#AND YES THEY WOULD GET MATCHING TATTOOS yes

[twstfanblog]

Omg requests are open 🥺 okay okay so last week I had this dream that I was at a party and some random little wizard man cursed me with a spell and all of a sudden I was in just my underwear in the middle of the dance floor?? So like How would the twst cast - mainly scarabia and savanaclaw - react to that happening to their partner? Especially if their partner had a lot of scars or stretch marks and was really insecure about everyone seeing them :(

You absolutely do not have to do this ofc I just thought it was an interesting idea - no pressure!

I really really love your blog I’ve been following for agesss 🥺💛

Boys React to Lover Being Stripped

Leona

Lowkey, I don't think the spell is hitting anyway. Leona's got mad points in defense spells. So if he's standing near you and a spell is coming, he deflecting that shit.

But, if by some horrible design the spell actually hit, you're basically in his vest and halfway out of the room before you even realize what just happened. He's concerned, checking you over to make sure you're not hurt, and that's when he notices how shy you are about your marks, so he goes to get you clothing to cover up.

Now, while you're resting together, he'll just like, use his tail to play with your shirt hem. He wants to look at your body closely. Scars are a sign of pride and considered beautiful in the Sunset Savanna. He also just thinks the stretch marks are sexy. Literal tiger stripes as far as he's concerned.

Ruggie

Freaks out once he sees what the spell did. His shirt is off and on you while he's hunting in the crowd for the fucker who just stripped his lover from across the room. He gives up pretty quickly to usher you out of the room. He barely even registers the marks because he's honestly no stranger to random scars.

Afterwards, he's now more comfortable shirtless in front of you. It helps you get more comfortable seeing that he has his own scars. And better fed he is, you can still see a rib or two. He's got fucking hyena spots on his hips, your strech marks aren't even anything weird to him. Another who equates scars with something to be proud of.

Jack

Nearly kills someone. At least everyone thinks he is from how loud he growled while picking you up in his arms. He's basically covering you like that; his biceps are all the clothing you need at the moment. He's leaving immediately and you're coming with him. The next day, he's a man on a mission to figure out who did the spell because he's going to just...break someone's arm real fast.

Jack has stretch marks, I'm calling it. The boy is 16, 6'2" and ripped as hell. He's got stretch marks just from growing the way he has. Mostly understands your insecurity about them as he has his own issues with his growth spurt in middle school. But, he also starts showing his stretch marks more, just so you know he has them too. Can't talk bad about your marks without talking bad about his.

Kalim

Yelling the second he sees your bra. Blushing, taking his jacket off to cover you and calling for Jamil. Ushers you out of the room, ends the party right then and there. Yes, it is a literal investigation about what happened at the party. Yes, someone will be put to death for the crime of making you cry at one of Kalim's parties.

Doesn't really understand that you're more upset at the mark becoming public knowledge than the fact you were stripped. He's been around all of his mom's, he's seen stretch marks and thinks they're pretty, like tiger stripes. Lowkey, didn't even think people came without them after a certain age. Offers to find a way to cover the marks if they bother you. You could get tattoos like his, then you can match!

Jamil

You barely realize what's happened because Jamil's already got you covered up and halfway out of the room. He's glaring in the crowd, having anticipated something happening at the party, but didn't think it was going to be this. He thought someone was going to make an attempt on Kalim’s life.

A little peeved when it turns out you're more upset about 'flashing the crowd' than the action of being stripped. But he can pick up on the insecurity of your marks. He does tell you it's all natural with growing, that scars are a sign of strength to plenty of people in Twist. But, if you really dislike them, he will offer up some lotion that the Asim's use to stay buttery soft and smooth. It will at the very least help soften and fade the marks.

[nyaruelle-designs]

🦄 Mane 6 + Family Redesign! 🦄

aaaaa this took so long, but it's finally done 😭 here's some art of mane 6 with their families. If you haven't seen my first redesign for the Mane 6, click me!

Keep reading below for design notes! (most of them are very small tweaks to get the palettes to look close to the Mane 6 hahaha)

OK! starting off with twilight's family, I tried to keep her parents' colors close with her own colors, I took both twilight's and shining's colors to match along with their mom and dad. I think Night Light is the most noticeably different of all the parents so far??

shining's colors are quite good but I guess I make it a point to give some siblings matching coat patterns to relate them to each other haha

also I had to add spike. He is apart of the family after all <3

For Rarity's family, I really took a lot of creative liberties haha

I kept Sweetie Belle's colors quite similar but yeah, tweaked it to match more in her sister's color scheme and gave her shared coat patterns with Rarity.

Rarity's parents also underwent some tweaks HAHA (i swear, every time I give the mlp character a unique coat pattern, they turn out looking so different but good??)

Fluttershy's family still looks relatively the same just with a few tweaks to the colors. (Fluttershy definitely gets her soft wings from her mom hehe)

I gave Zephyr a tattoo which I imagine he got in his youth while figuring himself out, thought it would complement his 'surfer?? chill bro' character

Also, fun detail: the tips of Fluttershy and Zephyr's wings compliment/relate back to each other which I think is really neat

Rainbow's family is quite self-explanatory, not a whole lot of difference HAHA

I think I let myself have a little bit of fun when redesigning the Apples. Idk why I thought it'd be interesting to add a bit of green to Pear Butter but ye??

I also kept Pear Butter as having a more petite frame as my personal handcanon is that while she did do farm work, she mostly did the less intensive work like watering the crops or something ahaha

neat detail: Applebloom inherited her eye color from granny smith, thought it'd be interesting to link them together

And last but not least, the Pie familyyy

As Pinkie and Marble are twins, I modelled Marble directly off Pinkie's desaturated form but gave her a longer mane. Other then that, I tried making them look as similar as possible

It's not very noticeable but I also gave Pinkie's dad a bit more pink in his colour scheme to show where she could've gotten her pink genes from. (I want to believe that in the past Igneous Rock had a pink mane before it turned grey from age)

also out of topic but I have this personal headcanon that the pie sisters are actually quadruplets with pinkie being the only one out of the 4 having her recessive pink gene, thought it would be fun to share.

Anyway, congrats on making it to the end! Thanks for reading all my design notes :’D I’ll definitely be drawing more. (next I'm gonna try to draw the secondary characters and hopefully not take too long to get it done-)

[flowery-mess]

*it's how I read this in the middle*

I love this so so much🥹 you're so good at writing this plot, I love every chapter, but every chapter makes me sad that we're closer to the end🥺

“Word is your friend Sebastian has a decent shot at winning tonight.”

Did you mean boyfriend, Kole?

But I bet that she's coming too

“What if I came too?”

Knew it

Lately, we haven’t really had time together.

SHE DID NOT JUST USE THAT

"A face of someone who is madly in love."

Yep Amber, knock some sense in her

God, when I’m with him, it’s like my brain shuts up. Everything goes quiet and he is so fucking kind and funny and sweet and he deserves way better that all of this.

“You should break up with Kole.”

Please, please, please

“But hey, you need to promise me one thing.”

“No fighting in that place. Not in that ring. Not anywhere like it.”

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Miles looked at Noah, his eyes curious. “Hey, have you seen that girl again?”

I love those kids

“Yeah, I’m fighting tonight. But I don’t think she’s coming.”

“Maybe she’ll surprise you. Maybe she’ll come just to see you.”

Those boys are little match makers, this is cute

And just like that, the rest of the noise faded.

And I just know that his head did the same🥺

It mattered how the corners of his eyes crinkled into soft lines whenever you said something stupid that made him laugh. It was all the little things.

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

He wasn’t brutal. He didn’t want to hurt him more, not like the man that kept hitting him when Noah was already on the ground, bleeding and basically passed out.

Because he's a nice guy, too nice to be doing something like that🥹

He was bleeding.

He was breathless.

And he was so fucking beautiful.

😩😩😩😩 I'm not ever getting over this fic

Had he really just left? Without saying anything to you?

Did he go check on the other guy??????🥺

There, down at the end of the alley, was Noah.

And he wasn’t alone.

He did🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

His hand, still wrapped, came up slowly, almost hesitantly, and covered yours, pressing your palm more firmly to his face. His fingers curled slightly, holding your hand like there. His brown, almond shaped, eyes searched yours in the dark, the rain tracing paths through his hair, across his skin.

His torso was a map of ink, you could see roses, a sketon, a lantern, the word "desolate".

The desolate tattoo will be always my breaking point

“Yeah but, I mean” he nodded toward his hands. “You're good at being gentle.”

You're the best at writing gentle fics🥺🤍

Kole was laughing with his friends, a bottle in one hand and a pretty girl with dark curls perched on his lap. His arms wrapped around her waist as he told her yes, of course they’d see each other again, his girlfriend would never find out.

YES YES YES, AAAAAA, I hope she finds them and maybe Noah sees it too and breaks his face and they end up happy together finally

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

Pairing: underground fighter! noah x reader

Series summary: You’re dragged to watch an illegal fight, and after the match, you meet Noah, a fighter who seems to be battling more than just his opponents.

Tw: fighting, blood, cheating

Series mastelist

It was still early morning. You were in the kitchen, sat at the small table, cupping your hands around your mug.

Kole stood leaning against the counter, thumbs moving rapidly across his phone screen, barely looking up. His hair was still messy from sleep, and he hadn’t said much yet, just grunted a “morning” when you walked in and he was already in the room.

He smirked at something on his screen. "I’m going to a match tonight."

You nodded. “Okay.”

“Don’t wait up.”

“Alright.”

A moment passed. You took a sip of your coffee, trying to seem casual. Then he added, glancing up from his phone, “Word is your friend Sebastian has a decent shot at winning tonight.”

You froze with your mug halfway to your lips. Your eyes flicked to his, trying not to look startled. He was teasing you, sure, but that sounded like it was actually true.

Noah.

Noah was fighting tonight.

You hadn’t known. You hadn’t planned for this.

And then, before you could stop yourself, the words were out of your mouth, trying to sound casual and not like you had been thinking about him every single minute since you last saw him. “What if I came too?”

Kole looked up for real this time. “You? You hate that place.”

“I know,” you said quickly, “I do. But... I don’t know. Lately, we haven’t really had time together. Between our work schedules and you being out most nights... I thought maybe we could just do something together, even if it’s just this.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you don’t mind.”

A pause. Then he shrugged, going back to his phone. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll pick you up after work.”

“Perfect.” You smiled.

You sipped your coffee again, and stared down into the dark swirl inside your mug. Your stomach was twisting.

Because you’d just lied to your boyfriend.

Because you knew it wasn’t about spending time with him. Not really.

It was about Noah. And about the fact you were really dying to see him again and wanted to make sure he was okay after the fight.

After a couple of hours, you were at the tattoo shop.

Amber sat on the other side of the counter, perched on a stool, sipping from a to-go cup she’d brought in from the café down the street. She was wearing a bright red leather jacket and had her sunglasses pushed up into her hair, twirling a sugar packet between her fingers, focused on what you were saying.

It seemed like Nick kind of liked Amber, he never said anything when she came by the shop, even if she wasn’t there for a tattoo, but just because she wanted to chat with you inbetween calls. And after she posted those stories of her new tattoo on Instagram, the shop’s account gained over a hundred new followers overnight. So really, no one could complain about her being around.

“…and then he just showed up here. Said he wanted to say hi and see the place.” You continued.

"That man is in love with you."

"Amber, what the fuck?" 

"He borrowed his neighbor’s car, drove for an hour, and tracked down where you worked, armed with nothing but the name, just to see you."

You looked at her like she was delirious. "We are just friends."

"How can I believe you when you have that face when you talk about him?"

"What face?"

"A face of someone who is madly in love." She said before adding, "with someone that is not Kole. You’ve got that dumb little twisty look on your face. Like when you lied to your mom in high school and told her you didn’t like that guy from the gas station who wore leather bracelets.”

You gave her a deadpan stare. “That was one time.”

“It’s the same look,” she said.

You covered your face with your hands. “God. I’m such a mess.”

Amber laughed, moving her blonde hair behind her shoulders. “And also a bad liar.”

“He’s fighting tonight.”

She straightened.  “And let me guess… you’re going?”

“Yeah,” you said, avoiding her gaze.

“With Kole?”

You hesitated. “I told him I wanted to go. To spend time together. But…”

Amber’s mouth twisted. “But really, you’re going for Noah.”

You didn’t say anything.

She sighed, soft but not judging. “You gonna tell Kole that?”

“I can’t. And I won’t. It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong. I just want to be there.”

Amber’s voice gentled. “You mean you wanted to be wherever Noah was.”

“I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “It’s not like I planned this. I didn’t go looking for it. It’s just... God, when I’m with him, it’s like my brain shuts up. Everything goes quiet and he is so fucking kind and funny and sweet and he deserves way better that all of this. And I'm just—”

"In love with him." Amber finished your sentence.

You looked at her, said nothing.

And that silence spoke for you. Because Amber knew. You both knew.

"I don't know what to do," you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You should break up with Kole.”

You let out a shaky breath, looking down at your hands, fingers twisting the edge of a random piece of paper on the counter, until it tore. “I don’t even know if Noah likes me like that.”

Amber tilted her head, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Please stop.”

You didn’t look up.

“I’m serious,” she went on. “You’re telling me the man used the sidewalk rule, and you’re still wondering if he likes you?”

You gave a small, helpless shrug. “Maybe he’s just… like that.”

“Sweetheart, open your eyes.”

You covered your face again. “I can’t just walk away from Kole. I still... care about him, okay? When we got together we were just teenagers... basically kids. I basically grew up with him by my side.”

Amber’s voice softened. “I’m not saying it’s easy. I’m just saying staying with someone you don’t love anymore is a slow way to kill both of you.”

That stung, mostly because it was true. You felt it in your chest, that ache you kept trying to ignore every time Kole kissed you and you were starting to feel nothing. And every time Noah looked at you and you felt everything.

“I just need time,” you said quietly.

Amber looked at you for a second. “Okay,” she said. “Just… don’t let it be too much.”

You nodded. “No. I’ll figure it out soon. I promise.”

“Good,” she said, reaching out to squeeze your wrist gently. “You know I’m here for you, right?”

“I know. Thank you.”

There was a pause then, she didn’t say anything else for a moment, just sipped her coffee and looked around the shop like she was giving you the space to breathe. Then, with a small smile, she said:

“You know I’m gonna want to meet him, right?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Noah.”

You groaned. “Oh my God, Amber—”

“No, I’m serious,” she grinned. “You bring him to breakfast one day. I’ll be nice. I just wanna know what the hell kind of man makes you turn into this.”

You narrowed your eyes. “This?”

She gestured to your whole body, dramatically. “This. All blushy and dreamy and heart-eyed and trying to act like you’re not.”

You laughed despite yourself. “Yeah, cause that wouldn’t be weird at all. ‘Hi Noah, this is my best friend Amber, she thinks we’re in love and would like to interrogate you over pancakes.’”

Amber shrugged. “I mean, you are in love.”

You rolled your eyes. Just then, Nick, tattooing a woman’s leg a little ways off, called out, "Hey, can you come here for a second?"

You stood up and started to walk over.

Amber’s voice followed you. "Don’t do anything stupid tonight."

You sighed. "I’m not the one stepping into a ring to fight."

Miles and Theo stood in the building's biggest room, as Noah had promised them. The heavy punching bag hung low from the ceiling, swinging slightly every time it was nudged.

Noah watched them with an amused smile as they took turns throwing punches, with more enthusiasm than technique, their little hands wrapped in tape.

“Easy, easy!” he called out, stepping forward to show them how to keep their wrists straight. “You don’t want to hurt your hands. Punch with your whole body, not just your arms.”

Theo swung a bit too hard and staggered backward, both boys breaking into laughter.

“See?” Noah grinned. “This isn’t just about hitting hard. It’s about control. Balance. Timing.”

The kids exchanged mischievous looks, then started a mock boxing match with each other, giggling and dodging. Noah shook his head, trying to keep a straight face as Theo pretended to throw a knockout punch that sent Miles sprawling onto the ground.

“You guys are gonna be pros in no time.” he joked.

Then, his tone shifted slightly, becoming more serious as he crouched down a bit, to their level. “But hey, you need to promise me one thing.”

The boys nodded.

“No fighting in that place. Not in that ring. Not anywhere like it.”

Theo frowned. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not a good place. People get hurt there. Really hurt. What they do, what we do... is not nice. Or funny.  ”

“Okay,” Miles simply said.

“Promise me?” Noah pressed.

“Promise,” they said together.

Noah smiled softly, ruffling their hair. “Good. That’s all I ask.”

They kept punching the bag and pretending to fight for almost an hour. Then, they finally slowed down and sat on the ground to take a break.

Miles looked at Noah, his eyes curious. “Hey, have you seen that girl again?”

Noah chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead as he sat cross-legged between them. “Yeah, I’ve seen her.”

Theo’s eyebrows shot up. “She’s not your girlfriend yet, is she?”

Noah let out a long, amused sigh. “Still with that question, huh? No, she’s not.”

Miles exchanged a look with Theo, clearly unconvinced. “So, she’s gonna be at the match tonight? Mom said you’re fighting.”

Noah slowly nodded, “Yeah, I’m fighting tonight. But I don’t think she’s coming.”

“Maybe she’ll surprise you. Maybe she’ll come just to see you.”

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t count on it.”

“You’re gonna win, right?” Miles asked.

“I guess you’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning to find out.”

The fight club was already full of people by the time you arrived with Kole.

He slung an arm around your shoulders as you stepped inside, grinning as he spotted familiar faces. “Hey!” he called out, weaving through the bodies to reach a group of his friends. You followed close, but your eyes were already scanning the room.

He had to be here already.

Your gaze swept across the dimly lit corners, the fluorescent lights above the ring, the benches along the walls, and then you saw him.

Noah was seated on a chair in the far corner, elbows resting on his knees, his head lowered like he was mentally someplace else. He wore a white tank top and black shorts, his hands already wrapped. When he lifted his head, as if he felt your eyes on him, your gazes locked.

And just like that, the rest of the noise faded.

Kole was still talking, laughing with his friends beside you but you almost didn't hear any of that.

“How much did you bet?” someone asked.

“Wait, on who?” another said.

“Nah, man, I’m telling you, Sebastian’s got it in the bag tonight.”

"I'm not sure about that."

You tore your eyes away from Noah and smiled weakly at Kole. “I’ll be right back,” you said, already stepping away before he could ask where you were going.

Noah stood as you approached. “Hey,” he said, voice warm.

“Hi,” you replied, your heart suddenly loud in your chest.

He tilted his head a little. “Let me guess, your boyfriend dragged you here again?”

You shook your head. “No. I wanted to come. I knew you were fighting tonight.”

“So you came to watch me lose again.”

You smiled faintly, stepping a little closer. “I came to make sure you’re okay after the match. No matter how tonight goes.”

For a moment, he just looked at you. Like maybe he didn’t know what to do with that kind of answer.

He gave a quiet laugh under his breath and shook his head. “I don’t know if I should thank you for coming, tell you I’m glad to see you… or tell you that maybe you shouldn’t have.”

You shrugged, your voice gentle. “Say whatever you want. I’m already here either way.”

There was a pause. Then he nodded once. “Okay. Then… thank you for coming. And yeah...” his voice softened, “I’m glad to see you.”

He started to lift a hand, slow and hesitant, like he meant to touch your arm, but he stopped just short, curling his fingers into a loose fist instead.

Before either of you could say anything else, someone shouted across the room.

“Sebastian! Let’s go, man! You're about to start!”

Noah turned his head at the sound, then glanced back at you. “I have to go.”

You nodded. “Sure.”

“I’ll see you after the match?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

He had started to turn when your voice stopped him. “Wait,” you said, reaching out and catching his hand gently. The tape was rough under your fingers, and he looked at you with a flicker of confusion in his eyes.

Then you stood up on your toes and wrapped your arms around his neck.

It was fast, spontaneous, maybe a bit reckless, but you didn’t care.

He froze for a moment, startled, and then his arms came around you. One hand rested carefully on your back, fingers pressing lightly, like he was afraid to hold on too tightly.

His skin was warm against yours. He didn’t smell like any particular cologne, not like the ones Kole always wore, just of sweat and cheat soap.

And when you caught yourself thinking that you could happily spend the rest of your life waking up to the scent of him, your head tucked against his neck, in bed, with him, you realized you were doomed.

Because Noah wasn’t Kole.

Noah was Noah.

And you loved Noah more with every passing day.

Because it didn’t matter what he smelled like, what he wore, or where he lived.

What mattered was the way his eyes had found you instantly the moment you looked at him across the room, the way he kept trying to tell you that you shouldn’t be there, not to push you away, not really, not anymore, but to protect you. (Not like your boyfriend, who would’ve dragged you there every night without a second thought.)

It mattered how the corners of his eyes crinkled into soft lines whenever you said something stupid that made him laugh. It was all the little things.

He didn’t say anything.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him. “Good luck,” you whispered.

And then, just like that, it was over.

He gave you a little smile and a nod. And then he was gone, weaving through the crowd toward the ring.

You turned back toward Kole, who was still laughing with his friends, his back to you. You slipped quietly back to his side just as movement in the ring caught your eye.

Noah climbed in, followed by his oppenent. The other fighter was a bit shorter, leaner, with tousled strawberry blond hair that curled slightly at the edges, and he looked at least few years younger, though in a place like this, age meant very little. What mattered was how fast you could hit and how long you could stay standing.

You barely had time to brace yourself. There was no bell, no formal start, like the first time you've been there. Just a voice somewhere in the crowd yelling “go!”

And they did.

The blond struck first with a fast jab. Noah dodged, slipped just left of the hit and came back with a jab of his own that landed clean on the side of the boy’s jaw. The crowd started screaming. Your hands clenched unconsciously at your sides.

Noah’s expression didn’t change, staying composed.

The next few blows were quick, rapid exchanges of fists and footwork, Noah always adjusting, always circling. He took a punch to the shoulder that made him grunt, but he didn’t back off. Another clipped his ribs, sharp enough to twist his torso, and you flinched hard enough for Kole to glance sideways at you. You barely noticed.

Then came a hit to his face, right to his cheekbone. You saw his head jerk to the side. A tiny spray of sweat flew off his temple, and blood bloomed along the edge of his cheekbone.

Your breath caught in your throat.

But Noah didn’t stumble.

He pressed forward, reading his opponent’s patterns now, finding the space between jabs. His fists landed, one to the ribs, another to the side of the guy's face. The blond staggered, tried to swing wildly, but Noah ducked low, stepped into his blind spot, and landed a punch to the gut that echoed through the room.

More hits came, the opponent's nose started bleeding a bit. Noah hit his jaw a couple of times. Then an uppercut, hard enough that the other boy lost balance. He stumbled sideways. People shouted, some for Noah, some not.

The blond lunged out of desperation. Noah caught the motion, sidestepped, and swept a leg, sending the boy down to his knees. He could’ve ended it right there, one final hit to the face and the boy would have gone out cold.

But Noah didn’t.

Instead, he stepped forward, caught the boy by the shoulders, and dragged him flat to the ground. He didn’t punch. He didn’t strike. He mounted, held the opponent down, his weight strategic and firm.

You felt a weird feeling in your heart.

He wasn’t brutal. He didn’t want to hurt him more, not like the man that kept hitting him when Noah was already on the ground, bleeding and basically passed out.

The guy tried to get up, to hit Noah, but it was all in vain.

A moment later, a voice rang out, “Winner by ground pin, Sebastian!”

People yelled, others started to give the money they bet to others. But all you saw was Noah, still straddling his opponent, arms hanging heavy as he lifted his head and scanned the crowd.

He was bleeding.

He was breathless.

And he was so fucking beautiful.

“Sebastian just made me win eighty bucks. Not bad, huh?” Kole said beside you, dragging your attention back to where you were, beside him, not where your mind kept slipping.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Not bad.”

Your eyes drifted back to the ring.

Noah was still inside, though he had shifted off his opponent, now sitting against the ropes, his chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths. The other boy was still flat on his back, his chest rising erratically, his face streaked with blood, but it was nothing compared to how Noah had looked that night, a month ago, when you’d found him outside, barely able to stand.

Two men entered the ring, ones you recognized instantly. They were the same ones who had dragged Noah out that night.

They moved in now without ceremony, grabbing the blond boy by the arms and pulling him up.

You didn’t need to ask where they were taking him, you already knew: the same alley where they had left Noah that night.

You flinched as they passed close to the edge of the ring. The boy’s feet dragged limply, one shoe half-off, blood dripping down his chin. His eyes were open but dazed.

Kole let out a satisfied chuckle and turned away, already pulling money from someone’s hand, some guy you didn’t know, smiling wide with cash fanned out in his grip.

You looked at Kole, then away.

When you glanced back toward the ring, Noah was gone.

You blinked, scanning quickly left and right, standing up on your toes for a better view through the crowd.

He wasn’t by the ropes.

Not by the benches.

Not near the back wall.

Had he really just left? Without saying anything to you?

Then an idea hit you.

Your eyes darted toward the far side of the room, to the chair where you’d seen him sitting before the match. There, a black hoodie, simple, with a random drawing on it, slung carelessly over the backrest. You didn’t hesitate.

