#i really enjoyed this one thank you!! 💕💕💕

[julietcpulet]

what do you think would be the most satisfying ending for jinmao?

i'm so conflicted about them because while i do not want jinshi to ascend the throne, i have to admit a part of me thinks renouncing his true position would be a waste. i mean, he's a damn pretty good leader and sometimes i enjoy imagining him and maomao being a power couple together. but then i'm always like damn they both canonically wouldn't like that </3 (so, thank the lord for fanfics, right?)

anyway, an unhappy jinmao is hardly a satisfying ending. but then i also wouldn't want them to be commoners because, again, it'd be a waste. as for the "faking their death" ending, it sounds really romantic but i feel like it's too cowardly and ooc for them. they'd never back down from a challenge after all.

so yeah i don't know how natsu-hyuga will conclude their romance. maybe the ending will just be them finally getting together? like the ending of the kaguya-sama movie where the last shot focused on the two main leads' interlocking hands, and then boom, the end credits. that would be an open ending (and i think that's what natsu was intending from the start), but is that satisfying? i'm not sure. just wanted to know your thoughts!

Love this question! And so sweet of you to be interested in my input 💕. Here's a breakdown of my thoughts on each possible ending and my personal speculation on an ending I like. Of course I have no idea what Hyuuga is really planning but just going on general direction and how things could play out if these were the proposed endings. (Spoilers below)

Emperor and Empress ending - I agree that this isn't the ideal nor the likely ending. To me, although there are factions pushing for Jinshi to be Emperor, it all feels like a mis-direct to the final outcome. Both Jinshi and Maomao are opposed to him becoming Emperor and he knows she would be miserable as a woman at the head of the nation, holding scorn from the other women.

Jinshi felt it was something close to a miracle that he had met a woman like Maomao. That was why he didn’t want to let her go. He’d gone so far as to press a brand into his own side, all to keep her.

He has struggled a lot to make it clear Maomao is the only woman he wants, he doesn't want to be the Emperor and also just is not the right person for the job. I don't believe these plot points are in vain only to be reversed later by a realization of avoidance and Jinshi wanting to accept his position out of familial obligation or maturity, nor do I think the plot is moving the characters in that direction. If anything it's continually showing that Maomao and Jinshi have to be willing to assert their own wishes against that of others despite what may be expected of them. And while Jinshi does have excellent leadership qualities, as Maomao easily points out, his kindness often brings him to overwork himself and struggle with dealing out harsh punishments or having necessary and uncomfortable entanglements an Emperor would have to have.

Jinshi was watching the pitiful family closely. He didn't seem to be thinking of how to punish them, but rather how to connect this to whatever came next. As he watched the family, Maomao silently watched him.

Romeo and Juliet ending - This was a favorite of mine previously and I still think there's the smallest possibility for it to happen but it's unlikely. I liked it simply because it brings back the resurrection drug which was a recurring theme for so long with Maomao wanting to obtain it and also the potential for a callback to the beginning of the novels with Shisui somehow making an appearance since she is the only character to disappear successfully and not be found. The downfall of considering this ending is two-fold. One is that Maomao and Jinshi do have some connections with people they may miss if they faked their deaths and disappeared. Her father Luomen might be able to come but Basen, Mrs. Chue, Lihaku and anyone else would never be able to see them again. Secondly, Maomao herself has said she sees death as a cop-out for escaping the fallout to problems you have caused.

"I hate it when people think everything's over just because they're dead!" It was as good as refusing to face the consequences of whatever you had done.

This to me is the biggest indicator this likely won't be the ending. It's interesting to consider and could bring back some fun appearances from early novel plots but I agree that given Maomao and Jinshi's character they're not much for disappearing and leaving others to handle the mess.

Grand Commandant and Court Physician ending - This is personally the most satisfying end for Jinmao I can imagine right now. Basically if Jinshi renounces his title as Moon Prince and Maomao accepts her role in the La Clan then they go on to get married with Jinshi being brought into the family, he could take on her clan name. From there, Lakan could step down as Grand Commandant and have Jinshi take the role. This would be optimal for both as Lakan appears to enjoy the strategy involved in military affairs but often delegates the rest of his work to his aids. He has found Jinshi interesting and should like to have a son-in-law who will take his position so he can retire to play Go games which is what I imagine.

To his surprise the eccentric strategist was there, lying on a couch and drinking from a gourd. To all appearances he was quite at his ease, but a secretary placed some paperwork sheet by sheet on a table and gave Lakan a stamp to press on them.

Being Grand Commandant would also give Jinshi the ability to back up the Emperor's son with Gyokuyou while not being his enemy. Jinshi has had a clear interest in the military from having the training, to when he stormed the Shi clan stronghold himself and then has wanted to boost the ranks of the military but been denied given that his current position is mostly in name and he has to go through others to do the things he wishes in the government. It also removes Lakan as such the fearsome threat against the Emperor and puts his son in the position whom he trusts.

When the younger brother had at last appeared, though, it turned out that he was as beautiful and as gossamer as a celestial nymph-and that he was also a hale young man as skilled in the military arts as the administrative.

As for Maomao, her accepting her place in the La Clan is integral to both her and Jinshi potentially being free from the grip of Imperial politics. Ironically this whole time Jinshi has been taking the burden on himself to find ways of removing the obstacles for both of them by getting himself taken out of the line of succession. It would prove to me to be funny if it turns out that Maomao accepting a noble position is the key to both of them finding actual freedom.

From my perspective if she becomes the La Princess not just in others recognizing she is outwardly but taking on the Clan name and what comes with it, I think it could open other possibilities for her and Jinshi. Like I said above she and he could get married if he was no longer royalty and he could take on her clan name, as we've seen that men can be welcomed into a wife's family and become the head of that family.

The position itself would bring her a noble status, which she could then use to work in the circles Jinshi would be in as Grand Commandant. For instance, if he is no longer considered a threat to the Emperor, he could also put forward more initiatives like he used to in the rear palace like helping the women read but along the lines of potentially having female physicians. I think the Emperor would accept without a problem, he merely needed someone who was respected with in the Imperial Court and who could make a reasoned argument for it to present the idea.

If Maomao then becomes a Court Physician in her own right she can still see Empress Gyokuyou and treat her as a doctor without having to be her lady-in-waiting or her servant and not being able to have a connection to Jinshi. She could be friends with the Empress again because she has her own established position which finally removes her biggest fear that has driven so much of Jinshi's efforts to remove himself as a potential successor.

Finally, I find this possible ending to be the most satisfying because what Maomao and Jinshi want most is to help people. And a place they can be where they have the best ability to help people is where they would thrive the best.

"You're only human, Master Jinshi. You're not some mythical immortal who can save everyone." She held his face in her hands, the fingers of her left hand brushing his scar. "You can be wounded, scarred, brought low. Only human."

Being Emperor and Empress would only stifle them because as we see with the current sovereigns there is a lot they cannot do and their hands are tied by relations with foreign nations and keeping friendly terms in the palace itself. Being commoners wouldn't work either because as we have seen with Maomao, having to constantly work and scrape for very little causes a defeatism of feeling like you're not able to do much for others or improve life for yourself.

Sadly but truthfully, Luomen won't be around forever and to me Maomao will find happiness taking over for him as Court Physician and working with the Quack in the Medical Office where she's comfortable and able to help the ladies and others, plus she'll always have access to the best medicines and can visit her Verdigris House family at any time. This ending also brings back the feeling of the early novels where Jinshi can peek in on her in the medical office after he's finished his paperwork as Commandant but this time they're able to go get chicken skewers together and have the freedom as husband and wife.

He wished he could have gotten her tucked into bed sooner, with a nice, soft blanket around her. She hadn’t been able to resist her first sleep in days, and she looked as comfortable as if she were in a pleasant bath.

Here they're both able to work, doing something they enjoy but freed from troublesome entanglements, all the while finding new ways to improve the lives of others. That's a happy ending to me.

Lastly, I don't see it having them be together and fade-to-black, I think we'll know some of what their future holds. To me the idea of being open-ended is more, the possibility for further adventures to be had. So we can see them get married, have jobs and be happy but that doesn't mean there couldn't be more, there just wouldn't be at the time we leave them because they've achieved a certain peace for the moment.

That was longer than I intended it to be 😂 but fun to write and explore the different endings. Thanks so much for the question!

[tinytinyblogs]

Hello! Thank you so much for your creativity! I enjoy your work very much. I hope you are healthy and happy!

Can I request a yandere!straykids reaction when their s/o says "you're mine" to them. The S/O's words have a loving and gentle tone rather than possessive, the words are an affirmation that the S/O trusts the yandere!straykids and that they have a strong bond. Will yandere!straykids become more clingy, protective and obsessive, or will they give more freedom when they see that their s/o loves them and wants to spend their life with them?

Thanks again! Sending you virtual biggest hugs and a kiss on the forehead! 💖💕🍨🎂🍰

Say it again...

When you finally fall into his trap and start saying sweet things to Yandere!skz.

Hyung line, Maknae line (coming soon)

💬Finally, I’m back! Honestly, it feels a bit awkward to start writing again, and I’m really sorry for the long delay. Thank you so much for the request, the virtual hugs and kisses, and most of all, your patience while waiting for me. It really means a lot.

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

“You’re mine, Channie. Don’t ever leave me, okay?” Your voice was soft, trembling with vulnerability, as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. The warmth of your back hug caught Chan off guard, halting his breath for a few seconds. For that brief moment, he froze his heart skipping a beat not from fear, but from the overwhelming wave of emotion that surged through him. Then slowly, he turned around, his arms immediately pulling you into a tight embrace. It was instinctive, intense, and entirely sincere. His smirk, laced with something both amused and dangerously satisfied, curved onto his lips but he made sure to hide it. He pressed your face gently into his chest, letting you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat while he concealed the expression he wore like a secret. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice husky, deep with emotion and something more primal. “I’m yours.” The words were simple, but the meaning behind them ran deep much deeper than you likely realized. In his eyes, it was a vow. A declaration. A binding promise. He didn’t just belong to you; you belonged to him just as much, maybe even more. “No one’s going to tear us apart,” he added, his tone darkening just slightly, not with fear, but with unwavering certainty.

“And I’ll make sure everyone knows it.” That was all it took to ignite something inside him—a powerful, undeniable certainty that everything he had ever dreamed of was finally unfolding before him. To be yours completely, and to have you entirely his that was his ultimate desire. His greatest fantasy wasn’t of romance in the conventional sense. It was about belonging. About ownership. About that unbreakable connection that no one could intrude upon. And now, in this quiet yet charged moment, that fantasy was becoming reality. A warm, consuming feeling spread across his chest like wildfire. It wasn’t just love it was something deeper, more intense. Possessiveness. Obsession. Devotion. All of it tangled into one overwhelming emotion that consumed him from within. But he didn’t mind. He welcomed it. Because you were his. Totally his. And even better—you didn’t realize just how deep he had drawn you in. You were falling, willingly, into the world he had created just for the two of you. That blind trust in your eyes only made him cling tighter, hold longer, breathe you in like a drug. He didn’t need to control himself anymore. He had what he wanted. He had you. And in his mind, there was no greater victory. No sweeter feeling. So he held you close, lips brushing the top of your head, hiding the smirk that only grew wider with each second you stayed in his arms. You were his entire world and now, finally, he had become yours too.

Minho

“Of course you’re mine, remember?” you said with a light laugh, your voice playfully teasing as you watched Minho moving around the kitchen. There was something undeniably charming about the way he cooked just for you focused, calm, and effortlessly graceful. Your giggles echoed softly through the space, breaking the quiet rhythm of his movements. But then, something changed. The moment your words reached him, his hand froze mid-motion, the knife pausing above the cutting board. He didn’t say anything right away. Slowly, almost deliberately, Minho set the knife down, the clink of metal against wood echoing in the silence. Then, without a word, he started walking toward you. You blinked in surprise, still sitting at the table, unsure of what to expect. He didn’t rush, but there was intensity in his steps. He reached the table and placed one hand on its surface, leaning forward until his face hovered close to yours, even though the table still stood between you. His gaze was locked onto you sharp, unwavering, and filled with something deeper than amusement. “Right,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “I’m always yours.” There was a weight to his words, a gravity that made your heart skip a beat. His eyes never left yours, as if he were trying to memorize your expression at that exact moment.

“That’s such a sweet thing to hear from you, darling,” he murmured, his tone growing heavier with every word. It was more than just happiness. It was something deeper, something more profound. He wasn’t just touched by your words he was moved by them, as if they confirmed everything he had always believed. You were his. From the very beginning, whether you had known it or not, you had always belonged to him. He had claimed you with every glance, every subtle action, every moment spent in your presence. And now, hearing those words from your lips it felt like a silent victory. He had played the long game, gentle and patient, and now he had finally won. Minho’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek with such tenderness that it made your breath hitch. His touch was warm, almost reverent, but there was something possessive hidden beneath the softness. “And I’ll always be yours,” he whispered, his thumb lingering on your skin. “I’ll never let you go.” It wasn’t just a statement it felt like a vow. Or maybe it was a promise he made to himself long ago, now spoken aloud. In that moment, there was no denying it: you were his entire world. And he was ready to do whatever it took to keep it that way. The kitchen fell quiet again, but the silence was no longer empty. It was filled with something powerful and unspoken an understanding that neither of you needed to voice. Because now, you both knew exactly where you stood with each other. Forever.

Changbin

“What are you looking at? I’m right here, Binnie. You should be looking at me and only me,” you teased playfully, leaning over to sneak a glance at his phone screen. Your tone was light, your smile mischievous, but your words struck something deep within Changbin. He froze for a moment, caught off guard. Slowly, he turned to face you, his eyes meeting yours with a sharp intensity that hadn’t been there just seconds before. “You’re right,” he said, voice low but firm. “You’re right here… and you’re mine. Only mine.” He didn’t even realize it at first, but his fingers had tightened around his phone gripping it so hard that the edges of the device dug into his skin. It wasn’t anger that made him hold it like that. It was something warmer, yet far more consuming. A rush of emotions swirled inside him affection, longing, and something darker, something more possessive. You were right there in front of him, laughing like you always did, unaware of just how deeply you were already embedded in his heart.

Without a second thought, Changbin set the phone down and reached out, his hand cradling your cheek with a gentleness that contrasted with the storm inside him. His thumb brushed softly across your skin as he studied your face with such focus it made you blink. “I think…” he started, pausing as if carefully choosing his words, “I think I need to give you more of my attention. All of it, actually. I should be loving you all the time.” His voice was quiet, almost as if he wasn’t saying it to you, but swearing it to himself. A silent vow that, from this point on, nothing else would come before you. He didn’t know if it was a good thing for you or for him but he was certain about one thing: he wasn’t going anywhere. Not now. Not ever. To him, the world had narrowed down to a single point you. And in this world he was building, this space made just for the two of you, there would be no distance, no silence, no one else. Just you and Changbin. Always. His gaze told you what he didn’t say aloud: from now on, he would be everywhere. In your view, in your thoughts, in every quiet moment. His presence wouldn’t fade when you walked away; it would follow, lingering like a shadow, always watching, always close. There would be no more freedom in the way you once knew it because loving Changbin came with the price of being loved intensely in return. And in his love, there was no room for anyone else. Just you. Just him. Forever.

Hyunjin

The moment the words leave your lips soft and sincere telling Hyunjin that he’s yours, everything about him changes. His eyes light up like stars, his heart soars, and it’s as if the whole world suddenly makes sense to him. Just hearing that you claim him, that he belongs to you, sends him over the moon. Without even realizing it, he tightens his hold on your hand, squeezing it gently but firmly as you walk side by side. That small action speaks volumes how deeply he cares, how safe he feels with you, and how much it means to him to be yours. There’s something beautiful in how he holds on, like you’re his anchor and his sanctuary all at once. With those few simple words, you’ve earned something rare from Hyunjin: his complete trust. And that trust gives you a little more space, a bit more freedom, even if he still follows you around like a devoted puppy. He can’t help it he’s head over heels for you, completely and utterly enchanted by everything you do. The way you smile, the sound of your voice, even your quiet moments he wants to be part of it all. He’s not overbearing, but his presence is constant. He just needs to be near you.

Not to control you, but because he simply feels better when you’re close. He’s the kind of person who finds peace in your nearness, who feels at ease knowing you’re safe by his side. That’s why, even if you express a desire to go out or spend time away from him, he’ll nod and agree so long as he can be with you. To Hyunjin, being yours isn’t just a label. It’s a feeling that consumes him, fills him with warmth, and makes everything seem brighter. He doesn’t need grand declarations or dramatic displays; just knowing he’s yours is more than enough to make him feel complete. And though he gives you the room to breathe and move freely, he’s always nearby watching, waiting, loving. He’s the kind of person who won’t demand all of your time, but will treasure every second you willingly give. And if you reach for him, even just a glance or a touch, he’ll be there smiling, blushing, and ready to follow you anywhere. Hyunjin’s love is soft but steadfast. It's full of tenderness and quiet devotion. He’ll walk beside you, hold your hand a little tighter when you're unsure, and smile like he’s the luckiest person alive just because you looked his way. And now that you’ve told him he’s yours, there’s no going back. Because from this moment forward, Hyunjin is yours completely and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[twstedwonders]

hello! i saw u had requests open and that made me really excited as a fellow leona liker :3 truthfully ive never seen anyone post about demiromantic readers let alone their take on it, so:

leona and/or jade reacting to their (gender neutral) partner opening up about being demiromantic and how they've only ever loved one other person when they were very young

im unsure of your request rules, so if this breaks character limit/if you feel like rejecting the request, no hard feelings! i gope this scratches some of ur twst-related writing itch :3

A/N: Hello fellow Leona Lover!! Thanks for your request 💕

I hadn't thought about setting up a request rules section yet, but I'll make sure to start one!

I hope you enjoy reading!

GN!Reader, Established Relationship

Leona and Jade with a S/O who admits they're Demiromantic

Leona Kingscholar

It was likely during one of your many cuddle sessions when you tell him.

You're resting on his chest, listening to and feeling the soft rumbles of his occasional  chuff soaring through the muscled man. He has his fingers ever so lightly grazing your arm, almost absent-mindedly, as you two share stories back and forth.

When you reveal you're demiromantic, and that you've only ever loved one other person, he's almost at a loss for words at first.

You- wonderful, gorgeous, incredible you- found it in your heart to love a lazy lion like him. It still boggles his mind, really. And now you're telling him there was only one other person who has ever had the privilege of holding your love and affection? He really doesn't believe it.

He realizes it may have taken a lot of courage to tell him what you did, and he thanks you sincerely for trusting him enough to tell him.

He has the slightest worrisome thought that his flirty touches would have made you uncomfortable before you two started dating, but he never voices it. This is about you, this is your moment, not his.

If you're worried he'd think of you in any negative light, never. Honestly, none of the boys would. Twisted Wonderland is a world filled with magical beings, where different species of people live together. Gender and sexuality is a huge spectrum, and this is well known, well accepted, and even celebrated!

If you're into wearing and showing off your pride colors, he'll gladly buy you a whole catalog of things with his wealth. He may even start wearing a bracelet showing off your colors, especially at any pride parades/festivals- if you allow him to. He is just so proud of you and your pride. And hey, maybe he'll feel confident enough around you to start wearing his own colors too.

Jade Leech

You may have told him while the both of you were alone in the Monstro Lounge Kitchen. The place was closed, and Jade was testing out different recipes, trying to find the perfect one to add to the menu. You are there to keep him company, pitch in your ideas, and of course, to test out whatever flavorful concoction he cooks up.

The comforting atmosphere and gentle words shared between your encourages you to speak up, telling him that you're demiromantic, and that there's only ever been one other person you had loved.

Honestly, he does feel a little smug knowing you likely experienced some "firsts" with him, the honor was his, truly.

With a small but genuine smile, he thanks you for your trust in him. He's well aware of what others think of him, and yet here you are, his darling pearl, entrusting him with important knowledge about yourself.

There will be really no change to your relationship, things will carry on like usual, until you crack a joke or start wearing something with your pride flag on it. Once you do, prepare for the jokes and playful teasing to commence! The sweet but sly boy was waiting for you to initiate the okay for doing anything. He'll only ever do it in private, not even around Floyd, as he knows this may be something you wish to keep between yourselves.

He may be a little mischievous and make a fun fruity drink based around your pride colors for the lounge. Oh, he does suppose that drink shares those colors, how strange.

And yes, he will be making a terrarium or few inspired with your pride flag colors. No you cannot stop him. yes, you can, all the boys are simps and will do as you wish.

[weheartdracofest]

We 💚 Draco Fest PR Day Two

We've been gifted with some amazing podfics in our fest and below you will find examples of praise already received for these epic works.

If you've not yet found the time, grab your headphones and dive in!

💚💚💚

Praise for: [Podfic] Daddy Issues by hoko_onchi

“I pretty much INHALED that pod 😅!!!”

“Amaaaazing reading, heart-poundingly sexy!”

“Thank you for this meal 🙂‍↕️🙏 absolutely loved it!! ❤️💕”

Rating: Explicit

Length: 1hr 8min

Summary:

Draco hums in satisfaction as he measures Potter’s other wrist. Potter’s skin is so warm and soft. Draco could dive into it and never come up for air. “I’m going to measure your legs now.”

Potter makes a stricken sound and tries to grab Draco. “Wait—no—I—”

Draco dodges him and kneels on the floor. Ludicrous man. “Oh, heavens.”

Draco is face to face with Potter’s erection. His boxer briefs are obscenely tented, a small wet spot just below the waistband.

“It’s not what you think.” Potter’s voice is so strained, and he moves one hand to cover his cock, but Draco bats it away.

“What else would it be, then? Looks like a cock to me.”

OR: Draco is enthusiastic about Harry's hot dad bod. And he makes Harry call him Daddy. That's it. That's the fic.

💚💚💚

Praise for: [Podfic] Baby Carrot by Jelliebabie

“This was such a fantastic listen!! The fic was so charming and you both did it so much justice!! Loved it!! 🥰😍❤️”

“Beautifully done!! The switching between the two of you felt so seamless as well 🙌 Loved it”

“WOW!! i already loved the original fic, this was so fun to listen to. the voices were done so well <3”

Rating: Explicit

Length: 1:25:51

Summary: Draco Malfoy has a secret.

Harry Potter has a not-so-secret, long-term crush on Draco Malfoy.

In fact, Harry would do just about anything to get with Draco, but Draco seems intent on avoiding him. This just leaves Harry even more determined to find out what the big secret is. Or maybe it isn't so big after all…

💚💚💚

Praise for: [Podfic] A Question of Ethics by plotty

“Hahaha omg what a delightful fic to start my day with 😍 they're so cute and of course Draco would get involved in Tumblr drama 🤣 absolutely love how you voiced them🥰”

“That was real fun! You did a great job with the podfic! Their voices and expressions, and their tones, the exasperation on Harry's voice xD. I really enjoyed it <3”

“oh my god MYSTERY PODFICCER!!!!!! THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER”

Rating: Gen

Length: 8 minutes, 45 seconds

Summary: A functional computer and internet connection were the least Harry could provide for his stay-at-home husband.

Or, Draco does fandom.

💚💚💚

Praise for: Title: [Podfic] Mad Sparks by lq_traintracks

“Great read 💕”

"This is so beautifully read, with so much emotion. Thank you for sharing x"

Rating: Mature

Length: 11:49

Summary: I’ll kiss you how I’ve never quite kissed you before, because I’ll be this me now rather than the me you knew then, who kissed you then, the me who hadn’t felt the loss of you.

