#CONSTANT. EVERY DAMN TIME WITHOUT FAIL

[chaepink]

Private lessons | sub!oikawa toru

wc: 2.8k+ words | masterlist

dom!gn!reader, student x teacher relationship, professor!reader, reader is in mid/late twenties and oikawa is early twenties, college au, dry humping, begging, hair pulling, praising, teasing, choking, slight edging, pet names, a few mentions of "miss" for reader however can be ignored since no body parts are mentioned

note: lets see if i can still write good

"Professor? Can you go back and repeat that?"

You sigh and without turning around to see who asked the question, you begin repeating what you've just said out loud again. After all, you know exactly who asked the stupid question: Oikawa Toru.

Sure you're fresh out of college and new to the job but you're perfectly capable of dealing with all of the situations and problems that come with teaching. Your first year teaching sub-disciplines of biology passed by perfectly normally, with you even becoming one of the favorite teachers among the students.

So you weren't concerned when your second year began and you were prepared for most of the things that you assumed would happen.

But what you weren't prepared for was to deal with Oikawa fucking Toru, a senior who you've heard from your fellow teacher friends tends to be a constant pain in the ass.

He's the typical bad student. He's always bullying kids he deems inferior to him, hangs out with the frat boys, throws parties every week if not every day, and gets into fights. All while having girls surrounding him.

Oh, and he interrupts your teaching every second he gets.

That bastard has been the main problem that has suddenly made your job unenjoyable. He's been pulling all sorts of shit like making you repeat things at least 5 times each class, whispering crude remarks about you to his friend—even though he sits in the front of the room and you can hear each one—, and throwing paper balls and airplanes around randomly just to annoy you. Overall, he's a real nuisance during class.

And you know damn well that he doesn't even need or care for the repeating from the way he smirks at you when you're done and from now he has failed most of the quizzes and tests that you've given to the class yet doesn't go to you for any help.

No matter how annoying he is in your class, you can't be bothered to report him to the head of the school, afraid it would tarnish your new reputation as a teacher. After all, you heard rumors about how he's gotten teachers fired, and knowing his parents are somewhat influential, you'd rather not find out firsthand if they're true or not. All you can do is complain about him to your friends as you wait for the school year to end. At least his class is always the last one of the day, right? Yeah right.

Now back to the present.

As you finish repeating most of the things you already went over, you ignore the gaze burning into your head and quickly post the classwork on your laptop. However, right as you open your mouth to continue teaching, the bell rings and you can't help but let your shoulders slump as you look up to the students with a forced smile.

"I just posted the homework for this lesson that's due next class so don't forget to complete it! The semester is coming to an end so final grades will be put in soon."

As they pack up and begin chatting, a few give you sympathetic smiles as they exit, knowing what you have to go through during this class.

You don't bother to pay attention to the last person in the room as they walk up to your desk, stopping right in front of you.

"Professor? I think I need more help understanding."

You pause your typing on your laptop and focus on sorting the papers on your desk instead, trying to look busy but you're just trying not to look Oikawa in the eyes.

"Yes, Oikawa? What exactly do you need help understanding? If it's something that will take a while to chat with me about then I'm afraid that it'll have to wait until tomorrow because I have a lot of work to grade."

You quickly glance up at him and see the grin on his face. It's one that you've gotten accustomed to as it usually means he has something up his sleeve.

"Well mainly about today's lesson. I don't quite get it. Perhaps I even need a private lesson, don't you think?"

Right, you forgot to mention the rather obvious flirting he does towards you. It's almost as if your first year teaching went too well that your second just had to be the exact opposite.

You hold yourself back from rolling your eyes as you answer back calmly without looking at him.

"If what I notice during class is right, you haven't been paying attention much. But I'm sure if you start doing so, you'll begin understanding the lessons better."

You hear him let out a huff at your lack of attention towards him before seeing two hands being placed on either side of your laptop. You frown as your eyes immediately look up at him.

He's closer now, leaning over your desk and the grin wider now.

"Oh come on professor, a private lesson can't hurt. You'll be able to teach me so much." Teach him how to behave perhaps. "And you can do it however you want, I'm not picky." The way he looks at you as he says the last part has you questioning if he meant it in another way. Knowing him, he most likely did.

You sigh before gathering your papers and you see Oikawa's grin falter slightly.

"Oikawa, I don't think a private lesson is necessary. Nor do I think it would benefit you in any way." You're so focused on the papers that you don't hear him walk around the desk to your side until he's right beside your chair.

"Please, professor?" You jump slightly in surprise before turning your chair to face him and you remember just how tall he is. He's right in front of you now and the way he said the word "please" has you tensing. He knows what he's doing and he knows that you know.

You suddenly realize the tension in the room and clear your throat. "This is inappropriate, Oikawa. I'm your professor."

He raises an eyebrow before stepping closer and smirking.

"Inappropriate? Just what are you assuming? I'm not doing anything inappropriate." He leans down slightly and you frown. Damn him and his good looks. No wonder you see him surrounded by girls on the daily.

You narrow your eyes at him. "You know what you're doing," you say sternly and his smirk widens. Oh, you want to slap that smirk off his face so badly.

You can't help but glance back at your laptop for a second before suddenly feeling a hot breath in your ear and a presence beside you.

"Please, professor?" A shiver runs down your spine. Before you can reply, you notice his tie dangling in front of you—one that's always untucked despite the uniform policy—and you can't help but grab it and pull it down sharply. He gasps at the sudden action as he stumbles and falls to his knees in front of you. His eyes immediately widen and a faint blush appears on his face.

You can't help but be in shock as well. If someone were to walk in at this moment, they would see the infamous Oikawa Toru on his knees, a blush on his face that's growing redder by the second, in front of one of the school's most popular teachers.

Oh, the rumors.

Even on his knees, he's still tall but you swear he looks smaller from the way he looks up at you in surprise.

You're still holding onto his tie and you realize, the way you're staring down at him, tie in hand while he's on his knees staring at you with widened—awaiting?— eyes; Oikawa kinda reminds you of… a dog?

Get your mind out of the gutter, [Name], you tell yourself, yet your grip on his tie only tightens and you notice him swallow hard.

You look at his neck and realize you must've accidentally tightened the tie somehow as well, pressing it right up against his Adam's apple.

"M-Miss?" You snap out of your thoughts, both the title and the stutter catching you by surprise. Looking at Oikawa, you see he's blushing harder, fists clenched on his thighs as he continues to look up at you with that look. Shit.

Then you realize he's not moving, not getting up, not pushing you away, or yelling at you. He's not protesting it. Rather, he's deciding to stay kneeling in front of you.

Does he want this?

You swallow hard as your eyes rake over Oikawa's body and you swear you see his body shiver slightly. You were always a sucker for pretty men anyways.

However, when your eyes finally reach his lower half, you realize why he's blushing so much, or why he's avoiding your gaze suddenly. He's hard, so obviously hard.

Oikawa looks so different from his normal persona that you almost want to laugh. The cocky, annoying senior that has always pestered you in class reduced to a blushing, speechless mess in front of you with a raging boner.

"I bet this is what you wanted, right? During a private lesson?" You see him tense up before lowering his head in front of you, muttering something quietly.

"Use your words properly." You notice him staying silent and wonder if you've misread him before he suddenly speaks- no, suddenly moves.

He slowly leans forward to lay his cheek on your thigh and your breath hitches at the sight.

"I'm sorry, miss." Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Despite how one side of your mind so desperately wants to put him in his place after everything he's done, the more rational part of your mind quickly reminds you that you're his professor and he's your student. Although you're only a few years older than him, this could get you fired or worse.

He must sense your hesitation because he then gently grasps your ankle and presses your shoe against his crotch, letting out a small whimper that makes the heat inside your stomach rise.

You curse under your breath before tugging his tie again and he gasps. Feeling him start to slowly rock against your shoe, you take it back and hear him whine pathetically.

"Was this your plan all along? To rile me up so I would snap and teach you a lesson?" You feel his crotch twitch slightly.

Oikawa swallows hard before lifting his head up and nodding. "Words."

"Yes, miss." You can't help the grin that spreads across your face.

"Well," you start and you see him looking up at you awaitedly. "Perhaps I will teach you a lesson, in my own way of course, since you said you weren't picky." He blushes, remembering his previous words. You have a feeling that although he wanted you to snap, he didn't expect it to go this way.

The pressure against his crotch snaps him out of his thoughts and before his mind can process it, his body already has and you see pre cum seeping through the material of his pants. He lets out a moan at the feeling of your shoe again.

"How about, I'll ask you questions about the class material" —you see his Adam's apple bobbing— "and depending on whether you answer correctly or not, I'll either pull back my shoe or help you cum."

His breath hitches at the idea and almost immediately nods. With his brain already foggy along with the realization that you may pleasure him, he fails to remember that he hasn't been paying the best attention in your class or learned the material well.

You already feel him slightly grinding on your shoe again but you keep it there, wanting to keep on looking down at his flushed face panting near your thighs.

"What is a similarity between transcription and DNA replication?"

His eyes immediately widen in surprise and you know you've stumped him already. Although you know the rest of your classes would be able to answer it easily, his mind is already too clouded with pleasure, it's almost funny.

He stutters out some sort of half-ass response that you know is definitely wrong before you feign a disappointed sigh and pull away your shoe. Immediately he whines out in protest but a stern look from you shuts him right up.

So now he follows your orders.

"What does the shape of a protein determine?" Groaning, he lays his head back on your thigh. His grip on your ankle tightens slightly as he pouts up at you, trying to convince you to do something else. With his hair right in front of you, you suddenly grab it before yanking his head back, emitting a rather loud cry of pain from him.

"Come on, Oikawa"—he lets out a whine at the way you say his name so sternly—"I thought you wanted this? So be a good boy and answer the question. Or perhaps I should just leave you here?"

He widens his eyes before shaking his head hesitantly. "N-No, miss." Oh, the thought of you just leaving him here has his cock throbbing. He's so hard, it hurts.

You stay silent and he realizes you're still awaiting an answer from him. You swear you see the cogwheels turning in his brain, the need to cum fueling it.

"The… function?"

It comes out as more of a question than an answer but you take it anyways. The second you grind your shoe back against his already stained crotch, he humps it like a dog in heat, his groans and whimpers filling the classroom.

You ask him another question and of course, he gets it wrong, mumbling some response that had nothing to do with what you asked. However, taking pity on him, you don't pull away your shoe and he takes it as a sign to speed up. Maybe he thought he actually got it right or maybe he realized that you felt bad for him.

Your hand grips his tie again, tugging it as he lets out a small groan, his eyes rolling back in his head slightly at the pressure against his throat. So he likes getting choked?

"You know, when you're making all sorts of loud noises like that, I wouldn't be surprised if someone were to come check up on his room."

You expected him to slow down, maybe even stop at the realization. But rather he speeds up.

"Maybe you would even like that, getting caught." His cock inside his pants twitches a lot, answering your suspicions so you continue. "Imagine what they would think, seeing a big bad senior like you on his knees for a teacher, rutting against their shoe like a fucking bitch in heat."

Your language catches him off guard, the total opposite of how you act when you teach. He can't help the blush that travels down his neck or the shock of pleasure that runs through his spine or the way his dick leaks more pre-cum, trickling through his pants and onto your shoe because holy shit was that hot.

But the whole situation wouldn't happen anyway. You know for a fact that this part of the college was practically empty, even more so after the last class. But Oikawa doesn't know that and the thought of getting caught turns him on more than he would like to admit.

"M-Miss, I'm close," he murmurs into your thigh, taking no action to slow down. You raise an eyebrow. Assuming that he hooks up with girls weekly, you thought it would take him longer to cum, or perhaps this whole situation is too much for him to process clearly that he just couldn't hold it in. It's cute.

Oikawa is quick to babble out pleas to cum, his voice rising in pitch as his absolutely sinful noises become louder. Some drool escapes from the corner of his mouth and his body feels hot, tears prickling the corners of his eyes from the intensity.

His eyes roll back again and you swear his brain short circuits when you press down on his crotch, his grip on your ankle tightening even more to keep you there. Oikawa can’t even think properly anymore, he just wants to cum. "Pleasepleaseplease-"

"Go on Oikawa, since you've been such a good boy during this lesson." The praise is what gets him. He throws his head back, revealing his neck that you want to grab so badly, and lets out a cry of pleasure. Immediately you feel the wetness on your shoe and you look down to see the wet stain on his pants growing even more.

Oikawa slumps back forward onto your thighs as his humping slows down before coming to a stop. Looking up at you, his eyes are glassy and glazed over and the sight makes your heart race.

He sighs before laying his cheek on your thigh and closing his eyes, murmuring something that you almost fail to hear.

"Thank you for the private lesson, miss."

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[pretentious-blonde]

meet the parents

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve didn't expect things to go smoothly when he introduced you to his parents, but nothing could have prepared him for the rage he felt when they turned their comments towards you

warnings: family drama, alcohol, steve feeling inadequate, steve's father sucks here

a/n: idk if i like how this turned out, but I tried my best

You tugged at the hem of your dress, giving your outfit a once over in the mirror for the last time. You had spent ages rummaging through your wardrobe before you found this one, it’s simple but elegant—enough to make a good impression on Steve’s parents. Whom you were meeting for the first time, tonight. 

They had been nagging him since they returned from their trip, one of many, wanting to meet the girl who he had been seeing in their absence. They insisted on inviting you over for dinner, and based on Steve’s reaction, you knew how much this meant to him. You wanted to look your best. 

The knock on your front door pulls you away from your thoughts. You quickly grab your jacket and scurry down the stairs, slipping your feet into a pair of shoes as you go to greet him. 

He is standing on your front porch, hands buried deep in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels. He reverts his attention to the sound of the door opening. His breath catches in his throat as he drinks in the sight of you, his previous nerves are momentarily replaced with awe at your appearance. God, you looked angelic. 

The world seems to still as he unapologetically stares. The gentle curve of a nervous smile on your lips, the dress hugging your figure just right—it takes a great deal of strength on his behalf not to call the whole thing off. To whisk you away for the evening all to himself, leaving his parents to dine alone. He swallows hard as he composes himself, running a hand through his hair as a lopsided grin graces his features. 

“Honey, you…wow.” He begins, any words that entered his mind seemed unable to articulate how beautiful you looked tonight. “You look amazing.”

A blush creeps up your neck at the compliment, it’s endearing how he still gets tongue-tied around you. “Thanks. Thought I should put in a little effort.”

His fingers twitch at his sides as he faces another dilemma. Wanting to reach out and pull you close, push you back inside and be selfish, but he shoves them deeper into his pockets instead. The anxiety he was feeling about the night ahead was overwhelming, he was dreading it—dreading the way his father would most likely find something to dig at, something to put him down. 

But looking at you now, all dolled up for his sake, he hates it even more. 

He hates that you put effort in for this, when it could have gone to something so much more worthwhile. It was the story of his life, trying so hard time and time again to get their approval, only to be shot down over and over again. He didn’t want to subject you to that. 

The drive there is strangely quiet, except for the faint hum of the radio station that fills the car. His grip on the steering wheel is tighter than it usually was, his eyes trained on the road ahead. His thoughts, however, were miles away. Questions filled his mind about what could happen. What they could say to you. If they made you uncomfortable. Each one was worse than the last, the stress made his chest tighten. 

He brushes them off. How could they not love you like he did? When you’re sitting all pretty beside him, looking so damn perfect. In every way that he is not. 

“You seem quiet,” you say, trying to break the silence. “So, are your parents like, super strict or something?”

He chuckles, but it’s nervous. He has told you bits and pieces about what his family is like. Constant business trips that his mother insisted on tagging along to, holidays without him, calling a few times throughout the week. He had failed to mention how much of a dick his dad could be, especially after a couple drinks. 

“Nah, I mean, they’re not…strict.” His fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel. “They’re old-fashioned. Like, ‘everything has to be perfect’ kind of way, you know?”

You nod along slowly, mood still playful, not quite picking up on the nerves flowing through the boy next to you. “Damn, I should have brought something, or even baked, huh?”

He laughs now, but the tension still remains in his shoulders. “Honestly, you might be their favourite person after tonight if you did that. I’m pretty sure they like you more than me.”

Your expression falters slightly at that, smile dropping as you reach over to squeeze his hand. “Steve, come on. There is no way that’s true.”

He doesn’t respond, keeping his eyes forward. 

She has no idea.

“Well, if they don’t like me, I’ll get them with my dazzling personality. You fell for it, right?”

That earns you a genuine smile. Yes, he fell for it. He fell damn hard and welcomed it fully. That is why he loathed the idea of bringing you home. Of subjecting you to this dinner. 

“Yeah, you got me good, angel.” He squeezes your hand back. “Hook, line, and sinker.”

His raw honesty renders you silent for a few moments, turning your face to the view outside to hide the flush in your cheeks. He always knew how to do that. Say something so nonchalant that made your knees weak. 

“Just a heads up,” he glances over to you briefly, hand still resting in his as you pull into the driveway of his home. “Just if they say anything…weird, don’t take it seriously.”

“Steve,” you pull your hand away to cup his face, big, brown eyes staring back at you as you reassure him. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

He wants to believe you. He wants to believe you so badly, but the feeling in his stomach only tightens more. In truth, he has no idea how this evening will go. And that terrifies him. 

Steve rounds the car to open your door, holding onto your waist as you head up the stairs to the entrance. He opened the door quietly, stepping aside to let you in. He pauses to take a look at you one last time, almost melting at how the entryway light falls over your face, illuminating your tender smile. He quickly moves to help you with your coat, sliding it off your figure with gentle movements and hanging it on the rack. 

“Shoes too,” he whispers, almost apologetic, his hand gently guiding your gaze toward the carpeted floor.

He had never asked you that before. You raise a brow, amused but willing to comply. “I didn’t realize there was a dress code,” you tease lightly, holding his shoulder and slipping out of your shoes.

He chuckles nervously. “Yeah, just… don’t want you getting into trouble.”

You scrunch your nose at him and smile, but there is something else brewing behind those eyes of his—worry perhaps? You just chalk it up to innocent nerves. I mean, who wouldn’t be slightly anxious to introduce their partner to their parents?

Leading you down the hall, you are greeted with the smell of roast chicken wafting from the kitchen. It’s surprisingly homey, comforting. Tonight might not be so bad after all. 

You step into the dining room, just opposite the open plan kitchen, first locking eyes with Steve’s mother. She gives you a warm smile, which you return. She looks just like him, same eyes, same smile, same kind expression that he always gives you. Her hands are busy on the stove but still when you enter. 

“Oh, you must be Steve’s girlfriend!” She says, her voice cheerful as she wipes her hands on a rogue teatowel. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you.”

“Thank you so much for having me,” beaming as you step forward, leaving Steve’s side for a second. “Everything smells amazing.”

Steve’s dad makes himself known, giving you a curt nod. He sits at the head of the table, relaxed with a beer in his hand which Steve spots immediately. “Glad you could make it,” he tells you, his voice low, but not unkind—for now at least. 

Steve returns to your side once more, a hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you to a seat at the table. This is good, he thinks, allowing a small flicker of hope to spark in his chest. You’re being your usual polite self, and so far, his parents seem…normal. He feels relaxed as his mother places the perfectly roast chicken at the centre of the table, letting out a small breath as he sits down. 

“Oh my gosh,” you exclaim, your face lighting up at the spread. “I love a roast! It’s been so long since I’ve had one.”

His mother blushes, clearly pleased by your praise. “Well, I’m glad to hear it! There is plenty here so please, help yourself.” 

You nod as you pick up the plate of potatoes, Steve picking up the greens, locking eyes as you swap them over. You are pleasantly surprised to see his expression, no longer sour with anxiety. 

“Bet it’s nice to have a home-cooked meal, huh?” Steve’s father takes a swig from his drink before gesturing to the boy at your side. “Kid barely knows how to boil water.”

He lets out a large laugh at his joke, oblivious to the way Steve pauses as he sets down the plate. He forces out a laugh as well, trying to shake it off, but he can’t deny how the joke stings. Especially when it was made in front of you. 

“I mean, I can handle the basics,” he chimes in, trying to defend himself as much as he can without insulting his father. “Eggs, pasta…” He trails off. 

You allow your gaze to wander over to him, your smile faltering as you catch the hurt look in his eyes. His father doesn’t seem to notice—or care at all, really. 

He can cook, he thinks as his eyes are trained on his father. He has cooked for you so many times, and you always said how good it was. The first moment you complimented his food he made it his mission to do it more often. It was something he took pride in. He had to teach himself after all, it’s not like they were ever around to do it, and he couldn’t just live off takeaway pizzas every night. 

He never was in the kitchen when they returned home, his mother always took the reigns there. His jaw tightens as he recalls the countless dinners made alone in his house, too used to the silence that always followed his parents’ absence. 

You set the fork down to the side of your place and turn to him, giving him a look of reassurance that does little to help him. You don’t speak up, but the mix of emotions in your expression makes Steve’s heart lurch. He should have said something, warned you more. Or better yet, come up with an excuse as to why you couldn’t make it tonight. 

His mother was equally as oblivious to the exchange as she carved off another piece of chicken. He doesn’t really care about what his family says about him, he has dealt with much much worse. But it still stings. It stings because it is in front of you. 

The conversation flows well as you all settle into the meal. The chicken was undeniably delicious, the familiar setting of the Harrington house helped soothe you as you chatted politely with is mother. 

“So, what is it you do?” She asks you, tone genuinely curious. 

You finish chewing, wiping your mouth with a napkin before you respond. “I just finished college actually. And I recently got an editing job at the local newspaper. It’s helped me get my first apartment too, so it’s a pretty exciting time.”

Steve can’t help but sit up a little straighter as you speak, his chest filling with a sense of pride that this is the woman he is introducing his folks to. 

That’s my girl, my smart girl.

“Well, isn’t that wonderful!” His mother says, clearly impressed. “You must be so proud of yourself.”

Steve smiled at the knowledge that they approved of you. They might not have approved of him, they made that clearly known whenever they had the chance, but seeing how impressed they were with you—that was enough. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his own and admiring how they looked intertwined in the glow of the dining room. His thumb strokes your knuckles, feeling a smug satisfaction rise up inside of him. You’re smart, capable independent. Everything Steve’s parents valued in a person. He might not be what they wanted him to be but he somehow had you to show for it. He was damn lucky to have you here with him. 

A voice cuts through the warmth he was feeling, a sharp edge bringing him down from his high. “Well, good for you,” his father said, his eyes drifting to your hands. His gaze was cold, calculating. “You know, I’ve always said people with drive go far. Funny how some manage to make it whilst others…don’t.” He gasts a glance at Steve, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm, the same voice that had followed him his whole life. “Guess you lucked out, huh, son? Dating someone with actual ambition.”

The comment hit Steve harder than he cared to admit, the jovial tone from his father did little to soften the blow. His chest tightens as he feels the sting of disappointment, but he can’t help but take the words on board. You are ambitious, you have the whole world at your fingertips. You could do anything you set your mind to and he knew that. He just hoped that when that time came, he would be lucky enough to be cheering you on from the sidelines. 

“Yeah, well,” he begins with a crooked grin. “Guess I’ve got the charm at least.”

The shift in his mood is noticeable to you, you can read him like the back of your hand, the way his smile remains on his face for just a second too long. His father's words were not just a joke, not to Steve. He always doubted himself and his abilities, worried about where he would go in his life. But at the end of the day you were there to support him, whatever decisions he made were his and his alone. 

He tells himself that it’s fine, that he can handle it. Just as long as they don’t go after you, he can take it. He has no problem being the martyr, he has been the punching bag for years and has no problem taking a few more hits.

