#(also this is still just word of god but that's another topic)

[gravityrulez]

Hm. might just start shipping Alastor with every single character in this show purely out of spite

[askamnesiamoonjumper]

That hate anon i got is still really funny to me lmao

[apathyfairy]

i spent 3 months watching gilmore girls and i finally finished it and a year in the life and then netflix is like hmm what should we recommend... gilmore girls season 1 episode 1 is starting in 3 seconds

[waitimcomingtoo]

Meet Me Behind The Mall

Pairing: shy!Peter Parker x popular!Reader

Synopsis: after getting ditched by your friends, you spend a day with Peter in the mall, who’s secret you recently figured out

Masterlist

In his peripheral vision, Peter could see a tiny piece of paper being pushed onto his side of the lab table. He curiously looked at it, then up at you. You nodded your head towards the note so Peter unfolded it.

“What’s the answer to number 7?” The note read. Peter glanced up at the professor before scribbling down the answer and passing the note back to you. You read his response and circled the correct answer. A few seconds passed when another note was passed across the table. Peter picked it up and opened it to reveal three hearts drawn around the words “thank u!”. Peter felt his face flush and looked over at you again. You gave him a thumbs up before going up to hand in your test.

After class, you caught up with Peter in the hallway and put your hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Thank you so much for helping me in there. I counted up all the answers I was confident I got right and it wasn’t enough to get a pass. I just don’t get this unit.”

“You’re welcome.” Was all Peter could say. He thought about offering to tutor you or telling you he also struggled with the topic, but he felt too shy to get anything more out than a cordial response.

“I bet you did really well. You always do. God, I wish I was as good at science as you are. It’s just never come naturally to me. How do you always know the answer?” You asked him as you continued to walk together.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged and immediately scrunched his face in embarrassment. He wished he could be better at conversing with you, especially since you were always so nice to him. He saw a pack of your friends coming down the hallway and they waved you over, putting your conversation out of it’s misery.

“Bye, Peter. I’ll see you next class. Have a good weekend.” You waved to him as you ran to catch up with your large group of friends. He knew he should return the sentiment but instead stayed silent and gave you a pathetic wave back.

That night, the cheap alcohol of the frat party didn’t sit well with you so you headed home early. You were a pretty far walk from your dorm but felt too nauseas to get into a car. Instead, you started walking home and let the cold New York air calm you down.

“Where are you going, gorgeous?”

You felt panic drop in your stomach at the sound of a man’s voice somewhere in the darkness but kept walking to your dorm. The sound of footsteps behind you picked up behind you so you quickened your pace. You could still hear music coming from the party you had left so you knew people were nearby if worst came to worst.

“Hey. I’m talking to you. Where are you going?”The man asked as he caught up to you and walked beside you. You ignored him and tugged your jacket tighter around your body. He suddenly took you by the elbow and you froze in fear.

“Come on. Don’t be rude. Just give me a smile and I’ll leave you alone.” The man said with a sickening smile as he tried to get you to look at him.

“Please. I’ll give you whatever you want from my bag. Just leave me alone.” You pleaded and moved away from him. He snatched your purse from your hands and started to rummage through it.

“What the hell is this? This is just full of receipts.” He grimaced in disgust and pulled out a handful of crumbled receipts.

“I don’t want to throw them out in case I need to return something one day.” You said meekly.

“Do you even have a wallet? All I’m finding is lip gloss.” The man said as he picked up five different lip products from the bottom of your bag.

“Oh, I’m sorry you didn’t find a better person to rob.” You scoffed sarcastically. The man looked up at you with a primal look in his eyes.

“Oh, you think you’re funny? I don’t like girls who think they’re funny.” He said and gripped your elbow again. You tried to pull away but he was too strong. Before you could tell him to let to, Spiderman dropped down next to you. You cracked a smile at the sight of him and let out a sigh of relief.

“Sir, I hate to be the one to tell you this but that purse does not to with that outfit.” Peter sassed and moved his hands in dramatic exasperation.

“Huh?” The guy said and let go of you.

“Now, you better not have left a bruise on this lovely lady’s elbows or you and I are gonna have a serious problem.” Peter warned as he shot a web at the guys pants. He yanked them down and the man’s jeans fell to his ankles.

“Hm. I did not peg you for a boxers guy. Your whole vibe screams “Fruit of the Loom” tighty whities. Yet now I stand corrected.” Peter said as he tilted his head to the side. You covered your mouth and let out a laugh, making the man grow angry. He went to lunge at Peter but tripped over his dropped pants.

“Uh oh. Someone’s angry. Maybe your whities are a little too tighty.” Peter commented as he pinched his fingers together. You laughed again as Peter shot a web at your purse.

“I’ll take that.” He quipped and yanked the purse out of the man’s hands.

“Thank you!” Peter said politely as he caught your purse.

“Hey!” The man shouted.

“Hey?” Peter laughed. “You’re yelling at me like it’s yours.”

The man tried to lunge at Peter again and ended up falling flat on his face. Peter took that as his cue to wrap an arm around you and pick you up to swing you to safety. He landed a few blocks away and carefully put you down. You stared at him through the mask as he put you down, your faces just inches apart. Peter gulped and felt his entire face go red beneath the mask.

“Thank you, Spiderman.” You smiled softly at him as you slowly withdrew your arm from around his neck.

“You’re very welcome, miss. I believe this belongs to you.” He said as he put your purse back into your hands. Your eyebrows knit together suddenly in confusion and you let out a short laugh.

“Wait, Peter?” You asked, making Peter’s heart drop.

“Uh, what?” He gulped. “Who’s that? I’m your friendly neighbor Spiderman.”

“Right. Sorry. You sound just like this guy in my chemistry class.” You laughed and shook your head. Peter felt his blush spread all the way to his ears over you recognizing the sound of his voice. You ran in different circles at school, you being apart of the popular group of girls and him belonging to a small group of local nerds. That being said, your ever present kindness towards him left him to develop a small crush on you.

“Oh. Well, that’s not me. But he sounds really handsome.” Peter replied, making you laugh again.

“He is.” You nodded without an ounce of sarcasm in your voice. This piked his curiosity and he leaned in a little.

“He is?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely.” You nodded. “In a hot nerd kind of way. Like Spencer Reid. But kinda short. Which I’m not sure why I’m telling you now that I hear myself.”

“It’s okay. I like that show too.” He chuckled shyly. “He sounds really cool.”

“He is really cool. At least, I think he is. But I’m not really sure. Everytime I try to talk to him, he looks away.” You sighed like you were disappointed. Peter realized you were a little drunk and probably didn’t know what you were saying. Even if that was the case, it was still nice to hear.

“Maybe he’s just shy. And doesn’t know how to look pretty girls in the eye.” Peter said as he kicked a rock around with his foot.

“That’s a shame.” You smiled sadly. “Because I think he and I could be friends if he ever learned to look at me.”

Peter stopped messing with the rock and looked up at you. There was a smallness to you tonight that shone through your party dress and heavy makeup. Your typically bright hand bubbly demeanor was cloudy by something you weren’t telling him.

“Maybe he’ll start.” He told you.

“I hope so.“ You answered honestly. “He seems nice. I could use a friend like him.”

Standing under that streetlight, Peter noticed a sadness to you for the first time. You were usually in a circle of friends all wearing smiles but right now, you seemed completely alone down to your bones.

“So how was your night?” He asked in a quiet voice. You stared off into the distance as your eyes brimmed with tears suddenly.

“Do you ever feel completely alone despite being in a room full of people you know?” You asked him.

“I do, actually. All the time.” He answered. You looked at him and smiled sadly.

“Do really, Spiderman?” You asked with hope in your voice. It wasn’t that you wanted him to feel alone. You just wanted to know you weren’t the only one who felt that way.

“I do. Is that how you felt tonight?”

“I don’t know. I guess. Sometimes I make jokes and my friends all look at each other. And they all make this face as if they’re thinking the same thing. And what they’re thinking is that I’m a freakish alien who they’re embarrassed to know. That’s how I felt tonight.”

“Well that’s no fun. And you’re not a freakish alien. You’re very funny.”

“And you know that because you’re the cute guy in my chemistry class?” You asked with a hopeful smile.

“I’m not him. I’m just guessing that you’re funny. So maybe you are an alien. I don’t know. This is our first time meeting.”

“Right.” You rolled your eyes. “So how do you think you did on the last test? I actually feel pretty confident.”

“I don’t know because I didn’t take any test because I’m not the guy in your chemistry class. Now can I walk you home? It’s freezing out here and I have no jacket to offer you.”

“Sure, thanks. I’m this way.” You said and pointed in the direction of your dorm. Peter placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you towards your dorm.

“You should get a friend to walk with you next time you leave a party. It’s not safe to be out here by yourself. Especially with guys like that going around snatching purses.”

“I know. I asked my friends but they weren’t ready to leave yet.” You shrugged.

“And they let you walk home alone? Drunk? Sounds like you need some new friends.” Peter joked but you nodded in agreement.

“I know. But you know how friends can be. They still wanted to party. Why should I be their problem?” You shrugged again, making Peter frown.

“It’s not a problem to look out for you.” He said simply.

“That’s easy for you to say. You look out for everyone. It’s your job.” You reminded him.

“I’m not just saying that because of my job. It wouldn’t be a burden to take care of you no matter who I was.” Peter replied, making you stop walking. He looked at you and you looked that you had been waiting your whole life to hear what he had just said.

“Thank you.” You said with a fond smile.

“You’re very welcome.” Peter replied in an equally soft voice. You kept walking in comfortable silence until you reached the girls dorm.

“This is my dorm.” You told him. Thanks again for walking me home. And getting my purse back for me.”

“Anytime.”He nodded. “I just hope it doesn’t happen again. But if it did, you know.”

“You’d be here.” You finished his sentence.

“Exactly.” He smiled. “You can count on it.”

You couldn’t see the smile under his mask but you knew it was there. You held up your purse to show him that you had it before walking up a few of your dorm steps.

“See you at school?” You asked him.

“Don’t think so.” Peter chuckled. You squinted your eyes as if you didn’t believe him but eventually shrugged.

“That’s too bad. Good night.” You waved to him and walked the rest of the way up the stairs.

“Good night.” He called after you.

Once Monday came, you were determined to talk to Peter. You didn’t have chemistry that day so you’d have to find him elsewhere on campus. You knew he usually hung out in the library so you went there to check. Sure enough, he was at a table with his friends Ned and Miles.

“Hey, Peter.” You greeted as you walked up to him.

“H-hi.” He stammered. “What are you? I mean, how are you up? I mean, how are you? What’s up?”

“There we go.” Ned nodded. “I knew he’d get there eventually.”

“I’m good.” You replied. “How are you doing?”

“Ooo. Is this your girlfriend from chemistry class?” Miles asked as his raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Is that what you told them?” You smiled in surprise as you looked at Peter.

“No. I didn’t. I swear.“ He assured you as his entire face went red.

“He did show us the note you gave him.” Ned told you.

“Oh yeah. Three hearts. I didn’t realize you guys were so serious.” Miles teased Peter as he gave his friends a look that begged them to stop.

“I never said she was my girlfriend.” Peter whispered harshly to them. You could tell he was getting embarrassed so you played along to save him. You frowned and ran your fingers through his hair before letting your hand rest on his cheek.

“What? You didn’t tell them about us, baby?” You asked and titled your head to the side. Miles and Ned’s made surprised faces as Peters entire face went red.

“W-what?” Peter sputtered out.

“I’m messing with you.” You smiled. “But I do need to talk to you.”

“Oh, uh, okay. Sure.” Peter said and moved his bag so you could sit down. You looked at Miles and Ned and smiled timidly.

“Privately.” You clarified. Miles and Ned “oooo”ed as you walked away from their table and went into the hall.

“Dude, follow her.” Ned told him and pushed Peter up from the table. Peter nervously fixed his hair and got up to follow you.

“What’s up?” He asked once you were alone. You looked around to see who was watching before stepping closer to him.

“I just wanted to thank for getting my purse back for me. It’s my favorite bag. And my favorite lip combo was in there. You really saved me.” You said and squeezed his arm in appreciation.

“Oh, you’re welcome. Anytime.” Peter said waved his hand like it was no big deal. Your lips curved into a wicked smile and Peter realized his mistake.

“Shit.” He whispered as you jumped up and down and clapped your hands.

“I knew it!” You whispered. “I knew that was your voice!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said quickly.

“Yes you do.” You grinned and poked him in the chest.

“I really don’t.” He shrugged but he knew he was caught.

“Then why are you so flustered right now?” You folded your arms to ask him. Peter touched his burning cheek and debated telling you his face always did that around you.

“I’m not.” He lied.

“Your face is hot.” You pointed out as you touched a cold hand to his cheek.

“Psht. Your face is hot.” He scoffed and pushed your hand away.

“Thank you.” You said pointedly. “But you and I both know that I figured out your little secret. There’s no point in denying it now.”

“I don’t have any secrets. So you don’t know anything.”

“Come on, Peter.” You whined. “I’ve been waiting all weekend to tell you that I know. I wanted to text you but I don’t have your number and I couldn’t find you on Instagram. You have one, don’t you?”

“I’m not on social media.” He told you.

“Okay. That’s serial killer behavior but I’m willing to look past it if you confirm my suspicions.” You said and excitedly drummed your fingers on your chin.

“I’m not Spiderman. So I cannot confirm your suspicions.” He whispered for only you to hear. You smirked a little before shrugging.

“I guess you can’t.” You sighed. “It’s weird though, right?”

“What’s weird?” He wondered.

“That I never said you were Spiderman. I just thanked you for getting my purse.” You said with a coy smile. Peter hung his head in shame as he confirmed to you for the second time that he was in fact Spiderman.

“I knew it! I knew it was you. I even recognized the way you walk.” You said proudly.

“What do you know about the way I walk?” He asked with a shy smile.

“You walk really stiff like you’re holding two invisible briefcases.” You explained and demonstrated for him with a near perfect imitation of how he walked.

“What? No I don’t. Oh wait. Yeah, I kinda do.” He realized as he watched you.

“You definitely do. Now can you please just tell me I’m right? I’ve been thinking about it all weekend. I need to hear you tell me I was right.” You begged him as you put your hands on his shoulders. Peter playfully rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and sighed.

“You right.” He mumbled.

“Yes! I knew I was right!” You cheered. “Everything makes sense now. That’s why you’re always disappearing or yawning or bruised. You’re probably up every night getting girls purses, aren’t you?”

“Not always purses.” He instead. “Sometimes it’s bikes. And one time, a mean chihuahua.”

“Wow.” You said with genuine amazement. “So how long have you been doing this?”

“Since I was 15.”

“15? Damn. I was exhausted from working 4 hours a week at Kohl’s at 15. How do you do it? You must be so tired.” You frowned and rubbed his arm kindly.

“It’s tiring but someone has to do it.” He shrugged. “Just like someone has to hand out Kohl’s cash.”

“Thats true.” You chuckled. “And that’s a very selfless way to look at it.”

“Oh. Thank you.” He smiled shyly. “But please, you can’t tell anyone about this. Nobody else knows.”

“Duh.” You replied. “This is our secret.”

“Yeah. Ours.” He smiled and felt his face heat up at the mention of something belonging to only the two of you. Your moment was cut short by one of your friends coming up to you and completely disregarding Peter.

“Hey, girl. I need your notes from class today.” She said to you.

“Oh, sure. How come you weren’t there?” You asked her.

“Liz and I went got coffee instead.” She replied. Peter could tell you were hurt they didn’t ask you to come get coffee but you just smiled and nodded.

“I’ll text them to you.” You told her.

“Thanks. Let’s go to the library. I need you to look at my English paper and tell me if it’s good.” She said and nodded towards the library. You looked at Peter and gave him an apologetic smile.

“Bye, Peter. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” You told him before leaving with your friend.

“Why were you talking to that lesbian?” Your friend asked you as you walked away.

“That wasn’t a lesbian. That was my friend Peter.” He heard you tell her before going into the library. He watched you disappear and let out a little sigh. He knew he was going to over analyze that entire conversation for probably the rest of his life, or at least until the next time you spoke.

That weekend, Peter headed to the mall a few blocks from campus to do some wandering by himself since Ned was busying. He did a little shopping before taking a seat on the mall fountain to check his texts. He was so engrossed in his phone that he didn’t notice you walk up to him.

“Well, well, well.” You chuckled, making him look up at you and blush.

“It’s a fountain, actually.” Peter deadpanned, making you crack a smile.

“You’re stupid. Move over.” You laughed and sat beside him. Your knees were touching which made Peters face warm up the way it always seemed to around you.

“Should I be worried? I’m starting to think you might be stalking me.” He teased you.

“Excuse me? I was just walking around and saw you. You’re the one who keeps ending up placed I’m already in.”

“Sounds like something a stalker would say.” He said out of the corner of his mouth.

“You wish I was your stalker. Now come on, give me the haul. What did you buy?” You asked him and nodded towards his bag.

“Socks and boxers.” He smiled proudly and held up his items.

“Oh shit. You did not come to play.”

“I really didn’t.” He played along, making you laugh again. You stared at him for a minute with a fond smile and he stared back with a matching one.

“What?” He wondered.

“You’re talking to me.”

“So?” He laughed shyly. “You’re talking to me.”

“No, I mean, like. Full eye contact. And full sentences. Who is this man? I’ve been waiting to meet him forever.” You teased him and he playfully rolled his eyes.

“I guess it’s easier to talk to you now that you know my secret. You’re not as scary anymore.”

“I was scary before?” You gasped and pretended to be offended.

“Yes. Girls like you are very terrifying to me.”

“Girls like me?” You smiled coyly.

“Pretty girls who are nice to me. I really wish you were a giant snake or the multi-bear from Gravity Falls or something. That’s way less scary.” He insisted.

“You’d rather talk to the multi-bear than me?”You scoffed. “I have half a mind to forget about you and go stalk some other guy.”

“No, please. Stay. I forgot how awkward it is to shop alone and I still need to get a belt.” He pretended to beg and put a hand on your leg to get you to stay. You looked at the hand on your leg and cracked a smile at the unexpected contact from him.

“Well I would never abandon a man on a belt quest.” You replied, making him laugh.

“Thank you. What about you? What are you looking for?”

He could have said “shopping for” but that’s not what he meant. He wanted to know what you were looking for. You cracked a smile as if you understood what he was asking.

“Better friends, actually. Have you seen any?” You asked with a playful but sad smile.

“I just saw your friends in H&M.” He told you and pointed to the store. You shrugged a little and shook your head.

“Yeah. I saw them too. After they all told me they were busy today and couldn’t hang out.” You admitted without looking at him. Peter frowned and moved closer to you.

“They came here without you?”

“I asked them to hang out. They all said they couldn’t. But now I’m getting a sneaking suspicion there’s a second group chat that I’m not in.” You laughed but he knew it was fake.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly.

“I came here to cheer myself up and ended up feeling 200 times worse when I saw them all hanging out without me. I didn’t even say anything to them because I didn’t want them to feel bad for not inviting me. Not that they ever care when they make me feel bad.” You laughed again but it ended up in a sigh. You stared at your shoes for a second and Peter stayed silent.

“Girls suck.” You said after a beat. “Not always, of course, but when they suck, they really suck. They know how painful it can be to be the only one left out. But they still did it to me. I don’t understand why.”

“Neither do I. I thought those girls were your friends?”

“I don’t know. I kinda saw this coming.” You admitted. “I started to notice that I was always the one texting first. And always the one trying to make plans. And when they did text me, they were asking me for something. It was never just to check in on me.”

“That’s really hurtful. I’m sorry. I’ve been there too. It sucks when you realize that if you stopped reaching out to someone, you’d probably never speak again.” Peter replied, making you smile sadly at him.

“Exactly. Or when you wonder how long it would take them to notice if you stopped reaching out. And worse, wonder if they’d notice at all.”

“No one deserves to feel that way. Especially not someone as kind and considerate as you. You really do need new friends.” He nodded in agreement, making you genuinely laugh this time.

“We’re friends, right? Because I know your secret.”

“We can be friends.” Peter nodded, bringing a smile out of you.

“Thanks.” You told him and gave his shoulder a rub. Peter felt a sudden burst of confidence and decided to keep the momentum he had built.

“You’re probably gonna say no to this, but Ned and I were gonna get sandwiches and then build legos together tomorrow. You can come, if you’d like.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to give me a pity invite to your sandwich and Lego party.” You told him.

“It’s not a pity invite. I want you to be there. It would make me happy to have you around.” Peter answered, making you smile once again. It was the simple change from “you can come” to “I wanted you to be there” that made all the difference.

“Do you want to hang out with me today?” You asked him.

“Yeah. I do.” He said immediately. You stood up and held out your hand for him to take.

“Come on. Let’s go look at the home decor.”

Peter took your hand and let you pull him towards the home decor store in the mall. He awkwardly ran ahead of you so that he could open the door for you but it was worth it when he saw you smiling.

“Thank you.” You said curtly and walked inside. He followed you around the store like a puppy dog and listened to your commentary on the various throw pillows and wall art as if it was words from a prophet.

“This would be perfect for you.” You gasped and held up an old Halloween pillow that had a sequenced spiderweb on it along with a spider made up of mostly fallen off beads.

“Is my job a joke to you?” He laughed and flicked the pillow.

“I mean, I did see some funny videos of you online. How often do you miss your webs and fall into bushes?”

“Bushes are rare, actually. It’s usually car hoods and hot dog stands.” He admitted.

“Ouch.” You grimaced. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“No. Hot dog stands are really soft.” He said seriously. You laughed and kept walking down the aisles of the store.

“I love that I’m the only one that knows this about you.” You told him.

“You really do, don’t you?” He realized with an amused smile.

“Well, yeah. I always knew there was something about you and learning this vindicated me so hard.”

“Something about me? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You’re so allusive.” You shrugged. “Always disappearing and reappearing from places. Not on any sports teams but will never miss when throwing something into the trash from across the room. Knows all the answers in chemistry but never raises his hand. Ripped but hides it under Catholic school boy sweaters. I always wondered about you. Now I know.”

“Wow. You pick up on a lot of details. Nobody’s ever really noticed me like that.” Peter said as he looked at the ground so you wouldn’t see how flustered that made him.

“That you know of.” You corrected. “Because I noticed you a long time ago and you had no idea until now.”

“I notice you too.” He said as he looked into your eyes. You smiled at the eye contact and stayed looking at him.

“So, uh, were you just messing with me when you told Spiderman that you thought I was, you know.”

“A hot nerd?”

“Yeah. That.” He laughed shyly.

“I wasn’t messing with you.” You shrugged. “Or him. Either of you. I meant what I said.”

“So did I. I really don’t know how to talk to pretty girls.”

“We’re just regular people. Aside from our razor sharp teeth and detachable feet.”

“Why would you need to detach your feet?” He laughed.

“I don’t know but I used to have these dolls when I was younger where you’d yank their whole foot off to change their shoes. And they’d just have a little nub until you put new feet on them. God forbid you lose one of their shoes. Then they have no feet and had to walk around my dollhouse with nubs”.

“To be a woman is to perform.” He nodded along.

“Shut up.” You laughed and kept walking down the aisles of the store. You ended up buy some statue of an animal that you mentioned your mom liked to collect and Peter carried your bag for you into the next store.

“So who else knows about this secret? Besides us two.” You asked as you flipped through a clothing rack.

“My best friend. But that’s because he accidentally walked in on me in my suit. And my aunt. Who found out in the exact same way.”

“Sounds like you need to invest in a giant trench coat to cover yourself with when entering and exiting your room.” You told him.

“That’s a really good idea, actually. Do you think they sell those here?” He asked, making you laugh.

“So I was the first to figure it out?”

“You were. And now I’m really hoping it’s not obvious.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s obvious. I’m just very observant.”

“Of everything or just me?” He asked you.

“Just you.” You teased, making him blush again.

“What else have you observed about me?” He wondered.

“A few things, actually. You keep flexing your hand and I’m starting to think you’re working up the nerve to hold mine. That or you’re fighting the urge to punch me so I’m hoping it’s the former. I also observed that you haven’t checked your phone once since I found you and you’re letting me pick all the stores we go into.”

“Wow. And what do your observations tell you?”

“That you like me.” You said simply and continued looking at the clothes.

“What?” Peter sputtered. “No I don’t.”

“Says the boy who got my purse back from a burglar. Classic crush culture right there.” You clicked your tongue and shook your head.

“What?” He laughed. “That is not what I do when I have a crush on a girl. That’s just my job.”

“All right then. So what do you do when you have a crush?”

“Avoid eye contact and hope she likes shy tendencies. And open doors for her, obviously.” Peter said as he opened the door for you into the next store.

“Good to know.��� You said and gave him a pleased smile as you passed him. He continued to follow you down the aisles of the store while holding your collection of clothes you wanted to try on.

“So why spiders? I’ve always wondered why you named yourself after arguably the worst bug of all time. Why not something more palatable like Lady Bug Man? Or Moth Man and then you could live under a bridge and spook people?” You asked as you handed him another dress for you to try on.

“It was a spider bite that gave me the abilities, actually. That’s where I got the name.” He explained as you disappeared behind a changing room curtain. You opened it up after a few seconds in one of the dresses you had taken off the rack.

“Really? I never would’ve guessed that. I’m learning so much right now.” You said as you turned around and moved your hair away from your neck. Peter blushed and picked up what you were implying and zipped the dress for you. You turned back around and gave him a grateful smile.

“What else do you want to know?” He asked with a shy smile. He usually categorized himself as shy and never wanting to be the center of attention, but right now he was hoping you had more questions to ask him. He liked being the center of attention when it was your attention he was getting.

“Why red and blue?” You wondered.

“Red for my mom’s red hair and blue for the car my dad drove.” Peter said out loud for the first time.

“Aw, Peter.” You pouted. “That’s really beautiful. I love that.”

“Thank you. I never told anybody that before.” He admitted.

“Hm. Something else just between us, then.” You winked at him before shutting the dressing room curtain again.

When you left that store, Peter opened the door for you on the way out with his free hand and held your bags with his other hand. As you walked through the mall, yours hands kept bumping against each others. It happened so many times in a row that Peter was starting to think he was doing it on purpose.

“You can, you know. If you want to.” You said without looking at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Peter lied as your hands bumped once again.

“Okay. Never mind, then.” You replied and kept walking. Peter decided to do something for once and took your hand. You didn’t say anything but smirked and gave his hand a squeeze. You stayed holding hands as you went to a few more stores and ended up back by the fountain. Through the streams of water, you suddenly spotted the very group of friends that had left you out.

“Oh God. It’s them.” You gasped and stopped short. Peter thought you were going to drop his hand but you didn’t.

“What are you gonna do?” He asked. “I can stick to the wall if that at all helps.”

“Well I’m definitely gonna need to see that at some point but not right now. I need to hide.” You decided and looked around for the nearest exit. During your search, you heard the sound of your friends laughing and it made your stomach drop. You didn’t want to run away anymore and pretend that the things they did didn’t hurt you. They did. And it was time they knew that.

“Actually, no.” You decided. “Why should I hide to make them more comfortable? They did something mean to me. I shouldn’t run away just so they don’t have to face what they did. I should go talk to them.”

“Let’s do it.” Peter agreed and you smiled. You blew out a nervous breath before walking up to the group of girls.

“Hey guys! So glad your schedules freed up.” You greeted them with a friendly smile. They all froze and either looked down at the ground or at you with stunned expressions. You took your time looking at every one of their guilty faces with an unamused expression.

“We were gonna text you.” Liz said quickly.

“Don’t even worry about it.” You told her. “In fact, don’t text me ever again. I deserve friends who include me. Not people who keep me around just in case they need something from me.”

“So what? You’re gonna ditch us to hang out with losers?” Liz scoffed and looked at Peter. You felt bad that Peter had caught a stray but he wasn’t phased.

“You’re the ones who just lost a good friend. And missed out on a fun day at the mall with the coolest girl in New York. So I’m pretty sure that makes you guys the losers.” Peter stated. Everyone, including you, was shocked to hear those words out of the notoriously shy Peter’s mouth. You looked at him and gave him a grateful smile.

“Yeah.” You agreed. “You guys are losers. You all say bad things about each other behind each other’s back and I’m sure you did the same to me so I can’t say I’m gonna miss this friend group. But I do have to thank you for ditching me or else I wouldn’t have found a real friend.”

“Who? This lesbian?” One of the other girls scoffed and gestured to Peter.

“Yeah.” Peter snapped. “This lesbian.“

“Now if you’ll excuse us, Peter needs to find a belt.” You said and walked away with Peter following right behind you. You didn’t drop his hand as you did a half walk half run through the mall as adrenaline rushed through you. Once you were far enough away from them, you stopped running.

“That felt good.” You said through an out of breath laugh.

“For me too.” Peter agreed. “And I was almost entirely uninvolved in that situation.”

“Come on. I wanna do the Photo Booth and immortalize this day.” You said and excitedly pulled him into the Photo Booth. Peter shut the curtain while you picked the boarder for the pictures, purposefully choosing one that had red hearts all over it.

“Okay. We only have five seconds between pictures so you have to pick your poses quickly.” You told him as the countdown began.

“But I’m so awkward. I don’t know how to pose.” Peter said as the countdown dwindled down.

“Just smile and look like you like me.” You said and pressed your cheek against his to smile for the camera. The camera flashed and you slung your arm around him for the next photo. The camera flashed again and Peter gulped.

“I do like you.” He said in a soft voice as he turned to look at you.

You looked at him and leaned in just as the camera flashed. You were still kissing when the fourth and final flash went off but you didn’t care. You pulled Peter closer by his shirt while his hands snaked around your waist. You pushed him away suddenly with a suspicious look on your face.

“Wait, do the webs, like, come out of your butt ever?”

“What? No.” He laughed. “They don’t come out of me at all. I built devices and developed a web fluid to shoot out of them. I don’t actually produce webs.”

“Oh. Okay.” You nodded and pulled him back into a kiss. He kissed you back for a moment before pulling away.

“Wait, would that have been a deal breaker if I did? Produce webs, I mean.” He asked you.

“I mean, I’d still like you but I don’t know if I could date a guy who could physically produce webs in his body. I just think that would really gross me out. Producing webs is I think where I’d have to draw the line.”

“So does that mean you’d date a guy who doesn’t produce webs?” He asked with a hopeful smile.

“Isn’t that every guy?” You pointed out.

“Oh. Yeah. I guess it kinda is.” He realized. “Well, would you date a guy who is far more likely to shoot webs from his butt than the average man? Given his spider themed career path?”

“Well, I don’t know. I never thought about that before.” You pursed your lips and pretended to give it genuine though. Peter playfully rolled his eyes at you and cupped your face to kiss you again.

“What do you think now?” He asked with your face still in his hands.

“I think I would.” You smiled and tugged his shirt to bring him back into a kiss.

Tag List

@thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling

@tom-hollands-wifey

@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings

@imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@peterparkoure

@justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr

@emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland

@sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @eridanuswave​ ​

@solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant

@quaksonhehe @lovelessdagger

@thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie

@maybemona

@alexxcorona113 @lethal-wisdom

@pandaxnienke

 @officialsimppage @peterbenjiparker @itsemohours

@freakofmusic25 @tomholland85

@olixerwxxd @leilanixx

@whereismytelephone @so-very-asleep @white-wolf1940

@spideyspeaches @hihiweezing

@mathletemadison  

@dhtomholland @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @prancerrparkerr

@hallecarey1 @adayasgeorgia @blackwidowisthebest @imawhoreforu

@ciarahollands

@nellabellaa @pinklxmonade @boogywoogywoogy

[thewinchestah]

"PREY" - Alastor x reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Tags: One-Shot, 18+, Smut, NSFW, edging, begging, overstimulation, Alastor does what he wants, there's plot if you squint really hard, alastor in heat, breeding kink, degradation kink, praise kink,

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: i lost count. it's big.

  | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A/N: Helloooooo!!! I write a lot but i never publish it! My lovely friend and also biggest inspiration for this fic @smallershorteranduncut ordered me to post this and i'm nothing but her loyal servent! I hope you guys enjoy the fruits of me writing 10 google docs pages today while i was enraged. Also english isn't my first language, no beta we die like men here yadayayfayada! enjoy <;3 (UPDATE!) Part 2 is now up!

-

Everything about the Radio Demon seemed to be designed to make you desire him, want him. Many times in ways you weren’t even ready to admit to yourself. You haven’t been in Hell long, that’s true. But ever since you manifested here you felt like someone had picked your brain open to make Alastor the perfect bait to lure you into even more sinful, sinister paths. 

