#lemme close this damn game

[nepotisim]

alessandra | fati

[sakuraszn]

ft. timeskip katsuki bakugo

summary: you and katsuki got into a fight last night but he’s not leaving the next day without his kiss.

“You Still Mad?”

The sun had barely risen, casting a warm, hazy glow through the bedroom window, but you were still wrapped up in last night’s argument like a thick-ass winter coat. You hadn’t even looked at Bakugo since you both woke up, let alone spoken a word to him.

He noticed. Of course, he did.

Now, he stood by the front door, arms crossed, already in his hero gear, watching you with narrowed crimson eyes. His gauntlets hung from his belt, meaning he was giving you extra time before heading out.

“Tch,” he sucked his teeth. “You still actin’ like that?”

You didn’t answer, just sat on the couch, scrolling through your phone, legs tucked under you.

Bakugo took a slow step forward, then another. “Y’know I ain’t leavin’ without my shit, so you might as well quit actin’ funny.”

Silence.

His jaw twitched. “Oh, so we playin’ this game?”

Still nothing.

Bakugo exhaled sharply through his nose before yanking his gloves tighter. “Alright.”

Before you could react, he marched over, plucked the phone right out of your hands, and tossed it onto the couch.

“The fu—Bakugo!” You snapped, looking up at him.

“There it is.” He smirked, tilting his head. “Finally got your attention.”

You folded your arms, scowling. “You really that pressed over a damn kiss?”

He scoffed, looking down at you like you were the dumbest person alive. “Uh, yeah? That’s my good luck for the day. You want me out there fightin’ villains without my daily dose of you?”

Your lips twitched, but you forced the smile down, turning your head away from him.

Bakugo, not having any of that, leaned down, caging you in with his arms on either side of you. “Oh, so now you mute?”

You rolled your eyes. “Katsuki, go to work.”

“You know I’m not leavin’ without my shit.”

He was so close, his breath tickled your skin. His scent—warm spice and a little bit of leftover sleep—wrapped around you. You hated how familiar it was, how much you’d miss it if he actually left without kissing you goodbye.

“Why do you even care?” You muttered. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you say that,” he murmured, fingers slipping under your chin to tilt your face up. “But I know you. You don’t wanna be mad anymore.”

You huffed, but his touch was soft, gentle. A contrast to how brash he usually was.

His thumb traced your bottom lip. “Lemme fix it.”

Before you could protest, he kissed you. Slow. Deep. It wasn’t just some quick peck or heated make-out session. It was that I-know-you-love-me-so-stop-frontin’ kinda kiss.

And, like a damn fool, you melted into it.

His hands slid down, gripping your waist, pulling you even closer. His lips moved with yours, lazy but demanding, like he had all the time in the world. Then, right when he knew he had you, SMACK.

His palm connected with your ass, making you gasp into his mouth.

Bakugo smirked against your lips. “There she is.”

You shoved at his chest, but he barely budged. “Your so damn annoying.”

“Yeah?” He nipped at your lip before pulling back, smug as ever. “But you still love me.”

You exhaled, finally giving in. “Yeah, yeah. I love you.”

“Damn right you do.” He leaned down, stealing one more kiss, slow and sweet, before finally stepping back.

You watched as he grabbed his gauntlets and strapped them on, the usual cocky attitude in full effect. Right as he reached the door, he turned back, grinning. “Oh, and don’t think I didn’t catch that lil’ smile. You ain’t slick.”

You rolled your eyes, but he saw the way you bit your lip.

Bakugo chuckled, shaking his head. “See you later, dumbass.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you sitting there, heart still racing.

© sakuraszn! xoxo

[missdynamighttt]

feining for frat boy katsuki…

it was hot. loud. half the girls were already screaming over shirtless frat boys grinding against windshields. your friend dragged you out with a “come on, it’s for charity!” and now you’re standing in the corner with a lukewarm lemonade and zero expectations.

you didn’t even want to come to this stupid fraternity fundraiser.

your roommate dragged you out with the promise of half-naked frat boys, but all you’ve seen so far are drenched freshmen trying to flex their way into a hernia.

but then you see him.

he’s got his back turned at first—lean muscle, golden skin, red swim trunks slung way too low on his hips. sunlight catches the water dripping down his back like it’s staged. and when he turns around?

game over. he’s gorgeous.

sharp jaw, wild blonde hair flattened from water, a cocky little smirk on his face as he wrings a sponge out over his head, totally aware of the stares.

and he sees you. right away. ruby eyes locked with yours and gives the most arrogant little up-nod like, yeah. you’re next.

you try to act unaffected. fail immediately.

he saunters over, sudsy bucket in one hand, water dripping down his abs like it’s a fucking calvin klein ad. stops right in front of you, eyeing your car, then you, then your car again. “you the one drivin’ this piece of shit?”

you blink. “excuse me?!”

he shrugs but you can see a little grin tugging on the corner of his mouth, smug and unbothered. “relax. i’ll make it look brand new.”

he puts the bucket down, saunters over, and damn—he’s even hotter up close. tall. muscles for days. and that little scar on his cheek? unfair.

then, leaning closer, voice low: “the name's katsuki bakugo. what’s yours, sweet girl?”

you tell him. maybe a little breathless.

he repeats it once—slow, like he’s trying it out on his tongue. “hm. yeah. i like that.”

and then he goes to work. but not just on the car.

katsuki bakugo washes that car like he’s auditioning for the dirtiest boy band you’ve ever seen. dropping the sponge just to bend over in front of you, ass on full display. making eye contact when he slides his hand over the hood like he’s caressing it. watering himself down with a hose and shaking his hair out like he’s in a shampoo commercial from hell.

by the time he’s done, your car is sparkling. and so are you—flushed, flustered.

he tosses the sponge into the bucket, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and smirks. “lemme know if you need a private wash sometime.”

and then he walks away, with you watching the water dripping down the curve of his spine, no better than a teenage boy ogling the back of a girl's bikini. you swear you black out for a second too.

it’s only a few hours after the car wash before he slides in your dms, smooth but dirty. you’re in your room, still reeling from whatever the hell that was, when your phone buzzes.

king.explosionmurder has sent you a message.

(yeah. that’s his actual handle. because of course it is.) then, you open it.

king.explosionmurder:

can't stop thinking about the girl with the shittiest car and the cutest fuckin’ face.

you stare. then another message pops up.

king.explosionmurder:

u free tonight?

or maybe you're too busy being adorable somewhere else?

your heart does a thing. you type out a reply—something just barely cocky enough to match him:

you:

depends

you always this forward?

king.explosionmurder:

only for girls with shitty taste in cars

so, only you

let me buy you a drink, sweet girl?

you:

fine

you can buy me a drink, frat boy

but for the record?

my taste in cars is not that shitty

king.explosionmurder:

whatever you say beautiful

8 pm, sunset bar down 5th ave

don't be late

katsuki shows up five minutes early, in a black tee that clings to his chest and jeans that should be illegal. hair still messy from his post-car-wash shower. when you walk in, his eyes track you like you’re the only person in the room.

“tch. thought you were gonna flake.”

you roll your eyes. “you’d cry if i did.”

his mouth twitches. “like a damn baby.”

then the date just... hits different. it wasn't what you expected. sure, it’s packed with college students and frat bros, but in the back corner booth? with him?

it’s quiet. comfortable. almost… intimate.

he’s not much of a talker, but with you? he tries. you ask about his major—he’s an aspiring pro-hero, of course—and he asks about yours, grumbling when you light up talking about it, because “fuck, that smile’s gonna kill me.”

and even though he’d die before saying it out loud, the minute you take a sip of your drink and laugh at something dumb he says? he’s gone. head over heels.

he walks you back to your dorm with his hand on the small of your back, even though it’s barely a ten-minute walk. says “text me when you’re in” even though he literally watched you unlock your door. stands there, gruff and gorgeous, waiting.

“gonna invite me?” he asks, tone teasing.

you shake your head, grinning. “not on the first date, i'm not.”

he groans dramatically. “damn. fuckin’ killin’ me here.”

you grin. “goodnight, frat boy.”

but he doesn’t move right away.

just stands there under the warm porch light, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to work off the ache of not touching you again. his shirt clings to him in the summer heat, his jaw sharp in the glow, but it’s his eyes that freeze you in place.

not hard. not sharp. not the glare he usually levels at the world.

but soft. heavy. like you’ve stolen the breath from his lungs and he doesn’t even want it back.

he looks at you like you hung the damn moon.

he takes one small step closer, close enough that you can feel the heat coming off his chest, close enough that if either of you moved just an inch, you’d be kissing.

“goodnight, sweet girl,” he says, voice low and rough, like gravel laced with honey.

it hits you somewhere deep. like he’s branding the words into you.

and then—he actually smiles. a real one. lopsided, shy, the kind of smile you’d never expect from someone who threatens to body slam people over couch cushions.

then he turns and walks away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head down, like if he looks back even once, he’ll do something stupid like run back and kiss you senseless.

you close the door behind you, heart thudding so hard you swear your roommate can hear it.

you’re screwed. so screwed.

because things after that? they move fast.

to everyone else, he was the guy who'd scream if you left dishes in the sink, throw a beer can at you if you sat on his side of the couch, and threaten to body slam you if you so much as breathe near him.

but the entire frat house knew that their loud, grumpy, terrifyingly efficient frat dad—had a soft spot the size of a planet. and that soft spot? was for you.

you’re the only person allowed in his room during his grumpy post-practice naps. the only one who can touch his hair without him flinching. he’d grumble when you flick his forehead when he was being dramatic but he'd let you.

he might curse under his breath, but when you’d slide onto his lap during movie night, he'd wrap an arm around you like it was instinct. like protecting you came as naturally as breathing.

he had snacks stocked in the mini fridge (not for him, you liked them). he hands you your favorite snack and grumbles, “was on sale. don’t get used to it,” even though it’s never on sale but he bought six of them anyway.

and when finals week hits? he’s a damn soldier for you.

caffeine runs. your favorite takeout. quiet growls at anyone who tries to talk to you in the library. he reads your flashcards like they’re enemy coordinates and quizzing you becomes his personal mission.

but the best part? the tiny, quiet moments in between.

like when he’s losing at mario kart and you’d sit in his lap while he played, steal his fries, kiss his cheek mid-rant just to shut him up.

or when you were too tired to walk back to your place, you just curl up in his bed. not only does he let you, he tucks the blanket around you and kisses your forehead so soft it makes your chest ache.

and somehow, all of that was like magic.

sure, he might’ve acted like the world’s most chaotic, aggressive frat president, but when it came to you? he was all bark, all bite… and all heart.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

[fluffs-palace]

I dont really know anybody here yet but i see a picrew and i must. So uh @devourthelamb here you go huband and @rattoenailclippings i know youre a moot :P (i thought you were im so sorrrrrrry i feel embarrassed now)

Quick: create yourself in this maker!

I'll start:

(I'll tag... @almost-an-artist @kiwi-der-vogel @whyoneartheven @turdofanerd ?)

Oh, and anyone who wants to is invited too!