Kole was still talking with Dean, and you didn’t even say anything to him, you just turned and slipped away through the crowd, your hand closing around the hoodie as you passed.

It was still warm in places. You pulled it tight to your chest.

Then you walked towards the back door and pushed it open.

The alley behind the fight club was dark. The stars above were barely visible through the creeping gray clouds, and the rain was beginning to fall and hammer against the concrete around you.

You stepped out, letting the door swing closed behind you.

There, down at the end of the alley, was Noah.

And he wasn’t alone.

The blond guy was sitting on the ground, slumped back against the wall, his legs half-stretched in front of him, his chest still quickly rising and falling, damp strands of hair sticking to his bloody forehead. And Noah was walking toward him with slow and quiet steps.

The younger guy lifted his head, catching sight of him, and flinched. He tried to jerk upright, a sharp reflex of fear, but his body didn’t cooperate, and he collapsed back down with a wince.

"Fuck", he whispered to himself.

“No, no,” Noah said gently. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

He crouched in front of him, lowering himself to his level.

“You alright?” he asked. “Anything broken?”

The blond hesitated, blinking at him through the thin drizzle. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

“You sure? Your head okay?”

“It’s pounding,” He admitted after a second, “but I’ll live.”

A beat passed. Then a weak laugh. He rubbed a hand over his face. “You hit hard, man.”

Noah let out a soft huff of breath. The rain had started to soak through his hair, flattening them against his forehead. He pushed them back absently with one hand.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Elijah.”

“Well, Elijah…” Noah straightened a little, rising to his feet and extending a hand. “Can you stand?”

Elijah looked at the hand like it was something strange. Then, slowly, he reached up and took it.

Noah pulled him up with careful steadiness.

Elijah wobbled once on his feet but managed to stay upright. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I think I’m good."

"Sure?"

"Yeah, sure."

“Good,” Noah said, giving his shoulder a little pat.

Elijah gave him a little smile. “Thank you, man.”

Noah glanced toward the sky, squinting as the rain began to fall harder, now cold and persistent. He looked back at Elijah, then tilted his head toward the end of the alley.

“You should go,” he said quietly. “Before you catch a cold too.”

Elijah nodded once, then started to walk away with a quick, last wave.

You hadn’t moved, still frozen near the door with Noah’s hoodie clutched to your chest. The rain had found you now too, cold drops threading through your hair, dampening your clothes.

And then Noah turned, finally seeing you.

You took a slow step forward, then another, the sound of your shoes soft against the wet ground. The hoodie was still clutched to your chest, damp now where the rain had kissed it.

“Hey,” you said gently. “Thought you might want this.”

He looked at it for a second, then reached out and took it from your hands, his fingers brushing yours.

“Thanks.”

You gave a faint smile in return.

“What you just did…” you said, “that was really kind of you, making sure he was okay.”

Noah looked away for a moment, “He was just a kid,” he said after a second. “Like I was. Like a lot of them are.”

He shook his head once. “I don’t want to be the kind of fighter that forgets there’s a real person on the other side.”

You stayed silent for a moment.

“You’re a good man, Noah.”

Your voice was soft, almost lost in the sound of rain hitting the pavement and the distant hum of traffic, but he heard you. You saw it in the way his shoulders tensed just slightly.

He started to shake his head, already gearing up for protest. “You—”

“No.” You cut him off gently, “Before you say ‘you don’t know me’… I don’t care. Because that’s not true. Not anymore.”

You took another step closer, and his eyes met yours.

“I do know you, Noah,” you said. “And every moment I spend with you… I think you are a good person a little more. I don't care about anything else.”

His mouth parted, like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the right words.

“Don’t,” he said eventually.

You frowned. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t make me feel like I deserve to be with someone like you.”

“But you do.” you said, and the words came without hesitation.

He didn’t answer.

The rain kept falling, more gently now, soft and rhythmic against the concrete and metal.

You moved even closer, your body almost brushing his, and your eyes dropped to the bruising along his cheekbone. Even in the dim alley light, the purplish-black stood out stark against his skin.

You lifted your hand, slowly, so he could stop you if he wanted, and let your fingertips touch his cheek. Just beneath the bruise. Light. Careful.

“Look at this,” you whispered. “It’s almost black.”

He let out a breath that was half a laugh, half something else. “In a week it’ll be gone.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, your thumb brushing ever so gently across the curve of his cheek. “But I still see it now.”

His hand, still wrapped, came up slowly, almost hesitantly, and covered yours, pressing your palm more firmly to his face. His fingers curled slightly, holding your hand like there. His brown, almond shaped, eyes searched yours in the dark, the rain tracing paths through his hair, across his skin.

Your gaze dropped to his lips without meaning to. They were parted slightly, his breath shallow, warm against your skin in the close air between you. He leaned in just a little, and you didn’t move, couldn’t have if you wanted to.

His forehead almost touched yours, the space between you thinning to nothing.

“You’re with someone,” he murmured, the words brushing your lips.

“I know,” you whispered.

He didn’t pull away. His eyes searched yours, like you didn’t make any sense but somehow he still could understand.

“And you’re not happy.”

“I know.”

You felt his breath again, so close, just a hair away from a kiss.

But then, slowly, he pulled back.

Just barely. Just enough.

His warmth slipped away.

Your hand slipped from his cheek, falling to your side. Cold rushed in to replace the heat of his skin against your palm.

Noah took a step back.

“We should go back inside.” he said.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Right.”

He looked at you for a moment longer, like there was still something he wanted to say. But instead, he just nodded toward the door behind you.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll get you something to dry off.”

“Alright.” Was all you could say.

So you followed him.

The hallway he lead you through was narrow and dark, the sound of the crowd still faintly audible from the other side of the walls. Noah pushed open another door, revealing a locker-room-type space, small and a bit cluttered.

The walls were painted a dull, industrial gray, parts of the paint chipped from years of wear. Lockers lined one side, dented and scuffed, names and stickers and scratches covering most of them. A bench ran the length of the room, bolted into the concrete floor, with a couple old folding chairs pushed to the corners.

“This is where we change before the matches if we need to,” Noah said, giving a small shrug as he crossed to one of the lockers and opened it. “Glamorous, I know.”

He turned, holding a towel, large, old, but clean , and before you could take it, he tossed it directly over your head. The thick fabric landed with a soft thud, and you burst out laughing.

“Hey!” you said, your voice muffled under the towel.

You couldn’t see anything, but you heard his quiet laugh, warm and unguarded, and it made your chest squeeze.

“You’re welcome.” he said, still chuckling.

You pulled the towel down so you could glare at him, or try to, but you were still smiling.

“Very mature of you,” you said.

“Extremely,” he replied, and sat down on the bench with his towel in hands, patting the spot beside him. “Come on, sit before you drown in that thing.”

You joined him, your clothes damp, your hair already soaking the towel draped over your shoulders.

You stole a glance at him. He rubbed the towel roughly through his hair, drying it in uneven swipes. Drops of water still clung to the ends, dripping occasionally onto his shoulders.

He let out a low grumble as he grabbed the hem of his tank top, the fabric soaked and clinging to him like a second skin. “This thing’s glued to me,” he muttered, half to himself.

You watched as he peeled it off with a grunt of effort, tossing it in a heap near the locker. Now shirtless, he stood for a second, drying his arms and chest with the towel, then sat back down.

And you looked.

You couldn’t not look.

His torso was a map of ink, you could see roses, a sketon, a lantern, the word "desolate". You wondered if some of the colors you saw were part of the tattoos or bruises.

You knew you should look away. You told yourself to. But you didn’t.

Because a part of you was still stuck on the way his face had moved closer to yours earlier. On the way you were about to kiss.

And now you were in this room. Just the two of you. Both soaked. And he was sitting beside you, shirtless, dripping, beautiful.

“You kinda look like one of those long-haired dogs when they take a bath,” you said instead, chuckling, because sometimes saying something so stupid helped push your thoughts away.

He let out a laugh. “Wow. Okay.”

“I mean it in a good way.”

“Uh-huh. You should’ve seen me when I had long hair.”

You sat up. “You had long hair?”

“Yep.”

“Like… shoulder-length?”

“Try mid-back. Maybe even longer.”

Your jaw dropped. “No way. You’re lying. I need to see this. Do you have pictures?”

“Pfft. No. I haven’t even had a working phone in over a year.”

You groaned. “So the only way I’ll ever see it is if you grow it back.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“They were always in my face. I cut them off with a pair of scissors I found in a supermarket. Kitchen aisle.”

You laughed. “Are you serious?”

“I swear. It was the most satisfying haircut I’ve ever had.”

“Do you still have the scissors?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“I’m gonna steal them.”

“Alright. Note to self...keep my utensils locked. You already broke into my building once, now you’re coming for my knives?”

“Nothing is safe from me.”

He smiled, looking down at his hands. The wraps were still there, soaked and clinging to his knuckles. He tugged at one with his teeth, but the knot resisted. You reached over.

“Let me.”

He hesitated for half a second. Then he let go and let you take his hand.

The bandages were damp and clinging, and your fingers brushed warm against his skin as you started to unwind them. Neither of you said anything for a moment.

“You ever did braids?” you asked then.

He groaned. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope. I know you did.” You said as you kept unwinding the damp wrap, careful not to tug too hard where the skin looked red underneath.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he muttered, half-laughing.

You smiled, eyes on his hand. “You totally did pigtails at least once.”

He just sighed.

Then he looked down at your hands again.

“You’re good at this,” he said.

You glanced up. “Unwrapping hands?”

“Yeah but, I mean” he nodded toward his hands. “You're good at being gentle.”

Your thumbs lightly brushed the back of his knuckles.

“Only with some people,” you said.

You’d found this weird rhythm with Noah, some uneven mix of insults and sarcastic remarks, quiet moments that felt too vulnerable, and small touches that said more than most words ever could.

And you liked it.

So you stayed there a little longer.

While somewhere else in the same building, Kole was laughing with his friends, a bottle in one hand and a pretty girl with dark curls perched on his lap. His arms wrapped around her waist as he told her yes, of course they’d see each other again, his girlfriend would never find out.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog @pandora-08 @geminigirlfromfinland @bloody-spades @rumoured-whispers @astronoids

Fresh bruises tags: @1toreyouapart @respectfulrebel @dragoncopper @overmydeadbodysblog @fear-its-beauty @xslavicprincess @concreteangel92 @super-btstrash-posts @pipidoll @pipidoll @bluehairpunklol @tktstomydwnfall @jesuisunchaton @brutallysoftmuse @acatatonicpeace @spookieolson @dontwantthemoney

[batlleonafc]

Awww

The tattoos Williams loves the most are not always the ones that hold deep meaning. “The ones that are my favorites now are the silly ones, because they're ones that make me think of the memory of getting it, and it takes me back to that time”

https://www.womenshealthmag.com/life/a65149707/gabby-williams-wnba-tattoos/

Take her unconventional ode to the Tokyo Olympics, which started as a bet with her teammate Marine Johannès. “When I first got to the French national team, she was like, ‘Can I tattoo you?’” Williams recalls.

They decided that if they won a medal, Williams would get a tattoo of Pac-Man eating blue, white, and red dots to represent the French flag. They won bronze, and Williams got the tattoo. Yes, most Olympians just get some version of the Olympic rings, but that’s not really Williams' style. “Then I would have a matching tattoo with tens of thousands of people,” she says.

this is actually so adorable.

I love that she has matching tattoos with almost all of her family members.

Also, this picture of Gabby's sleeve is incredibly hot.

[priscirat]

HI I’m the one who asked for that Airi and Ena piece. Thank you so much for drawing it. I really love it and them and think they’re underrated 🥹 what do you think about their dynamic? Also, did you give them matching rings? Do you think they’d eventually get matching tat

omg HI im so happy to hear that you like it !!!

and i ADORE their relationship. stil got a fair bunch of niigo story to read so i got some blank spaces but.

both being those very fierce angry friends that care so so much for their friends. their whole contrast of one hiding away and hoping to grow her talent when the other is a public figure whose talent is being misused, and how it all had them both end up having terrible self worth. ena always wanting to be the first one to message airi for her bday. airi always hoping for ena to get better.

theyre great man... theyre great

[xboobayaga]

mutuals to get matching tattoos with ♥

[storusangel]

STUDY SESSIONS

a/n: ohhhh my god, i finally finished this. it's been half finished for months but i did it!! hope you guys enjoy!

cw: fem!reader, dom!satosugu, praise kink, pet names (sweetheart, baby, sweet girl), slight petplay (like if you squint really hard), fingering, manhandling, double vag pen., biting, squirting, creampie, oral f!receiving, overstim, aftercare, MINORS DNI

word count: 4.5k

satoru and suguru are the stars of your university.

they have it all — the looks, the grades, the girls (and guys). and in your shared BIO 141 class, better known as your human anatomy and physiology class, they’re known for being top of the class, never having failed an exam. you, however, have been falling behind in that said class. 

but it truly isn’t your fault. you can’t help that the two men sit at a perfect angle for you to gawk and stare at them for the entirety of class. yeah, it’s not your fault at all! in fact, it’s your stupid professor’s fault for placing the two pieces of eye candy directly in your line of view!

it’s tuesday again and your professor is rambling on about the limbic system or something of the sort. you don’t really comprehend what he’s saying because it seems the two pieces of eye candy have gotten matching tattoos. a dark betta fish on suguru’s right bicep and a lighter one on satoru’s left. 

you can’t help but let your mind wander to how those arms would look holding you up as they’re pounding into you. dirty words being whispered into your ear as you try your best to keep up with them. “such a good slut for u-“

your name being called out by your professor yanks you out of your trance. you blink twice, ripping your eyes of the two boys but not before they could catch you staring at them. 

“i asked you a question.”

“s-sorry professor” you wince at how silly you sound stuttering after being caught daydreaming in class.

your professor just sighs and instead of repeating his question, he tells you to stay after class to meet with him. you can feel the eyes of your classmates boring into you, the immature snickers make you want to go back to your dorm and stay there forever.

or better yet, go to satoru and suguru’s shared apartment and let them fuck the embarrassment away.

you shake your head in an attempt to refocus your attention. before you can tune in to what your professor has to say, you see satoru and suguru steal a quick glance at you and whisper to each other. 

“gojo and geto, i’d like you two after class as well”  

once more, the class erupts into whispering to their nearest friend before the professor regains their attention once and for all. you also stop your mind from wandering too far into your daydreams about what could happen after class and return your attention back to the professor who was clearly irritated. 

in an effort to save yourself from embarrassment, you head down to see your professor as soon as class ends to end the conversation before the two boys can tune in. 

“i assume you understand why i wanted to see you?” his voice is sharp, an underlying tone of dissatisfaction.

“yes sir, i know my grade in your class need some work but i will do my best to bring it up” 

his reply is quick. “i know you will because gojo and geto will be tutoring you.”

you truly don’t know how to feel. getting the chance to be around your crushes is both amazing and horrible. thinking about how they definitely know you’ve been staring at them every class makes you feel nauseous. thinking about being perceived isn’t your favorite thing, but thinking about how they’ll be around you, teaching you the course that you’ve completely missed out on due to your very vivid daydreams. 

“wait, what?” god, satoru’s voice sounded much sexier when it was right behind you. 

“you heard me. both of you will be helping her understand her classwork until the end of the semester.” and your professor's voice sounded much scarier when it was in right front of you. “i’ll know if you two have truly put enough effort in when i see her grade on our next exam.”

you’re too ashamed to make eye contact with the two boys, a wave of embarrassment flooding your face knowing that your two crushes now know your biggest academic insecurity. the room is silent until suguru speaks up, “okay, we’ll need your number though” yeah, suguru’s voice was just as sexy as satoru’s. 

you hear your name being called. you finally make eye contact. “sorry, what?” your voice is meek, smaller than you remember it to be. satoru laughs, “your number, sweetheart. so we can set a date for our sessions. you know, the tutoring ones?” satoru calling you sweetheart makes you want to implode, he has to know what he does to you. what they do to you. 

“oh, here” you leave as soon as you give them your number. suguru’s “we’ll text about planning later” giving you the greenlight to get the hell out of there before you somehow manage to embarrass yourself even further.

-

xxx-xxx-xxxx added you and xxx-xxx-xxxx into a chat

unknown: you free this weekend?

you: who is this???

unknown: aw man :( all that staring in class and you can’t even remember who we are, we’re hurt baby

- 

you stare at the message. okay. so you know who it is. and you also know that they know your grades are horrible because you’ve spent almost every class openly drooling over them. no big deal. it’s not like your sessions will be in a private area.

-

unknown: satoru and i talked, we think it’ll be best to tutor you at our place since there’ll be less distractions there.

-

okay then. you’ll just have to work on your nerves before this weekend. you have time. right now you’ll be using that time to try and get over the fact that satoru called you baby.

the next few days pass by a little too slow for your liking but soon you’re getting ready for your date with the two boys. wait, tutoring session with the two boys. you couldn’t help but dress up a little, adding a matching set underneath your skirt and blouse.

-

satoru: i’m outside, come out whenever you’re ready

you: coming out now! which car is yours?

satoru: you’ll know it when you see it ;)

-

you head out slightly confused but when you see a white corvette flashing its blinkers at you, you understand what satoru meant. before you reach his car, satoru gets out to open the door for you. the small giggle you let out doesn’t go unnoticed by him. 

a wave of confidence runs through your veins as you tell him he’s “quite the gentlemen” when he buckles your seatbelt for you before sitting in the driver's seat himself. his response is a quick wink and then you two are off to their apartment. you try not to stare too hard at him throughout the ride but you can’t help but let yourself indulge in a few glances that lasted longer than they should’ve.

soon enough you two have reached the apartment and satoru parks the car. this time you don’t hide your staring. his effortless moves have you squeezing your thighs together. why is this turning you on??? you have got to be ovulating. 

satoru calls out your name. “you ready?” you blink. “o-oh, yeah i’m ready.” he grins and unbuckles you before sliding out the car to open your door. their apartment is cleaner than you expected, and also way larger than you expected it to be. “you finally back satoru?” you turn around to see suguru in sweatpants and stark contrast to satoru’s shorts. “hi, thanks again for tutoring me” you say. they both let out a soft chuckle and suguru returns the greeting.

they show you to a room that you truly didn’t expect for them to have in their place. there’s a shelf stacked with different books and another bigger one beside it with their trophies. there are two desks but one of them is currently situated with three chairs. you’re deep in thought about how you would love to be bent over the desks as the two boys make you take them over and over and over again.

this time it’s suguru calling your name to draw you out of your daydream. “you can take a seat on the middle chair. do you have anything in specific that you need help understanding?” oh right, you came here to be tutored. “um, everything? well not like everything but maybe the latest subject? i haven’t had the time to actually go over the notes i took.” 

a lie, you didn’t take any notes. your notebook is filled with small doodles and occasionally a sentence from a slide the professor left on the screen for too long. you place your hands in your lap when the two boys take a seat on either side of you. “no need to be nervous, sweetheart. we’re here to help you.” satoru has got to know that him and his stupidly attractive voice aren’t helping you and you want to turn to suguru for help but he’s just as bad. “he’s right, pretty girl. you’ve got to relax, you won’t be able to remember anything when you’re shaking like that.”

to make it even worse, they each place a hand on your bare thighs. satoru rubs his soft fingers up and down while suguru squeezes your thigh gently before using a thumb to make circular motions in a single spot. you can feel your body heating up and it takes everything in you to not squeeze your thighs together because it would make your want need for them way too obvious and quite frankly, you’re still embarrassed they caught you staring.

satoru makes eye contact with suguru, a silent communication between the two of them. he gives your thigh a gentle pat before he starts to speak. “do you work better with rewards, baby?” you turn to look at him. you aren’t sure what he means exactly and you’re feeling a little overstimulated by all the touching, the pet names, and their attention in general. you’re by no means a virgin, though you aren’t too far from it, but for some reason they make you so nervous you can’t think straight. 

suguru says your name in a voice that sounds like it’s reserved for scolding puppies but right now it just turns you on even more than you are. “answer satoru, he’s not big on being ignored” apparently you don’t turn your head fast enough because satoru’s hand moves from your thigh to grasp your face gently, but not too gently, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “he’s right, baby. i don’t want to be rough with you just yet. i’m gonna ask again and i expect an answer. would you like us to give you rewards?” despite his words being slightly threatening, you bite your lip to hold back a whine. you squeak out a “yes please” and return to suppressing your whines because suguru still has moved his hand further up your skirt, his fingers grazing dangerously close to your soaked slit. 

“good girl. now let's get started” satoru removes his hand from your jaw but suguru only moves his hand back down to your lower thigh, giving you one more squeeze. the tutoring session goes something like this; suguru and satoru take turns explaining different topics covered during your last class. once they’re done, satoru quizzes you. everytime you answer correctly, suguru moves his hand up and satoru praises you. but every time you fail to answer a question correctly or fast enough, suguru slips his hand away and satoru reminds you that “only smart girls get rewards”. 

this method seems to work because you’re starting to answer correctly more often until you’re only answering correctly and suguru’s fingers are grazing your panties. “oh, she’s soaked, satoru. i think this sweet thing deserves a bigger reward. she’s been listening so well” a small whimper leaves your lips and you turn your head to satoru, your eyes begging for something more than some light touches accompanied by a few praises. 

to prove his point even further you really do start to beg. “please satoru, i need it so bad. ‘ve been so good, please” you can tell it works because he immediately coos at you. “d’awh, i think she deserves a reward too, suguru. we should give it to her” and with that satoru leans in, pressing his lips into yours. his soft, pillowy lips against yours make you almost forget suguru’s hands are on your panties.

almost. 

suguru pulls your panties to the side, raking his middle and ring finger through your folds, collecting your slick. he traces them downwards before bringing them back up to circle around your clit once, twice, three times and then he repeats the process. once he’s deemed his fingers wet enough, he slips one in pumping and curling wasting no time before adding in a second one. 

kissing down your neck, satoru rips your blouse open and pushes your bra down. lithe fingers trace around your nipple making you arch into satoru. you let out a breathy moan into satoru’s mouth, followed by more whines when suguru adds a third finger and starts to scissor them to stretch you out. you can feel satoru smirk against your lips when you start to struggle to kiss back. 

satoru removes his mouth from you, drinking in the sight of you. the sweet, shy girl in their class who couldn’t help but keep her eyes off of the two boys. the same girl who struggled to keep eye contact and who was barely vocal when they were present is now writhing in their chair. your back arching into satoru, a silent plea for him to keep touching you. and your hips grinding on suguru’s fingers, begging him to keep going. 

and most importantly, your voice has finally found itself to be heard. your pleas of “can’t, ‘s too much” and “wan’ more, please don’t stop, please” echo throughout the room. satoru takes two of his own fingers and pats them on your lips, a signal for you to open your mouth. you comply, wishing they would keep praising you. as if he can hear your thoughts, satoru mutters a “atta girl” when he slips his fingers into your mouth. 

he lets them hit the back of your throat a few times and when you gag, he pulls them back. not entirely, but just enough so that you’re still drooling on them but aren’t entirely gagging. he moves his fingers in a scissoring motion for some time and then he pulls them out. before you can even think about missing his fingers in your mouth, he moves them down to your clit, rubbing calculated circles. 

suguru moves his fingers faster, curling them upwards till they hit your sweet spot repeatedly. “i think our sweet girls about to cum, satoru” suguru breaks the silence between him and satoru. “i think so too” you can’t tell if it’s the way they’re talking about you as if you weren’t there but you cum the second the two speak, your body shaking as they help you ride it out. suguru shallowly pumping his fingers in while satoru slows his circles on your clit. suguru leans in to give you a kiss, his lips doing most of the work as your body recovers from your mindblowing orgasm. 

you yelp into suguru’s mouth when satoru pats your clit a little too hard. you want to say something but he taps your clit one more time before watching more slick dribble out of your cunt and onto the chair. suguru is the first to speak. his lips trail towards your ear leaving soft kisses in each place he covers. “you did so well for us, sweetheart. how’re you feeling?” as he speaks, satoru wipes the tears from your eyes and rubs comforting circles on your cheek.

your heart throbs at the attention. you understand what suguru is asking; are you still up for more? or are you done for the time being? you bite your lip before you speak.

“m-more, please. want more. want both of you. please.” satoru places a gentle kiss on your lips. “you’re so good for us, baby. a perfect listener. you think you can take us both? you think your tight little hole can fit both of us?” you moan out loud at his words.

“i don’t know, satoru. she might not be able to handle us.” suguru’s teasing you and you know it, but you don’t care. the thought of them leaving you so wet and needy for them may have your cunt clenching on nothing but you think you might die if you don’t feel them stretching you out.

