#walk up to them and want to get to know them

[that-one-girl2020]

Role Reversal Pt. 8

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: Welp, the angst train continues faster than ever! It’s time for the reader’s backstory to be revealed in full 4KHD glory. I know this series has been a lot angstier than the original short series so I apologize for that, I didn’t mean to make it so angsty, the characters just kinda do what they do and I keep writing.

Synopsis: Gwi Ma drags you head first into all the memories that you so desperately want to forget the night before the Idol Awards. The boys don’t make an appearance in this one.

CW: This is probably the darkest part of the series, discrimination, hints of abuse (thanks Celine), murder accusations/allegations, abandonment, emotional manipulation (thanks Gwi Ma), homelessness, low self esteem, insecurity, self mutilation, suicidal ideation, low self worth, etc. (I think this is the longest warning I’ve had to write. Damn. Good luck soldiers.)

Word Count: 4.4k

<< Part 7 || Master List

Centuries ago, you were born to a small family of a mother, a father, and an older sister. You couldn’t remember what your parents looked like, but you loved them anyway. Or, you loved the image of them you had in your head.

They must have been very kind and very loving people, you always reasoned with yourself. After all, how else would a demon man and a human woman fall in love and have two daughters. You always imagined that your mother would have the softest smile, and a sweet voice as she sang you to sleep. And your father would have an easy laugh and gentle hands whenever he held you.

You could never know for sure though, because they had been killed by demon Hunters when you and your sister were babies. You don’t know why or how, the woman that took the two of you in never talked about it. Your Aunt Celine had taken the two of you in after your parents were killed, reluctantly though it was. She doted on Rumi more, was always more gentle and kind with her as the more normal appearing of the two of you.

Perhaps you had been cursed even before birth.

The whole village knew that you both were the daughter of a demon and a human. Rumi’s patterns were the only indication, which your Aunt did her best to cover with long fabrics. You however, had much more of your father in you. You were born with more demonic features like glowing eyes, small fangs, little claws, and a larger pattern. It took you years to learn to push those features away but by then it was too late.

Whenever you walked through the village, villagers whispered and glared hatefully, spitting at you and the children threw rocks at you. Rumi and you would often slip from the village, go to your secret spot in the forest once your chores were completed.

“Rumi?” You had once asked her, your little voice filling the peaceful quiet. “Do you think we���ll ever get to leave the village?”

She looked up at you from her hands that had been weaving flowers together, her lips pursed in thought, “I don’t know… I hope we will.” Then her little face became determined, “No, I know we will. We’ll go together, and we’ll find someplace that we’ll belong,” She scooted over to you, a hopeful smile on her lips and her skirt dirtied. She put her hands on yours, “And we can sing and dance together!”

You smiled too, reluctantly hopeful, “We will? We’ll go together, you promise?” You asked her, holding out your little pinky to her solemnly.

She nodded resolutely, “I promise, I’ll never leave you, (Y/n). We’re sisters after all!” She hooked your pinkies together. The two of you giggled as the promise was sealed there in your little hidden spot away from the rest of the world.

The two of you became older. Your patterns continued to inch across your skin progressively under the hate of the village. You couldn’t help but curse your patterns with tears under the light of the moon, the only reminder you had of your parents so you clung to them. But you couldn’t help but blame them for the way that everyone treated you and Rumi. You hated them but you loved them and then you hated that you loved them. It was a vicious cycle that led to you scratching at them when your emotions flared negatively, leading to you opening wounds in your own skin.

Rumi would dutifully wrap them for you at night. “I’m sorry…” You sighed softly one night as she changed the bandages on your arms.

“It’s not your fault,” She responded succinctly. You looked down. It always felt like it was. Rumi could easily pretend she was normal if she wanted to, her patterns easily covered by long sleeves and the long skirts of your outfits. But you couldn’t help but feel pathetic at how you buckled under every harsh word, every thrown stone, every punishment from your Aunt that led to your patterns creeping further across your skin.

You couldn’t pretend to be normal anymore. Not that you ever could. Your pattern had progressed to your hands and up your neck.

Rumi and you were approaching the age of maturity. And with it, Rumi behaved colder and colder. You heard her cry at night sometimes, clutching her shoulders, and you would go to her of course. Sometimes she would let you hold her and sometimes she would push you away.

You didn’t know what was happening in your sister’s mind. Until one day, she stood before you with clear arms, the picture of beauty. “Rumi?” You had called to her. She stilled, her hands freezing from where she had been gathering her things in a cloth. “What… What are you doing…?”

You couldn’t help but scratch at your arms as you waited for her answer. Where were her patterns. Where was she going. Why was her skin free of her pattern. You felt a weight sinking upon your chest, crushing your heart. You had the growing feeling that you were alone in the world, even as your sister stood just across from you.

“I’m leaving the village, (Y/n),” she said. She didn’t turn to look at you, her hands moving faster as she tied the cloth and slung it over her head. “I’m going to the city to perform.”

What.

“You’re leaving…?” You echoed hollowly. “Let me pack a bag, I’ll come with you—“

“Without you, (Y/n),” she brushed past you. She seemed uncaring that her words struck you like arrows. You felt dizzy as you turned to follow after her.

“What? But— Rumi, we promised—“

“It was nothing but the promise of children. Grow up.”

Your lip wobbled as you followed her through the village, the sun setting as people prepared for their evening meals. Your legs felt weak. You tried to keep talking to her, trying to make sense of what was happening but it just didn’t make sense to you.

“Rumi, please, what happened to your pattern? I-I thought that—“

Rumi spun to face you, her teeth bared at you and her eyes wide with anger. You flinched back at being the target of such a look from your sister. “Don’t ever speak of my patterns again! I am leaving, (Y/n), and you are staying here.”

She turned and continued on, her grip around her bag tight, her knuckles turning white. You followed her, tears trailing down your cheeks as you approached the entrance of the village. “Rumi, please, please don’t leave me here! You know what they’ll do to me if you leave me here! Please, Rumi, please take me with you,” You pleaded with her, your heart twisting with agony. Your breathing came faster and shorter, your heart racing. With every beat of your racing, aching heart, you could feel your patterns reacting.

“Stop, don’t follow me, (Y/n). If you keep following me then I will tie you to a tree.”

How cold. How could she be so cold to you.

“Please, Rumi!” You begged. With your vision blurry with tears, your legs tangled in your skirt and your feet tripped on the dirt. You fell to the ground, your sister halting for just a moment. “Please, take me with you, Rumi, my sister! I promise to stay out of the way, I’ll keep covered and hide, just please don’t leave me behind!”

Your cries filled the air around you, a sharp contrast to all the memories you had of the two of you in your secret place. On your hands and knees, you pleaded with your sister to take you with her. To not leave you here to wither and die at the hands of the villagers and your Aunt.

And then she spoke. “No. (Y/n), if I take you with me, then… then it’ll all have been pointless…” And she walked away without looking back.

“Rumi!” You kept calling after her desperately. “Rumi, sister, please!” Even when her figure faded into the shadows of dusk, you kept calling, hoping that she would come back and take your hand like she always did and lead you away from here.

You don’t know how long you remained there in the dirt, crying and your patterns glowing as they grew. Eventually, you stood on weak legs and stumbled back to the house, your shoulders shaking with sobs and your nails scratching marks across your arms.

“Stop crying, child,” Celine greeted you when you entered. She sat at the dining table, a cup of tea in front of her and a cold look on your face. “Where is Rumi?”

You couldn’t answer. If you answered, then it meant it was real and that your sister had really abandoned you to this life.

“I said, where is Rumi,” Your Aunt repeated herself. Your lips wobbled, sniffling weakly. Her patience snapped, slamming her cup down onto the table, the sound making you flinch into yourself. “Stop that pathetic crying, you worthless child and answer me!”

“She left!” You finally spat out and descended back into sobs. You sank down to your knees, your face in your hands, “She left, she left me behind!”

“What?” Your Aunt questioned, rising from the table. “No, tell me the truth, right now. Where is your sister?”

You could only shake your head.

“You wretched child! Where is your sister?!” You ducked as a cup soared over your head and yelped as it shattered to pieces against the wall behind you. Tears dripped down your face and you clamped your mouth shut, trying not to draw more of her ire as you shook and trembled.

“You killed her, didn’t you?”

Your cries halted as shock froze your body still. You looked up at her. She stood in front of you, looking down at you with manic, accusing eyes. No, you didn’t. You would never.

“You did, didn’t you? The last thing I had of your mother, and you killed her out of envy. I knew I should have killed you when I took you in.”

You slowly shook your head in horror or denial, you weren’t sure. “No…” You found your voice. “No, I didn’t! I would never! Rumi left, she left the village! She took her things and she left!” Suddenly, it had turned from you agonizing over your sister leaving you behind and changed into terror that you would be killed by your Aunt or the village.

“Stay here,” She told you and swept from the room, from the house. Your breathing shortened—no. You couldn’t breathe at all. She was going to get the men of the village, she must be. They were going to kill you. What do you do? What can you do?

Without really thinking about it, you stood, going to the door at the back of the house and running out into the night, stumbling through the dark trees. Branches snagged at your hair and your clothes but you didn’t care. You had to get away.

You tripped and fell into a clearing. It was your clearing. The one you shared with…

You cried. You couldn’t help but cry. Why was this your life? What had you done to ever deserve this? Why could no one love you?

“Because you are unlovable.”

You gasped as a voice filled your head, your hands going up to clutch at your hair.

“No one can or will ever love a creature like you. But I can help you.”

The voice seemed to purr, enticing you to listen. Your eyes darted unseeingly around the clearing. Other thoughts faded away as your heart tightened. Would it be able to… take your patterns away? Would it make you lovable?

“I can. For a price.”

You agreed, you didn’t care to ask what the price would be, and then the voice was gone and your patterns faded away to nothing. The only things that marred your skin now were the scratches from your own hands, dirt, and wounds from running through the forest at night.

They were gone.

You raised your arms to the moonlight, sitting on your feet as you laughed in disbelief, tears leaking from your eyes—tears that you didn’t know you still had. You turned your arms this way and that. They were really gone.

After that night, you left the village behind, traveling in the opposite direction your sister had gone. Sometimes you wondered if she had made a similar deal to get rid of her patterns. But then the next day would come and you had different concerns.

Just because you no longer had patterns, didn’t mean you had means of feeding and clothing yourself. You scavenged for what food you could but you were much thinner than you had been even when you lived with your Aunt. You had no way to work or gain money. So you kept traveling.

In a way, you were happy though. People no longer looked at you with disgust or hate but with concern now. Children no longer threw rocks at you, they asked you if you had time to play or tell a story. You no longer were spat on, instead people offered you what little morsels they could spare.

You ended up in a city at some point. You lingered there longer than you had anywhere else. You often entertained various children while their families worked or did chores.

That day, you had been telling them a story. They often asked you to sing for them but you rarely did. It brought up memories. You were telling them a story of a star that had fallen in love with a human. But their love had been forbidden by the other stars, for as the humans grew, they glowed brighter and brighter. And the stars were afraid that the humans would one day block out their own lights with their brilliance, unable to see how they shined when all they could see was how the humans shined. So the star fell and became human for the woman that he loved.

The children were enraptured but then the evening bell had rung and you had to shoo them off to their meals with a fond smile. You looked up when you heard clapping. It was a man, a beautiful one in lovely clothing.

“What a lovely story,” the man said, approaching you. For a moment, you rubbed your arm before remembering that you no longer had your pattern. “May I ask the name of the beautiful story weaver?”

You flushed, swallowing, “(Y/n),” You introduced yourself, bowing your head respectfully to him.

He smiled and it was so sweet and kind that you felt your heart skip in a way it never had before. “Haon.”

You think you fell for him a little, even then.

Haon frequently came to listen to you entertain the children. He never questioned why you had no home, and he never made you feel lesser for the way you dressed or ate so little. The two of you would talk. Sometimes he would bring snacks for the two of you to share.

One day, he asked if he could have your permission to court you.

You were shocked, you argued that you were homeless and had nothing to offer him in return. That he could never be happy if he was with you. That he deserved much better.

“No, (Y/n), it is you that deserves so much more than what you have. I want to provide for you and protect you. I want to keep hearing your stories and listen to you sing. I want to one day have a family with you, if you will let me. Please?” Haon asked so sincerely.

Your heart was pounding, racing in your chest. Your breath was stolen from your lungs. He wanted to protect you and have a family with you�� He wanted to love you… And you loved him… So he wouldn’t leave you, right? Your nails dug into your arm, the ghost of your patterns lingering over you.

You wanted to cry. You smiled and nodded, “Yes, please. Just, promise you’ll never leave me? Even if our courtship doesn’t end well, even if we end up as nothing more than friends, please don’t leave me…” You needed to hear it. From his lips, you needed to hear that he wouldn’t leave you behind.

Haon looked at you so gently, cradling the heart you had given him in his own gentle hands so carefully that it was as if he was holding a baby bird. “I promise, (Y/n). I will never leave you behind, even if we are merely friends in the end.” He swore, raising your hand to his lips.

After that, Haon brought you into his household, giving you a roof over your head for the first time in a long time. You found that he was a performer, a singer—a strange occupation for a man of the time, but his voice was soft as silk and was so rich that it plucked at your heart whenever you heard it. He gifted you with clothing and jewels and the two of you often walked around the city and he would stop and watch you fondly as you entertained the children.

It wasn’t long after you began living with him that you found out that he was a Hunter. He had sat you down, summoning a celestial weapon from thin air, and explained the world of demons to you.

You sat there, wide eyed and shocked. Haon believed it to be because of you discovering the truth of demons, but it was because out of all the people in the world, you fell in love with a Hunter. He told you that if you ever saw a person with patterns, to run and find him. So he could kill them.

When you went to bed that night in your chamber, you scratched your arms bloody. Your mind kept going back and forth, reminding you that you no longer had your patterns but arguing that if you ever told him the truth of yourself then he would kill you. Then your thoughts would try to reason that Haon loved you so he wouldn’t kill you and it was pointless anyway since your patterns were gone. And on and on it went through the night.

You were distant from Haon for a while afterwards. He worried that he had overwhelmed you and turned your heart from him. But slowly, you returned to him, going back to spending time with him and growing ever closer. He even introduced you to his fellow Hunters, his closest friends. You were uncomfortable but you did your best to earn Haon’s continued affection.

You had finally relaxed, thinking that it would all be alright and you could live happily with Haon. You wanted to tell him—tell him about your family and the village you grew up in, tell him that you were born with demon patterns but reassure him that they were gone now.

But then they weren’t.

They appeared on your arms once more, spiderwebbing out steadily, slowly but faster than they had when you were younger. You didn’t know what was happening. Had Gwi Ma taken back his deal with you?

You hid them, pretending that they weren’t there even as you scratched when no one was looking. Haon loved you, he said so himself. You focused on that.

But they spread faster and faster. You decided you would tell Haon, explain your situation to him and trust that he would understand, that he would still love and accept all of you.

However, you were too late. One of Haon’s friends had seen them when you were scratching, thinking no one had been looking.

They came at night, when the moon was full and the household was silent. Haon asked to speak with you, a stony expression on his face. Worried for him, you followed him to his study, where he slid the doors shut with a slow and quiet thump.

“What is it, Haon?” You had asked him, your eyes only for him, “Has something happened?”

Haon did not turn to face you.

You reached out for his shoulder to turn him towards you, gentle. But you never reached. Instead, three celestial weapons illuminated the dark of the study, coming at you. You yelped, stumbling back, trying to dodge as your heart raced with fear and panic. Something cut your face and another left a deep gash on your leg.

You fell, crawling backwards until your back hit Haon’s desk. It was the other Hunters, Haon’s friends. “Please, what’s going on? I haven’t done anything!” You cried, trying to escape backwards only to press further against wood.

“We know what you are, demon,” One of them spoke.

“We’ve seen your patterns,” another said.

“How dare you deceive Haon. Deceive us,” the third snarled.

You shook your head, denying the accusations, “No, I never deceived anyone! Haon, please!” You looked to your beloved, still facing the door.

He finally turned, his face twisted with sadness. “Remove her sleeves.”

“Haon…” You voiced. Looking at the two Hunters who grabbed your arms, pushing your sleeves up to show your glowing patterns, spreading across your skin much faster than ever before. “It’s not what it looks like, please, Haon! I was born with them!” You tried to explain to him, to pull your arms from the Hunters’ grips so you could cover them, hide them from sight.

Haon held out his hand and, almost reluctantly, summoned his sword. Slowly he approached. Tears of terror for your life and despair for your heart trickled down your face.

“No…” You slowly shook your head. “No, Haon please! I can explain!”

His lip trembled as he grit his teeth, “I must, (Y/n). I don’t know how many people you’ve hurt. How many people you will hurt in the future. So I must… I must kill you here and now…”

You sobbed, fighting to reach out to him, to make him understand. “No, I would never hurt anyone, I swear it! Please, I love you Haon!”

He faltered. “I love you too, (Y/n)…” And for a moment you felt hope that he would have mercy, that he would let you live because he loved you. A tear slipped from his eye as he raised his sword over his head. “Please… Forgive me…”

The sword swung down and you closed your eyes, not wanting to face your fate.

Then you were falling.

You yelped when you landed on a harsh earth, trembling as you looked up to a dark, starless sky. Were you in hell? You almost shrieked when you saw a demon, large, with tusks, blue skin, and claws. There were more. You tried to crawl away but then a voice stopped you.

“Welcome, (Y/n).”

You looked up. Atop a mountain, a pink fire blazed, grinning down at you.

“My newest demon.” He cooed and you stumbled to your feet and ran. His laughter followed you no matter the distance you put between you. You had changed. Your skin was an inhuman pale purple, your nails were more akin to claws, your patterns glowed as they settled into place across your skin. You were dressed in tattered black robes with a leather belt and a purple under-layer. You also had nine tails that were bristled and poised behind you.

“(Y/n)?”

You looked up at the sound of your own name. You didn’t recognize the demon at first. But she had long purple hair tied up in a braid and even with those glowing eyes and patterns, you knew her. “Rumi?”

You hadn’t seen your sister in years, not since she had left you and the village behind. You weren’t sure if you wanted to talk to her but you couldn’t help but feel relieved to see her after all that had happened. You wanted to tell her everything—how Celine had tried to kill you, how you had left the village, how you traveled and who you met, how you fell in love with a Hunter, and how he had tried to kill you. You wanted to be in her arms again, safe like you were when you were children.

Before you could do any of this though, Rumi turned her back to you, a familiar sight even with how much the two of you had changed. Then she walked away.