The way he looks down at his plate makes your chest ache, the way that he acts like this isn’t a big deal. It’s obvious how much it bothers him, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. It hurts you to see him like this—reduced to a quiet, tense version of himself, happy to just keep the peace. 

The clink of silverware continued against the plates as the conversation flowed, finishing up the remainder of dinner, the beer in Steve’s father's glass also gone. He leaned back in his chair, the same look in his eyes that Steve was familiar with, inhibitions mellowed and ready to bite. His eyes narrowed as he observed the both of you, amusement dancing in his gaze like he found the perfect moment to strike. 

“Let me guess,” he began, wiping the edge of his mouth with a napkin before tossing it carelessly onto the table in front. “You’re with Steve because you think you can change him, right? Girls like you always think they can fix a guy like him.”

Steve stiffened beside you, his stomach twisting into a tight knot. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in his throat. For a moment, he felt like a kid again, being told off for something he had no control over. Something he couldn’t change. 

Before he even had time to fully process the insult, you were there. Your tone fast, steady, unfazed. There was no way you would sit there and let that comment go. Not when it was the furthest thing from the truth. 

“I’m not here to change Steve,” you said, your tone calm but resolute. “I’m with him because I love who he already is.”

His heart fluttered in his chest at your words—the way you spoke them. With such unwavering conviction that there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that you meant them. 

His father raised a brow, leaning forward in his chair, sizing you up and clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing. The act revolted you. You were done with playing nice, you were not going to let him insult you or the one you love. It didn’t matter if they were family. 

“Love, huh?” He scoffed. “That’s cute. But, sweetheart, love doesn’t pay the bills. Steve is not exactly rolling in success here, is he?”

You don’t flinch, not even a little. “I don’t need him to be rolling in anything. He works hard and is more successful than you give him credit for.”

His father barked out a humourous laugh, nowhere near close to finished. “Kind? I’ll give you that. But I’m just saying, girls like you—smart, career-driven, their own place—usually go for someone with a little more ambition.”

You narrowed your eyes at the older man, keeping your voice collected. “Ambition isn’t about titles or money. Steve has plenty of it. He has been through things you couldn’t even understand.”

The tension that settled over the room was tense as you locked eyes. Steve’s mother stared at her husband, you wonder if she wished to say something, or if she also was too scared to challenge the older gentleman. You felt no fear, not when it came to conflict over those you care for. You wouldn’t back down. The more you spoke, the more Steve felt that old, crushing weight of his father’s judgement start to lift from his shoulders. 

“Look,” his father said, not enjoying the pushback. “I’m just telling you what I know. Guys like Steve—they’re nice, sure—but they don’t get you very far. Eventually, you’ll want more, and you’ll leave him just like the last one.’

That one hit hard. Too hard. Steve’s hand clenched under the table, unwanted memories of his past relationship springing to the surface, reopening old wounds. He wanted to make a joke. Wanted to say anything that would get away from this topic. His father noticed how withdrawn he got after Nancy, and now he was throwing it back in his face. He didn’t like weakness, and Steve had never felt more inadequate when that happened. 

“Actually, I’m more than happy with Steve,” you say effortlessly, voice low and confident. “He is one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met. I don’t need to ‘want more’ when I already have everything I could ask for.”

His father’s eyes flickered with something—surprise perhaps? He certainly wasn’t used to being challenged like this, feeling at a loss that his tactics weren’t working. He took it as a sign to cut deeper, harsher. He needed to get the upper hand once more. 

His lips curled into a smirk, one that Steve had seen a thousand times before, the one that always made him feel like he was on the losing end of an argument before it even began.

“Are you really gonna let your woman talk to me like this?” His voice heavy and patronising as he stared Steve down. “That’s what you’re doing now? Letting a girl fight your battles?”

Absolutely not. No fucking way. 

Everything was still, you could hear a pin drop in the room. Steve’s anxiety turned to full-on rage, seeping through every vein in his body as he looked at his father. He didn’t care what he said to him, but the vile way he spoke of you was unacceptable. Something in him snapped at that moment. 

“No,” he said, voice holding unwavering clarity. His father looked shocked, not expecting such a firm response from his son.

“No?” His father echoed, leaning forward slightly, trying to intimidate him. “Finally found your voice huh? Took you long enough.”

“No,” Steve repeated with finality. You glanced over and saw the muscles in his jaw tightening as he met his father’s gaze. “What I’m not gonna do is let you disrespect her like that.”

“Disrespect?” His father scoffed, shaking his head, acting as though he knew better. Like he was better. “I’m just telling it like it is. Someone has to, or you’ll go on thinking you’ve actually done something with your life.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how much of a fuckup I am, okay?” Steve shot back, heart pounding in his chest. “I got the message.”

He looks in your direction, eyes softening slightly as he takes in your expression. It held something his father had never directed at him. Pride. You looked proud of him. And that thought alone stirred him on. 

“What I’m not gonna do is allow you to talk to her like that,” He returns his attention to his father, his finger pointing in your direction. “Not when you don’t know a damn thing about her.”

His father bristled at the insubordination, the condescension in his voice was thick. “I know enough,” he said matter-of-factly. “I know she’s playing house with a guy who peaked in high school. How long till she figures that one out, hm?”

Steve’s blood spiked, now more willing than ever to fight back against his father. He had been pushed around for years, if there was any time to rebel, it would be now. “You don’t know anything about us! You’re hardly here!”

His father leaned back, smug. “I know enough about you, Steve. I know you’ve been coasting. First, it was basketball, then this lousy job at the video store—hell—you’re lucky someone even gave you the time of day. A girl like her? She’s going to wake up and realise you’ve got nothing to offer.”

Steve swallowed hard at that moment, his father’s words were getting to him, digging into his skin and refusing to let go. It was beginning to break him, like so many times previously. He was ready to back down, let him say his piece and be done with it. 

That was until he felt a gentle hand on his leg. One that softly ran its fingers against the denim of his jeans. He stared at it. As its presence. He felt the warmth within your touch, reigniting the fire he never thought lit. 

“You’re wrong,” he said quietly, voice cracking slightly but he pushed on. “She is not like that. You say she’s smart? You have no idea. I trust there is a reason she is with me. She sees who I am, something you have never been able to do.”

His father’s eyes flickered with something that resembled surprise, but he quickly masked it with a cold look. “So, what? You think this tantrum is going to change anything? These are facts.  You’ve always been weak, Steve. That’s why you’ll never—”

“No,” Steve cut him off, using the same word he had been repeating for this conversation, filled with a conviction that startled even himself. “I’m not weak. I’m done letting you make me feel like I am.”

The room went still, the sharpness in Steve’s voice hanging in the air that nobody was accustomed to. His father opened his mouth to respond, but Steve didn’t give him the chance.

“I’m not you. If I was she never would have looked at me twice, and I’m damn proud of that.”

Your exit was swift. Steve grabbed your hand and dragged you to the front door, leaving both of his parents in a state of shock. You just about managed to slip your feet into your shoes as he grabbed your coat to the side of your head. Slamming the door loudly as you left. 

The night air was cold, helping in soothing his raging anger, letting a breath out before he turned to you, stare softening with affection. He turned to face you, touching your cheek with such tenderness as he searched your eyes, trying to figure out how you were feeling. 

“Are you alright?” He asked softly, running his thumb along your cheekbone. 

“I’m alright,” you assured him, leaning into his touch. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I—wow,” he was still jittery, letting out a shaky laugh and running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe I said all that.”

“I can,” you said as you gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m really proud of you.”

His expression was gentle, grateful to actually hear the words that had been denied for so many years. There was another emotion within him as well, a sense of awe. The way you handled yourself with grace, not bending under pressure. He swore he was already head over heels for you, but after tonight? He fell for you a just little bit harder. He shakes his head at your previous compliment. 

“You were amazing in there, sweetheart,” a crooked smile forming. “God, you’re something you know that?”

You smiled as you allowed him to lead you to his car, arm resting on your back as he opened the door for you. He slipped into the driver's seat and started the ignition, fingers drumming on the steerwheel as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I don’t think I can go back there. Like, ever.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that,” you say as you nudge him playfully. “Guess I’m gonna have to move you in, huh?”

He glanced at you as he pulled away from his childhood home, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Is that so?”

You laughed and rolled your eyes, pleased that he was making jokes instead of spiralling. The comfortable silence that filled the car was peaceful, but his expression shifted, something tentative, serious settled over him. 

“We could, you know.”

You blinked at his proposition. “What?”

He cleared his throat and immediately regretted saying anything. His nerves now spiking at his confession. It was too late to back out now, the words that spilt from his mouth flowed without thought. 

“I mean,” he started, knuckles turning white as his grip tightened. “I may work retail, but I definitely make enough to rent an apartment. I could contribute, really. I could…”

He trailed off, watching your reaction carefully. There was a sincerity in his words that made your heart melt.

“I mean, I’m not gonna be mad about halving the rent,” you said with a blush forming on your face at the thought of living with him. Of waking up with him, coming home to him. For all of your belongings being mingled together. For everywhere you look his presence is there with you. 

His face broke out into the softest, most boyish smile you had ever seen on him. “You mean it?” He uttered, voice quiet, as if he may have misheard you. 

“Yes, Steve,” you brush a hand through his hair, so in love with the sweet boy next to you. “I mean it.”

[coppy-catt]

like it part iii.

megumi fushiguro x reader, college au

series masterlist

your dorm was quiet, save for the low hum of R&B drifting from your laptop speakers—soft, slow, the kind of music that filled the silence without crowding it. the only light came from the gentle glow of your desk lamp and the faint, silvery spill of streetlight seeping through the blinds. the air carried a hint of vanilla, subtle and sweet, mixed with something warmer—something unmistakably you.

megumi sat cross-legged on your bed, textbook balanced on his thigh, trying to focus on the words in front of him. you were beside him, lying on your stomach, feet swaying lazily behind you as you flipped through your notes.

on the surface, it looked like you were studying. technically, you were. there were highlighters. post-its. a psych quiz in the near future.

but the real test?

keeping his eyes on the page and not on the way your shirt slipped off your shoulder when you shifted. or the way you chewed on your pen cap when you were concentrating. or the occasional brush of your hand against his that sent lightning up his spine.

he’d been in your room for maybe fifteen minutes, and already his nerves were coiling tighter by the second. not because you were doing anything wrong—you were relaxed, casual, completely at ease. like this was just another night. like this was normal.

but nothing about this felt normal to him.

your presence was a constant pull—your soft laughter when you mispronounced a vocab term, the way your leg brushed his now and then, deliberate or not. and the scent of you, clinging to the sheets and the air, was making it hard to breathe.

“so, this part of the chapter is about electromagnetic induction,” megumi said, tapping the page with his pen like it could ground him. like it could calm his racing heart. “super easy.”

shifting into a sitting position beside him, your lips tugged into a smirk. “says the walking textbook.”

he gave a small shrug. “it’s not that hard once you break it down. faraday’s law—basically, a change in magnetic field causes a current.”

he pointed to the vocab word in the textbook lying open in front of you, trying to keep his voice steady. but when he glanced over to see if you were following along, his breath hitched.

you weren’t looking at the book. you were looking at him.

your lips slightly parted, eyes fixed on his face with a softness that made his chest tighten. it wasn’t just curiosity—it was focus, interest, intention.

megumi immediately looked away, the tips of his ears turning red.

you looked too damn enticing.

the way your eyes lingered on him like he was the most interesting thing in the room, it was enough to short-circuit his brain. he could talk all day about physics, about laws and fields and forces, but right now, the only current he could feel was the one sparking between the two of you.

and it was getting harder and harder to ignore.

he tried to focus—really, he did. cleared his throat, forced his eyes back to the page, even muttered something under his breath about “lenz’s law”—but the words blurred.

“megumi,” you said, voice soft, almost coaxing.

he glanced at you again, hesitantly this time—and you were still watching him. like you knew. like you’d caught on to every subtle flick of his gaze, every stiff inhale, every time his voice wavered.

“yeah?” he asked, trying—and failing—to sound casual.

you tilted your head, eyes flicking from his lips back to his eyes. “you’re kinda bad at pretending you’re okay.”

he let out a breath of a laugh, low and tight. “am I that obvious?”

you smiled, scooting just a little closer. “a little.”

silence settled between you for a moment—thick and charged. his fingers twitched beside yours, aching to close the distance. and when your leg pressed more firmly against his, megumi finally looked up to look at you.

really look at you.

“look, I don’t know what this is,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “but I don’t want to mess it up.”

your gaze fell to his lips.

“you won’t,” you mumbled as you leaned in and connected your lips to his.

and it was like everything in the room faded—the hum of the music, the open textbook, the faint city sounds drifting in through the window. all of it blurred at the edges, swallowed by the feeling of you. the warmth of your mouth, the way your fingers curled gently around his wrist, grounding him.

he kissed you back slowly, almost reverently, like he was still trying to convince himself this was real. that you wanted this. that you wanted him.

and you did.

he could feel it in the way your body leaned into his, in the way you deepened the kiss, like you couldn’t help it. like you’d been waiting, too.

you gently pushed the textbook off the bed, letting it thud softly onto the floor, then shifted forward—slow and deliberate—as you crawled into his lap, straddling him.

megumi’s hands instinctively found your hips, his grip tightening as you settled onto him. his breath hitched—sharp and audible—like your weight alone was enough to unravel him.

your own hands slid up his chest, fingers bunching slightly in the fabric of his hoodie as you pulled him closer.

and he kissed you back like he’d been starving for it, like he finally let go of whatever was holding him back. his hands roamed up your sides, feeling the warmth of you through your clothes, anchoring himself in the rhythm of your body moving against his.

when your hips shifted just slightly, a quiet groan rumbled from his throat, his forehead dropping to yours as he tried to catch his breath.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he murmured, voice low, strained, completely wrecked.

you smiled against his lips. “that’s not the plan.”

but the way you rolled your hips again, slow and purposeful?

it sure felt like one.

your name left his lips in a whine, soft and desperate—his voice cracking under the weight of it.

his hands gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging in as if he could anchor you in place, stop you from driving him any closer to the edge. but even as he tried to still your movements, his body betrayed him—hips twitching upward, chasing the friction you were giving him.

“please,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours, eyes shut tight. “if you keep doing that —”

he didn’t finish the sentence. couldn’t let you find out how pathetically close he was to busting in his pants. just from dry humping you.

then, as if the universe had decided to show him mercy, you slid off his lap.

he exhaled sharply, body still trembling, grateful for the space—for the moment to collect himself.

but that relief was short-lived.

because you didn’t move away.

you kept sliding—down, between his legs. your hands running lightly along his thighs as you settled on your knees in front of him. and the moment your eyes lifted to meet his, wide and purposeful and so damn sure, his jaw fell open.

“wait—what are you…?” his voice came out strangled, barely a whisper.

but he already knew what you were doing.

and the realization alone nearly undid him all over again.

your fingers toyed with the hem of his hoodie, dragging it up just enough to expose the band of his sweats. megumi’s breath hitched, his entire body going still—like if he moved, he might shatter.

he stared down at you, wide-eyed, lips parted, completely speechless as your hands slipped beneath the fabric. the heat of your touch against his skin made his stomach tense, made his thighs twitch under your grip.

“y-you sure?” he breathed, though the words barely held weight—his voice weak, shaking, like he already knew he wouldn’t stop you if you kept going.

you looked up at him, a gentle smile tugging at your lips, and gave a quiet nod. then, leaning in, you kissed him once more—slow and lingering—before trailing lower, your mouth brushing against the sharp line of his hip.

megumi’s head fell back with a low groan, one hand flying up to grip the edge of your comforter, the other carding through your hair.

he was screwed. completely, totally, hopelessly screwed.

and god, he never wanted anything more.

your kisses trailed lower, slow and deliberate, like you were savoring every inch of him—every twitch of muscle, every shaky breath. megumi’s hands fisted the comforter tighter, knuckles white, his chest rising and falling in quick, uneven rhythm.

when your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his sweats, his hips jolted slightly—his breath caught in his throat.

“shit,” he whispered, voice raw, eyes squeezing shut.

you only smiled, dragging the fabric down just enough to free him—his breath catching in a strangled gasp as cool air hit overly sensitive skin.

he looked down at you again, eyes dark and full of disbelief, desire, and something softer—like awe. like he couldn’t believe you were real.

and then your mouth was on him.

the first touch of your lips made his whole body tense, a guttural moan ripping from deep in his chest. his hand flew to your shoulder, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

“f-fuck, please—” he stammered, the sound of your name barely making it out of his mouth.

it was too much. too good. too you.

and he knew, without a doubt, he wasn’t going to last.

the way your lips wrapped around him slowly, deliberately, like you had all the time in the world—made megumi feel like his sanity might start to slip.

his thighs tensed beneath you, breath staggering as he tried to hold on to something, anything. but your mouth was warm and wet and perfect, and every flick of your tongue, every slow pull, dragged a sound from him he didn’t even know he could make.

he looked down at you through hooded eyes, completely undone by the sight—your lashes lowered, cheeks hollowing just slightly, your hands steady on his hips as you took him deeper. you looked so focused, so intent on him, like you wanted to memorize every reaction, every shiver, every curse that tumbled from his lips.

“god,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “you—fuck, you feel so good.”

he tried to hold back. tried not to fall apart too fast, but the pressure was unbearable, his muscles straining as pleasure twisted tight in his core.

your name left his lips again, barely more than a whisper.

“I’m not gonna last,” he warned, voice breaking.

but even as he said it, his hips bucked once, shallow and shaky, and his other hand slid from the bed to your hair, not to guide—just to feel. to anchor himself in the reality of you.

because if this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.

but with both hands in your hair now, you took that as a sign he wanted control. so you gave it to him. peering up into his eyes, you let your hands fall behind your back.

he didn’t know how to react at first, but his body took over. his hips rolled forward in slow, tentative thrusts, careful, almost shy. not wanting to hurt you.

then you let out a muffled moan—and he broke.

a curse slipped past his lips as his grip in your hair tightened. his pace shifted, thrusts deeper, more desperate, using your mouth to chase his own pleasure.

megumi was unraveling.

his head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to hold on for just another second, another breath—but you made it impossible. every swirl of your tongue, every soft sound you made around him, pushed him further, faster, to the edge.

“shit, I’m gonna—” he gasped, body tensing beneath your touch, but it was too late.

his hips stuttered, a broken moan catching in his throat as he came, full and hard, his entire body locking up beneath you.

the pleasure hit him like a wave—sharp, dizzying, too much and not enough all at once. his chest heaved, heart racing as his hand slid from your hair to his side, suddenly too weak to hold onto anything at all.

you slowed, gentle now, letting him ride it out until his body relaxed completely, slumping back against the side of the bed like every bone in him had melted.

he looked down at you, eyes hazy but full of adoration. for you.

“…c’mere,” he murmured, voice rough, still breathless.

he caught your wrist gently and tugged you toward him, guiding you both from the floor onto the bed and pulling you into his lap. his arms wrapped around your waist as you settled over him.

that look came over him again—that soft, stunned expression like he couldn’t quite believe this was real. like he didn’t know what he did to deserve this moment, to deserve you.

“what did I say about staring?” you huffed.

a sheepish grin tugged at his lips, but his eyes never left yours. “can’t help it,” he murmured, voice low and honest. “you’re breathtaking.”

your breath hitched, the sincerity in his gaze making your heart stutter. so instead of answering, you leaned forward and kissed him—slow and sweet. his hands gripped your waist a little tighter, anchoring himself to you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

when you pulled back just enough to speak, your noses still brushed. “you’re such a sap.”

“only for you.”

and when he kissed you again, it was deeper. warmer. like a promise—one he didn’t know how to say yet, but was desperate to show.

his hands slid from your waist to your ass, gripping tight as he began to move you against him—slow, deliberate, chasing friction that quickly turned into frustration.

because nothing was happening.

he stilled, breath catching in his throat. shit.

too sensitive. too spent. his body was still reeling from earlier, and no matter how much he wanted you—and he wanted you, badly—his dick wasn’t cooperating.

panic flickered behind his eyes, but he masked it quickly, shifting gears before the moment could break. because even if he couldn’t fuck you properly, he was still going to give you everything.

“lay down,” he murmured against your lips, voice low, commanding.

your breath hitched, a bright flush blooming across your cheeks. “I — look, I…”

you stumbled over the words, lips parted, eyes now avoiding his.

the sudden shift in your energy caught him off guard, and he stilled immediately. his hands loosened their grip as he searched your face, but the way your eyes darted away from his made it hard to read you.

so gently, he raised a hand to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your face toward his—giving you no choice but to meet his gaze.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, voice soft but steady, concern laced through every word.

you hesitated, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “I don’t know,” you said quietly. “I just—I—you make me feel really good, megumi. and I guess… I can’t help but feel like I don’t make you feel the same. kind of feel like I’m not good enough, not gonna lie.”

he stared at you, stunned—jaw slack, breath caught in his throat.

what?

the words hit him like a punch to the chest, knocking the wind right out of him. you—you—thought you weren’t good enough?

before he could protest, you continued.

“I just — I was so drunk last time and I feel like I made such an idiot of myself - “

“are you serious?” he finally breathed, eyes wide with disbelief. “you have no idea what you do to me.” he shook his head, still reeling. “you’re everything.”

a blush bloomed across your cheeks as you dropped your gaze, quickly hiding your face in your hands.

megumi didn’t let you stay hidden for long though.

he reached for you, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrists and peeling your hands away from your eyes. his touch was soft, patient, like he was handling something fragile.

“last time was perfect,” he murmured, voice low and full of conviction. “you were perfect.”

your eyes met his again, wide and unsure, but the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—made something inside you unravel.

your lips connected to his. there was no urgency, no expectation. just warmth, steady and consuming, the kind that wrapped around your ribs and settled deep in your chest.

when he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his thumbs brushed along your cheeks. “tell me what you need,” he whispered.

your breath hitched, and your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “I need you.”

a wave of emotion passed over him—sharp and sudden, like it caught him off guard.

it wasn’t lust, not entirely. it was deeper. he felt it in his chest, in the tightness in his throat, in the way his grip on you softened like he was holding something precious. because he was.

you needed him.

not just his touch. Him.

he guided you back gently, laying you down against the pillows, his body following yours, settling beside you rather than over you—no pressure, no weight, just presence. his hand traced soft lines along your stomach while his mouth explored yours. learning you all over again.

you exhaled, a sound that was part relief, part want.

he dipped his head to your neck, pressing slow kisses there, savoring every reaction he pulled from you. every sigh, every quiet inhale, every push, every pull.

megumi’s lips ghosted over yours again, slower this time—less about hunger, more about connection. his hands moved with the same careful intent, gliding over your sides, your waist, learning every curve like he was mapping sacred ground.

your body reacted to him like it had been waiting—arching into every touch, chasing his warmth, clinging to the steadiness of him. and he gave it all freely. not just his body, but every unspoken word, every ounce of tenderness he’d never known how to express until now.

he kissed your shoulder, then your collarbone, dragging his mouth lower with reverence. when his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your sweats, he paused, eyes flicking up to yours, silently asking.

you nodded, breath trembling.

then his hand slid between your thighs—slow, deliberate—like he was savoring the moment as much as you were. his fingers moved over the thin fabric of your underwear, gentle at first, just enough to tease, to coax a soft sound from your lips.

megumi watched you closely, eyes fixed on your face, soaking in every shift of your expression. the way your brows pinched. the way your lips parted. the way your hips arched ever so slightly into his hand.