“nonono, please. please don’t. need it so bad. need you two so bad. wan’ your cocks in me, now. don’t care if it hurts” you think you might’ve broken them because now it’s them who can’t wait till you're done speaking. 

suguru stands up, dragging you up with him before he rips your panties off in one go. satoru, now standing behind you, is pushing your skirt as far up as it can go before pulling his dick out of his pants. suguru following his lead. 

they each keep one hand on a hip, keeping you upright. you feel satoru slip his dick between your folds from behind you, coating himself in your slick before pushing the tip into you. “oh, fuck. satoru, you’re so big” you hear suguru groan from in front of you. he’s using the same hand he fingered you with to stroke himself, waiting for you to adjust to satoru. 

satoru slowly pushes all the way in, stopping every inch or so when you let out a whine of discomfort. “breathe, baby. breathe” satoru may think he’s helping but his velvety voice in your ear is only turning you on more. your pussy doing anything but loosening up. after some time, you slowly grind your hips back onto him, letting him know you’re ready for him to move.

he starts with shallow thrusts and soon he’s going all the way back out before slamming his hips forward. your body shakes in their arms. you’re sure if they let go, you’d fall onto the floor. satoru’s pace doesn’t stay that way forever, though. you cry out a “s’toru, mo-move please” when you feel him slow his thrusts until he comes to a complete stop. 

“shhh, baby. suguru needs to feel you too, doesn’t he?” your eyes widen. you recall your words from earlier, you still want them more than anything but a feeling of uncertainty hits you. as if they can feel your unease, satoru nuzzles his nose into your neck while suguru rubs comforting circles into your hip. suguru gives you a kiss, wet and open mouthed. “you’ve been so good for us, yeah? we’ll take care of you” suguru whispers in your ear. his voice makes you clench harder around satoru.

you know satoru felt it because his mouth hasn’t left your neck and you can feel a grin spreading on his face. “we’ll go slow for you, sweetheart. you don’t need to do anything but be good for us. you can do that, right baby?” they wait for your response. though they’re both aching to be inside of you, they want to make sure you feel the same.

the room is silent when you speak. “p-please, wanna’ be your good girl” and they’re off. satoru stays still inside of you, instead moving one arm to wrap around your waist and his other hand to spread your pussy for suguru. “you gotta relax, sweet girl. there’s no way suguru’s gonna fit when you’re clenching down on me like that” suguru chuckles at the other man's words before he starts to squeeze his way in. satoru moves the fingers that were spreading you open to your clit, rubbing circles as suguru continues to push himself inside of you. 

your whines only get louder when they’re both finally inside of you. suguru is the first to speak. “you look so pretty like this. all stretched out on our dicks. i think we should keep her satoru.” satoru hums in agreement. “i think we should too. it’d be so nice to come home to her waiting so patiently for us to fuck her, take care of her” he lowers his voice adding a “and to love her” before you can process his words, satoru pulls all the way out and all the way back in. you let out a borderline pornographic moan and you feel them both twitch at the sound. 

“p-please move” you sniffle. and move they do. when suguru pulls out, satoru pushes in. and when satoru pulls out, suguru pushes in. the room filled with your whines and cries of “‘s too much”, “can’t take it”, and “wan’ more”. they do their best to give you everything you need. satoru uses a hand coated with your slick to make you face him so he can smash his lips against yours. 

he’s rough with his kiss. shoving his tongue down your throat, making you suck on it and pulling it out just so he can nibble on your lips. suguru, on the other hand, has made himself busy with your neck. he leaves bite marks wherever he can, kissing the same area he bit softly as if he was soothing the pain. “ha-harder”

satoru breaks the kiss with a groan. “our girl is so greedy, suguru. should we give her what she wants? i’m not sure i heard a please” suguru, still busy with your neck, grunts softly in feigned disappointment. “i thought we had trained her better than that. maybe we shouldn’t give it to her” you shake your head at their words “no! n-no please. i’m sor-ry, i’ll be good. don’ stop, please”

this seems to satisfy them because they listen. and they listen well. they not only move harder, but somehow deeper too. suguru has one of your legs lifted in the air while satoru keeps you steady at your waist. your moans get louder and louder, a warning that you’re getting close. you know satoru and suguru are aware but you know better than to cum without asking. 

“c-can i? please ‘ve been so good, wanna cum s-so bad” you’re practically sobbing and they can feel themselves throbbing around you. satoru kisses your cheek and says something along the lines of “you can cum, baby” but you aren’t listening because suguru bit that spot on your neck and satoru hit that spot in your cunt and you’re seeing stars when you squirt on them. 

they only get in a few more thrusts before they fill you up with their cum. “holy shit” satoru chuckles “didn’t know you were a squirter, baby” you whine out in embarrassment, wanting to hide your face in your hands but you feel too tired to do anything.  

you whimper when suguru pulls out, followed by satoru. the feeling of being empty being foreign after being stuffed so full. suguru carefully places your leg down, making sure satoru is still holding you up. you’re not sure what he has planned because he has that stupid grin on his face that he and satoru share when they’re about to do something devious. 

when around forty seconds have passed and the only thing that’s happened is satoru leaving wet kisses along your back, you think you’re in the clear but your legs being moved. each one gently placed on the shoulder of a very handsome suguru who is currently on his knees between your legs. you want to protest, tell them you’re still recovering from the last orgasm but suguru presses a kiss to your clit. 

the constant stimulation has your clit protruding out, begging for attention, so how could he not kiss it some more? the sounds from between your legs are no less than obscene. suguru is groaning into your cunt. he kisses, sucks, bites, and you would be a fucking liar to say that it doesn’t feel as good as it hurts. “you have the sweetest pussy, pretty” he moans out between kisses “tastes so good”

satoru thinks he’s going to go insane. he would much rather be between your legs but he knows there’ll be more chances for him to do so in the future. for now, he’ll focus on pressing those kisses you seem to love on your back and neck while using one hand to show each of your tits equal amounts of attention. and also whispering dirty words into your ear that only shove you closer and closer to the edge you’ve been teetering on. 

“does suguru’s tongue feel good, baby? you like being used by us? you wanna come all over his face like a good girl?” you do. you want to be nothing but the best for them. you wish they would never stop praising you. “y-yes, fuck, wanna be your good girl. wan’ to cum so bad, please can i?” you know nothing of pride, you only know suguru and satoru are making you feel so good that you can barely remember your own name.

it’s only when suguru says your name in that rough voice of his before telling you to come that you remember. you cum hard on his face, his mouth never stopping but only slowing down and moving to place gentle kisses on your clit. “you did so well for us, sweetheart” satoru moves his hands up and down your sides to sooth your trembling body. when suguru leaves to grab a washcloth to clean you up, satoru is still whispering comforting praises into your ear. he backs up to sit himself in a chair and tugs you into his lap. “shhh, it’s okay, baby. i got you”

suguru returns with a wet washcloth. “can you open up for me, pretty? jus’ gonna clean you, nothing else” satoru knows your body is capable of moving just yet so he takes your whine as the okay for him to spread you open for his friend. once suguru’s done, he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

suguru dresses you in one of his oversized shirts before satoru takes you to his bed. they let you sleep while they clean themselves up before joining you in bed as well. you wake up later that night to two sleeping boys and an ache between your legs. they each are touching you in their own ways, suguru nuzzled into your neck and satoru’s hand wrapped possessively around your waist. you find yourself drifting back into sleep and the next time you wake up, there’s a note on the bedside table.

“we stepped out for a bit but we’ll be back soon with breakfast, baby ;)” 

-

tuesday comes by again once more and this time you’re the only one staying behind. the past three days have been spent “studying” at suguru and satoru’s place and you’re finally ready to hear about your test results from your professor. when he returns your paper, you know there’s only one thing to do.

you text the two boys a picture of your grade on your exam making sure the big 98% written on top of a “nice work!” is clearly shown.

-you: i think i deserve a reward

©storusangel. any and all forms of modifications, reposts, and translation of my work are prohibited.

[magicdustsworld]

𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: A guide on how to properly date your tattooed, big, bad boyfriend.

𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒: Established relationship, slice of life

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: some profanity, biting(non sexual), fluff, no curse AU, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n. (Would be just a short series of drabbles)

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟏 : 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐇���𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔

Divider credits: @cafekitsune

"I love you."

"What?"

"I love you." You say with a sheepish grin playing on your lips as you get on your knees, crawling over to him. The silk sheets crease under your deliberate yet rhythmic movements – something which he doesn't even seem to notice. For the felicity in your eyes and the ardor clouding your visage is a expression to great to ignore and even though it's Sukuna, he can't ignore you.

You reach his side, resting your arm on the bedframe, looking up at him with a expression akin to a child looking at something it holds dear. "You know I love you so much, right?"

He blinks, clearly baffled with your sudden proclamation of love. Raking his brain over everything he did today – nothing out of the ordinary except being a asshole to that one salesman who wouldn't take his leave until selling his– whatever it was. But for Sukuna that's ordinary cause he's a jerk at heart.

He tilts his head, "What do you want?"

"Your arm." You are quick to reply, voice carrying an ardor which is too loud to miss. "Give me your arm."

His eye twitches, shooting you a – are you serious – look. You reply with a nod, stretching your hand, asking to get served. A disinterested scowl graces his lips, sparing you a glance, he turns to the opposite side.

This time, your eye twitches. He did not just reject your advances. You huff, inching closer to him as you place your hand over his bicep, "Baby... look at me."

He does. You jut out lower lip, eyebrows furrowing and tipping your head up at him. He can't help but consider how much you ressemble a cat with that expression. He pinches his lips, "If you think that's going to convince me otherwise then you're wrong— ow!"

In no time, you have sunk your teeth on his bicep, the canines puncturing the flesh, incisors holding the skin in place as you glare up at him.

Sukuna winces in sheer pain, trying to pull his arm off of your hold but you remain adamant on not letting him go. "Owh— what the actual fuck woman? Let go of me!"

You do let go, retracting your mouth but do not let go of his arm. You pout at him and Sukuna looks down at the attacked area. A circle of crescent moon shapes has forned on the part of the skin – it hurts like a bitch.

He turns to face you fully, crimson eyes blazing with a rage as he looks down on you. "What the hell was that for?"

You pout, narrowing your eyes, "Cuddle with me."

"After that stunt you pulled? Absolutely not."

"Absolutely yes."

He glares at you and you glare back; the silence turning into a staring match.

Sukuna scans your face, the crease on your forehead to the way you've twisted your lips and finally the flicker of vexation in your eyes.

Definitely a cat.

He sighs, threading his fingers through his hair before stretching out his arm. "Come here."

In an instant the irkness vanishes and you jump into his arms, eyes gleaming with delight and mouth stretched into a triumph grin. You giggle, "I knew you'd come along." You say, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck as Sukuna loops his arm around your waist, shifting you to a closer and better position.

He sighs, "Whatever, brat. Just don't bite me again."

You pursue your lips, gazing at him with a guilt. Leaning up, you press your lips against his cheeks in a chaste kiss, "Mhm, sorry."

Heat rushes up Sukuna's face, spreading from his ears to his neck; he looks away from you.

"Aw, are you blushing?"

"Shut up."

"You are blushing."

He merely responds with placing his hand on the back of your head and pushing your face down on his chest. "Shut up."

You giggle, mumbling something incoherent before snuggling closer to him. "I love you."

This time, Sukuna doesn't suppress the idiotic grin which spreads on his lips. With your face pressed against his chest, he strokes your hair, placing a soft kiss on top of your head.

"I know, brat."

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟐

[celuere]

kiss it, bite it, can i fit it?

pairing: arlecchino x fem!reader

context: your first time getting dragged into a lesbian bar after you came to therealization that men are simply just not for you. little did you know, your friends already had someone set up for you…

cw: modern au, dilf arle, implied age gap, shameless flirting, reader is lowkey inexperienced, strap-on, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, arle introduces you into the world of awesome sesbian lex, body worship, modern arle has her whole arms tattooed and you cannot convince me otherwise, no shade thrown on my bisexual icons, i am one myself pookies

word count: 2.9k

i‘m watching snapcubes sonic fandub while writing so i‘m sorry for any lack of braincells in this one

 „furina i… i really don‘t know if this was a good idea…“

it was currently 8:47pm on a saturday night and you were stuck in a lesbian bar  to which your friends furina and navia dragged you to, insisting it‘s a… great way to get you started!

one hour later navia sneaked off to talk to the purple-haired bartender and furina just nervously checked her phone every few minutes while she seems to be friends with quite a lot of todays visitors.

and you? you just stared holes into your cocktail you didn‘t touch for a single time. debating wether or not you should excuse yourself and drive home. you felt a little out of place here in this small community.

finally, furina‘s phone blinked up and her eyes widened before they found yours, a mischievous grin slowly spreading over her face.

she planned something. no wonder she kept checking her phone every few minutes.

„oh, this was a fantastic idea… you really thought i‘d just drag you here for fun…? i actually got the perfect match for you.“, patting herself on the shoulder for how good her plan seems to go so far, you wanted to choke her.

„that is not what we talked about-!“

„oh, this is exactly what we talked about! i pinky promise you will like her! she is an entomologist at the nearby institute, can name every insect and spider by a simple look and-“

„o-okay, okay, I get it-! still, i would have liked a little warning!“, you bent over the table to pinch her into the cheek.

„ow-ow-ow!! i-i knew you‘d have dipped if i told you about it-! now let got o-of me-!“, you sighed as you freed furina‘s cheek from your deathgrip and looked back down into the distorted reflection of your face in your drink.

„i‘m still new to all this so-“, you halted mid sentence when you noticed that the seat in front of you was suddenly empty, even her drink was gone.

oh this little-

„furina wasn‘t exaggerating when she told me about you being good on the eyes…“, a rather deep female voice spoke up behind you over the music before she came into view.

and all you wanted to do is get on your knees and thank furina over a million times for forcing you out of your apartment today.

because it was so worth it for the woman currently standing before you.

with her white-black hair being put up into a rather not so tidy bun, down to the fancy silken shirt being half unbuttoned… and the tattoos running both of her hands up to her forearms before disappearing underneath the fabric.

what in the world.

„i…“, you were forced to clear your throat before answering her, „y-yes… i think that would happen to be me…“, you looked her down once again. twice again. thrice again.

„sweetheart, if you‘re done undressing me with your eyes, i would love to get us both out of here. i‘m not exactly a fan of bars and clubs…“, flashing you a short smile, she put both her hands into the pockets of her pants.

„i- o-oh, goodness i-i‘m so sorry-! let me just-“, quickly gathering your stuff, you threw your jacket over your shoulder and got up from your seat, „good to go now-!“.

„and i haven‘t even properly introduced myself to you… a little excited, hm?“, she chuckled lowly before holding our her hand to you, „peruere. and your name is…?“, she couldn‘t help but let a chuckle slip past her lips at your almost humiliated expression.

that smile was driving you fucking insane.

 „my uh name is [name]! it is nice meeting you, peruere-!“, taking her extraordinarily warm hand into yours and giving it a light squeeze, suddenly leaving your apartment for tonight sounded like the best idea ever.

„the pleasure is all mine. now shall we get going…? it is a little too crowded in here for my taste…“.

peruere turned out to be a pleasant conversation partner. whatever topic you choose, she had a vast knowledge on almost everything and a charismatic touch to it too. it also came to your attention that she has three adopted children, a son aged 13 and a set of 16 year old twins.

„may i ask how you realized that just… men were not for you? that is a huge realization after all, not everyone can so easily come to term with.“, taking a turn with you to the left leading slowly to the exit of the park you were currently strolling around.

„it was… a little scary to be fair… but after countless failed relationships and dates, i slowly started to maybe consider that i‘m just not really interested in men. and after i went on yet another date i realized mid conversation that this is just… not for me? if that makes any sense… furina and my other friends certainly didn‘t seem surprised at all on the other hand, which was… a little embarrassing if i am being honest.“, you scratched the back of your head as you nervously laughed your own words off.

but peruere just looked straight down at you, not a hint of amusement in sight at your story, „it‘s not embarrassing at all. sometimes you have to try things out and make a few wrong choices before coming to the conclusion that you maybe have to handle things differently. you are not weird for discovering yourself fully in your mid twenties. look, my youngest son ist 13 years old and just now realized that he in fact does not like his astrology themed bedroom… after we had it completely decorated from ceiling to floor. guess we have to go for the undersea theme he has been wanting so dearly now. that is just part of growing up.“, she couldn‘t help but shove a few strands of your hair behind you ear.

„just like i am now realizing how beautiful you actually look in this particular light…“.

your body felt suddenly too hot for the clothes you were wearing, you weren‘t used to such… personal compliments from an almost stranger. even tho you never had as much chemistry with your previous dates as you did with her…

„y-you really are too sweet…w-we barely know each other, yet you speak to me as if it were ages…“

„i‘m not a fan of idle chitchat were i‘m simply listing up my favorite colors and how many steps it takes me from my bedroom into the bath.“, she is crossing her arms now and blowing a bit of her own hair out of her face.

„well… i would still like the answer to both of these things…“

something flashed up in the much taller woman‘s eyes.

„red and 14.“

you didn‘t know how the both of you made it to your apartment complex without clawing your clothes off. as soon as the elevator was closed, she was all over you. hands grabbing onto whatever curve they could as her lips moved against yours in an almost sexual manner. sucking on your tongue before pushing her own inside your mouth, teeth clashing together as if she wanted to eat you right up. your mixed saliva was running down the corner of your mouth when the elevator reached its destination.

„forgive me my… urgent behavior… it has been a while since i left the house for something like… a date…“, she stepped away from you, but not before wiping your chin clean of any spit with her thumb and stepping aside, „be so kind and lead the way, dear.“.

you just laughed her off as you walked into the hallway to your door, already fishing out the keys, „really this long…? i guess coming around is a little difficult with three kids to take care of and a career.“, sticking the key now into the hole and twisting it.

„it‘s not exactly something i mind. i choose to adopt them willingly. sure, a little more time to myself would be nice from time to time… but being a father has been nothing but fulfilling to me. i just wish lyney would stop setting things on fire for his magical tricks…“, she followed you inside your lofty abode, immediately taking her shoes off.

„that sounds… not really fun to worry about…“, you barely hung up your jacket when peruere‘s hand wrapped around your waist, tugging you back against her. hot breath hitting your ear as she leaned down to your height.

 „i have something much better on my mind right now anyways.“, pressing a gentle kiss to your ear that sent shivers down your spine, „which way is your bedroom, lovely…?“

„it‘s right at the end of the hallway… i just…“, you looked completely embarrassed away as you turned around, a light blush adorning your cheeks as you avoided eye contact.

„since i uh… did not expect this evening to take such a… turn… i did not take any appropriate measures beforehand…“

that woman looked never more puzzled in her life.

„as in…?“

„i did not shave…“, it was barely an inaudible mumble.

„excuse me, i did not quite catch that… try speaking up a little.“, she almost looked a little amused.

repeating yourself never felt more embarrassing, „i… did not shave… i‘m sorry…“

silence.

 „get your ass into that bed.“

she might as well just slapped you across the face.

„i- how?? isn‘t that the standard?“, you were literally getting shoved into the direction of your bedroom.

„if you think a bit of body hair is scaring me off, then i must disappoint you.“

as soon as you reached your bedroom, she was already fumbling with the buttons of your shirt.

„i-it‘s just that my previous dates were usually never fond of it-!“, a moan slipped out your mouth as she suddenly found her lips plastered on your neck, licking and sucking and search of your most sensitive spot.

her next words came out slightly muffled against your skin.

„they must have been cowards.“

the next moments were a mess of clothes just getting ripped off of you and herself unti you were left in nothin but half opened bra as peruere left a trail of hot and greedy kisses down your stomach. 

„relax and lay back for me. mhm… just like that…“, watching you as you laid back on your mattress only to feel her parting your legs and throwing them over her shoulders, you soon felt her lips caressing the soft flesh of your inner thighs.

„so beautiful… all ready for me… don‘t mind if i do…“, she didn‘t give you the chance to reply before she buried her head between your legs, tongue lapping up and down your folds and making sure to savor every drop of your arousal, prying your lips apart with her two fingers as she plunged her tongue finally into your aching pussy. she had you gripping the sheets with one hand her hair with the other in a matter of seconds. one moan after the other stumbling out of your mouth as quite literally fucked you with her bare tongue, her own groans of pleasure being drowned out by your cunt. she was treating you like a gourmet dinner, and holy mother on earth- you never experienced anything like this. she had technique, rhythm, everything. when she slipped the two fingers that were spreading you apart for her tongue, inside of you, it was as good as over of you. 

it took her merely a few experimental thrusts and curls of her hands before she found an enjoyable rhythm for you, and your g-spot along with it. with her mouth now wrapping around your already sensitive clit, you were hanging by a thread. her name was everything occupying your mind while you were swiped empty of anything else other than the woman feasting on your pussy like she has been starved for the past centuries. 

with the occasional spread of her fingers inside of you and her digits rubbing your sweet spot to mush, it unsurprisingly did not take long for you until your legs were quivering around her head, your juices spilling right over her fingers, you were technically fucking her face.

„mh-“, she allowed you to let you ride out your high on her hand before slowly rising back up from between your legs  and withdrawing her fingers.

„my… such a good girl… that certainly looked like it felt good, didnt it?“, licking over her lips before moving her soaked fingers up to her mouth, she didn’t break eye contact when putting her fingers between her lips to lick them clean of any of your remains.

holy mother of god.

you could only stare. panting. leaking. as she swirled her tongue around her fingers, even having the guts to slightly moan at the taste of you.

did she plan on killing you? because it was working.

„my… out of words, dove…?“, slowly letting her gaze glide over your shaking figure, a slight smirk tugged on the woman‘s lips. she was satisfied with the results of her works.

when you nodded lightly to her question she chuckled, „adorable… the chances are low, but you don‘t happen to own a strap-on do you?“

another reason to thank furina. she thought it was a funny idea to gift you one as your „coming-out-gift“. you thought she was being ridiculous. now you couldn‘t stop praising her in your mind.

„a-actually I do… left nightstand, l-lower drawer…“, you watched her hum in delight as she followed your instructions.

„now isn’t that just convenient for the both of us…“, peruere eyed the harness for a few seconds before it was buckled on around her hips with nothing more than a few smart handgrips. this woman couldn’t get any better. right…?

„my love, you are staring again.“, now laughing slightly as she leaned over you, a hand running down your thigh before pushing it up against your chest, you soon felt the tip of the dildo pressing against your drenched entrance.

„i just… i-i‘m just wondering… hah… what about y-your pleasure…? let me return the favor- ah-!“, peruere looked down at you as if you just said the cutest thing in the whole world as she pressed the tip inside.

she only spoke up after grabbing your chin and adding a few more inches into your clenching cunt.

„my pleasure? this. this right here…“, she slowly bends down to your face as you felt the tip kissing your cervix. you were now panting and whining right into her face.

„…is my pleasure.“, dragging her hips back before thrusting them right back into you as the older woman watched you fall apart underneath her with each of her movements, she angled her hips differently with each thrust, trying to see which one you enjoyed most before picking up the pace. 

everything was too much. her hitting your sensitive spot with each fuck of her hips back against yours. the hungry and desperate kisses she was showering you in. her free hand pulling and massaging your tit. it was simply too much for you. you had plenty of men before her but none of them ever cared to make you feel this fucking good. to make you moan right into the kisses she was drowning you in until you were gasping for air, running your hands through her messed up hair. then grabbing onto her toned shoulders when you begged her between soft whines and desperate pleas to fuck you harder. to show you what you have been missing out on with her.

she did not stop after you came a second time. nor after the third time.

you were all sobby and sweaty by the time she had you propped up in her lap, ramming her hips into yours while she gently encouraged you to ride her.

„just like that, doll… look at how great you are doing for me. does that feel good hm? i‘m sure it does… just look at how drenched my lap is in your arousal.“, she reached up to pull you into a hot kiss by your neck.

„one more, my pretty thing. you can do that for me. can‘t you?“, whispered words against your lips before pulling you right back against hers. her free had guiding you by your ass over her dick as you poor fucked out thing could do nothing but ride her like a good girl. she is going to have so much fun with you in the future. she still had to show you so many things, you surely want to experience it all with her.

right?

she quickly recognized your body growing shakier and weaker once again „mhm, that‘s right, come all over my lap…“

and you obliged. not like you had any other chance.

she let you calm down first, coming into your ear before carefully lifting you off of her lap.

„so good… now relax while i am cleaning up our mess, alright?“

you managed a soft smile and thumbs up. you weren’t capable of more right now.

all hail to furina.

[theorphicangel]

cw: needles, tattoos

bf! sukuna who is also a tattoo artist promising to do your first ever tattoo!

you were hestitant at first but one night after studying his own tattoos, you wondered what black ink would look like on your own skin. after much debate with yourself, you confess to sukuna your deep desire to be tattooed, preferbly by him.

he's eating a bowl of cereal during your confession. you show him a few designs and ask for his opinion. he looks at you up and down.

'you want a tattoo?'

'yes.'

'you do know it's permanent right?'

'I know.'

he chews, waiting for the punchline to kick or for you to change your mind abruptly. but it never comes.

not when you finalise the designs, perfecting and practicing as much as he could so it could be exactly what you envisioned.

not when the day before you mentally prepare yourself for the pain of the tattoo gun.

and not even when you enter his parlor for your appointment, Sukuna puts your name last in the book so that he has something to look forward to throughout the day.

it only comes after Sukuna has prepped you and you're sat in the chair with your arm propped that you say, 'wait i've changed my mind.'