He had an inexplicable magnetism around him, a piercing presence that made your eyes stuck on him when he worked a room. He had you bewitched and you hadn’t share more than polite pleasantries with each other since you became a guest at the hotel.

Today, again, you were transfixed in his gaze. Sitting in the corner of the hotel lobby, trying to make your embarrassing attraction to him go unnoticed while Alastor waltzed across the room explaining more of his wicked plans to Charlie. God, how you wish he had his wicked way with you. 

He seemed more… on edge today. His red eyes  glowed a little brighter, his nostrils flared a bit more, static filling the room more often, he was smiling with almost barred teeth, and everyone seemed to be avoiding him. Even Charlie was trying to politely dismiss him, the general feeling of uneasiness inside the hotel  just growing larger when Angel stationed himself near your little corner of the room. 

“Don’t go near that creepy motherfucker today, he’s about to lose it.”  Angel alerted, almost whispering, a pair of his hands making the “crazy sign” near his head 

“Isn’t he always creepy and about to lose it?” Husk added, staring at the exchange between the radio demon and Charlie.

“I’m telling you toots, I know that guy definitely isn't normal, but today he is borderline a mass extinction event. I swear, he’s just waiting for someone to give him the excuse” Angel replied, confirming your suspicions. Something was off.

“Uh. Well, about that, I think it’s time we rescue Charlie” 

As if on cue Charlie turned to the corner of the room, gesticulating really hard to be taken away from the small commotion her conversation with Alastor was becoming. 

“Hey Charlie, do you remember that thing with the hotel’s… personalized stationery you asked me to help you today? Let’s do it!” Said angel gently guiding Charlie away from the Radio Demon.

“Guess that’s my cue Alastor! Greaaaaat chat! As always! Have a nice day!! Byeee!” Charlie’s overly chirpy tone giving away her uneasiness. 

Suddenly it felt like all the air was taken out of the room. Alastor’s neck turned into an ungodly angle, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Static grew around the group, almost suffocating. As your vision went blurry from the sheer power that was being evoked, you contemplated if there was another afterlife. Preferably one where you didn’t inherit a death wish from your previous ones.

And as quick as it started, it was over. 

Alastor just said a creepy “hm” turned on his hell, and walked away. 

It almost felt like it was all in your head, but your friends standing perfectly still and dead silent next to you gave the reality of the situation away: everyone just had a near death-death experience. Maybe it would be a good topic for Charlie’s bonding exercises, who knows with this place. 

“I told ya’ll. Mass. Extinction. Event. Stay out the psycho’s way”

Angel’s voice became background noise in your head, your eyes focusing on the spot where Alastor just threatened everybody’s life without saying a word. As the voices dissipated around you and normalcy slowly returned to the hotel, your mind sank deeper and deeper into the mystery that was the Radio Demon. 

-

They were so oblivious, so naive. Thinking he wasn’t listening what they said about him behind his back. Thinking he was unaware of him being the topic of the discussion when he wasn’t looking. He could bathe in the smell of their fear, and he was relishing it. 

Alastor stared at the new pretty little thing that arrived at the hotel. Oh how pathetically sweet and innocent she was, thinking she was being subtle about her infatuation with him. Thinking she could hide her interest in him, when she was nothing but a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes. Oh, she was just the perfect prey for him, wrapped in this lovely red bow she wore on her hair. 

Angel was right, he was just waiting for an excuse, and she just offered him one on a silver platter. And alastor was everything but a coward. 

-

You cursed a little bit louder than you intended when you saw the blood dripping from your finger. “Stop. making. a. spectacle. of. yourself” you mentally screamed. You still could not figure Charlie’s “special stationary stapler” out, so stapling your finger was bound to happen. 

Even though it was not much, the silly little cut was stinging like a bitch, and your best efforts to stop the bleeding were futile, considering the mess on the hem of your skirt. Still high on the adrenaline from earlier, your shaking hands searched for something, anything to put on your finger so you could continue your work without anyone noticing. Everyone already had enough for one day, it was fine. 

“My dear, did you just hurt yourself?” Alastor’s voice invaded your ears. Oh, fuck. That’s it, he was going to murder you for being so incompetent with the damned stapler.

Turning to face him, you meet his piercing gaze, not sure if you should run and scream for help. “Oh no worries alastor, it’s just a small cut, i can manage!” you give him your most confident smile. 

Alastor’s head tilts, eyes burning red as he watches the small droplets of your blood make their way down your index finger.  

“Nonsense, I can't have my staff running around with injuries and bloodied clothes. We are in hell, but we are not savages, dear” He seems transfixed by the blood, and you are too scared to move, too scared to anything other than hold the weight of his gaze and hope for the best. Your lizard brain is screaming for you to run, ask for help. Maybe Charlie isn’t too far away, could you make a run for it? Somehow your survival instincts override your brain, maybe all those hours watching true crime back on earth weren’t in vain, and you decide against running. Let him initiate first. 

He catches your wrist, trapping it inside his deadly claws. His face, towering over you, comes all the way down to inspect the offending finger. You can feel his breathing on your skin. 

Your breathing stops. You swallow an imaginary lump. He’s gonna bite off your fing-

“Would you be a doll and let me take care of it? Blood being unnecessary wasted truly abhors me” 

You must have said yes at some point, you don’t really remember, now you are holding the red handkerchief he handed  you, answering his request to “please follow him”. Trailing behind the Radio Demon, both of you walk through the large corridors. 

This might be the time to scream for help. the voices inside your head warn. With every step of his feet you hear his microphone going tsk tsk tsk where it touches the ground. You are walking the death row, the paintings on the wall chanting “dead woman walking, dead woman walking”. 

“Keep pressuring the wound darling, we are almost there” he gently commands you, too gently… it feels almost… soft, pleading. The way Alastor goes from 0 to 100 is giving you whiplash. 

He slows down, reaching for the door knob of an unknown room. Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to enter first.

the door locks behind you.

 if i’m being murdered, at least i’m being murdered with class. 

“Don’t be silly, I’m not going to murder you” Alastor says, almost singing the last part of the sentence. 

“Oh fuck, i said that out loud, didn’t I?” you blurted out 

“Yes you did. And yes, I also noticed your lovely doe eyes on me every time i’m in the room” 

Your brain short circuits. That 's it. You are dead. He’s not going to murder you (apparently), but you are going to die of embarrassment. It will feel like murder. He knows, fuck, he knows. He knows about your crush (?) and he’s going to drag you for it. You are going to be so dragged the angels will pity you and bring you to heaven. A creative way to be redeemed, Charlie should know about this. Your thoughts are going downhill as a big snowball, there are too many of them and you can’t follow a single coherent train of thought. You don’t even want to know how you look in the middle of this. You must look pathetic, truly like a doe caught in headlights. And then you hear your name once.

Twice now, in a sing-song voice.

Your eyes fly open towards the sound, breaking from the anxiety induced spell as you realize the Radio Demon had just called you, by name. He knows your name???

“Ah hahah! You’re back.” Alastor says, as he starts to circle you like a predator. Your eyes, as always, follow his across the room.

 “I don’t like to repeat myself, little doe. You heard what I asked?” 

Again, you don’t really remember answering, your brain is going AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA as you watch him pace around you, eyes burning red, demanding your attention. Teeth slightly barred, voice on the edge of something. Was that “X” on his forehead always there?

“I asked if you know what you are doing to me” static fills the room as he finishes speaking. Alastor’s clawed hand trapped your bloodied finger dangerously close to his grinning lips. Your brain is doing flips as he stares deep into your soul, and when your thoughts land you make the connection. Alastor is horny. Alastor is horny for y-

“You see, little doe, I know what your eyes hide when you desperately lower them everytime I come near you. I know how you feel you can hide in plain sight if you stay quiet enough. But I can taste it. Your fear. Your lust. In the air. In your blood.” He has a white knuckled grip on your wrist now, same with his microphone. You lower your guard, eyes going from startled to lustful. “Good thing right now there’s nothing more i want in this godforsaken pit than your lust, pet”

You want this. There’s no point in lying to yourself. You want Alastor to fuck you. You’ve fantasized about the Radio Demon taking you more times than you can count. More times than you would like to admit to yourself. This feels deeply wrong, but you crave it. 

Fuck it, you are in hell, there’s nothing to lose. Alastor is still watching you, impatiently. For the first time today you realize you actually forgot to say something. He’s waiting. Alastor is waiting for your permission. 

“Take my breath away, Alastor” 

Your permission might have been really loud, it felt like you were screaming the words. But you can’t be sure, it might have been a whisper. Either way he didn’t miss it, what happens next is fast, angry and delicious. 

Alastor pounces and licks the blood on your finger, something clicks inside him as he tastes the red liquid, because he lets go of his microphone instantly and his arms grab your waist aggressively, so forceful you wouldn’t be surprised if it breaks skin. You shouldn’t be so turned on by this, by the sight of a psychopathic demon drinking your blood. But you are, and there’s no going back. 

“Strip” he orders. You want to say to him that you can’t take your clothes off your person with him holding you like this. He must have realized the conundrum: if he wants you naked, he has to let go of you. To Alastor, letting go of you right now is simply unthinkable. So he doesn’t: you feel his claws cut the bodice of your dress open, sending the most delicious shivers down your spine. Another claw rips your skirt apart, and you are almost fully naked in the Radio Demon’s arms, pressing your body hard on his still impeccable dressed body.

It’s humiliating, it’s dangerous, it’s hot, it is delicious, to be at his complete mercy, just how you always wanted.

Somehow both of you made your way close to the enormous bed in the middle of the room. Alastor cornered you, so the only way you could escape was walking backwards towards the bed. The brilliant bastard. 

You feel your calves hitting the edge of the bed, and Alastor breaks away.

 Pity, your mind complains. Get him back to touching you again. right. now,.

“Now now, we should establish some rules for this, pet” Alastor’s hands might have stopped touching you, but his piercing eyes never did. He knocks you on top of the bed, you lay there sprawled open just for him. His hands move up to do a quick work of his bowtie

“Rule one: you will take what I give you. Nothing more, nothing less. What I give you is enough. You might feel like you can’t take anymore, but you can. You will take it, I will make you take it” He takes his tailcoat off, his frame towering over you, even with your body completely flat on the mattress and his in front of it. 

“ Rule two: every ounce of your pleasure is mine and mine only. Mine to give, mine to take. And you will give me everything. I want to hear every sound, to feel every touch, to know every nasty thought that runs inside that pretty little head of yours. You will not suppress anything, I wanna hear your moans when you make a mess of yourself as I take everything I desire from your delicious body. I will relish on your desperate screams of pleasure.Nothing outside these walls matter” He is climbing on the bed now. You hold the weight of his gaze, underneath your demonic lover’s eyes your skin burns.

“Rule three: don’t you dare cum without my permission, good girls earn their orgasms and you will be a good girl. Or else…” static starts to pick up around the room, you are seeing the blackest black that ever was, his shadows enveloping you both. Nothing outside these walls matter. “Understood?” Alastor says as he pins your hands on top of your head, against the fancy headboard. His hand cups one of your boobs and he is worrying your nipple between his sharp claws. finally finally, your mind sings. You feel a surge of magic binding your wrists in green chains, attached to the headboard. It’s overbearing, it’s ridiculous. His magic feels like him, another part of him for you to take.

He pinches your nipple particularly hard and you moan softly, pleasure and pain consuming any other sensation. You forgot to answer him, you realize. You’ve barely started and you are already being bad. “yes alastor, yes.. but please don’t stop” the soft whimper leaves your lips.

“lovely.” he replies, and with that his mouth is on your nipple, sucking it while he administers his wicked ministrations to your other one. His sharp teeth prickling on the edge of breaking skin, and you already feel like you won’t be able to take all of him. 

His hand trails down to aggressively grip your thighs, his tongue sucking the neglected nipple his fingers left. Your moans become frequent and messy, if he’s already making you go insane with the beginnings of foreplay... You might pass out and die when he starts fucking you, but you don’t care. Let him show you the true meaning of la petite mort.

“My my, what do we have here” his hand leaves your thigh to trace the wetness of your panties. A clawed finger rips it apart, the last barrier between you and total consumption by the Radio Demon. He takes the finger between your glistening lips, not entering, just teasing 

“I don’t think i will get enough of this pretty little body of ours anytime soon, pet” he says as his finger finally enters your sex, He moves his digit with an expertise you didn’t really know he had in him,  making you whimper his name, ooohs and aaaahs, your hips start threshing from the pleasure. If you continue at this pace, you will be  begging for permission to cum too soon. Pathetic. you think to yourself. Because you know how hard this building orgasm will be,you don’t know if he will grant you more than one orgasm. And will you murder you yourself if you don’t feel his cock inside you tonight. You take a deep breath in between your moans and will your hips to stay in place, your nerves to calm down. 

Alastor adds another finger, and it takes all of your willpower not to become a puddle of wetness right there. You bite your lip so hard you taste blood. 

“you do make a mess of yourself, don’t you? you just can’t help it” he says as he curls his digits inside you. Your hips start thrashing hard again, and you sink them deeper into the bed. The chains on your wrists shake with the effort to hold back. As if alastor wasn’t going to notice. “no no no what did I say?” he snaps angrily, he’s eyes flash red at you and he takes his fingers out with a wet “pop”, you feel like crying at the emptiness. “please please alastor, don’t stop” you plead. His hands leave you entirely, you are left with just his piercing gaze, the one that makes your skin burn. “did I say you could hold back? don’t pretend like you aren’t a common whore for me, that you love how pathetic it feels that you are creaming yourself and we haven’t even really started” 

his condescending tone just makes everything even more sublime. It’s so wrong how good being told you are nothing more than a common whore by the Radio Demon feels. But you never felt anything close to this. “please Alastor” you beg again, nothing but a small whisper

“I would love to taste this pussy, so red already for me, but since you broke one of the rules… i’m afraid I will make you understand that are nothing but my pretty cockslut the hard way” 

Punishment? His punishment sounds ever better than his praise right now. You moan at his voice. He laughs. 

His knees cage you, as he lifts his upper body from you and starts undoing his zipper. He is taking his cock out. Oh fuck, he’s gonna fuck you without anymore foreplay. And he’s not going to be gentle about it either. You shiver. 

Alastor pumps himself a few times, his cock is big, thick, and an angry red shade, flush red like that, because of you, just for you. He’s gonna make you pay: pay for holding back from him, pay for making him feel like an animal and almost losing his hard constructed control. 

The look on his face says it all, he’s gonna take it out on you and you can’t do nothing about it.

You don’t have much time to think about the repercussions, in one swift motion his tip is already inside you, stretching you deliciously. Your brain short circuits again, the feeling of his cock inside you is everything you imagine and more. Depraved, heavenly, delicious. You struggle in your binds again, you want desperately to touch him. To feel his skin beneath your finger, to scratch him, mark him. But oh well, he’s the Radio Demon, he’s the one in charge and you are his prey.

Alastor starts to slowly enter you, he’s trying his best to hold back. He knows if he does this too fast it will hurt in a way he doesn’t want you to feel. And by the look on his face going slow is as torturous for him as it is for you. tantalizing inch after tantalizing inch he spreads the walls of your cunt apart. You understand now why this is punishment, it hurts in a perfect way, it hurts even more that he is doing it slowly, and not just thrusting like you imagined  he would, if he had more time to work on you. 

You become a mess of moans and incoherent words. His cock is halfway inside you now “HoLY FUCK ALASTOR” you scream. It’s already too much. 

“There’s nothing holy about this my dear. I’m going to breed you. I’m going to break you” and with that he buries himself to the hilt inside you. Now you truly scream in pleasure and pain “you won’t be able to walk straight for days, you will feel me in every step, and you will thank me for it”. His thrusts pick up at breakneck speed, the bed shakes from the sheer force that Alastor is using to fuck you. Every snap of his hips you moan more and more. 

The sound you make when he takes everything out and enters you at once is so obscene that it would make Angel Dust blush. He’s growling now, his antlers growing bigger as he fucks you like his life dependend on it. As he fucks you like he hates you. 

Alastor pushes your hips higher, and suddenly he’s even deeper. His other hand holding your waist in a bruising grip. The strain on your pinned hands will bruise too. His lips graze the skin of your collarbone, he looks so feral you are scared he will maul, the thrill of not knowing adding to your fucked up sense of pleasure. 

He seems to pick up on your fear, and bites down on your collarbone, hauling as he tastes your blood and buries himself inside you again and again. Moans turned into screams, and the only thing coming out of your lips is his name, spoken like a profane prayer. You would give everything you have to Alastor, and he doesn’t even have to ask.

Your orgasm has been building for a while now, the coil on your belly becoming tighter and tighter, like a supernova about to be born. “Alastor, please please let me come” you beg. His unfocused eyes stare down at you, as he takes a moment from feasting on your sweet blood to address your desperate, sweet pleas.

“Don’t. You. Dare” he says, punctuating every word with a sharp thrust. As much as you want, you are not sure you will be able to hold any longer. “I beg you alastor, please let me cum, i will let you do anything you want. but i need it so badly, please please”

You sounded so desperate when you begged, so beautiful.

“Don’t strike deals you don’t know you can fulfill, pet” his voice is low, a warning. You ignore it. “I promise Alastor, anything”. Alastor laughs.

 his finger touches your clit as he finally allows your sweet relief “you may come now, sweet doe” and that’s it, you are off, you are dead. You see stars, you see the entire universe as you scream out and climax. Walls tightening around Alastor’s monster cock, eyes rowling, his name a scream on your lips. You ride out your wave slowly, but Alastor is not slowing down.

Instead he is picking up his pace, maneuvering your hips even higher, your chains are stretched to the limit. You can feel them start piercing your skin. Thrust after thrust the sensation becomes too much, you are too overstimulated to go through all of this again.

“i can’t take it, i can’t take it!”

Alastor doesn’t care. “I told you not to make deals if you can’t hold them, didn’t I?” You don’t answer, you can’t. you can’t to anything but let him fuck you as hard and as much as he want. “but you are such a little cockslut for me that you can’t help it. What a shame” 

He is gripping your hips so hard it breaks skin, tiny trails of blood on his claws. “you will take it. You better take it, or I will make you take it” static picks up as he threatens the last words. You know you are spent, you know how bad it hurts, you know how bad his words sound, but the lines between pleasure and pain are so blurred that you can’t think coherently. Even this  pain of being broken feels good. 

Still, tears fill your eyes and you start crying, from pleasure, from pain, you don’t know anymore. What Alastor is doing to you has no precedent. No one can do this like he does. He knows torture too well, and he is tortouring you in the most decadent, delicious ways possible. “alastor i want to, i want to so bad but i just can’t” the tears sting your eyes and stain your face. 

Alastor sees it. He slows down just a bit, his voice softening “oh my dear doe, but you can. Just this once more, just for me. One more” his voice is so maddening soft it acts like fuel to your tears. Your skin tingles and you feel giddy, somehow your throbbing hot, wet cunt seems to find the right amount of relief, and you can feel only pleasure again.

Alastor continues to fuck you, your moans returning to normal, you are being so loud now, making a mess of yourself, just like he said, and a big hand comes to cover your mouth. 

“Oh we can’t have you being this loud can we?” his voice goes to that delicious mocking tone. His thrusts are slower now, but as deep as they can go. “what would you friends say if they found out that you moan like a common whore for their feared radio demon.. hum,.?”

You start to feel the pit of your belly tightening again, and alastor doesn’t stop humiliating you. The degradation feels just the right amount of perfection. You are exactly what he says you are. A common whore when it comes to him. “weren’t you ashamed just a few moments ago? trying to hold back the sinful sounds you make when I touch you? I already gave you one orgasm. I’ve been way too generous for my liking. I should stop right now since you feel so conscious about this”  Alator’s breathing is becoming erratic, his thrusts sharp, hard, and out of the breakneck rhythm he was torturing you before.You start moaning even louder through his hand. “ungrateful little pet. You are just so greedy for one more orgasm, you don’t even care that everyone downstairs can hear you hm??”

You can’t think straight. you feel on the edge of glory, this orgasm threatening to be harder than your previous one, as if it is possible. “alastor i’m so sorry, i know i don’t deserve it” you muffle behind his hand, he hears you speaking and takes if off “but can you please let me cum? just this once? just for you. Please Al” his thrusts are truly erratic now. He’s close too, even though you are too wrapped up on your own sensations to notice 

“please” you beg, nothing more than a whisper. Already making peace with the fact that you are going to come without his permission and he will probably never fuck you again

“Good girl, you can come now”

instantly as you are granted his permissions your world explodes, blinding hot pleasure takes over your body, the waves of pleasure making your heart beat so fast you feel like it’s going to stop. The petit mort is coming, and her sweet embrace envelops you, specially now that you feel Alastor’s cock twitching and spilling his seed inside you. You scream his name. Maybe you hear him screaming yours too. You don’t know anymore, your nerves are singing from pleasure unheard of back  when you were alive. Pleasure so great it could only be found in hell. The most heavily, depraved way of torture. 

You come down from your high, still dizzy, your body going limp. You are not dead, but you are positively spent. You give in into the warm and fuzziness of sleep. 

The last thing you remember is the softness of a blanket, a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“Oh my dear, I knew you had one more on you,spending yourself this way just for me! What a truly precious thing, doe”

You might be dreaming now.

-

You weren’t dreaming. Alastor praises you, knowing his words will be the last thing you hear before a night of peaceful, deep dreamless slumber. He makes sure to put the softest velvet blanket he owns on your body, not to make the damage you gladly allowed your body to take for him an inconvenience. Tomorrow you will wake up to fancy letters of praise and sweet chocolate covered strawberries. And no one will know how Alastor found the perfect doe to breed as he pleases during the height of his mating season.

[taintedcigs]

even if it’s a false god — e.m.

part two; we'd still worship this love

pairing: modern!college!fboy eddie x fem!reader

warnings: smut!!!!!!, 18+, MINORS DNI or ill bite u. p in v, cr*ampie, kinda br*eding kink, unprotected s*x (wrap it up irl angels, this is fiction.), angst angst angst, ASSHOLE FBOY EDDIE!!!, drinking, degrading, swearing, praises, nicknames, vv slight ch*king kink if u squint, some rough stuff.

summary: in which you are friends with benefits with modern!fuckboy!eddie (wc:4.1k)

a/n: i was def thinking of a pt.2 for this while writing it tbh. mr asshole munson needs to repair some hearts!!! also i made the pic in the middle bc i couldn't find a fitting picture w this lyric lmaooo!! did not proof-read!! ignore any mistakes AND PLSS send me ur thoughts ily xo, em

“It was fun babysitting you, sweetheart, but I have to dip,” Steve whispered in your ear with a sympathetic smile, his hand pointing toward the blonde who was impatiently waiting for him. 

“What?” You asked, baffled. “Steve, you fucking promised!” You groaned. 

“Jesus Christ, do you not have any ounce of self-control?” He asked, and you gave him an intense look.

“Obviously not!” You huffed, arms crossing against your chest, causing Steve to chuckle. 

“Robin will come back eventually! And in the mean time, just stay the fuck away from him,” He warned. 

“Now, I gotta get laid.” He winked. You tried to open your mouth, but he interrupted. “I swear to god, Y/N, I don’t wanna hear another word from you, you’ve cockblocked me enough this week.” He said, annoyed.

You rolled your eyes, huffing as you stood straight, “Fine! Have fun.” You exclaimed, and Steve grinned, “I will, sweetheart. And you, just... hide from him or something.” He shrugged as he guided the blonde girl out of the door. 

Jesus fucking Christ.

You were pathetic, asking for Steve and Robin to babysit you, so that you wouldn’t end up under Eddie again, so that you could at least save some of the self-respect that you were sure probably didn’t exist at this point. 

They knew each time you said you were done with him, it was a lie. They knew you’d go back for more, but now it had been two weeks—two whole weeks—where you managed to stay away from him, blocking him for good. 

And you could feel yourself cracking; you wanted—needed—him with every fiber of your being, and it was driving you crazy. 

He drew you in with whatever he did, like a magnet always pulling you toward him, making you need to be around him, at all times.

You missed the way his hands grazed your thighs, the way he fucked you so rough and senselessly, but also so gently. The way his pretty mouth framed compliments so fucking sweetly, but turned dirty the moment he was pounding into you, praising you but degrading you at the same time. 

He was so good at fucking, but was shit at everything else.

Just like you.

So the idea of being friends with benefits sounded like heaven when you first suggested it. No feelings attached, no exclusivity, just fucking each other's brains out while also having someone to chat with afterward.

It was supposed to be simple—so fucking simple. 

But the moment feelings got involved, it turned out for the worst. Jealousy was a bitter monster that gnawed at the insides of the two of you, and it had turned into something so incredibly toxic that you knew you had to end it. Your friendship was long gone now, turning into a bitter competition where you either fucked or argued.

Exclusivity was not something the two of you ever discussed, you knew you were bad at relationships, and Eddie knew he wasn’t good at feelings, so it was a topic you always danced around. Arguments ensued the moment one of you fucked someone else, and bitterness was present in your veins like it had always been there. 

When Eddie decided to fuck another girl two weeks ago, you decided you were done. This wasn’t good for the both of you, and you needed to stop it as fast as you could. 

You knew the emptiness you felt right after you fucked was not worth it, no matter how good Eddie was.  

You were tired of sobbing into Steve’s chest drunkenly, confused about what you even felt for Eddie when he was out there fucking another girl. 

It was starting to leave a bad taste in your mouth, and you didn’t want to hate Eddie—not more than you already did at the moment. 

But there stood Eddie, curly hair laid messily on his forehead as a guitar pick adorned his neck, his infamous leather jacket paired with those black pants were your nightmare—dream—combo, he was sprawled on the couch, thick thighs spread apart, you wished you could part them further with your hands, rub him through his pants as you got down on your knees for him, giving his delicious pink-tip kitten licks as you tasted his salty pre-cum—

What the fuck was wrong with you? You shook your head as you turned around immediately, gazing into your empty cup as you hurried off to the kitchen. 

Your cheeks grew hot from embarrassment, you seriously had no fucking self-control or respect. 

“You need any help?” Eddie’s voice rang in your ear.

“‘M fine,” You muttered, voice barely audible. 

“You know I’ve been lookin’ for you.”

“Why? Did you finally run out of girls to fuck on campus?” You said snarkily, a smirk tugging on your lips. 

“Don’t act so fuckin’ innocent now, sweetheart.” He tssked, causing you to throw him a quizzed look.

“Didn’t you go home with Mr. Jock last week?” He was being possessive again, and you hated how it picked up your heart rate, you were stupid.

“So?” You quirked a brow, teasing him, and he gave you a slight chuckle.

That smug asshole, why did he have to always look so good?

“So…how was it?” He asked, and you could feel his jaw tensing as he took a step closer to you, trapping you between the drink stand and his body.

“You’re disgusting.” You groaned as you pushed him away from your face. You were not going to give in.

“That bad, huh?” He mocked, scrunching his nose.

You rolled your eyes. “No.” You lied.

It was bad, really fucking bad; the guy lasted 30 seconds and left you with nothing. That greedy bastard.

But you weren’t going to let Eddie know that.

“He was really good, actually.” You were lying through your teeth, and thankfully, Eddie didn’t seem to notice. An intense rage flashed through his eyes.

“You sayin’ that punk is better than me?” He slurred into your ear, his breath ragged and hot as it fanned against your neck. He smelled so fucking addicting—a mix of sandalwood and nicotine, earthy and making you crave him at the same time. 

You don’t even know how he even came to that conclusion, but it was funny, seeing him like this, nostrils flaring as rage filled his veins, like he was in torture hearing about the guys you fucked, he deserved that.

But your silence at his question meant everything to him; he didn’t need an answer. You knew he was better, and he knew that you were crawling closer to his palm now.

He grew more confident because of the way you stuck to him. “I've seen him in the locker room, sweetheart. He’s not that fuckin’ impressive.” You didn’t mean to gasp, but it slipped past your lips quickly.

“Munson!” You warned, a smile tugged on your lips, and you realized how pathetic you were being again, but it was too late now. 

“Don’t think he can make you smile like I do, either.” He grinned smugly, his calloused hands quick to pull the strand of hair on your face, to see the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, so fucking promising.

“You're a jerk,” You spat, groaning as you turned around, trying to avoid him, but it was no use; the damage was done, and you were putty in his hands again.  

He had a tight hold on your arm, possessive again, and you were sick for enjoying his rough side. He spun you around to meet him, eyes dark, before he held you in place. “A jerk who makes you feel good,” Eddie purred in your ear, fingers tracing toward your exposed skin, one touch from him, and you whimpered, all that anger fading away so quickly.

He chuckled darkly. “Missed those sweet lil’ whimpers,” He whispered in your ear again, fingers quick to find their way toward your panties. 

He drew slow circles with his thumb while you tried to remain tight-lipped, but it was impossible. 

“Jesus—fuck, Eddie som—someone could see...” You didn’t mean to throw your head back against the wall. Your eyes fluttered shut, and Eddie shrugged. 

“Don’t care, sweetheart.” 

“Well, I do.” You didn’t; Eddie could fuck you right here, right now, and you’d be fine with it, but you weren’t ready to admit this to yourself, and you didn’t want to take the chance of Robin seeing you like this. 

He groaned as he dragged you into the nearest room. You would’ve cried at the loss of contact if he didn’t have a tight hold on your body, calloused hands gripping at your curves, and your thighs rubbed together at his touch. 

Eddie was quick to pin you against the door, his hand curling around the back of your neck. He smashed his lips against yours without hesitating, kissing you the same way he made you feel; explosive, hard, and dizzying. 

He pulled back to look at you. 

Sweet Jesus.

His gaze was intense, and it made you feel so fucking exposed that it startled a gasp out of your lips. 

You fisted his shirt when you had enough, yanking him closer to you so that you could feel his body pressed into yours. Everything you felt was pure hunger, craving him deeply.  

Your heart was pounding in your chest when you felt his rock hard bulge grinding against you, calloused hands gripped your ass as you whimpered; you were at his mercy now. 

“What were you sayin’ last time? That this would never happen again?” He mocked, whispering against your face, his gaze never leaving you. 

Your eyes narrowed, but it was impossible to keep up your act when his fingers started ghosting over your thighs again. “Fuck. You.” You spat. 

“You don’t have to ask me twice, baby.” He grinned, chuckling when you whimpered under his touch.

“God, I love those sweet noises you make for me…” He murmured, you rubbed your thighs again at his words. “I bet if I flipped that little skirt of yours… I’d find you gushing for me.” He groaned. 

And you remained tight-lipped. God, you didn’t want to feed into his huge fucking ego, and you wanted to wipe that smug smirk off his face. 

But he was so right. Your thighs were dampened by how aroused you were. 

He was quick to slip his fingers past your panties, a grunt escaping his lips once he pushed past your folds, your slick covering his fingers. He chuckled darkly. “You’re soaking my fingers, honey.”

“I—Fuck—I hate you.” You squeezed your eyes shut, and Eddie reveled in it, his fingers pushing inside of you while his thumb stayed on your clit. 

“Always sayin’ shit you don’t mean, baby.” He mocked. “Gonna make you beg for my cock, if you keep’ talkin like that.” 

You were panting and head dizzy as he pushed his fingers in and out of you. You were going to lose it, and he had barely started.

When he finally undressed both of you, you were out of it, while his hands were still on your clit as he groaned at the sight in front of him. 

You were perfect. 

His breath was ragged when he traced your chest, eyes bulging when he realized you had no bra on, pleasure ignited in you more and more when he cupped your breasts, teeth tugging your nipple as his fingers still toyed with your clit.

“Perfect tits, just made for me, huh?” He growled, making you mewl; you were putty in his hands, and with each movement, you were getting closer and closer to beg him for more. 

The more you whimpered, the rougher he got with you, curling his finger inside your cunt as he hit that one spot, eliciting a moan from you as you threw your head back.

“P—please.” You whimpered, and Eddie tutted. 

“I’ve seen you do much better than that.” He hummed. This arrogant asshole was going to be the death of you. 

“P—please, Eds, please.” You begged, and your moans died down your throat, before he slowly dragged his fingers out and shoved them back in. 

Your head cocked to the side in pleasure, and he was quick to take advantage of it, licking a path from your neck to your ear, grinning. 

“Mhmm… not good enough, baby.” He purred in your ear as you whined, “Jesus fucking Christ—” Your cursing was interrupted when he yanked his hands away. 

No. No. No. No!

“Shitshitshit—Please, Fuck, Eds...” You murmured, eyes shooting wide open, “Need your cock inside’a me.” You mewled again. 