“shit, baby, you’re so wet,” he murmured, awe laced into every word. “just for me?”

you nodded, unable to find your voice through the heat blooming in your chest, your stomach, your core.

his fingers slid beneath the fabric, brushing against your warmth—bare and slick and ready. you gasped, and his name spilled from your mouth like instinct.

he groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as he kissed your chest, your sternum, the space between your ribs—every inch.

and then he started moving his fingers.

curling them upward into you.

your body reacted before you could even think—hips rolling into his touch, breath coming faster, hands fisting in the sheets.

“so pretty,” he whispered, mouth grazing your skin.

and with the way he touched you—how patient, how sure, how devoted he felt—you knew you weren’t going to last long.

each stroke of his fingers was measured, purposeful—like he was learning you second by second, and loving every moment of it.

your head fell back, a soft moan slipping from your lips as his thumb found your clit, circling slow and steady. he watched you like he was mesmerized, every twitch of your body, every rise and fall of your chest.

“that’s it,” he murmured, kissing the edge of your jaw.

the pressure built with every breath, every whispered word, every flick of his fingers. your thighs began to tremble, your hips losing rhythm as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“megumi—” you gasped, voice breaking.

“i got you, baby,” he replied, firm and quiet.

and you came—hard, breath catching in your throat, back arching as everything else faded away. all that remained was him—his name on your lips, his hands on your skin, his eyes staring at you in awe.

you clung to him through it, fingers digging into his shoulder as wave after wave crashed through you—hot and overwhelming and impossibly good. your breath came in shaky gasps, your whole body trembling beneath his touch.

megumi held you through it all, never letting go. his hand slowed, gentled his movements as you started to come down, his mouth brushing soft kisses along your cheek, your jaw, your temple.

but just as your heartbeat started to steady, he moved again—his fingers plunging back inside you, slow and purposeful. your breath hitched violently, stolen right from your lungs as your body seized all over again.

your hips jolted, a sharp gasp escaping you as your body, still sensitive and undone, tried to process the onslaught of sensation.

“megumi—” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, laced with both need and disbelief.

he didn’t stop. his eyes never left yours, dark and focused, like he was memorizing every flicker of pleasure that crossed your face. “one more,” he murmured, voice low and rough at the edges.

the way he touched you now—slower, deeper—had your legs shaking. you could barely think, couldn’t do anything but feel. the pressure was building all over again, even stronger this time, stoked by the way his thumb pressed against your clit in lazy, perfect circles.

your head fell back against the pillows, a broken moan slipping from your lips.

“so pretty, baby,” megumi breathed, the words slipping out before he could stop them—raw, reverent. and the way your body responded, clenching tight around his fingers, grinding down against his palm—it drove him wild.

“you need more?” he murmured, voice thick with need.

you nodded, fast, desperate—your eyes glassy, lips parted, completely undone beneath him.

“what do you need?” he asked, quieter this time. his fingers maintaining their pace.

your hand rose to his face, trembling fingers brushing along his jaw before trailing to his lips. you didn’t speak—but you didn’t need to. the look in your eyes, the soft stroke of your fingers, told him everything.

a slow smirk curled on his mouth. he knew exactly what you were asking for.

and he didn’t make you wait.

he pulled his fingers from you with a deliberate slowness, the wet sound making your breath hitch. then he was shifting downward, settling between your thighs like he belonged there. his hands gripped your hips, steadying you as he kissed the inside of your thigh—then the other. each press of his lips was maddeningly slow, worshipful.

when his mouth finally found you, your whole body jolted.

a cry tore from your throat as his tongue slid through your folds, soft at first, then firmer, more focused. he groaned against you, like the taste alone was enough to ruin him. his hands pinned your thighs apart, keeping you open for him as he lost himself in you—devouring you with slow, devastating precision.

“megumi,” you gasped, hands flying to his hair, anchoring yourself to him.

he didn’t answer—not with words. just with the roll of his tongue, the way he sucked and licked until your legs were shaking again, until your cries turned into pleas, until you were right on the edge. until your grip in his hair tightened, fingers trembling as another wave built deep in your core—hotter, higher, impossibly intense.

and he still didn’t let up, tongue moving in steady, precise circles, as if he wanted to unravel every last piece of you.

“please,” you whimpered, the word barely audible between your gasps. it wasn’t even clear what you were begging for—release, relief, more of him. all of him.

megumi groaned against you, the vibration shooting straight through your body. one hand slid up, splaying across your stomach, grounding you as your hips bucked beneath his touch.

“you gonna come, pretty girl?” he murmured between kisses, his voice low and hoarse.

you nodded frantically, unable to speak, every part of you strung tight.

and then he pushed two fingers back inside you—deep and slow—curling them just right while his tongue focused on your clit, relentless and perfect. your back arched off the bed, a cry ripping from your throat.

that was it.

you broke with a sob, coming hard against his mouth, your whole body trembling as the pleasure crashed through you—white-hot and endless. megumi held you through every second, never backing down, mouth and fingers working you through it, coaxing every last tremor from your body.

by the time he finally pulled back, your chest was heaving, your limbs weak and boneless, your skin covered in a sheen of sweat.

he crawled back up your body, eyes on your face now, pupils blown and mouth glistening with you.

“you with me?” he asked softly, fingers brushing your damp hair back from your face.

you gave the faintest nod, still breathless, lips parted as you struggled to steady your heartbeat. your body felt weightless, like you’d drifted somewhere far away and were only just beginning to return.

megumi didn’t expect it when, with a burst of fading strength, you tugged him down into the pillows with you. he followed easily, letting himself be pulled into your warmth, settling beside you as if this was where he belonged.

you draped a leg over his waist, your bare skin brushing his, and his hands instinctively found your body again—one arm wrapping around your waist, the other splaying over the curve of your lower back, pulling you flush against him.

the low hum of the music wrapped around you both like a second blanket, soft and slow, matching the rhythm of your breathing as it calmed. megumi’s fingers traced idle circles on your lower back, his touch gentle now—so different from before, like he was memorizing the shape of you in silence.

your hands threaded through his hair, playing absentmindedly with the strands, tugging just enough to make him hum in response. his eyes were half-lidded, drowsy but locked on you, drinking you in like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real. that this moment was real.

“nice playlist,” he murmured, his voice raspy, content.

you smiled lazily. “made it for you.”

that turned his cheeks pink. “careful,” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours. “you keep doing things like that and I’ll start thinking I matter to you.”

your breath hitched—not because of what he said, but because of the way he said it. light, teasing. but there was a weight behind it, a question tucked between the syllables.

you pulled back just enough to look at him, your thumb stroking across his cheekbone.

“you do,” you said, simply.

he stilled beneath you.

his jaw flexed, like he was trying to hold something back—an emotion too heavy to name. his hand at your back tightened, just slightly, anchoring himself to you like he needed the contact to believe you.

“yea?” he murmured.

“mhm,” was your simple reply. simple, but held weight.

simple, but it was everything. it sank into him, filled all the hollow spaces he’d tried so hard to ignore. made him feel like he could finally exhale.

“never thought i’d get to have this,” he admitted, eyes dropping to your lips. “you.”

your heart thudded against your ribs, aching at the vulnerability in his voice. you leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “well you do. you have me.”

he kissed you then—slow and deep, full of everything he hadn’t said out loud.

when he finally pulled away, it wasn’t by much. he just held you there, breathing you in like he could tether himself to you that way.

then he shifted slightly, tucking you closer against his chest. his arms wrapped around you tighter, strong and sure, his hand sliding up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes. you could feel his heart beating beneath your ear, steady and reassuring, lulling you deeper into the warmth of him.

and he stayed like that, rubbing gentle circles against your spine, even as your breathing grew heavier, slower.

even as your body melted completely into his.

even as sleep finally pulled you under—safe, protected, and loved, right there in his arms.

“dude. you’re glowing.”

megumi didn’t look up from his coffee.

yuji leaned across the table, eyes narrowed, arms braced like he was preparing for interrogation.

nobara sat beside him, picking at her croissant with barely contained glee. “he came in wearing the same clothes from yesterday. and he’s in a good mood. that never happens. like—ever.”

“I’m always in a good mood,” megumi said flatly, sipping from his mug.

“you’re usually in a tolerable mood,” nobara corrected. “but today? you smiled at the barista. smiled, megumi.”

the raven haired boy rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t quite suppress the upward twitch of his lips. “you two are being way too extra about this.”

yuji let out a loud, exaggerated gasp. “so something did happen!”

megumi sighed and leaned back in his chair, letting the coffee cup rest between his hands. his gaze flicked toward the window—calm, unreadable. “nothing you need to know about.”

nobara raised a brow. “that’s not a no.”

“it’s also not a yes.”

yuji thumped his fist lightly on the table. “c’mon, bro, just spill. you finally get with her and now you don’t have anything to say?”

megumi gave him a look that could have frozen lava.

“okay, backing off.” yuji raised both hands in surrender but couldn’t hide his grin.

nobora leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “you know we’re just happy for you, right?”

megumi’s expression softened—barely. “I know.”

“then why not tell us?” yuji butted in.

megumi’s gaze dropped to the table.

because it’s mine. and i’m not ready to share it yet.

as if nobara read what he was thinking, she told yuji to back off.

and he listened. didn’t push after that.

eventually, the pink haired boy launched into a story about a broken vending machine near the auditorium that stole his last $5, and nobara explained how she was going to murder her econ professor. but megumi sat quietly, the edge of a smile still lingering on his face.

a certain memory from last night flickered in his mind—your hands in his hair, your breath against his skin, the way you’d whispered that he had you.

yea. he wasn’t ready to share that yet.

[lazy-ahh]

MM anon back again u know what I’m craving 😈

I HATE YOU (I LOVE YOU)

pairing mohawk! mark grayson x male reader

mark grayson is seventeen, stupidly powerful, and completely incapable of handling you—his childhood rival, his best friend, the person who drives him absolutely insane in every way possible. you fight, you shove each other into lockers, you steal the last fry off his tray every damn day. and yet, somehow, you're the only thing he can't seem to live without.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

you’re annoying.

you’ve always been annoying, ever since second grade when you stole the last red crayon right out of his hands during art class. mark still remembers the way you smirked at him, all sharp edges and defiance, like you already knew he’d spend the next decade trying (and failing) to one-up you. you were loud, stubborn, and so infuriatingly good at everything—spelling bees, kickball, even that stupid multiplication table race mrs. lawson made you do. he hated how his stomach twisted when you won. (he hated even more how his stomach twisted when you lost, because seeing you pout felt wrong.)

through the years, nothing changed—except it did. middle school brought fistfights in the hallway over stupid shit like who got the last chocolate milk at lunch. high school turned those fights into wrestling matches in his bedroom, into shoving each other into lockers, into whispered insults that sounded a little too much like i missed you when one of you was sick for a day. you were always there, like some kind of fucked-up constant—his rival, his best friend, the person who knew him better than anyone else and still chose to stick around. you were the first one to call him out when he was being an idiot, the first one to throw a punch when someone else tried to mess with him. you were his, in every way except the one that mattered.

and now? now he’s screwed. because somewhere between the insults and the roughhousing, between the way you roll your eyes when he talks too much about comics and the way you always steal his fries but leave the rest of yours for him, he fell in love with you. hard. it’s in the way his chest tightens when you laugh, the way he memorized the exact shade of your eyes in sunlight, the way he can’t imagine his life without you in it—loud, stubborn, annoying you.

even now, you're still annoying.

that’s the first thing mark thinks when he sees you, sprawled out on his bed like you own the place, flipping through one of his comics with that stupid smirk on your face. your fingers tap against the page, impatient, like you’re waiting for him to say something—to bite back, to snap, to rise to the challenge like always.

and god, he wants to. he wants to shove you off the bed, call you an idiot, wrestle you onto the floor until you’re both breathless and laughing. but right now, he can’t. right now, he’s stuck staring at the way the sunlight cuts through the window and spills over your skin, turning you golden. at the way your lashes cast shadows on your cheeks when you blink. at the way your lips quirk up when you find a panel you like, like the artist drew it just for you.

(he wonders if the artist could ever capture the way he sees you—perfect, infuriating, his.)

he’s enamored.

he’s enamored with the way your fingers move—long and deft, drumming against tabletops, flipping pages of comics, gripping the edge of his desk when you lean over to mock his homework. he’s enamored with the way you chew your bottom lip when you’re concentrating, teeth worrying at the soft pink until it’s red and swollen, and he wants to be the one biting it instead. he’s enamored with that beauty mark just below your ear, the one he’s traced a thousand times in his head with his tongue, wondering if you’d shiver if he ever got the chance.

he’s enamored with your scars—the faint one on your eyebrow from wiping out on your bike in fifth grade, the jagged line on your knee from when you both tried (and failed) to jump the quarry fence, the fresh split on your knuckles from when you punched him in the mouth last week (he definitely deserved it). he wants to press his lips to every single one, map them like constellations, learn the stories they tell.

but more than anything, he’s enamored with your stupid laugh—the way it bursts out of you, loud and unapologetic, like you can’t contain it, like it’s too big for your body. it’s the kind of laugh that makes his ribs ache, that makes his stomach flip, that makes him want to shove you against a wall just to see if he can pull it out of you himself.

and god, he’s horny.

it’s pathetic, really, how badly he wants you. the way your muscles flex when you stretch, lean but defined, all coiled strength under smooth skin. the way your shirt rides up when you reach for something, giving him a glimpse of your stomach, the sharp v of your hips leading down to—fuck. the way your thighs strain against your pants when you sit, thick and powerful, and he knows how strong they are from all the times you’ve pinned him down, thighs squeezing his waist until he taps out.

he’s imagined it too many times—how you’d look under him, over him, how you’d sound when he finally gets his hands on you, when he finally makes you his. the thought of your hands on him, rough and demanding, makes his breath stutter. the thought of your mouth, all sharp words and sharper teeth, dragging down his neck, his chest, lower—

he’s so fucking gone for you it hurts.

"what’s up, asshole?" he says instead, tossing his bag onto the floor hard enough that it slides and knocks over a half-empty can of soda. it rolls lazily, spilling sticky orange onto his carpet, and mark already knows his mom’s gonna yell about it later. but right now? he doesn’t care. not when you’re looking at him like that—all smug amusement, like you’ve been waiting all day just to piss him off.

you glance up, grin sharp enough to cut glass. "oh, you know. just realizing your taste in comics is as bad as your haircut." you flip a page dramatically, wrinkling your nose at some over-the-top action panel. "seriously, who even likes this guy? he’s got, like, twelve muscles too many."

mark rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts, but his chest is tight anyway. he wants to kiss you. he wants to tackle you. he wants to pin you down and bite that stupid smirk right off your face—

"earth to grayson." your foot connects with his shin, not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to snap him out of it. "you gonna keep standing there like a creep or are we gonna do something? i’m bored."

"oh, you’re bored?" mark scoffs, but he’s already moving, lunging at you before you can react. his hands shove against your shoulders, sending you sprawling back onto the bed with a loud oof. "there. now you’re entertained."

you kick out instantly, catching him in the stomach—not enough to wind him, just enough to make him grunt—and then you’re both a tangle of limbs, wrestling like you’re twelve again, like nothing’s changed. your elbow digs into his ribs, his knee knocks against yours, and somewhere in the chaos, mark’s head thumps against the mattress hard enough to make his teeth rattle.

"you’re such a dick," he gasps, but he’s laughing, breathless, and so are you.

"takes one to know one," you shoot back, grinning down at him, all messy hair and flushed cheeks.

and mark thinks—god, i love you.

(he doesn’t say it. not yet. but the way your fingers curl into the front of his shirt, the way you’re both still laughing like idiots, the way the sunlight catches in your eyes—yeah. he will.)

1.2k words full of mohawk mark for MM anon! hope i satisfied your craving for this little gremlin heheh <33

[captain-barnes-writes]

Losing You (Lewis Hamilton)

Summary: When his infidelity is made public, Lewis loses the one person who loves him the most.

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x fem! Reader (with a bit of Carlos Sainz)

Warning: ANGST, if you blink there's mention of smut, Toxic relationship. Angst angst angst

She never wanted to be so wrong in her life.

She wanted the angst to leave her and to let her be in peace. She never wanted it to be this way. Never expected it to ever be this way. He was the person she trusted most, the person she loved most. 

What had gone wrong? 

When trust is broken, is there ever really a way to repair it? 

These kinds of thoughts were consuming the young woman as she paced through the living room. She was livid, but mostly just deeply disappointed. 

The bored look on his face as she talked about her day, the constant texts at night, the messages she sent and he read but failed to respond timely or at all. It made sense. It all made sense. He’d been pulling away for weeks now and she should have been more vocal about noticing this. Should’ve brought it up in any way that she could have despite her dislike of confrontation. 

Quite frankly, his indiscretions were something she suspected at times. Suspected could be an understatement. It was something she thought was inevitable with someone of Lewis’ caliber. A seven-time world champion, a celebrity everyone wanted a piece of—fans, models, every celebrity on the fucking earth it seemed.

He had this cool aura about him that made anyone feel comfortable around him, a kind-like welcoming disposition about him that not everyone had. He was all friendly chocolate crinkled eyes with a smile that could lure in anyone.

She had fallen right into a trap which once felt like a dream. 

Lewis Hamilton. Insanely attractive, so damn infuriating yet caring and loving whenever he wanted to be. Tears pooled at her saddened eyes at the thought of him no longer being part of her life. He had gotten to her in ways no one else had, cracked her exterior that wasn’t anywhere near as solid as the walls he put around himself to shield away any disappointment. More than 3 years of this back and forth, on and off relationship she had willingly partaken in because she was so drawn to him. 

Their relationship had been going on for so long, with ups and downs, so many breakups, so many moments of just plain faltering from his side. So many conscious choices he had made that were completely disrespectful towards what they had built together. She knew it wasn’t a healthy cycle, this, what they had going on yet she stayed because with time their heartstrings were entangled in a battle only he could win. 

The young woman was bewilderingly and eloquently in love with Lewis Hamilton. Her skin was crawling. It was itching at the thought of him. How could he?

She snatched the phone from the coffee table yet again to stare at the pictures that had caused immense grief. They were slightly grainy and a bit shaken, but it was unmistakably him. He was clad in a jacket she'd given him for his birthday and a black polo shirt he wore too often. He was standing in a slightly secluded area of a bar in Monaco she recognized all too well with his undivided attention given to a redhead whose black dress barely concealed her ass. His arm was at her waist and she looked enthralled at being in the presence of him. Who wouldn’t? He was a desirable race driver. It killed her that he was hers but no one really knew that…

Her boyfriend. Her Lewis. 

The next pictures pulled at her heartstrings creating a pain that was especially shattering to an already weakened heart. Lewis and the redhead kissing so disgustingly passionately without a damn care in the world. Without a care that she was here. That she was waiting for him to text her, to tell her that he had gotten home safe from his night out with the guys, that he had a good time with them and he would see her tomorrow. That she was his ‘baby’ as he came to call her months into the relationship and stuck with it. That she was the one who listened to him and who loved him despite his many flaws. 

Although she wished that those were the last pictures, they sadly were not. The last few pictures showed him leaving with her in a car that she could only guess led to other things that she really didn’t have the heart to think about. 

Get home safe! Text me so i know you got home safe ❤️

Having sent that before she fell asleep, and before her knowledge of these pictures, there was still no response to it. It was 11 am and there was nothing. Absolute nothing and it was making her head hurt. She felt her heart at her throat and it was getting harder and harder to suppress the whimpers and cries that were forcibly leaving her lips.

Was he still in bed with her? And if he was, had he felt any remorse, any ounce of guilt at the sight of a redhead instead of the usual woman laying next to him? 

She wasn’t going to put herself through this and text him again. He’d gone home with someone else that wasn’t her and she could barely stand the thought of him. He’d been unfaithful to someone who never once thought of being with anyone else but him. 

Despite the moments when their relationship was off, she never swayed. Never once did she indulge in the liberty of being with another man. Always loyal to the man who owned her heart. It didn’t matter if during those days when their relationship was halted, he would be seen in different events with different women. She never faltered.

How could she when she was so damn enamoured with the man she’d come to know for the last few years. That her skin would crawl at the thought of another man’s hands or lips anywhere near her body. She couldn’t even fathom the idea of fucking another man out of spite. It was suggested so many times by her friends, or better yet that she should leave, that he was not worthy of someone like her. 

Someone so loyal, so damn beautiful, kind and magnificent like you deserves someone who only sees you. Carlos had said to her once. Her wonderful friend for years. He was one of the few drivers who knew of the nature of their relationship. They lived in the same gated community and had ran into each other plenty of times building a friendship throughout the years. It was how she had met Lewis.

Carlos knew of Lewis’ ways, of how it hurt the beautiful girl whose eyes literally glimmered with love for the British driver. He not only shared the track with the man, but also partook in the same events that often had him witnessing Lewis talk with other women. It was normal in their career to be surrounded with plenty of women, it came with the job, but if one had a partner there should always be boundaries. There were none from what he noticed for the tattooed driver. 

She should’ve listened all those times she was advised to leave him, she thought. Now it was too late. 

With her dampened heart, she mustered all her energy and faced the world. She ran the errands she needed done around Monaco, keeping her mind busy as she didn’t hear anything from the race driver for the entirety of the day. 

Hours later, she found herself in front of her home yet again thankful that her day had gone by fast. A part of her hoped he’d be inside the house, having given him a key to it, so he could say something to her face. So he could come clean and not lie and that would be the closure she would be ok with having to this final chapter of her life with Lewis. But when she stepped into her home, it was empty except for the ball of fur that pounced on her legs. At this moment she was most grateful for Spots as he hounded her with licks and scratches and yearned for her attention and probably a heaping bowl of food. 

Lewis was nowhere to be seen or heard of for the rest of the day. So typical. He did this and blamed it on the fact that he was training arduously. But really, it only took a few seconds out of your day to text someone that you’re busy. 

It wasn’t until 8 pm came that there was a knock on the door. It was incessant as the seconds ticked by. She was frozen in place, couldn’t move a single limb at the sound of his voice on the other side of the door. She couldn’t face him,  the deep pain she felt was even evident in her physical state. Clad in oversized clothing, hair in disarray and a solemn face. 

She was still frozen in place in her living room when he used his key to come in. Her glossy eyes met his dispirited ones for what seemed like an eternity until she pulled herself out of that bubble and looked away. It was better for her heart to look everywhere else but him.

“What are you doing here?” Was all she could muster past her lips.

“You haven’t texted or called me, so...I’m guessing you...” His voice was low and eyes downcast as he trailed off, not even finishing his sentence. He didn’t need to, she knew what he meant. His demeanor didn’t resemble that of the Lewis she knew. His clothes were disheveled. His body had a sluggish tune to it, his eyes downcast and rimmed with dark circles. It was pitiful to say the least to see him this way. He was once brimmed to the hilt with confidence that oozed with every step he took. The man she once knew was not present.

She felt a minuscule sense of a triumphant feeling that she could at least make him feel guilty for what he did, it showed that she meant something to him. That their relationship actually meant something.

“What do you think?” She responded with a determined voice laced with venom. “You thought I was going to text you like all those times I did before? I deserve better than that.  I deserve so much better than this. I was so damn good to you and you...” Her voice wasn’t as courageous as it had been a few seconds ago. It was breaking slowly, but she lifted her chin up because this wasn’t the way she wanted things to end. She didn’t want him to see her at her lowest point and know that it was he who had broken her to pieces.