'you've got to be fucking joking-'

'wait! let me think.'

you take a dramatic deep breath in and out, 'let's do it.'

'fucking weirdo' sukuna mumbles pulling up his face mask. you have to admit that whilst waiting for your tattoo it was pretty hot to watch your boyfriend in his element. his tight black tee which shows off the tattoos on his arms as well as his bulked figure. you watched his muscles flex as he moved around, sanitizing his area for you and setting everything up.

'are you really ready?' he asks one more time, snapping you out of your thoughts.

you nod.

'don't move'

'well duh.' you reply.

'you flinch at the sight of needles' Sukuna notes, turning on the tattoo gun and the obnoxious buzzing begins.

'don't remind me!' you snap, trying your best not to move from the position you were in.

'look over there.'

'I am.'

Right before the needle hits your skin, you ask a question pausing sukuna just centimetres from your arm. 'can I hold your hand?'

a pause. and sukuna gives you a look that says 'you've got to be kidding me'

'I need both of my hands to do your fucking tattoo idiot.'

'I was just asking.'

He lets out a sigh, regaining his focus. 'afterwards, when I clean you up.'

'Kay.'

'Do I get a sticker?'

'No.'

'Some chocolate-'

'this isn't a doctor's office, brat.'

you say nothing more, finally allowing to sukuna to do his job. with a wince the needle hits your skin.

it hurts, like a mother fucker. but you decide that it would turn out to be even worser if sukuna wasn't by your side.

biting on your free hand to distract you from the pain, the tattoo is quickly done and over, thanks to sukuna's expertise. the design comes out better than ever and you let out a gasp. sukuna begins to clean you up and wrap up your tattoo.

you can't help but gleam every time you look at it, unable to tear away your eyes.

'look now we're twins!'

'barely.' he teases, 'you're gonna need a whole lot more to match me.'

[luveline]

could you write bombshell!reader getting a tattoo of spencer’s name or something that reminds her of him and his reaction please?

“Why are you kissing me?” you mumble, your voice hoarse with sleep. 

They’re light kisses. “I’m going now,” Spencer says, matching your quiet tone. 

“No.” 

You wrap your arm behind his neck and feel his hair against your wrist. His nose and lips warm your jaw. 

“Yes.” He kisses your jaw. “I have to go, but I didn’t wanna leave without a kiss.” 

That’s really sweet, he’s so sweet, you’re so tired. “Please don’t go, Spencer.” 

“I have to go.” He readjusts your hugging to hum against your temple, distinctly content despite your pleading. “I’ll be back by six for dinner, promise.” 

“Promise,” you say.

You get to keep him for a few minutes, regardless. His neck must sing bent as he is over you but he doesn’t relent, doesn’t move until you encourage his face back to kiss just under his bottom lip. “Sorry, I’m making you late,” you whisper. 

“No, no, I accounted for this. You’re on my agenda.” 

“How much time did you allot?” you ask through a smile. 

“Seventeen minutes. That’s how long we usually hug in the morning.” 

“Gotta get that time down,” you say. 

“Or up.” He holds your face. You turn your head into his touch and keep him for just another half a minute. 

“Okay,” you mumble, letting your eyes flutter closed again, “you can leave, I’m gonna go back to sleep.” 

“Good idea.” He kisses you, and he says goodbye. You’re sleeping again before he’s even left your room

When you wake properly, you still feel loved, like a sunburn but with less stinging. There’s something very special about your boy; something permanent about the way he loves. You can’t imagine he’ll ever stop loving you like this, he’s embedded you so deeply into his life and his routines (and you’d beg him to keep you if he ever changed his mind). That in itself is crazy. You can’t have imagined begging a guy to let you stay, but for Spencer, you would.  

When he comes home that night, half an hour before six, you have no regrets. 

You hadn’t noticed how he was dressed when he left, but he looks lovely in just a simple t-shirt and jeans. Remarkably casual for him, you used to think he only wore t-shirts to bed, but the older he gets the better propensity he has for comfort. What makes it for you is the cardigan. 

“You look nice,” you praise, more than satisfied when the first thing he does after he takes off his shoes is lean down to hug you where you’re sitting on his couch. 

“Thank you.” He pats your back and pulls away. “You’re beautiful,” he says with ease, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Good day?” 

Your lips pucker into a twist. 

“What?” he asks. 

Unfortunately, he sounds deeply worried. 

“No, it’s nothing, I just hurt my arm. Can you have a look?” 

Spencer takes your arm. “What did you do?” he asks, pulling the sleeve of your shirt carefully up to your elbow. The Saran wrap confuses him, until it doesn’t, and he grins at your skin, before frowning again. His flickering emotions worry you, until he says, “Is that mine?” 

You hold your arm in the light. “Of course it’s yours?” 

It’s just a few words from a note he wrote you, perhaps too soon into your relationship for sweetness, and yet one you kept anyways. He told you the story of the I Love You lighthouse, or rather, the Minot Ledge lighthouse, and how the man who lived there had to live on a different island to his family while tending the lighthouse, so he would flash the light once, then four times, and then three times, one flash for every letter of each corresponding word: I love you. The note was left on your dresser. You’d slept together the night before, but he had to leave early. Nowadays he wakes you up, but  back then he’d been too shy. 

I want to be able to do that for you but I can’t find a lighthouse in D.C. that will let me in to try. I’ll keep looking. 

“I’ll keep looking,” Spencer reads. His thumb heistates just under your small font.

“It’s from that note you left me.”

“I know, I remember.” He does his awful frowny face where his eyelids lower and you're sure he’ll never smile again, he looks that upset. “You know this is permanent?”

“They do tend to be,” you say with a lovelorn sigh. 

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should kiss you, or hug you, or… I don’t know why you’d do this.”

“But it’s okay?” you ask. It could make for a very awkward conversation if he doesn't like it.

“It’s perfect.” He holds your gaze. “You’re perfect.”

He acts like your tattoo is a gaping wound as he moves in to hug you, careful of your new ink, but relentless in the tightness of his arms behind your back. You laugh, then squeal at his insistence, a giggly girly thing that nobody else should ever hear but him. He doesn’t make fun of you, just squeezes you to him, his face pressed so hard to yours you can feel his cheekbones. 

“Now I just have to say something romantic for you to get tattooed and we’ll be equal again.’

“So we aren’t equal?”

“Um, no way.” Your laugh is self-satisfied and breathless. You turn your lips to his cheek. “I love you. I’m gonna build you a lighthouse.”

“Can’t believe you kept that note.”

“I have a whole shoebox of them. I love that you write them.”

He stops holding himself up, half on the couch and half in your lap as he hugs you with every bit of strength in his arms.

[bi-writes]

If you need horny ideas. How would the141 men react to their partner having nipple piercing.

i'm so glad you asked !!!!!! (18+, f!reader)

gaz — oh, baby, gaz is a sucker for pretty things, being one himself. he frequently records both of you. he takes amateur videos most often, recording you in fits of breathlessness and deliriousness. he's definitely an ass-man, but his favorite video he's ever taken is you underneath him, your thighs pressed up around his hips as he pounds into you at an intense angle. your tits are bouncing with every movement, piercings nearly sparkling in the low light, and fuck if that isn't 100/10 wank material.

soap — johnny is into anything. any kink, any piercing, anything new, and if he hasn't tried it, he's a panting dog, eager to discover new, sexual experiences for himself. and when you, very shyly, showed him what was under your bra, johnny's eyes rolled back into his head because holy shite, ye are the woman of my dreams. loves sucking on them and slobbering all over your tits—says the metallic taste is so good, and his favorite place is putting his head between your tits and suckling a nipple into his mouth with a low groan. he'll do it anywhere, too—on the couch as you watch a movie, in bed as you try to sleep, anywhere anytime for any reason.

price — the first time he sees you naked, he immediately thinks "fuck, she's too young for me," but you recognize that timid look in his eyes. as soon as you get that man on his knees and your tits in his mouth, he's immediately slack-jawed and pawing at you like a needy puppy. the thought "mommy?" flashes through his mind. just briefly. just a little.

ghost — you're so shy when you show ghost the only quirky thing about you. this man is covered in scars, burns, tattoos, old wounds. he wears a skull mask on every date, and yet you're a little jumpy to show him your tits? you toss your shirt onto the floor and perk up a little on your knees. your nipples are overly pebbled, with the cold air and his dark eyes right on them, but your mind just whirs when ghost chuckles low in his chest and pulls up the hem of his shirt to show off his chest. you're in a fit of giggles when you he comes closer—there was nothing to be worried about. ghost has a matching set, too. :D

[aakeysmash]

christmas shopping, matching pajamas and family discounts

college!sukuna masterlist

"Why are we here again?" college!sukuna huffs from next to you for the umpteenth time.

"Stop acting like a little bitch. You asked me that 20 seconds ago, Yuuji is acting better than you," you hiss out, glaring at him. It's true though: the kid is trotting right in front of you two, not a care in the world, while his caretaker is currently dragging his feet on the pavement you're walking on.

"And you still didn't answer, fucker," he barks back, grimacing, kicking a little rock.

"Yes, I fucking did! I told you this morning we were going Christmas shopping! You never listen to me," you start, jutting your lip out and trying to play the victim. You know he hates it when you do it. "Maybe I should tell Yuuji how his big brother hates the idea of going shopping with him," you provoke, whispering so that only you and him know what you're talking about. He scoffs, offended.

"Liar. Don't you fucking dare-"

"Are you two fighting again?" whines Yuuji, turning around and pouting. You and Sukuna glance at each other before shaking your head at the same moment.

"No, we're getting along so well," you force yourself to smile.

"Yeah, she said she's so glad I'm accompanying her. Matter of fact, she said she's going to offer us lunch," Sukuna continues, an evil glint in his eyes when he hears you gasp.

"I did not-"

"Really?! Yippie!" screams Yuuji, coming to hug you violently. You stumble back, gritting your teeth, and reciprocate the hug while narrowing your eyes at the grinning tattooed man in front of you. He knows you're not able to say no to his brother.

When Yuuji runs inside the mall, you push Sukuna's shoulder, mumbling "bitch". He just chuckles, then boldly gets you close by placing one open hand on your lower back. You know he's just going to tease you, so you put both hands on his chest to fight back, trying to put some distance between you two, but the place is crowded and everyone is looking at you. A woman passes by you and looks at you weirdly, so you stop wriggling in his grasp, and he delicately pushes you even closer. You're chest to chest, his breath fanning over your features, grin ever present on his face, enjoying how you look pissed out of your mind. From the outside, it looks like you're hugging each other, when in reality he just puts his mouth on your ear to utter "Never play with me, baby. I know how to drive you mad," then frees you and walks behind Yuuji with his hands in his pockets, not turning back to see if you're following him or not. You're seething.

"Oh my God, Yuuji, look at these!" you swoon over a pair of pajama pants. They're a soft brown, decorated with little green Christmas' trees and little reindeers, a bright red Merry Christmas! on both knees.

"It's a set!" squeals the kid next to you, grabbing the sweater right on top of the piece of cloth you have in your hands. You both notice at the same time that the set comes both in adults' and kids' sizes. "Can we take it?" he asks you looking up, puppy eyes activated. Your heartstrings are pulled so tight you feel like you could implode if you look at his face for a second longer.

"Of course we can, I thought it was obvious," you say excitedly, grabbing his hands and jumping up and down with him in a circle while he laughs, smile on full display and brown eyes squeezed shut happily.

Sukuna, who has kept watching his phone for the majority of the time you've been inside the mall, raises his gaze when he hears your laugh mingled with his brother's. If you had been looking at him in that instant, you would've seen the brief soft glimpse that passed on his whole face when he took in how happy you both looked together. When you turn around, though, he's already schooled his features to appear bored.

"Are we done?" he yawns.

"Would you like to match with us?" you ask him, at the same time. You scowl and he scoffs.

"Hell no, girl. I'm not with whatever stupid shit y'all are doing," he says, trying to act tougher than what he actually feels like. Seeing you being kind to the only person in the world who shares 100% of his genes makes him feel things he doesn't want to acknowledge right now.

"You're a party pooper, 'Kuna," Yuuji mumbles, frowning. "Can we still match? I really want us to match," he adds, shily, looking at you. You're shocked. His cheeks are getting redder the more you gawk at him. "Sorry, you can say no-"

Your kiss on his cheek resonates all around the ally you're currently staying in. "Of course I want to match with you. We don't need your evil brother, Yuuji. Let's go try them on," you sweetly say, taking his hand and walking away from Sukuna, not before flipping him off. Yuuji is so giddy that he follows you like he's walking on clouds, his face slightly hurting from how hard he's cheesing.

Sukuna just stands there, baffled and even a little offended. He stiffens, noticing he still has his phone in his hands. He's so fast with it he's the first to remain shocked by his own actions: he hears the click of his camera and looks at the pic he's just taken, feeling his chest heavier than it's ever been. It's a beautifully taken pic, where you and Yuuji are squinting at each other, hand in hand, laughing. He turns off his screen, shakes his head and catches up to you. You're going to give him a headache if you continue being like this. Or a heart attack. Or both.

"Hello, what can I do for you?" the nice old lady at the checkout says.

"Hi, we'd like to take these two pieces," you kindly respond, handing her the pajamas you and Yuuji just tried on.

"Let me see... oh, we actually have a family discount on this! Is the daddy not going to take anything?" she innocently asks, looking over at your older roommate.

"Yo, I'm not his-"

Your eyes almost fall out of your sockets. "Ah ah ah! Silly us! We forgot his one! Just give me a second," you interrupt a scowling Sukuna, covering his mouth with your hand before he can finish his sentence, dragging him away. Yuuji gives the old lady a confused look, to which she responds with "Young parents these days," shaking her head.

"You're going to take the fucking matching set, Sukuna, and you're going to like it," you seethe, still dragging him away (well, it's more like he's letting you drag him away). You hear how he's trying to talk behind your hand. "Don't piss me off. I'm going to pay less to get more, and you're going to listen to me. Go." You ignore him and he raises one eyebrow, looking you up and down, before biting your fingers. You yelp and let him go, scowling. "I said go! And act like you care about me when we get there, we're a family until the discount tells us so!"

"Okay, ma'am," he grins down to you, wiping his saliva from the corner of his mouth with a slow movement, his gaze lingering a bit too much on the way you're panting.

"Move! Take your size and let's go! Yuuji is waiting for us!" you push him, rushing back to the cashier.

"Oh, you were really fast. I thought you were going to argue with the way you rushed away," she says when she sees you come back, surprised. You nervously chuckle, telling her how you were already planning on buying one for Sukuna, you just forgot. "That would be 20.99$."

While you're swiping your card, you suddenly feel engulfed by heat. Sukuna positions his hands on your waist, giving you a half hug from behind while simultaneously giving his best confident grin to the old lady in front of him.

"Yeah. I just like when she bosses me around a bit, if you know what I mean," he says, sultry, winking at the cashier who is chuckling behind her hand, embarrassed, waving him away.

What the fuck? You initially try not to stiffen, then relax and give her a shy smile, and he squeezes you a bit closer. You melt on his chest, feeling hotter than you've felt all day. He's so comfortable. He brushes his lips near your ear and makes sure you hear the way his raspy voice is all around you. "And I do, baby. I really do."

[dumblilb]

I Could Be Enough

Pitfighter!Vi x Fem!Reader

(Synopsis: They weren’t super close as children, but running around in the same crowd kept them in the know of each other. But years later she might be all Vi’s got left.)

(Warnings: drunk!vi, alcohol, mentions of physical violence ‘ not towards reader’, it’s mostly fluff, a little bit of angst, no mentions of physical attributes, just she/her pronouns, not proof read)

(Requested: yes)

(Wc: 1,5k)

* ・゚☆ 。・ * ・゚★ 。・ * ・゚☆ * ・゚☆ 。

You don’t even know how it got to this point. Sitting at the booth in a gross, sticky, and dark club, watching over a girl you didn’t think you would ever see again. And maybe you were right. Cause she’s not the same girl you remember running around the streets of the under city as a child. The one who always had a bright look in her eyes as she tried so hard to live up to her father’s name, and keep her siblings safe.

But one thing was the same behind those, now dark and sad, slate grey eyes. She was a fighter. In the most literal sense. She couldn’t keep her fist off a jaw if she tried. Night after night she would cover her distinct tattoos and red hair with dark paint. Disguising herself from the public who claimed her strength as a prize. Or maybe even hiding from herself. She wasn’t to sure anymore.

But as the nights carried on the paint got messier and the drinks were getting stronger. And it was hard to watch. But here you were. Watching. So hard you thought your eyes might bleed from all the strobing lights and smoke filling the air. Any other night you might have gone to bed. Ignored the aching feeling you had, and left her to party the rest of the night away. But you couldn’t. Because there she was also watching you. As she sloppily got up with a bottle in her hand and started to walk towards the exit, the urge to follow consumed you. Because you knew she wanted you too. She was practically begging. And so you did. Meeting her by the stairs leading to her small apartment.

“Thank god you came, I thought I was gonna have to drink all alone tonight.” She slurred and you sighed resting your hip against the wall, propping yourself up.

“What would you do without me.” You smiled at her. Trying not to be angry with how fucked up she sounds. Slyly taking the bottle from her and helping her steady by the waist you walk her home.

“You know you’re so pretty when you’re mad at me.” She sighs as you push her door open. You just roll your eyes. She’s been doing this for months. Ever since her first pit match. You were hired as a sort of nurse for the ring. Patching up the people who were getting their shit rocked, and the people doing the punching. Making sure they were healed enough for their next match. And the second you saw her step in that ring you knew it was her. Sure she looked a little different. But her deep upper cut. You could never forget that.

So you causally brought up growing up in the lanes while bandaging her fists that day. How you were pretty shy but always friendly with a boy named Ekko. And he had introduced you to his friends a few times. You could tell she remembered you. But she didn’t say anything. Which was okay. You could tell she didn’t really want to be known at that point. But as time went on she spent more time talking to you after matches. Sitting at the bar just trying to figure out how life got both of you here.

But she also found alcohol along the way. And that concerned you. She would always assure you she was fine. And you chose to believe her. Even though it sometimes seemed she would look right through you. Like she wished something else was there.

But even before the alcohol, the casual flirting was always there. Comments about how attractive you looked and how nice you were to her compared to the other fighters. Claiming you made her feel ‘so special’ and not just because it was coming from a beautiful girl like you.

So as you sit her down on her small bed and pull out some supplies to remove her makeup you can’t help but shake your head at her.

“Your dumb fake flirting isn’t going to get you out of this one vi. You’re a mess.” You sigh pushing her hair back with one hand, removing her makeup with the other.

“It’s not fake and you know it.” She rolls her eyes. “I want you. Please.” She says griping the hand with the cloth in it. Rubbing her thumb across your knuckles softly. The difference between her ruff scared hands and yours now glaringly apparent.

“You’re drunk and exhausted, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a bit of a concussion after today’s match. I haven’t seen you get hit that hard in a while.” You say ignoring her advances. As you’ve done before.

“I’m fine. You know I’m fine.” She reassures you. But the wavering of her eyes says otherwise.

“I know you think you’re fine-“ you remove your hand from hers and finish wiping her face. “But I see you, Vi. And this isn’t fine.” You say pointing from the bottle resting on her little table to her bruised fists.

She groans tossing her head back. And you gear up ready for a fight about how you don’t know what you’re talking about. But she rubs her eyes a little, her breath slowly becoming unsteady.

“You’re right I’m sorry.” She breathes out looking at you. The small bit of light roaming the room makes the wateriness of her eyes sparkle. “God I’m so tired and I don’t know what to do.” She cries.

You don’t even know how to respond. She’s never really cried in front of you before. She’s always been so tuff. But as she sits before you, even her toned and muscular body couldn’t make her look strong.

“I’m so lonely. All I have at this point is you. And you don’t even want me.” She continues and your face softens. Kneeling down in front of her you softly stroke her hair, pulling her in for a hug. She cautiously wraps her arms around you. Like just her touch might scare you away.

“You have me. You do. I think you have for a while now. I just didn’t think you were serious.” You reassure her. Her head nuzzles into the crook of your neck, and you can hear her breathing steady slightly.

“I’m always serious about you.” She says softly, it being a bit muffled by her position. She pulls away from the hug, resting her forehead to yours. “Can you stay please. I don’t want to be alone.” She asks quietly. Her warm breath hitting your lips.

“I’ll stay.” You grin and she moves to get up and grab a blanket. You help get her ready to lay down, removing her thick boots and setting aside the dirty cloth.

She props the blanket in your lap and she lays down. At first you just smile at how dainty she looks compared to how you usually see her. But her strong arm pulling you down next to her snaps you out of it pretty quickly.

Pulling the blanket over you both, you run your fingers through her hair. Analyzing her face one feature at a time. Her eyes seem a little more blue in this lighting. And you can finally see the small freckles adorning her skin.

“Are you trying to seduce me.” She asks with a soft laugh. “Cause it’s working.”

“Don’t get any funny ideas. That’s not happening. At least not tonight.” You say and you could have sworn her cheeks got a little pink.

“Well then you’ve got to stop staring at me like that… At least not tonight.” She jokes rolling over. Making you smile.

With her back to you, you place an arm around her waist holding her firm. You could feel her body stiffen and you try to remove your arm but she stops you. “No wait. This is good.” She whispers. “This is good.” And she holds your arm tight to her. Rubbing circles across it with her fingers. Her whole body relaxes against yours and you smile against her neck.

“You know I’m not that same girl anymore.” She sighs a little out of no where. But you get it, she’s trying to give you an out. A chance to run. You hum in response. “I’m different I think. I’m not as strong as I used to be.” She continues and you know she’s not talking about muscle, or brawn. She used to be a leader. Someone people looked up to. And now… most people didn’t even know her real name.

“That might be true. But that’s okay.” You say pressing a soft kiss to the base of her neck. “You’ve been through a lot. I think you’re holding on to a girl who didn’t know what life was yet. And you’re grown up. It’s normal to not be the same. Or feel the same.” You continue and she turns to face you. Caressing your cheek softly.

“I think maybe I can be okay. With you.” She muses. Placing a light kiss to your lips. Making you smile.

“Good cause I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t know if tomorrow she would go back to drinking. Or if she would get her ass kicked in the pit. But tonight she was safe. And she was with you. And as she fell asleep to your heart beating against her, you couldn’t help but hope it could stay this way. Cause for you. This was enough.

[rosachae]

bend (her) like beckham | manon x reader

⁍ requested: yes! thank you anon ⁍ genre: slowburn fluff, angst. idol!manon x soccer player!reader. posh spice/david beckham dynamic spinoff. wingman megan and wingman beabadoobee (soccer player!bea) ⁍ a/n: thank you so much for requesting this, anon! as i've said in previous posts, sorry for the delay in getting this out. i hope this is what you were looking for. i had a lot of fun writing this. ⁍ w.c: 20.3k ⁍ warnings: curt language, nsfw/suggestive themes, mentions of painkiller abuse and injury. ⁍ synopsis:

y/n is one of the best midfielders the sport of women's soccer has ever seen. manon bannerman is a part of the global girl group sensation, katseye. they couldn't be any more different. that much was made clear after a chance hookup lead to their paths crossing once again at a pregame performance. who knew a little note would be the start and end of everything?

los angeles glittered in a way that felt almost artificial, like a city made for the lens of a camera instead of real life. you’d flown in the day before, checked into your hotel, and tried not to overthink the weight of the season opener. it wasn’t your first time playing in a packed stadium, but the buzz around this match was different. the whole country was watching. so were the brands. so were the scouts. so was everyone who had ever told you you were too young, too bold, too much.

but tonight wasn’t about that. tonight was bea’s birthday.

you hadn’t seen her in months, not since the team usa off-season camp in colorado. she played for angel city fc now, and technically, she’d be your rival on the field tomorrow. but friendships like yours didn’t vanish just because you wore different kits. when she called earlier in the week and said “don’t you dare miss my party,” you hadn’t even pretended to hesitate.

the house was tucked high in the hills, the kind of place only athletes, actors, and internet famous people seemed to know about. you’d barely made it out of the car before you heard someone call your name. 

bea was already there, walking up to your car with a large shiteating grin on her face. 

“would you look what the cat dragged in. y/f/n. i thought you were gonna flake,” 

“beatrice laus. funny seeing your dopey face. you won’t be so happy when i wipe the field with your ass tomorrow.”

bea grimaced when you dropped her full government name, but then shook her head with a short laugh. “shit talking already? and on my birthday? have some class.” 

you rolled your eyes playfully when she leaned in for a quick hug, the tattoos on her arms glittering under the strobing lights filtering through the windows of her house. you hug her back stiffly, wincing slightly at the heavy smell of alcohol seeping into her clothes. 

“jesus, bea. how the hell do you plan on even waking up tomorrow?”

bea shrugged, her grin not once slipping from her face as she looped her arm through yours. she practically tugged you up the stairs and into her house, voice raising to be heard over the thumping music. 