His dark chuckle reverberated through you, “See, that wasn’t that hard, was it?” He mocked, causing your eyes to narrow. 

“You assho—” He didn’t let you finish as he wrapped his hands around your throat, just enough to punish you but just enough for pleasure to course through your veins. And it felt so fucking good. 

You shut your mouth quickly, “What were you saying, baby?” He purred. 

God, that egotistic prick was pushing you to your last fucking limit; you could do it, you could hold it off. But on the other hand, you could feel yourself pulsing with need; if he didn’t pound into you soon, you knew you would’ve been a pathetic blabbering mess.

“Please, please, Fuck me,” You grunted. “I need you, Eddie.” He didn’t respond as he tapped your thighs, signaling for you to wrap your legs around his chest, and you were quick to oblige. 

Mind spinning before you got a chance to process what happened, he slammed into you with a vicious thrust, he was so fucking thick that it made you let out a guttural scream, tears welled at your eyes as you tried to adjust to his size. 

It wasn’t long before your loud noises turned into incoherent babbles and squeals as he kept his pace.

“Holy shit, baby,” He groaned, watching his cock sliding into you, “Such a warm fuckin’ pussy, and so fucking tight… Jesus…”

You trembled beneath him, tits bouncing up and down as your mouth hung open each time he slid further into your cunt, and Eddie wanted that image etched into his brain forever. 

He tilted you upward, hitting spots you weren’t even aware of. You were quick to wrap your hands around his frame, your nails digging into his back, roughly.

He was the only one who knew you like that; both emotionally and physically, and the same went for you, that’s why the two of you never could truly let each go, clinging to each other like a child did to their favorite toy.

You know no one else could fuck you like he did, and that smug bastard knew it, too.

The way he was pounding into you while uttering curses at your ear, furiously slapping into your body as if you were nothing but his personal fucktoy, truly his.

And you realized how sick you were for liking it, truly enjoying being this way with him. 

“You look so fuckin’ pretty when you take my cock, such a tight fuckin’ pussy and all mine, yea?” He panted causing you to nod, you were barely able hold his gaze, and he groaned before his hands roughly grabbed your cheeks, forcing your head in his direction. 

“Look at me baby…” He purred, “Look, how well your cunt is squeezin’ me. You feel that, peach?” He sheathed himself further into you, and you could feel your walls clench around him, a contented groan leaving both of your lips. 

It was fucking perfect. Everything was rough and messy, there was nothing emotional about the way you fucked. You were both using each other to cum as much as you wanted to, not stopping until you were both sweaty bodies.

He could make you come apart in seconds if he wanted to, knowing your body better than anyone else. And you could make the scary freak Eddie putty in your hands if you wanted to; it was a fucked up game of control that had the two of you going at it for hours. 

Was it fucked up? Yes.

Did it feel good? Absolutely. 

“Would that asshole be able to make you come apart like this?” He asked, fingers digging into your hips, sure to leave a bruise.

This wasn’t the first time Eddie had been possessive; it was a sick, twisted game that you also participated in, almost as if both of you knew that you could never be with anyone else.

You nodded mindlessly, you weren’t going to give into him that easily, again, he grunted at your lack of reaction. 

“Tell me, baby.” He growled, his pounding slowing down to make sure your orgasm was out of reach for you, torturing you until he had you begging under him.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to give up this fast. “Beg me, honey.” His movements picked up, and his hands were quick to toy with your clit, a sharp burst of euphoria rang through your body, leaving you speechless. 

You clenched around him—a big fucking mistake—and he grinned smuggly again. “I know, baby, I know you’re close.” He panted. “I can make you cum, angel.” He promised, “Just say the word.” 

“Asshole,” You groaned between his forceful thrusts, and he chuckled darkly. You rolled your hips against his when his movements faltered, seeking the warmth and the friction when he thrusted into you fully, filling you to the brim.

And that prick was thoroughly enjoying your torture. “Tell me it’s all mine, that you’re all mine.” He purred against your ear. 

You couldn’t. You shouldn’t.

But the way his thumb circled around your clit, so agonizingly slow, and the way his cock was prodding into you so slowly was torture. God, if he just picked up his pace.

Don’t. 

You try to convince yourself, but it's to no avail, you are clenching down on nothing, and it hurts. Your hole is pulsing now, and you need him more than ever. 

“P—please,” You mewled, causing Eddie to give you a slight smirk. “Please what, baby? Use your words.” 

“I’m all yours,” You murmured, “He could never fuck me like you could.” You added, humming contently, when Eddie started to pound into you relentlessly again. 

“Please—I need to—Jesus, Eds.” Your words slurred into a moan as he increased his speed, his finger circling your clit roughly. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, baby. Feels so good.” He panted.  “Please—please make me cum, sir.” You sobbed, unable to hold it back anymore. 

And that was all Eddie needed to hear. “Cum for me, honey.” He pleaded, and you gave him low whimpers as he started fucking you faster again, watching the way his cock disappeared into your gushing cunt.

“Wanna feel you cum on my cock, baby.” He breathed. 

“Shit, feels so good, Eds.” 

“Jesus—Please… I’m going to—” You bit down on your lower lip, unable to stifle the moans leaving your lips as his assault on your clit was enough to bring you over the edge, 

“I’m gonna—I’m…Holy shit, oh god!” You sobbed, whole body convulsing in pleasure as you came around his cock, your vision blurred and mind foggy as you didn’t realize how your orgasm was triggering his. 

Eddie was whimpering for you now, “So fucking good, holy shit.” He panted, movements getting sloppier.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck, baby. My perfect fucking girl, yea?” He heaved a breath. 

“I’m gonna fuck this—Gonna fuck my load into you, peach.”

“Gonna fill you with my cum—Fuuuck.” He growled, animalistic noises escaping him as he exploded inside of you, thick ropes of his warm cum painting your walls. 

He groaned when he slipped out, mouth-watering as he enjoyed the sight of you fucked out of your mind, and his load dripping down your thighs. 

The relief you had was short-lived as that sinking feeling came to you again, the emptiness, the loneliness.

Was all of it worth it?

The two of you dressed in silence; the weight of what you did was hitting you all at once. You did it again. You had sex with him again. You let him use you again—it didn’t matter if you used him too, it meant something different for you than it did for him.

All those thoughts you had about feeling good faded out quicker than you thought they would.

You were so fucking pathetic.

Jesus Christ.

You felt sick, what the fuck did you just do?

As soon as Eddie got dressed, he gave your cheek a sloppy kiss. He was going to leave you all alone again.

You should be fine with this, this is what always happens.

Don’t—don’t say anything, just take your last bit of self-respect that is possibly non-existent and leave without another word—

“You’re…leaving?” You exhale, your mind racing with ideas.

Shit. Just shut the fuck up.

“Don’t act so coy now, sweetheart.” He gave you a slight smile, but all you wanted to do was slap it out of him.

“We both know what this was.” He muttered, that conceited dickhead still had that smile on his face.

“And what exactly was ‘this’?” You pointed to the space between the two of you.

“Fucking, no strings attached?” He added, shrugging. The fact that he had no clue about anything was pissing you off.

“Unbelievable.” You gave him a dry chuckle.

“What?” He asked, baffled.

“Is that all I am to you, just a warm body?” You said, face crinkling with disgust.

“I’m confused.” Eddie said. “You—you were the one who fucking suggested this.” He breathed.

“Well, I’m un-suggesting it!” You exclaimed angrily.

“You—you are so fucking confusing!” He spat. “I told you—I told you we could be more... told you we could try... us.” He stuttered. “You were the one who refused!”

“You were drunk! You can barely fucking say it now!” You spat back.

“What... what do you even want, Y/N?” He asked, holding his gaze.

“Do you want a relationship? Do you want something meaningful?” He pondered, a sarcastic chuckle escaping his lips.

“Is it so wrong for me to want that? To want something real?” Your voice carried so much emotion, and that’s what killed him.

He couldn’t have a relationship with you even if he wanted to; he recognized his own turmoil, and he feared he would drag you right down with him. No matter how similar you seemed to be, he was sure he’d ruin you, completely and utterly. And not in a good way.

He swallowed physically; the lump in his throat wasn’t going to go away.

He couldn’t let you have hope; he couldn’t let you down again—he had done that enough.

''A relationship with you is the last thing I see myself doing.'' He almost whispered, but you heard it loud and clear.

Your brows were quick to furrow, and your jaw was was set in a tense manner. The lust in your gaze was long gone by now, containing only rage while you glared at the source of your pain.

“Fuck. You.” You spat, tears threatening to spill but you didn’t want to give him that satisfaction

“You are a sadistic fucking asshole, Munson.” 

“Jesus… I think we should stop—whatever the hell, this is.” He exclaimed.

“Fine by me!” You exclaimed back cheeks heating up from anger.

“I really am done with you, this time.” Despite the intensity of your gaze, he could sense the subtle vulnerability in your eyes. The subtle pain that was fueling your anger

“Oh, I’m sure you are.” He chuckled smugly. This was something you two had joked about before, but it wasn’t funny now.

He saw you in the palm of his hand because you always came back to him, he was right… until now.

The fact that he laughed in your face at the thought of being in a relationship with you was too much, even for your low self-esteem. 

“I don’t care what you think.” You didn’t even hold the rage you held before; only disgust was visible in your tone.

“You’re dead to me.” You replied curtly, your voice distant and chilling.

And Eddie knew how much he fucked up, truly.

There was nothing he could do now.

“I didn’t mean it like—” He regretted what he said immediately, but you dismissed his protests, gathering your jacket in your hand as you slammed the door behind you.

Tears blurred your vision as soon as you left, the lively sound of the party clouded your mind as you silently sobbed, trying to find Robin.

You knew how unattainable he was, and how much he truly hurt you, and as fucked up as it was, that's exactly why you loved him; led by blind faith that it would be different.

[roosterforme]

Too Much to Lose | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Leaving for deployments had always been rough, but then Bradley met you, and the time apart and risk involved made the ache even stronger. But nothing felt quite as isolating and scary as acknowledging that he had to leave his pregnant wife with an uncertain future. Now more than ever, he had too much to lose.

Warnings: Angst, panic attack, mentions of smut, pregnancy topics

Length: 2300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley hated that he felt like he was going through the motions. You'd been clinging to him all day long, your eyes always on the verge of tears. His bags were packed, his flight would leave tomorrow morning, and there was nothing left for him to do at this point except wait. Wait for your tears to spill over. Wait for one last look at you for who knows how long. Wait for the official start of another deployment.

Getting hard for you was not the problem. Your lips were on his body, and his name was the only word you seemed capable of saying. Nothing ever felt as good as your touch, and you always smelled sweet. Best of all, you were carrying his baby. But the doubt still crept in, even as his body rocked against yours, even as he filled you up. Because for Bradley, this felt exactly like those months when you and he had been desperately trying to get pregnant. It felt like the two of you were focusing on an uncertain outcome instead of each other. 

"I love you, Roo." 

You had just uttered the most perfect words in your state of bliss, but he couldn't fully accept them. Why did you love him? How the fuck could you? Your hands came up to caress his face, and he was completely helpless to do a god damn fucking thing besides come for you.

"Oh god," he grunted, practically crying as you kissed his scars before gradually going limp beneath him. You were smiling as you rolled onto your side, but instead of joining you for one last cuddle, he made his excuses to retreat to the bathroom. 

Bradley splashed some cool water on his face and examined himself in the mirror. All he saw was someone who didn't know what he was doing. Someone who wasn't good enough for you. He hadn't felt this way a few days ago, rather he'd been absorbed with shopping for the baby. But the fear started to creep in around the edges today, and now it felt like it could strangle him if he let it.

Leaving home in this state could only spell disaster, but he couldn't shake it. At least when he finally managed to walk back into the bedroom, you were asleep on his pillow with one leg under the blanket and one on top. You could always make him smile, but this time when he did, he thought about what would happen next if he didn't come back. What would happen if he was no longer here to claim that pillow as his own. 

He checked his will a few days ago, and the thing was ironclad. It all went to you. Every last penny and possession. But that wasn't what had him rattled. Everything was ten times more exciting and also ten times scarier with the baby on the way. He had too much to lose. 

He kissed your forehead and then your belly, and he pulled the blanket over both of your legs, and then he went out to the living room with Tramp at his heels. The house still smelled delicious; you'd made him Marry Me Rooster and lemon cupcakes for dinner. You always pulled out the stops when he was leaving, and he loved you for it. But what the fuck were you getting in return?

He grabbed his phone from where he'd left it on the kitchen counter. You and he had been sharing a plate of dinner while he started to consider what your life would be like without him. You'd have the baby here with you, but you'd really be alone. It was too hard to breathe while he thought about it, so he unlocked his phone and dialed the only person who wouldn't think he'd gone completely off the deep end with his request.

"Bradshaw. Shouldn't you be enjoying your wife before you fly off into the sunset?"

"Hangman," he rasped, walking to the couch and collapsing down onto it. "I need to talk to you."

There was a brief pause before Jake said, "I'm all ears."

Bradley cleared his throat, feeling like an absolute idiot as he said, "I bought a jungle gym playset for my backyard. A really big one. For the baby."

Jake hummed and said, "Right." And somehow that was enough to make Bradley keep going. 

"It's on pallets. On my driveway. There's an instruction book on top of my refrigerator. Everything should be here."

"Okay," Jake said quietly. 

Bradley swallowed and swallowed, his throat burning as he managed to force out the rest of the words. "If anything happens to me, I need you to... build it."

The only thing he could hear was Jake's soft breathing before he muttered, "Shit."��

Bradley ran his palm back and forth over his face as tears streaked down his cheeks. "Hangman. I need you to promise. I need that fucking thing in the yard."

"Yeah," Jake grunted. "Yeah, I promise."

Bradley sucked in a deep breath before he added, "And I need you to promise to take care of her. Take care of them. Make sure she knows you're around if they need something. Make sure she knows she can go to you and Cat for help."

There was no way to tell if the barely controlled sobs were his own or Jake's as he held the phone tighter to his ear, waiting for an answer. "Yeah, Rooster. I'll take care of Angel. I promise."

Bradley managed to choke out two words before ending the call. "Thank you." His phone fell from his hand onto the floor, and he curled up on his side. He thought about his dad. Goose died during a training exercise. If the most basic parts of Bradley's job could become deadly, he was honestly tempting fate at this point. Was this still the right thing to do? With a baby on the way? He wasn't so sure anymore.

Both of his parents were gone before he was an adult. If he made it just a few more years, he would live to be older than either of them had. This wasn't the first time he'd thought about that number, but right now, he was having a hard time catching his breath. 

Forty. Carole died when she was forty years old.

Thirty-seven. Bradley was just three years away.

"Fuck," he gasped as he rolled onto his back, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. He was nauseous and dizzy, and his chest was aching like there was something pressing down on him. Something heavy. He shouldn't leave you alone now, because he might never come back. He might never get to meet the Nugget who he was already so in love with. The baby might never have a dad at all, but at least Bradley got to have one of those for a short time. He could remember little bits of how it felt when Nick Bradshaw picked him up, and the soft laughter in his voice when he read a bedtime story. But the Nugget deserved more than that. This baby deserved everything, including a dad who was already so devoted that it hurt. A perfect mom and a loving dad, just like Bradley had once upon a time.

He could feel Tramp licking his elbow and whimpering, but he couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't move at all. He needed to catch his breath. He started counting in his head but couldn't keep track of how far he'd gotten. He wanted to meet his kid. He needed to.

"Bradley?"

Your voice was the most perfect sound in the world, and when you spoke his name, he had a visceral reaction to it. Then your hand was on his cheek, and the heavy feeling lifted away a little bit. 

"Oh, Bradley."

You replaced your hand with your lips, and he could feel how warm you were as your body came to rest on his. Your voice and touch invaded him in place of that terrifying weight on his chest. He felt safer because it was you. And the baby, too. When he opened his eyes, you looked concerned, and he hated to be the cause of that.

His voice didn't sound like his own, but you looked relieved as he said, "Sweetheart."

All he could focus on was the steady stroking of your fingers through his hair and your lips on his. "Tell me what's wrong, Roo," you whispered between soft kisses. "Talk to me."

He wasn't sure how long it took or how you managed to do it, but he ended up sitting on the couch with you curled up in his lap, ready to talk. Your cheek was resting against his heart, and his hand was under his old gym shirt that you were wearing, pressed to your belly. He wanted to tell you everything he was thinking. He wanted you to understand. But all he could say was, "I'm scared."

You nodded and hummed softly. "Me too."

When he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in tighter, he asked, "Then why do I keep doing this? The last thing I'd ever want to do is scare you."

Your fingers found their way back up into his hair. "It's scarier this time, because of the baby," you whispered. "But you're an amazing pilot, and you love flying, and that's important, too."

"Not as important as you," he swore immediately. "Never as important as the Nugget. I just don't know if the risk is worth it anymore." He swallowed hard but let the tears slide down his cheeks again. "What if I burn in or get shot down before the baby is even born? Then what? Because I had no fucking clue until pretty recently how badly I want to be a dad."

"Come here," you whispered, your arms winding around his neck as you straddled his hips. You didn't seem alarmed by this conversation as you ran the tip of your nose back and forth along his cheek, letting him get used to feeling calm again. "It's all risky, Roo. All of it. We've talked about it before, and the facts are never going to change. But being married to you is worth it. Having to figure out how to potentially live without you is a risk I'm willing to take for the chance to be with you now."

"Fuck," he whispered, melting into your touch. 

"You're worth everything," you told him sincerely. "Getting to hold you right now is worth every bad feeling that might come later."

All he could do was nod, because he felt exactly the same way about you. But there was another layer. Another wrinkle. It was with a steadier voice that he managed to say, "I don't want to end up like my parents. Or worse... I don't want to miss the chance to meet the baby altogether."

You leaned away from him a little bit, running your knuckles gently along his cheek. "You promised me you would always fight for the chance to come home again."

"Always. Please, don't ever doubt that I will fight until my last breath, Baby Girl."

Now you had tears in your eyes. "I never knew I could feel this loved. And you've already given the Nugget so much of yourself through your notebooks and your little private conversations with my belly where you pretend I can't hear you." Bradley laughed as you touched his face and neck. You kissed his forehead and whispered, "He or she is going to be just like you. I can tell already. And you'll fight your way back home to find out for sure."

"I will," he promised, throat tight with love instead of fear this time. "God, I fucking adore you."

As he ran his thumb around the diamond in your engagement ring which once belonged to his mother, you said, "I know it."

Twenty minutes later, once Bradley felt almost completely calm again, you stood and disappeared into the kitchen. He missed your warmth immediately. It was late now, and he knew you both needed to get a good night of sleep, but you insisted you knew what else would make him feel better. Just when he was about to say that the only thing he wanted to do was hold you in bed, you returned with a plate and a steaming mug. 

You settled onto his lap again, so certain that was where you belonged and where he always wanted you. He took a sip of the tea while you nibbled on the lemon cupcake, then you held it up to his lips for him to take a bite. He ate half of it in one go, making you smile. 

When you took another nibble, he whispered, "I'll be home in no time. Back with my perfect wife. My family."

You gently shoved the rest of the cupcake into his mouth as you smiled and said, "We'll be here waiting for you."

You started kissing his scars as he chewed and muttered, "Let's go to bed, Sweetheart."

He was still thinking about his brief conversation with Jake as you stretched out on your back and let him run one big hand along your belly and down to your tattoo. Bradley touched you everywhere, memorizing the softness and flawless warmth of your body with the Nugget. He would come back home to this because he had to. He would be here to construct the jungle gym himself. There was simply no other choice. 

"I love you both."

---------------------------

That phone call between Bradley and Jake made me cry. Bradley has been dreaming of that jungle gym playset in the backyard for so long, he needs the guarantee that it will happen for his Nugget even if he's not there to see it through to the end. BG always knows what to do when he's struggling, but she's not going to be there to take care of him while he's deployed. In the next one-shot, we'll see how Bradley and Payback are holding up while away. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls and everyone who reads and interacts and makes this pairing so fun to write!

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[ask-pomni-blog]

Ok this may seem like im grasping at straws here but i need you guys to let me cook for a sec-

HUGE TADC EPISODE 2 SPOILERS

We start off the episode with Pomni’s nightmare, which is a reflection of Pomni’s fears and feelings that are going to be expanded upon throughout the episode. Her main fear isn’t abstracting here, it's the feeling of helplessness, the feeling of not mattering to anybody in the circus. This is seen clearly when Ragatha, Jax, and Caine are shown above the cellar, basically saying “good riddance” upon witnessing Pomni abstract.

And it makes complete sense that Pomni would feel this way once you look back at the circus’ reaction to Kaufmo abstracting (before the second episode). He doesn’t get acknowledged as someone who has just passed away, he doesn’t even get a moment of silence. Pomni notices this, and after she wakes up from her nightmare, she seems almost reluctant to bond with the rest of the circus members because this fear is still on her mind.

This is seen particularly when Pomni is speaking to Ragatha. Ragatha attempts to be helpful at any given chance, but most of the time Pomni is lost in her thoughts. Pomni doesn't seem very open to conversate with Ragatha because of her fears. But this isn't unwarranted, Ragatha literally calls the situation from the day before a “doozy” which brings up the fact that Ragatha constantly dismisses important issues, saying that they should just forget about the situation that happened the day before when Pomni left her for the exit. I understand that she’s trying to ease the tension between them, but I fear she might be making it even worse. Additionally, Ragatha dismissing a very important issue like that makes Pomni’s fears stronger, it may seem to Pomni that Ragatha doesn’t care…

When it’s actually the opposite! The whole episode she tries her best to motivate Pomni (“look, Pomni. We’re already friends with the princess!”, “So, Pomni, I’m sure there’s some way you could help out here.”)

and she’s also very concerned for Pomni when she’s gone (“...Pomni’s still on board!”, “Oh man, Poor Pomni. I hope she's alright.”, “I’m more worried she’s having another horrible experience.”, “Pomni! Are you okay?”)

However, all these remarks could be seen as condescending from Pomni’s perspective… And on the other hand, Ragatha feels like Pomni blames her for the situation, and that Pomni dislikes her. 

Returning to the topic of Pomni’s fears, a lot of this is also reflected in her conversation with Gummigoo:

—

G:“I don’t matter in the slightest. I’m nothing. My life, my memories… my friends… it’s all fake.” 

P:“...I think I know the feeling.”

P:“...I guess I just don't want you to feel like you’re nothing. I don’t want anyone to feel like that.”

G:“But I'm not even a real person. Would I even belong?”

P:“I’m sure you wouldn’t belong any less than me.”

—

Pomni relates to Gummigoo’s fears!! And Pomni is so compassionate and understanding too! …sadly their friendship didn’t last very long… and that brings us back to Ragatha and Pomni. Ragatha tries her best to be reassuring… unfortunately that didn’t work either. AND THIS WHOLE INTERACTION IS JUST- OH MY GOD... LET ME PUT A HUGE EMPHASIS ON THEIR BODY LANGUAGE HERE:

Also the WORDING HERE:

and this scene ooohhhhhhh,,,,,,,, this scene...!!

POMNI IS REASSURED ONCE SHE SEES THAT THE CIRCUS MEMBERS DO CARE. THEY WOULD CARE. HER FEARS DISSAPEAR AND AND- ohhhhmy god this is so sick and twisted.. this ep was.. soooooo good. holy smokes. anyways thank you for listening to my TED talk.

[pedgito]

how about steddie dick measuring contest but reader is the judge? if it leads to smut that’s okay but i know you’ll make it good regardless lol

author’s note: the premise is there i promise, i just used this as an excuse to write threesome smut because it started out as a funny idea and then my brain just melted at the thought of it

cw: 18+ (minors dni), heavy voyeurism, threesomes, unrequited crushes (steddie), established relationships with reader, unprotected sex, creampies, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), mentioned virgin!eddie, steve is overly confident, eddie is a sweetheart, if i missed anything lmk

word count: 4k

It started after Steve and Eddie found out that you had been sleeping with both of them—there was never any exclusivity in your relationship, and the sex with Eddie had started innocently, taking his virginity from him on his graduation night.

Every time with Eddie was something new. He was eager to try things, learn, and it made for some of the more enjoyable sex you’ve ever had. He only lacked slightly in skill, still fumbling around most of the time and getting upset when he couldn’t make you come as easily as he’d hoped.

For Steve, it was after a long-drawn out conversation about how he couldn’t find the right women, the sex was lacking, and he just wanted something—it didn’t even have to be something either of you committed to fully, as long as you two were having fun with it. Steve still went on dates every now and then, had the occasional hookup, but he always ended up back at your place most weekends using the opportunity to vent about his hardships in trying to find a partner—most of it fell on deaf ears, because as much as Steve was a great partner, he also talked about himself way too much.

He was full of himself, to be blunt—which is why this had started the conversation you were being forced to listen to currently, both of them settled on either side of the couch. You were smushed in the center, feet propped up on the table in Eddie’s living room, hands covering your face as you rested your head against the back of the couch and let out an audible groan.

“Okay but,” Eddie begins, another tumultuous conversation that was bound to go one forever if you didn’t put an end to it, “you’ve seen both of our dicks, you be the judge.”

Steve had found a pair of your underwear on Eddie’s floor a couple weeks prior, because of course he knew they were yours. He held them up accusingly, both you and Eddie sharing an awkward glance.

You really had no choice but to come clean. Thankfully, they both took it well—actually, they didn’t have any problem with it, and that’s what you couldn’t wrap your brain around. Not at first, at least.

“It’s okay,” Steve comforts, squeezing your shoulder, “be honest, Eddie can take it.”

You always hung out as a group now, never separately—and you couldn’t ignore the obvious tension that has festered. Truthfully, it felt like an attack on you. They talked about you when you weren’t around, you knew that much, having walked in on them in the middle of a particularly heated conversation about what made you come the quickest. Eddie knew it was oral, but Steve swore you faked it half the time just so he’d skip to the sex, always gawking about how good his dick felt—how big it was.

And obviously, it had boosted his ego through the fucking roof.

“Oh, fuck you.” Eddie insults lightly, leaning in to whisper against your ear, “Come on, sweetheart—let him have it.”

“Oh my god, who cares?” You ask redundantly, exasperated at the topic and almost shouting it out. “The average is—what, five? I’m pretty confident you’re both over that so what does it matter?”

“No way Munson is packing over five.” Steve nags, pointing lazily at the long haired, wide eyed boy at your side. Eddie rolls his eyes, scoffing at the comment.

“We get it, King Steve’s got a big dick.” Eddie mocks, throwing his hands up.

You snort at the nickname, “Don’t call him that.” You tell Eddie, watching as Steve’s face falls slightly. “See—he’s too confident.”

“Why are you avoiding the question then?” Steve counters, growing increasingly irritated. It’s not directed toward you, or at Eddie even, he just wants to get to the bottom of it.

“Why are you so worried that I might say it’s Eddie?” You tease, hearing Eddie howl a laugh behind you.

“Is it?” Eddie asks after he regains his composure, “I don’t even care at this point, I just need to rub it in Steve’s face.”

“Fuck this,” Steve says in a clipped tone, “Whip it out, Munson.”

“Excuse you?” Eddie asks in a subtle shock, eyes follow Steve as he stands from the couch. “Take me to fuckin’ dinner first, Steve.”

“I need to pee.” You say quickly, making a weak excuse to escape to the bathroom.

Steve holds up his hand, “No, no—you have to judge.”

You stare up at him with comically wide eyes, growling slightly under your breath when he doesn’t relent, sinking back down on the couch.

“Fine.” You agree, “Hurry up.”

Eddie flicks his gaze between you and Steve before finally settling on you, “Do you—are we actually entertaining this?”

“To be fair, I really don’t know.”

It was the honest truth.

Steve fiddles with his pants as Eddie moves a little slower, more hesitant to expose himself. Steve grew up in sports, he was used to changing in front of other guys, nudity around other’s wasn’t foreign to him—Eddie was obviously less willing, having grown up under constant scrutiny and bullying there was valid reasoning on why he didn’t want to. You gave him a look, touching his wrist as he reached for his belt.

“Steve, I don’t think this is a good idea.” You tell him as he lingers behind you, eyes still locked on Eddie as you turn to him, but something in Eddie’s face changes, a subtle smirk growing.

“Gotta shut him up somehow, right?” Eddie asks.

And they’re both on the edge of shoving their pants down, gaze noticeably locked on one another before you’re panicking, arms thrown up in an attempt to halt whatever was about to commence.

“Wait, fuck—“ You sigh loudly, slumping as they both look at you, “this isn’t fair.”

The silence is telling, both boys completely at your command.

It’s almost impossible not to have fun with this, especially if they weren’t about to let up over the whole ordeal.

“I mean—Steve is definitely a shower,” You admit, “but I don’t think it’s fair unless both of you are—“

“Hard?” Eddie finishes for you, and Steve catches on immediately, that mischievous grin matches yours.

“If you wanted a kiss so bad all you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” Steve replies with that puff in his chest, always so sure of himself.

You giggle softly, tongue poking at the inside of your cheek as you lean away from Steve’s reach, looking over at Eddie and back at him.

“Not me, Steve.” You reply sickeningly sweet, eye flicking up knowingly toward Eddie, bottom lip pulled between your teeth.

You weren’t oblivious to the interest that Steve tried so desperately to hide any time he was around Eddie—the teasing, the lingering looks, the constant need to piss him off just to keep him talking. Eddie was just as bad, constantly feeding into whatever game Steve was playing at. They had been friends before, somewhat—but whatever this had become, it brought you all closer. Though, it wasn’t your fault that they were so inherently stubborn and avoiding the fact that they, for a lack of better words, wanted to fuck each other.

And maybe that was a strong way to put it, but they almost seemed scared—scared that it would make you feel a certain way. They were both always so careful with your feelings, two of your closest friends, but your annoyance was at it’s peak and you really couldn’t take it any longer.

“Each other.” You say simply, wagging your finger between the two. “But, of course, drop the pants first.”

“That’s not funny.” Steve retorts.

Eddie shrugs, “I mean, I don’t care.”

You shrug at Steve, pointing at Eddie. “You heard him—get to smoochin’, Steve.”

Eddie laughs at Steve’s shy hesitation, yanking gently at the open hem of his pants, fingers grazing his half-hard cock.

“Come on, big boy,” Eddie teases, smirk pulling at his features, “all talk and no game—seriously?”

That’s what does Steve in, never one to back down from a challenge. He cradles Eddie’s head the same way he does yours, fingers disappearing into his long curls as he pushes toward him, slotting his top lip between Eddie’s, sucking at his bottom gingerly.

It’s just a taste—something to entice Eddie, but it doesn’t take much. He pulls back with a breath, locking eyes with him for a brief moment before diving in fully, tongue splitting Eddie’s mouth open without hesitation, hands idly working at his jeans to shove them down, underwear following as he steps out of them in a fumble, the fabric getting caught at his feet. Eddie takes a little longer, belt snapping in the air as he yanks it from the loops and strips himself too.

“Shirts too?” Steve asks, not directed at any particular person, but you answer seeing as how Eddie is so clearly distracted by Steve’s lips, his neck, the soft pattern of freckles that trace his face.

“Yeah, yeah—“ Your own breath is caught in your throat, despite how good you are at keeping your composure.

This was definitely meant as a joke, maybe a quick peck or two before you’d put an end to their misery—but that wasn’t the case at all.

You felt like you were intruding, but your body was frozen in place and part of you forget the entire cause of this, glancing down at their slowly hardening cocks, shirts being simultaneously ripped over their heads before they fell right back into, Eddie’s hands squeezing along the side of Steve’s neck as he kissed him, letting out the soft sated noises he makes when he’s enjoying himself, eyes closed shut.

Steve’s hand grazes carefully over his own cock, his fingers barely grazing the head of Eddie’s as he squeezes at the base, bringing his fingers up to drag over the tip, openly groaning into Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie chuckles, biting playfully at Steve’s lip, emitting a strained grunt from his chest—and then he’s speaking to you, startling you out of the trance you’ve fallen into, watching two of your best friend’s going after each other so eagerly.

“What’s the verdict, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, pulling away slightly to look at you. He sees the gape in your mouth, the glaze over your eyes and he can’t help it, “Oh shit—you’re into this, aren’t you?”

Steve turns his attention too, “Is that even a question? Look at her.”

“Someone had to force you two to stop ignoring what was obviously there,” You defend, “—I’m not gonna choose, by the way.”

“Oh, come on.” Steve complains, pulling away from Eddie briefly—he’s so unashamed in his nudity that he turns to you, “seriously—what’s it gonna take?”