[chilledcitrus]

Wow, you’ve really put my thoughts into words. The reason why I like Draco is exactly what you said. Like, I get it if people disagree but to completely dismiss those who relate to him still blows my mind. Actually, I don’t mind if people prefer Ron or Harry because it all comes down to personal preference and who you connect with. And personally, I like Harry and Ron too, but they’re not the ones I relate to you know? That said, I don’t see why I should put them down just for saying Draco is better like some of their fans do to Draco.

Now, I wouldn’t really say Harry isn’t relatable because I know people who actually relate to him. But I agree that he's been through so much that it’s harder to relate to him fully and maybe only to certain aspects of his experience. Also when it comes to Harry never really showing weakness or vulnerability, I just see that as part of his personality. I think it creates such an interesting contrast with Draco who doesn’t hide his emotions as much and that contrast is a big part of why drarry is so appealing to me.

But again, thank you for sharing your thoughts and I’m glad you enjoy my blog. See you around and feel free to drop by anytime 💕

I can't believe that in 2025, I still see posts questioning why Draco is more popular than Ron or Harry. If they're so against his growing popularity, instead of blaming the people who like him, why not blame jkr for giving him his own arc instead of keeping him as a minor character whose only purpose is to get in Harry's way?

At this point, it feels like these people only hate Draco because of his growing popularity, and most of it comes from envy that their favorite character didn’t achieve the same level of fame. It's funny how the ones who hate Draco end up acting just like him in the first five books.

The worst part is that some people who call themselves Drarry fans agree with this mindset because, in their eyes, Draco will always be beneath Harry, and they will never be equals. To them, Harry is someone unreachable for Draco, and it's only because of Harry's kindness that he "accepts" Draco as his partner.

And with Draco's growing popularity, there will inevitably be people who favor him over Harry, which they cannot accept. So, they keep bringing up all the bad things he did as a child while purposely ignoring the fact that canon clearly shows Draco has moved past that phase and is no longer the same person he was back then.

[makeyoumine69]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 (𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍)

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Sometimes, you can't help but go back to an old flame. Even after breaking up with Evelyn, Patrick could never truly forget her. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x Evelyn Williams, Patrick Bateman x Jean and Timothy Bryce x Evelyn Williams (side pairings). 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: NSFW, porn with feelings, angst and romance, oral sex (both receiving), p in v sex, body worship, nipple play, steamy foreplay, implied cheating, denial of feelings, mirror sex, POV first person (P.B.), marking, possessive behavior, internal monologue, melancholy, post-canon, obsession, shut up kiss, power dynamics, touch-starved Patrick, pet names, dirty talk. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 8k 𝐀/𝐍: Hello, everyone! I'm incredibly grateful to the person who commissioned this—it really helped me dive even deeper into the Patrick and Evelyn dynamic. I hope you enjoy it!💕Many thanks to incredible @moriohpsyker for proofreading and @melis-writes for amazing gifs! 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Chris Isaak — Wicked Game Silent Circle — Stop the Rain in the Night Depeche Mode — Strangelove James Blunt — You're Beautiful

The heavy raindrops hammering the limo roof were seriously pissing me off, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I wasn’t even sure why I was here to begin with. I sat parked outside Evelyn’s place—the overpriced apartment her father had bought for her. I’d never liked it. Everything inside was sickeningly sweet, and it wasn’t just the decor or the endless flowers she scattered in every corner. It was the whole atmosphere—the color palette, the furniture that looked like it had been stolen from some Victorian museum. I hated all of it. And yet, I could still remember the scent of those flowers.

Evelyn loved that sort of thing. She called it "aesthetic."

Classic—maybe even a little royal, in her mind.

I rolled my eyes and let out a scoff, then rubbed them tiredly and glanced at the blurred view beyond the window. The glass looked like some melancholy painting. I leaned my cheek against it, letting the cold seep into my skin.

Jean, what are you doing right now?

I wondered, as my brain suddenly shifted back to my humble secretary. Whatever was going on between us was hard to define. Were we dating, or just pretending we were a perfect fit? Why did she treat me like I was a good guy?

While I was busy with my dramatic pondering, it started pouring even harder outside. Passersby ran along the streets, seeking cover. The numerous umbrellas blended into one bright, colorful rainbow. My eyes hurt from watching them move, spin, and twitch in the strong wind.

I’ve had enough.

I’ve seen all types of dramatic scenarios before—too many times—in every kind of weather: rainy, sunny, cloudy, snowy. Out of everything else in my life, the weather was probably the only thing that actually changed. Still, having random dates with random women remained a deeply ingrained part of my lifestyle, even though I was already seeing Jean. I have to admit, those dates were the only thing keeping me from a complete breakdown. But I’d never let Jean know about them. She already had a huge effect on me. Admitting it might ruin our current dynamic, and I didn’t want that.

Why do I keep coming back to this place almost every Friday? Can you tell me, Evelyn?

I imagined her smiling at my question. Her voice was still clear in my head, and I could see her shiny blue eyes staring back at me with undisguised judgment, as if I’d asked her something illegal or filthy. She always reacted like that when I dared to bring up our engagement—or what we actually meant to each other. I also remembered how I broke up with her in that stuffy restaurant—a place I’d never visit again—and told her she wasn’t important to me.

Did I lie?

I closed my eyes, leaned back in the leather seat, and rested my head against the headrest. Gripping the door handle, I realized I didn’t want to believe that I had lied for the greater good—that my intentions were noble, that I was trying to save Evelyn from myself.

But maybe I did it intentionally. Deliberately. Simply because she mattered to me, and I didn’t want to hurt her. She could have left me for Bryce a long time ago. Instead, she clung to me—and to the semblance of normalcy we shared in the Hamptons last summer. I tried to make it work. But now, I’ve had enough.

She loves roses. The smell of them. Their shape. The thorns.

I cringed and ran my tongue along the backs of my teeth. I wished I could sniff some coke to decompress, but it was too late to go to the Tunnel or anywhere else—I’d already told Bryce and McDermott I wouldn't be joining them tonight.

After briefly checking the time on my Rolex, I adjusted the sleeve of my Prada trench coat, ignoring the way my Walkman headphones tilted toward my right shoulder. I wasn’t just annoyed—I was furious. I couldn’t comprehend why I was in such a state of mind, why it was so easy for me to spiral out of control.

"We’re done here," I suddenly blurted out. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror before pulling away, and I could finally breathe freely. Being near Evelyn’s place felt like there was an invisible rope wrapped around my throat, tightening. "Take me back to 55 West 81st Street."

Despite the bad weather, the ride was short and smooth.

My apartment greeted me with its usual coldness and stillness. I shook my black umbrella before placing it by the front door. My hair was slightly messy from the humidity, but I couldn’t care less about that right now. My thoughts were already far away, taking me to places I’d probably never see again. I scoffed and took off my coat, which somehow felt heavier than it had this morning. My hand instinctively moved to adjust the gold cufflink, as if I were in public and had to look perfect.

No matter what.

Outside, the storm raged on, wind slamming against the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. I ignored it and headed into the kitchen, where I vaguely remembered dropping the small pack of coke I wanted to do before going to work. The longer I searched, the more pissed off I got—it was obvious the gram wasn’t there, and only God knew where it was. Anger washed over me like the hot air in a tanning salon. I literally wanted to tear the place apart. A small vase with some pretty orchids caught my attention, but I couldn’t remember who they were for or why I bought them.

"Jesus Christ! Give me a break!" I yelled at no one in particular, kicking the kitchen counter, which groaned in response.

My foot hurt, and I muttered a string of curse words under my breath. My hair was a mess, and I was so angry the veins in my face stood out. I yanked my tie loose without grace. The smooth red fabric slid over my damp fingertips. I leaned against the counter, closed my eyes, and ran a hand along my cheek and down my neck. My artery was pounding, as if I were already high.

But I wasn’t—and it sucked.

Just as I was about to grip the fucking vase and hurl it off the balcony, the phone suddenly rang. The answering machine clicked on, and after a brief beep, I heard Jean’s voice. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

"Hi, Patrick! I know you haven’t been in the mood today, but I just wanted to check in on you," she murmured softly. I could picture her pressing her lips together and nervously playing with the phone cord, just like she always did at the office. "I hope you’re okay." A pause. A long one. My fingers slipped away from the vase. I wasn’t really angry anymore, which was strange. "I hope to see you soon."

See you soon.

There was too much hidden behind those three words. They stirred something in me so deeply that I rushed to the nearest phone. I almost bumped into the couch before I had the receiver in my hand.

"Jean!" I nearly cried into the phone, pressing it harder against my ear. My hands were shaking, and my knees felt weak, so I collapsed into the nearest leather armchair. The rain was still pouring outside. "I—I just got back from—" I stammered, frowning. My head started to spin, and my temples throbbed with tension. "I had dinner with Chadwick Langston."

Jean chuckled, and the sound sent an unexpected chill down my spine. "Yeah, I remember. I made those reservations for you."

"Right," I replied, turning to watch the raindrops streaking down the windows. I had no idea what I was supposed to say next. Awkwardness swarmed over me like angry bees. "Listen, Jean. What about lunch tomorrow?" I lowered my voice, trying to sound cheerful and composed—definitely not flirty. "Then we can go see Les Misérables on Broadway, like you wanted."

"Oh, you still remember that?"

I do. I really fucking do.

I still remembered the little details she shared—her interests, her hobbies. Most vividly, her love for working with children, a topic I could never stand to discuss.

"Just say yes, and I’ll take care of everything."

She fell silent, and for a moment, sheer horror washed over me. Panic rose in my throat.

How could she possibly reject my offer?

"Well, actually, I thought we could just have coffee and walk in Central Park. What do you think?"

"Central Park?" I couldn’t hide the shock in my voice. What kind of soap opera bullshit was this? I didn’t hate that kind of activity, but after suggesting Les Misérables on Broadway, this was her counteroffer? "If that’s what Jean wants, I’m all for it."

The lie was so sweet it almost made me gag, but I gnawed at my knuckle to stay quiet, waiting for her reply. When it came, I nearly passed out from relief.

"Thanks, Patrick," she crooned, and I finally relaxed, my body softening like Jell-O. "I’m sure you’ll love it."

"Don’t worry about it."

Jean’s soft giggle buzzed in my ear. My jaw ticked beneath the fake smile stretched across my face. I was glad there were no mirrors in the living room—I didn’t want to see myself right now.

"Can you pick me up at seven?" she asked, then added, "Or I can just meet you there."

"No, I mean—yeah, sure. I’ll be at your place at seven sharp," I murmured, gripping the phone tighter. "See you tomorrow, Jean. Have a good night."

"You too, Patrick. Please take care of yourself."

Then came the long beep, and I didn’t pull the receiver away from my ear. I let the mechanical tone pierce straight through my skull.

Great job, Patrick. You fucking did it again.

Why couldn’t I just tell her to stay away from me—while it wasn’t too late, while she still had a chance to save herself? She could live a peaceful, long life somewhere else. Maybe not even in New York—this city was too harsh for someone as naive and kind as Jean.

I could’ve told her more clearly, warned her to keep her distance for her own good. But I never did. I couldn’t. Out of pure egoism, I held on. I didn’t want to let her go.

Maybe now was the time.

After several long minutes, I finally returned the phone to its station on the small table beside me. I just sat there, staring at my trembling hands. My Rolex and gold cufflinks caught the light as I twisted my wrists. The gray haze filtering through the wide windows cast an oppressive atmosphere over everything, as if something bad was about to happen.

Something inevitable.

Something I couldn’t stop.

And this time, it wasn’t violence. For once, it wasn’t about blood or rage.

It was much worse.

And not even brutality could fix it.

The next morning, I planned to visit Xclusive and burn some calories pumping iron, especially after devouring a whole package of biscuits the night before. However, that wasn’t meant to be.

Out of nowhere, Bryce called me. He sounded feverish—I could barely understand him—and insisted on meeting somewhere in Upper Manhattan. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued, especially since I couldn’t remember Tim ever acting like this after he came back from rehab. In the end, we agreed to meet at Espace, probably the only place we could still get a reservation at that hour.

When I arrived, Tim was already inside, swirling his drink—probably straight vodka on the rocks. I wasn’t surprised when he insulted a waiter who was probably smiling too brightly. That kind of thing could irritate Bryce, who had been getting agitated pretty easily lately.

"Hey, Bryce," I said, looking dorky with my hands in my pockets, like I’d just walked by and happened to notice him. "What’s up?"

Tim made an incoherent noise, somewhere between a mumble and a grumble, as if he were in his eighties instead of his late twenties.

"What’s this about? I haven’t seen you in such a good mood in a long time." He clenched his jaw and took another sip of vodka. "Are you getting married or something?"

My face dropped before I realized it. "Very funny, Bryce. I see rehab did you good—it refreshed your sense of humor." I cringed and sat down at the table. "Do you really think marriage would make me happy?"

Squinting his glassy gray eyes, he picked up a pack of cigarettes and threw it on the table. "That’s not funny. I get it," Tim hissed through clenched teeth. I could sense the tension, but I still had no idea what it was about. "I get it because I’m getting married too, and it’s not fucking funny at all."

I almost choked on air. "You? Getting married?" I laughed and pointed at him—he didn’t like that, but I didn’t care. "And you expect me to believe this?"

"Vivian is pregnant," he said suddenly, delivering the news so bluntly that I stopped smirking and started listening. "Her parents want me to marry her." Bryce lit a cigarette and took a drag. "I don’t know if I really need this."

"What about Evelyn?" The question slipped out faster than I could think. "Actually, I thought that was the point."

Bryce tittered and blew some smoke in my direction. "Evelyn? Dude, I don’t even remember the last time I saw her. Oh, wait—I remember she got engaged to that scumbag from the law firm," he muttered, snapping his fingers as he tried and failed to recall the guy’s name. "Oh, for fuck’s sake! His name’s so stupid I’ve already forgotten it."

The longer Tim stayed silent, the angrier I became—angry at myself for being so affected by Bryce’s last comment about Evelyn.

She got engaged to someone else? That fast?

"Uh, anyway," Tim remarked, waving his hand dismissively. "How’s your lovely secretary?"

I didn’t answer. My mind was racing, desperately trying to calculate the possible scenarios—was Evelyn really going to get married before I did?

"What was his name again?"

Frowning, Timothy Bryce pinched a cigarette tightly between his fingers. "I didn’t say that," he grumbled.

I decided not to push him. In the end, after several more drinks, Bryce finally remembered the name of the man who had dared to take Evelyn away from me.

Spencer Caldwell.

Bastard.

I brought Jean to Central Park as planned later that day. 

The cloudy weather only added to the melancholic atmosphere. Now, I couldn’t imagine walking around this city with Jean, holding balloons. It all seemed like something from another life—one that didn’t belong to me.

I felt detached from the world in every possible way. Jean knew it, yet she still tried her best to prove me wrong, and for that, I was grateful. I probably was. I probably wanted her to be happy.

Really happy.

Not in a fake way, though, because she deserved so much better—a man who could love her back as genuinely as she loved. I could even admit that I was sad I didn’t end up being that man. Despite everything Jean had done for me, I felt the best way to repay her was to let her go.

"What are you thinking about?" Jean asked softly as we walked down the main pathway in Central Park, passersby droning around us like white noise. "You look sad."

Her brief analysis made me smile. I brought a paper cup of hot coffee back to my mouth, but stopped when I saw a cheerful couple walking toward us. They were holding hands, the man kissing the woman. It irked me in a way I couldn’t explain.

"Not really," I finally replied. The coffee stirred up strange memories of a girl I once thought was homeless. I’d thrown a coin into her cup—only to realize it wasn’t empty. "Listen, Jean."

I stopped abruptly, and she did the same. I noticed how she squeezed her paper cup before raising her eyes to mine. Her lips trembled slightly, but not from the cold.

"You don’t need to tell me anything," she cut in, giving me a thin-lipped smile. "I already... I—I understand that—"

Before she could continue, I stepped closer and pressed my palm gently against her cold cheek. "Jean, let me talk." I slowly dragged my hand across her face. "I want you to know that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me—and more."

Perplexed, she averted her eyes for a moment, and I began to panic, fearing that I had actually hurt her. This panic felt foreign. When had I become scared to hurt other people's feelings? But Jean was not just anyone. She was so much more, even if she didn't realize it yet. I wanted her to understand one day how special she was and that she would make someone very happy.

She would, I was sure of it.

"We've always been different," Jean whispered as I pulled my hand away from her face, stroking the top of her head and brushing off her stray hair. "I've been thinking a lot about this lately, and I should have known it much earlier," she sighed, sipping her coffee and ignoring the chilling wind storming around us. "I guess, in the end, I didn't know you at all. I don't know anything about you, Patrick."

Speechless, I nodded. It was insane that she had voiced all my inner thoughts, and somehow I was so damn happy that I didn't have to explain everything. Jean might have been naive and too kind, but she was smart, and I wasn't worried about her. She would handle things the right way if she followed her own wishes instead of trying to make people like her.

"Just a small piece of advice, if you don't mind," I said, taking a small step back. "Don't listen to anyone else. Don't try to please people. Don't believe those who only show their perfect facade."

Before long, we parted ways. I was already in a cab, listening to a Robert Palmer tape. His voice buzzed in my Walkman headphones as I squeezed a small, smooth figurine that Jean had given me before saying goodbye. She had told me she was moving to another city. I opened my palm and glanced down at the shining little star made of fake gems. It looked absurd and childish. But Jean reassured me it could bring me luck.

I couldn't help but chuckle.

Maybe it was true—Jean had no idea how lucky she was that I was no longer part of her life.

How many days had passed since the last time I saw Evelyn?

I couldn’t tell, but what was obvious was that it was pouring again—just like the day I’d asked my driver to take me to her place.

And here I was again.

But this time, I took a cab and left my umbrella at the office. The moment I stepped out, my coat, my hair—everything—was drenched in the blink of an eye. Thunder rumbled so loud my eardrums felt like they might burst, but I kept walking, weaving through the few passersby who strolled with no urgency, as if enjoying the rain, unconcerned about catching a cold or worse.

The scene reminded me of Evelyn scolding me about getting sick last time we were in the Hamptons. After swimming in the ocean, I refused to dry off when we returned to the summer house. She was furious—literally chasing me around the house with a towel.

Did she do it because she genuinely cared?

Shaking off the intrusive memory, I finally pushed open the heavy main door leading into the lobby. The concierge—an old man who clearly remembered me—smiled and asked politely, "Looking for someone in particular?"

Though he already knew.

Somehow, that lifted my mood in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

"Evelyn Williams," I murmured, leaning on the small wooden desk. My soaked coat left wet trails along the polished surface. "Is she home?"

He studied me with a quick, assessing look—his pale gray eyes flicking to my dripping hair—then flipped through a worn-out journal.

"And you’re… Mr. Bateman, correct?"

"Correct."

He ran his thumb down a yellowed page and looked up again. "According to my records, she hasn’t left today."

A wide smile tugged at my lips. "Excellent. Thank you."

As I turned to leave, his creaky voice called after me, "Shall I let Miss Williams know you’re here?"

I stopped, pressing my lips into a tight line. "No," I said, my voice low and sharp, temples pounding like molten iron struck against an anvil. "I want it to be a surprise."

I turned and gave him a short, cold smile—enough to discourage any further questions. I was in a hurry. I needed to see Evelyn right now, or I’d snap. Strangle the first stranger I saw in the elevator. Smash their head against the metal doors the moment they closed.

But there was no one in the lobby but me.

Lucky people.

So lucky without even knowing it.

The elevator arrived with a soft ding. I stepped inside and caught sight of myself in the mirrored walls: damp locks of hair clinging to my forehead, coat soaked enough to wring into a bucket.

I looked like hell. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t give a damn—not even slightly. Because what could Evelyn possibly do?

Send me away? Tell me to get lost? Call me a liar, a bastard?

Nothing I hadn’t heard before. Funny how much venom we managed to spit at each other in such a short-lived relationship.

Time slowed as the elevator rose toward Evelyn’s floor. Fidgeting, I ran a hand through my hair in a half-hearted attempt to look presentable. It didn’t help. I leaned back against the wall and exhaled a deep, exhausted sigh. Then pressed a palm to my face, almost breaking my own nose.

I was so fucking pissed and desperate I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. This woman—God help me—had infected me. Her poison had been simmering inside me for days, maybe months. I was dying slowly, rotting from within, like a man with a terminal illness who hadn’t yet accepted his fate.

What a shitty metaphor, Patrick. Very shitty.

The elevator dinged again, yanking me out of my spiral. I stepped out into a dimly lit hallway—long and quiet. As I walked, I couldn’t help but think of the brownstone Evelyn used to live in. The one where I first met Courtney during one of those idiotic dinner parties. Bryce had been all over Evelyn, like I wasn’t even there.

Maybe I wasn’t.

At least, mentally.

I almost chuckled to myself—until I saw the front door to her apartment. It was so white. Immaculate. Even more polished than the first time I’d been here.

My hand hovered in midair, just inches from the doorbell.

Was I really this scared? Was I seriously incapable of just ringing the fucking doorbell?

I wanted to shake my head, turn on my heel, and run—just leave this place and never come back. Not because the whole idea was stupid or because I looked like a complete loser.

No—it cut much deeper.

I wasn’t sure what it was. Self-deprecation? Or something worse? But my hand was already in motion, my fingers pressing the button—and then I froze in shock, as if my body wasn’t under my control anymore. The only sound I could hear was my own heartbeat, thudding wildly in my ears. I was already sweating.

Each second that passed without a response from behind the door made me both more relieved and more terrified.

What if that old dickhead downstairs was wrong and Evelyn wasn’t here? What if she was with some other guy—someone better looking, richer, more successful?

Panic gripped me. I staggered back and nearly crashed into the wall behind me.

And then—I heard the soft click of the lock.

I was already on the verge of throwing up.

A moment later, a pair of bright blue eyes blinked at me in sheer confusion. "Patrick?" Evelyn’s voice poured through me like warm honey, melting my insides. "What…What are you doing here? Are you okay? You…you look a bit off."

"It’s raining," I said flatly. My shoulders sagged under the weight of my soaked coat—I was probably visibly shaking.

"Oh. Yeah, the weather’s been awful lately."

The silence that settled between us was unbearable.

Leaning against the doorway, Evelyn stared at me—not just at my ruined coat or my drenched hair, but past all that. Through me. I felt like she could see everything, and I wanted to hide. 

Scream.

Still, my lips stayed sealed by some unknown spell—something she must’ve cast the second I looked into her ocean-wave-colored eyes.

"Come on, get in," she murmured suddenly, stepping aside. "I’ll make you something hot."

Something hot.

Her words echoed through my head, but I didn’t move. Evelyn turned back, noticing. I was frozen—glued to the fucking floor.

"Hey," she waved her small hand in front of me, trying to snap me out of it. "Do you hear me?"

I shook my head, trying to say something honest. But instead, I stifled a shaky sob.

"Yeah," I muttered, stepping forward on weak legs. I felt like I might collapse right there on her floor, crushed by some strange, irrational fatigue. "Something hot would be nice."

Eventually, I let her lead me inside.

Maybe I was just delusional, but I could swear I felt the life-giving warmth of her skin when she touched my hand—and I followed her like a lost man chasing a light at the end of the tunnel.

"Remove your coat," she said suddenly after closing the door—only then did I have a chance to take in how she was dressed. A short Pratesi jacquard robe in white and blue clung to her like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination and offering everything to my eyes. I wanted to rip that fabric apart—to hear it tear beneath my fingers while Evelyn squirmed beneath me.

"Patrick?"

"When did you last see Bryce?"

