#what the hell would we have done without content like this

[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. VIII

Pairing: Han Su-Gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1747

previous chapter.

Su-Gang's hand shot on its own to grab you by the back of your neck. 

However, before he could, a familiar face showed up. 

"Teacher [Name]."

Jae-Kyeong stood in front of you, her chest heaving up and down. A cluster of her curly hair stuck on her forehead, indicating that she was sweating—she ran all the way here. 

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"I need her help." 

"Can't you see that we aren't done talking yet?" He loosened his tie and combed his hair with his fingers. "Are you blind?"

"It's an urgent matter." 

"Do I look like I care?"

"What could be it?" you rasped.

"Papers." The apples of her cheekbones moved upward. "Come with me." 

You did not let Su-Gang do something; you practically sprinted just to get to your colleague.

You were saved.

"I see," you said, nodding. 

She grasped your arm and drag you with her until you got out of the hallways that led to the art room. 

"I didn't know what's going on, but you need to stop provoking him. If it weren't for that first year, I wouldn't have known that you were with him right now."

"Ah, Jin-Hyung." 

"Think of your safety." She smiled, but there was a knowing disapproval laced in it. "And ours, too." 

It made you feel nauseated to hear her speak about her worries when she was just like her other coworkers—of those who were dangling you into the waters as bait to keep the beast from harming them, and they were enjoying that you were acting as their shield unwillingly, yet now that you were doing the same to them, suddenly, you were jeopardizing everyone due to your selfishness.

A person without a backbone to keep them standing up and from breaking down the moment his eyes has been laid upon them, lecturing you? A person who could do nothing but apologize and beg for mercy when his mother arrived at the school with her hells lacking like a horse galloping through a battlefield. Whether it was due to concern or otherwise, you could not help but be disgusted with it. In fact, if you could pull out your guts out and squeeze all of their contents to dispose this creeping feeling that nestled inside your core. 

How dare they act as though they know Su-Gang more than you? 

Even if they were to spend their lifetime with him, their knowledge about him and how far he can go with his little games of amusement would never amount to what you have witnessed firsthand. In a place where he was the emperor—even higher than his kingly power inside the complicated walls and architecture of this school—only you were the only one who could even manage to get close to him. You have came to near to him that you saw the extent of what he can do just because. 

"Where are you going?"

You did not even realize you were diverting from the path to the faculty, but you made no move to follow her again. 

"Washroom," you replied.

You left her and made your way to the nearest single-stall lavatory. Inside, you immediately searched for a trash bin and threw the mask you did not know you kept holding onto for dear life. You locked the knob and leaned onto the door. 

"Damn this school," you spoke under your breath. 

You turned the tap on and made the water gush out loudly. You let its noise drown the thoughts that plagued your mind to no end, and you let it calm you down before you do anything more idiotic than saving that kid from Su-Gang. You gasped for air, keeping yourself from gagging and expelling the food you have eaten during lunch earlier. You gathered some of the water with your palms, and you washed your mouth. You rubbed your lips—inner and outer—to scrub off any of the trace that might have penetrated your mask. Tears then fell from your eyes, but they were not out of fear.

They were out of vexation, each drop filled of despisal for everyone who existed in this cursed place—including and especially yourself. You simply wanted to live normally, but you knew that you could not—yet you could not let go of that foolish desire of spending your days as a teacher peacefully when the monster you escaped from was the one who owned it.

"Hah," you scoffed.

You chuckled bitterly, feeling that helplessness you have once felt before inside the clutches of his family. You knew their tenacity more than anyone else in this school, and you knew that they were not the ones to let go of a grudge. 

You supposed that this was the greatest consequence that you could ever have. 

Like a rat, you have skittered around in order not to catch the wrath of those who claim to value you a little more than the people they can get rid of without even batting an eye. They loved you so much they wanted you in their picture-perfect family, but you did not want to join them, so you left. With those scars that could never fade, you left them with promise of no return. 

So why were you here?

Why do you keep stepping inside this school knowing what he was capable of doing just to have you again? Why do you keep attending the class that he was in? Why do you keep pushing through, when you could have accepted you fate and let him control you like a puppet? 

"Don't make me laugh," you mumbled. 

Either you die or you leave—those were the only options for you. 

Either he kill you or he fire you—those were the only options for him. 

No matter which choice he take, there is no other end but him letting you go—of setting you free once and for all. 

Because in this quiet yet deadly battle of yours against him, you refuse to lose. 

You need to win, and you would rather die than stop trying.

"He should be the one who needs to stop provoking me."

Your phone vibrated inside your pocket, and thankfully, it was not your mother. 

"Hey," Kwon-Jung said. 

"Hi."

"Are you feeling well?" He coughed. "Your voice sounds hoarse."

"Says you."

You covered the microphone of your device and sniffled, not wanting him to hear that you were crying. Of all people, you did not want him to be involved with the complexities of your past, which was now entangled with your present. 

"Let's meet up," he abruptly borough up. "It's Friday." 

"I don't have money to spare."

You used your non-dominant hand to hold your phone, while you used the other one to cup yourself water to rinse your eyes with. You blinked your tears away, and soon, you have stopped crying. 

"My treat, then."

"How generous of you."

"I'm not kidding. Today's my day off."

"And you're sick?" you teased. "Talk about unlucky."

"Mhm."

You heard him create some noises only a sick person could make, and you made him finish his capella before hitting him with something you knew all too well would make his mood worse. 

"Can Si-Min come?"

"No."

"Why not?" you drawled. 

His cousin, Si-Min, was the reason he met you, and he will always be grateful to her due to that. However, there was no way he could want to send this moment with you with her, since they frequently meet each other anyway. Besides, he want to be a one with you at least once. 

"You've met up just this recent." 

You laughed softly, not even clearing up that you were merely annoying him by asking a question he obviously disliked hearing. 

"Wear a mask when you meet me." 

"That's a given."

When the call ended, you felt your chest has become lighter than before. 

Your remaining classes passed by in a blur, and you soon found yourself walking toward the entrance of the school. 

Not too far was a tall man, with his side leaning against the metal bars of one of the gates. He was not putting any foot inside the academic institution, and you appreciated that he was abiding with even the smallest and simplest of rules. 

"You're wearing a hoodie," you said pointedly. "Couldn't you have worn something nicer?"

He grunted before stepping backwards. 

"I'm sick. Be nicer with me, would you?"

He even coughed to make his point clearer. 

You pulled him back to stumble for a step inside or two, and to your silent approval, he lowered his head so you could put your hand on it and estimate his degree of sickness.

"If you're so sick, then you shouldn't have come here." 

"I missed you," he answered sincerely. 

Your nose scrunched, and you only realized that you forgot to wore a mask.

"Ugh." You mildly nudged him on the forehead. "I'm telling Si-Min about this." 

"No. Everything but that," he protested. "She'll kick me in the face."

"You'll survive it, don't ya worry."

"[Name]."

"Whatever shall you do?" You huffed, a small quirk of your lips showing. "Unfortunately for you, you'll need to comfort me with your company."

When he heard that, his joking yet gentle disposition switched into a more concerned one. 

"Something happened?" 

"I'll tell you about it once we're somewhere safer."

"Safer?"

You need not to elaborate what you could mean by that, but you really wanted to tell him. 

Lest something happens to you in the future.

"Later."

He peeled his eyes away from you and quickly looked around the entirety of the buildings. His eyes fell onto a car with a group of students resting on its rear.

"Sure."

He held your hand, and his heat almost scorched you.

"You're burning," you commented.

From the opposite side, Eun-Gyo eyed your pair with curiosity. Moon-Ki glanced at her, wondering why she was staring at the gates for a minute now. With Su-Gang gone, she was a lot quieter, and it would not take any genius to figure out that her loud enthusiasm to eager him was faux, which she uses to keep him from making her his target. 

"What are you loo—"

"Miss Temp," she cut him off. 

The others followed her gaze, and soon, the few cogs inside their miniscule brains turned. 

"Don't tell him about this," Su-Gang's second-hand man ordered them. "No one's telling him about this."

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

"Don't tell me what?"

next chapter.

tag section.

@nickibunny23 @ghostedhymn @ashayein @yinyangcchii @ashayein @ruruyiin @mirwors @crazyhead333 @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @san-axa0 @4ria790 @nijru @iiwsmr @littlebignoona @hisokaupbitch3525

[starrduckko]

See that jester cookie down there? May have lost my mind with him... also my savings aswell

I will be very disapointed if they don't end up with each other. I WANT THEM TO LOVE

cleaned up the animatic end card doodle lolll

[bejeweledinterludes]

still got the blues.

OR on one quiet night spent in the bunker, you discover that the notorious, god-fearing, big, bad ‘n scary, six-foot badass hunter that is dean friggin’ winchester (aka one of your closest friends) isn’t as tough as he seems.

well.

in bed, at least.

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : sub ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 8.8 k. (FAITH BE NORMAL OVER DEAN WINCHESTER CHALLENGE LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE)

「 content / warnings 」 : MINORS 🤺🤺🤺 GET BACK! AWAY!later seasons sub dean winchester x fem reader (yes i have a problem, no i don’t care thank you!). masterbating, handjob, unprotected sex. yeah this may be the horniest thing i’ve ever written in my life.

you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

HELLOOOOO THE LONG-AWAITED SUB!DEAN SMUT IS FINALLY HERE 🙂‍↕️🙏‼️ shoutout and thank you to @supernotnatural2005’s drabble / oneshot for the inspo on this one <3 because i think we all want to catch dean like this— which is why i wrote about it!

ALSO @figthoughts’ post from the other day too… yeah idk guys we’re just horny and ovulating connected or something when it comes to mr. jensen ackles and his characters. love you figgy pudding!

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

being on the road with sam and dean for god knows how long now, you’d gotten used to all the sounds each idiot knucklehead brother would make in their sleeping state as you passed their rooms— so much so that it was basically white noise at this point, and you just tune it out.

yeah, tonight was different, though. sam had left much earlier— he and elieen were finally going on a real, live, actual date, much to your joy. which meant you and dean were alone in the bunker together. that doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you usually stay up watching 80s movies and arguing over niche things like whether or not they used real flames in back to the future (they didn’t).

that was yet another reason why tonight was different: you hadn’t seen dean all day, much less tonight. he’d been out doing god knows what— and you barely even heard him come back a few hours ago.

but you didn’t push. actually, you didn’t dare to set foot past dean’s door— taking the long way down the hall to get to the kitchen or the library throughout the evening, secretly hoping he wouldn’t come out of his room or even acknowledge your existence.

because… honestly?

living with two other men?

who the hell were you kidding. you could use a night to yourself.

and not to your knowledge or anything, but so could dean.

no disrespect though, because dean really was wishing you were there— or, rather, he was imagining you with him, which was the only acceptable option at the moment.

…but this was definitely a new low. even for him.

see, while you were actually attempting to be productive with your night, dean was not.

like, at all.

while you were doing your laundry, putting clothes away in your room, watching a show on your laptop with your airpods in— thank god, otherwise this whole thing would blow up in dean’s face…

…for the most part, figuratively.

because dean— and how does one say this without sounding like a complete and total creep?

well, dean was jerkin’ it in his own room.

fappin’.

beatin’ da meat.

whatever the male version was of flickin’ the bean.

oh, and the (best) grossest part?

he was thinking about you while doing it.

yeah, yeah, it’s sick, it’s definitely wrong on so many levels— and it sure as hell feels downright illegal and a sin to be doing it while you’re in the fucking bunker.

it’s the lowest of the low. weird. pathetic.

but then again, dean’s always been a little… pathetic when it comes to you.

don’t let anyone know you know that, though.

so, back to dean being pathetic and horny. he’d been at the bar in town for hours earlier tonight, trying to find someone to satisfy the strain on his pants— and that someone needed to look a whole lot like you to get the job done.

how hard could it be?

well, apparently, in lebanon, kansas, finding a look-alike clone of your best friend so you could fuck them silly?

it’s really goddamn hard.

and so was dean.

so here he was—did i say pathetic already?— jerking off in his bedroom like some horny teenager. he’s on his fourth, maybe fifth time cumming to the thought of purely just you.

that’s right, no porn, no nudie mags, not even a goddamn picture in his free hand— because dean was wound up so freakin’ tight, he didn’t need anything. just his hand and his filthy imagination.

it’s humiliating. dean’s literally bucking his hips up into his hand as of right now, imagining it’s yours and not his— all while letting out these little noises that do not sound like they’d be coming from a six-foot, tough as nails hunter. but they are.

and they’re all for you.

dean winchester does not whimper. hell, no. but the broken sound that rips from his throat, tossing his head back on his pillow after he tugs a little too hard on himself was anything but.

and maybe dean should be making less noise— but he knew you so well, too well— you’d have your airpods on noise canceling, anyway. and he can’t even think about if you didn’t. he’s too wrapped up in a haze right now. he’s so distracted. by-god intoxicated.

because dean’s imagining you after that one hunt in virginia. yeah. the moon had been out that night, and god, the way it hit you— a combination of this deep blue and silver and it just lit up your skin, illuminating you like you were one of those ancient goddesses, like the ones he’s only read about in old myths and legends when he’d been so bored he actually did research in the library.

dean’s imagining you, just you, right there with him, and it was your hand, not his. imagining you pulling those sounds from his throat while he’s breathing so heavy, his chest heaving up and down. and the sheets covering only his bottom half were shifting with him as he was moving what seemed like his entire bed along with him as of now.

dean was trying to be quiet.

but his body was not letting him.

and poor you— oh, sweet, innocent you. because as far as dean knew, you were completely oblivious to what was currently occurring in his bedroom at the moment.

but what dean didn’t know was that your airpods had died over an hour ago.

and you’d made the mistake of not taking the long way back to your room this time, thinking that dean had gone to bed due to the late hour.

you had stopped in your tracks in the hall coming back from the kitchen— because you heard dean. heard his little broken groans, damn close to whimpers.

and you genuinely believed that dean was just having a nightmare at first— because hell, with the shit you guys encountered on the daily, it wasn’t uncommon for any of y’all to make a goddamn racket in your sleep.

drawing that conclusion— because it was the only one that was realistic, you start towards your room again, already starting to tune out dean’s weird-as-hell noises.

but before you even take two more steps past dean’s room, you hear something else— a little muffled through the door, but clear as day. because it sends a jolt straight through you.

your name.

he’s having a nightmare, you remind yourself. he could be just calling out to you in that sense, because that would be logical. but then he says your name again. and again.

and it’s just your name.

not sam’s.

not cas’.

just. yours.

and dean sounds like a man possessed at this point. his eyes are squeezed shut, as if he’s trying to banish the image of you from his mind.

but he can’t. and he never would.

he just can’t do it. can’t keep himself in check anymore.

so that’s why dean groans your name at the next motion of his hand on his dick— saying it for the fourth time since you’ve been stopped outside his door.

and it wasn’t a ‘i’m-in-so-much-pain-and-scared’ groan, the kind when someone has a nightmare— no, dean’s groan sounded like a ‘oh-that-feels-so-fuckin-good’ groan, like the kind someone makes when…

oh.

oh.

and dean knows he sounds pretty close to, if not completely pathetic. not at all like the good ol’ badass hunter of lore, not that you’d believed him to be. you’d think he’d sound more in control, or at least not whimpering.

dean’s battled both heaven and hell. purgatory. angels, demons, monsters, even sometimes, just people, you name it— he’s fought it and kicked its freakin’ ass, even god himself.

and his one fault? his only weakness?

you.

it’s always been just you. your stupid pretty face. the way you laughed at his jokes, even when they weren’t that funny. the way you stood by him and his brother’s side— and in the hunting world, associating with the winchesters meant a death sentence. you didn’t care, though. you never did. it was in the way you were always there, especially when it counted.

and here he was.

jerking off and thinking about you.

this had to be rock bottom. right? if not that, purely a whole new level of scumbag. even if you couldn’t hear him.

oh, but you could. and you’re lingering outside dean’s door— because you didn’t even have to put your ear on it to hear the noises he was making, clear as day.

dean feels like he’s drunk, delirious. this always happened whenever he fantasized about you. a pathetic, groaning and whimpering mess. hell, in this state, he’d damn well beg.

and oh, he was.

“fuckin’— please— god, i need you, please—”

damn, you could almost see it— dean’s hand, hidden by the dark of his room, but the way the sheets move makes it obvious just where his hand is. and it’s a blur.

yeah. there was no more holding out, no more being strong. not now.

because dean feels like he’s on the edge of his own personal hell.

and you? you’re stuck.

dean was… well, fucking doing that. and you’re just… stuck. you would have just kept walking past his door, putting your pillow between your ears and teasing him about it tomorrow morning.

because instead crying or groaning out the name of some random girl or even farah fawcett— dean was currently begging.

for you.

and you’re still stuck. dean feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind. he’s gonna cum again, he knows it. he also knows he should be quiet, but the words and your name just keep spilling out of his mouth, and he’s too far gone to stop them.

“ah— fuck. please. please, please, goddamn it, i need you, i need you, i need you…”

yeah, dean’s brain’s not in charge anymore. honestly? it hasn’t been since he met you all those years ago— with your stupid pretty hair, and your stupid pretty mouth, and the stupid soft sounds you make in your sleep that drove him insane whenever you used to share a motel room.

dean needs you.

and you needed a fucking cold-ass shower.

because the way dean was sounding right now? he only sounded like that in your dreams. your deepest, darkest fantasies. it was making your knees buckle.

yeah. there’s absolutely no way any of this was real. this was straight out of a porno. this had to be the trickster’s doing, or something.

because the real dean didn’t act like this. and yet, here he was. and here you were, your stomach flipping each time a sound leaves dean’s mouth and bounces off the wooden door that was still splitting you two apart.

and right then and there, you wished you had the balls to just open it.

because you wanted to be right there next to dean, pulling those noises out of him yourself.

“need you—need you right there, need you, right, right, oh, god, there—”

even in dean’s own fantasies, the ones that drove him to insanity like right now, he’d always thought about this. you actually being there, him actually saying all this to you.

dean would’ve given anything, then. anything. just to have you right next to him in his bed.

yeah, well, you’re still just stuck.

because what the fuck do you do.

do you walk back to your room? pretend you didn’t notice? pretend it never happened? not listen to the sounds dean was making?

or, do you open the door? go in his room and just show dean how you’d really felt about him— for years now?

and lately, it seemed like you all you could think and dream about was being in the same bed with dean, touching every part of him.

because if you were in there right now, you’d touch dean’s skin that you yourself had deemed forbidden, because it’d be seen as crossing a line, breaking a boundary.

hello? reality check, anyone?

come on. dean was your friend.

but the noises he was making in your name— because of you? that was anything but.

yeah. if you were in there, you’d start with your hands on dean’s chest, going lower, and lower, until he started making the sounds he was making now, gasping and begging right in your ear for you, not stopping until he completely just—

yeah, that was it.

you knew your answer.

and dean needs exactly what you’re about to do. because god, he’s thought about it. in the dead of night, when he was alone, or when you’d been just out of reach sitting next to him in a dive bar, he’s wanted this. wanted you.

dean wanted to know the way your hands would feel against his skin, how your body would feel against his own. he’s thought about it. hell, he’d dreamed about it. fantasized— just like he was doing now.

and dean was still fantasizing when you throw away every single rational thought you had at the moment and manage to open his door without making a noise— thank you, hunter skills.

this was crazy. right?

eh. you’ve done crazier.

no. not like this.

and not with dean.

but still, you managed to cross the threshold of dean’s room— and you even sit down on the edge of his bed.

okay, the more you thought about it…was this awkward?

maybe.

oh, but dean doesn’t even notice you— his eyes were screwed tightly shut, mouth parted and huffing out pants and broken noises as one of his hands continues to move fervently. his hips are wild, bucking into his hand— and his body is shaking his entire bed frame.

dean’s too far gone to notice anything, lost in a fantasy that’s been haunting him for longer than he’s willing to admit out loud. the only thing that could even remotely stop him would be—

hold on.

dean’s hit by a familiar scent— the one he’d been imagining this whole time. but that really does smell like— and its now so close, so real, it practically envelopes him. and his eyes open to—

you.

right there. in his bed. within reach. looking at him like he’s always wanted you to look at him.

and there’s no disgust or anger on your face as you look down at dean, still frozen in place. no, just a hint of amusement, mixed with something else—

something dangerously close to pure want.

you don’t say anything, even though you know you should by now. because now dean knew that you knew exactly what he’d just been doing— more importantly, you were now aware of who the focus of it all was.

and goddamn if the look on your face doesn’t have dean pausing, too. he’s never seen it on your face before. and it’s too dark in his room for him to really make it out, but he thinks he sees—

you weren’t disgusted. you weren’t grossed out, or even angry.

you’re just… looking at him like the fantasy he’s been chasing isn’t a goddamn fantasy anymore— but instead something he could reach out and touch. feel.

dean has to swallow whatever excuse he could come up with to talk himself out of what you’d just walked in on. what you’d just heard. and his mouth is dry.

a part of you wants to pounce onto dean right now. to kiss him silly, touch him everywhere and make him gasp your name again— only with you being the sole instigator this time.

but the annoying other part of you halted that urge.

and why?

because of your stupid morals.

your goddamned feelings.

and you had to ask dean, had to know— even if the answer hurt you.

“how long?”

dean’s brain almost completely flatlines for a long moment. though, he knows what you’re insinuating, of course.

how long dean has been thinking about you in that way? how long and hard had he fantasized about his hands on your body, his mouth on your skin, and his dick buried so deep inside you, he gets hand cramps almost every night he’s alone?

yeah. it scares him, just how goddamn long it’s been.

“…years.”

that was all you needed. in reality, you don’t actually pounce or anything, but you do move closer to dean on his bed, tossing one leg over both of his to straddle his lap before meeting his gaze again.

“you have no idea,” your voice is barely above a whisper to dean as you keep his gaze, making yourself comfortable in his lap. “how much i wanted to hear that.”

and dean can’t help the groan he lets out, at feeling your weight, your body, straddling his lap. he’s spent too many nights dreaming of exactly this. his hands automatically go to your hips, as if they’re on autopilot.

because he’s not in charge anymore.

and honestly?

he doesn’t think he ever was when it came to you.

and a small smile tugs on your lips when you feel dean’s hands on your hips— your own fingers start to trail from his wrists and up his arms, your pace slow, but deliberate.

because you were going to memorize every inch of dean that you could.

oh, dean’s just barely managing to keep his hips still, to not buck up underneath you. he can feel you, now that you’re straddling him, the heat there, where he’d wanted to feel you for so, so long.

and when your fingers trail up his arms, dean shudders. because it’s so gentle, tender. he can’t remember the last time anyone touched him this way, if at all.

your hands eventually reach dean’s face. oh, his gorgeous face. you cup both sides, taking in everything: those green eyes of his, the freckles you could see only if you were up close dusting on his nose and cheeks—his features were illuminated only by the dim light of his desk lamp, but you could see so much because of how close you both were now.

the slight smile is still on your lips as you look at dean— because you were still a little sure you were going to wake up at some point.

but this wasn’t a dream, you had to remind myself. dean was under you. he wanted you, in the same way you’d wanted him for as long as you can remember.

and dean feels like he can’t breathe properly. he’s been slapped, punched, cut, beaten, tortured, everything violent under the sun done to his face— but no one’s had their hands on it like this.

he feels too exposed, too vulnerable, but he doesn’t move.

because it’s you. it could only ever be you.

dean keeps his gaze locked to yours, even as he has to stop himself from just completely melting into the palms of your hands on his face. he wants to look at you for forever, keep you just like this— and his expression is so open, so bare.

your thumbs gently graze across both of dean’s cheeks as you hold his face in your hands.

and you can’t look away.

so you don’t.

but you do lean a fraction closer to dean in his lap, breaking the silence in a hushed whisper— because there goes your stupid doubts and feelings, again.

“you want this?”

even though he almost wants to, dean can’t laugh. not when he knows you’re being serious. it kills him, a little— that you’re still doubting it.

because how could he not want this? you?

“god, yes.” dean’s not even sure if he says that out loud, or just thinks it— but he’s nodding regardless, and with the movement bringing his face even closer to yours.

and your gaze softens almost completely when dean says that— but there’s one doubt that sticks, even when his words wash all the others away from your mind. the one that’s been there almost the entire time you’ve known him.

“de, i…” you don’t take your hands off of dean’s face when you try to speak again— but the words die in your throat. you swallow a little, averting your gaze.

and god, when dean hears you hesitate, he’s already on edge.

dean doesn’t know what you’re about to say,— all he’s aware of is that you’re now looking away from him. and he can’t have that, so he brings his hand (non-jerking, of course) to your chin, gently but firmly, forcing you to look at him again.

he tries to keep his voice even, but he can’t.

“tell me.”

you’re forced to keep dean’s gaze when his hand touches your face— and his fingers are so warm, you almost lose your train of thought completely.

you’ve wanted dean for so long— but you had to make sure he fully felt the same way you did.

not just lust. not something to walk past awkwardly the next day.

“i— i can’t do this… just for tonight,” you swallow hard again, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flick between dean’s. “but i… i think you know that.”

even with the worry that had been coursing through his veins, dean couldn’t help but be impressed at the fact you think there’s a chance in hell he’d be able to have you once and just… let you go afterwards. his hand on your chin drops a fraction, resting on the side of your throat instead. he swallows, then finds his voice.

“i know.”

your gaze softens a little— and it’s a little embarrassing how much weight felt completely lifted off your chest when dean says that.

you had denied your feelings for dean for years now. and now knowing that he felt the same way, it was getting harder and harder to control the urge to just do what you wanted.

“well, good,” you bring your hands to tilt dean’s head up more to you as you’re in his lap, eyes flicking down to his lips— because you so needed to know what they felt like. “that’s— that’s good.”

and damn, if dean isn’t already struggling. nothing’s even happened yet, and he’s trying his best just to keep still, to resist all his natural impulses and desires to just grab you and never, ever let you go. when your eyes flick down to his lips, his follow suit almost instantly. his voice is almost a damn croak when he responds.

“yeah?”

all your senses were filled with just dean. and you needed more. you’d denied your feelings for far too long— years now, in fear of him not reciprocating. but you couldn’t deny your feelings or your urges anymore.

“yeah,” you echo back in an exhale, your thumbs grazing on dean’s cheeks. your gaze is still on his lips, but you look back up at him. “you— you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

hot damn.

dean feels like he’s going to wake up at any second at those words that just came out of your mouth. because he never dared to let himself hope that you could feel the same way he did. and it’s been so, so goddamn long of wanting you with every fiber of his being, wanting to touch you and hold you and never, ever let you go.

oh, he’s too far gone to even feel sheepish about how he’s almost shaking now, hands trembling and breath coming fast as he’s barely keeping the reins on his self-control.

dean’s trembling sends a shiver down your spine. even after you just said all that, he still wanted this.

you might die.

or you were already in some version of heaven that jack made up.

because dean wanted you.