[lxnarphase]

━━ ❝ HE LIKES IT WET 'N' MESSY ❞

ᯓ ⭑ ₊‧⁺...synopsis : the more you think about it, the more you realize you love how messy atsumu is…

ᯓ ⭑ ₊‧⁺...cw : m. atsumu x fem!reader, wet and messy, ovėrstimulation, dirty talk, marathon sėx, desperation, playful banter, unprotected sēx, excessive cūm (?), atsumu's undiscovered breēding kınk, begging, messy kissing, atsumu miya can't shut the fuck up

ᯓ ⭑ ₊‧⁺...lunar's note : another revamping of an old work of mine where i just. make this even more debauched and filthier than it was before !!

if there’s one word to describe atsumu miya, it’s messy.

sometimes, he leaves his clothes on the floor at the foot of the bed, waiting until you playfully kick him in the butt to pick up his things and put them in the laundry.

he's also so messy when it comes to eating, always having food on his face, causing you to tease him as he tries to wipe it off, completely missing.

it doesn't bother you that much, having already grown used to his messy nature.

it does bother you, however, when he makes a big mess of the sheets. he's always ignoring your whines for him to get a towel to put down or else you'd make him do laundry for the rest of the week.

atsumu always gives the same damn response, a long whine of your name, telling you he’ll clean it up after.

after all, atsumu doesn't think he can bring himself to pull out of your slick heat, not when you feel this fucking good. he can't remember the last time he got to fuck you like this, messy and desperate without worrying about needing to get up early the next day to catch a bus or plane for a game.

he swears he almost forgot how warm you were, how sweet your voice sounds when you were this close to him, how pretty your face looks even when you were looking at him rather annoyed despite being fucked.

“’t-'tsumie, the towel—!”

“baby, nooooo, don’ make me pull out, don' it feel good? d'ya really want me to stop?”

fuck, you can't lie, it feels good, it feels so fucking good, the way he slows his hips to torture you with the slow drag of his cock, making you feel every inch pull out...and then slowly slide back in, a wet squelch signally his hips pressing fully against you.

but that doesn't stop you from being annoyed, knowing your fresh sheets were already a mess.

“d'awww, don’ look at me like that, sweetcheeks. tsumtsum's gonna make ya feel reaaal good if y'forget about the damn sheets,” atsumu huffs, his sweaty hands grabbing the back of your thighs and pushing them closer to your upper body.

its sinful the way he manages to slip in even deep into you, his teeth digging into his bottom lip to prevent the pitiful little whimper from leaving him.

“l-lemme make a mess, baby girl, please?”

you want to roll your eyes at his request, because it's a little too late for him to ask you that. his cum from the first round is already dripping out your stuffed cunt, leaking onto the freshly washed bed sheets under you.

it doesn't matter that his sticky cock head is messing up your insides by pressing against all the spots that have you gushing. you just put these sheets on the bed!

giving him the best pout you can manage, you huff, "f-fine—o-oh!"

that pretty little moan shouldn't cause him to react so excitedly, but he can't help it. hearing your approval has him giggling, he knew you'd give in eventually, and he's going to make sure you don't regret it.

besides, hearing you, his sweet lil' princess, try to sound all tough and serious with his cock deep inside your hot gummy walls that were sucking him in with each thrust is making him so dizzy.

you are too damn cute for your own good.

he can't hold back anymore, not when you're so cute. his hands squeeze your thighs before he starts to pound into you, savoring the way you keen for him, mouth open as you chant his name so needily.

you aren't the only one being loud, poor atsumu giving up on holding back all those pretty noises of his, the way your tight walls squeeze and massage his throbbing dick so sweetly making it literally impossible to stay quiet.

“f-fuck, 'tsumu, ‘s too deep, ’s coming out more,” you whimper, trying to lift your hips to stop his cum from leaking out of you.

the wetness of your overstimulated cunted paired with his leaking cum causes the room to be filled with loud, wet, squelching, causing you to look down.

you suck in a breath, a hot pang of pleasure shooting up your spine at the sight between your legs. atsumu’s stupidly big dick is an absolute creamy mess that only seems to get messier the more he moves, pulling and pushing the sticky mixture of your cum in and out.

“listen to that, dolly, s' fuckin’ dirty. mmnh, tight l-lil' cunt can’t hold all my cum?”

god, atsumu doesn't ever shut up, he's always such a talker, knowing how embarrassed it makes you.

“c’mon, say it, angel, say it f' me, pretty please?”

“a…atsumu, i can’t hold all of your cum…’s comin’ out, ‘tsumu, you're making me messy.”

he wasn’t expecting you to actually do it, god, he really wasn't, but you did and now his eyes are fluttering as they roll back into his skull.

don't cum, don't cum, don't cum, he chants to himself, feeling himself nearly lose it just from your words.

a choked groan forces its way out of his mouth, you're just too fucking hot for him. he can't think of anything but you, your pretty face, your soft body, and your insanely wet cunt.

“s’okay, s’okay, fuck, i’ll-i'll fuck ya, pumpkin, 't-'tsumi's gonna fuck ‘n’ fill ya up over ‘n’ over again, 'til y'can't keep it all inside, gotta stuff you with my cum, make you cream around my cock, need it, need it.”

atsumu is absolutely gone, now fully pressing into you as he fucks you into the mattress. each thrust makes you cry his name, fingers digging into his back as he puts you into a mating press, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, so ready to pump another hot load into you.

it's too much, the drag of his cock and the way it was so deep inside you. tears prick the corners of your eyes, each thrust making your brain slowly turn into nothing but mush. you hate the mess, you really do, but hearing atsumu so desperate does something for you.

you...you want it, you want him to mess you up.

your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as you moan and pant against his ear.

“a-atsumu, honey,” you coo to him, savoring the stuttering of his hips and the quiet hiss of ‘fuck’ you get out of him from the sound of your voice. “please, please fuck me more, fuck me, fill me up, stuff my pussy with your cum, h-honey, mark me nice a-an' deep, okay?”

everyone in the world knows that atsumu miya would give you the world if you asked. so you want to be filled up nice and full? then, he'll give you what you want, take such good care of you and make sure you feel him dripping out of you for days.

“yeah, yeah, fuck, good girl. take this cock, take it like a good girl, so good, my pretty girl, fuck! s-she takes this cock so well, wish you could see how good ya look stretched 'round me like this, baby, ohmyfuckin'goddd.”

you can't stop yourself, pulling him into a sloppy, desperate, the need to taste him overwhelming as your hands get tangled in his hair. he pulls away, panting into your mouth as his thrusts get harder and sloppier.

it's just a fucking mess now, your slick and cream and his cum are coating his abdomen and thighs, dripping everywhere. each thrust has you splashing on him from how fucking wet you are, and atsumu feels like he's gonna fucking faint if he tries to hold off his orgasm for much longer.

“'tsumu, 't-tsumu, 'tsumu—!"

“t-tell me ya want it, baby girl, p-please? c-c'mon, tell me y'want my fuckin' cum inside ya, n-need ta hear it,” he begs against your mouth, eyes watery as desperate tears threaten to spill.

you can't think, can't give a coherent response as you babble, the word ‘please’ falling from your lips over and over again. you just want him to stop talking and kiss you again as he pumps your needy hole full of his seed, until you can't take anymore, until it spurts out from around his cock.

but then, he stops.

a strangled sob leaves you the second his hips stop moving. it's borderline painful, you're so fucking close. just a few more thrusts and you'd be creaming all over his thick cock, tugging and pulling on his hair as your slick squirts all over him.

but no, atsumu fucking stopped.

you look at him with teary eyes, silently begging him to explain. this is just unfair to both of you! but atsumu only gives you a cocky grin, and you have to stop yourself from flicking his nose.

he grants you some relief, rolling his hips gently as his hand slides up to cup the back of your head as he pepper your sweaty cheek in open mouthed kisses. he's so annoying, you love him so bad.

“dunno, pumpkin, don' think ya begged enough f'me. hmm...i’ll give ya one more shot, baby…tell me how fucking much ya want my fuckin’ cum in yer pretty cunt and make ya a creamy lil' mess."

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[superhoeva]

Tying a pretty lil pink ribbon around Abbot’s biceps <3 yes they’re just so scrummy!!! Maybe around both his wrists if the mood takes me :3

let's give him some credit... jack's trying. he really is.

...but the man is five seconds away from ripping this damn ribbon into broken strings of nothing with the way you're humping against his bulge. he's rock fucking solid and leaking a god damn lake through the tip of his cock, and there you are–agonizingly gorgeous... biting your lip through a smile at how pretty the pink looks against his skin.

"look..." jack starts, pausing to swallow because fuuuck. "i know you're havin' fun and all, but if you keep rocking against me like that, i'm gonna blow a blood vessel, sugar."

"i'd rather you blow a load inside me instead."

you're reply edges with a tease that he usually rejoices in. now, however, all it does is remind him of how many times you've slipped him in and out of you at a speed that feels quicker than light.

"oh, yeah?"

two words... those two words are all it takes for him to snap the cheap silk and grab you with rough palms. you squeal out a laugh but it softens into a long curse when jack spins you faster than you thought he was capable of and slicks himself inside you from behind.

“much better,” he groans aloud as his entire body sags onto yours. jack immediatley sets about with a weighty shove of his hips that causes your eyes to start watering. his chin finds home on your shoulder just in time for you to feel the hot breath that puffs out when he tells you, “that’s more like it, baby. s’posed to be nice and deep inside this pretty hole, not playing games… we both deserve better than that, don’t you think?”

a inkling of you questions how the fuck jack is still able to form complete sentences because you’d think he’d be closer to your state; sobbing and failing in your quest of trying not to drool all over the pillow beneath your head as he rails into you.

he’s relentless. keeping steady in the strike of the head of his cock into the deepest parts of you. arms trapping your figure and hips smacking messily against yours, jack’s eyes roll as he finally pleases the ache that’s been torturing the two of you since you looped the mediocre knot around his wrists.

“jesus, that feels good… so fuckin’ good…” he trails off, sinking into you in perfect time with the claps against your ass. 

“f-fuck, jack–”

“i know. i know, doll. lemme milk one out, then i’ll eat you nice and good, okay?” he murmurs, voice dripping with sweet, a gentle shush pushing from his lips when you whine. “ah, none of that, baby, ‘m just doing what you wanted, right? for me to blow my load instead of a vessel?”

is that what you said? you can’t remember–and don’t care that you can’t remember–because jack’s pounding into you with grunts that tell you he’s already closer than close. you’re pulsing and squelching with each flick of his hips, creaming a mess he’s itching to clean up with his tongue. like jack said, he’ll fuck you full and trap you to his mouth until you’re crying. then, he’ll wipe you down, kiss you dizzy, and go to buy some new ribbons that will be tied around your wrists next time.

and yes, it has to be tonight ‘cause robby’s coming over… and he’s a sucker for you in pink.