She frowned, pulling her hands away before they could touch me again. "Why are you asking?"

"He’s going to marry Vivian Ellsworth. The model from Vogue."

"I know."

"Oh, so you know," I croaked, gripping the wet collar of my coat. I was already losing it. "Then tell me, darling—what the fuck was that?"

I watched her open and close her mouth, lips trembling. No words came out. And I wasn’t about to let her off the hook.

"You fucked Bryce behind my back," I growled, looming over her. I forced her to press up against the small hall dresser. "And you were still demanding a wedding from me at the same time!"

"Patrick—wait!"

"No," I snapped, placing my hands on either side of her trembling frame, trapping her between me and that gaudy piece of furniture I was moments away from smashing. "I talk. You listen." Evelyn flinched against me, so I leaned in even closer, letting her feel my breath, too hot and too close. "This whole marriage thing—what was it really about? You never wanted me."

"Stop it," she snapped, her voice suddenly robotic. She shoved against my chest with her fists, her knuckles pressing hard into my muscles, leaving little impressions. "I don’t even want to start this!"

"Of course you don’t—because you’re already so fucking deep into it! And—"

Before I could finish, Evelyn slapped me. Hard. My head jerked to the side, and my cheek stung where her hand had struck. A red mark was already rising on my skin.

"Why do you always have to be like this?" she hissed, stepping away—just a few paces, but she already felt miles out of reach. "Always saying the ugliest things. Always destroying everything that anyone tries to build!"

I stood there, listening but not looking at her. My bangs fell into my eyes, blurring my vision, but I didn’t move. Something told me Evelyn was about to drop a bomb, the way she spiraled so fast, with so much heat behind her voice.

"You slept with my best friend," she cried, voice cracking like glass under pressure, thrusting a freshly manicured finger at my chest—just short of touching me. "And now you have the audacity to accuse me of cheating?" Her eyes squeezed shut, trembling as if to hold back a dam about to burst. "I knew this city had no saints left," she whispered. "But… I thought you were different."

And then—God—she hugged herself.

It wasn’t fear or sorrow exactly. It was something fragile folding in on itself—like a butterfly drawing in its wings before the storm.

But Evelyn wasn’t a butterfly.

She was the most exquisite creature I’d ever seen. And I had really cheated on her, never giving a second thought to whether it would hurt her—because I was so convinced she didn’t care.

My hands moved faster than my thoughts. I rushed toward her, pulling her into my arms. She felt so fragile. For a brief, terrifying second, I thought I might break her just by holding her too tightly.

But she didn’t push me away. She didn’t scream. Even though I was still soaked through with rain, Evelyn only whimpered into my shoulder. She hugged me back, ignoring the cold, wet fabric and the way I was crushing her into my chest.

She was so warm and beautiful—and she smelled like home.

How was I supposed to know that was exactly what I’d been longing for all this time?

"That means," I murmured, my lips just above her ear as I lowered my chin to rest on top of her head, breathing in the sweet scent of her perfectly blond hair, "you didn’t sleep with Bryce—"

Evelyn let out an exasperated groan and jabbed me in the sides, hard. "Jesus Christ, Patrick!"

"Spencer Caldwell," I stated flatly. "Bryce told me some asshole from Skadden already proposed to you. Is that true?"

She went still in my arms, and I tilted my head to catch a glimpse of her face.

"Evelyn," I breathed, lifting my hands to her shoulders, steadying myself. "What did you tell him? Was it yes... or no?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It matters," my lips nearly brushed hers, "because I need to know if I should kill this guy already or not."

A loud, nervous gasp broke from her tense chest. "You definitely have the most kooky jokes."

"That’s not a fucking joke!"

I barely stopped myself from latching onto her mouth right then and there. Her lips were pink-tinted and too damn magnetizing, and the fact that she didn’t flinch away wasn’t helping.

"It doesn’t matter, because I don’t want him," she muttered, looking up at me. Her hands clenched the lapels of my coat, and I nearly leaned in. "Never really did."

My thoughts tore through hidden corners of my mind I didn’t even know existed, but my body moved on its own—driven, certain. And if she said she never really wanted that asshole, then nothing else mattered. I wanted her. Desperately. Fiercely. That was the only truth burning through everything else.

I claimed her mouth in one swift motion, pulling her closer. Evelyn froze in shock. Her lips remained stiff against mine, but I didn’t stop. I used my tongue and all my desire to infect her with it, to take control of her. She could have slapped me again. She could have clawed at my skin, left bloody streaks behind. I was ready for anything—any reaction would’ve been worth it.

But instead, she chose to kill me with coldness and indifference.

At least, that’s what I thought—until her hands slid around my neck, fingers teasing the back of it and playing with my wet hair.

Now, I had something I could work with.

Evelyn was hot and bothered, trembling in my hands like an unbridled fire, and I was the only person who could tame it.

Or so I believed.

"I thought about you," I confessed between kisses. My hands roamed her slender figure, coaxing the thin, overpriced robe to slip down one shoulder. I immediately kissed it with such greed that it scared me. "About us."

Evelyn let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan as I cupped her small breast through the fabric. "Liar," she retorted, leaning back against the dresser. I pressed her against it and stepped between her elegant legs. "I like you more when you don’t talk."

"Oh, that’s rude, darling," I teased, nipping at her neck and grinding against her like an animal—which is exactly what I was. "I’m trying to be honest... maybe for the first time in my fucking life," I growled, sucking a patch of skin into my mouth. She writhed in response. "And you’re mocking me for that."

The sly smile that played across her face nearly stole my breath.

"You deserve it, Patrick," she hissed, before our mouths crashed together again. This time, Evelyn was much more demanding. "Get this stupid coat off already!"

"As you wish, baby."

Evelyn didn’t make a sound as she tucked her thumbs beneath the lapels of my dark blue coat, letting it fall to the floor with a muffled thud. Huffing, I stepped out of it and hooked my hands under her hips to lift her. She squealed into my mouth as I kissed her, wrapping her slim legs around my waist. I could feel the heat pooling between her thighs, and I groaned when she scratched the back of my neck with her red nails. Her arms clung tightly to my shoulders as I set her down on the dresser behind her. My hands moved automatically, sneaking beneath her robe, peeling it away until they found the soft fabric of her pale pink lace nightgown. I remembered this one.

"I never thought I’d see you wearing this again," I murmured, my voice rough, close to her flushed lips. She licked them suddenly, breath quickening. "You look incredible."

She gave a soft laugh, fingers threading through my messy hair. "Should’ve given me more compliments, Patrick," she teased, her feet sliding up along my ankle. "Maybe we’d both be different people by now."

Different people.

It hit harder than anything she’d ever told me—louder than her yapping, sharper than her rants, deeper than all those silly fantasies. Something twisted inside me, and I hated the feeling. But it was too late to dwell on the past. There was no room for mistakes now. She was here, in my arms, half undressed, her skin bathed in a red glow.

Was she already mine?

With a short, shaky gasp, she dragged me back by my collar. Her lips were as hot as the sun, and she kissed me like we were going to die tomorrow. I groaned into her mouth and slipped off her robe. She was perfect. Her skin glowed. Her nipples were already visible through the thin fabric. Her nightgown was the last obstacle between her body and my lust.

As soon as she pulled away, I palmed one of her tits again, locking my lips around her hardened nipple through the fabric. She instantly yanked me closer, tangling her fingers in my hair and sliding her legs along my lower back, hips, and ass. And I liked that. I liked it so much, my dick ached with the need to be inside her. Deep. Raw. With no mercy and no regret.

While my hands explored her small, almost delicate figure, Evelyn grew more impatient. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of my shirt, prompting my jacket to slide off and join the abandoned coat on the floor.

I gasped as she nuzzled my neck, her small kisses burning against my skin—probing, testing my patience. I held myself still, unwilling to give in. She was greedy—so fucking greedy with every touch, stripping me slowly, desperately.

"Dirty girl," I hummed, closing my eyes and craning my neck to give her more access. She started kissing me harder, leaving wet marks I’d have to cover up tomorrow. "You’ve missed me. You’ve missed me so bad."

Evelyn froze, her mouth slightly open, a thin string of saliva clinging to the corner. "God, Patrick," she giggled, brushing her lips against mine and tracing her hands over my bare chest. My tie was already loosened, pushed up onto my right shoulder. "I missed your silliness."

I wanted to laugh, but instead, I gripped her hips tighter—almost painfully—and lifted the hem of her nightgown until the outline of her ass came into view.

She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. No underwear.

A red flash exploded behind my eyes, and I flinched back for a second, staring into her face to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. She was so beautiful, and the way her eyes were glinting with that strange light I’d never noticed before—it was affection. Had she always looked at me like that, and I’d just never seen it?

In the throes of passion, I happened to catch a glimpse of a mirror on the far wall. For a split second, I saw our reflection—Evelyn kissing down my torso, lower and lower. Her pink lips brushed against my tense abs, and I instinctively flexed to look more toned.

God, she was driving me crazy. I was so close to losing control—though, truthfully, I never really had it. Control had always been just an illusion. Whenever I was with her, she was the one holding the reins. The power was always hers.

Now, even though she was kneeling in front of me, playing with the clasp of my belt, the control was still in her hands—and I was just going with the flow. Aimlessly. Powerlessly. But completely, wholly.

"Oh, fuck, Evelyn," I hissed, my voice shaky, as she finally touched my bulging groin, tracing the curve of my hard cock. "You know you’re risking flooding the floor? I can smell your arousal in the air."

She didn’t reply. She only grinned up at me—that grin inflamed me even more. It nearly pushed me to yank her blonde hair and shove my dick into her mouth, but I forced myself to stay still. To calm down. To just watch.

I let her take the lead.

Without haste, Evelyn unbuckled my belt, then unzipped my pants. She slid down my Ralph Lauren boxers, and a jolt of electricity shot through my body the second my cock sprang free. I was already hard, already leaking at the tip—ready to ruin my lovely ex-fiancée. Her blue eyes teased me with their coyness. Carefully, she wrapped her hand around my length and gave it a slow, deliberate stroke. I almost blacked out from the tension. I was teetering on the edge, ready to explode—again and again.

It should’ve been embarrassing. But I couldn’t care less.

Not when Evelyn looked up at me with those big doe eyes, her cheek pressed against my cock. She literally nuzzled it, pressing her tongue along the ridge to feel its weight.

"You taste so desperate," she sneered, victorious. "What’s wrong, Mr. Bateman? I think you’ve lost your grip."

Gritting my teeth, I glanced down at her and rested my hand on the back of her head, drawing her closer at a deliberate pace. A silent cue. I wasn’t in the mood for heart-to-hearts. I just wanted her mouth on me. I thrust my hips forward, and she opened her mouth without protest, taking me in until she felt me in her throat. Evelyn didn’t flinch—she only frowned. She drooled around my cock while her hands rested on my hips, not to control me, but simply to brace herself as I picked up the tempo, pounding into her mouth and gathering her soft hair into a ponytail.

Huffing, I glanced at the mirror—the scene was absolutely depraved—and it was a shame I couldn’t film it with my camera. It deserved to be recorded, rewatched, studied. I pushed too deep inside her mouth so many times that she could only whimper around me, and that sound only pushed me further. Still, I couldn’t indulge in this for long—I was already close to filling her mouth with cum. I fixed my gaze on her. She was blushing, from heat, shame or both, and that red hue suited her so fucking much. She probably never realized it. Nor did I.

After a short, guttural groan escaped my lips, I stopped moving and pulled out of her mouth with a wet pop. She didn’t protest when I squeezed her cheeks and pushed a finger between her lips. She sucked on it just as eagerly as she had sucked my cock.

"Wow, look at you," I crooned, tilting her head to the side while my finger remained deep in her mouth. "Never expected you to be such a whore for me."

Evelyn grinned shamelessly, making me feel utterly defeated once again.

"Another woman can't make you feel that good?" she asked. "Is that why you came to me?"

"Oh, come on," I rasped, withdrawing my finger and dragging a wet line along her cheek. "Don't stoop to such cheesy provocations."

I didn’t give her a chance to respond. Instead, I pulled her up from her knees and set her on the dresser once again. Evelyn gasped at my bluntness. The straps of her nightgown were already slipping down her shoulders, and it only took a gentle nudge to slide them off completely. Her small but well-shaped breasts were now on full display. I paused to admire them before squeezing both and licking her hardened peaks.

"Ah," Evelyn breathed, arching her back into me. "Mhm—Patrick..."

I bit one of her nipples, which drew a moan from her. That spurred me to drop my hand lower, between her legs, to rub her pussy lips—already slick with arousal—and to slip a finger inside her. I just wanted to feel her writhing against the dresser.

"Not Caldwell. Not Bryce. Not anyone else can make you feel the way I do," I muttered against her collarbone. Then I lowered my mouth to the inside of her thigh, kissing, nibbling, and sucking. "No one deserves you, darling."

"Even you?" Evelyn murmured in a sly tone.

I grinned and pressed my tongue flat against her wet pussy—she jolted.

"Even me," I smirked, playing along. "I wonder how often you imagined me while fucking someone else."

That was it.

Her weakness was already surfacing as I moved lower, dipping my tongue into her pussy and exploring her folds and red-hot clit. Her entrance clenched around my fingers every time I teased its rim. She was so ready for me—so wet, so exposed, so mine. I took in everything: her aroma, her taste, her high-pitched wails. My mouth never stopped feasting on her. With every flick of my tongue, Evelyn slipped lower on the dresser, her legs spreading wider, nearly draping over my shoulders. I could tell she was about to cum all over my face—her whole body was tense, like a string about to snap.

Slurping at her pussy, I plunged my fingers deeper—two at once—and curled them to find the spot on the front wall of her womb. I knew exactly what I was doing. Evelyn's erratic cries were the clearest sign that I’d hit my target—and that she was about to lose herself.

"Give it to me, baby," I whispered, urging her to let go while pumping my dick to keep it hard. "You're so fucking gorgeous when you cum," I added, continuing to suckle her swollen clit. "Let me see it."

Quivering and panting, Evelyn grabbed a fistful of my hair, nearly smashing my face into her pussy. I let her use me like a toy for her pleasure.

"Oh my God," she moaned, twirling her nipple and bucking her hips against my mouth. She was practically fucking herself on my tongue. "Patrick—fuck—fuck—fuck!"

I had never heard anyone curse so adorably.

When her whole body started trembling so hard I had to hold her still, and her inner walls clamped down on my fingers, I made sure to finger her through the orgasm. I wanted her to gush all over my face—but then she suddenly yanked on my shoulders, almost dragging me away.

She was overstimulated as hell. Sweaty, dizzy, and dripping with sweetness. Barely breathing.

And I was so fucking proud of it.

After licking her juices off my fingers, I stood up and scooped her into my arms again. She was malleable and still shivering. So fragile that I couldn’t help but kiss her temple, her forehead, and the crown of her head. I held her close as I walked to the wide mirror I’d spotted earlier. Evelyn’s nightgown had bunched around her waist, so I helped her remove it completely once I set her on her feet, pressing her back against the mirror. The glass fogged slightly the moment my mouth touched hers again, thanks to the heat radiating off our bodies.

Without further ado, I spun her around so she could see our reflections—and everything I was about to do to her. My cock throbbed as I took it in my hand, stroking it slowly before lining it up with her pussy and sliding it along her slick folds. She moaned, low and needy. I caught her earlobe in my mouth and nibbled gently to keep her on edge.

"Spread your legs wider," I said—not exactly commanding, but firm enough. When she obeyed, I bit her shoulder lightly, cupped her breasts, and pressed her harder against the cold glass to heighten her sensitivity. "Are you on the pill?"

The question made Evelyn stutter. She gasped and turned her head to look at me. "Yes," she replied shakily, biting her bottom lip so hard it nearly drew blood. "I mean… not really."

I froze.

"Where are the condoms?" I asked casually, already half-ready to walk into her bedroom to grab them myself. But she didn’t reply. "Evelyn?"

Panting, she looked at me again—something had shifted in her gaze. "There’s no need for them," she stated, swaying her hips and brushing them against my cock. "I trust you, Patrick."

Nonsense .

"What?" I blurted, genuinely stunned as my cock softened slightly. "You want me to fuck you without a condom? Seriously?"

I couldn’t decide whether the possibility of getting Evelyn pregnant was turning me on or off. But by now, it probably didn’t matter—we’d gone too far, and stepping back would’ve been foolish.

"To hell with this," I croaked, pushing the tip inside her. "I’ll pull out."

Of course, I lied. It was obvious when I buried myself completely in one smooth thrust. Evelyn was light-headed, but she didn’t even squeal—just gasped and scrabbled at the mirror, trying to grab its edge. Her pussy sucked me in deeper, squelching each time I bottomed out. I lost track of time, wanting this moment to last forever—Evelyn, her body, her tight cunt, her pornographic moans.

No. Porn doesn’t even come close to this.

"Kiss me, please," Evelyn pleaded, tilting her head back against my shoulder. "Please, Patrick."

Jesus Christ.

It was so wrong… yet so right. I should’ve laughed and told her to shut up and take my dick, but instead, I leaned in and sealed her mouth with a slow, lingering kiss. Our lips were swollen and burning—just like our bodies. Depravity was driving us past the point of no return, like a train with no brakes. 

If I was born to love someone, then this was the kind of love I was capable of.

Dismantling. Overwhelming. Branding.

Thank you for the reading!🖤 Please follow my writing community or my side-blog to know when I update!

[MAIN M-LIST] 🪓 [AO3] 🪓 [KO-FI]

[xxnashiraxx]

Snippet Someday 🌹

Thank you again for the tags @anacdoce & @andromedaancunin!! I loved your snippets, even if they were both made me wanna cry 🥺

I know I tend to yap, but I have been stuck for a few months on writing, and I've been working on some smut for a future scene set in Act 2, so that's helped me a bit! On that note, I'm gonna share a bit of it below the cut since it's NSFW... anyway, enjoy!

“Do you still have that oil that Shadowheart gave you?” he murmurs, watching the flush in her cheeks darken. She nods, turning her head to reach up, and she pulls the vial out of the small pouch near her pillow. “Mmm, been keeping it close for the perfect occasion, haven’t you?” “Or maybe I’ve been using it on my own,” she says with a smirk, and his cock throbs at thought of her, slippery-slick and touching and stroking and- “Do I really leave you that desperate?” He kisses her calf, one arm tucked around her legs as the other reaches out to take the oil from her outstretched hand. “Naughty girl, not asking for a little help… You know I’m just a tadpole call away…” As he whispers, his fingers brush over her through her underwear, her eyes flying shut as she curses and turns her head to the side. His lips lift, exposing one fang as he rubs her through the already soaked gossamer and lace concealing her from his impatient scrutiny. “After you feed… after we kiss goodnight… yes, you do…” she moans, lilting and muted by the way her lips brush against the cushion. The admission coils low in his belly, not what he’d been expecting- embarrassing her is far too amusing, but she usually conceals the truth behind blushing cheeks and a bashful smile. However, this time… she’d confessed so readily, and he finds her more than ready for his touch as he rubs her lazily as a reward. “My my…” he clicks his tongue, reveling in the way she arches into him when he drags his finger down until he reaches the wettest spot on her undergarments. “I don’t think I can stand for that any longer.” He pushes against her, slow and sweet, and the give is immediate as he teases her in shallow thrusts. She thrashes and bucks into the contact, hellbent on more, and he chuckles darkly when he pulls away, her frustration voiced on a breathless growl. “Please… I just…” she rambles, meeting his eyes with fierce anguish simmering beneath the surface, and he can’t tear his gaze away from her. “I need you… need this… whatever you want, however you want it. Please, Astarion.” It’s the tear-sodden plea that demolishes his patience, every word from those kiss-swollen lips leaving him wound taut with anticipation. He swallows thickly, answering her passionate appeal by dragging that last scrap of fabric up and off, revealing to him the source of her ache and his determination to soothe it. The scent of her arousal clings to his senses and stirs a violent rumble in his chest, uncorking the vial with a sharp pop that rings in the night air. Her eyes hone in on his every moment, lower lip tugged between her teeth, and he almost groans at the sight. Carefully, he grips it in the hand pressing her legs against his chest before pouring the clear liquid into his other palm. A gravelly groan spills from his throat when he strokes himself, covering the entire length in the silken oil as her eyes drop to the action with laughably restrained lust. “Are you going to tell me what you’re going to do, or will it be a surprise?” Her voice is quiet and timid, betraying a hint of apprehension at whatever he may say next. Her worry is unfounded- this isn’t the night, and he’s not yet the man he needs to be to join them together in the way she’s thinking. He decides to keep that information to himself, however, and strokes her ankle affectionately as he lines himself up. “Close your eyes, darling. You’ll see soon enough,”

No pressure tags!! I'm tagging a lot of ya cause I haven't done this in forever and I just wanna participate again 💕 @pinkberrytea @bby-bel @khywren @vividiana @arzen9 @nerdallwritey @bum-dragon @aldisobey @emmg @heylittleriotact @bloodinwine @hellethil @dramatiquechipmunk @truerhearts @roguishcat @lanafofana @marlowethebard @deadly-diminuendo @loserscardigan @bhaal-battle-beer-bard @the-bear-and-his-sunbird @inkymoonbunny @verbenaa @justabiteofspite @badbloodwitch @preciouslittlebhaalbae @elinorbard @irondeficienttav @alliskit @marlowethebard @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

[beartitled]

Hiya! Hello! I really like your art and comics, Slay the Princess or otherwise (I really liked your Evil Cipher Parents AU), and your Voices x Princesses comics are still some of my favorite fanart pieces for this fandom to this day! So, I wanted to try drawing one of your voices, and I chose Broken because I really like the cracks, the chains, and the lower back wings!! I hope I did your little guy justice <3

Birb see fanart

Birb excited

Birb show fanart to Wife

Wife approves

[sysig]

for requestober ! my heart's been aching for yanderapy for a while and i would like to get something about them :3 i don't have a specific prompt . i do like to see them more on the angsty-unhealthy-relationship side lol like some of the requests you made last year . overall , just seeing anything about them would be nice . X3

Day 1 - Sodium Chloride Couple

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting 

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself 

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼 

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer. 

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was. 

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal. 

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough  testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far. 

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.” 

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft. 

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji. 

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin. 

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more? 

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any  7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story. 

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was. 

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad. 

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it. 

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.” 

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them. 

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood. 

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m 

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly. 

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you. 

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething 

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up. 

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of  1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them. 

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena. 

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games. 

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast. 

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up. 

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them. 

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet. 

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off. 

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight. 

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time 

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue. 

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath. 

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm. 

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet. 

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time 

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you? 

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it. 

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty. 

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to. 

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue. 

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you. 

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.” 

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough. 

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad. 

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you. 

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable. 

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest. 

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.   

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him. 

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking. 

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

.

.

.

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH IT’S HEREEE 💖💓💖💕💕💗💖💖❤️‍🔥💘💕❤️‍🔥💖💖❤️‍🩹💕❤️‍🩹💕❤️‍🩹💖💖❤️‍🩹❣️❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥💕💕💓💓💖💓💖💘💔💓💕💓💖💓💓💖💘💓💕💖💓💓💕

Happily Ever After

(Continuation to this, I'd suggest reading that first!)

Pairing: Actor!Joaquin Torres x Fem!Actress!Reader

Summary: This is a collection of all the moments you have shared with your co-star, turned best friend, turned boyfriend, Joaquin.

Warnings: This is completely inspired by tom and zendaya and their moments from the nwh press tour, tooth rotting fluff, mentions of panic attacks, mobs, paps being insane, and wanting children, reader is mentioned to be shorter than joaquin, completely inspired by tz.