“just lemme kiss you,” dean would be embarrassed of how desperate and out of breath he sounded if he could give two damns. he says your name again: “please—”

dean can’t even think straight anymore. yet, never could when it came to you. his hands go to your thighs, gripping tight like it’s all he can do to resist the urge to just flip you over right that moment.

you can’t hold back anymore.

neither can he.

so you don’t.

you close the final distance between you both, taking his mouth in a kiss that’s hard, desperate and full of years’ worth of emotion.

and dean’s lips felt like home. and that’s a weird thing to say, but it was true. you’d never kissed him before this, but it really was him that you’d been missing all this time.

your hands on dean’s face trail into his hair, and you could feel yourself completely melting into him when you pull myself closer to him in his lap, hips fully slotting with his own— and you both groan a little at the feeling.

dean kisses you like a goddamn starving man, his hands gripping at your thighs so hard he’s afraid he’s leaving marks. but he can’t bring himself to care, because he’s finally kissing you. finally having you in the way he’s only dreamt of.

dean hasn’t been touched— kissed like this, ever.

like he’s something precious. to be loved. it makes him feel weak. but he can’t really bring himself to care about that, either.

all you could think about was how good dean smelled. and as his lips danced with yours, he even tasted good. like whiskey and something you couldn’t place— but it sure as hell was definitely dean.

and god, it’s perfect. dean’s trying to swallow the little noises his mouth is threatening to make again as you kiss him back, kissing him like you feel the same— he thinks he’s losing his mind for what felt like the millionth time tonight.

dean’s grip on your thighs tightens even more. he couldn’t help it anymore— he rocks you against his lap, his hips bucking up against yours in an involuntary but much needed movement. and a little sound pretty close to a whimper does escape him this time, hitting your lips as you grind your own hips down onto him.

you had to break your lips from dean’s to get stupid air, but your forehead rests against his as one of your hands unlatches itself from his hair, trailing downward on the fabric of his henley as you’re in his lap.

and you’d tease him about the noises he’s making— if it wasn’t leaving your underwear a complete and sopping mess because of it.

dean’s mind is hazy, lost in the feel of you against him and in his lap, his mind trying to keep up with all the things happening.

he’s a hunter, goddamn it.

he needs to get a freakin’ grip.

but he can’t.

because of the way your kiss felt like a drug. the way you’re so close he can feel your breathing, and the way you’re grinding up against him like you mean it—

and then dean feels your hand on his shirt, sliding further down past his stomach, and he feels like he’s about to go insane. he’s hallucinating, under some sort of spell that shows you what you’ve always desired. that’s the only plausible explanation.

but this was real. oh, so real.

dean’s hands were still holding on for dear life on your thighs, but your own was still going farther and farther down the fabric of the henley he was wearing, stopping at the hem and tugging on it, talking against his lips—

“put your arms up f’me, dean.”

goddamn, if that doesn’t make him literally shiver when you say his name like that, all breathless and pretty.

and dean follows the instruction, raising his arms and letting you pull the shirt over his head, revealing his the skin underneath.

he’s not even embarrassed of his scars, the marks on his body from over the years. not with you. the uneven skin told their own tales he wouldn’t dare open his mouth about, even after three whiskeys deep.

you discard dean’s shirt somewhere in his room without another thought when he lifts his arms up.

you’ve actually only seen dean shirtless twice— once after a hunt, and if you count that one time when that motel room with shitty air conditioning that got too hot last summer. you kept your eyes glued to the lore in front of you then, not daring to look.

this time, however, you couldn’t look away.

not even if you tried.

your lips are parted in what could only be described as pure awe while your eyes and fingers rake over every inch of new skin revealed while still in dean’s lap. first trailing a path up his exposed arms as your eyes continue to drink in all the details of him you’d never thought you’d see.

dean has never, ever been looked at the way you’re looking at him right now.

your fingers continue to trail up dean’s arms, fingertips grazing on the scars you could see in the dim light of his room. you actually knew some of them— having been there when he sustained the wound that made the scar, but a lot were new to you.

and you wanted to memorize it all.

it’s almost embarrassing how he feels like something to be worshipped under your touch. like someone to be taken care of. to be cherished.

as your fingers trail up his arms, he has to bite down on a whine in the back of his throat— forcing himself to keep still under your gaze as you rake your gaze over him. his voice is rough and hoarse when he manages to speak, but all he could get out was your name.

your hands found themselves resting dean’s shoulders while you take in the breathtaking view that is him under you, meeting his gaze when he says your name, voice just as quiet as his.

“yeah, de?”

your touch feels like dean took the jumper cables he had in the back of baby and put it against his skin. but it’s so soft, so gentle. it’s also making his whole body ache, yet he just wants more. and he can’t keep his eyes off you, either. the way you’re looking at him, at his scars like they’re nothing to be ashamed about… it’s almost safe.

dean swallows, hands coming to rest on your waist now that he’s topless. his voice sounds wrecked, broken.

because he’s begging.

“touch me.”

dean’s hands on your waist were making your heart beat all out of rhythm— and you almost completely lose your train of thought looking into his green eyes, wide and blown out.

for you.

you just nod at dean’s words— and your fingers continue their journey downward from dean’s shoulders, trailing over his skin until you eventually reach the waistband of his boxers, and you keep your hands there on the fabric when you look back up at him.

because you still needed to know:

“can i take these off?”

oh, for the love of—

dean nods rapidly before you’re even done asking, because he’d do anything, anything, to have you touch him like he had been not just a few minutes earlier— in fact, he’s already lifting his hips off the bed to make it easier for you, because he’s not about to hesitate. he needs you. he’s needed you for too goddamn long.

and when you manage to pull off dean’s boxers, discarding them in one fell swoop after he confirms and lifts his hips for you, your eyes widen at the sight of him completely exposed beneath you on his bed— and a quiet ‘jesus christ’ escapes from your lips before you can stop it.

and your reaction makes dean’s breath hitch. because it’s not a disgusted one— it’s the exact opposite. he feels vulnerable like this, exposed to you in a way he’s never been to anyone else. he should feel embarrassed. but he doesn’t, oddly enough.

his voice is so goddamn quiet when he bites down on another whine.

“please.”

and you just nod again. then both your hands find dean’s chest once more— and you start trailing a path down his lower torso with your fingers.

dean can’t help the way he lets out a strangled moan at your touch against his bare skin. with no clothing in the way to block it, he’s so much more sensitive. every single touch makes his breath hitch, his head spinning with how perfect it feels.

it’s too much.

and yet, he needs more.

dean’s hands find your hips again, gripping, trying to get you even an inch closer to him.

and as your fingers get lower and lower on dean’s stomach, you hesitate your hands. not because you weren’t sure— but it felt… well, wrong not to at least ask him for permission first.

so you look back up and meet dean’s gaze, eyes searching his again as you whisper, shifting closer to him in his lap.

“can i go lower?”

and at your question, a sharp shiver wracks through dean’s whole body— he’s half convinced he’s going to to just cum right there, even if you don’t end up touching him.

dean’s practically trembling under you now, hands gripping tighter on your hips. he tries to speak again, to say something— but his voice comes out in a strangled moan.

all he can do is nod against his headboard.

a soft exhale escapes you when dean confirms. you nod— and don’t hesitate again.

not when he was like this.

you take all of him in one of your hands— but you don’t even try to look away from his face while you do so. because you had to see his face for this.

and dean feels like the air’s getting ripped from his lungs at how good your touch feels. he’s never felt anything like this before. it could be the fact that he hasn’t had actual sex in a while (apparently, he’s considered old now), or purely just because of you.

yeah, but dean’s never been touched like this before. so goddamn gentle. but it’s still perfect. his eyes are still locked to yours, and his expression looks pained. it’s all too much, after wanting this for so long.

and all he can do is whisper your name before your hand starts to move.

you start starts slow— not too slow, though, because dean had already fucked his palm tonight more times tonight than he’d like to admit.

dean’s eyes actually flutter shut for a moment when your hand starts to move, a moan catching in the back of his throat. because it’s barely even started, and it’s so good. too good.

dean’s hands on your waist are close to shaking now, but he has to speak— even as it comes out in a hoarse croak.

because he needs—

“more. jesus, i need—”

you don’t even entertain the thought to tease dean or not do as he asked— because the sounds he was desperately trying to keep in were making you want to keep going, to not stop.

so you don’t stop. your hand speeds up, going back and forth on dean’s dick— and your gaze still doesn’t leave his while in his lap, touching him in the way you’ve always wanted to for so long.

and when you pick up the pace, dean’s breath hitches even more— god, it’s so good, but he still needs more. his hands are shaking as they grip tight on your waist, and his eyes somehow keep your gaze, even as his head feels like it’s spinning right into his headboard.

dean manages to get out his next request, in a begging whisper of a breath. he’d be ashamed if he wasn’t so desperate.

“please— please, i need—”

“its alright,” you nod before he can finish this time, leaning your head and pressing a kiss on his cheek. “i gotcha, de.”

and that’s it. you say those words and dean feels like he could cum right there. he’s already so close, just from your touch, the way your hand’s moving so beautifully up and down on his dick. the way you’re looking at him. he tries to keep his eyes open, too— to keep looking at you, but everything you’re giving him is starting to overwhelm him, he can hardly even breathe anymore.

dean glances down at your hand between both of you— big mistake, because the sight of your fingers around his dick and covered in him makes him let out strangled whimper. he bites down on his lip hard, his head falling back against the headboard and his eyes screwing shut. because it’s embarrassing how close he is to cumming in your hand.

you notice, of course— your hand doesn’t let up, but your other hand on dean’s shoulder goes to the side of his face, thumb grazing on his cheek. it’s a stark contrast to what you’re doing to his dick.

“de, its okay,” you reassure dean as his breaths become more and more unsteady, eyes flicking over his face. “you can let go if you wanna.”

and that’s it. that’s all it takes.

as soon you give him permission, dean’s gone.

his body suddenly goes rigid, then he’s bucking his hips into your hand so erratically and sloppily you would’ve been knocked from your position on dean’s lap if he hadn’t buried his face in your still clothed chest, tightened his arms fully around you and pulled you closer to him. he cums loud and hard, a mixture of soft groans, whimpers, swears and pants of your name spilling into the fabric of your shirt.

you’d never heard him like this before, ever.

but dean winchester— the man, the myth, the hunter god, was whimpering as you’re in his lap.

for you.

because of you.

and because it’s all too damn much— the way your hand feels, the touch of your thumb against his face, the look in your eyes when you said that it’s okay for him to let go of the tight rein he’s been holding onto for so long.

dean can feel himself shaking and still coming apart under you as you guide him through it, his face buried in your shoulder as you pull every last bit of pleasure out of him that he has with your fingers. he’s never felt so goddamn free before. he’s never come apart, not like this— not completely exposed like this.

dean’s hands are still shaking as they rest your waist, his entire body almost trembling with it being still so overwhelming. but it was perfect. and he needs to say that, to tell you that it was everything he’d ever wanted—

“please— please, just kiss me.”

and that comes out of dean’s mouth instead. you’d barely started to wipe your hand when the words spill out in a plea— a beg into your shirt. you’re a little surprised that was the first thing he said post-orgasm.

but still, you lean back just enough after dean says that, bringing your free hand to the side of his face while still in his lap, your gaze flicking between his in the dark of his room for just a moment before you lean back in, pressing your lips onto his again.

dean doesn’t hold back now. he doesn’t care about the mess he just made, the way he sounded, or the fact that he begged you to kiss him after you just made him cum.

he kisses you like a starved man, like the air he was breathing needed to come from your mouth and not any other source. his hands move to the back of your hips, gripping your shirt tight and pulling you even closer to him on his lap, now that your hand wasn’t between you both anymore.

dean tears his lips off of yours— and he is still just barely coming back to himself. his brain still hazy from pleasure, from you, but he tries to get out words because he needs to tell you how much he still wants, needs you. his hands grip tight on your hips, like he’s afraid you’ll just get up and leave if he lets go. his voice is still wrecked when he only manages to whisper your name again.

you don’t move out from dean’s lap, though. you stay pressed against him, his skin so warm and flushed against your own. neither of you had to say anything to know how intimate this all was. dean should be attempting to at least do something besides burying his face back in your shirt.

but you don’t let dean stay like that for too long. your hands go to the sides of his face, holding his head as you tilt it back to look up at you, searching his gaze as you continue to straddle him. and your own voice is a whisper, too.

“y’okay?”

and god, dean feels like his entire body’s just come apart again at that single word, because how do you answer a question like that.

dean has to take a breath, because he still feels the aftermath of it. everywhere. he nods, once— because he’s better than even alright. then again, because he has to tell you that, too.

“yeah,” he manages to get that out, and it’s still so damn wrecked, so out of breath. “more than okay.”

“okay, good,” your gaze softens and you nod when dean confirms that he was okay— and your other now-clean hand finds the side of his face when he looks up at you. a small smile tugs on your lips as your thumbs graze on his cheek. “just checkin’.”

dean’s blown-out eyes are still locked to yours as you brush your thumb against his skin, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of feeling you touch him like this.

it’s so tender. so soft.

and dean’s just… lost. in you.

but dean does finally manage to speak again, his voice still hoarse as his hands release from your hips start to trail down, calloused fingers rubbing gently on your exposed thighs and saying your name like a prayer. “god, i need—”

you keep dean’s gaze still— but not before glancing down to see his hands on your bare thighs in his dimly-lit bedroom as you straddle him.

dean’s hands looked like they belonged on you.

felt like it, too.

one of your own hands reaches down from dean’s face to his on your thigh, grasping on his fingers with yours.

“tell me what you need,” your voice is still a hush of a whisper, but remains completely and utterly genuine as you search dean’s gaze. “de, tell me what you need me to do, and i’ll do it.”

holy goddamn.

dean’s breath actually stutters a little at that, because you sound so ready, so willing— he can’t help but let those last three years of pining, of wanting you, of hoping show as he looks up at you.

“ride me. please.”

the words come out in a half-choked plea. dean’s so damn desperate for you, he’d beg. hell, he was begging in the darkness.

and you weren’t about to say no.

your hands take themselves off of dean’s face and hand, lifting your leg to discard your sleep shorts, then your (soaked) undies— then going to the shirt that you’d still been wearing, grabbing the hem of it and tearing it off, discarding it somewhere in his room before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

and when that finally comes off, too, dean’s entire damn body tenses. because he felt like the air had just been ripped from his lungs.

again.

he’s seeing you more exposed to him, for him than he’s ever seen you before— and the sight of you like this is goddamn perfect. you’re so perfect.

dean’s hands tighten on your thighs, his eyes taking in the view of you like a man starved.

“holy—”

there’s a thousand words he has for you right now. things like beautiful, perfect, mine. but he can’t get them out yet. because his brain is still trying to catch up from the fact that you’re actually here and naked in his lap.

both of dean’s hands reach for your hips as he’s still staring up at you in awe, his fingers gently but almost greedily gripping on you— because he wants to touch you so bad that he wants to let out a goddamn sob. because no one has ever felt like this for him.

because no one has ever come close to the way he craved you.

your eyes meet back up to dean’s green ones once again. you didn’t have to tell him anything or even say something else.

so that’s why you just nod, then reach down between you both once more, starting to fully sink yourself on dean’s dick— all while still keeping his gaze while you let your hands rest on his shoulders, a exhale escaping you both.

you not even halfway on his dick, and dean thinks he might bust again right then and there. his fingers dig into your hip, all while a groan escapes his parted lips: “ah, shit—”

and oh, he’s big. it takes you a second, but you sink down completely on top of him, your pussy sucking him all up— dean feels like he can’t breathe. again. the sight of you like this is gonna fuel his jerk off sessions for the rest of his goddamn life.

dean’s not sure if it’s possible, but he uses his hands on your hips to gently just pull you even closer against him— which ended up being a mistake, because you involuntarily clench around him. his head drops in between your tits at the action.

and.

he.

whines.

“f— fuck—”

yeah. dean just whined at the feeling of being inside of you, eyes screwed shut and everything as he buries his face deeper between your breasts— you can feel the pant of air and his lips on your skin.

dean’s fingers lace together with yours fully, holding your hand tightly while his other is still gripping tight on the meat of your hip, finally taking his face off of you to look up at you above him.

and oh. you’re a goddess, at least. not something heavenly though, because angels are dicks— but you look unreal as you look back down at dean, your mouth just a little parted from feeling him.

dean twitches a little inside you as he tries to find words, just a few, to tell you how much he wants this— or at least to tell you to move.

all he can get out, though?

“p— please.”

you don’t have to ask for clarification.

you know what dean’s asking for.

so you give it to him.

you grind your hips—and dean whines a little again at that— down onto his just once, testing the waters before you find a rhythm.

and dean feels his entire brain just go on complete and total motherfucking overdrive. because this is it. he’s finally getting the most intimate part of you, the part he’s been wanting for so damn long— he literally can’t see straight anymore. that’s how good it feels. how good you feel.

dean’s head goes in between your tits again, still holding your hand as you move your hips on top on him, grinding down on his dick. his other arm goes around your waist, pressing himself against you and gripping you tight in an attempt to steady himself— but it barely helps. his eyes screw shut again, and he’s letting out another whimper before he can stop it.

“fff— oh, fuck—”

a moan drops from your mouth, too, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds dean’s making, gasping and groaning into your skin as he fucks up into you, meeting your movements. his dick is brushing on that spot that makes you groan— and kickstarts your urge to go faster.

so you do.

dean can’t control anything right now. his hips are bucking up into you erratically, the movements only being stunted a little due to how strong your thighs were around him as you straddle him.

your hand not holding dean’s goes into his hair as you’re both pressed together for a better grip— and dean almost sees stars. he groans a little again, his breaths coming in hard pants on the skin between your breasts.

and the praise falls from your lips onto dean’s ear before you can stop it—

“you’re doin’ so good, de.”

dean feels like he’s gonna cry. just from how perfectly good you feel on top of him— and he’s making the most delicious noises that sound like words but it’s just broken moans mixed with whimpers. his hand on your hip tightens to the point it’s almost painful, but you don’t mind all that much.

“ah, don’ worry, i gotcha,” you whisper against dean’s ear again, your hand tightening on his as you let out a rough exhale, chest heaving rapidly against his as your movements don’t falter once. “you’re doing so good f’me, dean.”

dean’s not in control of the sounds that come out his damn mouth anymore— the praise goes straight to his dick, straight to the familiar burning building low in his tummy. it’s just all swearing, sounds of your name and incoherent begging being said into your skin.

“ah— shit, fuckin’— please—”

dean’s not even trying to stop the words from rushing out of his mouth right now, even if he sounds pathetic. because it all feels so goddamn good, and he’s being so good— for you.

and dean can feel nothing but you right now, in every sense possible. everything else has been long gone, and he’s been so goddamn wrapped up in how good your pussy feels around his dick.

dean gasps for air, because wants to tell you that you’ve ruined every living thing for him in the entire goddamn universe forever.

he wants to tell you that he’s about to cum— again.

“jesusfuckin’christ— oh, please—” is what comes out of him instead.

the words are barely intelligible, and dean’s whole body is starting to tense underneath you as he manages to choke out a ragged cry of your name. your hand is still gripping hard onto his own, the other burying itself deeper his hair. you needed to hold onto him right now. shit, you needed a sec.

because dean winchester was begging to cum inside of you.

you almost stop grinding down on him for a second— the keyword being almost.

you just nod against dean’s head still buried in your tits, holding him against you as you talk into his ear again.

“go ahead, baby.”

dean almost sobs again when you say that. he lets go completely just as before, his hands’ grips becoming painful on you as his whole body shakes and convulses against yours, the movements of his hips becoming so erratic once more as he’s painting your walls with his… sixth? seventh? load of the night— only this time, it’s inside of you. and he’s making every sound in the book: whimpers, groans, a whine here and there, too.

you came, too— but honestly, if you didn’t, you would’ve been fine either way. seeing and hearing dean come apart like this was enough to last you a lifetime.

you don’t know how long dean and you stay like that, pressed into each other and panting, fluids mixed together, spilling out and sticking all over your thighs— but even as you pull back just enough to look down at him, dean’s still trembling under you, long after both your orgasms had surpassed their high, melting into a thick haze between you two.

dean can’t look at you— or won’t, but either way, your hand in his hair trails to the side of his face, and you gently force him to look up at you.

dean swallows hard, and his face flushes. the embarrassment was finally, finally starting to set in now that he’d fucked you and himself out. he braces himself for the teasing, the jokes— and the look on your face.

but you weren’t looking down at dean like he was pathetic, or weak. you never did— and you sure as hell weren’t about to start now, after he’d just shown you every side you’d wanted to see of him.

no, you just smile a little, eyes flicking between dean’s as your thumb grazes on his cheek. he can’t help but lean his head into your palm as you exhale your next words out in a breath—

“that was really fuckin’ hot.”

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you now have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

heyyyyyyy guys… soooo how we doin’? LMFAOOOOOOOO this has got to be the longest i’ve ever spent on a fic (only for dean wbk!)

and i know i said this last time, but on a real note: if you have stayed to the very end— first, THANK YOU FOR READING! and second, if you enjoyed, please consider SHOWING ME THAT ( reblogs / comments / etc ) because this took me FOREVER to write (again). i would love to know if my efforts are worthwhile!

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina + i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[livelaughlovebeinggod]

This post is for the people who are procrastinating on applying the law or for those who need a wake up call. ‼️

what if you had never found the law?

Or let's say there's a parallel reality where you never stumbled upon the law of assumption. That you with the same circumstances but without the knowledge of the law, how would they have felt? For many, it would feel like their horrible reality would never change, how helpless they must be feeling, thinking about all the hardwork they need to do in order to achieve something, thinking that there's no shortcut to life and they've to do far more than just lifting a finger, they've to chase after life relentlessly just to live their dreams and the list goes on...all this just because they're limited in their mind, they're not aware of just how powerful their mind and their assumptions are, just because they're not aware that they can have absolutely anything and everything just by assuming they have it. They would have lived their entire life feeling like they've no control over their life, having that hope that maybe one day it would all change but unfortunately it never does. You come to your last stage of life with nothing but regrets because you wanted to do so many things but either didn't have the time or you just didn't have the courage to "take action" on them.

Seems horrifying? It is.

Now let's flip the script!

GOOD NEWS!

YOUR LIFE IS NOT THE WAY I DESCRIBED ABOVE.

You're blessed and lucky enough to have the knowledge about the law of assumption. I would have certainly felt helpless and hopeless if i didn't know about the law of assumption with my circumstances, i would've felt like giving up but this is not the case, I know about the law, i know it IS possible to have the life of my dreams and more, oh how blessed i am. Then why the hell am i procrastinating on doing the bare minimum?! imagine the things you would have to do in order to achieve those dreams if you didn't know about the law? Damn I'm exhausted even thinking about it! But guess what? With the law, u know all you have to do is just assume it's already done and persist! You don't have to even lift a finger let alone doing anything more than that. It's this easy.

Just think about it.

It's that easy so why are you procrastinating or why are you not taking accountability and changing your life? YOU LITERALLY CANNOT BE MORE BLESSED THAN THIS. Like imagine getting whatever you want with just your assumptions?! Even a fairytale falls short of what cheat code we know now. You're not realising just HOW FREAKING LUCKY AND POWERFUL YOU ARE.

This is not just a post to motivate you, this is a WAKE UP CALL, I'm calling you out rn and telling you to end this cycle, NOW. I need you to step aside from ur phone or Tumblr after you've read this post and just think about it, what are you doing? You could be living ur dream life by now if u had just applied the law and stayed consistent with it but here you are, consuming more loa content as if it's all not just the same information you've read a hundred times. The law is simple, too simple actually.

DECIDE YOU HAVE IT & PERSIST. THAT'S IT.

There's no other magical information out there, you WILL NOT get your desires if you don't apply the law. It cannot get easier than this. There are people who don't have ANY idea about the law, they're living a limited life, but you? You know about the thing people would sell their souls just to find out about it, and here you are still procrastinating as if you don't actually hold the power of the whole universe inside your mind and all you need is a decision and commitment to that decision.

It's either you decide to CHANGE YOUR LIFE AND FINALLY END THIS CYCLE or GET THIS LOOP GOING FOREVER. It's upto you. No one's coming to save you and it doesn't have to be scary, no one's coming to save you because you're enough to save yourself. You've all the power you'll ever need. Stop doubting your power. Actually applying the law and being consistent is scary and hard because your mind is too familiar living in hell that even heaven starts to feel uncomfortable but trust me, once you come out of that comfort bubble, you'll see that you were living in a tunnel all your life when there was a whole universe outside waiting for you to come out.

You can do it. Now, GO DO IT.

[yuwuta]

RODEO STATION, 1 — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO 

A collection of you and Megumi, through the years, through Gojo’s eyes. 

content, warnings: friends to lovers, fluff, sort of canon-adjacent, satoru adopts megumi and tsumiki, reader has a cursed technique but it’s not mentioned in depth here, really just you and megumi falling in love and gojo watching

word count: 1.1k

part i: first years, jujutsu tech. fits in the timeline around when nobara first joins the class

When Satoru first finds him, Megumi has two conditions. First, that Tsumiki would be kept safe and happy, and far away from the Zenin clan if they weren’t going to be good to her—safe and far away from all jujutsu society if Gojo could help it; and that she would never have to worry about feeding herself or Megumi ever again. Satoru agreed right away, he would have done that without the request. 

For his second condition, an eight year old Megumi looked Satoru straight in the eye and told him that he would absolutely not be separated from you. Satoru thought it was cute, sweet, in the bratty, and naive but determined kind of way that seemed to be everything that kid stood for, and Satoru couldn’t fault him for it. Megumi’s evident childlike adoration of you aside, Satoru saw potential in you, too, so he accepted Megumi’s conditions, happy to welcome the two of you to the world of sorcery. 

It’s not until a week before you both start at Jujutsu Tech, that Satoru really asks Megumi why he wants you here (never mind the fact that you had already also made up your mind about being a sorcerer, and if there is anything that Satoru has learned about you in the past decade, it’s that: one, you have the magical ability to make Megumi do anything you say; and two, you’re incredible persuasive and very stubborn). Megumi doesn’t look him in the eye when he answers, fidgeting with his melting ice cream instead when he says, “Well, she saved my life.” 

Satoru doesn’t tease when he hears this, only digging his spoon in for a scoop of Megumi’s toffee butter, smiling to himself when the cold hits his tongue, because he’d heard the message loud and clear: Megumi believes he owes you his life, and to keep yours protected, he wants you by his side.

Satoru quickly learns that Megumi truly has his work cut out for him as he watches you burst through a top-floor window of a high-rise building, falling carelessly with the object of your mission—a special-grade cursed object—clutched in your grasp. Second later, there’s a loud explosion, as the ugly head of a large cursed falls limp in the hole in the broken glass that you’d left behind. Satoru chuckles when he sees you smile, and the faint cheer of weeeeeeeee as you fall. He knew you were wild and stubborn by the way you bossed Megumi around without a care, but seeing you in action proved that you were also in your own league of crazy, a fantastic sorceress in the making. 