You shrug stubbornly.

Steve glances over at Eddie, whose pupils are blown to hell with arousal.

“Your bed big enough for three, Munson?” Steve asks, sending you a vivacious smile that makes you blush, shrinking away from him slightly. “We’re gonna settle this.”

“Uh, yeah—should be.” Eddie nods, “But if we’re about to settle who’s better in bed, that’s a given.”

It was definitely not a given—because as much as you’d like to go for one or the other, they were making it impossible.

“Is this too much?” Eddie asks, shifting between your legs as he stretches your thighs open. Steve’s settled behind you, propping you up slightly as he tilts your head up, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation toward this.

“I feel like I should be asking you two that question,” You admit, smiling softly as Steve tugs at your bottom lip with his thumb, smiling down at you, “this is my fault.”

“You good with this, Harrington?” Eddie asks idly, kissing at the inside of your thigh before nipping at the skin, causing you to squirm, gasping involuntarily.

Steve nods, making an affirming noise.

“You think you can handle both of us?” Steve asks endearingly, though it’s edged with something else

“At the same time?” You ask incredulously, “No fuckin’ way—“

Eddie’s tongue slides through the center of your cunt, biting gently at your folds. “I don’t think that’s what he means.”

“Good to know it’s on your mind though,” Steve comments, “maybe we’ll try that next time.”

Eddie pulls away briefly, laughing into the apex of your thigh. Steve’s fingers trailing down your bare chest, over the pudge of your stomach until his fingers reach your clit, rubbing slow circles until he can feel your breath starting to quicken. Eddie dives back in soon after, his tongue dipping into your entrance, lapping up the thick juices, sounding shamefully wet already. His nose nudges Steve’s finger, the pressure it applies is fucking sinful, causing you to moan openly, a hand wrapping around Steve’s bicep for support. His eyes never leave your face, so when your eyes go searching, he’s right there waiting.

“So, here’s the plan,” Steve explains—and considering he’s a lot more experienced than both of you, it makes sense, “Eddie’s gonna fuck you first, then me—then you’ll have to make your decision, alright?”

“No promises.” You mumble, before Steve’s nudging your face back up again, eyes darkening.

“You will.” Steve decides, “Trust me.”

Eddie moves up, leaning back on his thighs as he rustles around in his drawer for the spare box of condoms—because in hindsight, there was no way he could’ve prepared for this. So, of course, he’s all out.

“Hey—it’s fine,” You assure him, hand pulling his face toward you, “I trust you—considering I’ve been on birth control for the past year I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

“You always make me wear condoms.” Steve grumbles from above, earning a light shove from you.

“Well, Eddie isn’t going around fucking other girls.” You tell him lightly—it doesn’t come off as catty, more matter of fact. Eddie laughs, closing the drawer.

“So, one point me,” Eddie says, pointing toward himself, before shoving a giant goose egg at Steve, “Harrington, zero.”

The conversation dies rather quickly as Eddie settles back down, nudging the head of his cock at your entrance, teasingly pressing it along your clit, sliding up through your folds in an effort to drive you mad—it always does, his face lighting up every time. Steve’s not watching you anymore either, eyes lingering toward Eddie, roaming the expanse of his body, his face. He’s never watched another man fuck before, despite his confidence. Steve’s had a threesomes before, though very few and far between, never like this. His sexuality wasn’t something he always openly discussed, no one ever questioned it either. And truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he even knew what it was. But, he was attracted to you—and Eddie.

Eddie pushes in slowly, face scrunching up in concentration as it always does—it’s almost like Steve wasn’t even there to him, his mouth coming down to latch onto your neck, kiss you gently, savor the sweet taste of your skin. Sex with Eddie is always slower, more sensual, and maybe you could enjoy it if Steve wasn’t snickering above you so flippantly.

“Dude,” Eddie complains, thrusts slowing as he glances up at Steve briefly before glancing down at you helplessly, “either get busy or get out.”

“Actually,” You pipe up, looking at Steve, “talk to him, Steve—god knows you never shut up when we’re fucking.”

Steve snorts softly, peering up at Eddie from underneath his lashes, smiling dangerously.

“It’s nice, yeah?” Steve inquires, eyebrows jutting up slightly in question, nodding toward you. “Probably the best you’ve had.”

Eddie laughs weakly, his thrusts increasing slightly as he pulls at your thighs, hooking them around his hips more securely. He was gawking up at Steve, leaving you to watch the show with baited breath, eyes squeezing shit every now and then when Eddie hit that particular spot inside of you.

“It’s the only,” Eddie admits, “but it’s fuckin’ perfect. Pussy’s fuckin’ perfect.”

And he’s never been a savant with words, but damn if that doesn’t send an immediate jolt of heat to your core, moaning brokenly.

“You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” Steve asks you, breaking his connection with Eddie briefly to glance down, “I’m not even kissing him and it’s driving you crazy.”

You nod dumbly, Steve’s attention flicking back toward Eddie.

“Tell me how she feels.”

Eddie scoffs lightly at that. Eddie’s always talkative during sex, but not in the same way Steve is—Steve is always about praise and making you blush after every other word, while Eddie has no ability to keep his burgeoning thoughts inside, telling you something annoying about his day or his favorite song that week; it’s all very mundane but it’s Eddie.

“Tight, fuck—“ He sighs, gripping your hip harshly as he moved his hips into you faster, face scrunching up slightly as he glared at Steve, who’s smirk hasn’t faded at all, “god, warm too. So fuckin’ warm and soft—“

You whimper desperately, finger squeezing into Steve’s forearm as Eddie thrusts into you, shoving you up Steve’s chest slightly, their own faces nudging together from the close proximity they were in.

Steve nods knowingly, his lips grazing Eddie’s plush ones, pulling back slightly when Eddie leans forward. “It’s not fair to her,” Steve says in a hushed tone, but you quickly respond with a shake of your head.

“Fuck, please,” You beg, “it’s so hot.”

They both laugh at that, forcing you to giggle despite how close you were to your own orgasm. Eddie presses his lips against Steve’s this time, initiating the kiss as he moves against you, fingers gripping you impossibly tighter as Steve’s tongue traces his bottom lip before slipping inside.

It’s messy, all spit and battling tongues as Eddie's hand struggles against the mattress to keep him upright, limbs shaking from execution and the coiling heat in his stomach, grunting into Steve’s open mouth.

“Gonna come,” Eddie whines, “fuck, I’m gonna come—“

“Come inside her.” He tells him.

It does Eddie in immediately, losing his rhythm. Steve’s quick, sneaky in his motions as his hand ghosts over your clit—the attention was never lacking, it’s the one thing you appreciated the most about him. Your orgasm hits you quick, fleeting, eyes connecting with Eddie briefly as he spills inside you, fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to leave bruises. Surely they would, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.

Steve rubs your arms comfortingly, chest heaving with heavy breaths as you come back down, head spinning slightly.

“Still with us?” He asks softly, rubbing his thumb along the side of your cheek until you connect eyes with him, offering him a small nod. He grins, “Good, my turn.”

Eddie moves slowly, still reeling from the intensity of it all, feeling floaty as he moves to settle behind you. Steve sits up as he takes Eddie’s place in front of you, leaning back on his heels as he lifts you up into his lap, forcing a small gasp from your chest. His fingers find your cunt, rubbing through the mix of your slick and Eddie’s as he pushes it back up inside of you where it starts to spill out.

“Good girl,” He chides, “I need you to keep it all in until we’re finished.”

Steve grips the base of his cock, pushing inside you slowly as Eddie pulls your hair aside, mouthing at the line on your shoulder, your neck, lazy and gentle kisses to remind you that he’s still there.

“Oh fuck,” Steve groans, “s’not fair—you’ve been letting Munson here fuck you without a condom and deprived me of this—“

“Stipulations, Steve.” You sigh, face scrunching up as he lifts you slightly, wrapping your legs around his hips until you have no choice but to throw over the control to him.

“Can’t help that you're a whore, Harrington.” Eddie chuckles, eyes connecting briefly as removes his lips from your skin, “—tell ‘em, sweetheart. Tell Steve how fuckin’ amazing it feels to have me inside you.”

You nod in agreement, a jerky motion of your head as Steve rams into you harshly, pulling a strained whimper from your lips, adjusting your arms around his neck for purchase. Eddie pushes in impossibly closer—Steve buries his face against the other side that Eddie isn’t occupying, leaving a faint bruise in the skin before pulling away, surprisingly met with Eddie’s lips.

“So good.” You mumble, voice barely above a whisper, words failing to reach you, gasping sharply at the feeling of Eddie’s fingers pressing against your clit, still reeling from the previous orgasm. You could feel it though, that deep seated ache in your belly that was lingering there, waiting. Eddie’s other hand is pulling at Steve’s neck, tongue forcing itself past his lips and devouring him on the spot—if there was one thing about Eddie, he could take your breath away with a kiss, which was evident in the way Steve could barely keep up, having seemingly met his match with Eddie.

“Fuck, it’s too—sensitive, I’m gonna—“ You moan devastingly loud, both of them breaking briefly to attend to you—not that they weren’t already doing so, but they’re lips are puffy and red from kissing each other and they can barely keep their eyes for one another.

You’ve created a monster—but, it was a necessary evil. They had been walking around each other for weeks, tiptoeing around the topic, becoming more and more territorial over you to rile the other one up, it was only a matter of time.

“Fuck, yeah—just like that, baby.” It’s the only nickname that Steve calls you that makes your stomach flutter, his voice softer than normal. Eddie leans in too, fingers still rubbing persistently at your clit as he breaths over your ear, murmuring a soft—

“Look at him,” Eddie comments quietly, “he’s a mess.”

And he was—for a brief second, you didn’t even recognize him. Steve was normally so well managed and put together that the helpless look on his face was completely unfamiliar. His head fell back lazily, pumping into you a finally few times before he’s coming with a soft grunt, letting Eddie work you through your second orgasm—it’s overwhelming, almost too much, feeling your nails dig into the skin of Eddie’s thigh as you curse out a string of obscenities, chest heaving as you came down.

Eddie groans slightly, falling back on his mattress as you follow into a fit of laughter, neither of you able to calm yourself until Steve is settling by your side, staring you both down with a comical look of disbelief.

“So, do you have your answer now?” Eddie interjects beside how valiantly you’ve tried to avoid the topic. “Or, do we need to go again?”

And there’s only one real way out of it.

“Yeah,” You nod, “Me.”

“Oh, that’s bullshit.” Steve quickly recovers, flipping down beside you both, shuffling his pants back on lazily, while you and Eddie couldn’t be bothered. “That’s such a cop out.”

“Are you disagreeing with me?” You press further, the lilt in your voice coming off as a warning.

Eddie laughs softly behind you, “Don’t do it, Steve. You’ll regret it.”

And for once in his life, he doesn’t have a comeback.

“Okay, but back to the original question—“

“It’s Steve.” You admit, earning a dramatic gasp from Eddie, hand clutched over his chest. “Look, you two made me choose, you can’t be mad—“

“You could always try it out for yourself, Munson—if you have doubts.” Steve teases, leaning over you slightly to peer at Eddie, eyes raking his body.

“Mmm, but don’t get your ego up,” You warn him, waving a careful finger at him before pointing at Eddie, “Eddie’s technique is—“

“Are you saying I can’t fuck?” Steve huffs out a laugh, “After that?”

“Eddie’s just—eager.” You smile knowingly, watching as Eddie blushes a deep red, his hand covering himself indecently, the blood rushing to his cock again. “Like, really eager.”

Steve grins menacingly, “Clearly.”

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[iovesia]

✧ ˚ ༘ ⋆ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐒.

bodyguard!john wick⠀x⠀bratty!spoiled!fem!reader.

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔. being notorious for your spoiled, bratty behavior— you have successfully scared off your all previous bodyguards. but you’re stumped when this one just won’t quit.

—⠀੭୧⠀warnings⠀· ˚ ༘⠀large age gap. hyperfem!reader. reader is a bitch. mean!john. oral (m!receiving). dubious consent. brat taming. size kink. face slapping. 2.4k words.

𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐, 𝒋𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆 ִֶָ 𓂃 ⊹ for all my hyperfem!reader enthusiasts— this one's for you! i lowkey hate this but i haven't posted a fic in ages ohmygod and i also started school so i might be less active..

#. keanu reeves masterlist. | main masterlist. | request rules.

NO.

It was the one word that was not in your vocabulary. 

“No. My decision is final.”

Unfortunately, it was your father’s favorite.

“Daddy, this is so unfair!” You squeal like a petulant child, hot on your father’s trail as he walks through the lavish penthouse which you reside in. Your heels hitting the marble floors reverberate along with your high pitched whining. “I don’t need a babysitter!”

“Bodyguard.” Your father corrects. 

“Same difference!” Your father lets out an exhausted sigh at your complaints, rubbing his eyes with his ring-adorned finger. The wrinkles on his face are prominent, displaying his ageing stress. “I can handle myself! I’m not a child anymore!”

“You behave like one!” Your father snaps. “It’s how you’ve managed to scare off the last two bodyguards. So help me God, if this one quits too, there’s going to be mayhem. You hear me, young lady?”

Your soft features contort into a nasty grimace when your father points his finger in your face. Resisting the urge to stomp your Dior, pink heel —ergo proving your father’s point— you let out a defeated scoff. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Your father gives you a tight lipped smile. “Jesus, you’re just like your mother. God forbid things don’t go your way.” You try to ignore the sting in your heart at your father’s callous words, the venom in his tone as he refers cruelly to his ex-wife, and your mother. 

You clear your throat, quickly wishing to change the topic. “Who even is this guy?!”

“His name’s John Wick. He’s highly specialised in martial arts, firearms, and other weaponry. He also has military experience—”

“So basically, you hired The Terminator?” You interject, snapping your gum loudly in between your lip gloss covered lips. “I still don’t understand why the hell he’s here. None of my friends have old bodyguards following them!”

“Your friends are also not daughters of a mob boss,” your father replied bluntly, his patience wearing as thin as his greying hair. Before you could conjure another witty retort— the doorbell rings through the apartment. You follow close behind your father, eyes shooting daggers into the back of his skull when he walks into the entrance area. 

The penthouse was adorned with gold trim and marble floors, along with glimmering chandeliers hanging from the tall ceilings, accentuating your father’s immense wealth— your silver platter prison as you liked to call. 

“Christ, give me strength,” Your father mumbles under his breath.

“It’s John, isn’t it?”

“I pray it is.”

“If he’s short, bald and old like the last one— I’m going to freak out,” you hold your hands up defensively, briefly admiring your manicured french tip nails. You pride yourself on your appearance— if you’re not complaining and bitching, you’re spending daddy’s credit card on all things girly and pink.

The door slowly opens. From the bottom of your new bodyguard’s Oxford shoes, you eye him up past his lean body under his tight black suit— accentuating his buff arms and chest, up to his slicked back black hair and piercing dark eyes. You stare in slight disbelief at the man ahead, who towered over you. 

“Meet John. Your new bodyguard.”

AS ATTRACTIVE AND BROODING as your new bodyguard was, he was also quiet.

Too quiet.

Unlike your previous bodyguards, John was as still as stone, completely unresponsive to any of your nasty quips, bitchy comments or snarky commands. You were lucky to receive even a word of acknowledgement, let alone a sentence.

He was your silent shadow, always standing eerily close by wherever you went.  At the mall. At clubs. At the library. Even when you go to public restrooms, he stands waiting outside the door, embarrassingly dragging attention to the both of you.

“Seriously?” You grumble to yourself, adjusting your pink tennis skirt as you walk out of the ladies restroom. The older man merely looks down on you, his unreadable expression only pissing you off more.

“It’s my job.”

That was his famous catchphrase. Like a broken record, or a poor man’s Princess Bride— it was his automated response for any of your complaints. It’s his job. 

You huff, tongue in cheek as you lean against the doorframe of the kitchen, watching the brooding bodyguard read a book. John’s leaning against the back of the chair, his arm resting on the countertop of the kitchen island, his veiny hand holding the book upwards as he takes a sip of coffee with his other. The palpable silence was too much for you to bear. You’ve had enough. You needed a reaction out of him— anything— literally anything other than this monotonous apathy. 

Your hips sway side to side as you stroll over to John, his attention unwavering from his book. You clench your jaw, tapping your nails on the marble countertop. You take a seat next to him, and lift your leg up, resting your foot on his thigh. 

Shockingly, he raises a brow— but still doesn’t look at you.

“Lace up my heels,” you demand, a smug smile on your lips, gently digging the heel of your shoe into his thigh. But he doesn’t twitch. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t even produce a sound of pain.

“You’re not a child, you can do it yourself,” his voice is low, and raspy as he clears his throat. John flips to the next page of his book and your brows stitch together, a small frown etching on your lips.

“Lace up my heels, Jack,” you repeat firmly, the taunt in your voice disappearing as you purposefully get his name wrong.

“John.”

“Whatever.”

John’s attention to his stupid book never faltered, and your annoyance boiled like bile in your chest. Clearly you’d have to try a little bit harder. You remove your foot off his lap, and let out a purposefully loud sigh.

“I’m your boss, John,” you say mockingly, “you better do what I say.”

“Your father is my boss,” his tone is painfully monotonous, if he was anyhow irritated with your bratty behaviour— he didn’t show it. “I work for him.”

There’s another tense silence casted upon the door, and you huff, jumping off your seat before storming out of the kitchen. Blinded by your temper tantrum, you missed the older man’s leering eyes on your ass as you walked away.

YOU WERE FUMING.

A whole month.

A whole thirty days he’s been your bodyguard, and you still have not managed to find out what made John Wick tick. His silent, stoic demeanour seemed impenetrable to your girlish, spoiled wit. John has bested your previous guards by the duration of his stay— most, if not all of them would have packed their bags by this point.

The sun beamed on your soft skin, exposed by the skimpy pink bikini that barely covered your breasts and left little to the imagination. Lying across the sunbed next to the glistening infinity pool, the sun suddenly disappears from your face, and you open your eyes to see John hovering over you. 

“Move, you’re blocking the sun,” You roll your eyes, pulling your Cartier sunglasses above your head.

“Get dressed.”

You furrow your brows in confusion at his command.

“Your father says there’s a gala in a few hours, your attendance is mandatory.” John affirms his previous command, before he stalks away from you, his long legs carrying him far as he re-enters the penthouse. Immediately, you sit up from your sunbed, not bothering to cover your skimpy figure with a towel as you chase him.

“I don’t take orders from the help.”

“But, you do take orders from your father,” John quips, quirking a brow as he turns to face you, his staggeringly tall body looming over you. “Get dressed.”

“I don’t take orders from you, I’m not going!” You sneer, and when you attempt to walk past John, his large arm wraps around your forearm, gently but firmly pulling you backwards in front of him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused. Get. Dressed.”

“Get fucked, how about that?” You retort, scoffing at his audacity to tell you what to do. “I don’t take orders from the butler.” Roughly tugging your arm back, you take a challenging step closer and you can feel the warmth radiating from his suit covered body. 

“Bodyguard.”

“Oh, please— you’re a glorified babysitter,” you chuckle incredulously. “All that military experience is probably a load of crap— I have half a mind to get my daddy to fire you!”

“I have half a mind to shut that mouth of yours,” John’s low voice has goosebumps swimming across your skin. He finally cracked, and now you were just waiting for the pieces to come apart. John takes a step forward, closing the distance as his chest nearly touches yours.

“What did you just say to me?” You speak quietly, your confidence slowly decreasing. A small, devious scowl creeping on his face. “I said: what did you just—”

Your words die in your throat when a sudden hand clutches your jaw, fingers digging into your cherub cheeks. A weak gasp comes out, as John pulls you closer, your exposed stomach and barely-covered breasts pressing against his lean body. His stubbled face leans down, your noses almost touch as he whispers: “I think it’s time you got a taste of your own medicine.”

“GET ON YOUR KNEES.”

Jaw dropped.

“What?” 

“You heard me,” John rests against the back of the leather couch, sitting as his legs manspreading with his elbows resting on the leather couch pillows. You stood like a deer in headlights in front of him, hands on your hips, looking down at him. “Get on your knees.”

“I’m not gonna do that, are you out of your mind?!” You squeal, offendedly. John merely licks his bottom lip, his eyes focused on your hips, and thighs. “You are so fired, John! I’m telling my dad!”

“Go ahead, let your precious daddy know you made another one of his staff quit..” John shrugs nonchalantly, scratching his beard. “Your father will be pissed, and will probably cut you off.. And then who will pay for those little bikinis?” 

You kiss your teeth, lips pursed as your leg bounces anxiously. He was right. 

“Asshole,” you hiss under your breath as you lower yourself down to the ground, your knees scratching against the rough carpet. His penetrating stare made you sweat, a chill tingling down your spine. God, you wished you had taken that towel with you. John’s voyeuristic gaze trailed from your breasts that barely fit in your bikini top, down the curves of your hips to the swell of your ass. 

“Come here,” he says slowly.

Reluctantly, you abide his words, and your hands and knees graze the carpet as you crawl over to John— like an obedient little puppy. Sitting on the heels of your foot, you rest your palm on your thighs, an exasperated huff flaring through your nose.

“You are a spoiled little girl, you know that?”

You roll your eyes.

Suddenly, pain blooms in your left cheek as a firm hand smacks across your face— not enough to hurt, but enough to shoot down your attitude, making you mewl. “Ow!”

“Aw.. did that hurt?” John leans forward, his warm breath hitting your face as you look up at him, batting your long lashes. His fingers digging into your cheeks again, holding you in place. “You want me to kiss it better?”

Your face flushes at his question, as you roll your shoulders back. The diva inside you was screaming when you nodded— but you didn’t care. You eyed the older man hungrily, the sting on your cheek had you rubbing your thighs together. Unfortunately, John noticed.

“That’s too bad.” Pushing your face away, he leans back against the couch. John subtly spreads his knees further apart, signalling you to his shiny belt buckle. Eyeing the older man hungrily, the pads of your fingers touch the cool metal as you undo his belt. 

His lowered slacks reveal his flushed, hardened cock, with pre-cum already leaking from the red tip. Your hand shakily wrapped around his shaft, your whole hand unable to fit around his full girth. You stroke him gently as his lips part, a soft groan escaping. You swallow nervously, his cock throbbing in your hand when you halt your hand. Spit gathering into a small glob on your lips before stretching down onto his mushroom tip. The saliva made your movements smoother, and more confident. 

“I know that mouth does more than complain,” John taunts, his large hand softly caressing the back of your head when he edges your face closer to his thick shaft. Your mouth waters as you wrap your glossy lips around his cock, your tongue flat against his tip, the salty pre-cum satisfying your tastebuds.

Relaxing your jaw to adjust to his size, you lower your head, his cock nudging against the back of your throat. Whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth, your hands covered, massaging the base of his cock. John grits his teeth, swallowing a groan as you begin bobbing up and down his cock. John’s hand is heavier on the back of your hand, forcing you lower on his cock till your nose is buried in his short, curly pubes— making you gag loudly.

“Does the spoiled brat need some air?” John chuckles raspily, his hand clutching your hair, pulling you back off his cock. A thick line of saliva dribbles down your chin, lips puffy as tears brim your waterline. Your jaw ached, but your tongue was desperate for more. His thumb swipes against your bottom lip, wiping away the pre-cum and spit, before shoving his thumb into your mouth. The pad of his thumb presses down on your tongue, and you gag once again. 

“Spent the last month dealing with your little attitude problem,” John eyes squinted into slits, repeatedly patting your face with his other hand. “I think a little appreciation is in check.”

Like a cockdrunk doll, you nod ditzily as he switches his thumb out for the tip of his shaft. 

Your father was surprised to see you wearing jeans the next day, as they covered those little bruises on your knees.

john wick taglist : @hamburgerslippers @alwaysinblck @emosludge @nwheregirl @beansricejc @sughcashsaiki @namjoons-crabssss @scream-queen-25 @slutforsoldierboy @hamburgerslippers @redhotelroom. @hearteyedbambi @ilovedilfs4ever @aerangi @spacemonkeyfitz

let me know if you wish to be added/removed ♡

[boyfhee]

FAIR AND SQUARE › lhs

SYNOPSIS › one thing about life— it's unpredictable. for example, you made a note to yourself about not associating too much with heeseung for your own peace of mind, letting him stay as the academic rival slash classmate that he is, instead of allowing him to be something more, except one thing leads to another and you find yourself face to face with the said man with your feelings all over the place. a lowkey confession leading to a mere competition, let the game begin.

WORD COUNT › 20.2k

GENRE › academic rivals / friends to lovers, mutual pinning because they're just competitive and oblivious ft in denial, fem reader, quite the 'he fell first but she fell harder' thing eye guess . . .

WARNINGS › mentions drinking, sheds light on family issues ( mostly on the reader's side ) bruise and injury, slightest of angst, arguments, suggestive ( fourth section, towards the end ) profanities, let me know if you spot more

PLAYLIST › tune in for a better experience

NOTE › i love this fic with all my heart and lungs, even more. anyway, i'm sorry to academic rivals fans, this doesn't have academic blood and gore, as quoted by my dear mai. SPEAKING OF MAI EVERYONE THANK @maiverie FOR BETAREADING THIS FIC!!!!!! im not lying when i say i wouldn't have finished writing this yesterday if it wasn't for her, like thank u for ur super helpful review that got my brain juices flowing :< luv u fr. ALSO both heeseung and reader are taking post grad course so of course, they're aged up ( no ages specified ) have fun reading.

I. BANE OF EXISTENCE

one thing about life— it’s unpredictable. 

for example, you’re in the library writing and reading papers on the topic you love, the one that you’re supposed to enjoy and the one that will become the reason behind your earnings in the near future, but here you are, sitting with a headache and a cup of coffee on the side. who knew the subject you've liked since grade one will betray you and become the potential bane of your existence? not you, surely enough. wednesday noons are for basketball matches, which explains why the library and hallways are quieter and emptier than usual. even the teachers make time for the tournaments off their busy schedules, it’s understandable— your university is known for having one of the best sports teams in the league, and the basketball team being the defending champions does nothing but fuel the pride of students and staffs as if they’re the ones on the court, trying to get the ball in the basket.

you wouldn’t say you don’t like being a part of the crowd because you’ve been to the badminton tournaments and know that watching matches is as interesting as playing, if not more. you just don’t have the time to attend any. with assignments piling up and exams ‘round the corner, you’d rather spend your last two months of the semester studying instead of yelling at the bleachers. you can always get the recordings if you ever feel like watching one, as for the results, the word goes around faster in your department than anywhere else, all because of one of the students being on the team. 

you try focusing, you really do, but your cup is just as empty as your brain and your phone is going up with notifications. you don’t see the point of miyeon spamming the gc with updates on the match when everyone in the group, except you, is with her, watching and cheering alongside. muting is a choice which you choose not to do, and the reason is between you and god, to be honest. long story short, it’s the lack of motivation clogging your thought process and the realisation that your friends are out there enjoying themselves unlike you is blocking any means of logical thinking. a day or two spent not studying wouldn’t make you fail the classes, and even if the guilt is pooling inside, you pack your stuff and walk out of the library, making your way to the indoor basketball court. 

the screams grow louder as you approach, each step reminding you that you still can go back as you choose to ignore it. exams can wait, you tell yourself, a day to myself can’t. your mother would tell you to take breaks and go out instead of studying all day, but being on top is an addiction. it’s no good, you wish other students would believe you, it’s a struggle, on the top, at the bottom, everywhere. you expect to turn a few heads as soon as you walk inside, which doesn’t happen, but you expected it. you don’t watch matches, this could easily be your third or fourth one, and the first basketball match, to be more specific. once you realise that everyone is busy watching the plays instead of noticing who comes and goes from the court, you make your way up to the one friend you manage to spot amidst the crowd— sung hanbin. indoor bleachers feel more compact than the outdoor ones. you've been to the football match last semester, courtesy of miyeon, and everything being outdoors really helps with the crowd and noise. 

“didn’t expect to see you here,” hanbin stands next to you, offering you a sip or two from his drink, which you politely refuse, eyes fixed on the court as if it was the home they’ve been searching for. “i thought you hate heeseung,” it isn’t until he takes his name that your gaze averts to heeseung. you don’t even know why hanbin would outright assume you’re here for heeseung. in fact, that man’s name didn’t even cross your mind until he was mentioned.

“hate is a big word, ‘bin,” your words are more of a whisper laced with hesitation, as if you aren’t sure of what you’re saying. hate, actually, is a very big and heavy word. despite its constant usage with your friends, you realise the weight it holds and the impact it has. hate and dislike— they’re different and yet similar enough to be used synonymously at times. not by you, of course, you have a clear distinction between the two, and as of now, you don’t know if what you feel for heeseung is a mere dislike or pure hatred. “i just don’t like him,” 

when he successfully shoots a three-pointer, you come to the decision that you definitely don’t hate him. heeseung is, more or less, the typical all-rounder straight-A student, the jack of all trades and fortunately enough, the master of all as well. he's the student teachers use as an example, the son parents wish for, the boyfriend people wished they had. lee heeseung is many things, and one of those is being the reason why you have the second highest score in your department instead of the first position, unlike how it used to be two semesters ago. 

heeseung transferred departments about thirty weeks ago, from chemistry to bioinformatics. it had been surprising on your side because not many opted for bioinformatics until they were certain of their goal. the course in itself is vast, like an ocean of several different fields and each and every one of them opens a door to a different outcome. bioinformatics isn’t something students picked overnight just because it had the vacancy and they didn’t like their initially chosen courses. as fun as the subject sounds, it demands consistency and time, something that heeseung lacks. you had seen him attend classes the first few weeks regularly, and then the ghost of him started sitting on the empty seat that belongs to him. skipping classes, arriving late, delayed submission of a couple of projects— you knew he wasn’t here to stay. it was to pass time, or whatever, you couldn’t care, didn’t care, not until he started acing the tests, practically dethroning you from your infamous ‘perfect all kill’ title that you had for getting nothing less than a perfect score, most of the time, give and take a few here and there. 

you still get good scores, amazing even, full score in theory and the same in practicals. it’s going well in lab manuals and project works but heeseung seems to get a perfect score in those too, something you started missing ever since he came into the picture. perhaps, it was something in the way he phrased his essays— you hoped it was. rumour has it that heeseung used to be a literature student, which could explain his outstanding english skills and his eloquent way of speaking. you even looked up his debate videos on youtube only to find more evidence on how skilled he is in public speaking. 

but above all, heeseung is, actually, just a really damn annoying student, quite literally the bane of your existence. he’s always set on stealing people’s spotlight during lessons, with you being the people, obviously, always answering questions with information that’s unrelated and probably even unnecessary. and for the shortest time, you even considered taking him off your ‘things i hate’ list because you were no different in highschool. when you’re the top student, it becomes a habit to talk about things as if you know them in your bones and impress teachers. hell, you even had rivals in highschool, although none of them got on your nerves the way heeseung does. basically, he has no reason to call you by weird names everytime you both pass each other in the hallways, or remind you that he’s the top student. ‘this is the vice-captain of the basketball team and the best student of the biotechnology department, lee heeseung, informing you on the up—’ seriously, no one wants to hear him introduce himself like that when you’re around. you’re pretty sure it’s engraved inside your brain with the amount of times he repeats it everyday. minjeong even says that heeseung is becoming more and more like sunghoon, and you would not know how or why because you didn’t attend highschool with sunghoon, unlike her. 

the court flares up with cheers when heeseung goes for a dunk which ultimately leads to their team winning the match, and you reach the conclusion that maybe you don’t hate heeseung but actually want to bang his head against the walls. your eyes follow him around the court, analysing his conduct during the match, the way he communicates so effortlessly with teammates using hand signs or quick phrases, the way he holds the team together when the ball is with him, despite not being the captain. heeseung might be the most unbearable person you’ve met so far, he’s actually just fine when his target is not you. you’re sure any other player is doing just as good but nothing comes close to how you see heeseung. it’s different, the light he is in, it’s unique, incredible, and inexplicably addictive. heeseung juggles between classes and basketball, you remember sunghoon talking about his part-time job when you passed by their lockers the other day. he doesn’t have it easy, you don’t either, but you had those all perfect kills by spending hours in your study while heeseung does better than you while winning matches, making money. 

it doesn’t take you long to realise that what you have for him could be dislike with a hint of jealousy, and you wonder if all the people would react the same way once they know who heeseung really is— a devil behind an angelic face, one who deliberately likes ruining things for you, as if his life depends on it. you still remember the day he personally texted you the wrong syllabus for a test, claiming that it had been updated and the professor had asked him to notify everyone. ‘and as you know, i have not been added in the group chat yet so i’m texting everyone personally,’ he had lied ever so smoothly as if his words consist of nothing but truth, as if lies are something he hasn’t even heard of. kudos to you for studying the original and correct syllabi beforehand, you still aced the test, if heeseung scoring the first rank is overlooked. 

you’re dragged back from your thoughts to the reality when a boy bumps into you while hurrying down to the players, hoping to get noticed. half of the students act like the team is actually a boy-band, you can see them on the front page of every single edition of university magazine. usually, you prefer waiting for the crowd to disperse before taking your leave from wherever you are, but a sudden reminder about the tests over text from your professor gives you a reason to leave early, all to make sure you could catch up to heeseung. you rush your way out of the bleachers once the teams start leaving the court, eyes fixed on heeseung to take a note of the direction he leaves. hanbin gives you a confused look before the words find their way out of his mouth. “where are you going?” 