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[manmuncher777]

Hiii it’s me again (split tongue fic ;) and I had another idea for Choso!? What about stoner!reader smoking with Cho and things get real steamy!?! 🫣🤭 -🪷

Hellooo gorg!!! You’re my first emoji anon omg!!! I feel so honoured, I hope you enjoy this. I absolutely lovvved writing this.

So High!

Choso Kamo x reader SMUT MDNI 18++

Getting high with your best friend for the first time gets hotter than expected…

It starts like nothing.

Just a casual hangout. Like always.

Choso’s sprawled on his couch in those stupid grey sweats that should be illegal, tattoos on full display under a loose black tank top, hair tied back, pierced lip glinting every time he grins. You’re perched beside him, a little nervous but trying not to show it—especially when he lights up.

“You ever smoked before?” he asks, already exhaling a lazy puff, voice deep and syrupy.

You shrug, lips glossed, lashes curled, outfit casual-cute in the way that says I didn’t try… but I did. “Not really. But I trust you.”

He raises a brow at that. “You shouldn’t.”

You laugh, taking the joint when he hands it over, fingers brushing.

His hand lingers.

You pretend not to notice. Kind of.

The first inhale burns. Makes your eyes water.

Choso’s already laughing low in his chest, watching you cough into your fist.

“Lightweight,” he teases, tugging the joint back.

But a little while later, when the world starts to hum and your body melts into his old couch, you’re not so worried. You’re warm. Loose. A little too aware of the way his thigh is pressed against yours, how good he smells—earthy, sharp, a little like smoke and something expensive.

You’re laughing about something stupid when it happens.

His hand rests on your bare thigh. Casually. No big deal.

Except it is.

You glance at him, your smile fading into something softer. Choso’s eyes are half-lidded, flushed from the high, jaw flexing as he watches the TV. But his hand doesn’t move.

And neither do you.

The air goes thick.

You shift slightly, your knee brushing his hand, and he looks at you.

Slowly.

Eyes heavy-lashed, pupils blown, mouth parted.

“You okay?” he murmurs, but his tone is low. Careful. Like he already knows the answer.

Your lips part to say something, anything—

But then his fingers slide up just a little higher on your thigh.

Just a test. A push.

Your breath catches.

And Choso smirks, lazy and hungry, like he’s just confirmed everything he suspected.

“Didn’t know getting high made you blush, pretty girl.”

You stretch your legs across his lap like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Like your skin’s not already buzzing where his hand still rests on your thigh, thumb brushing slow, mindless circles.

“So,” you say, voice a little hoarse from the smoke, “you always get this quiet when you’re high?”

Choso hums. “Nah. You’re just louder than usual.”

You scoff, nudging him with your toe. “Am not.”

He smirks down at your legs, those lazy eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Are too. You’re always giving me shit for being antisocial and brooding. Now you’re the one talking my ear off.”

Your face warms—not from embarrassment, but from how damn comfortable he looks with you draped over him, how soft that teasing edge in his voice is. You try not to focus too hard on the way his hand shifts, resting just a little higher now on your bare thigh. Not inappropriate… but close enough to make your stomach flutter.

You bite your lip and look away, suddenly very focused on the glowing TV screen. “You like when I talk too much anyway.”

He lets out a low laugh, the kind that rumbles from his chest and rolls into your spine. “Yeah. S’cute.”

Cute.

You try not to show how that lands. Your skin feels hotter suddenly, your breath catching just slightly in your chest.

You clear your throat and play it off. “So what’s this game you’re always obsessed with?”

He grabs the controller, shifting a little so his hand brushes your knee again. “Lemme show you.”

You’re barely paying attention. Not to the screen, not to the explanation.

You’re watching his hands. Long fingers, knuckles tattooed, veins prominent as they flex over the buttons. One of the rings he always wears glints under the dim light, and you wonder how it would feel dragging along your—nope.

You shut that thought down fast.

But then Choso leans in, murmuring something about the controls, his face close to yours, and that cologne hits you again—woodsy, sharp, him—and you swear your thighs twitch without permission.

He’s not even doing anything.

Just talking. Just sitting there. Just being Choso. And it’s driving you insane.

You grip a throw pillow against your stomach like it’ll somehow smother the ache building low in your belly. Your heart thuds heavy in your chest. And it’s so stupid, because he’s your best friend. Your tattooed, pierced, broad-shouldered, fuckable best friend.

And he has no idea.

…Does he?

Choso doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches you.

Your attention’s fixed on the screen, or at least you’re pretending it is, but your legs haven’t moved from his lap. In fact, you’ve somehow gotten even closer—your knee brushing his side, your arm lazily slung over the back of the couch behind him like you belong there.

And maybe you do. But the way you’re clinging now? Like his warmth is the only thing tethering you to reality?

Yeah. He notices.

“You good?” His voice is low, but there’s a teasing note woven in.

“Hm?” You blink at him like you weren’t zoning out thinking about how good his fingers would feel wrapped around your throat.

He raises a brow, letting his eyes drag slowly over you. “You’re just… all over me tonight.”

You scoff, cheeks going warm. “I am not.”

But your fingers are playing with the hem of his sleeve now. Fidgeting. Tucking your feet tighter against his thigh like you’re trying to curl into him. Your face is flushed, pupils wide and glassy. And your bottom lip is so red from where you’ve been nervously biting it.

Choso grins, all lazy and confident, like he knows exactly what’s going on.

“You’re clingy when you’re high,” he murmurs, shifting slightly so his thigh presses right up against your ass. “It’s cute.”

You freeze for a second—just long enough for him to feel the tension spike in your body—before you recover with a scoff and a roll of your eyes.

But it’s too late.

He’s seen it now. That flicker of panic. That guilty little hitch in your breath.

He leans in a bit closer, crowding your space just enough to make your pulse jump. His voice drops.

“You wanna sit in my lap or something?”

You look at him then. Really look.

And there’s a cocky little smile tugging at his pierced lip, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Your mouth opens—maybe to sass him, maybe to say fuck it and climb into his lap—but nothing comes out.

He watches your throat bob as you swallow.

“Just ask,” he says, voice like velvet and smoke. “I don’t bite unless you want me to.”

You inhale sharply, and his grin only deepens.

Yeah. He definitely knows now.

Your breath stutters as you stare at him, but god—you’re too high and too needy to fight the pull anymore.

You swing your leg over and lower yourself into his lap, trying to act casual. Like this is normal. Like your heart isn’t hammering in your chest and your skin isn’t burning with the heat of his body

But Choso’s not playing the pretend game anymore.

His hands are on your thighs the second you settle, big palms warm and slow as they slide up under your shorts, thumbs brushing over the soft inner skin like he’s testing just how far you’ll let him go.

“See?” he mutters, lips ghosting the edge of your jaw. “Knew you wanted to sit in my lap.”

You gasp softly, head tilting instinctively when he mouths at your throat. You can feel the sharp press of his piercings when he kisses your neck, a mix of softness and sting that has you whimpering already.

And Choso—fuck—he groans, low and dirty, the sound vibrating right through you.

“You’re so warm,” he mumbles, hand dragging higher until he brushes the curve of your ass. “Fuck—look at you. Already squirming, baby.”

You shift without thinking, hips rolling against him, and the pressure of his cock under you is unmistakable now—thick and hard, straining in his sweats.

You choke on a breath.

His hand slides around to grip your hip, forcing you to grind down on him slow.

“Feels good?” he asks, eyes locked on yours, half-lidded and hungry.

You nod, lips parting, breath shaky as your fingers grip his shoulders for balance. His other hand trails up your spine beneath your shirt, fingers splayed wide, hot and possessive.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, head falling back to stare at you, “I wanna ruin you so bad.”

You don’t even realize you’re grinding harder now, chasing friction, biting your lip so hard it aches.

And he notices. Of course he notices.

“Go on,” he breathes, cock twitching beneath you. “Use me.”

You shudder.

Then you move.

Grinding down slow and messy, gasping every time his cock drags right against your clit through your panties

He groans again, jaw clenched tight, hands everywhere—one tangled in your hair, the other guiding your hips just how he wants.

“Shit,” he growls, panting, “You’re so fuckin’ wet—bet you’d slide down my cock so easy, baby. Bet you’d take every inch like a good girl.”

Your head spins, his words pouring molten heat straight between your legs.

You’re so close and he knows it—he feels it. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your thighs trembling from the tension coiling tight in your belly.

And just when you think you’re about to fall apart, Choso grins up at you—dark and mean and starving.

“You gonna cum just from grinding on me?” he taunts, voice like silk-wrapped sin. “Didn’t even need my fingers. Fuck—you’re desperate, huh?”

You moan—broken and high and wrecked—and he groans right with you, burying his face in your neck.

“I’ll give you everything, baby,” he growls, voice ragged. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock. Wanna watch you fall apart.”

Your forehead’s pressed to his, hips grinding in lazy, needy circles, and your breaths are shared, shallow, desperate. The high fogs everything around you—except the heat between your thighs, and the thick press of his cock against your pussy through too-thin fabric.

Choso’s gripping your hips so tight it’s almost bruising, his eyes locked on your face like he needs to watch you fall apart.

“You’re close,” he breathes, voice barely a rasp, “you’re right there, huh?”

You nod frantically, eyes glassy, body trembling as you chase that high—rubbing yourself down on him with reckless need, soaking through your panties and his sweats. It’s obscene how wet you are, the slick, sticky drag of your clothed pussy over his cock making him groan.

“Fuck—look at you,” he grits, “fucking soaking me through—so messy, baby.”

You let out a whimper that turns into a gasp, thighs clenching tight around his waist. Your fingers tangle in his shirt, forehead pressed into the crook of his neck as your body jerks with every grind. So close. So high. So fucking needy.

He shifts beneath you, angling his hips, grinding up into you now—and that’s it.

You choke on a cry, thighs shaking, hips stuttering as you cum on him, still fully dressed, panties clinging to you like second skin from how wet they are.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, head dropping back as he feels the warmth of your release soaking him. “That’s it. Ride it out. Just like that—fuck, you’re perfect.”

You’re still twitching, panting hard, when he grabs your face and pulls you into a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth and need. You melt into it, still dazed—until you feel him tug the crotch of your shorts and panties aside.

“Wait—” you gasp, but he’s already lining himself up, already hissing through his teeth as the thick head of his cock catches on your soaked entrance.

“You’re fuckin’ dripping, baby,” he growls, “can’t wait. Can’t—need to feel you.”

And then he’s pushing in.

No teasing. No warning. Just one long, slow thrust—filthy and deep—burying himself inside you with a broken groan.

Your head falls back, a choked sob in your throat as he stretches you open, too big, too good, hitting every spot like he’s meant to be there.

“God,” he groans, eyes fluttering shut, “you’re so tight—fuck—so wet for me already.”

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, back arching as he starts to thrust—slow, lazy, possessive. He never pulls all the way out, just rocks into you, dragging his cock against every aching spot inside.

And it’s messy. Your cum smeared all over his length, slick sounds filling the room as he ruts into you through soaked panties.

You’re gasping again, already trembling.

And Choso’s losing his goddamn mind.

“Fucking knew you’d feel this good,” he groans, biting at your jaw, “fuck—I could die right here, inside this pussy.”

