting on his lower back. Clark nearly lets out a moan as your nails gently scratch at his lower back, lifting his shirt just enough for you to feel his bare, heated skin. "Take it off, baby..." Your begging is almost like music to his ears as you pull away slightly, cheeks flushed and breathing labored.

He can't help but let out a soft huff of a laugh at the request, however, muttering something along the lines of "Somebody's getting impatient." Clark doesn't hesitate to comply, though, as he grabs the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head. Just like always, his torso is perfectly chisled from his collarbones all the way down to his V-line.

God, his V-line. You were practically salivating like a rabid dog as the article is thrown off the side of the bed and forgotten about. "And here I thought you were a goody two shoes, Smallville," your voice came as a tease in the dark room, both of your bodies just barely illuminated by the moonlight streaming from the windows as your hands reacher out to trail over his sculpted chest.

At that, Clark merely lets out a snicker. "That's a new nickname," he muses, leaning back down to nudge your shirt up your stomach with his nose. Light as a feather, his lips start to trail kisses up from your stomach, leading all the way up to your sternum. As he reaches the wire of your bra beneath your shirt, his hands mobe to gently lift the clothing over your head. "Not that I'm complaining, beautiful." He adds jokingly, his large, warm hands snaking their way under your back to unclasp your bra.

As your breasts are freed from their confinement, they move slightly in the pale moonlight. Now, it was Clark's turn to salivate at the sight of you shirtless. Every time he manages to get you out of your bra, it's almost as if he can't keep his mouth to himself. Immediately, his lips are latched around your nipple as his tongue flicks across the hardening bud. At the same time, his free hand works at gently massaging your other breast.

"Clark..." You mewl softly, the sound barely more than a hushed whisper of wind in the night. Your fingers are threaded through his hair, tugging softly at the black, curly locks.

At that, he lets out a quiet groan. Hair pulling has always been his biggest weakness in bed. As he pulls away from your now swollen and flushed nipple, he can't stop his hands from wandering beneath the waistband of your pants. As if on second nature, the tip of his middle fingers gently rubs at your needy clit. The motion is slow and languid, his touch bately there to satisfy your needs.

"Honey..." You let out a soft plead, the sound barely loud enough for even him to hear. But before you can beg for more pressure or a faster pace, a long, thick finger makes it's way into your weeping hole. "Oh, fuck-" the whine comes out without a warning, the bliss of his middle finger gently stretching your gummy walls coming with just a hint of pain.

"Shhh..." Clark soothes softly, his other hand leaving your breast and moving to gently cover your mouth. "As much as I love that sound, darlin', I bet Ma and Pa would rather not hear it." The tease comes without any sort of malice, but it's enough to have you clenching around him. Even with the slight pain that always comes with having sex with him, Clark always takes his time prepping you like the pillow princess you are.

As his finger speeds up slightly and a second one is added, you can no longer keep back a quiet string of moans and pleas. "So good..." The whine is like music to his ears, spurring him on to push gently on that spongey spot inside of you and making you arch your back off of the bed. "Oh fuck... Honey, please. Please, Clark." The dragging of his fingers along your tight walls was almost rhythmatic as they moved in and out.

Clark would be lying if he said he didn't smile every time he brought you close to an orgasm. It was still just so amazing that he was the one you trusted to be like this with. Not any other man or woman, not some over-used sex toy you used to have sitting in your nightstand. You used him, and only him. "I have you, beautiful..." he reassures gently, his fingers staying at just the right pace to have you seeing stars. Everything about sex with Clark was always so reassuring and calm, like the way the thumb belonging to his hand covering your mouth gently caresses at your cheek.

In all honesty, you think that might have been what did you in. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, making your toes curl and push clenching around his thick digits. It was almost funny, the way he had your thighs shaking and quivering without even taking you out of your pants. "Fuck... fuck fuck fuck fuck..." your whines are obscene, even when covered by his large, calloused palm. Even now, when you're wailing because of his fingers, he's still so gentle and mindful with covering up the sounds.

"There we go, sweetness," he coos softly, pressing a barely-there kiss to the side of your abdomen as his fingers slow their pace, "Shh... Inside voice, darlin'. We don't want to get caught before we even have any real fun, do we?" He was being a tease, and he knew it. You almost let out a whimper as his fingers slowly exited your puffy folds, missing the feeling of him filling you up like nobody else can.

The sound was quickly caught in your throat, however, as he removes his hands from your quivering body to instead begin removing his belt. Getting his pants off was always exciting, especially when his fully-hard length was already making an outline through his jeans. God, his jeans... They outline his thighs and ass in just the perfect way to show off his muscles.

At the same time, you took this as an opportunity to remove your own bottoms. Hooking your thumbs into the waitband of your pants and lifting your hips slightly, you sensually push the fabric down while making eye contact with Clark. When you did finally glance down again, however, you certainly noticed the wet patch in the center of your panties from your previous orgasm.

Before you could unhook your ankles, however, Clark beats you to it. Your boyfriend has always been charming like that, never letting you lift a single finger for even the simplest of tasks. As he leans down to press a kiss to your shin, you notice that he reaches over to his nightstand to slip your soaking wet panties into the top drawer. "Gotta keep myself distracted in the Watchtower for that next mission somehow," he jokes softly, finally removing his own underwear.