“basketball shower room,” and your words could give him, and the other people who might’ve heard you, a wrong idea but you couldn’t care less. the goal was to see heeseung before he leaves the campus, which was highly likely because no one has it in them to attend four hours of classes after an exhausting match, not even heeseung, no matter how amazing he is. 

you make your way through the ocean of people, bumping into a few in the process as you make your way to the club room. a silent profanity leaves your mouth once you realise that the club room entrance might be filled with fangirls and boys, left and right, and the thought of shuffling your way out of the crowd to meet heeseung makes you reconsider your actions. heeseung might be a star student but isn’t amazing enough for you to step out of your comfort zone and do things to see him. 

“well, this is surprising,” your voice manages to turn his head towards the door. “thought you’d be busy with your fangirls, lee,” and it is surprising indeed because the hallways are unexpectedly empty with only a few people around. you would say they learnt to give the players their space after a game but that would be a lie considering the embarrassing history of students when it comes to people on the sports team. 

“they’re probably busy with jake,” heeseung responds with a smile, and even though he turns to his locker just as quickly, you could see the smile dancing on the corner of his lips. 

jake is rather a new player, a junior to be specific, and jay personally spent days waiting outside the physics department to get the guy on the basketball team. explains why he’s popular amidst students, he’s talented, good at studies— seriously, you wouldn’t understand how these people manage academics with sports. you couldn’t, and even if you managed to, you would end up passing out every few days. “does it suck to lose your fan-following to a newbie?” 

“not really. i still have you here,” heeseung wouldn’t call it ‘losing’ his fan-following because he’s using jake as bait to escape the crowd of students as quickly as possible. a junior has to make sacrifices, in this case it’s to save heeseung by sacrificing himself to the public. although, saying that he still has you looking for him even though a hundred others aren’t makes him feel better about himself. “no but seriously, what did you come here for?” 

“oh, it’s for the test on friday,” you pull out your phone, opening the group chat with the professor and the students who took the same course. it’s laughable how the universe put you in the exact same situation twice, although with the tables turned this time, and it takes everything in you to not tell him a made-up, wrong syllabi, and do what is rational. “the syllabi was extended up to chapter fourteen, till page three-ninety-seven. they sent it in the group chat this morning but i’m sure you hardly have time even to think about something else except basketball,” 

you’ve known heeseung for two semesters but that’s for the people to say. the truth is, you don’t know him outside what he shows to everyone else. you see him come and go, spot him around the bar with his friends on weekends you pass by it. you know he skips classes and asks students for notes. it’s not necessarily from you, though you’d prefer if he would ask you since you’re the best student in the whole department, after him, as much as you hate to admit it. on some days, you see him in the library, earphones plugged in. if you manage to sneak a glance or two, you’d catch him watching the match recordings and taking notes, you wouldn’t know what notes someone could take from matches. in short, you don’t know heeseung more than how everyone knows him. coming to the shower rooms and notifying him about the test might just be a discreet attempt at striking up more conversations with him, but also, you’re just fine with him being the academic rival slash classmate that he is. 

“yeah, semi-finals,” heeseung shuts his locker close, a sigh falling off his lips just like the water drops falling on his shoulder from the tips of his hair, after a shower. “doesn’t help that they’re at the same time as the quarterly assessments. thank you for telling me even though it means you’ll end up losing the first position to me once again,” and of course, the heeseung you know wouldn’t waste an opportunity to strike up a competition. it would be a lie if you claim to hate it because despite the sour look on your face, a part of you loves these little academic races with him. heeseung makes you strive to do better, he’s like the driving force you lacked which made college a whole lot better. after all, where’s the fun in getting a perfect score with the bare minimum effort, without some challenges knocking at your door? 

“what can i do, i’m all about fair play,” there’s a subtle shade behind your words, reckoning to the multiple incidents of him ruining things for you. this could take a really nasty turn if you were to resort to his ways, except you won’t because you’re better than him. “good luck, and we’ll see who loses the first position to whom,” 

heeseung wipes his hair before switching to texting on his phone, the smile still adorning his face like a jewel. you assume it’s the delight from winning a match, it’s obvious. his eyes couldn’t help but sparkle at every little achievement, always looking forward to something more, something challenging, that’s lee heeseung for you— someone who knows he has an easier way around things but would deliberately walk down another path and test his limits. shocking how it took you one basketball match to see the passion he has for things he’s interested in, that he’s more than a sport jock or a straight nerd, he’s more than someone who takes courses to pass time, more than someone who is just a show-off.

“heeseung,” the dislike, the hatred, the envy, it might all be a lie. “well played today,” because in the end, there’s a minimal possibility that you’re leaving the room with nothing but the slightest of admiration for the guy who is nothing but an obstacle between you and that first position in upcoming finals in two months. 

and it would be a lie too to claim that your words didn’t catch heeseung by surprise.

II. RIVALRY, FEELINGS, ETCETERA. 

it has been a little over one day since heeseung’s conversation with you outside the shower rooms, twenty-seven hours to be exact. twenty-seven hours of him hearing the same last words over and over again, twenty-seven hours of him failing all and any attempts at straight thinking and twenty-seven hours of him not thinking about anything except you. all of it ends up in three hours of practice and not one good shot from heeseung. the sighs and snickers from teammates fill the court every few seconds— truthfully, they never leave. heeseung is simply too lost to pay attention to them. 

“heeseung, you good?” a pat on shoulder from jake and the words following soon after manage to pull him out of his spiral of thought, even if it’s for a brief second. 

“he’s not, won’t be anytime soon,” sunghoon replies as if the answer was on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be revealed. “yn came to watch the last match, after all,” there’s a smirk on sunghoon’s face, heeseung can tell it in the intonation of his words. 

jay pauses just seconds before going for a layup, joining the conversation. “wait, she did?” 

“yep, saw her standing next to that hanbin guy or something,” 

“mate, you cannot be acting like this over a girl and that too, four days before finals,” this conversation, as a whole, is beyond jake’s comprehension. a part of the reason could be because he joined the team late, thus missing out on a huge chunk of internal jokes and gossip and goes amidst the players. and no amount of reasons can convince him into thinking that it’s fine to act out-of-character before important matches just because your crush showed up at one of your matches. 

“she’s not just some random girl. she never attends matches, but she came to watch my match,” heeseung clarifies as if the reasons behind his antics are valid and acceptable. “you wouldn’t know how i feel right now,” 

“you’re on cloud nine, we know, your crush gave you the attention you’ve been lacking but trust me, she would ignore you just as efficiently if she sees you perform like this,” 

“she’s not a crush,” and despite it being a well known fact amongst the basketball team that heeseung has a thing or two for you, he always refuses to accept it. one can say it’s the pride thing. you barely even talk to him unless it’s about studies, and your conversations are mostly along the lines of who outdoes whom in tests and assessments. moreover, everyone knows heeseung is the reason why you’re the second best student in the department— as much as you hate to admit it, again— because he transferred and flipped your world, probably even dribbled around with it like a basketball. a word goes around every few days about you glaring at him in class, which is not true, you’re instead focusing your eyes on something in an attempt to think. he just happens to sit right in front of you and be the object of focus. heeseung might as well believe that you hate him, even though yesterday’s conversation was far from how people talk when they hate each other, and his assumptions could account for the constant words of denial that fall off his lips. 

jay snickers before landing a hook successfully. “yeah, and i’m a pigeon,” 

“oh, shut it, jay,” heeseung turns to look at the other boy. “she’s just someone i admire. have you read her essays? her papers? god, we’re a year away from graduation but she’s already writing mind-blowing papers, one of them was even published in the monthly issue of some magazine. she’s already on her best performance and still tries to do better, always down to guide juniors with lab work and also is on the research team for the paediatrics department at asan medical centre. all this, and she studies all day. if i were her, i’d pass out. i can’t go a day without entering the court,” 

“and he says he doesn’t have a crush oh her,” sunghoon rolls his eyes, it’s like if he heard another line of excuses from heeseung, he could see the back of his skull and have a look at hs big, fat brain. 

“because i don’t? you guys never had someone you admired so much that they practically became your role model despite being in the same year?” unlike other things that heeseung does, calling you his role model has a reason. first, it can give him a reason to talk to you. heeseung is almost convinced that you hate him, and if this persists, it would get harder and harder for him to approach you, but with the lie— half lie— of you being his role model and so wonderful that he couldn’t help but admire you from afar while trying to overcome his social anxiety gives him a reason to talk to you. plus, it sounds plausible, he doesn’t understand why his brother says it’s bound to fail. 

the second reason and more to do with his friend group. no one in his friend circle is capable of keeping a secret— jay ends up spilling tea unconsciously, jake tells one person who he trust and that person turns out to be the most untrustworthy person ever, beomgyu, well he’s on the team but telling him would be like standing on a stage and announcing to the whole campus, and sunghoon, he’s the mother, he cannot digest food without disclosing secrets. even if it’s common knowledge that heeseung has a tiny crush on you, denying it in front of the whole campus everytime one of them brings it up helps him with his reputation and fortunately, ends up keeping it a secret. besides, he’d rather have people tease him for calling you his role model than having a crush on you. 

“i surely don’t have someone i admire to the point i read all their papers and know each and everything they’ve volunteered for,” jay argues back, set on proving his point. “tell me what am i gonna do knowing that she’s on the paediatrics research team?” 

“i think this is the most i’ve known about yn ever since classes started and that too, because of heeseung,” beomgyu chuckles, earning a side eye from heeseung in the process. 

“enough, let’s get back to practice,” heeseung intervenes in an attempt to change the topic. he does not want his closest friends making fun of him for liking someone— it’s supposed to be human nature to have a crush. 

“you get back to practice because you’re the only one fucking up because of your silly little crush. i’m done, jay, call me when we’re having a practice match because i need to attend theology or my professor would write me up,” taehyun passes the ball to sunghoon, the latter yelping in surprise at the sudden yet successful catch. 

“i don’t have a crush—”

“of course, let’s get you back to practice,” jake cuts heeseung off mid sentence, moving back to take his position as sunghoon passes the ball to heeseung, who, as expected, misses the catch due to lack of concentration.

it’s going to be a long day for the team. 

. 

. 

.

“a little birdie told me you went to see heeseung in the shower rooms?” are the words you hear as soon as your classes are dismissed, miyeon walking up to you and hanbin discussing the set of questions your professor distributed just a few minutes ago. 

“i didn’t go into the shower rooms, i was outside, near the lockers,” and there’s a difference. to be in the shower room implies you were there in the shower, which definitely gives rise to several wrong ideas of different levels. specifically, you didn’t even enter the locker room. you were outside, leaning against the door, watching heeseung as he walked freshly out of the shower, a towel around his neck, you both strike up a small talk. yeah, that was the scene, not with you in the shower and whatever miyeon’s imagination leads to after that. 

“so you did go!” she claps her hands together as if it’s a celebratory occasion, turning her head to look at the boy next to you. “what were you saying about yn not having a crush, habin?”

“it’s not a crush, miyeon,” and it’s true— heeseung is not a crush. he’s a classmate, a rival, an over-qualified and impossibly competitive student, someone you would want to take your time to study. “what, i can’t even go to tell a classmate about the updated syllabus for a test now? i would’ve done that for anyone, not just heeseung,” 

hanbin sighs, packing his bag. “sure, but he’s in the groupchat. he could’ve checked it himself,” 

“um, i doubt that,” you’re preparing a powerpoint in your head, multiple slides on why you needed to do what you did. “he’s busy with basketball and i know how he gets when the matches are around the corner. don’t you remember how he skipped two weeks of classes straight because of matches last semester? and it’s the finals this time, i don’t think he even opens texts about anything that’s not basketball. i mean, he responded to my messages six days later because he was busy with practice,” 

you say it like you’ve known heeseung for a decade and have been through the ups and downs with him. you wouldn’t care about who does what in the classes, if it’s a paper plane flying right over you, landing just second to the first row of seats or if it’s someone being brave enough and playing music during lectures. biology, in your opinion, is a subject for those who are serious about doing something unique while staying in the academic field. you don’t encounter troublemakers often, once a blue moon if the heavens make a mistake. on other days, it’s quieter than a library, emptier than cemeteries at night. 

to think your life as a biotechnology major got interesting after heeseung switched majors is astonishing and equally debatable. 

“i don’t see why i should remember all that about ‘just a classmate’ but thanks for telling,” and before you know it, hanbin and miyeon are out of the class, on their way to wherever their next stop is. seriously, they’re having it easier than you. they go to games, movies, drink on weekends— something you haven’t had a taste on ever since the year started. somewhere, you could be blamed for your hectic schedules. studies, lab work, and thesis, they suffice for all the stress a student in post graduation studies can handle. volunteering and writing papers is on you, things wouldn’t have been arduous if you had decided to move slowly, one step at a time. sometimes, the hunger for more leaves you starving— quite literally. 

you spend an hour or so in the classroom along with a few other students, going through the same old routine of yours— watch videos, take notes, transfer them to your document in your own words and make it sound as innovative and convincing as possible. heeseung would be better at this than you. you’re exhausted to the point that accepting your defeat to him doesn’t even faze you anymore. he used to be a literature student, had english as a side course as an undergrad, he’s bound to be better than making essays sound they came right out of shakespeare's drafts, phrases and metaphors that would put fitzgerald to shame. 

you didn’t care about what went down in your classes until heeseung came along. call it craziness or the weird impression you have of students in your field, heeseung is far from the typical biotechnology student aiming for a postgraduate degree. he skips classes, plays basketball as if studies are a side business, and yet still manages to ace every test like an all-rounder. he shouldn’t even be in classroom, he should be in the labs, being the most important subject of studies. there are days you think of him as a social experiment— how quickly can a robot piss off a straight-A student with its impeccable skills— of course, the subjects wouldn’t know it’s a robot but you do, you’re almost convinced he is one. there’s no way he’s the top student with the amount of effort he puts in. one would claim that he studies after classes, at home slash dorms, but you can bet your life he doesn’t. there have been numerous instances when you’ve spotted him in the background of someone’s picture at a bar. he’s always with people, he has a humongous friend group, god knows how someone can live like that. at first, you were convinced he isn’t real, as worrisome as it sounds, and if he is real then he needs to be studied. 

which leads to what you’re doing right now— making your way to the basketball court. you don’t know how or why you’re doing it. you started with your studies, ended up thinking about heeseung, and now you’re on your way to the basketball court. although, it’s not half a bad idea, now that you think about it once again. 

your mind goes all the way back to when you watched him play for the first time, which was just a day ago actually. you don’t know anything about basketball, you don’t know much about heeseung either, but there’s one thing you’re sure of— heeseung is class and heeseung on the court, they’re different. you’ve noticed the way he clicks his pen relentlessly out of nervousness when he can’t solve a question, the way his back tenses up for a fraction of a second as soon as he’s asked to explain something. you’ve seen the hints of fear in his eyes when he asked you for notes last semester just three days before exams, scared that he would fail. heeseung isn’t sure of a lot of things and basketball isn’t one of those. 

“you’re not practising?” you ask him when you swim out of your thoughts, watching him climb up the bleachers and sit next to you. the court seems much better when it’s empty, free from the loud cheers of spectators, but that could be just you. 

“i was, as you see, but i saw you up here and thought it was time for a break,” you could see his teammates shake heads at him in disappointment, proceeding to continue with their practice. “what’s up?” 

you don’t respond to him and instead, take your time watching the others practise their shots. you watch the way one of them, who you think is taehyun, goes for a dunk, credits to hanbin for telling you names for a few shots. next to you, heeseung shouts out a tip or two for the boy for him to have an easier and effective approach at the said move. heeseung is good at dunks, you’ve heard it from students, you’ve seen it in the last match as well. just one shot was enough to tell you how good he is at it, it’s like basketball flows in his veins, like he can close his eyes and still manage to get a basket. 

your eyes ghost up the court and shift to him— there’s a content smile on his face, a relaxed posture as if there’s nothing for him to worry about. he takes a sip from his energy drink, you wonder if he, or anyone from the team, even gets time to have their meals. the expression on his face, it’s something you’ve never seen on him during lessons. it takes you back to the match, how he looked on court a day before, certain of every move he made, every step, every breath, without doubts, no second thoughts. you’ve done enough lab projects with heeseung to know how his hands shake when he’s preparing a slide or extracting a sample from a centrifuge, afraid that one wrong move and he would mess up the efforts of everyone in the group. that hesitation is nowhere to be seen on the court, gone like it has never existed. as if lee heeseung, the star student and player, has never had an encounter with nervousness and hesitation in his life. there’s a thin line between studies and sport for him, you finally realise it after much consideration. maybe, you’re going beyond your boundaries and making assumptions about a guy you barely know, even if you would never voice all these thoughts to him, you think you know the reason why there’s a different him on the stage when the ball is in hands.  

“how did you realise that you like basketball? you know, like it enough to devote so much of your time and have it alongside studies?” because even if biotech is something he’s studying and wants to make a career in, you guess that it’s just a source of satisfaction. in your eyes, through your perception, basketball is what makes him truly happy. 

you don’t know why someone wouldn’t pick satisfaction over happiness, especially when it’s coming with its hands full of opportunities to grab that bag.

“eh, i don’t have a sob story about it, if that is what you’re hoping for,” he chugs down the contents of the can before crushing it to the slightest, eyes squinting at the opposite wall before they move back to meet yours. “i never had to sit and think about basketball and studies, you know, as in how am i going to manage both of them. it just happened. i started playing basketball in middle school and it has been with me ever since,” 

heeseung’s side of the story is simple— a mediocre guy who was introduced to sports by his older brother and now, it’s one of the most important things in his life. middle school heeseung preferred staying in and playing video games instead of going out. in fact, middle school heeseung resembles you in all the ways that make him different from you right now. he has been good at learning and remembering things, he takes liking to things quicker than others do. basketball was like for him— easy, quick, fun, like a way to release all the stress after a long day at school. in heeseung’s story, there isn’t a main character who helped him choose the path he’s walking right now. instead, all he had was his family who introduced him to the various aspects and opportunities, and he simply ended up joining hands with the ones he liked, deciding to not let it go before the dead end. 

“i want to have that passion for things,” a soft laughter falls off your lips, it’s an attempt to make your sob story look less pitiful. “i used to paint and play piano— but painting, mostly, was really good at it. i learnt how to draw before i learnt how to tie my shoelaces. i couldn’t go a day without painting, but then highschool happened, i had pressure to do well, expectations from friends and family, had a dream outside painting, and now, i haven’t painted in years,” 

unlike heeseung, art started as more than just a side business to you. it’s not something you were introduced to in the middle of your life but rather is something you grew up with. you can blame or credit your mother for making paintings and having them in almost every corner of your house. it’s one of the reasons why at five years old you were beyond fascinated at all the patterns and colours. no one would’ve guessed that science would manage to sweep you off your feet right from the first grade, given the way your hands danced a duet to their own melody along with a paintbrush, as if each stroke has a conscious life of its own. no one would’ve guessed that your mother would tell you to stop painting and focus on studies, neither would they have known that she would become the reason why you no longer feel the same way about art. as stated before, life is unpredictable— because no one would’ve guessed that sitting here on the bleachers with heeseung and sharing a piece of your life would water the seeds of doubts in your heart, the ones that bloom at the sight of him.

he thinks your story is sad— with all due respect, without sarcasm, of course. it’s the best he can say. “i think it’s more of a ‘connection’ thing. you think you’ve lost the connection but you simply need to pickup a canvas and some colours to relink, if you get me,” because heeseung has had somewhat of a same experience, with music, and sitting front of a piano to play one of sibelius’ symphonies after senior year highschool finals was all it took him to find his lost interest in music. even though it’s nothing more than just a hobby, even if it's just something he considers as a way to pass time, heeseung knows how it feels to let go of something that is an integral part of one’s life. 

“it has always been about timing, heeseung,” you shake your head, trying to prove him wrong using your own arguments. “you think i haven’t tried painting again? i still have art supplies stacked up in my cupboard. it’s all about timing. when you like something, you only get a few chances to make sure it stays with you for a lifetime. how many people do you know who have given up on their hobbies because they claim to have lost interest? the thing is, the interest is still there, it’s the inability and fear of not being able to do it again. if you timing is off, no matter how much you try, things won’t work, and what you love will end up becoming a closed chapter of your life,” 

a pause. he sits still, eyes admiring your face while his mind is busy replaying your words in the back of his head. heeseung wonders how valid they are when it comes to people. he likes you, despite the constant denial which is only for show, by the way. it doesn’t take a scientist to read him. reading him isn’t even close to rocket science, he doesn’t understand how you haven’t caught up even after being incredibly smart. he has seen you hang out with hanbin— heeseung hates that guy, by the way. there’s no solid logic, it’s just that hanbin seems to be around you all the time and heeseung thinks of him as a leech sucking blood off its host. heeseung would never admit but it’s just his jealousy playing tricks on him, and even though it doesn’t look like you have any romantic feelings towards that guy, it would be fucking embarrassing for heeseung lose you to a guy who isn’t even half as qualified as him. ( yes, he is judging characters based on academic qualifications, no heeseung wouldn’t explain why )

“i like you,” and so, he lets his feelings win for once, deciding to let his heart take control instead, closing doors to any room for rational thinking like it never existed. “you said it was about timing, about trying hard enough and having only a few chances, perhaps, just one bullet, and i’m shooting my shot right now. i don’t want to remember you as a closed chapter of my life,” 

it would be such a waste of chemistry if you end up becoming just a closed chapter of his life. heeseung has done his research, more like reading tons of books and watching hundreds of movies to understand the potential that two academic rivals have. no one knows this, not even his closest friends, but heeseung’s favourite genre might simply be enemies to lovers and living that trope doesn’t sound as bad when it’s with you. he has spent hours thinking about the number of productive library dates you could have, working on projects together and brainstorming about the next biggest revolution in the RDT world, changing the public’s outlook at genetics forever. it sounds stupid and makes him sound even stupider, even as a lost cause, but heeseung doesn’t care. in his mind, it’s the best date someone could have. to live and become successful together, it sounds like a perfect plan to him.   

truthfully, you have always been a part of heeseung’s future, near or distant. he always always pictures you in his life, standing next to him during graduation, bidding goodbyes at farewell, exchanging shy greetings at reunions ten years later while reminiscing about everything he did to irritate you, that would sound embarrassing a decade later. your presence will always be significant to him, he just hopes to remember you as something more than just a rival, just a classmate he never really got to know, just a person he spent his two years hating upon, just a crush he didn’t get to confess to. 

the catch— heeseung has already started picturing his future and you are not even sure of your present— and while he is looking at you for an answer, you’re lost inside your head, looking for words to articulate. 

heeseung is someone you planned to stay away from for the rest of your university life. him stepping into your life already costs you a lot, namely: dropping in ranks and losing your infamous title. his actions cost you the time you could use to study, which is actually upon you because you can simply ignore him instead of spending hours on thinking about his hows, whens and whats. heeseung was supposed to be the academic rival slash classmate that he is, instead of allowing him to be something more, but beyond rivalry, feelings, etcetera. you knew the way you felt about him, even though you couldn’t be as certain as him, or even to claim you see him the same way he feels about you.

turns out, heeseung has always been sure of certain things in his life. 

“heeseung, i’m—”

“not sure? busy? stressed? i know you have a lot of things going on right now. take your time, study for the finals, finish your papers, sort out your own issues and then come back to me. i’ll be waiting,” it’s like he’s not only good at studying but also at reading minds, because heeseung seems to have guessed a part of exactly what you’ve been thinking. call it timing, jay calls him to get back to practice just a few seconds later— a perfect excuse to leave. “looks like my break is over,” 

you sit speechless, watching him walk away like an opportunity that just walked out of your hand. it feels like a slight defeat, like a test you failed when you could've scored better, if not a full score. it's funny because this wasn't a competition, you weren't rejected, more like you rejected him, but it still feels like he has the upper hand. it's funny and equally annoying because heeseung is supposed to be nothing more than just a nobody, somebody you aren't even supposed to spare two thoughts on, but here you are sitting with the guy with your feelings all over the place. 

“heeseung,” you stand up, your voice making him turn to look at you, both of you ignoring the sight of his teammates standing motionless in their positions, too stunned at your voice reverberating in the almost empty court. “let’s do this: if you manage to stand first in the finals, i’ll date you,”

a lowkey confession leading to a mere competition. his lips morph into a smirk, the ones he'd pass you before tests, an open challenge offered directly to you. “and if i don’t?”

and you mirror the same smirk back at him, you weren't going to back off simply because it's about the person you possibly have a crush on. “i become just a closed chapter of your life,” 

let the game begin. 

III. LIAR AND THE LOVER

despite heeseung’s sudden confession, you’re doing quite well, taking it better than expected. you had your moment of confusion back when the words of proposal fell off his lips— anyone would. after all, it’s lee heeseung we’re talking about. you can only imagine the saddened faces of his fangirls once they hear about him confessing to you.  

“jay told me you made a bet with heeseung?” hanbin’s question catches your attention as soon as he steps into the cafe, managing to turn a few heads towards you in the process. 

“you know jay?” 

he sits next to you, pulling out his laptop in a hurry. you can guess it’s because of his essay that’s due before six in the evening, one he could’ve written last night instead of getting wasted at his friend’s birthday gathering. “we share history, also, that’s not the answer to my question,” 

“it’s not a bet, ‘bin,” your words aren’t half wrong. “just a silly game, y’know? i didn’t even expect him to agree,” frankly, even you don’t know why or how you came up with such a bizarre idea in broad daylight. usually, people get bouts of excitement or embarrassment while confessing or being confessed to, but in your case, you jumped over the fence and made a proposal that you have only seen in fiction. 

“nah, no way you’re setting up your whole love life for failure and calling it a silly game,” the disappointment is evident in hanbin’s voice as his fingers danced over his keyboard, typing with a speed that could leave the trains behind. well, people tend to get like that when you have an assignment due and the deadline is just a few hours to go. you guess that he’s too busy to even listen to your reasoning, which is appreciated considering you have no reasoning as for why you did what you did. 

“you made a bet with heeseung,” you turn your head around, making the boy next to you do the same in the process. it’s miyeon— you should’ve seen it coming, honestly. your actions have consequences, as always, and one of them is dealing with her non-stop interrogation as if you’re the prime suspect for some gruesome crime and every question answered wrong opens gates to capital punishment. sometimes, you wonder why she didn’t go with studying law instead. 

“how do you know?”

“everyone knows, yn. it’s all they’ve been talking about,” she sighs, sitting opposite to you while taking a look at hanbin’s laptop. “even the football fanatics are talking about attending the game, god, hanbin we better hurry that day or we’re not getting a seat,” you should’ve seen it coming, honestly. miyeon might not be the most social person, but she definitely is the most updated. nothing escapes her, every tiny incident reaches her ears one way or another, and if not, then she just finds out about it using her sources, given you don’t know about her sources. it’s one of the reasons why you’re almost convinced that she runs a shady side business alongside her career in bioengineering. 

you take a sharp breath, going through the bunch of papers arranged in your file. “it’s not that serious. he confessed to me and i said i’d date him if he manages to secure the first position in the finals as well,” 

“you did that knowing he hasn’t been studying because of games while you’re studying like your life depends on it? there’s no way he’s going to be first, and everything aside, it was a wrong fucking move to play with his feelings,” play with his feelings— a pause, you don’t like how it sounds. you’re not playing with his feelings, that’s far from what you’re doing. it’s a game, a competition, new to your friends but you and heeseung have always been familiar with it. there’s an unspoken rule to test each other’s limits. the last time you and heeseung did something like this, it resulted with you writing ‘lee heeseung is smarter than ln yn,’ in bold on a sheet of paper and putting it on the notice board for the whole campus to see. in your eyes, it's history repeating itself yet again. sure, there is something else at stake, but the rules are the same, and you don’t know why your friends are acting like you’ve done something terribly unethical. 

“no one’s playing with his feelings, miyeon, and i know for a fact he’s making time to study for finals,” you clarify your side, slight annoyance evident in your voice. “besides, it doesn’t matter. it’s not like this is serious, i only did this to buy time to figure out my feelings while the game gives me a reason to study and not get distracted. you know how i get when i lose focus,” 

that could be the reasoning behind your actions, of course. even while sitting in a cafe with your friends and having a conversation that is about to make your blood boil, you’re thinking of heeseung in the back of your head. his words play over and over again like a broken record player, the image of him on court or studying pops up in your mind every now and then. obsession is a disease and you have it bad. it’s crazy to be thinking about someone so much without being absolutely floored for them. 

“so you’ll date him despite the outcome?” hanbin drags you out of the well of your thoughts, a question that leaves miyeon flabbergasted. 

“if i manage to figure out my feelings then of course,” a chuckle falls off your lips. “i’m telling you guys, it’s not that serious. i’m sure he knows it too,” and you’re really confident about this— it usually never ends on a good note. 

“and if he doesn’t? what if it’s serious for him? yn, you never know how one thing might affect someone, and feelings are not something to gamble on. you should’ve told him you need some time to think instead of giving him a false hope or whatsoever,” it’s now that you start having second thoughts. the next two hours go by amidst silence, a few small talks blooming here and there, but dissolving just as quickly within the ticking clock of deadlines for assignments and exams. 

it doesn’t take a scientist to know when miyeon is upset, for she isn’t the best at masking her emotions. through the sneaky glances at her that you’ve stolen over time, you can tell she’d rather spend the evening in silence than talk to you, which is a challenge with herself because she’s really talkative. it takes two to sing a duet, two to play and game, two people to make a relationship work. heeseung and you— the two of you are enough to make decisions for yourselves, decide what’s right and wrong and, something about miyeon questioning your choices doesn’t sit right with you. 

too many cooks spoil the broth, it’s the principle of your life, the words you’ve been following to this date. it was your decision to have a few friends instead of a fifty— quality over quantity, as one might call it— and there has never been a moment when you regretted having a handful of people to call friends. instead of consulting too many people about your major in university, you simply went with what your parents and homeroom teacher suggested. life has been good so far. the more the better is something that isn’t applicable in your case. instead of telling everyone about your dilemma regarding heeseung, you decided to keep it to yourself, eventually opening up to heeseung when the time comes. you’re doing just fine on your own, it doesn’t make sense to you why a third person’s opinion is making you doubt your decision making abilities that you’ve been so proud of. 

this is not a gamble, you tell yourself, it’s a fair play. you gave him options, he made the choice, it’s consensual. you didn’t force him into this game, he didn’t pressure you to respond, it’s a harmless competition that’s bound to have a positive outcome. you even spend a good fifteen minutes wondering if you should go back to heeseung and take it all back in case he finds it insensitive to put his feelings on the line. doing it in person seemed impossible so you resorted to texts, typing and deleting your message before giving up altogether. in your head, this was an okay decision. a sweet confession, a person with unsure feelings, a harmless competition. 

you hope it doesn’t backfire ten times worse. 

. 

. 

.

three days later, you find yourself on the way to basketball club rooms once again. you checked the court, it was empty, and your only option was to check the club slash locker rooms if you wanted to see heeseung. okay, first things first, you don’t miss him— maybe a little, but it’s because you miss hearing his weird ass answers in class even though they’re right. heeseung just has an unique approach to things, in other words he simply knows how to buy time and go in detail about things he’s an expert at to impress the professors. however, that doesn’t seem to be the case for him because he has approached you six times in the past three days, asking if you’re free to hangout. 

you like to think he misses you or that his requests were because he wanted to make sure you don’t study and lose to him, either could be true. knowing heeseung, he’s capable of going both ways. whatever may be the reason, you turned him down all six times, and it’s not because you have something against him— of course, you don’t. that’s common knowledge by now— your reason for not hanging out with him is studies, as expected of you honestly. the bet aside, you had way too many chapters to learn before exams and all heeseung ever does is take up your headspace everytime you sit down with your books spread open. avoiding him in thoughts wasn’t possible so avoiding him in person was your last straw. 

which leads to the present : you rushing to heeseung, again,  not because you miss him but because you need his help, though one of the reasons could be that you feel bad for turning him down six times. you can hear muffled laughter from a distance as you approach the club rooms, a bang against one of the lockers, a loud profanity that follows afterwards. their humour is beyond your level of understanding. 