You didn’t call after her. Not this time. You simply sunk to the ground and watched her walk a distance away. Right. Your sister had already left you behind. You would follow her later, from a distance. But for a while, you just sat there and mourned for yourself, for your heart, for your life. For everything.

~~~

You groaned, raking your nails into your scalp just to try and get the memories to stop. You couldn’t see or hear anything anymore despite your eyes being open. All you could see were your memories flashing before your eyes, filling your ears with Gwi Ma’s voice growling over them.

“You are an unlovable creature. No one has ever or will ever stay with you. You were left by your own sister, your Aunt tried to kill you. And the man you loved did kill you.”

You panted, your eyes wide and manic as your senses were finally returned to you, just for a moment. You realized that Gwi Ma had surrounded you in his power, his flames thrashing around you.

“Don’t forget about our deal, (Y/n), because I can always turn those voices up.”

Their faces flickered through your head faster—disgust, hate, disregard, cold, sadness, hate, hate, hate. All the while, the whispers filled your ears,

‘No one loves you, (Y/n).’

‘You don’t deserve the air you breathe.’

‘Haon was right to kill you. You should have told him the truth.’

‘No one could love a demon like you.’

Your breath stuttered in your chest, your shoulders shaking as your claws dug into your skin, raking old scars open just to close just as quickly and then open again.

“Or they can be gone.” You almost collapsed when it all suddenly just vanished, your ears ringing with the sudden silence as your legs shook. “Don’t think you can escape what you are.”

You were dismissed back to the human world to finish preparations. The girls stayed behind so Gwi Ma could inform them of what you had learned.

A/N: Yup, the angst train will continue in the next part so stay tuned for the Idol Awards! Sorry that this is ending up a bit longer than my original short series. Let me know your guys’ thoughts in the comments! I also didn’t really proofread so let me know if there’s any mistakes!

Outtakes:

Polytr/x: *watching you basically get mentally tortured*

Mira: *To Rumi* “You’re not going to do anything even now?!”

Rumi: *still emotionally constipated* “Listen, I have no right to protect her. I’m a terrible sister.”

Zoey: “Yeah, so you’ll just keep being a terrible sister?!”

Mira: “Rumi, sweetheart, lovey, I adore you. But I will throw a brick at you.”

Rumi: *nodding solemnly* “And I would deserve it.”

…

*In the afterlife*

Celine: *See’s your mom* “Oh, Miyeong, I’ve missed you so much!”

Mom: *punches her teeth in* “What the fuck did you do to my daughters?!”

Celine: *Confused* “What do you mean?” *Sees your dad* “What is he doing here?!”

Dad: “Currently? Trying not to kill you twice over.”

…

You: “I need my emotional support animals…”

Arson, Sprite, You: *Cuddle pile*

Also Arson and Sprite: *Plotting revenge against whatever made you sad*

You: “You guys won’t ever leave me, right…?”

Arson and Sprite: *cuddles harder*

…

Tag List: @jaybbygrl @aurorab-0-realis @minthoneynbasil @thatonegrimm @n0tbelle @reverie-sxno @gremlinartstudio @littlepotaaatosimp @mvskedxrtist @lluxentzz @closehereyes @lyunsafebubble @ashleygryffindor @whimsiecat @towfuu1 @thesimpbella @fries11 @lov3ly-3m @teenyfinds @arieslucy @boldlyenchantingfox22 @mel3484 @lizzymizzy-blogg @fastleopard1521 @cultish-corner @kitkatpattywack2808 @tsukimoon-chan @alleakimlala @yandereobsession @sherzzzzz @otherworldlover @hawarun @f1shst1xx @avadakadabra93 @moonthesleepyhead @sra7riddle-malfoy @beautifulpeoplebeautifulpr0blems @boo-shalala @venommie @magical-spit @neverending-animelove @nerdsconquerall @eli1412 @imjusthereforthecake @moochiwoochi @a-writer-with-anxiety @sexually-attracted-to-pans @katzline @uniquecutie-puffs @forgetfulsmols

[itzpookiepooh]

I am a sucker for LADs men being jealous so~ could you maybe write a pre-relationship hc where MC has too much rizz and charm. Like women and men are chasing and fighting for her affection. And MC is oblivious or used to the attention so she doesn't do anything to stop the admirers and their kind gestures whilst the men are gnawing at the bars of their prison cells 🤔

That's all I got for ideas 😞 also keep uo the amazing work pookie dookie bear 😘

Pookie dookie sent me into orbit ngl but I am also a sucker for the jealous stories

Jealousy, Jealousy ~

You were just giggling away without a care in the world. Caleb was staring into the soul of the man in front of him. He worked under Caleb so he knew you more in passing than personally. He was eating up everything you were saying. You couldn’t even see the googly eyes he was giving you. He literally couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

What sent Caleb over the edge was him putting his hand over yours. Caleb swiftly flicks his wrist causing the man to fall on the hard floor. You look over the table to see him groaning on the floor. When he got up his lip was bleeding making your eyes go wide.

“I’ll help you up.” Caleb offers taking the man by his arm before pulling him in roughly. “As your colonel I’d suggest you keep your hands to yourself unless you’re willing to lose them.”

The man gasps as Caleb pulls him up. You smile at Caleb’s helpful nature.

“He seems to have hit his head. He said he needed to lie down right?” He turns to the man making him nod quickly as he ran out of Caleb’s hold to a seat.

“Will he be okay?” You asked Caleb who just nodded with a smile.

“Of course he will. He just needed some convincing. You know how people in the fleet are.” He waves the man off making you feel reassured by his words.

Rafayel is one of the most jealous person you’ve ever met. If someone shows too much interest in you he loses his shit. Sadly for him, you are oblivious to your own charms. You were talking to a woman at his art exhibit and she was laying it on thick.

“You’re so radiant much brighter than the sun.” The woman fluttered her lashes at you making you laugh.

“What? Me? You’re really beautiful I mean look how you’re dressed!” You compliment her genuinely.

Harmless on your end however not harmless on the woman’s end. Rafayel scoffed before standing closer behind you. You looked up at him smiling brightly making his heart melt. He looked back at the woman with that evil, demanding glare in his eyes.

“My beloved knows that. I say it everyday.” His voice icy making the woman’s eyes widen and she walks away. You wave her goodbye as you cuddle up under Rafayel’s arm.

“She was nice wasn’t she?” You tell him making him roll his eyes to himself.

“A little too nice.” He mumbled before kissing your forehead.

Sylus doesn’t get jealous often but when he did he got very possessive of you. He also had the sass of an old woman. Poor you not seeing the advances of others or your own charms, you couldn’t see people wanted you in more ways than one.

“I just love your smile and your laugh is contagious.” The guy said as he stared at you dreamily. You smiled widely thinking you made a new friend.

“I’m glad we met each other! This is so fun.” You said cheerfully as you clasped your hands together.

Sylus pops up behind the guy with a firm hand on his shoulder. His sharp canines in the guys peripheral vision. There was an audible gulp as you smiled at the love of your life.

“I think there’s somewhere else you’d rather be.” He whispered to the guy making him scurry.

“My kitten seems to be attracting flies.” He spoke as he stepped closer to you. You tilt your head in confusion.

Flies?

Charlie was nice but you were too nice for your own good. Charlie’s niece came to visit and they were both bombarding you with going over there for dinner. Xavier didn’t like that at all.

“We can even have game night!” She expressed to you as you gleefully accepted. Charlie sat back and watched with a smile until he lifted his head and saw Xavier glaring back.

His eye was so evil it could scare the enemy before they could even step forward. You were just chatting away ignoring the subtle flirting of Charlie’s niece. When Charlie looked back at Xavier he was pulling out his sword. He only quickly puts it back when you look back at him.

“Starlight I’m not feeling well.” He pouted as he laid on your shoulder.

“Aww okay. We have to go but it was nice meeting you!” You cheerfully told Charlie’s niece before holding up Xavier before walking away.

He couldn’t leave without a lasting glare and a threatening glowing hand behind your back.

Poor Zayne having to share you with the world. He loves that you get recognized just not when you guys are spending time together. He likes to keep you for himself. Unluckily for him, you could charm a snake with that talk of yours. A smile that could blind even the blindest person.

“You’re even more gorgeous in person!” The man exclaimed making Zayne side eye him. The man just kept taking pictures of this ‘famous hunter’.

“Oh that’s so sweet! Remember to be more careful next time you’re out. A fluctuation can happen at any time!” You inform him as he gratefully takes your hands into his.

Zayne without thinking gives the man a cold shock to his wrist as you were busy smiling too hard. The man jolted back to look at his wrist. The ice was already disintegrating, the evidence long gone. He looks up at Zayne who has a cold gaze locked on him.

“Is something wrong?” You asked the man before he could speak Zayne had you by your shoulders.

“It seems his bones are frail. Let’s keep our hands to ourselves before he sustains anymore injuries.” Zayne’s voice drops just a little bit enough for the man to take the hint.

The man came up with a poor excuse on why he had to go but you were none the wiser.

“I hope he’ll be okay.” You told Zayne as you watched the man leave. Zayne just hummed uninterested in the man who tried to steal your attention away.

I didn’t know where I was going with this but fuck it we ball!

[kxsagi]

“𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭”

a/n: this came to me when i was thinking of using an instagram photo of my 6 feet tall black haired toji build gym crush as a “scare away men” card and my sister called me crazy for the idea 

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, mikage reo, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito

itoshi rin

you’re at a bookstore, minding your own quiet little business in the sports manga aisle, when some tall, sharp-jawed menace with teal eyes starts hovering beside you. 

“you read that series?” he asks, bored. “it’s kinda mid.” 

you roll your eyes. “and yet you’re standing here trying to start a conversation.” 

he deadpans. “maybe i wanted to talk to you.” 

sigh. not again. 

so you do what you always do: pull out the photo. your emergency boyfriend deterrent. it’s a blurry, intimidating pic of some dark-haired guy with dead eyes and visible rage veins. he looks like he eats souls for breakfast. 

“this is my boyfriend. he wouldn’t like you hitting on me.” 

you look up, expecting him to retreat. but the guy just blinks. 

“… why do you have a picture of me in your phone?” 

your heart drops. “... huh?” 

he looks closer. “that’s literally me in my second year of high school. where did you even get this?” 

your brain implodes. “THAT’S YOU???” 

“you thought that guy was attractive enough to pretend he was your boyfriend… and didn’t realize it was me?” 

he starts smirking harder. “nah, keep it. i’m flattered. so when’s our fake anniversary?” 

isagi yoichi

you’re trying to study at a cafe when this friendly, cute-looking guy with fluffy black hair sits across from you like he knows you. 

“sorry,” you say. “i’m kind of busy right now.” 

he grins. “no problem. i’ll keep you company while you study.” 

you squint. who does this man think he is??? 

you sigh, grab your phone, and shove your go-to “boyfriend” picture in his face – the picture is peak golden boy era: jersey sticking to his skin, hair a mess, grinning like he just saved the world. you use it to be like “my boyfriend could beat you up” and it works. 

“my boyfriend’s jealous and violent.” 

you expect fear. instead – 

“… yo,” he leans in. “is that from the blue lock semi-finals?” 

you blink. “… you recognize this guy?” 

“yeah. it’s me.” 

YOU SPIT YOUR DRINK. “YOU?!” 

he starts laughing. full-blown cackling in the middle of the café. 

“you’ve been using me as fake boyfriend protection? i’m honored. i’ll take the real job if you want.” 

you bury your face in your hands while he snaps a new pic. 

“here, this one’s high-resolution. more intimidating.” 

nagi seishiro

you’re in a bookstore beanbag, trying to vibe, when a tall guy leans down beside you. 

“hey, what’re you reading?” 

you glare. “you don’t look like you care about romance novels.” 

“nah,” he shrugs. “i care about cute girls reading them.” 

that earns a bigger glare. 

you flip your phone around and show him the photo. it’s some sleepy-looking white-haired guy with striking features and hooded eyes, caught mid-game stretch – abs visible, hair messy, face serious. 

“my boyfriend’s tall, lazy, and would absolutely fight you.” 

his eyes narrow. “… that’s me.” 

you blink. “... what.” 

he points at the screen. “that’s from that tournament i didn’t even want to be at.” 

“wait, seriously??” 

“mhm. i remember ‘cause my teammate made it his lockscreen as a joke.” 

he leans closer, blank face inching into your personal space. “you think i’m hot enough to be your fake boyfriend?” 

you’re choking. 

he yawns. “just make me the real one. less work for both of us.” 

kaiser michael

you’re alone at a bar when some golden-haired euro man walks up like he owns the air around you. 

“you’ve got gorgeous eyes,” he says, smug. 

“and you’ve got five seconds to leave me alone.” 

he puts a hand over his chest. “harsh. what would your boyfriend say about that attitude?” 

you raise a brow. “you wanna see what my boyfriend looks like?” 

you show him the holy grail: an unreasonably attractive, evil-looking photo of him from two years ago. his hair’s slicked back, shirt open, smirk full of menace. 

“he’ll kill you,” you deadpan. 

his eyes widen for a millisecond. then “oh my gosh.” 

“what?” 

“i forgot i even took this photo.” 

“… YOU???” 

he grabs your phone, zooms in. “this lighting is excellent. the pose? perfect.” 

“you didn’t recognize yourself???” 

“you used me to scare men away? babe, that’s basically foreplay.” 

you’re mortified. “i don’t even know your name.” 

“well now you do. michael kaiser. your boyfriend, apparently.” 

mikage reo

you’re shopping when this rich-looking guy with purple eyes stops to flirt with you over apples. 

“you have excellent taste in fruit.” 

“do you try to flirt in every aisle or just produce?” 

“depends. are you into fruit or into me?” 

you internally scream. this guy’s too much. 

so you whip out a picture: some glossy-haired man with a white turtleneck, diamond watch, and an effortlessly rich aura. 

“my boyfriend owns three companies and hates small talk.” 

reo looks. blinks. stares. “… is that my old linkedin photo?” 

your soul leaves your body. “WHAT?” 

“that was for a fake business campaign. why do you have that?” 

“i–i didn’t know it was YOU–” 

“so you liked me before you knew me?” he beams. 

“adorable. i should ask you out before my fake self does.” 

shidou ryusei

you’re waiting for a train when a pink-haired menace leans into your space. 

“wanna kiss while we wait?” 

you recoil. “what’s wrong with you?” 

“i dunno. probably a few things. but you’re cute.” 

you hiss. pull out your phone. 

“my boyfriend’s insane,” you lie, showing him a picture of a maniac with blood on his jersey and the wildest grin ever. 

“… um.” 

you glance up. “... what?” 

“you’ve got my mugshot from high school.” 

you squint. “THIS IS A MUGSHOT???” 

“technically it was just a suspension. i headbutted a guy. but like damn, you really saved that?” 

“i didn’t know it was you!!” 

he laughs so hard he nearly falls onto the tracks. 

“you like unhinged men, huh? well, lucky for you, i’m single.” 

karasu tabito

you’re sipping iced coffee alone when some smug dark-haired guy slides into the seat across from you. 

“you look bored. need entertainment?” 

“no thanks.” 

“too bad. i’m fun.” 

you sigh, tired, and hold up a photo of some stupidly hot, cocky-looking guy with a dangerous smirk and soccer gear slung over his shoulder. 

“my boyfriend will rip out your vocal cords.” 

karasu leans in. “… you carrying around a photo of me?” 

you almost drop your drink. “SORRY???” 

“that was after i scored a hat trick in high school. someone edited sparkles onto it.” 

“i thought it was some random menace!” 

“and yet, you chose me.” he smirks wider. 

“if you wanted my attention, babe, you could’ve just asked.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[mishappeningss]

MORE THAN A DRIVER

CHAPTER NINE

more about driver!yn

formula one + female!driver!reader smau + irl

Drive to Survive 🏎️ — Episode 7

Next stop, Hungary. 🇭🇺

The unspoken weight started in the quiet. Not in the roar of the engines or the thunder of tires on the tarmac. Not even in the hundreds of footsteps echoing through the paddock or the continuous click of cameras. It started in the quietest place of all — her chest.

Hungary was supposed to be just another round pf the season. Another shot, another grid. Another chance to prove what she already knew she was capable of.

But this weekend felt different. It wasn’t pressure in the usual sense — not the kind you could measure with stopwatches or podium predictions. No, this was the invisible kind. The kind that built up over time, silently, like fog on glass. The kind you don’t notice until you’re suffocating in it.

YN walked through the paddock that morning wrapped in a calm that felt too still to be real. Her headphones were in, not because she was listening to anything, but because she couldn’t bear to hear anybody else. The conversations, the small talk, the noise.

Her jeans ruffled softly against her thighs with every step. Her boots tapped a rhythm she could almost fall asleep to. Everything outside of her was moving in slow motion, but inside? Inside felt weird.

She had done everything right. The starts, the strategy, the long runs. She had played smart, driven hard, kept her head. And still… second. Over and over and over again.

And the world noticed that. The journalists asked if she was “getting frustrated.” Commentators said she “lacked killer instinct.” Rival fans whispered that maybe she had already peaked.

Even the kind words cut the deepest: “You’re doing amazing.” — “You’re so consistent.” — “Your time will come.”

Because deep down, she was scared it wouldn’t. That maybe her ‘time’ had already passed when she wasn’t looking.

So she walked through the paddock like a ghost, sunglasses hiding her eyes, jaw tight, hands clenched into her sleeves. She didn’t smile, didn’t wave, not out of arrogance. Not out of pride.

She just didn’t have it in her today. She wasn’t chasing for second place anymore.

Qualifying day. The garage was cooler than the outside air, but only just. YN stood behind her car, arms folded across her chest, eyes trained on a monitor as Luca rattled through data.

She nodded here and there, but said little. It wasn’t that she wasn’t listening — she was listening too hard. Filtering every word, every sector, every loss of time.

She could feel the looks. The unspoken expectations. The glances from people pretending not to glance at her.

It had become a pattern — the girl who gets close. Never off the pace, but never ahead. In a sense, it’s like she’s always the bridesmaid, but never the bride. She’s the consistent one. The reliable one. The one who brought the car home.

She didn’t want to be that girl anymore.

Q1 was clean. She went out late, stayed away from the chaos, dropped a time quick enough to sail through.

Q2 was sharper. Tighter. Her radio was all business. Her team adjusted tire pressures. She made a minor tweak to brake bias without needing to be told. Every turn was deliberate. Controlled.

But Q3, was where everything mattered. She sat in the car as the timer counted down. Ten minutes, one last shot.

There was a moment — right before they signaled her out — where all the noise faded. The crew were still talking, but she couldn’t hear them. She only heard her own heartbeat in the base of her skull.

This is it. This is where she decides if the world keeps calling her almost.

She wasn’t fast, but she was solid. Safe. She came back in with seven minutes left on the clock, helmet still on, eyes burning into the screen. Max was P1. Charles, P2. Her? P4.

No, not enough.

Final run. New softs. Track evolution was evolving fast — this was the lap that would make and break everything.

“Box out. You’re clear,” Luca said. “You know what to do.” She said nothing.

Her out lap was magical. Tire temps were perfect. Energy deployment timed like a ticking bomb. She came down the final straight and the start of her flying lap like a weapon being launched.

Turn 1. Smooth. Braked late, the car was obedient.

Turn 2. Feathered throttle, carried more speed.

Turn 4. Kissed the curb, held it.

Sector 1. Purple.

Come on. She was threading the needle. Her heart beating like it was trying to escape from her chest. Her hands weren’t shaking. They were steady.

Turn 11. Perfect.

Turn 12. A tiny snap. A touch too wide. She fought the car back in.

That was it. A tenth, maybe two.

She crossed the line. P3.

Max had gone faster. Charles had jumped them both.

She pulled into the cockpit and sat there for a moment longer than usual. The team was clapping. People were calling her name. Her name was up in the top three. That should’ve felt like something.

But all she could feel was that tenth. The one that slipped away. Again.

She climbed out, lifted her helmet, and gave the camera the smile they were waiting for — the press hardened, interview ready, “I’m proud of my team” smile.

But behind the visor, her eyes were tired. Not defeated, just tired.

Race morning. It was quiet when she woke up. Not the kind that comes from peace — the kind that lingers like a fog, too heavy to shake it off. The kind that follows you like a ghost.

The hotel room was sterile. Cream walls, soft sheets. A view of the river bending around the edge of Budapest like a mirror. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, but YN was already sitting upright in bed, arms resting over her knees, staring into space.

She hadn’t slept much. A few hours at most. And even those were fractured — dreams that ended in checkered flags waving just beyond her reach. Dreams that left her even more tired that she’d gone in.

She checked her phone once. Dozen of messages. All of kind. All of them encouraging. All of them heavy.

P3 is incredible, YN!

You’re so close!

Today’s the day, I can feel it!

She turned the screen of without replying to any of them. Not because she didn’t appreciate it — but because she couldn’t carry everyone else’s belief today. Her shoulders were already too full with her own.

She moved through the morning like a shadow of herself. The shower ran too hot. She let it burn her skin a little longer than she should’ve — it grounded her. Reminded her that she was still here. Real.

Her breakfast was two bites of a banana and a half cup of coffee. She tried to eat more. Couldn’t. Not with the tightness swirling in her stomach. Not with the way her pulse danced around her fingertips even when she was standing still.

The shuttle ride to the track was silent. The driver asked if she wanted music. She refused. She watched the city roll by through the tinted glass. The stone bridges. The quiet streets. People going on about their morning like it wasn’t the most important day of her life.

And maybe to them it wasn’t. Maybe it wasn’t even the most important day of the season. But to her? It felt like a fork in the road. Like everything after this would either be uphill or a slow descent into being forgotten.

She arrived at the paddock early. Earlier than she usually did. There were still traces of raindrops on the grass lining the walk. The media weren’t even set up yet. Some mechanics were only arriving.

She liked it like this — before the noise. Before the pretending. She walked into the garage and sat in the back corner. Boots tapping softly against the floor.

No one disturbed her. The could all feel it on her — the pressure, the focus, the edge.

When Luca came to go over the pre-race brief, she listened. Took it all in. Strategies, tire windows, undercut options, safety car contingencies. She absorbed it like oxygen.

And she said the only words she would speak all morning, “Please don’t hold me back today.” Her voice was soft, gentle even. But there was no question to she meant.

Let me fight. Let me bleed for it. Let me win or lose on my terms.

She stood on the grid like a shadow of herself — or maybe this was the real version of her, she wasn’t sure. No noise. No noise in her head. No nerves. Just one clean thread of thought running through her mind:

Win. Or burn trying.

The sunlight beat down in hard gold streaks, making the asphalt shimmer like boiling oil. The heat clung to her skin, crawling under her suit, settling into her bones. But she barely registered it. Her body wasn’t present anymore. Only her instincts were. Cold.

A mechanic leaned in to remove the tire warmers. Engineers ran checks. Photographer hovered, hoping for a glance. Reporters mouthed last minute predictions.

She didn’t move. Not until she saw the five lights overhead. Not until every second felt like the end of something. Then the lights blinked. And everything inside her snapped into motion.

Her launch was clean. Not perfect — she felt a touch of wheel-spin, a flicker of instability as the rears scrambled for grip. But she managed it, held her line. Cut off Carlos behind. Stayed in the fight.

Charles was in front, just barely — hugging the inside. Max took the middle, defending like he always did. But YN? She didn’t back off. It was as if she was daring the track to punish her.

She braked later than she ever had, just meters away from going too far, trusting the car to bite. The tires to hold. The universe not to betray her. And it worked.

She came out of Turn 1 still in P3, but closer. Too close. Like a shadow on Max’s rear wing. Turn 2 came faster than she expected — but her reflex said otherwise. She jinxed left. He covered it. She hesitated for less than a second.

