#classes get overwhelming so quickly and all at the same time and for what

[nadvs]

the power play (part one)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

tags college au. fake dating. grumpy athlete/sunshine tutor. reader is bubbly, talkative, and passionate about literature. very slowburn. he falls first. alcohol use. suggestive moments, but no smut.

power play (noun)

an offensive tactic in a team sport; a deliberate attempt to manipulate someone.

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You hoped it wouldn’t feel the way it used to, but as you sit in the stands behind the home bench next to Lyla, it’s all the same.

You’re watching Beck zip across the ice with a painfully familiar sense of longing hammering into your chest. Falling for him always felt inevitable; you just didn’t expect that he wouldn’t be there to catch you.

When you and Lyla became friends in the ninth grade, you quickly grew close to her family, spending more time at their house than your own, tagging along to watch her twin brother’s hockey games.

The more you got to know Beck, the more you fell under his spell, charmed by his warmth, by every part of him that made him the most captivating person you’d ever met.

He stole your heart. Considering the way he treated you, you were sure you’d stolen his, too.

You spent most of last semester helping him with a class, even though you were in the same overwhelming throws of being a college freshman. Every study session in his dorm room drifted by with an undercurrent of certainty that he felt something, too.

It crushed you to realize that it’d all been in your head. A few weeks ago, you’d met him after his final exam, which he said he knew he nailed thanks to you.

You thought he was finally going to make the move that felt like it’d been hanging over you for years. But all he did was pull you into a side-hug and say, “You’re more of a friend to me than my own sister.”

Thinking about it still makes you cringe. You hate how weak you feel ruminating over this, trying to get over someone you were never even with.

It’s a Wednesday night two weeks into the spring semester, and you’re at the first home game you’ve been to in a while. Although you’ve always loved the loud, buzzing atmosphere of a hockey game, you’ve been staying far away from the campus arena and the man who hurt you.

You haven’t spoken to Beck. And he hasn’t reached out. What he did was an indirect rejection, his way of saying, It’s obvious that you like me and I need you to know once and for all that I don’t like you back.

Since then, every time your best friend has asked you to come to games or parties, you’ve told her you’ve been too busy, using your new position in a tutoring program as your excuse.

You prefer a distraction from Beck, and helping other students with a subject you’re passionate about has done the job.

But you can’t blow Lyla off forever, so now, you’re sitting with her in the stands among a small crowd of spectators.

The championship season begins in a month. Every seat will be full then. But you wish more people were around now. You welcome any noise to drown out your thoughts.

Everyone else cheers when Beck smashes the puck against the back of the net, securing the team’s first goal. You find it hard to join the celebration. Even though you’ve always thought of him as kind, you wonder if he could tell how much you liked him. If he consciously led you on.

For years, you’d watched him date other girls, hoping he’d finally realize you were the right one for him all along. You daydreamed far too much about him, imagining that he’d become your first boyfriend and take you on your first date and give you your first kiss.

The alarm blares to signal the end of the second period, pulling you out the haze you’ve fallen into a thousand times since that day in front of his exam room.

“You want to get some snacks?” Lyla asks.

“Sure,” you reply, doing your best impression of a girl with nothing weighing on her.

Once you walk up to the end of one of the arena’s concession stand lines, Lyla recognizes the people standing in front of you, greeting both girls with smiles and hugs.

Through introductions, you learn that Emma and Gabby are friends Lyla made at a party last semester. After some small talk as the line shuffles forward, Lyla points back to the rink.

“The seats next to us are empty if you want to sit with us,” she offers.

Emma and Gabby happily join you as you settle back in your seats soon after. You gaze ahead at the empty rink as they chat, the 3-1 score glaring above the ice in red neon numbers.

“No way the coach isn’t chewing them out right now,” Lyla says with a shake of her head.

“Why do you know on the team again?” Emma asks.

“My brother, Beck,” Lyla says. “You?”

Emma’s mouth twists into a tense smile.

“My ex,” she says, her voice lowering. “I wish he didn’t play, because I actually really love coming to these games.”

“Bad breakup?” you surmise.

“Brutal,” Gabby chimes in. You can tell by her expression that she’d supported her friend through the fallout.

“I just don’t want him to see me here and think it means something,” Emma sighs. “If he thinks that I want to get back together, it’ll be a disaster. We broke up a month ago and he’s still bothering me.”

You hardly know this girl, and you know her ex even less, but your reflex is to feel bad for him. You’re well acquainted with the pain that comes with caring about somebody who doesn’t want you.

“Oh, yeah,” Lyla remembers. “Rafe, right?”

Emma nods.

“Yikes.”

“Yeah,” Emma laughs.

The three girls share a knowing look, something unsaid passing through them.

You don’t know much about Rafe. On the rink, he’s a strong, aggressive defenseman, a sophomore who spends more time in the penalty box than any other player. You’ve seen him at a couple of parties, too, but never exchanged any words.

You don't understand the girls’ tense reactions to the mention of his name.

“What am I missing?” you half-whisper.

“You’d be missing nothing if you actually came to the parties I invite you to,” Lyla teases.

You can count on one hand how many parties you’ve been to since you started college. But it works for you. A party every few weeks is enough.

“I come when I can,” you reply, nudging her playfully. “Fill me in.”

“He’s a trainwreck,” Emma explains to you. “He has a million red flags that I ignored because I thought he was hot. Literally all we ever did was fight.”

“Yeah,” Lyla huffs, raising her brows. She looks at you. “Maybe it’s actually a good thing you don’t come to every party.”

You consider their words. They must have had a penchant for making a scene, shamelessly arguing in front of a crowd.

“I couldn’t take how mean and moody he was anymore. I dumped him and he won’t let it go.” Emma breathes a laugh. “It’s pathetic. He even called me crying the other night.”

Again, a confusing pang of sympathy for him hits you. It has to be your own heartbreak influencing you. You can’t imagine you’d normally feel bad for a guy described as having a million red flags.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“I’m over it,” Emma says carelessly.

“He’s not,” Gabby murmurs.

The players storm out on the rink again moments later, blades slicing the ice. They’re all so fast and powerful, and knowing that Rafe, the most forceful one of the group, is going through a version of the pain you are is oddly comforting.

A couple of minutes in, he gets thrown into the penalty box for charging an opponent. He skates to the opposite side of the rink, Cameron stitched across the black polyester of his jersey.

He stares at the floor as he waits out his penalty, tense, still. You think that if someone who looks so big and strong can hurt just like you, maybe you’re not as weak as you think.

════════

Rafe swings open the library entrance door with a scowl, irritated as hell that he has to be here. It’s annoying that the athletic department gives this much of a shit about players’ grades. Rafe knows he’s one of the best on the hockey team. He wishes that were enough.

Freshman year was fine, but he barely made it through last semester. He just failed his first assignment in a half-term literature course that was supposed to be an easy A.

Coach wasn’t pleased, saying it could screw up his GPA and deem him ineligible to play. Rafe tried to convince him that he’d do better on the next one, but Coach set him up with a tutor, unwilling to hear him out.

He’s already hardwired into a constant state of anger. Life has always been a storm, and now more than ever, there's no refuge in sight.

He's dealing with a coach who has no hope in him, on top of a painful breakup, on top of a shitty loss last night, on top of the fact that now he’s being forced to talk to a stranger about some boring book.

He can’t catch a break.

He looks at the email on his phone again. Study Room 205. He eventually finds the open door and taps his knuckles on it to get your attention.

You lock eyes with the person you’ve been waiting on for the last ten minutes. You had no idea who was coming up to meet you – just that the athletic department set it up.

But you know him. Or of him, at least.

A second ago, you were thinking about how you’ll have to ask whoever you’re meeting to be on time for future sessions. Now, your mind is consumed by the harsh words you heard about him last night.

“Hi,” you say politely. “Are you here for Lit Arts?”

He nods tersely in confirmation, stepping in. He drops his bag onto one of the empty chairs surrounding the square desk in the middle of the small room. You introduce yourself and when he sits down diagonally opposite to you, he murmurs, “Rafe.”

Discomfort swirls in your stomach. You’d heard something so personal about him at the rink, gazed at him in the penalty box from a distance, feeling like he’s a kindred spirit, and now you have to pretend like none of it happened.

“You’re on the hockey team, right?” you ask.

He realizes he’s seen you before. He can’t figure out where.

“Yeah.”

“I was at the game last night. Tough loss.”

Rafe doesn’t say anything. The clock ticks rhythmically. You clear your throat, figuring it’s best to skip the small talk.

“I took this class last semester. I know exactly how the prof grades, so you’re lucky to have me in your corner.”

Rafe is many things right now. Lucky isn’t one of them.

“Do you have your laptop?” you ask.

He unzips his bag and pulls out his computer.

“You can go to the course portal,” you tell him. He lets out an exhale as he navigates to the webpage. You lean closer to make sure that the class is currently on the book you brought with you.

You pull out your copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, page edges littered with different colored sticky tabs.

“Did you get a chance to start the book?” you ask.

He shakes his head. He’s not hiding that he really doesn’t want to be here. Nonetheless, you’re determined to crack him.

“Do you have a copy of it?”

“No.”

You nod slowly, picking up that he planned to coast through the class, not even bothering to buy and read any of the books.

“Do you like reading?” you ask.

“Nah,” he says with a grimace, as if he’s offended you’d assume that.

“You might like some of the books on the syllabus. This class is a lot of fun.”

“Fun,” he echoes with a stare that makes him look like he wants to bolt out of the door he just came through.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you reply with a smile. “Your idea of fun is skating around and getting slammed into walls. I should be the one judging you.”

He gazes at you like you’re from another planet, blue eyes hard on you. It’s nothing short of amusing.

You pull his laptop closer, hovering the cursor over the ‘My Grades’ tab, and ask, “Do you mind if I check how you did on your last assignment?”

“I bombed it,” he says.

As you gaze at the screen, Rafe clues in on where he’s seen you before. With one of the team’s freshmen.

Varsity athletes who live on campus are lumped together in the same dormitory block, and he’s seen you hanging around with Beck, going in and out of his room.

He wouldn’t consider Beck a friend. He’s a teammate and at best, an acquaintance. The guy’s a kiss-ass to Coach, and does everything by the book, skipping most parties and never drinking.

It makes complete sense that a rule-follower like Beck would date a good girl like you. Who the fuck calls a class fun?

You click to see his failing grade percentage for the first assignment of the semester in bolded red.

“Did you get any feedback on where you went wrong?” you ask. You know he’s going to shake his head before he does it. He doesn’t seem to care at all. “You have a whole semester to get your grade up. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not,” he replies stiffly.

“Well… maybe you should worry a little bit,” you say lightheartedly. “I know your coach is serious about grades.”

Rafe figures you must have heard that from your boyfriend. Maybe Beck took this class, too. It’s popular among busy student athletes because it’s supposed to be an easy way to fulfill a humanities credit.

He could just convince Beck to give him copies of his assignments. He’d have to change stuff around, but at least he’d get out of tutoring.

“Did you help Beck with this class?” he asks.

You’re taken aback by the sudden reminder of him, brows knitting together, a shift in your breezy demeanor.

“You’re his girl, right?” he says, as if it’s obvious.

“No. We’re– we’re friends.” You chew on your bottom lip. Tutoring is supposed to be a distraction from Beck, not the topic of conversation. But your curiosity burns in you and there’s no chance of putting it out. “Did he talk about me or something?”

“No,” he says, a bit too harshly for your liking. “I just figured ‘cause you’re with him all the time.”

“Right,” you say. All the time. Like a lost puppy, no doubt. Embarrassment pricks at your skin. “I helped him with another class. We’re friends.”

Rafe cracks his first smirk since he walked into this stuffy little room. You said friends twice, both times with uncertainty.

“You sure?” he chides.

“What?” you say stiffly. “Yes. I am.”

You crack open the book.

“So, A Portrait is about a man named Stephen who navigates the idea of identity,” you say quickly, trying to shake off your nerves. “We should look at the discussion question.”

You shut the book abruptly, then turn your attention to the laptop.

“You need to write a 1,500-word reflection for each book,” you ramble. “You’ll do better if you find a personal connection to the text. Maybe we start there.”

Rafe watches the nervous way your eyes dart around the screen as you scroll. His joke threw you into a tense, awkward panic that he has no interest in being around.

“You can relax,” he says. “I don’t care if you like him.”

You don’t look at him. You thought you were relaxed.

“Well, I don’t.”

You scroll to the question, one word in particular striking you.

What role does Emma play in Stephen’s growth and how he defines himself?

Of course. As if you needed another reason for this to be even more awkward.

Seeing Rafe’s ex’s name makes what she’d told you about him echo through your head again. Despite his teasing, the sympathy you felt for him comes back tenfold.

You know things about him that you shouldn’t. You feel a responsibility to balance the scales, but the air is too tense, the unfamiliarity too uncomfortable.

“Did you take a look at the question?” you ask.

He shakes his head, still slouched back. At this point, his apathy is starting to get to you.

“Listen, I can tell you don’t want to be here, but could you please try to meet me in the middle?” you say.

Rafe’s lips pull into a firm line, but he relents and leans closer to look at the screen. His body goes cold when he sees her name. He’d rather not be reminded of the girl who broke his heart right now.

“Emma is Stephen’s love interest,” you begin, trying to act like you don’t know a thing about his past relationship. “He sees her as something she’s not.”

You leaf through the book, finding a note you’d written in the margin.

“She represents idealization,” you read. You look up at him again. “Stephen sees by the end that she’s just a normal person, not this perfect girl he thought she was for so many years.”

You open a blank document on his laptop.

“We can write up some notes to start us off,” you say. “This prof grades high when you relate to the text. He likes the sentimental stuff, so until you read the book, that’s what we’ll have to work on.”

You chew on your lip again, unsure if you should bring up what you heard in the stands. It feels unethical either way.

“It doesn’t have to be a person,” you say. “It could be a place or an experience. Have you ever thought something was great and then realized it wasn’t?”

Rafe’s stomach is in a knot. The thought of being tutored and having his hand held through a class was bad enough. Now he has to get into his feelings with you?

“I don’t know,” he says.

You look at the blinking cursor, your head cocked in thought.

“Maybe relating it to a person would be easier, then?” you ask.

Nothing can make this easier. Rafe rakes his hair back, gazing down at your hands stalled over his keyboard.

“I get that this is awkward,” you say. “But it doesn’t have to be anything super personal. You could even make something up if you want.”

He only purses his lips, eyes fixed on your hands, as if he hopes you’ll give in and just do his work for him.

You take a deep breath and interlace your fingers on the desk. You figure that if you’re a little vulnerable, he might be, too.

He’s unknowingly feeling the same pain you are and saying the truth out loud to someone who gets it might even be a relief. There’s a risk of it getting back to Beck, but something tells you Rafe’s not much of a gossiper anyway.

“To be honest, yes, I like Beck. I thought he felt the same, but he doesn’t. Between you and me, sometimes I think he took me for granted and led me on. I idealized a friendship and it ended up hurting me. If this were my assignment, I’d relate to the book with that.”

Rafe is thrown off by your sudden honesty. It’s actually refreshing, considering all the bullshit he’s been dealing with lately.

He looks at you wordlessly.

“It’s just an example,” you say with a soft chuckle. “I did well in this class because I found pieces of myself in every book. All you need to do is read the material, find something you can relate to, write a decent report, and you’ll get a good grade. Well, that and prepare for the midterm and the final.”

“This class was supposed to be easy,” he finally says under his breath.

“Can you let me know when you’re going to be done complaining?” you ask playfully, looking up at the clock. “It’s been five minutes and you’re still going.”

Rafe huffs an almost-laugh. He adjusts his posture again, pulling at the collar of his hoodie.

“You really don’t have to be specific,” you reassure him. You tap your fingers over the keyboard again, just light enough to not press any buttons. “If you can relate the character of Emma to someone, you don’t have to say their name.”

Your eyes stay glued to the screen, your shoulders stiff as you wait. You’re acting weird again. The way you said Emma’s name looked like it pained you.

And it dawns on him.

“Should’ve known she’d talk shit,” he realizes. “What’d she tell you?”

“What?” you say, meeting his gaze.

“What did Emma say about me?” Rafe drawls, his deep voice reverberating through you.

Your lips part, but words refuse to form. For a guy that doesn’t like to read, he’s very good at doing it to you.

Rafe leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk. You can now see what makes him so intimidating on the ice. Every edge of his face is sharp now, apathy replaced with intensity.

“Nothing,” you reply. “It’s not my business.”

How did he not clue in before? If you run in the hockey team’s social circle, of course you heard about their breakup.

Emma never cared to keep things private. And you’re so willing to share your own personal stuff because you know more about him than you’re letting on. Because you pity him.

“Come on,” he scoffs, frustrated.

“I met her at the rink last night. She just mentioned you used to date.”

He shrugs impatiently, a silent request that you keep talking. You sigh.

“She said she likes coming to games, but it’s hard to because her ex is on the team.” You grimace. There’s no way you’d actually tell him all of it, all of the insults she muttered. “It’s not worth repeating, but… basically, she told me she broke things off and you won’t move on.”

Rafe nods, lips twisting. The way she’s been ignoring his texts and his calls to try to fix things stung enough. Talking to strangers to embarrass him hurts on an entirely different level.

He didn’t know Emma could be this cruel. This is mortifying. He’s done trying to make things work with her. No matter how hard the loneliness is hitting him.

You slide the book across the desk towards him, desperate to move past the tension.

“You can start reading,” you say. “And you don’t have to buy any of the books. I’ll just lend you mine. I’ll get some notes down for you to work from and you can do the personal connection part on your own.”

You start to type and immediately wonder if he’ll drop the class. You’ve never had that happen with someone you tutored before, but you wouldn’t blame him.

It must feel crappy to hear from a girl you don’t even know that your ex is saying bad things about you. A girl that you have to see every Thursday afternoon for the next three months.

Rafe cracks open the book in the middle to fan through the pages, a weight sitting on his chest. The pages are worn, words underlined, notes scribbled in the margins.

“You put this through the washing machine or something?” he murmurs.

“I’ve read it a few times,” you say simply. You keep typing.

Emma said he’d called her crying. It’s hard to imagine the man sitting next to you crying. It’s weird knowing something about someone that they wouldn't want you to know.

Rafe’s already bored with the first sentence. It’s long and confusing and completely uninteresting. His eyes drift up, absorbing the way your face softly creases in concentration as you type.

Now that you’re not talking at a thousand words a second, he can actually take you in.

You’re the type of girl he’d approach at a party. There’s no doubt about that. But once you’d start yapping about reading like you just did, about finding pieces of yourself in a book, he’d find a way out of the conversation.

Playing hockey at the college level is demanding; he likes the other things in his life to be fun and easy. Keeping up with a girl like you and pretending he’s interested in whatever you’re rambling about would be neither.

As he studies you, he doesn’t get why Beck friendzoned you. You’re pretty. And you’re the same type of person as Beck: straight-edge and so cheerful it’s annoying.

Rafe is typically one to outright say what he’s thinking, but he has the restraint to keep the idea he just had to himself. He needs to sleep on it. He’s done some crazy shit since Emma broke his heart and he’d rather not add to the tally.

You notice him looking at you in your peripheral vision.

“You’re not thinking of dropping the class, are you?” you ask.

“No,” he says. His eyes stay on you for another beat, then find the words on the page again.

════════

You thought Rafe came to your first session in a bad mood. Compared to how you feel right now, he was peachy.

Lyla called you on your way to the library and mentioned in passing that her brother asked about you last night. She said Beck seemed like he missed you, all sympathetic when he asked, is she doing okay?

She’s oblivious to the real reason he brought it up. And it’s irritating. Because he doesn’t even ask you himself. Because he’s right. He knows that his passive rejection left a wound.

“You’re on time,” you say in surprise when Rafe saunters into the study room.

“You talk a lot,” he mumbles. “I’m not interested in a lecture after you told me not to be late.”

Despite your bad mood, you crack an amused smile. You’d ended last week’s session telling him that tardiness was not only disrespectful to you, but to his own academic success. He rolled his eyes, but he clearly listened.

Rafe settles in the same chair as last time, holding your copy of the book he was supposed to read.

“Did you read it?”

“Mostly.”

“What’d you think?” you say with hope.

“Boring.”

“Fair,” you say. You gesture for his laptop. “Let’s see how far you got on the report.”

Your brows drop in disappointment when you see how much he added to the file. It’s a bunch of pasted summaries and disorganized thoughts, taking up only half the page.

You eventually reach the end of your hour-long session and have him read over the assignment one last time before submitting it. You check the syllabus to confirm what the next book is, then shut his computer.

“Try to have more for us to work with next time,” you tell him. “And you should have the next book totally read by then, too, okay?”

You hand him your copy of Pride and Prejudice and push your seat back, ignoring his frustrated sigh.

“You talk to Beck lately?” he asks after a beat.

“What?” you say, face screwing up. You’re reminded all over again of what Lyla said. “No. Why?”

“You’re still pissed at him,” he says. He’s confident, coming to the conclusion himself instead of waiting for you to admit it.

“Why are you talking about this? We had a perfectly nice hour together,” you try to joke.

Rafe finally gives a voice to what’s been swirling in his mind since last week. He’s used to being mad, to feeling spiteful, but the way his ex broke his heart has never made him want revenge more. He wants to hurt her as badly as she hurt him. He wants to make her regret leaving him.

“We should get back at them,” he says.

“I’m sorry?” you say, your chin dipping as you stare at him.

“Hear me out,” he tells you. “We’re going to keep seeing Beck and Emma around, right? We could make it look like we’re better off without them. Make them jealous.”

You squint, waiting for the details. Rafe draws in a sharp inhale.

“She said I’m not over her, right? And you said he took you for granted. If they think we moved on, I bet at least one of ‘em will realize they fucked up.”

You consider it. Admittedly, making Beck think you’re perfectly fine – no, thriving – after his rejection is enticing.

“Okay, how do we get back at them exactly?” you ask.

Rafe scratches the back of his neck. It’s the first time he seems kind of nervous to you.

“We pretend we’re together,” he says.

“You and…” You look over your shoulder, because he must be talking to somebody else who snuck into the room at some point. “You and me? Together together?”

“I know. It wouldn’t ever happen.”

You can’t even be offended. He’s right. He’s a skilled hockey player and undeniably good-looking, but that’s where the compliments end.

Two afternoons of working together and making small talk have shown you that you have nothing in common. And frankly, while you do laugh off his bad attitude, it gets on your nerves.

A relationship would never work, let alone even begin.

“But they don’t know that,” he continues. “All they’ll see is that someone they lost is happy without them.”

Your mind starts racing. The years of pining over Beck, the pain of his rejection, the frustration over him asking his sister how you’re holding up. They’ve all left cracks in your heart.

The more Rafe thinks about rubbing his happiness into Emma’s face, even if it’s bullshit, the more he hopes you’ll be on board. But you’re not saying a word.

“If you’re not in, fine,” he sighs, pushing his chair back to start to leave. He should have figured you’d be too uptight to do it. “I’m just saying I bet you wouldn’t hate making Beck sweat.”

He stands up, but you hear yourself say, “Wait.”

Then you hold out your hand.

Rafe breathes an amused chuckle, flashing the first sincere smile you’ve seen on his face, when he realizes what you’re doing.

Your hand slips into his, touching for the first time to seal the deal and shake on it.

“This is insane,” you say. “Count me in.”

next >

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[ireverie]

sexcapade

pairing ↠ co-worker!sunghoon x (f) reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, professor!sunghoon x professor!reader, infidelity, unprotected sex, sensory deprivation, overstimulation, almost getting caught

summary ↠ with things in the bedroom getting stale with your husband, you start searching for excitement and your co-worker, sunghoon, is more than willing to provide it for you. on campus, you barely acknowledge each other, but in the sheets, you can't stop calling out his name.

wc ↠ 2.2k

a/n ↠ originally posted on my blog revehae, i am not plagiarizing myself. part 1/3 of the in my blood series. as always, feedback is appreciated!

don’t like it, don’t read.

it started in the spring. like there was pollen in the air, too there was lust, gentle breezes seemingly sweeping you flush against sunghoon’s chest where you could never not inhale the manly scent of him; never not leave with it clinging to you.

you were very aware that it was wrong. matter of fact, every time you laid eyes on your husband’s face and looked into his, saw how they twinkled at the sight of you and how they were bewitched by the charm of your soul, guilt ruptured your heart with an angry, unmistakable pang of ire.

so you did not think with the throbbing inside your chest, but the throbbing between your thighs.

a woman needed excitement in her life, a kind of which sunghoon was more than glad to offer. sex quickly got boring in the bedroom after so many years of unlively routines and you taught molecular biology to a class of undergraduates that couldn’t wait to get the fuck on with their lives. to say nothing of the long nights spent sifting through overdue assignments. you were allowed to have fun sometimes. after all, you were only in your early thirties. you still considered yourself young.

like many other women, specifically younger ones that found him attractive for an older man, you noticed that sunghoon did not wear a ring on his finger. upon further discussion, you learned that though he was no longer married, he had a twenty-something-year-old son who took your class. apparently, his son spoke delightfully of you, which was flattering, but you’d always been more interested in what sunghoon thought.

and you quickly found out.

“had enough?” sunghoon asked, poking his head through the doorway. 

not that you could see. there was a blindfold taut around your face, hindering your vision for the past forty-five minutes. to you, it felt like an eternity. the toy between your trembling thighs buzzed, inducing orgasm after orgasm, a number so great that it had tears slipping down your cheeks past the fabric of the blindfold.

speaking of orgasms, you couldn’t stop the cry that parted your lips as heat unfurled throughout your body for the umpteenth time, spreading from between your thighs to your head where there was nothing but empty thought and faintness.

“that was beautiful,” sunghoon remarked, only watching.

“please,” you croaked.

sunghoon played dumb with you. he had a penchant for it, drawing out your agony by pretending as if he were oblivious to your needs, when in reality he was the most attuned to them. “you want more?”

“no!” you exclaimed, desperate. you couldn’t even feel your legs if you tried, that was how long he had left you here with yourself - and this fucking toy. “please, no more. it’s too much, sunghoon.”

“but baby,” sunghoon started, donning his sweetest tone. “you wanted this. remember?”

that was true. you knew when this affair first started that sunghoon was available to open you up to new, exciting things, because your bedroom experiences with your husband could all be described the same way. though with sunghoon, there was room for variety.

it was just overwhelming sometimes. sunghoon could be so harsh under the guise of merely giving you what he wanted. you knew that it was what he wanted if anything, that you were just his lab rant to experiment on, but you never admit that you liked it that way. nor would you admit that you would’ve also liked to be a little more. 

but sunghoon knew that. he never mentioned a word of it, because it didn’t need to be said. it went without saying that you were his to do whatever he pleased with.

“sunghoon…,” you trailed, your voice shaky.

sunghoon, ignoring you, asked, “how many times did you cum?”

you gulped. racking your brain for an answer, you ultimately came up empty. by the third one, time lost all meaning and so did thought. “i… i lost count.”

“then, you know what that means, right?”

you gasped when the toy was moved. not at the action itself, but because you didn’t realize he’d gotten so close. his footsteps were so quiet.

“but…,” you started. 

“but nothing,” sunghoon said, snatching the blindfold off of your face. you blinked a couple of times, adjusting to the brightness. the cuffs around your wrists were next. “you know the rules, don’t you?”

you whispered, “yes, sunghoon.”

“hands and knees.”

you didn’t hesitate to crawl into the said position, regardless of the exhaustion weighing down your body, because you knew what to expect if you didn’t comply with whatever he wanted. there were times were sunghoon was generous enough to let you cum, times where you didn’t deserve it, much like now. you wanted to get around punishment, but it would never happen if you didn’t satiate him.

the bed creaked when he raised himself atop of it from behind you, the sound of him fumbling with his belt making you wetter. once upon a time, you didn’t even think that that was possible, but you never stopped dripping when with sunghoon. somehow, he made even simple things like the anticipation arousing.

sunghoon dropped his shirt, followed by a toss of his pants. he had no need for them anymore. for the forty-five minutes that you’d been ruining his sheets, weakened by the overstimulation, sunghoon had been in his study trying to shake the thoughts of you while he attempted to grade papers. he was already hard from his imagination and the memories of stuffing you full of his cum, but seeing you in front of him, waiting for him, your pussy soaked for him, it did unfathomable things to his cock.

you released a shaky breath when you felt him lubricating himself with your arousal, slipping between your glistening folds, and writhed from the sensitivity. “sunghoon, it’s too much,” you whimpered. 

sunghoon chuckled. “baby, i’m not even inside you yet.”

your face burned. you could feel yourself dripping and it was humiliating, because you only got like this for him and him only.

“so fucking wet,” sunghoon cursed, having fun teasing your folds. “just for me.”

you cried out when he suddenly slapped your cunt, mouth parted as you gasped out, “sunghoon...”

“fuck, you always get so wet for me. isn’t that right, baby?” sunghoon asked, enamored with you. it was magical how he could pretend as if you meant nothing to him at work and become so addicted to you when nobody was watching.

you bobbed your head. “yes, sunghoon. just for you.”

that must’ve did it for him, because the very next second, you felt sunghoon finally start to roll inside of your cunt, mumbling curses under his breath. you almost collapsed then, almost slumped and gave out just from the tip of his cock, but you resisted because you had something that you needed to prove.

sunghoon was slow, but his cock slipped right inside you with ease, it was almost pathetic. not to mention that he was bigger than anything you could’ve imagined taking, so much that you always found yourself gasping when you realized that he wasn’t completely buried inside of you yet. you couldn’t believe that he had so much to give.

“oh my god,” you moaned, eyes rolling back from how full you were. no man had ever satisfied you like this, and sunghoon was just getting started.

not only were you filled to the hilt with his hard cock, but also the ache for him to fuck you until your entire body went numb like he’d already done countless times. sunghoon gripped your hips, using them as an anchor. when you felt so good as you did, as tight as you were, it would be dangerous not to ground himself.

sunghoon grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling just tight enough to let you know the trip was there. you were basking in his warmth and being crushed underneath his weight while he balanced your hips in one hand and the grip on your hair in the other. he smacked your ass and hissed, “so fucking pretty.”

sometimes you wished that he was yours. you could imagine coming home with him day after day, singing to music in the car together while his company made minutes feel like hours. you didn’t mind that he had a son, either. you always wanted a child, though not one that would be the product of shitty sex and a broken marriage.

the liking you’d taken to sunghoon went beyond sex, though the endless orgasms and fulfillment he never neglected you of definitely encouraged those feelings. moments like now, when he was balls deep inside you, you were more than willing to risk it all for him. you would get a divorce. you would move in. anything he wanted, just as quick as he said the word.

i am out of my mind, came your thoughts, though your grip on them slackened the more sunghoon fucked you into oblivion. 

“it’s so… deep,” you gasped, marveling. 

sunghoon chuckled. though you had never said it outright, your constant fascination with how big his cock was or how deep he could fit inside you, stretching out your velvety tight walls, was more than enough of an indication that your husband was not exactly packing like he was. you made it a point to mention that sunghoon was huge.

“yeah?” sunghoon asked huskily, wanting to suck a bruise onto the side of your throat, but he willed himself not to.

“mm-hm,” you mumbled. “can feel you in… in my stomach.”

“where?” sunghoon kept one hand at your hip but dropped the one at your head, wrapping it around you, and reaching for your stomach. “here?”

you bobbed your head. he could feel it too, and it elicited a deep growl out of him, one that had you clamping involuntarily around his size.

sunghoon could fuck you for hours if you let him. the same way that he was the best you’d ever had, he simply couldn’t get enough of you. there were times throughout the day where his mind would only flicker with debilitating thoughts of you, memories of your face and how you tasted. at times, you made it difficult to move on.

“dad,” came a voice from down the hall, one both of you were very acquainted with. 

“shit,” sunghoon hissed, irritated, and clamped his hand around your mouth. your cries and whimpers were muffled into his hard palm and your breath was cut off, because it was so difficult to breathe solely through your nose. “be a good girl and keep quiet.”

“dad,” sounded jake’s voice again, just outside the door. 

your heart was racing. your eyes were wide, the fear and excitement of getting caught fighting for totality in your icy veins. his son was one of your students and students talked. if it got out that you were having an affair with sunghoon, this could destroy you, but there was something so arousing about the thrill.

“i’m in here. don’t open that door,” sunghoon said, breathless voice betraying what was happening behind that door. 

his son was far from stupid, that you knew all too well, and retorted, “dad, are you getting laid? is it the hot nurse you were flirting with at the hospital? tell her i said ‘hi.’”

you frowned.

before sunghoon could even get a word out, his son added, “i’m leaving. you two have the house to yourselves again.”

“bye,” sunghoon huffed, dropping his palm from your face. 

you inhaled sharply. you could finally breathe again.

sunghoon kissed the back of your neck, nibbling at your ear. “you did so good,” he whispered, voice gentle and sweet as ever. “if you beg good enough, i’ll change my mind and let you cum.”

you hopped at the opportunity like a ravenous pack of wolves starved through the winter, begging with the utmost desperation, “sunghoon, please. please let me cum. i’ll do anything, oh my fucking god, i need it. i need you.”

“you need me?”

so fucking bad. more than anything. “i need you,” you repeated, whinier. needier.

“cum around my dick,” sunghoon commanded, voice deep and throaty and just the way you liked it. you would steal a soul for him if that was what he wanted.

it wasn’t very long before one final cry of his name escaped you, pouring out of your lips like honey as you stuttered around his cock, heat spasming between your legs. tears trickled from your eyes, the stimulation from all of the orgasms you’d had in one night alone, and you couldn’t stop yourself from convulsing. your muscles slackened and your limbs went limp to your sides.

sunghoon was directly behind you, spurred on by the sight and feeling of you coming undone around him, and you knew when his hold on your hips tightened and that lethal growl parted his mouth that he had met his climax, the feeling of his hot cum seeping into your cunt being the unnecessary confirmation.

“good fucking girl,” sunghoon praised, still sweetly in your ear.

you sighed contentedly when he flipped you onto your back, sweeping you into his arms and kissing your lips as a treat. he wiped the tears out of your eyes, watching you still shudder.

“stay the night,” sunghoon said, looking into your hazy eyes. 

you blinked, breathing heavily to catch your breath. “sunghoon, you know i can’t do that. my husband will...”

“i wasn’t asking.”

“well,” you replied, quietening. “i guess i can come up with something.”

sunghoon smiled triumphantly, smashing his lips against yours again. you sighed again, still content, though there was a thought lurking on your mind. i don’t know what i’m going to do.

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Assigned to You

🐺Pairing(s)🐺🠞Isaac Lahey x shy!male reader ⚠️CW⚠️🠞 gay, gay-sex, top Isaac, bottom male reader, Isaac is an ass lover, ass eating, size kink, breeding, Isaac is bigger than you (6 '2 to 5' 6 or something), anal-sex, Isaac has a big cock, both of you are 18, Isaac cums quickly, and needy reader. 🔞Rating🔞🠞 Explicit and fluff 🐺Requested🐺🠞 Yes

🖊️Word Count🖊️🠞 4.1k

🐺Summary🐺🠞You and Isaac were pinning after each other for a long time, but you were too nervous and shy to say anything. That changed when your English teacher assigned you to be partners in a project. Feelings were confessed, and both of your closeted desires sprouted into reality. 