To his left, Yuuji gapes wildly as he looks up, shielding his eyes with his hand, and then flinching back when Nobara bursts through the ground floor door, not without a nail going flying into the curse that had been chasing her. She looks angry, then wide eyed, then up to where Yuuji and Megumi were also staring and starts squealing alongside him. 

“Gojo-sensei, what are you standing there smiling about—do something!” Nobara shouts, pointing an accusatory finger up in the air at your flying body. 

Yuuji gasps again, like he’d just figured out the consequence of you falling from a building, spewing on his own cries, “Hey, seriously, what the hell are we doing—she can’t fly,” he shouts, turning to shake his sensei, then pausing, “Wait, Fushiguro, can she fly? You know her.” 

“Idiot,” Nobara spits, “If she could fly then she’d be flying, not falling.”

“Then why aren’t we doing any—you know what, I think I can catch her,” Yuuji boasts, rolling up his sleeves, prepared to position himself underneath your descending body, and that’s when Satoru steps in, extending an arm in front of his students. 

“You all worry too much,” he smiles, lifting his blindfold just enough to look the pair in the eye, and tilt his head up slightly, “Besides, Megumi’s handled it.” 

Three heads turn back up to the sky, where you’re no longer in freefall, instead have had your shoulders snatched by Nue’s talons. You’ve still got that wild smile on your face, wider now as you descend much more elegantly via Megumi’s shikigami. Nobara and Yuuji wince as Nue’s wings flap widely when you’re set on the ground. You shift the box with the cursed object to one hand, reaching your free one around to pet the bird’s feathers. It crows happily, and Satoru snickers, much to Megumi’s dismay. You always did treat his shikigami like pets. 

“Hey, you’re okay!” Yuuji cheers, eyes sparkling, “What’s in the box? A sword—actually, I don’t want to know. If it’s another finger, keep it away from me.” 

“Hand it here,” Nobara demands. You’re happy to hand over the box and have another hand available for petting Nue. 

Satoru watches fondly as Yuuji and Nobara fuss over the box. They should probably exercise more caution, but he’s there, so the worst can’t happen. Meanwhile, you step closer to Megumi with Nue fluttering behind you. 

“You’re the one who told me there would be no need to get involved,” Megumi says, voice soft, hands falling comfortably at his side. 

“I said that you wouldn’t have to get involved with the curses,” you correct, standing on your tiptoes to nuzzles your head into the bird’s feathers, “I said nothing about not getting involved with me.” 

Satoru does his best not to choke out a loud laugh as Megumi’s face becomes increasingly pink when you reach forward to pinch his cheeks, his grumbling drowned in the sound of Yuuji and Nobara’s bickering. Satory sighs, content. He cares for all his students, but there’s a certain weight lifted on his shoulders knowing that when it came to you, there was truly nothing to worry about—Megumi would always be there for you. Honestly, he thinks Megumi might fight him to protect you if it came down to it. 

That thought does bring an audible chuckle to his lips, Megumi’s pinched expression calling to him, “What are you laughing about?” 

To which Satoru only hums, sticking his hands in his pockets. Megumi’s eyebrows furrow deeper, but it’s quickly dissolved when you catch his attention again, saying your farewells to Nue before giving Megumi the okay to let him recede into his shadows. 

“Oh, nothing,” Satoru chirps, turning to lead the group back to Ichiji’s car, “Come on, who’s still up for revolving sushi!”  

Cheers follow him as the veil dispels. You question Yuuji about whether or not you think the restaurant will have grilled eel, and Nobara pretends to throw up, arguing that eel is the worst, that you all should stick to hand rolls instead. Megumi stays quiet, walking on your outside, and humming along with all of your suggestions, and Satoru can’t help but wonder whether or not you knew that Nue had been out from the moment you’d stepped in the building. 

Honestly, he thinks Megumi might win that fight—might win any fight if it meant being with you.

[barnesonly]

── ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Lust ˖ ࣪ ⊹ ──

professor!bucky barnes x reader

summary: You’re a literature student. He’s your English professor — brilliant, composed, and entirely off-limits. But the more you write, the more he notices you. And what begins as admiration quietly unravels into something far more dangerous.

word count: 8,5k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, mutual desperation, age gap, dirty talk, praising kink, fingering, oral (m receiving), PiV, rough sex.

Part 4 | Previous Part | Next Part

You slammed your dorm door a little too hard behind you. Not on purpose. But kind of.

Your bag slid from your shoulder, landing with a dull thud by your desk. You kicked your shoes off without bothering to untie them, paced once across the room, then sat on the edge of your bed—and stayed there.

Frozen.

Staring at your phone like it might blink first.

God.

What the fuck was that?

You hadn’t done anything. It wasn’t your fault some guy sat next to you, smiled, introduced himself like you were a normal person in a normal class—not someone tangled in a secret affair with the professor who’d stared daggers through him the whole lecture.

Not your fault.

Still—James didn’t even look at you when he left. Didn’t nod, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe in your direction. Just turned and walked out like you weren’t the girl he had whispered I love you to, had cooked dinner for, had kissed so softly the night before you thought your heart would burst.

Your stomach twisted.

Was he really mad?

Jealous?

The thought made your heart beat harder—frustration and confusion and something smug curling in your chest all at once.

Why would he be jealous?

You didn’t flirt. You didn’t even talk back. You were literally just sitting there, awkward as hell, trying not to make it worse.

But he was mad. Definitely.

You lay back on the bed with a groan, dragging a pillow over your face and letting out something between a scream and a laugh.

You should text him.

No. Fuck that.

You didn’t do anything wrong. You weren’t going to apologize for… what, being looked at? For breathing? For being his and not saying it out loud?

You weren’t going to chase him.

Not this time.

Still, your fingers hovered over your screen for way too long—over his name, the message bar, the unread silence that felt heavier by the second.

You threw your phone across the bed and grinned. Just a little.

Because if James Barnes was jealous?

Good. Let him stew in it for a while.

———

The next morning you turned the corner of the English building, clutching your travel mug and trying to walk slow enough that you wouldn’t be the first person in the classroom again. Your nerves had already done enough damage last night—spiraling into every version of Was he mad at me? Did I do something wrong?—and you weren’t about to make yourself an easy target for another cold shoulder.

Not today.

But of course, fate had a flair for cruel timing.

Because just as you passed the cluster of students lounging by the classroom door, he called out to you.

“Heyyy! Come here!”

Theo.

You blinked, surprised. He was leaning casually against the wall, surrounded by two other guys and a girl you recognized from one of your gen eds. All of them looked up when he waved you over.

You hesitated. But only for a second.

Because the truth was… you didn’t really have friends on campus. Not besides Sarah. And Theo didn’t seem that bad—just a little too friendly, maybe. But harmless.

You stepped toward the group.

“Hey,” you said, your voice more unsure than you meant it to be.

Theo smiled, shifting to give you space. “You heading to lecture?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Just about to.”

He grinned. “Cool. We were thinking about hitting that bar just off campus later. You should come with.”

“Oh,” you blinked again. “Um—maybe.”

“You should. Bring your roommate if you want. Or not.” He chuckled. “It’ll be chill.”

You smiled, polite. “Yeah, sure. Sounds fun.”

And that’s exactly when you felt it. That drop in the air. That shift. Like something passed through the hallway and sucked the warmth right out of it.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Professor Barnes walked straight past the group—dark suit, jaw tight, stride purposeful—and didn’t even glance in your direction. Not a flicker. Not a twitch.

Like you weren’t standing there. Like you didn’t exist.

Your stomach flipped. Heat crawled up your neck.

Theo was still talking beside you, something about what drinks they were planning to order, but you couldn’t hear a word.

Your eyes followed James as he disappeared into the classroom, his shoulders tense, his hand clenching slightly around the stack of papers he carried.

“…he’s so annoying, isn’t he?”

Theo’s voice pulled you back into the moment. You blinked, realizing too late that you were still staring at the door James had walked through.

You turned to Theo, trying not to look as rattled as you felt.

He smirked, misreading your expression entirely. “Professor Barnes,” he added, jerking his chin toward the classroom. “Total hardass. Always gives us way too much homework for no reason.”

You forced a laugh. Just a little huff of air, nothing too revealing. “Right.”

He chuckled. “Bet he thinks this is the only class we’re taking. Like we don’t have lives.”

You didn’t respond.

Because you couldn’t.

Your jaw was tight with the effort it took not to snap, not to correct him, not to defend the man you’d had your legs wrapped around the other night. The same man who kissed you like you were made of glass. Who whispered “I love you” into your mouth like it meant something sacred. Who was now… cold, distant, and glaring daggers at Theo from inside the classroom.

You didn’t dare look back at the door again. You just gave Theo a faint nod and an even fainter smile.

“Yeah. I should probably head in,” you muttered.

And then you stepped away, leaving him mid-sentence, heart pounding as you crossed the threshold and stepped into the classroom.

There were already a handful of students scattered throughout the room, chatting quietly, flipping through notes, setting up their laptops. James didn’t look up when you stepped inside.

You kept your gaze down as you walked toward his desk, clutching the paper he’d assigned yesterday—neatly stapled, with your name at the top. Just like everyone else, you set it down without a word. Didn’t linger. Didn’t meet his eyes.

You felt his stare, though. Burning through you.

You turned away and made your way to your usual seat near the front. But instead of sliding into it like normal, you paused—just for a second—and glanced over your shoulder. Just enough to catch him.

He wasn’t looking at your paper. He was looking at you. Jaw tight. Brow tense. Hands still.

Jealous.

And god—god—you kind of loved it.

You settled into your chair, letting your bag drop softly to the floor. You pulled out a pen with careful ease, flipping open your notebook, pretending like you didn’t notice the heat of his stare still dragging over your shoulders.

He didn’t know. He couldn’t know what it did to you—seeing him like this. So composed on the surface, but brimming just beneath. That sharp, simmering edge of possessiveness, jealousy, frustration.

He didn’t know you’d spent the entire night thinking about him. That Theo meant nothing. That no one could ever mean anything the way he did.

The lecture hall buzzed with low conversation until James stepped up to the front, setting down his leather-bound folder with that familiar quiet authority. The moment he cleared his throat, the room hushed.

Your pulse ticked up. You sat up straighter.

Then—the door creaked open.

Theo.

He strolled in like it was no big deal, half-grinning as he made his way toward you again. And of course, of course, he dropped into the seat beside you with a casual little hey, like this was some meet-cute instead of the slowest unfolding death of your sanity.

But James?

He didn’t let it slide.

“You’re late, Mr. Reeves,” James said flatly, not even looking at him as he flipped open his notes.

Theo blinked, pausing mid-sit. “Oh—yeah, sorry, just lost track of time—”

“Time isn’t yours to lose in this classroom,” James snapped, still not raising his voice, but cutting clear through the air. “This isn’t a coffee shop. If you want to chat and drift in whenever you feel like it, I suggest transferring to a less demanding course.”

The room went dead silent. Every pair of eyes flicked to Theo.

And you.

And Theo just sort of… sat back. Awkward. Tense. Mutters an “okay, yeah, sorry, won’t happen again” under his breath.

You wanted to die.

You could feel the red crawling up your face, your ears burning, hands locked in place on your desk. It wasn’t directed at you, not really—but sitting right next to the target of James’s very obvious disdain made you feel like a spotlight had landed on your chest.

You could barely even look at James after that. Not when he finally started the lecture, not when he spoke like nothing had happened.

But you didn’t miss the quick glance he gave you.

Sharp. Possessive.

A flicker of something territorial buried beneath his otherwise controlled expression.

You looked away fast, heart pounding.

Oh, he’s mad.

The moment James dismissed the class, the room buzzed to life—chairs scraping, backpacks zipping, soft murmurs filling the space. You were still packing your things, and you barely had a moment to breathe before Theo turned toward you.

“Okay, what is this guy’s problem?” he muttered under his breath, voice tinged with annoyance as he nodded toward where James had already vanished through the side door.

You blinked, trying to keep your expression neutral. “Well… you were a bit late.”

“Yeah, like two minutes. Two,” Theo groaned, dramatically slinging his bag over his shoulder. “He’s always on my ass. It’s like he’s got something personal against me or something.”

You hummed, noncommittal, keeping your eyes on your notebook as you slid it into your bag. God, if only he knew.

Theo leaned a little closer. “Anyway—as I said bar tonight. Few of us are going. You should come. Seriously. Could use some backup in case Professor Grump shows up again and tries to ruin my life.”

You laughed softly despite yourself. “Okay, okay…” you said. “I’ll ask my roommate too.”

“Cool.” He grinned. “See you there.”

He left with a little wave, and you lingered for just a second longer, glancing once at the empty desk at the front of the room—already missing James’s gaze, even if it had been narrowed with jealousy.

God, if only he knew there was no one else. There couldn’t be. Not when your entire heart already belonged to the man who’d just stormed out without a word.

And something told you… his office hours were about to get very, very interesting.

———

Back in your dorm, the door clicked shut behind you, and the scent of Sarah’s perfume still lingered faintly in the air. She was lying across her bed, flipping through a magazine, legs kicked up lazily in the air.

“Hey,” you said, dropping your bag onto your chair.

She glanced up, humming.

“So, uh… this guy from one of my lectures asked if we wanna go to a bar tonight. Him and his friends.”

That caught her attention.

“Ooooh,” she said, sitting up. “A guy, huh? Is he cute?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “He’s… fine. I mean, yeah, I guess. I barely know him.”

Sarah raised a brow, suspicious already. “Wait. Is that the guy?”

“What guy?” you asked, playing dumb as you walked to your dresser, pulling open a drawer with slightly more force than necessary.

“The guy you’re… y’know. Seeing. The one you won’t tell me anything about?”

You paused for a second too long.

“No. It’s not him.”

Her brows knitted, and she tilted her head. “Okay, then what about that guy? Your boyfriend or whatever he is?”

You looked over your shoulder, and your voice came out soft, careful.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Sarah blinked. “Right.”

You sighed, grabbing a sweater and sitting down on your bed. “It’s just a bar hangout. Some drinks. Nothing more.”

Sarah stared at you for another beat, then shrugged. “Well, I’m down. I need a drink and some bad decisions. Let’s go be hot and mysterious.”

You laughed a little, but your smile faded quickly once she turned back to her magazine.

Because no—James wasn’t your boyfriend.

But he wasn’t nothing either.

———

The bar was already packed by the time you got there.

Music thrummed low through the floorboards, the scent of beer and perfume hanging thick in the air. The lights were dim, soft amber spilling over polished wood and half-empty glasses. You and Sarah slid into a corner booth, cheeks flushed from the wind outside, laughing about nothing as you pulled off your coats.

Theo waved the moment he spotted you, then gestured you over with two fresh drinks in hand. You didn’t even have time to think before Sarah gave you a little shove.

“There they are,” Sarah said, nodding toward the bar.

You turned, heart lurching for no reason at all. You headed there with Sarah.

Theo grinned and handed you the drink. “Wasn’t sure what you liked, so I gambled.”

You took it, gave it a small sip. “Not bad.”

He leaned against the bar, a little closer than necessary. “So… you made it. I thought for sure you were gonna bail on me.”

You smiled, polite but guarded. “I said I’d come, didn’t I?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Fair. Gotta admit, I’m glad you did. I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk, y’know, outside of all the ‘Modern Narrative Voice’ doom and gloom.”

You took another sip. “Yeah, it’s definitely… intense.”

“You’re one of the good ones though,” he added. “Barnes clearly likes you.”

That made your stomach flip. You looked down into your drink quickly.

“Anyway,” Theo continued, completely unaware, “he’s still a hard-ass. Gave me a B- last week and wrote a whole paragraph about ‘voice dissonance.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

You laughed a little, halfhearted. “Yeah, he’s… passionate.”

He grinned. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You shrugged and took another sip.

He leaned against the bar, comfortably close but not too much, taking a sip of his own drink. „It’s good to take the edge off after all that homework Barnes gave us.”

That pulled a quiet laugh from you. “Yeah, it was a lot. Feels like he’s always pushing us to work harder.”

Theo nodded, making a face. “Right? The guy’s intense.” A pause, then his eyes slid to you again, warm and curious. “But you must be his favorite. Every time we get grades back, I swear he’s looking at your essay like it’s the Holy Grail or something.”

Your stomach did a funny little flip, though you covered it with a shrug. “I just… try hard. That’s all.”

“I bet.” Theo grinned, taking a drink. “Anyway, I’m really glad you came tonight. Thought you might skip out after class today.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”

“I dunno,” he said lightly. “Figured you’d be busy. Or maybe you just had better plans.” He held your gaze as he spoke, playful but not pushy.

You felt your lips curve into a small smile. “Nope. No better plans.”

“Good,” Theo replied, looking satisfied. “That means I’m officially winning my first bet of the night.”

You laughed—a real one this time—and took another sip of your drink, feeling the knot of tension between your shoulders ease just a little.

After some time of drinking and talking with Theo your phone vibrated against the table at the same time Theo’s did.

He frowned, unlocking his screen. “Looks like Barnes already graded the homework,” he said, turning his phone so you could see.

You quickly pulled yours up, breath catching as the grade appeared.

New Grade Posted: ENG 304 — Modern Narrative Voice

Assignment: Analysis of implicit desire in The Lover.

Grade: B-

Feedback: Needs more depth.

Your stomach dropped.

You stared at the screen in disbelief, rereading the short comment — “Needs more depth.”

More depth?

Your hands tightened around your phone. You’d spent hours on that assignment. Even reading it back last night, you’d thought it was good. Really good.

And he knew that.

Beside you, Theo groaned, “Ugh, I only got a C. That guy seriously hates us.”

You didn’t say anything at first, a strange mix of emotions burning in your chest — surprise, indignation… and, under it all, a sharp sting of jealousy.

God, was this because of him seeing you with Theo?

Your cheeks heated at the thought. You wanted to believe it wasn’t that petty, that James was better than that.

But then again, the look he’d given you yesterday—the way he’d been so clearly pissed—flashed back in your mind.

You swallowed, setting your phone face-down on the table.

“That’s ridiculous,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, but Theo caught it.

“Right?” he replied, nudging your elbow. “Your stuff is always A-worthy. Probably just a bad mood.”

You forced a smile, but your chest was tight.

More depth.

More like… you weren’t sure what the hell this game was anymore.

And god, you weren’t sure if you were mad at him or dying to see him—probably both.

“I gotta go,” you said abruptly, already reaching for your coat.

Theo paused mid-sip. “Wait, already? Thought we were going to stay a while.”

But you weren’t really looking at him anymore.

You grabbed Sarah’s wrist. “Come on,” you muttered, weaving through the crowded bar toward the door.

Sarah hurried after you, confused. “Hey—what’s going on?”

The cool night air hit you as you pushed outside, heart thudding in your chest.

You exhaled hard, feeling your hands trembling as you pulled your phone back out. That stupid B– was still glaring up at you like an accusation.

“That guy,” you said bitterly, shoving the phone into your pocket and rubbing your face with both hands.

Sarah frowned. “Your guy? What happened? Did he say something?”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “No. He didn’t say anything. That’s the whole fucking point. That guy is fucking with me again.”

You started pacing, shoulders tight with a mix of frustration and disbelief.

“I try so hard and he…,” you muttered, voice climbing, “he’s trying to piss me off. Like some kind of petty revenge because I was talking to someone else.”

Sarah’s mouth fell open. “Wait — seriously? You mean he’s jealous?”

You threw up your hands. “I don’t know! Probably. I just feel like he’s playing some game with me—and I’m so sick of it.”

Your heart was still racing—part of you wanted to scream, part of you wanted to cry, and the other part wanted to march straight to his office and demand an answer.

Sarah moved a little closer, brows furrowed. “Damn,” she murmured. “Sounds like he’s really under your skin.”

You pressed your lips together, the heat rising to your cheeks.

“God,” you groaned. “He’s so under my skin.”

Sarah stepped closer, rubbing your arm. “That’s bullshit,” she said gently. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the dorm. You deserve better than this.”

You nodded, forcing a smile as you tried to keep yourself together— knowing that whatever was going on with him, whatever this was between you two, was something you couldn’t even begin to explain.

———

The next morning, you woke up with a bitter taste in your mouth.

Your alarm buzzed at the usual time—plenty of time to make it across campus, slip into your usual seat before the room filled up—but you stared up at the ceiling instead, lips pressed together. Normally you’d already be rushing to get dressed, double-checking your notes, telling yourself to breathe.

But not today.

Today you wanted to piss him off as well. Skip his class, simply out of spite.

So you rolled onto your side and grabbed your phone, thumb hovering over the school schedule. Ten minutes until his class would start.

Your heart gave a stubborn thump.

And then you switched it off.

You could already picture him looking up at the door the moment the class began, expecting you to slip inside. Maybe even hoping you would.

And you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction.

With a defiant huff, you burrowed back under the blankets, squeezing your eyes shut and telling yourself you weren’t going to overthink it—weren’t going to spend the whole hour wondering if he noticed, or if he cared.

But of course you did.

Every tick of the clock felt loud. Every page of the book you tried to read went fuzzy. Even when Sarah texted you a dumb meme halfway through the hour, you barely smiled.

And still you stayed put, feeling equally smug and miserable. Because skipping his class wasn’t going to make you miss him any less.

If anything, it just reminded you exactly how tangled up you were in this whole mess.

But fuck it. Today you needed to rest, to clear your mind.

And to prepare yourself before facing him at his office hours tomorrow.

———

You didn’t bother knocking.

The door to his office was already slightly ajar, so you pushed it open with a tight jaw, heart thudding. James looked up from his desk, pen held between his fingers, expression carefully blank the moment he saw you.

You closed the door behind you with a sharp click, making sure they’re locked.

“What the fuck was that grade?” you demanded, hands balling into fists at your sides.

His brow barely twitched. “That was your grade,” he answered evenly.

Your blood boiled. “That was not my grade. That was nowhere near what I deserved—I did good on that homework!”

He set his pen down slowly, gaze dropping back to the papers. “You could do better.”

That fucking icy tone.

You took a step closer, voice trembling with fury. “That’s such bullshit, James. You know it is.”

A tense silence stretched, humming between you like a live wire.

And then it hit you—the one thing that explained the sharp edge in his voice, the way he wouldn’t look at you.

Your lips parted in disbelief. “Are you jealous?”

His shoulders went stiff at that, hands flexing once against the desktop. He didn’t reply. Didn’t deny it. Just kept his eyes fixed anywhere but your face.

Your heart flipped.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, more astonished than angry now. “You are.”

He finally looked away, his jaw ticking, mouth pressed into a thin, stubborn line.

And there it was—James, perfectly composed on the outside but seething under the surface.

You stared at him across the desk, your breath coming quicker, feeling that reckless thrill rise in your chest despite the tension, despite the fight.

“You’re jealous,” you repeated, softer this time, like you couldn’t quite believe it yourself.

And still—he didn’t say a word.

You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh—dark and bitter in the quiet of his office. “God,” you scoffed, “can’t I even talk to other people without you losing it?”

That finally got him to look at you properly, something heated flashing in his eyes as his voice dropped. “That was not just talking,” he shot back, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “You were clearly flirting with him.”

Your mouth fell open. “That’s not true,” you fired back, feeling heat rise up your neck. “We were just talking. I barely know him!”

James’s gaze stayed locked on you, sharp and unyielding, his hands curling into fists at his sides like he was holding himself back.

“You were in my class laughing with him. I saw how he looks at you,” he ground out, low and taut. “And then you skipped my class like I wouldn’t notice. Don’t play innocent with me.”

Your heart thudded faster, disbelief and that strange thrill tangling together in your stomach. “You really think I’d just go after someone else? After everything we—”

“You tell me,” he interrupted, voice rougher now.

You stared at him for a long beat, breath caught halfway in your chest, realizing just how much this was eating him up—and somehow, that twisted knot of jealousy and want left you trembling for a reason that had nothing to do with fear.

You felt the tension humming between you like a live wire as you took a cautious step closer.

“God, James,” you breathed, your voice softer now—trembling but sure. “I would never.”

He went very still at that, his eyes darkening as they searched your face like he was looking for any trace of a lie. But all you could do was look up at him—lips parted, hands aching to touch him.

You inched even closer, close enough that your knees nearly brushed his, close enough that you could see the way his chest rose and fell a little faster.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, and something in him finally broke.

In one harsh breath he pulled you flush against him — hands gripping your hips like he never wanted to let go — and his mouth crushed against yours, hot and needy. You moaned into the kiss, hands fisting his shirt as he pushed you back until the edge of his desk dug into the back of your thighs.

“Say it again,” he growled into your lips, voice low and raw.

“I’m yours,” you gasped, pulling him closer like you could never have him close enough.

He grabbed the backs of your legs and lifted you up onto the desk ass he kissed you deeper, messier — hands sliding up under your skirt, thumbs brushing your inner thighs as he groaned into your mouth.

“That’s right, you hear me?” he murmured against your lips, fingers tugging your panties aside, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your clit and making you whimper. „Just mine.”

Your hands flew to his belt, trembling, desperate—aching to feel him as much as he clearly needed you. And when you finally pulled him free and felt him hot and thick against your palm, the needy sound he let out was enough to make your whole body throb.

He broke the kiss with a low, feral sound—hands gripping your hips and dragging you off the desk just enough to turn you around.

Your palms hit the surface with a thud, papers scattering as he bent you forward, his body pressing up against yours until you could feel the hard line of him at your backside.

“I think I gotta teach you a lesson,” he groaned into your ear, voice gone husky.

You whimpered, cheek brushing the desk as his hands bunched up your skirt around your waist. You could feel him yank your panties down in one smooth motion — his fingers gliding between your folds as you arched into him.

“You’re mine.” he growled, dragging his thumb through your slick and circling your clit just once before positioning himself at your entrance, „don’t you dare fucking forget that.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, breathless, trembling with need.

He pushed into you in one deep, unforgiving stroke, filling you so perfectly you moaned aloud—hands clawing at the edge of the desk for leverage.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as he pulled back and thrust into you again, and again—rough, relentless, every inch of him driving into you like he was claiming you, like he needed you to feel him for days.

“You like that?” he rasped, leaning over your back as his mouth brushed the shell of your ear. “You like knowing you’re the only one who gets me like this?”

“Yes,” you choked out, dizzy and aching and so goddamn full of him.

He groaned at that — fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your face back as his hips snapped against you, the sound of skin on skin filling the room.

“You’re my good girl,” he growled into your ear, voice wrecked with possession. “And you’re gonna remember who you belong to.”

And god, you did—every perfect, brutal thrust carving him into your bones, every gasp and moan a reminder of exactly who had you trembling, aching, and ruined over his desk.

Your legs were trembling by the time his hands slid up your back, fingers gentle even as he kept you pinned against the desk. Every inch of you was on fire—breath catching in shallow gasps as you felt him slow down his rhythm just enough to lean forward and kiss the curve of your shoulder. Fucking you slow but hard, making sure you feel him well enough.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured against your skin, voice raw with need as his hips rocked into you again—slower this time, deeper.