His hand finds your throat, not squeezing, just holding. Possessive. Grounding. His.

“Ride me, baby. Make me cum inside you. Fuckin’ ruin me.”

You’re straddling him still, thighs sticky, breath ragged, his cock still buried deep inside you. Your panties are shoved to the side, your shorts pushed away also —just enough for him to slip in, because neither of you had the patience to get naked. And now?

Now you’re riding him in slow, lazy circles, your soaked pussy sucking him in again and again, making him throb inside you.

“You’re so fuckin’ warm,” Choso groans, head tipped back against the couch. “You hear that, baby? Listen to this fuckin’ pussy.”

And you can hear it. Wet and obscene, every drag of your hips making another filthy sound echo off the walls of his tiny apartment.

He reaches for the blunt from earlier, burned low in the ashtray on the coffee table. Flicks the lighter with one hand, the other still gripping your hip. You watch through hooded eyes as he lights it, inhales deep, exhales even deeper—cloud of smoke curling past his lips like a fucking sin.

Then he holds it out to you.

“Hit it,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust and smoke. “Don’t stop riding me, though.”

You lean forward, his cock grinding even deeper inside you at the angle, and wrap your lips around the end of the blunt. His fingers brush your mouth, steadying it, watching you like you’re his whole fucking religion. You take a slow drag, eyes locked on his, before pulling back and blowing the smoke into his mouth.

He catches it, kisses you through it, tongues tangling—you moan into his mouth.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he rasps. “That pretty pussy and that fuckin’ mouth—goddamn, baby.”

You keep moving, keep grinding down, rolling your hips like you’re made for him. The high’s hitting again, warm and dreamy, blurring everything but the stretch inside you and the heat of his skin.

Choso passes the blunt again, and you take it with shaking fingers, barely able to hold steady as you fuck yourself on his cock.

“That’s it,” he coos, thumb rubbing lazy circles into your thigh. “Keep takin’ it. So fuckin’ good for me.”

Your head drops to his shoulder, and he tilts his chin to nuzzle your cheek, whispering filth right against your ear.

“You gonna cum for me again, huh? Gonna soak me while we’re fuckin’ blazed? Just sittin’ here like a good girl, milkin’ my cock?”

You whimper—tiny and broken—and his arms wrap around you tight, his hips finally starting to fuck up into you, slow but deep, so deep.

“Yeah. That’s it. Get high. Get full. Stay just like this, baby. My perfect fuckin’ girl.”

Your thighs are shaking, your hips barely moving anymore, and all you can do is cling to him—forehead pressed against his, hands gripping the collar of his tank top like a lifeline.

“Choso,” you breathe, voice trembling, too gone to say anything else. You’re not even riding him now—just grinding, slow and clumsy, pussy fluttering around his cock as you fall apart.

He knows. He can feel it.

“Aw, fuck, baby,” he grunts, holding you tighter. “You gonna cum again? That pretty lil’ pussy squeezing me so fuckin’ tight.”

You nod against his mouth, lips brushing his, your breath hitching as your orgasm crests again—hot and intense, ripping through you like fire. Your whole body trembles, thighs clenching around his waist, and you go soft, moaning into him like you’re breaking.

And that’s all it takes.

Choso groans—deep and ragged—and thrusts up once, twice, hard, and then stills, cock pulsing deep inside you.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he hisses, head dropping back as he fills you, his arms locked around your waist to keep you in place. “Shit, baby—take it. Take all of it. Goddamn.”

You feel it—all of it—thick and hot, spilling deep inside, leaking out the second his hips twitch again.

You’re both quiet for a beat, just the soft haze of weed smoke and your breath in his ear. He strokes your thigh absentmindedly, hand sliding up under your shirt.

“Y’did so good,” he murmurs, nuzzling your temple. “Fuckin’ milked it outta me.”

You hum, blissed-out and dazed, letting your fingers trace over the chain around his neck.

He taps the end of the blunt, reignites it, takes a lazy hit—and then offers it to you with the ghost of a cocky smile.

“Ready for round two, or you need a minute, baby?”

[formulaonecrumbs]

you was there before the fancy cars 🏎️

Lando Norris x hair-stylist!reader

summary: Lando Norris and his hair stylist have a close bond built over six years of working together. Over time, they realize there’s more between them.

warnings: consider it a halfway situationship (neither of them know it’s one)

A/N: yes, u read correctly. the title IS the mac miller lyric… this fic isnt based off that but the line was just TOOOO perfect not to use. hope u like this 😋😋 i’m getting a lot more comfy with writing actual fics which is nice. i was thinking i’d maybe make this a series about certain parts of his career where reader was there for him leading up to when they start dating, lemme know what y’all want. anyways, love you babies, as always ❤️

She’d been with him from the start.

Back when he was still baby-faced, barely twenty, and fidgeting like a kid in the salon chair. Lando Norris had walked in with a mop of curls and an even messier kind of nervous energy. She’d tamed both. And for six years since, she’d been doing the same — brushing through curls and calming whatever storm he brought in with him.

She wasn’t like the others. The other clients had entourages, airs, and money that dripped off them like perfume. Lando had always been different. Still rich, obviously, but he’d never worn it like armor. He wore bad jokes and overgrown hair. He wore his heart when he wasn’t supposed to. He made her laugh when no one else could.

There was one race weekend — 2021, Monaco — he had finished on the podium. Instead of going to a party, he showed up at her place with takeaway and made her watch the highlights with him, just to see her reaction. “You looked at me like I’d won the whole damn championship,” he said that night, grinning.

She had. Because she’d been there through the mess-ups too. The crashes. The P15s. The media pressure. The times he didn’t say a word when he sat in her chair, just let her fingers run through his curls, eyes closed like he needed a break from the whole world.

And maybe she needed him too. After days of dealing with demanding celebrities and influencer egos, Lando was like a breath of slightly chaotic, but comforting, fresh air. He’d talk about anything — video games, the track, the fans — and always asked how her day was, even if he was the one under pressure. He noticed things. Like when she cut her hair or wore a new pair of earrings. Like when she was quiet and needed silence more than conversation.

Then there were the little things. The way he’d wait outside her studio with coffee when her schedule was packed. The way he texted her bad puns during press conferences. How he once flew her out early for a race weekend because she said she needed a break — no words, just a flight confirmation and a note: You need this. Also, my hair is a mess. Help.

She should’ve known. Maybe she did.

And maybe he did too — that there was something sitting between them, soft and constant, something they never named.

They weren’t dating. They weren’t anything. But there was a moment — in the backroom of a garage, she was fixing the curls sticking out of his helmet after qualifying — he looked up at her, really looked, and whispered, “You’ve always been the one who gets me. I think… I only ever wanted it to be you.”

Her hand stilled in his hair. Their eyes met.

No kiss. No dramatic music. Just realization.

She smiled, small and soft. “It’s always been you too.”

And that was enough for now.

They weren’t something. Not yet.

But they could be.

[melanated-writersblock]

Friends to lovers because THE STREETS NEED DAT!!!!😫 (me. I need dat. Expeditiously.) All Fluff! Blk Fem!Reader🫶🏾

Neighbor!Mingi who moved in next door to you over a year ago, and your first impression of him being him knocking on your door to introduce himself, SURE, but also to shazam the song you had playing on your TV.

Neighbor!Mingi who you got close to quick cause he’s just a cool guy. Weird? sure. A loser? Oh, absolutely. And you know what? Hell yeah.

Neighbor!Mingi who will enter your apartment through your fire escape window because “It makes life more exciting.” So whenever you host movie night you keep the window cracked so he doesn’t have to knock.

Neighbor!Mingi who will probably sleep through his alarms, so you wake him up so he’s not late for the subway to work (he misses it, you gotta drive him🥴).

Neighbor!Mingi who goes grocery shopping for HIS apartment but likes to cook in YOUR kitchen???? Then take the cooked food back to his apartment????? He shares and does the dishes, but damn?!?!??

Neighbor!Mingi who you force to watch all seasons of “Girlfriends”, “Living Single”, & “A Different World” with you, which wasn’t really forced cause he locks in on the drama quick. “The pizza guy is he-” “Wait! Wait! Dwayne is gonna crash Whitley’s wedding!”

Neighbor!Mingi who’ll rush over to kill a bug for you in an instant, BUT! He won’t leave unless you pay him in food or snacks. Every fucking time.

Neighbor!Mingi who keeps your company on wash day and will purposely take all day doing an intricate skincare routine out of solidarity.

Neighbor!Mingi who will hang out on your shared fire escape with burgers on Valentine’s Day because you both went on dates and they were terrible so now you have to debrief each other on your respective horror stories.

Neighbor!Mingi who buys two of everything so you can have one for your place as well.

Neighbor!Mingi who you invite to run errands with you because it got to a point where him just showing up at your window every now and again wasn’t enough.

Neighbor!Mingi who got drunk with you one night and got teary eyed hearing you sing your heart out to “Love and War” by Tamar Braxton.

Neighbor!Mingi who saw movers at your apartment and got sad that you were moving, so he wrote you a letter and left it on your fire escape window sill….

on a windy night….so it blew away…...🤦🏾‍♀️

Neighbor!Mingi who you actively watched attempt to pull off the sneaky letter delivery, and fail miserably in real time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that night so you just wait until you see him again.

Neighbor!Mingi who is relieved once you explain that the movers were at your place because you’re getting in a whole new living room set and needed to remove your old one…but embarrassed after you admit seeing the whole mail thing go down.

Neighbor!Mingi who thinks “Fuck it, if not now then when?” and confesses to you. And you smile and laugh because FINALLY. You thought YOU were gonna have to do a cryptic confession and that probably would’ve been worse or 3x more embarrassing.😭

Neighbor!Mingi who, now, doesn’t need a valid reason to just show up at your apartment. And neither do you!

Neighbor!Mingi who rubbed off on you BAD so now you enter his place through the fire escape window at 6am on Saturday mornings to finish sleeping in while hogging 75% of the blankets, and there’s nothing he can do about it💁🏾‍♀️.

Neighbor!Mingi who’ll try to repair or diy things around your place so you don’t have to pay to have it fixed (but he lowkey sucks so you end up having to get it fixed regardless, BUT he pays for it because girlfriend privileges🫶🏾✨)

Neighbor!Mingi that invites his and your friends over for game nights only to jokingly send them home when you’re both getting collectively smoked. Yes, he still preps food and snacks in your kitchen just to bring it next door.

Neighbor!Mingi who leaves little remnants of his at your place. An extra toothbrush here, a sweater and a pair of shoes there. Also has a silk pillowcase on the bed for you at his place.

Neighbor!Mingi who you kinda don’t want to be your neighbor anymore.

Neighbor!Mingi that you propose should become Roommate!Mingi once his lease is up at the end of the year, and he kisses you before you can even finish the suggestion.