“If you didn’t want to be monogamous, damn well knowing that’s what I wanted with you then you should’ve let me know so this relationship wouldn’t have gone on for as long as it did. That’s what hurts me the most, you know?” She huffed loudly. She looked at everything but him until she did. Their eyes met, both grim and saddened. 

“Nothing else happened between that girl and I. I know what it must’ve looked like...I know. I would’ve been thinking the same thing as you too, I understand completely but please hear me out.” 

“Stop lying to me. Stop.” She cried out. Hands balled into fists that came in contact with his chest again and again. She was livid, so damn consumed in her own anger and pain that this was her release. He let her. He stood there with tear-brimmed eyes, shaky lips and let her pound at his chest. He didn’t fight it, didn’t make a single move to stop her. 

“We left that bar together, but nothing happened after. I couldn’t. She wasn’t you. I don’t know what came over me to even let myself get that carried away. I won’t blame the alcohol because that’s unfair and I should’ve been more responsible. But please believe me when I tell you that nothing more happened with this chick. I’m an asshole and a coward for even kissing somebody else, I know that, but we never slept together. None of that happened. Please believe me baby....” Lewis was desperate, his tone reflected that clearly as did his stuttering sentences. She’d stopped hitting his chest and he’d grasped her arm.

His skin felt so warm and yet he had been so cold to her and betrayed the person who loved him most. 

“You not sleeping with her doesn’t make any of this better. You didn’t sleep with her, but you sure were kissing her as if your life depended on it. I trusted you and I put up with so much because I loved you. That’s my fault for being dense, not yours. “

The last sentence stung. It was evident on his face as his brows furrowed and eyes downcasted to look at his feet.

She really had put up with so much.

How often had she heard the answers to her desperate questions, “she’s just a friend”, “she was just there”, “We were just talking” or the infamous “it’s just the tabloid making stories up yet again”. She had heard varied versions of the same answer so many times that at times she didn’t even bother asking. She just bottled it all up, packed it away to the back of her mind because she thought love would conquer it all. That he was hers only. 

Her questioning would always be hushed to a puddle of desperate moans. His mouth always finding its way to hers to soothe her mind, to stop the questions that would undoubtedly put all the puzzle pieces together. To find a mishap, find something that would make his girl leave him. He couldn’t have that, he loved her in his very own way. A selfish way. 

Fucking her in the most desperate manner, showering every single part of her body with wet kisses that would have her whimpering and squirming in his embrace. He complimented every part of her body. She would let whatever problem go this way, just succumbing to Lewis the only way they knew how to push any discussion under the carpet. Making love for hours. Hour upon hour and he would be insatiable as though making her finish several times would make her fully forget. 

Quite frankly it always worked. She would always let it go, she’d stop asking, she’d drop it all to just be ok. To be together and get to that one goal she had—have a future together. Yet unknowingly losing the one thing she most needed in order to open her eyes to the situation she was in—her self respect.

To Y/N, she had built a resistance to it all or she thought she had at least. To the tabloids of him being paired with different women because of the many events he attended and was photographed with models, singers, any socialite paparazzi could get their claws on.

It came with the territory, she would think.

She had always been so good to him. So patient, so kind and loving. She was always so understanding of his demanding schedule, supporting him even when he was thousands of miles away in a different country. 

Though it was tearing her apart, she knew she could no longer put up with his indiscretions. With a man who didn’t respect her, didn’t want her to be part of his world quite literally. She was done being his little secret.  

The on and off, the push and pull of their relationship…It was all hidden, pages of their love unpublished. If it ended now, no one would really know the extent of their relationship, the depth it had in their lives. There were only speculations of them being linked together. The rare photos of their outings. That’s all people had of them…moments that could be counted in one hand. Yet they had shared so much more than what the world knew.

It was so easy to bury this all away, for it to be drowned out by whatever comes next. Whoever came next for him.

Lewis would be fine. He would not be questioned about her. Why she wasn’t around the paddock, why she was no longer linked to his arm in his many social events, why he no longer posted her. They wouldn’t question anything because they had never done anything of the sort. The privacy in their relationship was really code for keeping it a secret. She had never really had a place in his life. Never really experienced the feeling of holding his hand out in public, the freeing feeling of being able to just be.

There was no such thing.

Quite frankly, coming to that realization that she was a simple speck in the universe that was his life was like cold water being dumped on her head. To her, her relationship with Lewis meant the world to her. Yet to the world, she was nothing to him. 

She tore herself away from Lewis, the warmth he ensued was no longer comforting. For the first time in her life, it actually felt suffocating being in his presence. She wanted to be away from him. 

“You didn’t want to confront me, didn’t want to pull the bandaid off. But putting off the inevitable, running away from it does not mean you can disrespect me. Making me look like a fool.”

Lewis was stunned to say the least. The young woman standing in front of him was as determined as he had ever seen her. Yes, tear-streaked and evidently hurt, but her head held high all the meanwhile placing distance between them. A composed woman whose aura screamed she was no longer putting up with his shit any longer. 

She sighed fervently. Met his reddened eyes yet again with nothing but contempt as he looked dumbfounded, mouth shut as he had nothing to say. He had no right anyway. Nothing could ever excuse his actions. 

“I’m letting you go, Lewis. I think I deserve so much more than what you’ve offered me. I need normalcy. I want to hold your fucking hand as we walk down the street, be able to just go somewhere to eat, just us not always with your friends. Yet we don’t even do that, we don’t go anywhere…We hide from the world. You hide me from the world as though I will ruin your career, as though I’ll ruin your sponsorships. When all I’ve wanted is you, us.”

She was really going to do it this time. She was weeping on the inside. 

“I am done. I am giving you the freedom you seem to need so you can fuck all the women you want. You already seem to have done it even while with me anyway.”

He wanted to fight this so ardently. His chest was heaving, lungs fighting for air. His girl wanted out and he felt like he was losing it. 

“I’ll change. I promise I will change, I’ll do anything just please stay.”

There it was. For the first time in his life, Lewis Hamilton begged. He would get on his knees if he had to.

“Stay with me. Let’s work through this, please just…” He trailed off, damn eyes staring at her with so much longing. 

“I don’t have anything to work through. I did my part as I had to. I never once laid with any other man. I never even thought of it, that’s the thing. You were enough for me, but I have never been enough for you."

She turned on her feet and began the short trek to the front door. Her shaky hands grabbing hold of the golden knob and pulled the heavy door open.

"You are more than enough for me."

"You've never acted like it. You sure as hell did not act like it last night."

"It's my biggest regret, Y/N. I will do better for you, for us. I promise you."

Lewis felt desperate, his words cracking as they slipped past his lips. How could he ever make it up to her? He had failed her.

“Please leave, Lewis.”

He shook his head.

“Baby please.”

“I’m really done. I need you to leave.”

“Don’t do this.” He was in front of her again, hands reaching for her but she stepped back again. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to feel the soft touch of his hands on her skin, she already felt like running into his arms again and forget about all of this. To let this all go and continue on like before. 

But she couldn’t. Lewis had crossed a line of disrespect they had no way of working through. He had publicly pursued another woman. He had disrespected her and the love she had for him. There was no going back from this. 

“I said leave, Lewis. I’m done.”

Lewis felt the rejection hit deep in his chest, prodding at his heart as he realized he had taken for granted someone who had loved him wholeheartedly. All her hopes and dreams were something he once shared too, but he had lost his way in the midst of his career and taken her for granted. Now he knew he owed her at least this—to respect her decision. Just that he knew he couldn’t do it without putting up a fight.

“I love you. I’ll always love you,Y/N. I’ll fight for us. I’ll do whatever I have to.”

“Nothing could ever fix this, Lewis. We are done. I need you to leave now.”

Their eyes met for what they knew would be the last time. Melancholy eyes filled with tears as a love once so beautiful had come to its end. Heartstrings that had been tied for years forced apart as he walked out of her home. 

Lewis struggled to put one foot in front of the other, stepping out of her home felt like stepping on shard glass. It was painful beyond belief. He had really let his girl down for a moment of weakness and now he was paying for it.

He regretted even turning around to look at her once again, she had already closed the door. She wanted out and he knew he deserved the way she had acted towards him, the way she so ardently wanted him to leave. He had fucked up beyond belief.

***

With what felt like a shattered heart, a torn life, Y/N felt as though she was mourning. Heartbreak was a type of pain she had never really experienced prior to Lewis. Their love had been otherworldly for the time they had lasted. Filled with so many moments of uncertainty yet also moments with abundant love. 

Hours tuned into days which turned into weeks. She carried on as best as she could and quite frankly the best she could do was just be in her own world. She barely responded to messages or calls. She kept to herself to try to heal, how could she face the world when she could barely handle any interaction without breaking down.

Carlos had tried reaching out through text several times. He started calling when it hit the 3rd week of not being able to contact her. She didn't know if he was aware about her silent breakup with Lewis, the two men weren't close at all nor did they ever really hang out. Did he see the pictures of her ex that had torn her apart?

Carlos was worried about the pretty girl who lived in his neighborhood. His friend. He rarely visiter her, knowing that certain boundaries were in place as she was with the British driver, but when his messages and calls went unanswered for weeks he knew something was wrong. It was how he found out about the pictures of Lewis and the redhead.

It was why she was silent on social media, her usual stories missing from his feed, it was why she never answered any of his calls. She was hurt.

He found himself in front of her home within minutes of finding out. He needed to know if she was ok.

She opened the door on the 8th knock.

"Carlos."

*****

NOT PROOFREAD. Also feel like this is all over the place but it was fun to write 🫶

[leycorice]

i'm not a fan (i swear)

sylus x zayne // actor au // one shot // fluff // 2k words

yuu (mc) guilts zayne into attending a fanmeeting for the sylus qin—world-famous actor, walking thirst trap, and professional menace—he ends up accidentally going viral... and possibly catching the celebrity’s eye.

"you want me to what?"

zayne froze mid-motion, the water in his glass sloshing dangerously close to spilling. he cast a sharp glance at the bedridden figure across the room.

yuu looked absolutely miserable—bundled up in a fortress of blankets, face flushed, nose red from constant sneezing. her eyes, however, were far too lively for someone claiming deathbed illness.

"please, zayne!" she croaked, voice half-whine, half-command. "i don't want to waste the ticket. caleb is still out of town. just go, just once. get his signature for me, and—" she coughed violently before flailing a hand toward the bed.

from underneath, she dragged out a framed poster—and not just any poster.

there, in tasteful yet utterly shameless lighting, was a silver haired ripped man. shirtless, glistening, muscles flexed just right as he endorsed what appeared to be... cologne? underwear?

zayne honestly didn't want to know.

he stared at the frame. then at her.

"you want me to parade that around?"

"it's limited edition," yuu huffed, clutching it to her chest like a sacred relic. "and it has to be signed. you can’t let this opportunity pass, zayne. it's fate."

zayne pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling the start of a migraine. "yuu, i'm a surgeon, not a delivery boy."

"dr. greyson and yvonne said you're off that day," she sang (hoarsely) with a smug grin, eyes glinting above her surgical mask. "i checked. thoroughly."

zayne didn't even bother asking what kind of unholy deals she had struck to pry that information out. he set the glass down with a sigh that spoke of a man defeated by forces far greater than himself.

"there's also a letter," yuu added quickly, scrambling to grab a pink envelope off the nightstand. "and the cookies i baked! they're sylus-approved! i mean, probably! i hope!"

as she rattled off a checklist of increasingly ridiculous demands, somehow, somewhere, his life had gone catastrophically wrong.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

the venue was packed to the brim, a screaming, buzzing hive of humanity. banners with sylus qin’s face hung from the rafters like royal decrees. music blared. fans cried. security barked orders.

it was, in a word, hellish.

zayne kept his head down, adjusting the cap pulled low over his eyes and the sunglasses perched on his nose. he wore a long black coat over a plain grey turtleneck and dark slacks—neutral enough to blend in, or so he thought.

unfortunately, he had failed to account for basic human nature.

being six-foot-one and built like someone who could bench-press a gurney without trying meant he stood out. badly.

he caught the stares. the whispers.

"is he a model?"

"why's he dressed like that?"

"maybe he's sylus's bodyguard!"

"or a crazy stalker?"

wonderful. absolutely wonderful.

the large, cloth-covered frame tucked under his arm didn't help either. it shifted awkwardly every time someone bumped into him, and it took all of zayne’s willpower not to just abandon ship, throw the damn poster into a trashcan, and flee.

but he promised yuu. and zayne, for all his many flaws, never broke a promise.

he trudged through the chaos, finally merging into the long, winding line leading to the signing table.

from the corner of his eye, he caught his first real glimpse of the man himself.

the actor sat casually at the front of the hall, signature silver hair gleaming under the spotlights, red eyes sharp and playful. he wore a tailored black suit jacket thrown over a crimson shirt—his whole presence exuding careless charm. every smile he flashed sent shockwaves through the crowd.

zayne hated him immediately.

not personally, of course. just on principle.

(and because it's technically his fault that zayne is stuck here.)

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

the line crawled.

the whispers grew louder.

at some point, a girl behind him asked for his number.

at another, someone tried to sneak a photo of him.

zayne ignored it all.

just relieved that it was finally his turn.

he stepped forward, dropping the covered frame onto the signing table with a dull thud.

sylus looked up. and for the briefest second, faltered.

the man across from him was not the usual fan.

no sparkling eyes. no eager expression.

just a man, stiff as a board, his face fully covered and posture as if he's about to get his death certificate signed instead.

zayne cleared his throat.

"pleasure to meet you," he said, voice utterly devoid of enthusiasm.

sylus blinked once.

then a slow, amused grin curled onto his lips.

this was going to be interesting.

"pleasure's all mine, i’m sure," sylus said smoothly, eyeing the large, mysterious frame zayne had set down on the table. he raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "mind telling me what that is? or are we saving it for the grand reveal?"

zayne internally winced. of all the things yuu could’ve wanted, this was probably the most humiliating. he could still hear her hoarse voice in his head, pushing him to get the autograph on that picture specifically.

“right. it’s, uh—” zayne hesitated, realizing how bizarre this was about to sound. he cleared his throat. “it’s for a friend. she’s... sick, and couldn’t come.”

sylus, noticing zayne’s visible discomfort, chuckled lightly. “a friend, huh? lucky her. must be nice to have someone dedicated enough to do... this.” he gestured towards the black cloth. “go on. let’s see what i’m signing.”

zayne’s reluctance was palpable, but with no other option, he lifted the cloth.

the glossy, limited-edition poster gleamed under the venue’s lights. the moment he saw it, sylus’s smirk deepened, but he quickly raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise.

"oh wow, this one’s a classic. quite the bold choice, isn’t it?" sylus chuckled, his red eyes gleaming with amusement. “so... your friend’s into this, huh?”

zayne felt his face heat up, his professionalism hanging by a thread. he could hear faint murmurs from the fans behind him, some giggling, others whispering, and he was sure this would be the last time he did anything on yuu’s behalf.

“she... has very specific tastes,” zayne managed, his voice clipped. “just sign it, please.”

sylus, clearly entertained, tapped the pen against his lip before scribbling his signature across the poster with a flamboyant flourish.

zayne kept himself alive through sheer mental discipline.

and macarons.

specifically, the glossy little display of pastel macarons he'd glimpsed in a bakery window on his walk to the venue. lemon. pistachio. salted caramel.

endure this circus, he told himself grimly, and you shall be rewarded.

sylus had been no help at all.

the man was a menace—casually smirking, tossing little comments here and there that had zayne's jaw ticking dangerously. ("you know, you have very... steady hands. surgeon, maybe? i wonder what else those hands are good at," sylus had mused aloud at one point, sending a nearby cluster of girls into shrieks.)

zayne stayed stone-faced, holding onto his sanity with both hands.

finally, the signatures were done.

the poster — signed.

the cookies — accepted with an amused glance.

the letter — tucked away in sylus’s jacket.

he was free.

or so he thought...

"okay, picture time!" a staff member announced brightly.

zayne froze.

what?

he turned, slow as death, toward the cheerful staff.

he caught snippets:

"standard fanmeet protocol!"

"every attendee gets photos with sylus!"

"don't worry, he’s super good at guiding fans through the poses!"

zayne felt the weight of a thousand stares pinning him in place.

backing out now would be more suspicious than just surviving it. actually, that would probably be a death sentence. he can already see it. him being the face of every fans' post for turning the sylus qin down...

and so, dead inside but outwardly composed, zayne turned back to the celebrity in question—who was grinning like the cat that caught the world's biggest, most awkward canary.

sylus leaned back casually, one hand resting on the table. "relax," he said, voice low, private. "i'll go easy on you."

zayne seriously doubted that.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

first photo.

sylus held up a hand, forming a classic finger heart.

zayne stared at it, then awkwardly mimicked the gesture, stiff as a corpse.

the camera clicked.

the crowd cooed.

sylus's grin widened.

second photo.

without warning, sylus’s arm snaked around zayne’s waist, pulling him slightly closer.

the sudden contact jolted zayne like an electric shock — but sylus just lifted his free hand to frame a heart against zayne’s cheek, angling them perfectly for the shot.

zayne stared directly into the lens, the ghost of what the hell flashing across his usually neutral expression.

click.

the girls squealed.

third photo.

it got worse.

somehow, zayne found himself—god knows how—holding his hands up in a flower pose near his chin, palms open like an unwilling schoolboy.

sylus, ever the opportunist, leaned his head against zayne’s hands, smirking lazily at the camera, red eyes gleaming with amusement.

click.

zayne could practically hear yuu’s hysterical laughter from across town.

fourth photo.

this was supposed to be the easiest.

simple hand-holding pose. still embarassing, but at least it's a minimum physical contact.

no drama. no nonsense.

zayne reached out, letting sylus take his hand. easy.

but then—without warning—sylus lifted zayne’s hand toward his mouth, his movements slow and deliberate.

the last thing zayne registered was sylus’s signature smirk, the way his brow arched in that infuriating, sultry way—and then the brief, unmistakable press of sylus qin’s lips against the back of his hand.

the flash went off.

the entire hall exploded.

screaming, shouting, fainting—the crowd went absolutely feral.

someone even dropped their phone in sheer excitement.

zayne stood frozen, still holding the position like a man who'd just been personally struck down by an act of god.

sylus lowered their hands slowly, his grin shark-like. "thanks for coming," he murmured—a private murmur pitched low enough that only zayne could hear. "i hope the next time we meet, you'll take off your little disguise, yeah?"

zayne swallowed down the urge to turn around and flee at light speed. his mind had reverted back to one pure, surviving thought.

macarons.

he was going to buy the entire damn shop.

maybe two.

maybe open his own bakery just to bleach his memory clean.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

by the time zayne made it back to yuu’s apartment, he was dead on his feet.

he had barely shoved the signed merchandise into yuu’s outstretched hands before retreating to the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring chicken porridge on the stove like a man trying to reclaim the last shred of his dignity.

yuu, for her part, looked rejuvenated. the second he had crossed the threshold with that signed poster, she had practically levitated off her sickbed, screeching her thanks until her voice cracked.

now, wrapped burrito-style in a blanket, she was scrolling madly through her phone, giggling like a hyena with bronchitis to see all the pictures from fansites.

the smell of ginger and sesame oil filled the air, a comforting feeling to the madness of the day.

he ladled the porridge carefully, methodically, into a bowl, sprinkling just the right amount of green onions on top when a sudden screech broke the calm.

"zayne, oh my god!" yuu croaked from the living room, her voice hoarse and broken from the earlier shouting marathon.

he flinched, nearly dropping the bowl.

"you’re trending!" she gasped, practically vibrating where she sat, clutching her phone like a lifeline.

zayne set the bowl down, dread settling in his gut like a stone.

"...trending?" he repeated slowly, carefully—as if saying the word wrong might make it less real. “what are you talking about?”

“i mean, you! you’re everywhere right now!” yuu rasped, unable to hide her delight. “the internet’s going crazy over you!”

zayne felt a sudden pit in his stomach. “what do you mean... ‘me’?”

“hold on, let me show you!” yuu coughed, swiping furiously on her phone. “okay, here’s one! ‘mysterious handsome guy steals the spotlight at sylus’s fan meeting!’ oh, and this one: ‘who is the masked man that sylus couldn’t stop flirting with?’”

zayne froze, the spoon in his hand hovering over the pot. “you’ve got to be kidding.”

"i’m not! look!" yuu hacked a cough but shoved the phone at him enthusiastically. the screen was so bright it nearly blinded him.

against his better judgment, zayne leaned in.

#mysterioushandsomefan

#sylusfanboy

#sylusfanmeet

#whoishe

there were photos. dozens.

from every possible angle.

there he was, stiff and expressionless, making an awkward finger heart.

there he was again, visibly malfunctioning as sylus draped an arm around his waist.

the flower pose.

the hand kiss.

the hand kiss.

zoomed in.

filtered.

gif’d.

someone even slowed it down dramatically with soft romantic music overlay.

zayne stared at it all, feeling like he just aged ten years in the span of one minute.

"you're famous!" yuu rasped gleefully. "people are calling you sylus’s secret boyfriend. oh my god, zayne, you’re basically an internet darling now."

zayne felt his stomach drop. “a what?”

yuu let out a wheezing laugh. “oh, you sweet summer child. people are shipping you two. you and sylus are a new ‘it’ couple on the internet.”

zayne blinked. he felt lightheaded. “i’m going to faint.”

“please don’t,” yuu teased, wiping tears from her eyes. “oh! and—wait for it,” she continued, barely able to contain her excitement, “sylus just tweeted. about you.”

zayne felt the ground shift beneath him. did someone curse him today or something? was it the macarons? all he did was ate more than ten of them what why how—

she tapped on her screen and read aloud, her voice cracking with glee. “look, it says: ‘had a great time at the fan meeting today. special shoutout to the tall, dark, and handsome mystery man who kept me on my toes. hope to see you again, handsome. wink wink’”

zayne stared at her, utterly speechless. “he... he didn’t.”

“oh, but he did,” yuu cackled, shaking her phone for emphasis. “looks like someone caught his attention~”

zayne sank onto the nearest chair, putting his head in his hands. his life as a surgeon had prepared him for a lot—stress, long hours, even life-or-death situations—but nothing had prepared him for this.

he suddenly felt deeply, deeply grateful that his only account—a private, locked one for family and a few old classmates—was shielded from the public eye.

within minutes, people were theorizing:

was he a celebrity too?

was he a secret model?

was he sylus’s boyfriend?

was he a doctor (cue the medical forums getting involved)?

one post simply screamed, "he's built like a god, no way he's normal."

yuu slurped porridge happily beside him, scrolling through the chaos she had unleashed.

"hey," she said between bites, "if you ever get free tickets to his movie premier, can you give one to me too?"

he groaned into his hands.

"can i sue you for emotional damage?"

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER FIVE ━━ I Get You

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 4.9K

❀ ━ warnings: mentions of injury, angst

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: these hoes are gay

PAIGE SITS on the sidelines, her crutches propped up against the wall, the weight of her brace a constant reminder. The gym smells like it always does—sweat, pine-scented floor cleaner, and faintly of old rubber. It’s familiar, almost comforting, but today it just feels hollow. Every bounce of the ball, every squeak of sneakers against polished wood, every shout of her teammates feels like a sharp stab. She should be out there. She should be running those plays, setting up the assists, pushing the pace, and taking those impossible shots. Instead, she’s stuck here, immobile and useless.

Her hands grip the edge of the chair, the cool metal biting into her palms as she leans forward to watch the scrimmage. Jo’s running point, calling out a play with that calm, sure voice Paige has come to admire. Jo makes it look easy, like she’s been apart of this team forever, and the rest of the girls respond to her without hesitation. It’s the kind of command Paige used to have, the kind she oddly always thought no one could replicate.