A shaky moan slipped past your lips and you arched back into him, craving every last bit of his heat.

“Could anyone else make you feel like this?” he groaned, hands gripping your waist as he moved, deliberate and unhurried—like he was savoring you, like he never wanted this to end.

“N-no,” you breathed, eyes fluttering closed, body tightening around him as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.

He responded with a low sound of approval, one hand moving up to your chest as he pulled you up slightly against him. His palm flattened over your heart, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Good,” he whispered into your ear, lips dragging over your earlobe before his teeth grazed it. “You’re mine, baby. Every perfect inch of you.”

Your lips parted in a trembling gasp — because god, the way he was saying it, like it was forever, like he was marking every part of you as his and you were so hopelessly lost in him.

“Please,” you whimpered, voice catching.

And whatever restraint he had left shattered.

He bent you back down over the desk and gave you what you wanted — what you needed — every thrust sharp and hard and perfect until you were crying his name, knuckles white as they gripped the edges of the desk, until you were right there on the edge with him.

And as you shattered, he held you so close you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began, breathing you in like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

He pulled back just enough to catch his breath—hands lingering on your hips as his chest rose and fell against your back. The office was still humming with the afterglow of it all when you felt him ease away and his hands guided you around to face him.

Your gaze flicked up to his, heart still pounding wildly as he brushed his thumb along your swollen bottom lip.

“On your knees,” he told you, voice deep and husky, the heat in his eyes making your whole body ache all over again.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your knees touched the floor, eyes never leaving his as you knelt before him—hands skimming up his thighs as you leaned in, lips brushing over his cock already slick from you.

“That’s it,” he murmured, fingers threading into your hair to guide you, his breath hitching as your lips wrapped around him.

You took him slow at first, tongue swirling around him before hollowing your cheeks and sinking deeper—feeling him tense, hearing that low, broken sound tear from his throat.

“God, baby… just like that,” he groaned, fingers flexing in your hair as he rocked his hips carefully into your mouth.

The taste of him, the way he was looking down at you like you were everything—it only spurred you on, hands braced against his legs as you took him deeper, letting him set the pace.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he hissed, voice strained and needy as you felt him throb against your tongue, his control slipping more with every breathless moan you pulled from him.

And you held his gaze the entire time—so willing, so eager to please—knowing you were his, and knowing just how much he needed you.

He was trembling under your hands—breath shaky as his gaze stayed locked on yours.

“I’m close,” he groaned, the words thick with need as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. “I wanna come in your mouth.”

His voice dropped to a husky rasp as he guided you deeper, fingers tightening in your hair.

“Will my pretty girl take it for me?”

You gave him a small, breathless moan and nodded, looking up at him with parted lips, aching to give him exactly what he wanted.

“God,” he choked out, jaw flexing as his hips gave a final, shuddering thrust — and then heat flooded your mouth.

You swallowed around him instinctively, eyes fluttering as you kept him there until the last pulse of pleasure wrung through him and his hands slowly released their grip on you.

When you pulled back, lips slick and swollen, you pushed yourself to your feet—reaching blindly for a tissue on his desk.

Before you could do anything, his hand was on your chin, thumb tilting your face back to him as his gaze darkened.

“Nu-uh,” he murmured, voice low and commanding. “Swallow it.”

Your breath caught—heat sparking in your belly at the possessiveness in his tone and without breaking eye contact, you swallowed.

He let out a low, satisfied sound, thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth like a final caress.

“That’s my good girl.”

He pulled you up into his arms without hesitation, hands gentle but firm as they settled at your back.

You melted into him, breath shivering as you tucked your face against his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat was a steady reassurance under your cheek, and for a moment you just stayed like that—held and safe.

“I never meant to make you jealous,” you murmured into the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling lightly into it.

He let out a slow sigh, chin resting on the crown of your head as his arms tightened around you.

“I know,” he answered quietly, voice still carrying that edge of tension that hadn’t fully let go. “I believe you. It’s just…”

You felt him hesitate—his thumb rubbing slow circles against your spine.

“You have no idea how scared I am,” he admitted, voice almost too soft. “That someone else will see what I see. That they’ll look at you the way I do. And that one day, I won’t get to have you like this.”

His hands held you a little firmer at those words—like the thought was too much to bear.

And you held him just as tightly, heart aching at the worry threaded through him.

You eased back just enough to look up at him, hands sliding up to rest against his chest as you shook your head.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, voice firm and gentle all at once. “Because I will never look at anyone that way. I only see you, James. And I love you.”

For a moment, his gaze searched yours — like he was holding his breath, needing to believe you.

And then something in him softened. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he exhaled slowly, his hands moving to cradle your face.

“You don’t know how much I need to hear that,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

You held his stare, heart aching at the honesty in his eyes.

“I’m just…” he began, his brow furrowing as though he was choosing his words carefully. “That boy is your age. I’m your professor. I can’t give you a normal relationship. I wouldn’t blame you if you ever wanted something easier. Something you could show off.”

Your hands slipped up to cover his, fingers lacing together as you pressed his palm closer.

“James,” you said, your voice steady, “I don’t want easier. I want you.”

And that was all there was — the quiet hush of the office around you, and him leaning in to kiss you like it was a promise he couldn’t quite believe you were making.

You melted into his kiss, hands tangled in the back of his shirt as his mouth moved over yours—slow and claiming, like he never wanted to let you go.

When he finally pulled back, his gaze searched yours, thumb rubbing your cheek.

“Was I too obvious?” he asked, a tiny crease between his brows. “With the… jealousy…”

That made you laugh — a soft, breathless sound that felt too light for all the tension that had been between you only moments ago.

“Yeah,” you admitted, lips quirking into a smile. “A bit. But it was cute.”

He huffed a small, self-deprecating laugh and ducked his chin, the ghost of a smile pulling at his mouth. “Cute,” he echoed like he wasn’t sure if he liked the word or not.

“Very cute,” you teased, reaching up to smooth your thumb along his bottom lip. “And a little obvious. You weren’t exactly subtle telling him off.”

He exhaled, shaking his head, though there was amusement in his eyes. “God, I thought I was keeping it together,” he muttered. “Seeing him talk to you like that—I wasn’t going to wait around.”

That pulled a quiet hum from you as you leaned into him again, savoring the way the tension bled into something warm and easy between you—knowing you wouldn’t change a thing.

He laughed under his breath, brushing his thumb over your cheek as the quiet settled again. “And I did mean it about your grade,” he added, eyes glinting. “You could do better.”

Your jaw dropped. “James,” you warned, giving him a look that could have set fire to the room.

“What?” he said, hands lifting like he was innocent. “You told me not to give you a good grades just because I fuck you.”

“But I spent hours on that homework,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him even though you felt the edges of a smile tugging at your lips.

He grinned, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Consider it motivation,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You groaned, half laughing as you pushed at his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, voice low and playful. “But you’ll thank me when you pass with flying colors. And,” he paused, lips brushing your jaw, “I’ll reward you properly when you do.”

You chuckled and shook your head in amusement, pulling out from his embrace and grabbing your bag.

„I should probably go…” You said with a frown.

James nodded, running a hand through his hair. „Yeah… Text me when you’re home, alright?”

„Sure.” You smiled and headed towards the door.

You stopped just before reaching for a handle, glancing at him one more time. He was gathering the scattered papers from the floor already.

„Love you,” you said quietly but loud enough for him to hear.

James looked up at you and his gaze softened immediately, he tilted his head a bit and smiled genuinely.

God how you loved that smile.

„Love you too,” he answered and watched you leave.

———

You came back to your room. Your heart was still beating fast even though you felt much calmer now.

Your dorm was blissfully empty, the faint hum of the heater and the street noise outside the only company you had. Sarah had run off to who knows where, and suddenly the idea that had been tugging since you left James’ office wouldn’t leave you alone anymore.

You glanced around once, even though you knew you were by yourself. A thrill ran up your spine as you grabbed your phone and crossed to the mirror leaning against your closet door.

Your hands felt a little unsteady as you slipped your top off your shoulder just so, tugging the neckline down enough to expose a teasing glimpse of your bra. Then you ran your fingers slowly up your ribs, pushing the fabric down a bit more until you could see the swell of your chest in the reflection.

God, it was ridiculous how good this felt—knowing exactly who you were doing this for.

You tilted your chin, gave the camera your best smoldering look—lips parted, hair tousled—and took a few different shots until you found one that was downright sinful.

Your thumb hovered for a second over the send button. You felt a spark of wickedness light up in your belly.

You | 5:27PM

Thanks for the “motivation,” professor. Thought I’d give you some too.

And then you hit send.

Your pulse kicked up as you stared at the sent message and the preview of the photo—lips parted, eyes dark, shirt pulled low enough to leave very little to the imagination. Your hands were trembling, heart thudding wildly. Instantly, your body felt warm all over, a slow ache stirring between your legs just at the thought of him seeing you like that—knowing that beneath his composed professor persona was a man who could hardly keep his hands off you.

You bit your bottom lip and flopped onto your bed, phone clutched to your chest, grinning into your pillow. The air still smelled faintly like him, or maybe you were just imagining it.

And oh god, you couldn’t wait for his reply. If he was jealous before, this was going to drive him absolutely crazy.

Your phone buzzed against your chest—you nearly jumped, breath catching as you grabbed it and unlocked the screen.

James | 5:29PM

Jesus Christ. You’re making it very hard to focus right now.

Your lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile as you bit your thumb and kept reading. You could practically hear the edge in his voice, that low, tight control he always had before it snapped. A rush of heat went straight to your core.

You typed back quickly, fingers flying before you could second-guess yourself. Your heart was pounding so loud you were sure someone outside could hear it.

You | 5:29PM

That was kinda the point. Is it working?

A moment passed before the next message lit up your screen.

James | 5:30PM

More than you know.

You shifted on your bed, legs rubbing together instinctively as you replied. Your thumbs moved before you could overthink it.

You | 5:30PM

Still working this late?

The reply came quickly.

James | 5:30PM

Yeah. Too much grading left.

A wicked little thrill ran through you. Biting your lip, you shifted deeper under your blankets, already picturing him alone at his desk, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration.

You | 5:31PM

Poor professor. Bet you wish you were here instead of looking at homework.

A moment passed.

James | 5:31PM

You have no idea.

Your smile curved into a grin as you decided to push him further.

You | 5:32PM

Mmm… wish I could help you relax. I could come over. Maybe wear something pretty just for you. Or maybe nothing at all.

Your pulse quickened.

James | 5:32PM

Careful, sweetheart. You know exactly what you’re doing.

That was the encouragement you needed—heat spilling into every word as you typed your next message.

You | 5:33PM

And I bet you’d do more than just look. Remember how you had me bent over your desk just a few hours ago? I haven’t stopped thinking about it

A few seconds ticked by—long enough that you wondered if you’d finally pushed too far—then your screen lit up again.

James | 5:33PM

God. You’re going to drive me crazy. Keep that up and I’m going to end up leaving this pile of papers unfinished.

A shiver ran through you at the raw want under his words.

And you weren’t anywhere close to stopping.

Your heart was racing, and you could feel heat climbing up your neck as you shifted on your bed, knees pressed together.

You | 5:34PM

That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? You could have me all to yourself instead.

You paused before typing the next part, already knowing it would get to him.

You | 5:34PM

And this time, I could do everything you want me to…

There was a tense, breathless pause.

James | 5:34PM

Fuck, baby. You’re playing a dangerous game tonight, aren’t you?

You bit your lip, thumbs flying.

You | 5:35PM

Maybe I like dangerous. Especially when it’s you.

His next message was slower to come, like he was thinking—or picturing every word you’d sent him.

James 5:36PM

And maybe I like that you never make it easy for me to concentrate.

Keep this up and I’m going to give you a office hours you won’t forget.

Your lips parted, breath shallow. It felt like you could feel him already—hands gripping your waist, his mouth dragging along your neck—and all you could do was keep him hooked.

You | 5:36PM

That’s exactly what I was hoping for. You always look at me like you want to ruin me.

A tiny typing bubble appeared… then disappeared. Then came his reply, short and direct:

James | 5:37PM

I already have.

You shifted on your bed, breath coming faster as you thought of him sitting at his desk across town—tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, probably pinching the bridge of his nose the way he always did when he was focused.

God, you ached for him.

Your hands moved before you could overthink it, sliding your skirt up just enough as you set your phone to take another shot. This one was closer—your fingertips brushing against the inside of your thigh, your panties barely in frame.

You hit send, then quickly followed with a message before you lost your nerve:

You | 5:39PM

Still working? Or did I just make that a lot harder?

You held your breath, heart thudding in your ears as you stared at the screen.

His reply came fast.

James | 5:39PM

Keep going. Show me what you’d let me do to you if I were there.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively at his words, a dizzy little thrill running through you.

You | 5:40PM

Not so fast, Professor… Maybe I’ll write you something instead, hm?

Your phone buzzed almost instantly after you hit send.

James | 5:40PM

Tease.

Your lips curled into a cocky little smile as you rolled onto your stomach, kicking your feet idly behind you. Your heart was still thudding wildly in your chest—you could feel the anticipation humming under your skin.

You bit your bottom lip and typed back quickly:

You | 5:40PM

Mm, I think I have some idea, professor…

And then, after a beat—before he could send anything else—you added:

You | 5:40PM

Let me show you properly. Give me a few.

Your hands were trembling just a little as you grabbed your laptop off your desk, already knowing exactly what you were going to do. The glow of the screen lit up the darkened room as you pulled up a blank document and took a breath.

You could feel him waiting. You could feel him already aching for you.

And God, the power in that—it was heady and intoxicating.

Your fingers moved before you could overthink it, spilling all the need and heat and breathless tension you felt straight into words, painting a picture for him of exactly what you wanted him to do to you. Of how he made you feel. Of what you thought about when you touched yourself to him. Every filthy, worshipful thought you’d been holding back.

You | 5:58

[PDF FILE ATTACHED]

Every time I’m alone, I find myself thinking about you in a hundred secret ways.

I wonder what it would feel like to have you pressed against me when I can barely catch my breath — your hands everywhere at once, hands that seem to know my body better than I do.

I picture your lips tracing a slow path down my neck, my collarbone, my ribs, and how you’d look up at me like you’re savoring every inch, making me ache before you ever truly touch me.

I want you to pin my hands above my head and kiss me until my lips feel swollen, until my whole body is trembling just for you. To feel your weight and your heat, your voice telling me how good I am for you, how much you need me — and I’d believe every word.

I close my eyes and I can already feel you inside me, deeper and slower this time, like we have forever, like you could take me apart one gentle thrust at a time. I want to moan your name into the dark and hear you groan mine back as you hold me so close I forget there’s even a world outside the bed.

You waited few minutes for his reply.

James | 6:01PM

You have no idea what you just started.

Your heart leapt at his words, heat pooling between your legs all over again.

Your thumbs flew across the screen before you could stop yourself.

You | 6:01PM

Oh yeah? What is it?

You stared at your phone for what felt like forever—one minute turned to ten, then fifteen, then thirty.

You thought maybe you’d scared him off, and were about to put the phone down when it buzzed again.

Your breath caught as you opened the message.

James | 6:33PM

[PDF FILE ATTACHED]

You say you want me but you never see what burns beneath my skin. You don’t know the way I ache to brand you, to leave my hands and lips where everyone else can see.

To taste you until you’re trembling, to press you into my sheets so deep you’ll never wash my scent off your body.

And God help me, I want them all to know you’re mine. I want them to look at you and see my name written in the purples on your throat, in the bruises I leave at your hips.

You make me greedy, you make me feral, and all I want is to have you tangled up beneath me, moaning my name so loud it drowns out any thought—except one—you’re mine.

You stared at the words, pulse thudding in your ears, eyes tracing each devastating line again and again.

Your hands were trembling — you could hardly catch your breath.

And there was only one thought repeating in your mind as you reread his message for the third time: God, I want him.

You stared at your phone in stunned silence, his words practically burning into you.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard before you finally sent back a single, breathless reply:

You | 6:35PM

Wow…

Almost immediately, your phone buzzed again.

James | 6:35PM

Are you free this weekend?

Your heart leapt into your throat.

You | 6:35PM

Yeah…

Three tiny dots appeared and disappeared—like he was thinking, deciding—before his next message hit your screen, heat rolling through you as you read every word.

James | 6:36PM

Good… Maybe you can fix that homework grade. I remember you said something about writing with my fingers inside you in one of your “works”…

You sucked in a shaky breath. Your thighs pressed together involuntarily as a dizzy little thrill ran up your spine.

God, he never missed a thing you wrote—and knowing he wanted to make it real just for you had your body already aching.

Your fingers moved before you could second-guess yourself.

You | 6:37PM

Guess I’ll need my professor’s hands-on guidance, then.

And just like that, you knew—this weekend was going to be unforgettable.

James | 6:37PM

Mhm… See you at my place tomorrow then. Come any time you want.

You smiled stupidly at your phone, warm fluttering in your chest as you stared at the text. A little giddy, you bit your lip and quickly typed back.

You | 6:37PM

I’ll be there <3

You didn’t expect another reply, not really. But then your phone buzzed again.

James | 6:38PM

What’s that?

You scrunched your brows in confusion, a tiny smile already tugging at your lips.

You | 6:38PM

What’s what?

You stared at the screen, nerves and amusement coiling together.

James | 6:39PM

That <3 thing.

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it—the kind that made you cover your mouth like someone might overhear. Poor old man.

You | 6:39PM

It’s a heart, James… Flip your phone to the side…

You tried not to wheeze as you could picture him frowning at the screen, turning his phone around like a puzzle. The image was too cute—your grin grew wider.

James | 6:40PM

Oh.

I see it now…

Your breath caught as a tiny pause appeared, the typing bubble blinking once, twice.

James | 6:40PM

<3

Your face felt so warm it was ridiculous. God, he was so cute.

You pressed the phone to your chest, heart thudding wildly as you stared at the ceiling, already looking forward to tomorrow more than you could put into words.

Part 5 💋

tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @iamthatonefangirl @hiraethmae @im-feeling-blue-today @beforemdnight @just4w3irdo @bloodmocha @lovinqbella @its-in-the-woods @muchwita @iyskgd @harrietandcats @shortandb1tchy @luv4kook @grovelingmen @buckybarneswife125 @xamapolax @glitterspark @azrielsgirll @mortallydistinguishedwolf @shaheea @simp4f1 @voidanima @buckytakethewheel @thatsbucknasty @herejustforbuckybarnes @sebastians-love @wntersoidiertk @emcharra @user911224 @stell404

[nik0nk1]

I’m sorry to ask but can we please have more Beerus! Reader x mark content😩🙏🏾

There was this one scene from Dragon Ball I’m not sure which one tho where beerus meets cheelai and he kinda falls for her like instantly😭 can we have some moments between reader and mark and how they stop villains together and he attempts at making food for her but it’s not the best best but Debbie helps him make it more manageable and reader knows he tried and she eats it no problem and just overall sweet yet still crackhead moments with mark and maybe how she interacts with Debbie and Oliver :3

Author's Note: honestly nddbshssjss nddjdsjddj love it, also this will be the second to the last Beerus![Name] and the last will be the reactions of Mark's variants on Beerus![Name] please suggest other more ideas in my inbox(⁠^⁠.⁠_⁠.⁠^⁠)⁠ﾉ

So without further adu, here are some Beerus![Name] moments with some of the invincible characters( mostly Mark lol Also sorry if there isn't any romance moments jdjjjddjs:( )

Beerus![Name] Moments

[Name] Just Wants Food, Mark is Her Unpaid Butler Now, Cecil is Developing Stress-Induced Baldness, Debbie is the Only One She Listens To, Earth is Off-Limits Because She Said So, Mark Keeps Getting Dragged Into Fights, Everyone is So Tired, [Name] Moved In Without Asking, She’s Claiming Planets Like Trading Cards, Cheetos Saved Earth, Canon? Don’t Know Her

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

[Name] Claims the Planet & Moves in With Mark (Cecil Is Bald Now)

Cecil had never been more stressed in his entire life.

"YOU CAN’T JUST—" He inhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as his headache intensified. "YOU CAN’T JUST CLAIM THE PLANET!"

[Name], sitting on Mark’s couch, kicked her feet up onto the coffee table. "I just did."

Mark, standing next to Cecil, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why are we at my hou-"

He gets cut off by Cecil "Why would you do that?!"

[Name] shrugged. "Because it was there?"

Cecil looked like he was on the verge of a stroke. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?!?!"

[Name], sipping from a juice box, tilted her head. "Yeah. It means I live here now."

Cecil inhaled deeply. "No, it means every government on Earth is PANICKING because some unknown Viltrumite just casually declared ownership over the entire planet—"

[Name] waved him off. "Oh, that’s dumb. I don’t want their government stuff, I just wanna live here. That’s your problem."

Cecil visibly aged ten years in that moment.

Mark groaned. "Where are you even staying—?"

[Name] smirked. "Here."

Mark blinked. "…Excuse me?"

[Name] gestured around. "Your house. I’m moving in."

Silence.

Cecil stared. "I need a drink."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Meeting Debbie: The Unexpected New Roommate

Debbie had just walked in, holding groceries, when she was met with the sight of:

1. Cecil looking like he was on the verge of an aneurysm.

2. Mark rubbing his temples in pure exhaustion.

3. A complete stranger lounging on her couch with a juice box.

Debbie blinked. "What the hell is going on?"

[Name] turned, grinning. "Hi. I live here now."

Debbie froze. "…What."

Cecil groaned. "SHE CLAIMED THE PLANET, DEBBIE."

Debbie slowly turned to Mark, eyes narrowing. "Mark. Explain."

Mark sighed. "Mom, meet [Name]. She’s…technically a Viltrumite, technically super strong, technically declared Earth as hers, and—" He sighed deeply. "—she’s apparently moving in."

[Name] grinned. "Nice to meet you, Debbie."

Debbie stared at her. Then at Mark. Then at Cecil, who looked done.

Then she sighed, set the groceries down, and walked into the kitchen.

Cecil blinked. "Where are you going?"

Debbie didn’t even turn around. "To pour myself a glass of wine before I deal with this bullshit."

[Name] smirked. "I like her."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Settling In (Mark’s Personal Hell Begins)

Mark had no idea how his life spiraled into this mess, but here he was—watching [Name] casually make herself at home.

She stole his room.

She stole his bed.

She stole his snacks.

She was just…there. Constantly.

Like now, for example.

Mark walked into his own room only to find [Name] sprawled across his bed, eating his bag of Cheetos like she owned the place.

Mark sighed. "Why are you in my room?"

[Name], not looking up from her phone, casually replied, "Our room."

Mark choked. "WHAT?"

[Name] blinked at him. "I live here, Mark. This is our room now."

"YOU CAN TAKE THE GUEST ROOM!"

[Name] shrugged. "Nah, this one’s better."

Mark groaned. "I hate you."

[Name] smirked. "No, you don’t."

Mark left the room and walked straight into the kitchen, where Debbie was making coffee.

He sighed. "Mom."

Debbie, without looking up, replied, "She’s your problem now."

Mark groaned, dramatically collapsing onto the counter. "Cecil’s gonna kill me."

Debbie smirked, sipping her coffee. "Cecil’s already dead inside."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Mark & [Name]: The Most Chaotic Duo Ever And Stopping Villains Together

Mark had long since accepted that fighting alongside [Name] was not a normal experience. He was used to strategy, teamwork, and at least some level of planning.

And [Name]?

Pure, unfiltered chaos.(As usual)

Like today, for example.

A B-list villain named Overload had been terrorizing downtown, his electricity-based attacks shorting out power grids and causing city-wide blackouts. Standard superhero work.

Mark was mid-air, dodging arcs of electricity while trying to get close. "[Name], can you—"

BOOM.

The entire street shook as Overload went flying into a billboard, face-first, before tumbling down onto a car.

Mark turned, sighing.

[Name] stood there, cracking her knuckles. "What? He zapped my bag of Doritos."

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. "You just punched him through a billboard—"

"Yeah, ‘cause he was being annoying. You were taking too long."

"He was mid-monologue!"

"Exactly. Annoying."

Overload groaned, barely conscious. [Name] walked over and nudged him with her foot.

"Hm. Not dead. Cool. What’s for lunch?"

Mark stared at her. "We’re still in the middle of a fight!"

[Name] shrugged. "I dunno, seems like we won."

Mark turned back to Overload, who weakly raised a hand. "…I surrender."

Mark sighed. "I hate that you’re always right."

[Name] grinned. "I know."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Mark Attempts Cooking (And Fails, But It's the Thought That Counts)

Mark had exactly one mission today: make [Name] a meal.

The problem?

Mark couldn’t cook for shit.

He’d tried. Really, he had. He even watched a few YouTube tutorials on how to make something decent. But by the time Debbie walked into the kitchen, it looked like a war zone.

The stove had suspicious burn marks, the counter was covered in ingredients (somehow including things that weren’t even part of the recipe), and Mark was standing there with flour in his hair, staring at a pot like it personally insulted him.

Debbie took one look and sighed. "Oh my god."

Mark groaned. "Mom, help. Please."

Debbie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mark, what is this supposed to be?"

He gestured vaguely to the…thing. "…Pasta?"

Debbie stared. "You burned water."

Mark winced. "…Yeah."

She sighed. "Move over, I’ll fix this before she arrives."

After a lot of motherly intervention, the dish was technically saved. It wasn’t perfect, but it was edible. Which was a huge improvement.

When [Name] arrived, Mark was visibly stressed while she sat at the table, inspecting the food.

Mark coughed. "So, uh. I made this for you."

[Name] blinked. "Why?"

Mark hesitated. "…Because I thought you’d like it?"

[Name] stared at him. Then at the food. Then back at him.

Without hesitation, she grabbed a fork, scooped a bite, and ate it.

Mark watched her carefully.

She chewed. Swallowed. Paused.

Then nodded. "Not bad."

Mark exhaled, relieved. "Oh, thank god."

Debbie crossed her arms, raising a brow. "You’re way too nice. That was barely passable."

[Name] shrugged. "I’ve eaten worse. One time I had to survive on a planet that only had meat that regenerated while you chewed."

Debbie and Mark both stared.

Mark hesitated. "…I don’t wanna ask."

[Name] nodded. "You really don’t."

Debbie sighed. "Mark, if you ever cook again, I’m supervising."

Mark groaned. "Noted."

[Name] grinned. "Don’t worry, I still think it’s cute that he tried."

Mark turned red. "Shut up."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

[Name] & Debbie: The Most Unexpected Friendship

Debbie never expected to befriend a Viltrumite Goddess of Destruction, yet here she was.

[Name], despite her terrifying power, was surprisingly respectful toward Debbie. And by respectful, that meant she actually listened whenever Debbie scolded Mark.

Like when Mark forgot to take out the trash.

"Mark, I told you to do it before heading out."

Mark sighed. "I was busy—"

[Name], lounging on the couch with a bag of chips, turned. "Mark, just do it. She’s right."

Mark groaned. "Not you too."