“nevermind that, why don’t you have something to drink? live a little!”

you narrow your eyes. “this sounds like some shitty attempt at sabotage if i’ve ever heard it. you know we have a game to play.”

she waved her hand dismissively. “you only live once. let me enjoy my night.” then she trailed off when something catches her eye in the far corner. “while you go be mopey somewhere else, i have some babysitting to do.”

the last thing you heard before she disappeared into the crowd was a loud “hey! get off my chandelier!” before the music droned out any and all legible string of sentences. 

you shook your head, laughed under your breath, then let your gaze wander the room. you didn’t recognize many people. a few fellow athletes, a handful of streaming personalities, a tattooed actor from that one netflix show. everyone was dressed like they had nowhere to be the next day. there were polaroids passed around and a tray of neon shots no one really wanted to take but did anyway for the aesthetic. 

if you were being honest with yourself, you’d have rather been anywhere else. the music was too loud, the house too crowded, and the air smelled like expensive perfume and the kind of liquor that burned going down. it wasn’t like you to be out so late the night before a game, especially not one like this. season opener. national spotlight. everything to prove.

but bea had asked, and saying no to her had never been your strong suit.

still, as the night wore on, your patience wore thin. you were tired of smiling at people you didn’t know. tired of pretending to care when someone told you they’d seen your nike ad. you’d already dodged a half-hearted attempt from some girl you vaguely remembered, the one who thought flirting was a sport and boundaries were optional. you were sick of people trying to shove shots into your hands like you hadn’t worked your entire life for the game. you knew what coach would say if he saw you here. not angry. just disappointed. the thought alone made your stomach twist.

you kept your face neutral. unreadable. it was easier that way.

with a quiet sigh, you peeled yourself away from the crowd and wandered toward the back of the house. the hallway was long and dimly lit, the thrum of bass dulling the farther you walked. you passed a bathroom, a guest room, a door that was half-cracked open with coats spilling out like it had given up trying to hold everything inside.

eventually, you found the balcony. or maybe it found you.

it was empty except for a flickering candle on the railing and the city stretched out beneath you like a lit-up promise. out here, the air was cooler. you could finally breathe. you stayed there for a while, long enough for the hum of the party behind you to fade into background noise. the city had a rhythm of its own. the occasional whoop of a car down in the canyon, the buzz of neon from somewhere in the distance, the faint echo of music bleeding out from other houses stacked along the hills. the kind of place where it felt like everything was happening all at once.

you were so caught up in the quiet of it that you didn’t notice her step outside.

not at first.

it was the click of the sliding door, soft but intentional, that pulled your attention. you glanced over your shoulder, only half-interested. and then you saw her.

she stepped into the light like she didn’t care who was watching. slow, unhurried, utterly unbothered by the idea of being seen. dark eyes, high cheekbones, that exact kind of poised elegance that didn’t feel practiced so much as inherited. her dark brown boho braids framed her face in a way that had your breath catching in your throat. several strands of hair framed her face like they belonged there, delicate against her smooth complexion. she wore low rise jeans and a tank top that showed off her toned stomach, the belly chain around her stomach ricocheting light as if they were diamonds on her skin. for a second, you genuinely thought she might be a model.

you looked away before you could be caught staring.

didn’t matter. she noticed anyway.

“you hiding, too?” she asked, voice low and smooth like she’d spent the whole night not saying much and was only now deciding to use it. 

you couldn’t place her accent but the little teaser you got was enough to have you wanting to hear more. 

you huffed a quiet laugh. “something like that.”

she walked over, leaning on the railing beside you. just far enough to be polite, just close enough to make your skin buzz.

“i get it,” she said. “it’s loud in there.”

you nodded. “and a little too… curated.”

she smiled at that. not wide. just a tug at the corner of her mouth like she wasn’t used to smiling for strangers but decided to anyway.

“you here for bea?” she asked.

you nodded. “old friend. team usa.”

“ah. so you’re an athlete.”

you glanced over, eyes narrowing a little. “that obvious?”

“the way you stand. the way you didn’t drink the shot someone tried to give you. and…” she paused, letting her eyes drag across you for just a second too long. “the quads.”

you laughed, caught off guard. “okay. fair.”

she tilted her head, curious. “soccer?”

“football,” you corrected, smiling despite yourself.

“right. of course.”

a beat passed. the silence was comfortable now.

“you?” you asked.

she shrugged. “just here with friends.”

you raised a brow. “you don’t seem like a ‘just here’ kind of girl.”

“maybe i’m not,” she said, and you couldn’t tell if it was a challenge or an invitation.

maybe it didn’t matter.

because five minutes later, you were still talking. ten minutes after that, your hands brushed. twenty minutes later, the city wasn’t what you were looking at anymore.

maybe it was the way she looked at you.

not with expectation, not with hunger, but with this quiet kind of curiosity that made your skin feel warmer than it should have in the night air. like she was studying you. like she wanted to figure you out without asking for anything.

the ride back to the hotel was quiet. you’d called the car, sat side by side in the back seat, close but not touching. her knee bumped yours when the car hit a bump on the freeway. she didn’t pull away. neither did you.

when you got to the room, you unlocked the door like you’d done it a hundred times before. the key clicked, the door swung open, and you stepped inside without looking back. you tossed your phone onto the desk, kicked off your shoes, and reached for the bedside lamp. the soft yellow glow filled the room, casting long shadows over the rumpled comforter and the single armchair pushed against the corner.

you heard the door close behind you.

she lingered near it, one hand still on the handle like she hadn’t made up her mind. her gaze swept the room, thoughtful, slow.

“this what five-star athletes get?” she asked, lips twitching like she was fighting a smirk.

you glanced over your shoulder. “you coming in, or just here to rate my accommodations?”

she smiled then,  slow and deliberate, before stepping inside and letting the door click shut behind her. “depends. you planning on entertaining your guest?”

“depends,” you said, mirroring her tone. “you planning on staying?”

she walked the room like she had all the time in the world. dragged her fingers along the edge of the desk, paused at the foot of the bed, tapped the corner of a framed photo of some abstract skyline you hadn’t noticed before. her presence filled the space without effort. you weren’t sure if it was the way she moved or the way she looked at everything like it might tell her a secret.

“nice view,” she murmured, peeking through the sheer curtain.

you didn’t answer. you were watching her.

she turned, eyes landing on yours again. “you always bring strangers back to your hotel room?”

“only when they look at me like that.”

she tilted her head, feigning innocence. “like what?”

“like they want something.”

“maybe i do,” she said. then, after a beat, “maybe i don’t.”

you crossed the space between you without thinking. your fingers found the edge of her jeans first, then slid up to the curve of her waist. her hands came up to your collar, light and curious, not pulling you in but not letting go either.

“this where you ask for my name?” she asked, voice low now.

“do you want me to?”

she considered it. “no.”

you nodded. “then don’t tell me.”

the kiss was slow when it landed, soft and searching, her lips brushing yours like she was figuring out how you liked to be kissed before committing to it. she tasted like peppermint and a whisper of something floral. her skin was warm under your hands. 

you didn’t rush. didn’t fumble.

the pace stayed lazy, deliberate. clothes came off in between teasing comments and almost-touches. her mouth ghosted over your throat and she muttered, “what are you thinking about?” against your skin.

you breathed out, “only you.”

she laughed quietly, a little smug. but she said nothing more when you pulled her down with you onto the bed.

whatever came next wasn’t about knowing each other. it was about the way her hips moved against yours, the way her hand held the back of your neck like it meant something, the way she moaned into your mouth when you bit her lip a little too hard. it was about how quiet the room got except for the sounds you made together, the rustle of sheets, the rhythm of bodies learning each other’s language one kiss, one breath at a time.

she didn’t ask anything of you. neither did you.

but when she kissed your shoulder, your jaw, the place just under your ribs like she wanted to remember it, you wondered if she might be trying to leave something behind.

only by the time morning came, the space next to you was empty.

she was gone.

for a moment, you wondered if you had imagined the whole thing. but then you spotted the note. it was folded in half and placed neatly on the pillow, written on the hotel’s stationery in small, looping handwriting.

thx for the night. –meret

you sat there with the note in your hand for a long while, memorizing the name, the shape of it, the way her face lingered in your memory even though you hadn’t known it for more than a few hours.

you didn’t know her last name. you didn’t know what she did or where she was going next. you just knew her name was meret, and she had vanished like smoke. without a sound, without a trace, save for that single line in ink.

you slipped the note into your bag before getting up.

by the time you stepped into the stadium that afternoon for the pregame warmups, you’d almost convinced yourself to forget her.

almost.

__

‎ 

manon didn’t get back to the hotel until almost four in the morning.

technically, it was closer to four-thirty. the sun was already brushing against the edges of the horizon, and downtown los angeles looked too clean for how she felt. her braids were coming undone, her shirt was buttoned wrong, and she had the faintest mark under her jaw where someone’s teeth had lingered longer than they should have. she didn’t bother adjusting any of it. the lobby was empty, the elevator was slow, and when she caught her reflection in the mirrored wall, she just looked at herself once, then looked away.

she tried to be quiet pushing into the room. she really did. but the key card stuck a little in the lock and her boots thudded against the carpet when she kicked them off. that was enough to wake sophia.

“manon?” sophia’s voice was raspy, low with sleep. “is that you?”

a rustling followed, then lara’s voice came from the second bed. “god, it is her. jesus. what time is it?”

“you’re lucky we’re not on live right now,” daniela mumbled into her pillow. “i’d be exposing your walk of shame in real time.”

manon didn’t say a word. just slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. but that didn’t stop them.

“i want a full debrief in the morning,” megan called out. “i want names, timelines, weather conditions.”

“was she pretty?” lara asked, her voice high with curiosity.

“was she good?” daniela countered, only to be met with silence. she continued after a beat. “she’s quiet. that means yes.”

manon returned ten minutes later in fresh clothes. she looked clean but guilty, more ammunition to fan the fire.

megan sat up, stretching like a cat. “you smell like someone else’s perfume.”

“and success,” sophia added.

“how was she?” lara asked, immediately elbowed by yoonchae.

manon finally spoke, voice dry. “you’re all freaks.”

megan gasped. “rude.”

“don’t dish it if you can’t take it,” sophia said, tossing a pillow at her. “you disappeared with a stranger and came back looking like a victoria’s secret campaign. we’re allowed to be nosy.”

“it’s a sisterhood,” daniela said solemnly. “this is what you signed up for.”

manon climbed into bed besides lara without answering. she kept her expression neutral, but they all clocked the faint smile she tried to hide when she turned toward the wall.

she only managed to get two hours of sleep before she had to get up and prepare for the day ahead of her. 

they had spent the morning rehearsing, the afternoon getting glammed, and now they were all dressed in stage outfits that shimmered when the sun hit them right. hair slicked, nails done, in-ear monitors already tucked into place.

by the time the van pulled up to the stadium it was 2p.m. the teasing had died down, replaced by the kind of focused energy only performance days brought. manon sat by the window, earphones in, sunglasses pushed up into her hair. she hadn’t said much since leaving the hotel. the others assumed she was just in the zone. none of them noticed the way her fingers tapped restlessly against her thigh, or the way she kept glancing down at her phone like it might tell her something she didn’t know yet.

the van pulled into the private tunnel, slowing to a crawl. stadium security swarmed the entrance, and huge vertical banners hung from the outer walls. each one showed a different player. bold block letters. intense, stylized headshots. pure american sports propaganda.

the others were talking about stage positions when manon saw her.

it wasn’t just recognition. it was impact.

her gaze snapped to the banner like she’d been physically pulled by it. the face on the vinyl was unmistakable. same mouth. same eyes. same jawline that she had kissed in the dark just a few hours ago.

manon didn’t move. didn’t blink. for a full three seconds, she forgot to breathe.

megan caught the shift immediately. she felt it in the way manon’s posture changed. the sudden stillness. the air around her turning sharp and quiet.

megan leaned forward, her voice low and curious. “hey. you good?”

manon didn’t answer right away. then she blinked and turned her head, too fast to be casual. “yeah. fine.”

megan narrowed her eyes. “you sure?”

manon nodded. too quickly. “just nerves.”

megan didn’t push. not yet. but she filed the moment away, sharp and clean, and said nothing else as the doors to the van opened and the sound of the crowd roared in from outside.

your face was the last thing she expected to see.

if manon was being honest with herself, she still didn’t know why she went back to your hotel last night. it wasn’t like her. that kind of impulse,  reckless and raw, didn’t usually make it past the filter she kept up in public. especially not in a city like this, where eyes were always watching. 

maybe it was the way you looked at her on that balcony, like she had hung the stars herself. like all of los angeles could burn and you wouldn’t notice, not with her standing there in front of you. 

maybe it was your mouth, the way it curved just slightly at the corners when you smiled, like you were holding back a secret only she was allowed to know.

whatever it was, it pulled her in. and now, seeing you again like this ten stories tall on the side of the stadium, all fire and focus and unapologetic light, she froze. manon wasn’t sure whether to laugh or run.

not that it mattered. alas, the decision was already made for her.

katseye was being ushered through the underground tunnels, their in-ears already clipped in, stage crew calling out cues like the whole night balanced on a stopwatch. they’d prepared for this for months. late-night rehearsals, endless fittings, vocal run-throughs in hotel lobbies. she was ready for this. or at least, she had been.

but then the lights in the stadium dropped to black, the crowd erupting as the announcer’s voice boomed overhead, and manon felt her pulse stutter.

she was center-stage, spotlight trained directly on her, and all she could think about was the way her stomach flipped.

the beat dropped. the opening note hit. the others moved like second nature, muscle memory taking over. but manon’s breath caught. because across the pitch, down the sideline tunnel, she saw you.

you were half in shadow, your kit not even fully visible yet, but your face was unmistakable.

the distance between you was too far for logic, too far for clarity, but somehow, impossibly, she saw it. the way your expression went slack, the way your mouth parted, the way all the blood seemed to drain from your face.

and just like that, the lights weren’t the only thing that came crashing down.

you knew, and so did she.

it was only going to get complicated from here.

the pregame show was electric. clean transitions, perfect harmonies, not a single misstep. katseye had performed in bigger stadiums before, but tonight felt different. louder. tighter. like the air was wired. manon didn’t know if it was the fireworks or the roar of the crowd or the way the grass looked under the lights, but something about the whole thing made her chest feel like it was being wrung out.

then the game started and the pressure shifted. the girls were all but ushered off field and into a private viewing box, given barely a minute to greet fans.

the stadium stayed loud, the drums kept pounding, but manon’s attention had narrowed. she was supposed to be watching the match, they all were. but the second she saw you step onto the field, she forgot the plot entirely.

you were everywhere. cutting through defenders like they were suggestions. calling for the ball with that calm, commanding urgency. scoring once, assisting twice. but it wasn’t your footwork or your stats that had her losing her mind.  it was the fact that you were you.

because what were the odds? what were the actual, statistical, cosmically humiliating odds that the girl she’d kissed breathless in a los angeles hotel room would turn out to be you?

manon sat frozen in her seat, arms crossed tight over her chest, trying not to freak out visibly.

megan noticed anyway. the chinese girl peered over at her, speaking quietly so none of the other girls could eavesdrop but just loud enough for manon to hear. “you okay?”

“fine,” manon said, too fast.

“you look like you’re about to throw up.”

“just hot. adrenaline. post-performance crash.”

megan raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. not yet.

manon wasn’t too sure how much time had passed of her sitting uncharacteristically still, her eyes following you as you ran up and down the field. it was almost unfair how good you looked, she decided. memories of the night before kept flashing in her mind against her will, an embarrassed flush crossing her cheeks just subtly for sophia to give her a weird stare. but, within what felt like minutes (but was most definitely an hour and some change), the game ended. your team had won. it was only the opening game of the season, but the crowd ate it up regardless. 

manon didn’t clap. she couldn’t. she was too busy staring at you, her mouth slightly open, her thoughts absolutely feral.

after a beat, she turned slowly. “hey… what’s number fourteen’s name?”

megan looked at her like she’d just asked what two plus two was. “are you serious?”

manon blinked.

“you mean y/n?”

“y/n,” manon repeated under her breath, like it tasted different now that it had a name attached. “what’s her whole deal?”

megan looked suspicious. “why do you sound like you’re about to launch a background check?”

“just answer the question.”

“okay… let’s see. olympic medalist. league mvp. rookie of the year. huge nike deal. she’s on the cover of like, three magazines this month. wait, didn’t you guys go to bea’s party last night? they’re pretty close friends. i’m surprised you didn’t run into her. they played on the national team together.”

manon couldn’t help but whistle lowly, a teasing grin crossing her lips despite the thoughts running rampant in her mind. 

“damn, mei. who knew you were so well versed in this sport?”

megan simply grinned widely. “what can i say? brainrot tiktok doomscrolling leads you down paths you don’t come back from.”

then she cut herself off, her mind already jumping to the next factoid to spit out to the older girl.  megan continued after a hum. “she’s also apparently really private, hates interviews, has this weird thing about not letting anyone film her workouts, and—wait. wait.” she narrowed her eyes, her voice dropping. “why are you asking?”

manon stayed quiet.

then, like clockwork, megan’s jaw dropped. “no.”

“megan—”

“no. manon. no.”

“i didn’t know it was her.”

“you hooked up with y/n and didn’t even ask for her name?!”

“i was going to,” manon mumbled. “but then i panicked and left.”

“how do you panic after-“ she paused, looked left and right, then whispered aggressively.“- s.e.x?”

“i don’t know! it was intense! i needed to breathe!”

megan stared at her like she was watching a slow motion car crash. “manon, you ghosted the golden girl of women’s soccer and now you’re sitting here looking like you want to crawl into the grass and die.”

manon’s cheeks flamed a bright shade of crimson. she looked anywhere but at megan. before she could come up with a comeback, the door to the private viewing box and opened and in walked their manager, clipboard in hand. his voice cut through the room loudly. 

“alright, time to move!”

manon groaned softly but pushed herself up, more than happy to move on and pretend the conversation never happened.

megan gave her a pointed look. “oh, this isn’t over. not by a long shot.”

manon forced a pained half smile, still feeling the heat of embarrassment, and followed their manager out.  the words between her and megan hung unfinished in the charged air, the other four girls none the wiser of the war raging in her mind. 

the universe sure did have a funny way of bringing things full circle. 

__

‎ 

over the next week, your thoughts had been completely tangled around meret manon bannerman. at least, that’s what a quick google search said her name was. you practically held the note she left to your chest the very second you got back to your hotel room after the game. 

thx for the night. -meret 

the words were crinkled now, the pen ink smudged. 

every time you closed your eyes, you could still feel the way your heart dropped in your chest when you saw her pregame. you could still feel the way your blood ran cold when she looked in your direction in that brief, electric moment. 

she was stunning. 

her movements were engraved into your mind as strong as your earliest childhood memory. her every move was captivating, her pretty face full of expression every time she appeared on the jumbotron. the more you thought about it, part of you was embarrassed you hadn’t recognized her sooner. especially after the night you spent together. 

yet, stronger than whatever embarrassment you felt, here you were. unable to shake the phantom trace of her hands on your skin, the way she looked under those bright stadium lights. how the light caught her body in just the right way, how her stage outfit made her stand out like her own special star. 

perhaps you shouldn’t have been so surprised when bea approached you after the game, a knowing gleam cemented across her face. 

‎ 

“so? spill.”

you turned to face her when she approached you in the athlete tunnels. she was sweaty, just as tired as you, and yet she still found the energy to seek you out and level you with those teasing eyes. if she was bothered by her teams loss, she didn’t show it. she had far more ‘pressing’ matters to attend to. 

you narrowed your eyes. “what are you talking about.”

she practically scoffed as if the answer was obvious. “you and manon, that’s what. don’t forget it was my party you left together. which, by the way, fuck you for ditching so early.” then she shook her head, her faux aggravation shifting into something softer. “what happened when you guys left?”

you glanced away, unwilling to meet her gaze. “nothing happened. we just talked.”

bea raised an eyebrow. “really? because you played like someone was watching you.”

you crossed your arms defensively. “i’m not going to give you the whole story.”

bea’s grin widened. “come on, you can trust me.”

hesitation tightened your throat. the weight of bea’s gaze felt heavy like she was waiting for something, a truth you weren’t sure you wanted to give away just yet. for a moment you looked away, the memory of that night flickering in your mind. the way manon’s laugh had sounded, the heat of her hands sliding along your skin, how the world had shrunk to just the two of you. you took a slow breath, chewing on your words as if deciding whether to swallow them whole. finally, you let out a quiet sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing just enough. 

“okay,” you said, voice low and a little reluctant, “we hooked up.”

bea’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction. “thought so. now, spill the details.”

‎ 

and you did. kind of. you didn’t tell her everything, just enough to stop her wicked grin and avoid the flood of questions you knew would come next.

but that was a week ago.

now, as you waited for the practice facility’s elevator to open with its little ding, you realized one simple fact. perhaps you’d made your biggest mistake yet by trusting that information with beatrice laus of all people. 

it was supposed to be your day off. but, of course, here you were. fresh out of an impromptu strategy meeting with your coach, clipboard in hand, scanning over a revised game plan you barely had time to digest. the soft thud of your sneakers echoed as you walked through the quiet corridor, music and chatter spilling faintly from a nearby training room. you pressed the elevator button, already planning to retreat to a quiet corner and study your matchups in peace.

the doors slid open with a calm mechanical hiss. you stepped inside without looking, preoccupied with your notes. but the second they closed behind you and the soft red glow above the buttons lit up, you realized you weren’t alone.

you heard it first. a small, startled sound, like someone had just choked on their own breath. you looked up, and against all odds, there she was.

manon.

she was standing off to the side, spine straight as a rod, arms folded tightly across her chest like she was trying to make herself smaller. her eyes met yours for only a second before flicking away, as if even looking at you might unravel whatever thread of composure she had left.

you froze. your brain fired off a thousand questions, all scrambling for space at once. still, you managed to speak, your voice quieter than you expected.

“meret…? what are you doing here?”

for the briefest of seconds, manon flinched when her name dropped from your mouth. she’d almost forgotten she left a note for you the morning after, the reminder sending a chill down her spine. but she didn’t correct you. in some way, it sounded almost special coming from you. 

despite whatever awkward nerves consumed the space between them, manon somehow conjured enough confidence to unlock her phone and flash the screen in your direction. a text chain between herself, bea, and megan was all you saw. 

“i was told there was some kind of conference room,” she said, voice trailing off as she glanced back at her phone. “megan said bea was giving her a tour of the facility. told me to join.”

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t have to. the moment your eyes skimmed the screen, the truth of it was written all over your face. manon noticed immediately.

with a sigh that sounded more tired than angry, she shoved her phone into her jacket pocket and leaned back against the elevator wall.

“right. clearly i walked into a setup.”

you scratched the back of your neck, guilt crawling in slow and steady. “yeah. sorry. that’s probably… my fault.”

for a moment manon simply stared at you. it took a moment for your words to fully register, but when they did, she knew what you were talking about instantly. the admission that another person knew of your hookup had her nervously itching the skin above her wrist. 

some part of you couldn't help but feel surprised as you watched her. the way she looked down, embarrassed. the way she bit the inside of her cheek as if she could will herself to disappear from this moment and hightail it back home as if nothing happened. she was so different to how she was the night you spent together. it was almost like night and day. 

after a moment, you sighed. 

“you need a ride home?” you asked before you could stop yourself, heart racing.

she looked surprised. for a moment she seemed to mull over her thoughts, tentative. and then she nodded with a resigned sigh. 

“please.”

‎

the drive was quiet at first, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional shuffle of manon adjusting the sleeves of her jacket. los angeles glowed outside the windshield, all neon haze and soft gold streetlights stretching across pavement. you kept your eyes forward, fingers flexing slightly on the wheel, trying not to let the silence settle too heavy between you.

she didn’t speak, and neither did you. the only thing she did say was a low “chateau marmont” and a frustrated “can’t believe i flagged my driver and guard away.” other than that, nothing. 

you flicked on your turn signal even though no one else was on the road. something about the sound filled the space, made it feel less like the two of you were suffocating under the weight of a memory you still hadn’t figured out how to name. every few minutes you could feel her shift in the passenger seat, like she was building herself up to say something but couldn’t quite manage it. you didn’t push. you didn’t dare.

you had run every possible version of this drive through your head. in one, she pretended it never happened. in another, she confessed she regretted it. in one especially (oddly) hurtful version, she looked at you and said it was a mistake. so now, with the real thing stretched out before you, you kept your mouth shut and tried to focus on the road.

manon cleared her throat softly.

you glanced over, just briefly. she was staring out the window, jaw tight, fingers curled into the hem of her sleeve like she was grounding herself with the fabric.

“so,” she started, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, “we’re really not going to talk about it?”

your grip on the wheel tightened just slightly. your stomach twisted. “i wasn’t sure you wanted to.”

she didn’t answer right away. she turned her head slowly, eyes on you now instead of the window. 

”well… how about we start with the acknowledgement that this is a pretty awkward first impression we could have possibly had of each other.”

you let out a quiet breath, a short laugh escaping before you could stop it. “yeah,” you said, glancing at her again, this time longer. “i guess jumping straight to a hotel room isn’t exactly the standard getting-to-know-you route.”

manon smiled, just barely, but it softened the tension in her face. “you think?”

you shrugged. “could be worse. you could’ve never left a note.”