But between Jo and Nika, they’re doing fine without her.

And she thinks that’s the hardest part.

Every pass, every cut, every layup feels like a slap to Paige’s pride. The team doesn’t crumble without her; they adapt. Jo steps into the role Paige left vacant, and Paige can’t even dislike her for it because she’s so damn good at it. She runs the offense and with precision, directing the team perfectly. And, of course, it’s not like Paige wants her team to fail without her. It’s just a reminder of what she can’t do anymore—or, at least not for a long time.

Her stomach twists as she watches the scrimmage play out. She’s never been good at sitting still, and now, that’s all she can do. Sit and watch. She used to be the one lifting everyone’s spirits, the one pushing them through tough practices. Now she’s just another body on the sidelines, invisible and irrelevant. She feels like a ghost of herself, haunting the gym where she uses to thrive.

The ache in her knee is dull but persistent, a constant undercurrent to her frustration. The brace is still and cumbersome, and the crutches are a pain in the ass to deal with. Even getting to this chair had felt like a marathon. She hates every second of this—the injury, the recovery, the helplessness. It’s not just the physical pain; it’s the way it chips away at her identity. She doesn’t know who she is without basketball.

She glances down at the clipboard balanced on her lap, a half-hearted attempt to stay engaged. Geno had given it to her, suggesting she could help track plays and stats during practice, but it feels like a consolation prize. Like something he made up to keep her busy, to make her feel less like dead weight. The truth is, she doesn’t know what the hell her role is anymore. She doesn’t know how to help when she can’t be on the court.

Paige forced herself to focus back on the scrimmage, her eyes narrowing as Jo drives toward the basket. Jo’s quick, her movements sharp and meaningful, and instead of finishing with the layup, she does a no-look, dishing it out to Azzi on the perimeter, who buries a three. Paige catches Jo’s eyes as she jogs back up the court, and Jo flashes her that smile—warm, reassuring, effortless. It’s the kind of smile that should make Paige feel better, but—for once—it doesn’t.

Paige doesn’t have the energy to smile back. She knows Jo means well, knows she’s trying to be supportive, but it just makes Paige feel worse. She’s not in the mood for reassurance. She doesn’t want to be told it’s going to be okay, because it doesn’t feel like it ever will be.

Jo looks away and gets back into the flow of the game, and Paige’s gaze drops to the clipboard again. She scribbles something down, not because it matters, but because she needs something to do with her hands. She feels the tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to hurt.

The gym fades into background noise as her mind races. She thinks about the months ahead, the endless rehab sessions, the games she’ll have to watch from the bench. She thinks about how everyone else will move on, how the media will forget her name, how the team will find rhythm without her. She wonders if she’ll ever get that rhythm back, if she’ll ever feel like herself again.

She thinks she will. She has enough trust in God to hope he’ll at least give her that. But, here, right now, that feels so far ahead that it’s almost just wishful at this point.

Paige closes her eyes, breathing deeply. She can’t do this here, not in front of everyone. She pushes herself up from the chair, fumbling for her crutches. The awkward motion makes her wince, but she swallows the ache and glances at Geno.

“Gotta go to the bathroom,” she says, her voice too clipped to be convincing.

Geno narrows his eyes slightly, the way he always does when he’s trying to figure someone out. He nods once, and Paige feels the weight of his gaze as she turns away. She knows he can see right through her excuse, but he doesn’t call her out on it. She doesn’t need another lecture about staying engaged.

The moment she’s out of the gym, the air feels different—quieter, cooler, easier to breathe. The hallway stretches ahead of her, lined with murals of UConn legends. Paige’s crutches thud against the floor as she hobbles forward, her eyes skimming over the faces and names that loom on the walls. Maya Moore. Breanna Stewart. Diana Tayrasi. Sue Bird.

Her chest tightens.

She’s supposed to be part of this legacy. She’s supposed to be one of the names people remember, one of the faces immortalized in paint and pride. But now? Now she’s a girl with a busted knee and a brace that feels like a goddamn prison. The thought makes her stomach twist with equal parts anxiety and frustration, a bitter cocktail she’s been choking down since the surgery.

As she continues down the hall, trying to push those thoughts out of her head, she nearly collides with someone rounding the corner.

“Paige!”

Celeste Sinclair’s voice is bright and warm, and Paige immediately regrets leaving the gym. The grin that spreads across the redhead’s face feels too familiar, too personal, like an inside joke Paige isn’t in on.

“Hey,” Paige mutters, gripping the crutches tighter.

She hasn’t seen Celeste since before her ACL tear, and that’s probably for the best. The girls Paige hooks up with always have a way of getting too attached. Paige doesn’t blame them, not really. She knows she’s charming, knows how to make people feel like they’re the only one in the world when they’re with her. But that’s all it’s ever been: a moment.

Celeste is nice. Pretty. Accomplished. Good in bed. But Paige has never wanted anything more, never even given it a thought. Relationships aren’t for her. They never have been. Basketball has always been her first and only love, the one thing she’s willing to give herself to completely. And now that’s gone—at least for now. The last thing she needs is another reminder of how much she’s failed.

“I haven’t seen you since…” Celeste trails off, gesturing vaguely toward Paige’s knee, her voice tinged with sympathy. “How’re you holding up?”

Paige forces herself to smile, though it feels more like a grimace. “I’m good. Just takin’ it one day at a time.”

Celeste beams at her like she’s just said something profound, and Paige wants to die a little inside.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Celeste replies. “I wasn’t sure—did you get my card? I gave it to Jo to pass along before your surgery. Um, but you haven’t really said anything.”

Oh, right. The card. The one Paige didn’t even read. The one that’s now resting in a hospital trash can. Paige rubs a hand over her face, buying time to piece together an answer. “Yeah—uh, yeah, I got it. Sorry I said nothin’. Thanks, though.”

Celeste’s smile widens, and her eyes soften in that way that makes Paige want to shuffle awkwardly away. Celeste always looks at her like that, like there’s something more between them, something Paige knows she’ll never be able to—or want—to give.

“You’re welcome,” Celeste says gently. “I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”

Paige more, hoping that’s the end of it, but of course, it’s not.

“Hey,” Celeste starts, her tone shifting to something more professional, “any chance you’d be up for, like, a TikTok? Just something to show the fans you’re healing. They’d love to see you.”

It’s times like these that Paige understands why Jo thought it was so funny she was fucking their media girl. Paige stares at Celeste for a long second, feeling a spark of irritation flare in her chest, because, seriously, why would she even ask that? “No, Celeste. I don’t wanna do any media.”

The words come out sharper than she intends, but she doesn’t care enough to soften them. She adjusts her grip on her crutches, already turning to leave.

“Right,” Celeste says quickly, falling into step beside her. “I get that. Totally. Just… heal up, okay? Call or text, if you want to. You know where to find me.”

Paige doesn’t respond, just gives her a brief nod before hobbling down the hall. Her pace is slow, each step a frustrating reminder of how far she is from where she wants to be. Celeste finally stops following, and Paige exhales in relief as she rounds another corner, desperate for some space, some air, anything that doesn’t feel like pressure or pity.

AFTER PRACTICE, Jo walks into the locker room with the rest of the team, the chatter and laughter bouncing off the walls as everyone unwinds from the session. She’s still buzzing with the energy of the scrimmage (and the sprints they were forced to do after because of one-too-many missed layups), but as she rounds the corner to the lockers, she notices a familiar figure slouched on the bench.

Paige had disappeared halfway through practice, and though Geno didn’t make a big deal out of it, Jo had been aware of her absence like a missing puzzle piece. Now here she is, sitting in front of their side-by-side lockers, her crutches leaning against the bench and her gaze a little unfocused. Her brace sticks out awkwardly from her bent leg, and Jo feels a pant of sympathy tighten her chest.

“Hey,” Jo says as she tosses her bag in the cubby of her locker. She sits down beside Paige, close enough to make her presence known but not enough to crowd her. “You okay?”

Paige shrugs, her lips pulling into a vague shape that might be a smile but doesn’t come close. “Yeah. ‘M fine.”

Jo doesn’t buy it. It’s not that Paige is necessarily a bad liar; she’s just too proud, too stubborn to admit when she’s not. Jo watches her for a beat, the slump of her shoulders, the way her fingers fight with the hem of her T-shirt. She knows this posture, this energy. It’s the same one she’s seen in teammates who’ve been sidelined by injures, the same one she’s seen in herself on the bad days.

But Jo doesn’t push. She knows how that can feel—suffocating, like someone prying open a door you’re not ready to unlock. Instead, she plants her hands on the bench and leans back a little, changing the subject.

“Did you see Lou get me with that spin move earlier?” Jo asks, keeping her tone light. “Literally cooked me.”

Paige lets out a small, breathy laugh, almost imperceptible, but Jo catches it. It’s the first sign of life she’s seen in her all day.

“Didn’t even look like she was trying,” Paige mutters, her voice flat but laced with the ghost of a smirk.

“Right?” Jo exclaims, throwing up her hands in mock indignation. “It’s like, leave some dignity for the rest of us, y’know?”

She continues on, telling some half-dramatic story of when Nika picked her pocket after Paige left, weaving in jokes at her own expanse. She avoids anything too basketball-heavy, keeping the focus on the absurdity of her own experiences instead of the game itself. It’s a careful balance—Jo knows that bringing up basketball might sting, but it’s also a thread that ties them together, a shared language Paige can’t—and Jo knows she doesn’t want to—escape from.

Paige hums in response now and then, her focus flickering like a weak signal. Jo can tell she’s only half-listening, her mind somewhere else entirely. Still, she keeps going, hoping that her presence, if nothing else, might pull Paige out of her head a little.

After a while, as everyone’s getting up to go, Jo shifts the conversation again, tilting her head toward Paige. “Y’know, we could hang out later—maybe watch a movie or something?”

Paige looks at her, and for a split second, Jo thinks she might say no outright. Instead, Paige forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and says, “Maybe.”

The hesitation is there, sharp and obvious, but Jo doesn’t call it out. She knows better than to push. She lets the word hang in the air for a moment before nodding, as if “maybe” is a real plan.

“Okay,” Jo says, keeping her tone casual.

Paige turns back to her hands, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the bench. Jo watches her out of the corner of her eye, thinking of something that might reach her. She’s learned that Paige is pretty independent, something that stems from her childhood if Jo had to guess, and Jo respects that. She does. But there’s a difference between being independent and shutting everyone out, and Jo worries that Paige is tipping too far into the latter.

She tries to think of something—anything—that might help. She doesn’t need to cheer Paige up, necessarily. She’s learned by now that joy isn’t always the right goal. What Paige needs isn’t sunshine and rainbows (though Jo would probably be better at giving her that). What she needs is something steadier, quieter. A reminder that she’s not alone, even if she feels like she is.

She’ll figure something out.

PAIGE LIES sprawled across her bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the string lights draped along the wall. Her eyes are fixed on her crutches, propped up against the wall next to her like a taunt she can’t escape. They stand there, silent and unmoving, mocking her with their stillness while the rest of the world seems to keep spinning without her.

Today has been one of the most frustrating days she’s had since the injury. The hours feel heavier, pressing against her chest, leaving no room to breathe. Practice was a disaster, even though she wasn’t really in it. She hates watching from the sidelines, hates feeling so useless. She’d escaped halfway through, hobbling out of the gym under the guise of needing air, only to run into Celeste, of all people. That interaction still churns in her stomach—awkward and uncomfortable, like a bruise pressed too hard.

Jo had asked her earlier if she wanted to hang out tonight. Just a movie, something simple. Paige had said “maybe” at the time. But an hour or so ago, when Jo knocked softly on her door, her voice east and unassuming as she asked if Paige wanted to make good on the plan, Paige had thrown out some half-baked excuse about being tired.

Jo didn’t push, of course. She never does. She just nodded, smiled a little, and closed the door, before Paige heard her leave the apartment—probably to go upstairs and hangout with their teammates. Her stomach twisted with guilt as she listened because Jo is Jo—kind and patient and the only person who seems to understand that Paige doesn’t want to talk about any of this. She doesn’t want to be asked how she’s doing, doesn’t want to be told it’ll get better, doesn’t want to be smothered in sympathy that feels more like pity.

But Jo’s absence now feels louder than her presence earlier. Paige stares at the ceiling, trying to will herself into a calmer state, trying to shake off the weight of the day, the week, the last month. It doesn’t work.

She sits up abruptly, shoving the blankets off her legs and swinging them over the side of the bed. Her knee twinges at the movement, the brace digging into her skin, and she lets out a frustrated huff. Her eyes land on the crutches again, the sharp lines of their edges casting long shadows in the dim light. She feels a bubbling in her chest—an anger she doesn’t know how to direct, a helplessness she doesn’t know how to contain.

Before she even realizes what she’s doing, Paige grabs one of the crutches from beside the bed and hurls it across the room. It crashes against the wall with a dull thud, sliding to the floor in a defeated heap. The sound echoes in the silence, and for a moment, she just stares at the aftermath, her chest heaving.

And then the tears come.

It’s not the first time she’s cried since the injury, but it feels different tonight—uglier, rawer, like the dam has finally burst. She curls in on herself, her hands tangling in her hair as sobs wrack her body. She doesn’t bother trying to quiet them. There’s no one here to hear her, no one to ask if she’s okay, no one to offer meaningless reassurances she doesn’t want to hear.

Except, there is.

A soft, hesitant knock at Paige’s bedroom door jolts her out of her spiraling thoughts. She freezes, her hands instinctively wiping at her face, smearing away the tears that have already begun to dry against her skin. Confusion threads through her—she thought Jo had left. She hadn’t even heard her come back.

The door creaks open, and there Jo is, standing in the sun light spilling from the hallway. Her brows are furrowed, her mouth pulled into a concerned line. She takes a step inside, her eyes scanning the room. Paige knows what she sees—the red puffiness of her face, the dampness of her cheeks, and the crutch lying discarded by the wall like a casualty of war.

“Sorry,” Paige blurts out, her voice cracking as the word tumbles out in a rush. She feels a fresh wave of shame rise up. She’s been awful to Jo, she knows that. First brushing her off earlier, and now this—disturbing her peace with her mess, her ability to just hold it together for once.

Jo doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there, her eyes roving over Paige’s face, taking in every detail. Paige hates how exposed she feels, like Jo can see right through the flimsy walls she’s been trying to keep up all day. Finally, Jo sighs and steps fully into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

“Paige,” Jo says gently, “you don’t have to be sorry.”

There’s something in Jo’s voice that makes Paige want to believe her. Something so simple, yet so genuine, that it threatens to unravel the last bit of control she has. She doesn’t respond, just watches as Jo walks closer. She sets something—a bag, Paige thinks—on the floor next to the bed, but Paige doesn’t even bother to look at it. Jo sits down on the edge of the mattress, close enough that Paige can smell the faint traces of strawberry body wash on her skin. She hates that it makes her stomach do that weird fluttery thing, hates that it makes her feel anything at all.

“I’m just—” Jo pauses, and Paige looks up at her. Jo’s eyes are soft but unwavering, and the way she’s looking at Paige, like she’s trying to will her to understand something without saying it outright, makes her heart squeeze. “I’m really worried about you, P.”

The flutter in Paige’s stomach turns into something heavier, like a weight pressing down on her stomach. Jo’s worried about her. Paige knows that other people have probably been worried about her too—her parents, her teammates, her coaches—but it feels different coming from Jo. It feels too much. She shifts uncomfortably, trying to ignore the way Jo’s gaze feels like it’s peeling back all her layers.

“I’m fine,” Paige says automatically. The word sound hollow even to her, like a tired script she’s forced herself to memorize.

Jo shakes her head, her expressing softening even more. “No, you’re not. And it’s okay not to be.”

Paige doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to put into words what’s been clawing at her chest since the injury.

“But you’re shutting everyone out,” Jo continues, her voice steady but not accusatory. “It’s like you won’t even look at me some days, let alone talk to me. And I get it. I do. But I just—I want you to know that I’m here. That you can talk to me, because I’ve been there.”

Paige stares at her, the words catching her slightly off guard. I’m here. It’s such a simple thing to say, but the way Jo says it, low and earnest, makes something in Paige’s chest twist. She doesn’t know what to do with that—doesn’t know how to accept it without feeling like she’s admitting defeat.

“Azzi already tried,” Paige says finally, sounding shaky. “She tore her ACL in high school, and she tried to talk to me about it. But it’s just—she still didn’t seem to get it. No one does—I don’t know—” Her voice cracks on the last few words, and she feels the tears welling up again, hot and relentless.

Jo studies her for a long moment, her head tilting slightly. “You think nobody gets you?” she asks softly.

Paige nods, the movement slow and heavy, her throat too tight to speak.

Jo nods too, as if she’s been expecting that. “It’s not true,” she says simply. “I get you. I do.”

Paige shakes her head, a weak protest already forking. “Jo—”

“No, really,” Jo interrupts, leaning forward slightly. “You feel like everyone expects you to be perfect, all the time. You feel like if you’re not the Paige Bueckers everyone knows—the player, the leader, the star—that you’re letting everyone down. Your team, your coaches, your fans, your family—yourself. You feel like you don’t even know who you are without basketball, because it’s been your whole life for as long as you can remember. And now that it’s been taken away from you, you don’t know how to exist. You feel lost, like a piece of you is missing, and you’re scared—terrified, actually—that you’ll never get it back And you’re so used to dealing with everything on your own, to putting on a brave face and pretending you’re fine, that the thought of letting anyone in feels basically impossible. Like if you let even one crack show, then the whole thing will just come crashing down.”

The words hit Paige like a tidal wave. Every sentence is a punch to the gut, not because it hurts, but because it’s true. Jo’s right—about all of it. About the fear, the pressure, the suffocating wright of it all. And the way Jo says it, calm and matter-of-fact, makes it even harder to ignore.

“Was I right?” Jo asks softly, her eyes searching Paige’s face.

Paige swallows hard, her chest tight as she stares at Jo. There’s something about the way Jo’s looking at her—steady and unwavering, like she’ll wait forever if she has to—that makes Paige feel like the room is tilting. She wants to run from it, but she also doesn’t want Jo to stop.

Finally, she nods, her voice barely a whisper. “Yeah,” she says, her throat dry. “You were.”

Paige doesn’t know how to process the way Jo’s smile hits her. It’s small, soft, and knowing, but it wraps around Paige like a hug. Jo leans a little closer, her voice warm and teasing when she says, “See? I told you.”

There’s something about those words, about the certainty in Jo’s tone. She doesn’t want to cry anymore—God, she doesn’t want to—but something about Jo makes her feel like it would be okay if she did.

Jo’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “Scoot over.”

Paige blinks at her, furrowing her brows. “What?”

Jo doesn’t elaborate, just gestures for Paige to move. Paige hesitates, unsure of where this is going, but she shuffled over, making room on the bed. Jo grabs the bag she set down earlier and pulls herself up onto the bed. Paige watches as Jo leans back, settling against the wall, her shoulder brushing Paige’s, her other side cuddling into Sunny, the stuffed animal she gave Paige.

“What’s that?” the blonde asks, gesturing toward the bag with a slight sniffle. Her voice is still shaky from earlier, and she hates how small she sounds.

Jo pulls the bag into her lap, her voice lighter now, almost back to her usual bright, less-serious self. “Oh, this?” She opens it and pulls out a little tub of ice cream. “I went out and got us ice cream. I got your disgusting mint chip.”

Paige blinks, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite herself. That’s where Jo had gone, even after she’d bailed on their plans. Paige takes the ice cream Jo offers, along with a spoon, feeling a warmth spread through her chest that has nothing to do with the food.

Jo retrieves her own tub—still cotton candy, still gross—and balances it in her lap.

They sit in silence for a moment, and Paige lets herself watch Jo as she digs into her ice cream. There’s something so effortless about her, the way she fits into Paige’s space like she belongs here.

Jo suddenly looks around, frowning a little as if searching for something. “Where’s your—?” she starts but doesn’t finish before her eyes lick on something and she leans over Paige, reaching toward the nightstand.

It happens so quickly that all Paige can do is freeze. Jo’s arm brushes her side, her hair falls near Paige’s face, and Paige can smell her shampoo, something sweet and faintly strawberry. Paige’s heart starts racing, and she doesn’t understand why.

Jo grabs the TV remote and sits back, settling into her spot again like nothing happened. Paige feels ridiculous for how flustered she is, but she can’t help it.

Jo turns on the TV, flipping through the streaming apps before looking over at Paige. “You ready to finally start The Vampire Diaries?”

The blonde groans, leaning her head back against the wall. “No, I don’t wanna watch that.”

Jo’s been pestering her about this show for what feels like forever, insisting Paige would love it if she just gave it a chance. Paige, naturally, has resisted every time.

The younger girl shrugs, clearly unfazed. “Well, I don’t care. You’re already a little too depressed to keep watching Grey’s, sorry. It’s more fun to watch vampires eat people. Besides, the Salvatores are hot.”

Paige deadpans, “I’m gay.”

Jo doesn’t miss a beat. “Okay, Nina Dobrev’s hot.”

And, yeah, Paige supposes she can’t argue with that. She sighs, defeated, and waves a hand toward the TV. “Fine. Put it on.”

Jo grins like she’s won a battle, which she kind of has, and presses play. Paige doesn’t know what to expect, but she lets herself settle in as the first episode begins. Part of her wonders why this show is Jo’s favorite. Because, really, what is it about brooding vampires and dumbass love triangles that she loves so much? Maybe, Paige thinks, if she watches closely, she’ll learn something about Jo.

They eat their ice cream in comfortable silence as the show plays, the room filled with the sounds of dramatic dialogue and overly intense music.

After a while, Paige’s appetite fades. She sets her ice cream tub on the nightstand, not in grow her arm brushes Jo’s when she moves. Her heart stutters again, and she tries to ignore it, sliding back into her spot.

Without really thinking, she leans her head on Jo’s shoulder. It’s a small gesture, but it feels huge for some reason. Paige tells herself it’s just because she’s tired, that she needs comfort after everything that’s happened today. But the way her heart races says otherwise.

“Thanks, Joey,” she murmurs quietly.

Jo shifts slightly, and then Paige feels it—the warmth of Jo’s hand as it settles over her own. Paige’s breath catches, her stomach doing something weird and unfamiliar.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Jo says softly, certain.

But Paige does want to thank her, even if she doesn’t know how to put it into words. She doesn’t know how to explain what this means—Jo showing up, staying, not letting her spiral alone. All she knows is that her hand seems to fit perfectly under Jo’s slightly smaller one, and she doesn’t want to move.

The episode plays on, but Paige isn’t really watching anymore. She’s too focused on the warmth of Jo’s shoulder against her cheek, the quiet rise and fall of her breathing, the way her hand hasn’t moved from Paige’s. And in the back of her mind, Paige knows there’s something here—something bigger than she’s ready to admit.

[dark-konohagakure2]

Sexually abusive boyfriend Sasuke🥳

tw: noncon, abusive relationship, face-fucking, free use, degradation, threats, dehumanization, sadism, possessiveness, collars

All characters depicted are 18+

Sasuke is the furthest thing from a sweet and romantic partner, he hardly even sees his so-called girlfriend as a significant other, seeing her as only a glorified sex toy that occasionally makes annoying noise with that useless mouth of hers, when that mouth isn't meant for talking.

Sasuke won't talk to his girlfriend unless he wants domestic chores done or wants his balls emptied, no in between. The only other time he'll converse with her is to degrade and berate her for every little thing.