AN: i am so EXCITED for this. These two + tz are my favourite babies🥹 (pretend the gif is joaquin and reader)

It has been a whole year since that magical confession was shared between you and Joaquin and both of you weren't shy to admit that this past year has been the best year of your lives.

Both of you had mutually decided to keep it private for at least a year. Although, you were sure everyone already knew, but it was fun to pretend like nothing happened. You and Joaquin surely enjoyed it too much.

This past year had made you realise that if you thought Joaquin was an amazing friend, he was an even better (and clingier) boyfriend. He was so attentive and respectful, always cheering you on whatever projects you did- like he was your personal hype man. He was this close to posting your photos all over his room as he considered himself to be your biggest fan. When he did stuff like this, all you wanted to do was squish his pretty little face in your hands and never let him go. He was obsessed with you, but in a positive way- always going out of his way to talk about you and uplift you. The urge to giggle nonstop around him was so strong because he made you feel like a princess.

Joaquin was over the moon. It was like he had permanent puppy dog eyes and heart eyes around you. He would look at you like you saved him, his brown eyes shining with love and everyone clearly noticed that. All he wanted to do was hold you close and never let go, making up for lost time. He had a folder full of your photos on his phone, a polaroid of you two behind his phone case, your picture in his wallet, your scarf lying around his closet, hair ties around his wrist, and an extra bottle of your perfume and shampoo to use whenever you'd be away from from for longer periods of time. The shift in his mood would be immediate--he'd get cranky and irritable, especially if he didn't get to talk to you if the two of you were busy. And when you came back? He'd make sure you wouldn't lift even a finger.

A year ago when you two returned to the party, hand-in-hand and clinging to each other, Sam and Bucky were this close to screaming and running around the venue in happiness. They were so happy for you two that they threw another party the next day and spoiled you. After waiting for a month, you decided to tell your families and they weren't surprised but they were over the moon. Joaquin's abuela had started calling you her daughter-in-law and that made you blush like crazy because Joaquin made no efforts to correct her.

After a year of not getting a chance to work together, you and Joaquin finally got cast in the same movie. It was for a superhero franchise and you were cast as his love interest. It was personal this time around because you two were actually dating. Nobody knew about your relationship yet, but they weren't phased with your closeness because you and Joaquin were always like that. This was just another Tuesday for your colleagues and fans.

The filming was fun, and nerve wracking, at the same time because you had to take extra measures to sneak into his room and vice versa or be careful if you wanted to hang out together but your teams made sure that the two of you were protected and kept their mouths sealed. The two of you made sure to post normal pictures and silly videos to make sure the fans don't think something's up.

The best part of the filming was that you and Joaquin could enjoy a mini vacation on the side as the location for filming was Europe. The two of you had romantic dates, went on sight seeing and museums visits together and clicked millions of pictures. Joaquin's skin was tinted in that lovely shade of pink because of the weather and you were soaking in every moment of it. He looked so beautiful with his curls-loose and messy because of the heat, the loose linen shirts, his pretty moles and golden jewelry shining in the warm European sun, that it made you want to trap him in your arms forever.

Joaquin wasn't any better, trailing behind you like a lovesick fool, holding your bags, helping you put on sunscreen, taking pictures of you at every turn, admiring you in those pretty summer dresses and your skin shining in the sun. His favorite part were the museum and monument visits because you were a history nerd and you would talk about it so passionately that he'd simply stand next you and look at your intellectual explanations and excited hand gestures fondly.

Much to both of your dismay and happiness, the movie was finished and will be releasing soon, which meant that you two had to go on a press tour for it. Now, this was a time where you wished you had a leash for Joaquin because he was not subtle. Not that you weren't any better but him...he'd take every opportunity to touch you and lean into you or flirt with you and everyone around you would just laugh--your costars included. And it just so happened that Sam and Bucky, both, were your costars in this movie. If they weren't insufferable enough on set, then they were going to be ten times worse during the press tour.

-

The interviewer was talking about something on the screen, it was a hybrid interview--as in you all were on set and they interviewer was in a different place so they had to video call. Sam and Bucky were sitting to your left off camera and Joaquin was answering something on your right.

He was wearing a white fleece with black trousers, the color making his cheeks look pink. His hair was gelled back neatly and his skin was glowing. As he was talking, you couldn't help but notice a hair by the bridge of his nose. You leaned in closer and gently brought your hand by his nose, "Wait- there's-", Joaquin paused and stilled his movements, his mouth stretching open in an attempt to stretch his face to help you and you slowly removed the hair before assessing his face, "Yeah, okay. It was a tiny hair, sorry", you said quietly.

Joaquin turned to look at you and said, "Thank you", in a soft tone, his eyes taking you in. You just gave him a bashful smile and turned back to face the camera, noticing Sam and Bucky snickering amongst themselves on the sidelines from the corner of your eye.

As soon as this clip was released, it went viral and everyone wouldn't stop talking about the way he looked at you and the blush on your cheeks.

-

"So, there's a moment in the trailer where (Name), you, fall off a ledge and-"

Joaquin brought his hands in front of him and made a gesture of the hands not meeting together, "Nooo! Pretty heartbreaking, honestly", he said in a light voice while pouting. You laughed and nudged him before doing the same with your hands. Then, you two looked at each other and giggled like two kids who were up to no good.

Sam was sitting next to Joaquin and Bucky next to you and they just shook their heads at your antics. "My god, what are we? chopped liver? You two want some space?", Sam quipped and Bucky grimaced dramatically, the interviewer and the crew laughed.

You and Joaquin separated, your cheeks warm and nervous chuckles leaving your mouths. You looked at Sam and narrowed your eyes at him, conveying that you were going to get his ass after this. Sam threw a smirk in your direction before looking back at the interviewer and you elbowed Bucky in his ribs, which got an 'oof' out of him. Joaquin was just cheesing at you.

-

The next stop for the press tour was London and this time it was only you and Joaquin while Sam and Bucky toured the rest of the USA. You both were making an appearance on the Graham Norton Show today and honestly, you were pretty excited because you thought he was very funny. Joaquin was wearing a dark blue suit with a black shirt inside and you were wearing a green suit with a purple shirt.

"Joaquin, I heard that you were having a lot of difficulties with your suit. Would you like share about that experience?", Graham asked Joaquin.

"Oh man, it was so difficult. Especially 'cus we...we filmed in the European summer, right? After a point I felt like I was gonna pass out because it was so--constricting. Couldn't drink water properly or go to the washroom, in fact, (Name) was more worried about me than I was, so I'm glad she was there because she'd remind me to stay hydrated", Joaquin answered with a smile. The audience cheered at that.

"How could I not?! I was so worried he was going to--I don't know, throw up or choke! His whole mouth would be covered and he had to drink from those eye holes in the mask-- it was scary! And everybody was too casual about it, including him, like hello? Why aren't we worrying about him choking with that thing blocking his nose and mouth?!", you explained and your hands gestured stressfully around your face, eyes wide as saucers.

Apparently that was funny and the whole studio burst out in laughter, including your dumbass boyfriend. You looked at him and pushed him lightly, your face showing surprise and genuine stress for his predicament. Joaquin kept laughing and held your hand in his, squeezing it to comfort you.

“Aww, that’s so sweet of you! Everyone should have a costar like you, (Name)”, Graham teased you, like he knew something was up between the two of you. You let out a chuckle and shook your head, rubbing your thumb across Joaquin’s bicep and bringing it back in your lap.

After returning back to the hotel, Joaquin kissed you stupid, not letting you go and attacking you in kisses because you were “too fuckin’ cute.”

-

A few days prior to the premiere, you were staying at Joaquin’s house to help his family with his sister’s birthday party. Joaquin had told you that you didn’t need to do all that but you shut him up by saying you wanted to (his chest soared with love because you were so kind and helpful and considered his family as your own.) You had forgotten to get her gift from your house and you had to buy some groceries from the market for the lunch, so you were going back to get it when Joaquin offered to drive you there. You reassured him that you’d be fine but him and his mom would have none of it, so he whisked you off to his car.

While the car was stopped at a red light, you listed off the things that you needed to help out with today and Joaquin just looked at you with a dopey look on his face, a wide smile plastered on, the whole time.

“Okay, your mom asked us to get some spices from the market and, uhh- I also noticed we were out of lemons so we need that for the pie and…ooh, we should get some chocolate and raspberries, I was telling your mom about—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Joaquin gently held your chin in his hand and brought you closer to kiss your lips lovingly. You squealed and held his wrist in your hand before he pulled back and smiled at you, his thumb caressing your chin softly. You stared at him with wide eyes and let out a series of giggles.

“Quino, what-”, you couldn’t finish the sentence as he just leaned in and pressed a series of kisses to your lips and the corner of your mouth. You burst out giggling and pressed your hands to his chest, pushing him away slightly.

“Baby, what’s all this?”, you asked him in between laughing.

“You’re so cute. And so pretty. And so sweet. Can’t I love on my girl?”, he said cheekily and pulled back to cradle your face in his hand.

You scrunched your nose at him, “Shut up, you’re so cheesy”, and pinched his nose lightly. Joaquin gave you his famous wrinkly eyed laugh and brought you closer to kiss your cheek before turning back towards the steering wheel.

What you two didn’t notice, was the lone camera lurking nearby, snapping pictures of your sweet moment.

-

You two were caught between wanting to die or cry and wanting to laugh or joke. Because the first thing you two woke up to on the next morning of his sister’s birthday party, were your phones going off like crazy. You grumbled and Joaquin told you to go back to sleep and silenced your phone before he picked up his.

“Hello?”, he groggily answered. You snuggled closer to him and he smoothed a hand across your back.

“What?!”, he suddenly screamed and you jumped, pulling back to look at him in question, bleary eyes trying to focus on him.

“Yeah. Uh-Okay, okay”, he quickly ended the call and propped himself up against the headboard.

“Joaquin, what’s going on?”, you asked him in concern. He looked stressed out.

“Wait..”, he said absentmindedly and frantically opened his Twitter app. And the first thing he saw on his timeline was a picture of you and him, kissing in the car from yesterday. He saw many tweets on his timeline that looked like this:

I fucking KNEWWWW IT!!! YALL LOOK:

what did I say. What did I say. I was in the trenches defending myself omg they’re fr dating.

Joaquin Torres and (Name) CONFIRM their relationship!

All those edits fr came real ..who knows they might have been actually dating all this time MY GOD

These two are so cute omg.

“Oh my god-”, Joaquin panicked while clutching his phone.

You furrowed your eyebrows and sat up, taking his phone and watching it for yourself. The photos were all over the timeline. Everyone was talking about it. You froze, didn’t even move after Joaquin shook you lightly.

“Fuck”, you breathed out.

“I know. I’m so sorry, angel-” “Quino, why are you sorry? We’re allowed to do whatever we want to in our own car. It’s the person’s fault for stalking us like that”, you cupped his chin in your hand.

Joaquin’s eyes were sad and apologetic, like this was his fault. He knew you wanted to keep it private for sometime and berated himself for being so stupid to kiss you in front of the whole world like that.

“But-” “Joaquin, no. Let’s have a meeting with our teams and we’ll figure something out, okay? And if you’re alright with it…I wouldn’t mind telling everyone now”, you soothed him with one hand buried in his curls.

He snapped his head up to look at you in shock, “Really? You sure? We don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with, baby.”

You gave him a fond smile and leaned against his chest, hands flat against it and supporting your head up. His arms came around your waist automatically, like a magnet.

“People have been guessing about it for years, anyways. And I’d love to show off my beautiful boyfriend”, you winked at him and he laughed gleefully.

“Shut up”, he squeezed your waist lightly. You giggled and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“I hate that they’re just posting these pictures like that…is it so difficult to maintain our privacy?”, Joaquin grumbled, his face twisted in annoyance. You gave him an understanding look.

“Yeah, I know, baby. We’ll handle that, hm? Let’s call up our managers and arrange a meeting right away”, you consoled him. He hummed and kissed your forehead in response.

The meeting went well. You and Joaquin put forward your points and rules about how you’re going to handle this and the guidelines for the paparazzi/interviewers. It was decided that you won’t deny your relationship but nobody would ask you questions or secretly click your pictures unless you two allow it. Joaquin was a bit more firm about the paparazzi rules, worried about your safety and wanting to protect you.

After laying down all the rules and signing some papers, you were relieved and free to go to the premiere.

-

Joaquin reached the red carpet before you, wearing a beautiful maroon suit with his glasses and he was giving interviews while waiting for you. Both of you had decided that you’d arrive on the red carpets separately, wanting to give each other space to enjoy your own moment but Joaquin being Joaquin, spent the whole time talking about you and missing you. Not that you weren’t doing any better back in your room but he was a little bit extra.

“Joaquin, welcome to the red carpet, how are you feeling tonight?”, the interviewer asked him.

Joaquin grinned, “Oh, it’s amazing. I feel good, the energy is electric, I can see all the fans waving and callin’ out for me- I’m really excited”, he gushed. He was practically bouncing off the walls with his excitement, this was nourishment for his extroverted self. “And I get to share this with my most favourite people in the whole world so, yeah”, he added cheekily.

The interviewer smiled knowingly, “And who are these people, Joaquin?”

Joaquin opened his mouth to answer before he heard cheers next to him. He snapped his head towards the sound and went on his tip toes to find out what the commotion was about. He knew already, it was you- he called you the people’s princess because of how much everyone loved you.

“What’s happening, can you see? I bet it’s (Name)”, the interviewer commented while leaning forward to look for herself.

Joaquin let out a joyful chuckle when he saw your blurry form down the carpet, “Yes, that’s definitely her. Those cheers are an indicator of that”, he replied gleefully, his eyes shining with admiration and love for you.

The interviewer smiled, the camera capturing his smitten reaction but he paid no heed to any of that—his entire body dialled in to your movements. He could see your maroon dress- you wanted to match with him- and the way you were smiling and waving to the crowd, looking every bit of the star that you are, the camera flashes making you sparkle.

You soon made your way over to where he stood, the interview long forgotten, and as soon as you caught his eye, your face shifted in happiness and he flashed you a fond smile before making his way over to hug you.

“Hi, angel”, he murmured quietly in your ear, tugging you close to him with his arms around your waist. You returned the gestured and squealed in happiness, your arms looped around his neck and face pressed against the side of his head.

“Hi, Quino”, you cooed in his ear and he gently swayed your bodies back and forth. You reluctantly pulled back and he kept his hands around your waist to admire your look for today.

“You look so beautiful. Like a princess. And everyone was cheering so loudly for you, baby, you really are a princess”, he compliment you softly, brown eyes taking you in and thumbs gently rubbing your sides.

You blushed, “Shut up, Torres, you’re so cheesy”, your eyes flickering around the space, taking notice of the cameras going crazy around you two.

“We should get back to work, baby. Look at the cameras”, you whispered to him and gently pushed at his chest. Joaquin looked at you with love and affection for a moment longer before turning around and wrapping an arm around your waist, posing for the cameras. You two flashed your best smiles and Joaquin tugged you closer, the flashes going off at that.

You giggled and gently put a hand at the back of his head, thumb caressing his curls carefully and he let out a bashful laugh at that, eyes crinkling at the corners and cheeks reddened. And the photos and videos of the premiere were all over the internet that night.

Are you guys seeing this…..her touching his hair and him going all blushy….god me when???

Oh my god these two aren’t even trying to hide it anymore??? So sick and twisted .

Ur telling me they were matching each other and were all cuddly the whole night and no one batted an eye???? We need to get Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes on the line to spill some tea

Oh my god did y’all see this video of Joaquin forgetting about the interview to look at (Name) entering the venue?/!/!/ ME AND WHO

You and Joaquin spent the whole night laughing at the tweets and posts about you two and he decided to tease them further by posting a picture of you on the red carpet, waving at the crowd and captioned it “People’s princess 👸” and tagged you in it. Everyone lost their minds at that.

-

Finally, the press tour was over and the movie was a huge success and you and Joaquin were able to safely dodge any questions about your relationship. It was unbelievable how well the strategy worked, but it did and you were glad. The movie was going to have another part so you and Joaquin would reunite again and everybody was happy with the news.

Meanwhile, you and Joaquin were still strong as ever, the two of you spent your time at each other’s houses and went on vacations or to visit each other on set. As you approached your two year anniversary, Joaquin asked you to move in and you happily agreed, spending most of your time at his place anyways. On the day of the anniversary the two of you decided to publicly announce your relationship on your birthday, which was approaching soon, so Joaquin had decided to he’d make a post about you and that’s it. No grand announcements or anything. Simple and sweet, just like the two of you.

On the day of your birthday though, you were unfortunately away from home to film for another show, and were pretty bummed about it but Joaquin reassured you that it’s okay and that he’ll be coming to visit you soon. For now, he knew how to brighten your day.

He posted a picture of you two on set— both of you in your costumes and lying down on a couch, your arms around a sleeping Joaquin, whose body was completely on top of you, his head on your chest. Your hands cradled his head, hands buried in his curls and another arm holding him around his back. His arms were looped around you, face relaxed and mouth slightly open, your head leaning against his and your eyes closed in content. His caption: @/joaquint: happy birthday my angel, see you soon. te amo.🤍👼 and he tagged you in it.

Right away, his phone blew up like crazy--fans fawning over you two and excited about the announcement. You were in Europe right now so the time zones meant that he had to wait longer for your response but he was excited for it anyways. Both of your peers congratulated you two, his comments sections filled with thousands of congratulatory messages and the ones that stood out, were from Sam and Bucky, of course.

@/samwilson: Ya'll better thank me and @/jbbarnes for this.

replies

@/jbbarnes: If it wasn't for that night...@/joaquint

@/joaquint: idk what r u two talking about

@/samwilson: Wow. There's a reason why @/youraccountname is our favorite by the way.

@/jbbarnes: Exactly at least she's not ungrateful.

@/joaquint: 🥱

@/fan1: oh?? you guys need to spill the tea..

@/fan2: omg the girls are fightingggg (Name) come get them

@/fan3: 'that night' oh wow i need this story so bad

And 2 hours later, you finally replied to the post--

@/youraccountname: thank you, my quino🥹 i can't wait to see you, te quiero mucho. <3

replies

@/youraccountname: all three of you stop fighting and ft me now @/samwilson @/jbbarnes @/joaquint

@/joaquint: yes ma'am

@/samwilson: yes ma'am

@/jbbarnes: You have become so bossy...But yes we will.

And the fans went crazy over your interactions with each other again.

-

Now that the cat was out of the bag, you and Joaquin felt much relieved and stress free to be spotted together. It’s been 4 years since you two started dating and had officially finished filming the sequel for your superhero movie. This meant press tour for you two—except this time, everyone knows that you’re dating and both of you feel much more comfortable to share about your lives together as well.

Living with Joaquin was a blessing. He was a neat guy, he could cook, he’d help with the chores, he’d keep you entertained with his endless chatter and he was very loving and clingy. He loves cooking for you even though his palate is pretty bland. You tried your best to slowly introduce him to spices but his poor system didn’t agree with it. He’d start crying and his face would get red, which scared you so much that you apologised profusely and vowed to never do it again. He was also very good at keeping you productive—he loved the outdoors so he’d encourage you to go on treks and walks with him and also cheered you on for indulging in any of your hobbies. He’d also help you read scripts with him and quell your worries and anxieties over any projects or just in general. Over all, you were happy and glowing and the credit went entirely to Joaquin.

Joaquin was simply happy to breathe the same air as you. His laughs got brighter, there was a pop in his step, he woke up smiling and went to sleep smiling. He was enjoying living with you a lot. If you were both home, he’d try to make your days as fun as possible and if you had to be away from home, he’d keep the house clean for you, stocking up on your favourite snacks or keeping your things organised—for his favourite activity was looking after you and doting on you. He enjoyed the smallest of moments with you—chopping vegetables for dinner, doing the laundry, watching a boring show or movie while you mindlessly talked to each other, grocery shopping— he loved it all. He loved you and everything that came with you.

He was so excited to do another press tour with you, happy to he spending time with his favourite person in the whole world again. But this time you’d do it as a public couple, everyone knew about you two and he could be freely affectionate with you, without coming off as too strong—just the usual of holding hands, staring at you to his heart‘s content, freely complimenting and flirting with you.

Which brings you to the press tour and this time, the two of you—mainly Joaquin—did not hold back on the affection.

You and Joaquin were sitting in front of a screen again, the setting giving you a déjà vu to that interview four years ago, and you were taking turns to read questions off the screen for the other to answer.

It was your turn to ask the next question-

“Okay, Steal from set?”, you turned to look at Joaquin, who was ready with his answer.

“Your heart”, he shrugged.

“Awww”, you cooed and giggled, your cheeks warming up.

Joaquin just smiled smugly and folded his arms, looking at you intensely.

-

“I think-”

“But, that wasn’t the case though. It could’ve been something else-”, Joaquin accidentally cut you off and seemed to realise his mistake, his face shifting in understanding.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”, he asked you softly, in an apologetic tone and extended an arm to lay his warm hand on the junction between your neck and shoulder.

You paused and felt your cheeks burn up again. You shrugged, “Oh nothing, I agree with you.” Honestly, you don’t even remember what were you talking about because he was holding you so protectively and the way he was looking at you like you were the only person in the room, was making you dizzy.

“No- but what were you saying”, he pressed gently, his thumb rubbing over your satin shirt before his hand slid back and forth to massage your shoulder. He was attentive like that, always wanting to know what you wanted to say because he knew you got shy easily.

You swallowed your nerves lightly before speaking up, “Um, I was just saying that…”

And Joaquin kept his hand around your shoulder for the entire time, looking at you like you hung the moon and stars in the sky.

-

“So, how was it like filming this time around? Since certain things have…changed”, the interviewer asked, trying to be subtle but failing

You and Joaquin turned to look at each other before breaking out in smiles and leaning closer, shaking your heads bashfully and breaking out in giggles, his arm holding the back of your chair to anchor himself, your back brushing against it occasionally.

“Well, it was great. I got to spend time with my favourite person in the whole world”, Joaquin conceded with a content smile on his face, his hand smoothing over your back. You broke out laughing, your face warming up. The interviewer smiled knowingly and Joaquin looked at you, letting out surprised chuckles of his own.

“What- what happened?”, he let out between chuckles.

You laughed harder and clamped your hand across your mouth, coughing lightly before taking in a deep breath to look up.

“Nothing! nothing. It was fun working with you too”, you finally got out and flashed him a big smile, your cheeks hurting from happiness.

Joaquin shook his head and smiled, your infectious laughter making his heart soar.

-

“I remember being like- don’t worry!-”, Joaquin said while fiddling with his water bottle. Sam chuckled next to him.

“It’s so cool though!”, you added and your leg started moving up and down unknowingly. You did that a lot when you were feeling nervous/anxious or sitting idle.

“-you can hit me, and he was like-”, Joaquin made an oof sound and pretended to punch himself in the ribs while also catching the movement of your leg. “Owww”, Joaquin exclaimed before gently, and subtly, laying a hand on your knee, ceasing the shakes.

“Okay!”, you slowly stopped your leg stopped, you looked at him with gratitude and held the hand on your knee, caressing his knuckles with your thumb.

Sam looked at you two and smirked, shaking his head fondly.

-

“What was the best part about working on this movie?”, the interviewer asked the question to Joaquin.

“The best part about working on this movie was getting to work with (Name)”, Joaquin replied instantly and smiled.

You laughed and looked at him fondly.

“And I would love to work with her again. I wanna work on your show”, Joaquin looked at you and whined dramatically while dragging out the ‘w’.