And that was her mistake. Max caught her out into the next sequence. Cut her off again and boxing her in. She backed off just enough to avoid contact, but her pulse was furious.

Not at him, at herself. She should’ve committed. Should’ve sent it when she had the chance. Luca told her to be smart, but smart wasn’t enough anymore.

The race went on. Lap after lap. And she stalked. Not recklessly, not impatiently, but with precision. Luca updated her every few laps, but it was all white noise.

She watched Max. Watched his rhythm, his grip level under braking. She knew his patterns like the back of her hand. He always faltered when forced into defense. He didn’t like to be hounded. He liked control.

So she took that from him.

Lap 13. She opened the DRS wing and pulled alongside him into Turn 1 — not to pass, to scare him. He defended. She backed off.

Lap 14. She tried again, getting closer. He defended harder. Now he was off rhythm.

Lap 15. She made the real move. She caught him half a second too late into Turn 2, where he wasn’t expecting a lunge. Her tires screamed, but she was through.

Now it was just her, Charles, and that win.

She could see him. Right there — just ahead, one red car weaving into the next set of corners. Charles was quick, clean, and predictable. And that was exactly the problem.

She knew how he raced. Knew how he thought. He was tidy. Calculated. But YN? She wasn’t thinking in steps anymore. She was thinking in heartbeats.

They were deep into this race now. The tires were wearing. The fuel was low. And still… she was gaining. Lap by lap, corner by corner.

“You’re quicker,” Luca confirmed, voice sharp in her ear. “Sector 3 is yours. Keep pressure, you’re doing good.”

She didn’t respond. She hadn’t for the last twenty laps. Words felt irrelevant when your whole body became the answer.

The team switched her to Plan B after Max. One stop. Softs to hards. They’d questioned it at first, but she knew what she needed. They knew dhe was willing to do to make them last.

Charles hasn’t stopped yet, his tires into mediums. He was fast, but he was fading. And she could feel it.

Charles was defending just enough to stay ahead, but not enough to fully push. His rear was slipping through Turns 6 and 7 — just a little. His car was fighting him now.

And she? She was sharper. More alive. Her delta blinked green again.

+0.295.

She was close enough now to see to the tiny movements in his steering. The slight shake of his tires under braking. The way his hands stiffened when she showed up in his mirrors.

He knew she was there. And that changed everything.

Lap 62. Five laps to go.

She was in DRS range now — and she could see his panic. Charles had been defending cleanly up until now, but the moment she surged forward on the straight, he covered the inside too early, forced his exit wide.

She didn’t take it. Not yet. She waited.

Lap 63. She feinted a move into Turn 1 — just a twitch of her wheel. Charles bought it. Overcorrected, snapped back.

Now she was right there, his slipstream practically dragging her into Turn 2. She tucked behind, waited again.

“Four laps, YN. You’ve got him.” That wasn’t encouragement from Luca anymore. That was fact.

Lap 64. He started weaving on the straight. He knew it. Everyone knew it. His tires were on edge, her tires were begging.

She dove into Turn 1, her brake late, lunge wide.

He shut the door. Their tires side by side — a gentle scrape, nothing more. No damage. But enough to make both their hearts stop for a second.

Lap 65. She sent it.

Not into Turn 1, not in Turn 2. In Turn 4.

She saw a flash of red beside her, Charles fighting it with every ounce of elegance he had left. He tried to hold the outside line.

But she was already through. She owned the inside. Owned the corner. He tried to fight back — got close — but she defended ruthlessly.

Her name flashed P1 on the screen.

For the first time in the race, she exhaled. But only once. There were still laps left.

Lap 70. The final lap.

The track, once alive with chaos, had gone quiet in her ears. Not from the crowd — they were screaming. But because in this one moment, just before everything was about to change, YN had found herself completely alone.

Not lonely, alone.

The kind that felt sacred. Like the world had finally stepped aside to give her this one, single breath to take by herself.

Her hands gripped the wheel like a prayer. Her tires were neatly gone. Her body ached — calves cramped, forearms shaking, neck stiff from the weight of 70 laps and the pressure of a whole damn season.

But she didn’t care. This was it.

She didn’t dare to look at the grandstands, though she could feel them. Rising. Screaming. She didn’t check her mirrors, didn’t ask for gaps.

She knew. Everyone knew. This was hers. The checkered flag.

Her hands were tight on the wheel. Her eyes burning. She didn’t speak. She crossed the line, engine screaming like it had caught on fire — and just for a second, nothing happened.

No tears. No scream. Just silence.

The kind that settles into your bones when something impossible finally becomes real.

“P1. P1, YN — you’ve won. You’ve fucking won.”

The radio was chaotic. Shouting. Screaming. Her team was losing their minds. Luca’s voice cracked halfway through her name.

But YN? YN just let go of the wheel, leaned her head back against the seat, and closed her eyes.

She didn’t cry. She smiled. Not a big one. Not a grin.

A quiet, broken, knowing smile — She had done it.

Not because someone gifted her a win. Not because luck finally landed on her lap.

Because she fought for it. Because she bled for it. Because she knew this sport would eat her alive if she didn’t bite back first.

And bite back she did.

The cool down room felt like a dream. Everything echoed — the clink of a water bottle. The shuffle of feet. The distant sound of the crowd roaring outside. She stood, still wearing her helmet, still gripping her gloves like she was afraid to let go, like this would all vanish.

Max was the first one to say it, voice low but firm. “About damn time.”

He clapped her shoulder as he passed. Not roughly, not out of pity — but with weight. Like he knew what it had taken.

Charles followed close behind, chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon instead of a race. He looked at her for a moment, then just shook his head, eyes wife with disbelief.

“You were incredible out there,” he said. “I couldn’t hold you off. No one could.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came. So she nodded. Just once. Then she peeled off her helmet.

Her hair clung to her face, sweat running down her temples. Her eyes rimmed red — but not from tears. From something deeper.

Her team rushed in behind the barrier — mechanics clapping, some screaming, Luca laughing like he’d just seen the impossible. One of the pit crew actually cried, covering his mouth as he watched her from the screen.

“You did it,” Luca said when he got to her. “No more questions. No more almost. You did it.”

The steps felt taller. Not physically, just … heavier. She heard the announcer say her name — “For the first time in her Formula One career… your race winner…”

The crowd exploded.

Charles was already on the second step. Max on the third. But she reached the top slowly, almost cautiously, like she couldn’t believe it.

And when she stood there — it hit her. She’d won.

She had really, truly, finally won.

The national anthem played, and for once, it wasn’t just another sound to stand through.

She listened. Eyes glassy. Shoulders pulled back. Her chest rose as the wind moved past her, carrying the pieces of races she hadn’t won. Every time she was close. Every time she smiled through P2 and said, ‘we’ll get them next time.’

Charles turned toward her as the music faded and reached for her hand. She took it briefly and squeezed back.

They handed her the bottle of champagne. It was cold against her hand, and heavy. She raised it, and then she sprayed.

She soaked Max first, who had his eyes closed and mouth open in protest. Then Charles, who turned and got her back instantly, both laughing like kids on their last day of school.

She let herself laugh too. It was breathless. It was real.

The photographers caught it all — champagne on her cheeks, her suit drenched, hair wild, and for the first time in the season, her face split into a smile that didn’t look practiced.

This was the photo they would use forever.

Lewis had barged into the cooldown area the moment she stepped off the podium, hugging her so hard she nearly dropped her podium cap.

“You did it, champ! I knew you would. I knew it!”

He was buzzing, still beaming, wiping off champagne off his sleeve and pretending it was tears. He’d never looked more proud.

“That was literally gladiator type stuff. That’s my sister!”

She laughed, forehead resting against his chest for a moment longer than usual. She hadn’t let herself feel it either — the relief, the warmth, the love. But here, with Lewis?

She let it hit. Because he saw her. From the beginning.

Lando nearly tackled her the second he saw her in the media corridor.

“You little menace! I was on the pit wall screaming.” He was glowing — cheeks flushed, curls a mess, voice hoarse from yelling so much.

“You killed that race.”

She rolled her eyes, “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“Nah, never surprised. Just stupidly proud.”

He winked, then added under his breath: “Now I owe George fifty quid. I told him it’d be Monza.”

She shoved his shoulder, laughing. He shoved back.

“YN, first of all — congratulations. That was… one hell of a drive. Can you take us through the final few laps in your own words?”

She paused. Then tilted the mic toward her. Her voice was steady. Low.

“I saw the win in front of me and I took it. I’ve spent the season learning how to survive. Today, I remembered how to fight.”

Max grinned, nodding quietly to himself. Charles was already watching her with something close to admiration.

“I wasn’t interested in a safe finish anymore. I’ve been safe. I’ve been fast. I’ve been consistent. But none of that wins you a race if you don’t want it more than anyone else on the grid.”

She glanced toward Charles. He smiled back, soft and tired. “He made me work for it. But I was ready to bleed.”

The room went dead silent. Then the claps started. Only a few. From media, from crew, from behind the walls. But they built. Slowly.

Like they’d just witnessed something magical.

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, oscarpiastri, and others

yourusername still trying to catch my breath. we finally did it! thank you, for everything 🤍

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lando you know i cried like a lil bitch but i’ll deny it publicly. enjoy this forever ❤️

lando also why am i not in this dump???? i thought we were friends

yourusername i’ll post you once the party starts honey

username I NEED TO BE IN THAT PARTY NOW

username watching you from the stands was surreal 🥹 we screamed the loudest !!!

yukitsunoda0511 P1 BABYYYYYYY YNNNNNN 😭😭😭😭

yourusername YUKIIIIII 🙁

lando

liked by niallhoran, madelineargy, and others

lando let me just post this here because idk if we’ll be able to make it through tonight. hungary, baby!

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username GRID PARTY YEAAASSSSS

username how can i be invited to these 🙁

yourusername LANDO WRHER ARE U

lando AT THE FRONT?????

username oh lord they’re already wasted

username LMFAOOOO I CANT WAIT FOR THE AFTER PARTY POSTS

username do NOT let yn drink anything, have we not learned from monaco 😓

FIRST WIN YESSSSS !!! here's hungary for u :)) there's so much more to come soooo stay tuned!

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[leighsartworks216]

Imagine being so angry at Sylus. But not out of rage, out of fear. He didn't answer your calls or your texts, neither did the Twins. You haven't seen Mephisto around. You're terrified that something happened and he isn't telling you. Won't tell you. And you're terrified because you know the life he leads, the people that want to kill him to take down his empire. You know there is no second when he is truly safe

And when he finally knocks on your door, that stupid smug smirk on his face as he asks, "Did you miss me?" As if he'd only gone out to the corner store. As if he'd disappeared for 10 minutes, not 20,160 of them. As if he'd told you he would be gone for a little while. Not the face of a man who went radio silent out of nowhere without any warning or apology

You want to slam the door in his face. You're so angry, you just want to let it hit his nose as it shuts so he can feel even a margin of the hurt you did

And he sees it, too. The tremble in your body as you fight back the rage. The awful build up of wetness in your eyes as you bite your cheek and force yourself to breathe evenly. The amusement slips away with the realization he fucked up

You don't slam the door on his face, as much as you'd like to. Instead you just turn and march for your bedroom, where you can hide and scream into a pillow and ignore him

He appears in a cloud of smoke and a spattering of feathers in front of you, blocking your path. "Don't hide from me," he demands, but it's more like a plea. Don't hide from him, don't let this fester

You pivot sharply toward the kitchen. You don't know what you'll do in there. You want to smash the dishes backed up in the sink, unwashed from the growing stress of his disappearance

He follows you, one step behind. Trailing after you like a shadow as you restlessly bounce from one counter to the next, just trying to ignore the heat of him on your back

You try to run off to the bathroom next. He grabs your wrist and tugs on your arm to stop you, even as you try to pull it from him. "Stop running," he says. "Stop - talk to me."

And you just explode. The agony burst out of you. You rip your arm from him and just scream. Asking how he can possibly just walk back in here like that after you thought he was dead. How he could just ask if you missed him as if you haven't been deteriorating and clawing your hair out with stress from the moment he took too long to answer your texts. How you stayed up for nights in a row just calling him over and over and over because you were hoping he'd pick up at some point. How you were terrified that he was dead and you'd have no way of knowing. How you hate him because how can he pretend disappearing for two weeks is fine when you're like this

And he lets you

He lets you scream at him. Hell, he lets you hit his chest with balled fists as your tears break free. He doesn't stop you for even a second, taking every blow like penance for the sin of leaving you alone. You're pulling your punches, even in your anger so afraid of hurting him

He pulls you into him, into his chest, as your sobs take over. As your pain and fear and loneliness replace your anger. Your hits get weaker, until your fists are just resting against him

And gods you don't want to pull away now. Not when you can hear his heart beat so clear. Not when his hands hold you so securely, wrapped around your back and cradling your head. His cheek rests against your hair, lips brushing your hairline

"I'm sorry," he says, and he means it from the depths of his cursed soul. "I'm... not used to people caring about me. Missing me. It's no excuse. I swear, I won't leave you like this again."

You sob softly against his shirt. "You're an asshole..."

"I know. And a 'soulless bastard,'" he quotes from your rant

You shake your had adamantly. "No, I- I didn't mean that. You have a big soul... I'm glad you're alive..."

He kisses your forehead, lingering there for several moments. Already he's planning how to rearrange his schedule for the next month, to make up for all the time he left you in the dark. All of his time is yours, however you want to spend it. You've shown just how viscerally deep you care about him. It's time he showed you how much he cares about you, too

[icarusignite]

my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder

Pairing: LADS guys x Fem! Reader

Summary: You and the guys discuss your decision to be childfree.

Warnings: mentions of childbirth/pregnancy complications. mild angst but mostly fluff and comfort

Word Count: ~1k per person

A/N: This one's just a super self-indulgent fic cuz I thought it would be a cool topic to explore. At first, I was going to do Zayne only, but then I was like, might as well do all of them. I hope you enjoy and would love to hear yalls thoughts <3

AO3

Caleb

You were seated across from Caleb in a dimly lit corner booth of your favourite restaurant, and it had been a lovely night so far. The two of you had spent the evening trading stories, poking fun at each other, and stealing bites from each other's plates in a painfully familiar way. The city glittered just outside the window, but your little booth felt cocooned from it all.

Then, from the booth adjacent to yours, a high-pitched wail rang out. A little boy, no older than three, had scraped his knee after slipping off the bench. His tiny face was scrunched up with distress, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. His mother quickly swept him into her arms, whispering apologies while she blew on the scratch and rocked him back and forth. Meanwhile, the father leaned over the table, performing dramatic animal impressions, trying to make him laugh.

Their efforts were both sincere and embarrassed, but they didn't stop until the wailing eventually turned into sniffles, then a hiccup, and then finally, a delighted babble.

You smiled at the young parents, waving off their repeated apologies for the disruption, but when you turned back to Caleb, you found him not watching you, but the family. His gaze was oddly wistful, and there was something raw in the way he was watching them, like he was tucking away each detail. The way the mother pressed her nose to her son's temple. The way the father ruffled his hair with practiced affection. The way the child reached out to both of them at once, utterly trusting.

He offered you his usual boyish grin when he noticed your concern, but said nothing on the matter. But the image stayed with you.

Back home, Caleb noticed your unusual behaviour the moment you walked through the door. 

"Well," he announced, shrugging off his coat. "You're being suspiciously quiet. You didn't even insult my parallel parking. Should I be worried?"

You gave a noncommittal hum in response, and he frowned. 

"Alright. No jokes, then." He stepped closer and touched your elbow. "What's wrong?"

You'd always promised each other to be transparent with your feelings, and you didn't want to do him the disservice of lying to him, so you lifted your chin and asked plainly, "Is that something you want?"

"Wait, what?"

"Kids," you clarified. "Is that something you want?"

Caleb raised a brow, a playful grin tugging his lips upward. "Were you thinking mischievous thoughts again, pipsqueak? Because I did say we'd save dessert for home."

You shook your head solemnly. "No, I mean... today, at the restaurant. You looked like you wanted them. And I know we're not at that stage yet, but I thought... I should be honest. Get it out in the open before it festers."

"What brought this on?"

You swallowed nervously. "I've been thinking about it for a while now, but I just didn't know how to bring it up. Then I saw you watching them, and I thought, what if I've been leading you on? What if you do want that someday, and you're wasting your time on me?"

Caleb looked heartbroken. "Oh, pips," he muttered, lifting your knuckles to his lips. "How long have you been carrying this? Suffering all alone with such a heavy thing?"

You looked away.

"I never want you to feel like you can't tell me anything," he stated firmly. "We've always shared everything, haven't we? Why should this be different? I want to be the one you can trust without restraint."

"I know."

He hesitated before asking, "Can I ask why?"

You tensed, bracing for judgment. "I don't want to bring children into a world that hurts them. In a world where wanderers exist. Where kids like us grew up with shadows trailing behind us. I know I wouldn't be able to protect them from everything, and that scares me."

"Oh..."

"And I still have so much grief. I don't think I've even fully recovered from losing you. Thinking that you were..." 

Caleb pulled you into his arms immediately. "Words cannot describe how sorry I am to have put you through that, but I was trying to protect you. You know that, don't you?"

You untangled yourself from his almost desperate grip, meeting his gaze with your steady one. "I know. That's something we should probably discuss in more detail in the future, but it's not what I'm trying to talk to you about right now. The truth is, there are a lot of things I'm working through, and I don't think I'm mentally prepared to give a child the version of me they'd deserve. I want to heal my own inner child before I even think about raising one."

Caleb listened intently.

"Maybe things will get better, or maybe they won't, but I'm not going to gamble a child's life on a maybe. I know I'll probably never be in that place where I feel whole enough to try. So, please don't tell me you'll wait for me to change my mind. I've heard it enough from other people."

Without hesitation, he reached forward and flicked your forehead with a mock scowl. "Pips, I'm not other people."

"I know. I didn't mean—"

"I've known you forever," he continued without pause. "I know better than to say something idiotic like 'you'll change your mind' when you're already certain about something. I know you don't say things lightly, and neither do I."

He looked away, then back at you with a thoughtful expression. "A part of me... yeah. I won't lie. I used to think about it. How I'd try to do it right, if I ever had a family. How I'd be a better father than the one we never had. But maybe this life isn't about fixing the past by repeating it differently. Maybe this life is for us to heal. To rest. To be whole again, in ways we never got to be. We deserve that too, don't we?"

To say that you were surprised by his words would have been an understatement. The two of you had talked about many things, but this particular topic had never come up. 

His voice cracked just slightly. "All I know is, whatever you decide, wherever your journey takes you, I will be by your side. No matter what future you choose, I will support you and love you endlessly. And if there's anything I can do to help you heal, I'll do it. No hesitation."

You allowed yourself a small smile, despite your initial trepidation. "We'll heal together then."

"Yes. We'll heal together." Caleb shifted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "And since you trusted me enough to share that with me, I'll share a part of me, too."

His thumb was tracing idle circles against your palm, but you could see the subtle tension in his shoulders. "That look you saw on my face back at the restaurant, the one you thought was longing for kids?" He chuckled sheepishly. "It wasn't that."

"Then what was it?"

"I wasn't envious of the parents for having a child," he admitted. "I was envious of the kid...Is that stupid?"

You didn't hesitate. "No, it's not stupid."

You didn't ask for anything more, because you already knew. You understood him in that unspoken, wordless way the two of you had always shared. It hit you then, with the weight of a thousand unspoken memories. While you had always been shielded by his strength and wrapped up in his protection, he had always borne the brunt of his pain alone. From scraped knees to heartbreaks to grief, he let you lean on him, but he never let himself lean on anyone. 

Who pressed kisses to his scabbed knees? Who brushed cool cloths to his fevered brow, or sang lullabies through the ache? Who made little flying planes with spoons and wiped stray sauce from his cheek? Definitely not Grandma.

He had played the part of your protector so fiercely, and with such relentless tenderness, you sometimes forgot he'd been a child too. A child who had needed what he freely gave to you.

Your eyes burned, and you threaded your arms around his waist to pull him close. Pressing your forehead into his shoulder, you let your unspoken sorrow anchor the gesture.

"I know," you whispered. "I'm sorry."

You didn't have anything else to offer—no fixes or do-overs. Just your arms, and your heart, and the promise of being the person who would stay with him now, as he began to open up more. As he let the cracks in his armour show, and allowed you to kiss every wound he once believed he had to bear alone.

Caleb's arms wrapped around you in return, and he nuzzled your head affectionately. "You did nothing to be sorry for."

"I know. But I still am."

“And here I thought I’d have to share you with someone else someday. Guess I get to keep you all to myself, huh?”

"Caleb!" You smacked his chest, even as you were pressed up against it, and he winced. 

"And you know..." he added in the half-teasing, half-serious tone he'd perfected over the years. "Even if we never have kids, that doesn't mean our lives will be empty. There are plenty of memories to make. Joy that's still waiting for us, just around the corner. I'll find new dreams with you, ones we choose together."

Zayne

The ride home from the Akso Hospital charity gala was quieter than expected. Zayne never liked such events, with their noise, flattery, and empty praise, but tonight, he'd smiled more than usual, and let himself indulge in the compliments, allowing his pride to shine as he introduced you again and again.

My wife. 

Tonight had been his first opportunity to introduce you to his coworkers, and those two words left his lips like he was still getting used to their taste. You were effortlessly dazzling as usual, and he got to be smug about watching you charm his colleagues. But after the second hour, your smile began to fade. Your reactions started small as the nurses threw around teasing remarks. 

"So when's the announcement? We all know how honeymoons go!"

"Better get your sleep in now while you can!" 

"With genes like yours, it'd be a crime not to pass them on."

The last straw was when the Chief of Staff himself made a toast: "To the newlyweds, may your first child be smarter than Dr. Li and prettier than his wife." 

It was meant to be a joke. Everyone laughed, and you had too, but your eyes had gone dim. Each comment felt like a hook beneath your skin, tugging your expression just a bit tighter, and Zayne noticed, although he was unable to do anything about it right then and there. 