Neighbor!Mingi that just so happens to be an amazing boyfriend and will be one hell of a roomie!❣️

⊹ ₊ ❤︎₊ ⊹ Hope you liked it! Lemme know your thoughts🫶🏾 ⊹ ₊ ❤︎₊ ⊹

⊹ ₊ ❤︎₊ ⊹.Masterlist.⊹ ₊ ❤︎₊ ⊹

⋆˙⟡♡₊˚⊹.Blacktiny Writers Hub.⊹˚₊♡⟡˙⋆

[sp1d3rzz]

WARNING !! : age-gap (23 and 51), fingering, pet names, cursing, smut ofc lolz, cum eating, jiraiya being a warning himself. lemme know if i missed anything!

Summary : jiraiya has never had any issues when it comes to women (that he likes to think of), until he meets you. is it possible to get someone as stubborn as you into bed with him?

A/N : eeeee!!! i'm so happy to finally write for my love jiraiya! we want a part 2?? (๑>◡<๑)

womanizer!jiraiya who stops at a random town during his long and exhausting journey to finally take a break. he deserves a good nights rest, savory food, and of course finding a pretty prize to take back to his hotel room and please.

womanizer!jiraiya who the very next day, comes across you admiring the flowers at a small nextdoor floral shop. even from afar he can make out the features of your face that make you an absolutely breathtaking sight.

womanizer!jiraiya who decides to be brave and approach you, expecting nothing less than what he usually receives. and when he finally gets close enough to smell your perfume (which only makes him want you more once he gets whiff), he's stuttering back on his words from how nervous you seem to make him with just your looks alone. "what brings a lovely lady like you around here?"

womanizer!jiraiya who is beyond shocked when you only shoot him a mean glare and walk away without so much as a second glance. and don't get him wrong, he hates to see you go, but damn does he love to watch you walk away.

womanizer!jiraiya who finds that women normally come to him like bees drawn to honey. he's one of the legendary sannin after all, a heroic man like him usually suits well with the ladies. so how come a gorgeous woman such as yourself seem to find no attraction to him?

womanizer!jiraiya who wonders if you just like the chasing game. that's fine— he doesn't mind playing the part if it's what gets you going.

womanizer!jiraiya who unintentionally happens to appear wherever shop you look around at next, offering to pay for anything you planned on getting all in agreement you gave him one chance. and if not that, at the very least a conversation.

womanizer!jiraiya who soon begins to realize that perhaps you just don't like him. he'd done nothing but show you kindness, consideration, and respect. so why did you insist on giving him zero effort in return for his?

womanizer!jiraiya who finally accepts his fate and heads back to his hotel room, dumped— but still looking forward to one last night of rest before he's back on the road by morning.

womanizer!jiraiya who on his walk there hears small commotion coming from a nearby alleyway that catches his attention. it isn't until he peaks around the corner to find you surrounded by a couple of punks does he interfere.

womanizer!jiraiya who interrupts their harassment with a couple of basic jutsu that sends low life's like them running in less than 5 minutes. although the pale look on your face is one he'd never thought he'd see, considering how unbothered you seemed to be earlier.

womanizer!jiraiya who checks on you with a warm smile, despite you turning him down harshly the whole day. "don't even worry about it, sweetheart!" he promises, "you sure you're alright?"

womanizer!jiraiya who watches as you bow out of thanks with your hands tucked tightly at your sides, face flushed with embarrassment as you assure him you were okay. and disgustingly enough, he can't help but wonder how you'd look bent over a desk with your legs spread wide, begging for him to fill you.

womanizer!jiraiya who is just about to turn around and leave before you're pulling him back by his wrist. "let me repay you, mister– uh.." you stumble for his name, biting your bottom lip as if internally cursing yourself for how stupid you may appear by now.

womanizer!jiraiya who only smirks at your struggle, finding this new side of you rather intriguing. "jiraiya, kiddo. you can call me jiraiya." and when you do, he curses himself for how good it sounds coming from those pretty lips of yours.

womanizer!jiraiya who can hardly contain his excitement when you ask him to take you back to wherever he's staying so you can uphold your offer. no matter how cool he attempts to play it off as, his entire body gets hot at the imagination of what might happen.

womanizer!jiraiya who you shortly end up making out with in his room like theres no tomorrow. tongues exploring each others mouth sloppily, though neither of you complain when the feeling is euphoric.

womanizer!jiraiya who has his lips and body glued to yours as he lays you onto the bed, mattress dipping from the sudden weight. when he separates his mouth from yours and pulls back, the sight of you perfectly spread out for him has his cock aching.

womanizer!jiraiya who doesn't waste any time pulling your panties down and plunging a thick finger into your soaked cunt. he watches as you throw your head back in pleasure, lips parting open to release a sharp gasp. "so you really are into me, huh? surely you're wet enough to take a little more."

womanizer!jiraiya who stands by his word, adding in another finger to stretch your walls out. you moan his name aloud when he pumps his digits mercilessly. he could see with your already fucked-out face, that you'd reach your orgasm sooner than expected.

womanizer!jiraiya who takes your breathless whimpers as a sign and leans down to kiss you roughly, fingers never halting.

womanizer!jiraiya who has you caged beneath him on top of the bed, large chest rising and falling in sync with yours. the sound of your pussy squelching with each push is enough to send him over the rails as well.

womanizer!jiraiya who curls his fingers just in time, eyes opening to watch the beautiful scrunched-up face you make reaching your high. "there we go— shit, baby." he grunts, slowing down his pace. "good fucking girl."

womanizer!jiraiya who pulls his fingers out with your cum dripping off, quickly pushing them into his mouth to taste you. he closes his eyes and moans at how surprisingly sweet you are, not wasting a single drop as he cleans off your juices.

womanizer!jiraiya who think it's only fair if you see how delicious you are for yourself. pulling his fingers out of his mouth with a small "pop!", he grins before looking at you. "you wanna taste of both of us? c'mon, open up for me, pretty."

womanizer!jiraiya who presses his wet fingers to the plush of your lips, slowly pushing through as your warm mouth welcomes him happily. he analyzes how your glossy eyes look at him dazed, accepting him to fully control your body.

womanizer!jiraiya who groans and clenches his jaw when your tongue roams his two digits, watching with fascination as you lick up all that remains.

womanizer!jiraiya who feels his cock twitch with need in his pants, begging for any sort of friction. he grabs your hand and guides it onto his bulge, letting you fully grasp what he has in store for you. "you know what you do to me, kid?" his gaze meets with yours, and he smirks. "i'm dying to fuck you right now."

[wildlcck]

𖤓༻❁༺𖤓༻❁༺𖤓

❛ right behind ya. ❜ snatching up her rifle- primed and polished to within an inch of its life, as ever- in a heartbeat. heart fit to burst in her chest, jaw set. ready to defend her and hers. always. she's never felt so far from her heart and home as she has. but... there's good, decent folks, here for the most part she has people here. a place. a home? if nothing else, she's got a heart. ❛ how you wanna go about this? one of us distract 'im while the other sneaks up on him? or, i can shoot the balls off the bastard right now! it'd be ma pleasure... ❜

" Uncle Arthur? Who's that? "

" What are you talkin' about kiddo? The trees? " He chuckles.

Jack giggles. " No uncle... that man over there silly. "

Its only for a second but the glimmer of a rifle is seen by the cowboy and without a word he ushers the boy calmly toward the ladies at the tent. " I'll go check it out alright you stay here with yer mama. "

" C'mere honey. " Abigail holds out her arms collecting the boy and he pressed his ear to her tummy.

" Somethin' goin' on arthur? "

" Eh... could be nothing. Could be something. Ya'll get down that aways toward the pond and stay low. Mrs. Adler? C'mon and grab yer gun. "

@wildlcck

[m-robinavitch]

if you never left.

Pairing: Andrew "Pope" Cody x Female!Reader Summary: 1995 Oceanside, California Senior year, fun and exciting- right? 18 years old and nothing can dampen your year- right? Except you've had a cute, dimply, curly haired shadow since freshman year. Cute and cocky and an ego that hasn't been flushed out by his circumstances yet. Andrew has loved you since he was 15. He knows the world is cruel and he tries to remain normal because the only thing that keeps him going right now is you. You love to hate him. You love to play hard to get but he is relentless. And the world is cruel but it can't be that cruel- right? Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Young/18 year olds in love. This is a young baby Pope fic. He masks hard. Mentions of OCD and panic attacks. Story flip flops from freshman year to senior year. Everything in italics is freshman year/past/back story as to why our idiots do something. Idiots to friends to lovers. No smut this chapter. Fluff and angst mostly. I mean- OOC Pope but this is basically AU so- fuck off ya know? Didn't even proofread so if there is a mistake just skip over it I'm old and tired.

He lied. 

Andrew lied. 

It wasn’t the first time he had lied to you but- it was the first time he hurt you. He promised he’d never hurt you. He swore to himself one night, watching you sleep while curled up in his jersey and an arm thrown around his waist to keep him close- he swore to himself that no matter what Smurf or Baz or even fucking Catherine says, he won’t hurt you. That you’re the one. He’ll follow you wherever you ask because all you have to do is look up at him with those pretty eyes and bat your lashes and he’s on his fucking knees for you. 

But he still lied. He lied and you’re pissed and confronting him about it because after months of being together and years of knowing him- you deserve better. And he knows that. 

That’s why Andrew lied. Because you were too good for all of this. You would be used, a pawn used by Smurf to dangle in front of him and if he can’t get away from this- he can fight like hell with himself to make sure that you do. 

That's why he lied. 

Fall 1994

God you hated him, smug little asshole with curls and a dimple that he flashes you every fucking morning. Cocky and- so fucking cute. But as much as you hated him- you jumped around with a smile on your face and his number painted on your cheek while waving your fucking pom poms in the air, getting the entire crowd to cheer and chant his name along with you. It only made you hate him more that he winked at you between plays and would point at you before running the ball down the entire field because ’this one’s for you.’ And of course everyone thought it was so romantic, the football player and the cheerleader like some damned teenage romcom. No. It wasn’t fucking cute and he was running over to you after the fucking touchdown and picking you up to spin you around and you cannot shove him away. Not yet anyway. Because your heart flutters a bit. You get flushed. You laugh in his ear and he hears it and it only eggs him in more and- 

“I said don’t fucking pick me up during the games-” you shove him from his spot at his desk on Monday, hating the way he laughs when you do- forcing down the way it makes those butterflies swarm in your gut. 

“I’m sorry baby-” no he’s not. He’s not and you’re trying to not smile at the way he calls you baby- softly so only you can hear it.

“No you’re not. And I said don’t call me that.” You settled into your desk- right in front of him so he can spend the entire class period torturing you. But he stands and comes to kneel in front of you- like every Monday. 

“Lemme take you out- make it up to you?” Big, soft hazel eyes pleaded to you. He was being sincere. Andrew has wanted to take you out since freshman year. What started out as an innocent crush from seeing you walk into homeroom. 