“Okay! I’ll talk to some people, we’ll get you there, don’t worry!”, you consoled him.

Joaquin let out a ‘Whoop’ and whispered a “Yess”.

-

“Who’s your hero in real life?”

“(Name).” No hesitation whatsoever from Joaquin, his face completely serious.

You laughed before adding “Joaquin Torres. He’s my hero!”

Both of you leaned in at the same time and wrapped your arms around the other, your cheeks pressed together. He rocked your bodies back and forth and you laughed, the swell of your cheeks making him smile brightly and his heart skipping a beat.

-

“(Name), how does a day look like in your household”

You cleared your throat, “So, we wake up, we usually make our breakfast because we’re kind of on a health journey”, you looked at Joaquin and he nodded along.

“And also because Joaquin needs special preparation for his food”, you teased lightly and Joaquin groaned softly, “Aw-nooo, (Name)!”, throwing his head back dramatically.

“Wait- special?”, the interviewer asked curiously.

You laughed and patted Joaquin’s shoulder, “Mr. Torres here cannot handle any kind of spice. And I mean- not even a bit of pepper-”

Joaquin gasped, “That’s not true!”, he grabbed your hand and pulled you closer.

“He’s a sensitive baby, gotta be careful with the precious cargo”, you teased him further and giggled at the look on his face, he was pouting. You pulled his cheek and cooed.

Joaquin grumbled but leaned into your touch.

-

Finally, after that long and fun press tour, it was time for the premiere and once again, Joaquin was giving an interview will keeping an eager eye out for you. It was giving him déjà vu, the crowd’s cheers getting louder, him giving an interview, him getting on his tip toes to see if you had arrived—and you indeed had arrived. Both of you were wearing matching gray suits today—yours was an oversized suit dress and Joaquin was so sure he was going to faint when you came closer.

“Is that (Name)? Oh, she looks so good!”, the interviewer exclaimed, leaning forward to see you.

Joaquin felt himself choke up, a small lump pressed against his throat. “Yeah—that’s her. Looking beautiful as ever, might I add”, he replied in a shaky voice, his eyes shining with tears. Both of you had come so far, and seeing you shine and get the recognition you deserved while standing there and noticing it first hand, was making him feel all soft and mushy. He just wanted to hug you and cry out of pride.

And when you joined him, he looked at you with so much love, pride and joy that it made you stumble back. He gathered you in his arms, pressing a gentle kiss on your temple and you two posed for the cameras. The rest of the night was spent in you two singing praises for each other to every single person on that carpet, all of them looking at you two with adoration and wonder.

“Joaquin was talking about you before you came here, how has it been working with him for the 4th time?”

You let out a content sigh, “It’s been an honour. To know someone so talented and selfless like Joaquin has been so amazing and I’m so lucky that he’s in my life. He’s taught me so much and he’s my rock—so I’m forever grateful for that one show we were cast in because I met my soulmate through that. I cannot wait to do more of this with him”, you confessed and gave the interviewer a sweet smile.

That clip went viral like crazy and everyone wouldn’t stop talking about how sincere, genuine and one of kind you two were for each other. The love between you palpable and real.

While leaving the venue, you got hounded by paparazzi. Flashes went off and blinded you, Joaquin trying his best to shield you from them, his hand grasping yours tightly. But, there were so many people around you asking for autographs that somewhere along the chaos, Joaquin’s hand separated from you and you got lost in a sea of people and hands grabbing you.

You felt the slow panic crawl up your throat, trying your best to relax your shaking hands and swallowing past the lump in your throat with a nervous smile on your face, signing as many books as you could. But the paps kept shoving their heavy cameras in your face and you got pushed, the camera hitting you on the shoulder when suddenly Joaquin pushed past the people and aggressively pushed the paparazzi and fans away, an arm coming up to bring you close to him.

“Don’t touch her!”, Joaquin snarled, his face twisted in anger and voice dropping a few octaves. He pushed everyone away from you again, his hands shaking with fury and jaw clenched so tightly, you were worried he’d hurt his teeth. It was scary as you’ve never seen him this angry, ever.

“It’s okay! It’s okay, Quino”, you tried to soothe him, a hand massaging his shoulder but he wasn’t having any of it, tugging you impossibly closer to him, bringing you into his chest and helping you get in the car.

Once you were in the car, he took a few deep breaths in and turned to hold your face gently into his hands.

“Are you okay?”, he asked quietly. You were still recovering from that mini panic attack so you just brought your shaky hands up to hold his wrists and nodded weakly against his palms.

Joaquin’s eyebrows furrowed in worry, “You’re shaking, baby, c’mere”, he removed his hands and gestured you to lean against him, your face pressed into his chest and his arms around your back.

“Thank you”, you murmured into his suit and hugged him closer. He leaned his chin on top of your head before pressing a lingering kiss to it, his hands smoothing against your back. He had never felt so scared before as he did a few minutes ago. Not being able to see you or feeling your hand drop from his in a mob full of people, made him feel like his heart was going to explode.

He doesn’t give a fuck if the media calls him an asshole or aggressive, all caution goes out of the window the moment you’re in danger. He saw your breaths quicken, he saw the way your hands shook as you hated crowded places. And come what may, he’d do anything to protect you, even if it cost him his own career.

Little did he know that he was praised, for his protectiveness and for having a spine to defend his partner in public, all over the world.

-

2 Years Later

Joaquin Torres knew he was going to be with you for life from the moment he saw you. Everything about you was magnetic and beautiful. He couldn’t help but be completely and totally in love with you. If he ever decided to write about his feelings for you, he’d have to write thousands of novels because he had so much to say and so much to appreciate. Instead, he showed it with his actions—acts of service and touch being his primary love languages.

He’d do anything for you— everyone knew that. He’d get on his knees and worship you. You were everything, you made him into a better man. Your kindness, your courage, your love—it made his chest ache and soar at the same time.

He’d picked out a ring for you, 2 years ago, on your birthday. Thought he’d propose right away but he was afraid, Sam and Bucky tried to knock some sense into him but he told them he wanted to wait. Wait until the of you were ready, wait until he got some hints from you that you wanted to settle down with him.

But that ring was ready. It was a simple golden band with a square cut diamond on it. Classy and elegant—just like you. It was sitting in his office for 2 years now. He’d started to drop hints about marriage, you humoured him and painted a lovely picture of it—a sweet wedding ceremony, adopting a dog or a cat later and then kids. You wanted it too. That’s all he needed to get the push to finally pop the question.

You were both older and mature now, almost nearing your 30s. He yearned for that happily ever after with you, wanting to live a life of happiness and love.

So he took you to the place where it all began—the pier overlooking the city skyline where he first confessed his feelings to you.

“Oh, it’s been so long since we came here, no?”, you asked him with a quiet voice, your head slightly turned to the side to watch his pretty profile.

The two of you were standing on a deck overlooking the pier and the ocean, with you pressed against the railing and his arms caging you against it, your back against his chest. You were wearing jeans and a red sweater, his request, and he was wearing a black crewneck paired with jeans.

The gentle ocean air carried the smell of salt and swept your hair, fly aways on your forehead and his curls tousled. He looked down at you, your face illuminated by the orange tinge of the setting sun and felt his heart hammer against his chest, the velvet box making his pocket heavier.

"Yeah", he replied just as quietly, his voice cracking out of nervousness. Joaquin leaned in to press a careful kiss against your hairline and you cuddled closer to him, his arms around your stomach bringing you closer to his chest. He cleared his throat and whispered your name, bringing your attention back to him. You opened your eyes and turned around to face him, his arms holding your hips. His face was set in a nervous frown, eyebrows drawn close tightly and eyes shining with unshed tears. Your face shifted with worry.

"Quino? You okay?", you asked him softly and cupped his chin in your palm. Joaquin swallowed before squeezing your hips.

"Angel...I- I was doing just fine before you came into my life. Thought I had everything and I was happy. But, then you entered- with your beautiful soul and infectious smile and I knew what was I missing", Joaquin paused as he felt himself choke up from the tears he was keeping at bay. You stared him, face frozen with disbelief and nervousness. He took your hand on his chin and held it against his heart.

"You were the missing piece of my life. You complete me. You're my everything and I'd do anything for you. I'll- I'll cut the onions for you if they hurt your eyes too much, I'll wake up at 3 am if you feel like eating something or if you can't sleep, and- and I promise to let you drool over my shoulder when you sleep", you guffawed, while he let out a watery chuckle at that.

"You captivated me every single day. I find out something new to love about every day- be it the way you stop to pet every single street cat that you see, or-or the fact that you talk to our plants because it's good for their nourishment, the way you stand up for the vulnerable and always put the ones in need before you--you are literally an angel. Sometimes I feel like you protect me more than I do you. But--let me promise you that I will protect and love you till we are old and gray and our kids have left our nest. I will love you as long as I breathe. You're my heart, my soul and my life", he whispered the last part, his hands shaking and eyes overflowing with tears.

You snapped your eyes up, staring at him in surprise before he gently pulled away from you to retrieve a velvet box from his pocket and opened it. You gasped at the ring, it was so you. He went down on one knee and you covered your face with your hands, overwhelmed with shock and emotion. "So, will you marry me, (Name)?", he asked you nervously, his voice wavering.

You sniffled and looked at him, the setting sun making his sharp features pop out, his curly hair messed up by the wind and his gorgeous face shining with tears. You let out a cry and pulled him up before tackling him in a hug, causing him to stumble back and hold you tighter.

"Yes! Oh god, a thousand times, YES!", you cried against his shoulder and he cradled your head before rocking your bodies back and forth. He pulled away and held your left hand in his, sliding the ring on and you squealed before smushing his face in your palms and crashing your lips against his.

He let out a surprised chuckle against your lips and brought you closer, a hand grabbing the back of your neck and the other hand holding your waist. The two of you pulled back, breathless and lips swollen and leaned your forehead against each other. You buried your hands in his curls and kissed his cheeks thrice. He cupped your cheeks in his hands and stared at you lovingly before kissing your forehead, cheeks and the corner of your mouth.

When you got back home, Joaquin told you that Sam and Bucky were actually there, clicking pictures of the proposal and you had laughed heartily before crying out of happiness when you saw the beautiful pictures, your happy and emotional faces surrounded by a breath taking sunset.

You two posted the pictures to your account, one of him kneeling and your hands covering your face and the other where you were leaning your foreheads against each other, with the caption: ..and they lived happily ever after.❤️💍

Fin.

-

AN: AHHHH i hope you guys liked this!!! i love tom and zendaya so much that their story was an inspo for this and their interviews + that video of him protecting zendaya from the paps were what i mentioned here so credits to them, hehe. i love quino and angel a lot pls i almost cried. pls like and reblog!

taglist: @parkersjoy @taylorsroxy @rylonmari @lastofdanny @lovelylupin04 @bingingcontentrn @ny0sang @incxpti0n @og-baby-ob14 @sidkneeeee (sorry if I didn’t tag anyone!!)

[rafesteddy]

Can we get dilf!rafe and milf!reader? Max lets it slip to rafe that his buddies ogle and find milf!reader so hot when they saw her pick up Max and Winnie from school a few times? You can choose how it goes afterwards!! I love your writing of their fam saurrrrr much

awe thank you bb 💕 I'm so glad you like it 🤭🤭🤭 sorry this one got a little long—but I hope you enjoy 😋💕 This story is meant to be read either alone or with the rest of the au.

+18 -> smut

𝓭𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: teenage boys being gross, jealous rafe, swearing, ownership kink, possessive rafe, pet names, multiple orgasms, overstim., squirting, fingering, unprotected p in v, mirror sex, dirty talk, spanking, lots of cum, female oral (post-shared climax)

cameron kids= Max (18), Winnie (17), Rory + Poppy (4)

You lean into the counter, absentmindedly squeezing lemon after lemon into the glass pitcher. Cold juices run down your fingers, sticky as it slips into the creases of your palms and drips to your wrists. The whole kitchen smells like sugar and citrus, with that warm, buttery hint of cookies still cooling behind you.

The plate’s already half gone, devoured by teenage boys lounging in the common space: tall, tan, loud, sprawled across your furniture like they own the place.

“Sugar, please?” You ask, gesturing toward Kelce’s son, perched in front of the one cabinet you need.

“Yes, ma’am,” he hums, flashing you a grin as he hops down to grab it.

His hand brushes yours as he passes it off. You smile, polite and sweet as ever, returning to stir the mix.

“Fuck, she wants me,” he mutters to Max—just out of earshot.

Your son groans, tipping his head back against the cabinet. “Fuck off, Tripp.”

“Why else would she be in here squeezin’ her lemons?” Tripp groans, dragging the sentence out like it’s a double entendre.

“You’re still goin’, huh? Not scared?”

“M’not scared of shit—”

Before Max can answer, the door opens with a thud.

“Hi, Mom!” Winnie calls, sandals slapping the marble as she breezes in. Her boyfriend Jackson’s behind her, arms full, carrying the twins, still damp from the sprinkler, dressed like they’re headed out.

“Is it cool if we take the twins out for ice cream?” Winnie asks. Her tone’s breezy, but she looks sharply toward one of Max’s friends eyeing her up.

That same boy yelps when Max nails him in the arm. “M’gonna fuckin’ kill you,” he mutters, while the kid doubles down, clearly unbothered, shooting his shot at your daughter like it’s all just part of the game.

“Of course, sweetheart,” you say, crossing the counter for your purse.

“Mrs. Cameron, really—I’ve got it,” Jackson says, voice firm.

“That’s very sweet. But not necessary… Thanks for taking them off my hands.” You kneel in front of the twins gently brushing back your daughter’s curls; cupping your son’s cheek lovingly. “You two be good for your sister and Jackson, okay?”

You lean in to kiss their cheeks, and without realizing it, your sundress shifts. The neckline dips, your breasts press softly together, the hem lifts just enough to tease. You linger, whispering something about sprinkles and chocolate.

Behind you, the room goes silent.

One boy swallows hard. Another just stares—slack-jawed—like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Max… Dude. This is your life?”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?” Max mutters, jaw clenched.

“I’d move in tomorrow,” Tripp grins. “Be your stepdad today.”

“Bet she tastes like sugar—”

“I said shut up,” Max snaps, louder this time.

Just then, another boy walks in from the hallway, Trevor. He catches sight of you, still bent low in front of the twins, and freezes. Smiling like the goddamn Cheshire Cat, he lifts both hands like he’s gripping your hips and starts thrusting the air behind you in slow-motion silence.

The other boys lose it—coughing, choking on laughter, trying and failing to keep it together.

You straighten up, sundress swaying back into place as you smooth it down with both hands, blissfully unaware.

“All right, go have fun,” you sing out, waving them toward the door.

You turn back to the pitcher, lift it to the sink, and flip the tap without thinking.

Water churns—lemon juice and sugar swirling, rising to the rim—as your gaze drifts out the kitchen window. And then you see him. Rafe…

His white t-shirt’s soaked through, hose in hand as he rinses down the G-Wagon. Sunlight turns the spray to glitter. Water drips down his arms, soaking the cotton clinging to every curve and cut of his chest and abs.

He turns, flipping his hat backward with one hand, jaw flexing as he wipes his brow.

Your thighs press together. Grip tightening on the pitcher just as the lemonade spills over, cold and sticky down your wrist. You fumble the tap, blinking fast, but your eyes don’t leave him.

His shirt clings to his back, practically painted on, while his blue swim trunks ride low on his hips and high on his thighs.

One hand coils the hose, and the other grabs the wash bucket. His chest flexes with every move, muscles rolling under wet cotton like sin in motion.

“Have fun, boys,” you call out, pouring lemonade into a glass, still watching him.

The front door clicks shut as you step outside barefoot. The grass is crisp beneath your feet; sun shining hot on your shoulders.

Rafe looks up the second he hears you. His mouth curves into a slow, knowing smile. “Oh shit, pretty,” he drawls, eyes dragging down your body. “That for me?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, offering him the glass—but he doesn’t take it. He steps closer, warm, wet arm curling around your waist, pulling you flush to him like he can’t help it. His mouth finds yours instantly—hot and slow. Your fingers hook behind his neck, greedy for more.

You giggle into the kiss, breathless. “How much longer?”

Rafe pulls back just enough to smirk, water dripping down his temple “What? You want somethin’, baby?”

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴ 15 minutes earlier…

The garage is quiet at first—just the clatter of golf clubs and the squeak of a sponge as Rafe scrubs the green off his chipping wedge. The radio hums softly from the corner, low and easy. But that peace doesn’t last.

Beer bottles clink inside the fridge; ice rattles in the machine. And just around the corner from where Rafe sits, the boys start talking their shit like they don’t have a care in the world.

“I’m done,” your son mutters—tone flat and fed up like he’s been saying all day.

“Not my fault your mom’s hot as fuck, Maxi.” One of the boys fires back, voice deep and smug. “M’just waitin’ for the day she gets stuck in the washer. I’ll pound her shit right there—”

“Fuck you,” Max hisses. There’s a sharp thud and a groan; Max hits his friend hard enough to give him a moment's peace from him, but it doesn’t stop the rest of them.

“Did you see her in that swimsuit the other day? Playing with the twins? That bikini? She’s still got an ass on her. Those tits too?” Trevor chimes in, practically drooling. “I wanna play with her twins. Slide my dick right between ‘em—”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” Max growls.

“Hey, you fucked my sister, Max. Both of ‘em. Think I get to tug one to your mom… every night—”

“She’s so hot, bro. Like stupid hot,” another pipes up. “Your dad doesn’t deserve that. He can’t keep up. Can’t handle all that. His stamina’s gotta be shot.”

“She made me cookies like it was foreplay,” one of them says, breathy and laughing. “You think she ever looks at us and wonders…”

“She made cookies for my dad,” Max mutters.

“Yeah. That’s what I said—”

And then Rafe clears his throat, loud and measured. The sound slices through the room like a blade. So quiet you could hear the soft clink of a stolen beer cap hitting the concrete.

The boys scatter like mice out the side door and back into the house. Their smug laughter from moments before dies on their lips, replaced by frantic whispers of “do you think he heard” and the squeak of boat shoes skidding across the floor.

“Come here,” Rafe says, low and calm.

Max exhales hard, stuffing his hands in his front pockets. His shoulders drawn up to his ears as he drags himself across the garage floor.

“You wanna explain what that was?” Rafe asks without looking at him, voice steady as he cleans his club.

Max shrugs, sullen. “I mean, you heard it.”

“Yeah… I heard everything—”

“Every fuckin’ day,” Max mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anytime we’re at the house. I try shutting it down—it’s impossible.”

“They were talking about your mother,” Rafe says. “You just gonna let that fly?”

“They’re fuckin’ idiots,” Max scoffs. “Just givin’ me shit. They’re not gonna do anything. And what am I supposed to do, huh? Beat the shit out of every guy who opens his mouth about mom?”

“Nah,” Rafe says, smiling without humor. “They’ll get the hint some way or another.”

“Well that’s not horrifying,” Max mumbles, giving him a side-eye—because he knows damn well Rafe might handle this himself.

“She’s not just your mom, you know. She’s my wife,” Rafe says, nodding toward the garage door. “So yeah. I know exactly how hot she is.”

“Ew.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Rafe grins. “I just had to listen to that perverted pissin’ contest over your mother. And Trevor’s sister? Really?”

“…Sisters,” Max murmurs, not meeting Rafe’s eye.

He cringes, face twisting in the exact same way his son’s had moments earlier. “Aren’t you dating Top’s daughter?”

“They’re Trevor’s sisters,” Max repeats. “Doesn’t count.”

Rafe stares at him. “And what’s the math on that? It doesn’t count? You serious?”

Max shrugs, then deflects. “Hey—remember who the enemy is here, alright? He was talkin’ about Mom.”

That earns a dry laugh. Rafe crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall, still giving Max a look like this conversation’s not over.

“I like that excuse better,” he breathes. “Y’all headin’ out?”

“Mhmm,” Max hums, already inching toward the door like he’s trying to disappear. “Just gonna grab some snacks.”

“Yacht Club?”

“Mhmm,” he confirms, eyes on the exit.

“Be safe,” Rafe says, a little quieter now.

Max mumbles something back as he pushes into the house, and the door shuts behind him with a soft thud.

Rafe doesn’t move. He just stands there for a second, staring at nothing, letting the quiet settle. He knows what he feels. Always has. He just doesn’t always want to name it.

He used to love the attention. The looks. The envy. Part of him still does. When you were younger, his friends couldn’t keep their eyes off you. Couldn’t help the comments, the sideways glances. And he loved it—loved knowing that no matter how many mouths whispered your name, it was his bed you came home to.

You were his. All his. Always. But this? This was different. Hearing that kind of shit from teenagers—his son’s idiot friends, their mouths full of his food, beers stolen from his fridge, spending long, lazy days on his boat—no. It didn’t feel flattering. It felt like a fucking insult.

The way they talked about you was like you were some option. Like if given half a chance, they’d step right into his role. As if they could touch you. As if they could handle a woman like you. His wife. It pissed him off. And he knew it shouldn’t—not like this.

It wasn’t new. It wasn’t shocking. But today? It got under his skin in a different way. Raw and hot and fucking personal.

He let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through his hair. This is what happens when your wife is you. People want you. They always have.

He laughs under his breath—half at himself, half at the absurdity of it all—and reaches for the sponge and bucket again. He wasn’t gonna fight them. He didn’t need to. There were better ways to remind them where they stood.

They wanted to act grown? Act like they could love you, care for you, fuck you like a man? Fine. Let them watch. Let them see what a real man does.

Rafe lets the door swing shut behind him and strolls across the drive, relaxed, deliberate. His gaze lifts straight to the window above the sink—and there you are, stepping into frame like you were waiting for your cue.

Rafe squeezes the hose handle, blasting water against the side of the G-Wagon. He shifts a little closer, just enough to let the spray bounce back misting his skin, ricocheting off the glossy paint.

The sun is hot, but the water is cool against his skin. The soaked fabric clings to the muscles of his chest and abs. He tugs his shorts a little higher on his thighs, watching the droplets slide down his body.

Then he smiles again—cocky and quiet—as he pulls the oldest trick in the book: flipping his cap from front to back like he’s not thinking about it at all.

Next, his shirt. He peels it off slowly and casually and tosses it aside, revealing his tan, chiseled frame. The gold chain with your initial catches the light.

“Five… four… three…” Bang. The door claps shut. He chuckles to himself, smug, reading you like a favorite book. He doesn’t even have to look to know it’s you. But he does.

Rafe glances over his shoulder as he hears your bare feet brushing through the grass; sundress swaying in the summer breeze. And then he sees you, glass of lemonade in hand, eyes already locked on him like he’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted.

“Look at you,” he mutters, watching you float closer. You took the bait. You always do. And he lives for it.

He spots movement through the glass, Max’s friends still inside, lingering, pretending not to watch.

Rafe praises you as he always does, a breathy “mhmm” buzzing past your lips is the only thing passing before he’s kissing you deep, hot, and possessive—right there in the driveway, letting them see. Letting them know who you belong to. How good you fit in his arms. How easily he could take you wherever and whenever he wanted.

He pulls back just enough to breathe you in; Rafe brushing his lips across yours like he can’t stop touching you. His big hand drifts lower, sliding over the slight curve of your back before grabbing a handful of ass—firm, slow, and so intentional it makes your breath catch.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. You laugh quietly, barely holding it in. His shirt’s been tossed somewhere behind him, skin warm and bare against yours, that heavy gold chain glinting faintly against his chest.

The teenage boys barrel out of the house, faster than usual. Lugging the cooler through the grass as they look anywhere but at you.

“Where are you headed?” Rafe calls out, still holding your waist.