Read before continuing: IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 18 OR ANY OF THE WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT CONTINUE READING!

Note: I haven’t watched Teen Wolf, so there might be some mischaracterization. I’m mainly using Google and other sources to get a better understanding. This happens after Isaac turns into a werewolf. 

“Today, there will be a group project! Before you get excited, you will have assigned partners…”

The moment Ms. Ramsey mentioned “group project,” you internally groaned and felt your heart sink. You weren’t keen on working with a random classmate, you barely knew their names apart from a few notable ones. Group projects are the worst, you would much rather work alone than with someone else. 

You were very much a loner and a shy person, staying in the background and among the shadows of hundreds of other students. High school was overwhelming enough, and you didn’t need to add the pressure of speaking to other students to the mix. It's not like you’re gonna have contact with them after graduation is over, they’ll fade away into the obscurity of life. 

Although there was someone you liked (or loved), Isaac Lahey, you shared the majority of your classes with him, so you naturally saw him everywhere. Your eyes would follow him, filled with love and desire for him. He was your hallway boyfriend, seeking him out in the hallways and giving subtle glances when he walked by. To anybody, it was creepy and obsessive, and they’d be right.

You don’t know what pulled you towards him. Maybe it was your similarities: quiet nature, shy, and lonely. Although you did notice him becoming more confident and dominant, he still had compassion and kindness. It only made you like him more. 

Or maybe your attraction was to his physical appearance; he was tall, standing at 6’2 (187 cm), with a lean, muscular stature after being on the lacrosse team for a year. You found that out by sneaking some glances whenever he would lift his shirt. Oh, how you love his dark, blonde hair; you want to run your fingers through his soft hair, staring into his large blue eyes.

Though you doubt he feels the same way, he’s definitely out of your league. You didn’t want to confess for fear of rejection. 

The number of students was thinning out, with only four remaining. You prayed that the teacher would pair you with a random person rather than Isaac. However, your prayers weren’t answered as the other two students were paired together. 

“And the last pair is Isaac and Y/n. You’ll have a week to complete this…”

Your heart stopped, mouth hanging open as those words went through your ears. You couldn’t believe you were assigned to Isaac! Out of all the students in the classroom, it had to be him. You didn’t mind working with anyone else because they weren’t Isaac, they weren’t the guy you were crushing on. 

You glanced at Isaac, sitting in the middle section of the class. He glanced back at you with a smile on his face; it was a genuine smile, soft and warm. His eyes looked like they were sparkling as they made contact with yours. You felt your heart beating faster, cheeks turning red as you looked away from his gaze.

“Use the rest of class to talk about what you’re gonna do.” Ms. Ramsey said, returning to her desk, turning on the monitor, and entering the different groups into the system for grading once the time comes. “Oh, and please don’t procrastinate,” was the last thing she said before returning to her work.

“Hey, Y/n! So, what do you want to do for this project?” Isaac’s voice snapped you out of your inner thoughts, causing you to jump a little. You felt embarrassment wash over your body, getting scared by your crush, who was your partner for the next week. 

“What was the project about…?” you said, voice barely louder than a whisper. You were stuck in your world, not hearing what the teacher was saying. 

“It’s an analytical project on any piece of literature, as long as it's appropriate,” Isaac paused so he could grab a chair. “She probably thinks someone is gonna analyze a pornography book.” Isaac continued, chuckling at the thought, before placing his materials on your desk and taking a seat. 

“Anyways, wanna start? And maybe let's go to your place to continue working,” you agreed to Isaac while you were internally battling yourself. You were stressed over inviting your crush over– what if he judges your tastes, or what if he judges everything about you? 

You didn’t feel as excited as you should have.

Isaac was honest with himself, and he was ecstatic that you got to be his partner. He always noticed your discreet glances whenever he was not looking. Even before he accepted Derek’s idea of turning him into a werewolf, he had eyes for you. Everything about you attracted him, the same way you are with him. 

He also couldn’t get the courage to approach you. He thought you didn’t feel the same way; hell, he didn’t think you knew he existed. So, he admired from afar, doing the same ministrations as you, without the other knowing. 

Idiots in love. 

His attraction changed after he was transformed into a werewolf. His sense of smell became so enhanced that he could now detect the scent of different people; whether it was an unpleasant or average smell, yours was distinct. Your scent was unique, and he could smell it change whenever he was close to you. 

Your scent blended in with others, but it was still distinct to his nose. When you were in his vicinity, it would spike; he could smell your scent wafting in the air, turning sweet and delicious at times, while other times it would sour and foul. He could attribute the foul and sour smell to your nervousness about confession and fear of rejection. 

He was going to try to slowly approach you, help you feel less tense around him, and hopefully less shy. Maybe even open up and confess to him. 

xxx

Over the next few days, Isaac eased you into his presence, hoping to get you out of your shell and open up to him. 

He did this by being gentle with you, speaking softly and lightly – never teasing, never pushing with his voice. He regulated it so as not to seem obnoxious and loud. Sometimes, he would lean in slightly, pushing the boundaries while speaking to you. 

Whenever he would sense your fear and anxiety spiking, he would back off and give you space. He apologized for getting too close and intruding on your personal space. “Sorry about that. Got carried away.” Isaac says, scratching the back of his head, cheeks flustered from embarrassment. 

He made small talk, disregarding the project, with you, wanting to learn more about you. He listened intently to every word you said, sometimes getting lost in your soft, spoken voice as you talked about random topics and your interests. You kept rambling until the assignment was forgotten under a pile of conversations.

Isaac was proud that his ministrations opened you up. Maybe the time was right. 

“Oh… I’ve been rambling!” you mumbled, looking at the time; you rambled for almost two hours about [your interest]! “Sorry for wasting time, we should get back to work,” you continued, mumbling, looking into Isaac’s eyes for anything negative; there was nothing. He stared at you, his elbows resting on your desk, with one hand holding his head. His eyes were soft, shining as if he were enchanted.

“No, no, I liked your rambling. I like listening to your voice.” Isaac said without a second thought. His old self would’ve been mortified for saying something like that, but he wasn’t like that anymore. It was the truth, and he had no qualms with himself. 

You froze, mouth open, but no words were coming out; your face was flustered before breaking eye contact. “Really… why?”

Isaac laughed softly, causing your face to turn redder. “Why not? I like hearing your voice and learning everything about you! You’re more interesting and genuine than many others. Kind, thoughtful… I’ve always noticed you.” Isaac said, his remaining on your figure as he slides closer, but not too close. 

You looked into Isaac’s eyes with shock, attempting to see if the other man was pulling at your heartstrings. There were no ill intentions, no joke, or cruelty hidden behind those deep-blue eyes; his words were authentic, and he really meant them. You awkwardly laughed, trying to recollect some words to say, your mind reeling from the truth in Isaac’s words. 

“I… didn’t think you noticed,” you said, biting your lip, your heart hammering. Alarms were blaring in your head, this was actually happening, this isn’t a dream. Your breathing became heavier; it was happening fast, but you felt relieved. Like a heavy weight was lifted off your shoulders, knowing that Isaac possibly feels the same. 

“I’ve always noticed you. In fact, I thought you didn’t notice me.” Isaac said gently, sensing your heart rate getting faster, placing his hand over your smaller one. He squeezed it softly, smiling with his teeth as he felt you calming down and settling. “I like you, Y/n. A lot.” Isaac finished, waiting for your reaction and response.

You didn’t move, your brain scrambling for a response to Isaac’s confession and grasp on your hand. Your heart was beating faster, and your breathing was strained as you choked out: “Oh… I like you too! I thought you were out of my league.” You replied, your tense body relaxing and breathing returning to normal levels. 

Silence filled the atmosphere, the quiet breathing, and the humming sound of the ceiling fan as its blades rotated. Isaac broke the silence, “Can I… kiss you? Or is that too soon? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable!” Isaac rambled before you shushed him with your finger, smiling warmly at Isaac’s cuteness and words.

“Of course, I want this…”

xxx

Isaac was lying down on the bed, your body pressing against his as your hands were on both sides of his head. You could feel the other man’s hand moving and gripping your hips, grounding your smaller body against his larger one. 

Your lips are moving in sync, and you could feel your body melting into his grasp as he deepened the kiss. The kiss was wet and sloppy as you opened your mouth to Isaac’s invading tongue. Your eyes fluttered closed, enjoying Isaac being the dominant one. Your teeth clack against one another, Isaas’s tongue beating yours in dominance, and the erotic sounds of wet kissing, quiet moans, and groans slipped through 

Isaac was getting more aroused, his bulge grinding against yours, his grip tightening as he thrusts against your bulge. The bed squeaks from the dry humping, your two bodies moving in sync. Isaac’s eyes rolled back as his cock was straining in his pants, his breathing getting heavier as he needed more. Isaac broke the kiss with a light snicker, placing a light kiss on your nose before tracing his mouth down to your neck, leaving a trail of marks and saliva. 

You were breathless after the heated kiss, and your breathing transformed into soft moans. The werewolf’s lips found your neck, giving sloppy kisses and bites. You could feel Isaac’s large hands groping your ass through your clothing, kneading the flesh like how a baker would with raw dough. 

“You wanna continue, baby?” Isaac said, breathing heavily as he desperately wanted to touch your naked body, feeling it underneath his fingertips as he showed you what it means to feel and be loved by someone. 

“Yes! Please, I need you,” you replied needily, humping Isaac’s clothed bulge. Your once timid and anxious brain was clouded by need and lust. There was no shame or embarrassment left in your body as you begged Isaac to continue his ministrations. You needed his touch, you needed everything Isaac could provide, now that you have him wholly to yourself. 

This was the type of drug you could get behind and become addicted to. 

“My baby is needy? Let me fix that.” Before you could blink, Isaac had suddenly switched positions with you, flipping you onto your stomach with your ass pointed up. He made quick work of your pants and underwear, hastily removing them until your fat ass was bare before his eyes. Unbeknownst to you, Isaac’s eyes glowed yellow, his werewolf side clawing its way out. He could feel himself going feral from the sight of your ass, but he didn’t want to lose control and expose his secret to you, not yet. 

He let out a bellowed growl before leaning down, his hands holding your hips in place. Isaac fondled your cheeks, hypnotized by the way your fat ass was wobbling and jiggling from his hands. “Ngh…” The pillow muffled your whine and moan as you felt Isaac’s tongue run over your bare ass. 

“Oh God!” you gasped softly, biting the pillow as you felt Isaac spreading your cheeks, your little hole revealed to his lustful eyes, glowing brighter like your hole was a prize from a carnival. Without hesitation, Isaac leaned forward and licked a long stripe, his wet tongue making contact with your hole. 

Your eyes widen before fluttering closed. The werewolf made out with your hole, coating the muscle with saliva as he kneaded your flesh. His lips give light kisses around your hole before pulling out and biting the flesh of your ass. Isaac’s groans were muffled as he buried his head in your ass, wrapping one arm around your legs and yanking you closer to him. 

“O-oh fuck… I-Isaac.” You cried, pushing back against his face. You could tell he approved from the satisfied groans and growls. Your cock was twitching, bobbing in the air, precum dripping onto your bed sheets. Your mind was going blank, you’ve jacked off and fingered yourself before, but this was different, more pleasurable and intense, and it was with Isaac. 

“Love this ass, baby…” Isaac groans, pulling back to breathe, taking long gulps of air as he admires his work. Your hole was soppy, coated with saliva, with your cheek having bite marks and scratches. He could see your hole fluttering, gaping, and clenching around nothing, begging for something to fill it. 

With due time.

“You’re gonna feel some pain, baby…” Isaac said, lathering two fingers with saliva, bringing the digits closer to your hole. Slowly, he pushes them inside you, groaning as he feels your hole fluttering and clenching around his fingers. He could feel them sucking his digits deeper. 

“I-Isaac!” you gasped softly, whining from Isaac’s intruding fingers. You clenched the sheets, biting down on the pillow as the werewolf spread your hole, preparing you for something bigger and thicker. Although you didn’t need preparation because you fingered yourself a couple of minutes before Isaac arrived.

“It hurts? Sorry, I… you don’t feel… tight?” Isaac said, brows furrowing as he felt your hole being loose. The gears in his head were turning before the realization. “Didn't take you to be that person, baby. Fucking hot if you ask me.” Isaac grins, still pressing his fingers as deeply as he could, scissoring and stretching your hole. The werewolf didn’t expect a shy, introverted person like you to be naughty and needy, but he liked that.

Your face grew slack, jaw dropped as Isaac’s fingers sheathed deep inside you, unknowingly riding his fingers. He touched your gummy, pink walls, spreading them as he searched for the fabled spot that was taught in sex education: the prostate. 

“That’s it, baby. Doing good.” Isaac praises as used his other hand to grope and fondle your right ass cheek. He was so caught up in his ministrations that he forgot about his own needs. He looked to see his cock bulging out, throbbing with a precum seeping through the fabric. “Jesus Christ…”

You could hear your heart pounding in your ears as his words repeated. Your moans and cries of pleasure fell from your tongue, mixing with the sinful sounds of his fingers thrusting deep inside, accompanied by wet squelching. “Oh God… feels so good… making me feel so good…” You arched your back and pushed your ass further into the werewolf’s grasp. 

Something was blooming in your stomach, its petals were blooming as the roots sank deep into your nerves. Your breathing got heavier, your body tensing and clenching around Isaac’s fingers, halting them and making the digits unable to move. It was a dizzying sensation, and drool seeped from the corners of your mouth, soaking the pillow. 

“Feel good? Yeah… it does… cum for me.” Isaac growled as he abused that special bundle of nerves 

Your response was immediate, a myriad of messy and muffled cries of pleasure and relief. Your cock throbbed before spurting its load, coating the bed sheets. Your body was sweaty underneath the shirt, trembling and shaking from the orgasm, and you collapsed onto the bed. Your vision was blurry and white.

“Do you wanna continue or…” Isaac said, pulling his fingers out with a wet plop sound. He didn’t want to continue until you gave him confirmation. He couldn’t finish his sentence before you moved back, grinding your bare ass against Isaac’s clothed bulge. The werewolf moans as he feels his dick being squeezed between your cheeks, his eyes roll back as he fells his climax nearing.

He wasn’t even inside you, and he was already about to cum. 

“Yes! Please… need more… need you!” You begged, arching your back and desperately grinding against Isaac’s clothed bulge. It was just as you imagined it to be: large and thick. Your hole twitched at the thought of being filled to the brim with that beast.  You were lost in the sensation of lust, your body developing a mind of its own as it disobeyed your brain. It needed Isaac to satisfy the thirst that had been denied for a long time. 

“Okay… okay, I’ll give you what you want, but I don’t know if I’ll last long,” Isaac admitted. He could feel himself teetering on the brink, a single thrust would send him into an orgasm. He was slightly embarrassed by confessing it, but it was his first time being intimate with someone, so you couldn’t blame him. 

“I don’t care! I just wanna feel you inside of me… just fuck me,” You replied, whining from waiting for too long for Isaac to penetrate your aching hole. You didn’t care about Isaac admitting to cumming early, you just wanted to feel connected with him. That’s all you wanted: a connection with your lover. 

Isaac nodded and began stripping his clothes, tearing them off along with his pants and underwear. He groaned when his aching large cock was released from its cage, it twitched from the cold breeze with precum oozing from the cockhead. “Let’s take that shirt off,” Isaac said, reaching down and pulling the hem of your shirt up. You lifted your arms when he yanked the fabric over your head and tossed it to the side with his clothing as well. 

“I’m going in…” Isaac gave you the heads up, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to his abdomen, his cock resting between on top of your ass. His chest heaved as he held his length and aimed it towards your saliva-coated hole. He gulped as he pressed his cockhead against your hole, sweat dripping down his body as he braced himself. 

Your heart was pounding, your breathing hitched as you held onto the pillow. You could feel the blunt shape of his cockhead pressing against your entrance, the pressure increased as your breathing got heavier until your rim gave in and the swell of Isaac’s cock sinks in. Your body trembled from the force. Isaac’s grip on your hips was firm, nails digging into your flesh as he didn’t stop until he cock was fully sheathed. 

“Isaac… It's so large! How…” you moan shakily, back arching to give Isaac more access. Air was leaving your body as your insides were being stretched to accommodate the werewolf’s large cock. It stopped when Isaac hilted into you, his cock swallowed by your tight, warm hole. It didn’t hurt as much, thanks to your previous enjoyment and Isaac stretching you with his fingers. 

Isaac growls and groans, removing his hands from your hips before collapsing onto your smaller frame. His hands find yours, holding them as his larger and stronger body covers your smaller one, his head buried in your shoulder. He was able to control himself for a while, but the cracks were shattering his composure as he felt your rim squeezing and spasming around his cock. His train of thought was becoming cloudy as the only thing on his mind was to fuck and breed your hole. 

“Lose control… I don’t care if you cum early,” you said with a heavy breath, tilting your head back to kiss Isaac on the cheek. 

That was the last straw for him. Isaac stood up, removing his hands from yours to your hips. His grip was firm as he pulled back with his cockhead being left inside before ramming back into your hole. Your eyes widen as Isaac began aggressively fucking your ass, his cock reaching deeper than ever before. The bed squeaking got louder with the headboard slamming into the wall. 

A symphony of moans and growls mixed with the bed squeaking and wet squelching, with the topping of wet skin slapping and balls slapping against yours, echoed through the house. You were grateful that your parents were out for the evening, so they wouldn’t have to hear their son getting his guts rearranged by his classmate. The bedroom was hot and sweaty, with sex permeating the air. 

Your fingers gripped the pillow tighter as your moans grew louder with Isaac’s cockhead ramming directly into your special bundle of nerves. Your body was becoming overstimulated as it was still recovering from the previous orgasm, your cock was hard as it bobbed with each thrust Isaac was giving. Your cries for more grew louder as base instincts took control, begging to be claimed internally by Isaac’s thick cum. 

With Isaac being inexperienced, he didn’t last long. He gave a couple of rough thrusts before reaching his climax. He was lost in the feeling of your warm hole swallowing and tightening around his throbbing length. He couldn’t handle the spasming and clenching of your hole trying to milk his cock of its load.

“O-oh god… I’m cum… can’t pull out.” he was gonna pull out but it was like your ass knew and prevented it. His breathing hitched as he grounded his hips, growling as his cock spurted its load deep inside, flooding your hole with waves of hot cum. His balls tightening as it pumped more cum that began to seep through your plugged ass, soaking the sheets with the sticky substance. You came at the same time, adding more cum to the sheets, more watery than thick globs.

Isaac collapsed beside you before his strong arms wrapped around your chest, pulling you into his embrace. He peppered kisses on your shoulders and nape area, his hands rubbing circles on your hips to soothe the aching he caused. 

“Sorry for cumming early…” Isaac apologized, nuzzling into your shoulders. He moves slightly, his cock, which was still inside your hole, rubbed against your sensitive spot causing you to moan and clench which in turn caused Isaac to groan. You could feel his heavy breathing rubbing against your skin as he held you close, his lips touching your salty, sweaty skin. 

“It’s okay… I don’t care about that… does this mean you wanna be my boyfriend?” you asked, leaning into Isaac’s warmth, grabbing the comforter and pulling it over your bodies. The comforter provides extra warmth, and you don’t even care about the cum on the sheets or the cum oozing out of your hole.

“Of course.” 

THE END

Author’s note: Hello, my strawberries! I hope y’all enjoyed this fic! To be honest, I don’t know if I ate with this one. Very special thanks to my proofreader🠞 @sagethegaywitch Taglist🠞 @hiddens-eden @spnfanboy777 @buckyshusband0 @zamfam4272 @raspberryyuuki @maxxioislost @furiousflowercreation @ghostking4m @sluttyhusband @wolf-knights @your-cow-boy @mack-thedork @starboye @boypied @sleep-0-deprived @cronasluvr Join my taglist! Masterlist here! I have K*-f* if you wish to support!

[wileys-russo]

Ft. Clumsy Alessia on one knee - cliff top - reader: “babe did you just trip again?? Oh my god you’re proposing!!”

part of the maternal instincts universe just say yes II a.russo

you and alessia were engaged. you couldn't quite believe it as for the tenth time just in that hour you'd found yourself gazing down at your ring finger in admiration.

twisting your hand left and right you watched as the clean cut diamond caught the sun, glinting and shimmering as your lips curled into the same dopey smile of disbelief that had been plastered in your face the last two days since.

but in order to understand just how it happened, you'd need to track back through a series of rather unplanned and unfortunate events, and it had all started on a tuesday evening...

you had parent teacher interviews (which really you'd always protested was a waste of time for primary school classes, but the department of education clearly disagreed) which left alessia in charge for the night shift.

now normally that would be fine, bar bella perhaps testing the waters a little more to see just how much she could get away with. though your girlfriend had caught onto this quite quickly and now with both time and confidence under her belt had no issues assuming the stricter parental role as needed.

but tonight it seemed bella and her tummy monster had decided to take it easy on the striker, not kicking up a fuss when alessia refused to buy pizza for dinner since there was things to use up in the fridge, only splashing her half as much as usual in the bath and putting on her least favourite pair of pyjamas since the latter was in the wash.

so naturally alessia felt her guard start to slip, sitting bella down in front of the tv for her designated nightly episode of bluey and busying herself scanning two marketing contracts luca had been harassing her about which had been sat in her email inbox for well over a week now.

sat at the dining room table with her back turned on the suspiciously well behaved five year old, alessia failed to notice the couch was empty, bella wandering off to try and locate her phone which she knew charged in the bedroom, missing you and wanting to say goodnight.

but unaware the phone in question was tucked away in alessias pocket, bella frowned at the bare side table, now on the hunt and pulling open the drawer of the nightstand, pushing up on the tips of her toes to look inside.

sticking a hand up she clumsily fumbled about, pushing and poking and prodding but huffing when ultimately there was still no phone to be found. but then her finger brushed something soft, eyebrows creasing as she stood up as tall as she could until her small hand was able to grasp it.

tugging it out of the nightstand, a small crushed velvet box sat in the palm of your daughters hand, and from the moment she popped it open, everything that was to come in the week ahead was set into motion.

"you bought mummy a ring!" alessia almost fell off her chair as a little voice chirped up suddenly from beside her, eyes widening as large as saucers at the diamond ring thrust in her face as bella climbed up on the chair beside her, wild grin on her face.

"where did you get this? were you snooping? what did we say about snooping isabella?" alessia's tone was sharp as she slammed her laptop shut, lurching forward to snatch the ring and snap the box closed, shoving it into her pocket and head rapidly darting side to side to check you hadn't seen as if you weren't currently on the other side of town.

"no! i wanted your phone, so i could call mummy and say goodnight. does mummy know about the ring? does this mean you're gonna get married? can i be the flower girl? can i wear a pretty dress? can the dress be pink? or maybe red! will leah be there? will uncle-" overwhelmed by the rapid fire investigation taking place alessia was quick to press her hand over the five year olds mouth.

"we need to have a little talk, bella." alessia warned sternly, slowly lowering her hand as bellas once delighted grin lowered into a scowl, crossing her arms and slumping down in the chair, as was her usual go to whenever she knew she'd gotten herself into trouble.

"come on, its past your bedtime." alessia spoke a little softer now, standing and offering her hand for bella to take, chuckling as the girl who was more than capable of walking lifted her arms expectantly.

"oh alright then." alessia gave in with a sigh of amusement, lifting bella up and into her own arms, walking the pair of them down the hall to her room and lowering her into bed, making sure she was all tucked in and comfortable with the small army of stuffed animals bella insisted all needed a place in bed with her.

"now this-" alessia grabbed the ring from her pocket and popped the box open again. "-is a conversation i did not plan to have this way, snoopy." alessia smiled poking at bella's nose who scrunched her face up in response.

"but the situation has clearly changed. so, tiny, would you be okay if i ask your mummy to marry me?" alessia asked, a small handful of nerves bubbling to the surface with the question, surprise clearly written all over your daughters face.

"me?" bella asked in response, pointing to herself as your girlfriend smiled and nodded. "yeah, you. your opinion is pretty important to me you know." alessia affirmed, hand smoothing down the few rogue tufts of hair which stuck up at the back of bella's head where she'd had one of your hoodies on before dinner.

"i want you to marry mummy! i do! then we can be a real family!" bella perked up, alessia almost falling off the bed as bella launched across it, arms flung around her neck and clinging on tightly to the bear hug your girlfriend eagerly wrapped her in.

"we already are a family. me, you, your mum, your dad, your dads girlfriend olivia. thats why we all go out to dinner every second friday, right?" alessia reminded gently, hand rubbing up and down soothingly against bellas back.

"yeah! for chinese." bella nodded happily, the routine one that both you and your ex had implemented once both in quite serious relationships, and much from isabellas own requests.

"but. you cannot tell mummy about the ring or that i want to propose to her, okay?" alessias tone once again adopted a strict undertone, carefully prying bella off and pulling back the covers so she could climb underneath them again.

"but why? she'll be happy! mummy loves you mama." bella wondered innocently with a frown, tucking one of her teddys under her chin as she wiggled around until she was comfortable.

"because its a surprise, so its our little secret. okay? not a word to mummy, nothing, nada, zip!" alessia motioned zipping her lips closed making the five year old giggle and nod in agreement.

"zip!"

and for a few days, that seemed to be working well. until dinner at alessias mothers place, where suddenly everything came crashing down.

you were of course being your usual stubborn self, refusing to let anyone swat you out of the kitchen to help clean up after dinner and flicking your girlfriend with the dish towel when she didn't hold this same level of use.

"babe!" alessia gasped as the crack echoed around the living room, your finger pointing back into the kitchen. "your mum and dad cooked, your brother cleared the table, you can dry a dish or two russo." you warned sternly, the blonde sending a filthy side eye to luca who oohed, earning himself a smack on the arm from his own wife.

but with the pair of you preoccupied in the kitchen, and bella showing alessias parents her latest dance routine in the front room, it would seem the striker should have perhaps been a little more specific with the nature of her earlier warnings.

"lessi! can you come here for a second please darling?" the blonde glanced over your head from where her mum was calling for her, not long having finished helping you wash and dry when bella had come zooming on through, smacking your leg and demanding you were now 'it' for the game of tag she'd started.

"yeah mum what-" but the words died in her mouth the minute she saw the all too familiar red box in the womans hand, mirrored by the looks of pride and joy in both her parents eyes.

"oh god!" alessia groaned, dragging her hands down her face and hurrying to all but slam her parents bedroom door shut as the congratulations and hugs started which she quickly wiggled her way out of.

"isabella!" alessia muttered under her breath, forcing a weak smile as her parents chattered away happily and she plucked the ring from her mothers palm, tucking it safely away in her pocket and making a mental note to find a better hiding spot.

"why didn't you tell us you were proposing!" right as her dad clapped her on the back the door opened, alessias head doing a near 360 on her shoulders and exhaling shakily in relief seeing it was only bella and luca, rapidly motioning for the door to be closed again.

"you're proposing??" luca asked with wide eyes, squatting down to allow bella to slide off his back where he'd been carting her around, alessia sighing deeply and pressing her fingertips into her temple.

"i'm gonna be the flower girl!" bella announced happily, bouncing about as the room exploded into chatter once again and the blonde wished the ground could swallow her up.

"isabella i told you not to tell anyone!" alessia warned the grinning five year old who darted back to hide behind lucas leg. "no! mama you told me not to tell mummy." isabella retorted matter of factly, though not with quite enough confidence to move away from using luca as a human shield.

"well i told you not to touch the ring!" alessia groaned again. "i didn't! i touched the box." bella answered back smartly, retreating even further behind luca as alessias eyes narrowed.

"so when are you doing it? now?" her brother questioned eagerly, bella sneaking off when alessias gaze flickered away from her for just a second, the door opening and closing before the blonde could grab her.

"bella don't you-now? of course i'm not doing it now!" alessia scoffed, her head starting to hurt as she advanced toward the door, eager to wrangle you and bella up and get away from here into a much more controlled environment where the threat of the secret being revealed was at least lessened.

"but why not? sieze the moment darling, it doesn't have to be a big gesture!" her mum encouraged, alessia waving her off with a shake of her head, throwing open the door and all but stomping down the hall, her anxiety peaked that bella would continue on her little train of telling and you'd be the next stop.

only when she came to a halt at the back door, time seemed to slow and the hardened lines etched in her forehead softened, watching you and bella kick a ball around in the backyard, sudden nostalgia washing over her of when alessia had been bellas age.

full of life, excitement, with scraped knees and mud stained clothes, determined to best her two older brothers who would constantly shoot her down when she tried to join them, instead practicing on her own until the sun was so low in the sky she couldn't see more than a metre in front of her and she was forced to come inside.

you spotted your girlfriend hovering and watching, giving her a wave and pretending to dive for the ball, bella easily slotting it past you and racing around doing her 'air russo' arms as alessias lips curled into a smile.

though perhaps instead of watching in front of her, she should have been a little more concerned with what lay beneath her, as within no more than two steps forward the striker seemed to forget the layout of her own backyard, tumbling down the three steps that connected the deck to the grass.

of course more than used to your girlfriends clumsiness you didn't think much of it, covering a laugh up with a cough as you jogged on over to her with an amused shake of your head.

but as alessia slowly pulled herself up, she realised there was a looming weight that was now missing from her left pocket, and again head gaze shot downward.

scrambling to recover the small red box sat in plain sight on the grass before her, she was lucky as your attention was temporarily captured as bella called out for you to watch her do a cartwheel.

"very good!" you clapped happily at the five year olds half cartweel, turning around again as bella attempted to try and juggle the ball as she'd watched alessia do countless times, instead booting it halfway across the backyard with an annoyed huff.

"babe did you trip again?" you returned your gaze down to alessia, but your laughter caught in your throat as you did so, the blonde staring up at you like a deer in headlights with a tiny red box in her hand.

you knew you shouldn't say it, but the words came tumbling out of your mouth like a flood before you could stop them.

"oh my god you're proposing." you choked out, alessias mouth opening and closing like a fish. "no im-" but seeing the way your face automatically fell at just those two words, the regret and embarrassment now filling your features, coupled with the multiple sets of eyes she could feel staring at the pair of you from back inside the house.

she made a decision.

"yes. yes i am!" she quickly clarified as you now watched on with shock, alessia shaking her head a few times and exhaling shakily. "um-look i had a whole plan and a speech and it was much more elaborate and romantic and thoughtful than well...this." alessia started nervously, adjusting herself to be on one knee.

"but then bella found the ring early and let it slip to my parents and she brought it here to show them, without me knowing, and then the more people knew the more i worried it would get back to you before i was ready and when i tell you i had a plan i had a plan! i promise. it was-" alessia spoke a million miles an hour as you struggled to keep up, clearing your throat suddenly.

"less, my love, you're rambling." you smiled, still able to find some amusement in this situation as the blonde nodded profusely, pausing for a moment and taking a deep breath.

"this wasn't how i planned it, like at all. but i love you more than anything, i love isabella with my everything, and i want to cement a loving and stable future with both of you. so, will you marry me?" alessia finally popped the question, and you knew your answer, but you just couldn't seem to get the words out.

feeling a hand slip into yours you looked down, finding your daughter stood beside you with a cheshire like grin.

"mummy, just say yes."

and thats exactly what you did.

[ekybrini]

Alienated | Will Smith

request: Hii can I please request a fic with Will Smith? Maybe with a plus size / curvy reader? Like a hurt / comfort fic with lots of angst then lots of fluff? Thank you!

— ⟡ summary | After overhearing hurtful comments you start pulls away from Will, feeling insecure. Will’s confused by your silence, not knowing what went wrong, while you struggles with your feelings and the doubts creeping in.

— ⟡ warnings | rude comment relating to ones body figure (not said but implied)

— ⟡ word count | 3.6k

— ⟡ gabs note | hiii!!! im sorry to the person who requested this almost a month ago!! after spring break some of my teachers decided that some students don't have a life outside of school and gave us possibly twice the work we got 1st semester. also these next to months are going to be BUSY with my ap classes and ap test that are coming up!! so if anyone request something I won't be able to get to write it soon, but I will when I have time!!! also my inbox is glitching which isn't allowing me to see everyones request until a week later so it may take a while for me to see it.

The music thrums softly through the upscale restaurant, glasses clinking, conversation flowing easily between players, staff, and their plus ones. It’s supposed to be a celebration, a night out with the team, no pressure, just good food and laughter.

You’re here with Will, of course, lingering at the edge of the room while he’s caught up in conversation with a few teammates. He looks so at ease, laughing, effortlessly slotting himself into the dynamic of a team that has quickly become his second family. You’re happy for him, proud, even.

But the longer you stand there, the more out of place you feel.

You’re scrolling through your phone, interested in whatever mindless feed is in front of you, when the words drift over from somewhere nearby. Soft enough that they probably think no one is listening but loud enough to cut right through you.

"I mean, Wills is an NHL player now. You’d think he’d be with someone, y’know…"

"Yeah, like, I’m just saying, he could have anyone he wants. And he’s with her?"

A laugh. One of them laughs.

Your fingers tighten around your phone.

You don’t recognize the voices. That almost makes it worse faceless, nameless strangers who don’t know you, don’t know Will, don’t know anything about your relationship. And yet, their words still sting.

You force yourself to breathe, staring down at the screen like you didn’t just hear every syllable. It doesn’t matter. Who cares what they think? But the words cling to you, wrapping around your ribs, constricting until your chest feels tight.

You knew people might think this way. You’re not the type of girl they expect an NHL player to be with. You don’t fit into that glossy, effortless mold the one that looks good in Instagram posts and fits neatly into the public eye.

But Will doesn’t care about things like that. Right?

You chance a glance across the room. He’s still laughing with his teammates, unaware, completely unbothered. He hasn’t looked for you in a while. Hasn’t checked in.

The thought slithers in before you can stop it. Has he ever thought the same thing?

The noise of the restaurant suddenly feels overwhelming, pressing in on you from all sides. You need air.

Your hands shake as you fire off a quick text to Will. “Hey, not feeling great. Heading home. Love you.”

You don’t wait for a response. You slip out quietly, out of sight before anyone can stop you.

The night air is sharp against your skin as you step out of the restaurant, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that will keep the words from sinking in any deeper. You walk quickly, head down, weaving through the crowded streets, desperate to get away.

You don’t even realize how fast you're walking until you reach your car, hands fumbling with the keys. Your breath stutters as you slide into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind you. Silence. Blessed, suffocating silence.

And then it all crashes down.

Your fingers dig into the steering wheel, knuckles white as you try to keep yourself together. But the words keep playing in your head, over and over, like a song you can't turn off. He could have anyone he wants. And he’s with her?

You swallow hard. It’s stupid to be this upset. It’s so stupid. They don’t know you. They don’t know him.

But still.

Your mind drifts back to every little moment that suddenly feels like proof that they’re right. Hasn’t it been months since Will posted a picture of you? At the start of the season, he’d proudly introduced you to everyone, arms slung around you, never caring who was watching. But lately, it’s different. He never hides you, but he doesn’t show you off either. He talks about hockey, the team, his new life in the NHL, but when it comes to you it’s quieter.