He didn’t want to be here. The room was too fucking loud- chairs scraping along the floor, students talking and laughing too much, the rustling of papers and scratching of pens and pencils. He felt antsy and nauseated- his backpack still in his lap like a shield to protect him from everyone else. The other teenagers who would pick up on his anxiety and use it against him. Julia was in a different class, Baz was an upperclassman, he felt alone and exposed. He was so lost in his head but when the door opened, he instinctively looked up to see who else he had to worry about. You walked in like the room wasn’t full of strangers- smiling and apologizing to the teacher because you got lost. The air suddenly felt so thick and hot that he couldn’t breathe because you were walking over to the empty seat in front of him. Andrew had that feeling in his chest that you get when you miss a step on the stairs.You hung your backpack behind your chair, the crudely sewn on patch of a sunflower on it brightened his world immediately. He could only blink up at you because before you sat you gave him a shy smile, Andrew had never seen anyone so pretty in his life. The room was still loud but everything seemed to quiet down in his mind- his chest felt warm and tight. When you turned to pass back some papers the teacher handed out, your fingers touched and he swore there was a spark. He was so busy staring at your hair, the color and the style that he didn’t hear the teacher start calling for attendance and his voice cracked so fucking stupidly that he wanted to die. But- he waited for your name. Waited to hear it and when you announced yourself- your voice swam along his mind and he didn’t realize it then but you would live in his mind forever after that first day. Because when he got his notebook out- he drew a tiny sunflower in the corner with your name right under. 

Every morning you came sauntering down the halls with your books in hand and a shy smile on your lips when you would pass him and Baz that first week of freshman year- to now. Playing jump rope with that line of friends and- well more than friends. He craves any attention you give him, good or bad. And he knows you don’t hate him- not really. You liked the chase of the bad boy like this was some fucking movie. You knew he was a little dangerous. You knew his reputation- before Baz graduated he and Andrew together got into fights on the field or in the hall or the cafeteria or in the fucking classroom and the only reason they weren’t suspended or kicked out was because Andrew fucking broke the team’s losing streak his freshman year- took them to the championship game and every year since then. 

“Fat chance” rolling your eyes and flicking his hand off your desk while the teacher walks in to start class. 

“All I hear is there’s a chance.” He smirks, standing with a wink to sit back behind you and minutes later while the teacher drones on about Romeo and Juliet, a note slides its way between your arm to sit on your lap. 

‘So a date on Saturday then?’ in his messy chicken scratch handwriting that you’ve learned to decipher over the years. Why did you smile? Why did it make your chest flutter and-

‘Fuck off Andrew.’ With a little heart at the end before you balled it up and tossed it behind you. It was the hearts that kept him coming back for more, every little heart when you write notes back with your pretty handwriting in fucking glitter gel pen. Now- if you actually meant it, he’d know. He’d leave you alone and would never bother you again. But this has been 4 years in the making and Andrew knows you by now. He knows how you shiver when he drags the eraser of his pencil along your back during class, sometimes writing little words on your skin and you try to not pay attention but you swear you can make out the letters of his name dragging along your skin. It started out as him just being annoying with it freshman year- Andrew would tap his pencil three times before circling an answer. He had to. He had to do it or he’d fail the test in his mind. It apparently bothered some assholes around you but you honestly didn’t even hear it at first. You started sitting next to him more during your classes together because some other people either got annoyed that he would tap his pencil or shoe rhythmically to ease his mind- not because you wanted to sit next to him or anything. No, absolutely not. You’d tell him your old seat was under the vent and you got cold- or you’d ask if he wants you to move and he always shakes his head no immediately. 

But then- the tapping started on your back. Three times before he chose his answer- you were almost a good luck charm because after you started to sit in front of him, he never failed a test. Then he was tapping his pencil on your back every class period when there were no tests and you learned that he just wanted the attention from you- so you stopped turning around or shoving his pencil away. On hot days where you wore a tank top or the shell of your cheerleader uniform- he’d trace the freckles on your shoulders, drawing the constellations and connecting the dots. Then he started with shapes, mostly hearts and swirls on your back but- the shapes started to take form in words. Simple. ‘Hi’. ‘Cute’. ‘Mine’. Sometimes he’d lean forward and catch your ear when the teacher wasn't looking to ask you what he wrote. Sometimes he slips the pencil under your bra strap to snap the string against your shoulder. 

Andrew was such an insufferable jerk because he knows you don’t actually hate him. Do you like him the way he likes you? Well he’s not entirely sure yet. But he knows you don’t hate him. You don’t hate the way he leans on your locker, waiting for you before the bell rings- asking how you slept and if you say please he’ll pick you up tomorrow morning so you don’t have to take the bus. You don’t hate the way he slides next to you in the cafeteria- taking handfuls of the chips or candy you had and looking over your shoulder at what you were reading. You don’t hate the way he finds you in the library, sitting across from you with the biggest grin because you’re partnered together for class again and he can’t wait to spend as much time with you as you’ll let him. What you do hate is the butterflies when he throws an arm around your shoulder to walk you to class- a class that’s across the campus from his class but he’ll be late for you. What you did hate was the warm tightness in your chest when he and Baz beat up the guy that wouldn’t leave you alone sophomore year, the guy that flipped up your skirt in the hall and had to eat through a straw for the rest of the year. What you did hate was the blush that would heat up your face when he’d sit next to you on the bus for away games, turning the headphones connected to your CD player sideways so you could both listen together- cheeks all but smushed together and maybe his hand would brush against yours. 

You would have cheer practice outside with the team while they go over plays or runs drills or honestly fuck around and wrestle with each other. He’ll jog over to you when he’s all sweaty and wrap his arms around you or throw you over his shoulder and you shove him away or smack at him but- you’re blushing and tell yourself it’s absolutely because of the heat and that you’ve been jumping around for the last hour. Not because of Andrew. But you get him back. You wait until the coach runs a practice play and you call his name- immediately he turns to you from across the field because you’re like a fucking siren, he can’t stop himself from listening and he doesn’t hear coach’s whistle or that the play starting and he gets tackled by two of his teammates. Bitch. He loves you. He fucking loves you even as he’s lying there staring up at the clouds and wheezing to try and breathe after the wind got knocked out of him- because he hears your laugh from across the field wafting around in his head. And when he’s finally up and semi-alert he turns to you again and you wave- tilting your head like you’re fucking innocent and wave at him with a devilish smile that he adored after all these years. He’d eat shit a million times on the field for that laugh and smile. Which he has- this wasn’t the first time you’ve pulled that particular move and yet he falls for it every single fucking time because he can’t not listen to the pretty way your voice sounds when you say his name. It was the introduction to your dynamic honesty. 

He had agreed to try out for the football team- Baz had all but convinced him because ‘it’ll relieve some stress bro- you can tackle and hit whoever without consequences’ and that sounded like a pretty decent offer. Getting to hit people without consequences was something he needed- because before the year started Julia had told him he couldn’t use his fists to get his point across here. It seemed easy enough. Try outs went smoothly and the coach wanted to see how well Andrew could hit and take a hit because he seemed like the perfect tight end candidate. But cheer tryouts had begun. Which he didn’t care about- not until you joined the line up of girls along the field. Fuck. He couldn’t breathe all over again. In the last month you both only interacted in passing papers back and forth- your smile was burned into his mind. You started saying good morning to him- loving the way his cheeks would get red because you thought he was the cutest boy you had ever seen. The dimple that accompanied his shy smile when you’d walk into homeroom, those fiery red curls atop his head and the soft hazel eyes that you didn’t realize followed every move you made? Andrew was so cute and you had a crush too. When you saw him on the field your heart skipped a few beats. Fuck- would he be watching you? He already was. You saw him turn and you gave this small pathetic wave because you like to consider yourself at least acquaintances at this point right? That wave. That fucking wave had Andrew’s world stop. He didn’t hear the whistle. He only felt the impact of Baz tackling him to the ground. Well- at least coach knew he could take a hit. 

At games you have to fight off your feelings with a stick. Your coaches love pairing the cheerleaders with the team- tradition to have one of the players walking you out on the field every fucking game and you got paired with him every year. Okay well it wasn’t by chance. 

The girls knew about the tradition. Once you made the squad you and the others were giggling to yourselves about the potential cute boy they would get to hold hands with or walk with. Your coach and cheer captain let you decide amongst yourselves- so there you sat. Huddled on the floor in the band room during lunch one day randomly grabbing a name in a hat so you can start the bidding. You wanted Andrew. You were determined to fight for him at this point. Your heart dropped when you opened the folded up paper and saw that it wasn’t Andrew’s name and jersey number scribbled on. But- you smirked. You had the ultimate bargaining chip.  Barry Blackwell #13 Perfect. You didn’t see the appeal in Baz. Sure those baby blue eyes were pretty and could melt a girl’s heart- but you didn’t want him. You liked them quieter, softer, red hair with freckles and dimples. But- most of the squad saw the appeal of Baz. There were only a few freshmen girls who wanted Andrew- but you weren’t giving him up easily. You knew who sat near who. You knew who had crushes on other team members. You traded the boys around like baseball cards. You traded Baz for the wide receiver who one girl wanted. You gave her tips on what he liked because you sat next to him in biology- even promised to talk her up to him. She traded the wide receiver with you and then you got the kicker that another girl liked. The kicker that recently broke up with his girlfriend and was just lonely enough for a rebound. You traded the kicker for Andrew. Three days were spent passing the boys around. Candy, nail polish, makeup, money, clothes were traded for these boys who thought it was all random. No- this was as big as the NFL draft at the high school level. When it was all decided- all said and done, your coaches put the pairings on a sheet outside the locker rooms for all to see. You already knew who you got- but you waited to see how he’d react. Waited back behind the large football players and prayed he wasn’t disappointed. Andrew was anything but. He slowly stepped over to the list after most had cleared the way and ran his finger down the line until he saw his name. You waited. Fucking sweating and antsy but- he smiled. He smiled and bit his lip and couldn’t stop fucking smiling for the rest of the day- and neither could you.

That first game when you walked through the tunnel with him- you both couldn’t hide the tiny shy smiles and butterflies swarming around in your guts as you looped your arm into his. He had paused a bit- looking down at where you both stepped because ‘the cracks- I can’t um- it’s stupid, never mind’ it wasn’t stupid- every player had some type of pre-game ritual. He fell deeper in love that day. At 15, he was in love and melted at the way you shrugged and said it was cool- watching the way you stepped with him before making it out onto the field. He has to force his mind to listen to him- force his mind to get his thoughts together during games because he can’t let the team down. He has to throw on this persona of MVP because without it then everyone will know that underneath it- he’s unstable and damaged. He has to strip himself of his mental load and force himself to meet expectations on the field or he’ll be hated. And it’ll prove that his mind was right all along and he’s only useful when it suits other people. 