“Told you—yacht club,” Max grits, like a chore.

“Yacht club, huh?” Rafe echoes. “Sounds real productive. Why don’t y’all finish cleanin’ the car before you go burnin’ my gas?”

“Dad, seriously?” Max groans, letting the cooler drop to the grass with a thud.

“You’re about to torch another five hundred dollars of fuel,” Rafe says, grinning as he jams the sponge into one of the boys’ chests hard. “Don’t even get me started on yesterday. Three-fifty in food, six bottles of cheap-ass liquor—none of which I’d let past my lips or hers… It’s the least you can do.”

“Pretty sure that was all Winnie—”

“Spare me the bullshit,” Rafe drawls, his Southern accent soaked in judgment, cutting like his smirk.

“Since when are you washin’ cars anyway?” Max mutters, dunking a sponge into the soapy bucket. You try not to giggle but you can’t help it. Rafe’s flair for the dramatics is so visible in Max it’s like looking in a mirror.

Rafe laughs as well, already turning back to you. He reaches up, wiping a drop of water from your cheek with his thumb, pressing a kiss to your lips—gentler this time, like he’s taking back the moment before their arrival.

“Now what did you need, baby?” Rafe murmurs as the boys start scrubbing the truck. You glance up at him, feeling nothing but butterflies. Rafe bites his lip slightly, head tilted slightly, making your brain short-circuit. “Name it, princess,” he mumbles, thumb tracing slow, possessive circles on the small of your back.

“You.”

That one word has him grinning, dark and knowing. “You want me, huh?” He mutters, voice dropping an octave. “Alright. Do somethin’ for me.”

“Anything…”

“Go on back inside. Head to the guest room. Get on the bed, just like this. Don’t take a single thing off,” he adds. “I wanna take it off you. You think you can do that for me?”

“Yeah… yeah, baby,” you murmur, lifting up just enough to press your mouth to his.

He leans in, lips lingering like he’s already counting down the seconds. “Beautiful,” he mutters, voice low, that crooked grin spreading as his hand lands on your ass with a lazy smack. “I’ll be right behind you— ”

“Love you, Max! Have fun, boys. Be safe,” you call out, voice bright and sweet as you disappear toward the house.

The driveway shifts the second the door closes, all the sunshine snuffed out the second you’re gone. The boys go silent, scrubbing like their lives depend on it.

Rafe’s shadow stretches long across the driveway. He folds his arms over his broad chest as he surveys the group, his gaze unreadable—far colder than anger.

“Yacht club, huh?” He says, nodding toward the cooler. “Gonna load up the boat? Burn my gas, drink my liquor, make some memories? I hope y’all have fun,” Rafe adds, and if they didn’t know any better, they might think he means it.

“Thanks, Mr. Camer—”

“Maybe you’ll even get lucky,” Rafe cuts in, clean and easy. “Pick up a few country club girls: pearls, spray tans; the kind who won’t notice your hands shakin’ while you fumble with their bras.”

A nervous chuckle slips out, quickly catching Rafe’s glare, his lips curling into a fake smile.

“You’ve seen my wife, yeah?” He asks casually. “Beautiful. Fuckin’ stunning actually. Prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

He looks back at the house giving the boys a moment to breathe before shifting his sights to them again.

“I’ve been working since I was eighteen. Built this house. That boat. Everything you boys use like it’s yours.” He leans in slightly, voice tightening. “And even after all that—I don’t deserve her.”

That hits. You can see it land—all of them blinking like they’ve just been slapped across the face.

“So what makes you think you do?”

“We were just joking, Mr. Cameron. I swear—”

“That’s my wife,” Rafe snaps. The words hit like thunder in their chests. “Mine. Always has been. Always will be. And I don’t give a shit if you go home and jerk off thinkin’ about her—hell, that fantasy’s older than any of you.”

His smile returns, slow and razor-sharp. “But if you say another word—if you breathe another comment about something you’ll never fuckin’ touch…”

He steps forward, and they shrink; stepping toward Max is self-preservation. His eyes zero in on Trevor. The kid nods before Rafe says another word, like he’s praying it’s enough to stay alive. “I’ll make sure the only thing you’re sliding into is a fuckin’ ditch. We clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Trevor stammers.

Rafe claps a hand on his back hard. The slap echoed through the grounds, making the boy stumble forward with a wheezing gasp.

Then, just like that, Rafe turns and walks away. Calm and steady, like it didn’t happen. He passes Max on the way back to the house, resting a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Love you, kid.”

“L-Love you too,” Max mutters, the lot of them holding their breath until he’s gone for good.

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴

You shift on the bed the second he walks in, soft and shy, biting your lip as your eyes meet his. His gaze darkens instantly, heat rolling off him like a wave.

“I know I changed…” You murmur, voice gentle as a pout tugs at your lips.

The robe’s already falling off your shoulders. Just hanging there. Lace underneath—barely visible, but that’s the point. One leg crossed, stockings tight on your thighs, garters showing just enough to make him stop breathing.

Rafe’s tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip as his eyes roam over you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

He’s already hard, straining against the front of his swim trunks, jaw tight as his fists curl at his sides—like it’s taking everything in him not to rip that robe off you.

“Baby… Don’t apologize. Not when you look that fuckin’ good for me.”

Rafe steps closer, making your thighs part without thinking, giving him room, inviting him in. His hands slide up your legs—rough palms dragging higher—his thumbs hooking under the garter straps, snapping them against your skin.

“You bought this for me, didn’t you? Knew I’d lose my mind over this. Fuck, you know me too well…”

Your pussy clenches at the raw need in his tone. You toy with the satin belt at your waist, slowly teasingly letting the knot fall loose. The robe slips open completely as you lean back, arching your back, tits round in the pretty lingerie.

“Fuck... You don’t even realize what you do to me. The way you picked this out thinkin’ of me? Wantin’ me to see you like this?”

He kisses you, soft and slow, then starts to trail lower—his mouth brushing along your jaw, every touch unhurried, deliberate. His hand glides up your thigh and grips tight, spreading you open. His eyes are sharp, blue, and hungry—fixed on yours.

“Rafe…” You whine, already feeling your thoughts blur.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you for them,” he groans, hardly holding himself together. “Make sure they never look at you the same. Make sure they know it’s me in your head when you close your eyes. You know what they’ll never have?” He whispers, breath fanning across your lips.

“This. This soft little mouth. These legs wrapped around them. This sweet pussy drippin’ for them.” His voice drops even lower. “All mine.”

You blink up at him, a little crease forming between your brows like you’re trying to figure him out

He lets out this low breath, almost a laugh, but not really. “Fuck, you’re perfect… You don’t even see anyone else, do you?”

“Who, baby?” You whisper.

He scoffs, low and humorless as he tugs down his trunks, tossing them to the floor. “You should’ve heard what they were sayin’ about you.”

“Rafe…” You blink. “Is everything okay?”

Your words tip up into a gasp as he pushes you back suddenly, one knee sinking into the bed, his body climbing over yours. “Those boys,” he mumbles. “They want you.”

“Max’s friends?” You gasp as your face twists in disgust; eyes flicking toward the door.

Rafe grabs your cheeks, forcing your focus back to him. His fingers slip under the lace and he groans—low and guttural—when he feels how wet you are.

“Already soaked,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You’ve been sittin’ here all sweet and innocent, like nothin’s goin’ on—when your pussy’s this fuckin’ desperate for me. Say you're mine… Who do you belong to?”

You whimper, breath hitching as he slips your panties to the side and drags two fingers through your slick slowly, savoring every second.

“Say it,” he demands, his forehead pressing to yours; hand working you open.

“You,” you whisper. “I belong to you—”

“That’s right… Mine to spoil. Mine to love. Mine to fuck.”

You go to touch him, but he grabs your wrists before you get the chance. Forces them up over your head, holding you there. His body presses into yours and when his hand slides down your thigh, it pulls a shiver straight out of you. “Uh-uh, angel. Not yet.”

His fingers curl just right, pressing into that spot that makes your hips jolt off the sheets. He keeps it slow, steady—watching your face with quiet adoration. He’s memorized every flutter of your lashes, every soft gasp that slips from your swollen lips. He knows what it takes… what you crave. And he knows you’re close.

“You’re gonna come for me, pretty,” he murmurs. “Just like this—”

You nod rapidly, falling apart not a moment later. “Fuck, Rafe,” you cry out, trembling as your pussy clenches around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop. He keeps working you through it, fucking you with his fingers until you’re gasping into his mouth, thighs twitching, hips jerking away from the overstimulation. You reach for his wrist, gripping tight, trying to slow him down—but he groans against your lips, loving how little it takes for him to unravel you.

He catches the lace of your panties and rips them clean off, the tear sharp and sudden. The sound snaps through the room, and your legs twitch from the jolt.

Rafe pulls you off the bed, guiding you right where he wants you, not wasting a moment. “Hands on the glass,” he says, voice rough as he unhooks your bra with one practiced flick. His other hand clamps around your waist, steadying you.

You press your palms to the glass, cool beneath you. Your reflection stares back: hair a mess, lips wet, chest rising fast—tits bare as you beg for more, fighting to keep your eyes open already as they flutter shut.

“Eyes on me,” Rafe whispers roughly, his chest pressed to your back now; hips flush against your ass.

He pushes into you slowly, giving you every delicious inch, your greedy pussy pulling him in. “Shit, baby… You’re tight.” Rafe grinds in deeper, hand splayed across your stomach as he holds you there, impaled on his thick cock. “This,” he pants, dragging back and slamming in again. “This is my pussy. My house. My fuckin’ wife.”

Rafe sets a brutal rhythm, hips snapping against your ass with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, lewd and filthy. He spanks your ass, hard enough to make you jolt forward into the glass.

“Let ‘em hear it,” he growls. “Let those little bastards outside hear what I do to you.”

Your body trembles with every ruthless thrust; the mirror rattles under your grip, the sharp slaps of skin echoing round the room.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” Rafe grits out, voice rough and hoarse.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasp, voice breaking as the knot in your belly coils tight, ready to snap.

“Yeah?” He growls, dragging you closer, rough hands holding you right where he wants you. “Then fuckin’ give it to me.”

One arm binds around your waist while the other slips down, fingers working your clit in rough, relentless circles that make your legs shake. “Show me what I do to you.”

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your body jerks—cunt clamping down around him. You peel your eyes open, desperate to see him. And there he is in the mirror behind you: jaw tight, lip caught between his teeth as his hips slam into you again and again.

“Good girl,” he snarls, not letting up for a second. “You ain’t done yet.”

Rafe yanks you upright, chest to back, one big hand wrapping gently around your throat, thumb stroking just under your jaw as he fucks you deep and hard—so deep it’s almost too much.

You break with a choked sob, another orgasm tearing through you so hard your vision blurs. You go limp in his arms, legs shaking, body spent. He doesn’t let go. Just grunts out a rough “Fuck, baby,” right against your neck as his hips pump forward. One last thrust and he’s coming, cock throbbing inside you, breath hot on your skin.

You feel every pulse of it, thick and messy, spilling deep as he holds you there, buried and shaking, not ready to move.

Rafe nuzzles into your cheek, soft kisses dusting your jaw as your breath comes out in shattered little gasps. He listens to every sound. “You still with me, baby?” He murmurs, peeking over your shoulder with a teasing smirk.

“Barely,” you whisper, still catching your breath as you slump into his chest.

He lets out a soft laugh, mouth skimming the edge of your lips. “That smile,” he mutters, voice thick. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

You let your eyes fall shut, head resting against him.

He slips out of you slow, gentle to the last second, then gathers you up without a word. Carries you back to the bed like you weigh nothing, sets you down easy, and smooths your hair from your face with the back of his hand. Just stands there for a beat, staring like he can’t believe you’re real.

“Rafe…” you breathe, voice soft and pathetic, so sweet it nearly breaks him. He smiles, crawling between your thighs. “You gonna tell me you can’t take another?” He whispers, hands sliding under your knees, pushing your thighs open wide. “Yes, you can… You always do.”

Rafe kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other, mouth warm against your sex. His stubble drags across your skin, rough enough to make your lip tremble.

Your hands shoot to his hair the second he dives between your thighs. His tongue works you over, lips locking around your clit as he sucks hard. You cry out, fingers gripping his hair, and he groans into you, the sound vibrating so deep it makes your legs shake.

Rafe’s fingers slide inside without warning, drilling his cum back into you until your back bows and your eyes blur with tears.

You sob, thighs quivering as your heels dig into the mattress, your body barely able to take it anymore; your brain not able to think of a single coherent thought.

“Give it to me. Let ‘em know who owns this fuckin’ bed, aight. You and me… You. And. Me.” A scream rips from your throat, so cock-drunk you cum without warning, soaking his hand, his face, the sheets beneath you, everything drenched in the proof of your pleasure.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Rafe sighs in relief, licking and kissing through the mess, savoring every drop. He slaps your pussy once, firm and wet, just to hear the sound of it. “Atta baby. That’s what I fuckin’ needed… So damn good to me.”

He drags his mouth up your body. Every touch lingers, every breath shared. He settles over you, wrapping you up in him.

You reach for his face, thumb stroking along his slick jaw. He leans into your touch, his mouth just a breath from yours.

“I love you,” you murmur, voice barely there.

Rafe’s leans in, resting his forehead against yours. A quiet smile breaks across his face.

“I love you more, sweetheart,” he says, low and steady. “Always have. Always will.”

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴ the next morning

“I warned you,” Max mutters.

Tripp doesn’t reply—just stares into the void like something sacred was taken from him last night. Trevor’s slumped next to him, hoodie up, eyes hollow, chewing his thumbnail.

“Warned us?” Tripp breathes, voice shot. “About the wet bed? The screaming? The headboard hitting the wall like a metronome set to ‘destroy pussy’ all night long?”

Knock. Knock. Knock. Bauer adds, thumping his fist against the kitchen table. “All damn night.”

Max shrugs, calm as ever. “I told you not to talk about my mom.”

“…She was crying about it,” Bauer mutters. “Crying about dick—”

“Enough,” Max snaps.

Tripp rubs both hands over his face. “I’ve got PTSD. Did you sleep?”

“You think I slept?” Trevor huffs.

“You could’ve knocked,” Max says casually, sipping his orange juice.

All heads turn to him fast. “Knocked?” They spat in unison.

Max shrugs again, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. “Could’ve asked to crash in my room. I slept great.”

You walk in like it’s any other morning—light on your feet, humming under your breath, dressed in a tiny pajama set that has no business existing in a house full of teenage boys. Your tank’s stretched snug across your chest, love bites just barely visible where your robe slips open at the collar.

You pull the cinnamon rolls out, set them on the counter, steam rising fast. Without thinking, you grab the icing, swipe some with your finger, and lick it clean. You smile, small and sleepy, still feeling kind of floaty from the night before.

And for the first time in god knows how long they sat there in silence.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Tripp whispers as heavy footsteps echo down the hall.

And then—Rafe.

No shirt, just his signature gold chain catching the light as it rested against his chest. His skin was tanned, muscles cut sharp, and those sweats hung low on his hips like he’d just rolled out of bed—or hadn’t bothered to pull them up all the way.

“Mornin’, baby,” He murmurs, already reaching for your waist.

“Good morning,” you hum, letting him pull you into him—cinnamon roll tray still in your hands—as he kisses your skin; fingers curling around the handle of the fresh cup of coffee you poured him, steam rolling over the rim of the handmade Daddy mug from a Father’s Day past.

“For me?” He asks softly, like the entire house isn’t holding its breath.

You giggle, warm and syrupy. “Made your favorite.”

“Already had my favorite last night.” It’s a whisper meant just for you, but every boy hears it.

Rafe grabs a roll, swipes his thumb through the icing, and licks it clean like he’s still tasting you. He sips his coffee slowly, his focus unwavering.

“Breakfast on the porch, baby?”

“Yeah,” you smile like he asked you on a date.

Then finally, with one last glance at his house, his wife, and the group of broken boys who will never forget last night, he mumbles, smug as ever…

“Ya’ll have a great day. ”

[whosashan]

hello helloo!!! ♥️♥️ sending you love 💕 i want to ask for a request about lads. yk the tiktok prank where the bf is sleeping and the gf was waking him up, telling him he have to hide bc her "bf" is here? 😂 i know this would ate hard with xavier. anyhow you can make headcanons about it?? <3

thank you and have a nice day 🧚‍♀️

SNEAKYYY

PAIRING: lads men x gn!nonmc!reader (Caleb calls you pipsqueak, though - I just think it's cute:(()

SYNOPSIS: What did you expect when you woke your lover up in a panic, telling him to hide because your “boyfriend” just got home? Are you ready to face the consequences? (a little suggestive, I guess?)

A/N: Thank you for the request. Hope you enjoy!

Stumbling upon a new TikTok trend, you couldn’t resist the temptation. The setup was simple—wake your lover in a panic, tell him he needs to hide because your “boyfriend” just got home, and see how he reacts. A harmless prank, really.

Or so you thought.

With a sly grin and your heart thrumming with anticipation, you turned toward the man peacefully asleep beside you. His breathing was slow, steady, his face relaxed in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. He looked so serene, so blissfully unaware of the chaos you were about to unleash.

But oh, if only you had known.

Xavier

Xavier’s face was peaceful, content in the depths of sleep. His breathing was slow, steady, and every now and then, a soft sigh escaped his lips. From the way his brows twitched ever so slightly, he had to be having a good dream—you wondered what it was about.

And you were about to ruin it.

Suppressing a giggle, you placed your hands on his broad shoulders and started shaking him frantically, your voice laced with urgency.

"Xavier! Wake up!"

He groaned, his face scrunching up in sleepy protest as he buried himself deeper into the pillow. His lips formed the smallest pout, reluctant to part from the dream world. Slowly, his heavy eyelids fluttered open, hazy and unfocused as they met yours.

You took your chance.

"Xavier! My boyfriend's here! You need to hide, quickly!"

Your voice dripped with manufactured panic, and honestly? Your acting was Oscar-worthy.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his brain clearly not catching up yet. He let out another sleepy hum, eyes lazily shutting again. With a huff, you grabbed his face between your hands and pinched his cheeks in an attempt to wake him up faster. But instead of reacting, he only nuzzled into your touch, a content sigh leaving his lips.

Adorable.

And then—his entire body tensed.

His eyes snapped open, sharp and alert, and before you could register it, he bolted upright. His expression had darkened instantly, any trace of sleep now completely erased.

"What—" His voice was rough, hoarse from sleep. His brows furrowed, confusion flashing in his eyes before it was quickly replaced by something else. Something much, much more dangerous. "I'm your boyfriend."

Your heart skipped a beat.

"Hide under the bed!" You insisted, struggling to keep a straight face, though his reaction was making it very difficult.

But Xavier wasn't having it.

Ignoring your words entirely, he grabbed your wrists and, in one swift motion, flipped you beneath him. You gasped, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he hovered over you, his grip unyielding.

"Who are you talking about?" His voice was lower now, edged with something possessive, almost feral. His usual easy-going demeanor was long gone, replaced with something far more intense. His fingers dug into your wrists, firm yet careful, as if he was fighting the urge to squeeze harder.

You blinked at him, momentarily speechless. This was not what you had prepared for. Chaos? Yes. A dramatic reaction? Of course. But this? The way his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling heavier, his entire body radiating something primal—oh, you had underestimated him.

"Xavier—it was just a prank!" you finally stammered, eyes wide.

He searched your face for a moment, his grip still tight. Then, before you could say another word, he dipped down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. A gasp escaped you before you could stop it.

“…Is that so?” he murmured, his warm breath fanning against your pulse. His teeth grazed the spot lightly before sinking in just enough to make your body jolt. "Do you think that was funny?"

A shiver ran down your spine, excitement creeping up your skin at the sheer dominance in his voice. It wasn’t unusual for Xavier to get jealous, but this?

Lord have mercy.

"I'm sorry," you said quickly, your voice slightly breathless. "I just wanted to see how you'd react—"

His rough hands suddenly cupped your face, tilting it up so you had no choice but to look at him. His gaze was unreadable, but the corner of his lips curled just slightly—oh, you knew that smirk.

"I’ll show you real fun," he muttered darkly.

And just like that, his mouth was back on you, his hands traveling lower, as he made sure you understood exactly why no one else could ever take his place.

And… other places, too.

Zayne

Looking over at your boyfriend, you almost felt guilty.

Zayne looked utterly at peace, his face relaxed in deep slumber, the steady rhythm of his breath tickling your skin as he lay half-draped over you. He almost looked angelic, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting golden hues over his features.

Almost.

Because in just a few seconds, you were about to drag him straight down from his heavenly repose.

A devilish grin crept onto your lips as you admired your handiwork. You had rehearsed this moment—every word, every inflection. Zayne was sharp, observant to an almost terrifying degree, and if you wanted this prank to work, you had to be convincing.

Taking a deep breath, you launched into your performance.

“God, Zayne! My boyfriend’s here! Wake up!” you whisper-yelled, lacing your voice with expertly crafted panic. To sell it further, you lightly patted his cheek—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to jolt him from sleep.

His reaction was immediate.

His brows furrowed as he cracked open one hazy eye, the sleep still thick in his expression. For a brief moment, it seemed like he was still lost in his dreams, but then, as if on instinct, he swiftly rolled off you and pushed himself upright.

Without a word, he started toward the door.

Your lips parted in shock. Wait, was he actually leaving?!

But then—he stopped.

His body went unnaturally still, tension creeping into his frame. And then, ever so slowly, he turned his head over his shoulder, pinning you with a sharp, unreadable gaze.

“…Excuse me?”

The sheer offense in his voice nearly made you break character. His brows were slightly raised, his mouth parted just enough to showcase his disbelief.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.

“Zayne, quick! He’ll be here any second now!” you urged, pressing your hands against his back in a futile attempt to move him.

But he didn’t budge.

He turned fully to face you, his towering presence suddenly suffocating. His eyes, darkened by the lingering haze of sleep, now held something far more dangerous beneath their surface.

“…Are you cheating on me?”

The way he asked it—low, slow, as if he could barely force the words past his lips—made your stomach drop.

For a fleeting second, you actually felt guilty. Not because the prank was cruel, but because of how easily your performance had convinced him.

“No!” you blurted out, dropping the act entirely. “It was a prank! A stupid TikTok trend! I swear, I’d never—”

Before you could finish, Zayne moved.

In one smooth motion, he lifted you off the ground, making you gasp as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His arms locked around you, holding you effortlessly, his grip firm but controlled.

His eyes darkened in an unfamiliar way.

“I see,” he murmured, voice like silk wrapped around steel. “So, you think deception is funny?”

You swallowed, heart hammering against your ribs as he tilted his head, his breath ghosting against your jaw.

“I-I didn’t mean—”

“I hope you’ve already thought of a way to compensate me for this emotional turmoil,” he mused, his fingers tightening around your thighs just enough to send a shiver down your spine. His tone was teasing, laced with amusement—but there was something else beneath it, something dangerous.

A warning.

Zayne was nothing if not thorough in proving a point.

And by the way he looked at you, you had no doubt that by the end of the night, you would never dare to prank him like this again.

Rafayel

Rafayel lay sprawled across you, his long legs draped over your form as he slept soundly, his soft snores barely audible. His body was heavy with exhaustion—he had been painting non-stop for days, pouring himself into his art until sleep had finally claimed him.

You smiled to yourself, suppressing the giggle threatening to escape. He looked so peaceful, so utterly lost in his dreams.

And you? You were about to ruin it.

Without hesitation, you wiggled his shoulders dramatically, shaking him until his brows furrowed and his lashes fluttered open.