Your stomach churns as you unlock your phone. No text back yet. You check your notifications again, just to be sure. Nothing.

He’s busy. You tell yourself that, over and over. He’s with the team. He’ll probably see your message soon and call.

Except, part of you wonders if he even noticed you were gone.

The drive home is a blur. You don’t remember changing lanes, don’t remember stopping at red lights. It’s all muscle memory, your body moving on autopilot while your mind replays the night in excruciating detail.

Every moment twists inside you like a knife. The way those voices had laughed, casual and cruel. The way you’d felt smaller, invisible, like you didn’t belong there. The way Will hadn’t noticed you leaving.

You shake your head, gripping the steering wheel tighter. 

Stop it. Stop overthinking. He loves you. You know that.

But doubt lingers, coiled in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

By the time you pull into your driveway your hands are trembling. You cut the engine staring blankly at the dashboard, willing yourself to get out. For a long moment you just sit there, the quiet pressing in on you the weight of the night sinking deeper into your bones.

Your phone buzzes.

Your heart jumps as you glance at the screen. A message from Will.

“Hey, you okay? Just saw your text. Sorry I didn’t notice earlier.”

You swallow, something thick and heavy settling in your throat.

Sorry I didn’t notice earlier.

It shouldn’t hurt. He’s busy. He’s out with the team. Of course, he didn’t notice right away.

But all it does is confirm the awful thought you haven’t been able to shake.

He hadn’t noticed.

Not when you left the restaurant. Not when you didn’t send a follow up text. Not when you weren’t by his side for the rest of the night.

And if he didn’t notice that, how long before he stops noticing you?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard hesitating. The urge to just type yeah I’m fine is strong. To pretend everything is normal. To bury this feeling before it can spill over into something you can’t take back.

But you can’t bring yourself to do it.

Instead you lock your phone and step out of the car heading inside without another word.

You toss your keys onto the counter, take off your shoes and sink onto the couch pulling a throw blanket over yourself even though you’re not cold. You should shower, should change, should do something to shake this feeling off.

But instead you curl in on yourself staring at the darkened screen of your phone willing to sleep.

The blanket wrapped around you offers little comfort. It's not warm enough but not heavy enough, not enough but it’s all you have. The quiet hum of the refrigerator fills the silence but it only makes the emptiness louder.

You roll onto your side pulling your knees to your chest as you stare blankly at the arm of the couch. You still haven’t answered Will’s message. He’s texted again.

“Wanna call me? I just got home. I can come over if you’re not feeling good.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

The worst part is, you want him to come over. You want him to hold you, want his voice to drown out the thoughts that have been running wild since the restaurant. But something inside you pulls back, whispering don’t let him see you like this.

Because if you tell him how much those words hurt, the way he didn’t notice you leave, the growing silence between you, what if he agrees with them? What if he says the one thing you're barely holding together against?

What if he doesn't even realize something’s wrong?

So you leave his texts on read.

And you lie there your fingers trembling over your screen wondering if it would be better to lie and say you’re sick. Or tired. Or just need space.

Instead, you say nothing.

The minutes pass slowly. Your phone buzzes once more before finally falling quiet, the screen dim.

It feels like giving up. Like choosing the silence. But it also feels like protection. Like if you just keep it all inside, you can manage the pain on your own without letting him confirm your worst fear. that maybe he is ashamed. That maybe, deep down he’s been slowly letting go without saying it out loud.

You bury your face into the pillow and let the tears slip out silently, each one hot against your cheek, each one dragging a new weight down with it.

You’ve never felt so small.

You must fall asleep at some point, but it doesn’t feel like rest.

When your eyes flutter open it’s still dark outside the sky outside the window a murky shade of gray. You’re still curled on the couch, blanket twisted around you, head aching and throat tight. The room is freezing now but you can’t bring yourself to move.

You blink up at the ceiling for a while, heart heavy in your chest like a stone that refuses to settle.

Your phone lies face down on the floor beside you. Part of you hopes there’s a good morning text from Will waiting for something gentle, something normal, something to tell you you’re overthinking all of this.

But when you flip it over and see the screen the hope fizzles.

“Hope you’re okay. I’m worried about you.”

“Let me know if you need anything.”

No call. No follow up. No joke to make you smile.

You want to scream at yourself for being disappointed. He did text. He’s checking in. It’s kind. It’s more than what most people would do. So why does it still feel like not enough?

You stare at the messages, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. You even type out a few things 

Sorry, just tired. 

Delete.

It’s nothing 

Delete.

I’m fine.

Delete.

Can’t talk right now.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

you toss the phone aside and push yourself upright. Your limbs feel heavy as you shuffle to the kitchen, half heartedly starting the coffee maker even though you know you won’t drink it.

You catch your reflection in the microwave door, eyes puffy, hair a mess, mouth drawn tight and quickly look away.

All morning, the world moves around you like you’re watching it through thick glass. You answer texts from friends with one word replies. You scroll through social media numbly, skipping past every glimpse of Will’s life photos from the restaurant, comments tagging his name, short clips of the team laughing over drinks. He looks happy. Carefree.

You didn’t even cross his mind, did you?

The ache sharpens again.

And when your phone rings around noon his name flashing across the screen you freeze. Your stomach flips, and your fingers twitch with the instinct to answer.

But instead, you watch it ring out.

You’re not ready. Not when you don’t know what you’ll say. Not when the pain still feels too raw to hide.

Because if he hears your voice, if he asks you what’s wrong, you're afraid everything you’ve been trying to swallow will come spilling out in a mess you can't clean up.

So you do what you’ve been doing best lately.

You stay quiet.

And Will just keeps texting you.

The pings on your phone are the only signs that the world outside your apartment hasn’t stopped spinning. You read every message the second it comes in your breath catching every time his name lights up the screen. But you never reply. You don’t even type anything this time.

You can’t.

Not when everything feels so tangled. Not when you’re still trying to figure out if this ache in your chest that's been building and building.  

Your mind replays the night at the restaurant in a loop every look, every word, every laugh that didn’t quite reach your ears. The conversation you overheard keeps echoing in the quiet spaces of your home, loud in the places where it hurts the most.

It’s not his fault. You know that. He didn’t say those things. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t join in. But he also didn’t notice you slip away. He didn’t chase after you.

And that's the part you can’t ignore.

So you leave his texts unopened now. Not out of anger, but out of fear. Because answering means feeling, and feeling means you’ll have to say something. And once you say it, it’s real.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting on the floor watching clips of the recent sharks game. Time slips by in moments that blur together quiet tears, unanswered texts, the sound of your own heartbeat thudding painfully in your chest. The apartment is cold. Or maybe you just feel cold. It’s hard to tell.

Your phone buzzes again.

You don’t check it. You can’t. You already know who it is. And you already know you don’t have the strength to lie.

You wish you could say something. Anything. But how do you even explain it? That some careless strangers at a dinner lit a match you’ve been holding too close to your chest for years? That their words didn’t start the fire, but they sure as hell helped it spread?

You hated how easily it got to you. Hated how quickly you’d turned inward. Hated even more that Will had no idea.

He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d been laughing with his teammates, being his usual goofy self. He hadn’t even heard it. But the silence that followed? The way he didn’t notice you leave? It stuck to your ribs like shame.

You hear a knock.

You freeze. For a second, you think you imagined it. Then another one comes, louder this time, familiar even in rhythm. Your heart stutters.

Will.

Panic floods your body before you can stand. You’re still in the oversized t shirt you threw on this morning, hair a mess, eyes probably red and puffy. You didn’t think he’d come. You thought he’d give up.

Part of you wanted him to.

But most of you didn’t. Most of you just didn’t know how to let him in without unraveling.

Another knock. Then his voice, soft through the door: “y/n? It’s me. Can you open the door?”

Your hands tremble as you unlock it, the click louder than you expected. When the door swings open, he’s standing there with that boyish face that always makes you feel safe. But now his brow is furrowed, his eyes scanning you in quiet concern.

“Hey,” he says gently.

You open your mouth to reply but nothing comes out. Your throat feels tight. He steps forward, slow, like he doesn’t want to startle you. “I didn’t know what else to do. I was getting scared.”

You look down. “You shouldn’t have come.”

His expression softens hurt flickering across his face. “You haven’t answered me in two days. You missed the game. You’ve never…” He pauses, exhaling hard. “I didn’t know what was going on. You just disappeared on me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you whisper, eyes burning. “I just couldn't.”

“Couldn’t what?”

You shake your head trying to keep it together. But the pressure in your chest tightens and suddenly it’s all too much. You press your lips together trying not to cry but your eyes betray you. Tears slip out before you can wipe them away.

Will steps inside and shuts the door behind him without a word. Then he’s there in front of you, hands on your arms, not trying to fix anything, just being there.

“Talk to me,” he says softly. “Please.”

You close your eyes. You don’t want to do this. But you also don’t want to keep hurting alone. So you let yourself whisper the words you’ve been choking on since that night.

“I heard them,” you murmur, voice barely audible. “At the restaurant. A couple girls...they were talking about me. About how someone like you shouldn’t be with someone like me.”

Will blinks. “What?”

You laugh bitterly through the tears. “They said you could have anyone you want. And they couldn’t believe you were with me. And I know it’s stupid, I know it shouldn’t matter, but it felt like they were just saying out loud the thing I’ve been afraid of since we got together.”

He stares at you like he’s trying to understand a language he’s never heard before. Like none of this makes sense to him because it doesn’t.

You keep going, because now that the words are out they won’t stop.

“You haven’t posted about me in months. You barely introduce me as your girlfriend to your teammates. You act like I’m just there sometimes. And maybe you don’t mean to. But it’s hard not to wonder if you’re ashamed of me.”

Will’s mouth opens but no words come out. His hands tighten around your arm and for a moment all he does is breathe slowly and heavy like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.

Then finally he whispers, “I had no idea you felt like that.”

You drop your gaze but he gently tilts your chin up so you have to look at him.

“I'm not ashamed of you. I love you. And I hate that you even had to wonder.”

Your bottom lip quivers. “Then why don’t you show it?”

He pulls you into him, arms wrapping around your shoulders so tightly it knocks the air from your lungs but in the best way. His hand cradles the back of your head, voice muffled against your hair.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think I needed to prove anything. I thought you knew. But if I made you feel less than ever, that's on me.”

You bury your face into his chest, letting the tears fall freely now. 

You don’t know how long you stay wrapped in his arms.

Long enough for your breathing to even out. Long enough for the sobs to stop wracking your chest. Long enough that your t-shirt is probably damp from tears and your fingers are curled tightly into the fabric of his suit like you’re afraid he might slip away if you let go.

But he doesn’t move. Not even a little.

He just keeps holding you. His thumb gently strokes back and forth along your shoulder. Every once in a while he presses the softest kiss to your hair. Nothing rushed. No expectation. Just quiet love in every little movement.

When you finally pull back a little your face is hot and your nose is stuffy. “Sorry,” you whisper.

His brow furrows. “For what?”

“For all of this. For shutting you out. For crying all over you. For ruining your suit.”

Will doesn’t even blink. “You didn’t ruin anything.” Then, quieter, “And don’t ever apologize for feeling something.”

He brushes a thumb gently beneath your eye, wiping away the last of your tears. “I’m sorry you had to hear what was said. You should’ve told me I would’ve dropped everything if I knew. I wouldn’t have let you leave that night without me.”

You nod slowly. “I know. I just didn’t want it to be real. I kept thinking I’d wake up i'd forget about it. But it just got worse. I kept replaying everything in my head. What they said, the way they said it, how no one stopped them-”

“They’re assholes,” Will cuts in, a sudden spark of frustration in his voice. “I wish I’d heard them. I wish-” He stops himself, jaw clenched. “No one talks about you like that. Not while I’m in the room.”

You stare down at your hands. “I don’t think it would’ve mattered. They weren’t saying it to me. They were just saying it. Like it was obvious. Like I wasn’t good enough for you and everyone was just too polite to say it out loud.”

Will exhales sharply and then does something you don’t expect.

He stands up and offers his hand. “Come with me.”

You blink up at him. “What?”

“Come sit with me on the couch.”

You take his hand because it’s instinct now falling into his touch letting him guide you. He pulls you gently toward the couch, sits down, and tugs you into his side like he needs you close.

You curl into him, resting your head on his chest. His arm wraps around your back, fingers tracing soothing circles along your spine.

“I love you,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I love everything about you. And I’m sorry I haven’t shown that enough. I thought you knew. But if you didn’t, if I ever made you feel like a secret or something I’m hiding then I’ve been doing this all wrong.”

You feel the words settle deep in your chest, warm and grounding.

“I guess I just didn’t want to be a reason you got made fun of,” you whisper.

Will sits up slightly, just enough to look at you fully. “You are never a reason for anything bad. And if anyone can’t handle the fact that I’m with the smartest, funniest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, that’s their problem.”

You swallow hard, emotions tugging at your throat again but this time, the tears feel different. Softer. Safer.

He smiles gently. “I’m posting you everywhere, by the way. I’m making you my lockscreen. You’re gonna be so sick of me.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” His voice is firm, but tender. “You’re mine. And I’m proud of that. I want people to know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You press your forehead into his collarbone, heart beating a little steadier than before. “Can you spend the night?”

Will kisses the top of your head, his voice low and certain. “always”

[milkoomi]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ stop procrastinating: school edition ᝰ.ᐟ

procrastination caused my own personal burn out with school and it caused so much anxiety about my academics as well. when we get into the habit of doing it now rather than later, we relieve so much stress— more than we actually realize too!

let’s begin !!

ᝰ.ᐟ think about all the stress

while there is a lot of stress when it comes to school, we have to consider how much stress we get when we procrastinate versus the stress we get from school in general. the stress we get just in general can seem like a lot, and it is a lot! but when we procrastinate, we just add onto the stress we already have and creating even bigger feelings about school that might turn into something that isn’t so easily manageable.

you might feel stress from…

the number of classes you’re taking

the difficulty level of certain classes

how much homework or studying you have to do

procrastination adds the stress of…

meeting due dates/deadlines

cramming an entire unit’s worth of material the night before an exam

a large pile of work you still have to do when all your due dates are on the same day

losing very much needed sleep to try and get everything done

the possibility of turning in work that might not be your best and earning a failing grade

the possibility of losing silly points due to simple mistakes because you didn’t have an ample amount of time to study

the risk of turning in late work and losing points

not being able to balance your personal life with your academic career, risking burn out

notice how procrastination stress can come in a variety of forms? adding on that kind of stress on top of stress you might already be feeling will only continue to weigh you down, and the goal is to relieve that stress, not make it worse.

you have to consider the fact that procrastinating can only worsen your stress. “but i work best under pressure!” no, babe. you think you work better under pressure because you’ve got all this adrenaline rushing through you to get everything done, and exerting that much energy will only burn you out!

ᝰ.ᐟ how to stop procrastinating

use a planner

i’ve talked about the use of planners in a previous post, but i’m bringing them up again because they seriously are that useful when it comes to stopping that procrastination habit!

you’ll be able to plan out your day or even your entire week and get a look ahead for what’s to come. you can review your daily/weekly plans and start by setting aside a designated time frame for school-related work.

let’s say it’s a tuesday and you have the day off from work but you have a doctor’s appointment at 12pm and then you have to run errands that might take about 1-2 hours, so you’ll be out of your house between 11:30am to 2-2:30pm. but let’s also add in that you have a dinner with a friend around 6pm. set aside time from 3pm to 5pm to do homework or to study! when you review your plans for the day, you have to find time where you might have some downtime and use it towards schoolwork! wherever you have some downtime throughout your day/week, use that time to get to work!

prioritize tasks

create a check list from the most important to the least important! you can do this before you sit down and get to work or when you’re planning out your day/week. check due dates for assignments and see which ones need to be completed first and which ones you still have time for. make note of exam/quiz days and if you have a quiz for one class next week but a big exam the week after, prioritize the quiz for next week.

also when you do create your little check lists, work in sections! review all of your classes and see which ones take priority and which ones can wait. of course, it’s important to prioritize all of your classes as they’re all equally important, but when you plan out your day/week and you compile a checklist for every single one of your classes and assignments you can really quickly overwhelm yourself!

eat the frog method

i’ve seen this method be talked about a lot! if you’re unfamiliar with it, it’s basically (in really simple terms) doing the most difficult task first and working from there, leaving your least difficult task last!

this method helps to alleviate so much stress off your shoulders! getting the hardest assignment/task out of the way will make doing the rest of your work a breeze! and, once you get that most difficult task done, you don’t have to stress about it anymore!

remove any and all distractions

i mentioned this in a previous post as well, but if you have an iphone or any other apple product, you can create different focus modes that you can customize for different things! i’ve personally created a “study session” focus mode that i customized to only show homescreen pages that won’t cause a distraction and i’ve also set it so that i don’t receive any notifications. if you are able to do that, do it!

if you don’t have an iphone or don’t have a “do not disturb” feature, then simply silence your phone and keep it away from you. if you’re at home studying, maybe place your phone on the opposite side of the room or even put it in a completely different room. if you’re out at the library or any other place where you might study, tuck your phone into your bag.

get noise cancelling headphones! or work in a relatively quiet area! outside noises, whether it be noise from your family or noise from other people in a café or even noises like construction work outside, can cause a lot of distractions. your work/study environment should allow you to fully focus on what tasks you’re completing and different sounds/noises can lead to you losing your focus.

remember to take breaks

when you set aside time to do school work or study, you might feel the need to get it all done in one sitting. doing so can cause burn out, so you need to remember to take breaks!

especially when studying, i’d implement the pomodoro method (25min of work - 5min break, 50min of work - 10min break). of course you can use this method while doing homework as well!

i cannot stress this enough: take breaks. please! don’t overwork yourself. your mind seriously needs to rest from time to time.

change your mindset

how you think of school and the assignments/work that comes with it plays a huge role in your productivity level. if you consistently have that mindset of “i’ll do it later” or “i’ll do it when i have more time” you’ll quickly see the days go by and then suddenly deadlines are a day away or your big exam is the next morning!

if you can do it now, then do it! i mentioned earlier to work on schoolwork whenever you have downtime, and i mean it! your time is precious and it should be spent getting work done and accomplishing goals!

i also say over and over again that taking breaks is essential, but with this and making sure you get things done right when you have the time to do it, there needs to be a balance. you have to balance your personal time and productivity time because procrastinating on your own well-being is just as stressful as procrastinating on your academics.

ᝰ.ᐟ final notes

i’ve fallen victim to procrastination, trust me when i say that! it’s a hard habit to break, especially when we don’t realize we have that habit! but it’s all about finding a balance between school and your personal life (and work if that applies to you!). when you give more of your energy towards one over the other, you lose potential good energy that could go into the other. you are your own priority, and i will always stand by that, but i know a lot of us value our education so we have to make sure that is also in our list of priorities. we all wish to succeed and starting off our success within our classes is the first step to achieving those bigger long-term goals!

with lots of love, juno 🌷

[karinab00bs]

Doin' Time

Karina x Named reader

tags: enemies, enemies with benefit?, cock-riding, tit-fucking, blow jobs, dirty talk, lots of pet names (baby & princess)

summary: Ethan, a popular and charming guy, engages in a secretive and intense sexual relationship with Karina, the sister of his friend. Their encounters are characterized by lust, dominance, and a mix of conflicting emotions. Despite their mutual dislike, they share passionate moments that seem to bring a temporary escape from their everyday lives.

Ethan lived a great life. He studied on a very popular university and was the star of their football team. He had modeled for some famous Korean brands, which gave him a lot of free designer clothing on top, and it didn't need much for anyone to fall for him. A charming smile here and a nice word there and he would get anything he wanted. It just came naturally, it was a gift and he was grateful because it made his life so much easier.

Of course, he had some bad habits, like being a lazy ass and breaking some hearts here and there. But Ethan had a much bigger problem and she was by far his worst habit of all. She was the younger sister of Yu Family. Ethan hated her so much because she was always so arrogant and so full of herself and nothing like her brother– Kevin, Ethan’s friend– at all. Kevin was a very caring friend, helpful and athletic– a born leader.

They knew each other since elementary school. Kevin and Ethan had been always in the same class together– and so had his sister. She had been always that popular girl other kids wanted to be friends with and this hadn't changed at all as she got older. During their high school years, she'd only date the popular guys– although she had been seen with various girls too and there were a lot of rumors of her being involved in group sex at a party– although Kevin denied that anything like that had ever happened.

They ignored each other at university and when they talked at Kevin’s house, it became clear that they hated each other's guts. Except at some point– it was at a party of one of his friends– Ethan had had enough and had just grabbed and kissed her to shut her mouth. Ethan couldn't even remember what they had fought about. Was it like always the simple annoyance when they saw each other? Or had there been a real reason? Ethan couldn't remember and it didn't matter at all for the things that had followed and been still ongoing.

The kiss had escalated pretty quickly and had ended with them fucking on a billiard table. Despite the lack of a reason, Ethan knew exactly what she was wearing that night. A tight black satin dress that had barely covered her long slender legs, but had wrapped her womanly curves in so stunning, that again every eye had been on her while she was dancing. She had looked so unbelievably gorgeous with the fabric only hanging around her stomach, while Ethan had sucked her perfect pink nipples, fucking her tight pussy so deeply that she was screaming. He had made her come twice that night.

Since then they hadn't been able to stop, their lust and hunger for each other was so overwhelming sometimes, that they couldn't even hold back when Kevin was in the same room. He would finger her under the kitchen table, while she was rubbing his dick through his pants and it made the sex after so much better. Sometimes Ethan would go over to Kevin’s house, while the older was still occupied with his club activities, just so he could have his way with his sister. She wasn't prude at all. He remembered that one day last week pretty clearly.

He'd come over after school to meet her and they'd started to make out in the kitchen and just as Ethan wanted to relocate their make-out session to her room, she'd pushed him away with a sly grin. Her long manicured fingers had wandered over the kitchen counter as she lifted herself on it, spreading her legs wide for Ethan with the words What's wrong with right here on the counter?

Her name was Karina. She was overwhelmingly attractive with her long legs, always showing because of her dangerously short skirts. Her long, silky brown hair and that really nice set of tits that were showing under the blouse of her school uniform made everyone fall for her. Karina’s flowery perfume always smelled so enchantingly, so feminine and was a perfect fit for her– although Ethan would never admit that he loved it on her.

Ethan hated her when she was talking, but he loved it when she was screaming his name, begging him to fuck her deeper and harder– additional to that, Karina’s mouth around his cock was like heaven, so was her tight pussy. He had felt bad at first for fucking Kevin’s sister behind his back, but since he didn't hurt anyone and Karina wouldn't stop him either, he could live with that.

It was a quiet Thursday afternoon as Ethan went back into the locker room with his teammates. They had just finished their practice for the day and Ethan was looking forward to having a nice hot shower to wash the stress off his body. With a satisfied sigh, he got rid of his sweaty tracksuit, threw it carelessly into his bag and moved into one of the shower cabins. In contrast to the other players of his team, Ethan’s body wasn't as strong and muscular. He was skinny, had always been skinny but apparently, this wasn't an exclusion criterion to be popular with the girls.

Sometimes his friends would tease him that he was still unable to commit himself to someone and was wasting his time with meaningless one-night-stands. No one knew that he basically was seeing someone on the regular– well, fucking someone on a regular basis would describe the circumstances much better in his case. Especially because Karina and Ethan weren't talking to each other in front of others, no one was actually even thinking about the possibility that these two would share a much more intimate connection. Although some of their friends had seen them kissing on that particular party, they had simply blamed the alcohol for it.

What had they been arguing about? Ethan closed his eyes as he washed his hair and thought back at that night of the party. He thought about how angry he had been, how hysteric she had been and that very first moment their lips met. It didn't even deserve the word kiss in the first place, were their lips simply pressed against each other. Did he do it just to shut her up?

That was something he'd ask himself pretty often recently because he could've just left the party and ignore her like he always did. She had pushed him back, a confused look on her face, her fingers clawing into his shirt. Ethan remembered that blush on her cheeks he had never seen before and it definitely hadn't been the touch of pink rouge. Her cheeks would always have that natural rosy touch after they had sex and Ethan thought that she always looked the most beautiful right at that moment when she reached her climax, so vulnerable, out of control, her body shaking under him.

She had indicated him to come with her, with her head low as they started to climb up the stairs to the first floor. Ethan hadn't asked questions, where they were going or why she seemed so familiar with one of his friend’s house, and just followed her. The simple touch of their lips had ignited something, a fire that was spreading, escalating with every kiss and touch they'd shared. He could still feel the silken fabric under his fingertips, as he had opened the zipper of her dress while kissing her delicate neck.

It had been a few days since he had been with Karina and for some obscure reason, Ethan missed her, though he had seen her walking around the field earlier and he was wondering if she was going to stop by. Just then he noticed that it got quiet in the showers, so he moved the shower curtain aside to check for his teammates who must've already left. Well, it wouldn't have been the first time for Ethan to fall asleep in the shower, so no one was actually questioning him when he was the last one leaving.

He stepped back under the water and scrubbed his body with soap before he turned it down and got out of the shower. With a towel around his hips and another one rubbing his hair, he walked outside to the lockers just to find her sitting on the bench beside his bag.

“At least you're not smelling as bad as your clothing.”

Karina said with a disgusted expression towards Ethan’s bag – not to mention that the whole locker room didn't smell like a field of flowers instead of sweaty trainers and various scents of deodorant. She was dressed in her school uniform and even though her skirt didn't leave much room for imagination, he couldn't see her underwear– well, assuming she was wearing any in the first place because sometimes she wouldn't if they had to be quick or simply because she loved it to tease him and knew that Ethan’s dick would become hard just by imagining her without her panties.

“A little bit of exercise wouldn't hurt you either.”

Hearing her snappish comment already gave Ethan the feeling of another headache incoming and he simply rolled his eyes as he stepped closer to her. They both knew why she was here and what they were going to do, but that didn't stop them from showing how much they disliked each other.

“Well,” She got up from the bench, both now standing right in front of each other, their eyes locked. Karina was nearly as tall as him, so it was an easy task to look her straight into the eyes, seeing that usual spark she got. She was so full of confidence, knew what she wanted and needed and also that Ethan was going to give it to her better than anyone else. Karina slowly reached up to her blouse and started to open the buttons, one by one, never breaking their eye contact.

“I'm here for some exercise called cock riding.”

With a challenging grin on her shiny lips, she tossed her blouse off her shoulders and somewhere behind her– possibly onto the bench. A white laced bra covered her perfectly shaped breasts– it was one of Ethan’s favorites and he lost count on the many occasions he had already got rid of that piece of fabric. He hated it that she got so much power over him and that he wasn't able to say no to her as he stepped closer, his hot breath ghosting over her jaw while his fingers snipped her bra open.

“Then get down on your knees and let me fuck your tits, princess.”

Ethan ordered with a deep voice into her ear and pulled the piece of fabric down to toss it aside. Karina was good at teasing him but since two people could play this game Ethan didn't give her the satisfaction of him touching her perfect curves– even though he really wanted to. He wanted to suck on her hard nipples, caress her breasts with his big hands, while he was kissing her breathless, sucking on her tongue until she was whimpering, pressing her smooth body onto his.

“You're such a fucker.”

Ethan smirked at her and sat down on the bench, searching for the lube inside his bag before he looked up at Karina, shaking the bottle of lube in her hand before she got down on her knees in front of him. She easily got rid of the towel around his hips, wrapping her long fingers around his soft cock to work him hard without hesitation– reservation was definitely a word that didn't exist between them since the very beginning of whatever it was they had. Karina gave his shaft a few slow strokes with one hand while she used her the fingers of her other hand to caress the top of his cock, carefully rubbing her thumb over his frenulum with a minimum amount of pressure before she formed an 'O' with her thumb and her index finger to stimulate the tip more intensely.

“And yet you're always coming back for more.”

Ethan moaned, stroking a few of Karina’s long locks aside. It never took long for him to get hard when Karina was touching him and he still couldn't figure out why it had to be her out of all the pretty, actually nice girls, he was attached to this one– the one he couldn't even have a normal conversation with. Well, they were speaking a lot more during their sex sessions than ever before but Ethan was sure it didn't count. He had had sex with a lot of other girls and none of them had such a strong impact on him like Karina.

“Just because this perfect cock is sadly attached to your body.”

She bit her lower lip while her thumb rubbed around the tip in small, devotional circles before she leaned down to do the same with her tongue. She could never get enough of him, his size and thickness were just perfect and he'd always make her come so breathtakingly hard, that it would've been a shame to abstain from it. Ethan hissed and licked his lips as he watched Karina playing with his cock like it was the holy grail and he found it somewhat amusing to think about her riding a dildo in the shape of his cock– although it definitely brought them both much more fun with Ethan attached to it.

A hot wave of her breath on his cock made Ethan shiver, as she let go of him to cover her full breasts with lube. Just looking at her doing this made his cock twitch in excitement and the grin on Karina’s lips told him that she had totally seen it coming. Ethan couldn't help it but everything she did made him so unbelievably weak and horny that he was wondering if he was still thirteen and unable to control his hormones. For an Asian woman she had comparatively large breasts and she was the first woman that had ever initiated something like this and even though Ethan hadn't been sure about this titty fuck thing in the first place, she totally knew how to make him feel good.

He spread his legs wider so she had enough space to kneel between them. Karina gave his cock a few more strokes with her lube-covered hand and began to slowly rub his cock on her right breast, making the head rub over her nub, covering it with his pre-cum, what made them both moan in excitement. She leaned down to lick once more over the tip before she put his cock in between her soft breasts, squeezing them together with her hands, to add enough pressure as she began to rub them up and down his hard-on. Ethan couldn't take his eyes away from his cock between her soft breasts, slipping easily in and out in between, that felt so smooth in contrast to her hard ribcage he felt on the underside.

“Oh fuck, princess, your tits are so perfect.”

Ethan closed his hands around hers, pressing her breasts harder around his cock that made her whimper in a high pitch. He imagined her getting wetter and wetter as he saw her shifting her hips, listening to her suppressed moans and silently admired the light tint of pink that painted her cheeks from the stimulation of her breasts. He started to buck his hips, fucking the smooth gap between her tits that made him bite his lower lip. Just the sight of it was hypnotizing, especially as his dick started to constantly leak pre-cum, that made her chest even shinier than the lube alone.

As Ethan was getting closer to his climax he took off his hands and Karina loosened the pressure of her breasts around Ethan’s hard, leaking cock to wrap her hand, once again, around him as she took him hungrily all the way into her mouth, pressing her wet tongue flat against the sensible underside of his cock, taking him even deeper in with every movement. A deep growl left his lips as he felt his tip hitting the back of her throat and he was once again wondering if Karina had any gag reflex at all. The low vibrations of the moans in her throat made it so much harder for him to hold back, so he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her closer, thrusting into her sinful mouth, not allowing her to move away as his cum shot down her throat without further warning.

Ethan could feel her long nails clawing in his thighs as she pressed her eyelids together, concentrating on breathing regularly and swallowing his come. Even though she really did a great job on that, a thin line of his cum leaked out from the corner of her mouth and down her jawline and just seeing her like this made him moan in pure sensation.

“Fuck.”

She pulled her head back, wiping the cum off her jaw with the back of her hand and looked up to him.

“At least give me a heads-up you dumbass!”

She said a bit hoarsely but in her usual annoying tone that made Ethan roll his eyes half-heartedly. It wasn't the first time it had ended like this but he wasn't a monster and she totally deserved a reward for all her efforts, so he grabbed the hem of her skirt to pull her closer as she was back on her feet.

“I make it up to you, princess.”

His plush lips traced an invisible line over her milky thigh, placing hot kisses on her skin while he caressed one hand up her other thigh in a firm circular motion. Ethan knew his princess needed his full attention now, and he knew exactly how to crack her open, leaving her bare for him to really appreciate the person she was instead of the person she was showing to everyone. And for what it was worth: He was craving to eat her out, to taste her and make her body shake in pure pleasure before he was going to fuck her oversensitive, making her come once again.

Karina sighed satisfied, buried one hand in Ethan’s hair that felt still wet from the shower he had had before and watched him kissing and caressing her slender thighs, praising them until Ethan slipped both hands under her skirt to pull her panties down, already soaking wet – like her pussy. She wanted him so badly, his fingers, his tongue, his cock, whatever he was using to fulfill her with pleasure, would let her touch the sky and therefore they both knew, she'd always come back to him for more. Her body already felt like it was on fire because although she was complaining about Ethan fucking her mouth, coming deep in her throat it was turning her on every time.

There she was, standing right in front of him, only dressed in the skirt that still lingered around her hips, while Ethan looked up to her with a slight grin. His long fingers vanished under the remaining piece of fabric, making her shiver in desperation as his hands got closer and closer to her crotch.

“You're always so wet after you sucked my dick.”

He whispered against her stomach, kissing the soft skin there, while his long fingers rubbed over her folds, not using too much pressure but enough to tease her.

“Do you want me to eat you out?”

He softly bit her stomach, right next to her belly bottom as his thumb brushed over her clit just for a brief second that already made her legs shake, pressing them together unconsciously as she bent more forward, resting her hands on his shoulders.

“Or do you want me to fuck you with my fingers?”

A silent gasp came over her lips when Ethan easily slid two fingers inside of her, making her grip even tighter at his shoulders.

“Talk to me, baby.”

Ethan’s let his thumb brush over her swollen clit again, before he fucked his fingers into her, making her sink down on his lap as her shaky legs gave up on her. He loved to see Karina like this, her red cheeks, her arms wrapped around his neck as she moved her hips back and forth on his fingers so Ethan could easily reach that sweet spot inside of her, that filled the room with her loud moans.

“Eat me out, please.”

Karina nearly begged under her breath and seemed more than thankful as Ethan slid his fingers out of her with a smile, brushing his warm lips over her flushed cheek. He securely wrapped his arms around her body and got up from the bench to turn over and let Karina down instead. She laid down on her back and spread her legs for him, tracing her own fingers between her legs, rubbing them over her clit, while her eyes hung hungrily on Ethan’s.

“Don't make me wait.”

Ethan could feel his cock harden again just by looking at her like this, spreading her legs for him so he could see her perfect pink pussy, so wet and smooth that he held his breath for a moment before he got down on his knees. He grabbed her hand, to stop her from touching herself and leaned forward to give her wet folds a long lick with his tongue, that resulted in a sweet whimper and her hand grabbing his hair.

There was so much about his behavior towards Karina he couldn't explain. Before he started sleeping with her, he had never really cared about giving the girls he'd been with this kind of pleasure. Yes, he was a selfish prick, only caring about his own pleasure, but not with her. Even that night they had fucked on that billiard table, he had taken care of her, made sure she'd reach her orgasm and he was taking care of that ever since. He couldn't explain why he cared so much about her when in the end it was just sex, two bodies connecting without the great number of feelings and love.

Clearly, Ethan had no time to wrap his head around the question why he liked to fuck Karina, to be with her, and set his focus back on the task he was working on. She did such a great job on him, that Ethan wasn't wasting any more time to tease her and decided to give her what she needed. He once again took a long lick over her fold and settled at her clit, giving it a few slow licks before used skilled circular movements. Tasting her on his tongue, hearing her panting, feeling her bucking her hips against his tongue, made him even want more – every single time.