“heese— oh, um—” you greet and turn away just as quickly when you realise that one of them is shirtless. it’s obviously heeseung, you can’t mistake his face for someone else. and you’re guessing he’s the last one to come out of shower because everyone else is dressed, maybe he’s someone who likes to take his time showering— you seriously need to stop thinking before your imagination goes bonkers. “sorry, can you come outside for a second when you’re ready?”

another round of laughter follows, more like teasing remarks because you can swear you heard a few of them refer to you as his girlfriend, and it gets you a little flustered, you won’t lie. you even hear one of them yell ‘ooh, get it, heeseung,’ as heeseung walks out, fixing his t-shirt, responding back with his middle finger up at whoever made the comment. 

“hi,” his voice isn’t much louder than a whisper, eyes fluttering between you, the floor, and his teammates who pretend to not look when you peek inside. there’s a soft smile on his face— it’s cute, you think, and then rethink what you just thought. heeseung is, well, not cute— usually. he’s good-looking, handsome, hot, sexy, even, since you’re on the topic of finding adverbs that suit heeseung. cute is rarely one of them, you don’t think you’ve seen him as flustered as he is right now— rubbing his nape, a tint of pink on his cheeks, avoiding eye-contact— that’s far from the heeseung you’ve been seeing for past two semesters. 

“hi, can you send me the pdf of the extra set of questions that prof sent last week? i think i accidentally deleted it while clearing up my storage,” you get straight to the point, trying not to waste much of your precious time. “i could’ve texted you but figured you’d be too busy with practice to check messages,” you remember what happened last time; he took six days to reply to your texts. you’re quite a patient person otherwise but in this case, you’re in dire need of questions to practise for tomorrow’s mock. 

“ah, sure, give me a minute,” and he pulls out his phone, scrolling through an ocean of files and documents to look for the one you need. you do think he’s gorgeous though, it’s a well known fact that he’s stunning, but you think this look of heeseung surpasses the other ones quite easily— hairs wet after shower, partially covering his forehead, a white t-shirt that’s slightly wet near the shoulders because of the water dripping down— you wish he’d at least dry his hair before catching a cold. “actually, i would have replied to your texts if you had— oh, yes, there you go. do you want me to email it to you or…?”

“oh, just texts would be fine, thank you,” 

“done,” a pause, you feel his eyes on you as you go through the pdf to take a brief look at the contents. “do you want to go for a walk? or are you getting back to studies?” at this point, you’re sure that question is a way to tease you about your obsession with studies. heeseung may think you’re overdoing it because you want to win, but it’s no more than the normal amount of hours you spend studying. he never paid you any attention to care about that. 

“no, i’m done for today, actually,” and that’s a big fat lie considering you were planning to solve some questions and revise two chapters before leaving the campus, but it’s fine. you feel bad for rejecting him six times either way. 

never in your life did you imagine that you’d be going on a walk with heeseung. it’s nothing serious, you just didn’t think there would be a day where you two would have normal people conversation while doing normal people activities instead of trying to disparage each other based on grades and academic performances. to think about it now, heeseung isn’t half bad, it was all in your head. it’s not like you had vile assumptions about him, you did find him annoying and way too prideful— anyone like him would be, actually, and heeseung is still quite humble about his achievements because if it was someone else, they sure would have made it everyone’s problem. 

actually, heeseung is insufferable as well. you remember your first encounter with him, first and so far, the worst— in the laboratory. you and heeseung sat next to each other and when the professor asked him to briefly explain his experiment, you realised it’s oddly similar to yours. you had accused him of cheating, like any sane person would, which led to him getting two scores less than a perfect. he only lost one score because of you, actually, and that too because you were professor’s favourite and heeseung was new to the department. the other score, you don’t know where he missed, but that incident led to heeseung deleting your powerpoint thirty minutes before your presentation, which led you stealing his notes and selling it some junior through an undercover twitter account, which led to the professor asking you to help him with notes before exams, and everything ultimately led to the realisation that heeseung is actually quite decent if you behave with decency as well. the give and take is serious for him, because he gave you notes and so, you had to take his offer of going on a walk. even though it seemed like you had a choice, a part of you knew it was a mirage. you would’ve ended up on a walk with heeseung one way or another. 

“i come here whenever i’m tired or just not feeling well,” he says and you wake up from your daydream of memories you shared with heeseung. the way he phrases his words makes it sound like he has brought you to one of his most secret locations, one that no one knows except taehyun, probably, considering they’re close friends, but in reality, it’s the playground you pass by every single day on your way from your apartment to university. 

“oh, are you okay? are you nervous for tomorrow’s match?” you continue, deciding you shouldn’t ruin his favourite place for him. honestly, no one would’ve guessed that lee heeseung would come to a children’s park on bad days. 

“actually, this walk was for you, you looked like you’d pass out if you spent another hour in front of books,” and you’re done, standing speechless with your eyes wide open at his words that he says with a victorious smile on his face. “you should start taking breaks, yn. it’s not a bad thing to go home earlier when you’re tired,” 

he’s right, oh, you know he’s absolutely right about everything he just said, from passing out to going home. a part of him probably even feels glad to have you out on his little walk with him, you’re getting your well deserved rest, thanks to him. heeseung might even ask if he can walk you home considering you’re ‘done for today,’ which is very thoughtful of him— but what does this make you? a liar? miyeon was right, you’re gambling, even though it’s not that serious. so far, you’ve lied about being done with your studies and the bet you made with heeseung because at this point, it’s more like a prank, except it’s not funny and that it might end up with him getting upset with you because tomorrow is basketball tournament’s finals and you’re here wasting his time, all because you lied. 

a liar and a lover, on a date at children’s park— match made in theatre club, you’d say. 

“are you sure this is not your way to manipulate into not studying and losing to you, just so you can date me?” you try to play it cool, knowing very well that it can be one of his tricks or whatsoever. after all, it’s the same heeseung who made you trip in front of your class just three days after being transferred. 

“i was being genuine but it doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” of course, it doesn’t. he gets to win, after all. “can i walk you home?” just as you had guessed. 

“i would love to go home but my bag is still in the library,” you had considered taking it with you, actually, but dismissed the thought once you realised you had to come back to the library and continue with your studies. albeit, you’re not studying, that’s on you for lying into oblivion and giving into his requests.  

once again, you two are back to walking, this time back to the university campus. it’s nice, having a walk with heeseung, it’s sweet, slow, comforting, like slow music flowing around and engulfing you in its arms. the unsaid words are weighing on your shoulders, you can feel the pressure, but it’s not awkward. above the busy hustle of the city and blaring horns, it’s a quiet world with heeseung, it’s nice, like a warm hug after a long day. you didn’t think you had it in yourself to spend a minute next to him without overthinking and possibly starting a banter. you didn’t think heeseung had it in him either, to make a walk feel so close to home.  

“so, how are you coping knowing you’re going to lose once again?” and, it’s back again. everything is a hoax actually— his looks? a trap. his smile? a trap. it’s all a facade because once he opens his mouth, nothing but horseshit comes out of it. 

“very well, in fact, because i know i’m the one getting that first spot this time,” call it overconfidence but you really do think you’ll get your title back this time. you’ve been studying well and hard enough, solving questions and going through every extra set of notes and exercises your professor sent. although, you would claim to beat heeseung had you been prepared or not because it’s fun messing with him. 

“i’d rather have you show some mercy, in that case,” before you know it, you’re already standing in front of the library. “academic defeat and a heartbreak, it already sounds painful. i hope you go easy on me,” it’s sarcastic, of course, all these saccharine words of confessions made you forget how he is under the layers of smiles and winks that adorn his face. a session full of silence follows, the comforting tranquillity morphing into something tensed as he steps closer, your breath getting caught up in your throat as your mind dysfunctions— it’s the effect he has. 

“heeseung,” you put a finger on his lips— the only thing between him and you, the only thing helping you stay sane and composed at the moment, because only you know the struggle of pulling yourself together while standing inches away from heeseung as he grabs your wrist and plants a soft kiss on your finger before removing it from his lips. 

“why, that’s unfair. you get to see me anytime you want while i have to wait because you’re busy studying, you even get to see me shirtless, and i can’t even get a kiss?” and you hate the look in his eyes, you hate how close he is standing and how it makes your heart go crazy. this isn’t even the beginning and you hate how you feel like you’ve already lost, and you hate how confident he is with every breath he breathes against your lips. “just kidding, see you tomorrow,” 

and you hate how this is where you realise that you’ve fallen deep, and you’ve fallen hard. 

IV. PLANET TO A SUN

heeseung has been thinking about the walk for an hour and twenty-seven minutes— actually more, ever since the moment he got home last night, but that is how long he has been practising for, eyes on the ball but mind revolving around you like a planet to a sun. you had texted him about a rule this morning— no kissing before finals. actually no kissing before we start dating, lee— your exact words. they have been holding him back from thinking straight, even made him practise an apology while looking in the mirror if in case his actions offended you in any way. lost in thought, heeseung manages to get another shot in. that’s twenty-third in a row ever since he stepped on the court, which is unbelievable, even for him. 

“is it just me or did heeseung’s performance improve overnight?” jake looks up at jay, fastening his shoelace, a chuckle escaping his lips that goes unnoticed. 

the latter offers a hand to jake, helping him stand as they share a laugh before jay passes him the ball. “well, of course it will. he has to impress his girlfriend today at finals,”

“she’s not my girlfriend,” heeseung grunts almost as if hearing you and the word girlfriend in the same sentences cuts ten years from his lifespan. he knows it doesn’t, he’d kill to call you his’. the reason behind his edgy behaviour is your text and the weird rule you’ve inserted in an already weird bet— it’s not like he minds it, the bet, obviously. heeseung definitely minds not getting to kiss you for the next few weeks. 

“yet,” jay clarifies, emphasising enough for the world to understand that his words are supposed to be in italics. “she will be if you score more than her in finals, which i don’t think is possible because unlike you, she has been studying all day everyday. i don’t know how she’s still alive,” and jay isn’t half bad student himself. juniors in business have his name residing on the tips of their tongues. he simply thinks you’re a freak for being in no clubs and not participating in anything that doesn’t involve studying. 

“she’s the top student for a reason,” jake adds. 

“i am the top student,” and hearing his friends call you the top students hurts heeseung’s ego a little bit. crushes aside, you’re his rival before his girlfriend, and you’re not even his girlfriend. you’re basically just a rival. “also, it’s not hard to study all day if you’re used to it,” 

and jay scoffs in disbelief. “right, you would know something about it, lee i can’t go a day without playing basketball heeseung,” 

“hey, everyone,” your voice reverberating in the court is what stops heeseung from responding to jay with a snarky remark. “just wanted to wish you all goodluck. i really hope you guys win the tournament or else, it’s going to be hard for heeseung to deal with two loses after i beat him in finals as well,” 

heeseung rolls his eyes in disbelief, you hear taehyun exclaim that he has been team yn since the very first day, a claim that few others proceed to back up, especially sunghoon, with his own lore of how he prays everyday for you to win the bet with heeseung. you’re honoured to receive such support, to some extent. a part of you still wishes for the whole thing to be a secret restricted to just heeseung and you but again, it was your fault for placing bets in court, in front of the entirety of the basketball team to witness, even their coach. 

“you’re a little too confident, don’t you think so?” he smirks, taking a few steps towards you with the ball supported between his arms and torso. “let me know where you’d like to go for our first date,” and it turns out heeseung is just as confident about winning the bet as you, perhaps even more. you are not surprised, being defending champions does that to people, or so you believe.

“mhm, let’s have you score a date first, lee,” you would have loved to talk more but decide to bid your goodbyes as soon as hanbin’s message pops up on your phone, the little scowl on heeseung’s face going unnoticed the moment he sees his name on your phone screen. heeseung would never in his wildest dream confess to being jealous— it doesn’t even make sense for him to be jealous of hanbin because he confessed to you, and you seem to like him back. his worries are pointless just like the useless art projects his art teacher used to assign in middle school. 

your fingers dance on the keyboard of your phone as you reply to hanbin, the subtle taps synchronous with your steps with you rushing across the quadrangle, taking the nearest flight of stairs to the library. you wanted to spend the day at your apartment since classes are suspended for the rest of the day on account of the match. however, hanbin managed to convince you into coming to the library to help him with a few assignments here and there. you’re not opposed to studying on days-off, in fact you think it’s better since you get all twenty-four hours to yourself instead of investing any of it in classes. the match gave you an excuse to call in for a break, or an excuse to take your time choosing the outfits as if you’re the main character on such a big day. 

the librarian gestures to you to slow down the moment you almost avoid slipping on the tiled floor, in the process of holding the door frame to stop yourself, an embarrassed apology makes its way from you to her as you spot hanbin in the further corner with his airpods plugged in. your first instinct is to scare him from behind but the thought leaves your mind as soon as you remember that you’re in a library, and getting kicked out on a day that has been treating you well so far doesn’t sound so smart. 

so, you settle with approaching normal, instead of pulling random stunts, pulling out the chair opposite to him quietly to not make any sounds, mumbling a soft ‘hi’ as he takes out one of his airpods. “where’s miyeon?” 

“sick, she’s skipping today’s match as well,” hanbin replies, eyes fixed on the notes he's copying from the laptop to loose sheets of paper, before looking up at you with another question on the tip of his tongue. “are you two still not talking?” 

“we did, none of us brought up what happened that day, though,” you shrug as if it doesn't bother you anymore, as if you don't want it to bother you more than it already does.

miyeon and you have known each other since university, she was a senior in undergrad course who was forced by financial circumstances to skip one academic year, thus rejoining in third year along with you and hanbin. seeing her was less frequent while she was still a senior, although you're not sure if you've spent more than three days away from her ever since postgrad school started. a heavy tension masks all your conversations with her, over texts or in person, and even though you're trying to act like the small talks with her don't hurt you, a part of you is starting to miss the best friend you used to talk to all night, about wasted matters and sharing useless gossip.

silence fills in for the lack of words between you and hanbin and you allow it to do so, deciding not to disturb the decorum of the library anymore. you scroll through your phone mindlessly, there’s nothing to look at except people going crazy about the evening's match. you even manage to stumble upon a thread of arguments featuring students of your university and the one the team is going against. it’s all empty threats, seriously, ‘kys’ and ‘ur mom’s in my bed’ aren’t even insults at this point. they’re funny, sometimes, but you’ll never understand why or how they ended up being insults. ( honestly, you don’t see the potential ) 

“are you serious about heeseung?” a crack in the ice, hanbin's question catches you off guard, with a number of questions running back and forth in your mind before you settle with the one to respond with in return.

you blink in confusion. “i guess so, why?” 

“nothing, it’s just i never expected it to be him, y’know, considering your history,” you think it's unavoidable, questions along these lines, they would've been asked sooner or later. truthfully, even you didn't expect yourself to fall for heeseung.

your history, what even is there to call history except blood and war? both you and heeseung have been up each other's neck from the moment your gazes collided. it sounds like a stupid beef between highschool students, almost embarrassing now that you both are nearing post graduation. with all the days that you’ve spent thinking about ways to get on his nerves, or worse— ruin his projects, it wasn’t just you who resorted to ruining each other’s hard work— no one would have known you and heeseung would ever end up on this note, with him chasing you and you pinning for him, all under the blankets of a silly bet.

“well, as i always say, hanbin, life is unpredictable,” there’s a smile dancing on your lips, a dazzling hint of factuality in your eyes. “besides, he’s a nice guy behind all the annoying things he does. i think he's pretty serious about me, or us, too,”

hanbin has noticed the way you smile at your phone. it doesn’t always happen, only when you’re talking with miyeon or a few friends from highschool, now heeseung ranks up on that list as well. he’d be lying if the uneasiness doesn’t bother him, it’s bound to surface when he remembers all the nights you spent complaining about heeseung. actually, the rant session included hanbin, you and miyeon, but she would rather go to sleep than listen to you complain like a child for hours on roll, leaving you and hanbin driving the conversation. he has lost count of the amount of times you’ve ended up crying in the process, or the amount of times he has hung up on you only to show up at your place late at night to make sure you’re doing okay, and the nights you two have spent watching movies and falling asleep on the couch, followed by the mornings gone by with miyeon being salty over the fact that none of you invited her to your impromptu nightover. 

the thought of heeseung confessing to you still surprises hanbin, it’s one of the things he deemed as impossible since forever. and he can go, warn heeseung about hurting you, dropping all sorts of threats at the boy. hanbin can go on for hours about how he would make heeseung’s life a living hell if he ever broke your heart. he can prove the righteous friend that he is, but at the end of day, he would always be the third person between you and heeseung. hanbin can only assume so much about you two, not even sure if all of it is right. he can only wish so much for you to have eyes for someone else. 

and so, all he does is shoot a smile at you. “i hope he is,” 

. 

. 

.

the only time you step out of the library is exactly three hours and thirty three minutes later, to sprint towards the basketball knowing that you absolutely cannot afford losing seats in the first two rows. fortunately, or unfortunately enough, you’re not the only student going crazy about the game. you can swear at least a dozen came out of the library right after you, even though all of them may not attend the game.

you’re already running late— well, still twenty minutes early but that doesn’t give you much time to meet the team and secure the front row seats. and meeting the team is an excuse, let’s be honest. you want to meet heeseung, have a quick private talk, kiss him good luck, you don’t know; you wouldn’t. your head is in a mess, behind you hanbin is yelling for you to slow down as you run down the stairs. half of you is worrying about seats and the other half is wording her sentences out for you to say when you meet heeseung, and the team. you can wish them all the luck in the world, after all, it’s the university team and you would love to see them win. the whole craze about sports doesn’t feel real and worth the hype but things start coming full circle when you’re the one watching. slowly, as one would expect, but you are starting to understand why everyone goes bonkers during tournament season. 

“damn, slow down,” hanbin huffs, grabbing your arm for you to slow down. “it’s not like they wouldn’t start without you,” 

“that’s the problem. what if they start without me?” but your legs wouldn’t rest before arriving at the court. you know your words sound funny, painting you as if the result of today’s match depends on you. it feels crazy to be this excited about a mere basketball match, nonetheless you know it’s not the match you’re actually looking forward to. “besides, i’m more worried about seats,” 

“i asked hao to save two for us. he’s friends with heeseung, i think he will do that much for his friend’s girlfriend or whatsoever,” you see him roll his eyes at his own words, proceeding to slide his hands into yours before continuing on your way to the venue, this time a little slower. 

you have heard about hao from hanbin and miyeon a few times. he’s pursuing a masters in music, wants to teach violin professionally according to hanbin. miyeon has even attended one of his recitals last autumn, something from sibelius, if you remember correctly. he is popular, and you see the depths of his popularity as soon as you spot him on the bleachers, surrounded by people left and right, one of them trying to grab a seat next to him before he points at you and hanbin, and the crowd goes mild, ultimately dissolves as the players step in. 

“i didn’t know heeseung had a girlfriend,” you don’t know what you were expecting, perhaps a few words of greetings, hi’s and hello’s since you two are meeting for the first time. anything, except that question. 

“believe me, i didn’t either,” and why even is heeseung going around telling everyone that you’re his girlfriend?        

the court breaks into cheers as soon as the game commences and yet, it feels a little quite. perhaps, it’s miyeon’s absence getting to you. had it been her next to you instead of hanbin and hao— who are busy amongst themselves by the way, talking about anything but the match— she would’ve been eating snacks non-stop, giving you a little talk on every player, like a resume. it’s take her fifteen minutes to give you summaries on players from each team, their achievements, girlfriends and probably even mothers, who knows. although, you haven’t attend many games with miyeon to pinpoint every good and bad thing about her impromptu presentation, her unofficial commentary helped you sit throughout the match. it feels incomplete without her, not just the game but days in general. it’s definitely her absence making your surroundings feel quieter. 

so, long story short, you don’t have a clue of what’s happening. well, you do, a little. you know what a dunk and a three pointer is besides the names of players on your university team, but that basically sums up your knowledge about basketball. all sorts of voices are mingling in the air but you’re busy following the ball around the court with your gaze, occasionally cursing and clapping when the team misses a close basket or scores a comparatively difficult basket. the tension between the two teams keeps rising as the game continues. you notice sunghoon groan in disappointment as one of the players from the opposite team gets in a banked shot from the wings, scoring two points for the team. a part of the crowd goes quieter at jay’s failed attempt to save the score for his team, beomgyu patting on jay’s back while muttering something along the lines of ‘good job.’ involuntarily, your eyes travel to heeseung, whose expression stiffens at the sight of the scoreboard displaying a two-point lag.

a time out call follows as the players move back to their respective ends, and it physically hurts you to see the difference in atmosphere between the two teams, or the frowns on the faces of players on your university team. for a second, you even consider walking down to them as they gather around the coach, grabbing water bottles and towels while nodding at the coach’s words between heavy breaths. you catch jake looking in your direction for a brief second, a smile makes its way to your lips before he responds with one as well, proceeding to nudge heeseung’s arm and pointing in your direction. his actions are left with no response— it hurts a little, although you are aware that anything else falls after winning the match on his priority list— and they get back on the court as the game resumes. 

“they need to catch up soon,” hanbin mutters, taking a look at the clock. and even if it’s just a two point difference, you’re starting to understand why it creates a huge gap. it’s almost like scores on a test. going from eighty-three to ninety then hundred is easier than going from ninety-eight to hundred. greater differences are easier to overcome; for you have so many rooms for improvisation and thus, so many chances at closing the gap. the closer you are to a perfect score, the narrower are the chances and it’s almost impossible to pin-point and work on every single weakness of yours within those two points. you’re pretty sure your words would hardly make sense to anyone else, but nonetheless you understand why everyone on the court looks more attentive, probably like meerkats on the lookout for preys and predators. 

much to your disappointment, the play continues with the rivals dominating the court, giving low to zero chances for the opposition to get their hands on the balls. you even see a few of them trying to provoke heeseung, the latter trying his best to not react but you’re afraid he would start throwing punches if another one of the players passed by him with his middle finger up heeseung’s face. one of them, who you assume is the captain judging from the way he has been directing his team, goes in for a hook, immediately getting blocked by taehyun as the court bursts into loud cheers once again. 

“that was a little too far for a hook,” hao comments, and you nod as if you understand his words and know exactly how a hook is supposed to be. you didn’t even know about a hook until now, and you’re still not sure what it is since all the shots look almost the same to you. 

from that second onwards, it felt as if the control transferred to heeseung’s teams as they transition quickly from defence to offence, making quick passes and running the court, practically catching the opposite team off guard. jay passes the ball to jake, who takes a leap from half court, driving towards the unguarded basket. a quick layup using the backboard, as you hear hanbin name the shot, and basically everyone runs to jake for scoring two points for the team as the scoreboards displays a sour tie. it’s a seemingly easy match after that, especially when the players look like they’re back into the game. sunghoon passes the ball to heeseung who goes for another layup and fails, much to his despair, before going in for a dunk and scoring yet another basket for the team, leading it by two points. you see him passing a cocky smirk at the player from before as jake pats him in the back with heeseung almost stumbling in the process. 

heeseung shoots you a wink before focusing on sunghoon’s words as they get back into position, and even amidst the butterflies you got by his recent actions, you don’t miss the way he stretches his fingers, ring-finger specifically, pointing something about the movements to jay before getting his focus back to the game; and you just hope it isn’t what you’re thinking it is. 

it’s a slow game after that, no points scored, four fouls with two of them back to back, one by each team respectively. the frustration increases on the court, evident in each step taken by the players, groans and sighs fill the atmosphere and get louder than the cheers that have gone quieter once again. it isn’t until a few minutes later that all the players run to the front court as soon as they see an opportunity for a fast break with taehyun taking the lead, passing the ball to jay just a few seconds after, who passes it to heeseung— and call it the lack of efficiency or bad timing, heeseung bumps into one of the players from opposite team, an uneven balance, and falls directly on his right knee, as one of the opposite players throws the ball off-bounds to stop the play. 

the medics take him to the benches, bringing ice packs and everything else before escorting him inside. you considered following him inside before hanbin tells you that the officials aren’t letting anyone meet him, probably until they receive updates of his situations. you bite the inside of your cheeks in nervousness, palms sweating as if you’re about to appear for an exam you weren’t informed about until five minutes ago, or maybe it’s even worse. the murmurs from the crowd or the group of girls behind you, to be more specific, do nothing but make you feel more anxious. zhang hao, being a sports medicine student, tries to give you an insight on heeseung’s injury, telling you that even if he fell directly on his knee and it could result in a patella fracture, or perhaps just dislocation— words that compel you to yell at him to shut up before he ensures that heeseung will be fine. hanbin does that for you, noticing your slightly panicked state, telling hao to talk about anything but anatomy of how badly a simple injury can affect a player, and when sunghoon and taehyun return to the officials with an update on heeseung and a pale face, you knew you had to run to your heeseung as if it’s the end of the world. 

“heeseung,” you breathe out, stepping aside to let the nurse from the infirmary leave before you walk closer to him. the awkwardness between you and other players, namely jay, jake and beomgyu, besides the coach, rings all the bells to remind you that coming here was probably a bad idea. well, of course, you like heeseung and are worried for him, but the tension in the air makes you feel like you showed up uninvited. “are you okay?” 

you ask nonetheless, voice close to a whisper, as you stand at a distance, looking at the bruise on his knee. the smell of antiseptic spray fills your lungs, nose scrunching at the way you could almost taste the diclofenac at the back of your mouth. 

“not really,” he inhales sharply, exhaling a reply once everyone left, knowing they had a game to get back to. “look at you, are you worried for me?”

“i’m regretting coming here now,” liar. and then you let the silence carry the conversation with itself for the next few minutes. you don’t know what to say— what can you say? all you do is sit next to him, hands brushing against his as his winces at the slightest touch. heeseung opened his mouth to say something before dismissing his words with a heavy sigh the very next moment. you almost hold his hand— almost, thinking of holding it ever so carefully as if it’s glass with thousands of cracks, and then you’d kiss it ever so delicately, you did it— almost, but then, it’s just you getting upset over the fact that he played even after hurting his hand.

“so, they’re benching you,” you say in an attempt to strike a conversation, a little conflicted with your choice of words, wondering if he even wants to hear about something related to the match at the moment. 

“of course,” he says it like a matter of fact, a fact whose impact doesn’t seem to touch him. “please tell me they have jeno substituting for me. i’ve barely been getting updates in the group chat,” the least he expected was for one of the substitute players to keep him updated about the game through texts, and heeseung planned to get back to the court until you showed up, taking a seat next to him on the benches in the locker room. you don’t understand why they didn’t take him to the infirmary, and decided to think it’s because locker rooms are closer and if there’s anything heeseung should not be doing right now, it’s moving his injured leg. 

you shrug. “i don’t know, i’ll ask hanbin,”

“thanks,” and even though heeseung isn’t really fond of your friend for reasons that are widely known, at least amidst his friend group, he really hopes hanbin is of some use. 

it’s quiet now. you can hear faint cheers buried in the layers of walls and rooms that stand between the court and the locker room, a few muffled footsteps filling up any spaces left in the air, here and there. you assume it’s his fans trying to check up on him, as annoying as it sounds to you for you’d rather have this moment with him all to yourself. you hear him sigh heavily once every few minutes, trying to ball his injured fingers up in a fist to allow the slightest of moments and ensure healthy circulation, a soft hiss leaving his lips at the sensation of striking pain shooting up his nerves. unlike heeseung, your attention shifts to his injured knee with a faint chill running down your spine as you look at his bruise, which now looks more bluish than it was when you had arrived, signifying the possibly alarming amount of blood that has now clotted in the tissues. 

“you can cry,” nudge him with your shoulders and heeseung directs you to the most disgusted face in return. “what? it’s the finals and you’re injured so you won’t be able to play today. any normal person would sob their eyes out,” 

“i’m not a kid, yn,” he nudges back, a chuckle slipping off his lips. 

“trying to act all cool but you’re probably going to cry yourself to sleep for days, or even weeks,” he holds out his hand for you to hold it as you stand up, an action you give into without opposition, intertwining your fingers with his. there’s a smug smile on your face and he sees it as well, although only you know the way your heart is somersaulting at the way your hands fit his’ like pieces of a puzzle. “i know what you are, heeseung,”

he scoffs at your words, hands still entwined, a lovesick glow in his eyes— it’s your first time seeing this side of him, you’re glad to be one of the people to see it. silence has never felt so comfortable to you. the distant noise from court feels like it rushed on its way to you and heeseung, and stopped at the doors, as if you two are beyond its reach. you might never say it to him, but everything seemingly ceases to exist when you’re with him, and the world feels timeless. it’s embarrassing, cringe, and it’s making your heart beat faster with the way he looks at you. “you need to shut up,”

“make me?” a quick response, one that was supposed to be a joke, a joke which was supposed to be accompanied by laughter and brushed off as another baseless comment, but another second passes as you continue to look into his eyes, and you realise you’re actually considering it— leaning in towards him while giving his hand a light tug to pull him towards you the slightest, your other hand cupping his face as your gaze ghosts up his eyes and settles on his lips. when it comes to him, rationality is out of the window and your lips are on his’ planting the softest kiss at the corner of his mouth before pulling away like nothing ever happened.  

a pause; you could hear the silence ringing in your years, eyes fixed over him as if you’re spilling all your secrets to him, waiting for him to take a hint. “what even happened to the ‘no kissing before finals’ rule?’”

and you realise you had actually forgotten about it, for better and never for the worse, because as you said and as he repeated, it’s all about timing. empty locker rooms, quiet hallways with not a soul around, your hand in his, his eyes on you— the timing couldn’t be better, and you know better than messing up and letting heeseung become just a closed chapter of your life. “yeah, i could care less about that,”

there are a lot of things you could care less about, like the cold metal that stings against your back as he pushes you against the lockers, or the fact that anyone could walk in, any minute; you don’t care, don’t know. his lips are on yours and his hands are on your waist, it feels euphoric the way his lips move in synchrony with yours, fitting like puzzle pieces. heeseung tugs you closer by your waist, a faint gasp escaping your mouth that dissolves immediately into your breaths mingling together. it’s intoxicating and is making you go insane, the way he manages to sweep you off your feet with the smallest of actions and simplest of words— from the very first day. 

heeseung was right, and you as well, it’s all about timing. from the day you first looked at him in a seminar, to the day he switched to biotech— you plan on asking him why because so far, all your guesses seem implausible— down to the day he confessed, leading up to this moment with you pressing against the lockers and his lips against against yours. heeseung sighs softly, cupping your cheeks and tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and you could feel the heat of his breath against your lips when you pull away just when it was about to get better, avoiding his lips when he leans in to chase yours barely a millisecond later. your eyes shift down to his hand, one that has been injured during the game, and you proceed to hold it carefully, brushing your lips over the bruise lightly before adorning it with feathery kisses as his other hand travels down to your waist once again, pulling you closer. “you should go easy on yourself,”

you whisper the exact same words he had told you a day ago, traversing your eyes back towards him while your gazes have a conversation so foreign, as if it’s only for the silence to understand. and it’s quite literally just the two of you basking in silence as he rests his head against the crook of your neck, planting a few kisses here and there before pulling you even closer, as if you were going to disappear any second. “i think, i’m in love with you,” 

and timing be damned— because heeseung confesses to you once again, and then he’s kissing you once again, slowly, sweetly, in love, and timing doesn’t even matter because every second feels right with him. with the same air of delighted indifference he comes to know well in the gleam of your touch and the curl of your lips, you simply kiss him back as if to say, hate to admit, but i’m in love with you too. and timing really be damned because you hear loud rounds of cheers as you feel his shoulders stiffen. a slight disconnection between you and heeseung makes you wonder if he’s thinking about the results of the game, which is inevitable, but this is about you and him, and nothing else. you hear the notifications from his phone go off, hinting that the match is probably over, and you pull him into another kiss, another round of selfishness guised as an outlet for him to forget about the game, another round of messy make outs, tasting the freedom of ignorance. 

and then you don’t hear from heeseung again.  