“i almost didn’t,” she admitted. “i panicked. wasn’t sure if you’d think it was weird.”

“i thought it was nice,” you said honestly, drumming your fingers lightly on the wheel. “though if i’m being honest, i’m surprised you signed your name as meret.”

she blinked, caught off guard. “why’s that?”

you glanced at her, the corners of your mouth twitching upward. “i googled you after the pregame show. figured out real fast who i’d been in bed with.”

manon groaned and buried her face in her hands. “oh my god.”

“to be fair,” you continued, teasing now, “you were kind of impossible to ignore. all that hair whipping around, the outfit, the lights.”

she peeked out from between her fingers, face flushed but amused. “so you’re telling me you learned everything about me before we even had this conversation.”

“not everything,” you said, shrugging. “just the basics. stage name. discography. three fan edits.”

manon laughed, the kind that crinkled her nose and made you bite back your own grin. “you’re worse than i thought.”

“you were very memorable,” you said simply and that shut her up again, her gaze flicking back to the window, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

“besides, not everything,” you continue, eyes back on the road now. “just enough to feel like you're completely out of my league.”

she blinked. “why would you think that?”

“because you’re manon bannerman. international popstar. face of like five brands. terrifyingly attractive. meanwhile, i’m just a girl who likes to kick a ball really hard.”

manon grinned. “you’re kidding, right?”

“not even a little bit.”

“well, now you’ve made me feel like i need to impress you,” she said, and her voice had taken on something lighter, like she was letting herself breathe for the first time in the car. “we didn’t even do proper introductions.”

you pulled up to a stop sign and looked over again. her expression was softer now, curious, open.

“okay,” you said, shifting in your seat so you could offer your hand between the console. “i’m y/n. professional ball kicker.”

manon let out another laugh. “manon. i think all your googling saves me the backstory.”

you took her hand, your fingers brushing hers in a way that felt more deliberate than casual. you held it just long enough to feel the warmth of her skin, the quiet weight of the moment.

“nice to meet you, manon. officially.”

her mouth curled into the faintest smile, something soft and unreadable in her eyes. “likewise,” she said, and her thumb swept lightly across your knuckles before she let go.

there was a brief silence, charged and delicate, before she spoke again.

“and for the record,” she said, voice lower now, “i signed the note with meret because that’s who you were with that night.”

you turned toward her just slightly, pulse quickening. her gaze was steady, unwavering. there was no teasing in her voice, no sarcasm. just truth.

“so which one are you right now?” you asked, quieter than before.

her lips parted, a breath caught between sentences. she didn’t answer right away, but when she did, it was slow and sure.

“i don’t know,” she said. “but you make it really hard to pretend like that night didn’t matter.”

your hand shifted on the steering wheel, grip loosening, breath catching just for a second. you swallowed the sudden lump in your throat.

“did you want it to mean something?” you asked, the words barely a whisper, edged in something raw and real.

she didn’t answer at first. but she didn’t look away either.  that silence said more than any ‘yes’ ever could.

she was quiet for a long time. you didn’t rush her. the hum of the engine filled the silence, a steady rhythm under the buzz of traffic.

you turned down a quieter street, one lined with swaying palms and golden-orange streetlights, the sky above slipping from dusk into something darker. it was the kind of road where the world felt paused, like whatever existed beyond your windshield didn’t matter as much as what was happening inside the car.

the tension between you hadn’t disappeared. it still lingered, heavy and unspoken, but it softened somehow. it didn’t cut anymore. it settled, warm and aching beneath your skin.

then manon hummed, low and thoughtful, and it made something pull taut in your chest.

“tell me something about you.”

you glanced sideways. “suddenly interested?”

a short laugh slipped from her lips before she could stop it, as if the absurdity of the situation was finally kicking in. “i think we skipped every step that comes before a casual hookup. why not start now?”

you scoffed, but it came out quieter than you intended. “you can’t just put me on the spot like that. not when the only thing i can think about right now is you.”

the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. it was thick. charged. like even the air between your bodies was listening. you weren’t sure where your sudden boldness came from, but it sat between you now like a weight. she didn’t flinch. if anything, her breath hitched just slightly, and her lips parted like she wanted to say something but thought better of it.

the hotel came into view far too quickly. the moment the security guard popped open the boon gates and you pulled into the parking lot, the car slowing and stilling in a shadow cast by the building, the tension was harder to ignore. the music from the radio played low, a dull thrum in the background.

manon didn’t move to unbuckle her seatbelt. didn’t reach for the handle. she just stared ahead, and after a pause that felt like an eternity, she finally spoke.

“i keep thinking about it,” she said quietly, voice almost lost under the music.

you didn’t ask what she meant. you didn’t need to.

you swallowed, your hand twitching slightly on the gearshift. the air between you was tight again, warm with memory.

“me too,” you said, the words dragging out of your chest like a confession.

she turned to look at you. then it happened. one moment all you saw was a familiar fire in her eyes, the next she practically crawled over the console to straddle your lap behind the wheel. her knees pressed into either side of your thighs as she settled into you, the steering wheel digging into the small of her back. but she didn’t flinch. didn’t adjust.

it wasn’t tentative. it wasn’t soft. it was immediate and wanting, like she had been holding her breath since the moment she saw you and finally let herself exhale. your hands found her hips automatically, gripping tight through the fabric of her low rise jeans as if that might ground you in the moment. it didn’t. nothing could. not with her mouth on yours, not with the way she moved against you like she remembered exactly how your body felt the last time she had you.

there was something about her. the way she kissed you like she was starving, like the memory of your touch had kept her up at night. she was all urgency and heat, her fingers slipping up the back of your neck, threading into your hair like she didn’t care how messy it got. your breath caught in your throat when she rolled her hips just slightly, seeking more, daring you to pull her closer.

it was messy. too hot. too fast. it felt like a freefall, and still you didn’t stop. couldn’t. not when your heart was racing in time with hers, not when every nerve in your body lit up under her touch.

she pulled back just barely, her lips brushing yours, her breathing heavy. her eyes were darker now, glassy in the dim light.

there was just something about her that was so numbingly intoxicating. clearly, she felt the same way. 

finally, she broke the silence. “i want to keep seeing you,” she said, voice low but steady.

you swallowed hard.

 “i want that too.”

she leaned in again, slower this time, her eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes and back like she was trying to memorize the moment. your breath caught as she got closer, her hand grazing your jaw, the air between you thick with heat.

but then she shifted.

her hip nudged the wheel with just the right force for the car horn to explode into the quiet night, loud and jarring. she jolted in surprise, and in that split second, her forehead collided hard with your nose.

“fuck!” you hissed, the sharp crack of impact making your eyes water instantly. pain bloomed, fast and hot, and before you could even register what happened, you felt something warm drip over your lip.

“oh my god,” she gasped, immediately pushing back off you. manon’s face was a mask of panic. “i’m so sorry. i was trying to be smooth, not concuss you!”

you gave her a weak, bloody smile. “well. you left an impression.”

“okay, no,” she muttered, already reaching for the door handle. “you’re coming upstairs. i’m fixing this.”

‎ 

megan clocked you the second you walked through the hotel suite door, her eyes lighting up with immediate mischief. she was curled up on the couch with her phone in hand, idly scrolling through unread text messages. but the second she saw you and manon step inside all flushed, tousled, and  breathing just a little too hard, she knew. her lips parted into a slow, satisfied grin.

clearly, her and bea’s plan worked.

then her gaze dropped to your nose, the blood streaking down. whatever teasing remark she was about to toss out died in her throat, replaced by a sharp snort she couldn’t hold back even if she tried.

“what the hell did you do?” she laughed, eyebrows raised, eyes dancing between the two of you. 

manon groaned beside you, dragging a hand down her face. “i’m never living this down, am i?”

from across the room, sophia’s head snapped up the second megan snorted, her brows pulling together in confusion. for a moment she thought maybe daniela, lara, and yoonchae had come back already from their ice cream run. instead, she saw you. her eyes widened when she caught the mess of your shirt sleeve trying to stop the flow of blood pooling from your nose. 

“oh my god— what happened?” she stood from where she was sitting, already making her way over before either you or manon could answer. her hands hovered near your face, gentle but firm. “are you okay? does it hurt to breathe?”

you blinked, a little overwhelmed by how fast she’d turned into someone’s concerned older sister.

manon could feel her soul leaving her body. “i headbutted her. didn’t mean to. i swear i didn’t mean to.”

sophia gave her a quick look but didn’t stop her fussing. “you definitely nailed her. jesus, you’re lucky her nose doesn’t look broken.” she reached for the tissue box on the counter and pressed a wad of them gently into your hand. “come on. bathroom’s this way. let’s clean you up before anyone passes out.”

“it’s not that bad—” you tried, but she was already halfway down the hall.

“i’m not negotiating with someone who’s actively bleeding,” sophia called back. “manon, get over here. you’re helping.”

manon let out a quiet, horrified sound and followed like a scolded dog. behind her, megan cackled into a throw pillow.

“god, this is better than anything i could have hoped for,” she said between fits of laughter. “and lara thought nothing juicy would come out of this week. girl’s gonna scream when she hears about this.”

manon shot her a scowl over her own shoulder, a warning glare. the chinese girl simply doubled over even harder. 

sophia stood over you in the cramped hotel bathroom, gently tilting your chin back with a practiced kind of care. the light above the mirror buzzed softly, casting a faint glow over your blood-streaked shirt and manon’s guilty expression lingering in the reflection behind you.

“you’re lucky,” sophia said as she dabbed carefully at your nose with a damp cloth. “it’s not broken. just a nasty bump.”

you nodded stiffly, trying not to move your head too much. “thanks. sorry for barging in like this.”

sophia gave you a half-smile. “not your fault. though next time maybe try ringing the doorbell instead of bleeding through it.”

manon hovered awkwardly near the bathroom door, arms crossed tight against her chest. “i didn’t mean to slam into her. it just… happened.”

megan, leaning on the hallway wall just outside, snorted. “yeah. so did that lipstick on your neck, babe.”

you nearly choked, eyes widening as you instinctively reached for your collar. manon’s ears flushed deep red.

“megan,” sophia warned, but there was no real heat behind it. “don’t make her pass out from embarrassment while she’s still mid-bleed.”

“hey, not my fault they walked in looking like they just got thrown around in a wind tunnel,” megan shot back. “this is gold.”

you let out a weak laugh, unsure where to look. “uh… i’m y/n, by the way. we didn’t really get to do introductions with all the blood and chaos.”

sophia’s expression softened as she rinsed the cloth out under the tap. “sophia. and you’ve already met our resident menace out there.”

megan popped her head back in. “pleasure to meet you, superstar. bea’s been talking you up for months.”

your brows raised. “she has?”

“mmhm,” megan said, clearly enjoying herself. “but i guess someone didn’t get the memo.” she nodded her head very aggressively in manon’s direction. 

a quiet beat passed before you turned slightly toward manon, barely thinking. “guess you should’ve been paying attention, meret.”

it was instinctual, the name slipping from your mouth like muscle memory. you didn’t even realize what you’d said until you heard the sharp intake of breath from behind you.

sophia froze mid-dab. her head whipped around so fast it was a miracle she didn’t pull something in her neck. the look on her face was immediate, intense, like you’d just said something sacrilegious.

“i’m sorry,” she said slowly, setting the cloth down on the sink. “what did you just call her?”

you blinked. “meret…?”

sophia stared at you for a long second, then turned slowly toward manon, who now looked like she wanted to crawl into the floor.

“oh,” sophia said, voice dropping just enough to sound dangerous. “you’re the one.”

megan cackled from the hallway. “i’ve been trying not to say it all night.”

you looked between them, suddenly very aware of just how small the bathroom was. “what one?”

“the girl,” megan grinned. “the one she snuck out of bea’s party with.”

“you didn’t tell them?” you asked, turning to manon.

“i didn’t tell anyone except megan.” manon muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. 

sophia folded her arms, expression unreadable but not unkind. “well. it’s nice to finally meet you properly. meret doesn’t show up often.”

manon gave her a tired glare. “can you not?”

sophia held up her hands. “just saying.”

you smiled awkwardly, wiping the last of the blood from your upper lip. “well… it’s nice to meet you both too. even if i’m bleeding and weirdly exposed.”

megan appeared in the doorway again, smug as ever. “if this is how you usually meet people, i get why bea said you needed help.”

“megan,” manon warned, shooting her a glare.

sophia just laughed, stepping back to rinse her hands in the sink. “honestly, this is kind of iconic. blood, secrets, confessions. what a night.”

“okay,” manon muttered, suddenly pulling open the bathroom door. “i’m walking her out.”

you blinked. “you don’t have to. ”

“i insist,” she said, already stepping into the hallway, clearly in need of escape.

you followed her past megan, who gave you a little finger wave and an exaggerated wink. “good luck, superstar.”

manon didn’t stop until you were at the hotel room door. she reached for a small notepad from the side table, scribbling quickly, her handwriting sharp and messy. then she tore the page off and shoved it into your hand with a bit more force than necessary.

“here,” she said. “for your shirt, if you want me to cover the dry cleaning bill. or whatever excuse you decide to use.”

you looked down at the number, then up at her. “you really think i’d let you pay for dry cleaning?”

she shook her head. “i think you’re not gonna throw away a perfectly good excuse to text me.”

you didn’t deny it. “i wasn’t planning on it.”

her eyes lingered on yours for a second too long. “good.”

before you could say anything else, sophia’s face twisted into a look of displeasure. “manon, ask her if she wants to stay for tea or something! don’t just shove her out like a scared raccoon!”

“go!” manon hissed, practically shoving you outside of the hotel room and shutting it firmly in your face. 

for a moment you just stood there, overwhelmed and confused. but then you moved. you couldn’t help the smile that broke across your face as you stepped into the hotel elevator, sliding the note with manon’s handscrawled phone number into your pocket. another momento of the enigma that was meret manon you could add to your collection. 

whatever this was, it definitely wasn’t nothing.

__

‎ 

you weren’t exactly sure when the shift happened.  when something casual and unspoken between you and manon began pulling at the edges of something deeper. maybe it was the moment you finally worked up the nerve to text her, her number saved under a single lowercase ‘m,’ always sitting stubbornly at the top of your messages, no matter how many hours passed between replies. you’d fall asleep with her words still open on your screen, wake up to find she’d responded in the middle of the night, like she couldn’t help herself either.

maybe it started in switzerland.

katseye was in zurich for a tour stop, the city glittering beneath early spring skies, and you were there too. you were called up for a friendly between team usa and team switzerland. you hadn’t planned to see her. hadn’t even thought she’d answer. but you sent the text anyway, a plain “u free?” with no punctuation and more hope packed into two words than you’d admit out loud.

what followed wasn’t what you expected. she met you outside a station, hood pulled low, no cameras, no glam team. just manon, just meret, just her. it was supposed to be a quick drink, something light and easy, but it ended in a motel outside the city center, the kind with too-thin walls and a view of nothing but train tracks. her body curved beneath yours, soft and certain, her breath catching every time you said her name. her curls were free from their usual boho braids, dark and wild against the pillow. she looked impossibly beautiful, more so than you remembered, more than you thought you could handle.

or maybe it started when you were both in the states, the girls in town for a broadcast performance set to air on every major american network that weekend. katseye had already taken over the charts. now they were coming for television too.

‎ 

you were deep into training, your jersey soaked through and clinging to your back from hours of drills under the unforgiving florida sun. the number fourteen on your shoulders practically burned beneath it, your skin hot, your body running on muscle memory and stubbornness alone. you were the best midfielder in women’s soccer for a reason. no way were you letting a little heat slow you down.

but then you saw her.

she was standing just inside the athlete tunnel, mostly hidden from view, like she hadn’t quite decided whether or not she wanted to be seen. it felt almost cinematic, like the roles had flipped. your brain flashed back to the season opener, that first impossible moment when your eyes found hers in the middle of the chaos. and just like that day, everything else faded.

you stopped cold. for the first time in over three hours, you shot the soccer ball into the net one last time and turned away from the field. you tuned out the ache in your thighs and the gatorade keg that practically had your name written on it. all you could focus on was her.

she wore a baseball cap pulled low and a facemask that covered most of her face, but you knew the shape of her by now. the curve of her shoulders, the way she leaned to one side like she didn’t have a care in the world, her fingers brushing along the hem of her hoodie like she was waiting for something to happen. you jogged toward her, skirting around a bench and ignoring the sting in your calves. and then you hugged her, no hesitation, no second guessing.

if she was surprised, she didn’t show it. if anything, she melted into you, pulling you closer, both of you half-hidden by the shade of the tunnel. you were still catching your breath when you pulled away, sweat clinging to your forehead, eyes searching hers for a reason.

she didn’t give one.

instead, manon slipped her mask down to her chin and bit the inside of her lip without meaning to. her gaze dragged over you slowly, like she didn’t care that you were a mess. your face was flushed, your jersey damp, your socks streaked with dirt. and still, to her, you looked annoyingly good. you smelled like sun and effort and something warm she couldn’t name. her heart was pounding and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss you or stare at you forever.

you blinked, thrown by her silence. “what’re you doing here? is everything okay?”

she nodded, and her smile curled into something that made your chest tighten. her palm pressed flat against your chest like she wanted to ground herself in the heat radiating off you. her voice was soft but certain.

“yes. i just wanted to see you.”

one thing led to another. it always did with her.

you don’t even remember how you got there exactly. one second you were standing in the tunnel, manon’s hand still resting against your chest like she didn’t want to let go, and the next, you were both slipping through a side entrance to the locker rooms like you had done this before. maybe not here, not in this exact spot, but the rhythm of it felt familiar. inevitable.

the hallway was quiet. the air conditioning inside was a stark contrast to the heat outside, but your skin still burned, pulsing with leftover adrenaline and something else entirely as manon led you by the wrist down the hall, past rows of lockers and benches, until she found an unlit corner behind a set of closed doors. it wasn’t glamorous. scuffed tile floors, abandoned water bottles, a broken clock on the wall.  but it didn’t matter. you weren’t thinking about any of that.

she pushed you gently against the wall, eyes searching your face like she needed to make sure you wanted this too. you didn’t say a word. you didn’t need to. your fingers were already curling into the hem of her hoodie, pulling her closer until there was no space left between you.

her mouth found yours, warm and insistent, tasting like strawberry chapstick and something sweeter, something that made your knees weak even though you’d been running drills all morning. you kissed her like you hadn’t seen her in weeks, like the sound of her voice saying your name in that low, accented way had been echoing in your head nonstop since the last time. maybe it had.

her hands were everywhere. your waist, your jaw, your thighs, her fingertips slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts with a quiet urgency that made your breath catch. you pressed your forehead against hers, noses bumping, eyes half-lidded as your pulse pounded in your throat.

“we shouldn’t,” you muttered, barely believing it even as the words left your mouth.

manon just smiled, slow and wicked, and kissed you again. “i know.”

but neither of you stopped.

the locker room was quiet but your breathing filled it, ragged and uneven, her soft moans barely restrained as she rocked against you. your back hit the wall again, and you let it, let her take whatever she wanted, gave it willingly because god, you wanted her just as badly.

‎ 

or perhaps, counter intuitively enough, it was that night in seoul. 

‎ 

you had flown in for a friendly against south korea, the stadium packed, the energy wild with national pride. katseye happened to be in the city too, riding the chaos of a promo week that had them performing on every major music show and showing up to every brand partnership event possible. you’d barely caught glimpses of manon through screens. a fan cam here, a blurry group photo there, but nothing real. not until megan messaged you late one night, her name lighting up your phone with a simple question. 

  [9:30 p.m.] can u come? she won’t admit she’s sick but she needs someone.

you knew who she was talking about instantly. 

despite your body aching from ninety minutes of pushing yourself to your physical limit, despite the early call time you had the next morning, you were already grabbing a hoodie and digging through your backpack for whatever you could carry. pain meds. electrolyte packets. a heat patch from the drugstore across from your hotel. a bag of honey-dipped crackers and one of those vitamin drinks that tasted horrible but worked. little things she had mentioned once, weeks ago in passing. things you didn’t even realize you had remembered until you were stuffing them into your arms.

megan met you by the emergency exit of their hotel. she didn’t say much, just pressed the keycard into your hand with a meaningful look.

“she’s in 1903. don’t be weird. and don’t let the staff see you.”

you laughed under your breath, heart pounding with nerves, but still you nodded. “thanks, mei.”

when you slipped into the room it was dim, the curtains drawn tight. manon was bundled into the bed, hoodie half-zipped, hair loose and messy around her pillow. she didn’t look glamorous. she looked pale and worn out, her skin too warm under the soft light of the bedside lamp, a tissue box on one side of her and her phone facedown on the other. her eyes fluttered open when you came in, and for a second she didn’t say anything. just blinked at you like she wasn’t sure if you were real.

“you actually came,” she said finally, her voice rough and barely above a whisper.

“of course i did,” you said, your own voice quieter than usual. you slipped off your shoes and dropped the bag onto the edge of the bed. “megan said you were dying. this is me saving your life.”

she laughed, tried to at least, but it turned into a soft cough. you sat beside her, pulling out everything you brought, lining them up on the nightstand. her eyes followed your hands as you laid down the heating pad, the tea sachets, the exact brand of menthol patches she liked for muscle aches.

“you remembered,” she murmured.

“yeah, well. you kind of say a lot of things when you’re drunk on post-show adrenaline,” you teased, but the warmth in your voice gave you away.

she didn’t answer right away. just watched you with this look in her eyes, like you had peeled her open without trying, like it scared her and thrilled her all at once.

you helped her sit up, propping the pillows behind her, your fingers brushing hers every time you adjusted something. she was burning up, and it made your chest hurt. she shouldn’t have been performing that hard. she should’ve been resting, drinking soup, wrapped in seven blankets and watching cartoons like she used to as a kid.

“do you want me to go?” you asked after a while, once she had taken the meds and curled back under the covers.

her answer was immediate.

“no. stay.”

you didn’t climb into bed, not right away. you just sat there, your back against the side of the mattress, close enough that her fingers could find yours if she reached. she did, eventually, her hand falling limp into your lap. you held it gently, your thumb tracing the faint calluses along her palm.

it was quiet. not tense. not charged. just… quiet. comforting. the kind of silence that made your chest ache in a way you weren’t used to.

after a long stretch, manon spoke again, barely above a whisper.

“this is scary,” she said. “how much i like this.”

you looked up at her, and for once, she didn’t look away. she let you see it all. the vulnerability, the truth, the walls she had built so carefully, now lowered just enough to let you in.

“then don’t be scared,” you said softly.

she didn’t answer, but she didn’t let go of your hand either.

you stayed there until the sun began to rise. no kisses. no tension. no clothes tangled on the floor.

just her hand in yours and the quiet question over whether something had shifted. 

‎ 

but it didn’t. it never had.

you and manon had defined the rules from the beginning, sharp and clear like lines drawn in chalk. strictly physical. a situationship that worked when your paths happened to cross. a night here, a hotel room there, nothing deeper than sweat and stolen time. you were constantly on the move, bouncing from city to city with your team, and she was prepping for katseye’s world tour, about to disappear into stages and spotlights across six continents. it made sense this way. clean. easy.

besides, you were polar opposites.

you felt most like yourself with your cleats in the mud, jersey soaked, surrounded by teammates shouting directions and coaches losing their minds on the sidelines. 

manon thrived in controlled chaos under stadium lights and camera flashes, her body moving in perfect rhythm, her expressions rehearsed and weaponized. 

you liked quiet mornings. she liked the buzz of late nights. and neither of you believed in fairy tales.

the night you first brought up boundaries, it had been her who said it out loud.

‎ 

“no feelings,” manon said, sitting cross-legged at the foot of your hotel bed, her fingers twisting the drawstrings of her hoodie. “just fun. that’s the deal, right?”

you nodded, trying to ignore how the word ‘feelings’ lodged like something sharp in your chest. “right.”

it should’ve been enough.

but sometimes she said things that chipped away at the walls you both worked so hard to keep up. like the night in sacramento, when her lips were still pink from kissing you breathless and she laid on her side, staring up at the ceiling like she was scared of what she’d see if she looked at you. her voice was quiet, but you heard every word.

“i’m not ready to be a headline,” she said. “megan still gets tagged in edits with that livestream where they basically forced her to come out. like it was content. and lara…” she trailed off, jaw tightening. “lara got eaten alive for being honest.”

you understood. of course you did. you had teammates who were careful with who they followed on instagram, who they sat next to at press conferences, who they hugged too long after a goal. women who chose privacy over peace of mind. you’d done the math too many times to count.

“then we keep it simple,” you said finally, your voice steady even though your stomach was twisting. “just us. when we can. no strings.”

and you meant it. you both did.

but it was getting harder by the day.

harder when her name lit up your phone and your heart jumped before you could stop it. harder when her voice dropped to a whisper just for you, even when her whole group was around. harder when you caught her watching you after you’d already looked away.

you told yourselves the rules were still in place. but deep down, you both knew the game had already changed.