With her eyes closed, she was whimpering his name over and over again, kneading her own breast with her free hand as she leaned her head back, pulling Ethan closer on his hair as he began to suck her clit. His fingers were spreading her folds, caressing them and he slowly inserted two fingers back into her, resulting in her moaning his name loudly, trying to spread her legs even wider for him.

“You're tasting so good, princess.”

Ethan whispered against her mons veneris, looking up to her, while he finger fucked her painfully slow, only concentrating to stimulate that sweet spot inside of her, that made her gasping in desperation. Seeing her arching her back, her legs so shaky and her hand still grabbing her breast while her fingers rubbed over her hard nub and her face – her beautiful face looked so breathtakingly with all that lust and pleasure written all over it.

He could've stared at her like this forever, how exposed Karina was, so vulnerable, so pure. And even though she was in complete mercy of him, Ethan would have never made fun of her. He was aware of her imperfections, that made her even more beautiful. There was no room for hate or ignorance when they were together and naked like this and it was so confusing sometimes. He had started to call her princess because she was always so ignorant, an arrogant diva, only acting in her own interest but calling her princess during sex was different. Why did he like it to be with her? Why did she like it to be with him?

Ethan placed hot kisses on both her inner thighs before he assaulted her clit again with his tongue, using the right amount of pressure as he licked it up and down, drawing circles around it. Every whimper, every begging of her was like music in his ears and he could feel she was already so close, so Ethan traced his free hand over her stomach, up to her breast, she wasn't occupied with herself, massaging it, stroking his thumb around her hard nipple to give her all the attention she deserved.

“Ethan! Fuck.”

Karina fisted her hand tighter around Ethan’s hair, warning him of her unavoidable fall. After a few more skillful licks of his tongue on her clit and a few more strokes of his fingers inside her walls, she came hard against his tongue. Her whole body was shaking, her back arching in desperation, but Ethan wasn't stopping right away, flattening his tongue to press it softly against her clit, while he slowly thrust his fingers in and out of her pussy. Ethan couldn't hold his own moaning back because the fact was he was really turned on and his dick so painfully hard and craving for attention.

Karina tried to push Ethan away as she was oversensitive, but he just wiped his lips, licking over it shortly after, sliding his fingers out of her to get up from his knees. The view of his rock hard dick made her swallow, her eyes filled with lust and desire as she sat up. Ethan reached out for his bag to grab a condom, rolling it over his dick with routined movements before he sat down beside her on the bench and looked at her with a challenging grin on his lips, stroking his cock slowly up and down.

“Didn't you say you wanted to do some cock riding?”

Ethan was amused of Karina rolling her eyes, clearly not in the mood for his teasing attitude, so she slapped his hand off his cock, straddling his thighs shortly after. He placed his hands on her hips, right over the skirt she was still wearing, rubbing his thumbs over her hip bones. The piece of fabric prohibited him to see anything under it and although he loved it to see his cock sliding in and out her wet pussy, he would also enjoy the feeling alone.

“I hate you so much.”

She whispered against his lips, although her tone hadn't had a particular emphasis. With one hand around his cock, she lined him up against her entrance and slowly sank down on him until his dick was completely inside her. She was so prohibited tight and felt so incredibly amazing around him. They both moaned against each other's lips before Ethan leaned forward to kiss her intensely, slipping his tongue inside her mouth, while his hands went up her back, his fingertips tracing over her velvety smooth skin. They hadn't kissed the whole time and now it was like they couldn't even stop. They just kissed, for long-lasting minutes that felt like an eternity.

Ethan didn't know what was happening between them, whenever their bodies were connected like this but he couldn't deny the fact that it felt overwhelmingly good. The kiss provided Karina with enough time to adjust herself to Ethan’s cock inside of her and so she started to sway her hips shortly after they broke their kiss, letting Ethan kiss her neck and collarbones. He wasn't allowed to leave marks on her, but that didn't stop him from admiring her perfect body.

Karina really did know how she could get what she wanted and she clearly did know how to move her hips to wipe every single thought out of Ethan’s mind. He could just see her, feel her tight walls squeezing him as she quickened her pace and was now bouncing on his cock. Her pussy was so unbelievably wet, making it so easy for Ethan’s cock to slide in and out of her. Ethan placed his hands under her skirt and on her firm ass cheeks, giving them a nice squeeze before he started to meet every bounce of her with a hard thrust.

“Fuck, you're taking my cock so good, princess.”

Ethan gasped against her breast, kissing down to her hard nipple to give it a long, slow lick with his tongue before he took it between his lips, sucking on it with great care, leaving her moaning even louder. Her hands found its way into his hair and the small of his back again – and unlike Ethan, she would leave her claw marks regardless all over his back. He knew what she liked, where she liked to be touched and it was once again one of these moments Karina looked the most beautiful. The pleasure was written all over her face, her body so sensitive after her orgasm and still she couldn't get enough, needed to touch the sky once again, getting as far away from her everyday life as possible.

“Don't stop. Never stop.”

She nearly begged, whimpering at his forehead, while Ethan caressed her other breast with the same care. He spread her ass cheeks with his hands, so he was able to go deeper, penetrating her smooth tight walls faster, driving them to their climax in full speed. Karina wanted to come so badly and at the same time didn't want to come at all, too great was the pleasure Ethan was providing her with, but there was no escape from the fire that inflamed her entire being.

She nearly screamed his name while her second orgasm rolled over her like a huge tsunami wave, making her toes curl and her eyes roll back into her head, that everything she could see and feel was all these colorful points, dancing behind her eyelids, as she got carried away with pleasure and great satisfaction. Karina’s grip on Ethan’s back was so tight, but the only thing he was able to possibly pay attention to was this very moment, seeing Karina blossom like a flower in spring, while he never stopped fucking her through her orgasm, giving her the feeling she was coming over and over again. He came deep inside of her shortly after, so hard, he thought he might black out any moment.

It was always like this. Intense, incomparable to any other experience they might have had with other people. And not just Ethan acted differently when he was intimate with her, she did too, reaching out for him, looking at him with glassy eyes, so pure, so perfect, before she kissed him. Ethan always thought that these moments were the most precious ones, when they were just together, just kissing, holding each other after they reached their climax. Even if it was just a few moments of silence before the storm. Silence and the knowledge that everything was falling apart, slipping through his fingers, the second they'd break their kiss.

“Let go of me, will you.”

Karina said a bit hoarsely but in her usual sassy tone as their lips separated, taking all the magic with it. Ethan let go of her so she could get up, walking over to the sink to clean herself up, like nothing ever happened. He looked at her back for a moment before he stood up and threw the used condom away, getting himself dressed.

“What would you’re brother say if he knew that you're spreading your legs for me?”

He said in his usual teasing voice, increasing the distance between them even more, even though he wanted to keep that magic between them for a bit longer, looking at her grabbing her clothes and her bag.

“I'm not doing this with you. It's none of your business.”

She sounded angry as she put her clothes back on, brushed her hair and retouched her make-up in front of the mirror.

“You got a nice dick and you can perform when I need it. That's all.”

“Whatever.”

Ethan shook his head, brushing his hair back with one hand after he got his shoes tied. He grabbed his bag and waited for her to leave first so no one would see them together.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Meeting your ex jjk boyfriend again after your breakup

Pairings: Gojo x fem!reader; Toji x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,1 k

Warnings: cheating in gojo's part, overwhelming emotions in every part lol

Well that escalated quickly. If you want a part two with Geto, Sukuna, Chose and/or someone else let me know 🤍

Gojo Satoru

You hate to be here. Just the thought of seeing his face again makes your guts turn. When was the last time you encountered each other?

When he was with her.

“Don’t panic, I’m here with you. Remember?”, Utahime mutters into your ear while walking up those cursed steps towards jujutsu high.

“I thought I’d never have to see that jerk’s face again…”

“Well, not when you’re the second strongest. Don’t let that idiot ruin your mood.”

You sign to yourself, gaze drifting over your beloved students.

When you found out your long-term boyfriend Gojo Satoru cheated on you with none other than Mei Mei, you dropped out of Tokyo Jujutsu High immediately. It was Utahime who took you under her wing and made you the teacher you are today – at Kyoto High.

Those past two years, you really managed to stay away from him. After changing your phone number countless times, after searching day and night for a place to live that he won’t find so easily, you finally lived in peace. Far away from the pain he caused, well distracted from your still messed-up feelings.

But now you’re back. And you will be forced to meet that prick.

“There they come”, Nobara mutters while her gaze drifts over every person that comes into frame.

“Hey, who’s that woman over there?”

“That’s (y/n), a former student here at Jujutsu High. She attended the same class as Gojo-sensei. Right now, she’s working as a teacher at Kyoto High”, Megumi explains briefly.

“Former? Why isn’t she here anymore? I’d love to borrow those boots from here. Damn, that outfit really rocks…”

“There have been some…incidents with Gojo-sensei…”

Nobara’s eyes widen in pure curiosity, her eyes scanning you up and down.

“Her, with that white-haired idiot?”

“What are my lovely students talking about?”

Megumi rolls his eyes out of instinct when the tall man comes to a stand behind them.

“Oh look, the students from Kyoto High arrives with their tea-“

His breath gets stuck in your throat when your eyes make contact with his. How long has it been since he last saw you?

You look…flawless. Your hair a little longer than in his imagination, your body well-built by the countless training hours you might have spent over there at Kyoto High.

But your cold gaze is still the same as on that fateful day that still repeats itself over and over inside his head.

Fuck.

“Look who’s there”, he jeers from afar.

You feel like vomiting all over the floor. Were you really dumb enough to think your feelings just disappeared into thin air? You force your eyes away from him and to stare at his students instead. You just need to get those few days over with. Only those couple hours and you’ll get away with not seeing him for another 2 years.

“Shut up, Gojo”, Utahime warns him next to you.

“It’s nice to see you’re still as weak as before, Utahime! I wonder if you’re still crying all the time-“

"Funny, Gojo. It's nice to see your arrogance is still compensating for your insecurities. Some things never change."

The air around you freezes when those words leave your mouth, everyone around you going silent in an instant. It’s only you and him. Him with that suddenly so hardened expression, you with eyes that spit venom his way.  

“Why don’t you save your breath for someone who cares and just leave us alone until the competition starts?”

"Touché. But if you're going to psychoanalyze me, how about we do it somewhere private? We have some catching up to do."

There it is again. That cheeky smile you know painfully well, the way he tilts his head to the side oh so playfully. Your heart wrenches, bleeds out like it did on that day you saw him.

In Mei Mei’s bedroom.

While she was naked.

“I’d rather die, asshole.”

Without gifting him another look you storm away. Towards the main building, as far away as possible without anyone being able to follow you.

Fuck, you swore to yourself you are over this shit. You shouldn’t care about him, shouldn’t even feel bothered by looking at him anymore. Only one glance at him and you’re completely losing it? You thought you were better than this, stronger than you were two years ago. But apparently, nothing changed. You’re still crying over someone who betrayed you in the nastiest way possible.

A gentle grasp on your wrist rips you out of your nightmares and catapults you in an even worse one.

“Let go of me”, you hiss through gritted teeth when his bright blue eyes meet yours.

"I definitely won’t make that mistake again. You can run all you want, but you know we need to talk. You can’t keep avoiding this... or me.”

You yank your wrist away with full force when something inside you snaps.

"Talk? About what, Gojo? How you always think you can just waltz back into my life whenever it suits you? I’m done with your games."

„Stop calling me Gojo like we’re strangers. Just hear me out-“

"Strangers? That’s what we are now, Gojo. Whatever we had, it’s over. You don’t get to decide when I listen to you."

Fuck, you hate the way tears start to burn in your eyes, how his sheer presence shakes you right to your core. Truth is, you never stopped loving him. Not even when he abused your trust like he did, not even when you caught him with Mei Mei that day. Until now, your stupid heart didn’t get the message, still clings onto him for dear life.

And it hurts like hell.

Gojo takes a deep breath in and takes a step towards you.

"Please, just listen. That night - it wasn’t what you think. I was trying to protect you, but I messed up by keeping you in the dark. I would never betray you like that. You have to believe me."

"Protect me? I saw you in Mei Mei’s room. If that wasn’t what it looked like, then explain why you were there. Don’t expect me to just forget what I saw and the way it made me feel. As if your fucking words mean everything!"

You lose it completely, your composure, those rough years of keeping you together. In that second, you lose yourself.

“That night she called me because she told me about a special grade curse that was hunting after you. I entered her room just seconds before you stumbled in. If I had known this, that she only tries to entertain herself with spreading that fucking misunderstanding between us, I would have never-“

“Have you any idea how I felt that day? You…You were my life, Satoru! I would have died for you! And you didn’t even care enough to follow me!”, you now cry out seething with emotion

“I thought I was doing the right thing!”, he shouts so roughly that you flinch.  

“I thought you needed space, that we’ll talk things out when you didn’t respond countless times. I never thought…that you’d actually believe I was cheating on you! You meant everything to me too, and the thought of losing you, of not even knowing where you were, has been killing me. I’m so sorry for not chasing after you. Until this day, there’s nothing I regret more than giving you space in that fucking moment, I should have fought harder to make things right. Fuck, I missed you every single day since you were gone and it kills me, it fucking kills me I can’t call you mine anymore!”

Are those…tears glistening in his eyes. Is that really Gojo Satoru, standing in front of you, crying?

“Seeing you like this… I don’t know if it makes things better or just harder. Maybe you’re genuinely sorry, but the pain you caused me is real. It’s not something that can be fixed with words or tears alone…”

“Just one kiss.”

He draws closer, the heat of his body paired with his signature perfume now so close that you feel like fainting for a second.

“Give me one kiss and I’ll leave you alone.”

“A kiss?”, you breathe out.

His lips haunted you in your dreams frequently, how they felt pressed against yours and comforted you through everything. You hated how your mind always remembered you of what you’ve lost.

Those kissable lips, that mouth that never failed to make you smile.

But now…a kiss?

"Just one kiss, to remember what we had, to see if there’s still something between us. If it doesn’t change anything, I’ll walk away and give you all the space you need. But if there’s even a spark left… I need to know."

Your mind races as you consider his request with a wave of feelings rushing over you like a tsunami. Memories of your shared moments flood back, the warmth of his embrace, the comfort of his touch, and the sweetness of his kisses that used to light up your whole fucking world. But what if he hurts you again? What if all those words are nothing but a filthy little lie to play with you all over?

Your heart pounds while you close your eyes briefly, trying to push through the pain and the intensity of the situation. The idea of that one kiss, despite everything, pulls at your heartstrings. That moment of vulnerability and a chance to confront what’s been haunting her dreams, close enough to touch and feel...

Finally, you open your eyes and nod slowly, your voice barely a whisper.

"One kiss."

Gojo’s eyes soften with a mix of relief and hope as he leans in, his breath warm against your oversensitive and touch-starved skin. His lips meet yours with a gentle, hesitant touch. A bittersweet mixture of longing, regret, and a lingering affection that speaks of all both of you once shared, the feelings that still rise from the ashes between both of you – feelings that never really disappeared. Truth is, you never really stopped loving Gojo Satoru. Even if he shattered your heart into thousands of pieces, even if your heart still aches, you can’t escape his gravity.

Out of instinct, you wrap your longing arms around his neck like you always did, press your body even closer against his. Only that one touch, that one kiss in order to feel that he lied.

But instead, the taste his falling tears on your tongue, feel his desperate hands on your waist. Did…Gojo Satoru miss you as well?

As your lips part, a tear slips down both of your cheeks while heavy breathing fills the cramped room between you.

"From the moment you left, I’ve been lost without you. I thought I could move on, but every day without you has been unbearable. I missed you more than I ever thought possible. I’ve been living in a world where everything reminds me of what we had and what I threw away by not following you that night. I never stopped loving you, not for a single fucking day.

I know I’ve made mistakes and I’ve hurt you in ways I can never fully make up for. But standing here now, feeling your arms around me and knowing that you still care... it’s more than I deserve. I love you, and I’ve always loved you. If there’s any chance for us to rebuild what we had, I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I need you to know that my feelings for you have never faded, and they never will.”

You look at him with a mix of longing and hope, your eyes silently asking for what you’re yearning for.

"One more kiss," you whisper,

"just to see if it’s real.”

Toji Fushiguro

Your eyes are focus on the glittery liquid that swirls around in your glass, too focused on the play of color to even listen to that jerk opposite of you.

“(y/n), are you even listening to me?”

“Of course, go on”, you mutter through your hand without even looking up.

To be honest, your dating life has been a mess since that one guy. Dates each and every night, nameless men who cling onto your rock bottom for dear life. Getting showered by meaningless compliment that are supposed to drag you into their beds, the bitter taste of gammahydroxybutyricacid on a regular basis.

Just like now. Liquid ecstasy.

You raise your eyebrows, allow yourself a glimpse at that muscular guy with a face that looks like out of every plastic surgeons dream and that fake rolex around his wrist. As if you’d be dumb enough to actually swallow that shit. But on the other hand, you might as well wait until he spent all his money for you in that way too expensive restaurant before leaving him standing in the rain.

“You have to be the prettiest woman I’ve even seen”, he jeers while grabbing your hand.

You force down that wave of puke that threatens to take you over and put on the sweetest smile you have to offer.

What a loser, honestly. Not even able to read a woman properly.

But none of the men you’ve met since him were.

“Aren’t you thirsty? Don’t you like your drink?”

Yeah, like you’re dumb enough to drink that shit.

“I’d actually like to eat something before drinking. Otherwise, I’m drunk immediately”, you give back oh so innocently.

He lets out a disgusting laughter, his hungry eyes almost pilling you out of your skintight dress. Well, that’s what you get for going on a date with someone who calls himself selfmade CEO of something that has to be another lousy pyramid scheme.

Let’s get this over with.

Your eyes dart around the room aimlessly in order to find a way to escape later on. Unfortunately, the toilets don’t provide a window and as it seems, you won’t be able to escape that main hall. Screw those fancy restaurants and their high alert.

It’s a feeling that crawls up your spine so suddenly that your head yanks to the right out of instinct.

Cold eyes. That scar on the corner of his mouth that flinches when he catches you staring at him.

So familiar cold eyes that you feel like fainting for a second.

It can’t be him, it’s impossible that it’s him-

“Toji?”, you breathe out.

You haven’t seen him since that day.

Since the two of you broke up.

You swore to yourself to never see that man again, moved to Tokyo on order to get lost in the crowd, went on countless dates to fuck his face out of your mind.

But as soon as your eyes land on him, your guts twist just like they did before, a wave of fright washing over your usual so broad back.

“I need to go”, you mutter, not even caring about that douchebag on the other side of the table anymore.

You need to get out of here, need to hide in some lonely corner, need to move to another city. Or another country? It seems like he’ll always find you, no matter where you go.

The cold air of the night hits your face like a wall as you stumble out of the restaurant. Where are you supposed to go? Aimlessly, you haste through the next alley, eyes darting behind you as if you’re haunted.

That toxic fucker, that crazy man who apparently didn’t accept your breakup at all. Toji is no one to be messed with, a maniac when it comes to his toys.

And you are one of those toys. Well, you hope you were.

“Think you can escape me like that?”

The next second, you find yourself pinned against a wall with no way out.

“Let go of me, you freak”, you press out, not even daring to look up at him.

Fuck, you’re absolutely screwed. There’s no way you’ll get out of here like you did last time.

“Is that how you greet the love of your life, huh?”

He grabs your cheek firmly and forces your head towards his.

There they are, those dangerous eyes. Up close, in their full glory.

You feel like puking.

“I don’t love you anymore. You treated me like shit.”

That’s what you told yourself over and over again, literally tattooed on your heart. You can’t love a guy like him, he’ll never give you what you need and want.

“So you’re telling me that guy who wanted to fuck after your blackout is better? Can’t tell me you didn’t notice that loser put something in your drink.”

“It’s none of your business”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Everything that has to do with you is my business, babe. You did a good job hiding from me for a few months. But you can’t escape me”, he mutters against your ear.

His hot breath against your naked and oversensitive skin almost sends you over the edge, forces that knot inside your stomach to start pulsating all over again.

That fucker who knows your body so well. That asshole who plays with your feeling all over again.

“We’ve broke up”, you remind him with unsteady gaze.

“So you have no feelings for me? Hate me? Just because I killed that guy-“

“You killed so many people that I lost count. I can’t do this!”, you blurt out.

“But do you love me?”

Your heart almost pounds out of your chest, sweat now covering your forehead only by looking at him. So many nights, you’ve drank enough to forget your own name.

But you never forgot his.

“Doesn’t matter…”

“So you do.”

Before you’re even able to protest, he lifts you up and cages you against the wall. And your lousy traitor of a body? Wraps your legs around his waist as if none of this ever happened.

“I’ll make it up to you, princess”, he mumbles into the crook of your neck, now placing gentle kisses on your bare skin.

You want to tell him to stop, want to yank your body out of his demanding grasp.

But instead, you let your head fall back and close your eyes.

Fuck, you missed this. You missed him.

“And don’t ya dare to run away from me again. You’re mine.”

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[bittencider]

notes: fluff, jealousy, clingy, non!mc, caleb is a tad bit ooc,,

my first fic! english is not my first language so sorry if it’s kinda ass :-(

the first time caleb met her, she was standing in the middle of her tiny front yard with scraped knees, dirt on her cheeks, and a scowl that threatened to split the ground.

caleb was eight, just two years older, leaning on the gate that separated his house from hers, chewing on the end of an apple juice straw. he’d been watching her for five minutes before he finally spoke.

“you’re gonna scare all the bugs away if you keep frowning like that.”

she froze, spun around, and narrowed her eyes at him. her voice was soft, almost as quiet as a whisper. “who are you?”

“i’m caleb.” he pressed his face between the bars of the gate in an attempt to get a better look at her. “you just moved in, right?”

she nodded slowly, still frowning. “are you from here?”

“born and raised,” he smiled. “you’re crying.”

“i’m not,” she pouted, quickly rubbing her face with a dirty sleeve.

“you are,” he said, already pushing the gate open without hesitation. he kneeled beside her, looking at the flowerbed in front of them curiously. “what are you looking for?”

“my... hairpin,” she muttered. “it has a blue butterfly on it. my granny gave it to me.”

he hummed, thoughtful, already scanning through the weeds. “wanna help?”

she didn’t answer, but she didn’t stop him either.

together, they searched in silence until caleb triumphantly held up the butterfly-shaped pin, dirt still clinging to the metal.

she stared at him with widened eyes like he’d just done a magic trick.

he gave it to her without a word, then stood up and dusted off his knees. and with a smile, he said to her softly, “there, no more crying, ‘kay?”

that was just the beginning.

she didn’t know how it happened, but soon caleb was simply there. he was the one who sat next to her in every group project, the one who slipped notes into her lunchbox, and the one who stood between her and a fast-moving volleyball when she had spaced out during gym class.

he had a knack for knowing where she was—even when she tried to disappear—and what she needed before she even did.

every morning, every aftertoon, every time she got overwhelmed by the noisy city or missed the quiet trees of her old home, caleb was her shadow, her shelter.

and she wasn’t any different—constantly following him like a duckling, and he let her. he liked it. honestly, he loved it.

he didn’t even mind when she clung to him too tightly—or cried when she couldn't keep up.

she depended on him almost completely, which was exactly what he wanted, and he never once made her feel like a burden.

It was as if she was the sun, and caleb simply orbited around her.

by the time they were in highschool, caleb’s legs stretched out like vines and his shoulders broadened, he stood at an intimidating 188cm.

he had become an entirely different person—yet somehow still the same.

strong, athletic, annoyingly handsome—and has a smile that could smooth over any awkward moment. he wasn’t just well-liked either—he was adored. friendly, easy-going, impossibly charming. even the teachers gave him too much leniency.

and she hated it.

she didn’t hate the fact that he was popular, nor how good he was in everything. but that he didn’t look at her the same way he used to.

the way he waved back at other girls in the hallway, smiled too long, and joked too easily with anyone who wasn’t her. she’d never admit it, but it dug into her like a thorn under skin.

he still made time for her. still waited outside her class for her, still walked her home, still teased her when she got all pouty. he still saw her. but it felt... diluted. spread out.

she missed when she was the center of his attention.

it was a friday after school, she headed towards the soccer field, where caleb was supposed to have practice at that day.

surprisingly, her eyes caught on to his tall figure standing outside the field, surrounded by a small group of girls.

he was laughing—really laughing—and one of them even held his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

she stood behind a pillar, watching as her stomach twisted.

she hated that too.

later that evening, she came home, angrily kicking rocks that were in her way.

she looked up at her porch, her eyes finding a figure that was all too familiar.

unsurprisingly, caleb was already sitting on the steps, arms draped loosely over his knees.

he'd done this a hundred times before—waited for her to come home.

“hey,” he said, glancing up. “you’re late. you okay?”

she didn't answer. she just dropped beside him, back pressed against the wood railing.

“long day?” he tried again, his eyes scanning her slumped figure.

still no answer.

“you’re mad.”

“no, i’m not.” she snapped too fast, arms crossed.

caleb arched a brow, “see, you are.”

she turned to him sharply. “why wouldn’t i be? you’ve been practically flirting with half of the school.”

he blinked, clearly wasn’t expecting that. “what’re you talking about?” then he gave a small, amused laugh. “what, you jealous?”

“i’m not jealous,” she bit out. “i just think it’s stupid. you were acting like some dumb prince charming, and everyone was falling all over themselves for it.”

there was a beat of silence. then caleb leaned in a little, his voice lower.

“didn’t know you cared who i flirted with.”

she stiffened. her cheeks burned. “i don’t.”

“you sure?”

“yes,” she hissed, glaring at the floor.

caleb didn’t say anything right away. he just watched her—attentive, quiet, as he always was whenever she’d get upset.

“i only flirt when you're watching,” he said suddenly, softly. “because it’s the only time you look at me like that.”

she froze.

like what?

before she could ask, he leaned back, looking up at the sky like he hadn’t just casually dropped a bomb at her.

“i don’t care about them nor like them, you know.” he added after a moment, “i never have.”

she swallowed, hard. the air between them felt charged—too much, too loud, too fast.

“who do you like, then?” she asked, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them.

caleb leaned in just a little bit closer to her face when he answered.

“you.”

[chubbyreaderwriter]

Mirrors

Logan x Plus Size/Chubby Reader

Imagine: You’ve never liked the way you look in mirrors but Logan does and he takes it upon himself to show you just how much he likes your curves. 

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: some swearing, smut ensues ;)

Masterlist 

Today was just a bad day for you. You weren't feeling nearly half as confident as usual, finding and picking out more and more flaws with yourself as the day went on. Nobody had said anything to you but it didn’t stop your mind from wandering into it’s own dark spiral of self-loathing. It had started after you were getting dressed in the morning, choosing a tank top and a loose, flowing maxi skirt to try to combat the warmer summer days coming in. You’d seen your reflection as you passed your mirror to leave your room for the day and you caught sight of the stretch marks on your arms. To anyone just passing by, they weren’t very noticeable, but you knew they were there and your brain was telling you that they were incredibly obvious and were standing out. 

Had you not been running a little behind, you would’ve opted to change your outfit into something with sleeves to comfort yourself but alas, you didn’t have time and just had to make do with what you originally chose. After your first class of the day teaching mathematics, you had a small break between your next lesson which had you going for a little walk in the gardens. Lots of children were running around and playing together, making you laugh and smile along with them. You’d walked by Storm and her class outside sitting on the grass. Storm was stood in front of a large whiteboard she’d no doubt wheeled outside to enjoy the nice weather. Your eyes took in her outfit which was incredibly similar to your own. You couldn’t help but notice the way her skirt didn’t curve out over a stomach she didn’t have, it didn’t show off her hip dips and she had it riding low enough her bellybutton was on show. With a quick glance down, you suddenly felt rather exposed, which was a little silly considering you were almost completely covered up. Your loose skirt suddenly felt very tight, like it was pulling at your curves to show everyone just how much bigger you were than other women.

The desire to run away and hide yourself was suddenly overwhelming. Before you could leave unnoticed, Storm had spotted you as she was turning back to face her class, giving you a friendly smile and a small wave, unknowingly encouraging her students to do the same. You forced a smile and gave a small wave back before making quick work of turning around and hurrying back inside but not too quickly as you didn’t want any more eyes on you than you had already. 

You spent the rest of your day inside, not wanting to leave the safety of your classroom, despite having a few more little breaks between classes. Thankfully, it was the end of your last class of the day and you would be able to return to the sanctuary of your bedroom soon enough. You had to force yourself to wait until the last student left the room before hightailing it straight to your room. As you walked, you became more and more aware of the feeling of your own body. You grew more conscious of the way your thighs were rubbing together, the way you could see your stomach squishing against itself as you walked up the stairs, the way your arms jiggled ever so slightly as they swung by your side. It was all becoming too much for you and you had to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself down once you were finally in your own room, leaning against your closed door. 

Not wasting another moment, you shredded your clothes off, leaving you in your bra and panties, standing in front of your mirror, looking at yourself with disdain and sadness in your eyes. You scoffed at your reflection and placed your hands at your stomach, trying to smooth the skin out as though it was clay you could sculpt into your desired shape. You turned to your side and tried to suck in your belly but it didn’t make much of a difference. You thought about Storm and how perfect she looked in her similar outfit today. You thought of Jean and how naturally gorgeous she was as well. Hell, most of the kids were in better shape than you, but you knew it was ridiculous to compare yourself to a child. 

Just as your eyes were beginning to fill up with tears, you heard a knock at the door, “Babe, you in here?” Logan’s gruff voice filled the silence of the room. Your eyes widened, shit, you didn’t want him to see you like this. You had been dating for the past couple months but you two hadn’t been intimate or anything yet. Not for his lack of wanting, it was you who kept finding excuses not to let him see you like that. Your mind just kept trying to convince you his feelings weren’t real, that there was no way a guy as hot as Logan was really interested in you. But he was and he wasn’t going to let your own self-doubts push him away. 

Realising you hadn’t answered him yet, you spluttered out, “Uh, y-yeah gimme a sec, I’m just changing!” You cursed under your breath as your voice shook, a clear indicator of your sadness. “(Y/N)? You okay?” You made a move to grab some more clothes out of your wardrobe before you opened the door for him but Logan was much too impatient to wait. At the sound of the door clicking open, you cursed yourself for not locking the damn thing, a shrill “Wait!” left your mouth as Logan burst inside. You awkwardly stood there in your underwear, trying to cover yourself as much as possible with your arms. God, you probably looked a right mess, he definitely wouldn’t want anything to do with you now would he?

You looked down at the floor and bit your lip, waiting for him to say something, anything. Silence was all that followed and you couldn’t take it, the tension growing so thick it was hard to breathe. A glance up at Logan’s face had you swallowing at the expression on his face. He looked like a hungry bear who’d just found his next meal. You felt very self conscious the way he was looking you up and down, “Can you turn around so I can put some clothes on?” Your voice shook once more as the lump in your throat returned and you wanted nothing more than to be able to steal Kitty’s powers right now and fall right through the goddamn floor. It would be better than the unbearable silence in the room. 

Logan couldn’t help but stare at you when he saw you standing there, even trying (and failing) to cover yourself up, he thought you were absolutely gorgeous. While he had no issues with waiting until you were ready for intimacy, he was still a man and he had needs. Needs that had been neglected for too long and looking at your sinful curves were bringing them all back to the surface. It was taking everything in him to not take the three steps towards you and pull you into his arms to ravish you. He barely registered the words you said but the shaking in your voice again had his full attention. You were upset. 

His eyes locked onto yours and he was able to see the glazed look of unshed tears welling up in them. Shit. He wasn’t the best at comforting people but the way you looked so vulnerable looking at him, it felt like someone had reached into his chest and squeezed his heart. He wasted no more time in stepping closer to you, gently holding your arms and leaning his head down to look you in the eyes, “What’s wrong? Has something happened? Did I do something?” You scoffed and looked down at the floor once again, not baring the idea of looking at his face when he realised how silly you were being. 

“No, nothing like that. I’m just...feeling a little...self-conscious.” Logan raised a brow at you. Self-conscious? What were you talking about, you were so fucking sexy. Logan furrowed his brows in confusion, “Huh? You’re beautiful what are you talking about?” You scoffed out a laugh, “Yeah right, look at me. I’m huge! I don’t see why you’re even interested in me, I’m like twice the size of Storm or Jean... you could do so much better than me.” 

You saw Logan stand up straight in your peripheral vision and you gathered the courage to look him in the eyes. He was giving you an unreadable look, it was making you feel awkward. Not that you could feel anymore awkward as you were still standing in your underwear and he was very much fully clothed and not saying much about your exposed body. Logan turned you around so that you were facing your mirror and he was standing behind you. His hands came up to place your own arms by your side so he could put his hands on your waist. You tried to cover yourself back up but a rough grunt of Logan’s disapproval stopped you, and surprisingly sparked a warm feeling in your abdomen. 

You looked away from the mirror, your voice barely audible, “What are you doing?” Logan leaned down to brush his nose against your exposed neck, breathing in your scent. You always smelled like honey and pine, it was a strange combination but it was so unique and so distinctly you. He loved it. It made him think of the woods, of being in nature and it brought himself a sense of calm whenever he was around you. The feeling of his beard brushing against your sensitive skin forced a gasp from your lips, your hand reaching up to cover over his own holding you at your waist. 

“I’m showing you just how damn sexy you are, now look,” Logan gently but firmly grasped your chin and turned your head to look back towards the mirror and you had to admit you liked the way he towered over you, making you feel small for once in your life. You stubbornly shook your head, “I wouldn’t say sexy..” Logan huffed, “Yeah? Then why am I so goddamn hard just lookin’ at you baby.” His hands held a firm grip on you as he ground against you, making you feel his erection rubbing on your ass. You bit your lip as your head leaned back on Logan’s shoulder. Logan pressed kisses along your neck, “You feel that, huh? You’re so damn beautiful all I’m thinking about is pushing you down on this bed and going all night long til you can’t think of anything but my name.” 

Logan’s deep voice, the dirty talk, the way his hands were roaming over your soft skin. It had your thighs clenching together in a pathetic attempt to appease the ache that had grown in your core. In a sudden burst of confidence fuelled by lust, you turned around to face Logan, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, “So do it then, show me how bad you want me.” The predatory grin on Logan’s face almost had you changing your mind. Almost. You couldn’t remember anyone looking at you the way he was right now. How was it that with one look he could make you feel so wanted, so beautiful, so desirable. It was intoxicating. He was intoxicating.

You gasped as he picked you up with ease and spun the two of you around to head towards your bed. Your hands clutched onto Logan’s shoulders and in his hair, holding him close as if he would dare to let you fall. He continued to kiss and suck at your neck as he walked, not even stopping when he bent down to lay you on the bed. He crawled onto the bed with you, wedging himself between your legs. His own body covering you like a blanket, a very chiselled blanket mind you. 