[Name] nodded. "She made me food, so she wins this argument."

Debbie smirked. "See? She gets it."

Mark threw his hands up. "Oh my god."

Another time, Debbie had been stressed from work. [Name] had noticed and, instead of saying anything, simply plopping onto the couch beside Debbie.

Debbie blinked. "What are you doing?"

[Name] shrugged. "I dunno. You looked tired, so I’m keeping you company."

Debbie stared. "…Huh."

[Name] then grabbed the remote. "Wanna watch bad reality TV? I heard humans find it entertaining."

Debbie hesitated, then sighed. "…Yeah, actually."

[Name] smirked. "Nice. Let’s watch people make terrible life choices."

And that’s how Debbie ended up watching The Bachelor with a god-tier Viltrumite who could destroy planets but instead spent the evening judging contestants like a drama-loving auntie.

Debbie decided she definitely liked her.

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Cecil’s Hairline Is Gone

Cecil genuinely considered retirement after this.

[Name], somehow, had hacked the system of life itself. She claimed the planet, got a free house, free food, and a free personal punching bag (Mark).

Debbie, at some point, just accepted it.

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Overall: Chaos, Friendship, and Cheetos

Mark had no idea how his life ended up like this. His team-ups with [Name] were less about strategy and more about damage control.

And his mom somehow got along better with [Name] than he did.

But at the end of the day, when [Name] casually threw an arm around him after another insane fight, stealing his fries while grinning, he figured…

Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Even if he was never getting his snacks back.

And Mark?

He was never getting his bed back.

Author's Note: HOPE YALL LOVE THIS ONE DJJDNJDDJ

ndbshshhshsjsejjeeejebddjssjjjddj a g. g h. hh h. hh. h. h h

[kainabunny]

creative

Thought I'll post this here since been reading a lot. No, I never get exhausted on creating lore for any storyline. I've been in mcrp space for 10+ years, believe me when I say... I have ideas I really do. Issue is I'm not allowed to write that style of lore like im used to.

It wasn't a choice I was allowed to make but I make work with my writing. Especially since atm I love what I do. This is my job and I'll do my best to make a quality episodes.

Whether it's in the m c r p space or in v r or my own content. Please know that I we'll never run out of creativity for stories. I love characters.I love the environment.And I love how much i'm allowed to do. Certain careers, I work for allow me to write my own things that eventually become fan favorites. While others, I must listen to the rules since they are my clients. I never, ever run out of creativity, or else, how will I pay my bills🥺

I draw, Va, Body act,edit , make blockbench models and write. I do a lot since in the end of the say I wanna be supportive to my friends and clients. Many know me without even knowing me. I've been behind the scenes helping where I can since 2015 on projects with multiple people! So let's clear somethings up:

There seems to be a lack of communication with us.

TSBS fans of Femme:

I should paste here since im assuming majority are not not in the server. Femme Nights has shifted to Roblox. Was not by choice but unfortunately we roll with the punches. Davis is no longer at femme as writer. He is still around for other channels and for his health chose to drop femme. (Dude works on so many channels... so makes sense to drop one)

Flora and I have been the ones taking care of Femme since. So we'll support him same way he supported us. (I better not see a rumor that he hates us. My bestie is over worked plus I mod for him. So... we all friends who help each other. Also he is marring my bestie☺️) I've taken on the mantle as writer for femme while Flora has been overseeing my work and coming up with concepts( we are both figuring out our workload behind the scene🥺) I just got sick and tried of everyone just assuming we "ran out of ideas" or "oh this is a break bc they are overworked" Clearly we haven't met! 😈

Regardless, I promise each video isn't done with the intention of being "baby" we are trying our best with videos. Concepts that are wayyy more but we are hired to work here. So we have to listen to our boss. I can't promise lore will return the same way as VR. I can promise is giving a story and being entertaining. Flora and I hope everyone can understand that part.

Now with that said I know we will be losing a good chunk of the fan base. Hell ive read the comments and heard the hate you've posted about this. I do not blame anyone for leaving and dropping femme! I also don't know too much on roblox but I wanna be better! I wanna thank you folks for allowing us to grow in VR storyline. Now if you stick around please do it for Flora and myself. I promise you I'll do my best together. We just need some patience and positivity. Some actually good criticism then we hate it. We already talking on how we can add some certain characters. Storylines and expand. (Again we are trying so don't quote me. I wanna suprise you if I get the ok.) im excited, excited to see this through but Flora and I need your support.

Personal:

Now if you wanna see me more active please go to Twitter for me or join my live on twitch(Kainabunny). I really enjoying my time here and won't talk against fan bases I don't know. However, I'm trying to step up and understand the fan bases I work for. So please any questions about how I work or projects I don't mind💙 ( won't lie felt a little insulted you guys assumed Davis would leave a channel without someone who can keep up? Dude once I get approval on certain storylines I guarantee you'll adore what's to come!) Seriously, you guys should go do a little research on the projects ive helped. Most likely was the reason I've made you cry in the MCRP community 😅😅😅

Sorry for the rant hope everyone enjoys!!!

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss!lando norris x reader

part thirty-seven: this ends now

word count: 8.3k (i'm so sorry y'all)

warnings: this chapter contains graphic violent content. reader discretion is strongly advised.

thirty-six | thirty-seven | thirty-eight

The Leclerc estate looked different in the dark – less like a palace, more like a mausoleum. Even the marble seemed colder under the clouds. Lando’s boots echoed on the stone as he stepped through the gates that someone —some fool— had left unlocked.

Lando didn’t wait for an invitation.

Two guards moved for him near the foyer. 

“You touch me,” he threatened, his voice even, “and your boss will be scraping your teeth off the floor before dinner.”

That gave them pause. He was ushered through without another word. 

And then, he was there.

The sharp click of polished shoes echoed across the marble. Charles Leclerc stepped into the atrium, his jaw set, his eyes cold with something older than rage. The two men flanked him— private security, judging by the expensive tailoring of their suits.

By the time he reached the front doors, Charles Leclerc was already waiting. He was dressed in silk and anger, the dark robe hanging loose around his shoulders like he’d been dragged from sleep. 

He stood at the base of the grand staircase like he was an oil painting come to life, all scorn and silk and spotless white cuffs. His expression was more contempt than confusion.

Across the foyer, Lando’s shadow grew shorter before he finally approached. 

“Lando,” Charles greeted, voice smooth as silk pulled taut, practically through gritted teeth. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Or has etiquette finally died in Monte Carlo?”

“You didn’t answer your phone,” Lando mock-pouted.

“You’ve lost your mind,” Charles replied, nothing but venom in his voice. “You must have a very short memory, Norris. Or perhaps no memory at all. Surely even a street rat like you knows better than to bring a blood feud to someone’s home.”

Lando proceeded to step inside without being asked.

The guards flinched but didn’t stop him. Maybe they were under orders, or maybe they knew better.

“What the hell are you thinking?” Charles continued nonetheless, voice low and lethal. “You think you can come to my house, in the middle of the goddamn night, and– what? What exactly is the plan here, Norris?”

With all the nonchalance in the world, Lando’s eyes flicked to the portraits on the walls. Generations of Leclercs, frozen in oil and arrogance. 

But Lando Norris walked like he wasn’t surrounded by the best money had to offer or men twice his size with weapons slung across their shoulders. He walked in like he wasn’t one twitch away from never walking out.

The leather of his motorcycle jacket was dripping from the storm outside. The red accents on the shoulders of his jackets glistened, reflecting the little light from outside ominously. Even his hair was misty, darkening the color as if to suit his intentions for the night.

In short, Lando Norris walked in like a threat in human form.

What confused Charles even more than the ease with which the Brit had entered, was the nonchalance with which he’d done it.  

Charles laughed. He couldn’t help but find humor in this blatant act of idiocy.

Only a fool would do something like this.

But Lando continued to stand there, an unsettling calm in his posture, like he had all the time in the world. As if he wasn’t at the doorstep of Charles’s home, soaking the entry carpet with the dirty water from his shoes like it wasn’t handmade Turkish silk, woven just for the Leclercs.

The audacity–  

Charles took a step forward, his fury restrained only by old money etiquette.

“Perhaps you are too stupid to know, but let me explain this to you,” he inhaled deeply, breathing in all the patience he possibly could so he wouldn’t strangle Lando with his bare hands.

“You want to settle something with me, you do it like a man. You do it on the streets, with terms, controlled. But this?” He gestured around them. The chandelier above them almost seemed to tremble faintly from the sheer force of the Monagesque’s voice. “This is war without rules.”

“Good,” Lando answered, his voice flat as he appeared entirely unamused. “Because I’m done with rules.”

Charles’s lips twitched – not a smile, but a warning.

“You forget who you’re speaking to,” he seethed, words forced from between clenched teeth.

“No,” Lando replied. “I remember exactly who I’m speaking to. A man so careful with his hands he sends other people to do his dirty work.”

The guards moved to take a step forward, sensing the rising tension. Before they could move any further, Charles stopped them with an arrogant wave.

“I take it this is about the girl?” Charles asked, tone suddenly dismissive, like he could toss the whole topic away like lint off his sleeve.

Lando didn’t flinch, tensing every muscle in his body until the entirety of him went rigid.

Say her name from your filthy mouth, I dare you. I’ll rip your throat out before I let you say her name. You don’t even deserve to know it, you bastard.   

There was a beat of silence where something ugly passed behind Charles’s eyes — remorse, or perhaps regret that they hadn’t aimed better.

“I warned you,” Charles said slowly, carefully. “You dragged her into this.”

Silence.

“No,” Lando shot back. “A lot of blood has been spilled, Leclerc. Margot, Daniel…” a brief flicker of emotion crossed his eyes, but it was gone before the other man could even notice it.

“And I am not in the business of forgiveness.”

Charles gave a patient sigh, like standing here was boring him, like he was wasting time explaining simple mathematics to a toddler. “They were mere casualties of consequence. You know what happens when people get close to you.”

There it was. That sentence.

It pulled the last stitch of restraint from Lando’s chest.

Lando’s voice dropped, quieter than a whisper, sharper than glass. “You want to talk about consequence?”

He then reached into his coat pocket. The guards went to step forward again, this time to restrain Lando before he could pull out his weapon. Curious, Charles raised a hand, and they froze where they stood.

Lando peered up at them, as if annoyed by the buzzing of a persistent fly instead of two men, trained and armed. As he maintained eye contact, he reached into one of the zipped pockets of his jacket and pulled out a small black drive.

“Logan found this. Oscar verified it.”

Lando tossed it forward, the men watching it as it slid across the marble, until it stopped neatly at Charles’s feet.

The older man stared down, then back up. “And what is it I am looking at?”

“A mistake,” Lando announced breezily, a hint of a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “Your mistake.”

Charles didn’t blink. Lando didn’t wait.

“If you play it, you might recognize the person there. Your brother was caught outside Brews & Books, back in November. It’s funny, because I don't remember you having any business in that area…” he trailed off dramatically, entertaining himself by passively observing the ornate decor around them

“Imagine my surprise when I see Little Leclerc’s face caught on the corner cam at the bookstore.”

Though Lando was smiling, even Charles was smart enough to know that this was nowhere near as small an issue as Lando’s tone might suggest.

“Rookie mistake,” he smiled.

Carefully, Charles lifted his gaze from his inspection of the drive to look up at the man stood across from him. “So, what, you came here? To my home?” A flicker of disbelief crossed Charles's features, and then the fury settled in. “You’re mad. This is a line no one crosses.”

“Oh, spare me the performance,” Lando snapped. “You’ve killed in clubs, burned businesses to the ground, shot people in broad daylight. Don’t lecture me on lines!”

“I warned you to stay out of this.”

“You killed my friend,” Lando said, jaw clenched. “You tried to kill the only person I have left.”

“Daniel was collateral,” Charles hissed, stepping closer, the mask cracking just enough to show teeth. “He was simply standing too close to you. Don’t you get it? ”

Lando’s hands curled into fists, but he didn’t move.

Instead, he studied the man in front of him — Charles, dressed in black-on-black, composed even in wrath, but letting through something far more interesting now. Something that glimmered at the edges of certainty.

Fear.

“You always act so untouchable,” Lando said, quietly now. “But even your little empire has cracks, doesn’t it?”

Charles’s brow ticked.

Lando kept going. “You cleaned up everything so carefully. Bribed witnesses. Burned tapes. Covered your tracks. But even you missed something.”

He stepped forward, ignoring the additional guards that had suddenly materialized at the sides of the room.

“Arthur.”

Charles’s expression faltered — just slightly, but enough. His stance shifted to a more defensive one. Lando was on very thin ice. 

“Careful, Norris.”

It was like he didn’t even hear him. Lando was on a roll, and he was nowhere near going back now. “The kid’s green. You’re groomin’ him for something, yeah? Future heir, ’s that it? Hm, but he’s sloppy. Doesn’t know how to stay in the shadows like you. And guess what?”

Lando pulled out his phone and pressed play.

Grainy footage rolled – a timestamp, a street corner. The shop sign was unmistakable: Brews & Books. And a too-familiar figure ducking around the alley in a hoodie just a little too clean, eyes darting behind dark sunglasses.

Arthur Leclerc.

Charles didn’t breathe.

“I know where he’s been,” Lando said. “I know what he’s seen. And if I follow him long enough, I’ll know everything you’ve tried to hide.”

“You threaten him—”

“I didn’t say a word yet,” Lando interrupted. “But you get it now, don’t you? This isn’t about money or respect or even revenge anymore. No, none of that.

I jus’ think it’s about time someone teach you a lesson.”

Charles’s face flushed not with fear, but with fury. His expression contorted, transformed into one of controlled, burning, blistering rage.

“You come into my house and threaten my brother?” he boomed. “Do you really want a war that bad, Norris?”

Lando shrugged. “I didn’t come here for war. I came here for you.”

The younger of the two stepped closer now, the sound of his shoes echoing in the still silence of the grandiose hall.

“But hey, if you want t’ make it about Arthur, I’ll adjust.”

“Leave him out of this.”

“Why?” Lando asked, voice low, his head tilting almost as if he was genuinely confused. Even his voice changed, suddenly syrupy sweet and full of mock naivety. “Because he’s young? Because he’s innocent? Because he’s the only piece of your dynasty that can still look in the mirror without seeing ghosts?”

Charles stepped forward, the rage radiating off him like heat from a furnace.

“This is your death wish,” he said. “And I promise you, Lando — if you leave here tonight, it’ll be in a bodybag.”

Lando smirked.

“For your sake, Leclerc? You better be right.”

As Lando brushed the excess water off the pads of his shoulders, Charles stepped up to him.  “You’re out of your depth, Norris,” Charles declared. “Whatever stunt you think this is — it ends here.”

Lando stepped inside anyway, crossing the threshold of the entrance like it meant nothing. He now stood squarely beneath the extravagant chandelier that hung from the center of the domed ceiling, looking more comfortable than Charles himself. “Then stop me.”

The heavy doors slammed shut behind him, the two guards that had been standing beside Charles now flanking the floor to ceiling windows on either side. Charles didn’t flinch. He didn’t have to – the house was a fortress, and he clearly thought himself to be untouchable.

“You think showing up to a man’s home — his sanctuary — will earn you justice? You of all people should know there is no such thing as justice.” Charles sneered.

“No,” Lando corrected. “I think it’ll earn me your attention. And I’ve got it now, haven’t I?”

Charles stepped forward, the heat rising in his voice. “This is a declaration of war. The kind that doesn’t get walked back.”

“You started that the moment Margot died.”

“I didn’t pull the trigger.”

“No,” Lando said, jaw clenched, “but you gave the order.”

Charles’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he laughed — a short, humorless thing. “Look at you. You’ve done more damage to yourself than I ever could.”

Charles’s smile dropped. The air grew still.

“This is your last chance,” he said tightly. “Walk out of here while you still can. You may have your network, your girl, your tragic little vendettas, but here, Norris? You are outgunned, outnumbered, and out of time.”

“I think you’re mistaken.” He turned slowly, letting his words hang in the air like a noose tightening.

Charles didn’t respond, but Lando saw the flicker – barely half a second where his weight shifted. His shoulders squared — too quick, too sharp.

Defensive.

Protective.

Lando surveyed Charles’s expression carefully, taking his time until he seemed to have found what he was looking for.

“You think you are so untouchable, so protected here, in this little castle of yours,” Lando gestured to the estate surrounding them. “But I’ve been going through old footage, CCTV, armory logs, phone pings. And you know what I found?”

Lando took another bold step forward, looking far too certain of himself for someone who Charles believed was supposed to be scared shitless by now.

Perhaps he had been too kind a host, he mused.

“What?” he demanded, irritated and clearly done with Lando’s games. "What is it that you think you found?”

“A pattern. You were always too clean. But someone wasn’t.”

He took a step forward, past the guards who now stood just a touch tenser, just a touch readier.

“Little brother,” Lando said quietly. “The one who’s always three steps behind.”

Charles’s eyes sharpened.

“Arthur,” Lando continued. “He’s the one who got caught outside Brews & Books in your unmarked car, with the wrong plates. He’s the one who trailed me that day.”

But it was the next thing he said that struck fear down to Charles’s bones.

“And I think he’s here tonight.”

“You have no proof,” Charles snapped, but it was too fast, too defensive.

Lando smiled. “I don’t need proof. I just needed doubt. And you’ve got plenty of it.”

Silence hung like wire between them.

“You touch him,” Charles said, voice low and furious, “and I will bury you.”

“Oh, please,” Lando said, stepping close enough to see the hate in his eyes. “You’re the one who taught me, yeah? There are no rules.”

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Charles asked, descending the last few steps. His voice was soft, dangerous. “You don’t come into a man’s house. That’s not a rule. That’s law. Even the dirtiest of us respect that line. What you've done here isn't business. It's insult. And now you think you can threaten my brother? That’s suicide.”

Lando took a step closer. Charles faltered—not in step, but in certainty. It lasted a second. Maybe less.

“After what you did,” Lando continued. “You thought I’d stay civilized after that?”

“Civilization,” Charles murmured, “is the only thing keeping people like you breathing.”

Lando’s gaze narrowed. “Then maybe it’s time someone stopped playing civil.”

Just then, as if divinely timed, a door opened. Another figure stepped out—taller, younger, all nerves and false bravado.

Arthur.

He froze when he saw Lando.

Lando didn’t turn his head, but his eyes moved. Just enough to catch the flicker of guilt, the half-step backward, the shadow of recognition.

He knows what he did.

Arthur’s spine snapped straight. He opened his mouth — then closed it. Too slow, too unsure.

Charles turned, sharp. “Arthur—”

“Did he know?” Lando cut in. “Or maybe he was just following orders? Actually, it doesn’ matter now, does it? Because he got caught. Your downfall has arrived, Charles Leclerc. And it starts with the weak link.”

Arthur bristled, having the audacity to look offended. “I’m not—”

“You’re a pawn,” Lando sneered, turning his attention to the younger boy. “That’s why he sent you. Disposable enough to shadow me, stupid enough to get seen”

“I didn’t shoot her—” Arthur snapped, but it was too late.

“That’s enough!” Charles shouted, his face reddening as he threatened to explode with fury. He held up a hand, silencing his brother before he could dig himself into any deeper trouble, before he got himself into something Charles couldn’t get him out of.

Finally, Charles straightened, buttoning his cuff with all the performative calm of a man trying not to explode.

“Get lost, Norris,” he spat, before turning to his guards. “Kill him, don’t kill him, I don’t care.”

He glared at Lando, obsidian eyes boring into his own with the most fury Lando had ever seen.

“I want him gone.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Lando smiled, fluttering his lashes mockingly. 

Did he think this was some kind of joke?

Charles sighed, before going to pull his handgun from the waist of his pajamas. It looked like he’d have to take care of this himself. He didn’t mind, though it did mean there would be a bigger mess to clean up.

Charles glared at Arthur to get back inside, away from the inevitable mess that would unfold here tonight. He looked back to Lando having already pulled out his own gun.

Lando stepped forward again. The guards tensed, unsure whether they were supposed to intervene.

Still, Charles didn’t move, torn between his anger and a morbid sort of curiosity. 

“I’m not here for games, Leclerc. I’m not here to dance around threats or sit across the table like we’re equals. I’m here because you killed Daniel. I’m here because your brother put my girl in the crosshairs. And I’m here,” he said, voice low and final, “because I want you to understand something very clearly before this ends.”

Charles went eerily still.

Lando wasn’t here to talk. He wasn’t here to bargain. He was here because he’d been pushed so far off the edge of sanity that the only way out was through.

"I'm not here to threaten you."

The words echoed in the marble-clad quiet of the Leclerc estate. A space carved from power, gleaming with untouchable wealth. The kind of place where men like Charles were meant to be invincible.

There was a pause.

Then Lando smiled—sharp, mean.

"I'm here to end you."

“You– You’re bluffing,” Charles stammered.

Lando smiled. Simple, clean, and more dangerous than any knife to the ribs. Charles’s eyes narrowed. The temperature in the room seemed to drop even further.

“You are out of your mind,” Charles muttered, but there was no real conviction in his voice. Only the hint of uncertainty that Lando’s words had planted.

“I’m not.”

“You couldn’t possibly think you could even lay a finger on me here, let alone kill me,” Charles laughed, but it was a strange, nervous sort of chuckle – nowhere near the confidence that was meant to daunt his enemy.

Lando didn’t reply. Looking bored, he simple made a slow, deliberate motion with his hand. He raised a single finger, waved out once, side to side, as if ringing an invisible bell, before pointing right at Charles.

A red dot appeared then.

Right over Charles’s heart.

The red laser sight of a sniper flickered on Charles’s chest. Then, it shifted, just barely, to the center of his forehead.

Good work, Oscar.

Charles’s breath caught in his throat as the realization hit, the color draining from his face. It was like time itself slowed, his pulse skipping a beat.

A sniper. A cold, precise killer waiting for a moment.

He’d be dead before his guards could even draw their weapons.

“D’you still think I’m bluffing?” Lando asked, as his hand slowly dropped. 

“You wouldn’t.”

Lando raised his palm, closing it into a fist before resting it by his side. The light disappeared with it.

Charles had only begun to take a breath of relief when–  

Glass shattered. 

A single shot rang out.

Then, chaos ensued.

Charles moved without thinking, instinct cutting through his initial shock. He ducked behind one of the expensive sculptures, his heart racing. The echo of glass, the sharp staccato of bullets, all of it instantly transformed the polished, pristine estate into a warzone.

His men didn’t have time to regroup. The moment he looked back to check on his men, he knew they would be of no use to him — all of them either dead or about to be, as they used their assault rifles to return fire at a target they couldn’t even see. 

Lando had played him. He’d been stalling, waiting for backup until he knew he had the advantage, and Charles had played right into his hand. Now, he was rapidly losing control of the situation, and it gnawed at him.

As Charles ran to duck behind another pillar, he watched as the statue he’d just been crouched behind shattered to pieces, a pullet piercing straight through its marble foundation. The gunfire was relentless.

How many gunmen did Lando have? He needs to call backup, needs more guards, needs—

But before Charles could complete that thought, the gunfire stopped, the final ringing silence following the last shot. As he tactfully peered out from behind the stone pillar, he watched a cold, cruel grin spread across Lando’s face.

“You’re not very good at this, are you, Charles?” Lando singsonged, unnervingly pristine amidst the active threat and destruction.

“I have reinforcements on the way,” Charles panted, fixing Lando with a threatening glare. “You may have your shooter, but I have an army, Norris. What will you do then?”

Lando didn’t answer. In the moment in between, Charles’s eyes swept the space — looking for his guards, planning out his angles. He made no sudden moves yet –  not with Lando standing there like a lit match in a room full of gasoline.

“You’ve made your point,” Charles yelled, voice controlled as he stalled for time. “But you forget — this is my house. And I don’t lose control in my house.”

“No,” Lando said, eyes glinting. “But you do lose something else.”

It happened slowly.

Charles opened his mouth to answer—only to realize he hadn’t seen Arthur in at least ten minutes. First, he glanced toward the right hall, where his youngest brother had last been standing. 

Nothing.

Then, when the gunfire stopped, a whisper came into Charles’s earpiece. “What is it?” Charles whispered, trying to confirm the words lost in the electronic garble.

The voice on the other end of his line hesitated. “We’ve… lost visuals on Arthur.”

Charles went still.

“What?”

Arthur’s guard repeated it, quieter. “Not sure when. He was on the east wing minutes ago.”

Lando’s smile widened—wolfish now. Sharp. “Oops.”

“You think I’m afraid of you?” Charles bellowed, finally stepping out from where he’d sought cover. “You’re out of your depth.”

Lando tilted his head. “Then why haven’t you stopped me yet?”

The older man shouted into his earpiece. “Find Arthur.”

No response.

He frowned. “Now!”

When still he heard nothing, Lando’s smile widened like the crack of a coffin lid.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Charles stated coldly.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Lando snorted, stepping deeper into the house. He seemed right at home amidst the destruction and the opulence. “The only thing I’m not sure of yet is whether I’ll use bullets or rope.”

“You think you can walk into my house and—”

“Funny thing,” Lando said. “You still keep calling it your house.”

Charles stiffened.

“You think just because you built this kingdom that it makes you untouchable. You think men like you stay kings forever,” Lando practically sang. He took one more step forward, and for the first time, Charles took a step back.

“Yet here I am.”

“Security—”

“Won’t reach you in time.” Lando tilted his head. “They haven’t had eyes on Arthur in nearly twenty minutes, by the way. Disappointing, really.”

Charles’s face twitched, just slightly. “Don’t lie to me!”

“Oh, Charles. We’ve known each other a long time now. Wouldn’ you know if I was lying?”

The room fell silent. Too silent.

“You’ve lost eyes on your brother.”

The words landed like a gunshot. Charles stiffened, composure slipping just enough for Lando to see it—the hit had connected.

“You think you’re clever,” Charles muttered, a sad attempt at regaining his footing. “But we keep track of our own.”

“Clearly not well enough.” Lando smiled, looking quite pleased with himself.

“You see, I thought about killing you first,” Lando explained, eyeing the older brother, voice light but empty of warmth. “But then I realized... people like you don’t break when you bleed. You break when your legacy does.”

He turned slightly, his eyes on the door as if waiting for someone.

Charles suddenly surged forward, carrying the full momentum of his entire body weight — some pathetic, hail mary attempt at catching Lando off guard but Lando caught him by the collar and slammed him back against the nearest wall.

“You wouldn’t—” he choked out, face pressed up against the wall.

But Lando cut him off. “I already did.”

Charles blinked, his face flickering for the briefest of moments. There it was—the hesitation in his eyes. The flicker of fear.

Lando continued, his words deliberate, as if pulling back the layers of a secret too dangerous for anyone to know.  “Kid’s just a pawn, but he’s a pawn you forgot to protect. You left him out in the open — vulnerable — and now I’ve got him.”

Charles took a step forward, fury rising in him like a tidal wave. His voice was tight, barely contained. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” Lando asked, tilting his head slightly, like he was savoring the moment. "Do you really want to test it?"