Now, at home, you were sitting at your vanity, slowly undoing the clasp of your necklace, but your reflection was distant. Zayne leaned in the doorway of your shared bedroom, tie undone and shirt cuff unbuttoned. He watched you through the mirror, despite your best attempts to avoid your gaze. 

"You've been quiet," he remarked. "Too quiet."

You shrugged. "It's been a long night."

"Was it... what they said?"

Your fingers stilled, but you didn't meet his eyes. "You're going to think it's stupid."

"Nothing you say could ever be stupid." He crossed the room and crouched beside your chair. "Was it the jokes? I admit I found them a bit intrusive myself. It was like everyone was trying to be the first to predict something that isn't their business."

You finally met his gaze, startled at the irritation in his tone. Irritation on your behalf. 

"They meant well," you finally murmured. "I know that. It's just... everyone assumes it's inevitable. Like marriage is step one and kids are step two, and if you don't follow that path, you're defective."

Zayne's voice was steady, the way it always was when he was being gentle with you. "Yes, we've had this discussion before. But we can have it again, as many times as you need, until you feel secure in this marriage. And every single time, I will tell you what I told you the first time."

"...Are you sure?"

Your husband didn't even blink. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I understand that pregnancy and childbirth carry risks. Serious ones. I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on you if it's not something you want for yourself. I would never force you into something you're uncomfortable with. I am your husband, not your jailor, my love. My happiness is in your happiness."

You swallowed thickly. "I know people say it's possible to have a perfect pregnancy. Like, totally painless, no complications, in and out like clockwork. And I've heard of people who've done it, who came out fine, but the risks are still there. They don't go away just because you want them to. I've done the research. I've read the case studies and the medical journals. I don't want to gamble with something this serious, even if the chance is small." 

"I know."

"I mean, it's not just the birth itself, it's everything. Preeclampsia, hemorrhage, gestational diabetes, postpartum depression, aneurysms, nerve damage, tearing, bone separation—" You faltered briefly, spiralling. "—and even if you survive all of that, your body may never go back to what it was. And people just act like that's fine, like that's the price of the beautiful miracle of having children in your life, but I can't do it. I don't want to—"

You stopped abruptly, your breathing slightly panicked, as it always was when the topic of pregnancy came up. You half-expected Zayne to tell you to calm down, that you were being dramatic, and it couldn't possibly be that bad, but he didn't. He didn't look at you like you were crazy. He looked like he understood. Like he heard you.

"I won't lie to you," he said after a moment. "I won't tell you those things don't happen. And I won't say that you'll be spared the worst of it, just to make you feel better or coerce you into a misinformed decision. The truth is, we can never fully predict such things. I won't tell you your fears are unfounded, because they're not."

You hadn't even realized how tense you'd been until his words reached in and soothed that part of you that had always been dismissed by others. For the first time in your life, someone was telling you that your feelings were valid. 

You exhaled shakily. "It just seems like... too much of a strain. Is it so selfish to say I value my life and my body too much to put myself through that?"

Zayne reached up to cradle your face and pressed his lips to your temple, his voice warm against your skin. "No. You're not selfish at all. I, too, value your life. You are not selfish for making decisions about your own body. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

"You're not mad at me? Or disappointed?"

Something resembling heartbreak flashed across your husband's face. "The only thing that disappoints me is that you think so little of me. That you think I would be mad at you for something like this. You're not obligated to become someone else just because you married me. I fell in love with you, not some hypothetical future we never agreed on."

"I thought maybe you'd expect it someday. The family. The holidays with kids. I don't know."

"My holidays will be perfectly enjoyable as long as you are there."

"And what about what your colleagues say? Or your family, or your friends?"

Your husband let out a patient sigh. "Forget about what anyone else says. They're not the ones living this life; we are. They don't get a vote, and honestly, neither do I. It is your body. You are the only one who gets to decide. If this is what you want, then it's what we want."

You were unable to say or do anything except stare at him, dumbfounded. You knew he loved you, of course, but to hear him declare it in such a manner, and choose you repeatedly without condition, made your heart swell with happiness and your eyes well with tears. 

Zayne brushed the skin under your eyes tenderly and shook his head. "You're enough. Just as you are. You always have been."

Xavier

Your apartment smelled faintly of chamomile and linen when you entered, the way it always did when Xavier was around. The air was undisturbed, and it felt like slipping into a warm bath after a long, overstimulating day.

At the entrance, you toed off your shoes and padded into the living room. There, your fiance was sprawled on the couch and bathed in the mild afternoon light that filtered through the curtains. He looked cozy and soft, his hair mussed from sleep, one hand still loosely clutching the edge of the throw pillow like he’d fallen asleep mid-thought.

When you walked over to drape his fallen blanket more snugly over him, he yawned and his eyes blinked groggily. 

“Hey,” he greeted, voice raspy from the nap. “You’re back from your friend's place. How was it?”

You flopped onto the floor beside the couch and leaned your head against him. “It was sticky. And loud. Full of tiny jam-covered goblins climbing furniture and threatening to end lives with a single grape jelly smear. They were absolute sweethearts, of course, but very chaotic.”

Xavier laughed, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Sounds fun.”

You laughed dryly, leaning into his touch. Then, as if the thought had been tiptoeing around in your head the entire drive home, you asked casually, “Would you rather have kids in your twenties so you can enjoy your forties… or have them later so you can enjoy your twenties?”

Your fiance gave you a once-over, as if trying to determine whether this was a trick question. “I thought you didn’t want kids. You told me that before I proposed.”

“I did.”

He tilted his head, voice still gentle but a little more alert now. “Are you having second thoughts? Because if you are, that’s okay. I wouldn’t mind, but only if it’s what you want."

“No,” you amended quickly. “No, I’m not changing my mind.”

“Then… why ask?”

You shrugged. “I thought that you might’ve changed your mind. I guess I just wanted to give you an out before the actual wedding.”

Xavier looked at you for a long moment. Then, he placed his hands on your shoulders and began working slow, familiar circles into your tense muscles, easing the knots that had been building since you'd stepped out hours ago.

“How did this come up?” He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You getting cold feet?” he teased. “Because you must know, there’s nothing that would make me change my mind about marrying you. Nothing at all.”

You let yourself relax under his touch, grounded in the sensation of him.

“Even if we never had kids?” you asked.

His hands never faltered. “Even if we never had kids.”

“That includes adoption and other methods.” You turned your head to glance at him. “It’s not just the idea of pregnancy or childbirth that scares me, though that does terrify me.”

“I know."

“It’s also because…they’re just too much.” It was difficult to put into words how the shrieking and clutter often associated with children made your nerves fray like splinters under skin. 

“I like sleeping in,” you confessed. “I like coming home to a clean house, where everything is where I left it. I like quiet. I need quiet. If I had little humans yelling for my attention all the time, I think I’d unravel. I’d snap. And I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to snap at a kid just because I’m overstimulated or touched out or exhausted. I’d rather never have a child than risk resenting one for altering my life or acting like kids normally do.” 

Xavier was silent for a long moment, still massaging your shoulders. Then he chuckled under his breath. “I think I can agree with you on the sleeping in part.”

"I figured you would."

His tone shifted, becoming more serious and firm. He slid off the couch to sit on the floor beside you. “You are valid in how you feel. All of it. Your comfort is what matters most to me. I want our house to be your sanctuary, not a trial. I want it to be the place you feel calmest. So if having no children is the way to make that possible, then I'm on board with that. You don’t ever have to feel guilty for making choices that protect your peace.”

You felt a sting behind your eyes, and Xavier's knuckles brushed your cheek. 

“Whatever you need," he declared earnestly. "Whatever you want, just say the word.”

You leaned forward and kissed his forehead, and then his nose and chin, as he smiled against the touch.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“For what?”

"For not making me out to be some puppy-kicking villain.”

“Puppy-kicking?” he repeated incredulously. “Now that’s dramatic.”

“I’m serious. Every time I’ve said anything that even hints at not liking the idea of raising children, I get these disapproving stares. Like I’ve just announced, I despise all kids and want them executed or something."

Xavier snickered, then composed himself, his expression warm with fondness. “People think you're some sort of executioner now?” He shook his head. “You’re one of the kindest people I know. And I'm not just saying that because I'm biased. I think it makes you a good person to know yourself well enough to recognize what you want and what you don’t. So many people jump into parenthood because they feel pressured or ashamed not to, and it leads to resentment.”

You nodded, slightly startled at how well he was able to put your feelings into words. "I don’t want to bring a child into the world just to be bitter about their presence. Just because they cry or touch my stuff or interrupt my schedule. That wouldn’t be fair to them.”

“Exactly. You choosing not to have children isn’t selfish, it’s thoughtful. I’d be more concerned if you didn’t care how a child might feel growing up around someone who was just tolerating them."

You leaned against Xavier, resting your head on his shoulder, comforted by his steady heartbeat and even steadier loyalty. His hand found yours and gave it a squeeze.

“I love you for being exactly who you are,” he insisted. “Not who anyone else expects you to be.”

Rafayel

You'd been acting distant for days now, maybe even weeks. It wasn't anything loud or accusatory, but it was there in the way your hand lingered just a second less every time Rafayel reached for you, and imperceptible shifts in your posture when he leaned into your space.

He noticed, of course. He wasn't oblivious, especially not when it came to you. He had always been attuned to your moods and rhythms. That was just how he loved, with devotion so full it bordered on clairvoyance.

At first, he thought maybe you were tired, or something was bothering you at work. He tried not to crowd you. He still kissed your forehead good morning when you spent the night at his place, and left you sweet voicemails when you didn't answer his calls, but he gave you space. But every day it chipped at him a little more, the fear that the warmth you used to look at him with was fading.

Finally, one night, when you were curled up on opposite ends of the couch, pretending to watch a movie you weren't even following, he finally broke his silence. 

"Cutie, what's going on with you lately?"

You blinked at the screen, even though you weren't watching it, trying to swallow the lump that had been lodged in your throat all day. You knew this conversation was coming. You'd rehearsed your lines a hundred times in your head, but none of them felt like they would do it justice. Your heart ached even now, just looking at him. God, you loved him. That was the problem.

When you didn't answer, Rafayel scooted closer. "Did I do something? Are you mad at me?" His voice was uncharacteristically tentative. "Just talk to me, please. I miss you. You're right here, and I still miss you."

It broke your heart to hear him blame himself.

You turned to him slowly. "I know you've been planning something. You've been hiding your phone lately. You keep looking at me like you're waiting for the perfect moment. You've been dropping hints."

His eyes widened slightly, caught in the act.

"I know you're going to propose," you continued. "But before you do... I need to be honest with you. I don't want to accept without you knowing something important about me."

He stared at you, confused. "Okay..." he enunciated slowly. "What's going on?"

"I don't want children. Ever."

His expression didn't change—yet—but his body stilled, and you pressed on quickly, words tumbling out like a dam breaking.

"I don't want any of it. I don't want a baby that spits up and shrieks and throws tantrums. I don't want a toddler who breaks my favourite champagne glasses or draws on the walls. I don't want a teenager who thinks they know everything and resents me for putting rules in place for their safety. I don't want to spend my life tied to that role. I've thought about it again and again, and the answer hasn't changed. I don't want that life, and I don't want to have another human wholly dependent on me to make the right choices for them. There are so many things I want the freedom to try. Things that don't center around sacrifice, and don't come second to someone else's schedule, development, or future."

Your voice cracked, but you powered through. "And don't tell me that it'll be fine, that it doesn't have to take over your whole life. Because it does. No matter how supportive your partner is, no matter how much help you get, your life stops being yours in some way. I can't give that up. I won't."

You looked away, voice smaller now. "And I know everyone says you'd be an amazing father. You're kind and patient, and funny. I don't want to deprive you of that. So if this is a dealbreaker for you, if this is something you know you'll want one day, then I understand. I love you, so, so much, but I love myself too. And I can't sacrifice this part of me, even for you."

Rafayel blinked once. Then again. His mouth parted, and when he finally did speak, it was quiet. "What the hell are you talking about?"

You flinched. "I just told you."

"No, I heard you," he grumbled, looking at you like you'd grown another head. "But where did you get the idea that I want kids?"

"Don't you?"

"No." Rafayel exhaled hard through his nose, almost laughing. "I want you. I want whatever version of the future has you in it. If that includes hiking across Patagonia in our sixties or taking up underwater basket weaving, then that's what I want."

"But everyone says—"

"Everyone says a lot of things," he interrupted gently. "You think I waited eight hundred years to find you, just to walk away because you don't want to raise tiny versions of us?"

He scooted closer and took your hands. "I love your laugh. I love your stubbornness. I love how you take forever deciding what dessert to order and even how you hog the blankets at night. You are the only thing I've ever been sure of."

"But aren't you afraid you'll regret it one day?"

His expression softened, and he leaned forward to press his forehead to yours. "The only thing I'd regret is letting you go. If I have you, nothing is missing."

You swallowed the lump in your throat as he pressed an adoring kiss to your lips.

"I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it. If you don't want children, then neither do I. If you want a life filled with adventure, spontaneous decisions, and maybe an absurd number of cats, then that's what I want too. I want to wake up every morning knowing I get to share my life with someone who knows what she wants and won't settle for less. If you think I'd throw all that away just because we won't be decorating a nursery someday, then you are gravely mistaken."

Tears filled your eyes again, but for a different reason now. Relief. Overwhelming, blinding relief.

"Sometimes I wonder if you say all this just to make me feel better."

Rafayel shrugged. "If it works, I'll say it every day. I'll say it in iambic pentameter with interpretive dance if that's what it takes for you to realize how much I adore you."

You rolled your eyes and let out a watery giggle, making him drag a hand through his hair dramatically like you had just delivered a death sentence. 

"All this seriousness over nothing. Gods, cutie, I thought you were about to break up with me."

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the theatrical waver in his voice. "I was addressing something serious," you snapped, swatting at his arm. "Did you not hear anything I just said?"

"I did hear it," he pouted, rubbing the spot you'd smacked. "But you're acting like it's some grand tragedy, when it's really not. You're just worrying for no reason."

"How can you say that? I'm telling you something that could affect your entire future."

"You are my future," he shot back without missing a beat, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. "I choose you. I've always chosen you. I'm not in love with some abstract dream of fatherhood, I'm in love with you. Just you."

"But what if one day you wake up and want something different?"

"Then I'll roll over, look at your face, and remember that I actually don't. You're the only thing I've ever been certain of. You think I've waited centuries for you just to let something like this tear us apart?"

"You're hopeless, you know that."

"Hopelessly in love with you, yes." Rafayel carded his fingers through your hair before adding, "Children aren't the only way to leave something beautiful behind. I have all the memories I'll make with you. That's more than enough for me."

You laughed through your tears, grateful that his love wasn't the kind that demanded compromise of your soul. All your life, you'd been told that eventually, you'd change my mind, because all women did. That when the right man came along, or when you "grew up" a little more, you'd see what you'd been missing. You'd been told that most men wanted children, so if you really loved your future partner, you had to be willing to give up pieces of yourself to earn their love back. 

But the truth was, you didn't need to do any of those things. The right partner would never demand you to give up your values and would simply accept them as a part of the person they loved. 

Sylus

The topic came up unexpectedly, in the middle of the afternoon. You and Sylus were lounging on the floor in the living room, both of you half-propped against the couch with mugs of warm tea in hand. A documentary had been playing in the background, something about population growth and changing family structures. You hadn't been paying much attention, too content with the silence and the feeling of Sylus's fingers tracing the shell of your ear absent-mindedly. 

Then the narrator mentioned something about the "natural desire to raise a family," and you clicked the TV off immediately. Sylus glanced at you, eyebrows slightly lifted, but he did not press the matter until you opened up to him of your own volition. 

You sipped your tea and looked straight ahead. “I don’t have that. Whatever that even means, the natural desire to raise a family.”

Sylus's face didn't change. "Family can look like a lot of different things."

"Yeah, I know. It's just...kids, you know. Like most people think a family has to include them, but I don't want that."

"Okay."

“Are you going to ask me why?”

He shook his head. “I know you'll tell me when you’re ready. If now is not the right time, that's fine by me. And because it's you, I'm prepared to wait.”

“I simply don’t want them,” you stated plainly. “I don’t hate children. I respect them. They’re deserving of care, and they should have parents who want them. I don’t. I never have.”

Sylus reached over and took your mug, setting it on the coffee table so he could hold your hands instead. “That’s more than fair. I would never want you to do something you don’t want, sweetie.” His voice was firm, like he meant what he said deeply. “You don’t have to defend or explain your decisions to anyone, least of all me. I want you to live the life that makes you feel whole. Unapologetically. Loudly or quietly, however you need. If I can be by your side as you do that, that’s all I ask for. Nothing else.”

A warm feeling bloomed in your chest, and your throat tightened. "That's...I didn't expect you to say that."

“You don’t need to give me a hundred reasons,” he added, as if he'd read your mind. “All you ever have to do is say ‘I don’t want this’ and that’s that. Case closed.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and it was shaky with relief. All your life, people had made you feel like you were selfish or broken for wanting something different. For not wanting to be a parent. Now, here was Sylus, looking at you like you were still whole and worthy of being cherished. 

“I always get told I’ll regret it,” you told him. “That one day I’ll be old and alone. No one to take care of me.”

Sylus smiled. “Well, we’ll have each other. I will always take care of you, and to grow old with you is a privilege I hope to have the honour of experiencing."

"And you're sure you won't regret it?"

“I’d only regret it if I did it for the wrong reasons. Like doing it for appearances, or because someone else says it’s what we should want. Those are the worst reasons for doing anything.” His voice became teasing then. "And do you really think I don’t have retirement funds set aside for us already?”

You snorted, and he grinned wider.

“We are going to be just fine,” he declared confidently. “Besides, having children just so you can have caretakers in your old age? That’s the most absurd and financially unsound decision I’ve ever heard.”

That made you laugh. A real one this time, a bubbling exhale of everything you’d been holding in. In that moment, you knew you were understood—not simply tolerated or placated, but understood in the most elemental sense. There was nothing more to prove. With Sylus, the ground beneath you had never been steadier.

You leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

He returned the favour by kissing your forehead. “Always.”

Tags: @potania @mi-yaw @iwantsomepotatoxx @inzanekillian

Hope I didn't miss anyone. This is just the general LADS taglist (not the one for like non-mc reader fics or any particular guys), so feel free to lemme know if you want to be added or taken off. If you'd like to be added to the taglist for a particular guy or fic, also lemme know. lol i should probably make a separate post for that, but oh well.

[reignpage]

Wolverine!Toji

In which you don't know where you stand with Wolverine!Toji

Wolverine!Toji doesn’t talk to people. Hates them. Time has proven again and again that everyone’s out for themselves, that he’s better off alone, drowning himself in the extra strong shit and moving from place to place when suspicions about his nature arises. 

Of course, the last thing he expected to meet was another one of his kind on the road – a young, pretty thing that stands out way too fucking much and doesn’t realise it. You’re too doe-eyed, too kind, too yappy. He didn’t want to take you in but you goddamn followed him. Saved you once from some drunk bastards and suddenly you looked at him like he was some hero, smiling at him and shit. 

“Fuck off,” he growled. “I ain’t taking strays.”

You didn’t listen. Everywhere he went, you were there. It was as if you didn’t get tired of all the travelling, all the silence, and the dismissive glares he threw. He stalked the woods, weaving through the trees, resting in caves and getting wasted in bars. Meanwhile, you were always close by, walking, watching, and waiting.

When did he get used to your presence?

When did he begin to accept it? Accept you?

Was it when he found comfort in looking back and finding something other than his shadow? Or did the walls that had erected themselves years and years ago finally grew cracks when he was in that near-death phase once more, when the chilling cold of the season began to set in his bones and rendered him paralysed on the hard ground, and you approached quietly, building a fire with nothing but your mind and hands, and retreated?

Maybe Wolverine!Toji liked that you understood – he isn’t anyone’s friend and you’re certainly not his. If you’re gonna stick by him like a flea, you’re gonna make yourself useful at the very least. 

So, when his cigar needed lighting, he’d raise that unruly brow of his and you’d turn yourself into a lighter. If the nights grew too cold again, you’d build a circle of fire around him. And if bloodthirsty bastards come looking for a good hunt, you didn’t get in the way, didn’t wince when the knives slid out between his knuckles, didn’t cower when metal meets flesh, nor when blood kisses grass. 

You could hold your own too. 

Wolverine!Toji respected that. 

That was how you and him came to be. 

────୨ৎ────

“You’re gonna have to get over this, bubs.”

Wolverine!Toji sits on a bed in a room that doesn’t belong to him, as is usually the case, and attempts once more to coax you out of this gloomy shell you’ve cast over yourself. 

Over the years, he’s learnt that you don’t like change any more than him. Staying here, at the school, working with the professor, and teaching the kids was new for him and for you. But if there’s any skill he’s developed out in the wild, it’d be adapting. Life hands out unlucky deals all the time; you gotta know how to make the most out of it. 

Frowning, you reply, “Why?”