You never made him feel dumb or crazy- you weren’t afraid of him like everyone else. Baz had graduated two years ago, so his only friends were either his teammates or- you? He liked to consider you a friend. He’d like to consider you more than a friend eventually but for now he’ll take your eye rolling and small smiles and rejection every time he asks you out. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to say yes to him so fucking badly but- sometimes you’re afraid he just flirts with you because he wants the attention or the prize at the end. You’re afraid he’s like Baz- Baz who had Catherine in love with him since freshman year and still cheated on her every chance he got with some of the other cheerleaders. Was Andrew the same? He didn’t seem the same though. He’s never had a girlfriend since you’ve known him these years. He couldn’t. In his mind- you were all he wanted. But you didn’t know that. You just knew that he liked to flirt with you and he never gave any other girl the same attention or affection. Even when he was being smug and arrogant- he never gave anyone else on the squad a crumb of the attention he gave to you. At this point- after 4 years his arrogance was solely due to being the best player on the team and because, well he had you. Not just in his mind. To the entire school, you were Andrew’s. 

You had a single date junior year. One date your entire high school career. He was a transfer student from San Diego- he didn’t know you were all but spoken for. He was cute and it was an okay date at the movies, he even opened the door for you and held your hand but- there were no butterflies. There was none of the feeling that you got with Andrew imagined would happen on a date. You didn’t even try to kiss him, you pulled back when he cornered you in his car- opening your door and thanking him before running back to your house. He didn’t call you after. He avoided you at school the next day and you were confused. You don’t want a second date but- what the fuck was his problem? All because you didn’t want to kiss him? No- no it was more than that. Because the next morning in gym class a few guys asked him about his date and he complained that you didn’t let him so much as touch more than your hand. You didn’t put out and he wasted his time and- he didn’t get to finish his ranting. Andrew had already shoved him into the weight rack and before he could do more- the coach and a few of his teammates held him back. You never heard about it. But you just know you got an angry black eyed look from that guy the rest of the year until he went back to San Diego that summer. Andrew was the only one who got jealous. He was the only one between you both who hated when someone would talk to you. No you didn’t get jealous. Not at all. 

Not even freshman year, when Andrew had his locker filled with little Valentine’s letters and cute notes from girls who thought he was cute. No- you didn’t roll your eyes and scowl on your way to your own locker because he clearly had more than enough girls to divide his attention amongst. You stood at your locker that was across the hall from his- watching the letters float to the floor and turning because you didn’t want to see his smile or read them from the other girls who potentially had his fucking heart. You didn’t see him sift through them.  Not because he wanted to see who they were from but, he wanted to see if there was one from you. You didn’t have the nerve. Okay you had the nerve but when you rounded the corner to his locker yesterday you saw almost a fucking line of girls doing the same. Oh. Well- yours wouldn’t have made a difference then. Which is what you were thinking now, opening your locker to grab your books for the day and- there was your Valentine. Large vibrant sunflower with a note attached to it. Your heart was swelling with happiness- giant smile when you saw it, not noticing that Andrew had thrown all his little love notes away and had stood behind some lockers to watch your reaction to his gift for you. He didn’t sign his name. He already fought with himself for a week leading up to actually deciding to do something for you. But you knew his handwriting at this point. You had started passing notes to each other months ago. You knew it was from him- little note saying how beautiful he thinks you are and how he always thinks about you. Simple. Sweet. Just like him. You had a smile on your face all day- he would do anything for that smile.

There’s a game tonight- you’re already planning your hair and makeup for the night. Uniform already on because you have to wear it all day like the football team has to wear their jerseys. And then you feel it- the eraser of a pencil dragging along the sleeve of your top. You’re glad he couldn’t see your face- glad Andrew couldn’t see the smile forming on your lips because he started to write those little words again that you try to ignore but you can clearly feel him tracing the letters of his name along your back. Minutes later you feel the note sliding between your arm and onto your lap like every day. You knew what it said. Same thing it said every game. ‘Remember our date tonight- don’t be late’ with a smiley face. He called them dates- when you and him would walk the field together hand in hand or arm in arm. He would call them dates and you would smile and your stomach would flip every fucking time. The same way his stomach would flip when you wrote ‘wouldn’t miss it- see you there’ with that little heart accompanying it. 

But you were late- busy making sure your hair was absolutely perfect. Not for him. Absolutely not for Andrew. Even when you wrote his jersey number on your cheek in eye black- the same eye black he was waiting for you to apply. He didn’t trust anyone else to apply it. You were the only one who could get the lines straight- the only one who he trusted to not get any in his eyes. He was shaking his leg- antsy and waiting for you and ready to tease you for being late, but this freshman on the squad came over to apply the eye black for him and he all but jerked back. Face screwed up in disgust at the poor girl who had a crush on him- just trying to help but she didn’t know that only you were given the privilege to touch Andrew. You saw the interaction. Smiling to yourself when you had ran out from the locker room and saw your football player waiting for you- but fixing the smile because you walked over to him and grabbed his jaw roughly so you could apply the eye black in just the right way. Making him look up at you- ignoring the way his hazel eyes stared at you like you were the only person who could see him. Truly see him. 

“You’re late,” he mumbled up at you- not caring how you held his jaw tightly. He liked it, in fact. He liked the way you stepped between his legs and held his face in your soft hand so he could look up at you for 5 minutes. 

“Be quiet- you’ll make it crooked,” he winked at you when you chastised him. He loved the way your face was set and had a soft scowl- it was the only way you could make sure you didn’t smile at him. He loved the way you concentrated on your work. Because to him- it meant you cared. You knew he couldn’t concentrate if it felt wrong, if it looked crooked, or if anyone else drew on him. It was one of his quirks that you had come to learn from years of knowing him. Just like you’ve seen him tie and untie his cleats until they both felt the same and felt right. Seen the way he had to tap his right cleat on the 30 yard three times before every game. You’ve made sure you both don’t step on any cracks throughout the tunnel before you walk out onto the field. All of these things he absolutely must do- or they’ll lose the game. Including making sure you were the only one to do his eye black. And- making sure his gloves were right. They had to feel right- or they would lose. And if they lost then it would confirm every bad thought he had swimming around his mind. You found that out freshman year as well. 

You had a break. A quick break during the championship game that allowed you to drink water and have a breath. And- to watch Andrew pace along the sidelines. Because of him, the school's decade long losing streak was broken. Because of Andrew- the school was on top again. And he felt the pressure. Andrew felt that nagging feeling of a thousand people watching him from the stands. And his glove was wrong. His right glove was all wrong. The seams were misaligned, tied too tightly, sweaty and- they were going to lose if he couldn’t fix it. He would let everyone down if he couldn’t shut his mind up for 5 minutes- he could play. He was fine. The glove didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. He wanted 5 minutes where he felt normal and didn't have a million thoughts running along his brain. He was muttering to himself to stop- didn’t see you waking over because he looked distraught. He looked panicked and- you wanted to help. You thought it was just the anxiety from the game but- it looked so much worse and you were friends at this point, right? Friends can help. He was pulling at his glove- trying to fix it and Andrew couldn’t do it without taking off his left glove. But his left glove felt fine and- he pulled back when you reached for him. Pulled back on instinct- because no one handles him gently. No one cares to be soft with him. If Baz wasn’t on the field he would have smacked Andrew upside the head and told him to knock it off. ‘Stop being fucking weird!’ But- you had this look on your face like you wanted to help him. Would you laugh? “It’s my glove,” his eyes looked almost glassy, like it was so overwhelming for him and- “Can I try?” You smiled, something soft and gentle and- held your hands up at him to show him you meant no harm or nefarious intentions. His lip quivered, he had to bite it to keep calm and he didn’t trust his voice but he nodded. Holding his right hand out to you and closing his eyes when your gentle hands adjusted the seams perfectly between his fingers- inspecting your work to make sure it looked perfect before tightening the strap around his wrist. “There. Is that too tight?” “N-no,” his voice was low, shaking his head after he opened his eyes and his breath caught in his chest because you still looked up at him and smiled like you always did. “I’m sorry. I-I know it doesn't make sense. But- but if my gloves don’t feel right then I feel like I can’t breathe and- thank you.” He wanted to melt into a puddle. He was rambling about the stupidest things. About his mental instability and- you didn’t laugh. You didn’t even stop smiling at him. You squeezed his hand and- “Good luck.” Because it was his turn on the field. And they won. 

After that, every game since the beginning of sophomore year- you put his gloves on for him. The right one first, then the left. You painted the eye black on for him. And you made sure no one touched his water bottle- you lined it up perfectly with yours. You always had an extra towel- clean, just in case one of the animals on the team used his. You never rolled your eyes or were annoyed by his behavior or quirks. These little things that you learned about him in the last four years made him the Andrew that- well the Andrew that you loved. But you gave up on it years ago. You were content with being friends if that’s all he wanted- because he never truly was sincere. Right? There was always that unsaid part- in your mind anyway. But this game started like any other. After you walked out in the field with Andrew- his mask slipped on. The mask he wore had I protect him- the mask he only lets drop around you. The charm, the ego, the power- all come out when those lights shine on him. And it was still satisfying to see- because you knew who he was under it. 

They were up by 10, minutes before half time- and Andrew had been the same pain in the ass as always. But one particular player on the opposing team just could not leave you alone- because he saw the way Andrew gravitated towards you. Between possessions- Andrew would watch how you’d flip or be thrown in the air. He would get lost in how you shouted for the team. Because when you’d turn- when you’d make eye contact you’d smile at him. That sincere sweet smile that you’d give him- only him. When you’d have a break, Andrew would hand your water bottle to you and say something stupid that would make you roll your eyes or shove him and- well nothing gets under a guy's skin more than flirting with his girl right? No one has really found a way to break your school’s not-so-secret weapon yet. But his weakness was the same as any 18 year old boy- Andrew’s weakness was a girl, his weakness was you. So while Andrew was occupied- the opposing team member jogged over to you, asking if your boyfriend was as rough with you as he was on the field. 

“Fuck off,” was all you said. You were used to the occasional asshole coming over or trying to get under your skin. But this one was particularly annoying. Asking about Andrew, asking if he knows the way around your body and- “you’re awfully concerned about him? I can give you his number if you want? That way you can call him and flirt all you want after we beat you.” You tried to turn- tried to ignore him but he grabbed your arm tight to pull you back to him. He didn’t see your curly haired shadow- always watching in case you needed him. 

“I didn’t say I was fucking done with yo-” you spit in his face. Spit and tried to pull your arm free but it only pissed him off more now because he shoved you into the ground and was about to storm off but your shadow had been watching- ready to attack because he saw red when you were grabbed. 

“Are you okay?” Andrew helps you up- gentle in contrast to the fury behind his eyes. Giving you a once over before turning to your attacker. Now this wasn’t the first fight he’s gotten in on the field, no you can almost count on it being a nightly occurrence like the band’s halftime show but- this was the first fight you had been the cause of. Andrew is quick now- shoves the opposing team member away from you, pushing you behind him and asking what his problem was. You didn’t hear the response- but whatever he said had Andrew ripping his helmet off and hurling it at the offending party. Only seconds to recover but Andrew was faster, grappling him to the ground and using his helmet again as a weapon now- smashing it into the other guy's own helmet over and over again until he ripped it off of him and started using his fists to converse and explain his anger. It took half his teammates to pull him off because the other half was trying to drag the poor kid away from Andrew. The crowd was full of people yelling, cheering for Andrew or yelling about their own team as you were pulled away from the commotion by some of the girls while Andrew was shoved off the field by his coach. You friends were practically swooning over Andrew, telling you to go check on him because he once again fought for you. 