Charles’s blood turned cold. “Where is he?”

Lando didn’t answer.

“You were looking for someone?” he taunted.

Charles didn’t have time to react. The front gate was slammed open, interrupting their intimate little affair. The sound of footsteps behind him made him turn, just in time to see Oscar entering the room, stepping out of the shadows with a calm precision that sent a fresh wave of dread down Charles’s spine.

Amidst the shattered glass and stretching shadows, Oscar appeared to be moving like an apparition in the chaos. He was Lando’s gunman, a ghost of death made real.

The Aussie had always been more quiet, choosing to observe more often than to announce his presence with witty quips. But now, he stood too quiet, too composed. It was as if he knew this was the moment to ensure the final nail in the coffin was driven home.

Oscar, Lando’s cold-blooded enforcer, stepped into the foyer. His presence was as subtle as a strike of lightning—quick, precise, and deadly. Charles couldn’t possibly understand why Oscar was here, why Lando would give up his trump card like that but making him vulnerable out here in the open. He didn’t understand, at least until he looked beside him.

Charles’s blood turned to ice.

In Oscar’s hands, he carried a figure bound and gagged, a sack over the head. The second figure was taller, the canvas bag over the head obscuring his face, his wrists bound behind his back. Charles watched him struggle against the restraints, noticed him wearing—

Charles’s stomach turned.

I know that jacket.

It was his brother’s favorite, a vintage racing bomber with a cracked red stripe on the sleeve. Worn at the collar, frayed at the edges. Custom-sized. There was no mistaking it.

Arthur.

His baby brother.

He was alive, but barely. His hands were tied, a black cloth bag thrown over his head, and he was making muffled, weak noises through the cloth. A low, desperate plea that Charles wanted to never hear. His younger brother was barely able to stand, and when Oscar shoved him forward, Charles’s breath hitched.

It was Arthur Leclerc, his own younger brother, who had been shoved into the room like a rag doll, arms bound, a bag over his head. His muffled shouts for help reverberated through the chamber like a dying heartbeat.

“No…” Charles whispered, voice barely audible.

Lando watched him, his gaze calculating, a predatory look in his gaze.

“Don’t.” Charles’s voice cracked – a warning, a plea.

Oscar’s grip was ruthless. At Lando’s nod, he shoved the boy forward. Arthur fell hard, his knees instantly hitting marble. He let out a choked, muffled noise —desperation– and flinched as cold metal pressed against the center of his forehead.

Lando’s gun.

“Lando—”

“D’you feel that?” Lando asked softly, almost kindly. “That pulse ‘n your throat? That ache ‘n your chest? That’s what it feels like when someone takes the one thing you’d kill t’ protect.”

Charles could barely hear him. He didn’t know if it was the leftover ringing from the gunshot or the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears, but everything felt muted. All he could do was stare at those shoes. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from those sneakers, the white pair with the green trim — Arthur’s favorite, a limited pair Charles remembered he’d spent weeks trying to track down.

Charles struggled against where Lando had him held against the wall. “Stop—”

Lando let him go. With his gun already in hand, he slowly turned his attention back to Arthur, before pressing the cold barrel to the bowed head in front of him once again.

Oscar came to stand beside him, his face expressionless.

Would they really kill a child? Would they really make him watch as they blew his little brother’s brains out?

Charles felt vomit rise in his throat. He watched as the boy shook, trying to breathe. A muffled sound broke free—raw panic.

“Norris,” Charles called weakly. “That’s my brother.”

“Oh, is it?” Lando said, feigning surprise. “Huh. Shame.”

“You can’t—”

“I definitely can,” Lando said flatly.

He twisted the gun, just enough for the metal to dig into the front of the boy’s skull.

“You hurt me. It’s only fair I get to hurt you too. Plus, m’ bein’ quite nice, really. Look, I didn’t even do anything to you. Just your brother, but since he was the one tailin’ me, he’s fair game, yeah?”

The gun pressed harder against his skin, creating an indent from the pressure. Beneath the canvas, the younger boy whimpered.

Charles’s composure cracked just a fracture. “Please,” he said tightly. “Whatever it is you want, we– we can negotiate.”

“Oh, now you want to talk?”

Lando chuckled, until it turned into a deep, full-bodied laugh. Charles looked at him like he had finally, properly gone insane, but he didn’t care.

What about this is funny?

“There it is!”

He looked up at Charles, his face lit up with sort of indescribable joy. “You know, I always wondered what would finally do it. What would finally make you beg?”

As Charles knew now, it was always Arthur. 

Arthur, the weak link. Arthur, the brother who couldn’t shut his mouth and didn’t know how not to be seen. Arthur, who killed a woman because he thought it would make him a man.

The boy’s knees scraped as he tried to shift, too terrified to do much else as the marble floor pressed uncomfortably against his kneecaps.

The muffled screams from Arthur—the desperate, guttural noises of a man who knew exactly what was happening, even though his face was covered—cut through the air. Charles’s face rapidly drained of color, his body going rigid with a mixture of disbelief and panic.

Lando didn’t give him a chance to speak. He didn’t care for the pleas Charles might make, the way his voice would crack or his eyes would soften in desperation. No, this was a moment of pure control. Power. Lando’s finger rested on the cold metal, pressing just hard enough to remind Charles who was truly in charge here.

Charles’s face twisted. “If you touch him—”

"Put him down," Lando ordered.

Oscar, without hesitation, shoved Arthur to the floor, making him fold closer to the floor with a harsh thud. Arthur’s body slumped from the impact. His breaths were ragged, but it wasn’t just fear that had him shivering. It was the desperate effort of muffled screams.

“No!” Charles screamed, but he couldn’t move. His body refused to cooperate as his gaze locked onto his brother’s trembling form.

Arthur was on his knees, his head down. His voice was still distorted, struggling against the gag.

Lando’s voice was eerily calm.

“Do you recognize him, Charles?” he asked, leaning in just slightly, waving his gun around casually like it was a toy instead of a real weapon. “I thought you might. Funny how the details slip away when you’re so busy hiding your tracks.”

His head snapped to Lando, fury sparking in his eyes.

"You can’t do this. You—" Charles’s voice was tight, desperate. "If you kill him— if you kill Arthur— you’ll never get what you want. You’ll never see anything through. You’ll lose.”

Lando’s eyes hardened. He didn't blink. Instead, he simply pressed the barrel of the gun against the back of Arthur's head, just hard enough to make the boy flinch.

The world held its breath.

Click.

He pressed the barrel against the side of the bag-covered head. The figure beneath flinched. The gagged cry that came from under the canvas was unmistakably raw and terrified.

That’s when Charles snapped.

“Stop. Stop. Stop!” He shouted, his voice cracking through the silence. “Norris— Norris, don’t.”

Lando looked up, gaze glinting like a knife just before it slid in.Charles’s eyes darted back to his brother, his mind racing. The sound of Arthur's muffled cries was the only thing that filled the air.

"Please, don’t," Charles breathed. "Please, Norris. He’s just a kid. He’s not a part of this. I never meant for him to be."

Lando let the silence drag on, letting Charles stew in his fear. He wanted him to feel it, to understand that the blood on his hands wasn’t just from his own choices, but from the lives he’d destroyed in the process.

Charles’s voice cracked again. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Just... don’t kill him.”

Lando smirked, lifting the gun just slightly so that it was no longer pressed against Arthur’s head.

"What do you think?" Lando mused aloud. "What is your life worth, Charles? What is Arthur’s life worth?"

Charles clenched his teeth.

"You think this is a victory for you, don’t you?" he spat. He hated this, hated how Lando was treating it like this was some game, rather than a matter of life or death. He hated feeling like a puppet on strings, dancing to whatever tune Norris sang. But most of all, he hated Norris for forcing him to look in the mirror and recognize the monster in his reflection.

Lando's smile only grew colder.

"Victory? No. It’s just... retribution."

The moment stretched on, before Lando quickly grew bored of all of the talking and decided it was finally time for action.

"Alright, let’s do this,” Lando nodded to Oscar, cracking his neck and stretching his wrist.

Charles’s expression shattered—rage giving way to something rawer: terror. He immediately jumped in, intending to at least put himself between Arthur and Lando’s gun. He didn’t know if that would stop Lando, but maybe it’d confuse him or deter him or at least buy Arthur an extra second so he could try to escape.

As fate would have it, he found himself in a similar position just an instant later, the business end of Oscar’s personal handgun pointed right between his eyes.

“Easy there, mate.”

Charles directed his attention to Lando, like he was the one with the power to change this. But then he saw the way Lando’s gun was pointed at his brother, the safety clicked off.

”You wouldn’t—” he tried pathetically. He couldn’t help it. For once, Charles Leclerc was all out of cards to play.

“Let me guess,” Lando cut in, mocking. “Family is sacred?”

He tilted his head. “You should’ve thought of that before Arthur pulled the trigger.”

And then, with the same calm Charles had once used to sign death warrants, Lando raised a single finger to hover over the trigger.

“NO!”

Charles tried to lunge.  Oscar stopped him with nothing but a step forward and then Lando  whispered a single word in his ear.

“Beg.”

It came out of him like a command. Not loud. Not cruel. Just final.

Charles froze.

“You want to talk about rules?” Lando said, voice low and unforgiving. “You broke them. You started a war you didn’t finish. Now you’re gonna learn what happens when someone like me decides to finish it for you.”

Charles’s breathing turned ragged.

“Please,” he whispered.

Lando stepped closer.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Please,” Charles said again. “Please, don’t hurt him. He didn’t—he’s just a boy. He didn’t understand. He was trying to prove himself.”

“And he did,” Lando said. “Just not in the way you hoped.”

Charles dropped to his knees, hands open.

“I’ll give you whatever you want. Money. Territory. Everything. Just let him go.”

Lando considered that. Then, he smiled – a thin, soulless thing.

Arthur’s muffled screams echoed louder as he struggled, the desperation in his movements adding weight to the tension. The sound of his little brother’s panicked cries was the only thing Charles could focus on. His hand, trembling now, reached forward as if trying to stop it, to make it all stop, but the words came out in a frantic whisper.

“Please.”

Lando let the silence stretch between them before he responded. “You had your chance, Charles. You had the opportunity to stop this. But you’re too fucking careless, too arrogant, and now it’s your little brother who’s gonna pay the price for your mistakes.”

Oscar stepped back, keeping a steady hand on the gun in his belt, while Lando continued, his words slow and deliberate. "I don’t care about your empire, Charles. I don’t care about your family’s legacy. But I will care about you when you beg. I’ll care about it because it’ll be the last thing I hear from you.”

Charles’s shoulders slumped, the full weight of everything crashing into him like a flood. The power—the control—was slipping away, bit by bit, and it terrified him. For the first time, he saw it. The pure, unrelenting force that was Lando Norris. And he knew, deep down, he would never escape it.

The gun was still pressed to Arthur’s head.

Lando leaned in close, just inches away, his voice barely a whisper.

“Beg. Like you mean it. Like your brother’s life depends on it.”

Charles, his throat tight, his body fighting the instinct to break, finally whispered, the words barely audible.

“Please, I’m begging you... don’t.”

Lando’s eyes flicked to Oscar, who took a step back, giving him space. For a long moment, Lando stared at Charles, his cold gaze unwavering.

“You should’ve known better,” Lando murmured. And then, as if flipping a switch, he pulled the gun back, the danger not entirely gone but a shift in how he wielded it.

Charles collapsed to his knees, breath ragged, the weight of his failure crashing down around him.

“I’ll make it quick,” Lando promised softly.

And with that, the empire Charles Leclerc built began to crumble.

His eyes widened in horror.

No. No. No. This– That wasn’t the deal. He can’t��

The word tore out of Charles like muscle from bone. “Merde— don’t!”

Lando smiled.

“Ah, finally. So you do have a heart,” he said softly.

Charles stepped forward, panic chasing the tail of his voice. “You don’t want to do this. Norris— Lando, I’m serious. This is not the way—”

“Why not?” Lando’s tone was glacial. “You used your brother like a pawn. If you don’t care who gets caught in your crossfire, why should I?”

“I care!” Charles shouted. “He’s just a kid, he—he doesn’t know what he’s doing—he’s not part of this!”

Lando clicked the safety off.

And then, quietly, “Oscar?”

Oscar nodded. “On it.”

Then, with theatrical ease, he reached up and ripped the bag off the boy’s head. Charles breathed the greatest sigh of relief, finally breathing oxygen for what felt like the first time in years, as his eyes finally landed on that familiar mop of blond hair–

Wait, blond?

Arthur doesn’t have blond hair.

Charles blinked again, only to find Logan, his blond hair tousled, his eyes wide and gleaming with mischief.

Wide-eyed. Gagged. Blonde. Same height. That jacket. Familiar green-trimmed sneakers.

Logan coughed as Oscar helped him take the gag off. “Fucking hell—your gun is cold, man.”

Oscar grunted. “You kept squirming.”

Lando stood, gun still in hand, but no longer aimed.

He looked at Charles, whose face had gone pale, every bit of power and superiority draining out of him like wine from a shattered glass. Logan stood up with a groan, rubbing his wrists as he came to stand beside his boss. He was grinning now, the gag halfway down his neck.

“Evening,” he saluted. He turned to Lando and Oscar then. “Y’know, next time, I wanna be the scary one.”

“Next time,” Lando rolled his eyes.

Charles staggered back.

His face twisted in disbelief, horror, then dawning realization.

He’d begged… for the wrong person?

Lando lowered the gun and tucked it away.

“Where’s…” he cleared his throat, hoarse from yelling and pleading. “Where is Arthur?”

Footsteps echoed behind them. Max Fewtrell strolled in from the side hallway, chewing on a toothpick like this was a neighborhood bodega.

“Arthur’s not here,” he said cheerfully, the way people might discuss the weather. “But I did find his laptop. And his phone. And his little black book. Amazing what you can find when the house is this big and the help’s this underpaid.”

Charles didn’t speak. He only stared at the objects like they would somehow speak and tell him where his brother was.

Lando crouched down, leaned in. “See, Charles,” he murmured. “I came here to prove I could’ve ended you any time I wanted.”

Lando crouched, getting eye-level with Charles now, whose anger was smoldering into something raw and painful.

“I didn’t kill—”

“No,” Lando said. “But you let it happen. And that’s worse.”

He straightened.

“From now on, every time you look over your shoulder, you’ll see me. Every mirror, every dark corner, every deal you try to make—I’ll be there, haunting you. You don’t get to sleep peacefully ever again.” 

“Then kill me,” Charles spat. “If you want revenge so badly, do it. Get it over with.”

Lando leaned in close, voice nearly a whisper.

“Oh, I don’t want to kill you, Charlie. I wanted to ruin you.”

He crouched down in front of Charles and looked him in the eye.

“I want you to wake up every day knowing that the thing you love most is alive because I let him live. Not you. Not your money. Me.”

Charles’s shoulders shook.

And with that, Lando and his boys turned their backs on a shattered prince, walking out into the night—Logan in tow, Oscar guarding the flank, Max not far behind.

They left the Leclerc estate in ruin—not in ash or blood, but in something far worse.

Fear.

The doors slammed shut one after another.

The car was silent for a few beats, the windows fogged slightly with the residue of adrenaline, cold air curling through the open vents, and the scent of gun oil still clinging to Lando’s jacket.

Lando slid into the driver’s seat without a word. Max, of course, took shotgun. Oscar and Logan were left to climb into the back, Logan still rubbing at his wrists, the red marks raw.

Lando didn’t turn the key yet. He just sat, eyes forward, letting the silence settle. His jaw was tight, knuckles still a little pale around the steering wheel.

“Well,” Logan muttered, “that was fun!”

Lando didn’t answer. He sat in the passenger seat with his head tilted back, eyes half-lidded, like the sound of silence itself tasted better than air. A small, amused curl played on his lips — one that hadn’t moved since he left Charles Leclerc kneeling in his own marble entryway like a man begging the devil to go easy.

Max climbed in last, casually tossing Arthur’s confiscated belongings into the center console.

“You could’ve told me you were going full Bond villain,” he said, but there was no real bite, just a grin of shared satisfaction. “You had me searching between oil paintings and family crests like I was casing the fucking Louvre.”

Lando just laughed. “Noted.”

“His laptop was unlocked,” Max added. “No password. Classic little brother move.”

He turned then, looking back at the two sitting in the back of the car. “And where’d you two come from? I thought you were taking care of the thing in America this weekend?”

Oscar grinned. “Nah, we stuck around for this. Boss left his phone on in his pocket, so we heard everything. Leclerc didn’t even know what hit him.”

“And the jacket?” Logan asked. “How’d you know he’d recognize it?”

“He’s a big brother,” Lando said simply. “They notice stupid shit like that.”

“Hmm, Arthur’s laptop was unlocked,” Max added. “No password. Classic little brother move.”

The laughter faded gradually, like dust settling after a storm. Silence trickled back in. Outside the windows, the road stretched long and dark, the only light coming from the dashboard and the faint glow of the city in the distance.

Oscar cracked his neck in the passenger seat. Logan was still half-bound in the back, rubbing at the angry red marks on his wrists and shaking off the adrenaline.

“You really went full drama with the tape and everything, huh?” Logan muttered, voice still somewhat hoarse.

“You looked great,” Oscar said, deadpan.

“Thanks,” Logan grunted. “I was aiming for kidnapped chic.”

Oscar punched him on the arm, and the two shared a laugh.

“You didn’t have to tie me so tight though,” Logan muttered, tugging at the red marks. “My bones are not decorative.”

Oscar rolled his eyes at that. “You wanted it to be convincing, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but I also want to be able to type again. What if I get arthritis from this? You know how cold it was in that room? My knuckles were—”

“Logan.”

Lando look at him through the rearview mirror. “You did great. Now stop complainin’.”

That shut him up.

But only for about thirty seconds.

Logan whistled low. “So what now? Charles isn’t going to just lie down and take this. It’s only a matter of time until he finds Arthur. And when he does—what’s stopping him from coming after us?”

For a second, the only sound was the faint purr of the engine. Then Lando’s eyes met Max’s in the rearview mirror. They exchanged a single look.

“He won’t find Arthur.”

Logan blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Lando said, finally turning in his seat to glance back, “he’s already long gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Little Leclerc’s already on his way to someplace new.”

Logan blinked. “Wait– what?”

Oscar leaned forward a little. “You’re kidding. How?”

Lando let a small, dangerous smile curve at the corner of his mouth. “I texted Max the minute I walked through the front door. Told him which wing to check.”

Lando kept speaking, quiet and sharp. “Arthur had an escort waiting the moment he stepped out for ‘air.’ Thought it was a Leclerc security driver. He’ll wake up three countries away, passport stamped, head spinning.”

Logan gawked. “Where’d you send him?”

Lando reached into his coat and pulled out his phone. He held it up to show them a live location dot ticking slowly across a map.

“Saarbrücken,” he said simply.

Oscar let out a low, impressed whistle. “Germany?”

Lando gave a small, satisfied nod. 

Logan squinted at the map, brows furrowed. “Who’s in Saarbrücken?”

Lando’s smirk widened.

“Our German friend is gonna get him there,” he said. “He still owes me a favor or two. He’s Ex–Stasi, collects vintage knives.”

Oscar barked a laugh. “That guy?”

Logan was still squinted at the map, brows furrowed. “What’s in Saarbrücken?”

Lando’s smirk widened.

“Nico Hulkenberg, he’s gonna take very good care of Arthur,” Lando said, voice cool and unhurried. “Feed him, keep him safe, teach him how to properly scrub the serials off a gun, maybe.”

Logan slumped back in his seat. “Jesus.”

“Mhm.” Lando finally glanced at the rearview mirror, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “More importantly, he’s gonna get him to Vettel.”

Logan squinted. “Vettel…?”

Lando’s grin widened. “Sebastian. He’s good people. He was in the game for bit, absolute menace. But he’s retired now.”

“Oh my god,” Logan practically squealed with excitement. “You gave Arthur to the Sebastian Vettel?”

Oscar laughed. “Perfect. That man once raised three goats and an orphaned fox in his garage. He’ll make Arthur chamomile tea and emotionally rehabilitate him in two weeks flat.”

“He’s already halfway to Bavaria by now,” Max updated, checking his phone. “With no phone, no idea where he’s going, and zero chance of escape.”

“He’ll take good care of him,” Lando added, rolling the window down to let in the cold night air. “Kid’s harmless. He just needs a change of scenery and someone who knows how to make him feel useful. Sebastian’s good at that kinda stuff.”

Logan slumped back into the seat, half-amused, half-exasperated. “I hate how smart this all was.”

A look passed over Lando’s face, something surprisingly thoughtful. Max realized for the first time how close he’d been to giving up one of the few principles he had left in this world.

Lando must’ve been feeling what it’d be like to almost kill a kid.

“Arthur needed a new start,” Lando announced, clearing his throat. “And Seb’s got a whole ranch in the Alps now. So  he’ll be walking goats and reading philosophy in no time.”

Max barked a laugh. “Assuming he doesn’t drive Niko insane first.”

“He won’t.” Lando’s tone was final. “He won’t be anyone’s pawn again.”

The car fell quiet again.

It was a moment later when Logan added, whispering lowly as he leaned in closer. “You’re kinda terrifying, you know that?”

Lando didn’t answer. He only smiled.

They drove in silence after that, the weight of what they’d finally accomplished trailing behind them like smoke.

a/n: as some of you already know i was literally typing this at graduation lol but this chapter is finally done! i have to say this is one of my favorite chapters we've done so far, so pls pls lmk what you think!

[mullermilkshake]

Just like a pill

Part 19 <- Part 20 -> Part 21

Jinwoo goes back for Hae-in and makes some house rules to follow.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Tags - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Pregnant reader, physical handling, setting boundaries, medication/needles, implied psychological diagnosis (I am not a doctor), mentions of prenatal depression, controlling behaviour,

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

TAG LIST CLOSED

“I’m taking you home.”

It was the first thing to leave Jinwoo’s lips, he wasn’t sure why at first when his mouth moved before his brain could catch up. But in that split second of realisation, an entire montage of playback footage of his time with you and visuals of the baby scans threw him threw him through one final loop.

“What?” You gawked at him like he had spoken another language you couldn’t understand.

Jinwoo was going to be a father. If Jong-in didn’t care about Hae-in, then that was on him. Not Jinwoo. He was conflicted, fighting to stop himself getting sealed up by the dark storm in his ears, over his eyes, clouding his judgement.

He could not let you stay here.

“Are you serious? We can’t leave her like this-“ You didn’t react to his firm grasp on your arm.

You followed him, but only out of shock, it was there plain as day in your eyes. Jinwoo hadn’t put a hand on you like this and even though it wasn’t aggressive, nor was it hurtful, he was still moving you about when you had no intention of moving.

He’d spend his life making up for it. But with this information and Hae-in’s cries dying down from whatever that doctor gave her, Jinwoo would take you hating him for the rest of your life if it meant you got far away from this place. On a whim, possibly. Without the facts, Jinwoo had to take the information at face value until he could lay out a respectable plan he should have done months ago.

“I’m coming back here, but you are going home.”

“Jinwoo, please don’t leave me here!” H ae-in’s cries fell on deaf ears.

You shook your head with determination and tried to pry his fingers away. “No, I’m not. Let go of me-”

“You’re exhausted, I knew you should have stayed home. Just let me handle this and get some rest.”

“Please, please! Don’t leave me alone here!”

It would have been easier if he could exchange, he had no choice but to walk you home. It wasn’t far, but realistically, how far could he get you before having to carry you out, five months pregnant. Passers-by would think he was some lewd pervert if they didn’t recognise him.

“Jinwoo, I said let go!” You tugged against his grip that never tightened or loosened.

The doctor watched with eyes as wide as a petrified rabbit, she wiped her face and moved towards you as Hae-in was beginning to quieten down. “I really think-“

“I’ll be back, doctor.” He said, eyes dark like pits of tar. “But please, wait up for me. We have some things to talk about.”

He stormed out of the room, you trailed behind him and the little, wailing squeaks from your shoes on the linoleum trying to get some purchase. “Jinwoo, what the hell are you doing?!”

“You can’t be here. Not anymore. I don't want you coming back here, not even after the twins are born. Hae-in might be frantic right now, but her comment has to have some merit.”

Hae-in was a more than capable hunter, her cool persona matched her abilities like suits in a deck of cards, all meticulously laid out in ascending order, similar yet different. Cohesive. Consistent. Nothing like that, not freaked out and unstable.

“Jinwoo-”

He never let you go until you were on public ground unowned by the association. “Please, you can’t be here. You can’t stay.”

“I can’t just leave her. She thinks we just left her and now she has no one on her side!”

“And I can’t lose you because you marched right back in there. I don’t know if what she said is true, but I won’t risk you or our babies, do you understand?!”

A second time he’d raised his voice at you in twenty four hours. Strike two.

Would you forgive him if he explained just how panicked he was on the inside? He couldn’t afford to lose control, and with each passing second, his E-rank status poked at him. Like a beast beneath the glossy surface of a body of water, just waiting for Jinwoo to dip a toe in and break the surface tension. Just a glimpse. A fraction. He didn’t know where it came from, but he did his best to cast it aside. He let his mouth do the talking without really thinking.

“If you don’t leave with me willingly, then I’ll carry you home. That is a promise.” 

Possessiveness, it was what manifested whenever there was a chance you were in danger of being taken away from him, it happened at the announcement, it occurred whenever you were seen talking with Jong-in and whenever the Chairman was around. An emotion he just could not control and was unsure how far it could go.

“You will do no such thing. You’re kidding me, right? She’s clearly unwell and being in there is doing her no favours, we have to get her out of there.”

“No. I am not joking. And I will. You can never go in there again. I will sort this out and get Hae-in home, but you have to promise me that you will not go in there again.”

“But-”

“Promise me. Promise me you won’t go back in there.”

“A-alright…”

“You need to promise it. And if you break it, I’ll know.”

Igris maybe, or Beru. No… Igris. He knows her like the back of his hand by now, understands her movements when I’m not around and when she thinks no one is looking. She’s grown comfortable around him.

You backed away from him, you fucking backed away. Jinwoo wasn’t contagious, why would you back away? “Jinwoo, you’re scaring me.”

Jinwoo blinked away the red film plastered over his eyes, realising what he’d just said. He couldn’t bear the thought of you hating him, he took that rash belief back immediately.

“I’m sorry.” How could he even look at you now? “I’m sorry…”

“Why are- what’s going on?”

“What if… they wanted to make you go in there, if they took our babies? What if what Hae-in said is true? I need to know what's going on. I can’t do that with you in the room, not if there’s a risk to your health.”

Multiple reasons could be a factor, Hae-in’s health for one. Other things less likely were still a possibility.

“I’ll wait out here then. With Igris. Will that make you feel better?” Your tone was gentle, however your folded arms ready to scold him were not.

I’ll take it as a win, anyway.

“Yes, though I’d prefer it if you went home.”