He isn't very romantic with her, he never touches her gently, he never kisses her, and he especially never even once says that he loves her, because he certainly doesn't, at least not as a person, but Sasuke does love his favorite toy and all it's "features".

One of his favorite things to do is fucking her face, using her warm and wet mouth as his own personal fleshlight. This is a favorite of his, since Sasuke gets all the pleasure and she gets none, unless she's a masochist who enjoys the throat pain.

"Shut up, you damn loser. I told you to suck, so open your worthless mouth and suck my cock. Or would you prefer another beating?"

Sasuke owns all of her holes, so he gets to use whichever one he wants whenever he wants. It's rare that he'll go a day without using at least two of her holes, since they are his property, and so is the person that they're attached to.

In fact, Sasuke is so possessive that he'll even buy a collar just for her, locking it onto her neck and burning the key before her very eyes. Not only does the collar show that she is his bitch, but it also gives him something to yank on when he's fucking her brains out.

He ends up fucking her so much and so often that her holes are molded perfectly for his and only his cock. Sasuke loves this, it serves as a constant reminder that her holes are his possessions, and that no one else could use them as effectively as he does.

Sasuke never fails to leave her crying when he's done with her, leaving her holes stretched and her body covered in red handprints and his cum. While he loves to see her cry, he also wants to stop whining before he gives her something to whine and cry about.

"Idiot. Stop crying, you overdramatic bitch. I wasn't that rough, but I'll be even more rough next time if you keep this bullshit up."

Sasuke isn't loving, but he is loyal in his own twisted way. He'll never even think to fuck another woman, not when he has the most perfect and submissive little sex doll waiting from him at home.

[namisin]

❝ HOPE WHEN THE MOON GOES—

(—THAT YOU DON'T GO.)

⚝ pairing : gojo satoru x reader.

⚝ synopsis : satoru likes you to a painful degree, dare he say he loves you. everyone but you can see it. the problem? you only want to be friends (with benefits).

⚝ content : 18+, fem reader, tiniest bit of angst, fwbs to lovers, oral (m receiving), college au, piv, pet names, brief mention of dubcon? (drunk reader), mentions of alcohol, rated w for whiny gojo, pet name(s), prὁne-bone, possessiveness, praise bc he's just a sweetie, choking, reader is spoiled but so is he, MDNI.

⚝ word count : 3.2k | 11 min read. y'all idk how this happened

⚝ a/n : gege please dpwm i need my man back this INSTANT. but tysm u guys for the warm welcome !! like, comment &/or reblog for smooches on the mouf ♡

𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 friday night, another club outing satoru did not wanna be on.

granted, it was a setting that would otherwise be right up his alley. satoru was the life of the party after all, the loudest one in the room without fail. but he could distinctly remember the point before your arrangement began, and after.

it didn't matter before that he could get anyone he wanted, have any warm body take up space in his king-sized bed. it didn't matter that you could do the same; dance up on anyone, grind your perfect ass against them until they had no presence of mind but to follow your piper's song to the nearest empty room. then regale your best friends with the details the next morning.

however, after the first time you propositioned him, drunk out of your mind but purring in his lap like a needy cat, it only became harder and harder for him to keep his hands to himself in public. his patience to wait out these parties to get you home wore thinner, to the point of near-nonexistence. obnoxiously thrumming bass, bodies smacking together like mindless fish caught in a net, having to yell and strain to hear his friends standing less than a foot in front of him...things he never minded at all before became all too fucking annoying.

but you've always acted as his life raft, bidding his escape with a, "wanna get out of here, toru?"

and he followed every single time, ignoring shoko's wiggling eyebrows and geto's smirking as you led the way out the door. their jeering bounced right off his skin; he felt damn-near invincible knowing he'd be having his own kind of fun, with much better music.

tonight was no different. you stood by the bar, drumming your fingers against the counter while waiting for the bartender to return with two drinks. satoru's eyes roved over your body shamelessly over the rim of oval glasses, taking in the expanse of your legs that weren't covered by your leather miniskirt and the way your top hugged to your figure. he approached with his bottom lip tucked, much like his hands in the pockets of his pants.

by the time he arrived to stand next to you, the glasses were placed down with a muted "clunk," just barely perspiring as his usual was passed into his freed palm.

"my saviour," he greeted, bent over at the waist to let the words brush against your ear, "what would i do without you?"

"mmm-mm," you shrugged, grinning in return, "probably die of thirst."

satoru exhaled sharply through his nose, rightening his posture to take a sip of his drink. he caught the double entendre he wasn't even sure you meant to drop — there was a constant thirst inside him that you really were the only cure for. a thirst to hear you whine and beg for him, call him toru in that sweet tone that made him want to legally shorten his name.

another long sip.

the way he wanted, no needed, you was almost obsessive. he knew that. but could he be blamed? you were pure temptation wrapped in the most enticing body; you were the raging flame and he was but a moth, acting on pure instinct to capture that warmth for his own. every night he spent with you was a testament to that effort, prodding and caressing your body in every way he knew how. he pulled every trick out of his book to have you writhing on his sheets. satoru was sure the neighbours hated you both, but at least they knew his name well.

"you lovebirds coming over to the table?" shoko raised a thin brow at the pair of you, an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips.

"lovebirds? sho please, you know better," you laughed, crossing the space to link arms with her.

ah. satoru felt a twinge of something pinch in his chest. that problem still remained.

he worshipped the ground you walked on, blessed your name like you were his deity, but you still only saw him as a friend. granted, he was a friend with extensive benefits, but a friend nonetheless. hell, for as long as you two have had this arrangement, you've never spent a full night with him — instead opting to scoop your clothes off the floor, grab a quick shower and bid him a soft goodnight, simultaneously calling yourself an uber as you left his apartment.

his face was much dimmer following behind you and shoko, having dropped a small wad of cash he didn't count on the bar-top, and he drew his glass back to his lips in an attempt to quell that pinching feeling.

it wasn't as if he never offered for you to stay the night, never lifted his messy sheets on the opposite side he always kept vacant for you. but, it was hard to stay persistent when you always answered with some variation of, "thanks toru, but we're just friends, remember? i don't wanna make it weird for us."

he watched your hips sway under your skirt with a furrow in his brow. the hem flapped around the very tops of your thighs, drawing other eyes that weren't his own cerulean pair to its attention. he itched to make a show of you being his — maybe throw an arm over your shoulders or lean down to peck your lips — but knew how well (not well at all) it would go down with the other party if you caught on.

it just meant he had to be the one to get you out of there sooner.

satoru let you have your fun, down a responsible-enough number of shots, twist your hips this way and that on the dancefloor with geto and shoko. they both towered over you, almost forming a protective ring of raven black and coffee brown around your twirling body, and he was grateful for it. the imagery alone of some other person creeping up behind you, grabbing at your waist in an attempt to steal a dance, was enough to tighten that vulnerable spot in his chest.

after downing the rest of his second drink, he stood, leaving another roll of money in shoko's purse and making a beeline for you on the dancefloor. geto parsed him with a knowing look as he squeezed passed them, shoko only gave a thumbs up and a wide grin. they both knew all about what went on between you two, and they knew all too well how much satoru pined over you.

if it wasn't the way he looked at you, or the way he'd mindlessly put his hands on the small of your back, on your hips, around your shoulders, then it'd have to be the fact that he grouched about it at every given opportunity. the minute you left him alone, he'd go on and on until one of them had to smack him in the back of the head to shut up.

so, watching him slot his hips to yours, immediately winding them in tandem to the beat, they understood quickly to leave the pair of you to your little world.

"let me take you out of here, y/n," he murmured, you spun in his toned arms to settle into his torso. your arms circled his neck as he pushed his nose closer to yours to bump them together.

"you stole my line," you drawled, "getting impatient on me, toru?"

satoru bit back a groan, the way you spoke coupled with the eyes you gave him from beneath the canopy of your lashes was staggering.

"maybe i am, you're holdin' out on me."

you blew a raspberry of a laugh at his frown, "you saw me last night, you baby."

"twenty-four whole hours too long."

your eyes rolled unconsciously, he could be such a little shit when he didn't have his way. still, you were never one to deny him.

"take me home then, before you start sobbing for pussy in the club."

a triumphant beam overtook his face at that, he actively disregarded the teasing lilt to your words. all he heard was "take me home," and it was like you waved kikufuku in his face.

he picked up you up easily, princess-style, making you squeal and nearly kick a patron close by. you giggled out your apologies, but satoru was already leaving, carting you off to the exit of the club.

your back landed hard against his front door when he put you down again, and his body followed right behind. your lips crashed together with fervor, teeth colliding and tongues looping around each other. you mewled so sweetly into his mouth as his hands wandered up under your top, grabbing hold of your tits over your bra. his cock twitched in its confines, you had an effect on him that would be scary if he didn't relish in it so much.

"lose this shit already," satoru huffed against your lips while tugging the hem of your blouse upwards. you obliged with the nth roll of your eyes, and with the top gone, you pulled him back down for another searing kiss.

you marked your path downward after switching your positions, pushed his shirt up to his chest to lick a wet stripe down his abs, until you came face-to-face with the sizeable bulge in his pants. he smoothed your hair away from your face while you pulled his belt buckle apart. an exhale stuttered in his chest — you mouthed around his bulge from the outside of his boxer-briefs, though with the sounds satoru made, you may as well have shoved the whole thing into your mouth.

deciding to end his misery, you hooked your manicured fingers into the waistband of his underwear, pulling his cock free to smack against your cheek. you licked another matching stripe up the underside, shadowing the pulsing trail that was his most dominant vein, then kitten-licked at his slit once you hit the peak.

with one hand wrapped around the base of his cock and the other on his thigh, you took his pretty pink tip into your mouth, and his face absolutely crumpled.

satoru groaned, long and low, his head thumping against the door as it was thrown back. you could feel the corners of your mouth tingling from the stretch, straining a little to fit around his girth despite making this journey countless times by now.

he stammered out a hiss when his tip hit the back of your throat, you would've laughed if not for the fact that you desperately held off your gag reflex. his grip on your hair tightened, coming to hold it in a fist to both keep the hair out of your face and guide your movements as you sunk further down his length. you breathed through your nose and willed your throat to relax, more broken sounds sprang from his lips as you let him in.

"f-fuck, just like that, pretty," he praised hoarsely, gently bobbing your head up and down his length with his grip on your hair. you powered through the tears flooding your lashline and the rivulets of spit accumulating to drip down your chin.

while he worked your mouth, you pried your lids apart to peer up at him, eyes rimmed red and pupils blown wide.

and that was his undoing.

his body tensed hard as he held your head down, nose right up against his pelvis and tickled with snow-white hairs. his abdomen spasmed under the point of it, undulating as he painted your throat white.

"you're so fucking good to me," he mumbled against your lips after helping you back to your feet. satoru, of course, was the shameless type to make the fuck out with you right after dumping his cum into your mouth; and he did just that. he picked you up again while his tongue swiped over yours, blindly walking you up the stairs to his bedroom.

he plopped you down unceremoniously, pulling your legs apart to sink between them. you'd lost the skirt somewhere along the way, that left nothing but your thong to separate you from satoru's still-leaking, still-hard dick. however, even those got ripped down your legs and tossed to the side — every article of clothing was a victim in his ever-expanding need for you.

"i need to fuck you, will you le'me fuck you?" he babbled in a pitchy, fissured voice, circling your clit with his fingers. he dipped them shallowly in and out of your hole to smear your wetness right across your folds. all he needed was for you to nod the affirmative before he was rapidly replacing his digits with the head of his cock, gathering your syrupy arousal to drench him.

"just suckin' me off has you this wet, hmm? i knew you liked me."

"sh-shut up and put it in already, toru- hate it when you tease."

satoru snickered, but complied, grabbing at your legs again to flip your body over. he knew you loved getting fucked prone the most, you didn't even hesitate to grab a pillow to hold on to. something about the way you seemed to scream for him that much louder, claw at the sheets and burble for him to give you more more more— made it his new favourite position too.

so, with little hesitation, he positioned and pushed his cock into you, slowly enough for you to adjust to his girth. your eyes rolled back almost immediately, the way he filled you up could never get old.

you mewled into the pillow once he found a good starting pace, dragging his cock deliciously slow against your spongy walls. still, it was only a taste of what you knew he could give to you.

"more, toru, want more- shit!"

you barely started getting the greedy words out before satoru was settling a hand on the small of your back, using it and his palm flat against the bed as leverage to drill into you. now that he knew you were adjusted, he didn't hold back — what kind of guy would he be if he didn't give his girl everything she wanted (and then some)?

drool and tears soaked into the white pillowcase while your sticky essence doused his cock, collecting in a ring at the plinth of it. repetitive strings of "fuck yes!" mingled with his deep groans to ring throughout the room, bouncing off the walls in conjunction with his hips bouncing off your plush ass. he couldn't help but free up a palm to smack it, then two, three more times when he heard how much more noisy it made you.

"g'nna cum for me? yea?" he took note of the way you started to quake beneath him, your cunt clenching and releasing uncontrollably around his length. he knew your tells by now, and that quiver in your moans told him everything without you needing to say a word. satoru secured his hand around your throat, squeezing just enough at the sides for your brain to go foggy and remaining thoughts turn to mush.

like a thief in the night, your orgasm stole through you, bringing the simmer in your blood to a boil. heat flashed through your body, collecting to pulse through the walls of your cunt that clamped down against satoru's battering. with another ruined groan, he was right behind you, cock twitching and throbbing wildly inside you. rope after rope splattered your insides, though that didn't stop his hips from jerking in a fractured pattern.

you both came down panting. you turned in his arms to look up at him, his softened eyes were already centered on your face. as mean as he was when he fucked, he was always otherwise gentle with you — tender in a way that made a part of you melt with every touch. but he was your friend, and you both had a good system going. what would be the point of ruining it?

"what're you thinkin' about so hard already?" satoru's usual pouty cadence returned quick, successfully knocking your thoughts off track.

"i need a shower," was your only reply, and you moved to crawl from beneath him. your bed-partner's features toppled into a genuine frown; he knew exactly what that meant.

you were leaving him again.

but he wouldn't let it happen this time, not if he could help it.

"wait, y/n," he moved to gently grasp your arm before you could scoot off the edge of the bed. you turned to him with question in your gaze.

"let me join you," he propositioned, and a hint of a smile pulled at your lips.

"i don't know if i have the stamina left, toru."

"i won't- we can just shower. y'know, together," he started, freeing your arm to rub at the back of his neck, "and you could, y'know, stay."

your expression turned wry, "toru, you know why i can't-"

"no, actually, y/n. i don't," he scowled, "why can't you? why don't you? we've been close enough for so long, slept together for so long. you know i can take care of you."

exasperated, you stood. he followed quick, moving to hold your arms again. even in his own displeasure, he was mild. you were melting again.

"you tell me all the time we're just friends, but what if- what if i want more? need more, than just friendship with you?"

you gawped up at him, blinking in place of something to say. of course, you always had a kind of a feeling — satoru was not the man known for his subtlety — but it was another thing to hear him say it to you, much less with this desperately pleading intonation.

"satoru, i..." you sighed, "i can't fuck this- we can't fuck this up. you're too precious to me."

"but what if we don't? you're precious to me too, y/n, more than you even know."

and for all you knew, he could be right. he was always sweet with you — patient, attentive, doting, so painfully soft. it wasn't like the thought hadn't crossed your mind before, either. you contemplated staying with him several times before, fantasized on what a 'morning after' — many 'morning-afters' — would even look like. but shit, what would you do if you one of you found a way to mess things up? topple a best-friendship you've had going for more years than you could even trace back?

"i just- i can't lose you, satoru."

"you won't. you're stuck with me forever, pretty, we promised."

he moved to cup your cheeks, holding your face akin to the way someone held precious china.

"i like you way too much. shit, at this point i think i love you."

your bottom lip wobbled. this snow-haired fuck really did always make it hard to say no to him.

"i-i like you too, toru. a lot."

"so you'll stay," he gleamed, making a statement more than he was asking a question, "please say you'll stay."

"yes, toru, fine. i'll stay."

with his smile still very much in place, he leaned down to kiss you.

god, he couldn't wait to finally wake up to you tomorrow.

[moon7jay]

Hoon is the type of man that will eat you out for his own pleasure

You want me dead. LOOK AT THIS MAN AND TELL ME HE ISN'T A MUNCH.

Sunghoon is literally the type of boyfriend who spreads your legs apart without fail every damn day cuz he has this constant itch to taste you on his tongue. You taste addictive, and he's an addict. Sharp nails digging into the fat of your thighs while he rubs his nose against your clit, stimulating your little bundle of nerves as he explores your gummy walls with his thick tongue,thrusting it in and out of your wet hole at an unforgiving pace. He's moaning into your pussy, eyes closed and lost in pleasure, rutting his massive hardon against the bedsheets pathetically. Your fingers tug on his hairs, trying to get him away cuz it's too much, he's already made you cum twice, but mannn. He only dives in deeper, twists his tongue in a way that makes you writhe, slurps your juices till the entire lower part of his face is drenched in them. He isn't ashamed of how loud he is getting and how close to orgasm he is just by having you in his mouth, his moans are louder than yours. His groans send delicious vibrations through your cunt and you're falling apart again while he drinks from you greedily, the movement of his hips getting faster and faster, and then you clamp your thighs shut around his head and he's a goner. His hips stutter a few times while he moans and whines into your pussy before he stills, still kitten licking your soft pussy lips and sucking your sensitive clit into his hot mouth, leaving you a crying mess. He enjoys it more than you do. The mess in his pants is a testament to that.

On days where you're feeling lazy and refuse to have sex, he'll beg and beg and beg until you're sitting on his face, using him for your own pleasure, unaware of the way he bucks his hips up everytime you grind onto his nose and tongue, trying to search friction against air cuz he's so incredibly hard and close to cumming. The type to lick into your panties while he jerks off cuz he just can't cum until he's tasting you. Those fangs?? He's gonna nibble on your clit with them, making you yelp cuz he can't help but dig them into your soft skin.

[lazarusrisingx]

Power surge PT1

Yandere big brother!caleb x non-mc reader

Tw: porn with some plot. Incest, brat tamer Caleb, mean dom caleb, size kink, overstimulation, punishment, petplay, using toys on reader, fingering, breeding kink, yandere caleb, degradation, impact play

Summary: you move in with your older brother since your college is out for the summer, you dont think Caleb would remain the same overbearing, overprotective older brother that he always was when you were kids, so you decide to stay out late one night. 

note: i havent written smut in a while so lemme know what yall think! if this does good ill probs make a part two. ive been working on this for a few days now so yippee!

Skyhavens night life was quite different than that of linkon cities. It was safer. The armed patrol men stood every hundred feet, cop cars patrolled at regular intervals, and every bar had a bouncer. You weren't very shocked, it was a smaller area than lincoln, the resources needed for constant patrols was significantly less than what linkon would need. 

You had decided to go out with a few college friends. A few drinks and a little dancing never hurt anything, did it? It had been about a month since you had seen them last, staying at Caleb's house was nice but it did leave you a bit isolated from your besties. Who could blame you for wanting to get out and have some fun?

So now, it was well past midnight, and after a lot more than just a few drinks, you struggled to enter the code to get into Caleb's house. With one hand on the door, heels beside your aching feet on the ground, you hunched over the scanner, scowling at the little red dot as it continued to flash. 

After your third attempt, a sharp chirping sound came from the code pad, the screen flashed with a security alert, and you could hear the other locks engaging on the door. 

“Shit.” you muttered. 

Caleb had more security than he needed. After 3 failed attempts the house would go into lockdown mode. Extra locks engaging on every door and every window, cameras would begin to film in high resolution with color and audio, if you did manage to make it into the house a message would be sent to the nearest cop cars to come to this location. 

Dizzy, you step back, the cold concrete gritted into the soles of your bare feet as you bring out your phone. Caleb was most likely asleep by now, but it would be worth it to give him a call.

The phone had hardly gotten through its first ring when the front door was swung open. Startled, you stumbled back a little bit and looked up to see Caleb, there was a cold look on his face and his eyes bore into yours. 

“Inside.” he grunted, he stooped to pick up your shoes, and when you didnt move he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the house himself. 

The lockdown was quickly uninitiated, Caleb tapped a few buttons on his phone to make it go away before locking the door again. You stepped into the hallway, a bit uncomfortable by how angry he looked. Caleb never mentioned you had to be home by a certain time. Maybe you had woken him up out of his sleep?

“Sorry Caleb, it was terrible trying to get a cab.” you said, trying to steady your voice so he didn't know you were drunk. 

Caleb stayed quiet as you walked for the couch, tripping over the edge of the carpet and catching yourself on the armrest of a leather chair. 

“Do you have any idea how damn late it is?” Caleb asked. There was an angry edge to his voice, cold and steely. You had only heard him use this tone when you had fucked up badly, or when he was in ‘colonel-mode’ as you liked to call it. 

“Relax caleb im out this late often.” you muttered, you walked around the couch and sat, letting out a satisfied groan to be off your feet. 

“Really? Till’ 3am? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be out wandering alone? Without any damn shoes? Drunk?” Caleb asked. His voice began to raise as he stood in front of you. 

You massage your temples and shake your head, annoyance beginning to seep into you. 

“You've always been like this Caleb, can't you just chill? God damn you're annoying sometimes. I'm not little anymore! I have a knife, and the pepper spray you bought me.” you reasoned. 

Caleb shook his head, his arms folded and he glared down at you. 

“That isn't gonna stop someone if you're too drunk to realize they've been sneaking up on you.” he replied. 

You waved a hand at him, turning away and pulling out your phone. 

“Go to bed caleb, we arent fucking kids anymore i dont have or need a curfew.” you responded. 

As the phone screen lit up, Caleb stepped forward, snatching your phone from your hand. You tried to snatch it back, but he put his mechanical arm on your shoulder, pushing you into the couch as he peered into your eyes. 

“Clearly you need one because you're too stupid to realize there are awful people even here in Skyhaven. What if you went home with someone? Huh? You're just gonna sleep with me’? Just gonna give it to some random guy like a damn whore?” he said. 

You were a bit shocked, and it showed on your face, Caleb shook his head. 

“What the fu-”

“Dont give me that ‘oh what the fuck caleb’, no, you go out, you get drunk, and you make mistakes. Mistakes like sleeping with some random guy and not-” he cut himself off this time. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. The two of you argued quite a bit, but you hadn't had an argument this tense for a long time. Caleb squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. 

“I'm not going out to sleep with anyone because you make it sound like I'm a whore! And I don't have rules anymore Caleb, not for a long time!” you said. 

Caleb clenched his jaw, and opened his eyes to peer down at you. 

“Really? You think things changed just because you moved away?" Caleb asked. 

He inched in a little closer, the phone in his hand fell onto your lap, now empty he placed his hand on the other side of your body, caging you against the couch. His mechanical arm shifted its position, now grasping onto your forearm. The cool metal vibrated slightly against your skin, the fingertips pressed into your flesh ensuring you couldn't move anywhere. 

“Yeah. thats kinda how becoming an adult works you fuckin’ idiot.” you spat back. 

Caleb's nose twitched and he suddenly smirked. 

“Really? So that's what you wanted tonight right? To go out and get fucked? Tell me lil’ sis, how'd that go over when we lived with gran again? You remember that?” he asked. 

His voice was quieter now, a lingering threat behind it as you remembered what he spoke about. It was something the two of you swore to never speak about again. The thought of it made your cheeks flush and your stomach squeezed. 