"Rafayel!" you whisper-yelled, gripping his hand in faux urgency. "My boyfriend's here—quick, hide!"

A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he blinked up at you, clearly still tangled in the fog of sleep.

"What nonsense are you spewing now?" His voice was rough, hoarse with sleep, but something in his gaze darkened—not with confusion, but with something else.

Before you could react, his arm wrapped around your waist, effortlessly yanking you back onto the bed. You let out a startled squeak as your body collapsed onto his, your palms pressing against the firm warmth of his chest.

"What—Rafayel! He'll see you!" You struggled to maintain the panic in your voice, but the way his hooded gaze settled on you made it very difficult.

"Good." His response was unexpected, unnervingly calm.

Your breath hitched.

"...Huh?" That was not the reaction you anticipated.

He exhaled slowly, fingers curling around your wrist as he brought it to his lips. His mouth ghosted over your skin before his teeth grazed it, a slow, teasing drag that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Let him see," he murmured, his voice deep, deliberate. "Maybe I could teach him a thing or two."

Your heart skipped a beat.

Your carefully rehearsed act? Gone. Completely obliterated by the way he looked at you, by the way his fingers brushed over your pulse point as if he could feel the way it had started to race.

"W-what?" You stuttered, your mind suddenly blank.

He hummed in amusement, his hands gripping your waist before flipping you beneath him in one smooth, effortless motion. His lips skimmed the sensitive skin along your neck, his breath warm against your pulse.

"Next time," he murmured against your ear, his teeth lightly grazing the shell, "if you plan to prank me, be prepared to deal with the consequences."

Your breath caught as his fingers trailed lower, his tone as smooth as silk yet laced with something undeniably dangerous.

"Waking me from a perfectly good dream just for this?" He clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "I do believe you owe me proper compensation."

Oh, you were in trouble.

But maybe—just maybe—you didn’t mind one bit.

Sylus

Sylus lay beside you, his breathing steady, his chiseled frame relaxed against the sheets. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast golden shadows across his sharp features, highlighting the smooth lines of his jaw and the way his dark lashes rested against his cheekbones. He looked untouchable like this—serene, at peace.

But not for long.

A mischievous grin curled on your lips as you hovered over him, suppressing a giggle. You had this planned perfectly. Sylus was sharp, calculated—always ten steps ahead—but if you played it right, maybe, just maybe, you’d catch him off guard.

You shook his shoulder dramatically, gasping.

"Sylus! My boyfriend’s here—you need to hide, now!"

His eyes opened immediately, dark irises meeting yours, unbothered, unreadable. A slow blink. Then another.

Silence.

Then, as if waking at his own pace, he stretched, exhaling through his nose. His lips quirked into something between amusement and irritation. "Mm," he hummed, voice still thick with sleep, "interesting."

You pushed his chest, trying to feign urgency. "Sylus, go! He’s gonna be here any second!"

For a fleeting moment, he almost humored you—his body tensing slightly, his gaze flicking to the door as if he were genuinely considering it.

And then, just as quickly, his amusement won.

He tilted his head, lips curling into a slow, knowing smirk. "As if someone else would dare to even look at you."

Your stomach flipped at the certainty in his tone.

Before you could react, his hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you down until your breath hitched and your body pressed flush against his.

"Nice try," he murmured against your ear, his voice a low, teasing whisper. "But you forget—I know you." His grip tightened, firm but never painful. "And I know you wouldn’t be so careless as to let another man think he could have what’s mine."

Your breath caught, completely thrown off your game.

He chuckled, deep and rich, enjoying the way your face betrayed you. "Mm. What’s wrong?" His fingers trailed down your spine, deliberate, slow. "You were so convincing a moment ago."

You swallowed hard. "It—it was just a prank," you admitted, voice smaller than you intended.

"I know," he murmured, tilting your chin up with two fingers. "But tell me—was it worth the consequences?"

Before you could ask what consequences he meant, he had already flipped you beneath him, his knee pressing between your thighs, his lips ghosting over your pulse point.

"You just love testing me, don’t you, sweetie?" he mused, his breath warm against your skin.

You should have known better.

Playing games with Sylus?

You never really won.

Caleb

Caleb was sprawled out beside you, limbs thrown haphazardly across the bed, his cheek smushed into the pillow, messy hair falling over his closed eyes. His chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm, the steady sound of his breathing almost lulling you to sleep.

He looked so peaceful. Sweet, even.

Too bad you were about to ruin that.

Suppressing a grin, you shook his shoulder frantically. "Caleb! Wake up!"

He groaned, face scrunching up as he tried to burrow deeper into the pillow.

You slapped his arm, urgency laced in your voice. "Caleb! My boyfriend’s here! You have to hide!"

That got his attention.

With a confused grunt, he blinked up at you, eyes bleary with sleep. His lips parted slightly as he took in your panicked expression, still groggy. "Huh?"

"Go! You need to hide!" You tugged at his wrist.

For a second, he seemed to actually consider it. He rubbed his eyes, blinking sluggishly, as if his brain was trying to reboot. Then, suddenly, he stopped.

Something clicked.

And then he smirked.

"Ohhh," he drawled, stretching his arms over his head. "That kind of prank."

Your stomach dropped. Of course he would know.

Oh no.

Before you could react, Caleb grabbed your waist and flipped you onto your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His boyish grin was still there, but there was something else beneath it now—something darker, something sharp.

"You really think that’s funny, huh, pipsqueak?" His voice was still light, teasing—but his grip on your waist? Not so much.

You swallowed. "I—I thought you’d freak out more."

He snorted. "That's funny." After all, he knew your every move.

Your breath hitched.

Caleb was the laid-back type, all smiles and easy laughter—but push the right buttons? And suddenly, that warmth turned into something possessive. Something dangerous.

His fingers dug into your waist just enough to make your skin tingle. "But now that I am awake," he murmured, leaning in close, "I think I deserve some kind of payback for my so-called emotional distress and lack of sleep."

"Caleb—"

"Shh," he cooed, lips ghosting over your jaw. "You wanted to see me riled up, didn’t you?" He grinned, but his eyes held a warning. "Congratulations, pipsqueak. You got exactly what you wanted."

His hand trailed lower down your waist.

Oh. You were so screwed.

[l4ndoflove]

Hey I love your fics!!💕💕 I was wondering if you could do an oscar piastri smau where like they've been friends and they start soft launching each other or something? Idk literally do whatever you want cause ik it'll be good!🫶

you're literally the sweetest 💕 and i LOVED writing this

launch me hard and soft

feat. oscar piastri

lyrics preview being the most shipped couple online before you even started dating makes soft launching a little harder

maddie I'M SO SORRY it took me ages to write this, but i wanted it to be perfect, and it's finally here!!! i also added a little plot twist in the end, so... enjoy <3 🙃

with @.saraecheagaray

youruser

❤️ 93K 💬 6,009

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, hattiepiastri and others

youruser he was a little upsetti so i made him some spaghetti

comments

oscarpiastri don't write something like that ever again please

youruser but i was practicing my italian 🤌

duolingo more like italiaNO 🙄

youruser mamma mia

user1 i suggest running while you still can

user2 HELP THE EVIL GREEN BIRD GOT TO HER TOO

hattiepiastri it was nice knowing you babe

❤️ by youruser

user3 r.i.p. yn 🕊

user4 you will not be forgotten 😔🙏

user5 addio

see translation goodbye

❤️ by duolingo

user6 osc really said 🫤 > 🍝 > 😁

user7 and the polite cat saga carries on

user8 the allegations remain unbeaten

user9 IS THAT BLUSH I SEE ON MY MAN'S CHEEKS???

user10 i think they're just naturally pink

user11 riiiiight

lando @.youruser no spaghetti for me?

youruser you got your p2, be happy with it

user12 DAMN

user13 MIC DROP

user14 not her bullying lando on main 😭

user15 she's not wrong though

user16 lolll she really silenced him

user17 lando losing pasta to oscar now 💀

user18 i swear like cut my boy some slack

mclaren thank you for cheering him up 😉

youruser 😒

user19 LMAO THE SHADE

user20 she's so real for that

user21 we know what you did @.mclaren

user22 acting like it's not their fault i see

user23 mclaren: messes up the strategy

also mclaren: tHaNk YoU fOr ChEeRiNg HiM uP

user24 this post is so aesthetically pleasing for some reason

user25 tell me you were on a date without telling me you were on a date:

oscarpiastri

❤️ 337K 💬 2,955

liked by youruser, mclaren, lando and others

oscarpiastri got a double podium and a pretty decent lunch. grazie mille imola 👋

comments

youruser *pretty lunch

user26 UH UH UH WE SAW THAT

user27 🤨🤨🤨

user28 lover girl eraaa

user29 let's not immediately jump to conclusions shall we

user30 why would she delete it though???

user31 can you not read into every little thing jeez

youruser wdym "decent" 🥺

youruser i feel personally attacked

youruser you said you liked it

youruser liar 💔

youruser alexa play "traitor" by olivia rodrigo

lando dramatic much?

youruser i don't remember asking for your opinion

user32 GAGGED

user33 yn: 2 lando: 0

user34 i think she won a few more than 2

user35 THE WAY SHE STRAIGHT UP HUMBLED HIM I'M CRYING

user36 so is lando's ego

user37 💀

user38 girlboss 💪🎀

user39 not him calling out yn's cooking skills

youruser that's because he doesn't have taste, my cooking skills are on fire 🔥🔥🔥

oscarpiastri i remember something else being on fire

youruser and whose fault was that 😐

oscarpiastri you were the one who left the stove on

youruser AND WHOSE FAULT WAS THAT

user40 they're so domestic

user41 this is exactly how i imagine a happily married couple arguing

user42 the real question is why did they forget to turn it off

user43 i have a few ideas...

user44 TELL ME WE'RE ALL THINKING THE SAME

user45 👉👌💦

hattiepiastri ew get lost

❤️ by youruser and oscarpiastri

user46 that first picture scratches my brain just right

user47 LANDOSCAR 🧡🧡🧡

user48 yn, her boyfriend, and her boyfriend’s boyfriend

user49 golden trio vibes

user50 now look me in the eyes and tell me that wasn’t a date

user51 i swear like she's all dressed up and has a full face of makeup

user52 oh that's not–

user53 so a woman can't even want to feel beautiful without everyone thinking she's doing it for a man?

user54 @.user51 good luck dealing with this now mate

user55 THAT'S MY WIFE RIGHT THERE

hattiepiastri mine first

❤️ by youruser

f1gossippofficial

❤️ 62.6K 💬 1,787

f1gossippofficial spotted! 👀 oscar piastri's best friend yn was seen walking around milan and getting comfortable with an unidentified man this evening. who is he?

comments

user56 "getting comfortable" while he has his tongue down her throat is actually wild

user57 i feel betrayed

user58 WHAT IS THIS

user59 @.youruser explain

user60 i need to wash my eyes with bleach

user61 never in my entire life have i wished a picture was photoshopped this bad

user62 nope i'm not dealing with this shit today 👍

user63 she looks so innocent for someone who backstabbed all of us

user64 wait why is everyone freaking out?

user65 because apparently she has a boyfriend!?

user64 and...?

user66 IT'S NOT OSCAR!?

user67 omfg it's not the end of the world

user68 she's a grown ass adult let her live

user69 @.user66 you don't know that

user70 he does kinda look like oscar

user71 delulu is the solulu 🙏

user72 i mean good for her right 😀🔫

user73 i have no idea who that guy is but he sure as hell knows how to kiss

youruser were you there?

user74 help she's so 😭

user75 rough day for us ynoscar shippers

youruser

❤️ 92.9K 💬 9,734

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, hattiepiastri and others

youruser boyfriend dump since you people find it strange i have one 🥴

comments

lando i'm with people

lando it's hard to believe someone would willingly choose to deal with you everyday

youruser wow that's a lot of words

youruser too bad i'm not reading them

user76 STOP I CAN HEAR THE AUDIO

user77 most gen z thing she could've done

user78 biggest beef of the year btw

❤️ by youruser and lando

user79 WAIT SO IT'S ACTUALLY TRUE???

user80 clearly

user81 why wouldn't it be?

user82 i think we were all hoping it wasn't

user83 speak for yourself 🤡

user84 "boyfriend" as in oscar right. RIGHT

user85 @.youruser we find it strange only if he's not a certain australian driver 🥰❤️

youruser i don't feel safe here

user86 @.user85 what about we just stop planning her love life and let her be with whoever the hell she wants?

user87 happy for you girl but what about oscarrr 😩

user88 yeah what about him

user89 i still don't get why you guys want them to be together this bad

user90 bro they're literally soulmates

user91 platonic soulmates maybe

user92 booo you're no fun 👎

user93 well at least now we know he's a gentleman 🤭🦋

user94 if you're talking about the third slide that's oscar’s head. you're welcome

user95 I KNOW MY BOY'S HAIR WHEN I SEE IT

hattiepiastri cuties

❤️ by youruser

mclaren

❤️ 401K 💬 12.8K

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, youruser and others

mclaren can't get them to focus when their girls are around 😂 @.lando @.oscarpiastri

comments

user96 their what now 😃

user97 I BEG YOU YOUR FINEST PARDON

user98 had to double check to see if i was hallucinating

user99 NO BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WAS A FAN ACCOUNT

user100 are we really sure this isn't just one big cover-up for their secret relationship?

user101 not that it ever was a secret tbh

user102 they're not called mctwinks for nothing

user103 they're so babygirl

user104 POOKIES 💞💞💞

user105 we got lando and magui hard launch and oscar's new girlfriend soft launch all in one post

user106 i honestly don't know how to feel about this

user107 damn someone took my bitches 💔

user108 i like to think that they were looking at each other in all of these

user109 lando's not a surprise but oscar???

user110 news flash: he can date people too!

lando shocking i know

user111 ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

user112 no but can we talk about how smitten they both look ⁉️

user113 IKR

user114 blushing giggling twirling their hair (literally 💀)

user115 I SWEAR LIKE STAND UP

user116 what were they looking at in the second picture? wrong answers only 👇

user117 lando was biting his lip so it was definitely carlos

user118 god

user119 the 2025 f1 world champion aka franz hermann

user120 i have no idea but oscar's face is screaming "no. 1 party anthem" minute 2:29

lando.jpg

🎵 you, me and steve • garfunkel and oates [E]

❤️ 451K 💬 13.1K

liked by youruser, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell and others

lando.jpg thanks osc

comments

user121 LMAO

user122 THE SONG CHOICE I CAN'T

user123 please he's so unserious 😭

user124 i love him sm

user125 i never thought i'd see the day lando would end up third wheeling oscar and his gf

user126 it's not the first time he ends up behind him though

user127 jaw DROPPED

user128 wait that's so mean (do it again)

user129 you people are so cruel

user130 it was funny until it wasn't 🥲

user131 is he aware that he's been adopted

lando actually i'm their lovechild

user132 oh well

user133 whatever you say beautiful

user134 thx for the info ig???

user135 😀👍

user136 LANDO TELL US WHO SHE ISSS

user137 we NEED to know 🙏

user138 we'll give you anything you want

lando you got the championship lead?

youruser hey that's my line ☹️

user139 poor yn just wanted to be a hater

user140 HE BEAT HER TO IT LOLLL

user141 smiley lando 🥹🫶

user142 he's such a vibe

user143 pov: your boyfriend is ignoring you

user144 he looks so done

user145 passive-aggressive behavior at its finest 👌

oscarpiastri

❤️ 1.3M 💬 14.1K

liked by youruser, nicolepiastri, hattiepiastri and others

oscarpiastri got myself a pretty girl and a more decent lunch

comments

user146 just shoot me atp

user147 my heart can only take so much

user148 I'M CRYING THIS IS TOO SWEET

user149 when did he become so aesthetic lol

user150 a woman's touch can do wonders

❤️ by youruser

user151 oh???

user152 yn babe we can see your likes

user153 WAIT DOES THIS MEAN WHAT I THINK IT MEANS

user154 men in love with their gf >>>

user155 the vibes are immaculate

user156 it's giving best friends to lovers 👀

user157 i completely agree

user158 we all know who the best friend is

user159 omg those flowers are GORGEOUS

user160 may this kind of love hit me at 300 km/h

user161 THE MATCHING OUTFITS

user162 they cooked AND ate

user163 fashion icons fr

user164 did anyone else get the reference or is it just me!?!?!?

user165 YESSSSS I WAS WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO NOTICE IT

user166 thank god i'm not the only one

user167 what are y'all on about

user168 the "pretty decent lunch" post he made a while ago with that photo of yn eating spaghetti

user169 which by the way is the same pasta they were cooking in this 🤧💞

user170 some of you actually scare me

mclaren

❤️ 376K 💬 4,557

liked by youruser, lando, oscarpiastri and others

mclaren big days require big changes 🤍🍾

comments

user171 can somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on with mclaren recently

user172 WHAT IS THIS

user173 i'm confused

user174 what does this even mean 😭

user175 should we be worried?

user176 i surprisingly don't hate them

user177 gotta love the monaco air 🫡

user178 LET'S GO PAPAYA 🧡🤍🧡🤍🧡🤍

user179 oooh vintage i like it

user180 dare i say the most stylish drivers in the paddock 😮‍💨

user181 sir lewis hamilton would disagree

user182 this team never misses 🙌

user183 99% of these photos are just oscar

user184 cry about it

user185 the font on the back like wow

user186 guys they're getting married

user187 sooo when's the wedding

mclaren sooner than you think 😉

user188 PAUSE

user189 WTF

user190 LANDOSCAR HARD LAUNCH???

user100 TOLD YOU THE GIRLFRIENDS WERE JUST A COVER-UP HAHAHA

lando

❤️ 957K 💬 13.7K

liked by youruser, oscarpiastri, mclaren and others

lando gotta look good for mrs piastri

comments

user191 i thought i read that wrong

user191 TURNS OUT I DIDN'T

user192 is this pay gorn

user193 STOP

user194 @.user192 yes but gayer

user195 💀💀💀

user196 we went from 0 to 100 pretty fucking quickly

user197 the more i look at it the less it makes sense

user198 i don't know what's real anymore

user199 *confused screaming*

user200 i love how everyone's just crashing out

user201 he obviously meant MR piastri. his husband

lando i meant exactly what i wrote

user202 HE SAID WHAT HE SAID 🗣🗣🗣

user203 thanks mate appreciate your clarification 👍

user204 how is this even real

user205 well mrs piastri surely is one lucky woman

user206 if you ever need a mrs norris i'm free whenever 😚

user207 yeah me too

user208 count me in 🙋‍♀️

user209 dw ladies 🫷🙂‍↕️🫸 i got this

user210 THE SUITS LOOK INSANELY GOOD

youruser and oscarpiastri

❤️ 3.9M 💬 49.4K

liked by nicolepiastri, lando, hattiepiastri and others

youruser bestied so hard we got married

comments

hattiepiastri i hope he knows how lucky he is to have you

oscarpiastri i do (pun intended)

❤️ by youruser

youruser hilarious 🙄 (affectionate)

❤️ by oscarpiastri

user211 this type of relationship >>>

nicolepiastri treat her well osc because if you don't i'll adopt her and kick you out 🤗

love, mum

oscarpiastri thanks mom

youruser my number one supporter 🫶

oscarpiastri wasn’t that me?

youruser you're a close second baby

carlossainz55 congrats!

❤️ by oscarpiastri

user212 carcar 😭🫶

charles_leclerc congratulations 😘😘😘

❤️ by oscarpiastri

user213 do you guys think charles paid for the wedding?

user214 i mean it's his son we're talking about

user215 and he got married in monaco of all places so

user216 YES

user217 wait does this make yn his daughter in law???

user218 the leclerc family keeps growing

lando credits?

youruser thank you for the kind wishes you're such a 🍑😊

user219 the double meaning is diabolical

user220 she's too good at this

user221 i assume the beef is still ongoing

lando i will take the compliment and ignore the insult like the mature adult i am

user222 "i don't wanna mature, i'm happy where i am" lando norris 2019

lando it's 2025. i matured

youruser sure

lando.jpg credits?

youruser omg not again

lando.jpg talent needs recognition yn

lando.jpg unless you want me to start charging for my services

youruser @.oscarpiastri do something about your teammate please

oscarpiastri credits @.lando

youruser 😦

youruser do you want a divorce

user223 HWAT 🤠

user224 where exactly did the decision to slam dunk this information on us come from

user225 it's called hard launch for a reason

user226 well that escalated quickly

user227 MOST AESTHETIC COUPLE EVER

user228 no way my husband stole my wife

user229 i honestly don't know who's luckier

user230 HOW CAN SOMEONE BE SO CUTE AND HOT AT THE SAME TIME

user231 old money wedding i'm in love

user232 quick act surprised 😮

user233 who would've thought they'd end up together right!?

user234 totally unexpected

user235 this is their one day but they don't know we've been here since day one ❤️

youruser trust me we know <3

© 2025 l4ndoflove. all rights reserved.

[gr4cier4cie]

♡ bet you wanna love me now ♡

or: he's is a seven-time world champion, revered by all, loved by most. the only person he can't win over? his goddamned wife. fem!engineer!reader x lewis hamilton (arranged/political marriage au) pt 2, pt 3

warnings: none really just sexual innuendo (LOTS), the enemies part of enemies to lovers, omg i don't even know how i got this idea but it somehow happened enjoy the ride my friends!!! love you all so so so so much ♡

♡

liked by y/nhamilton, f1, maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, olliebearman, lando, carlossainz55, danielricciardo, georgerussell63, and 1,090,450 others

lewishamilton this past weekend in monaco, i married the love of my life in a small ceremony attended by our close family and friends. there is no greater joy and no greater love that comes even close to what my heart feels for her. i love you, y/nhamilton. till death do us part.

comments on this post have been limited.

♡

♡

liked by lewishamilton, yourbestfriend, alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55, lando, danielricciardo, and 890,645 others

y/nhamilton 06.12.25. i'll be forever yours if you'll be forever mine. i love you, lewishamilton. i always have, and i always will.

lewishamilton there she is. my wife. (♡ by author)

y/nhamilton i love you lewis. (now come back to bed) └ lewishamilton i've got to feed roscoe baby └ y/nhamilton I ALREADY FED HIM EARLIER LEW HE'S GOING TO GET FAT AGAIN

yourbestfriend im still crying over your vows (♡ by author)

y/nhamilton oh hon that was the goal im sorry im sorry

alexandrasaintmleux congratulations my love!! you deserve all the happiness marriage can provide 💕 (♡ by author)

y/nhamilton ahhh i love you my girl!! charles_leclerc put a ring on this woman before i do my god └ charles_leclerc picking out a ring is harder than you think!! (♡ by author)

username1 OKAY WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKITY FUCK WHO ELSE IS HERE AFTER SEEING LEWIS' POST

username2 love how he just got married to a race engineer in the middle of the season and served cunt i mean did we expect anything else from him └ username4 WAIT WHAT SHE'S AN ENGINEER?! └ username2 omg yes check her bio

username5 omg her and lewis used the same pic of the two of them in their posts that is so damn cute

username6 OMG SHE'S SO GORG THEY'RE SO CUTE username7 PLS ADOPT ME y/nhamilton lewishamilton

♡

♡

liked by lewishamilton, your best friend, scuderiaferrari, alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, danielricciardo, georgerussell63, and 945,600 others

y/nhamilton been out of office recently (we're never coming back)

lewishamilton my pretty girl (♡ by author)

y/nhamilton my pretty boy 💖 (talking about roscoe rn)

yourbestfriend HOLY SHIT MA'AM I AM BLINDED BY THE BEAUTY IN THIS POST (the view, i mean. not you naked. obvs) (♡ by author)

y/nhamilton so that's not very kind lewishamilton the view IS her naked in my opinion └ y/nhamilton LEWIS OH MY GOD

scuderiaferrari please come home you two. everything's a mess without you. (♡ by author)

username8 THEY'VE GOT ADMIN IN THE COMMENTS LFMAO username9 i too would be in a chokehold if these two got married and then went on a honeymoon in the middle of the f1 szn

alexandrasaintmleux so beautiful as always my girl!! (♡ by author)

y/nhamilton took inspo from you of course!! username10 oKAY THE WAY ALL THE WAGS ADOPTED Y/N └ username11 she was basically one of them already LFMAO she saw lewis more than anyone else saw him

username12 I AM DECEASED MOTHER HAS POSTED

username13 y/n please divorce lewis and marry me i am on my knees

y/nhamilton i don't know... the offer's just SO tempting... lewishamilton she's taken mate. FOREVER.