“Because this shit’s better than what we were dealing with out there.” Wolverine!Toji won’t admit to anyone but you that he could get used to this – roof over his head, warm bed to slip into every night, no one looking at him like they see the metal weighing him down. Life here is simple, it’s peaceful, it’s…nice. 

If only you could see that. 

Still refusing to leave your room, you remain curled up in the corner, wearing your dirty clothes and a pout. You don’t understand why he would agree to teach, to go on those missions, to listen to anyone but himself. There’s freedom in being on the run, in not having a routine, or a palace to call your own. Life was great when it was just the two of you, having each other’s back. He hunts for you. You light the fire. That’s how it worked. 

Now, there’s a cafeteria that serves food at regular times. There’s a central heating system, blankets and a spacious bathroom. No one’s pointing a gun at his head or tearing him to pieces. You no longer need to wait whilst he patches himself back up. People don’t bat an eye at either of your mutations, neither of you stand out; you fit right in. 

It’s weird. 

“But,” you begin, watching his ears twitch and his bouncing knee halt, “I don’t have anything to do here…they’ll kick me out.”

Wolverine!Toji sighs. Soon, he’s in your corner, squatting to meet your eyes, and the look in them softens his tense expression, washing away the frustrated reprimand biding its time. “Look, the professor already said there’s a place here for everyone, you just gotta find it. And before you start, I know that sounds like bull, but I know him. He’s a good man. Too good probably. They’re doing real work here. Building a future for you, for us, for those kids. There’s something worth seeing here. You can trust them. You gotta.”

“I don’t. I can’t.”

He pats your head. “Then trust me. We have each other’s backs, yeah? Nothing’s gonna change that.”

And you believe him. 

────୨ৎ────

Wolverine!Toji has taken a special interest in a red head. She’s pretty. Smart too. Patched you up when you first came. She had made clear she was with someone, her fiancé, and they looked happy together. That’s never stopped him before though. 

Jogging past you, he’ll catch up to her, flash her a grin and say something that makes her roll her eyes. Still, she’ll entertain him, won’t step back, or look away. In a way, you can’t really blame her. Wolverine!Toji has that effect on people, when he wants to. A man like him is stimulated by the hunt, by the push and the pull, and the having something he shouldn’t, if only to piss people off. 

Dedicated to the cause, he rarely comes by your room, doesn’t eat with you, and leaves you feeling lucky if he even greets you a good morning. It’s okay, you suppose. This isn’t the first time you’ve watched him work his charms to get into someone’s pants, after all. Old habits die hard. 

But new habits don’t develop this fast, do they?

Wolverine!Toji doesn’t make a fool of himself for someone’s attention. He doesn’t pick fights with good men. And he doesn’t ever brush a lock of hair out of a woman’s face, scraping the callouses on his fingers against her soft skin. Does he?

The man you’ve accompanied for years wouldn’t cut you off mid-sentence, rushing to be on time for anything other than beer on tap. Sure, he’s never been the most vocal with you, but he listens. All the stories you’ve told from a time long past, he hears and remembers them. The questions you have he answers, albeit in short, vague bursts. He doesn’t brush you off.

Above all, Wolverine!Toji never, ever makes himself comfortable. He’d never unpack the few clothes he has. Any room he’s fortunate to find wouldn’t be decorated. The names of the people he sees don’t stay in his mind. Kids don’t look up to him. Women don’t become regulars. 

Wolverine!Toji never settles. 

Never says, ‘Let’s go home.’ 

And if he did, it would be to you first, right?

You knock on his door, feeling restless. It opens a moment or two later, revealing a bare torso, a messy head of hair, and an impatient man. Eyes groggy, he grunts. “What is it?”

“I just wanted to ask if you’d like to go for a walk. I feel like we haven’t talked in a long time and, I don’t know, I kinda miss you.”

Brushing a hand through his hair, he exhales through his nose. “Listen, kid. Let’s talk tomorrow. It’s late and I got a mission in the morning.”

“No, but that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You’re always on a mission and I never see you. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs, right? I can’t have yours when I can’t come with you, when I don’t know what you’re doing, or where you are.”

Wolverine!Toji scoffs. “You need to back off. We’re not some old married couple. What I do ain’t your business. Quit acting possessive.”

And he closes the door in your face. 

Though not before you see a flash of red on his bed. 

────୨ৎ────

The day you left was like any other day. There were no guards on these grounds, just a peaceful silence of the morning to come. Dew stuck to the grass, softening every step you took further and further away from the walls. Life was often so busy in the school that these kinds of things happened without making waves. You didn’t say goodbye, didn’t linger, didn’t look back. Not even when that familiar voice spoke in your mind.

“Are you sure this is what you want, child?” 

Hiking the bag higher up your shoulder, you frowned. “Get out of my head, old man.”

“This is your home. You belong here, with us…with him.”

Warm, gentle, and understanding, it was often a surprise to you every time to find no judgement in his voice. The professor, from the very first moment of meeting, struck you as an otherworldly being, a man who had lived a thousand lives and came out just as principled, as kind, and as restricted by his body as he was liberated by his mind. 

Even in the darkness of dawn, with the chill of wind’s isolation, you carried no anger in you for the man whose words carry the truest of intentions. So, you simply said, “I don’t know where I belong, okay? For the longest time, it had only ever been me and him. I thought we both felt the calling of the wild, both found solace in one another, and resented being tied down. But I see now that he wanted more, deserved more. He readily accepts change because this is where he was always meant to be. And I can’t take that away from him.”

“I can’t change your mind. I know that,” he said. “Just as I know you do not want me to tell him. That you hope he will notice on his own and lament your absence. You do not want him to be upset but you also hope he will be. Fickle are the heart’s wants, no?”

To that, you had no answer. Wishing him any kind of pain was shameful and yet you knew the words he uttered were true – there was resentment boiling inside you, springing from a sense of abandonment, of betrayal. Above all, however, you wished him well. He deserved happiness. 

“Yes, he does. It is only funny to me that you somehow believe that happiness can only come by with your disappearance. My child, it is the opposite. He needs you.”

“Goodbye, professor.”

────୨ৎ────

Wolverine!Toji didn’t follow. 

He sensed something was off as soon as he opened his eyes. Perhaps even earlier. Could feel the misalignment in his bones. Grunting, he gently lifted her head from his chest and laid it down on the pillows. Dressed and raking a hand through his hair, he left and ventured down the hall, hearing the professor before he saw his grim face.

They stared at each other for mere moments. Countless thoughts passed by. A whole conversation flitting by in silence within the confines of the mahogany walls and golden candelabra. 

Gruff and low, he asked, “How was –?”

“Adamant,” the professor replied, always ahead. “But okay. Strong. Determined. Ready.”

That was all Wolverine!Toji needed to know. For as long as his little companion had a clear head, he knew you’d survive. You’re skilled. You’re a fighter. A mutant who had only ever known the wild. Maybe one day you’ll change, like him. Maybe you’ll embrace the new world. 

For now, you only need yourself. 

There’s no doubt in his mind that you’d cross paths once more; it’s the way the woods work – what first appears as an endless fucking maze is actually a long road taking lost souls to the same destination. He’ll sniff you out. He will. 

Just hang in there. 

It's rushed as hell but I just had to get it out of my head before I have to leave my laptop at home. Sorry for the sad/ambiguous ending too

Here’s the alternative/happy ending

Was just thinking about jjk and x-men collab ugh it's eating me alive. This is definitely very on the nose but I don't care rahhhhh

Hope everyone has a great summer!

( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ )

[peachesofteal]

Like Real People Do previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au CW: none

“You know, some would call this stalking.”

Simon doesn’t even turn his head. John will think what he wants regardless.

“I’m just getting some fresh air.”

“Yeah. Up on the roof at the same time Daisy walks to the garage.” There’s a sigh beside him, and then he too, is standing near the ledge, looking down. “She put it in for it.”

“I saw.” It’s unfair to open an application process when the job posting is already filled, and some could say the engineering behind it, the carrot on a stick, is cruel.

But Simon is past caring about what anyone says about it.

“You intimidate her.” He knows his reputation, doesn't refute it, doesn't particularly care, but with you it's different. The silk spun web connecting him to you, to your family and back is more than enough to make you uneasy.

“She’ll be treated like anyone else, and she’ll be fine.”

“She’s fragile-” He snorts.

“She’s not fragile. Not yet.” He’ll fix this. He has to. He'll break you and strip you and free you. And then maybe after, once it’s over, you’ll be comfortable enough to be soft, to be delicate if you choose. To be whatever you want, to be yourself. Wild and free.

You come striding out from the exit doors towards the parking garage, swinging your beat up backpack over your shoulder as you practically jog towards the elevator. It’s only a few seconds of his day, but they’re hard to beat lately. John chuckles at his side, and Simon’s fist clenches so tight his knuckles burn.

He hates himself for waiting so long, for letting it get this bad. Hates that his inaction has cost you so much, your peace, your security, your happiness. He spent too long telling himself to let it go, let you go, let you live your life.

He should have known better, and now he only has himself to thank for this fucking mess.

“I explicitly told you not to discharge her.” Keller rolls his eyes.

“You were in surgery all morning, and it’s not like I could just explain it away like I would to some layperson. I couldn’t hold them hostage. What did you want me to tell her?” He pinches his brow. This day has gone sideways and is now exponentially worse. He’s about to ream Keller out, work his frustration free on the poor attending when his phone buzzes with some good news.

John: They’re in the ED.

You’re carrying Riley. Holding her as she sleeps, her arms slung around your neck, small spool of drool on your shirt. She’s dead weight, practically sitting on your folded forearms, hot pink cast sticking straight up past your head. She's shackled to you in a vise grip, like even in sleep she’s afraid to let go, and the way you cling to her doesn’t dispute the notion.

Oh sweet girl.

Even though you’re uncomfortable, even though she’s too heavy, you won’t lay her down in a bed or set her in a chair because the last time she was a patient, you almost lost her. You lost your sister, your brother in law, you lost everything.

Except Riley.

Ava’s eyes go wide over your shoulder when she spots him, distinctly mouthing his name with unabashed glee.

Bleeding christ.

You meet his gaze with an avalanche of anxiety, worry, fear, stress… all the things you carry on your shoulders, all those things breaking your back, all of it swirling together into a storm you can't escape.

But there’s something else too. A break in the clouds that almost slows his steps, warms his blood.

Relief.

There’s relief just barely beneath the frozen surface, a small current running under the iced over lake.

You’re relieved to see him.

“Hey Doctor Riley.” Ava gives him a sly grin, all feline and knowing, before rubbing Riley’s back and leaning into you for a half hug. “See? Problem solved. Call me later.”

“Ava, wait, I-” she’s gone. You look around for an escape, an excuse, but there’s nothing. Nothing but him.

“Let me take her.” Your mouth drops open and you stare at him like he’s grown two heads.

“I’m really okay, she’s-”

“A third grader asleep in your arms. I can see the way you’re shifting your weight, she’s too heavy and you’re uncomfortable. Let me take her.” He uses the firm guidance you’re growing accustomed to from him. You swallow, and he settles his palm on your back, coaxing your trust. When you don't pull away, he relishes the victory like some addled prehistoric possessive caveman. “I’ve got her Daisy, I promise. She’s safe with me.” Your inhale sticks to your ribs for a moment like it wants to stay there, and then you release it. Release her.

“Okay.” You shuffle her into his waiting arms and let go. Proud of you, he wants to soothe, I know it’s hard but I’ve got you. I’ve got you both. Instead, he swallows his tongue and moves on.

“How are you getting home?”

“It’s a transition. I’m learning as fast as I can.”

“You need to figure out if this is the place for you before I do.”

“It is. I can do it.” The tiny sliver of emotion that slips through surprises him, and guilt pinches in his heart. He didn’t want this, this reprimand, this conversation, but these things can't be brushed under a rug, and if you were anyone else, it would be formal documentation. He's giving you a pass, technically. Unheard of.

You are good at your job. You're smart, your critical thinking skills are sharp, sharper than most, you ask the why behind things, and you care. Deeply. There's no questioning of your skill or ability, but the learning curve in the NICU is steep.

"I can do it.” He tamps down the urge to reassure you, to tell you this is one thing in a sea of things you’re doing well, but this unexpected crack, the slip of your control, keeps him from offering comfort.

If this is what it takes.

He gives you a nod. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“You have a booster seat.” You give him a disbelieving look, voice flat.

“Yeah. My nephew is here, I keep one in the car for when they come over.” You’re ready to bolt, but at the same time you seem to know you wouldn’t make it very far, never mind that he still has a sleeping Riley in his arms.

“Oh, okay.” You hesitate, glancing at the backseat again. “Is that who came to the NICU the other day? Your uh, your nephew? And his mom?”

“Yeah, they live in Manchester, where I’m from.” He motions to the door, but you don’t budge.

“Is she your sister then?”

“My brother’s widow.” You lock up. There’s an uncertainty in it, hesitance, and your eyes linger on Riley as you clear your throat.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t share the rest, keeps it close for now. There will be time for all of it, but this moment is about you, and Riley, and making sure you’re both taken care of. “Are you ready to go then?”

“Doc- Simon. You really don’t have to do this.” It’s cute, the way you’re trying to put your foot down, how you think you’re in control now.

“How are you getting home?” He has you cornered, and can’t even pretend to feel bad. You glare and cross your arms, try to mount a frosty offensive, the mournful grief from a moment ago already forgotten.

“I can figure it out.” He has no doubt you would after a while, but he’s using this to his full advantage. His voice dips low, lingers in soft spaces between his accent and his tone, and as soon as he says your name, your throat bobs with a swallow.

“Daisy, just let me get you home safe.” Riley snuffles against his shirt and presses her nose into him, lips pushing out in a pout. You take one look at her and retreat.

“Okay, okay.” The first is for him, but the second is for yourself, some sort of resigned approval for your agreement. He stands by as you get her buckled in and settled, watching as you gently arrange her, make her comfortable. You're perfectly in rhythm, slowing when her lashes flutter, soothing her when she whines, the two of you so in sync.

“Ready?” You nod.

“Yeah. Ready.”

The truck is running.

You’re rarely, if ever, still here when leaves.

But you seemed off today. Less icy, more despondent, and now you’re practically catatonic behind the wheel with the engine running. Here, but not really, staring out the windshield at the silver of sunset shining through the floors of the parking garage.

You don’t even blink when he knocks, only when he tugs on the handle, and even then, barely register him.

The power locks click, and he pulls the door open, reaching to turn off the truck and take the keys. As his arm moves across your body you turn with the momentum, facing him, sitting still as a statue.

“What is it?” You shake your head and keep the air in your lungs trapped. Tucked up in your fortress behind too many walls to count, sitting in a tower, roped ladder pulled up behind you. No way for anyone to reach you, no way for anyone to get it.

You think you’re a match for him. You’re wrong.

“Daisy, let it out.” He steels the blade of his voice, wields it in a way he knows will cut, just enough. You rally, ready to refuse him again but he knows better, and when his hand finds your thigh, your lungs deflate in reaction. The contact burns through your scrubs, your skin, his, and your pupils dilate.

Good girl. There she is.

“That’s it, good.” He counts them in his mind, one inhale, one exhale, then two, each deeper than before. “You’re doing great.” A barely noticeable shudder shakes up your spine through your shoulders, and you straighten.

“Doctor Ri-”

“Simon.” He stays even, firm, and squeezes your thigh. “Outside of work, that’s who I am to you. Simon. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“I had a bad day, that’s all.” He takes his own deep breath, reigns in the long lash of impatience. It’s not the right time to try to pull you out of yourself.

Still, he has to push. A little bit.

“You had a bad day, so you’ve been sitting in the garage for a half an hour with your truck running, staring into space,” he takes a chance and skates his thumb along your cheekbone, your sharp inhale leaving a little clue. You’re not immune to him, and your resolve is wavering.

“I… yeah, that’s all.” He grits his teeth. He swallows snap confessions.

Let me in Daisy, I’m here. You can fall, baby, I’ll catch you. I’ll take care of you. I’ll fix it.

You’re not ready, but he’s impatient.

“You should get home.” And he should leave, but he can’t without one more thing. A souvenir, an indulgence. The memory of your face in his hands. He cups your cheek, and your lips part, eyes wide as you look up at him.

“Right. Yeah.” It stings to let you go.

“Goodnight Daisy.”

“Goodnight Simon.”

“Hey ladybug, we’re home.” You shuffle her free from the backseat, and as he moves to help, you evade him, turning away.

He sighs. And we’re back.

“Thanks… Simon.” Small steps bring you closer to the front porch, wary and ready to bolt. “I appreciate your help, we uh… we appreciate it. For everything I mean, I know we haven’t really talked-” Definitely not.

“We can talk about everything another time.” It’s dusty out here. The American west is different, is what Price told them all, how he cajoled them, it’s a different type of life. You take the good with the bad, but there's a lot of good.

He was skeptical, but that’s changed.

You’re guarded now, and tense. Internally, he sighs. “You should go in, get her in bed. Get some sleep yourself.”

“Yeah, right.” You stop at the front door and turn, eyes heavy with the weight of a million emotions, a million pounds of pressure. “Simon…” He cocks his head.

“What is it?”

“Just… thank you. For everything, for her.” Sweet girl.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything, Daisy.” He hides his own emotions, his own heart, and gives you a gentle nod. “Go on in, lock up. We’ll talk soon.”

“Okay… goodnight then.” He hates it ending it all on a goodnight again and again, but each one is another piece of the puzzle, another building block in a road you’ll walk.

“Goodnight Daisy.”

[konigsblog]

Loser König takes part in glory holes to satisfy his needs because he knows most women would be horrified to know they’re having sex with him. 💋

After all, the only thing they care about is satiating that warm, wet, and desperate hole, the need they crave. They’ll accept his big cock gratefully, ignorant to who it really belongs to. He’s not conventionally attractive; scars littering his pale freckled skin and strands of auburn hair covering his face, a pair of rectangular glasses crooked on his face as he pushes them back up messily while huffing out through breathlessness, more focused on the end goal of an orgasm to care about how the other men perceive him.

He adores glory holes - the soothing sensation of a woman’s smooth glossy lips against the tip of his weeping cock, leaving lipstick marks along his veiny boner and mixing with his load to leave a light pink sticky and foamy ring around the base of his dick, the sounds of gagging and retching coming from behind the door as he hits against the back of their throat.

It’s where he lost his virginity for the first time - I mean, he was approaching his mid thirties and still hadn’t received any action. Prostitutes usually bailed on him due to his threatening and intimidating nature. He was weird - he came off unsettling and left them uneasy.

Loser König visits strip clubs more often than he’d like to admit - he’s even learnt your schedule. Some would consider it stalking.

Especially considering he waits outside after your work hours to walk you home safely, claiming he wants to make sure you’re safe from the gross men who’d follow you home. (Well, that may be what he’s doing.)

You’re by far his favourite stripper and it’s obvious your colleagues expressing their jealousy to you about how much extra tips you get. He pays no mind to the other women dressed in raunchy and revealing lingerie, their high heels clacking against the stage as they spin around. König was mesmerised by your soft curves and the slow and careful movements you’d make to hypnotise the sick losers watching you, your thighs curled around a metal pole, your eyes finding his in the sea of perverted men similar to himself. (He convinces himself that he’s different from these men.)

And you know König is willing to drop a couple hundreds at the sight of you; after all, you’re his weakness. That cute, silly face you have and that tight body leaves him feeling breathless at the sudden confinement in his trousers, trying not to come in his boxer briefs as you offer him a lap dance.

Your rear is practically in his face, you tease him cruelly. A sleazy grin plastered on your face and your eyes lighting up when he grabs your hand, pushing two hundred euro note into your smaller palm, his hand dwarfing yours. His cheeks are flushed and he’s undeniably flustered and erect. He can’t hide it.

You let him touch you for his generosity, his calloused fingers massaging your rear, his eyes wide with thrill and exhilaration.

Fuck, he might have to keep you for himself.

[my-castles-crumbling]

attack - jegulus - black brothers - background wolfstar - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 302 - Anon request for reg realizing that James isn’t better off without him

“He walks around like he’s been attacked, you know.”

Regulus, who’d been sitting at a hidden table in the back of the library, looked up, startled. “What’re you doing here, Sirius?” he asked hollowly. 

“James,” Sirius continued softly, as if Regulus hadn’t asked. He sat down at the table opposite his brother. “He’s…he’s wrecked, Reggie.”

“I highly doubt that,” the Slytherin scoffed. “Every time I see him, he looks just fine.”

“He’s good at faking. Always has been, if it’s for someone else’s benefit.” Sirius murmured. “But when you’re not around? He’s devastated. He’s like a fucking ghost of himself, Reg. Merlin, this morning he tried to laugh and it came out all twisted and–and wrong.”

Regulus’s heart clenched at that. At the thought of James Potter’s laugh being anything else but music. But he stayed strong. “He’ll get over it. He’s better off,” he insisted, refusing to look at his brother.

The Gryffindor tutted. “I don’t think so. At first, I would’ve agreed. But…something about you two…Reg, he won’t even fly anymore.”

This got Regulus’s attention. He looked up and met his brother’s eyes. 

“He says it reminds him of you. The feeling of it,” Sirius shrugged. “I think you make him happy. And he makes you happy, too.”

Regulus bit his quivering lip, his heart clenching. Gods, how he wanted. “I don’t know if I can be what he…what he deserves,” he whispered, one traitorous tear dripping down his cheek.

The older boy gave him a half-smile. “Don’t you think I feel the same way about Remus? You’re what he wants, Reg. Plus. Maybe..maybe we deserve them, you know?”

He sat, digesting that for a long time, before he stood, determination flooding his veins. “Where is he?”

[sevsevteen]

The dorm lights were dim when you got home, your body buzzing with nervous energy. You barely had time to drop your bag before you heard footsteps approaching - firm, purposeful.

“Hey,” Seungcheol’s voice called from the hallway.

You turned, expecting a casual greeting. What you didn’t expect was the crease between his brows, the tension simmering just behind his eyes.

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

You followed him to the living room, confused, where the weight of the conversation hit before it even began.

“They sent me the finalized schedule for next month’s shows.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. “I got the offer for Last Night’s Lounge! I was going to tell the managers yes tomorrow.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tensed. “You’re not going.”

The air dropped.

“What?”

“I said you’re not going,” he repeated, more carefully this time, like he was trying to stay calm. “You’re declining that show.”

Your brows furrowed. “Why would I decline? It’s a huge channel - millions of viewers. They don’t just hand out solo variety slots to me on the norm.”