‎

truth be told, manon wasn’t sure when everything started to change, either.

she told herself it was still casual. convenient. she liked the way things were. the thrill of control, the ability to slip in and out of someone’s life without consequence. it was easier that way. clean. you were supposed to be just that, a beautiful complication she could walk away from whenever the schedule got too packed or the spotlight too harsh.

but somewhere along the way, she stopped walking away.

it was sophia who called her out first.

they were backstage at a commercial shoot waiting for touch-ups, manon’s face already half-painted in shimmer. sophia sat beside her, legs kicked up on an unused stool, casually sipping her coconut water like she wasn’t about to drop a bomb.

“is it just for the sex?” she asked, not even looking at manon when she said it.

manon blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

“you and her. is it just the sex?”

there was a beat of silence. manon forced a laugh, but it came out tight.

“obviously,” she said. “i mean… that’s the whole point.”

sophia looked at her then, eyebrow raised. “you’re lying.”

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

manon didn’t answer after that. she didn’t have to. the lie was already starting to fray, tugged loose thread by thread every morning she woke up. with every text she sent you between layovers, when she should have been sleeping or doing vocal exercises or scrolling past the mess of her notifications.

you had started becoming a part of her rhythm, tucked into the margins of her day like something familiar and necessary. it wasn’t defined. it wasn’t labeled. but it was there, humming beneath everything like background music she couldn’t turn off.

and then the tabloid dropped. a headline splashed across one of the biggest entertainment sites. 

katseye’s manon skipping practice to be with mystery lover?

the photos weren’t all that incriminating. a blurry shot of her slipping into a black suv, another of her walking through a hotel lobby with a baseball cap pulled low. but the article did what it was designed to do. it stirred the pot. people started speculating, naming names, dragging innocent people into a story they had no business being in. her phone exploded in minutes.

the group was shaken and management was furious. manon got defensive. sharp-edged. she told them she was giving her all, and she was. she hadn’t missed a single show. she was nailing every vocal, every formation, every interview. she was doing everything right. but inside, she was spiraling.

she hated how exposed it made her feel. how the idea of being seen with you now felt like a risk instead of a relief. she hated how much it scared her, not because of her career, but because of what it meant. what it had already become.

so she shut everything down.

she stopped replying to your messages. stopped opening them, even when she saw the little preview on her lockscreen. she told herself it was necessary. strategic. protection. but the truth was simpler than that.

she was terrified.

even when you were in the same city, just blocks away, she didn’t reach out. not when she passed by the cafe you mentioned stopping at before matches. not when she saw a clip of you post-game, sweat glistening on your forehead as you gave an interview. not even when megan threw her a pointed look and said, “you know she flew out on her own dime just to be here, right?”

radio silence. it was easier that way.

at least, it was supposed to be.

__

‎ 

the scans were already up on the screen when you walked into the medical suite on crutches, your sock balled in your fist, blood from a turf burn drying on your shin. the pain in your foot throbbed with every step, but you barely noticed it. not compared to the ache twisting behind your ribs.

dr. vasquez didn’t say anything at first. just motioned for you to sit, then turned back to the monitor. the x-ray glowed quietly behind her.

“third metatarsal,” she said finally, voice calm, clinical. “clean fracture, just above the base. you’ll need to be non-weight bearing for at least three weeks, maybe longer, depending on how your body responds.”

you stared at the image, the thin white line splitting the bone like a crack in porcelain. it didn’t feel real. it didn’t feel like your foot.

you should have seen it coming.

but your head had been somewhere else entirely. still spinning from the headline you saw that morning. you’d already re read it ten times over since it dropped. it was a tabloid splash with manon’s name in bold, alongside a photo that could have been anywhere, but you knew. the angle, the outfit, the timing. it was from the day you snuck out the back of the hotel after one of her shoots. your hood up. your hand brushing hers just before she pulled away.

katseye’s manon skipping practice to be with mystery lover?

your fingers had gone cold when you saw it. not because of the implication, but because she hadn’t said a word. no explanation. no warning. just silence. it had been days. messages unopened. voice memos unplayed. nothing.

you were still thinking about all of it when the ball ricocheted across the scrimmage line. still thinking when you pivoted to intercept, not noticing carly’s sprint until it was too late.

you remembered the moment in pieces.  the sharp twist of her cleat, the angle of her hip, the deliberate weight behind the collision that sent you crashing down. she hit you low. too low. too late.

you couldn’t prove it, but you knew it was on purpose. the way she looked at you when you hit the ground, the flicker of something smug in her expression before the medics were even called. she had always hated how much press you got. how coaches praised your instinct, how you never had to fight for minutes. jealousy made people reckless. sometimes it made them cruel.

and now you were here, sitting under sterile lights, the pulse in your foot screaming with every heartbeat.

“what’s the recovery window?” you asked finally, voice hoarse.

dr. vasquez’s expression softened, but her tone stayed steady. “if we’re aggressive with rehab, maybe six to eight weeks. but that’s pushing it. you’d be cutting it dangerously close.”

your stomach dropped. you did the math before she even finished.

“so i’m out.”

she didn’t say yes. she didn’t have to.

you leaned forward, burying your face in your hands. the shame hit first. then the anger. not just at carly, or at the injury. but at yourself, for being distracted. for letting manon live rent-free in your head while everything you’d worked for slipped through your fingers.

there were fifty-two days until the world cup.

dr. vasquez sat beside you, softening just a little. “i know this is hard. but if you push too soon, you risk long-term damage. you could make it worse. you could lose more than just this tournament.”

you nodded, even though every part of you rejected it. your fingers clenched the edge of the bench so tightly your knuckles ached.

“you’re going to have to sit out,” she said gently. “even if the team makes it all the way, it’s unlikely you’ll be cleared in time. i’m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t.

your whole life was built around movement.  training, matches, chasing the ball like it was oxygen. and now you were expected to watch from the sidelines while the biggest tournament in your career unfolded without you. 

all because you let yourself care about someone who didn’t even bother to check if you were okay.

‎ 

you didn’t cry until later.

not in the medical suite, not in the locker room when you sat numbly in your uniform for another forty minutes, not even when you hobbled to your car and stared at the steering wheel like it might tell you what to do next.

but later that night, with the lights off and your foot elevated on a stack of pillows, a half-eaten protein bar abandoned on the nightstand and the taste of metal in your mouth from biting down too hard on your molars.  that was when it cracked. when it finally all broke open.

it started slow. the kind of crying that barely makes a sound. a quiet leak of emotion that felt more like an exhale than a sob. but then it grew, sharp and raw, a frustration so tangled you couldn’t pull one feeling free from another.

you were furious. at carly, at your bad luck, at the way the world moved forward even when you were stuck standing still.

but most of all, you were hurt.

manon hadn’t reached out. not once. not even after the tabloid dropped. not after the photo. not after your injury, which was now spreading across headlines too. 

usa star midfielder suffers metatarsal fracture ahead of world cup.

it was too much. the noise, the silence, the pain.

so you shut it all out.

you turned your phone off. stopped checking your messages. stopped opening apps. even the sound of a teammate’s voice on your voicemail made your stomach twist.

the pain in your foot was manageable at first. dr. vasquez had prescribed a standard course of anti-inflammatories, mild painkillers. but it wasn’t just the break that ached. it was everything else. your body didn’t want to move. your head didn’t want to think. every reminder of the game, of the tournament slipping by, it all made your chest tighten.

so you took more than you needed. then something stronger. then something else altogether when the first bottle ran out.

days blurred together after that. your crutches leaned against the corner of your room, untouched for hours at a time. dishes piled up. emails went unread. you had your surgery, but rehab appointments were missed, then rescheduled, then ignored.

you told yourself it was fine. that you just needed time. that you’d bounce back.

but weeks passed, and you were still stuck in the same space. not just physically, but in your mind.

the silence between you and manon stretched like a fault line. neither of you said the words. neither of you reached across the gap. and maybe she had her reasons. maybe she was scared. maybe she didn’t know what to say.

but so were you.

what was there to say when everything you had built—  your career, your momentum, your carefully guarded heart— was crumbling around you, and the one person who made you feel less alone in all of it had disappeared without warning?

you were benched. fractured. falling into something you couldn’t name yet, not fully. not until the days started feeling like fog and the nights like nothing.

you had always been the strong one. the composed one. the one who never buckled under pressure.

but now you were slipping, and no one knew just how far.

‎ 

you didn’t hear the knock the first time.

it was the second, louder, more impatient, that made you jolt upright on the couch, a thin line of drool drying on the corner of your mouth. your ankle throbbed where it was still loosely elevated on a pillow, your muscles aching from staying curled in the same position too long. a sharp pain shot up your spine as you moved, and you cursed under your breath, blinking toward the door.

when you opened it, half-limping, half-squinting at the afternoon light, bea was already pushing her way inside.

“jesus christ,” she muttered, eyes scanning your apartment. “have you moved in the last three days?”

you didn’t answer. didn’t really need to. the answer was all around you. plates on the kitchen counter, unopened mail, a cluster of pill containers on the coffee table. a heating pad sat unplugged on the floor, next to an untouched resistance band draped across a crumpled pair of joggers.

bea toed a pile of athletic tape with the tip of her shoe, then turned to look at you, arms crossed.

“i texted you a dozen times.”

“i know.”

“and called.”

you nodded.

she paused, letting that hang for a second, before exhaling slowly. “okay. you want to be mad, you can be mad. you want to shut people out, fine. but i’m here now, and i’m not leaving until you stop looking like the ghost of someone i used to win olympic gold with.”

you looked away, your jaw tightening. “i’m fine.”

“you’re not.”

there was no judgment in her tone. just fact. clear and simple.

you sank back onto the couch and ran a hand through your hair. your fingers brushed the edge of your temple, where a dull headache had been living for most of the day.

“my foot’s fucked,” you muttered.

“yeah, i figured.”

you closed your eyes for a beat. “world cup’s gone.”

“for now,” bea corrected, sitting on the arm of the couch. “not forever. you’ll get back there.”

“you don’t know that.”

“no, but i know you,” she said. “and you’re not the kind of person who gives up. or hides out like this. what’s really going on?”

you didn’t answer. not right away. bea gave you time.

finally, you said it. “i’ve been taking the meds.”

her gaze flicked to the bottles.

“more than prescribed?” she asked quietly.

your silence was enough of an answer.

bea sighed and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “okay. look. i’m not here to lecture you. i get it. you’re in pain. physically, emotionally, whatever. but this?” she gestured at the mess, the closed blinds, the lingering haze in your eyes. “this isn’t you.”

you bit the inside of your cheek.

“you need to go to rehab,” she said, gently now. “not just for your foot. for your head. your heart. get back to feeling like a person again. you owe that to yourself.”

you stared at the floor. “i just… i can’t even think straight.”

“then let someone help you think,” she said. “start small. one step. you talk to dr. vasquez. you get back in the gym. you cut the pills. even if you don’t believe you can, just act like someone who might.”

your chest hurt. not in the physical way, not like your foot, but in the deeper, heavier way. like something caved in.

“she hasn’t even called,” you said suddenly. it slipped out before you could swallow it back.

bea blinked. “manon?”

you nodded.

“do you want her to?”

you didn’t know how to answer that either. 

it felt silly. no matter how many times you wracked through your brain trying to make sense of the hurt you felt, it never made sense. why were you so bothered? you weren’t even dating. manon had made it very clear that whatever you had going on meant less to her than it did to you. 

still, you knew the answer was yes. if the swiss girl was to call in that moment then, you would have answered without hesitation. 

after a beat, bea sighed.

“okay,” she said, softer now. “then leave that part. for now. focus on what you can control. your body. your recovery. get strong again. then decide what comes next.”

you let the silence stretch out again. not as long this time.

eventually, you nodded.

you didn’t say thank you. didn’t have to. bea saw it in the way you started stacking the pill bottles into a bag. in the way you pulled the blinds open an inch. in the way your voice didn’t break when you finally asked, “will you drive me to the clinic tomorrow?”

“yeah. of course.”

for the first time in weeks, you let someone help you.

__

‎ 

manon hadn’t planned to ghost you. not really.

when the tabloid dropped, splashing her name across headlines with words like “mystery lover” and “missing rehearsals”, her stomach turned so hard she almost threw up backstage. it didn’t matter that the photo was grainy or that she hadn’t missed a single scheduled rehearsal. what mattered was that katseye’s name was being dragged, and her face was at the center of it.

management was livid. not at her directly, not at first, but at the optics. they didn’t ask questions about where she’d been or who you were. they didn’t want the truth. they wanted control. so she apologized, bowed her head, promised to focus, promised it wouldn’t happen again. she cut off the distraction.

you.

it was supposed to be temporary. just enough time to let things cool down. she performed like everything was fine. every camera flash, every dance rehearsal, every note sung like her lungs weren’t filling with something heavier each day.

it worked. kind of.

the group dynamic stabilized again. management backed off. the scandal passed, replaced by some other trending story. the comments under katseye’s posts stopped mentioning the photo.

but something in her didn’t settle.

she felt it when megan looked at her for a second too long during vocal warmups. when sophia threw her a side glance during dinner, chopsticks paused mid-air. when she hesitated before asking if she was “doing okay” in the most nonchalant tone she could manage.

then one night after practice while the group was sprawled out in the dorm’s main room, pizza boxes open and a drama humming softly on the tv, lara finally said it.

“you know you’ve been weird lately, right?”

manon looked up from her phone, blinking. “what?”

“standoffish,” daniela added from where she was braiding yoonchae’s hair. “like, emotionally constipated but in french.”

“i’m literally fi—” manon started.

“you don’t have to lie,” sophia cut in gently. “we know it’s about her.”

for a moment manon didn’t say anything. she looked back and forth between the faces of the five girls looking back at her. all knowing, all patient, and all careful as if they were afraid the wrong word would set her off. 

manon then turned to sophia and megan pointedly, her face twisting up in betrayal. “you told them?”

lara interrupted with a soft shake of her head, reaching a hand out to gently grasp and squeeze manon’s knee. an action rooted in comfort and reassurance more than anything. “don’t be mad at them. we all kinda put two and two together. you were practically glowing after florida.”

“then you started moping after the tabloid,” daniela added, less accusing than concerned. “you ghosted her, didn’t you?”

manon didn’t answer, and they didn’t push. they didn’t need to. the silence said enough.

megan was the one who broke it.

“you should call her,” she said quietly, tugging her hoodie sleeves over her hands as if trying to make herself smaller. “it’s not too late.”

“yes it is,” manon snapped, the words escaping before she could stop them. too quick, too sharp, more reflex than thought. she wished she could pull them back the moment they were out in the air, but no one flinched. they just looked at her like they already knew she felt that way.

sophia leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. her voice stayed calm. “she probably thought you didn’t care.”

manon’s jaw tightened. “i do.”

“then tell her,” yoonchae said softly, barely above a whisper. “or at least let her explain. you owe her that much.”

and maybe they were right. maybe she did owe you something.

but the part no one understood, not even herself most days, was that caring about you terrified her. you were everywhere. in her chest, in the spaces between her ribs, in the long silences after the lights went down on stage and the applause faded and she found herself alone with her thoughts.

so she nodded. not to them, but to herself.she’d call. eventually. that was the plan. 

that was, at least, until the photos showed up. they found her in the middle of dance rehearsal.

her phone buzzed twice in her pocket before her instructor scolded her into checking it during a water break. and there it was. a text from megan with just a link.

she clicked it.

the article wasn’t long, but the headline was bold.

star midfielder y/n l/n sparks new romance? mystery woman spotted leaving rehab clinic with athlete.

and underneath it, a gallery of images.

you, stepping carefully down the concrete steps, a compression boot still strapped to your foot. you, shielding your face with a hoodie. and beside you, a woman. one hand steadying your back as you climbed into a car.

manon felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

it didn’t matter how innocent it might have been. didn’t matter how professional the woman looked.

she shoved the phone into her bag and didn’t finish rehearsal. didn’t wait for approval or sign out. just walked straight out the back exit and into the evening air, rage clawing up her spine and sinking deep into her shoulders. jealousy bloomed before she could even name it. bitter and sour and fast.

you looked good. better than the last time she saw you. like you were getting stronger. like you didn’t need her. and maybe you didn’t. maybe she’d made it that easy to walk away. to replace her.

she hated that she had no right to be angry. hated even more that she was anyway.

her fingers hovered over your name in her contacts. the one still saved under something stupid. not your full name. not even your nickname. just a little sun emoji, because that’s what you were. what you’d become. blinding. impossible to ignore.

but she didn’t call. you were still in the same city, at least for another few days. 

perhaps she should have. 

‎ 

by the time she was outside your hotel, she didn’t have a plan. she shouldn’t have come, she knew that much. bea had texted megan your hotel and room number, and one thing led to another. 

the next thing she knew, she was knocking on your door.

one knock. then another. then silence.

her hands clenched at her sides, her pulse screaming through her eardrums. when the door finally clicked open, there you were. eyes tired, hair damp like you’d just gotten out of the shower, wearing a hoodie that was too big and probably stolen from one of your teammates. your boot was still on. your expression crumbled the moment you saw her.

“manon.”

“who is she?” manon asked, skipping hello. skipping anything remotely human.

you blinked. “what?”

“the woman in the photos. is that what you do now? go from one secret to the next?”

your face paled. then hardened.

“you don’t get to ask me that,” you said quietly.

manon’s throat burned. “so it’s true.”

you exhaled like you were trying to hold it together, like the air itself was too sharp. then you turned your back to her, walking back into the room, and left the door open for her to come inside. 

she did.

when you opened the door you expected bea. maybe one of the team trainers, perhaps even room service. but the second you saw manon standing in the hallway in a zip-up jacket and baseball cap, mouth drawn tight, your stomach dropped.

“you could’ve called.” you said when she stepped in behind you, the door slamming shut. 

manon tugged her cap off and with it, the air shifted. it always did when she was close.

you didn’t speak and neither did she. not until her eyes landed on the overnight bag by the couch, your rehab paperwork half-tucked beneath it.  

“who was she?” manon asked, again, sharp. “the one in the photo. leaving the office with you.”

you frown. “it’s not what you think.”

it truly wasn’t. your rehab caseworker was a woman nearly twice your age, a woman with a husband and kids. she was helping you. 

truthfully, at this point you didn’t think manon even deserved the answer. 

“really?” she laughed bitterly. “because from here, it looks pretty obvious.”

your jaw clenched. you couldn’t begin to describe the emotions embroidering themselves into you in this moment now. anger. frustration. disbelief. you were angry at yourself for staring, for still being so inconceivably taken aback by her sheer beauty despite it all. you were angry for still finding her so breathtaking even after seeing her for the first time after weeks of silence. she ghosted you. she left you to pick up the pieces of something she left shattered. 

above that, you were angry she had the guts to show up and demand answers like you owed her anything.

you didn’t even bother asking how she knew where you were, you knew bea had something to do with it. 

instead, you scoffed. “you’ve got some nerve, meret.” you say her name with a kind of venom that made her flinch, even if she tried not to show it.

she took a step closer. “don’t turn this on me.”

you shake your head disbelievingly. “what do you want from me? you show up after leaving me in the dark, and expect me to welcome you in with open arms?”

“you think I wasn’t losing my mind watching my name go viral for something that wasn’t even real?”

real. you scoff, biting your tongue. the words you wanted to say begged to be let out. instead you shook your head. 

 “you didn’t have to disappear.”

manon laughed, hollow, like it scraped something raw inside her. “my career was on the line.”

“so was mine!” you nearly shouted, and the sound of your voice bouncing off the hotel walls startled you both. you closed your eyes for half a second, forcing yourself to breathe. “but I didn’t ghost you. I didn’t pretend like none of it happened.”

“i wasn’t pretending,” she said, softer now, but the edge hadn’t fully left her voice. “i was trying to fix it before it got worse. management was on my ass. the girls were on edge. and then that headline—”

you shook your head, stepping away from her. your foot ached as you moved, but you didn’t care. the pain grounded you more than anything she said. you cut her off. 

“you ghosted me to save your image, fine. but don’t you dare come in here accusing me of anything.”

her eyes narrowed. “so you admit there’s something to accuse you of?”

your chest heaved. “no. i’m saying you don’t get to act like a victim.”

she was silent for a beat, long enough for the air between you to feel toxic. then she gestured toward the bag and the paperwork she’d seen. “what even is all that?”

“don’t act like you care now, manon.” you scoff. 

manon’s face twisted up with a kind of hurt that she felt in the core of her being. for a moment she just stared at you. she so badly wanted to say all of the things that plagued her mind the months you’d known each other. she wanted so badly to drop to her knees then and there, to swear on her life— her career — that not a single day had passed where you didn’t cross her mind. 

instead, her frustration got the better of her. 

“we weren’t even together,” manon snapped, eyes flashing.

“i know we weren’t.”

“we said it was just sex. fun.”

“yeah,” you said, louder now, “but it stopped being fun a long time ago, didn’t it?”

manon had nothing else to say. knowing that you felt the same way she did should have felt like relief. like a breath of air. instead, it felt bitter. it left a taste in her mouth she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to swallow. 

your words weren’t a confession, and she knew it.  

she swallowed. “it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

you laughed. a melancholic, tired kind of sound that shook your body with the weight of all your pent up emotions. “then let’s just pretend like none of this happened. that’s what you wanted, right?”

the words hit their mark. you saw it in her shoulders, in the flicker in her jaw, in the way she wouldn’t meet your eyes now.

you stepped back, your boot knocking into the corner of the bed.

“go.”

manon grabbed her cap off the counter, turned to the door, and paused. 

“maybe this was a mistake.”

the door clicked shut behind her with a soft finality that sounded louder than the shouting ever had. and just like that, the room shifted. heavier, colder, emptier. the silence rushed in all at once, like water filling a void. you didn’t move for a long time. just stood there, breathing shallowly, your pulse still racing from everything she said. from everything she didn’t.

it wasn’t until your eyes dropped to the floor that you saw it.

a piece of paper, half-tucked beneath the corner of the nightstand. crumpled, like it had been carried around too long. worn thin, like it had been folded and unfolded over and over again. you weren’t sure when she’d left it. maybe when you turned your back, maybe before the fight even started.  but somehow, it felt like the loudest thing she’d said all night.

you hobbled over slowly, the pain in your foot barely registering now beneath the weight in your chest. when you picked it up, your fingers shook. the ink was faded in places, smudged at the edges, but the handwriting was unmistakable. familiar. careful.

i think i love you. –meret

you stared at it for a long time, something breaking open inside you with every second that passed. all the things she hadn’t said, all the chances you both missed, pressed into six quiet words. not a plea. not a promise. just the truth.

and it came too late.

__

‎ 

another week passed since your argument. you were still in los angeles, and there were now two days until the world cup opener. 

the stadium was completely empty, silent except for the distant hum of the city beyond the floodlights. you sat alone on the cold metal bleachers, the late afternoon sun sliding slowly behind the stands, casting long shadows across the empty pitch. the grass looked impossibly green, the goalposts still standing like silent sentinels, and every inch of the field called out to you with a quiet ache you couldn’t ignore.

you looked down at the note again, the ink smudged where your fingers had held it too tightly. the weight of those six words felt like a stone inside your chest, heavy but delicate all at once. then your eyes shifted to your foot. the boot had been taken off only a day ago, but every time you put weight on it, there was a sharp reminder that your body was still fragile. the pain was duller now, not enough to keep you off the field, but enough to remind you that your foot had betrayed you once, and you weren’t sure if you had forgiven it yet.

your team had made it through without you. barely. sitting on the sidelines, pacing the hospital halls with a phone pressed to your ear, hearing the whistles and scores secondhand had been a slow kind of torture. but somehow they had pulled through. by grit, by luck, and by sheer will. it should have been enough to light a fire inside you, something fierce and unbreakable, ready to carry you onto the field again.

but your mind was elsewhere.

you could still hear manon’s voice when your eyes closed. the way she had said your name in the hotel room, the way her frustration had cracked just enough to show something softer underneath. the fight had burned through every part of you, but it was the silence after that cut deepest. the click of the door, the empty room she left behind. it stayed with you like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

you knew katseye was still in la. you knew it was their final stop before they headed back to europe for an undetermined amount of time. you probably wouldn’t see her again for a while. 

in twenty minutes you had your final medical exam. it was the moment that would decide if you were really ready to play. you should be getting up, walking to the clinic, proving to everyone including yourself that you were ready to play. but your body refused to move. your foot still ached, but more than that, your heart did too. the ache in your chest pressed down like the cold metal seats beneath you, heavy and inescapable.

you almost didn’t register the feeling of someone approaching you. you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. the sound of her sneakers on the metal steps had been careful, deliberate, but not quiet enough to mask the familiarity.

“i thought i’d find you here,” bea said quietly, her voice floating down like it belonged to the quiet.

you didn’t turn around. not at first. the note was still warm in your hands, soft from how many times your fingers had traced its edges. you knew the creases by heart now, the way the folds had started to tear, the way her handwriting had smudged just enough to feel like a memory slipping away.

bea eased down onto the bleacher behind you, one row up, her elbows braced on her knees, eyes fixed on the same field you hadn’t been able to stop staring at. for a while, she didn’t say anything else. just breathed next to you, steady and quiet. then she hummed knowingly. “you’re gonna miss your checkup.”

her tone wasn’t urgent, but the weight of what she was reminding you of pressed in anyway.

you nodded slowly, the answer already formed before she asked. “i know,” you said. your voice came out low, but solid, like the decision had already rooted itself in you. “i’m not going.”

the silence that followed wasn’t surprised. it was careful.