♡

♡

liked by lewishamilton, f1, scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend, maxverstappen1, alexandrasaintmleux, and 1,070,300 others

y/nhamilton congratulations to the team on another amazing race in spa-francorchamps!! thank you to every single member on and off the grid today, as well as our two excellent drivers. your talent and dedication is unmatched by bounds. and to my husband, i could not be prouder of you. there are no words to describe the weight of my admiration for you.

lewishamilton it was all you, my love. all you. (♡ by author)

y/nhamilton so... you're letting me drive the car next time, yes? └ lewishamilton respectfully, not a chance in hell (♡ by author) └ y/nhamilton boooooo buzzkill alert

scuderiaferrari congratualtions on a fantastic race y/nhamilton! you two are one hell of a team. (♡ by author)

f1 the power couple energy in the room right now >> (♡ by author)

username14 PLEASE GIVE THE PERSON WORKING THE F1 MEDIA A RAISE THIS IS HILARIOUS username15 lando might have won the race, but goddamn lewis won the war

yourbestfriend AHHHH I LOVE MY WOMAN IN STEM (♡ by author)

y/nhamilton AHHH I LOVE YOU TOO SO SO MUCH (did you even watch the race bc i doubt you did) yourbestfriend im gonna hold your hand when i say no y/nhamilton IM BETRAYED

alexandrasaintmleux congrats y/n!!! love you lots XOXO (♡ by author)

y/nhamilton ahhh i love you more!! 💖

username16 does anyone else think she's using him for clout?! like she was a nobody before she married lewis

username17 okay ASSHOLE username18 ERM they're married so what its not like she married him to get famous she said in interviews that she prefers to be out of the spotlight anyway.... username19 yeah its so rude to assume she's 'using him for clout' when she has her own job?!! and life?!! like she doesn't need clout

maxverstappen1 great work today y/nhamilton! loved seeing you last weekend. (♡ by author)

♡

[YOUTUBE: Lewis Hamilton's first interview with Ferrari]

♡

♡

note: ermmmm what are these two muppets up to i dont even know they took my ideas and ran w them LOLSIES im def planning another part (since their contract marriage is two years long but.... they're obviously gonna fall in love)!! i wanna write the lovers part of enemies to lovers and lew's already getting jealous hehehe ♡ MUCH LOVE FROM GRACIE XOXO LOVE U ALL!!!!! ♡♡♡

[cuteandhughesy]

Please Please Please╰┈➤ LH43

summary: navigating a secret relationship with your brothers teammate is turning out to be a little harder than you expected. the 3 times you and luke were almost caught + the 1 time you are caught.

[word count] 4.3k

warnings: MATURE! pre-established relationship | brothers teammate trope | lazar! reader | sneaking around | kissing | suggestive dialogue and scenes | the tiniest sprinkle of smut but no actual sex | read at your own discretion

a/n: formed based on this request! i’m working on a good chunk of fics and similar stuff so keep your eyes open 💕 for now…enjoy! it’s been so long since i’ve written for luke..I missed him.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

one

"we really shouldn't be doing this..." luke's hushed words trail off, whispered against your slick lips as you two move through the room, stumbling over loose shoes and discarded clothes. his hands run up your torso hurriedly—yet smoothly—squeezing your skin in his palms like he can't get enough of you, despite his words. it's a sweet gesture, one that only turns you on further.

you shush him gently, dismissing his hesitance. you pull away from him slightly, but still close enough that you could lean back in at any moment and continue your hurried kiss. "please." you pout slightly, looking up through your lashes. you're so wound up from just kissing luke, you're not sure if you'll be able to stop now—despite the circumstances.

so regardless of your own selflessness—you can understand luke's apprehension. after all, if you were in his shoes you'd probably be shitting bricks right about now. your hands fall away from luke's broad shoulders, letting them trail down his chest until you reach his hips. slowly, you slip your fingers into the waistband of luke's sweats, and begin pulling him forward. "we just have to be really quiet."

luke stumbles slightly, caught off guard by your sudden movements. regardless, he follows easily, allowing you to bring him towards the edge of the bed. in that moment you're thankful the upstairs bedroom floors are carpeted, and the wobbly footsteps are muffled by the rug under your and luke’s socked feet.

the back of your knees meet the edge of the bed, and that has you falling back into the mass of blankets, releasing your hold on the elastic waistband around luke's ridiculously attractive hips—which, before you even met luke, you didn't even think hips could be so hot, but you'd been very quickly proven wrong.

you blink up at luke lazily, making your gaze come across as sensual as possible. you bring your knees up, and slowly your legs part, revealing the thin material off your blueberry printed panties—just visible under your shifted pyjama shorts.

but luke doesn't bite. he stays stagnant at the end of the bed, shirtless and visibly turned on—the straining situation under the soft material of his sweatpants giving him away.

his brows furrow. "what if curtis comes up here." luke questions, the worry evident in his expression. he gently rubs along his growing stubble, deep in thought as he continues to eye you. "what if we get caught?" luke's hesitant eyes flicker towards your closed bedroom door—well, your brother and his wife's guest bedroom door.

you were finishing up your final year of university in jersey, and instead of paying the ridiculous residence fees, curtis offered you the spare bedroom in his families home. and with that came a lot of social situations involving your brothers teammates. whether it was team dinners at different houses, or crowded bars after games, you were there—which is where you met luke.

luke seemed to always be around, and that combined with the constant banter he has with your brother, had you feeling enamoured with the youngest hughes brother very soon after curtis introduced you two. you found yourselves drawn to one another, and if one of you was near, the other wasn't far behind. you and luke quickly started dating—behind the back of your brother of course.

curtis has always been protective of you, especially when it comes to your relationships. it all comes from a good place, even if it made dating extremely difficult for you. curtis has always made sure to drill the negative stigma around young hockey players into your head—how he would never want you to date one...especially if said hockey player was one of his own teammates.

locker room talk was inevitable, and curtis didn't want to subject you to any of that ridiculous stuff or make you uncomfortable. and you didn't mind that protective rule of curtis' because you've never had an attraction to any of his teammates—until luke.

with that in mind, you and luke found yourself involved in a secret relationship. there's many measures you'd both take to ensure your romance stayed under wraps—you'd plan your calls around schedules, allowing yourselves to talk freely without your brother listening in. as well, you and luke would always plan secret dates, giving excuses of seeing friends in the city while you're actually tangled in whoever's bed is free. during gatherings, you'd be sneaking off into dark rooms, kissing like horny teenagers—it was all a thrill, one that you and luke found yourselves growing accustomed to, and honestly preferred.

you and luke were always careful—especially if curtis was around. if your brother was near, you and luke simply wouldn't sneak away, both too worried about getting caught and loosing the excitement and intimacy of your secret life.

but tonight was different.

the devils had been away on a week long road trip, expanding along the west coast and visiting teams like the sharks and kings. with the change in time zones, sneaking calls and facetimes with your boyfriend was practically impossible, and you and luke had only texted every few days to check in.

the interfering schedules and lack of communication left you and luke missing each other more than usual, and as soon as the devils plan landed back on jersey soil, you were practically vibrating with need.

when you proposed the idea of sneaking luke into the house once everyone had gone to bed, you didn't think he'd agree, but surprisingly enough he did. luke was apprehensive at first—which is understandable— because seeing one another while you're brother was home was always a big no-no. but the combination of the time missed between you and your pouty voice, luke had no choice but to agree.

slowly you unfold your leg, lifting your foot until you meet luke's shoulder. you nudge the buff surface with your sock covered toes, pulling luke's attention away from the bedroom door and back to you.

luke's gaze moves over you, shifting from your plump, spit slicked lips, down to your barley covered core and thin tank top that gives him the perfect outline of your pebbled nipples. he swallows roughly, a blush covering his high cheek bones.

"we won't get caught." you whisper seductively, your foot slowly trailing down his arm.

suddenly luke grabs onto your ankle, bringing your foot closer to his face. "you're such a bad influence." luke presses a soft kiss on your exposed ankle, right over the beaded anklet decorating you. his eyes don't leave your face, and as he slowly pulls away, a smirk begins to pull at his lips—tempting you.

you take your lip between your teeth. "you gunna punish me?"

he breathes a laugh, and manoeuvres your leg back into his spread, bent position. "you want me to punish you?"

you watch through hooded eyes as luke crawls onto the bed, moving until he's hovering over your flushed body. instantly your hands are in hair, running through his light curls, feeling the defined pattern between your fingers. "maybe I do."

his eyes flutter closed at the feeling, a small whimper passing through his parted lips. luke's large palm runs up your side, scooping under your tank until he's feeling your bare skin—running his thumb over your nipple.

you arch into him, a breathy moan leaving your lips, goosebumps covering your skin in the wake of luke's gentle touches.

luke kisses you slowly, a deep and bruising pressure that has you tingling all the way down to your toes. your lips part instinctively, moaning into luke's mouth as his continues to kiss yours, lips passing over yours in a gentle, slick embrace.

you're so easily distracted by luke's presence and touch, and you find yourself falling into a trance like state—loosing yourself in him. you find yourself here anytime you're with luke, always so easily falling into this intimate pattern. so it comes as suprise when your ears pick up on a dull thump in the distance, almost echoing through the quiet home.

"did you hear that?" you pull away from luke hurriedly, brows furrowed as you try and concentrate and listen further—straining your ears in attempt to catch any more sounds from beyond your bedroom.

luke whimpers at the loss of contact, eyes fluttering open to reveal his glossy, lustful eyes. "hear what?"

the dull thudding noise continues, increasing as if it was coming closer— sounding like somebody is walking, moving up the stairs towards your room. you gasp lightly, and with all the strength you can find, you push luke off the bed.

your sudden actions catch him off guard, and he goes easily, tumbling onto the rug with a loud thud. he groans out, and watches as you peek over the edge of the bed—your eyes blown wide with worry.

just before he can question your behaviour, you interrupt him, your tone hushed and full of fear. "it's curtis."

luke's face falls. "it's curtis?"

you nod quickly, looking in the direction of the door anxiously, listening as your brothers steps grow closer. you look back down at luke, "you gotta get under the bed."

"i'm not going to fit under the bed." luke whispers roughly, his own gaze darting between your nervous eyes and the bedroom door.

"well you gotta make it work, luke." you whisper wildly, shooing him. "scoot under—now."

the urgency in your voice has luke springing into action. he grabs onto the wooden frame of the bed, pulling himself under your bed. the rug rubs his bare back uncomfortably and the dust under the mattress is tickling his noise dangerously. the space is limited, and dirty, but you're not even thinking about that right now.

all you can focus on is the sound of curtis footsteps right outside the door, and just as the golden handle begins turning, luke finally gets situated under your bed, hiding from not only your sight, but hopefully your brothers.

you whip around just as the hinges squeak open, curtis appearing from behind the oak door. "hey." he greets you gently, still rubbing the sleep out of his eye with the palm of his hand. "are you talking to someone?"

you can feel the colour drain from your face, swallowing roughly as you keep your gaze ahead. "no?" your voice is definitely too high—too suspicious—answering quickly.

curtis's gaze narrows. "really? I thought I heard something." you watch in horror as your brother begins to look around the room, his movements suspiciously nonchalant as he scans the area—you can only pray that luke's feet aren't sticking out from underneath the mattress

you desperately need to get your brothers attention again and stop him from snooping around your space—you're pretty sure luke's phone is on the dresser. quickly, you spin your body to fully face curtis, clearing your throat. "well, I was watching a movie."

curtis' eyes flicker back to yours and away from your desk, his brows raised questionably. then, slowly, his gaze moves towards the tv on the wall. "the tv is broken."

you curse inwardly, swallowing thick salvia. "on my phone."

"okay..."he trails off. "just coming to check on you, making sure you were alright—couldve swore I heard something." your brother doesn't look all too convinced with what you're saying, and his pointed gaze has yet to waver.

you plaster on a smile. "oh i'm just peachy, curtis. thanks."

"you're acting weird."

"am I?" you question highly, crossing your arms.

he hums in answer, eyeing you suspiciously. "must just be tired. right?"

"right." you exhale shakily, and at this point you can only pray for this conversation to come to a close. subconsciously your eyes trail towards the bed, checking to make sure luke was still hidden.

curtis hums again, pulling your attention back to him. "better get to sleep then. goodnight."

you breathe, smiling again. "night."

he sends you one more curious look over his shoulder before he finally leaves, shutting the door with a gentle thud. the entire time you feel like you're going to die.

as soon as his feet sound descending back down the stairs, you're moving, practically skipping towards the bed.

your drop down on your stomach, looking under the gap between the floor and the mattress. "luke? are you breathing?"

he exhales loudly. "barley."

you send him a guilty smile. "guess we won't try this again, huh?"

two

luke pulls his hoodie over his torso, stretching his tired muscles as he adjust the material over his body.

the practice that finished only half hour ago was a taxing one. after a rough loss the previous night—one that he'd been cross checked in the ribs three separate times without a call—coach had been extra hard on the group today, which left luke even more sore and exhausted.

he shakes out his freshly washed hair, ruffling the curls between his fingers after they'd been flatted by his devils branded hood. the fuzzy material sticks to his damp chest, as luke was too tired to properly dry his skin—he just wanted to get home and call you, letting you coo at him and call him pretty (he loves it more than he’d ever admit).

"hey rusty." curtis distinctive teasing voice sounds behind luke, and he feels the center man’s hand on his shoulder, a rough squeeze in greeting. "you heading home now?"

curtis drops down to his reprieve stall—the one beside luke's—towel still around his waist as he pulls on his t-shirt, looking at the defence man expectantly.

luke swallows gently, giving curtis a quick nod. "yeah," he grabs his duffle bag, one full of extra hockey gear he always brings back and forth to the rink. "jacks already outside, said he wanted to shower when he got home."

"right on." curtis hums, pulling on his socks.

the sporadic buzzing noise of an incoming call draws the attention of both athletes, and their eyes are pulled to luke's beaten up phone, sitting screen up on the stall seat.

it's you. you're calling him.

curtis's brows raise, and he makes a teasing noise. "russssttttyyyy, who the hell is lovey?" before luke can even react, curtis picks up the phone, inspecting the profile picture set for your contact that’s flashing on the screen. thank god it’s an inconspicuous mirror pic, one lacking your face—luke can only pray curtis doesn’t inspect that picture too hard. "I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

luke swallows, eyes darting between the centerman and the phone clutched in his calloused hands. "I don't."

"there's a heart beside the name." he deadpans. "should I answer it and ask her about it instead?"

"no!" luke lunges towards his phone, but curtis is quicker, standing from is stall and side stepping the youngest hughes.

"easy dude. what's the big deal." with a breathy laugh, curtis slides his thumb across the answer button, picking up your incoming call.

"dude." luke grabs the phone from his hands just before curtis can place it to his ear. "a little privacy." the awkward chuckle that leaves him is almost embarrassing, and the way his hands have started shaking and the blush covering luke from head to toe is also humiliating.

curtis laughs, clearly finding amusement in luke's clear embarrassment. "i'm literally standing in front of you with my dick out, but sure rusty, i'll leave your secret girlfriend alone."

luke can just hear your muffled voice through the phone, muttering his name questionably—no doubt wondering what the fuck is going on. "sorry she's just...shy. you'll meet her one day."

curtis snickers, finally pulling on his sweats. "i'm sure I will."

luke nods—unsure what to say.

"better get going, rusty. think somebody is probably waiting to hear your voice." the center man's eyes dart between him and the phone in his hands, brows raised knowingly.

"right." he swallows, "see you later." luke practically runs out of the locker room, and as soon as he makes it down the hall, he raises the phone to his ear, hurriedly explaining to you the close call he'd just encountered with curtis.

three

you didn’t mean to have that many drinks—really, you didn't. but a couple of your friends from class invited you out to celebrate the ending semester, and because you all passed, they said drinks were in order and you had to join.

a few hours and many drinks in, you were practically falling over. you had stayed out later than you originally planned on, and curtis would be long asleep by now—leaving you with limited options for getting home.

drunk you—ever the clingy girlfriend—called luke almost instantly. and obviously luke picked up on the first ring, despite the early morning time, and of course he came to the bar as soon as you asked.

which brings you to right now, knees weak as you sway on your homes front porch, pouting up at your boyfriend in the cold winter night.

luke looks down at you gently, his eyes full of exhaustion. but yet, there’s a hint of amusement in them, and the edge of his mouth is turned up in a lazy smirk.

"kiss me goodnight." you drunkenly slur for the 10th time since luke guided you out of the car. you are looking at your boyfriend expectantly, an impatient whine leaving your lips. "please baby."

it's so dark outside he can barley make out your features, but he can see the way your hazy eyes twinkle at him—silently begging. luke's gaze flickers towards the ring camera quickly, praying that it's one that isn't an audio recorder, and if it does pick up sound, luke hopes you're too quiet to catch.

you’ve both always been careful with the camera before this, and if the lazar house was the only option for your…escapades, you’d both avoid the camera expertly—sneaking through windows and back doors like misbehaved children.

but you’re too drunk to even think about that, and luke’s too tired to even attempt sneaking you through the back door.

your pout turns into a smile, and your arms snake up his body, wrapping around his neck and pulling yourself up to your toes. "please please please please."

he sighs gently, glancing at the camera again. in a moment of weakness, he decides it's probably to dark too make out any kind of facial features through the camera anyway, and if he doesn't kiss you now, the camera will be the least of his worries.

so luke wraps his arms around your waist tighter, keeping your sway steady. he leans down, pecking your lips so quickly that he hopes even if the camera can see him, the affection was so brief that in a blink you'd miss it. "okay now go inside."

your grin widens, and as you finally pull away from luke, you're overjoyed and satisfied.

when you wake the next morning, you feel yourself panic—flashes of the kiss on the porch and the ring camera running through your mind.

you wait anxiously for curtis to bring it up and call you out for kissing his teammate in front of the front door...but it never comes.

the ring camera hasn't worked for a week—and that has you breathing a sigh of relief when your sister-in-law mentions it the following evening.

+one

you can't even think logically as you rush through the crowded arena, weaving through bodies as you clutch the pass around your neck, anxiously fiddling with the lanyard.

the scene in your head is playing on repeat—watching luke get thrown to the ice during the messy scrum from only minutes ago, his head slamming against the ice as he hit the ground.

you'd shot up from your seat, worry sketched across your face as you watched luke laying limp on the ice as the trainer spoke into his ear—the fear all but consumed you. jack's girlfriend tried to console you—comfort you—but nothing was helping.

you gave it 5 minutes. 5 minutes after they helped luke off the ice and down to the assessment room, before you were out of your seat, mumbling some excuse to sammy as you left.

you make your way through the tunnels easily, very much used to the area and familiar with the space after many visits with curtis. you find the assessment room easily, the door left open the smallest crack so you're able to subtly peek in—so if someone else is in there with him, you won’t be caught.

but it's just luke, sitting slumped on a doctor like bed with his eyes closed—arms crossed over his chest guard, his jerseys discarded in a sweaty lump on the metal table beside him.

with the coast clear, you push open the door fully, letting it softly swing closed behind you. the sound has luke's eyes fluttering open, and he immediately finds your worried eyes blinking back at him.

you breathe a heavy exhale, a slight wobble in the sound that portrays the emotion crawling up your throat—desperate to be let out. all the fear and stress and worry you've been feeling for the past 6 minutes are coming to a hilt, and you rush towards your boyfriend with a pout pulling at your lips. "are you okay?"

"hey." he mumbles gently, brows pulled tightly as you appear his side. "what are you doing down here?"

you gently take ahold of his face, eyes frantically bouncing around as if you're trying to locate any injuries. "luke, holy shit. I was so scared." tears begin welling in your eyes, bottom lip trembling. “you weren’t moving.”

luke slowly swings his legs over the side of the medical bed, cooing gently. your hands fall from his face in favour of wiping your own, catching the trail of water as it cascades down your cheeks.

luke's hockey pant covered thighs part, creating enough space for you to stand between them. he wraps his arm around you waist, bringing you into his embrace. you go easily, tears continuing to cloud your vision as you fall into his sweaty chest. "i'm sorry I scared you." he mumbles into your hair, pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead.

you shake your head. "are you okay?" you ask again, pulling back just enough to look into his warm eyes. “what did they say?”

"i've got a concussion most likely, but i'll be fine." luke's words are reassuring, and so is the kiss he presses against your cheek. he's coherent, and he's moving—he's okay.

"is there anything you need from me?" you ask gently, pushing his wet curls off his forehead—something you’d always find yourself doing.

luke’s eyes flutter slightly at the comforting action. his soft grin turns boyish, and silently he purses his lips, asking for a kiss.

you roll your eyes gently, but oblige, leaning in and pressing your lips to his. luke sighs pleasantly, parting his lips as he begins to deepen the kiss, pulling your body in tighter.

you smile into it, which allows luke the access to slip his tongue past your bottom lip, and you let him. his hand travels down your back, slowly tickling the expanse of your skin until he's rounding over the curve of your ass, giving your cheek a firm squeeze.

"alright rusty if you're gunna kiss my sister here, the least you could do is not play grab ass while you do it." the sudden voice of curtis has you pulling away, and you turn towards the door in record speed.

you'd been too lost in the trance luke always put you in—to absorbed in his body and lips that you'd missed not only the end of period buzzer echoing throughout the arena, but the door opening behind you.

you're too scared too move—too scared to even blink. you look at curtis with wide eyes, your face void of colour, giving you a lifeless look. and luke's no better, with his mouth opening and closing like a fish and his hand still on your ass cheek—even after you turned around.

you push his hand away and swallow roughly. "curtis...I-we can explain."

your brother shrugs. "there's nothing to explain. I know."

your brows shoot up. "you know?"

curtis nods triumphantly, looking rather pleased with himself. this time it's luke who speaks, swallowing the little salvia lingering in his dry mouth. "what-I-how?" he stutters.

"that night awhile back, when I came to check on you, luke's sweater was on your chair." he looks at you playfully, "I saw the number and I knew."

now you're going red, felling a wave of guilt and embarrassment creep in on you. "i'm sorry."

"we're sorry." luke adds gently. "we shouldn't of kept it a secret."

"I'm not mad—just a little disappointed that I was left out of the loop." then, curtis expression changes, looking at you with a gentle smile. "out of all the guys on this team you could’ve picked...rusty's the best one."

you smile, glancing up at luke.

he meets your gaze, and he wraps his arm around your waist, bringing you back into his side.

"consider yourself in the loop." you chime through an exhale, looking back towards curtis.

"good." he nods, his usual teasing expression back on his face. curtis looks at luke, a brow raised. "so, were you under the bed or in the closet?"

you feel luke stiffen beside you, and you can't help but laugh.