He didn’t flinch. “That’s not the point.”

“No, it is the point.” Your voice rose, disbelief cracking through. “Cheol, I barely get solo offers. Everyone else gets their time– Hoshi on talk shows, Seungkwan in variety. Even Hao’s been invited to do dance panels. I finally get a shot to show me, and you’re just– what? Pulling the plug?”

Seungcheol folded his arms, lips pressed tightly together. “You don’t know how that show works. The hosts, the editing - it’s notorious. They don’t respect idols, especially not female idols. It’s all innuendos and forced reactions. I’m not letting them put you in that kind of position.”

“So what? I can handle it myself.” You shot back, hurt turning sharp.

“It’s not about whether you can handle it.”

“Then what is it about?”

His eyes met yours. Unmoving. Solid. Heavy.

“I know them,” he said, quiet but resolute. “I’ve seen the way they talk. I’ve seen what they’ve done. I’m not risking you being another clip that goes viral for the wrong reason.”

He hesitated for a moment. “I’m not risking you being made uncomfortable for the sake of views.”

Silence stretched between you.

You knew he was right.

You’ve seen the videos, the clips, the articles. But it wasn’t the show that angered you, it was him stripping your right to choose.

You wanted to argue. You wanted to scream that he didn’t get to be both your groupmate and your gatekeeper.

But then he said the one thing that shattered everything:

“Either you decline it, or I will do it for you.”

Your heart dropped.

“You…what?”

His voice didn’t waver. “I will ask the company to decline it if you don’t. Leader’s discretion.”

Your world froze.

“You–” Your throat closed up. “You’re going to overrule me?”

“It’s for your safety.”

“No, Cheol. It’s control.” Your voice cracked with disbelief, with betrayal. “Do you even trust me?”

He took a step forward. “It’s not about trust. Please. It’s about protecting what matters to me.”

But all you heard was: “I’m not going to even let you choose.”

Your fists clenched, eyes burning with something between fury and heartbreak. You didn’t have a voice left to fight him with - not when the decision was already made.

You turned on your heel.

And as you walked away, the words slipped out - too quiet for the fight, but too loud to take back.

“I needed you to believe in me. Not speak over me.”

Seungcheol stood alone in the dim living room, the silence louder than any shout.

He didn’t chase after you.

Because maybe this time, he knew he’d gone too far.

And you–

You’d just learned what it felt like to be silenced by someone you trusted most.

.

It had been a tense few days.

You barely spoke a word to Seungcheol. Not at dinner. Not in the van. Not during schedules.

And today - during practice - was no exception.

The studio was filled with the usual sounds: stomping sneakers, a bass-heavy beat, and the echo of synchronized breaths. The members were preparing for an intense stage, and everyone was trying to stay focused. Or, at least, pretend they could.

“Hey, tighten the angle of your turn at beat eight,” Seungcheol called from the mirrors. “You’re opening too wide.”

You didn’t even blink in his direction. “Noted,” you said, voice clipped with a formal tone.

He paused. “What?”

You turned toward him slowly, then gave a small, sharp smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I wasn’t allowed to make my own decisions.”

The room froze.

Jeonghan looked up mid-sip from his water bottle. Jihoon’s hand stilled over the computer mouse. Even Hoshi, usually the one to smooth over awkward moments, was blinking slowly like he wasn’t sure if he heard you right.

Seungcheol straightened. “Yah.” His tone was warning. Leader-like.

But you were already stepping forward, jaw tight, that false smile still plastered across your face. “No, really, do you want to run the whole thing yourself? I mean, you do such a great job of deciding what’s best for all of us.”

“That’s enough.”

“Why? You don’t like it when someone makes decisions for you without asking?” You shot back.

The air shifted.

Everyone felt it - the snap. The rip of fabric tension pulled too tight for too long.

“Are you still upset about the show?” Seungcheol asked, jaw clenched now. “I told you why I–”

“You silenced me.” Your voice cracked, loud now. You didn’t care who heard. “You didn’t even ask me. You didn’t trust me to handle it. You pulled rank because you thought you knew best.”

“And I do know best!” he yelled back, louder than anyone expected. His voice boomed across the walls. “I’ve seen what happens on those sets. And I wasn’t going to let them chew you up and spit you out just because you wanted a little more attention—”

You flinched, jaw dropping.

Seungcheol froze. The moment the words left his mouth, he knew.

Your eyes darkened. “A little more attention?”

The boys were statues now. Even those who usually had a word for everything, were stunned into silence.

“I trained with you since I was a kid, Cheol. I gave up my family for this. I gave up myself for this. And one of the few times I ask for something for me, you make it sound like I’m desperate for validation?”

You shook your head, biting down the lump in your throat as you moved closer to him.

“You keep saying you’re protecting me,” you said, voice low, trembling. “But it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like you just don’t believe in me.”

With each word, your finger pressed gently against his chest - not to hurt, but to make him feel it.

He blinked, startled by the contact.

“Hey—” Jeonghan reached out instinctively, but you slipped past his hand, already turning to walk away.

Wonwoo made a move, but Hoshi held him back.

Your footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Then the slam of the practice room door.

No one spoke.

Not for a long time.

Seungcheol still stood in the center of the room. Breathing heavy. A hand on his waist. The other curled in a fist.

“I didn’t mean that,” he said softly, to no one in particular. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

But the silence answered for you.

--

a/n were you expecting a happy ending...

[rosefigs]

𝑊ℎ𝑜 𝐴𝑚 𝐼 𝐼𝑛 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝐹𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑦?

18+ CONTENT

This spread peels back the layers of erotic projection, revealing not only what he wants, but what he sees when he looks at you in secret. You become the mirror, the muse, the poison.

This reading explores:

The fantasy gaze he has of you

The hidden kink underneath his silence

The scene where the fantasy plays out

The power dynamic that fuels the lust

The mirror you unknowingly hold up to him

💋 𝑃𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑂𝑛𝑒

♥︎ The Fantasy Gaze - 6 of Swords

You are his soft getaway. He sees you as the one he escapes with or escapes into. You’re the woman he meets in motion, maybe on a trip, maybe in the space between grief and rebirth. He sees you standing in the middle of an empty train platform, mascara smudged, quiet, but with lips that say “I won’t ask for it, but I want it rough.” You don’t beg, you don’t brag - you suck him dry and say nothing. That’s what makes his cock throb. He jacks off to the idea of you not answering his texts. He wants to take you somewhere far away and never bring you back. His runaway slut. Quiet, floating, unavailable but deeply magnetic.

♥︎ The Hidden Kink - The Empress

He wants to breed you. Not just fuck you but impregnate you with his lust, his power, his abundance. The kink is devotional eroticism: The softness of your stomach, the curve of your hips, your nipples sore from how hard he’s sucked them. You become his fertile altar. He wants to nurture and consume at once. He wants to come inside you without asking. He wants to eat your pussy while whispering, “You’re going to take all of me, aren’t you?” worshipping you as he fucks you raw.

♥︎ The Scene - Queen of Pentacles

The setting is lush, domestic, clothed in luxury. A sensual room. You wear silk, pearls, something soft. The light is golden. You’re lounging on a leather chair, licking honey off your fingers. You have pearl earrings on, no panties under your dress. You light a cigarette just to see if he’ll slap it out of your hand. You pour wine down your tits and dare him to drink it. You masturbate in front of the fireplace, just to show him you don’t need his hands. He watches you in stillness. You don’t need him, and that’s part of the arousal.

♥︎ The Power Dynamic - 8 of Cups

You walk away. Even if he gets the fantasy, it ends with you leaving. That’s the erotic wound: he never quite holds onto you. He keeps trying to hold the moment, and it slips through his hands like water. After he gives you everything, touches your pussy like it belongs to him, begs to taste you again - you leave. That’s what makes him hard. You’re the one that got fucked and vanished. The ghost of a girl who made him spill every drop and never gave him a thank you. He stays haunted.

♥︎ The Forbidden Mirror - Page of Swords

You reflect his obsession with watching women he can’t touch. You trigger his voyeur. He wants to watch you: read your texts, hear your thoughts, study your body language obsessively. He sees you as a bratty aloof minx, slightly off-limits, and always thinking more than you say. He’s aroused by your curiosity, a mind he loves and a body he dreams of fucking. You know you’re in his mind when he jacks off.

♥️ Erotic Translation

He fantasizes about escaping with you to a beautiful, lush secret world where he can possess and care for you. But the core kink is in the emotional distance: he worships you while knowing you’ll leave. You’re the one who makes him feel everything...then disappears. He dreams of fucking you full like a goddess, feeding you, owning your body. But it’s all control play. Because in the end? You leave him undone. Pretty and cruel.

🥂 𝑃𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑇𝑤𝑜

♥︎ The Fantasy Gaze - 10 of Wands

You are the burden he craves. He sees you as too much but in the hottest way. Erotic overwhelm. You come with complications, intensity, maybe baggage. He loves it when you say, "I hate you" as you cum all over him. You are weight and heat and pressure. You’re the girl who won’t shut up, won’t come easy, won’t make it cute. You cry during sex, you beg without meaning to, you ask him if he loves you while he’s still inside you. He loves every moment of it.

♥︎ The Hidden Kink - Ace of Pentacles

He wants to fill you. This is penetrative in the most literal and symbolic sense. The kink is insertion with meaning: a slow, grounded claiming. Not wild, but dense. He calls you “good girl” while he fills you up, thumb in your mouth. Breeding kink mixed with possessive lust. He wants to build something physical with you: sweat, skin, structure. Pregnancy, breeding, or body obsession. He fantasizes about slow, punishing strokes, grinding into you with no lube, one hand on your throat and the other on your waist like he’s digging himself deeper every time you whimper.

♥︎ The Scene - Knight of Swords

Urgency. Corridor sex. Verbal aggression. It’s brutal. Fast. A hallway. A kitchen counter. The mood is fast, sharp, and impatient. Panties pushed aside, leg up. The setting may involve danger or being caught. Words are exchanged - maybe angry, maybe teasing. He throws you against the wall because he can’t not. This is don’t stop / fuck me until I cry / ruin my mascara and call me yours sex. You’re yelling at him while he’s balls-deep in you. “Shut the fuck up,” he says, but keeps going.

♥︎ The Power Dynamic - The World

He gets to fuck you like a prize, but you make him earn it. You represent completion. He wants to dominate you to feel whole. He wants to fuck you until he earns your surrender, you go limp in his arms and whisper, “Fine. You win.” while he continues thrusting. The power dynamic is that he needs your orgasm as his reward. You hold the key to his control, and he’ll do anything to earn or own it. He wants to fuck you until you surrender like a queen who finally drops her crown. You're at the center of his universe.

♥︎ The Forbidden Mirror - 9 of Wands

You trigger his battle scars. You mirror his exhaustion, his wounds, his past betrayals. He sees your guarded strength and wants to fuck it open. You make him feel like he’s in a fight but it's one that turns him on. He wants to break through your walls, not with kindness, but with consistent, brutal lustful thrusts. Every orgasm is a battle won. Every time you moan his name, he believes he's healed a piece of himself and giving you therapy via his dick.

♥️ Erotic Translation

You’re his erotic war. You are the one he shouldn’t keep fucking, but he keeps showing up anyway. You drain him. You make him beg. The fantasy is brutal: nails, noise, pounding, spit, and the metallic taste of unresolved trauma. He wants to fuck you like a mission: fast, brutal, needing to prove something. But underneath is devotion: he wants to last, to build, to claim.

🖤 𝑃𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑇ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒

♥︎ The Fantasy Gaze - The Devil

You are the forbidden obsession. The woman who fucks him like she owns his soul. He sees you as the seductress he shouldn’t want but can’t stop thinking about. You are the addiction, the craving, the loss of self. You represent his erotic undoing. You ruin him, and he loves it. He dreams of you riding his cock and whispering, “You’ll never fuck anyone else the same again.” You’re the type of girl he should block but instead he sends you money just to see you suck a lollipop on cam.

♥︎ The Hidden Kink - King of Cups

Emotional dominance. He wants to be in control emotionally while you unravel. The kink is empathy weaponized. He wants emotional control while you drown in him. He holds your throat while he tells you how much he loves you and he fucks you through tears. He makes you beg not by force, but by saying, “I thought you were stronger than this.” He says “you’re mine” while choking you. He gets off on knowing you want more. He wants you sobbing on his cock, not knowing if you’re wet from lust or overwhelming emotional surrender.

♥︎ The Scene - 7 of Cups

Surreal, dreamlike, possibly drunk or high. Fucking not in one place - but everywhere. It’s a fantasy that doesn’t stay grounded. You’re in a haze: a club, a hotel room, a restaurant bathroom. The setting may not even be real. He imagines multiple versions of you. One is a succubus striptease. One of you in a collar. One of you sucking dick under strobe lights. One of you between two men while he watches. There are no limits, no morals, no endings. Every version of you fucks him differently and he wants all of you.

♥︎ The Power Dynamic - Page of Swords

You act innocent as he slowly strips you. He wants to dominate you, but you keep asking dangerous questions. There’s tension, every word you say makes his dick twitch more. You may act submissive, but you’re reading him like a book. The control he thinks he has? You might be faking it. "Your pussy can't lie to me, baby." he loves when you act dumb and innocent but he has proof that you are anything but. So much dirty talking, calling each other out.

♥︎ The Forbidden Mirror - Knight of Pentacles

You are a steady obsession. He sees his own obsessive loyalty in you. His fixation. His routine. He’s aroused by how steady you are even in chaos. You take your time stripping, sucking his dick, riding him and it drives him mad. You last longer than he does. Edging each other. Slow, rhythmic strokes. Him calling you all kinds of name, praising you for being good and loyal to him.

♥️ Erotic Translation

You are the seduction he can’t shake. You fuck his mind before you ever ride his body. He wants to own you, emotionally dominate you, fuck you slowly. But you’re smarter, slower, and possibly darker than he realized. You’re his obsession, and his reflection. His forbidden priestess. He doesn’t want to fuck you. He wants to drown in you. To hand over his soul and beg you to destroy it.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Do you still miss him?

That was what the text red from your ex-bestfriend. She had been there for you the countless nights of you sobbing against her chest. She had been there the night you had finally had the guts to block him, and you ate an entire carton of ice cream afterwards due to the stress. She was present during the entire toxic relationship founded upon the very antithesis of codependency.

The day you found out she had been sleeping with him throughout your entire relationship was the day you stopped trusting insecure girls who talked bad about everyone behind their back. They only ever sought out validation and would destroy relationships just to get it.

A picture was attached to the message. There she was, cuddled in next to your ex-boyfriend in his bed. You can tell due to his color of sheets and pillow cases. He probably never even changed them. Gross. If this picture had been sent six months ago, you would have been emotionally destroyed, but you were stronger now. Healed. Emotionally satiated in your life.

You look over to your current… Well, it was a situationship, but it had been the most fulfilling relationship you had ever been in.

“Care to help me make a couple of people jealous? They’re your students, but it’s fine if not.”

“Public displays of affection? Are we finally at that level in your eyes?” he asked with a cheeky grin, already walking towards you. That’s right. You had been the one to keep things between you and him under wraps, not giving it a label for at least a couple more months. After all, he was a professor at the university you went to.

You rolled your eyes at his cheeky comment, and you positioned him in front of a mirror before bending over slightly in front of him. Your ass delicately rubbed against his clothed dick.

“You may wanna hurry up and take the picture before I pop a boner and my students know just how big I am,” he jokingly laughed, but he was dead serious about the boner part. You had the ability to make him get hard quickly like he was a teenager again.

You giggled and snapped the photo, sending it back to your friend.

No, you can have him xx btw your professor wants you to know your paper is due by tonight

You sent the picture and text to her, and you let out a breath, releasing the tension in your shoulders. It was finally like you could let that piece of you go now. While your break up was hard, losing your best friend was even harder, but they deserved each other with how vile they both were.

Large pale hands reached over and snatched the phone from your hands, and you looked up to see cerulean blue eyes staring back down at you. Satoru Gojo was the eye candy of the university. A physics professor who was every bit of nerdy as he was charming and charismatic.

“You know how to really make them jealous, right?” he asked, giving you that devilish grin that made you feel weak in the knees.

You shook your head in response, not trusting your voice to not sound flustered. Satoru just had that effect on you even after you two had been seeing each other for a bit now. “Make it official with me.”

Just something small I thought of after seeing that tiktok trend floating around <3

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @airandyeah

[kxsagi]

REQUEST❤️👅🗣🗣🗣

rin , chigiri, nagi, kaiser and whoever you like reacting to you cheering for the oposite team (on purpose) to see their reaction

ly bye

“𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐬”

a/n: i love this request, but i love you more ❤️

ft. itoshi rin, chigiri hyoma, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, isagi yoichi, mikage reo, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, ness alexis

itoshi rin

you chose violence. and not just any violence, you chose cheering for his brother. 

you’re on the sidelines, bored, wearing a mini dress one size smaller, and rin’s already looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. the game starts, he’s doing well, the team’s in sync, then you scream: “LET’S GO SAE!! EAT HIM ALIVE!!” 

… rin stops moving. 

not slows down. not glances over. he stops entirely. like someone unplugged his whole existence. 

he slowly turns his head. squints. sees you with your hands cupped around your mouth like a deranged cheerleader. and then? 

he just blinks. stares for four seconds longer than humanly acceptable. turns away. continues playing. doesn't say a single word. 

but you’re not safe. because after the game, he walks right past you like you don’t exist. no nod. no eye contact. nothing. 

you try calling his name. he keeps walking. you follow him, arms crossed, trying to explain it was a joke. “you made your choice.” “rin, come on–” “hope he drives you home, too.” 

it takes three days, two cat videos, and a mini handwritten apology note to get him to look at you again. and even then? “next time you wanna cheer for someone else, don’t bother showing up.” 

you now have opponent cheering PTSD. 

chigiri hyoma

you didn’t even yell anything that bad. all you said was: “okay, but that guy’s pretty fast, too!!” 

and he turned to you with the most visibly betrayed expression you’ve ever seen in your life. 

like you’d just told him speed was overrated. or that you secretly liked men with buzzcuts. 

he’s genuinely stunned. eyebrows furrowed. lips slightly parted. gives you that look. you know the one. the "who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend" look. 

and then he gets hit by the same player you complimented. hard. falls to the ground. grimaces. turns his head toward you and whispers, barely audible: “… guess he’s fast and violent.” 

after the match, he limps over, dragging one foot behind him dramatically. 

“he was your favorite, right? should’ve told him to be gentler with your boyfriend…” 

you call him out for being a baby and he just stares like “sorry i almost died and my girlfriend was busy fanning herself over his legs.” 

and now he’s milking it. fake wincing every time he walks. sighing loudly. “ugh, my injury.” 

you ask if he wants water and he’s like “no, just your loyalty back.” 

nagi seishiro

you cheer for the other team once and he doesn’t react. 

you do it again, louder, and he finally turns his head. 

expressionless. dead-eyed. his head tilts slightly. like he’s buffering. 

you yell again: “YESS!! HE STOLE THE BALL FROM NAGI!!!” and you swear, for a second, you saw a flicker of effort in his eyes. not rage. not sadness. just… mild inconvenience. 

after the game, he trudges over. yawns. scratches his head. “you bored or something?” 

you shrug innocently. he squints. “next time, i’ll just stay home with you. we can both cheer for nobody.” 

but the next match, he gets his revenge. not by confronting you. not by arguing. no, he sits right in front of you during warm-ups. you can’t see anything. just the back of his head and shoulders. 

“sei, move–” “you can cheer for them. but you’re not looking at them.” 

starts holding up towels. drinks. an entire duffle bag. becomes your personal line-of-sight bodyguard. 

and when he scores? he jogs past you without even acknowledging your existence. cold. silent. disrespectful. “you can clap. but it won’t make a difference now.” 

why is he so scary when he’s passive-aggressive??? 

kaiser michael

ohhh. you wanna be bold. 

you wore the opposite team’s colors. the audacity. 

he sees you in the stands, waving a flag. literally waving a flag. and he immediately knows you’re doing it to piss him off. 

“THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT! LET’S GO NUMBER TENNNNNN!!!” 

he stops mid-dribble, eyes burning holes into you from 50 yards away. 

and when he scores? he doesn’t celebrate with his team. he jogs directly over to you, smirks, and mouths: “scoreboard.” 

you clap for the other team again. louder this time. so what does he do? starts sabotaging the match. 

intentionally misses shots. talks trash to his own teammates. almost lets the other team catch up. 

coach is losing his mind. his teammates are yelling. and kaiser? just throws you a wink and goes, “they deserve a fighting chance, right, schatz?” 

after the match, he walks over and flicks your forehead. “next time, wear that again and i’ll personally disown you.” “you can’t disown me we’re not related.” “then i’ll marry you. and disown you.” 

you’ve accidentally awakened evil romcom kaiser. 

isagi yoichi

the first time he hears you scream for the other team, he just laughs nervously. “hah… that was a joke, right?” 

then it happens again. and again. 

he turns toward you, all smile gone, now blinking like a confused toddler. even mouths “why?” at you from across the field. 

still tries to impress you anyway. literally starts talking to himself. “okay yoichi. you can win her back. just gotta score twice. maybe three times.” “isagi who are you talking to.” “MY CONFIDENCE.” 

after the game, he sits down beside you on the bench, sweaty and quiet, staring at the ground. “… do you really like them better?” 

you burst out laughing and he pouts like a kicked puppy. “i’m being serious :(” 

cue you pulling him into your lap and explaining it was all a joke and he’s like “oh okay. cool cool cool. i wasn’t crying or anything.” 

mikage reo

the moment your cheer slips out – “GO NAGI!! SHOW HIM WHAT A REAL STAR LOOKS LIKE!!” – reo nearly trips mid-run. 

he pauses. spins around. points at you like he’s accusing you in court. “WHAT WAS THAT???” 

storms up to you like you just cancelled his credit card. “you’re cheering for him?? MY ex-teammate? my best friend?? the guy who ditched me for a couch nap??” 

he doesn’t even finish the game properly. he’s too busy sprinting to wherever nagi is and shoulder-checking him with pure rage. “what was that for?” “DON’T ACT INNOCENT YOU THIGH-LOVING TRAITOR.” 

you tell him it was just a joke and he deadass throws his head back like he’s in a telenovela. “a joke?! so our whole relationship is a joke now!! should i get matching shirts with him, too?? should we go on a honeymoon??” 

and now he’s sulking dramatically with a towel over his head like a teenage drama queen. 

he won’t forgive you until you draw hearts on his arms with eyeliner and tell him he’s your #1. “that’s more like it 🫶” 

itoshi sae

you didn’t even say it loud. you just went: “huh. that midfielder’s got really good vision.” 

he turned so fast you thought he caught a cramp in his neck. raises one single judgmental eyebrow. squints. looks at you like you just asked him what sport they were playing. 