“Sh-shut up, fuckin’ weirdo that not-”

“Oh so you do remember right? You know what being a brat gets you? If I recall , my little punishment kept you quite satisfied. I can even distinctly remember a few times after, comin’ in my room with your cheeks red, asking-no begging me t-”

“I said shut up!” you responded, cheeks now bright pink, your hand shot up to clamp over his mouth, but Caleb dodged it with a sly grin. He gripped your arm tighter and pulled you off the couch and to your feet. 

“See you made a mistake tonight you know that.” Caleb said, your back was facing him, your shoulders pressed into his chest as he snaked an arm around your waist. Your heart hammered, but you didn't stop him, one part curious, another part paralyzed. A heat bloomed between your legs, memories of secret, forbidden nights with Caleb coming back all at once. 

You had tried to forget them. Ashamed of what the two of you had done, and the other part of you missed it. Maybe that's why you couldn't bring yourself to go to more than second base with anyone since moving. 

“C’mon don't go quiet on me now pip-squeak, you were such a brat earlier, where'd that fight go hm?” he asked. His head dipped down, his breath lilted over your neck as he chuckled. 

Caleb pushed the two of you forward, you were stumbling over your feet being guided by him, a mixture of drunkenness, and the face Caleb was so close behind you. 

“You're a bastard.” you mumbled back to caleb. 

Another laugh escaped Caleb, he leaned down, sweeping your legs out from under you and carrying you bridal style. He took one look at your face and shook his head as he walked down the hallway, down to your bedroom. 

“Y’know i found something while you were gone.” he said. 

You stared at him curiously, glancing around your room as the two of you entered it. 

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

He stayed silent as he set you on the bed, gentle as ever. Caleb turned, and walked to the dresser, pulling open your panty drawer and rifling around. 

“Hey wait! You fuckin’ creep dont look in there!” you said. You stood up, realizing what he was talking about, and tried to grab Caleb away. 

An invisible force pushed you back towards the bed, Caleb's Evol held you in place as he produced a few barbie pink toys from your drawer. 

“These are pretty new pip-squeaks. Did you buy them just for me to find?” he asked. There was a hint of amusement in his voice, his eyes gleamed devilishly as he faced you. 

Your face burned with embarrassment not a single comeback came to mind as he got closer, turning your vibrator around in one hand and looking it over. You didn't even think about the fact that he must've been rifling through your panty drawer earlier. He saw all the pretty lace lingerie you had, the pairs of thongs, silky bras. You were desperately trying to think of something to say, your mouth opened and closed as Caleb stared expectantly at you. When you were silent, he sighed, and took another step forward, this time looking over the dildo you had stashed away. 

“Y’know lil’ sis’ i will say this surprised me. A vibrator is one thing, but a dildo? Your little fingers couldn't reach far enough when you were pumping your cunt hm? I mean, this is quite small, you know it never feels as good as your big brother right? Or is this all that pretty pussy of yours can handle since I haven't been there to stuff that tiny hole?” caleb asked. 

You looked away. “I-shut up caleb! I-i just needed some help is all. Im not-i dont go out just to have sex you were wrong about that okay? Just put them away! Fuckin’ pervert!” you responded. 

Caleb closed the distance between you two, sitting on the bed and letting your toys fall into your lap, all of them except the dildo, he looked it over, unimpressed. 

“Really? Have you had sex with anyone since you left?” he asked. 

The question hung in the air, waiting for a response. You didn't want to answer. It was a bit embarrassing, quite frankly. It's not like you didn't have plenty of opportunities to sleep with someone. It's just that… you didn't. 

“Have you?” you questioned back, trying to get around answering caleb. 

“No.” he responded quickly. Caleb leaned towards you as you looked back at him in surprise, a small smile on his face. 

“Does that shock you pip-squeak?” he asked. 

You nodded. Caleb's friends always made it seem like he was some sort of womanizer. They talked about him always taking a girl home and coming back quite late in the night afterwards. There was even a rumor in high school that he slept his way through the cheer team. 

“You didn't answer my question though. Did you sleep with anyone else? Or… have you been waiting for your dear brother to come and take care of you again? You know you could've just asked right?” Caleb said. 

There was a hint of desperation in his voice, he was staring so intensely at you that you wouldn't think for a moment. His lilac eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and pleading. He wanted your response quite badly. 

“I-i don't think i need to caleb, it-it's not important okay just, lets go to bed.” you responded. 

His eyes narrowed and he shook his head. Caleb sat up a bit, climbing onto the bed as his evol released you from your held position. You attempted to stand up, but a strong arm wrapped around your waist and dragged you into Caleb's lap. You sat facing away from him, head pressed into his chest as he clicked his tongue with disappointment. 

“No no, i want answers from you.” he responded, his arm held you in place, his legs settled between yours, jutting out to make your thighs part, the hem of your dress slid up your thighs. A small noise of surprise escaped as he did this. 

“What do you think you're doing caleb!” you exclaimed. He remained silent, his non-mechanical arm reached out and easily brushed the tender flesh of your thigh. His muscles tensed under you, and you could feel a growing hard-on pressing into your back. 

“You won't gimme an answer, and you've been such a damn brat all night. What do you think I'm doing princess?” he asked quietly. 

Butterflies erupted in your belly, you squirmed in his arms and he only held you tighter, his biceps bulged against you as a quiet laugh vibrated through you. 

“Still so small, it's like fighting with a little puppy, you know that? I mean, at one point I thought you might grow a little more, get some more muscle, but here you are still just so tiny up against me.” Caleb said. 

“Shut up! Caleb, stop being a pervert!” you said. 

He placed his chin on top of your head, his hand suddenly grabbed the fat of your thigh and squeezed painfully, eliciting a whimper and stopping your movements. Caleb stiffened underneath you and you felt his erection twitch in his pants. 

“Do that again princess.” he asked, squeezing your thigh a little harder. 

Another whine, a little louder this time, and you started to squirm. 

“That hurts stupid!”

Caleb shook his head, sighing in frustration at your struggle. 

“C’mon stay still, be a good girl for your big brother alright? Just take your punishment properly and I might go easy okay?” he pleaded. 

His voice oozed with a sympathetic, almost apologetic tone. His hand caressed the now sore part of your thigh, his hands were a lot bigger, and much more calloused now. The sensation was pleasant, making you pause your struggle against him for a moment. You tried to look up at him, catching a glimpse of his lust filled eyes. He stared down at you like you were prey caught in a trap, his eyes never left your thighs as he continued to gently massage you. After a moment he dragged his eyes down to your face. 

“What a good little sister, so calm for me now…” he cooed. The arm holding you in place moved upwards a bit, when the two of you wrestled as kids he always put you in a headlock, this position reminded you a bit of that. 

“Caleb…” you whined quietly. He raised an eyebrow glancing at your slowly parting legs. Your core was throbbing now. You hardly noticed until now how worked up he was getting you. Just by gently massaging your legs. 

His fingers trailed downwards, leaving chills in their wake. You shivered slightly, shutting your eyes as you took a deep breath, prepared to feel his fingers slowly pull away your panties. 

God you don't know how long you had been waiting for this. Whether consciously or not, your body was so excited to feel his familiar touch again. You waited, feeling his hands draw closer to your clothed pussy, wetness had dampened your panties already, a surge of embarrassment ran through you as you thought about how wet he got you. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words were robbed from you as a sudden smack came across your thigh. A loud cry left your mouth, and you bucked slightly from the pain, trying to move away from the cruel hand now aiming for your other thigh. 

“W-wait caleb-”

“You were so bad earlier, you didn't think I'd forget right? You thought I'd let you off easily cause you spread your legs for me like a slut huh?” Caleb asked. 

Another smack, this time bringing tears to your eyes and a whimpering moan. The pain stung deliciously, your core throbbed with need as you tried to slam your legs shut. It only earned another slap, and soon an invisible force pulled you up. Caleb stayed under you, and guided you back down to the bed, this time your face was pressed into the comforter, your ass was across his lap and received a gentle massage. 

“You need a good punishment. Been able to be a fuckin’ brat for so long havent you? Don't worry pip-squeak your big brother knows exactly what you need to behave." Caleb replied. 

Smack! His palm came down roughly on your ass, a cry escaped you and you tried to pull away from Caleb. He was still so much stronger than you. He put a hand around the back of your neck, holding you down with just a bit of force, another smack, followed by a volley of cruel spanks against your ass. 

Tears pricked out of your eyes, you could only whine and cry out, your voice muffled slightly by the bed underneath you. 

“Oh I know princess, it hurts doesn't it?” Caleb cooked. His voice dripped with faux sympathy. He was always so cruel like this. 

A muffled yes came from you, only to turn into a yell as he slammed his palm against your ass as hard as he could. The smack echoed in the room, and you felt like you were going to see stars. The breath was knocked out of you as it came again, and again, and again. Your dress did little to soften the blow, and after the third smack, Caleb dragged the skirt over your ass to admire the now bright red handprints he had left. 

“Think that was enough little sis?” Caleb asked. He leaned over you, dragging something across the bed as you pathetically whimpered and cried. Your ass felt hot and stung badly. 

“Mhm, y-yes Caleb,” you said weakly. 

Caleb hummed quietly, he slowly parted your thighs, giving them a gentle massage once more. 

“You did such a good pip-squeak. I know it hurts so much doesn't it?” he asked. His voice was gentle, he leaned towards your head, letting go of the grip he held on your neck as his hands inched towards your panties. 

“It does…” you muttered. 

“Oh I'm sorry love, do you want me to make it feel better? Wanna feel good now right?” he asked. There was a teasing tone in his voice. 

“Please,” you said. 

His fingers grazed over your clothed clit, drawing slow, feather light circles above it. The feeling made you twitch and arch your back slightly, a quiet groan escaping your mouth. You had completely soaked your panties, Caleb could only smile widely knowing you got off on his spanking. He knew you did, that was always your favorite punishment from him. No matter how you whined and begged for him to stop, he knew you always wanted more. 

“Such a poor thing, you're so pathetic.” Caleb cooked. He pressed down a little more on your hardened nub, slowly rubbing up and down. The sensation was dulled by the barrier of fabric, but you were still able to feel the tingling pleasure. A quiet groan escaped you again, which built into a sharp yelp as Caleb landed a harsh slap against your pussy. 

“Too bad I'm not done punishing you isn't it?” Caleb growled, all the faux-sympathy was gone from his voice, any gentle tone left as if it had never been there to begin with. 

You tried to escape the harsh smacks against your cunt, your clit throbbed with a mix of pain and pleasure, you attempted to sit up, only to be harshly held down again. 

“Stupid dumb little slut. Think imma stop now? God there really must be nothing in that brain anymore huh? Not till you answer my question princess, quite crying and telling me. How many other guys did you let in this pussy? Were they better than your big brother's cock? Huh? Answer me slut!” he demanded. 

His hand kept pounding down on you, your brain fuzzed with the mix of pain and pleasure surging through your body, you tried to form an answer, but only a pathetic amount of crying and whimpering could leave you. If he just stopped for a moment you could tell him! But it was damn near impossible. You were left to simply take it, listening to his cruel remarks. 

“I waited till you came back y’know? Waited so long so i could have you again, all to myself, no more reason to be quiet, i can do whatever i want to you now, but your such a slutty bimbo you try and go get fucked while your here with me? Fuckin’ disrespectful you know that? You know how much i fucking love you? Makes me wanna tie you up in this little room and keep you here. So you can only see me, only be with me, so those pretty eyes will only look at me." Caleb growled. 

He finally paused his spanking. You were out of breath, the room spun around you as you quietly cried and tried to form a sentence. 

“D-didnt… i didnt… mmph.. Caleb, di-didn't-”

“Didnt what? Didn't know?” he questioned. 

You shook your head, your legs trembled. 

“Didnt.. Fuck anyone.. Else.” you whimpered. 

The room grew quiet, and Caleb let out a deep breath. His hands went back to massaging your now heated and slightly bruised ass and thighs. 

“You didn't?” he asked quietly. His voice hasn't lost that edge, but it did soften. He was still angry with you. 

“N-no, ‘m promise.” you mumbled. 

He squeezed your thighs again, forcing them to part. His fingers found your clothed clit once more and applied a bit of pressure, rubbing circles once more, this time with a bit more force than before. A string of moans left your mouth as your head slumped against the pillow. He seemed satisfied by your answer. 

“That's my good girl,” he said softly, the mean edge had left his voice, replaced by the softer tone you knew very well. You whined at the praise, earning a quiet chuckle from Caleb again. 

“You like that huh? Being my good girl? Mmm… you are such a good little sister you know that? So patient, even refusing other guys so you can be with your big brother huh?" Caleb asked. 

You nodded, and Caleb's fingers pressed more firmly to your clit. Your thighs trembled and tried to close together again, Caleb's hand left your neck and firmly held them open. 

“Don't try to stop it, just let me make you feel good,” Caleb murmured gently. 

You whimpered in response, especially loud when his hand left your clit. You were prepared to feel another harsh smack, but instead, your panties slowly slid down your ass, and your dress pushed up further. A quiet gasp escaped Caleb as he gently parted your folds, an exploratory finger trailing down your slit. 

“So wet… just for me,” Caleb muttered, he sighed and gently prodded his fingers into your pussy, they were so much bigger than yours it made you whine and whimper loudly. 

“Oh I know pip-squeak, I'm bigger than your little hands, right? You've always been so tiny inside, do you think I'll still fit?” Caleb asked. 

He pushed a finger in deeper, now knuckle deep. You squirmed, hips bucking away but Caleb held you firmly. 

“Mm Caleb… mmph~ m-more please!” you whined. 

Caleb curled his finger inside you, slowly pushing in and out, it was a terribly slow pace, making you shiver and whimper. He was taking his sweet time, it was torturous. 

“Just take it like this princess, nice and slow and gentle just how you like it. Feels good doesn't it? Think I can add one more?" Caleb purred. 

He dragged his finger out, and you felt the second one press against you slowly push inside, it made you shiver and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. He kept the same torturous pace.

“F-faster please… mmph Caleb please!” you whined. 

He shushed you, instead of moving faster he stilled all his movements and removed his fingers entirely. He leaned down, brushing hair out of your face. You looked up to see his soft eyes peering down at you. 

“Is that right little sis? You want more don't you?” Caleb asked. 

You nodded your head. 

He hummed quietly, before scooping his arms under you and lifting you up. A small gasp left you as you settled back on his lap. His chest pressed firmly against your back as he wrapped his arms around you in a hug. A sigh left you as he pressed a gentle kiss to your neck, his hands began rubbing circles over your stomach. 

“It's been too long since I got to hold you pip-squeak,” Caleb mumbled quietly. His voice was now breathy. He pressed another kiss to your neck, his tongue flicking out to lick a gentle stripe. The kiss sent a shudder down your back as his hands dug into your plush stomach. 

“I won't stay away long again,” you mumbled softly. 

He nodded, kissing your shoulder and biting gently. A soft groan left you as his bite became a little harder, something of a grumble came from Caleb. He suddenly bit down hard on your neck, the pain made you whine and squirm in his arms. When he pulled away he chuckled. 

“You promise you won't? You'll start staying here with me right?” he asked. 

“Y-yes Caleb, I will,” you replied. 

He nodded slowly. After a moment of comfortable silence, his hands began to trail back to your legs. 

“Well, I guess I do need to take care of you tonight, right? Make sure you come back for more?” Caleb asked. 

You squirmed a little bit, a small smile gracing your features and you nodded. 

“Oh no, say it properly, use your words pip-squeak,” Caleb said.

His hands trailed between your thighs and gently pinched the tender skin. 

“Mm, you're so mean, Caleb, always teasing me,” you mumbled quietly. A pit of embarrassment formed in your stomach. He always made you beg and ask nicely for him to help you like this. 

“Mean? Me? Nooo… listen, all you gotta say is this: ‘Please big brother, stuff my tight little pussy and use me how you want tonight. I promise I'll stay here with you and won't even look at other people, all I need is my big brother. Please Caleb, please.’ maybe a little extra whiney for me okay?” Caleb said. 

Your cheeks flushed bright red. “Pl-please cal-”

“Nooo, that's not what I said, baby.” Caleb teased. He pinched your thigh again, which made you whimper quietly. 

“Please big brother…” you couldn't get yourself to finish the sentence, it was so filthy the way he got off on this. He knew it embarrassed you to say out loud. 

“Come on, be a good girl for me okay?” Caleb asked. 

“And… and stuff my tight pussy and use me how you want tonight.” you quickly finished, and one of your hands flew to cover your face from the embarrassment. It was stopped mid-air by Caleb's evol, and you glanced up to see him smiling widely. 

“And what else pip-squeak?” 

“I promise I'll stay here with you and I won't even look at-at other people.” you mumbled. 

“Say the next part is nice and loud for me okay?” Caleb requested. 

You cleared your throat to speak more clearly. 

“All I need is my big brother. Please Caleb, please..” you said. 

He practically purred at the statement, burying his face in your neck and kissing over the tender skin. He hit every sensitive spot, making you breathe in deeper and close your eyes. The embarrassment from the moments before slowly faded as heat began to pool between your legs again. 

“That's a good girl for me. Always so good. I'll take care of you pip-squeak, i'll make sure you can't even walk tomorrow.”

[wonfilms]

enhypen & the ways they say "i love you" (without actually saying it) ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

warnings : n/a : gen: fluff a/n: im back?!? after almost 6 mths .. but yes i'm back, (finally..) school has been HELL, BUT yrhome is back in action, i hope this is alright even though i feel a little rusty hehe, reblogs & comments are very much appreciated

heeseung -> "this song reminded me of you." - heeseung's love is constant, never once wavering. he sees you in every little part of his life.. he thinks about you constantly never once do you leave his mind he discovers a melody that seems to capture you within mere musical notes... so he shares it with you.. each song that make his heart swell just like you do.

jay -> "you wanted this right? i saw you looking at it at the store last weekend?" - jay's love is bold yet gentle, almost like a first love and a last kiss paired in one. jay remembers everything about you, your favourite colour, which perfume you use, what shoe size you are, what makes you tick and what comforts you after a long day? so it's no surprise that when he caught you eyeing that lipstick at the store he just had to buy it for you, whatever makes you happy is all he wants.

jake -> "give me one more kiss, please babe just one more..??" - jake's love is exhilerating and yet comfortable all at once, like the fond nostalgia of a childhood fair-ground ride. he should be out of bed right now, rushing to get ready for work but he can't help himself.. not when you look that damn beautiful laid in his arms , he kisses you softly letting the feeling linger. just one more kiss, he pleads.. but you both know that's never the case

sunghoon -> "have you eaten yet baby?" - sunghoon's love is soft, sweet and it feels warm like a bowl of soup. he never fails to ask you whether you'd eaten yet, always. he takes comfort in knowing you're still safe and healthy. he shows his love through words, whispered confessions against your neck and gentle squeezes of your hip as he kisses you to sleep at night.

sunoo -> "i wish i could see you all the damn time" - sunoo's love tastes like oranges and frozen grapes. he didn't think he'd ever want someone's company like he wants yours.. he needs you he wants you by his side even more with every passing minute. it feels almost natural to see your smile and your pretty eyes every minute of the day, it's like a second nature to him to admire you. jungwon -> "i wanna grow old with you one day" - jungwon's love is like rainy days spent cuddling next to the fire. he's never been one to shy away from the words 'i love you', but that's probably just because it's you. hell, love is terrifying but he knows you're the one for him. his other half the last little missing puzzle piece in his life, you're perfect for him. niki -> "you make me wanna try." - niki's love is like a gentle studio ghibli movie. it's not perfect but yet it still it. his love is encouragement, soft words of affection exchanged in private and heart-wrenching embraces that make you feel like melting. you're both young, and maybe thats completely okay, love is also helping the person you love most grow and change and still staying by each other's side.

[brainworms-all-night-long]

Drops this without any warning

A compilation of all of my prime bros headcannons that I could think of put together over the course of a few months👍👍

———

Sails

-one that is practically cannon to me now; he's is missing his right ear

-he likes making little wood carvings and insists on doing most of them with a sword instead of a knife or a dagger just to be extra (it backfires on his hands most of the time.) His favorite ones to make are models of ships

-generalist but hes the most skilled in woodwork and sea vessel maintnance

-has a beautiful singing voice but rarely uses it and instead opts to sing awfully on purpose.

-will not pass up an opportunity to literally "give you a hand" if you ask and he thinks its funny, but do not funking mess with his prosthetic unless allowed, you will go to sleep with less fingers than you woke up with

-knows how to juggle. No reason for this one I just think Sails knows a bunch of useless but cool party tricks (now there's ripe potential to make this angsty, but I shan't. Not yet.)

-ok so him and Mangey stumbled upon the third episode of Ninjago and rebuilt the Angel's Voyage and it flies now. Don't worry abt it

-insufferable when it comes to any sort of table or card games. He will crush you and play you for an idiot. Somehow, no one can ever prove hes cheating even when he absolutely is. The only one who has enough experience and same low blow tactics, and as such can stand up to him, is Tails

-speaking of which, being annoying is his biggest weapon and also favorite love language. Trust that you will know if the annoying is affectionate or meant to drive you insane (derogatory) though

-adrenaline seeker and worse one than Sonic honestly. Having multiple near death experiences in a single day awakened something in him and by god will he make it everyone else's problem

-his favorite to rile up are Nine and the various Knuckles for obvious reasons and usually clowns on them in the end

-hes also the one you go to if you need to properly get through to Nine and Sonic failed or is unavailable. No one really knows how he does that.

-also loves blowing shit up, explosives are his favorite thing ever

-naps whenever and where ever, most likely outside in the shade of a palm tree either under or in his hammock.

——

Mangey

-NOT stinky or mangy alright, he takes grooming very seriously, he maintains a mohawk of all things like come on!!

-except during the whole friendship breakup exile and purposeful starvation thing between Prim and Thorn, he didn't have acces to water to clean properly and he does not like the feeling of being dirty (holy shit the scavengers were under constant sun with no food or water for God knows how long meanwhile Thorn was suffering from vitamin D deficiency they fucked up fr fr)

-autism be damned my boy figured out how to work the grill (I cannot explain this one beyond do NOT give him access to any sort of fire. And do not tell Sails. By god do not tell Sails.)

-loves those little "impossible to solve" puzzles and especially rubix cubes, he usually gets the hang of everything in under two minutes but it keeps him entertained endlessly

-also loves taking apart things and see how they work and often attempts to replicate the mechanism within in another form. Problem is, not every time he considers if the thing is important or dangerous before he guts it, resulting in... a few incidents, and a lot of calming breathing exercises for Tails

-not a big fan of flat digital interfaces, he needs buttons and levers and stuff

-he wears mismatched black and white gloves (to match Nine!!) and actually gets proper lime green shoes he sometimes wears but prefers not to. He likes the simple familiar leaf shoes he crafted himself

-you know those little simplistic wooden toy trains with train tracks? Sails carves them and Mangey assembles them into increasingly convoluted tracks all over the place. If they get really lucky they can also convince Nine to paint them (which he both hates and loves because by god can he not hold his hands steady but more on that later) There's a whole Rube Goldberg machine set in place involving the track. What it does and how it's triggered varies on a weekly basis.

-really strong sense of hearing and smell due to which he gets overstimulated easily and has headaches often, especially if hes in an area hes not used to.