Your hands came up to grab at his shirt, “Seems unfair that I’m the only one in my underwear here.” Without even a second passing, Logan leaned back just enough to take his shirt off, kicking off his shoes at the same time. He couldn’t help but enjoy the way your eyes raked over his body, but who could blame you? Logan was practically your wet dream come to life, he was handsome, muscular and with a deep voice that liked to say all the right things. You didn’t know how you got so lucky. You wasted no time placing your hands on his chest, he was always so warm and you could almost feel his muscles rippling under the skin. You chewed on your bottom lip, a replacement to satiate your desire to bite him instead. 

Logan pressed his face against your chest, his hands coming up either side to grab at your breasts, a sharp moan echoing out your throat, your mouth opening into a silent gasp as his thumbs brushed over your hardened nipples, the fabric of your bra doing nothing to stifle the sensation. Logan loved seeing you like this, laid out like a good girl for him. But it wasn’t enough, he needed to see more of you, needed to feel more of you. He wanted to have you crying out for him, wanted to make you a mess. His right hand wiggled underneath your back, hunting for your bra clasp, and popping it open with little effort. You didn’t need to be told to arch your back to help him take it off you, wanting nothing more than to feel Logan’s hands on you without anything in the way this time.

Logan skipped using his hands first, his mouth coming down to kiss and suck at your breasts. Your hands came up to tangle themselves in his hair once again, “Oh god, Logan,” “That’s it sweetheart, let me make you feel good.” You were only too aware of his hand slowly making it’s way down your curvy form, going over your hips and down between your legs to cup your pussy over your panties. You jolted a little in surprise but it quickly melted into pleasure as he pushed the thin fabric to the side to be able to slide a finger between your lower lips. Your hands gripped his hair tighter as his finger circled your clit, emitting a deep groan from him and a mumbled, “there it is,” against your chest. 

There was no shame as your spread your legs wider for him, wanting nothing more than for him to quell the rising need inside of you. “Logan,” you whined, “please.” He chuckled against your chest, swiping his tongue over your nipple to steal another moan from you. “You look so pretty like this, maybe I wanna take my time.” Your mouth opened to protest but nothing came out apart from a long moan as Logan pushed two fingers inside of you. His mouth claimed yours, taking advantage of your open mouth to enter his tongue. Your hips rocked against his fingers, hands grasping over his shoulders, down his biceps, over his back. Anything to try and pull him closer to you. Your hands came up to his jaw, holding his face as you kissed him back, his mouth swallowing all of your noises. You pulled back reluctantly to take a breath of air, filling your lungs and letting out another moan as he slid another finger in your drenched pussy. 

“So fucking tight, wonder how you’re gonna feel wrapped around my cock.” His words only made you wetter and your face flushed a bright red as you knew he could feel it, the wet sounds filling the silence in the room. “You like it when I talk dirty to you don’t you baby, you want it so bad.” “Oh fuck yes, Logan please! I need you.” That was enough to break Logan’s patience. He was desperate for you as well, he was just a lot better at composing himself. Not that he wanted you to hold back, no he loved how responsive you were to him. 

In a speed that would make Peter proud, he shed off his trousers and boxers, as well as your panties before getting back on his knees between your legs. Your chest heaved and your face was flushed as you looked down at his hand stroking himself. You felt like drooling he was so sexy, you wished you had an eidetic memory because this was an image you never wanted to forget. You felt the head of his cock rub over your pussy, soaking itself in your juices before lining up. Your eyes closed as he started to push forward but he quickly stopped. His left hand came up to grab your face, making you open your eyes, “I want to see you when you take it,” God this man would be the death of you. It felt like everything he said had you on the edge of orgasm. You locked eyes with him despite feeling a little self conscious with how intensely he was looking at you but all the negative thoughts flew away as he slowly pushed inside. It was a struggle not to close your eyes, your face contorting into an expression of pure pleasure as he filled you. Logan let out a deep moan of his own, “So fucking tight, knew you’d feel so good, like you were made for me.” 

You couldn’t help throwing your head back, your back arching as he bottomed out. You had never felt this full before, none of your past lovers had even come close to making you feel like this and Logan had barely started. He leaned down over you, taking your hands in his and pressing them into the bed on each side of your head. “That feel good huh? You like being stretched out on my cock don’t ya.” You tried to respond but all you could manage was a strangled moan as he started to move his hips at a torturously slow place. “F-fuck,” was the most you could manage to say but that was still too much for Logan’s liking, it was obvious he hadn’t turned your brain into mush yet. 

Intertwining his fingers with your own and curling around your hands gave him enough balance to start moving his hips faster, forcing a loud moan out of you. You tried to be quiet but it was hard when each thrust made you want to scream. “Come on baby, I know you can take it, yeah that’s it, that’s my good girl.” God, you weren’t sure you could handle much more, your whole body felt like it was on fire. Your back was arched up against Logan’s chest, writhing underneath him, your hands clenched tight around his own. You were desperate for him. You wanted more. You needed more. You didn’t think you would ever have enough of him. You tried to say something back, wanting to tease him the same as he was doing to you but all you could do was choke out a sob as you reached closer and closer towards your climax. 

Logan knew you were close, he could hear your heart rate getting faster. He heard the way your breath was stalling as you were trying to focus on the sensation of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you. He felt the grip on his hands tighten to the point your knuckles were turning white. He had to hold back his own moans as he looked down at you, you were so fucking sexy like this. His eyes didn’t leave your face for a moment, speeding up his movements until you locked your legs around his waist, forcing him deeper inside as you cried out. He shuddered in pleasure, feeling your walls squeezing him just that little bit too tight. You were so perfect, he knew he’d have trouble staying away from you from his first glance in your direction. Your chest heaved as you panted, trying to catch your breath after such an intense orgasm. 

Logan slowly started to move again, a small grin twisting onto his lips as you moaned, the sensitivity starting to settle in. Your eyes fluttered open at him, “Oh, my, god, that was amazing Logan.” You managed to get out between breaths, “I believe you think I’m sexy now,” you gave him a small laugh as you wriggled your hands out from underneath his to wipe your hair away from your sweat-drenched forehead. You placed your hand on the back of Logan’s neck, pulling him down to you to kiss him. He was only too eager to oblige to your wordless request, easily dominating the kiss and leaving you gasping for air once more. “Good, but I’m not finished showing you yet sweetheart, like I said, I don’t wanna stop til you can’t think of anything but my name. And you’re doing an awful lot of talking bub.” Your eyes widened and you yelped as Logan made quick work of flipping you over onto your knees, your chest pressed into the bed as he re-entered you. 

He made good on his word and the two of you didn’t stop until the early hours of the morning just before the sun started to rise. Both of you slept naked in each other’s embrace, your head resting on Logan’s chest and you wondered if being self-conscious was such a bad thing if it meant you were gonna get fucked like that afterwards. 

[madamechrissy]

Take Me Home Tonight

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Gojo is 28-29 here, reader is like 22 or 23. Nothing too crazy. But is Professor/teacher forbidden type love. Also, Cunnilingus first chap

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 8.3k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ After passing your LSATs, your friends take you out to unwind. You never go out, so you are awkwardly agree, and you end up in the arms of a super hot man named Satoru. You end up screaming Satoru's name as he drops down on his knees before you, only to lose him in the club. All you have is his first name.

Two months later, in your Criminal Law class, your heart stops. Your teacher? Professor Gojo. Or as you soon call him, Professor Dickhead. You can't fuck up your law school, and he won't fuck up his career, not just because he makes you wet in class, no, he's a dick. Right?

That pout and blue eyes don't wreck you, right? 💓Materlist💓

(If you wanna be tagged in updates let me know 💓) Lawyer AU

Chapter 1

The music throbbed in your chest, vibrating against your ribs as you navigated the packed dance floor. You weren't much of a club person, but your good friend Maki insisted you needed to 'let loose' after a particularly stressful week doing the LSATS. It had definitely taken its toll on all of you and your friends, but you’d passed, now finally in one of the top law schools after your Bachelors.

Now, surrounded by a sea of bodies writhing to the beat, you were unsure what the appeal was, overwhelming your senses. The heat of the crowd, the energy radiating from every corner of the room, people so close as you stood there it was as if you could not breathe. Everyone was dancing wildly in the club, a club you felt out of place in.

For years you’d pretty much holed yourself up in your room or overachieved in class. you had no time for boyfriends, distractions, fun… not if you wanted a top score and a killer internship.

You were ambitious as fuck.

Maki said you should all be proud, let loose… have fun but you’d damn near forgotten how to.

Maki was dancing with Yuta now, another boy going to the same law school as you two, they wave at you through the crowd, you smile and wave back, then decide to face everyone and go grab a drink finally. You were more of a wallflower than anything, preferring to be at home with a good book rather than dancing around on various college boys, you wish you were a little more fun.

You head over to where the bar is, shyly getting the attention of the bartender, grabbing a cranberry vodka. The social anxiety was creeping in so you figure the alcohol will fix it.

You turn, then smash into someone.

“Shit!” You look at the broad chest you’d bumped into, the only thing in your field of vision, of a very expensive looking shirt you’d just dropped cranberry vodka all over, spreading through the fancy fabric quickly, luckily, it was a navy blue, but you still panicked. You snatch up a ton of napkins and start frantically wiping at it. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Can I pay for drycleaning? Do I need to buy one? I-”

A hand grabs your wrist, big, enveloping it like you were nothing, and your eyes finally rise up to the tall man in front of you, a smirk playing on handsome features. His eyes were the most striking thing about him, blue as the sky after a storm, sparkling with something devious, fringed by white spiky lashes. His face was so pretty it nearly hurt to look at.

Full lips, perfect model cheekbones, a strong jaw line… literally looking like he stepped out of GQ or something. His silvery white hair was striking, and he stood well over a foot taller than you, imposing, tempting…and your hand was on his chest, clutching crumpled napkins, your wrist in that firm grip.

You froze, overwhelmed, confused by your reaction… you’d met plenty of gorgeous men in your life, you had handsome male friends, but something about him drew out something primal in you… Something…

The fuck. The dude has you wet?

Jesus maybe you were due for a good fuck.

Maki was right.

“It’s all right, lots of women have this reaction. I’m just really ridiculously good looking.” He says with a grin, easing the grip off your wrist, taking your hand now, you gasp, mouth open, unsure of what to say. “Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re… arrogant as fuck! Wow.” He laughs, deep and baritone, and fuck if he isn’t even more attractive as he does.

“And you’re clumsy as fuck.” You sigh, covering your face now.

“I’m so sorry… I am clumsy, ugh. Can I try to get the stain out, please, I feel awful.” He snorts in laughter, looking down at you, intense gaze seeing right through you somehow. His look follows down your body, your low cut little crop top that was nothing like you were usually in, your little skirt…

“Trying to get me naked, hmm?” You scowl as he grabs your waist, but then some sensation hits you… the warm grip and his big fucking hands burn as they touch your bare skin. You falter, in confusion, for you had not even had a drink yet to account for such things.

“I am not at all! I just feel bad. I…” You wouldn’t mind seeing him naked, but you shove that thought down deep in the recesses, clearing your throat with a little blush, for his hand is still on your waist.

“Your own outfit is stained, baby girl. Look.” You peek down and realize what he’d been staring at. “My shirt’s dark, it'll be fine. We need to get that cleaned up.”

“It's okay, it's silky, it should come off.” You now rub the stain on your chest, which he openly looks at, sipping his own drink.

“You look like you don’t belong here.” He gestured to the crowded, loud club, full of dancing bodies, pool tables with beer pong set up, there was even a drunken Giant Jenga game, loudly crashing blocks. You looked back up to him, lost in that gaze, it was as if his eyes held your attention there.

“I don’t belong here.” You managed to say, and he brushed a lock of your hair back, tucking it behind your ear. God, how did just those little actions turn you on so much? “I don’t go out to clubs, I don’t really even do shit but study. My friends over there…” You point them out. “They are making me try.”

He smirks as he looks over at them. “Well, shit, then you should give it a shot. Want me to grab you another drink?”

“Oh no, I owe you one if anything. Can I buy you one?” He shrugs casually, smirking a bit.

“I’m so pretty a girl is buying me drinks, hmm?” You roll your eyes at him, shaking your head.

“Just tell me what you like.”

“Something sweet.” He whispers, leaning over you a bit, behind you, chest against your back, breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine, you wave back at the bartender, who takes pity on you.

“On the house, sweetheart.” He winks, and you blink in surprise.

“Oh thank you so much.” The bartender leans over a bit, smiling, and you feel this stranger next to you tense. “Can I also get a chocolatini?”

“Yummy.” He says next to you, and the bartender just looks at him, then eases back, smiling and handing it to you too.

“Thanks so much again.” You tip him big with a smile, then hand the white haired god next to you the little chocolate drink.

“Hmm, what is this?” He asks, icy blue eyes staring into the glass, stirring the chocolatey liquid around.

“It’s sweet. Try it.”

He takes a sip, licking his full lips, distracting you. “Mmm, this is perfect, shit.” He sips it, moaning and closing his eyes, and it pushes wild thoughts, addling your mind. “Okay, forgiven for the mess.”

“Good.” You start sipping your drink and sighing, letting the tart bite hit your tongue.

“Satoru, by the way.” He says, in that deep voice, a baritone that hit octaves that did wild things to your psyche. You look up at him, realizing just how close you are, feeling overheated. You tell him your name, softly, and he repeats it, sounding far too good on his lips.

“Well, it's nice to literally run into you, Satoru. I guess.”

“Usually I get girls wet, not the other way around.” He says audaciously, with a wink, you snort in laughter.

“You’re something else.” You say with an eye roll, then peek over to see Maki drunkenly making out in a corner, grinding her ass on Yuta as they dance. “Ah shit, I don’t think I’m gonna have my friends tonight. Third wheel life, but they’re my good friends who deal with me being antisocial.”

“You did seem pretty fucking awkward.” He says teasingly, nudging you with his shoulder.

“Dick.” You snort, sipping your drink, the music hits and it’s one of your favorite songs, but you’re too nervous to do anything, just standing there. You peek up at him in surprise. “You don’t have to hang out over here, I am sure your friends want to hang out with you.”

“Yeah… they’re all out of here at this point. I was heading out too, just closing up the tab when you ran into me.” You suddenly feel a weird sense of disappointment that should not exist.

“Oh…” You sip your drink again, hips ever so slightly swaying to the beat of the music, body starting to feel the warmth as the liquor slides through you. “Well it was nice meeting you though? And you got a chocolatini?”

“Yes, and it is yummy.” He stands there, and your eyes lock, something just pulling you towards the man too gorgeous to exist in this world, the conceited little shit who smelled really fucking good. You expect him to leave, but he just stands, sipping his drink, eyes lowering to your hips as they sway.

“How’d you end up here anyway?” You ask, leaning your head to the side, hair falling. He casually brushes it back, you struggle not to show how much you like it, casual fucking little caresses when you're touch starved as it is. But especially from him for some reason.

“I was just hanging out with my friends, Suguru and Kento. Just unwinding a bit, we get together once a month at some random place and get lit.” He sips more of his drink, somehow you’ve gotten closer.

“Oh, that sounds like fun though. I swear I don’t think I’ve been to a club? Is that really pathetic?”

“You’re kinda boring huh?”

“Maybe. I apparently need to let loose and have fun since I got my Bachelors degree.”

“It’s not the worst idea. You like this song don’t you?” He asks softly, and you feel your heart race, nervously trying to stop the swaying of your body to the beat. You nod, instead, and he takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

“I… what are we…”

“Let’s dance. That'll loosen you up a bit.”

“I don’t know how to…” You say softly, confused, he laughs a bit, shaking his head and setting your empty drinks on the bar.

“Everyone can, just follow your body.” He's so confident and self assured.

Satoru is leading you to the dance floor, the music pounding in your ears along with your erratic heartbeat. He pulls you against him, his scent hits you, something intoxicating about it. He pauses for a moment, looking down at your face intently. Even in your heels you have to crank your neck back to look at him, intimidating in his presence.

“What do I… how do I do it?” You ask, he clears his throat, smirking again, turning you so your ass and back are against him, you gasp just a bit. His hands hit low on your hips, so warm through them, luoure hot and sticky between your thighs.

“Feel the beat of the song.” He murmurs in your ear, moving your hips in a figure eight motion with those big hands. Why were they so big? Fuck. “You’re too tense, close your eyes and just focus on the music and me.”

His words were a velvet caress, you’d do anything he asked when it sounded like that, it was pathetic almost. You close your eyes, and your other senses are heightened then, feeling his touch, hard body behind you, inch by inch, the fabric of his expensive clothes brushing on your bare skin.

“Like that?” You ask, moving your ass a bit side to side, he shakes his head, grabbing your hips, desire shoots through you.

“Nah, loosen up more. There, like that.”

You let your body sway with his, feeling the heat between your skin, the soft brush of his hips against yours, his hand sliding up your back, fingers tangling in your hair. He pulls you closer, and you gasp as his body pressed against yours, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a jolt of want.

His hips begin to move against yours, a slow, steady rhythm, and you lose yourself to the music and him, the way he holds you when you face him now, the way he feels, hard lithe body against yours. His hands move up and down your waist, his fingers digging into your skin ever so slightly, making you shiver, a crazy ache wracking through your body.

You tilt your chin up to look at him, arms around his neck, and find his ethereally gorgeous eyes locked onto yours, pupils dilated, making the blue rings of his eyes glow in the blinking lights of the dim club, and his full lips are parted. He's just dripping fucking sex, he’s way too attractive, it was difficult to keep moving and not just stand there and stare at him.

Satoru seems just as lost in this moment as you are, and it only makes you want him more… fuck you didn’t do this, you didn’t think of these things, you had too much to do, too much to focus on. But fuck… would it be the worst thing? To let yourself lose it in the moment, just go with it?

Were you looking too into it?

The music fades out in your head now, the thudding of your heart pounding in your ears, as you feel the way his hips still move against you, the way your hands grip his neck now, you both are just swaying. You’re on your tip toes in heels and nowhere near his height, and it makes you hornier, how fucking big he is, even his hands. He makes you horny, some random stranger you spilled a drink on in the club.

The air feels thick, almost heavy, and for a moment, hard to breathe as both of your eyes stay locked on each other, his hands slide down your hips, they’d been respectful, but they grow bolder. Every beat of the music vibrates through you, along with something maddening, you’re drawing closer and closer to him.

“How am I doing now?” You ask, breathless, he smirks, fucking hot and arrogant as fuck, drawing you in further.

“You’re not too bad.” He teases, you roll your eyes, easing back, but he grabs you to him, hands on your ass now, and you pause, as he grips it, an ass cheek in each of his big hands. “Now that… that’s fucking nice.”

“My ass?” You ask, laughing, he nods, grinning with those fangs of his glinting in the dark smoky room. “Handsy, huh?”

“Want me to stop?” He asks, and you shake your head, looking down a bit, he takes one of his hands, easing your chin up to look at him. Your pulse is hammering in your throat, as he bends lower, you stare at those lips, growing hot everywhere, breath in little pants.

“Oh! Oh…” Maki comes up behind you, and you pause, whirling your head to look at her, she has a big giant grin on her face. “Well, well, introduce me.”

“This is…”

“Satoru.” He smiles, nodding over to her, but he didn’t let you go, he didn’t even move the hand on your ass until you smack at his hand. He glares, as if you’ve taken a toy from him.

“Maki. I was gonna let you know I’m heading out soon, I figured you would wanna come with… or are you… hmm, hanging out more?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, you cover your face in embarrassment.

“I think he was leaving, weren’t you?” You look up at him, his grip tightens just a bit on your waist.

“I am leaving soon, yeah. Can she stay a little longer hmm?” He asks with puppy dog eyes, leaning on your shoulder. Maki rolls her eyes, nodding.

“I’ll give you all another twenty to… dance? I’ll find ya.” She kisses your cheek, and runs off, surely to tell Yuta. You peer back up at Satoru curiously. His gaze has gone from flirtatious to hungry.

“Did you wanna dance more?” You ask, and he laughs a bit.

“I’d like to eat you out.”

“Wha-?”

“Mmhmm.” He’s just standing there, after saying something so fucking wild, your brows dip low in confusion, and your pussy is wet as fuck.

Shit.

“I… huh?”

“I said I-”

You shut his mouth with your hand, yanking him down to do so, he’s so damn tall, and he’s laughing behind your palm. “I heard you! God…”

“You seem so tense.” He murmurs, easing your hand down, then he kisses it, but it’s not gentlemanly, it’s fucking devious, those eyes are insane. “And you’re crazy fucking hot.”

“Me? You… you are.”

“Aw you think I’m hot?” You sigh, looking down for a moment. “Time is ticking, we have less than twenty, and I like to take my time.”

“Jesus… you just wanna eat me out?”

“What, you haven’t done it?” You look away, clearing your throat, and anticipation is eating at you. “Oh fuck, you haven’t!”

“Shush. Why do you want to just do that?”

“It’s fun, duh.” He rolls his eyes at you, as if it were so simple. Your cunt throbs around nothing now, and you look at his lips.

“Don’t most men ask for a blow job?”

“Not men. Boys. I’m a man, baby girl.”

He practically purrs those words, and you’re getting even wetter. “We haven’t even kissed?”

He leans down, wrapping an arm around your hips, lifting you up, like you’re just some doll. Your breath comes out in a squeak, and his lips are pressed on yours now, your arms wrap around his neck, and he’s kissing you as your legs dangle. You open your mouth, moaning, as his tongue slides in, against your own, shooting desire down through you.

“Better?” He whispers, kissing you softer, little pops of kisses. You moan into his lips, tasting his minty breath, mixing with the sweet drink you’d made him.

“I don’t ever do this.” You breathe out. “I… fuck… okay?”

“Yeah?” You nod.

“Yeah.”

Satoru eases you down, and then you’re wildly following him through the throngs of dancers and clubgoers, until he’s knocking, and you all are slinking into the club’s rather fancy fucking bathroom. You contemplate your life in those moments, but when you’re in the bathroom and he’s shoved you against the door, kissing you again, you just go with it.

He feels so good.

“You’re a good kisser, fuck.” You murmur against his lips, he grins, and you realize you’re inflating his ego.

“Mmhmm, I am. I’m even better at this.” He drops to his knees, and your heart is in your throat, your eyes are wide as he’s lifting your skirt up, easing your panties down, smirking up at you.

“Mnh…” Is all that you manage, when he takes them fully off, putting one of your thighs on his shoulder, kissing the sensitive inner part of it. You brace yourself on his broad shoulders, entire body trembling. “Fuck…”

“Say my name, pretty. Satoru.” He orders, and you nod, then your hand gently goes through his hair, silky and perfect against your touch.

“Satoru… I… you sure?”

“If you want it.” You nod, maybe too eager, and his head dips, shoving your skirt up your hips, and he flicks his tongue up your slit. You cry out, trembling at the sensation, so fucking good your hips jerk. “You’re soaked…” He whispers, peeking up at you with those eyes.

You just nod again, you’re at a loss for words now, gulping, and he’s back down there, moaning against your clit, and you gasp as pleasure hits you hard, clenching in your tummy and spreading. His tongue is hot against you, pressure just perfect on your little clit, your hands enwrap further, gripping his hair, and he’s fucking moaning, vibrating on your cunt.

“Satoru…” You cry out, and you’re pulsing around nothing, wetness pouring out of you in spurts, he drinks you up, the sounds obscene in the little bathroom, the music and loud people fading further and further.

“You taste so good.” He murmurs as he pulls back a bit, you manage a mumbled thank you that he smiles at, his eyes are even brighter, a madness almost in them that surely matched your own. You caress his face, thumb rubbing on his lip, mixed with your cum and his saliva, and he moans then, yanking your hand down to your clit. “Feel how wet I’ve got you.”

“Fuck! Mnh…” You feel your slickness against your own fingers now, shaking as you hit your now swollen clit.

Satoru puts your hand back on his head, dipping back down, devouring you, and you hear how wet you are, hear him slurping you up, you’re falling apart, unraveling for this stranger. A guy you just met in a damn nightclub, what is wrong with you? But he’s giving you an unreal amount of pleasure, you’re pulsing now when he slides a long, thick finger in you.

Someone knocks.

You curse.

“Keep quiet, pretty, they’ll hear you.” He winks up at you, and you nod, holding a hand to your face, arching your hips up for more of his touch, his mouth, and he’s working your clit with his tongue as he’s massaging your g spot with his fingertip, it’s too much, too much.

“Mnh!” You struggle to hide your moans, more people are knocking, it’s banging against your back, and Satoru’s devouring you, every bit of your cunt, and you feel yourself start to shake, pleasure shooting through your entire body, your walls are tightening around those long fingers, stretching you out so deliciously. “Satoru… I… too much…”

“Shush.” He peers up at you, those gorgeous goddamn eyes, his eyes are heavy lidded with desire, his face is half covered in your slickness, glistening. “Cum on my face, let me drink you up.” His voice is deep, hoarse, and you start falling apart on his fingers, he grins, devious. “That’s it. Cum for me, pretty.”

He’s back down there, and his finger hits just so, his tongue flicking faster and faster on your aching clit, and you slam both hands on your mouth as he holds your hips up, burying his face. You fall apart, cumming so hard you can’t even see, it’s all blackness, your ears are buzzing, your body is shaking. You reach down blindly, to balance on his shoulders, and he’s drinking it up.

He’s drinking you.

Fuck.

His tongue flicks a couple more times, as more people bang on the door you rested back on, and he pulls back finally, grinning up at you, having just wrecked you completely. You can’t breathe, you can’t stand, he’d just casually given you the best orgasm of your life, and not even known you, not even known your body…

“Fuck.” You manage, and he stands then, kissing you, bending low, cupping your face with those big hands.

“See how good you taste?” He murmurs, flicking his tongue on your lips, all you can do is moan. He laughs a bit at you. “Those eyes after cumming… yep… that’s the hottest shit I’ve seen.”

“My eyes? Have you seen…”

Someone opens the door then, and you curse, yanking your skirt down, Satoru just casually leans over to look, scowling. “Excuse me, I’m busy.”

“Oh shit, sorry…” The drunken guy who’d broken in stumbles back, and then you hear him throwing up.

Satoru rolls his eyes, and then you both leave, you absentmindedly notice your panties are in the bathroom, up on the damn counter, and run embarrassingly back in to snatch them up. You run back out, trying to see where he went off to, but it’s a chaotic mess, everyone is going this way and that, and before you know it, you can’t even see him, so short compared to all of the people.

Maki comes and grabs your hand, and you follow her, searching for him, where could a tall man with white hair hide anyway?

“What’d you do, oh my god!” She turns you to her, you errantly notice everyone around you getting rowdier, there are crazy fights even breaking out. “You got freaky in the club bathroom didn’t you?”

“Oh god, Maki, shh!” Your skin is bright red now, she’s grinning like a crazy woman.

“He was hot! Get his number?”

“No and… I don’t see him, shit.” You’re trying to look around, Maki does too, but no sign of him. You all look for another five minutes, as things are getting rowdy with a couple of the club goers, fighting over some girl. You both sigh. “Dammit, I really… I think I like him, Maki, and he’s gone. Ugh.”

“It’s okay, love, you’ll run into him again.” She squeezes your hand, and your mind goes to him, to Satoru, who has brought you so much pleasure so quickly. “Ooh, look him up!”

“Is that… stalker ish? I only have his first name…”

“Nah. He seemed interested. Let’s get us home and then we’ll see if he has socials or anything, we’ll find him.”

You sit in the back of the car with Maki and Yuta, who are just making out the entire time, staring out the car window at the street lights that pass. You can’t shake the thoughts of him, of Satoru… you pick up your phone, typing his name in Facebook, nothing. Instagram, nothing. Tiktok? You doubt it, but you try… and, nothing.

Without a last name you were screwed, but there weren’t even any ‘Satoru’ profiles that you could find. Cursing internally, you lay your head back in frustration. You didn’t even tell him you liked him, you just… came on his fucking face? An arrogant, gorgeous man’s pretty face. His tongue had done things that had…

Shit.

Two months later, you found yourself sitting in the lecture hall at the beginning of law school, your heart racing with excitement and anticipation for the journey ahead. You take out your little laptop, hands sweaty and nervous, wishing Maki and Yuta were in this class with you. You were in an advanced program, having scored so high, so you were thrown in with more experienced students.

You also had a big chance at the coveted internship with the top law professor, who taught this very class. You peek at your syllabus, this is supposed to be the top young professor that everyone kept going on about, his name was Professor Gojo. You open up your laptop now, popping open the note taking app on there, when a chatter begins.

As the professor walked in, you barely looked up at first, seeing a tall, lithe body in a pinstripe suit. You look back down, turning off your phone to be safe, hearing the women in the class murmuring.

“He’s so hot!” They kept whispering, you peek around curiously, then look back up to him, seeing a shock of silvery white hair.

Your heart falters.

As he began to introduce himself, writing his name on the board, you couldn't believe your eyes. It was him - Satoru.

The man that had made you cum with his mouth.

He was your fucking law professor?

Shit.

As Satoru- or, Professor Gojo apparently, spoke, his eyes met yours, that piercing blue across the room, almost as if he was looking through you. He pauses for a moment, full lips opening then closing, before clearing his throat, putting back on a smirk and an air of arrogance.

“Professor Gojo, welcome to Criminal Law. I assume there are mostly second years. Any first semester students?” You and two others are the only ones that raise your hands. “Interesting. Your name?” He asks the girl to the right of you.

“Yuki.” She answers softly.

“And yours?” He asks the other guy to the left of her, hands in the pockets of his slacks as he saunters across the room, like he fucking owns it, commanding the attention of everyone. The room is so quiet you can hear a pin drop.

“Ijichi.” He says.

Professor Gojo looks at you, and your pulse hammers in your throat, like it’s about to explode. You cannot breathe as his blue eyes laser focus on you, those frosty white lashes framing them, you remember him staring up at you, between your thighs, on his fucking knees.

“And you, your name?” You quietly give him your name, and he smirks at you, upturn to those devious fucking lips. You try not to wriggle under his gaze, tilting your chin up instead. “Ah. All right, so tell me why you’re here today.”

“To attend class?” The class laughs a bit, Gojo just grins, shaking his head at you.

“No, why are you here?”

“To become a lawyer.” You answer, firmer, as he walks up towards you now, stepping up the stairs of the large class and leaning on your desk with one of his long arms, big hand clutching the wood. Hands you can’t help but fucking stare at.

“Aren’t they all? But why did you choose to be?” He asks, leaning forward just a bit. You take a shaky breath, then look directly into that bright blue gaze of his, licking your lower lip, his eyes drop right to the action.

“I wanted to make a difference in people's lives. I want to give voices to those that may not have one.” You murmur, and he exhales, smirk back on, nodding.

“We all start for that, surely. Don’t we?” He asks the class, they nod, attentive to every word of his. He turns, walking back down the stairs and starting to write on the board.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, a flush creeping up your neck as you think of that night, burned into your goddamn brain for months. You were the one making those sounds, those moans, as he drank you up, you remember the taste of him, the feel of his tongue on your sensitive skin.

Your fingers itch to touch yourself, to remember how good it felt, and you burn with shame and embarrassment. The amount of times you had played with yourself thinking of him was borderline pathetic, and now here he was, mysterious little shit, and unattainable.

Fuck.

“Don't worry, we'll get along just fine, I’m pretty relaxed mostly. You could say I have the ‘rizz’.” He winks, and everyone snorts in laughter, but you can’t even focus. “I was where you were just a few years back. So it’s doable to advance if you bust your ass. Understood?”

They all nod, enraptured by him. Who wouldn’t be.

“But first, a few rules before we begin. One, you will address me as Professor Gojo, or Gojo, not my first name. I am very friendly and accessible as a teacher but that’s one thing I do ask.”

Satoru. Satoru… you’d fucking cried out. Jesus.

“Two, you will be respectful of your classmates and their opinions, and hear them out, even if the opinions are shit.” They break out in laughter again. “Shit opinions can be shit on later. Let em finish the dumb thoughts first, so I can fix them.”

They’re all nodding, they women are all swooning, he commands the entire goddamn room.

“Three, there will be no cell phone use during class unless it’s something important, which you can step out for. You spend enough time on your Instagram and Snap at home, not here. Using your laptop is fine for notes, not tentacle porn hentai, heathens.”

They burst out laughing now, and even you giggle, bringing his eyes to lock upon you, drinking you in.

“Do you understand these rules, class?"

When he pauses, your gaze meets his again, and you feel like you're drowning in those blue eyes. Does he remember you even? Did he care? A man that looks like him surely has numbers in the stratosphere, and he hadn’t bothered to get your number. Had he dipped all together?

Did he even like it?

Fuck.

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice amidst the chaos in your head. You manage to croak out a "Yes, Professor Gojo," with the class before looking down at your desk.

“Perfect. All right, so… Yuki, was it?” The girl nods eagerly. “Now, let's say that a student in this class was to break into my office and steal an exam. What would the possible criminal charges be?"

"Well, Professor Gojo, the student could be charged with burglary, as they entered the office without permission. Additionally, depending on the value of the exam, it could also be considered academic fraud punishable by law."

He nods. “Well said. Now… you.” He says your name, and you sit up straight, panicking, you can't help but notice the way he's looking at you. There's an intensity to his gaze that makes your heart race.

“Yes, Professor Gojo?”

He pauses, fixing you with his piercing blue eyes. "A similar scenario, but change it up. Let’s say you have invited me to your apartment, to stay the night, because I’m so charming.” He winks at the class, who are in a fit of giggles, and peers back at you. “You faint, because I was just that good looking, an understandable response.” He’s walking up to you. You raise a brow.

“I have a stronger constitution than that, Professor Gojo.” The class now gasps, some giggling at your answer. He grins, those white teeth blinding, fangs like a damn vampire showing.

“I see, impressive. But, nevertheless, you’re asleep, and you have invited me to stay the night. What if I steal an item of yours?”

The room goes silent as his words sink in. You feel your heart racing, your palms sweating. You try to gather your thoughts, but you can't help but feel unsettled by his line of questioning, of the images he’s painting in your overheated mind. Him in your damn apartment, between your…

"Well?" He prompts, leaning forward slightly. "What would you think is the appropriate course of action in such a scenario? Seeing as you have trusted me, a very handsome stranger, put yourself in the situation. With no proof."

You swallow hard, feeling a knot forming in your throat, it's as if he knows exactly how to push your buttons, to make you feel vulnerable and exposed. You try to compose yourself, to remember what you know, but you can't help but feel like you're drowning in the intensity of his presence, hard to breathe even.

"In that situation, Professor Gojo, I believe that the law would still consider it theft, even if you had a personal connection to me. The item would still belong to me, and taking it without my permission would be a violation of my rights." You pause, taking a deep breath before continuing. "However, I also think that the court might take into account the nature of our relationship and any possible mitigating factors, such as your intentions or remorse."

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think you see a glint of amusement in them. "An interesting answer," he says, "But remember, the law is not always concerned with intentions or mitigating factors. It is often a cold, impersonal thing, meant to uphold the greater good."

“That can be true, though without proof of having something I also think you would possibly get away with it. I haven’t itemized and taken pictures of everything in my home, so it could be hearsay.” He nods approvingly at that, grinning.

"That’s correct. Fortunately, however, I don't intend to break into your home anytime soon, so you won’t be fainting. From me at least.” The class laughs a bit at his joke, and you can feel your cheeks flush.