As always, your mouth waters at the sheer girth of his cock. Something about him is just so pretty and handsome in a way impossible to describe. "Get back down here, Smallville," you almost seem like a petulant child as you reach up for him, making little grabby hands before they finally take their spots on his broad shoulders.

Clark complies without a second thought, holding himself up on his forearms to hover above you. With one hand, he reaches down to gently rub his hardened cock along your clit. Still a little sensitive while coming down from your high, you can't help but let out a soft shiver.

And he has the audacity to chuckle.

"Fourth reaction of the night, in case you were wondering," he mutters mere centimeters away from your lips, your breaths mingling in the close proximity. But before you could give a sassy quip back, his plush lips are pressed passionately against yout own. Ever the caring boyfriend, Clark has always resorted to kisses like this to distract you from the burning stretch of his cock into your tight little hole.

Even with his mouth against yours in an attempt to take focus off of any uncomfortable feeling, you still find yourself gasping into the kiss as his tip slowly nudges into you. The moan you make as he slowly slides himself into you inch by inch is boarderline phonographic, and there's no doubt Jon and Martha were able to hear it downstairs in the living room. But even so, Clark doesn't stop until he's finally bottomed out in you.

He immediately feels guilty, however, as he sees those tears forming in the corner of your eyes while pulling away from the kiss. "Shh..." Clark hushes softly, bringing one of his hands to gently wipe away any of that salty, fallen liquid before pressing his lips to your forehead. "You're okay, sweetheart. You can take it... You're doing so well, honey."

Although it takes a couple of minutes for you to fully adjust to his length and girth with mountains of praise and reassurance, you don't regret it for a moment. "'m ready..." You whisper as softly as you can, already feeling your cheeks heat up in utter embarrassment knowing that your future in laws might've heard you moan while getting laid by their son.

With a short nod, Clark rests his forehead against yours and slowly pulls his hips back, changing their angle ever so slightly before sliding back in. In this position, his cock head is able to kiss your cervix with little to no effort. He can't even stop his own breath from becoming labored with just how well your tight pussy accommodates to him. Something about his huge cock being the only one to make you whine like this just seems to get to him as his hips get into a slow, expiramental rhythm.

Even at such a slow, languid pace, Clark is already letting out soft grunts of his own. Each sound is almost lewd, despite their near-silent nature. You almost envy his super-hearung ability, in a way; how is it fair that he gets to hear your noises while you barely catch his? Taking matters into your own hands, you gently scratch at his back with your nails. You couldn't hurt him, even if you tried, but the thought of you leaving marks like that for everybody to see was something he loved to indulge in.

"Gonna leave some marks, beautiful?" his lips brush against the shell of your ear as he speaks, his hips beginning to pick up a bit more speed. At this rate, your eyes are nearly rolling back as it is, nevermind with Clark's teasing added into the mix. "God, the League won't be able to leave me alone once they catch sight of them. Is that what you want, sweetheart? For them to know just how good I make you feel?"

Between soft moans and mewls, you find it in yourself to nod frantically. "So good, Clark..." You find yourself whining as you pull him closer, moving to wrap your legs around his hips. As he shifts slightly to better accommodate your chosen position, the tip of his cock manages to perfectly kiss that gushy, spongy spot inside of you. "Oh, god... Just like that. Don't stop, honey. Please don't stop."

As your thighs quake around him, Clark can't help but pick up the pace just enough to have you arching for him. In all honesty, he swears his own eyes are almost rolling back as your pretty little pussy takes him so well. "That's it, beautiful..." the words are nothing more than a hot pant against your ear, his childhood bed sqeaking slightly as he rocks his hips into yours.

That tension building in your lower stomach was near it's snapping point, ready to release any stress and tension you may have had. "So close..." the whine is barely audible, made for his ears only. And something about only him being able to hear just how worked up he's gotten you really gets him going.

His middle finger is rubbing circles around your clit in an instant, putting just enough pressure to have your hole pulsating around him. "Yeah, darlin'?" he coos, unable to hold back the soft grunts and moans escaping his own mouth, "Go ahead, beautiful... I have you. Cum all over my cock, honey."

That was certainly your breaking point.

You tried to hold it back, you really did, but the loud moan that came with your orgasm came without warning. Your back was so pretty as it arched up for him, almost as if you wanted to feel all of his skin against yours at once. "Oh my god," the clenching of your twitching pussy around him was absolutely divine, and who were you to stop him from getting his fill?

Even as your eyes rolled back and you began to see stars, you could still hear his nearly incoherent babbling. "Might just have to fill this pretty pussy up with my babies..." you think your hear, but Clark's near-orgasm rambling has always been a little choppy. "Gonna have our own farm with kids... N' get married. Fuck, won't have to stay quiet because there won't be nobody around-" as he cuts himself off with a loud groan, hands grasping desperately at your shoulders, you knew it wouldn't be long until he came.

And he certainly filled you. "Shit..." the groan is barely coherent a his ropes of thick, warm cum shoots out of his overstimulated dick. In all honesty, neither of you had thought to use a condom. Not until it was far too late, at least. Oh well, it's like Martha would mind having a grandkid or two running around during the holidays next year.

You're sure her face would light up if you told her about getting pregnant with Clark's kids.

At least, it would if you could ever face her after the things both her and Jon have heard.

Masterlist