V. OBJECT OF ALL DESIRES

days without heeseung feel like they’re forty-eight hours long.

you think it’s a disease or some sort of withdrawal syndrome. this isn’t your first time without him, in fact, you used to do just fine without him in your life until you let him in. at this point, it isn’t even about not being able to see him— heeseung has been absent for almost seven days. you even asked jay about him to see if he has been in contact with any of his teammates but much to your disappointment, he disappeared off the face of earth like he never existed. taehyun has constantly been reminding you to not fret too much, knowing that heeseung gets a little dramatic after losing matches. you can take his word, obviously, a friend from highschool would know heeseung better than a girl who started talking to him normally barely weeks ago, although you couldn’t help but worry about him as seconds passed like water dripping down the tap, disturbing the silence. 

you know how losses feel— like a part of you has been taken out and you’re left to bleed. it’s worse when it’s about something you’ve loved all your life. you’ve walked next to losses, hand in hand. when you know you’ve lost something while having it in the palms of your hands the whole time, the feeling eats you inside. you wonder if heeseung is feeling the same way you think he is, even if he didn’t show it a week ago when you had met him in the clubroom, the feeling starts to sink in when you’re alone amidst the ghosts of nobodies. even though he was smiling and acting like the little shit he is, you felt anger and regret in the way he kissed you. there was a sense of numbness dripping down his fingertips in the way they brushed against your cheeks, cupping your face. you could’ve been a sweet escape— it hurts to admit that the emotions weren’t possibly real, but you couldn’t blame him. 

losing a match, to put it in your words, meant failing in a test; and losing because of an injury, it’s like skipping a test you prepared for, because of fever. except tests can be rescheduled for students who missed— a luxury heeseung, as a basketball player, cannot enjoy. even you couldn’t believe your eyes when the students on the forum started talking about the lost match, all sorts of comments going around, though none targeted at heeseung, fortunately. yet, your first instinct was to dial his number— out of reach, the first thing you hear on the other side of the line, and all you’ve been hearing for days now. 

you had considered cutting ties with him, not literally, but as in stopping to chase him as if he’s the oxygen you inspire. you could’ve showed up at miyeon’s place with apologies, her favourite snacks and a brief explanation of why you did what you did, and everything that has happened as the consequences of your own actions. with weekends approaching, you could’ve planned a two-day trip with her and hanbin before the winter snow made it hard to commute— just anything to get your mind off heeseung, since apparently, you weren’t on his mind either. albeit, you end up doing nothing, no trips, no plans to see miyeon, it’s just you and your bruised heart with soju on the side. your mind is way too cluttered with thoughts about heeseung to focus on studying and at the same time, it’s way too empty to try doing anything else.  

so, you simply venture down the hallways, drowning in all kinds of thoughts, good and bad. you can use the time to study but concentration has been far out of your reach ever since the match, or ever since he went underground, to be more specific. the impromptu make out session was probably his last straw— it makes sense. you kissed someone who had been walked out of a match because of an injury instead of consoling them. you let your feelings get the best of you, making everything about yourself yet again. you won’t be surprised if heeseung decides to ghost you for the rest of his life after that; or maybe, that’s not possible since you see a familiar figure sitting in the outdoor basketball court, spinning the ball with it’s axis on the ground in a directionless manner. 

“heeseung?” you notice his back tense at the sound of you calling his name, head down low as if he’s responding with an exasperated sigh. “where the hell have you been? i’ve been trying to reach you— heck, even your friends haven’t heard a word from you in days,”

“not now, yn, leave me alone,” and an exasperated sigh is what it was. 

“look, i know—”

“just, what part of leaving me alone do you not understand?” you try to speak but heeseung cuts you off just as efficiently as he does other things, with annoyance heavily evident in his words. had it not been heeseung, you would’ve left already, for you have more important things to tend to, and you’re certainly not interested in matters you’re not supposed to be included in, if only it wasn’t heeseung, and if only you weren’t crazily worried for him. 

“oh, i understand it clearly, every part, actually, and i also understand that you’re upset and leaving you alone would certainly not be the best move considering the way you went MIA for a week,” and you understand his impulses about disappearing into thin air, wishing the ground eats him up or for the walls to cave in till he’s entombed in them, but a person as smart as him should know taking out helps better than thinking about wanting to vanish. “we can sit and have a talk if you stop being such an asshole about it. i’m down to listen to—”

“fine, what do you want to hear about?” he cuts you off in annoyances, the ball rolls down to a distance like your heart when you see the unfamiliar emotion in his eyes. “you were right. i went home and have been crying myself to sleep. i haven’t been eating well either. i skipped five out of nine mocks and barely passed the four i gave, let’s add that too. is that enough?” 

you don’t like the way he puts it, as if it’s supposed to make you feel better. maybe about the bet, maybe, since he’s supposed to rank above you in finals to get around dating you, and maybe watching him lose is supposed to offer you some sort of relief— seriously, what you’re feeling right now is far from that. guilt, anger, shame, you’re not unfamiliar with those emotions. they eat you inside and it’s not because you’ve met with defeat, it’s because of falling off all the expectations people had, giving them another reason to point fingers and laugh. you could be really over-reacting, but if you didn’t have your parents telling you it’s going to be fine every time you didn’t do well on tests, you don’t know where you would’ve been right now. and you think you can play a part of the same for heeseung, if not all. 

you sit next to him, nose scrunching at the sight of dust on the cement laid with cracks. that’s what you get with an outdoor court no longer in use. you can see little plantlets germinating from the soil, emerging through the cracks, the rusted ring catches your eye. heeseung huffs as you settle next to him, wondering exactly how long the court has been unused for, considering its lack of maintenance. “let’s date,” 

and your words are not what you were planning to say or what should be said in this situation, but they still manage to extract a response from him. “don’t play with me,” 

“i’m not, in fact, that is what i’ve been wanting to say to you for days. of course, this isn’t the best timing, but i don’t know what else to say,” you pause in what feels like embarrassment. too bad, his crush is not good at conversations. sometimes you end up nodding and blinking for five minutes straight before saying anything, after a person opens up to you with tears and blood. “and, i’m not going to tell you to stop acting like a child or whatever because the team lost such an important match and somewhere, you’re blaming yourself for it, which you shouldn’t, by the way. all i need to say is that you still have the next year to make up for what you’ve lost now,” 

second chances come with higher expectations from people along with words that end up making one feel worse about their situation. you’ve already heard a few students talk about how heeseung should’ve been more ‘careful’— as if it was his choice to get injured and lose the match. you know it wasn’t going to be easy, especially with his injury that probably requires him out of the court for weeks, but you hope that amidst whatever he’s feeling, between self-loath and regret, heeseung manages to find himself once again. 

“actually, i’m planning to drop out of the team next year and focus on studies. my parents were already against me playing basketball during postgrad, i’m finally starting to notice why,” basketball could’ve been his entire career if heeseung’s grandmother had not wished for him to go into the medical field. seeing the insides of a person makes him want to empty his bowel from the mouth so biotechnology was his next option. heeseung thought having two hands would give him the benefit of managing basketball and academics together, unlike how his parents had wished for, but his recent mock scores and lack of time devoted to studies is making him question his choices. “and what the hell were you on about dating, by the way?” 

you’re half immersed in your own thoughts until heeseung directs the question at you— brows furrowed, confusion shadowing his face— you realise it’s your turn to do the talking. “oh, you know, dating. i think we should start dating already, it’s quite inevitable after that day in the clubroom,” 

it is evitable, really, but you’re down bad— with all due respect. 

you haven’t been okay ever since you realised that you like heeseung, and you’ve been trying to act normal about it, attempting to not lose your cool-hard-to-get-girl composure— miyeon’s words, and they make you cringe— while the thought of him is eating your brain slowly and gradually, making you go insane. if you were to narrate from where you opened and closed the door at, it would be a slippery slope, you don’t know how someone ends up falling for the person they despise. the yn from a month or two ago would be knowing, you can see her shrugging and getting back to her books, saying see saw it coming. ( it’s miyeon’s fault for making you even think about having a mind blowing chemistry with heeseung ) the you from two semesters ago, when he first transferred, would hate you and call you a traitor, might even write whore on a mirror while looking at it because you fold at the sight of hot, smart and sporty men who are perfect at everything, even at ruining someone’s life, like he’s ruining yours; and the yn from highschool, you see her squealing on the floor because oh, what a fan of enemies to lovers she was— heeseung wouldn’t even have been in the current picture if your highschool crush slash rival liked you back. the current you, well, she’s a goner, and in denial that she’s a goner. too much pride does something to a person, especially when you’re an over-scorer and an academic weapon. you’ve lost all your abilities of letting your guard down even once, refusing to give up and accept defeat, no matter how tortuous it is on the inside. 

the current you is more like a victorian man looking at ankles for the very first time. 

“and the bet? what happened to it?” he chuckles, of course, anyone would, considering the way you’ve lost after placing the bet with utmost confidence slash overconfidence. see, it never ends well, anything, with overconfidence, it doesn’t end well, never have and never will. and you, you don’t learn, sitting with the very well known fact that if you were given the chance, you would place the bet with him again.  

“ah, i didn’t mean to do that, honestly. i was confused when you confessed, it was so sudden, i didn’t know how to respond. the bet was the best i could come up with,” miyeon was right, you could’ve used something along the lines of ‘i need some time,’ that day instead of pulling out a bet right out of your ass, and now you don’t know how to save face. at least the fact that heeseung confessed first makes you feel a little better about yourself. “c’mon, i know you love challenges. i was just trying to see if it gets you turned on or something,” 

and heeseung scoffs in disbelief, eyeing you at your choice of words. “yeah, i feel very turned on knowing my crush dragged me into a bet that i’ve been working so hard for and she wasn’t even serious about it,” 

“working hard? from what i saw, the only thing you worked hard for was basketball,” you raise your brows, a taunting intonation in your voice. a part of you regrets the choice of words, knowing that basketball is seemingly quite a sensitive topic to bring up at the moment. albeit, the slight fear evaporates off when he laughs and dismisses your words and nothings. 

he leans a little closer, hands touching yours. “you never know what i’m up to at home,” 

a pause; you look in his eyes and then at his lips, he mirrors your actions with a smirk on his face. you guess that there’s a second meaning to his words, not sure what, but the look in his eyes tells you something about it. “i think we should get back to when you were talking mental and i was talking you down,” 

and you could grab his face and kiss him with no one around, on the unmaintained basketball court for the grey and cloudy skies to see. you could run your hands through his hairs and tell him how crazy he makes you while planting kisses down his neck. you can kiss him till both of your lungs are begging for oxygen, and that's when you'd tell him how he makes you feel— breathless and drowning, a little insane every time you see him flirting with someone that's not you. you can kiss him till the sun goes down and evening takes over, it doesn't matter if you're outside for the world to see. you would've kissed him if heeseung hadn't leaned back, looking at the ball lying stray at a distance.

“by the way, i’d love to date you,” he smiles at the infinite horizon before looking at you, as if waiting for a response already known.

“yeah, i figured that,” you try to play it cool as if you’re all knowing. it’s partially true, he did confess to you first. “let’s make another bet: no kissing before finals, and the one who ends up giving in first has to buy dinner,” you come up with yet another bet, your voice hinting the enthusiasm for no apparent reason.  

heeseung squints at you, a little conflicted, quite unsure of your words. it sounds like a moment of deja vu, hopefully on a better note this time ‘round. “that’s not even valid, we made out not even a week ago,” 

“let bygones be bygones, hee,” he likes the sound of the little nickname you've given him, unlike bygones, the word you use to refer to your very first kiss with him as if it's an unfortunate memory. “it’s decided then, no kissing before finals and the loser has to buy dinner, and i won’t be satisfied with anything less than a five star meal,” 

you squint, index finger pointing at him, a challenging composure. another chuckle from him makes it’s way to you, lips curling into a faint smile. it takes you all the way back to the day you placed your first bet with him, with head empty and no logic, for the entirety of the basketball team to see, hear, and talk about it as if it’s supposed to be on the headlines of the national newspaper. your eyes spark up in anticipation, wondering if the two of you are down for another bet, one that doesn’t proceed towards failure, hopefully.

“the last time you did something like this, you ended up running back to me and asking me to date you,” he scoffs softly, side-eyeing you with a mocking gaze, quite ready to pull out the receipts if you ever deny his words. you hate how correct he is, all the time, actually, and you hate how you don’t have words to argue back.

lee heeseung, a nobody to you till he switched to your department, just some student who was there to pass time until he started ranking above you on tests and flipped your whole world upside down. you tried to not think about him and failed every time— still beats you why. you’ve never let distractions get the best of you, but heeseung, perhaps he’s more than just a distraction, or maybe he isn’t a distraction at all. he’s like a plant in your garden that you could care less about— should care less about, it’s growing without harming your plants, but it’s creeping against a wall with pretty flowers for show, and before you know it, it’s demanding for all your attention that you offer without second thoughts, unwillingly at first. 

he’s the bane of your existence and object of all your desires, to put it simply and make it sound cliché. you’ve had your moments trying to run away from him, get him out of your head, annoy him to the point he’d prefer flying to the other side of the globe, or that could be you too, anywhere, far from him. but life, for the thousandth time, is unpredictable. when was the last time something worked out exactly how you had planned— can’t remember, obviously, just like the way you don’t remember when heeseung started occupying a corner of your brain, popping in and out at random times and disrupting your thought process. the more you tried to ignore him, the further he housed in your head, the deeper in your heart, closer, within your reach, as if for you to grab his hands and let him enter your side of the world. 

and so, you kiss him again, pulling him towards you with the collars of his jacket. you feel him smile, a triumphant smile, as expected from someone who is used to winning. you don't think you can say you've lost, not at the way he cups your cheeks and tilts his head to deepen the kiss just moments before you pull away. “i always run back to you, don’t i?” 

and you're a child infatuated with their favourite sport, a painter falling in love with strokes, a pianist dancing to the melody of rachmaninoff, a student addicted to getting a perfect score, a player addicted to winning. you trace back to things you like, you always run back to heeseung,

and you always would. 

TEN MINUTES LATER :

heeseung plants a soft peck on your lips. “dinner’s on you,” 

“fuck!” 

[hana-no-seiiki]

I saw that you need ideas, so how about a yandere from the Neons? I mean, I would like to see more content from them since they represent the elements in Honkai star rail, by the way, sorry if you don't understand, my English is bad... I leave you a little drawing of a masculine makima (it has nothing to do with it, but as a gift ) xd Also, I don't know if I'm the only one, but Nanook makes me handsome >///<

(Sorry, I had already finished it but the work was stained hahaha and I did it again)

Yus the Aeons are so cool looking!! You really feel like they’re actual gods of the universe, especially since you don’t see them first hand (at least for now). Also Masculine Makima reminds me of Karma Akabane lol. I’ll draw it in my style, and add it here as an extra for you ♥️

Hb we mash those two topics up together actually?

warnings: mild yandere themes. mild spoilers for csm. major canon divergence. reader takes the shape of a masc/amab character but it isnt their original form.

status: unedited. updated art.

YANDERE! AEONS + VARIOUS! HSR x AEON OF FEAR/CONTROL! READER

You have no memory of your conception, only that you started existing for what felt like an eternity.

You represented fear and despair, but unlike IX whose mere presence drove humanity into insanity, or the rest of your fellow aeon’s godlike status amongst the world,

you walked around as a normal, ordinary human being.

As normal as an Aeon can get anyways.

In your current lifetime, you took the shape of Himeko’s “brother”, planting fake memories into her mind and being the one that urged her to travel the stars. While she was the navigator, you took the role of conductor before creating Pompom to supplant you.

Welt always knew you weren’t just a regular person. Your eyes always felt distant, so far off that not even a century’s worth of trail blazing would allow him to come close. As such he mostly kept cordial relations with you.

The youngsters of the bunch on the other hand, never seemed to realize the sheer magnanimity of the danger you held and always hung around you.

Particularly that Caelus. The newest addition to the crew. The stellaron within him always pulsed in some sort of giddiness and excitement whenever you were around. The boy couldn’t help but be a nervous wreck when he was around you. Stuttering and stumbling was a common occurrence whenever you so decide as to just breathe at his direction.

You knew what those Stellarons are, their nature, their purpose, the way they were created. In fact if you wanted to, you could have taken the Astral Express straight to the source of it all, your partner: Nanook.

However that would have ruined the fun of it all. So you chose to let them have their little adventures before the final confrontation.

Also because you signed a contract to not meddle with Nanook’s business in exchange for your freedom. But that was another story to tell.

“Why . . . why do you continue this farce? This utterly worthless play?”

IX’s voice rang within your ears and no one else’s. You were the only being it ever gave the time of day to. You imagine it to be the reason why insanity slowly built itself within the recesses of your head.

“You may see the entire universe as worthless . . . but I,” You breath hitched. You looked around your room. Time was frozen. Everything turned grey. You weren’t afraid of the others in the express hearing you, just that the following words you were about to spout out felt like bile on your mouth. “I suppose I’m still a bit like them in a way. I wish to see the world without its evils.”

“And destroying them. That is my first step.” You summon an orb of golden light. Stellarons. The creation of the very thing that made you loath all evil. Including yourself. You will eradicate these and then Nanook yourself. One day.

“Is that why you send those hunters out?”

“Perhaps.” The orb within your hands get covered in chains, quickly getting crushed within the metal like substance as it soon disappeared.

“Do as you wish. Just do not bother me like that imbecile.”

“I promise. I will be much worse than Yaoshi.”

IX remained silent for several seconds, no doubt regretting its decision of associating with you before adding, “. . . And do not die.”

“That one I cannot guarantee.”

Your room’s color returns, time continues. Signaling the end of two Aeons’ encounter.

Nanook, the Aeon that threatened to eradicate all that you love. All so they could have your soul once more. Within your gilded cage. Within your original body that lied dormant.

The Destruction will no longer be a path. That is a guarantee you write upon the stars when your Trail Blazing lifetime eventually comes to a close.

The stage is set, your actors ready.

All you needed was the cue.

Your gloved hand arose, pointing towards the express’s windows in the shape of a gun.

“Bang.”

[ellieslaces]

KISSING LESSONS.

featuring: hazel callahan x fem!cheerleader!reader

synopsis: Hazel’s worst decision was to join her friend’s fight club, until she met you. or, really got to know you, she knew you, you just didn’t know her. she never thought a cheerleader, much less one of the prettiest girls in the school, would ever pay attention to her. until you did.

content warnings: harsh language; mentions of violence; internalized homophobia; light smut; kissing (wlw); so much loser lesbianism; some homophobic slang (faggot, munch)

notes: mentions of violence (duh, it’s lesbian fight club); mentions of reader being bisexual (more toward women tho); homophobic slang (faggot, munch, etc) ; there is no real smut in this as i do not write explicit content containing minors.

word count: 3.13k

chloe talks: watched bottoms and then hyperfixated on Hazel for two weeks before I decided to write this. God, I need her so bad. Chloe has a type doesn’t she? (soft mascs make me hhnngg). hazels so fucking cute I need her to kiss me ok bye. <3 (also, I hate the way this turned out, I’m so sorry it’s terrible)

now playing: kissing lessons ; lucy dacus

Fight Club — a popular 1990’s film, that’s all those two words had ever meant to you. You’d never even seen the film, you just knew it was fucking gay, despite it not actually being about the hot topic of homosexuality amongst young men (or women, in your case). But, I digress.

It had been your friends, Isabel and Brittany, who managed to get your ass to attend your school’s resident Fight Club. A women’s Fight Club. How fucking gay. Oh well, it would teach you how to defend yourself properly. Which, in this day and age — or any day and age of we’re honest — is horribly necessary.

It shouldn’t be, but knowing how to beat the shit out of a grown man is something you should know how to do. Self defense isn’t a topic to be taken lightly, and it seemed PJ and Josie knew this.

PJ and Josie — or faggot #1 and faggot #2 as the school knew more endearingly — where the school’s resident ‘ugly and untalented gays’, as Jeff and his little crew liked to say. Really, you suspected they were all just pissed because the girls knew their way around a pussy better than any of them did. They wouldn’t know the clit if it slapped them in the face.

It had been about two weeks into the girls’ club that Isabel and Britany attended for the first time. They showed up to cheer practice the following day with busted lips and bruised faces. At first, you hadn’t known what happened. Maybe Jeff’s dramatics had finally gotten the better of him. But no, they had willingly gotten beaten up for the sake of learning how to better throw a punch.

Finally, after hours upon hours of begging and pleading, Britany and Isabel got you to attend a meeting. You had walked in, nerves wrecking your body as you trailed unsurely behind the two girls you considered your best friends. You trusted them, they wouldn’t let something bad happen.

You had planned to spend your first meeting simply observing, but PJ tried so hard to convince you to join in. She almost even pushed you into the fucking ring. When you finally conceded, you were face to face with Hazel Callahan.

You knew of her, but you didn’t know her. You’d passed her a few times in the hall, you had a science class with her. Jeff said she was another one of those ‘loud mouth munches’ — to which you nearly punched him square in the nose had he not been Isabel’s boyfriend and a complete moron.

Hazel seemed nice, she’d smiled in your direction when you walked into the gym. It was a nice gesture, no matter the awkward air it held. You felt sort of bad for putting her in the situation she was in, even though it was PJ’s fault that she now had to fight you.

You stood awkwardly, fists raised in a defensive position, eyes on Hazel as she stood in front of you. She smiled again, still awkward as it had been when you walked in. You were set on not getting the shit beat out of you.

As soon as PJ’s whistle sounded, you barely gave Hazel a chance to move. She’d shifted on her feet, sending a spark of fear through you, causing you to send a punch straight to her face. You’d gasped, watching her face scrunch up as her own hands flew up to cup her nose.

“Oh my God, I’m so fucking sorry.” You cried, stepping forward, ignoring the claps and cheers falling obnoxiously from PJ’s lips.

Hazel let out a choked laugh, brows raised as she held her nose. “No uh, nice hit. Fuck, that was a good one.” She blinked rapidly, momentarily lowering her hands.

You let out a small squeak as you saw that her nose was indeed bleeding. “Shit, your nose.” You stepped forward again, trying to find something to stop the bleeding. But of course, there wasn’t anything you had on you.

“Alright, Hazel’s fine. Let’s move on.” PJ droned, giving her whistle another sharp blow — she really abused her whistle privileges, you thought as you ushered Hazel toward the bleachers.

Hazel gave a thumbs up — her hand covered in blood that dripped from her nose — as she walked toward the bleachers. No one seemed to notice other than you as you walked with her. You felt so bad, so terrible because now this girl was bleeding because of you.

“I’m sorry,” you weakly apologized again, sitting in front of her on the bleachers, looking frantically around for something to give her to stop the bleeding.

“It’s okay, I’m okay.” Hazel shook her head, trying to convince you she was fine. Even though you both knew she wasn’t.

“Uh fuck, there isn’t anything — don’t do that.” You’d cut yourself off quick, voice deadpanned.

Hazel paused, her head half leaning backward as she looked over in your direction. Her ringed fingers pinched the bridge of her nose — it seemed she’d had the idea to lean her head back to stop the bleeding.

“Lean your head forward, not backward. If you go backwards, the blood could go into your lungs. Go forward and let it drip out.” You instructed, pulling her hand down gently by her wrist, moving to take off your cardigan so she could hold it below her face to catch the blood as it dripped.

“How do you know that?” Hazel questioned, brows pulled in a frown as she leaned her face forward so the blood could freely drip from her nose onto the bundle of fabric in her hands.

“I had to get a certificate to be able to babysit.” You shrugged, moving the strands of hair from her face without thinking about it. When you’d realized what you’d done, you froze, dropping your hand in embarrassment, muttering a sad ‘sorry’ again.

Hazel shook her head, not responding verbally to your millionth apology. Your cheeks warmed, suddenly so embarrassed for an entirely different reason. Not just for punching Hazel square in the nose, but you’d managed to embarrass yourself by noticing just how pretty she was.

Hazel sat on the bottom row of the bleachers in the gym, watching the rest of the group fight each other in turns, different girls winning. Some had busted lips, others a myriad of bruises spattered across their faces.

You took the time to notice just how pretty Hazel was — a sharp jawline that would make Jeff jealous, brunette hair that mussed in just the right way and looked so goddamn soft, her nose that was long and straight save for the small bump in the bridge that made your throat constrict. God, she really was a sight. How hadn’t you noticed sooner?

Maybe it was the fact that Hazel wasn’t in your social circle. You were a cheerleader, friends with Isabel and Britany, the focus of stares. Hazel was a loser — in the kindest and most endearing way — someone who wasn’t popular. Someone who had hardly any friends. And despite the fact that today was maybe the third time in your entire life you’d ever spoken to her, you wanted to be one of her friends.

A quick, sharp quip of PJ’s whistle brought you back to the present, her loud voice announcing the day’s session was over. You blinked, looking away from Hazel. Who somehow didn’t seem to notice you’d just spent the past five or so minutes just studying her face.

She turned to you, eyes apologetic as she held out your crumpled cardigan in her hands. “It’s really bloody, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. You can keep it,” you shook your head, holding out your hand. It was only after the words came out of your mouth that realized how stupid that sounded. “I mean, it’s just, you don’t have to give it back. I don’t like it that much anyways. And it’ll probably stain. That sounds bad, I’m sorry.”

Hazel smiled a little at your words that seemed to stumble out of your mouth. You regretted every single one of them. You moved to take the cardigan anyway, acting as if you hadn’t told her to just keep it. But she pulled it back.

“I’ll wash it.” She said simply, standing. There were specks and smears of dried blood on and below her nose. You felt another pang of guilt then, seeing that your punch would definitely cause a bruise across her nose.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” You shook your head, standing as well. Isabel and Britany stood a few feet away, clearly waiting for you to come over. You didn’t want to though, for some reason.

“It’s fine. I’ll see you at the next meeting right?” Hazel asked, not relenting and continuing to hold the cardigan in her hands as she started to back away.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.” You shrugged, somewhat embarrassed. You didn’t really want to come back. Not since you’d punched Hazel and made her bleed on your first meeting. But, maybe this would be a good incentive to come back. To see her.

“Cool,” Hazel grinned, nodding in your direction before she walked toward where PJ and Josie stood. You remained sentient for a moment, hands folded in front of your lap as you watched Hazel.

“Jesus, you hit hard.” Isabel’s voice rang in your ears as she and Britany approached, the latter’s eyes wide as she looked at your hand.

“Might want to wash your hands,” the girl motioned to your dominant hand — the knuckles were spotted in blood from where you’d punched Hazel and blood had immediately started to pour from her nose.

Your eyes latched onto the specks of blood on your knuckles, brows creased as you stared. Bright, rusty red adorned the skin of your knuckles, bits of Hazel Callahan’s DNA there. It was strange, but it made you smile.

The attendance of the fight club had steadily grown — girls coming to the gym after school to brush up on their combat skills. All in preparation for the upcoming football game against Huntington. The fear ever since one girl had gotten attacked by one of the boys and word had gotten around about it.

So, attendance had spiked, the ‘female solidarity’ — as PJ liked to call it — had risen in the school, even the girls were kinder and nicer to one another. And your mind was muddled with constant pictures and thoughts of Hazel Callahan.

It was confusing — you’d never felt such a strong connection to someone you hardly knew. Hazel was as much a mystery to you as the rest of the ‘ugly, untalented gays’. Meaning she was a huge fucking mystery. Sure, you were vaguely aware that her parents had divorced, and that the girl mostly kept in the background in school. But other than that, Hazel was purely mysterious to you. And you found yourself wanting to know more.

To remedy thhs, you continued to attend fight club, naturally. Yes, you shared a class or two with the girl, but nowhere else did you have the chance to actually interact with her. To converse with her, hear her voice, see her smile. God, what a loser you were.

It wasn’t until two weeks later that you’d come to realize how disgustingly and embarrassingly obvious your infatuation with Hazel was. And what made it worse — it was PJ who brought it to your attention.

“Yo!” PJ’s obnoxious voice rang through the gym as you stood in the circle with the rest of the girls, watching Silvia and Brittany spar, your name on the girl’s lips as she spoke. “Quick eye-fucking Hazel and pay attention! Huntington is like, two weeks away.”

Your cheeks flamed a bright red as you sunk into yourself, shoulders curling in. God, you wanted a chance at PJ in that ring to strangle the fuck out of her for that. Your eyes quickly cut over to where Hazel stood — her own cheeks dusted with light pink as she avoided your gaze.

Great, now she probably wouldn’t talk to you at all. Fuck PJ and her obnoxious, loud mouth. Your embarrassment was not short lived as the fight club went on. You couldn’t look in Hazel’s direction at all as you waited out the meeting until its end so you could retreat with your tail between your legs and never show your face in this gym again.

It was as you shouldered your backpack, heart still racing, stomach still uneasy with embarrassment that you heard someone clear their throat behind you. You turned, eyes going wide as you were face to face with Hazel. Your eyes trailed down to a bundle of fabric in her hands.

“Sorry it took so long, but uh, I got the blood out.” She held out what turned out to be your cardigan. The cardigan that you’d leant her two weeks ago when you’d punched her too hard.

“Um, you didn’t have to do that.” You said, offering a sheepish smile as she held out the cardigan. You gingerly took it, eyes locked on Hazel’s face. As you grabbed it, you swore you could feel a spark when your fingers brushed against hers. A fucking spark — cliche but true.

It was silent between you two for a moment before Hazel shook her head, jutting her thumb over her shoulder. “Sorry about PJ. Things kind of come out of her mouth without her brain processing first.”

Yikes, Hazel meant the ‘eye-fucking’ comment. You offered a small, horribly obvious chuckle. “Yeah, I kinda noticed.”

There was another long stretch of silence between you and Hazel, your lips pulled to the side as you held the folded — she’d fucking folded it, Jesus she was adorable — cardigan in your hands. It was strange, but not too uncomfortable. Like that stupid thing from Pulp Fiction, the right person is someone that silence isn’t awkward with.

“I wasn’t eye-fucking you.” You blurted. Great, you made it awkward again. A small groan fell from your lips, head dropping as you closed your eyes with a frown. You shook your head. “Sorry, I dunno what’s wrong with me today.”

“PJ’s just jealous.” Hazel offered with a small laugh. How could one solidarity laugh sound so beautiful?

“Of what?” You asked gingerly, looking up to meet her eyes. For some reason, you were weary of her answer.

“That you aren’t giving her attention. Besides, I don’t think she’d know what to do with your attention anyway, you’re so pretty.” She said it not as an insult to PJ — or at least it didn’t sound like it — but more as an obvious fact. And you were stunned because Hazel had just called you pretty.

You were at a loss. A true loss. How the hell were you supposed to respond to that? So, like an idiot, you just stared at her blankly, eyes confused and wide.

Her own eyes went wide, brows furrowed as a worried look crossed her features. “Shit, was that too much? Too much. Fuck.” Her voice lowered as she cursed, brows knit together.

“No! Not too much, I just… I just didn’t think you thought I was pretty too.” You shrugged, quick to correct her. Quick to reassure that you were flattered and not weirded out.

“I mean yeah, of course I do.” Hazel nodded, her voice soft, words intentional like her statement was an obvious fact.

A smile spread across your face, cheeks warm again. You weren’t sure why, but you suddenly felt so much about Hazel. You’d never had a crush on a girl before. It was new and strange, but you definitely thought this was a crush.

“Thanks.” You whispered, eyes darting down to the cardigan in your hands for a moment before going back to looking up at Hazel. “For the compliment, and bringing back my cardigan. You didn’t have to wash it.”

“It’s fine, I wanted to. It’s a nice cardigan.” Hazel shrugged. It seemed she was at a loss for what to say around you too.

The gym was near empty by now — Josie and PJ chattering away in the far corner, and Isabel and Brittany waiting for you (but not paying attention to anyone but themselves) by the gym doors a few feet away.

So, due to the empty state of the gym and the disgustingly thick tension between you and Hazel, you stepped forward, pressing a quick and gentle kiss to her cheek.

This took the girl by surprise. Her eyes went wide as your lips pressed to her soft cheek. You leaned back, her brows creased as she watched you.

“Thanks,” you said again, with a shrug. Letting her know that was your way of thanking her. Small, but meaningful to you.

It was a long moment that you stood there, Hazel staring at you with wide eyes. For a couple of long seconds, you thought you’d fucked up. Misread the situation, mistook the tension for something else. But, you were proven wrong as she leaned forward, closing the distance between you by pressing her mouth to yours.

“You’re welcome.” She murmured as she leaned back, your eyes wide now from processing that Hazel had just kissed. That you’d just had your first girl-kiss. Fucking scary, but nice. You liked it. Liked her.