“You can break into my house!” Comes a shout from the back, and Gojo throws his head back in laughter, heading back down the stairs, along with the class.

“Calm down, heathens. Now listen, itemizing things or taking pictures is a good idea. So that when you invite handsome strangers you at least have something to go on. So, you all want to be lawyers, to help others, correct?”

Everyone nods.

“You could say that I was drawn to it for similar reasons to all of you.” He sits in his large office chair, tall brown leather, leaning back casually, throwing his legs up on the large desk. “Personally, I found the intricacies of the law fascinating, and I wanted to make a difference in people's lives too. Like you.” He nods to you, and you want to fall into a goddamn hole.

“But I also saw the potential for it to be used as a tool for justice, or perhaps even revenge in some cases, you can be a regular vigilante batman." His voice drops, taking on a more serious tone, intriguing you now, as did his every movement. "As your professor, my goal is to help you navigate these complexities and find your own path within the legal system. Whether that path leads you to is all up to you."

The classroom feels heavy with his words. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you yet again, and you feel as if he's not just talking about your future as a lawyer anymore. There's an intensity to this moment that you can't quite explain, and it leaves you feeling both exposed and strangely alive, every sense thrumming, including unfortunately your cunt.

Cunt he’d licked.

Fucking kill me.

When he licks his lips, you’re wrecked, how you’d focus at all today would be some sort of miracle.

The time passes quickly, and before you know it, the bell rings signifying the end of class. He is electrifying and intriguing as a teacher just as much as he was at the bar, the random dude that kissed you, that danced with you… was your first…

You gather your belongings, slowly making your way towards the exit. You feel a gentle yet insistent tap on your shoulder. You freeze, and turn around, finding yourself face-to-face with Professor Gojo, or Satoru? What would you call him in your head, and what did it matter. Your throat goes dry.

"Professor Gojo?" You say, a little taken aback, the class is filing out, leaving just the two of you in the huge lecture hall.

"Can you stay after for a moment?" He asks, and you gulp, desire shooting through you mixed with apprehension. You nod, feeling a sudden urge to run your hands through your hair or fiddle with something to steady your nerves.

“Sure.”

“Have a seat.” He says softly, going to shut the door with a click that echoes in the room, you feel like some high schooler about to get punished, but instead of worrying you the very thought thrills you far more than it should.

Stop thinking like that.

"What the fuck, Satoru?” You stand still as he comes walking back to you in long strides. You fold your arms in front of your chest, scowling up at the tall gorgeous man. “What even happened…"

"Shh." He covers your mouth with fingertip, then his thumb is tracing your bottom lip, want shoots through you hot, tummy clenching hard as he looms over you. "You're in my class now, and I need you to focus.”

“Fucking focus? On what? It’s goddamn near impossible.” You smack his hand off of you, glaring.

“I said. Have. A. Seat.” He whispers, commandingly, and for some fucking reason you listen, sitting down in his giant leather seat, as he sits up on the desk, casually crossing his stupidly long legs. “That’s better, pretty.”

“Do not even call me that.” You hiss, and he chuckles at you, rolling his eyes, shaking his head.

“Why are you mad at me when you just disappeared that night?” His thin white brows go low over his eyes, and you blink in confusion, frowning.

“Me? No, you. What six foot whatever-”

“Six-Four.”

Fuck that’s tall. “What Six-foot-four white haired dude just disappears in a crowd? Clearly you left. And if you didn’t like what we did, you could have just let me know and stopped! I-”

He’s standing in front of you now, arm on either side of you, glaring deeply into your eyes. You’re panting, he’s so fucking close… “You think I didn’t like eating your pussy?”

You’re dead silent, all the drive and determination has left you, nothing at all is there but an insane desire for it again. The memories wash over you. You manage a little nod, and he laughs at you, throwing his head back, before looking back over you, menacingly almost.

“You’re not as smart as I thought. Guess what…” He’s bent over completely, overtaking your senses. “I loved eating your little pussy. I can’t get the taste out of my goddamn mind.” You freeze, breathing in little pants, suddenly that blazer you wore to look professional feels too tight, suffocating.

“Why’d you disappear then?” You manage to choke out a whisper.

“I got a call from my friend, and I answered it for a moment when you ran into the bathroom again. I came back and looked everywhere, you were completely gone. I was going to…” He trails off, shaking his head and smirking again. “Never mind. So you thought I dipped. Aw, did it make you sad, poor little girl?” He caresses your face, you grit your teeth.

“Nope. Not at all.” You lie. He frowns, narrowing those obscenely beautiful blue eyes at you. “Just found it rude.”

“Are you sure you haven’t played with that tight cunt thinking of me?” He leans over, whispering, and you throb around goddamn nothing. You shake your heat, jaw clenched so hard it ached. He grins. “Liar.”

“Sue me.” You say with a raised brow, his grin just grows bigger.

“Smart ass little bitch.”

“Don’t call me that, asshole.”

“Don’t call your professor that.”

“Don’t look at your student like that.”

He raises a brow, eyeing your chest, where your nipples are hard against the lace of your bra. “Wear something where I can’t see those nipples perk up. Hmm, I didn’t see these, did I?” His hands brush down the side of your breasts, over your blazer, your blouse…

“And you won’t ever see them.” You shove at his chest, standing, and he grabs your wrists, tightly.

“You’d die for me too, wouldn’t you? Bet it was all you thought about as I did my lecture, me sucking on them. Poor little brat.” He yanks you against him, and you melt unwillingly.

“Nope, I sure the fuck wasn't. You act as if it was so monumental.” You roll your eyes, but you’re full of shit.

“Yeah fucking right, you’ve never cum like that, have you?” You scowl, you want to lie, but you just can’t manage it. His devious shithead grin is in full force. “I Knew it, you fell apart so easily.”

“What’s that even matter? And what do you want, Professor Dickhead.”

"You're a good student with insane test scores," he says, his voice low and serious. "But I need to make something clear. What happened between us will not interfere with your education. I won’t go any easier on you, I’ll push you just the same if not more."

“As if I’d want you to? Like I knew you’re a fucking professor. You seem like a whole idiot.”

He scowls now at you as well, you yank out of his grip, backing up until your ass is against his desk, and he’s barring you between his arms. “I didn’t know you were a fucking law student either. You don’t seem the type.” His eyes go up and down your body slowly.

“Fuck you. Professor Gojo. Respectfully.” You shove at him, feeling his hard chest under your hands, you falter.

“Fuck me, hmm? Baby girl, you can’t, you’re my student.”

“I’m sure the fuck not your ‘baby girl’. Who even eats out some random girl at a club anyway!”

He raises a brow, looking up and down your body, undressing you with his stupidly pretty gaze. “Who gets eaten out by a random guy at the club?”

“Ugh!” You shove at him again, he doesn’t budge, your eyes lock onto his and you suppress every base instinct to just kiss his glossy lips. “Fuck you.”

“You like to proposition me. How inappropriate, Miss Brat.”

“I have a name!”

“Miss Brat works better. Fits you more.”

“Professor Dickhead fits you!” He laughs at that, and shakes his head, caressing your face gently, and you freeze. He grows serious.

“I won’t push shit on you. I’m not trying to lose my job, or fuck up your law career, so you don’t really have to worry.” He bends low, a breath away from your lips now, and you tremble, eyes zooming in on them, remembering their taste. “Question is, can you focus when you’re dripping wet looking at me?”

“Oh you conceited fucking dick!” You haul off and smack him then, he grins, deviously, like he enjoyed it, a little red mark on his perfect face.

“Maybe play with your pussy before you come into class, get it all out of your system so you can focus.”

“I can’t fucking stand you! I can’t believe I even… that I…” You feel emotion catch in your throat, blinking it back rapidly, wanting to sob, as you thought you’d felt something, that you liked him.

He pouts a bit, watching you intently, tilting his head and brushing your hair back gently with his fingers. You hate how much you like it. He studies you carefully with those baby blues that you’d dreamt of, a serious look to his handsome face, a jawline you wanted to caress and punch simultaneously.

“That you what?” He whispers, and you shake your head.

“Nothing. I need to get to my next class. Please, move. I promise I won’t be pining away from you or some shit.” He clears his throat, easing back, hands in his pockets again.

“Good, that would be bad for both of us.” He mused, acting so casual, so nonchalant that it infuriated you.

“I imagine shit like that is common for you, right?”

“Eating out stupidly hot girls?” You shrug at that, refusing to acknowledge how that made you feel.. “It’s a favorite pastime of mine.”

“Yeah, that tracks.” You turn, grabbing your books, ass pressing against his hard body, and it makes you throb, thinking of that dance with him.

Something far too big and hard is against your ass, making you both tense. You bend over, feeling like torturing this asshole back just a bit, before standing back up, slowly turning and looking up at him. You smile a bit when you see his flustered look, breaking down the usual cockiness you have seen from him.

“Cat got your tongue, Professor?” You whisper, hugging the books to your chest tightly, he exhales, opening his mouth, and the bell rings again.

“Fuck.” He whispers, backing up just a moment and running his hand through his silky white hair.

“See you in class next week.” You say, and he pauses you again, making you scowl this time. “What are you playing at?”

“I didn’t disappear. I wanted your number or… something.” He mumbles, and you blink in surprise, your heart fluttering. “None of that matters now, anyway, we can’t… do anything. So.”

“Nope, we can’t.” You turn, walking, hearing him sigh.

“Whose class do you have, Miss Brat?” He asks, haughty, you glare at him over your shoulder. “Stop looking at me like that, it’s making things hard.”

“Don’t call me that, Professor Dickhead.” He snorts, you peek down at your schedule then. “It’s Contracts with Professor Nanami. Then after that, Torts with Professor Geto.”

“Fuck you’ve even got my best friends as your other teachers.”

“I really need to go. Just… forget it happened I guess?” Your heart aches as you say it, but what choice do you have? He frowns.

“That’s not happening and you know it. Just get a good vibrator and think of me, it should work. I could give you my business cards to get off to? My picture is pretty.” You flip him off, ignoring his laughter as you walk out of the room.

You struggle to breathe, leaning back against the cold wall of the hallway, wishing it would soothe your overheating skin. The man that you’d been thinking of for two months straight was your goddamn professor, not just that, he was the one that had the top internship opportunity.. You can still taste his lips on yours, taste yourself as he had kissed you…

It only makes it worse.

You walk quickly across campus until you get into Contracts, your cheeks burning from the memory of his hardness against you, and the anger from the way he acted, so fucking conceited, so immature. How the fuck was he the best lawyer for his age? You’d heard so much about him and never knew it was him…

Professor Nanami was ridiculously tall and handsome as well, dirty blonde hair and a tan suit over his buff body. You wonder just what the fuck this school is thinking, hiring all these models as professors, but he had no effect on you like he did the rest of the class. Luckily, he seemed humble, serious, more like what you would expect, but of course…

Your mind was wrapped around Professor Dickhead.

Just what would this semester be like?

And why do you ache so goddamn bad.

Forget him… forget it…

How?

You’re screwed.

Chapter 2

Also on a03 - Ch 1 https://archiveofourown.org/works/56895382/chapters/144669811

[binhourly]

Coming To Terms (+18)

Summary: What could go wrong when your love life involves bad sex, good imagination, and a best friend who seems like the answer to all your unspoken desires?

Word count: 11k

Tags: College Setting / Rom-Com / Slice of Life / Friends to Undecided

Pairing: Baseball Player!Kim Seungmin x Fem!reader

Trigger Warning:  Emotional Distress / Harassment / Stalking / Physical Intimidation (Seungmin is captain of the baseball team, his bat is practically his weapon) / Explicit Content / Men Being Pathetic / Aggressive & Threatening Behaviour / Vanilla Intercourse In The Beginning & Middle / Protective Sex / Crude Language / Character Re-imagined / Underwear Play / Verbal Aggression

Songs: i. Look At That Woman by ROLE MODEL ii. Love Is Embarrassing by Olivia Rodrigo

ALSO READ HERE

NOTE: Shoutout to the jerk who inspired one part of this scene—who wouldn’t leave me alone after he rejected me, got angry because I was unaffected by it, and alluded that if I cared about him enough, I would be heartbroken. Then he proceeded to trap me inside the girls’ bathroom. Hope campus security tasers you next time, you fucking weirdo. / excuse the ending. I was sadly a victim of school work overload and anything I wrote fell flat and I can't be bothered trying to re-work it the 100th time. so, yes it doesn't make a whole lot of sense and seems really rushed . . . live laugh love seungmin.

NO ONE was completely perfect—hell, if there was one thing you were sure about, it was that your own crappy life meant you also counted toward that same damn list too.

It wasn't about being uncritical, either. You had a lot to be angry at, starting with your new project partner, Felix, who insists he's clinically diagnosed with a gaming addiction, so it's crucial he takes 'Call of Duty' breaks in between studying.

It just came down to being hopeful, and having a lot of it.

For instance, if someone had waved a bunch of red flags in your direction, you'd notice it, maybe indulge in a small wiggle of your fingers back, because for some stupid reason, you have a bad habit of thinking their flaws, (controlling, inability to take accountability, lack of empathy) would magically iron themselves out over time. Or, your personal favourite—they'd burn the cloth enough it changes the alarming colour.

Spoiler alert: they never do. And now you're stuck with your mistake literally punching you in the gut—but more literal than metaphorical.

“Making you feel so good,” your boyfriend slurs into your shoulder, his awkward thrusting between your legs making the sentence appear as if he's hiccuping. “Changing—argh—your life.”

Dongmin was that small wish you sigh out at the end of a grace, something you know you're not supposed to say but get overwhelmed with the selfish need to want more. When he showed up, it was almost like the universe had heard you and decided, without any strings attached, “You know what? Sure, here's your dream guy.”

And god, was he absolutely perfect—and clearly your karmic invoice.

The first few weeks, he practically won your heart over by carefully remembering tiny details about your interests and insisted on carrying you on his back to ease the digging pain in your shin after your first date. (Looking back now, you can admittedly say you brought down your impenetrable wall too quickly, because the only way he changed the trajectory of your life was finding out he had the bedroom finesse of a teenage boy who giggled at genital diagrams in health class.)

Then the lights flick off, and he transforms into something clumsy but not inexperienced... just one-sided.

You've tried everything to loosen him up—lingerie, role-play, and toys—but at this point, sex to Dongmin was sticking it in, swirling it around a few times trying to chase his own high, and you're stuck watching a firework fizzle out just as the show's supposed to start. You know, a little “oh” that quickly becomes a “wait, that's it?”

He lifts himself up off you, a sheen of sweat clearly building down his chest after what has been barely two minutes. It gives you a better view of Dongmin, though, and you think to yourself you could work with this. Watching him rest his hands firmly on your raised knees and press them further apart to spear deeply into you would definitely build up that sweet pressure.

And sure enough, whines sob out of you so desperately, like a starved woman thankful for a grain of salt. “Baby, f—feels so good.” Your face flops to the side, mouth agape and drying the drool that slides down your chin. "Right there—ah uh!—keep it like that," you instruct him, hoping for what could possibly be your first orgasm.

This was it, his redemption arc; all it needed now was a friendly push. So, your fingers tickle past your bouncing breasts, landing at the base of your clit where you planned to rub circles while he fucked you into the mattress.

“Don't do that,” Dongmin objects through a grunt, swatting your hands away despite your quiet gasp of disappointment, entrapping them both above your head. He leans forward, stopping his thrusts. “I can make you cum with just my cock.”

Sadly, that hasn't happened yet, and it was hard to be hopeful when you knew exactly how it was going to end. He resumes, and just like you expected, Dongmin repositions himself, and the tight lull around your pelvis disappears, literally fucking retreats back into a little cobwebbed corner.

With him snuggled back into your shoulders, it allows you to catch sight of the ceiling, dissociating into several different thoughts. One that whispered loud asked if this was your punishment. Six months he made you wait. Six months of feeling like a princess before he finally gave in, and by then, you were so locked in emotionally that there was no way out. You liked him—loved him, even.

Damn.

“So close! Gonna... uh ah—cum." Dongmin grips your hips hard enough it leaves an unwanted ache, and before you could mouth out profanities for getting carried away, a hot feeling stews inside you along with a huff of air that sounds like he's struggling to breathe.

He came, how shocking.

He doesn't collapse next to you, just opts to awkwardly move over at the edge of the bed before treading to the rubbish bin in the corner, ripping the condom off his softening penis. It leaves you naked, swaddled in sheets, just quietly taking in that his day had now just become more bearable, while you'll spend the next week coming up with excuses to keep him away from any spacious surface to fuck against.

Dongmin climbs back by your side, his presence now not so pressuring. “You were so good, baby.” He trails his hands up your arm, making a shiver slither down your bare spine. “How was it? Was it any good?”he adds, his voice soft and hopeful.

For a brief moment, you consider telling him the truth—that he could touch up on a few areas to get better in bed. But even thinking about it made you shrink, like you were holding a fuse you lit yourself, waiting for the wick to burn the last inch before selfishly handing it over to Dongmin.

But, like always, at the last second when your people pleasing tendencies kick in, you throw all your weight to soften the explosion.

“It was perfect,” you whisper, the lie slipping out smoothly. His hands squeeze your thigh in response, a splitting grin spreading across his face.

“Really?” His eyes light up, pressing kisses into your cheek.

If life has taught you anything, it's that perfection is a myth. You knew that before Dongmin, and you sure as hell know it now. Sure, Dongmin was bad in bed, but who’s to say there wasn’t something about you that bothered him just as much? Maybe he loved you enough to let it slide. Maybe you were willing to do the same. And maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t about love at all, but about not knowing if you’d ever find something better.

“Yeah! You were amazing,” you lie again, and this time, it comes a little easier.

Spoiler alert, your mind whispers.

SEUNGMIN misses the next pitch, the ball ricocheting off the chain-link fence surrounding the batting cage with a hollow clang. "Wait—hold on." He turns toward you sitting cross-legged outside, eyes narrowing in focus at something other than his baseball training. "I'm sorry, did I just hear you complain about your boyfriend's... swing?"

You couldn't even remember when you let that secret slip.

One second, you were watching Seungmin wind up his bat over his shoulder for another hit, the end-of-the-day heat tinting his white ace uniform a baked yellow, and the next, words were tumbling out like you were in some kind of truth-telling trance. Shit.

Trying to act as nonchalant as possible, you shrug your shoulders. "I'm being serious."

Seungmin rests the length of his bat across his shoulders, arms slung causally over each end, trying his best to look moderately stern—or at least like he's mulling it over and coming up with helpful solutions. "What makes you think I'm not?" he says, raising his eyebrows in mock confusion.

But you weren't fooled for a second. You'd known the athlete for a total of three years, which gave you enough time to spot the signs—the barely-there twitch at the corner of his mouth, the bite down on his bottom lip.

"Relax..." Seungmin drags out his words, adding to his infamous bratty attitude with a classic eye roll that basically says you really should know better. "I'm not that evil to make fun of you for something that's—y'know... beyond your control. If I'm going to shit on someone, it'd be him for underperforming."

"But I don't think I want you throwing jabs at him," you start by saying, holding off from speaking further until Seungmin repositions himself away from you on the plate, giving you the perfect sight of his messy brown tuffs sticking out from under his cap rather than his judgy eyes, as he takes another practice swing. "It's wrong when he's been nothing but sweet to me."

Then came the ball shooting out the machine, a sharp clang, and instead of his usual clean hit, the ball bounces off his bat at a crooked angle, spiralling down into what could've been foul territory if this was a real game.

Seungmin spins back towards you, a clear sign of disbelief in his eyes at his second out ball. "See? This is what happens when you say stupid shit," he mutters, adjusting his cap backwards to give you the full extent of his annoyance. "It's like you're sucking all my talent away, one word at a time." He raises his bat, taking a few loose swings in the air as if to shake off your bad luck.

“Am I not allowed to defend my boyfriend?" you reply, an ache of defensiveness prickling your chest.

Seungmin lets out a low laugh, the kind that’s meant to sweetly correct your faults without fully crossing the line into being a downright douche—and maybe the way his teeth peek halfway underneath his pink lips could make you forget it was supposed to hurt. Or that it only came after you announced Dongmin was, in fact, your boyfriend.

“You can," he says, his tone a sharp lash despite its simplicity. Now that you think of it, Seungmin does seem more affected by your troubles than you expected. "But maybe save it for when he's worth defending. Like, when you can move past telling people he makes you happy just because he makes you laugh."

What the hell did Seungmin know about relationships? If this were any other Friday night—where the summer heat feels thicker from the countless bodies pressed up against each other and the cold beer does nothing but flush everyone's faces, the only contribution to a committed relationship Seungmin could get behind was being with a girl long enough until the song blaring out from the speaker ended. And then? Onto the next, all blurring together, sifting through the entire alphabet as the night dragged on.

Was she a Bora? Maybe a Susan? Not that it mattered. It always played out the same—Seungmin weaving through the crowd, a little disheveled, a little fucked-out, his familiar scent of citrus clinging to his skin like an afterthought. And then your heart tucks, knots, flips, only for you to turn around and realise—no, he’s not looking at you. Just another random girl brushing past drowning in his cologne.

So yeah, maybe Seungmin had a point. But what weight did his opinion really hold when it’s coming from someone who valued blowjobs over real, tangible connections. 

You press your hands behind you, leaning back slightly with a pouty lip, confused about what you were really frustrated about. "Not everything has to meet your weird, unrealistic expectations with your perfect checklist."

Seungmin scoffs, “No, but it’s the one thing you’re spiralling over right now.”

You sit up abruptly, mouth open, ready to argue—because obviously, he’s wrong—but nothing comes out. Because, unfortunately, he isn’t.

Seungmin smirks, like he was waiting for you to get caught in your own logic. “Oh? No defence? That’s new.”

You scowl, picking your legs up before hugging your knees to your chest. “I just—” You huff, looking away. “You don’t know everything, okay?”

“I don’t need to know everything. I know you.” He points the bat at you like it’s an extendable pointer in some lecture you definitely didn’t sign up for. “And I never said anything about being perfect. But he’s not exactly giving you something that sticks. Y’know, the stuff you can’t let go of.”

Your brows pinch together. “That makes no sense. People let go of bad things all the time.”

Seungmin snorts. “Right. But people still go back to their exes just to fight, or hate-fuck each other into oblivion. Not because it’s good for them—because it’s unforgettable. It gets under your skin and stays there.”

You blink, caught off guard by the weight of his words. He steps back onto the plate, kicking his cleats into the ground, clearing out the backed-up dirt trapped inside the rubber.

“Dongmin has it all backwards,” he continues, more thoughtful now. “He gave you perfect first. No mess, no complications.’” He tilts his head. “And you think that’s a good thing?”

Your lips press together. “It is a good thing,” you insist, but even you hear how defensive it sounds.

Seungmin scoffs, unamused. “No, it’s suffocating.” He flicks his gaze back to you. “Or in your case, it’s got you sitting here, trying to convince yourself you’re the problem. Like you should be grateful to be with him.”

Your stomach twists—because, again, damn it, he’s not wrong.

"You sound pretty sure about that," you say, almost smiling but finding yourself hesitating. "Where's the perfectly formatted, alphabetical citation to all these theories, huh?"

Without missing a beat, Seungmin turns to you, his eyes—typically the blackest jade—now transforming into the softest chestnut under the sun, properly toasted to taste so sweet and earthy. "I am the citation. A living, breathing, walking HTTPS link."

You don't disagree; it's not like you can with his never-ending scroll of experiences. Of course, he knew more than you—the baseball player practically had every single girl on campus twirling their hair, waiting for the chance he might pick them again (the same crowd you were once among, quietly shoved in a corner—before you met Dongmin)

While Seungmin prepares for the next hit, you take a minute to fully come to terms with what's been said. Dongmin did give you everything, and you were more than grateful for that, but did he do anything that really snagged at your mind constantly? Sure, he occasionally bought you things or always let you eat the last bit of every delicious sweet because he was kind, thoughtful, and never gave you a reason to doubt him—but that was just it.

Sometimes, there'd be moments where you'd get so caught up in studying you'd forget to call or text him for days at a time, and it didn't bother you. When a girl was clearly flirting with him at the library—right there, barely a shoulder away from you—it didn't make you feel a thing—not jealousy, not irritation, not even the faintest twinge that the world could shift off its axis if he did ratify her advances.

All you could explain is the way the morsel memories managed to only piece together when you remember Seungmin happened to be there at that time, slithering right down into the seat beside her in his beige trousers and white dress shirt (his knight in shining armour away from his usual baseball uniform), hair clipped short and skimming the top of his forehead, stealing her attention away from Dongmin. And it worked, aggravatingly enough.

The girl completely forgot about your boyfriend. And you... well, you couldn't remember much else because you were too prickly from anger to realise the crack of a notebook slamming shut, echoing throughout the library, was from your own. Heads all turned. Yours stayed on the way her fingers had drummed on the empty space of his forearm where he rolled up a fourth of his sleeve, needing nothing but to leave before you flat out collapsed.

Later that night, Dongmin kissed your lips swollen, breathlessly mouthing how much he loved seeing you jealous over him. And if he believed it, you let yourself believe it too, because of course that's why you were so sensitive.

You move closer to the fence, letting your fingers curl around the wires. "Okay, what's your controversial hot take on this? What would you want me to do?"

Quickly, Seungmin replies—"You dump him. Obviously."

You reel back. "Have you not been listening to me this past hour?"

"I have. That's me taking everything in as your very supportive friend and giving you the most logical advice," he says with a deadpan expression.

Crossing your arms, you stare at the side of him, letting it trail down to his uniform tucked into his white trousers. "I don't like that one."

Seungmin adjusts his grip on the bat, keeping his eyes trained on the ball machine, waiting for the next surprise. "Okay... because you're basically teetering on the edge of sexual insanity, you can have my next thought free of charge."

You arch an eyebrow, hating the way he pauses for dramatic effect.

Seungmin bends his knees further apart, his voice dropping just enough you can feel it pulsating in-between your legs.

"Next time, think of me during sex."

You choke on absolutely nothing.

What the actual fuck? You weren't too sure you heard him correctly, and it explained through the way you racked your eyes to the side inconspicuously to see if anyone else had overheard and displayed an equally horrified look to his statement, just a smidge of utter disbelief. But you were the only one short-winded, a little hypnotised.

"That's... That's really gross—and seriously, just—weird, and wrong... you can't be—"

If he wasn't so focused, Seungmin would've done his infamous shrugs, completely unbothered as usual. "Just saying, I've got a 99% success rate of giving people what they want."

You barely have room to retaliate before the machine fires, the sound of his bat whooshing into your ear and a crack echoing across the field instantly playing out. Unlike the last two, the ball soars higher—farther—and as you follow the little white comet in the air, it hits the end trails of the field which felt weirdly coincidental to Seungmin's statement, because if this was like any other game where the fence wasn't placed around the playing ground, with an arena filled with students, the ball would have been called out as a—

“Home run,” someone mutters from another section, greatly impressed at his swing.

THE NEXT time you have sex with Dongmin is right after your last class on a late afternoon.

It wasn't spontaneous nor romantic, but you figure that being with someone for as long as you have it's already given proof that he loves you, which cancels out the need for heart-shaped petals on the bed and replaces grand gestures with stale, pre-planned texts.

Dongmin: Need you right now, baby

Dongmin: Think you can make it in 10?

Your eyes flick quickly between the two messages, your nose scrunching the lines of your face, which suggested your clear irritation at his wish. But as natural as it came, so did that same nauseating feeling that you were being too judgmental—a little too mean when he hadn't done anything even mildly wrong for you to turn him down.

You: If I run I could probably get there in 6

You: But I won't do it without a little please ;)

Shoving your phone into your back pocket without checking his response, you start walking to the student dormitories, appreciating that, even though the bigger problem is only minutes ahead, it still leads you under the campus's brick arch into the sprawling oval field where students lounge on the grass during their breaks. It gives you a moment of false peace—that maybe, just maybe, you're like everyone else, heading out to do anything but have mediocre sex.

When you slip inside his room, it only takes a quick peck on the lips to kick-start his libido. You'd barely leaned back before he nudged closer, his hands racing to your face before smothering you in a deeper, hungrier kiss.

It completely took you by surprise how feverish he was being. It was impossible to think straight when his tongue was basically poking every corner of your mouth, while his hands were sneaking under your shirt, ignoring the sweat build-up on your back from your little walk.

Dongmin had just sat through a three-hour lecture about marketing strategies—did product placements make him this horny?

You giggle into his mouth at the ridiculous thought, and it's like someone shoved a drain stopper into Dongmin's rushing sink of hormones.

He pulls back, frowning slightly, eyes wandering in a way that showed he was clearly offended that you weren't taking his sexually aroused state seriously enough. "What's funny?"

Your face heats. "Nothing! I'm just—" you hesitate, bringing his face closer, peppering the trace of his lips with quick kisses to coax him out of thinking too deeply. "I'm just being silly."

It works in your favour because Dongmin gets caught up in the web of your so-called addicting taste, his arousal taking over without a second thought. His hips fall into this automatic rhythm, rutting into the open space between your legs like it's instinctive—like he doesn't even realise he's doing it.

You sigh into his mouth, deciding to enjoy the little bits and pieces of pleasure you can grab before things inevitably go south. If you were going to make this work, foreplay would have to be your life line. Because the biggest misconception about sex is that it's rarely as groundbreaking as foreplay. What most girls really want is the build-up. The kissing, the grinding, the maddening tease of never quite getting there.

It's the burn without the release.

"But I want to know," he insists with an incredulous look, head angling away, leaving a huff of an aggravated moan in the air from you.

You bite your lip, stalling, before blurting, "I'm just trying to figure out what got you so..." Your words trail off as your hands flap in the useless space between the two of you, miming something you can't quite put into words. "Like... this."

Dongmin lets go of you, the feeling from earlier while briskly walking around campus—free—climbing back into your chest. Without a word, he moves to the bed, slumping down with his legs parted just enough to make the tent in his pants... obvious, arms bracing behind him on the mattress.

"It's Seungmin," he says finally, voice low and dejected, like the mental image of the baseball player pained him.

You blink. Seungmin? Your Seungmin?

The statement hits you like a curveball to the face, the hard-stitched leather completely derailing whatever thoughts were left swirling around in your pretty but concerned brain. The confession was so unprompted that it left the words tumbling out of your mouth without proper discretion.

"Seungmin made you hot and bothered?"

"What? No!" he blurts, eyes widening in complete horror. "That's not—how did you even come to that conclusion?"

"I don't know!" you rush in, pointing an accusatory finger towards Dongmin. "We were just swapping spit, and I asked you a question—I mean, you can't really get the wrong idea when you build it up like that."

You hadn't intended to be funny, but the response made the hard marks in Dongmin's features soften enough before he lets out an involuntary exhale that borders on an amused laugh.

Still, something lingered. The sight of Dongmin, typically so composed, with an endless amount of patience in his tool belt, sitting there so visibly nerved and upset felt... different. The open window that haloed a buttery tint above his head couldn't pin back that same warmth.

You pad across the room, steps deliberately slow, allowing yourself to stop between his parted thighs. This was a new experience. Within the time frame of your relationship—which would be exactly a year, a month from now—you'd never really had to deal with this. And that's not to say you were unwilling to help swat away the eventual clouds raining above his head, it was just that after spending so many perfect days, having something other than that unsettled you, like seeing a flower wilt at its peak in the middle of spring.

And maybe that's why you didn't ask him what was wrong. You weren't sure how. Instead, staring down at him, you nudge your knee into his open ones. Once. Then again. A little harder each time, until his lips twitch slightly, smearing back that familiar smile.

"You're annoying." Dongmin clasps his hands around the back of your knees, murmuring softly, and it's supposed to reach deep—the feeling of his touch—but it barely tingles.

"And you're a little grumpy," you shoot back, nudging him again for good measure, and before you can process it, Dongmin uses the leverage of having his hands at your weak point to his advantage, and in one fluid motion, he lifts you up slightly despite being in a sitting position and pulls you down onto the mattress with him, a familiar weight pressing above you.

This would've been the perfect moment to capture inside a cute mason jar and hold up as a reminder each time you got that nagging poke in your gut that doubted if you had any real connection with your boyfriend. But despite the compromising position, the only thing disrupting your thoughts was how you could bring the conversation back to Seungmin without indirectly implying anything.

"What does Seungmin have that I don't?" you say playfully, intending for his reply to be as predictable as the baseball player not having a set of perky tits—the typical train of thought for boys in their early twenties.

"He has you."

There's a beat of silence. "What?"

To keep the mood moderately light-hearted, Dongmin blows hot air onto your face, the rush gently moving a strand of hair away from your eyes. "I bumped into him earlier today," he answers finally, voice dazed, keeping his stare trained on the roundness of your lips as if they're the most fascinating thing in the room. "It was weird because he usually avoids me, but he wanted to talk to me about something."

You nod your head in a vague attempt to look attentive, but your mind escapes this current reality and transports itself back two days ago at the baseball field, where Seungmin looked aggravated by the combination of the sun and the coach's reliance on his skills, and you happened to carve the first smile into his lips after telling him how Dongmin has failed to make you cum.

It wasn't like Seungmin would've told Dongmin. He was many concerning things, but the most valuable quality he had was the tendency to lock your most humiliating confessions behind an impenetrable vault. But that didn't mean his unprompted hangout with your boyfriend was sheer coincidence. It was a built idea, one that probably came to him in the morning and continued to amuse him for hours before he spoke to Dongmin. You can picture it so clearly—every little comment Seungmin would've made laced with his trademark brand of backhanded politeness, each one just toeing the line between friendly banter and deliberate belittling—enough for him to fully relieve himself of his quiet hatred for your boyfriend.

"There's a fundraiser his team needed help promoting to get sponsors, and apparently I have just the right qualifications for it," Dongmin explains, the request shockingly normal.

"And that should explain this?" You blink up at him, his weight growing more suffocating the longer it's pressed into you.

Dongmin chuckles lightly, his fingers lazily coiling a strand of your hair as he speaks. "Yeah—well... the conversation somehow, kinda drifted... towards you."

There it was. The sudden rush of tingles sweeping through your body, sitting uncomfortably hot on your cheeks at being mentioned when you weren't present, wondering what Seungmin had possibly said. And why you grew more lightheaded at the sound of each syllable in Seungmin's name being spoken in your thoughts. No, it's definitely not from that.

"How come you never told me you spent last Christmas holidays with his family?" Dongmin's voice cuts through. From the way it squeezes past his lips, it tells you more than enough that the question was only a placeholder for something else he was worried about.

You fidget slightly under his gaze, your fingers playing with the silver pendant dangling from his necklace. "Because... I didn't think it was important. We weren't together then, and Seungmin and I were already good friends. It wasn't unusual for us to do things like that with our families."

The furrow of your brow appears at seeing the bare distaste on his face at hearing about your friendship with the baseball player. "Hey... if I could go back in time, I totally would've said no. Like, 'Sorry, I can't come. Why? Well, it's because the gravitational pull of my future boyfriend's aura is too strong and he wouldn't want me there.'"

Dongmin was never possessive. He was more the type to find pleasure in flaunting you rather than keeping you hidden, so hearing the comical inflection around the scenario made him feel sheepish enough to drop down and smush his face into your neck.