“what do you mean?” she asked after a beat, not accusing, just trying to make sure she understood you.

you finally turned your head, just slightly, just enough to look at her over your shoulder. “i mean i’m not doing it. i’m not going. i don’t think i can.”

bea leaned back a little, her brow creased, confusion shifting into something quieter. “you’ve waited for this for weeks,” she said, not unkindly. “the whole rehab, the work, everything. all of it.”

you nodded again, the motion small but sure. “i know. but something in me still doesn’t feel right. my foot’s almost there, yeah, and i’m technically cleared to test it. but it’s not the pain that’s stopping me.”

she didn’t press you. didn’t speak. just stayed with you in the quiet, letting it stretch a little, like she knew there was more and she was willing to wait for it.

you took a breath and let your eyes fall back to the field, the light now golden and low. “everything else in me still feels shaky,” you said. “like i could take the field tomorrow and my body would show up, but the rest of me wouldn’t.”

you didn’t realize you were gripping the note until your thumb brushed over the paper again. the edges had curled, worn thin from the way you kept holding it like it might hold you back together.

“she left this,” you said, your voice quieter now.

bea glanced at the paper in your hands, then back at you. “how do you feel?”

the question sat in the air for a long time before you answered. “like i was halfway in love with her the second i saw her.”

bea tilted her head, her eyes gentle. “is it still there?”

“yeah,” you whispered. “it never really left.”

she looked down at her hands, then up at the empty field. “you know… we’ve both played through pain. done it for years. and i get it. sometimes you have to. but this?” she nodded at the note. “this doesn’t sound like something you should be playing through.”

you stayed quiet.

“you love her,” bea said, not a question this time, just a quiet truth placed between you.

you nodded again, barely, the motion so small it might’ve been missed if she hadn’t already known the answer.

for a while, all you could hear was the buzz of the stadium lights overhead, the slow groan of one flickering to life after another. the field looked too perfect, too green, too untouched. it felt like a painting, still and silent, waiting for someone to step into it.

“so why are you still here?” 

you exhaled slowly, staring straight ahead. “because if i miss this exam, i don’t play. and if i don’t play, then what was all of it for? the injury, the rehab, the sacrifice… what was the point?”

bea didn’t look away from you. she stayed still for a moment longer, then finally spoke again.

“maybe it wasn’t just for the game.”

you turned your head, uncertain.

“maybe it was for more than that,” she said. “for learning that your worth isn’t measured by the next match. for giving yourself permission to want something you can’t chart on a scoreboard. for figuring out that there’s a difference between playing through pain and playing like you actually want to be there.”

you looked down at the note in your hands again, your voice almost too soft to hear.

“i don’t know if she wants to see me. not after how we left things.”

bea didn’t hesitate. “then find out.”

“it’s too late,” you said, not with certainty but with fear.

“it’s not,” she said. “she’s still in the city, right? the tour ends tonight?”

you nodded, barely. “yeah. the bowl.”

“then you don’t need a plane. you don’t need a manager or a doctor or a pass. you just need to go.”

you opened your mouth, hesitating. “what if i’m wrong? what if i go, she doesn’t want to see me?”

bea gave you a look. not harsh. just steady. “then at least you’ll know you weren’t too scared to try.”

the stadium around you was still. the sun nearly gone now, the lights casting that familiar pregame glow over the field. the ache in your foot felt distant for once, like your body had finally decided to follow your heart’s lead.

“the medical team—” you started.

“i’ll cover for you,” bea said. “i’ll tell them you needed time. they’ll deal.”

you stared at her, overwhelmed. “why are you doing this?”

she gave a small smile. “because i’ve seen you fight for everything else in your life. now i want to see you fight for this.”

you blinked hard, throat tight.

“thank you,” you whispered.

bea stood with you, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “go,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “before i start getting emotional and ruin my whole cool persona.”

you let out a breath that was half laugh, half something closer to release. “too late for that,” you said, your voice shaky but warm.

and this time, when you turned and started walking down the bleachers, it didn’t feel like you were leaving something behind.

‎ 

‎ 

the show had ended, but the air still pulsed with it. every surface backstage hummed like it had absorbed the sound and refused to let it go. the concrete beneath your feet felt warm, as if it had held the energy of thousands of stomping feet and was still deciding whether to let it fade.

somewhere beyond the heavy doors, the crowd was still roaring. you stood near the back exit, just out of sight, half shielded by a wall of black storage trunks marked with shipping labels and tour codes. it smelled like sweat and vinyl and adrenaline. somewhere along the drive, bea must have called megan to give her a heads up that you were on your way. it was likely megan’s doing that you were let backstage without any hassle.

you hadn’t planned what to say. not on the drive over. not in the slow, stalling walk through the backstage corridor. your mind had been too loud and too blank at once.

your phone hadn’t stopped vibrating since you arrived, tucked deep in your jacket pocket. it buzzed again and again. the coaches, the medical staff, your name probably floating across a dozen group chats in varying degrees of concern, irritation, disbelief. you’d silenced everything. not because you wanted to be reckless, but because this moment didn’t belong to anyone else.

you needed it to be yours.

when the door opened from the far side of the stage, a fresh wave of cheers rolled in, muffled but still enormous. then the sound shifted. boots against metal, quick voices calling for clear paths, crew shouting directions over each other as the final load-out began. a golf cart beeped somewhere near the loading dock.

and then, in the middle of all that movement, she appeared.

manon.

she was walking with the rest of them at first, laughing at something, her head turned toward one of the other girls. her shirt clung to her back with sweat, her hair damp and tangled from the heat of the stage. her face was still flushed, bright from the lights, from the movement, from whatever high came with finishing something that had taken months to build.

you almost stepped back when you saw her. the way your breath caught felt involuntary, like your body had been holding it in anticipation for longer than you realized.

and then she saw you.

she stopped like she’d hit something.  like her whole body forgot what it was supposed to do. her mouth parted slightly. one step, then another, slower this time. the girls kept moving without her, unaware or pretending not to notice. now that you thought about it, you definitely didn’t miss the sly glances megan and sophia shot your way. but, before you could dwell on it, your attention was brought back to the woman of the hour.

the sound around you blurred for a second, not disappearing but dulling. like someone had turned the volume down on everything except the space between you and her.

her eyes stayed on yours, wide, searching. her lips moved before her voice did, like she had to try it out first just to believe it was real.

“you’re here,” she said. not an accusation. not even a question. just a quiet fact she hadn’t expected to say out loud.

you nodded. “i couldn’t miss this.”

manon blinked, slow and dazed, like she was surfacing from deep water. she looked exhausted, like the kind of tired that clings to your bones. but still, impossibly, unfairly beautiful. there was a glazed softness in her eyes, as if the stage had taken something from her and left behind a quiet kind of wonder. strands of hair clung to her damp temples, her breath still unsteady, and yet she carried herself with the kind of grace that made it hard to look away

you stepped closer, letting the words rise from the place where they had been buried for too long. she didn’t step away. you fished into your pocket and found the note she left you. not the first one where she thanked you for the good night together, but the second. you couldn’t shake its words from your mind no matter how hard you tried.

her eyes dropped to the note and recognition flickered across her face in an instant. her lips parted slightly, then pressed together as she swallowed. the weight of memory settled in her throat.

you hesitated for a moment, opened and closed your mouth. there were so many things you wanted to say. maybe an apology, an icebreaker to dull the hurt you made each other feel in that hotel room. instead, your words slipped out before you could fully register them, second nature.

“i love you.”

manon froze, her breath catching as if your words had cracked the stillness between you. for a long moment, neither of you moved. the air felt thick, heavy with everything left unsaid, everything too fragile to touch. then, slowly, her eyes lifted to meet yours. wide, uncertain, searching. a flicker of something raw and unguarded passed through her gaze, breaking through the stunned silence.

she swallowed again, voice barely above a whisper.

 “i… don’t know what to say.”

you continued so she didn’t have to. you take another step closer so that you were only a foot away, swallowing for the nth time since you arrived. you folded the paper delicately in front of her and placed it back into your pocket with the kind of care fit for gold. when you talk your voice is barely above a whisper, but she hears you loud and clear.

“you don’t have to say anything. i just needed you to know.”

manon’s eyes softened. you didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t the way her chest slowly deflated like she was finally releasing a breath you hadn’t even noticed she was holding. her face relaxed, the tension in her body collapsing as if your words made everything right. as if suddenly, everything made sense. 

she closed the distance between you, her voice slow and careful as she lifted a hand to rest on your arm, hesitant. she moved with the softness of someone afraid their very touch would burn. she didn’t want you to pull away. 

“i didn’t want the world to ruin what we had,” she admitted, her voice soft and honest. “but i almost did that myself.”

you nodded slowly, feeling the tightness in your throat, the weight of everything that had passed between you. the words tasted bittersweet but true.

she reached out then, her fingers trembling just a little as they lowered from your shoulder and brushed against your hand. the touch was tentative, fragile, but it grounded you both in the moment. you didn’t rush.

“i love you, too,” she whispered.

it was all you needed to move.

when your lips finally met, there was none of the noise or flashiness you might have expected. no fireworks burst in the air, no grand gestures to announce your feelings to the world. instead, the kiss was steady and gentle, as if it had been waiting patiently for this moment to arrive.

it was quiet, a soft meeting of lips that felt like a secret finally shared between two souls who had been searching for each other in the dark. the warmth of her mouth against yours was steady and sure, offering comfort instead of urgency. it was a calm reassurance, a slow and deliberate connection that spoke louder than any shouted confession ever could.

the kiss deepened just enough to hold the weight of everything you’d both been carrying. frustration, hope, regret, love. it was like the first solid step after a storm, the foundation beneath your feet that had been missing for so long. 

when you pulled apart, her smile hit you like a burst of sunlight, lighting up her entire face. you barely noticed the soft rustling and muffled giggles as megan tumbled to the floor, caught off guard by the moment. she, yoonchae, sophia, daniela, and lara were practically piling on top of each other behind the corner, like a comically awkward tower of kids trying to sneak a peek at the kiss. their eyes wide and curious, they peeked around the edge in a jumble of limbs and whispered excitement, struggling to stay quiet but failing spectacularly.

even when megan clambered back up, embarrassed. even when manon rolled her eyes at them before turning back to you with a warm smile.

all you saw was her.

__

you didn’t win the cup.

the team barely made it out of the group stage before collapsing under pressure, slipping out of the tournament with a loss that tasted more like betrayal than defeat. the fine came quickly after. five figures. stern wording. a statement released to the press so the league could pretend like they were doing something about it. you didn’t necessarily expect that purposely missing your health examination would lead to such a big consequence, but you didn’t fight it. didn’t argue. didn’t even flinch when the payment went through. because the truth was, you didn’t regret a single thing.

being off the field meant time, and time meant manon. 

katseye had left for the european leg of their world tour two days after the tournament ended, and you went with them. not officially. not publicly. but you were there. slipping into venues through side doors, helping manon rehearse choreography by counting beats on your fingers, sitting backstage with a spare towel and gatorade like it was the most normal thing in the world.

the phone calls changed, too. they got softer. longer. manon stopped hanging up first. she stopped hiding behind excuses, stopped changing the subject every time it got too close to sounding like love. somewhere between paris and prague, you spent more time together. long train rides across europe, cheap hotel rooms between tour stops. the kind of nights where everything slowed down just enough for both of you to exhale. 

by the time the new season came around and you flew back to los angeles, the fear that used to wrap itself around manon’s ribs like wire had finally started to loosen its grip. the phone call confirming you were cleared to play the next season was celebrated, the two of you spending the night together in the best way you knew how.

carly wasn’t so lucky.

she didn’t just get benched, she got dropped. her contract terminated, her name wiped from the team’s socials like she was never there to begin with. the league didn’t offer an explanation, but they didn’t have to. everyone had heard the recording. it passed through group chats and newsrooms like wildfire. her voice, smug and casual, bragging about how she’d gone in harder than necessary during that scrimmage. said she was tired of you being treated like you were untouchable. like some golden girl. said you needed to be humbled.

jealousy cost her everything. and for once, you weren’t the one left picking up the pieces.

the season opener came fast. same stadium. same energy humming under the lights. bea’s same infuriating grin across the athlete tunnel as the crowd was already spilling into the aisles.  drums echoing in the distance, flags waving.

 but something felt different this time. like the tension had shifted.

katseye was there, dressed down in team hoodies and dark glasses. they weren’t performing this time, but rather watching. not for the cameras. not for a paycheck. just as fans.

manon stood at the edge of their section, fingers curled around the railing. her shoulders were straight, her posture easy, and stitched across her back in bold white lettering was your number.

fourteen.

you didn’t see her at first. you were too locked in. cleats tapping against the tunnel floor, eyes scanning the pitch. everything sharp and focused and familiar. until the sound shifted. a wave in the noise,  sharper, higher, a cheer that didn’t quite match the moment. and when you turned, she was there.

stepping down from the suite, walking toward the sideline like she belonged there. like she’d done it a hundred times before. her expression unreadable, her pace calm and sure. security didn’t stop her. the cameras didn’t look away. and when she reached you, she didn’t pause.

her hands came up to your face, warm and steady, and she kissed you. right there. in front of the fans. in front of the world. it wasn’t a stunt. it wasn’t a reveal. it wasn’t soft or hesitant or staged. it was real.

open. certain. hers.

the photos hit twitter before the first whistle blew. your name and hers started trending in less than ten minutes. a thousand different versions of the same headline began circulating.

 power couple. surprise romance. soft launch, hard launch, everything in between. it couple status: confirmed.

for a while, it felt like everything tilted off its axis. interviews you hadn’t agreed to. red carpet invites with both your names spelled wrong. paparazzi waiting outside practice and tabloids stitching together timelines that didn’t make sense. people fell in love with the idea of you before they even understood the reality. they cropped photos, made edits, wrote essays on your love like it belonged to them.

but beneath the noise, beneath the flashbulbs and thinkpieces, the truth stayed simple.

you chose each other.

even when it was inconvenient. even when the schedules didn’t align. even when you were halfway across the world, talking through time zones and static and exhaustion. when your bodies were too tired to move but your hearts still found ways to reach.

you fought for it.

and manon, who once thought being loved out loud would cost her everything, now wore your hoodie through airport terminals, took your hand in front of fans, leaned her head on your shoulder when the cameras flashed like she wasn’t scared of being seen anymore.

she hadn’t expected any of it. not the attention. not the weight of being talked about like you were something bigger than just two people trying to love each other the best way you knew how.

but when she looked at you, she knew she’d do it all again.

[saatorus]

she won't go away— a sukuna fic

art creds to to_0fu (twitter/x)

pairing — college sukuna! x reader

synopsis — of all the people in your chemistry course, you get stuck with ryomen sukuna—the most insufferable, arrogant asshole on campus. he barely does any work, runs his mouth like it’s a sport, and somehow manages to make your life even more exhausting than it already is. if this project doesn’t kill you, he just might.

teaser wc — 1.8k (long for a teaser but i'm desensitised to any word count below like 100k words)

actual wc — 20-25k (gonna try and force myself to stick to this and not go into the 30s..)

tag list status — closed! the fic has been posted

warnings — explicit sexual content!!! sukuna being an absolute vile dick and saying questionable shit (i need him to be at least a lil canon compliant), mentions of reader and sukuna telling each other to go die, reader not being meek and letting him walk all over her, mentions of feeling insecure, multiple crash outs, angst?? will add more as i go along!

“That ‘little homework’ is forty five percent of our grade,” you bite out.

“Don’t give a fuck,” he grunts, sounding bored.

You inhale deeply. “So, I was thinking—”

But he groans, dragging a tattooed hand down his face. “Are we seriously doing this now?”

“Yes, we’re seriously doing this now,” you snap.

He exhales sharply through his nose, glaring. “God, you’re fucking annoying.”

You’re not sure whether you should be offended or hurt. On one hand, obviously as a normal human being, being spoken to like this from a person you’re quite literally talking to for the first time is bound to hurt your feelings. On the other hand, this guy’s dickhead personality is kind of well known through your university. Your grip on your pen tightens, but you keep your voice even.

 “I’m annoying because I want to pass?”

”You’re annoying because you talk way too fuckin’ much.”

 That stings more than you’d like to admit.

You grit your teeth, ignoring the way your stomach tightens, and push forward anyway. “If we divide the research today, we won’t have to meet up as often,” you say, firmly. “I assume you’ll want to do as little work as possible, so let’s just—”

“Holy shit.” Sukuna pushes his chair back with a loud scrape, fixing you with an exasperated look. “Do you ever shut up?”

You blink, stunned.

Toji snickers.

“Oh, come on,” Sukuna scoffs, throwing up a hand. “You’re gonna sit there all wide-eyed like I just kicked your fuckin’ puppy? You started it.”

Your fingers twitch against the table.

“Started what?” you ask, voice dangerously calm.

“This whole thing—acting like I’m some bum ass delinquent who needs a babysitter.” His eyes narrow. “If you wanna play boss, go find some other loser to be a bitch to.”

Your patience snaps. “Or you could just not be a lazy asshole. Do you lack brain cells? You’ve seriously told me to shut up like 5 times in the span of about ten minutes. Do you have a problem where you can’t focus?”

The air between you shifts.

Sukuna’s jaw tics. His expression darkens, something sharp flashing through his eyes, but then his lips pull into something crueler than a smirk—something with edges, something dangerous.

“You think I’m lazy? Got somethin’ wrong with me because I can’t take your nerdy bitching?” he asks, voice low.

You hesitate, but only for a second. “Glad you have the ability to comprehend what I said.”

That makes him grin. “And you think I’m an asshole?”

“Yes.”

He hums, tilting his head. Then he leans forward, just slightly, elbows resting on the table. His voice drops into something smug, mocking—

“Then why the fuck are you still talking to me?”

Your blood boils.

What the fuck is his problem?

You lean forward too, matching him, refusing to shrink under his gaze. “Because I have to, dumbass,” you snap. “I tried to change my group. I begged. I offered to do extra credit. I would have written a whole goddamn thesis if it meant not sitting across from you—but guess what?” You gesture sharply between you. “I’m stuck with you.”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Tragic.”

You let out a frustrated breath, gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles turn white. “So, as much as I’d love to pretend you don’t exist—”

“Then do it,” he interrupts, tone dry.

You blink. “What?”

“If you wanna pretend I don’t exist, go ahead,” he drawls, leaning back lazily. “Do the whole project yourself. You’ll probably enjoy it, since you’re clearly getting off on playing group leader.”

“Oh, my god.” You clench your fists, barely restraining yourself. “Why are you such a dickhead? Parents not teach you basic respect?”

“Because you don’t shut the fuck up,” he snaps, finally looking genuinely irritated.

Your lips part, incredulous. “I’m literally just trying to do the fucking project? Like any normal human being?”

“No, you’re trying to control shit,” Sukuna says flatly. “Like this is some big deal—like I haven’t passed a million of these useless classes already.”

You stare at him. “You think this is useless?”

He smirks. “Yeah.”

Oh, you hate him.

“Some of us actually give a shit about our grades, Sukuna.”

“You know my name? Cute.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to stay calm, trying not to launch your textbook at his stupid, perfect face. “I don’t care how many classes you’ve passed,” you say, voice taut. “You’re doing this one with me. I care about this project. And if I have to suffer through working with you, you can at least pretend to give a shit.”

He tilts his head, mockingly thoughtful. “Mm. No.”

You exhale slowly, trying—failing—to stop your hands from curling into fists.

“I swear to god—”

“What, huh?” he cuts in, voice dripping with condescension. “You gonna whine to the professor again?” He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Pathetic.”

Your jaw tightens.

He grins, like he’s won something. Like he’s getting exactly what he wants—like this is a game to him, something to toy with, something to waste his time on.

And you refuse to let him win.

So, you straighten your spine, lift your chin, and meet his gaze without flinching.

“Fine,” you say, voice steely. “If you want to half-ass this, be my guest. Just don’t expect me to pick up your slack.”

Sukuna watches you, amused, as if he’s waiting for you to crack.

When you don’t, he smirks.

“We’ll see.”

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to keep your voice level.

“Well, unfortunately for you,” you say stiffly, “you actually have to do your share.”

Sukuna snorts. “Says who?”

“The professor.” You cross your arms. “Since apparently, students have been slacking on group projects, we have to submit proof of collaboration—meeting logs, progress updates, actual proof that we’re working together.”

His expression darkens.

You fight the urge to smirk. Suffer.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he mutters.

“Nope.” You press your lips together, trying to hold back your pure satisfaction. “So, congratulations, Sukuna. You have to meet up with me at least once a week.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, glaring at you like you’re personally ruining his life. “You’re telling me I have to sit through this shit every week?”

“Yep.”

“You specifically?”

“Yep.”

Sukuna groans, dragging a hand through the unruly pink strands of his hair. Then, just as you’re about to remind him that this is literally his problem for being a shit student, he lifts his head—eyes raking over you in a slow, lazy once-over.

And then, he smirks.

You freeze.

“What?” you snap, immediately on edge.

His smirk widens.

“Nah, I was just thinking,” he drawls, tipping his head back against his chair. “If you were hotter, this would be way less painful.”

Your stomach drops.

The words hit you like a slap, and for a second, all you can do is sit there, stunned, completely caught off guard by how casual—how easy—it is for him to say something like that.

Like it’s just true.

Like it’s a fact.

Your fingers dig into your sleeve.

And the worst part? It’s not even the insult itself that stings—it’s the sheer, blatant dismissal. The fact that he looks at you and immediately decides you’re not worth even pretending to be interested in. As if you were hoping for his attention. As if you were seeking his approval.

You clench your jaw.

“Yeah?” you say, voice flat, emotionless. “Well, if you were smarter, I wouldn’t have to carry your useless ass through this class.”

His grin falters, just barely, but you see it—and for once, it’s your turn to smirk.

You lean forward, matching his posture, tilting your head mockingly.

“Guess we’re both disappointed, huh?”

For a moment, Sukuna just stares at you.

And you don’t miss the way his jaw tightens, how his fingers twitch against the table like he’s fighting the urge to rip you apart.

Good.

Then—he exhales sharply through his nose, tipping his chair back slightly, acting unfazed even though you saw the flicker of irritation in his eyes. “Damn,” he muses, voice slow, dragging. “Didn’t know you had a mouth on you.”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head. “Didn’t know you gave a shit.”

Sukuna scoffs. “I don’t.”

“Then shut the fuck up and do your work.”

He lets out a low, mean laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today.”

“Generous?” You nearly choke. “You’ve been nothing but a dick since the moment I sat down.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Could be worse.”

Oh, you want to strangle him.

Instead, you inhale sharply through your nose, pressing your palms flat against the table before forcing yourself to stay on track. “Whatever,” you say, shaking your head. “Here’s the deal: we have to meet at least once a week. I don’t care where. I don’t care when. But we need to get the work done, and I need proof that you were actually present—because if we don’t, we both fail.”

Sukuna glares at you, as if the very concept of responsibility offends him.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face again. “You’re really gonna be a hardass about this, huh?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t care about failing?”

“Not really.”

Your eyes narrow. “Then why are you even in this class?”

At this, he finally drops his chair back down onto all four legs, leaning in slightly. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he says, voice lower, more serious. “I don’t need this shit. I’m here because my old man thinks I should at least pretend to give a fuck about college.” He smirks, sharp and taunting. “But don’t get it twisted—I don’t actually give a fuck.”

You pause, studying him, trying to piece together the weight behind his words.

Of course, you know he comes from money. Everyone does. The Ryomen family name carries weight, old money, power, prestige—so it makes sense that college, for him, is just some bullshit obligation rather than a means to a future.

Still, something about the way he says it—how bitter it sounds—sticks with you.

Not that you care.

You roll your eyes. “Right. Got it. Poor little rich boy.”

His smirk drops.

For a second, there’s silence.

Then—

“You know what?” Sukuna says, voice eerily calm. “Fine. I’ll meet up with you.”

You blink, a little thrown off by how easily he gives in.

“…Okay?”

“But.” His gaze darkens, and the corner of his mouth twitches, almost like he’s daring you to argue. “You work around my schedule.”

Your stomach twists with irritation. “That’s not—”

“Not my problem,” he cuts in smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t do morning meetups. I don’t do last-minute bullshit. And if you start bitching about how I ‘don’t take this seriously,’” he mocks, voice lilting high, “I will walk out and leave you with an automatic fail. Or whatever the fuck happens to your grade if the other person doesn’t do their part. Got it?”

Your blood boils.

But what can you do? You already tried to get reassigned.

So, through gritted teeth, you say, “Fine.”

Sukuna smirks.

“Good girl.”

a/n: very overused trope but i love college au sukuna. sorry for making him a total asshole but i promise character development!!!!! i looove a good enemies to lovers, as seen with my take on nerdjo lolol!!! also yes this fic is based on "she won't go away" by faye webster and yes this song and it's lyrics will be making a cameo in my fic heheh... hope you all liked the teaser!!