“I’ve never done that.” You whispered, blinking rapidly to ground yourself. “With, with a girl, I mean.” You corrected yourself almost instantly.

You’d kissed a guy or two before. Sadly, your first ever kiss was Tim at the ninth grade freshman dance. He was a bad kisser and you hated it. But, you liked how Hazel kissed. Despite it being a quick peck, it was full of intention and it was gentle too.

Hazel shrugged, a small half smile forming on her lips. “Maybe I can give you lessons.”

You grinned, laughing a little as you nodded, backing away toward the gym doors, needing to escape before you said anything else stupid. “Yeah, that’d be nice. I’ll send you my address.”

“Okay,” Hazel nodded, grinning widely to herself as you mentioned her coming over.

You almost skipped as you walked out of the gym, trailing behind Isabel and Brittany as the girls chittered away, the prospect that Hazel would be giving you fucking kissing lessons. You held the bundle of fabric close to your chest as you walked to your car. And it was then you noticed it smelled like Hazel. The detergent, obviously. But, there was something else that was just Hazel. And you never wanted it to go away. Maybe, you could wear it while she gave you kissing lessons that night.

2023 ©️ellieslaces please do not repost, rewrite, translate, or submit my work to AI or any other platform. please support your creators by reblogging, liking, and following!

how you can support Palestine! 🇵🇸

[fushic0re]

─ 𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒

𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗩𝗘 𝗥𝗢𝗚𝗘𝗥𝗦 𝗫 𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗔𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — in which you and steve have a secret pornhub channel. 

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — 18+ ONLY; MINORS DNI. pornography. all the smut; unprotected sex, size kink, cum kink, dirty talk, praise kink, little bit of degradation, exhibitionism.

꒰ ͜͡➸ 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆! 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒❜ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 & 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ♡

YOU WERE PRACTICALLY BUZZING with excitement and nervousness as you sat patiently on your and Steve’s shared bed. 

Clad in only his crisp button up shirt, you watched him expertly arrange your film setup. The two of you had been planning this for months. It all started off as a fantasy. A kink that the two of you shared but knew you could not act on due to the circumstances of your jobs as Avengers. You had a standard to uphold and enemies lurking in every corner looking for the smallest speck of dirt on you to use as leverage. A sex tape wouldn’t exactly help your cause. 

But one night, you and Steve revisited the topic and came up with a game plan. 

Steve took one of Tony’s cameras. The billionaire techy wouldn’t notice one of his many possessions missing. Plus, its hard drive was impenetrable. There was no possible way anyone was going to get into it besides you two. Steve also managed to get a custom built Stark computer. Tony was thrilled his longtime friend was finally integrating himself into modern technology outside of work. When Steve asked him for brand recommendations, the Stark heir scoffed and without another word, began building the next piece of your plan. Just like everything Stark owned and made, your computer was the best of the best in terms of security. The Avengers’ wi-fi wasn’t exactly hackable either.

Once the logistics were worked out, you and Steve came up with some rules. You were only allowed to film at your residence on the Avengers Compound. This way there would be nothing identifiable in the background that could easily link people to your brownstone in Brooklyn. Obviously, your faces would not be showing. After pulling an all-nighter, the two of you managed to program Tony’s camera so that it automatically cropped your faces out of frame. Lastly – another obvious given – you would only go by aliases. 

Nomad and Lilac.

They were simple and inconspicuous. Lilacs were your favorite flower. After the accords, Steve was a fugitive living the life of a nomad.  

Once the camera was rolling, Steve turned to you with a ravenous expression. 

“You ready, Lilac?” 

You watched yourself getting bent in half and split open by Steve’s cock on the computer screen. The lewd sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and the squelch of your cunt blasted from the speakers. You sat perched on Steve’s lap, the two of you scrolling through the thousands of comments left on the first video posted on your channel. Thousands. 

“Is this what Peter refers to as ‘breaking the internet?” Steve breathed, eyes wide with shock. “About a thousand people in less than 10 hours watched us fuck.” 

“For once in my life, I have absolutely nothing to say.” You stuttered, shaking your head in disbelief. 

The comment section was flooded with praise. 

user1: look at that pretty little cunt

user2: she takes it like a champ

user3: that man is built like a god AND fucks like one too

user4: he’s basically breaking her and half and she’s just like 🥺 that’s love

user5: BRO IS SHE STILL ALIVE AFTER ALL THAT JFC

user6: he has the prettiest dick i’ve ever seen no homo

user7: kinda want them to top me??????

user8: i had to replay this video like 20 times bc i couldn’t decide who to look at that’s bi culture

user9: if my wife cheated on me with him i’d be jealous…of her

user10: this channel is going to be my new addiction i can feel it

It was amusing truly. Everyone was witnessing goody two shoes Steve Rogers, the golden boy, do things to one of the most loved Avengers in the world that would make the devil himself sweat bullets and didn’t even know it. You, always sitting pretty and prim without a single hair out of place, were splayed out and covered in spit and cum. A sight for the world to see, but only for the man you loved to know firsthand. 

Steve’s embrace tightened as the video continued to play. His lips trailed your neck, covering every inch of exposed skin in kisses and love bites. He suckled the spot directly below your ear, prompting your eyes to slowly shut and your body to go lax against his. He slithered one hand up your body, gripping your face firmly and slipping his thumb in between your parted lips. Watching yourselves on screen was doing a number on him. He knew it would, hence why he went through with the channel with you, but actually seeing the fruit of his deepest fantasies was something else entirely.

“You like when strangers watch me fuck you?” Steve purred in your ear. 

You nodded with a low whine, wrapping your hand around his wrist. Just like that, he had your entire body under his spell. Your back arched slightly, your bottom now flush against his groin. A growl so deep you felt the vibrations from his chest against your back rumbled from your lover. 

“I would have never imagined myself doing something like this,” Steve confessed. “You make me fuckin’ crazy, sweetheart.”

No one would know. It was your dirty little secret. 

AS TIME PASSED, you and Steve’s channel unexpectedly blew up. Lilac and The Nomad became an adult channel that seemingly everyone was talking about. Twitter and Reddit pages dedicated to reposting your content were being made left and right. Your messages were blowing – no pun intended – up with requests from viewers, some even asking for private shows in exchange for unreasonable sums of money. Every now and then, a couple of overzealous users would ask for in-person meet ups. Obviously, you and Steve paid the latter no mind. It was the praise and the thrill of sneaking around that the two of you chased after. It became addicting. The two of you simply could not stop.

That’s how you found yourself in your current circumstance.

Since recovering post-blip, Tony had insisted upon family nights at least once a week. Said night consisted of having dinner together and following it up with a movie marathon. They were nights of wholesomeness, which is why the feeling of Steve’s rough hands creeping past the band of your cotton shorts felt deliciously lude. With your back against his chest, his arms wound around your front, a blanket covering the both of you, and the rest of the Avengers’ attention focused on the screen, Steve could do whatever he wanted with you and no one would notice. You gripped his forearm tightly as a thick finger dipped into your wetness before sliding over your clit. He circled it in slowly, agonizingly. Your composure began to crumble crack by crack. Each time Scott turned to everyone to deliver some stupid commentary or Wanda asked for you to pass a snack to her, a piece of your sanity chipped away. By the time your baby hairs were stuck to your forehead with sweat and your limbs felt nonexistent, Steve’s hand retreated.

He brought his plump lips to your ear discreetly.

“Get the camera, go to the guest bathroom, and wait for me.”

Like a woman possessed, you got up without hesitating and began to make your way out of the family living room.

“Where do you think you’re going, Mrs. America? Sit down,” Tony snarked.

“Period. Not feeling good.” You excused, keeping the lie short and simple so no one would ask questions.

Tony’s nose wrinkled slightly before he nodded, dismissing you with a wave of a hand. From behind you, Pepper scolded him.

“You’re going to have to get better at that. You have a daughter.”

He sighed deeply.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Once you were out of earshot, you sprinted up to your and Steve’s room to retrieve the goods, then sprinted right back down to the guest bathroom. It didn’t take long for the love of your life to meet you at your rendezvous, his eyes wide and pupils dilated with anticipation. He made quick work of locking the door behind him before scooping you up into his arms and placing you on the granite counter. You giggled quietly as he practically tore off your shorts and panties, pushing his sweatpants down just enough to slide his cock out before taking the camera from you.

“They’re gonna love this,” Steve murmured, turning the device on and hitting record.

He angled the lens towards the treasure that laid in between your legs, gripping his member with one hand and slapping your cunt with it. Its sheer weight against your already stimulated pearl made you yelp. Steve shushed you quicky, letting go of his cock and letting his hips do the work. He continued to glide in between your wet folds, his now free hand sliding up your torso to push the hem of your oversized sweatshirt up. Once your bare breast were revealed to him, it didn’t take long until he was greedily massaging them in large palm. He allowed the camera to linger for a moment before returning it to its initial angle.

“Look at that,” He remarked lowly. “Already soaked me and I haven’t even been inside of you yet.”

Sure enough, his cock was glistening with your nectar. Your mouth watered, excited to see just how gorgeous it looked on camera.

“Think you can be quiet for me, pretty girl?”

You nodded eagerly, wiggling your hips needily. Steve let you play, chuckling darkly when his head caught your entrance, and he began to push into you. All of the oxygen was knocked out of you. No matter how many times you and Steve had sex, nothing could get you used to the first intrusion of his incredibly thick cock. Your inner thighs trembled as he bottomed inside of you, teeth sinking into your pillowy bottom lip as you suppressed a sharp gasp. Slowly, he withdrew his hips before roughly slamming back into you with a long, wanton moan.

“Fuck. You’re such a good girl letting me have you like this,” Steve praised, low grunts and growls reverberating from him as he increased his pace.

Everything was too much – from the pleasure your man was making you feel, the sounds he was making, how gorgeous he looked in the throes of passion, and the need to keep quiet. You felt like a ticking timebomb that could explode at any second.

And yet, things had just gotten started.

The two of you fucked like depraved animals, pouring every ounce of energy into your mutual pleasure. You wanted to badly to reach up and press your lips against his, but for the life of you could not get your brain to work, for your body was a slave for lust. Steve, however, could sense just what you needed. He placed the camera down, making sure it had a perfect shot of you both, before gathering you in his arms. He pressed his forehead against yours before devouring you’re his with his. He continued to fuck you without faltering, swallowing your whimpers and moans like a man starved.

“I fucking love you,” He huffed quietly just for you to hear, punctuating his words with vigorous thrusts. “I. Love. You. So. Much.”

“I love you,” You hummed, too cock drunk and fucked out. “’M gonna cum…so fucking hard.”

“Do it. While everyone out there worries about you because they think you don’t feel good when in reality, you’re too much of a cock slut and just couldn’t wait to get fucked. Do it.” Steve commanded, his own words shaky as he neared his release.

That was enough to push you over the edge. Unable to stop yourselves, you came with a vociferous sob, the tightening of your channel around his cock sending Steve over with an equally enthusiastic exultation. Rope after rope of cum coated your walls until eventually, it began to ooze out of you before Steve could even pull out. When he did, he had to hold himself back from ravishing you once more. The sight of your pussy, swollen from use, painted in his copious seed was one for sore eyes. He sure to get a generous amount of footage of the money shot, already anticipating the audience’s reactions before switching the camera off. You both recovered slumped in each other’s arms, the hulking blond’s face nuzzled sweetly against your bosom until you both deemed it appropriate to leave.

“I can’t go back out there.” You groaned, your head filling with every embarrassing scenario possible.

Steve chortled endearingly, carefully pulling your panties back up and the hem of your sweatshirt back down and over your bum. Putting your shorts back on was not even in question, you were far too sensitive for that.

“I got you, sugar,” He cooed, wrapping one arm under your bottom and scooping you into his embrace once more. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, dozing off as he walked the two of you to your room.

“Go ahead and upload. I’ll tell them that you don’t feel good and needed a nap, then I’ll be right up.” Steve promised as he gently laid you down on your shared bed.

You made yourself comfortable before reaching for Steve’s computer and doing your thing. You were unable to cease your lips from turning up into a devious smile as your nimble fingers danced across the keyboard.

“got fucked in the bathroom in the middle of family movie night”

After double checking everything, you hit upload and watched the views rise. The sensation Steve’s spent leaking out of your used hole as you read the comments your new home movie was already accruing caused heat to rise to your face. It was still a shock that you and America’s gold boy were living a double life as amateur pornstars.

user1: I thought the load nomad had in their first video was just a one off. Clearly this dude can nut like a fucking champ.

user2: this is so fucking hot especially when they were whispering to each other

user3: KJDHS that’s SO much cum???is that a condition or something???

user4: okay but that’s a nice ass bathroom are they making money off of these videos?

user5: idk if i wanna be nomad or lilac 😵‍💫

user6: i’m this 👌🏼 close to dedicating a fanpage to them

user7: not to be deep on fucking PORNHUB of all places but this is some real shit. you can feel the passion, love, and care they have for each other. this is the type of porn we should all be watching, none of that overproduced fake shit.

user7: this mf is built like captain america what the fuck do you eat nomad

The last comment made you laugh heartily, but also arose some concern. Was someone catching on? Worry filled the absence of lust. All it would take for the entirety of your lives to fall apart was for one person to put the pieces together. As much as you and Steve loved the rush, both of you were playing a dangerous game with your respective livelihoods.

But then you remembered Steve.

Steve and all he had sacrificed for the betterment of the world. Steve, the man who hadn’t even lived his life for himself and never once complained about it. Steve, who was finally being selfish and acting on his own desires rather than everyone else’s. Lilac and The Nomad was more than just an adult content channel. It was a symbol of the love of your life’s emancipation from social standards. The first step of him doing whatever the fuck he wanted, not what everyone else wanted. He deserved it. The two of you had taken every precaution to protect yourselves. No one would know. It was just a stupid joke.

“CHEERS!” EVERYONE CHIMED AS they clinked their glasses together.

“Congratulations, Cap!”

Sam beamed widely upon being called his new moniker for the first time. He placed an amicable arm around his predecessor.

“Thanks guys, and thank you for this opportunity, man.” He lauded.

“Literally, out with the old and in with the new.” Natasha sniggered, earning an eye roll from Steve.

“I can still fire you, Romanoff,” He countered.

The ember haired woman simply flipped him off before taking another swig of Russian vodka.

“On a real note, what are you going to do now?” Bruce inquired.

Steve shrugged, placing his beer bottle down casually.

“I don’t know. The only thing I could really think of was getting a place in Brooklyn, which we just did. I don’t have a plan for my next move and for once it feels…good.”

“Well,” Thor grunted. “You can start by finally getting drunk off of Asgardian liquor.”

Thor reached for a decanter behind him and the former captain a generous glass of the amber liquid.

“There you go! That’s my man! Drink up, spangles!” Tony encouraged.

“I’m not getting drunk,” Steve argued, causing everyone to boo loudly. “But…I’ll have this.”

He turned to you, his glass raised in his hand. His azure orbs were capacious, glimmering with hope. He wore a refreshed expression that you had never seen on him before as he smiled dazzlingly at you. It melted your heart to finally see him like this.

“To our new beginning.”

“Cheers.”

Everyone around you gagged playfully. You hushed them with a threatening hiss.

“I have so much dirt on you guys, I wouldn’t make a single sound if I were you.”

“…. Did that do something to you too?” Bucky teased.

“Hey, shut your fuckin’ mouth, punk!”

“OH! He curses now!”

The night persisted wonderfully. Sam was celebrated in the way he deserved to be. Sure, there was still a lot of work left to do in the world, but all of you were on a new life journey. And sure, new territory was scary, but it was also invigorating. To be able to rejoice together with the people you loved most was even more invigorating.

“Women do not watch porn!” Clint yelled. “That sounds fake!”

“Women probably watch more porn than men,” Natasha argued. “Better porn too. Not whatever you call those 5 minutes of pump and grunt.”

    “I only watch women’s porn.” Laura added, her husband’s expression twisting into one of perplexion.

“You only what?”

“Speaking of porn,” Wanda giggled tipsily. “There’s this new couple that I’ve been watching and they’re—” She ended her sentence with the chef’s kiss gesture.

“Who?! I love that homemade shit!” Sam yelled from across the table.

“Their names are Nomad and Lilac on Pornhub,”

You and Steve tensed up, not moving a single centimeter for fear oF triggering something. What exactly was unknown. He gripped your hand reassuringly.

No one would find out.

“I wanna see.” Bucky chimed in, brows furrowed with curiosity.

Sam tittered mischievously, hopping to the living room to retrieve the television remote. You turned to your partner with a fearful expression. Steve shook his head discreetly, leaning in to peck your cheek soothingly.

“And that’s our que to call it a night.” He quickly stated, saving face successfully.

“He loves her so much he doesn’t even want to see another woman get railed.” Wanda cried to herself drunkenly. “That’s so sweet,”

“Good night, everyone,” You bid, swallowing the frog in your throat.

“Good night, you two. You know where your room is right?” Pepper questioned politely.

“We’re all good, Pep. Thank you for having us,” Steve thanked, wishing everyone one final farewell before rushing the both of you to one of the Stark guest rooms.

“Steven! They’re fucking watching us!” You panicked quietly.

“I believe the correct way to say that is ‘they’re watching us fuck’—”

“…Are you actually joking with me right now?”

“Sweetheart,” Steve uttered softly, cupping your face in his hands. “It’s okay. I promise. Thousands of people have watched us. This is no different. You and I did a pretty damn good job at covering our bases. If the world hasn’t figured it out, the people closest to us definitely won’t.”

Silence filled the room as you retired to the confines of your intrusive thoughts.

 “We can stop if you’re worried. We’ll take everything down, crush up the camera and computer into pieces, toss them into a landmine, and act like nothing ever happened. I want you comfortable, honey.” Steve promised.

You shook your head.

“No, no. I’m sorry. I just got a little shocked. That’s all.” You rushed out.

“Don’t apologize. I got a little scared too. I mean, my heart dropped to my goddamn stomach. I haven’t felt that since Coney Island.”

His belly filled with butterflies when you laughed, all of your worries dissipating into thin air.

“But you know what else I felt?” He proposed, his soft tone taking on a huskier one.

You hummed in response, your heart skipping a beat at the shift in energy.

“Desire. Lust.” He pulled you towards him until your body was pressed against his, your lips barely brushing his. “I want to see their expressions while they watch us.”

It was like you were never worried in the first place when your back hit the mattress and Steve’s body covered yours.

“Let’s calm you down, pretty girl.”

From the living room, the Avengers played each Lilac and The Nomad video one after another. Wanda simply fangirled, loving that her suggestion was actually being enjoyed thoroughly by everyone. The video of you and Steve having a quickie in the bathroom was the best to play. It had become one of your most viewed videos, the reach far greater than you would have imagined.            

“This one’s my favorite personally.” Laura critiqued casually as the video reached its halfway mark.

“In the middle of a family movie night, huh? Which one of you nasty shitheads has pulled one of those?” Sam accused, pointing a finger at each person.

“We would all know if someone did.”

“True. It would be obvious. Did anyone even leave last movie night?”

“Steve and Y/N did.”

No one spoke. Everyone went silent before glancing around at each other and then back up at the television screen.

“B-but, he said she was having…lady problems.” Scott stuttered, his expression growing more and more mortified as he began to connect the dots.

“That sweater does look familiar.” Bucky pointed out, gesturing to the display on the screen with a jerk of his head.

“I, uh, bought one just like that for her,” Natasha spoke under her breath. “It was a souvenir.”

“Steve Rogers wouldn’t do that stuff, guys! C’mon! That’s Captain America!” Scott blurted out in pure denial.

“Not anymore.” Tony rebutted. “That is a free man who can do whatever he pleases. As you can see—” He pointed to the TV animatedly.

“That’s definitely them. A couple months ago he asked me for computer recommendations, and I ended up building one for him. When has that man ever cared about computers?”

“Check the date of the video in the description.”

Unable to handle the anticipation, Bucky snatched the remote from a shocked Scott’s hand and scrolled down to the description. He scoffed with a smile of disbelief.

“Well, I’ll be damned. I didn’t think the little shit had it in him.”

“These are just coincidences, you guys! We have no confirmation whatsoever that it’s the—”

Something akin to a cry mixed with a moan from a couple doors away cut their words short. One that sounded exactly like the ones coming from the TV. Your teammates had all of the confirmation they need.

“Sooooo….how do we look them in the eye now?”

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

If you could write a little thing with fem!tav and astarion where tav brings up the topic of having children? Just would love to see what you do with it and how Astarion would react, etc!

@dexpairs-blog asked: Could i request Astarion reacting to tav babying the owlbear cub and Scratch 24/7? Like baby talk, holding them like babies, playing with them and showering them with all their attention as soon as they set foot in the camp

pspsps what if i made it painful lol

Rated: M

He has no particular interest in children. They are bothersome needy creatures that he has no intention of entertaining. Astarion never understood why you like them so much, brats all of them. The time you give such caring words to the tieflings children, helped Mol out of her contact, to let some kid stay at the camp because the kid's mommy was missing.

Astarion didn't see the point but did see how you interacted with children, this gentle side of you with the bright smile he enviously wants only for him.

The Vampire Ascendant does not need to be. He already owns your body and mind.

You currently are watching Scratch run around playing with the kids in the park, your sweet giggles as the two children pretend to be heroes fighting imaginary villains with their fearsome battle dog! The owlbear is in the Crimson Palace enjoying his afternoon nap after being fed. Astarion is usually with him, you notice he has grown closer to it in recent years.

"Little love," You jump when he wraps his arms around you, "Enjoying your toys?" It… Bothered you long ago by what he calls everyone you have a harmless interest in (or interact with) toys, which is a step up from being cattle (not by much). You long ago stopped trying to convince him otherwise.

"The children are enjoying themselves. Scratch is going to sleep well tonight." You speak as kisses are placed on your exposed back, his arms pulling you closer, "Astarion," It is hard not to squirm as he hums with minor acknowledgment and seeks you out physically. Luckily you are hidden under a shaded tree while the children are pretty far from your secluded spot. "Not here." Denying him is impossible, both because he won't be denied and because you need him.

"I promised you a decade in each other's arms," resting his chin on your shoulder with eyes closed, "Yet, here you are outside without me." Hurt. Astarion seeks you out like a shark to blood, he fiends for you in a way you never thought possible.

The ascension changed him, you remind yourself.

"Soon," Tilting your head against his, "Allow me to stay a little longer."

One might think he wants time away from him.

When you pull away, your warmth leaving him, your hand catches his, "Come." You tug for him to follow.

When darkness falls, when the streets fall silent, the taverns are full; he has you close to him. Normally, he would go hunting to bring prey to feed you however tonight he does not leave your side. Laying next to one another in the bed, your eyes looking into his.

The conversation comes up over a petty argument and you still feel the tears on your cheeks.

"A child?"

"Yes, our own." You place his hand on your stomach, "We can make one. Father," The title spoken with some defeat, "Granted me that ability."

Astarion is aware, Kanchelsis gave his blessing for his beast child to be the consort of the Ascendant.

"Now why would you want a little bugger running around here? Isn't babying that dog and owlbear of yours enough?

The day you found that dog, Gods above, you refused to leave the camp until Lae'zel dragged you out. Then the owlbear! Halsin was not a damn help as he also pet the creature too.

Strange, he misses those chaotic days at times… Especially Gale.

"Mine," With a raised eyebrow, "Says the vampire who cuddles with said owlbear when it is having a nightmare." The indignant look he gives you makes you chuckle, "I only brought it up because…" His hand on your stomach slides up your chest until it reaches your face, a sad face. "Family with you… I dream of it. Of us."

He can see them, though the tadpole is long gone, the vampire can peer into your mind. Share thoughts and feelings between the bond of master and spawn— Lovers. The dreams are vivid, he can hear and picture the child that looks like him but shares parts of you too.

A family.

Your mind feels him sneer, the dislike, the fear. The fear of being a terrible father, be like how Cazador was with his family—turning and enslaving them.

"Astarion," Staring up as he moves to pin you down, "Ah!" Biting your neck and drinking from you.

"Ask me for anything and it will be yours," His lips bloodied, "This however I can't."

You are disappointed but you understand Astarion may never be in the right mindset to have a family. Too much trauma that though you tried helping him, it festers in him never to truly heal.

His forehead rests on yours, his fingers intertwined with yours keeping your hands pinned down above your head.

Sex is different this time. Of course, it feels good– Great, but this time he entertained something you hadn't expected him to do. "You... Don't have… Astarion, you don't need to." The way he fucks you is as if he was going to breed a child into you. As if every round is driven with the intention of seeing your stomach swell with his child.

It is a fantasy he entertains, speaking the filthiest words as you cry out for him. Maybe he is trying to make up to you for his rejection, you don't know. You do know after, in the silence of the aftermath, as you play with his messy white curls, his hand rubs your stomach.

A longing that he cannot ever give you this one desire.

[moonydustx]

So I have this thing...

I need more Law x Reader fics pleeeaassee (；ＴДＴ)

Anyway...

May I ask a reader (up to you what gender) reacting to law proposing to her? Which I doubt canon law would even do but I guess since it's fanfiction, who cares if it's Canon, right???

OMG, this is incredible, hold my hand and I'm with you on this, thank you so much for the request. In my HCs on the Law (I will still post them) I think if it was important for him to do it without even blinking. Surely it would be something more discreet, a small ceremony between just two? I don't know, I might be rambling too much.

Apologies because I didn't have much time to review and maybe I got carried away writing it. I hope you enjoy!

Important: italics are for flashbacks and character readings aloud.

The proposal - favorite moment (part 01)

Part 02 - Part 03

Law counted the minutes until night arrived, it was one of his favorite moments. That was when you would sneak around the submarine and end up knocking on the door on it. In most of these situations, you didn't get out anytime soon. He's not much of a follower on the calendar, celebrating each month together - and come to think of it, everything happened so naturally that it was decided on which day it started to be difficult for you to be a boyfriend.

Like so many other nights, you found yourself doing what was one of the only things Law could name as a hobby. You were nestled between his legs, your body resting on his chest as you attentively read another book. He found himself leaning against the wall, one of his hands resting on his body while with the other he tried to leaf through one of the new editions of Sora comics that he had picked up on the last island he visited.

He had already lost count of how many times the two of you had wasted hours tangled up in his bed reading and something else he was used to hearing you sniffle at something, like you were doing this time. His eyes looked away from the painting and went straight to where you were reading, just out of curiosity. The other times you were sniffling, he had found you reading about some character who died, some reunion, some couple who got together. This time, from what he could see, it was a marriage proposal.

He already knew it was an important topic for you. He also knew that if he had to choose to spend his entire life with someone, it would be you. Law had thought about the hypothesis a few times and when reading the small excerpt from the book, he let himself think about the idea.

"Wow." your feet were planted in front of an immense showcase. Dresses were stacked side by side in various sizes and textures, some with huge trains and others full of silk.

"Don't tell me you're one of those marriage freaks." Ikkaku planted himself next to you, next to Bepo.

"They are beautiful." the bear confirmed, touching the glass.

"Not freak…" you tried to find the words, you really didn't want to sound like a crazy person. "I mean, marriages are two people coming out in love to the world, to the government, to whatever god they may believe in or to no god at all, as if nothing could intervene or separate them."

"Okay, insane then." Shachi appeared behind you, mumbling.

"Actually, that's a nice way of thinking." Ikkaku replied to him, watching you just shrug. "And I won't deny it, they are beautiful dresses."

"Time to go." The captain's voice echoed closer than you imagined, as if he had been there the whole time listening.

Seeing the crew members move forward, agreeing to the captain's request, Law took a few seconds to evaluate the display that had distracted everyone. He could just be daydreaming, but one day you would look incredible wearing a dress like that along with the new name you would carry. Ms. Trafalgar.

From that day on, the idea of ​​proposing to you never left his mind, Law just needed to find the perfect opportunity and it appeared before his eyes.

"Okay…" your choked voice took him out of his reverie. "That's enough tears for today and I'm getting sleepy." you closed the book, turning towards him and snuggling even closer against Law's body.

"Do you mind if I keep reading some more?" he asked and you just mumbled no. His hand got tangled in your strands of hair and it didn't take long for unconsciousness to take you away.

Law gave himself a week to put the plan into practice. The small room at Polar Tang was tidier than usual however you could notice Law more tense than usual behind his back.

"Everything is fine?" you asked, quickly turning to face him. Law seemed distracted from the book in his hands.

"Everything amazing." his lips quickly touched the top of your head. It was now. All the other battles he had faced had not even come close to the anxiety he felt at that moment. "That book you were reading last week?"

"Ah, it's this one. I'm almost done. It's a period romance, princess, knight and all the little things that involves." you laughed, knowing that from your description he would hate the book. "There's no point trying to convince me to read Sora, this one is much cooler."

"So cool you were crying the last time you read it." he said in a teasing tone.

In a casually planned way, even if it went unnoticed in your eyes, he placed the comic he was reading on the bed.

"It's because he was so sweet to her, made an amazing statement."

"Really? Let me see." He moved even closer to your back, looking for space on your shoulder to follow the written words and find the perfect cue.

"Here. Can I read it?"

"Please." he asked, feeling his hands sweat cold.

"Of all the countries I've visited, I don't think I've ever found a home except in you. You've been my home, my safe haven." You started reading, already feeling yourself melting with those words. At the same time, Law took out a small box hidden behind one of the pillows. "So let me be the sword that protects you, the heart that loves you infinitely. I thought happiness would only find me in the next life until I found myself lost in you. What do you mean by that, my love? So, the The knight fell to his knees, the wounds of the battle he faced seemed not to bother him, not when Annya's eyes rested on him. Annya then heard the four words that carried a lifetime of promises…"

"Would you marry me?" Law's voice echoed alongside yours.

Before you could ask what he thought, a small black box appeared in your field of vision. Inside it, a golden ring with a small heart symbol glittered. The book fell from your hands, finding your lap, as you turned to your boyfriend.

"Law?" at that moment, your voice was not the most reliable. As shaky as she was, your vision was blurred by what you suspected were tears. Your hands covered your lips, still not believing what you were seeing.

"Maybe my sword heals you more than defends you, but that doesn't mean I'll let anyone hurt you in this world. You're my home, my safe haven and I can't wait for you to be my wife. I'd even kneel, but It's a little complicated." he smiled, seeing you still paralyzed on top of him. "So, would you marry me?"

"Yes." the first time came out as a whisper. "Yes Yes Yes!" with each new time the word left your lips, you allowed euphoria to take over your body.

Law took your hand, placing a small kiss before putting on the ring and repeating the gesture, as soon as the jewel was in the place where it belonged. His hands pulled you so your legs were around his waist.

"That's…" you even tried to speak, but it was impossible to put everything you felt at the moment into so few words. You saw him pull out a ring that was the same color as yours, without all the details. "Let me do it."

Before he could put it on his own finger, you took it from his hand and repeated the same thing he had done to you. He placed a small kiss between the tattooed fingers and let the jewelry take its rightful place.

"I don't believe." You looked at your hand and then at him. "Law, that was so amazing."

"You're incredible. I can't wait to see you become Mrs. Trafalgar. My beautiful, smart, a little crybaby…" he wiped away your tears, bringing a laugh from your lips. "My dear wife."

"I love you so much." you cupped his face, taking his lips to yours.

Even though it was full of emotions and promises, it was a calm kiss. Law, like you, wanted to record every second of that moment, every inch of skin kissed, every touch.

In the end, Law was also a marriage nut - just with his dear Lady Trafalgar.

----

Little extra:

Law was never a big fan of public displays of affection, but that morning he had made an exception. Seeing you happy, showing off your new ring and the promise of marriage, ideas of what to do on the date, honeymoon suggestions. He couldn’t deny it, it was amazing to see how happy you were with the whole situation.

His happiness was short-lived when he saw three sullen faces - one of them looking like a bear - sitting in front of him.

"So Law, my friend." Penguin began.

"Shut up, it's me."

"But I'm his best friend." Bepo grumbled.

"What do you want?" he asked, trying to understand what the three were discussing so much

"Which of the three of us will be the best man?" Shachi warned and Law watched the three in front of him cross their arms and wait for a response.

Before he could respond, Law felt two arms slide and lock around him.

"We haven't decided that yet guys. We can talk about it later." you asked and watched them begin to argue among themselves who would be what.

"Thanks." Law muttered, making you laugh. You bent down to his ear level.

"And you, I'll be waiting for you in the room. I got someone to cover my duties today, now I want to continue feeling what my dear fiancé can do for me." In contrast to the whispered and sexy voice that left your lips, you left a chaste kiss on Law's cheek and left towards the dorms.