"That's not what I meant," he mumbles, his lips brushing against your skin. It takes a moment for him to string together what really made him upset—or rather horny. "Just with the way he talks about you... it's different. Like he's known you forever, and will forever know you better than I do." Dongmin huffs, the pout in his voice strong. "I can't compete with that. All the stuff we do now—getting coffee together, staying up late to help you study—it doesn't feel like it's enough in comparison. I know it sounds stupid, but I'm supposed to be your boyfriend, but wherever Seungmin is, I'm... falling short somehow."

That's why he was bothered. The stories made Dongmin jealous, which led him to do the only thing that could reassure him that Seungmin couldn't follow—sex.

"Why would you think that?" you ask, voice gentle but angry. "That's far from the truth, or—or the reality, even." Holding onto his head, you pull Dongmin up enough to look at you. "Have I known Seungmin a lot longer? Sure. But I've never thought of him that way. If anything, me choosing you should already tell you who I wanted."

Dongmin smiles faintly, the soft, content look on his face a dizzying comparison to his sharp canines. He believes you like he always does. But that's the problem, isn't it? With everything you've said behind his back, the lie should be apparent. Because within your boyfriend's insecurities, there's a truth to it—not consciously at least, just in the way there's always been a stupid crack that opens wider every time Seungmin is mentioned, and you've done nothing but ignore the water at your feet.

Yet he stares at you with so much unguarded affection, it twists your stomach into a knot that will never unravel.

"I love you," he says then.

Overwhelmed by the sudden confession, you pull him in, pressing your mouth to his in a kiss so desperate it puts his previous hormones to shame.

It's not like you weren't expecting this—how could you not? You'd spent the last few months rehearsing those same three words in your head, tonguing around each letter to get rid of the uncomfortable taste it came with. And maybe he was ready for that, but you weren't. So, this was the best you could do for now without giving him something flimsy, and like so many other times, you squeeze your eyes tight, trying to find that trapdoor in your mind and disappear down it, to a wonderful place where all the memories of Dongmin should fill in.

Seungmin. Your thoughts whisper.

The next few minutes, there's a hurried struggle to remove all of your clothes, and by the time your underwear rolls up in a ball beside his bed, Dongmin is already inside you, huffing pleasurable moans into your gaped mouth each time he feels you clamp around his cock.

"God! Keep doing that," he urges you.

You had no control over why you kept tensing around him—whether it's your body's intrinsic search for something more. And you don't figure it out until your mind slips again before you can stop it, and, like a metal detector, the thought of Seungmin's name is the sand-crusted jewellery, and you clamp down once more.

No, it's not about Seungmin. You're sure of it. Absolutely, hundred fucking percent.

Dongmin presses closer, his pace less magnifying and more like he couldn't commit to finishing a thrust. "You're so perfect," he whispers into your shoulder, but the words barely ignite anything.

Perfect.

That word was the bane of your existence. All you did your whole life was believe that every relationship dripped down to one single thing—perfection. But maybe Seungmin was right. Perfect didn't leave room to grow. Perfect didn't let you argue over the dumb things, laugh too loudly, or cry over the important ones. Perfect didn't let you mess up and make it better. Perfect was a plain room, and Dongmin had locked you inside it, too afraid to decorate.

Imperfection meant freedom, and you felt it in every harsh word Seungmin ever threw your way, in every argument that left you winded, in every moment you ached for him to pull you back. That heart-wrenching need to keep him close, to hear the rawness in his voice when he asked for your forgiveness.

Seungmin.

You shut your eyes, wrestling back your brain tooth and nail to focus on the moment—on Dongmin rutting into your core with a determination to leave a clear indent of his cock inside you, on his hands on your hips, his soft grunts—

Seungmin.

Again, his name skids into your head like a car caught spinning in the rain. But it's too late to banish the thought, because your mind has already conjured up the image of Seungmin at the batting cage—cap backwards, sleeves rolled up, arms flexing each time he swings his bat, with the lethal combination of his slit eyebrow and that cocky little smirk lingering after every comment.

You whine out loud, your body betraying you as it holds onto the memory of what Seungmin said, but to make it seem like you're putting in the extra effort to not commit mental infidelity, the "Next time, think of me during sex" line sounds a lot like an impression of Dobby the elf.

And, dear God, that doesn't even work,

"Oh—oh, fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck!" you gasp out, your voice higher in pitch than you'd like. The familiar feeling of a tight pressure builds low in your belly, but it doesn't ebb away like it normally does, and your whole body continues to roll in heat, before your back arches sharply, and the sudden crash of pleasure is unexpected but so deliciously good.

Dongmin finishes soon after, and whilst you both sit in complete silence on the mattress, bathing in your post-orgasm sweat, you shortly come to terms with two new predicaments in your life.

One, being that you actually came thinking about Kim Seungmin.

Two, being that you actually fucking liked it.

THE SUN was barely in the sky when Seungmin—who seemed to have been taught to express all of his frustration outwards—ordered the entire baseball team to run a hundred miserable laps around the campus field to make whatever was floating around his mind less pressing. They all fell behind one another but in disorientating lines, the soles of their cleats cutting into the damp morning grass.

On a normal day, Felix would've been out there too (doing his usual half-assed attempts at the warmups). Instead, he was currently lounging inside the dugout, relaxing his legs but firing his thumbs as they rapidly tapped on his phone screen.

No one—absolutely no one—was getting any sympathy out of Felix today.

"Eat a dick! Actually, eat two motherfucking girthy ass dicks and choke on it!" Felix curses with the volume of a grandparent on a phone call—just loud enough to reach beyond the glow of his fluorescent screen. In the blonde boy's defence, playing Call Of Duty was just as exhausting when you get teamed up with shitty shooters.

Seungmin, who had been monitoring the boys near the dugout, turns back to stare past his shoulder, arms still crossed in front of him with an intense scowl, as if to silently explain to Felix that whatever had pissed on his mood originally, he had managed to lift his leg and make it worse. "Remind me again why you can't practise today?"

"I actually woke up with a deadly cough," Felix responds, voice thick with offence and a badly constructed lie. "If you don't believe me, you can call up coach during his meeting and he'll tell you how it sounded pretty contagious. Enough to keep me benched until next week."

A muscle ticked in Seungmin's jaw. "Then why are you sitting here? Go be sick in your own bed."

"Can't," Felix says, a needle deep in his voice, as if the explanation to whatever he was doing should've already been threaded together by now. "If I go back now, I won't be able to use 'practice' as an excuse to get out of finishing the group assignment I've got with (Y/N). If I'm here? I'm sick but committed."

Even from where the blonde boy was sitting, he still caught onto the way Seungmin's mood turned into something closer to irritation, the kind that felt a little too personal. Now, Felix had seen Seungmin mad plenty of times (he had that one incident to refer to—when their actual pitcher, Jisung, threw out his arm right before a match and Felix had been shoved onto the mound as the last-minute replacement. And, well, as everyone could've guessed from someone with only shortstop experience, every ball he fired went sailing high and dangerously close to the batters' faces. After about the third near-decapitation, the umpire didn't buy the "bad aim" excuse anymore and disqualified their team for allegedly trying to take out the competition), but this was different, like he had forgotten Felix was naturally carefree because it seemed to involve a certain someone.

Oh. Now that's interesting.

"Did you ever pause and think she's basically running herself into the ground because you can't bother to lift a finger?" Seungmin presses further, his typical mask of pretending everything you did hadn't affected him one way or another slipping.

"Woah, I figured this reaction would've come out of Dongmin sooner or later." Felix grins, knowing better than to speak the devil's name within the circumference of Seungmin. Why? Well, nobody knew. Dongmin had been what most people called plain, from the way he looked down to his major. But there was a reason why the ace player always tightened his fist, ready to swing first at the mention of that name. And maybe Felix had his own suspicions.

Stepping back into the open field, Seungmin speaks quietly, but a dangerous sort that gives his words a bite. "Him? That asswipe is just another growing problem for her to deal with on top of everything else."

With a dismissive eye roll, Felix starts another round, the very obnoxious sounds of murder coming out of his phone not as loud as the barking orders Seungmin dishes out.

Whatever. The blonde boy was a nutrition science major, not a goddamn psychologist to pinpoint his issues. Actually, he did know, and thought that sleeping with every moving organism on campus because you can't have the one person you wanted was beyond stupid, but Felix had no intention of caring.

Suddenly, the shrilling vibration of a phone is felt underneath his thigh. "Someone's phone's ringing!" Felix announces, shifting slightly because, somehow, the rectangular object had ended up in the most uncomfortable spot, all while simultaneously concentrating on his game.

"Who is it?" Seungmin yells out, squinting his eyes at Felix.

"How would I know? I'm kinda in the middle of beating my highest kill score here," the blonde boy fires back, his tone making it sound like he's the one being inconvenienced.

There's a mere second of peace before the phone buzzes again, shooting tingles down Felix's leg.

"They're still calling, and it's vibrating against my ass," he grumbles. "Dude, if I move, it might buzz right into my rectum."

Shifting in the opposite direction to get the phone to slide out from underneath him, he manages to dislodge it just enough to catch the end pieces of the caller ID.

"Wait, hang on. The vibrations are spaced out. I think they're texting."

Exasperated, Seungmin responds, "Felix, I swear—"

"Oh, shit." From the awkward angle he twisted himself into, where he managed to support himself on the bench with only one butt-cheek, Felix finally reads out the mysterious caller, his interest piquing now that he knew whose phone was suffocating under him this whole time. "It's from (Y/N). Actually, scratch that—it's from (Y/N) with a red heart emoji."

That finally gets Seungmin's attention, immediately stopping his coaching. "What does she want?"

Something tells Felix he's about to interfere in the same business he pledged never to care about. But who could blame him for eavesdropping, or wanting small context clues? Felix swipes up and exits out of his screen, picking up the coverless phone.

Clearing his throat, he reads aloud: "Please, I need your help." Full stop. "Dongmin won't leave me alone." Full stop. "I'm in building 56 toilets. Meet me there and I'll explain everything." Full stop, end of text."

Felix hadn't noticed when Seungmin barged back into the dugout, eyes wide and laser-focused. He only realised the ace player was there when bags and equipment started getting thrown around in a frenzy.

Standing up with an alarmed look, Felix spoke with a quiver in his voice. "Whoa, whoa, what're you doing?"

Seungmin grabbed a baseball bat nestled inside one of the team's bags, and the blonde boy quickly jumped to his own conclusion. "Oh my god—wait, wait, wait! Is that for me?"

He swallowed and raised his hands defensively, finding Seungmin's hurried breaths through his nose far scarier than any horror movie Felix had ever watched—which, for reference, wasn't a lot.

“Look, I know what I said before about procrastinating and just being an all-around idiot, but I did start the project! I swear I'm halfway done, actually! And I don't have a problem with (Y/N). I think she's a really sweet girl—very studious—"

Seungmin levelled the bat to Felix's face, his withering glare the only restraint he had left. It conveyed all the anger he held for the blonde boy, wordlessly warning him that if he ever disrespected you again, Seungmin wouldn't take it lightly.

"That's great, Felix. Wanna test how far your responsibilities can go?"

Felix watched as Seungmin roped the coach's whistle off his neck before chucking it at Felix's chest, leaving him to instinctively put his hand out to catch it.

"Take over. Keep the team running laps until I'm back, or have them do drills."

"Wait, what? You're not serious?"

Perplexed by the new shiny toy in his hand, Felix's panicky eyes tread straight, following to where Seungmin jogs away, his hand fisting in the middle of the bat shaft. "Dead serious," Seungmin calls back, not even sparing a glance. "Don't let anyone stop."

The sun settled high into the sky, a summer morning more believable now with the widespread of uninterrupted blues. Jeongin, the team's known head case player, skids to a stop mid-lap, his chest heaving as he braces his hands on his knees, black hair glued down by his over-pouring sweat. "What's happening? Are we stopping?"

This morning, Felix happily skipped to practice with a fake cough and the dreams of playing electronic games until the afternoon. But now, the weight of his newfound authority felt a lot heavier than the stupid little whistle in his hand. "Maybe... no... I guess—look, I don't know how this works."

The baseball team surrounds Felix in seconds, centring him like a yolk inside an egg, and maybe that metaphor hit too close to base, because all their eyes glazed over with pure intent to pass on all their anger from Seungmin's morning boot camp onto Felix.

     Great.

SEUNGMIN COULDN'T stop feeling angry. Even with the very concerning text messages you'd sent, his skin tingled with so much annoyance as he rehearsed exactly how to bring up the fact that you'd been ignoring him for a week.

What made it worse was that the ace player was just the right type of insufferable—someone careless and casual with people's emotions because, well, they weren't his to deal with. He never chased after answers—God, nothing was more pathetic than running around trying to piece together an explanation. He'd much rather wait until they cracked first, coming to him with whatever drama they had bottled up.

But then he thought back to that day in the small theatre room no one used anymore. You'd been sitting in one of those carpeted red chairs out of a row of twenty, minding your business, before looking up, spotting him, and abruptly shoving your lunch back into your bag like his presence ruined your appetite. Then, just like that, you were gone, leaving without so much as a single word—except maybe for that hiss of pain after you missed a step and fell to the floor, giving yourself rug burns.

Now, the irony was that the same guy who swore he'd never run after someone, was practically chasing after you, breaking every one of his rules, because waiting wasn't an option.

When Seungmin reaches Building 56, he barely spares the elevator a glance—it would take too long. Instead, he flings open the emergency exit door and takes the stairs, skipping two steps at a time.

Coming up the last staircase, the noise of someone crying hits him first. Who it belonged to was hard to figure out, as a huge crowd of students flooded the main corridor, their curiosity clearly outweighing their need for personal space. The hallway was so packed that some had to squeeze past the emergency exit door, spilling into the stairwell just to get enough room to watch whatever was going on.

"Fuck... Seungmin's behind me."

The whisper was barely audible, only meant for that person's friend to hear. But like dominos, heads started turning, shoulders stiffening, and within seconds the crowd perfectly split down the middle. It might've been the bat clenched in his hand that scared them enough to move, but something told the baseball player they were shoving him out, knowing well enough he had something to do with whatever was on the other-side.

When Seungmin broke past the last person, the centre purposefully emptied out in front of him. All he saw was a sobbing Dongmin, hunched over on the floor like he'd taken a severe beating to his stomach. "I can't leave, not until you talk to me!" Dongmin yells out, inching his head upwards, noticing the low-hanging snot dribbling past his reddening lips.

This was so humiliating. Seungmin had to resist the urge to just turn around and leave Dongmin there to choke on his own spit. But he obviously couldn't—not when you were basically stuck inside the bathroom and Dongmin couldn't stop yelling at the door.

He immediately heads over, a glowered look on his face. "What did you do to her?" Seungmin speaks in an accusatory tone.

"To her?" Dongmin croaked out, the crack in his throat making it clear he couldn't believe Seungmin was so quick to point the finger at him even when he looked miserable. "What about what she did to me? She ruined me."

Seungmin shook his head in disbelief, his grip tightening on the bat as Dongmin lurched forward, finding his balance on his folded knees like a desperate man pleading his case. "All we did was have sex—really, really great sex—and then she broke up with me an hour later. Over text."

Dongmin motions to the bathroom door, his expression twisting wildly as if he were handing the ace player the key to some grander mystery. But Seungmin didn't care whether or not he was telling the truth. Not even a little.

"She's the fucking problem!" Dongmin spat, his voice cracking with frustration.

"Careful with the fucking swearing," Seungmin shot back, giving him a warning look—a little head tilt paired with a raised brow. "Now, I don't know what you thought was going to happen, but you're obviously not in the right headspace to fix this—not like this, and definitely not with half the school watching."

"If you're telling me to leave, I'm not going." Dongmin shook his head furiously, his fists clenching at his sides. "She needs to come out here and give me a good, believable reason why she broke up with me. Something that makes sense."

Seungmin's lips twitched into the faintest smirk, his voice dropping into a mutter as he leaned forward slightly. "I can think of one already."

Before Dongmin could respond, Seungmin took a step closer and crouched down, levelling their eyes. His tone turned dangerously calm, the edges of his words razor-sharp. "Here's what's going to happen. First, you're going to stop crying. Yeah, that's step one. And then, you're going to sit here quietly like a good boy while I go in there and talk to her. After that, we'll get to the bottom of this—without me having to use my bat on you."

Dongmin flinches a little, fear caught in his brown eyes. "That's a joke... right?"

"For now." Seungmin's response made the fight in Dongmin's posture cripple.

He stands up, walking towards the bathroom door. The door didn't have one of those outside handles you could yank on—just a push plate—but he could picture you on the other side, probably bracing it with your whole body, determined to keep Dongmin from slipping in.

Seungmin doesn't bother knocking. Instead, he leans in close, lowering his voice as he quietly calls out, "It's me. Can I come in?"

Quickly, the door flings open. "I'm so glad you came!" you exclaimed, not giving Seungmin the opportunity to see the state you were in before pulling him into a hug that was equally aggressive, as the ace player felt his back smack against the now closed door.

All his previous anger almost dissolved at the feeling of your body against his. Almost. You finally release Seungmin just enough to look at you, and it takes all his willpower not to visibly wince at the fact one of your false lashes hung unnaturally close to your cheek, and your lipstick was smudged enough to suggest either an emotional breakdown or a very aggressive make-out session. Or maybe a weird combination of the two.

"You got a little," he starts slowly, vaguely pointing to it, before giving up and motioning to your entire face. "Something everywhere."

You gasp, dramatically spinning to the bathroom mirror. "Oh, God." You peel off the struggling lash and place it delicately on the sink. "I didn't even notice until now—do you think I looked like this while talking to Dongmin?"

"Isn't he your ex-boyfriend now? You're way past the point of that being your priority." Seungmin says it pointedly. There's something unreasonably satisfying about saying it out loud—ex. He does it mostly for himself, but the way you react to it, how your hand stills mid-wipe as you clear away your messy eyeliner, meeting his gaze through the mirror like you're equally caught off guard, excites him.

You blink, exhaling sharply before turning back to him. "How much did he tell you?"

The baseball player shrugs, taking the opportunity to lean his bat up against the wall. "I just heard that you guys broke up."

"That's a lie." You quickly correct him, sounding breathless, like you still haven't caught up with the whole situation yet. "Dongmin’s been telling the whole school that I couldn't even let his post-nut clarity settle before I called it off. You know, just say you do..."

Seungmin doesn't answer right away. He's too distracted by how utterly out of place he looks here. The girl's bathroom mirror isn't even high enough for his build, cutting off the top of his head completely, but when you're reflected in it, everything frames you just right, allowing him to catch the way your fingers tighten around the sink behind you, white-knuckled, like you're holding onto your embarrassment there, over the idea of him knowing anything at all.

"Yeah, okay. But that's not why I'm here." Seungmin shifts against the doorframe, arms crossed, voice completely void of concern. "I couldn’t care less about his problems. I came here with a solid proof getaway plan, and it's yours if you tell me the real reason why you ghosted me for a week."

That's a lie. Obviously. He didn't have a plan—at least, not a good one. But he would've helped you regardless, no matter how much you refused to explain yourself. Because Seungmin knew you. And if you were willing to subject yourself to the absolute humiliation of having your sex life on display outside a public bathroom, then unlawful assault was about to be the least of your worries.

You don't miss a beat. "You're not being serious."

Seungmin cocks his head, cap pressing against the short strands of his fringe, an unimpressed scowl settling across his face.

"Need I remind you," you say, tone clipped, "that there's a fully grown man outside this door, crying so hard he stops momentarily to gag, and he won't let me leave?"

You throw a finger toward the entrance, as if the pitiful, hiccupping sobs weren't already obvious enough. As if on a comedic cue, Dongmin whimpers out a weak little, "Hello?" from the other side. Seungmin—who had, up until this point, been resting against the door—responds with a sharp kick against it.

The baseball player doesn't even acknowledge it before moving on. "Did he get jealous about our friendship or something? Told you not to talk to me anymore?"

—"What? No, god, no."

—"Did he... like... finish in seconds instead of minutes?"

—"That would've made you so happy."

—"Is he gay?"

—“No—stop it. I'm not answering anymore.”

—“If he didn't do anything, did you do something?”

—“What does that even mean?”

—“I don't know, you tell me.”

Seungmin had enough sparring words in him to keep going until you broke, but after his last comment, you didn't even try to reject him. That, combined with the heavy silence stretching between you in the already-cramped bathroom, was enough for the baseball player to come to his own conclusion.

You did, in fact, do something.

And from the looks of it—your real lashes clumped together with wetness, not from sadness, but raw, unrelenting frustration. Like you were pissed at yourself for trying so hard to hold yourself together, only to break anyway.

Seungmin sighs deeply. He decides he'll tuck his own stubbornness faraway for now. The baseball player pushes off the wall and reaches for your wrist, noticing a not so inconspicuous tug back from your arm, as if his very hands were lit on fire and even being mere centimetres from him could leave deep burns. Either that or you were still very much angry that Seungmin’s default setting wasn’t to help you, but to clear away his own agenda.

“We won't do this here." Seungmin grumbles, tugging the cap off his own head—it's his most worn item to date, safely perched on his nightstand every single day since freshman year, ready to grab whenever he heads out the door—and smoothly places it over yours. But he doesn't stop there. His fingers linger at the brim, purposely tugging it lower so the edge dips past your eyes, effectively working to block the view of anything really.

"There." He steps back, watching you awkwardly try to beam up at him from beneath the shadow of the cap. It stuns Seungmin for a moment when he notices his chest tightening. Oh. “That's your magical cloak. Now you don't have to see them, and they don't get to see any part of you."

You purse your lips, clearly thinking. "Okay, that solves one issue," you say slowly, lifting your hands and flailing them dramatically in the open space in front of you. “But, um... I can't see shit, which is terrible if I also need to, y'know... walk.”

“Just trust me.” Seungmin says it simply, darting his fingers out, keeping his growing irritation to a minimum as he watches you hesitate yet again. "Keep your head down and watch only my hands. Nothing else."

He moves closer to the bathroom door, but pauses when he feels a different kind of heat bloom against his palm. He whirls back with a final look of surprise, only to find the brim of his hat staring back at him—attached to what looks like a rather convincing Sim character, standing frozen, waiting for the next task.

“Ready?”

There's a large intake of air. “No... does that mean we're fucked already?”

THERE ARE shards of glass slicing up your lungs as you rest against a darkly coated wooden desk—metaphorically this time, of course. The whole idea of Seungmin being the school’s golden arm had momentarily escaped you the second he bolted with you in hand. If you had remembered—instead of worrying about Dongmin grabbing onto your ankles—you wouldn’t have agreed, and maybe you wouldn’t be here, tasting iron in the back of your throat. Stupid.

When you finally manage to look up, a hand pressed into your side to keep the stitch from fully forming, the setting around you forces a breathy laugh from your lips, thick with irony.

The boy’s locker room.

How fitting that just minutes ago, you had Seungmin trapped inside the girl’s bathroom, and now he’s returned the favour—stepping past rows of open lockers and the souring smell of sweat, just to lock you up inside the coach’s office.

“Was your boyfriend always this pathetic?” Seungmin is the forgetful one this time. He stands with his back against the door, as if the large window panel beside it hadn’t already given away the perpetrators inside the tiny room, with a certain weight in his eyes despite his joking tone. It makes you wonder whether it’s just another one of his calculated questions, designed to get you to say exactly what he wants.

You gulp before stating, matter-of-factly, “You mean ex-boyfriend.”

And saying it should hurt—should feel like a sharp reminder that there’s now a gaping hole in your chest. But instead, it gets mistranslated in the way you tip back to sit further up on the desk, letting your Mary Jane-clad feet swing from a table that’s probably seen more balled fists slammed down in anger than anything else.

“No. That’s why everything he’s doing now surprises me.” The second the words are out, they hang wrong in the air. You’re doing it again. Giving him the benefit of a doubt he’s never earned. Instantly, your mouth curls, and before you know it, you fall into Seungmin’s trap one way or another. “Actually, you know what? Yeah. He’s so fucking pathetic.”

You lock eyes with the baseball player, gripped by this strange urge to unload a year’s worth of frustration onto him—the same way his coach expects his bat to hit a home run every time. And you don’t know if it’s because he looks strong enough to take it, or because you want to see if he’ll break. See if he’ll finally get angry at you.

“Dongmin has been pathetic since the night I tried riding him and he panicked about me bending his shrivelling dick into some weird flesh origami. He’s selfish and stupid. Always has been… he just did a really fucking good job of making me think he wasn’t.”

You scoff, doing everything to stay light and calm under these weird circumstances. Though the room still clings to a quietness that leaves no room for peace—just an overbearing pressure that reminds you Seungmin is very much here, listening to you blurt out your sex horror stories—still watching you.

His face doesn’t shift. You regret ever taking his sarcastic nature for granted, because you would’ve killed to see his lips wobble with the control to keep himself from smiling. But there’s not a smirk.

Then he says it—low.

“Who was it?”

Your pulse stutters. It’s a vague question, and you could, all the more, ask him to explain himself clearer, but you knew what it had to be after the commotion in the toilet—so did your body, which involuntarily thinks about the time it stung with pleasure underneath Dongmin, thinking about Seungmin—and all you can muster as a response is… nothing.

You watch nervously, suddenly turning into a gladiator in an arena, eyeing the stalking lion that pushes off the doorframe, rounding around the desk. It was quite possibly the hottest Seungmin had ever looked. But you knew the reason why he kept walking closer—halting just where your knees tied close together—was because you had already given your confession in reverse, and all he was looking for was proof that he wasn’t going insane.

Instinctively, your mind wills your legs to part—just enough, a silent invitation for Seungmin to close the space between you. But he’s already made that decision himself. His hands brush the sides of your knees, guiding them apart before stepping in, like he’s been waiting for this moment longer than you’ve been dreading it.

The hem of your skirt hikes up with the movement, the cool air licking at the heat between your thighs—your body betraying you, aching to buck into the rough fabric of his pants.

“Seungmin,” you breathe, though you don’t know if it’s a warning, or a plea. It sounds too soft. Too wanting. Like you’re asking for something neither of you are ready to name.

His fingers haven’t stopped swiping at your skin. “What did I do?”

“Nothing. It was nothing.” That was a lie. But it felt easier than trying to explain the truth—that it wasn’t him fucking you senselessly into the mattress that pushed you over the edge. It was worse than that. It was the image of him smiling, soft and stupid. Or the quiet outline of his back turned toward you, relaxed and unguarded, like he was waiting for you to come wrap your arms around him.

That was what ruined you. Something so devastatingly ordinary that it cracked the floor beneath you wide enough to fall straight through it.

Straight into him.

He laughs, puffing hot air into your face. “Bullshit. You haven’t been able to look at me for more than a second.” There’s a note of patience in his throat. “I knew it was me… even before you got with Dongmin.”

By now, the desperate need for him to hold you is confused with the want to punish him.

“If you knew—” You shove him a little. He doesn’t budge, and it does nothing but anger you more when you feel him inch his fingers under your skirt, dizzyingly close to where your hips meet your thighs, like he’s testing how much you’ll let him take while you’re still mad at him.

And he takes, and takes.

“If you knew, then why’d you mess with me so much? You could’ve left me alone. But instead, you slept with every girl who looked your way. Paraded them in front of me like I wasn’t even—”

“Because I wanted you to stop looking at me like I was something you could actually love,” Seungmin says harshly. “I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to do relationships without disappointing someone. So yeah, I might’ve fucked girls who didn’t matter—sue me. You also used Dongmin to bury everything you felt for me.”

Your jaw is tight, glaring intensely. “I did love him.”

But by now, the button of Seungmin’s jeans is pressed firm against the heat of your core, and you can’t think back on any shared memory between your ex-boyfriend that had the opportunity to come this close to being this shattering. No, there had to be one. Was there?

When he speaks again—his voice barely a breath, inches from your wet mouth—it doesn’t sound like a confession.

It sounds like a fucking verdict.

“Enough to picture my face while he was fucking you.”

Then there’s a moment—just one—where your mouths finally collide (with the lone clumsiness of forgetting the baseball player’s hat and colliding with the brim first before anything, chucking it to the side), hands grabbing and kneading your body with such force. And Seungmin’s mouth—fuck—his mouth leaves a small cluster of fires that drop into your belly, igniting and burning down the lining of your stomach until all that’s left is a hollowed-out ache in the shape of him.

You whimper when his fingers dip low, hooking under the thin bands of your underwear. He tugs—up—and the fabric wedges tight between your folds, pressure zeroing in on your clit so sweet and sharp it knocks the breath out of you.

“Ngh—ah—” you gasp, legs twitching and opening wider. He settles back, eyes blown out and taking you in.

Then he drags one finger down. Slow. Feather-light. Tracing the tension he just created. From the peak, right over the swollen fabric, down, down—until he’s pressing deep over your clothed entrance, and it’s enough to break something loose inside you.

“Was this how you looked like thinking about me?” You moan in response to his lewd question, your hips jerking forward, chasing the friction like it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore. It’s pathetic how quickly you’re spiralling. How fast he reduces you to this before he’s even inside you.

And that terrifies you.

Because this was real. It wasn’t the dissociating images you conjure up to distract you from the stale rhythm of someone trying to love you the right way. It was Seungmin, with his teasing mouth and bruised heart, being consumed with his very own desires and satiating it the only way he knew how to.

It was imperfect.

“I can’t do this.” Your hand slips up, resting lightly against his arm—just enough pressure to still him. Seungmin stops, confusion flashing across his face, then fades into something softer. He doesn’t speak—just watches you, waiting.

“I trust you as my best friend. I always have.” You glance away for a beat, then back up at him. “But this... what we’re doing—I don’t trust you with it. Not yet. It has to grow naturally. I need to know it’s real. That this isn’t just... hormones or timing or some ego trip because I came thinking about you.”

There’s still an unclear want to give in to him while resisting him. “I don’t want 20 minutes of something intense that disappears by morning. I want to know we’re both in this for the right reasons. That we’re risking the friendship because we actually want each other... not because it feels good to be wanted.”

The silence stretches. “I’m not saying don’t try. I’m saying... if we’re doing this, I need us both to mean it.”

This is the part you forgot how to do. The part that got buried after a year of being Dongmin’s perfect ‘yes man’. Always agreeable, always softening your edges to fit the version of you he could manage. You spent so long smoothing over his messes that the idea of setting a boundary felt foreign.

So no—choosing yourself doesn’t feel like some glowing act of self-empowerment. It feels like rejecting the one thing you’ve been aching for. It feels like standing in front of someone you’ve loved in too many complicated, unspoken ways... and saying not yet.

“If that’s what you need, I’ll try.” It’s not a promise, but it’s enough. Seungmin leans back, helping you readjust your underwear, the wetness making sitting all the more uncomfortable, though it entertains the baseball player. Perhaps it’s a small payback from all the shitty treatment he’s gotten from his coach.

“Just… don’t hold the first three screw-ups against me,” he adds, mouth twitching into something not quite a smile. “I’m more practice than presentation. Not really the flowers and teddy bears type.”

A small laugh tumbles past your lips, appreciating the familiarity in his tone. “No. You’re more ‘boy’s locker room and lending your girl your baseball jersey after marking her up in it’ type.”

That gets him. A blink paired with a slow raise of one slit brow—like he’s filing the image away in his memory cabinet in real time, just in case he needs it later for inspiration.

Your phone buzzes with perfect timing, eliminating the growing awkwardness. Fishing it out and lazily flicking open your screen, Seungmin doesn’t ask at first. Just watches. But the second your features quirk—

“Who is it?” he says, not too casual, distracting himself by bending and picking up his baseball cap, dusting it off against his thigh that was too close to his growing bulge.

You glance up. “Weird... it’s Felix. He just sent me his part of the project. I’ve been chasing him down for a week.”

Seungmin leans back against the window, arms crossed again. “Guess guilt finally won.” He says it flatly, but there’s a flicker of something beneath his words—amusement, mostly. Like he’ll bring this moment up in a couple of days, preferably around Felix, coaxing him to outwardly say who had played a big role in successfully getting him to help you.

You type a quick reply, shooting off a sarcastic thank-you message with one hand. A beat later, your phone dings again. But this time, the sound doesn’t come from your device.

It comes from somewhere outside the door.

Seungmin pieces it together quickly. “Felix?” Craning his head back to peer out through the office window, the ace player watches parts of his fellow teammate become visible behind a row of lockers, hand poking out within the darkness, holding up a lit phone.

“I was gonna knock,” comes Felix’s unmistakable voice—a little nervous and rightfully grossed out for someone who eavesdropped from outside the coach’s office. “But things got wild really quickly… so I tried breaking the ice over text.”

[cirruslush]

「fake rumours」

PART 1 ꩜

an enemies to lovers type of story

hamzahthefantastic x reader

mentions: ANGST, gentle choking , making out, pinning, no smut

The worst thing about Hamzah wasn’t the fact that he was infuriatingly perfect. It wasn’t the way he always seemed one step ahead, or how his stupid cocky smirk could make my blood boil in seconds. It wasn’t even the fact that, he always managed to look effortlessly cool while I was struggling to keep my temper in check.

No. The worst thing about him was that, somehow, he’d always be able to easily find his way back in my head, as if it was the road to home that you blindly know about.

-

-

Me and Hamzah have been friends for quite some time now, considering our parents were friends even before we were born.

His mom adored me as if I were her own, and would always call me over for dinner, or just to study n hangout with Hamzah since we had a lot of classes in common.

Senior year, finally. One of the most stressful and overwhelming grades for many, but also one of the most exciting as well.

On one hand, it’s your last year of high school, which means making memories with friends, and the anticipation of what’s next. There’s a sense of freedom, like you’re standing on the edge of something bigger. But at the same time, it can feel like a lot of pressure—college applications, final exams, and the weight of what comes after.

Fortunately for you, school and life have been “caressing” you almost, but it’s only March, and you didn’t want to jinx anything

The multi-day senior trip is coming up soon and your heart was beating out of your chest, preparing your clothes days before the trip and planning what to do with your friends at night was like preparing for your first summer vacation.

You and your friends had been counting down the days for what felt like forever—talking about who was rooming with who, which places you were going to visit, and, of course, the late-night shit you all were determined to pull off. This trip felt like a rite of passage, a celebration of everything you’d gone through together—years of awkward moments, shared laughs, inside jokes, and even the occasional fighting. But now, it was all coming to an end.

The reality of graduation creeping up was starting to feel more tangible, more real. You caught yourself staring out the window, wondering how it all passed so quickly. Wasn’t it just yesterday you were entering high school, full of nervous energy? Now, you were at the finish line, ready to take the plunge into adulthood.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your thoughts. It was a call from Hamzah. You hesitated for a moment before answering, his name lighting up the screen bringing a familiar comfort with it.

“Hey, what’s up?” you answered, trying to keep your tone casual, though you could hear your own excitement slipping through.

“Have you done packing up yet?” Hamzah’s voice came through, upbeat and teasing.

“Almost,” you replied, glancing at the half-packed suitcase on your bed. “Just getting the last few things together. You?”

“I’m done, finally.” He signed loudly, and you could practically picture him lounging on his bed, phone in hand, his usual laid-back tone in full effect.