“are you lost?” you tell him no, you’re just appreciating the other team’s talent and suddenly he goes stone cold. “interesting. then you should date him.” 

now you’ve activated passive-aggressive sae mode. he stops passing to his own teammates. scores a goal with zero celebration. won’t even look at you post-game. sits down, drinks his water like it’s got poison in it. 

“why are you still here?” “sae i was just messing–” “you should go congratulate your new man. maybe you’ll enjoy his ‘vision’ in HD.” 

you try to nudge his leg. he moves it. you try to sit on his lap. he leans away. 

he doesn’t forgive you until you publicly say he’s the hottest player on earth and beg him for mercy. “i’ll allow it. once.” 

shidou ryusei

he thinks it’s hot. no like actually. he hears you scream for the other team and it just fuels him. 

you’re over there like “YEAH SMASH HIM INTO THE GROUND!!” and he’s giggling like a maniac while cracking his knuckles. 

“oh you want blood? say less, babe.” 

he doesn’t get mad. he gets dangerous. turns the entire field into a WWE ring. starts slide-tackling for no reason. rips his jersey off after scoring and throws it at you. “THIS IS WHAT PEAK MALE PERFORMANCE LOOKS LIKE!!!” 

you’re wheezing and begging him to chill, but he keeps going. and then? he scores again, runs past the other team’s bench and yells: “YOUR NUMBER TEN SUCKS AND MY GIRL’S MINE AGAIN!!!” 

after the game he lifts you like a sack of flour, spins you around, and grins like a gremlin. 

“didn’t know you liked seeing me unhinged. we should do this more often.” 

you're never teasing him again. you're traumatized. 

ness alexis

you cheer for the opposite team once. he pretends he didn’t hear it. 

you cheer twice? he whips his head around, brown hair bobbing, looking genuinely offended. “baby… are you feeling okay?” “i’m just appreciating their striker.” “you need glasses.” 

he runs over mid-game like a dramatic victorian ghost. “is it because i didn’t do my eyeliner today? i knew i should’ve done it. i look hideous. you hate me.” 

you try to tell him you’re just joking and he clutches his chest like you stabbed him. “so now i’m a joke to you? wow. wow.” 

pouts for the rest of the game. every time he dribbles past someone, he glances back at you like “was that good enough?” 

and if you don’t clap immediately, he throws his hands up in disbelief. 

after the match, he plops down beside you and lays on your lap like a medieval damsel. “tell me i’m pretty. tell me i’m your favorite. tell me they all suck.” 

you do. you also promise to never look at another man on a soccer field again. “okay. forgiven ❤️‍🩹"

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[tojisteddy]

Ok but hear me out Simon and reader meeting on love island

a/n: lord knows I love love island

Okay but hear me out: Simon entered the villa as a bombshell and everyone is coupled up. But like, hes kinda too stand off-ish and awkward so none of the girls really like him :(.

Everyone but you, of course.

He takes the longest to pull you for a chat, but it’s not because you’re his last resort! you’re his dream girl in every way imaginable so he has to build up the courage to come talk to you! From your curves, the stretch marks he notices while your in his favorite bikini of yours (black), Sun dancing off your pretty skin, the way you move your curls off your shoulder— he’s head over shoes.

You’re more than casual at first, just letting him talk so you can go back to your partner, but you’re more than interested that he cooks for his younger siblings. How he genuinely likes walks in the parks, and playing with his dogs. It’s almost two sweet on your heart, you have to ask him what kind of food he likes to cook the best and your favorite parks to walk in.

Everyone thinks it’s just casual conversation. Simon picks another girl at first but after two more chats, hes still hung up on you. Always trying to get you to do something around the villa. Up until it’s recouple night where the girls choose. Everyone thinks your gonna go for James since you’ve still been talking to him but you’re standing around the pit, hands behind you back, heart pumping.

“This guy has caused a lot of chaos since being here, but it turns out, he’s just a sweet guy, and he opens up beautifully like a flower with time. He’s been so kind to me, fed me the best breakfast since I’ve been her, blushes so cutely— I can’t help but want to give him a chance.”

The camera cuts to James who is smiling at the ground, Simon on the other hand is neutral faced, then back to you, gorgeous as ever in a black dress.

“The guy I choose is…. Simon.”

There are gasps and wide eyes as Simon comes to your side, ears and neck red as ever when he kisses your cheek. You try your best not to contain your smile but can’t.

Everyone, even the viewers think you two are just doing it for the game. The girls try to get you to take it back before next recoupling, even talking behind your back. The guys get at Simon for “playing someone’s girl” but he ignores them. Calls them “fuckin children.” and “fucks the point ‘f bein a bomb shell if I don’t fuck a little thing up. And it’s gotta be little if I can fuck it up. He obviously didn’t fancy ‘er enough.”

But it’s the way Simon talks to you in the confessional that gets the UK to love the both of you.

“She’s a sweet girl, and she’s always encouragin’ me t’ go ‘nd talk more and that’s so not like me *laughs* but i-it feels right. Bein with her, talkin to her, kissing her. Every time I see ‘er I swear, I turn a shit color ‘f red. I hope that I’m makin her feel like I do too. We talk about everything together. I really do like her more than anythin.” And he does infact turn bright red which makes the girls at home squeal.

And the producer probably asks if he’d want to try exploring other people, “Fuck no, the other lads here- bloody hell— just stay ten feet. Me ‘nd that one are going to the ends of the earth.”

Edits start flying on every social media app, clips of you using the barley used pool, racing in the villa, Simon properly correcting your workout form, how Simon leans on you every time you’re together or the simple fact that the tattooed man can’t keep his eye off you when you’ve been away for too long.

Do you two win?

No, 2nd or 3rd place.

But you two are still the fan favorites, Simon is more reserved when it comes to your relationship and doesn’t usually post on social media— but he posts you, a few of your vacation spots, pictures of you sleeping on the couch. And you may do a live with Simon shyly sitting right next to you that fans snort up like coke. You two start a YouTube channel and it blows up but it’s more so you two cooking together, teaching each other new things and trying new things. Even have a few celebrity guests.

It’s cute, you’re the last couple from your season still standing lol. Most successful too.

a/n: I know @cameronsbabydoll had a love island post about Simon a while back! Definitely a inspo but I did my own thing. Thanks for the suggestion!!

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Rent-A-Boyfriend! (Sukuna x F!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Fake BF!Ryomen Sukuna x Single!Fem!Reader (Fake Relationship/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: At your sister's wedding, you decide to rent a temporary boyfriend for the evening to avoid the stares and annoying questions about why you're still single a year after your break up. Your fake BF isn't the nicest in the world, but he's hot and knows how to play pretend...though it isn't easy to do so with a guy you despise. You're more than prepared to never see this fool again after the wedding, but when you run into your ex and emotions run high, your fake BF takes it upon himself to make due on his highly-rated "skills" in his occupation.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); No Curse AU; Fake Relationship Trope; Fake Wedding Date Trope; Asshole!Sukuna; Some Angst & Heartbreak; Alcohol Consumption; Drunk Sex; Enemies to Lovers; Mutual Oral (Giving & Receiving); Hotel Sex; Mating Press; Doggystyle; Degradation + Praise; Name-Calling; MDom!Sukuna x Fsub!Reader; Reader Cums 2x; Sloppy Kissing; Sukuna Has Tattoos & Piercings; Creampie

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: I need to write more Sukuna shit fr. This one was HOT. I hope y'all think so too! Art credits above go to aliyartss! Her work is TOO FUCKING GOOD!! 🤭 -Jazz

***********

"Sukuna, can you please stop picking your teeth?" you exasperatedly whisper.

The pink-haired hunk in his tailored and freshly-ironed suit gives you a glower that could damn well set fire to the pristine, white tablecloth table you sit at with him. "What?" he scoffs. "I had spinach in it. You want me to walk around with shit in my teeth?"

You huff to yourself, shooting a glance from left to right to ensure that no one is watching. Sukuna watches you, chuckling dryly. "What? Afraid you'll attract onlookers."

"No," you snap. "More like you will attract onlookers. Didn't they teach you manners at that fancy boyfriend training school you came from?"

Sukuna squints his ruby-red eyes at you, shoving a piece of shrimp in his mouth that he chews on a little too roughly. You snicker to yourself at your little joke, glad that you can keep up with him in the sassy little bitch department.

You once again look around, checking to see if your parents are watching from the dance floor or maybe a distant cousin is leering. Luckily, everyone is more concerned with your beautiful sister aka the bride and her dashing groom. You don't blame them; they make such a gorgeous couple.

Though the word is flung around too much for your liking, your sister is truly an entrepreneur. As the owner of her own spa and yoga studio, a fitness influencer on the side, and on a billboard for toothpaste, your sister is quite the looker and celebrity among your family and TikTok.

Of course she would end up generating attention from the opposite sex at a breakneck speed. But when she met her manly-man baseball player boyfriend (turned-fiancé-turned-husband) who attended her yoga class after obsessing over her TikToks, that was it for them. It was love at first sight.

You can see how much your new brother-in-law loves your sister. What with the something-thousand dollar summer wedding with its flowers imported from Brazil and wedding cake stacked high with layers of marbled vanilla and chocolate, you would think that he does!

Not to mention the sparkling diamond ring on your sister's finger (and the 24k engagement ring she got just six months before the wedding). You look at them now getting gushed over by your aunties, arms wrapped around each other. Your sister has never looked happier than with her man in her to-die-for white gown.

You feel joy for her...and also a pang of jealousy. You can't help it. Not that you want your sister's new husband; just their relationship. To see them so in love, to see them fit so well together, fills you with envy that you thought you long pushed away and got over.

Apparently not. Not when you're surrounded by couples and fresh off a breakup from a longterm relationship just a year before. Then your sister's engagement happened, so you had a lot to distract yourself with.

But you wouldn't dare to go back to those nights where you drank too much, smoked too much, and cried yourself to sleep in the empty apartment you once shared with your boyfriend...whom you were hoping would become your fiancé one day.

You thought that finally, your mother can stop trying to fix you up with the younger employees at her job.

Finally, your extended family can stop asking you about your relationship status at familial events and gatherings.

Finally, those looks of pity, sympathy, and humor over being single at your age and the black sheep of your family can stop.

No more lines like, "Oh, Y/N, you're so pretty! Why don't you have a boyfriend?" and "A woman as smart as you and you're still single?! There must be something wrong with you, girl!"

But no, that isn't what happened at all.

Hence why you immediately listened to that TikTok video you saw promoting the fairly new company "Rent-A-Boyfriend" and hired a temporary romantic partner for today's festivities.

He sits with you now, chugging down champagne and looking like he wants to be anywhere but here. At least he decided to match your silky, form-fitting dress with his suit and tie. You will admit that the man looks dapper in it.

He is also fine as fuck. Sukuna stands at six-foot something, big, broad, and beefy with spiked, pink hair that looks soft to the touch, pouty, pink lips embedded with a tantalizing lip ring, a thick neck coated in tattoos hidden behind his collar, hypnotizing, crystalline, red irises with a stare that could melt stone, and muscles you've often envisioned feeling up yourself.

Sukuna was rated a 5.0 on the Rent-A-Boyfriend website with a desired hourly fee that you could agree to due to your job's hefty pay. He has proven to be worth it with his dazzling smile, confidence, and ways of coming up with satisfactory answers on the fly when meeting your family.

Questions like: "How did you two meet?" "Where have you been hidin' at, son?" "What do you do for work?" "What are you intentions with my daughter, Sukuna?"

That was your mother asking during the last one. Before the reception and you were called to your duty as a bridesmaid, you walked into the beautiful gardens with Sukuna on your arm, matching smiles plastered on your faces. Your dad was surprisingly welcoming (albeit confused at seeing the random man on his daughter's arm).

But your mother? She was anything but. She wore that pinched expression when she is displeased or skeptical as she gave Sukuna a weak-handed handshake. You couldn't care less if she didn't approve. It was better than constantly being berated for being single.

"Just look at your sister!" she would exclaim. "She's married to an athlete! At this rate, honey, you'll be only be married to that job and that degree you've been chasing after for six years."

Yes, the degree that you had to put off before because your dad got diagnosed with an illness that left him gravelly ill for a year and your boyfriend at the time needed help launching his business. The degree that you put off to help the people you loved.

Sukuna, luckily, handled your mother well; always smiling and being as charming as humanly possible. You were impressed considering that the guy isn't anything close to charming. He is brash, aggressive, cocky, and so fucking annoying.

You wanted to rip your hair out when you met him for the first time at a little coffee shop near his tattoo parlor (he told your parents that he's a cyber security specialist at Amazon). He teased you about your sister. Joked about you being a romantic. Burped at the table. This is the guy who got a 5-star rating on his work website?

Yet he has perfectly incapsulated every little white lie you threaded together with him and every fact, interest, and dislike you told him over the month before the wedding in his conversations with the guests.

"I still can't believe you went for a suit," you chuckle. "I would've sworn you'd go for a leather jacket and biker boots." Sukuna gives you a hot glare as he swallows his shrimp. "Don't mock my skills or my occupation, woman. You know how many sad, single females hire me on a monthly basis?"

You cock your head to the side, eyeing him. “Females?" you parrot. He raises a hand in defense. “My bad; women. To be fair, those are the words of my trainer."

You gap at him, wondering if he’s serious. It’s no wonder his company is so big if it targets vulnerable women…but you suppose in all honesty, you are one. “First of all, I'm not sad," you scoff.

The pink-haired stud scoffingly laughs. “Oh, yeah, like those longin' looks you shot at your sissy and her hubby were just my imagination." He takes a gulp of the last of his champagne, grimacing at the glass. “They got anythin' stronger than this?" he grumbles.

"Drinking on the job?" you tut, sipping your own glass of Brüt to take the edge off. "How you got a five-star rating for your occupation is beyond me."

You would think it’s also because of the sexy ass thirst traps he posts on his profile on the site, in addition to an ovary-bursting photo of him and his baby brother Yuji.

Sukuna looks at you now, his gaze dipping into something that isn’t appropriate as his employer or for a wedding. It’s way too hot and way too suggestive. He leans in a bit, instinctively making you lean away from him despite his pouty lips curling into a smirk. “Wouldn't ya like to know, little one?" he replies.

Blushing, you wave him away as he cackles. It’s bad enough he’s so annoyingly fine. You love tattoos your piercings, and Sukuna is a walking aphrodisiac with his collection of them. “Stop calling me that!" you hiss. "I said no pet names outside of events!"

It is one of the many rules you outlined to him during your first meeting: no pet names, handholding, or PDA outside of events; no blowing up your phone for booty calls; no dates period. 'No sex' is on this list too, but Sukuna told you beforehand that he doesn't sleep with his silents.

Sukuna sucks his teeth, rolling his eyes. "It ain't a pet name; I was bein' facetious."

“Like you know so well," you scoff, drinking some water to ease your hammering heart and twitching pussy. How long has it been since you've actually gotten some dick? You know the answer (a year), but you refuse to utter it aloud. Maybe you're just overly sensitive to everything now due to the fact that you haven't been touched in so long.

"How you get so many women to hire you as their temporary boyfriend is beyond me," you utter, snarky and shady. But you know exactly why: it’s because he’s so goddamn FINE. That stare could make you instantly fold and you've admittedly imagined what he looks like without clothes on.

But when he opens his mouth, all of that flies south. “You act as if you're the prize here, girly," he snorts. "Single for a year and you need to hire a stranger for a wedding date. You're quite a catch."

You don’t miss the sarcastic bite in his tone or the way he smiles at you: so wickedly like he's the damn Omen. "Fuck you, Sukuna," you growl, gripping your champagne flute. You have to grip the edge of the table with your other hand to avoid tossing it in his face.

Sukuna just hums thoughtfully to himself, vibing to the music playing. “That comes with an extra fee, doll face." The molten look in his eyes before he winks at you is not lost on you. You huff, irritated (and annoyingly aroused), abruptly standing from your chair. "Stop that!" you snap.

But as you do, you nearly knock your sister and her plate of shrimp salad down. “Whoa, whoa, darling!" she giggles. "Easy on the dress. I'm scared enough to get dirt on it." You turn, giving your sis an apologetic smile as Sukuna snorts behind you. "Oh, I'm sorry, sis," you sigh. "There was a bee buzzin' around my head. Sukuna swatted it away though." It’s a shit lie, but she seems to buy it.

"Oh, what a gentleman." Your sister smiles jokingly at Sukuna who stands up to be by your side. "Just tryin' to do my job. My baby doesn't deserve to get stung in this outfit." He wraps a tight arm around you that's supposed to come off sweet and romantic, but it only makes you feel uncomfortable.

Mostly because you can feel the strength in his toned arm and have a sudden urge to stroke it up to feel the veins in it. You push the dirty thought away, disgusted with yourself.

"Just came over to tell you two that we'll be cutting the cake soon," your sister announces, "so you may wanna sit closer to the snack table."

"There's a bar over there, right?" Sukuna asks. When your sister nods, he abruptly snatches his glass and heads over. "I'll save us a spot, angel," he sweetly tells you before pressing a chaste kiss on your temple. Your skin screams from the act (and your senses sing from the scent of his cologne).

"Thank you, sweetie," you say as adoringly as you possibly can. He shoots you a fake smile as he walks off, your eyes trailing down to his firm butt in his slacks. Thank God you only have a few hours left with this man until you part ways. You don't know if you'll end up fighting the guy or fucking him.

"Oh, look at you," you coo to your sister, your hands gently trailing over her dress. "You look beautiful, sis. I'm so happy you found your one."

She smiles, shooting a glance at Sukuna at the bar. "And you've seemed to find yours too. After all that pain, you have someone to call your own too."

You smile back, ignoring the pang of guilt you feel at her sweet words. If only she knew that this whole thing was a sham and you only hired Sukuna to act as your date in fear of judgement.

"Not for long," comes a the criticizing voice from behind you. You and your sister turn to find your mother standing there in her wedding best with designer earrings and shoes, a pinched look on her face. "Mom!" you chirp, biting back your annoyance. "You finally got off the dance floor. You want some champagne?"

She ignores your question altogether, glaring at you. "I want to talk to you, Y/N," she pointedly says. "Come with me." You resist the urge to bolt. Does she know that this is fake? Could Sukuna have blabbed?

"M-Mom, maybe now isn't the right time to..." But your mother is walking off before your sister can finish, heading towards the outskirts of the gardens that lead out towards a golf course and gazebos dotting the clean, cut lawn.

Your sister gives you an apologetic look, squeezing your hand. "Call me if you need me," she whispers. You nod, fuming because of your mother's actions. Doing this now at your sister's big event is more than inappropriate.

Yet you drain the rest of your Brüte and trail after your mother. You catch Sukuna's eye at the bar and he gives you a confused scowl. You point at your mother and then make a motion of shooting yourself. The look on his face is nothing short of humored, but he also looks sorry for you.

You are too. If there is anyone who complains about you still being single, and every decision you make, it's your mother. She has always favored your sister more and it has seemed to grow since she found her baseball lover.

Under the rustling trees in the summer sun, you come face to face with that as your mother plants her hands firmly on her hips, fixing you with a star. "You don't like him, do you?" you sigh.

"There's nothing to like, Y/N," she primly replies. "The man is fake as fake can be! I can see through him like glass. Where did you even scoop him up from?"

"I told you how we met," you huff. "At a coffeeshop near his job. He mistook my latte as his." It's the story you and Sukuna cooked up, but it isn't entirely untrue. You did meet at a coffeeshop, albeit he ordered a black coffee while you got a sugary, iced drink that made him cringe.

"Oh, Y/N," she haughtily scoffs. "Do you think I was born just last week? I know that's a lie! You probably met him somewhere, got him in bed, and now-"

"Mom!" you angrily exclaim, flushing in the face. Mostly out of pure anger. Does she think so low of you that you would use a hookup for a wedding date?

"And now you're trying to build a relationship with him that isn't anything but what's between the sheets," she continues. "The same thing happened to-"

"I told you not to bring him up," you say, your voice low and irritated. "You know that still hurts, Mom."

She pauses, her jaw tense, her lipstick bright and red. "I'm just making a point, Y/N. You always pick the wrong men, the wrong job, everything! I worry so much about you!"

You almost laugh at her, all of your anger pouring out in this one millisecond. "Well, I don't feel that worry, Mom," you snap. "You worry about yourself and how you'll look as a mother. No one, not even Dad, has any problem with my job, school, or singleness but YOU."

Your mother blanches, shocked at your outburst. "You always make me feel like the odd one out. Like I'm the ugly duckling next to my sister. It's bad enough people asked me why I was still single after a year every second."

"Not every second," she mutters under her breath. You scoff to yourself, heat curling in your gut. "Oh, yeah, because you're one of 'em," you hiss.

Your mother puckers her lips like she ate something sour and looks away towards the rolling hills of the golf course. You know she knows that she was wrong. "I love you, Mom, but you need to trust me and stop meddling in my life. As my mother, I want your approval, but if I don't get it, I will still do everything I can to make myself proud of ME."

You are firm and true, but your voice still wavers. Out of fear and out of emotion; emotion that you can feel rising to the surface, threatening to push tears past your tear ducts. Quickly, you leave her and escape to the golf course in an effort to avoid blubbering in front of your mother. "Y/N!" she calls after you. "Y/N, come back!"

But you walk on in your heeled sandals, feeling the tears rising up and up like steam. You walk up among the jogging trails on the sidewalk above the gold course, going as far as your shoes will allow you. As you walk, you let one tear drip down your cheek and quickly wipe it away. Can't have your makeup getting fucked up.

But as your luck would have it, your entire outfit is in risk of being fucked up when a stranger suddenly bumps you head on, knocking you clean off your feet. "Oh!" you exclaim, falling backwards onto your ass.

"Oh, shit, I'm so sorry!" they shout. "Jeez, I didn't ruin your dress, did I?" He quickly reaches out to help you up, still blubbering apologies, but you are completely silent.

Because when you look up and see the sun glinting in the same long hair you used to run your fingers through, the same lean body you used to touch, and the blue Nike shorts he's wearing, you realize who this man is. Your ex.

It's been a year, but he still looks the exact same (though he is growing a beard and his hair is longer). He blinks at you, familiarity registering across his handsome face. "Y/N," he says in shock. "Wow, it's been so long. How are you doing?"

He honestly sounds happy to see you. Realizing your hand is still in his, you quickly release him and tuck your hands behind your back. "I-I'm at a wedding," you stammer. "For my sister. Good. You?"

You cringe at the word salad. It happens when you get nervous. "Oh, your sister got married!" he happily chirps. "Tell her I said congratulations! I'm just here for a jog."