-speaking of smell, he can not only tell where but How Much food there is, so lies of "sorry this was my last one" will never work, he knows

-he can pretty easily pick up on weather changes, sometimes with the same accuracy as Tails' forecast

-terrified shitless of thunder and lightning, and while it's fairly easy to calm him down, he's unfortunately even easier to startle and not so surprisingly agile

-doesn't have any particular strong feelings abt his tails since people were displeased with him as a Whole and he dissapeared into the jungle before any of that hatered could stick. He likes them because they're a good blanket :]

-hates conflict of any capacity because that just reminds him of Thorn and Prim and the fallout of their falling out, which is why it's for the best to NOt let him witness Shadow and Sonic in close proximity cuz boy Will be UPSET and no matter what you can't explain it to him that they're just gay like that

- he also naps wherever he wants whenever he wants, ussually in a warm and hidden place such as a pile of sun warmed blankets or moss under a tree. Please always dutifully check the dryer before starting it, double check if it was recently used.

——

Nine

-also cannon to me, he's declawed in his left hand and those metal tips serve as a prosthetic so he can actually grip things properly. The same goes for his right wrist that was shattered weirdly once and now needs to be reinforced

-the weird green glowing thing on his right hand he uses as a communicator later in the series is a fucked up looking watch (I was also thinking there's some connection between it and his metal tails since they have the same poison yellow glow but i don't know enough technical lingo to explain myself)

-prefers to stay indoors for all accounts, but loves to star gaze and chill outside at night. Mangey often silently joins him or is the one to drag him outside in the first place. Tell no one else abt this though

-cannot handle literally any spice in his food and he actually nearly died the first time Tails cooked for him since adding chili was just muscle memory and he didn't even think to ask

-but it urns out Nine likes food even more than Mangey which is, concerning, to some people. Always with a snack in hand and eating something, he especially loves fruit. Bro got an apple for the first time in his life and cried (canon I imagined it real hard)

-after the whole prism debacle he was left with some hefty nerve damage and now has fine motor issues, and regular. And has frequent migranes which pisses him off to no end

-actually gets some color into his wardrobe, since he no longer needs to camouflage all the time. His fashion sense is literally just a shirt and pants anyway

-On the off chance he goes into public and someone addresses him there is a tiny gender confusion. This will not have any internal ramifications for her whatsoever

-his nose is absolutely jacked, and so are his lungs. This will also not cause any further concerns either

-Do not fucking touch his tails ever. Mechanical or organic. He will kill you.

-if he let's you touch his tails, congratulations, he will kill and die for you.

-avoided Tails, Knuckles and Rouge like the plague for the first few months he moved in Into green hill for, obvious reasons.

-surprisingly close to Shadow actually??? When did that happen no one really knows

-graffiti!! He does graffiti and paints!!! Him and Sonic take random nights off and commit artistic vandalism on the most hard to reach surfaces for the avarge person. Nine also gloats over Tails and his lacking impressionist artistic skill

-but he's never drawn a blueprint physically and just used a digital program, so it evens out

-actually has a somewhat stable sleep schedule, unfortunately the time dilation between the Shaterspaces makes it seem like he doesn't

-in the event he falls unconscious/asleep his mechanical tails form a silly little cage around him and strike at anything that gets too close. He usually gets to bed before sleeps but in the event he chonks out on his table? Yea no one is getting him from there without having to wake him up first.

[radiocrypt-id]

The bad kids haven't really looked too closely at the Rat Grinders (meta wise I know it's a commentary on different play styles and how shitty xp farming is and how op players/parties can become by doing the bare minimum if they put in the time while everyone else plays the damn game) but I find the split perspective problems absolutely fascinating. I can't wait for the Bad Kids to look at the Rat Grinders with envy and anger that the Rat Grinders got to live a normal highschool life without all this insane danger and experience being a teenager without it being the end of the world for them. Right now they just hate the Rat Grinders energy and are matching it back (which is a very high school thing to do. To have beef with a whole other group of kids and not even know why but you'll die on this hill because they started shit first)

Because to the Rat Grinders, from a purely outside perspective, the Bad Kids are fucking monarchs of the school, right? They skipped classes, ran around town, fought people, got arrested, hung out with a big devil? Every new staff member came at their recommendation? One of them has both her dads working at the school?? The destroyed school property, got teachers killed, straight murdered the coach? These fucking kids run around and are apparently scott-free? because the principal liked their chaos enough to let it go and help them avoid the police? To the Rat Grinders, the Bad Kids are untouchable. They're exempt from the law. They're liars, cheats and need to be humbled. It's unfair. From everyone elses perspective, it really does look like the Bad Kids have been given crazy favourtism.

Meanwhile, all of the Bad Kids have died at least once. They've been irreparably changed and are in a constant state of fight or flight. They assume everything is dangerous and anyone might be an enemy because for two goddamn years that was the exact case! They couldn't trust any adult first year! Literally anyone could have been infected with Kalina second year! who knows what happened with the Night Yord but I fucking bet they had issues with Yorbies pretending to be helpful just to kill them! Everyone, for two years, has been out to get them! They can't even sleep! And now they have to grind so hard or they fail. Adaine has a seemingly full time job after school basically every day because she literally can't afford to live? Fabian has taken on the most physically strenuous classes and sport one dude could and has dreams of also being a social legend because he's fucking lonely in that big house and he just wants to fill it. If anyone in the party fails or dies Riz is shit out of luck and wont ever get into a university? He so desperately wants his friends with him so he's working over time and ignoring his limits to make up for his party members not caring about the future. Fig is going through the strangest arc I've ever seen in my life? she's hard avoidant and taking three classes, so a 250% work load, because she's desperate to fill her time so she can't think about all the other work she has to do that if she ignores too long could crush her under the debt of her band from her label, or how alone she feels without her girlfriend around. Gorgug is so desperate to prove himself that he's doing four years of school work in one, trying to play catch up and also prove himself at the same time, he's taking it all so seriously but also is so fucking tired. And Kristen. Mother fucking Kristen "hey girlie" applebees. Expected to dedicate her life to a god with no direction, with the weight of failure being her gods death, while also being in school and also at your friends insistence needing to run for student body president and getting your priorities so mixed up and being completely left behind by her peers who didn't have to rework their entire world view and understanding of life in the span of a few months every few months.

The Bad Kids are in a terrible place. They're suffering. I want them to just say it out loud, to stop pretending they have it handled and are fine. I want Riz and Adaine to yell at the party to get their shit together. I want Fabian to tell someone how alone and abandoned her feels. I want Kristen to scream at Cassandra that she agrees, that it's not fair, she's just a kid, how could she be enough all on her own with no help? It sucks a god can only rely on a child, for both the god and child! They're both suffering from this arrangement! Neither is happy! I want Gorgug to beat the shit out of Porter with his inventions and rage at the same time, to make the best shit and use it in the most stunning way anyone has ever seen. I want Fig to finally get some freaking help, to have her teachers and parents reach out in a meaningful way and stop telling her to figure it out alone because clearly the pressure is too much for her to handle and she's drowning. I want someone, anyone, to look at the Bad Kids and tell them to stop. To help them. But I know it wont be that easy. I know it'll be the Rat Grinders yelling at how unfair it is the Bad kids get everything while they're on the sidelines that'll get under the Bad Kids skin and they'll yell about how awesome they are and that they didn't ask for any of this shit to happen to them and to fuck off. I know it's gonna get so much worse before it gets better. I know they'll figure it out and that it'll be a painful road there.

[grace5425]

lead me to a place where no one ever goes

part one part two part three

True to his word, Mattheo showed up at your dorm right after dinner the next day—his usual mix of cool confidence and lazy charm. Hands shoved into the pockets of his dark jeans, curls slightly messy like he hadn’t really tried (but somehow still looked unfairly good), and that damn smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he asked, like this was something you did every weekend. Like he hadn’t spent all morning pacing his dorm, trying to convince himself it wasn’t a date, and failing miserably.

He took you to the Three Broomsticks first. The place was buzzing, but he didn’t hesitate as he guided you straight to the booth in the back—the one by the window, your favorite. The one you always gravitated to because it let in soft light and gave you something to look at when you were anxious or trying not to tap your fingers on the worn tables.

He returned minutes later with your butterbeer and a plate of those sugared scones you always pretended you didn’t want until he ordered them anyway. He set everything down without a word, sliding into the seat across from you as if he hadn’t memorized every single thing you liked over the years.

And then he just listened.

He listened as you rambled about your upcoming Potions test, and how if Snape got one more inch of attitude you were going to hex his eyebrows off. He listened to you complain about the essay you forgot was due, and how Blaise had somehow convinced the entire class dragons were mammals just to see if the professor would correct him. You even launched into a full tangent about Snape’s hair—something about how no man with that much grease could possibly be trusted around delicate glass vials.

Mattheo laughed. Genuinely. That deep, warm laugh that only slipped out when he wasn’t paying attention. And he didn’t say much. Just nodded, sipped his drink, and gave you every ounce of his focus like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Next was Honeydukes.

He didn’t even pretend to stop you this time. The moment you walked in, your eyes lit up like Christmas morning, and before he could blink, you were dragging him down the first aisle, pointing out new sweets and old favorites. He trailed behind with the basket, throwing in every candy you so much as glanced at.

By the time you reached the second aisle, it was already half full. Mattheo didn’t care. He never did.

Your hair had fallen mostly out of the braid you’d tied it in that morning—a wild mess of soft blonde curls that framed your face in a way that made his chest ache. You kept cursing under your breath, fingers constantly pushing back loose strands that refused to stay put.

Every time you did, Mattheo had to resist the urge to grab your wrist, slap your hand away, and tell you to stop. That you were beautiful. That you didn’t need to fix a damn thing.

But he didn’t. He just let you fuss, biting his tongue, watching you like someone who knew better than to touch a flame but couldn’t help reaching anyway.

And then, finally, came the bookstore.

It was tucked away at the end of a quiet alley—small, dim, a little dusty, and absolutely perfect. He swore it hadn’t changed in years. Probably hadn’t had a new customer in weeks, either. Mattheo was almost positive you were single-handedly keeping it in business with your constant returns.

He pushed open the old door for you, the bell above it jingling faintly, and watched as your whole body seemed to exhale.

Your steps slowed. Your voice quieted. And that look you got—like you were walking into a church, or a dream—you only got it in here.

Mattheo followed you silently, hands in his pockets, watching as you trailed your fingers along the cracked spines, head tilted, lips moving ever so slightly as you read titles under your breath.

You didn’t speak right away. Didn’t need to. You were too busy flipping through poetry collections and worn novels, pulling a few off the shelf only to put them back minutes later. The quiet filled the space between you, but it was a comfortable sort of quiet—the kind that only exists between people who know each other down to the bones.

He let you wander. Watched as you got lost. And when he saw you standing in the aisle with two books in your hands and a crease between your brows, trying to decide between them, he didn’t even wait.

He stepped up beside you, took both from your hands without a word, and carried them to the counter.

You blinked. “Matty—”

“Nope,” he said, not looking back. “Not doing this again. You’re getting both.”

You laughed, soft and fond, and he caught it like a flame behind his ribs.

Now you were sat by the Black Lake, the remnants of your Honeydukes haul scattered across the blanket beneath you—chocolate frogs half-eaten, sugar quills forgotten in the grass, a few empty wrappers rustling gently in the breeze. The moonlight danced across the surface of the lake, painting everything in soft silver and making the world feel quieter, smaller, a little more magical.

Your head was tilted back, eyes fixed on the night sky, a soft smile tugging at your lips. You looked so peaceful like that—bathed in moonlight, skin glowing, hair spilling wildly around you in golden waves. You looked like a dream someone might wake up from too quickly.

Mattheo had taken to twirling a blade of grass between his fingers, lying on his side, elbow propped up as he watched you more than he watched the stars. Your voice rose and fell in gentle waves as you pointed out constellations, telling him their stories—tales of ancient warriors, tragic lovers, gods punished and immortalized in the stars.

You spoke like the stars belonged to you. Like you’d been there when the stories were written in the sky. Like somewhere deep down, you still carried the heartbreak and hope of those mythologies in your bones.

And Mattheo… he listened. Every word you said sank into him, settling somewhere deep. You made names he couldn’t pronounce sound like poetry. You made the universe feel a little less cold.

He didn’t care about the constellations. Not really. But he could listen to your voice for hours and never get tired of the way it colored the night around him.

“See that one?” you whispered, lifting your hand lazily to point just above the treeline. “That’s Andromeda. Chained to a rock, waiting to be saved.”

Mattheo frowned, gaze flicking up toward where you pointed. “Why do all these stories end in someone being sacrificed or left behind?”

You shrugged gently, eyes still on the stars. “Maybe it’s just easier to write about pain than peace.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just let that hang in the air between you. It was a truth he felt more than understood.

After a while, you turned your head to look at him, propping yourself up on one elbow to mirror his position. You were close now, faces inches apart, breaths mingling in the cool night air.

Mattheo swallowed, throat dry. “You really believe in all that stuff?” he asked softly. “The stars, the stories?”

You nodded. “I think stories are how we survive things. Even if they’re made up. Maybe especially if they are.”

He stared at you for a long moment, jaw tense, heart pounding in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the quiet around him. He didn’t know how you did it—how you made everything feel deeper without even trying.

“I’d save you,” he said suddenly, the words tumbling from his lips like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud. His voice was rough, low, barely more than a whisper, but it cut through the quiet like thunder. “If you were chained to a rock, or whisked away by some creature. I’d always follow you.”

You stilled, breath catching in your throat. The playful glint in your eyes flickered into something softer, deeper—something that mirrored the weight of his words.

Mattheo didn’t look away. He couldn’t. His heart was thudding against his ribs, loud enough he was half afraid you’d hear it. But he meant every word. And he needed you to know it.

“I wouldn’t even think twice,” he added, voice quieter now, like the confession itself was fragile. “No matter where you were… no matter who you were with. I'd go.”

You stared at him for a moment, lips parted slightly, like you didn’t know what to say. And maybe you didn’t. How do you respond when the boy you’ve known forever—the boy who pretends nothing touches him—suddenly admits he'd walk through fire just to find you?

The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with meaning, thick with tension, like something was shifting—like something had cracked open that couldn’t be shut again.

You reached out, fingers brushing against his hand where it rested on the blanket between you. Just the softest touch, but it sent a bolt of warmth up his arm, his breath hitching at the contact.

“I think…” you began, your voice barely more than a breath, “I think I’d follow you too.”

Mattheo's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your mouth and back again. The space between you felt impossibly small, charged, magnetic. He could see every detail on your face now—the way your lashes cast shadows under your eyes, the faint freckle just beneath your cheekbone, the nervous twitch at the corner of your mouth as you tried to hide a smile.

You tilted your head just slightly, eyes locked on his like the air between you had thickened, like the stars above were holding their breath.

“Mattheo,” you whispered, his name tasting like warmth and something heavier on your tongue.

He met your gaze, expression soft in a way you’d never really seen before. All the walls, all the armor he kept so carefully constructed—they’d dropped. And you could see it all now. The fear, the longing, the love he didn’t quite know how to name.

“You’re looking at me like I’m going to disappear,” you murmured, a small smile pulling at your lips.

He breathed a short laugh, shaking his head. “I think I’m just trying to figure out how the hell I didn’t see it before.”

“See what?”

“That it’s always been you.”

You didn’t reply—not with words. You leaned in instead, closing the last few inches of space between you, your heart hammering in your chest.

Mattheo met you halfway.

The kiss was slow—uncertain at first, like neither of you wanted to move too fast and shatter the moment. But then your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, and his hand slid up to cradle your cheek, and something shifted.

He kissed you like he’d been holding it in for years. Like he was afraid this might be the only time he'd ever get the chance. There was nothing careful about it now—only feeling. Only the rush of finally, finally, finally letting go.

And when you pulled away—just barely, just enough to breathe—you stayed close, noses brushing, foreheads touching.

Mattheo let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering open. “Well,” he murmured, “that’s going to be hard to walk away from.”

You laughed softly, your thumb brushing across his jaw. “Then don’t.”

He grinned then—wide and real and maybe a little in love.

“I won’t.”

[heartsiebyul]

Deuce Spade x Male Reader

Love Hurts—Literally

Shared pain and sensation

Soulmates who share physical pain and sensations—though the injuries aren’t real, the agony is.

(m/n) hate his soulmate.

Well—not hate, exactly. It was more like constant irritation. An endless stream of bad luck in the soulmate department. He could feel every bit of pain and sensation his mystery partner experienced, and with his notoriously low pain tolerance, it was absolute torture.

What made it worse? He knew his soulmate was some kind of sports fanatic—specifically, someone obsessed with running. Every morning, without fail, (m/n) would wake up with a deep ache in his legs, the chill of wind brushing over skin that wasn’t even his. It left him shivering beneath his blankets, cursing whoever the hell was doing laps before the sun even rose.

And now, limping his way through the hallways of NRC, (m/n) scowled and muttered curses under his breath. His calves throbbed with phantom pain—sharp, persistent, and unforgiving.

He finally reached his classroom, dragging his feet before slumping into his chair with a groan.

Epel glanced up from his book. “Having a hard time?”

“Who wouldn’t be having a hard time,” M/n grumbled, “when your soulmate is a running addict who decided today, of all days, to go for a ten-mile sprint?”

Epel blinked, amused. “Again?”

“I woke up early because of the cold—my legs were numb! It’s not even winter yet!” (m/n) sighed dramatically, massaging his calves with visible frustration.

“Have you found him yet?” Epel asked curiously.

M/n just groaned. “Nope. It’s up to fate now... I’ve been dealing with this since middle school. Do you know what it’s like to wake up with pain in your left eye or ribs and not even know who to blame?”

Suddenly, (m/n) winced, then blinked. The ache in his legs eased, replaced by a warm, soothing sensation. He relaxed instantly, letting out a small breath of relief.

“...He’s massaging his legs,” he muttered, glancing down. “Oh, thank the Great Seven.”

While (m/n) was sighing in the classroom, Deuce Spade sat in the Heartslabyul dorm lounge, diligently massaging his legs after his morning run. He always felt bad about the pain he passed on to his soulmate—even if he didn’t mind his own injuries and pain, he was all too aware of how much his soulmate suffered.

“Hey, Juice!” Ace called out, walking in.

“Don’t call me Juice,” Deuce muttered, eyes still focused on his task.

“Yeah, yeah. Trey-senpai asked if we could help him bake a cake later.”

“Sure, sounds good,” Deuce replied, fingers pressing gently along his calf muscles.

Back in the classroom, (m/n) let out a grateful sigh. The pain dulled to a hum—still present but far more tolerable. Despite the daily suffering, he couldn’t deny that his soulmate—annoying and reckless as he seemed—was surprisingly considerate. Every time (m/n) had to endure bruises or punches, he could also feel the care that followed: ice packs, gentle first aid, warm showers to soothe sore muscles.

His soulmate was probably a delinquent back then. A caring delinquent.

In the Heartslabyul kitchen

“ACE!” Deuce snapped, clutching his bleeding finger.

Ace winced. “Oops—sorry! I didn’t mean to bump you.”

In Pomefiore

(m/n) suddenly yelped in pain, clutching his finger.

“F-Fuck!” he hissed, holding up his hand. “OW, OW, OW—damn it!!”

Epel panicked beside him. “Hey, are you okay?! What happened??”

“My soulmate cut his finger,” (m/n) groaned, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “It hurts so bad! Ugh, he’s gonna be the death of me.”

Call (m/n) dramatic over a simple cut—but what could he do? His pain tolerance was embarrassingly low, and every minor jab felt like a mortal wound. But this? This was betrayal.

And yet, surprisingly, (m/n) had never truly resented his soulmate. Despite the constant pain he brought, (m/n) could never bring himself to hate him.

He simply endured it, no matter how much he disliked it, no matter how much it hurt—he endured it all the same.

──── ──── ──── ──── ──── ────

(m/n) had had enough.

“Epel, let’s go. We’re finding my soulmate today.”

Epel blinked. “Are you serious? how will you find him?”

"I don't know, but let's try our luck finding him at the Track and Field Club, since he loves running." (m/n) said. His instincts were kicking in — maybe, just maybe, he should try it.

Dragging his friend along, (m/n) wandered around campus, hoping fate would finally give him a break.

As they rounded a corner, (m/n) spotted a dark navy-haired student talking to a ginger-haired one. The student wore a Track and Field jacket. As he turned to leave, (m/n) caught a glimpse of something—bandages wrapped around one of his fingers.

His heart skipped a beat.

The cut… the finger...

Epel nudged him. “Hey, let’s ask that guy—he might know him.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Hey! You’re Ace, right?” Epel called out.

Ace turned, a bit surprised. “Oh, hey. You’re Epel. And you’re... (m/n), right?”

“Yes. Hello,” (m/n) greeted, slightly tense.

“What’s up?” Ace tilted his head.

“We just need to ask—who was the guy you were just talking to?”

“Oh, that’s Deuce. Deuce Spade.”

“The bandage on his finger… when did he get it?” (m/n) asked quickly.

“Hmm, oh—that? The day before yesterday. Kinda my fault.”

The day before yesterday... (m/n)’s thoughts reeled.

The cut. The Track Club uniform. running. The aching legs.

One by one, the puzzle pieces fell into place.

Deuce Spade was his soulmate.

He turned to Epel with wide eyes. “I think... I think he’s the one.”

──── ──── ──── ──── ──── ────

While the trio talked, Deuce was already sprinting across the field. His club had a competition coming up, and his competitive side was fired up.

He didn’t expect a squirrel to dart across the track.

He yelped mid-stride, swerving—but his foot caught, and he tumbled hard. Pain exploded through his leg.

Clutching it, he grimaced. “I’m so sorry, soulmate...” he whispered under his breath.

Back at the courtyard—

“AAARGHHHH!!” (m/n) suddenly dropped to the floor, clutching his thigh.

“FYXK?!?!?” he cried.

“(m/n)?!” Epel shrieked, kneeling beside him. “What happened?! Are you okay?!”

(m/n) trembled, sweat dotting his brow. “M-my soulmate... he tripped or something... oh my god, it’s so bad...”

He pointed at Ace with a shaking hand. “You. You need to go to Deuce. Now.”

Ace blinked in shock. “Me?!”

“He’s hurt! His leg—he fell! GO!”

Seeing the panic and raw emotion in (m/n)’s eyes, Ace didn’t waste a second. He turned and ran.

──── ──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Later…

After some rest and a message from Ace, (m/n) limped toward the infirmary, heart pounding.

He peeked inside... and there he was. Deuce Spade, sitting upright, his leg wrapped in a bandage.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, the world seemed to pause.

(m/n) stepped forward, cheeks puffed in frustration. “You.”

Deuce blinked. “Me?”

“You absolute menace! You run every day like a maniac, you punch people, and I have to feel everything! Do you know how much pain I’ve been through?! I should sue you for emotional damage!!”

Deuce stared, wide-eyed and stunned. Then, slowly, he softened, looking sheepish. “So... you’re my soulmate?”

(m/n) huffed, arms crossed. “Unfortunately. Yes.”

“…I’m sorry,” Deuce said earnestly. “I never meant to hurt you. I always try to take care of myself afterward, I swear. I figured... if I couldn’t stop the pain, at least I could try to ease it after.”

(m/n) blinked, his heart fluttering a little.

“…That’s... actually kind of sweet,” he muttered. “Still hurts like hell though.”

Deuce offered a small, shy smile. “Can I make it up to you?”

(m/n) looked away, face flushed. “Massage my legs for life and maybe I’ll consider it.”

Deuce chuckled gently. “Deal.”

“My name is (m/n l/n).”

“Deuce Spade. Nice to meet you.”

And just like that, the ache in (m/n)’s legs didn’t feel quite so bad anymore.

Despite having a lot of ideas for this series, I'm having a really hard time lol.