“I’m glad. Would you like my mom to drive us to school tomorrow instead?” you said jumping out of your seat, going to the bathroom, to grab your toothbrush “If your mom’s okay with it, always.”

“Sure why not, I’ll text you in a bit.” he replied, and before you knew it, he had already hung up.

Hamzah’s been kinda weird lately. He keeps teasing you in someway, yet being more distant by the days. You thought maybe it was some type of romantic disappointment, or something had happened at home, but you didn’t want to stress him even more by asking, right before the trip at that.

*bzz* the phone buzzed once again, it was a message this time, by your girl best friend. You quickly jumped on your bed, unlocking it

ANNA

hello beautiful sunshine 💕 Actually i’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, but i couldn’t gather the courage to tell you in person. I think Hamzah’s been talking behind your back…I happen to have overheard a conversation he had today, at school with one of his friends, and he said something about you being too immature to him, and that he was planning on cutting u off. Sorry for not telling u earlier girl, did u 2 fight?

The thought twisted something deep in her chest. Hamzah? Your best friend since childhood? He would never, right? Nothing had real happened between you—at least that you remember of, but Anna had said it so casually, and now, it made sense why Hamzah had been distant the past few days.

It was finally the next morning. You really didn’t get any sleep—thinking about Anna’s text over and over again. You were so filled with rage.

Is he foreal? Why would he even call you last night if it he was planning to cut you off anyway..you quickly got inside the car, driving with your mom over to Hamzah’s place.

Once you picked him up, you didn’t even dare to look at him in the eye. No words were said by you, only your mom talking with Hamzah. Though, Hamzah was quick to notice “everything alright? Are you feeling sick or nervous because of the trip?” he asked, looking genuinely worried. How pathetic. you thought to yourself, was he fucking with you or playing with your feelings just before cutting you off—like a cat playing with a mouse before killing it? yeah sure, Fuck him. “No, i’m totally fine.” you outed sassily, with a mocking face for a second.

Hamzah decided not to talk back, thinking it was that time of the month for you, not wanting to argue first thing in the morning.

On the trip, you kept your distance from him, avoiding his gaze, and sitting with Anna and the others at meals. Hamzah tried talking to you, but every. single. time. you shut him down, quickly, turning your body and attention away. The quiet hurt in his eyes made your stomach twist, but you couldn’t shake the words Anna had said.

The days went by, and both of you didn’t speak a word. Not talking to Hamzah for more than a day, was actually very unfamiliar with you. All these years you’d be all over each other, even if you argued one of you would always make a move to apologise soon enough- but this wasn’t the case. You were being selfish, not backing out or falling for any traps after hearing what your best friend Anna had to tell you. After all, why would your best friend lie about something like that? It didn’t seem like she had something against him anyway.

So you want war? You’ll get it.

The rest of the year passed and Hamzah eventually stopped trying to talk to you. You didn’t care, or so you acted like that. It was nice having him cling onto you for a bit, but as soon as that stopped, he straight up became an asshole. He had a nasty, disgusted face everytime you’d cross paths and sometimes even tried tripping you or fell onto you by accident. Did he really hate you that much in the end? He broke you, really..

-

-

3 Years passed by, like days—calm like the river flow

The bass of the music thumped in your chest as you stumbled your way through the club, laughter and chatter blending into the rhythm. You’d had a bit to drink, enough to let loose, but not enough to completely lose yourself. You needed a break from the noise, so you made your way to the bathroom.

The moment you pushed the door open, the cool air hit your face, and you took a deep breath. You leaned against the sink, your reflection staring back at you—a slightly tipsy version of yourself, but still, you were fine. Just needed a minute.

You were trying to focus on getting yourself together when the door creaked open behind you. The sound of footsteps made you glance up, and then—him.

Hamzah

Your breath got caught in your throat. Of all places. Of all the nights. Why here? Was your luck really fucking testing you right now?

There he was, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, looking exactly the same as you remembered. His dark defined curls, his eyes still that deep shade of brown, that you once used to stare at and get lost in. Your pulse sped up, and your stomach twisted into knots, the alcohol in your system only amplifying everything.

He paused when he saw you, his expression unreadable, but you could feel the tension building in the small, dimly lit space between you. Neither of you spoke for a moment.

“You’re here..? What are you doing here?” You said your voice a little slurred, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. “Didn’t expect to see you in the ladies’ room.”

He laughed softly, the sound almost making you forget how you ended your whole friendship over a stupid girl. Almost. “Guess we’re both full of surprises,” he said, eyes flickering to the door as if he was about to leave.

But he didn’t move.

You took a small step back, feeling the weight of the situation sink in. Why was he just standing there? Why wasn’t he leaving?

“I’m, uh, i’ll see myself out then” you said, trying to walk past him, but he stepped forward, blocking your way.

“Actually, im glad i met you here.” he said, towering over you “Now that you have nowhere to go, don’t ya think you can give me a clear explanation.”

oh fuck me. That’s crazy..You thought to yourself.

Now that you were getting a closer look—He definitely got taller, his arms and face looked way more defined than before as well.. and his voice—that high pitched voice that you were used to, sounds a lot more manly now and definitely deeper too..Has he been smoking? Wait-no no NO. None of these mattered right now. You have a problem here and now, and unfortunately none of your friends to get you out of it this time.

“Well~ what are you talking about, im kinda dizzy to be honest.. think we can talk about this laterz maybe?” you giggled a lil bit, trying to act a bit more drunk, maybe you thought to yourself, maybe, he’d let you off the hook.

“I don’t see a reason to talk outside, pretty.”

The club was still loud outside, people shouting and laughing “and who knows, you just might try and run away again.”

Inside the bathroom, it felt like the world had gone silent. Just you and him, stuck in a moment neither of you had fully let go of.

You didn’t know how to respond. Your mind was foggy, you just stared into his dark coloured eyes.

Has he always been that hot or was it the alcohol smacking you right in the face right now? This is ridiculous. Why would you think like that about your childhood friend. Wait no it’s not me though, it’s definitely the alcohol, can’t be…Great, am i talking to myself now?

Out of nowhere—you got hit with the coldness of the tiles on the wall. Hamzah had pinned you down to the wall. You swallowed hard, your breath starting to get uneven as you try to quiet down your heart with it.

“are you communicating? Im talking to you this whole time, and you just, chose to ignore me again.” he said teasingly, pointing out the past.

Hamzah smirked, his gaze not leaving yours. There was a tense silence between you two, the kind that hung in the air, thick and unresolved. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t.

He took a step closer, closing the remaining space in between us, his presence overwhelming. “I’ve been thinking about you, y/n, A lot.”

Your heart pounded almost out of your chest. The alcohol coursing through your veins was blurring the lines between what was real and what you wanted. You should pull away, tell him to leave. But your body was betraying you, your mind too clouded to make the rational choice.

if you were to say you didn’t think of him everyday ever since you graduated either, then, you’d definitely be lying…But that’s another thing.

“Actually, you know what. No. You don’t get to talk to me like this—as if you really miss me, after being such an asshole to me in highschool.” his hand, with sudden, fast-yet gentle emotions, now wrapping your neck. Not squishing tight, only enough to show how mad he was.

Slowly, he brought his mouth to your ear “Me? Being the asshole? Right, as if I ignored you for no reason, first.” he said, softly.

Hamzah’s gaze fierce as a knife, he eyed you up and down, like a a snake observing it’s prey. And before you knew it, his lips were on yours, urgent and hungry. The kiss was passionate and rough. His hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to sink into him, to forget all the hurt and confusion.

You kissed him back, letting the heat build, drowning in the way he made you feel—alive, wanted, and reckless all at once. His hands moved to your hips, pressing you against the cool tile of the bathroom wall, and you let him, letting the past, and the bitterness fall away with every passing second.

The door behind you creaked slightly, but you didn’t care. The club, the noise, the people outside—it all seemed so far away. There was only him. Only the way his lips and tongue moved with yours, the way his hands held you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Are you sure about this?” he breathed against your lips, his voice thick with desire. He was holding back.

How did you end up like this? Were those feelings just, pend up anger? None of it mattered, you just wanted to feel the heat of the moment

You pulled him closer, your hands sliding into his curls, needing him, needing this, even if you didn’t quite understand why. “Yeah..” you whispered, the word falling out before you could stop it. You needed him to hear it. You needed him to know.

to be continued

────୨ৎ────

✎ a/n first time writing kinda nervous.. I think this may be kinda boring at first since i was yapping a lot. The original story was like 2 times this one but i had to rewrite it eventually 😭 there also may be some spelling errors or just some shit that don’t make sense but please bear with me since english is not my first language

[girlgenius1111]

nerves

sol's masterlist ☀️ 2nd grade shouldn't be as scary as it felt, but sol was quite used to things feeling scarier than they seemed to feel to other people. even if her parents weren't worried for her growing anxiety, though, ingrid was. [sol is 8 in this, and ingrid is 16] warnings: descriptions of anxiety + symptoms of anxiety.

------

Your chest felt tight, tears falling quickly down your face as you sobbed into your pillow. Fear was gripping you, making it so that you couldn’t breathe right. It wasn’t a new feeling, it was one you’d experienced before, though you couldn’t quite put a name to it. You felt sick, sicker when you remembered what the following day was. You’d only been able to get a few hours of sleep before the feeling woke you up, and soon after, you were trembling in your bed, clutching tightly to Snø. 

The feeling was becoming overwhelming, and you were suddenly worried you were going to throw up or stop breathing or something. It was this terrifying thought that had you pushing the covers back, and creeping out of your room. You went down the hall, passed your parents room as quietly as you could, before you pushed Ingrid’s door open. 

“Ing?” You whispered, the low volume of your voice not disguising how shaky it was. The light clicked on, and your sister sat up in her bed, hair all messy. She blinked at you groggily, and you took a tentative step closer. “Ca-can I sleep in here?” 

Your sister seemed to wake more, concern replacing the sleepy expression on her face. “Of course you can.” 

She’d barely gotten the words out before you were scrambling forward onto her bed with her. Ingrid’s arms were already open, and you curled into her, allowing her long arms to wrap around you. This was where you undoubtedly felt safest, and it wasn’t surprising when the bad feeling dulled, just a bit. 

“Solstråle, you’re shaking.” Ingrid murmured, frowning at the quiet whimper you gave in response. “What’s wrong, huh?” She wondered, tucking your head under her chin and rubbing your back. 

You were sniffled, hiding your face in her neck and gripping her shirt in your fist as you snuggled even closer. “‘M Scared.” 

“What are you scared of?” 

Only here, in the dark and curled up against your favorite person, could you admit what was really terrifying you. “Don’t wanna go to school.” 

“School is scaring you?” Ingrid wondered, not knowing you to have struggled with this in the past. 

You nodded, the steady thumping of your sister’s heartbeat in your ear grounding you. 

“Why?” 

A shrug, this time, with you only speaking when Ingrid tried to extract your face from its hiding spot. “Don’t know. Just scared.” 

You really didn’t know. No matter how much you tried to figure out why you were so terrified, nothing came to mind. There was no explanation. All you knew was that this feeling was sticking around, and you’d do just about anything to get rid of it. 

“Is someone at school bothering you?” Ingrid asked, her voice dropping to anger at the mere thought. 

“No.” You weren’t lying. Sure, the kids at school could be mean sometimes, but your biggest bully lived at home with you. You dealt with her every day, and the mean kids couldn’t hold a torch to your mother when she decided she’d had enough of you. The social aspect was a stressor, for sure, but it wasn’t the cause of the pit in your stomach. “It’s… it’s new. It’s different.” 

“It’s not new, not really!” Ingrid tried to rationalize. “It’s the same school, you’ve been there before. You know how everything works. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” 

“It’s still new. A new year and a new teacher and a new class and new people and… I don’t wanna go. I want to stay here. Please.” You looked up at your sister, eyes wide and watery, and her heart truly broke. She hated that you were so upset, and she hated that she didn’t have the power to tell you that you didn’t have to go. 

“School is important, Solstråle. You’ll be okay once you get there, I promise. It’s just the anticipation that’s causing you trouble.” Her voice was encouraging and kind, but you were merely puzzled, the word being unfamiliar to you. 

“What is anticipation?”

“It’s like the waiting before something happens. It’s always worse than whatever actually happens.” 

“What if it’s not better once I get there?” Ingrid was the person you trusted more than anyone in the world, but even she couldn’t put your nervousness to rest with just a few words. It was too intense for that to work. 

“You go to the nurse, and you tell them you don’t feel well, and they’ll call Mamma. She’ll come get you, and we can try again tomorrow.” Ingrid explained rationally, believing herself that you’d be completely fine once you got to school. 

“Mamma won’t come get me.” You murmured. At this point, Ingrid was used to the tension between you and your mother, and she knew that, likely, you were right. “She has a meeting with your manager. Pappa’s taking me in the morning because she’ll be gone all day, and then he’s going to work.” 

Your sister remembered now. She was supposed to pick you up after school, because no one else would be home. When her mother had told her, she’d been a bit sad; it was your first day of school, and neither of your parents seemed to care very much. 

“Then I’ll come get you.” Ingrid promised, making a mental note to cancel the plans she had with various friends, and the lunch date she was supposed to go on. If no one else would be there for you tomorrow, then she would make sure she was.

“Really?” You asked quietly, glancing up at her hopefully, and then looking away quickly, as if your hope would jinx it. 

“Promise. You promise me to try your best to go and stay, and if you don’t feel better by lunch, I’ll come get you.” 

Until lunch was a long time. A whole morning with the icky feeling in your stomach didn’t excite you, but Ingrid was already going out of her way to help, so the least you could do was accept her deal. “Okay. Promise.” 

“Good. Now it’s bedtime, okay?” 

“Kay.” You mumbled, closing your eyes tight to appease your sister, though your tight grip on her shirt didn’t relent. Ingrid turned the lamp back off and settled back under the covers, this time with you held close to her. She hoped that would be the end of it. When she woke the next morning, though, and you were already awake, staring at the ceiling with tears falling from your eyes, she knew it wouldn’t be. 

-------

Your hands were shaking as you brought the little spoon to your lips, and your tummy twisted at the thought of putting food into your mouth. You’d managed a couple mouthfuls of cereal, but suddenly, it felt like another would make you sick that instant. Putting the spoon down, you reached for your glass of water, only your hand was still shaking, and the glass slipped from it, shattering back down onto the table. You jumped, startled. The water quickly ran off the table and down onto your father’s lap, as he swore. You shut your eyes tightly, awaiting the inevitable yelling that was sure to follow. 

“Shit!” Your dad shouted, pushing his chair backwards and rising from his seat. His pants were soaked with water, and you knew he was wearing a new suit for an important meeting he had today. 

“Sorry!” You cried, grabbing a napkin and weakly trying to mop up some of the water. “Sorry, Pappa.” 

“Look what you’ve done!” He shouted, looking down to glare at you, only softening slightly when he saw your tears. 

“It wasn’t on purpose.” You mumbled, shrinking into yourself in your seat. If you’d felt sick before, you felt like you might just curl up into a ball and die now. 

“It doesn’t matter. You need to be more careful. Now I have to change, and you’re going to make both of us late.” Your father scolded, apparently oblivious intense distress. 

“What’s all the yelling for?” Ingrid wondered, walking past her father as he stormed upstairs to change. You were crying silently, cleaning up the water as best you could. You didn’t respond to Ingrid’s question, though your dad did stop and turn to address your sister. 

“Your sister is being clumsy, again. Can you take her to school, Ing? I have a meeting and I’ll be late if I take her.” 

“Yeah, I can.” Ingrid agreed easily, still looking between you both with uncertainty. 

“But… you’re supposed to walk me to my class and help me find my cubby. It’s my first day. Mamma said, you’re supposed to come with me.” You whimpered, your lower lip wobbling. 

“I don’t have time for this.” Your father sighed, turning around and walking out of the room without another word. 

“Pappa,” you called after him, really starting to panic now at the thought of having to manage everything all by yourself. Your Mamma had promised that Pappa would come with and help you get to class. It was the only thing that had stopped the absolute tantrum you’d thrown the day before when she told you she had to go to a meeting instead of taking you. You started to cry, for real now, bringing your hands to your face and instinctually trying to swallow your tears, to no avail. 

Within a few seconds, though, there were hands on yours, pulling them away from your face, and you opened your eyes to see Ingrid kneeled in front of you. Unlike your father, Ingrid was deeply concerned with the way you were acting. It seemed to her to be more than just the regular first day butterflies; you were properly panicking now. 

“Don’t want to go, Ingrid, I can’t do it by myself,” you sobbed, leaning forward until your sister wrapped her arms around you and pulled you into a nice, tight hug. 

“Shh, shh.” She soothed, running her fingers through your hair, noting that your father hadn’t even bothered to put it up into a ponytail like he was supposed to. “You won’t be alone, I’ll take you in. We’ll find your cubby, and meet your teacher, and everything will be fine, Solstråle.” 

Leaning back, you looked at your sister skeptically. “Really?” 

“Of course!” Ingrid said with a smile. She wiped a few tears from your cheeks, and straightened your shirt. Checking the clock, on the counter, she made an executive decision. “Let’s get your face rinsed off, and your hair braided, and then I’ll take you.” 

With your hand in hers, Ingrid brought you to the bathroom, and for the first time that morning, you thought that things might be okay. 

------

You walked into the school like you were heading for your own funeral, trudging along and dragging your feet next to your sister. Ingrid stuck by your side, though, as she’d promised to do, but the time for her to leave came all too soon. Seeing the tears welling in your eyes as the teacher called for everyone to say goodbye to their parents, she took your hand and led you over to the corner of the classroom. She knelt down in front of you, trying to seem relaxed and calm, hoping you could pick up on it. 

“I’m gonna go now, Solstråle, but remember our deal?” 

“I remember.” You mumbled, scrubbing your fist over your eye, desperate not to cry in front of your classmates. 

“Okay. Just try for me, yeah? Until lunch, and if you’re still feeling nervous, go to the nurse and have them call me.” You nodded dutifully, leaning forward for a hug. Ingrid gave you one, squeezing tight. “Just try your best for me. I know you can do it, yeah?” 

“Okay.” You didn’t think you could do it. In fact, you were almost sure you couldn’t, but disappointing your sister wasn’t an option, and surely she’d be disappointed if you didn’t hold up your end of the deal. 

“I love you. I’ll see you soon.” Ingrid said, kissing your forehead and giving your hand one last squeeze. 

“Love you too.” You watched your sister leave, feeling the lump in your throat grow as she headed out the door. You sat back down at your desk, fiddling with your pencil case instead of talking like your classmates were doing. 

Pausing in the door to look back at you, Ingrid had to force herself to continue to walk out of the room. You looked so small, sitting at your desk all by yourself. Too shy to talk to your classmates, having found yourself in a class with none of your friends this year. There was nothing Ingrid hated more than seeing you crying, and she’d have been lying if she said a few tears didn’t slip down her face on her walk back home. 

------

As it was, Ingrid hoped deeply that she wouldn’t get a call from the school. When she did, though, it wasn’t a call that she was expecting, aside from the fact that it was still hours until lunch time. 

 The nurse called your Mamma first. She didn’t answer, and then the nurse called your Pappa. He answered, quickly instructing the woman to call your Mamma again, and then Ingrid if she didn’t answer. He couldn’t come get you, he explained. He didn’t even ask to talk to you on the phone. Not even when he heard what happened. 

It was your worst nightmare come true. The horrible feeling had just grown and grown and grown. You just wanted to go home. That was all you kept thinking, repeating it over and over to yourself. 

Your teacher was going around the room, having each student introduce themselves and say a fun fact. You knew what to say. Your name, and then your fun fact, which was that your favorite color was green. Only, when the teacher called on you, and you opened your mouth, it wasn’t words that came out. 

Instead, you leaned over and threw up all over the ground. The class gasped around you, and a few of the boys began to laugh. You were mortified, sure you’d never been this embarrassed in your entire life. The teacher was trying to quiet the class back down, while walking over to you. Getting sick hadn’t made you feel better, either. You felt just as icky, and even more embarrassed. The assistant teacher led you out of the classroom, your gaze fixed intently on your feet as you were sure everyone was staring at you. 

You’d resigned yourself to silence once you arrived at the nurse’s office, only answering her questions with nods or shakes of your head. If you didn’t talk, you wouldn’t embarrass yourself further. All you could think about, as the nurse called your Mamma and talked to your Pappa, was that you hadn’t done as Ingrid asked, and waited until lunch to go to the nurse. You hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed; you’d tried your best, it just hadn’t been good enough. 

Finally, your Mamma answered, telling the nurse that she couldn’t come get you either, but that your sister could. You breathed a sigh of relief at that, because you knew Ingrid would be the nicest of anyone, even if she was mad that you hadn't made it till lunch. 

Your sister practically ran the few blocks to the school as soon as she hung up with her mother, feeling absolutely horrible for you. She only felt worse when she made it to the school and walked into the front office, seeing you through the doorway, curled up in a chair in the nurse’s office. She couldn’t tell if you were ill or not, but you had a sickbag next to you, and you still looked very pale. Quickly, Ingrid signed you out, before she made her way over to where you were waiting for her. 

And though you were too old for it, the second you saw Ingrid you were launching yourself into her arms, wrapping all of your limbs tight around her body. 

“Oh, liten.” Ingrid sighed. She’d expected you to be upset when your Mamma had called to tell her what had happened, but her expectations didn’t prepare her for how completely broken you seemed. You sobbed quietly into her neck, holding on so tightly she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to get you to let her go.

“I think we might have a case of nerves on our hands. She doesn’t have a fever, or any other symptoms, and her teacher said she seemed very teary all morning until she was sick.”

At the reminder of what happened, you cried harder. Ingrid shushed you gently, her hand soothingly circling your back. The nurse continued, a sympathetic expression on her face. “I tried to explain to your mother, but as soon as I said I thought it was nerves, she didn’t seem to be very worried.” 

“And we should be worried?” Ingrid wondered, sounding much older and much more concerned than a 16 year old should sound. Exactly how worried the nurse had expected your mom to sound, though she’d been disappointed. 

The nurse nodded. “This is more nervous than an 8 year old should be for school. I think having your sister evaluated might be a good idea. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but anxiety can be hard for a child to deal with if they don’t have the tools to do so.” 

Ingrid agreed, internally, but knew it would be a challenge to get your Mamma on board with it. When it came to you, Mamma always seemed to be doubtful of the truth of any issue you might have. If it had been Ingrid, the older girl knew she’d have had the first available appointment with the best psychologist in town. But because it was you, and Mamma seemed to have so much less patience with you, Ingrid knew it would be a challenge to convince her there was a real issue here. 

“Ing?” You whispered, still attached firmly to your sister. She hummed in response, leaving a kiss on your temple. “I wanna go home.” 

“Let’s go home, Solstråle.” Ingrid agreed, moving as if to release you and stand up. You were having none of that, though, and Ingrid smiled despite herself, lifting your small body easily into her arms. You couldn’t bring yourself to care if your classmates saw you, if your teachers saw you, being carried by your sister out of the school building. 

Although school was only a few minutes walk away from home, you could feel the icky feeling coming back as you got closer and closer. Your Mamma was going to be so mad at you for not making it through the whole day, you just knew it. She was going to be mad, and yell, and Pappa was still going to be mad about when you spilled on him, and he was going to yell too, and home didn’t feel like the place you wanted to go anymore, though you’d been wishing for it all morning.

You knew it was going to happen again, this time trying to give your sister some warning. 

“Ingrid,” you whined, trying to breathe deeply in through your nose and out through your mouth, coming to a complete stop on the sidewalk only a block away from home. “Feel sick.” 

Your sister looked down at you in alarm, your face alarmingly pale as your lips pressed together tightly. 

As quickly as she could, Ingrid grabbed your shoulders and turned you towards the grass. 

You retched onto the ground, though there wasn’t much to come up other than bile that burned at your throat. You were crying again as Ingrid rubbed your back, handing you your water bottle when you were done. “Sorry.” You managed in between small sips, feeling guilty for probably embarrassing your sister by throwing up on the street. 

“Don’t say sorry.” Ingrd frowned. “Maybe you are sick, huh?” She brought her hand up to your forehead, not finding it any warmer than normal. You shrugged, not sure how to convey your fears. Ingrid seemed to pick up on your unease, though. “Are you still nervous?” 

You gave a small nod, slumping into your sister when she stood and pulled you in for a hug. 

“Why? We’re going home.” 

“Mamma and Pappa are going to be mad. About school and about spilling the water and for interrupting their meetings when the nurse called, and making you come get me and-” 

“Slow down, slow down.” Ingrid told you calmly, crouching down once again on the sidewalk, uncaring that several people had had to cross the street to avoid your traffic jam. “No one’s mad, Solstråle, you didn’t do anything wrong. Mamma’s coming home from the meeting early to check on you, she just wants to make sure you’re okay.” 

“She’s not mad?”

“No.” Ingrid promised. “We’re gonna go home, get comfy on the couch, watch a movie, and wait for Mamma. And then we’ll figure out how to make you feel better, okay?” 

You liked that. The ‘we’ Ingrid used. Sometimes it felt like you could do anything if she was with you. Privately, you hoped that you’d never have to do much without her. Ingrid was your very best friend, and best friends were supposed to stay together. 

She was with you when you walked home, did exactly as she promised and got all bundled up with you on the sofa and put on your favorite movie. She was with you when your Mamma came home, who fussed over you right away, only scolding you lightly for working yourself up so much that you were sick. 

It felt nice to be cared for by your Mamma, even if she seemed a little exasperated with you. Really, when was she not? After that comment, though, Ingrid decided to wait to talk to your parents until you were in bed. She was more sure than ever that getting you the help you needed would take a lot of convincing, and she didn't want you to have to hear her argue with your parents on your behalf. 

The raised voices coming from downstairs woke you, however, only a short time after you’d been put to bed. Intrigued, you’d followed the voices, freezing when you overheard your name. 

Sat on the top step of the stairs, you listened as Ingrid talked to your parents. Your head was swirling with contradicting and confusing emotions. On one hand, it felt good to hear Ingrid stand up for you. On the other, though, it felt like a punch to the gut everytime one of your parents said something that completely dismissed the issues you were having. 

“She is just nervous, Ingrid, don’t stress about it. All kids get like this, she’ll be alright.” Your mother sighed, annoyed with having to repeat herself; Ingrid just wouldn’t let up. 

“No Mamma. It is not normal! You didn’t see her last night when she came to me having a panic attack, and you didn’t see her today when I went to get her from school. She needs help, this isn’t fair on her. She shouldn’t have to struggle with this.” 

“Ingrid, there is nothing wrong with your sister. She just likes the attention.” Your father cut in, repeating something he’d heard his wife say over and over whenever you got into arguments with her, and ran off to him in tears. 

At the same time that tears began to well in your eyes, Ingrid snapped, her voice raising. “Quit saying that! It’s not true. She’s shy, she doesn’t like attention, and she certainly didn’t want the attention of her classmates while she was getting sick in front of them. Mamma, please. She needs help.” 

You could imagine your parents exchanging looks with each other, a silent conversation being had. 

“Alright. We’ll take her to see someone, if only so you stop stressing yourself out about this. I don’t want you to worry about your sister, Ingrid. She’s fine, we’ve got her. You need to focus on football.” 

Ingrid rolled her eyes. She’d never put football over you, never. It was her passion, her favorite thing, and while it messed with her social life and made things complicated, she would never let it tear her from you. Not when you needed her. 

“I will stop worrying when a doctor tells you that there is no problem.” 

“We’ll take her, Ingrid, I promise. Everything will be fine, your sister will be fine. If she needs help, we’ll get it for her.” 

You wondered if they were doing it for you, or if they were doing it for Ingrid. Like everything, like always, it was probably just for Ingrid. You were used to that; being less important than your sister. And as much as you wanted to be angry with your sister, you just couldn’t. Not when she was the only one who did things for you. 

Once, Ingrid had promised that she’d always be on your side. So, while you weren’t sure your parents would ever be on your side, or if they ever had been, you knew you could count on Ingrid. No matter where she went, no matter what you did, Ingrid would always have your back. She’d promised, after all. 

------

it's been a while! hope everyone hasn't minded the long wait, and enjoyed this sol installment 🫶🏻 she really is my favorite to write for.

[tell me if you see typos okay byeeee]

[caitified]

Avoiding caitlin because you have a crush on her after being friends for a while but she gets suspicious and finds out by interrogating you and forcing you to confess meanwhile she feels the same way and kisses you

AVOIDANCE

CAITLIN CLARK X READER

comments: getting to all my requests now!

warnings: none

you and caitlin clark had been inseparable since your freshman year at iowa. from the moment you stepped onto campus, she’d taken you under her wing, made sure you felt like you belonged. it started with extra shooting drills after practice and late-night junk food runs during midterms, and somewhere along the way, it became everything. you were her shadow, her constant. on the court, you had this sixth sense with each other—she’d dish out a no-look pass, and you’d already be there to finish. off the court, it was easy. effortless.

but it stopped being effortless when you realized you were in love with her.

it hit you like a freight train one night in your shared apartment. you were on the couch, her long legs draped across your lap as you both mindlessly watched a movie. she’d laughed at something, her hazel eyes crinkling at the corners, and you’d felt it in your chest—this undeniable ache, this overwhelming need to just be hers.

you tried to ignore it, but it only got worse. the way her long brown hair fell in loose waves after practice, the way she’d push up the sleeves of her hoodie to reveal her toned forearms, the way her big hands would linger on your back during a hug—it was all too much. you couldn’t breathe around her without wanting more, and it scared the hell out of you.

so you did the only thing you could think of: you started pulling away.

you stopped hanging out one-on-one. you claimed you were too busy with classes, with extra workouts, with anything you could use as an excuse. at practice, you avoided her eyes, focused on your own drills, didn’t stay late like you used to.

it didn’t take long for her to notice. caitlin was nothing if not observant, and you could feel her eyes on you every time you brushed her off or avoided her touch. she didn’t say anything at first, but you knew it was only a matter of time.

it came to a head after a late-night practice. the gym was empty except for the two of you, and you were hoping to slip out unnoticed when her voice stopped you cold.

“y/n,” she called, sharp and commanding, like one of her on-court directives.

you froze, your heart racing as you turned to face her. she was standing at the free-throw line, her hands on her hips, her hazel eyes boring into you.

“what’s going on with you?” she demanded, walking toward you. her long strides ate up the space between you until she was standing right in front of you, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of her shampoo.

“nothing,” you said quickly, looking anywhere but at her. “i’ve just been busy, that’s all.”

“bullshit.” her tone was sharp, but her eyes softened as she searched your face. “you’ve been avoiding me. don’t lie to me, y/n. just tell me what’s wrong.”

your chest tightened, and you took a step back, trying to put some distance between you. “it’s nothing, caitlin. seriously.”

she followed, closing the gap you’d just created. “no. you don’t get to do this. we’ve been best friends for three years, and now you’re just shutting me out? what the hell, y/n?”

her voice cracked on your name, and it broke something in you. you couldn’t do this anymore.

“because i’m in love with you!” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to keep going. “and i can’t—i can’t just be your friend anymore, okay? i can’t sit next to you, or laugh with you, or play with you without wanting more. and it sucks, because i know you don’t feel the same way, and it’s killing me, caitlin. so yeah, i’ve been avoiding you, because it’s easier than pretending i’m fine when i’m not.”

you stopped, your chest heaving, tears stinging your eyes as you finally met her gaze. her expression was unreadable, and your stomach sank.

“say something,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

she didn’t say anything. instead, she stepped closer, her big hands reaching out to cup your face. before you could process what was happening, her lips were on yours.

it wasn’t gentle. it was desperate, like she’d been holding back for just as long as you had, and now that the dam had broken, there was no stopping it. her fingers tangled in your hair, her body pressing against yours as you kissed her back, your hands gripping the front of her hoodie like you needed something to hold onto.

when she finally pulled back, you were both breathless. her forehead rested against yours, her hazel eyes soft and full of something that made your heart race.

“you’re an idiot,” she said, her voice low and shaky.

“what?” you blinked at her, confused.

“you think i don’t feel the same way?” she shook her head, a small, incredulous smile tugging at her lips. “y/n, i’ve been in love with you for years. i just didn’t know how to tell you.”

your breath hitched, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. “you mean—”

“yes,” she interrupted, her thumb brushing your cheek. “i’m in love with you. i’ve been in love with you, and you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

you laughed, a shaky, disbelieving sound, and she kissed you again, softer this time, like she had all the time in the world.

thanks for reading! requests open!

[mrrharper]

Desperation In College

Mike needed to change his life. With his third year of college beginning, he felt like he was wasting his valuable time on Earth. No friends, no real hobbies, no plan for the future. He was passing classes and progressing through his degree thanks to inertia alone.

So it was no surprise that when he saw a bizarre ad online for a pair of "life changing" underwear, he bought it instantly. 24 hours later a package arrived and he eagerly opened it. Inside he saw a jockstrap with the words Under Armour clearly visible. For a moment he doubted what he read on the advertisement - it was only a pair of underwear, and a type he never bought or wore himself. But he shrugged these doubts off, saying to himself that it wouldn't hurt trying them on.

For the next two days he wore only the UA jockstrap. It took a moment getting used to being so exposed underneath his pants, but... it was fine after a while. As the second full day was coming to an end Mike noted that his life has not yet experienced a "dramatic, 180 degrees turn you need to experience". But it was still a decent pair of underwear.

It was dark outside and he contemplated going to bed, but realized he hadn't jerked off in a while, and thus had some pent up horny energy within him. He sat down on his bed and leaned against the wall. Then he started massaging his member through the jockstrap with his left hand and looking for his phone with his right. But before he did, he felt a weird sensation around his bulge. As his cock got harder, the material around it began moving and after just a few seconds it looked like Mike's jockstrap was rubbing itself against his dick, jacking him off. The waves of pleasure that hit Mike immediately after, completely overwhelming him.

The jockstrap sped up its movements and Mike closed his eyes, experiencing pure bliss. While his senses were on the verge of shutting down he did not see his whole body quickly inflating, bulk appearing everywhere. His arms and legs got thicker, his pecs turned into meaty pillows, his stomach muscles appeared underneath them, veins popped out on his shoulders and neck.

Mike's hand instinctively moved towards his bulge and he began helping his seemingly sentient jockstrap in massaging his cock, which throughout this transformation got at least 3 inches longer.

With this much stimulation it didn't take long before Mike experienced the most intense orgasm of his life, cum covering his dick, which was tightly enclosed by the jockstrap. He slowly stood up, his mind mostly blank. He went into the bathroom and the moment he saw himself in the mirror, a cocky grin appeared on his face and he began flexing his newly acquired muscles.

The thing was, for him they were not "newly acquired" because Mike no longer existed. In his place was MJ, vice president of the Alpha Psi Delta fraternity, known by everyone on campus. He was a star receiver on the football team who never showed up to class. Instead, he spent time banging as many chicks as he could in empty rooms. Then at night, he had his ass pounded by a few of his frat bros, of course after proudly saying the phrase "no homo", which was then followed by some aggressive anal sex. He was dumb as a pile of rocks, frequently violent, arrogant and crude, a cocky grin always on his face.

He was exactly the same as all of his bros, basically a copy of every other jock on campus. And he absolutely loved it.