“No. I’ll wait here until you come out, with Hae-in. Then we’ll walk home… It’ll give us time to cool off so we can discuss how you’ll never put your hands on me like that again, do you understand?”

Shit, you had him there. Shit-fucking-shit-holy crap I’m in for it- fucking asshole-dickhead!

“Alright… I-I’m sorry-”

“Save it for later. Go and get Hae-in.”

Jinwoo nodded, calling on Igris and entering back into the facility without as much as a goodbye kiss. He didn’t deserve it.

What a fucking night.

He stomped off the way he came in response to your reaction, his entire body flared up red and embarrassed that he treated you that way. What else could he do? You were stubborn and hardheaded despite your hormones and the emotions attached.

Though that probably made you all the more aggressive when you wanted to be.

When Jinwoo walked back to Hae-in’s room, she was asleep. Well, drugged. The doctor sat across from her in the sickly blue, uncomfy looking seat that was meant for making visitors unsettled and anxious.

She shot up from it as soon as she clocked him. “Mr Sung-”

He stopped her by dismissing her. “Mr Sung, nothing. Tell me what Hae-in meant, that you want to take her baby away… Because from what I remember, Chairman Go backed off from bringing all the babies here as a mandatory thing. What sort of place are you running?”

“I-It’s not like that, I promise. The chairman would never agree to such a thing, especially not after your engagement. He knows you’re raising your own children- but, Miss Cha requested the support. I don’t know much else, only to do with the pregnancies. I'm not sure what she means, but we're only trying to do right by her and the pregnancy. I don’t get told anything other than what I need to know. I’m really sorry, but the association dropped all this on my team at the last minute, we didn’t get a chance to renovate the old hospital before they announced the programme. We’re trying.”

A likely excuse to pass the blame.

“Even if Hae-in wanted the help, she clearly doesn’t now.”

The doctor got in between Jinwoo and the hospital bed. “She’s displaying signs of prenatal depression. She doesn’t know what she wants…” She then looked away, though not in shame. A disheartened look. “She… she was at the river, I think she was going to jump. She’s unstable and if she returns back to headquarters, I’m afraid she’ll end up hurting herself. I don’t think leaving is in her best interest.”

Jinwoo wasn’t bothered by her theatrics, Jong-in could deal with it when he brought Hae-in back and got back into your good books. “Well, what’s not in her best interest was restraining her like an animal, you ever thought about that?”

“There was no other way to calm her. Believe me. She swung for me and took five of our staff out until she was getting Braxton hicks which slowed her enough so we could try and get her somewhere safe. Her mind is making up its own mind and putting all sorts of thoughts into her head. If there was any other way to calm her, I would have done so. We’re trying to contact Mr Choi to let him know we found her, but we’ve been unsuccessful.”

“That’s alright, I’ll just take her to him. You won’t stop me, will you?”

Jinwoo allowed a shadow to emerge from him under the overhead light, allowing his aura to come out and unleash all of the darkness he was harbouring, just to keep you away from his twisted ideals that began to protrude from his mind like tortured spikes.

If she saw the shadow, she never let on. She remained unaffected by Jinwoo’s presence. Does she not have any mana? I can’t sense any aura from her, I can see nothing. I need thought to look before.

The doctor looked around the room to Hae-in. “I can’t, I have a duty of care. You can see her whenever for as long as you’d like, but I cannot allow her to go when she’s in such a state.”

“Nah, I think I’ll take her now. It’s late and she needs proper rest. If we need anything, I’ll call you.”

Jinwoo pushed past her respectfully, crushing each padlock like toothpicks. Hae-in did not stir, her heavy chest sluggishly moving with each breath. Jinwoo scooped her up easier than he imagined. Though closer to seven months pregnant, she was so light, almost weightless despite her dead weight under the influence of a medication Jinwoo didn’t know.

“What did you give her?”

“Just a sedative." She showed the miniature glass vial she drew the needle from. "It was only to calm her, but because she's so exhausted, she's out cold. She’ll wake up soon- please, you should really let her rest here.”

“Get out of my way. I have someone important waiting for me.” Jinwoo was about to push her out of the way, she put up her hands in defense and backed away.

“Okay- Okay… just-” The doctor rummaged through the little lock box on the wall and shoved a pot of pills into his hand. “Just make sure she takes one of these a day, every day, for her blood pressure. It’s high, she needs to bring it down. It’s important that she brings her blood pressure down.”

“Thanks.” Yeah, Jinwoo wasn’t giving Hae-in anything, especially when he couldn’t tell the name of the medication. Jong-in could do that.

She stepped aside and watched on helplessly. “I’ll come by and check on her tomorrow…”

Jinwoo thought of you. "Tell me, what are the symptoms of that depression thing?"

"Oh... um, well, it can show in many ways, but the most common is persistent sadness, irritability, changes in sleep and appetite- sorry..."

Jinwoo's eye twitched when she mentioned you. "Is she okay? Do you want me to see her tomorrow for a check up?"

"No." He wasn't going down that route. Jinwoo was merely curious. "She's just fine. Don't bother."

“Oh, by the way…” Jinwoo stopped by the doorway, keeping his back to her as a sign to assert his dominance she should already be bowing to. “You aren’t to go near my fiancè. Ever. Unless it's an appointment, are we clear? Only with me present, too.”

“What… what do you mean?”

“I don’t trust you or the association by a long shot. And if anything happens to her… Hae-in’s health will be the least of your worries when you wake up in the morning. Do you understand?”

“You can’t be serious-“

“I’m very serious. I've never been more serious, but don’t worry, you aren’t the only one I’m telling so you don’t have to feel so left out… she’s the most important person in the world and no one is getting their hooks in her because I’ll end their world. So I’ll ask again… do you understand? 

“Uh… I understand..”

“Good.” Then he turned, his predatory eyes narrowed in on her. “Because if you or anyone else ever hurt’s her. You’ll live to regret it.”

He moved with a purpose, carrying the tired, pregnant woman right out the doorway. No medical member of staff turned an eye, no one tried stopping him because they all knew Jinwoo couldn’t be stopped.

He thought back to a time when he could have been stopped, very easily. A weak little man with nothing going for him besides pain and injuries that pushed lifetime scars he tried running from right in his face. 

None of that mattered now. He could do what he wanted, when he wanted. 

No one could stop him.

It’s why it was so difficult holding back most of the time. Like right now seeing Jong-in outside the facility speaking with you. Jinwoo’s grip tightened around Hae-in at the sight of the bastard's hand on your shoulder, a sickly sweet smile to match. Hae-in squeaked when his grasp grew intense.

"Shit. Sorry about that, Hae-in… What the hell is Jong-in doing here? That backhanded shit isn't cool." He eased off and approached them, hoping to catch the tail end of the conversation before either saw him.

“Hey.” You said, rubbing your arms in the sudden breeze that whipped through the street. “I called Jong-in to come and get Hae-in so we can go to sleep. You’re right, I’m exhausted.”

Were you doing this to punish Jinwoo for what he did? If it was, it worked exceptionally well. 

Jinwoo didn’t ignore you, but moved past you to hand off the sleeping Hae-in to Jong-in. “Her blood pressure is high, research these pills and make sure they’re legitimate before giving them to her. The doctor will come and see her in the morning.”

“What happened to her? I’ve been worried sick.”

The compulsion to believe Jong-in wasn’t enough to settle him. “They found her by the river, she’ll wake up in an hour. Get her somewhere warm, she really wanted to see you.”

Jong-in held Hae-in close, nuzzling his nose into her hair. “I messed up bad . I didn’t want to do this a second time round… I was happy just doing this with Hae-in.”

Yet he still did it. Jinwoo had no sympathy.

He focused all his attention on your wide doe eyes, full of something he didn’t want to see again. Hurt. “Let’s get you some rest, want me to carry you home?”

“What about them?”

“We’ll be fine, I think we’ll be okay.” Jong-in turned away, heading back towards headquarters, slowly but surely.

Talk about a dramatic exit.

“Do you want me to carry you home?”

“No.” You started walking back without waiting. "I think we should talk about some things, don’t you?”

It was coming up for eleven o’clock, the nighttime sky darker than Jinwoo’s temper, his patience. It looked over his head as though judging him, waiting on him to fuck up again so it could lock its teeth around his neck.

“Yeah. We should.”

“What happened in there Jinwoo?”

What did happen? It became more of a blur with each step away from that facility. His intrusive thoughts were winning though holding them back for as long as he had, the doctor’s presence eluded him.

“I placed a shadow on the doctor... She’s in my crosshairs now, so let’s see what she’s up to when things cool down.”

Part 19 <- Part 20 -> Part 21

Thank you for reading and all of the support on this fic! ❤️ Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated and I appreciate you all! See you next time 🤗

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DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[snowcoming]

'i hate that jason todd isnt there much in batfamily fics and that he deserves to not be sidelined in batfam stuff and yall are horrible for not doing so and i hate it'

WELL I personally think that jason todd isn't sidelined ENOUGH. like lets be real right now. canon jason todd has done a lot of bullshit to the batfam as red hood, and the fact that the so much of the fandom is completely chill with knowing the existence of this and still saying it's okay is just straight up disturbing.

i personally think we don't actually have enough tim and dick content without jason butting in every single time as this perfect brother he was literally never in canon. Let's be fr rn bc jason todd needs to make up for a lot of shit before the batfam would be comfortable with him, actually trust him, because he's done a lot of shit.

go have your fun with fanon jason, but don't claim that it's actually canon jason you're talking about. fanon jason who's actually done nothing wrong can be chill in life (and by actually done nothing wrong i mean actually done nothing and not that his actions were just swept away as small little things) but canon jason?

and to say that fanfics and canon should have jason and dick being a dynamic and closeness like dick and damian is wild lmaoo. like damian has not done half the utter bullshit jason has done to dick and people dick cares about, and like despite previous comics having dick almost adopt jason, taking their current canon characters and taking in their ages that's um.... not good? like the fandom parentifying dick with damian is a popular trope, and given that dick did almost adopt damian okayyy but like, the only time dick actually almost adopted jason was when they had a proper age difference.

like saying that dick should've had that parent child dynamic when jason was robin and even after is wild, bc in comic canon at this point dick is like, max four to five years older. and wanting him to be a parental figure to jason is such sad parentifying like what the hell? dick grayson does not need to be parentified, and especially not to red hood.

So, I'm just gonna end this with saying that jason todd has way too much attention in batfam fics as this saintly character (as much as a murderer can be a saint in a fandom that is completely okay with killing people) that loves his brothers, would never harm them and is extremely gentle and also actually cares for their well being and general autonomy and comes up with good decisions that when contested always prove he's right.

Like some of you guys are like jason should go back to being a villain and then turn around and write him as the best guy ever. Bro.

[mind-intheclouds342]

Do it for them - Co-captain x Curly

Previous - Part 7 - Next

Warning: Abortion mention.

You were watching the ultrasound you were doing on Anya, and you ran your hand over your face upon seeing the fetus.

"When"

Anya: "...I found out just before the crash..."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You turned to look at Curly on the stretcher and then saw Anya, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Anya: "For a moment I thought that... you wouldn't do anything for me either... and then, with all the responsibility you had on your shoulders... I didn't want to give you more problems."

"Why did you think I wasn't going to help you?"

Anya: "...You were always on the captain's side..."

"Well, when he had reasonable decisions, of course I agreed! Ugh... I don't want to talk about this now, let's focus on this now... How many weeks approximately?"

Anya: "...14 weeks..."

"Great, you're still on time. I know I ordered misoprostol, it must be somewhere."

Anya: "What's that?"

"It would help you to abort"

Anya: "How did you manage to get them to add that?"

"Well, I lied saying that some of the crew had gastric ulcers due to the consumption of aspirin to treat the inflammation caused by radiation when they had to go on walks outside the ship... And I sent Curly to ask for it so they didn't ask questions."

You mentioned searching through the cabinets for that medication until you found the tablet and handed it to her.

"I warn you that it's going to be hell, it's completely your decision, and I'll be with you to help you with all this."

You said, holding the pills while she watched you, slowly taking the box.

Anya: "How do you know?"

You fell silent and your eyes quickly moved to give Curly a glance, and then back to Anya, who understood immediately.

"Those are the side effects mentioned in the content if you take them when you are pregnant."

You told him right away and then sat down sighing.

Anya: "You look tired... Shall we grab a drink?"

You knew very well why he was saying that now, but you nodded to leave that place, not without first greeting your husband, letting him know you would be back soon.

Anya: "How was that?"

"I had gotten pregnant a few years ago, and we were about to make a new delivery, before that I asked Curly for a new load of medications, I was going to finish it myself on the ship."

Anya: "Why didn't you stay? Why didn't you do it in a safe way?"

"They keep an eye on everything you do, and they judge you. I wouldn't have gotten this job back, they would have done thousands of physical and mental tests to tell me I wasn't qualified to be co-captain... And I didn't want Curly to find out either."

You shrugged and took a seat while you prepared what was like hot chocolate, placing the powder in some cups and pouring water over them.

Anya: "Didn't he suspect anything?"

"I knew how to hide it, at that time there were only men on the ship, I lied saying it was my period, no one cared enough to ask more questions... Although Curly was very worried, he couldn't neglect his work that much either."

Anya: "...How was it? I want to know exactly what I'm going to face."

"...Hemorrhages, pelvic pain, depression, infections.... infertility"

You looked at the cup in your hands while saying this last part, taking a sip of its contents.

Anya: "...There aren't too many painkillers left in the nursery... Not for the three of us... Not for all this time we have to wait-"

She pressed her lips together as she placed her hand on her belly and tightened her uniform.

"Oh right, I haven't told you yet, the ship is heading to a Pony Express station, there we can ask for a rescue, we'll arrive in two more months."

Anya: "Even so, there aren't enough."

"I've already endured hell, I can do it again, don't worry about my dose."

Anya: "But-"

"Think about yourself! Please! Stop thinking about others!"

You slammed the cup against the table, causing a bit of the liquid to spill.

"It's your decision... Just...Decide... For you, not for others."

Anya: "Captain..."

You lifted your head upon hearing her say that, and you could see a small smile on her lips.

Anya: "Thank you"

[kingtomura]

Uber Eats

synopsis: What a crappy Friday night! You’re the only driver for your restaurant and you have to deliver to this Tomura S. guy. The worst part? He never tips. wc: 2.7k content: tomura shigaraki x female reader, quirkless au, oral (f! receiving), overstim, degredation, vaginal fingering, mdni cross posted to ao3

You hated this guy. 

He ordered every week without fail, like clockwork. 

“Do I have to make this delivery?” You ask your manager, wishing the ticket in your hand would burst into flames. 

It did not. 

The black ink only stared back at you as you stewed in your own misery: 

Tomura S. 

“You’re the only driver we have!” Your manager calls back to you, tossing some rice around in a wok before dropping it into a takeout container. “But after this, you’re good to go.” he placed the next order into the wok and the hiss of the food only added to the bustle of the restaurant.

You sigh, accepting your fate and crumple the receipt in your hand. It was the last delivery of the night so you find solace in at least being able to leave once you were done.

This guy was a known regular, and better known for not leaving a tip. Ever. It didn’t matter how big the order was and it didn’t matter what the weather had been outside — Tomura S. would not tip. And unfortunately for you it seemed he was more likely to order on your shift so you had to be the one to deliver. What awful luck.

Your manager waves you off after he finishes packing Tomura’s order and you step outside to your bike. It was about a fifteen minute bike ride, and the sweet promise of going home was all the motivation you needed to get it over and done. You put the order in the front basket of your bike and were off, hitting more than a few bumps in the road on your way.

Once you reach the apartment complex, you set your bike aside and head up to his door.

You’ve been here many times before, but that doesnt stop the nerves. 

Tomura was an… interesting fellow. Never a smile on his face and rarely a thank you. 

You steel yourself at the door of his apartment, taking a breath before raising your fist to knock. Maybe today would be different, you ponder, shifting your weight to cool your nerves. Maybe he would tip generously and send you on your way.

Everything could all be a big misunderstanding and you start to feel yourself get a little hopeful. He could be a nice guy under that rocky demeanor — maybe you’ve misjudged him.

The door opens with a little too much force and a vermillion glare meets your eyes. 

You feel yourself falter under his gaze. “Um, Tomura?" You put on the best smile you could and extend your arm, the bag of takeout presented to him. "Here’s your order.”

He looks down at the bag and then back up to you — carmine eyes giving away ill hidden boredom before ripping it from your hand and turning on his heels. The slam of his door making you jolt as you strained to hear his muttered thanks. So quiet you’re sure you may have imagined it. 

It would be generous to say you were shocked, but tonight had not been a kind night to you. A few too many potholes on your way here and a few too little tips given out has your lips pursed and fists clenching in anger. You had just about had it with this man. 

What was his deal? You come all this way, make sure his food is hot — hell, you even smile and that's still not enough. Well, you were done playing nice and found your fist tapping against his door before your brain could process your actions.

In less than a few seconds the door swung open, this time a much more annoyed Tomura greeting you. 

“What?” He rasped, face turned down into a scowl, much different from his earlier indifference. 

You don't waver, “What is your deal?”

His brows shoot up in surprise, “Excuse me?”

“I said, what is your deal? I’ve been delivering to you for months and not a single time have you tipped me! You know that's how I make a living right? It's just unfair.” you huff, exasperated.

This seems to surprise him further, and if you weren't crazy you would think that was amusement on his lips. “Tip? Is that what you want?”

You are surprised, but you nod. 

He huffs, taking a step back, “Fine.”

And then he’s gone. 

You’re not sure if he intends for you to follow him inside the apartment, but you have an idea that he wouldn't leave his door open otherwise — so, against your better judgment, you go in. 

It's dark in the apartment, and not very spacious. The dim lighting gives you little to work with but the blue light from the idle game screen playing on the tv in the living room helps you make out what you're looking at. Tomura has already gone deeper into the home, no doubt to his bedroom or wherever he may keep his money. You decide to stay where you are in the living room and look around a little.

The space wasn’t… awful, messy — yes, but not disgusting. It looked average to what any other twenty-something living alone would look like. 

You try not to make a habit of getting to know customers you deliver to, but judging from the nintendo switch docked near his television, it seems you may have a little in common. 

What surprises you are the anime figurines and plushies lining the bookshelf near the television. He didn’t strike you as a plushie enjoyer. Finding yourself smiling, you walk over to one. A green dino with goofy teeth and cute eyes. Cute. You reach out to touch it, the plushie feeling as soft as it looked.

The sound of footsteps on hardwood break your focus and you look back to see a grumpy Tomura, looking through his – assumedly empty –  wallet, “I don’t have any cash on me.”

His hair is fluffy and white, but looks a pale blue in the hue of the paused game on the television screen. His frustration is prominent in his scowl and you take this moment to really look at him, carmine eyes focused and brooding. He was taller than you originally thought and his black shirt was loose around the collar area, exposing his collar bones and you find your eyes drifting lower. You could tell he was toned under the thin black shirt he wore but you had never had a chance to really notice. Unconsciously, you lick your lips.

“Did you hear me?” 

Your eyes snap up, cheeks flushing, “Y-yeah!”

He huffed, irritation obvious but continued anyway, “well, what do you want?”

You don't know what you want anymore. If he doesn't have cash then it doesn’t matter. This seems like it may have just been an oversight on his part, so you may be better off letting this go. Maybe he would order again and tip you extra next time.

You take a few steps forward, every intention to walk by him and get to the front door when you stop, finally responding to his question, “nothing, just remember next time.” Your gaze catches his and then drifts lower, to his lips. Tomura catches the trail of your gaze and it forces you to look away. You swore there was a hint of a smile on his lips but maybe you were tired, it has been a long day. 

You shift your weight, ready to continue on your way out when Tomura reaches for your arm, grip tight and demanding. It takes you by surprise, but surprises you even further when he dips down and crashes his lips into yours, rough ones meeting the softness of yours. The kiss is not smooth or slow, but needy and hungry, Tomura playfully nipping your bottom lip before pulling away. 

“I have an idea,” he breathes and pulls you by the hand to his couch, falling ungracefully onto it and in an instant he's on top of you. 

Your cheeks are burning as you place both palms onto his chest to halt his movements, “H-hey, what are you doing?”

His laugh is low as if you should already know the plan. “I’m going to give you your tip.” 

And then he's down again, lips warm and demanding. A moan escapes your throat and you fist a hand in his hair, overwhelmed and desperate to get more of him. His tongue swipes your bottom lip and you waste no time letting him in. His large hand trailed down your side, and you pressed closer to him. He felt intoxicating, and arousal pooled in your belly as Tomura pulled away, panting. He was just as flushed as you knew you were, the wild look in his eyes only making the arousal between your thighs slicker.

Tomura trailed kisses down your jaw and neck, leaving soft bites in between licks. A particularly hard bite made you gasp, gripping his shoulder and turning your head, giving him better access to your neck.

He only chuckled, sitting back and looking down at you, “You look like whore.” he spat, teasing tone in his smile. “All spread out on my couch like this.”

His hands moved to your pants, popping the buttons and pulling them down. You should stop him, tell him to wait because you barely know him and it's a little soon, but his words have you biting your lip and lifting your hips to help him get your pants down and off. 

That only makes Tomura shake his head in disbelief, a pleased smile betraying his false disappointment. 

He reaches down and presses his middle finger to your clothed cunt, rubbing soft circles and laughs, “You’re soaked. Didn’t take you for such a slut.”

The words only spurred you on, spreading your legs further and closing your eyes. It felt good to finally get some kind of contact – he was right where he needed to be. Until he pulled away, leaving you more desperate and a complaint on your lips. You stop in your tracks though as Tomura leans down, tongue licking you through your panties. 

Your hands fly to his hair, moan erupting from your lips. You’re unsure how thin his apartment walls are, but you don't care. The feeling sends pleasure shooting up your spine and your heart picks up its pace.

Tomura laps at your clothed cunt, fabric muting the full feeling but giving you enough to cry out. You find yourself grinding closer, body begging him to keep going and he obliges, only for a moment. He gives your cunt one more kiss before pulling back and pulling your soaked panties down and off, tossing them across the living room. 

He wastes no time diving back in, tongue licking a strip from your hole to your clit and your back arches. The hold you have on Tomura’s hair is so tight, you're sure it’s painful at this point, but he only groans, wet muscle lapping your clit eagerly. Your thighs reflexively try to close, but Tomura is faster, hand stopping them and thumb rubbing soothing circles. 

“Oh, god,” you squeeze your eyes shut, the pleasure building quickly and you will yourself not to go over – not yet. That would be embarrassing. 

You feel the pressure in your abdomen tighten and it's clear you won't last much longer. Tomura took that moment to suck your sensitive nub and you spill over, mouth open in a silent moan and thighs quivering.

Tomura rides you through it, only pulling away from his ministrations once you catch your breath. “That soon, huh?” There's no bite to his words and you only give him a halfhearted glare, heavy lidded eyes still reeling from your orgasm. 

You’re distracted and don’t notice Tomura’s not finished with his antics. It wasn’t until you felt a digit pressing at your heat, slipping in slowly and making you mewl in pleasure. You were soaked, and the pressure making your head loll onto the armrest of the couch. It felt so full already. 

“Ah!” you gasped, feeling the familiar glide of Tomura’s tongue against your oversensitive clit once more. 

It was almost too much, your cries reaching new heights as he pumped his digit in and out of your sopping cunt, juices from your arousal mixing with his saliva. He was taking his time building your next orgasm, moving slow and steady, making your toes curl in pleasure. 

The push of a second finger against your hole had you tapping Tomura’s shoulder, “t-too much! Tomura!” 

Your cries fell on deaf ears as he continued, tip of his tongue flicking your clit as the second finger pushed in to join the first, waisting no time fucking you in earnest. His fingers were thick and the feeling of being so full made you dizzy, pleasure spiraling as you tried to ground yourself mentally. You grabbed Tomura’s shoulder, fisting his shirt in your hand as you lost yourself in the pleasure once more. 

Tomura’s motions ceased as his eyes met yours. You could only imagine how blissed out you looked in this moment, breath ragged and sweat clinging to your brow. Tomura wasn’t much better off — he was as desperate as you, hair splayed in wild directions after your hands ravaged through it. You open your mouth – impatient words on the tip of your tongue and Tomura curls his fingers, digits hitting that spongy spot inside that made you see stars.

He flattens his tongue, giving your clit a final lap and it sends you over – for the second time tonight. 

Your back arches and your legs shake as your orgasm washes over you. The feeling sends waves of pleasure throughout your body, eyes squeezed shut and mind buzzing. 

Tomura watches as you come apart, palming his erection in awe. You meet his eyes once you come down from your second high of the night and Tomura wastes no time in crashing his lips to yours, clumsy and wet. You could taste yourself on his lips and groan when he pulls you closer. 

There's a trail of saliva linking the two of you once he pulls away, but Tomura’s heavy gaze is only on you. He leans back in once more to give you a much softer kiss, before pulling away again and giving the same soft kiss on your cheek — heat rushing to them for reasons entirely different from what just transpired between you both. 

It was very… intimate – in a way you did not expect from someone who had just called you a slut. 

It makes you want to reach out for him when he pulls away further, eyes seemingly pondering something you’re unaware of. He looked down at you one more time, before looking to his television and his unopened takeout bag on the coffee table. 

“My show is about to start, so…” he starts, picking up the remote to change the channel of the television, screen lighting up and noise filling the room. You stare as Tomura sits back and gets comfortable, opening his takeout bag and removing the contents. 

Was he… was he kicking you out right now? Seriously? 

Your brows fly up, eyes widened in disbelief — his lack of reaction at your scoff only proves you right. He was kicking you out. Bullshit. The humiliation is evident as you scurry to find your pants, not bothering to find wherever the hell he tossed your underwear earlier, and get the hell out of there before you said something you would regret. 

The only thing on your mind was the front door as you brushed by Tomura one last time. 

“Hey!” he called, gluing you to your spot. Your heart jumped as you turned back to him vaguely hoping he would offer you to stay a little longer.

That small flame of hope died as soon as it came because Tomura was only extending your long forgotten phone to you. 

You snatch the device from his hand and make your way out the door, face burning and legs still tingling from the way he made you come undone mere moments before. 

Once you reach your bike you find yourself huffing in annoyance. What else did you expect? Him to offer you some of his takeout? That would just be silly. You’re walking your bike to the sidewalk, ready to hop on and go back to the restaurant – sure your manager is worried sick about his only driver – before your phone buzzes in your back pocket. 

Tomura S.

Your eyes widened as you read a text from the name you knew you hadn't saved in your contacts before. 

You forgot my drink.

[sparklingblu]

Inferior Activities

Lia x M Reader

"How's the salad?"

"Oh, it's great" you answer as you try not to grimace after swallowing the lettuce that taste no different from paper.

"I made few twists to the dressing, you know. A family secret" The bald man winks as he takes another bite of the potato that would have turned to coal if it have been roasted a minute more.