Before you can say anything more or make a fool out of yourself, you are interrupted by the sound of pounding footsteps. "Baby, wait!" someone hollers from behind him. "You said you weren't gonna go that fast!" A girl, tall and slender with legs to die for, abs protruding from under her pink shorts, and glossy hair in a ponytail.

She pauses behind your ex and stares at you, the sweat glistening like diamonds on her pretty skin. "Oh, hi!" she chirps. "Have we met before?"

Your ex looks between her and you, obviously stuck. "No," you weakly reply, fighting the urge to flee. "Um...I'm an old friend of his." Your ex pulls the mystery girl close, making your heart clench. "Baby, this is my ex, Y/N. Y/N, this is my girlfriend."

You knew that already, but hearing it is like a stab in the heart over and over again. His girlfriend. Which means he moved on while you're still standing in the same place. "Oh, you're the one in school!" the girlfriend exclaims. "I've heard so much about you from my sweetie here!"

She offers her slender hand and pretty pink nails for a shake. You return it, albeit shaken. "Good things, I hope," you say, offering a wobbly smile. Your ex checks his Apple Watch, cussing. "Shit, we should get goin' before our lunch with your parents, baby."

Baby. The name he used to call you. He turns to you and smiles just as his girlfriend pecks his cheek and jogs back the way she came. His smile hurts you more than anything. "It was nice seeing you again, Y/N. You take care, alright?" As he runs off, you feel like you were just slapped in the face.

You stand there, too stunned to even cry. You feel so numb. So empty. Though you head back to the wedding to take photos with the others and Sukuna, you have no interest in celebrating anymore.

So what do you do? You venture to the bar to drink. And drink. And drink. One champagne glass turns into two. Then three. Finally, when night falls and fireflies make their grand appearance, you sit at the bar and sip on your fourth glass, silent and solemn.

When you suddenly hear a bark of your name, you turn, finding an irritated Sukuna out of his suit jacket. His sleeves are rolled up to show off his veiny forearms and tattoos. "There you are!" he barks. "Where the fuck did you go? Have you been over here the whole time I was callin' you?"

You stare at him, the edges of your vision quite blurry. "You called?" you dumbly ask. Sukuna rolls his eyes. "Yes, about a dozen fuckin' times. Texted ya too. I thought you died or somethin'."

You dig into your clutch and find your phone where, sure enough, you see multiple calls and texts from your fake BF. "Sorry," you hiccup. "I've been here."

You drain the rest of your champagne, the strong, bubbly substance making you feel warm all over. Sukuna pulls up a seat next to you, giving you an unidentifiable look. "I can see that. You drunk, skunk?"

You glare at him, pushing your empty glass aside. "I said quit with the pet names, Sukuna," you growl. "M'not in the mood for this." You're so drunk that your brain can't even focus or catch a hint of sarcasm. "Besides, the wedding's almost over and photos are done, so you'll be able to quit soon," you grumble.

Sukuna eyes you, noticing your attitude and your overly-glowing makeup. You haven't done a touch-up so your foundation is hanging on by a thread underneath the setting powder currently breaking its hold on your skin. Mascara slightly coats underneath your bottom lashes and your gloss is smudged from sipping too much. You're a wreck. "Da hell happened to you?" he asks with a scowl. "What, you see your ex with another girl or somethin'?"

You stare at him, tight-lipped and eyes glazed over, and his smile fades. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah," you dryly agree, a tight smile stretching across his lips. "He was jogging in the Nike shorts I bought him with some other chick that I'm sure he got together with right after we broke up."

You flag the bartender down for another flute even when you know you'll be sick later. But you need this. You harshly laugh to yourself, internally wincing at the sound. "Y'know I thought he was gonna be my fiancé? My Prince Charming? My happy ending? Just like my sissy. But no...he just told me we weren't compatible anymore after five fuckin' years together."

The bartender passes you another glass and you take a much-needed sip of the cool, bubbly liquid. You'll sleep good tonight, that's for sure.

After a pause, Sukuna finally speaks. "Y'know what you need?" he asks. "A real drink. Not this fancy crap." He takes your glass and drains it himself, his Adam's Apple bobbing in his thick throat. "C'mon, we're goin' to the bar."

You gape at him, confused. The alcohol has made it so you have to use more brain cells to ensure that you're not hallucinating. "Huh?! And leave the wedding?!"

Sukuna scowls at you, crossing his arms over his beefy chest. "Would ya rather bitch and mope about here and make yourself feel worse?" You pause, staring up at him in silence. He sighs, rolling his eyes at you. "And before you even think it, no, I ain't tryna fuck you. You're not my type anyway."

Though you blush at his bluntness and the insulting words, you can't resist tossing fire back at him: "That makes two of us," you lie. Sukuna just smirks and rises from his stool, stretching his hand out for yours. You take it, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach and passing it off as alcohol influence.

So ignore the gazes of the other guests as your temporary boyfriend whisks you away to a cocktail bar located inside a hotel. You call your sister to congratulate her and her husband again and tell her that you're leaving. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she giggled over the phone. "Which means you should. He's hot, sis."

The bar is swanky and in full swing when you and Sukuna enter the hotel lobby. Supposedly, Sukuna used to work here before he became a tattoo artist/fake boyfriend and knows the owner. You both sit at the polished bar sometime later with your drinks: you ordered a Negroni while he gets a whiskey on the rocks.

He forces you to try his cocktail, telling you need something stronger. When you do, you scrunch your nose at the laste and gag. He snorts, taking his drink back and sipping on it with no problem. "Can't handle your brown liquor, I see," he teases.

You suck your teeth at him, sipping on your own drink (albeit slowly because of the champagne you had earlier). "Did you drag me here just to make fun of me?" you quip. He sits next to you, his jacket off and tie loosened to expose a sliver of chest that you avoid staring at for too long. "Nah, but it beats seein' ya frown. So shoot."

He says it so casually that you almost believe he doesn't care, but why else would he drag you to a bar and not try to fuck you?

You sigh, tapping your glossy acrylic nails on the bar. You got them done just for the wedding. Sukuna waits patiently for those memories to bubble up and for the truth to spill out of you.

"I was with my ex for five years," you recount. "We were living together for a year and starting our lives together until things started becoming...strained." That's the word: strained. Like a string being pulled too tight.

"We started arguing more, started having sex less. No romance. Barely any affection. When he worked late on Valentine's Day, I knew we were done for...and yet I still had hope that he would be the man I married." You shake your head at yourself, embarrassed. How stupid and naive you were.

"It doesn't help that people always ask me why I'm single and push me to find a man. I get lonely, sure, but being single ain't that bad if it means I don't get hurt." You sip your Negroni, wanting to feel the wash of warmth and liquid confidence that alcohol usually gives you.

Realizing Sukuna is still watching you, you turn to him, ignoring the intensity of his gaze. "So what about you? What hearts did you leave lonely? Or did someone break yours?"

He quirks a pierced brow at you, obviously surprised your interest. "I don't break hearts...intentionally." You scoff at this. The audacity of this man! "And yeah, I got my heart broken 'bout some years back."

He pauses, jiggling the ice around in his glass. He cuts his eyes to you then, anticipation stretching between you. "You wanna know how I got over it though?" You fold a fist under your chin, eyeing him curiously. "How?" you ask.

"Sex." He says it so simply like it should be so obvious. The word nearly makes you blush, especially with how casual he says it. "Sex doesn't work for everything, Sukuna," you argue with an eye roll. "What about therapy or fitness?"

"Maybe not," he says with a passive shrug, "but it sure feels good. Maybe it'll work for you if you try." You guffaw, covering your mouth to avoid disturbing the other bar-goers with your raucous laughter. "And what? Hookup with a random guy and forget all my troubles?"

The next time Sukuna looks at you, it isn't teasing or tinged with mirth or irritation. It is hot, molten, and intense. The suggestion in them is undeniable. "I meant me, idiot," he softly growls. "Unless you want somethin' quick."

You pause, speechless. He can't be serious. "What?" you ask, gobsmacked. "B-But I thought you didn't hook up with clients."

He sips on the rest of his whiskey, his tongue slithering out to lick away the remains. You catch the glint of his tongue ring and clench your thighs together. "I don't," he replies, "but you're an exception. You're sad and I wanna help; simple as that."

You are still in shock, sitting there and slowly processing everything in your sloshy, drunk brain. "But...I thought I wasn't your type," you say, confused.

The pink-haired stud smirks at you, the act unfortunately making your nether regions twitch. "I lied. You, little one, are most certainly my type: short and a little too much to say." He cocks his head at you, his red rises eye fucking you.

"Not a bad face either," he mutters. "Your ex is a fuckin' idiot." He flashes you a big, toothy grin like the Big Bad Wolf himself. "Good thing I'm here though. I can at least take those thoughts away for a few hours."

You try to think of something to say; a rhyme or reason as to how wrong this is when you're practically his employer. But all you can think about is his hand just being an inch for yours as it lays on the bar. How thick his fingers are and how they'd feel stroking your cunt.

"No charge" is all he whispers and it just about sets you on fire. He then leans back, still eating you up with his fiery gaze, his lips looking unbelievably juicy and soft. “So what's it gonna be, doll?" he asks.

He already broke one of your rules. You might as well break his only one too. Somehow, this leads you to having your thighs split wide open as you lay on a hotel bed with Sukuna's face buried in your squelching, wet pussy under your dress several moments later.

You are a gasping, moaning, writhing mess on the edge of the bed, one hand gripping the sheets while the other is buried in Sukuna's soft, pink spikes of hair. You shiver every time you feel the cool metal of his tongue melt against your hot, buzzing clit, the sensation making everything in you sensitive.

His tongue and fingers help with that too. His big hands force your thighs far apart from each other while his tongue becomes soaked in your wetness, alternating between your slit and your rosebud. "That's a good girl," he hums. "Open wider fa' me. Let me see you."

You try to do so, getting help from your fake boyfriend until your thighs are pushed down into the bedspread, forced to stay stretched open by Sukuna's strong hands. You whimper slightly at the painful tug in your muscles, becoming paranoid about your dress hiked up over your thighs.

"My dress, Sukuna," you whimper. But Sukuna shakes his head, his red eyes cutting to yours in the dimly-lit bedroom, the only light brightening the room being the silvery moon pouring in through the window. "Don't protest," he grumbles. "The dress'll be fine, but this poor pussy won't be. Look at her...so neglected."

He uses the flat of his tongue to lick up your slit, peeling your pussy lips apart to make room for his slick, pierced tongue. The tip flicks against your clit, sending sparks of electricity throughout your body, before he begins gently sucking on it over the hood. “Ah!” you gasp, the wind knocked out of you.

You press your body against the bed, your back arching from the immense pleasure. Sukuna chuckles into your pussy, the vibrations of his laughter traveling throughout your body. “Bet that loser couldn’t even find your clit.”

No, he could not. It would take multiple times for you to redirect him until he would become upset about it. But with Sukuna, you only had to tell him twice prior to him peeling your panties off and he never forgot. He makes it his mission to make you scream, your voice bouncing off of the walls as he slurps you like his life depends on it.

“Bet he couldn’t make ya loud like this,” he chuckles, pulling away from your wet cunt with a lewd squelch as the lips on his face tear away from your wet pussy lips. “Ain’t that right, baby?”

Teasingly, he gives your pussy lips tiny nibbles that make you flinch, your thighs twitching. He cocks his head to the side, mocking you. “What? No protest over the pet names? I could’ve sworn ya complained about that.”

He continues to nibble at your pussy lips, gently tugging on them the way you told him you like. He interviewed you in the elevator ride up to the hotel room, his lips leaving hickeys on your neck as he pinned you against the elevator wall. His knee was wedged between your thighs and rubbing against your pussy, fogging your mind and making you more susceptible.

He obviously committed each of your kinks and sexual enjoyments to memory, using them as weapons on you now. “No teasing,” you whimper. “Please.” You watch Sukuna's eyes dark to the color of crimson blood, lust blown and hooded. “Fuck, that’s hot. Keep begin’ for me, will ya?”

He then hikes your dress up more, leaving you naked from the chest down. You long since ditched your strapless bra, leaving it somewhere on the floor, leaving you only in your heels dangling around Sukuna's shoulders.

He dives in, immediately indulging in your pussy by slithering his tongue inside of your quivering, sodden hole. Your moans grow loud and high-pitched like you're trying to out-sing Mariah Carey. You didn't even realize you could be so loud and reach such heights until Sukuna is tongue fucking you.

“Oh, ‘Kuna!” you whine. “Fuck, please keep going! Go faster!” Your fingers wrench in his hair, gripping the pink locks and pushing him deeper into your pussy. “Uh-huh,” he moans into your quivering lips. “So tight here. Fuck, baby.”

He says it in a sharp breath like he can hardly believe what he has his tongue stuffed inside. Your eyes graze over the intricate tracings of black lines inked across his muscular back, each marking trailing off in a different place, moving with his body as he laps at your pussy.

You peel your head off of the bed to stare at him, grabbing his broad, inked shoulder to grab his attention. “More,” you moan. “Give me more.” He picks his head up, briefly shocked before a wicked smirk appears on his lips. “More? Such an eager little thing, ain’t you?”

He stands up before you, his hooded, lust-darkened eyes locked on yours as he peels off his dress slacks. Your eyes indulge in his abs, muscular arms, lickable pecs, and toned upper body before ducking down where his hips are. His pants and underwear are off in one swipe, leaving him naked.

Your eyes nearly bug at the big, thick cock stiff and leaking with pre-cum between his tree-trunk thighs and tatted legs. One vein throbs and protrudes from his shaft, leading from his heavy, cum-filled balls up to his pink dick head. Your pussy salivates, wanting so desperately to have him inside of you.

But instead of his dick, Sukuna sucks on his index and middle fingers, coating them in copious amounts of spit, before he sinks them inside of you. He watches as you writhe and lift your hips to rock them into his digits, fucking yourself on them as they curl up to glide against your G-spot.

He is entranced, salivating at the sight of your pussy stretched around his thick fingers, your wetness drizzling down to your asshole. “Yeah, take my fingers, baby," he breathlessly encourages you." You and this pussy are trouble.”

He proceeds to fuck your clit off the bone as he fucks your pussy with his fingers, making your toes curl in your shoes and your lungs struggle to take in air as the man between your thighs forces you to take all the pleasure he is giving you. Lewd, wet sounds penetrate the air as his tongue and fingers fuck your wet pussy in tandem, mingling with your moans increasing in volume with every second.

“Fuck, ‘Kuna!” you wail. “I’m gonna cum!” You can feel it tightening in your core. You feel like a balloon about to burst. Sukuna lifts his head from your cunt, his lips dripping in your juices. “What’s the magic word, doll face?” he roughly asks.

He curls his fingers forward and you nearly squirt in his face from the immense ecstasy. “Please, please, please!” you sob. Tears stick to your lashes, threatening to fall from your eyes.

That must be the 'magic word' Sukuna was referring to because you feel his cock twitch against your thigh. “Ya still want somethin’ more, little one?” he growls. “You want somethin’ thicker in this messy cunt?”

His fingers continue to piston in and out of you, fucking you to the point of your brain turning to mush. You have to force yourself not to cum by squeezing your eyes shut and willing yourself to resist. All self control leaves you and you are begging for him to just make you cum. “Goddammit, Sukuna! Just give it to me please!”

You can hardly hold on anymore; you're about to burst, your clit quivering with need. Suddenly, Sukuna slips his fingers out of you and rises from between your thighs. “I’ll give it to you,” he utters.

He then yanks on your ankles and drags you to the edge of the bed closer to him before his cock slips inside of you without a moment's notice. Your mouth falls agape as his thick shaft is burrowed deep inside of you, stretching your walls out to accommodate him. "Fuck!" you wail, your nails digging into his muscles as you grip him. Any part of him.

Sukuna is sweet enough to allow you time to adjust by giving you slow thrusts, but once you're relaxed, he begins to roughly fuck you, moving right into fast, pistoned thrusts that make his pelvis rub against your clit and his balls pound against your asscheeks, the sound of his thighs slapping against yours drifting through the air.

You wiggle and writhe about, the pounding too much, but Sukuna stops you by wrapping a hand around your throat. “Don’t run,” he growls. “Just cum. Cum for me.”

His hips snap forward again and again, drawing you closer to the edge as you babble in pleasure: "Ah, yes, yes, yes, 'Kuna, fuck, I'm gonna...oh, fuck, I'm cumming!" A moan explodes out of you as your cum drips out of your pussy, coating Sukuna's cock in your release.

Sukuna gazes upon you stretched out around his cock, your legs wound around his waist and your dress peeled up around your chest to expose your tits and hard nipples. “That’s a good girl,” he purrs, massaging one of your tits, tweaking the hard peak of your nipple. “Look at all that. So messy.”

With a soft groan, he pulls out, emitting a high-pitched whine from you at the sudden loss. Sure enough, his dick is soaked in your cum, coating his balls. “Clean it up,” he demands.

He straddles your face, his muscular, thick thighs on either side of your head. Hungrily, you lift your head up and begin to suck his cock, slurping all of your cum off of his shaft. You hollow your cheeks and open your throat as if about to yawn, allowing him to sink in deeper.

"Fuck," he groans. "That's a good girl. Gimme that fuckin' throat." He begins to rock his hips, fucking your tight, sloppy throat for a little while, welcoming the sound of your gagging. "Maybe that's why that nerd left you: he couldn't handle such a pretty little slut."

The dirty little insult combined with the sweet compliment is like mixing Bourbon with sweet tea. The combination makes your pussy throb and clench excitedly despite just cumming. That doesn't seem to matter to Sukuna though.

After fucking your throat for a little while, he jumps off of you, spit trailing from your bottom lip as he departs. You sit up to see what's up, but he pushes you back, rough and demanding. You squeak, falling back onto the bed and barely breathing before Sukuna is on you again.

He peels your thighs up and winds them around his waist before fully straddling you and fucking you in mating press. The sounds that escape you are damn near inhuman: squeaking, wailing, and shrill screeches leaving your mouth that only get higher and more frequent as the man above you fucks you absolutely dumb.

Your brain has left the building, leaving you stupid, brainless mush as Sukuna turns your pussy into a puddle. The wetness secreting from your cunt only allows him better lubrication to easily drill your cunt, putting you into the mattress with every thrust like he has every intention of getting you pregnant tonight.

“Wait, Sukuna!” you sob. “I just came!” You grip his neck for dear life as he slams his hips down into yours, pounding his fat dick into your hole over and over again. “And you’ll cum again.” His words match his thrusts, his voice raspy and thick with arousal. “And again and again and again.”

He turns his face to nuzzle your hair, his lips tickling your cheek as his cock turns you from the inside out. "Don't you want that, doll face?" he whispers. "Don't you wanna cum all over this dick again?"

You do. You so very do. The urge to cum rises once more as Sukuna fucks you in mating press, his hips moving like a jackhammer, pounding you into the bed that shakes and creaks with his movements. "Suki," you whine. "M'close. I wanna cum again."

He moves away to stare down at you, his eyes lust-drunk and hooded, his face flushed and glistening in perspiration from the rough fucking session. "Yeah?" he teasingly asks. "You think you deserve it, huh?"

So he pauses and pulls out, leaving you breathless and desperate. He snaps his fingers and points at the bed, stroking his cock with his other hand. "Show me: get on all fours. I'm gonna cum too and I want you to fuckin' take it."

Like fire was just lit under your ass, you move into position with your ass hiked up and arms holding you up. But that doesn't last long when Sukuna mounts you from behind and begins pistoning himself into you again.

You gasp, your mouth falling agape as his cock hits every single part of your pussy that missionary didn't. You can feel all of him stretching and stroking you, that damn bomb ass dick giving you all that you could possibly need. "Ah, fuck!" you wail into the open air of the hotel room. "Oh, fuck, Suki!"

SMACK!

You shriek, the sting of Sukuna's palm hitting your asscheek making your pussy throb. "Shut the fuck up," he grunts. "You're too fuckin' loud. If you wanna scream, you'd better do it in that pillow."

Your arms give out on you, so you have no choice as you tilt forward and your face digs into the pillow below. You moan and scream as much as you want into the cushion, fucking up your makeup even further. "Such a good listener," he groans. "And such a good pussy. Nothin' fake about this, huh, baby?"

SMACK!

He spanks you again, harder this time, as his fingers dig into the flesh of your asscheeks as he fucks you harder. "Gettin' all your money's worth," he huffs. "Make you cum so good that you'll be beggin' me to come back. I'll make this shit real for you."

Loud moans and low grunts leave Sukuna's lips as he thrusts his hips forward over and over again, transfixed by the way your soft, juicy ass claps against his stomach, recoiling every time he thrusts forward. He forces you to fuck him back, your tight hole swallowing him up as you slam against each other, making the bed shake as if there is an earthquake happening.

Your second orgasm finally begins to crest again and you grip the bedsheets until your knuckles turn white, holding on for dear life as Sukuna fucks the shit out of you. "O-O-Oh, sh-shit, Sukuna!" you moan into the pillow. "M'gonna f-f-fucking cum!"

You can feel that Sukuna is close too; he has begun to swell inside of you, his cock throbbing in your tightening walls. "Beg for it, slut," he growls. "Beg for that shit! Beg me to make that pussy cum!"

You would tell him anything he wants to hear if it makes you cum any quicker. "Please!" you wail. "Please make me cum, Daddy! Please!" You move your hand underneath your thighs to rub your clit in an effort to get there faster.

Sukuna wraps an arm around your midsection and forces your head up with his other hand, digging his nose into the crook of your shoulder. He fucks you even faster, making both of you chase your Os head on. "Oh, fuck, pretty girl," he groans. "Cum for me. Cum all over that dick. Give it to me."

With his permission finally uttered, you let yourself release all over him. With a choked moan, you cream all over his cock, soaking him and leaving him dripping. You shiver and shudder in his arms, your orgasm taking you on a journey to the stars. And not once do you think about your ex.

With a few more harsh, rough thrusts that leave you breathless and achy, Sukuna chases his orgasm. "Take it," he groans. "Take my cum, pretty girl!" Finally, with a loud, bellowed shout of release, he sprays his spunk all over the walls of your pussy, filling you up. You gasp at the warm, gushing feeling, feeling it drip down your inner thighs.

As he cums, Sukuna's thrusts soon slow down until he comes to a pause, his body relaxing against yours. "Shit," he hisses, the swear turning into a rasped chuckle as he comes down from his high. "That was reeeeal nice," he draws. "C'mere."

He turns your cheek to face him and his lips envelope yours in a sloppy, slow kiss that leaves you just as breathless as your orgasms did. Slowly, he pulls out and allows you to belly flop onto the bed, exhausted and utterly satisfied.

Sukuna watches, stroking his semi-hard cock still coated in your cum. "Now you can give me a five-star rating," he jokes, his hand pawing your asscheek. "And remember: it's no charge, darlin'."

You hum in appreciation and exhaustion, too tired to even utter a coherent word. He leans in, pressing a kiss to your asscheeks.

"Just lemme make you cum again," he wickedly whispers. "And maybe take ya out on a real date."

THE END.