Studying the plates of green laid out all across the table, you make a firm decision never to become a vegan. At least not if your father in law is gonna be your chef. Lia has warned his cooking skills are terrible but you didn't expect it to be this awful. The only tolerable content of the table seems to be the so-called vegan meat and even that's starting to taste lesser and lesser like meat with each bite. No offense to all those animal loving vegans out there but they really are missing out a lot in their life. You wouldn't have lasted a day if you have to survive without meat.

Your eye flicker up to Lia, seated across, to see if she's on the same page with you on the matter. She lazily plops a broccoli into her mouth, her eyes betraying no signs of disappointment. The corner of her lips twitch in a thin smile as if to mock your suffering. She looks contented even.

In the end, you only have yourself to blame. When Lia suggestsled you visits her dad on the weekends, you agreed with a simple nod. Sure, it's your first time meeting her old man but what could go wrong? Right?

Except that everything does. As soon as you enter the house, the first thing the dude asked you was your opinion on wildlife conservation. At first you thought he was joking then you find out he's actually very serious about the matter. Weather talk would have been a good starter. Seriously, who starts a conversation like that?

Then after seeing the dishes he has prepared, you find out making conversation is the least of your worries. He's your father in law and you have respect for him and all but this dude is horrible at being a vegan. If he calls his mushroom soup which tastes more like mushroom-flavored dishwater 'a masterpiece', you might as well consider becoming a chef. Who knows? Maybe you will even get a couple michelin stars.

You are thinking of a way to escape this organic hell and the constant ear rape about how billions of animals are killed per year for human consumption when Lia finally comes to your aid.

"Dad, we are nearly done. Why don't you go make your signature smoothie? I haven't got the chance to taste it since I left for college" she suggests and the old man's eyes twinkle with maddening joy.

"Oh, of course! How could I forget that? It was your mother's favorite" his tone turns solemn at the mention of his late wife but you are too focused on the idea of finally getting some breathing room to care. "Two smoothies. Coming right up! You will absolutely love it" He winks at you again and leaves the table.

You drop your utensils and exhale in relief. "Finally. I was gonna turn into stone if I hear one more second of his animal talk"

Lia chuckles. "I get used to it after living with him for 18 years. He's actually a really sweeet guy. He just tries to focus on something else after my mom passed, I guess"

If the fact is supposed to make you feel sorry, it doesn't work. But you are not gonna tell her that. "How do you survive with this kind of food all these years?"

"It wasn't always that bad" Belle protests. "And sometimes he even cooks meat. But his skills get rusty with old age"

"Yep, I'm never becoming a vegan"

Lia pouts in annoyance. "Oh, come on. It's not that bad"

"Suits yourself"

"You just hate vegetables in general"

You roll your eyes in feigned annoyance. "Look, who's trying to follow her father's steps"

"Whatever" Lia finally gives up, pushing up her glasses from her nose. "I'm still hungry you know...."

"Maybe we can go to McDonald's or something later"

"No, daddy" Lia's voice turns low and sultry. "You know exactly what I want"

You look around in a panic to see if her dad has overheard your conversation. Thankfully, the guy's busy cutting carrots on the kitchen counter.

"Lia, I told you not to call me that in public. Especially not when your literal dad is right here" you warned, though you can't deny the fact that hearing her call you the name get your blood flowing backwards.

"Oh, come on, daddyyyyy" she pushes on, stressing the last word to make it sound even more fervorous. "I know you secretly love it"

"Look, babe. I love the name but this isn't the right place. Seriously, your dad's right there"

"So what?" Lia puts her elbows on the table, propping her chin in her palms. "Don't you enjoy a little risk?"

"Come on, babe. Not right now. I will make it up to you when you come back"

"But I want it now" Lia whines, the pout reforming on her lips. "Need to taste daddy's big cock. Need it shove down my throat"

"Lia...." you hiss, becoming aware of her tone, increasing by the second.

"Daddy pleaseee" she gives you those bambi eyes she knows you can't resist. "Let me suck your huge cock. I need you to fill up my mouth with your hot cum. I have been a good girl, haven't I? I deserve my reward" Lia runs her tongue along her top lips to punctuate her wish.

With the way her words get your asleep mamba waking up, you already know you are fighting a losing battle but you still need to be the one in charge here. "Alright, fine. But-"

"Oops. I drop my spoon" The metal hits the floor with a loud clang and Lia immediately dives down the table. It's an overused trope. You have seen it in hundreds of porn videos and you are no stranger to it. But you have never thought you would be in a similar situation and this time, the risk is very real. Her dad is not a paid actor who would pretend to be oblivious at the scene which would soon unfold.

"Is everything ok?" Lia's dad shouts from the kitchen counter, now washing.....are those eggplants?

"Yes, mister! We are gold!" You replies, hoping he would stay focused on his veggies.

You look down and find Lia already kneeled between your legs, a flicker of amusement in her eyes behind those glasses. Her lips curve into an impish smile. "Just stay still and let me do all the work, daddy" she whispers, her hands already working on your zipper. With one swift pull, she opens it up, revealing your red underwear underneath. "Oh, daddy's wearing my favorite colour today" Lia muses as she grabs your cock over the thin fabric, her thumb tracing slow circles. "Daddy, you are already so hard"

As much as you want to prolong this pornographic session, her dad is not going to be in the kitchen forever and you don't want to give him a heart attack. "Babe, enough teasing. Make it quick" you warn and her thumb rests on your head, pressing down on that sensitive spot she only knows. You let out a half-formed moan, not daring to be loud.

"You know the magic word, daddy. No need to be so formal" she presses again and you grit your teeth.

"Start sucking my cock, you slut" you calls her by her favorite nickname, which intsantly gets her engines revving.

"Yes, daddy" she release her grip, pulling down your underwear. Your rock hard cock springs out in a flash, hitting her spectacles. "Someone's eager" Lia chuckles, placing her brown locks behind her back, preparing for the main course. Her left hand close around your base, pumping it up and down in an agonizingly slow pace. She looks at your cock like it's something glorious, something she should be worshipping. But that's not so far from the truth. If this slut wants to choke on your cock, you are gonna permit it happily.

"Daddy, you are so big" Lia mutters dreamily, her free hand fondling your balls each at a time. The combination gets your mind cloudy, basking in the pleasure you nearly forget the whole point of this.

"I don't see you sucking my cock?" Lia stops her movements at your words and you nearly reget telling her to stop. But that doesn't last long because Lia instantly starts obliging to your command.

"Patience, daddy" With that, her rosy lips seal around your tip, taking you partly into the warmth of her mouth. Meanwhile, her hands grab your shaft, working in unison with each drag of her lips. The twist of her fingers along with her tongue that swirls around your slit gets you throwing your head back, letting out a graon. Then you quickly recompose not to expose yourself.

Lia doesn't seem to be bothered. Getting caught seems to be the last thing on your mind as she slurps on your head with fevorous vigour. Like it's the most delicous lollipop she has ever tasted. Her tongue gathers up any pre cum that leaks from your slit, taking it straight down to her stomach. She would takes anything your cock has to offer.

Every moment or so, you would check on her dad, making sure the guy's still busy brewing his organic potion which contents are starting to get weirder. But as long as he's busy, you don't care what he's putting into that blender. It's the best for him and you. You doubt the old man would be as merciful to you as he is to wildlife if he finds out his daughter is giving you head under his table.

But the task proves to be harder because Lia's dad would throw you ocassional glances and you have to put on this stupid grin everytime, which is not so easy with how Lia's sucking you off. Now she has taken half your cock into her mouth, her cheeks hollowed with unfathomable suction. Her hair sways with every bob of her head, forming silky waves of hazel. All the while, she keeps her eyes on you behind those circular frames, those pools of black seems to be asking if she's doing a good job.

"God, Lia....just like that" you grip the edge of the table to compensate for not being able to rejoice in the bliss of Lia's wet hole freely. Your head darting up and down as you keep watch on her father as well as enjoy the view between your legs.

Your shaft is now ringed with red as Lia leaves tarces of her lipstick mixed with her saliva while her lips glide smoothly along your cock, making it a red wet mess. Not like you mind. She can keeps messing it up all she wants.

Her tongue action doesn't waver either, licking up any available part but escpecially under your tip to tackle your weak spot each time she takes you in. To add icing on the cake, she has her left hand wrapped around your base to pump the lengths unattended by her mouth, not leaving out any throbbing vein.

You are helpless against her attack, the only action from your side to keeps grabbing the tablecloth into an unshapely tangle. And even that's starting to fail at holding back your moans.

A loud whirring sound fills up the place as Lia's dad starts brewing all those green stuffs in the blender. He gives you a thumbs up and you smile back, shammming excitement. The sound of the blender blades reminding you of the disguisting smoothie you will soon have to drink.

However, Lia takes advantage of the noise by taking your whole length down on her throat, the loud gagging sound lost in the echoes of spinning blades. You take the chance to make any audible sound that would let you express your euphoria. A moan. Then two. Then a couple more. It no longer seems to be ending as Lia devour your cock like a hungry animal, hitting the back of her throat each time she deeothroats.

Drops of saliva litters the ground. The evidences of Lia's godly work. Gags after gags escape her mouth in rhythm with your moans. However, escape won't be suitable here with the way your cock is blocking her airway. But that isn't a problem because she would choose your dick over oxygen.

The blender keeps whirring and Lia keeps choking on your cock. Her glasses now tilted at a strange angle from the force of her movement, the temple hanging on one ear only. Currently, her vision isn't as important as the taste of your dick on her tongue.

Lia finally pulls back, trails of saliva running from your tip to her lips. A waterfall of saliva staining her white shirt. Her tongue rolled out and her temples dripping with sweat.

"Daddy....am I...good?" she pants like a bitch in heat, all her lipsticks all gone.

"Very. But you gotta finish what you start my little slut"

"Yes, daddy. Feed me your thick cum. I want it all"

"Then come and take it"

Lia dives back on your cock, immeditaely swallowing your whole length. You groans out at the burst of pleasure, her throat constricted around your shaft. Lia holds her position, her nose pressed to your pelvis for a few moment before pulling back, just to start fucking her throat on your cock again and again.

The sound of the blender stops and you hear the clink of glasses. Turning your head, you find Lia's dad pouring the green liquid into two glasses. It would only be a few minutes before he comes back.

Lia seems to realize to because her lips form an airtight seal around your head and her hands satrt pumping your shaft furiously. Using all your willpower to hold out from finishing earlier leaves no strength left to withstand Lia's final assault. Your cock starts throbbing and soon you are spilling your cum into her mouth. Some reaching her tongue, the other flowing straight down her throat. Lia's fingers keep twisting back and forth and you empty the last drops of your protein rich fluid into her welcoming hole.

You close your eyes, breathing hard. The relief is instant as much as the build up is agonizingly blissful. Lia releases your cock with a pop and lick up the remnants of cum on the tip. You are too lost in the euphporic finale you totally forget the perilous situation you are in. When you realize, it's too late.

Lia's dad is near the table, two glasses of the green smoothie in his hands. His face is a mixture of shock and distress as he stands rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on her daughter's face a few centimeters away from your spent cock. His mouth opens but before he can speak, Lia chimes in.

"Thanks for the meal daddy. But I don't think I'm going to need the smoothie. I already have dessert"

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

[nixwriteschaos]

hi!!!! could you make a Bakugou x male reader where they have a BAD argument, and their relationship is already in a bad way (they are already adults), the reader leaves the house to calm down and then when he comes back Bakugou is afraid that they will get divorced and they talk about it? (with a cute ending please🩷🩷🩷).

We Need to Have a Talk

Katsuki Bakugou x Male!Reader Summary: Knowing Katsuki Bakugou, it would make sense if he and his beloved fight all the time, right? Well, the reader had enough of his temper and so he decided to go and stay the night somewhere else. It should’ve been no problem, right? Just a very short break for the two of them… or so the reader thought.

★☽A/N: Lately I’ve been so unmotivated to write!! I’m guessing it’s because I’ve been so busy with school work that I completely forgot! Final exams are coming soon so I’ve been super paranoid over it so I’m just hoping for the best, really! I also tried a different style than usual so… yeah! Anyways– Enjoy!! <33

Contents: Fluff, angst

⭒☆━━━━━☕️

After high school, both Katsuki and Y/N decided to move in together. After all, they’ve been dating since second year of high school so it’s almost required to start having trust in each other and move in together.

And after two years of staying together, they got married! Everyone was happy and had such a good time at Katsuki and Y/N’s wedding.

After that, everything was balanced– quality time– work time– everything! Everything was smooth sailing. Y/N even helped Katsuki with getting the funds for Izuku’s very own mech suit so that he can become a hero again.

Of course– it made him a bit jealous that Katsuki was a bit too… focused on getting the mech suit. Everytime Y/N inquired about it, Katsuki always responded with, “What? Can’t I have my rival back?” with his ever so annoying tone.

It boiled Y/N’s blood so much– but he knew better than to cause a scene just because of his thoughts and insecurity. He did try to voice his opinions– he truly did– but it only ended up in a heated fight and Y/N on the couch for more than a night.

Katsuki’s temper only started to get worse when he found out he was 15th in the rankings. He knew that he wouldn’t have the motivation without Izuku around to compete against.. but it still pissed him off that his ranking was so low.

Hell– Monoma was higher in the ranks than he was!!

And Y/N did try to talk to Katsuki about it. He told him that everything was going to be okay, that he needs to be patient and try to get the funds for Izuku’s suit efficiently– not messy and fast. But by doing so, he only got a slap on the face and a pillow and blanket to sleep on the couch with.

And after a while, Y/N and Katsuki started to have more and more fights over several things– both complicated and simple things. It was getting ridiculous but none of them dared to utter a word. And when their friends found out about their constant conflict– they too didn’t dare intervene.

Eventually, Y/N’s patience was running thin as their arguments became more frequent. Their relationship started to strain and Y/N had enough of it. When Katsuki finally saved up the funds for Izuku’s mech suit, he thought that was the end of their arguments.

But he was unfortunately wrong.

With Izuku joining the Pro Hero profession once again, Katsuki became obsessed with rivalling against Izuku once again, eventually reaching 5th in the Hero Rankings which Y/N was extremely proud of.

Instead of celebrating it with Y/N just like he planned, Katsuki decided to be “forcefully dragged” to a celebration that was hosted by Izuku and their other classmates. Y/N was invited, of course, but Y/N declined because he wasn’t close to any of them except Hitoshi and he was in class B and not class A.

Y/N did suggest an afterparty with wine and snacks while watching Netflix to Katsuki but he only ignored Y/N. He didn’t know why but his ignorance caused his heart to crack a little. He thought Katsuki was done with his rivalry obsession with Izuku but it seems like he was wrong..

Y/N, also known as H/N, also had a massive achievement. Like Katsuki, he rose up in the ranks and became the number three hero and basically pushed Mt. Lady away from her previous rank.

And so, the Pro Hero H/N sat in his living room drinking bottles of wine alone. His husband? Didn’t dare care about anything about him. 

He just sat there, looking up at his ceiling as his brain scrambled due to alcohol. At this point, he became numb. The hero didn’t know if this was only an overreaction or this was truly something he should react over at. The alcohol only scrambled his brain further, irrational thoughts started to run through his head.

☕️

“What the fuck are you doing?” Y/N turned around to find Katsuki at the door, sweating. Did he run back home? Katsuki walked over and saw the assortment of wine on the coffee table and Y/N could feel the anger radiating off Katsuki. “What is this?” he asked but got no response from Y/N.

He asked again, “What the fuck is this?” with a harsher tone. No response.

He grabbed Y/N’s hand to make him turn around. Katsuki was shocked to see blood-shot eyes and tear stains on his cheeks. Y/N looked like he had been crying for hours. “Why the fuck are you crying?” Katsuki’s harsh tone disguised his worry.

Y/N rolled his eyes, pulling his hand back. “Fuck off Katsuki.. Go suck on Midoriya’s dick.” Katsuki was surprised to hear such a statement from Y/N. He knew Y/N curses but never had he said something like that. “What the fuck you mean? You think I have it for Deku?!” Katsuki’s irritation grew when Y/N responded with a sigh. “You’re obsessed with him, Bakugou.”

Ouch… hearing Y/N calling Katsuki by his last name only ached his heart. “You’re drunk.” Y/N gasped, feigning shock. “Really? I never knew!” he sarcastically said. Katsuki growled, pulling Y/N close. “Don’t be a fucking brat.” Y/N slapped his hand away from his, growling as well.

“You constantly talk about Izuku. I thought you would stop your obsession with him after getting him the mech suit.. But I was wrong. You are still obsessed with him.” Y/N’s words hit Katsuki like a meteor. “I’m not- Look-” Katsuki’s words stuttered as he tried to make an excuse for his actions.

“I’m out of here..” Katsuki stood frozen and confused at Y/N who stood up and wobbled to their bedroom. He stayed that way and only snapped out of it when he heard the keys jingle. His eyes darted across the room and finally moved to grab Y/N by the wrist. “Where are you going?” Katsuki asked– no– demanded. Instead of an answer, he was knocked to the ground by a drunken Y/N. “We need a break.”

BAM! The door was slammed shut and left Katsuki on the ground, his eyes brimming with tears. He started to yell out curses, gripping his hair tight as he yelled. “Shit- shit- shit!!”

☕️

Only a week went by and Katsuki was a mess. Social media started to theorize his sudden worsen temper. Not only was the great Dynamight distracted, the media started to notice H/N’s bad mood lately.

Was it a quarrel? The media started to speculate, causing a trend to go viral. “IS DYNAMIGHT AND H/N FIGHTING? WHAT FOR?” is the main question. It was all people were talking about.

And Y/N was constantly asked by his friends what happened between the two but he didn’t want to answer. He was still pissed at Katsuki for prioritizing his rivalry with Deku over their marriage. The hero realized that his husband had never placed their marriage before his damn “competition” with his childhood friend.

And when he came back after 2 weeks after finally calming down, he found himself in front of his living room being a complete mess.

☕️

“What the fuck..?” I took a look around my living room, scanning over the complete messy state it was in. I was dumbfounded at the sight. Pillows were on the floor, the TV was playing some Korean drama show, and there was this– awful smell!! I walked closer to the couch where I found the coffee table filled with takeout meals, sodas, coffee, tea, ice cream, and all sorts of snacks!

How could the room get this bad?!

And on the couch was my husband who passed out asleep. He looked like a mess, with his unruly hair messier than the last I saw of him and eye bags darker than the night sky. I couldn’t bring myself to blame him anymore… just seeing him in this state showed that he truly felt sorry for his actions– his addiction with his rivalry.

But that was only speculation.

I shook him awake, watching him jolt awake. His eyes scattered the room before they landed on my figure. His reaction was a sight I never would have imagined. His eyes slowly wobbled in the thin layer of salty water before they fell from his eyes, wetting his clothes. Katsuki tried to say something but only hiccups escaped his mouth. He reached out to me, begging for me to hold him. His actions made him look childish.

“I- I’m sorry! I’ll stop hanging out with Izuku- Just please- I’ll do anything! I- I love you- I love you so much- So please don’t divorce me-” He rambled, grabbing my hand tight and looking at me with pleading eyes. I was surprised at his outburst. Divorce? Was this guilty to the point he thought I would divorce him?

I hugged him tight. “I would never,” I whispered. Katsuki’s sobs grew louder, hugging me tighter than ever. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.. Alright? Fuck.. and- and I’ll stop, okay?” Katsuki rambled, looking at me with honest eyes. I chuckled softly. “I was jealous, Katsuki. I’m very happy you feel like this because I really love you.. I want you to understand that I fucking love you… yes, we fight but who doesn’t? We always talk it out, right? And we are doing just that.” The smile on my face made Katsuki smile as well, wiping his tears and hugging me again.

“I love you,” Katsuki whispered and I whispered back, “I love you more.”

☕️━━━━━☆⭒

[stvrnioloslvt-inactive]

the estes method - Matt Sturniolo

bf!matt × gf!reader

PART TWO HERE

disclaimer: the following content might not be suitable for everyone. please, read the triggers list before reading this story. also, english is not my first language, but i hope you enjoy it nevertheless!

triggers: ghosts, shadow figures, the estes method, kinda scary? (not a lot though, i'm the first scaredy cat out there)

inspired by the trailer of this week's episode of hell week. and yes, sam and colby make an appearance in the story. enjoy!

「 ★ ★ ★ 」

i knew it was a bad idea. i mean, as much as i loved haunted places and acting like a ghosthunter, i knew it had complications that i was not prepared for.

but when the triplets were invited by sam and colby for their new episode of hell week they had no problem in tagging me along. and, frankly speaking, i was excited. the last time i filmed with them nothing much had happened, so i was curious to discover what would happen this time. however, nothing could have prepared me for what awaited ahead of me.

1:30 a.m.

"guys, can i do the estes method?"

"you really love that method, don't you?" the cam that sam was holding went straight to my face, startling me. i chuckled as colby gave me the ok to perform it.

"by the way, am i the only one that has been seeing things since i stepped foot in this place?"

five heads turned towards me, eyes wide open.

"what did you just say?" asked nick, turning pale.

"like, shadows that aren't ours moving on the walls, figures running from one room to another...is it only me?" at that point i felt like i was going crazy: the boys didn't have that much of a different reaction, and the camera was still in my face.

"so basically what you're saying is that you have been seeing things for over an hour and you haven't said anything?" sam and colby exchanged knowing stares, probably making a mental annotation to check the footage to see if they caught anything.

"i mean, even when i saw those shadow figures right in front of you, you didn't say anything, so i thought that i was hallucinating. but like...now it's worse" i ended the sentence with a whisper, as the camera panned to the triplets' faces.

"are they touching you? talking?" at this point chris just went back and forth, watching out in case he missed something.

"no, nothing, just circling us...or me. i'm not sure. hey, do you think it might be because i drew like tons of protective sigils on me?"

"YOU WHAT?" screamed sam and colby. i stumbled back, not expecting such a strong reaction.

"yeah, i figured that it could have been dangerous to come here without some sort of protection. i drew them on the triplets too, one per each, but no one is seeing what i am seeing. do you think that they're messing with me because they cannot touch me or whatsoever?"

"could be. messing with your mind instead of directly attacking you on a physical level is definitely an option. just...let us know if something happens, ok?"

i nodded. and, as we moved through the building, i prayed to whatever existed above us to keep us safe.

i turned towards matt, who was looking at me with a worried gaze.

"baby, are you sure you are ok? we can step outside if you need to"

i smiled and tiptoed to kiss him on the cheek. our hands brushed together as matt grabbed it to keep me close to him.

"eww disgusting"

"fuck off, nick"

"you too, bitch"

2:17 a.m.

"ok guys, now that the triplets have done the estes method it is y/n's turn" as colby spoke to the camera, matt put the blindfold on my eyes. he bent down to whisper in my ear a shy "i love you", then he put the headphones around my neck.

"y/n, are you ready?"

there was something heavy in the air. something wrong, something scary. i could feel the ways the boys were tensing up, anticipating something, anything. i felt my heart beating faster, my hands cold and sweaty as i saw pitch black in front of me.

with a raspy voice i replied to sam "yeah, i'm ready."

and so it begun.

the estes method

"chris is sitting next to you. if anything happens, tap on his leg"

i took a big breath in as the headphones fell snugly on my ears.

immediately i was hit with a multitude of noises: radio interferences, tv static noise, every once in a while i caught on the voice of a woman. she sounded like she was hurting.

"one"

the thing i hated the most about this method was that from the moment in which the headphones started blasting sounds it was as if you were alone in a parallel world. no matter how hard i squinted my eyes, or how much i tried to block out those noises, i just couldn't see or hear the people that were all around me.

"no"

"pain"

"hurt"

that voice, that woman...she was scared for her life. every time she spoke i could hear her whimper, almost crying.

"guys i think it is a woman speaking and she sounds like she is in pain. i don't know if it is related to what you've been asking but i thought you would want to know it"

the noise in my ears started getting stronger, higher. i put my head in my hands that were resting on my knees, then gripped the headphones so i could hear the woman better. there was something sinister about the new noise, it seemed like it was trying to cancel out the spirit in pain.

the best way i could describe it is as if a war had started and none of the two opponents could prevail on the other. i felt my head aching in an attempt to just focus on something, anything. but as soon as i tried to do so, the noises would get even stronger, leaving me panting as if i just ran a marathon. i felt someone's hand grab my thigh and shake it hard enough for me to feel it. somebody else tried to take the headphones out of my grip, but i held them in place.

finally, i managed to hear something.

"help!" screamed the woman.

and as soon as that word left my mouth, all the noise stopped, except for the tv static noise. my breath slowed down, and i loosened up the grip on the headphones. just as i was about to ask the boys if they unplugged the device, a growling, low voice screamed in my ears "go away!"

i screamed, terrified, as i ripped the headphones away from my ears and fell on the ground in front of me. i remember calling out matt's name, and he rushed to take me in his embrace as i cried terrified of what just happened.

chaos ensured: the boys scrumbled all around me to understand what i heard, but as soon as they did that colby called out a figure standing on the doorway.

"let's go outside, we can't stay here anymore!" someone screamed, and just like that matt picked me up bridal style and ran out with the others.

"nick, open the fucking car door so i can place her inside"

"on it"

the car

"baby, are you okay?"

"fuck, she's terrified. y/n. y/n! nod if you can hear us"

i nodded. just lightly, but enough for them to notice.

"baby, can you tell us what happened? what did you hear?"

i pulled matt inside the car so he could hold me while i tried to explain in the best way possible everything without being hindered by the fear that was running through my veins.

"that's crazy. guys, i've never seen anything like that before" said colby.

"for sure. it seemed like she was in a trance. y/n, did you feel us try to take those headphones off of you ears? you had a death grip on them, seriously"

"yeah, i felt it" i whispered, still shaking in matt's embrace. the poor boy could do nothing but hold me and caress my hair in hopes that it might help me to cool down.

"there was like...noise. a lot. at first i heard the woman speaking, then something else came up and started to try cancel out the woman. the last thing she said was help, and then..."

"and then what, baby?"

"and then there was silence. no noise at all, but i still couldn't hear you guys. i was going to ask if you had unplugged the headphones but..."

was i shaking again?

chills ran down my spine at the memory of that awful, awful voice.

"c'mon baby you can do it. say it"

"all of a sudden something growled in my ear. i don't even know how to explain it, it seemed like it didn't come from the headphones. he growled go away but i heard it so fucking clearly and strong that it felt like a scream right in my ears. i'm so sorry, i didn't want to scare you, i swear"

a heavy silence doomed upon us as the boys exchanged worried looks. matt held me tighter, in an attempt to protect me from my own memories.

"we believe you, y/n, we're just shocked that this happened...have we ever lived something like this before, sam?"

"no, never. i had chills, that was fucking terrifying"

"guys i think we should wrap it up here and go home"

"yeah. matt, do you want me to drive you guys home? so you can stay in the back with y/n"

"yes, please. let's go, i really don't want to spend another second in this place."

「 ★ ★ ★ 」

would you guys like a part 2? just pure fluff, matt taking care of y/n. let me know in the comments <3

all pictures were taken from pinterest. credits to the owners!

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃/𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊. 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