Coach was pissed- obviously Andrew was benched for the rest of the game. He was running laps tomorrow morning and every morning next week. You hid behind a few lockers while his coach yelled at him- kicking the laundry basket across the room for emphasis and-

“He shouldn’t have fucking touched my girl- what did you want me to do?” Oh. He called you his girl- he wanted to protect you. It was hard to stop the way your heart fluttered- hard to shove down those feelings that you’ve fought for years. And his coach couldn’t argue with the logic of an 18 year old in what he thought was love- he slapped him upside the head and reminded him to be here tomorrow morning for laps. Only 10 laps around the track, coach was a little proud of the kid for coming out on top like he always did- a little ‘good job kid’ added in. But Andrew was still fuming- still angry with himself because he left you out there alone with that asshole and no one to protect you or keep you safe. He was kicking himself, angry for letting you down and punched a few lockers to try and calm down but- he couldn’t. He heard someone down the aisle- probably coach coming back to add to his sentence but no, it was you. Tilting your head at him because you see the anger still in his eyes- even if they softened when he saw you. 

“You gonna take care of that?” You ask, gesturing to his bleeding nose while he toys with the towel in his hands. 

“Are you okay?” He ignores you and asks again- watching you step over to him, grabbing the towel from his hands to clean up the blood that had run down his nose. The only good hit the asshole on the other team got before having to be taken off the field by medics. He was fine. Might have to sip his food through a straw for a while but he was okay. Andrew’s hand came to rest along the back of your thigh- pulling you closer to him while the other rested on your hip as you held his jaw gently to tilt his face up to the fluorescent lights above head so you could inspect his face. 

“You know I can take care of myself,” you replied, feeling your face flush from the way he held you- his hands tightening their hold on you. He knew you could. He had seen it many times- even in his defense. It made him love you more. 

Summer tryouts were for the returning players and squad. Getting you ready for the first game before the new year started. You had spent the first two months of summer running around the beach and mall with your friends and- well talking to Andrew on the phone until one of you fell asleep. You were excited to finally see him because he had been busy taking care of his brothers. Smurf had given birth to Deran and Craig needed constant attention or he would run naked and wild around the neighborhood. But he was excited to see you a month early- he didn’t think he could wait until school started. Used to his quirks and preferences- you placed your backpack next to his, water bottle next to his to minimize his teammates fucking with his shit to annoy him or get a rise out of him. Because you became a bitch- Andrew had his own persona and mask that he wore. So did you. A bitchy cheerleader because high school was hard and if you had to show your claws to get respect then so be it. 

It was easy to get them to back off of Andrew if you got to them first. Yelling at them or shoving boys twice your size who became scared of you and the guard dog you had behind you. That first and last summer the soccer team had practice before the football team did- the goalie thought it was funny to kick Andrew’s helmet and backpack off the bench. He didn’t see it- he was busy running drills but you saw it. You saw it and hounded the goalie instantly with a shove and ‘what the fuck is your problem?’ He laughed as Andrew grabbed you by the waist after you slapped the goalie and- ‘call off your bitch Cody’ No more mixing teams after that. Did Andrew get in trouble after breaking the goalie’s nose and made him swallow a few teeth? Well yes, but the principal didn’t count on you blubbering and in tears in his office. Cheap mascara that you heavily applied for effect running down your face because- ‘I was so scared- Andrew was just defending me after I was pushed’ You were quickly excused- walking out and flashing a wink Andrew’s way. He fell in love.

“I know,” he winced when you dabbed at his nose, trying to clean the drying blood before it crusted over and would be impossible to clean. Under the fluorescents- his eyes looked more green, the freckles dusting his hopefully not broken nose were more noticeable. You got a good look at how much he’s changed in the last couple of years while you work to clean him up. He lost the cute baby fat from his cheeks- now had sharp cheekbones and an angled jaw. His curls were longer and he figured out how to style them and use hair gel. He had more freckles along his face from spending days in the California sun. Taller, more muscular- but still so much behind his eyes that he won’t show you. Despite how he’s changed physically, he still looked at you the same. Looked up at you with his face in your hand like you were the only one he wanted. He looked at you like you were the sun, and he would happily risk going blind to stare at you rather than look away. “I’m sorry,”

“Don’t apologize,” smiling, satisfied that his nose isn’t broken before throwing the towel in the pile of dirty laundry from the basket that his coach kicked. “Thank you.” You always thanked him. The times you knew about him coming to your aid- you thanked him and every time he looked at you like he didn't deserve your attention and appreciation. His grip tightened more, pulling you closer to him when he saw your eyes dip down to his lips momentarily, just a slight moment of weakness. You didn’t think about kissing him. You never think about kissing him. Especially now- totally not thinking about how his lips would feel against yours. He has this dazed look on his face, eyes half-lidded and in contemplation because he’s dreamt of your lips- he’s longed for a moment like this. Where there’s a possibility that you want him as much as he wants you. And for a second you lean in- just a few millimeters closer but you remember where you are. You remember there’s a crowd of people outside the locker room and any one of the players or coach could come in. And you remember who he is- he doesn’t really want this, not with you. Pulling away with a sigh, “c’mon hot shot- you have a bench to ride.” You grunt when you take his hand and try to pull him up. 

“As long as you’re sitting next to me,” he smirks- laughing when you roll your eyes and knock your shoulder into his. “In my lap then?” He had to dodge his helmet that you threw at him but your face is always worth it because you smile still. 

The next morning Andrew smiled to himself when your hand slipped back to slide a note his way- smirking when he grabbed your hand instead, holding tight and laughing again when you had to slap his hand away. ‘Going to the beach tonight?’ He had thought about it. Bonfire on the beach after a win was the usual but- ‘I’ll go if you do?’ You wanted him to go. You knew he hated the crowd of drunk teens but- it didn’t hurt to ask right? ‘Deal- see you there asshole’ he smiled, scribbling again. ‘Date? I'll pick you up if you say please’ With that stupid smiley face. ‘Don’t push it Andrew’ with your usual heart accompanying his name. He always pushed it- because it made you blush or smile. And when you blush or smile it has his heart do that drop that he remembers from day one. 

You didn’t see him when you walked up to the group of teenagers drinking and dancing around to the music- your eyes scanning the crowd for your red headed shadow. Maybe he decided against it? Maybe- maybe he had better things to do. Or a date even? Ugh why did the idea make you sick? Why did the possibility of Andrew with someone else make your heart hurt? It didn’t matter. It hasn’t mattered since freshman year when you realized he’d never really want you- it was the chase and thrill. That’s okay- it was fun. That’s all. Right? You didn’t hear your name being called- you were so deep in your mind that you didn’t hear Zack some up behind you to throw his arm around you in a hug. Ugh- Zack. He wasn’t a shadow that you had since freshman year so much as a thorn in your side that you couldn’t get rid of. He was cute but- that’s really it. He didn’t get your brushing off of his attempts. It wasn’t like Andrew, because with Andrew there was a mutual- interest? No- no not interest. Understanding. Definitely a mutual understanding that you both wanted each other desperately were being friendly and flirtatious as a way to communicate. 

Andrew finally arrived, promising Craig he’d take him to the beach tomorrow because he can’t take a 6 year old to a drunken teenage bonfire on the beach. His eyes scanned the crowd for you- looking around the group of rowdy 18 year olds for a glimpse of you. And he found you. Found you with Zack’s fucking arm around your shoulders. If Zack was a thorn in your side then he was a shard of glass in Andrew’s eye. The guy always tried to talk to you. And he didn’t push boundaries or make you uncomfortable- that was the only reason Andrew hadn’t shoved his face into the pavement. No he just made him insecure because there was always a possibility of you picking Zack over him. He figured you were occupied enough- not knowing that you had been waiting for him or praying he’d show up so Zack got the idea to leave. But- his self confidence was already fragile, cracked in every aspect and he just saw Zack as someone you needed. Someone who was stable and capable of being better for you. Andrew wanted to go home, but home had Smurf and Baz and well, he couldn’t really wallow in self pity properly so he went over to some of his teammates for a drink- something to help his mind shut the fuck up for once. 

God Zack didn’t quit. He didn’t give up and no matter how you tried to slip away he followed. You were desperate and still hoping Andrew would show up for you. Zack had been rambling for the last few minutes about his SAT score and you honed in on the boy you had been searching for. Eyes sad while he sipped on the shitty beer someone managed to bring while he stood with his friends. God. This was the only way you could get Zack off your back. It had to be. You were desperate- this called for something drastic so maybe he’d leave you alone for the rest of senior year. Something drastic and unexpected that Zack has no choice but to back off. You walked away, quickly setting your sights to Andrew who was among his teammates. 

“Andrew,” your tone was hesitant, almost begging him to not make this awkward and you heard your name being called behind you by Zack. Immediately Andrew had turned to you, hearing your call- he answers. No hesitation. You’re walking over to him, looking like a fucking dream in your short sundress because it’s hot and you’re on the beach and you reach up to rest your hands on his chest- his arms hanging slightly out at his sides because even after all these years he still doesn’t know what to expect from you and- you’re kissing him. 

His world stops, time moves slower for him but everything around you both seem to move in hyper speed- your hands are on his chest and you both close your eyes because- oh, this was nice. He immediately throws his drink to the sand, hands coming to cradle your face- tightening and pulling you deeper into the kiss. He doesn’t even fucking ask why you’re kissing him- all he knows is that you are and he doesn’t want this to stop. Not yet. How was he such a good fucking kisser? It almost would piss you off if you weren’t enjoying it so much. Why were you even kissing him? Oh- Zack, right. You’re sure he’s got the point now, but your focus is now on the way Andrew is holding you, sighing into the kiss now and you let your hands fist his shirt because- is this what you’ve been fucking missing out on? You just thought you’d maybe plant a kiss to his lips and hold them there for a moment but- your lips are moving against his now, desperately so. Andrew is the one to pull away- he needs to breathe and figure out if you’ve hit your head in the last few moments because what spurred this on? But you chase his lips, you whine and say a little pathetic ‘wait’ against his lips before kissing him again. He could die right here. Andrew could be killed at this moment and be content with it. Your lips are so fucking soft, soft and sweet and you sigh into the kiss and no one around you makes a sound- the only thing is the sound of the waves and music from someone’s radio. Because frankly there’s been bets on how long it would take for you both to actually go out or if you’d end up killing each other first. Fuck or fight. And no one makes a sound but they awkwardly shuffle away from the scene because they’re all a little scared of both of you to interrupt or cheer- but there’s almost an audible collective sigh of relief from the entire senior class. 

“Um, uh- t-that’s, that was- um, you-” he absolutely could not find the fucking words. Every single thought in his brain that wasn’t you has been lost. Every neuron has been fried and he wants to ask if this is a new development or if you were just trying something out but you laugh. Your intoxicating laugh makes him feel like he’s floating. “Does this mean I can take you out now?”

“Yes- yes you can,” because honestly what else could you say? You’ll explain the Zack situation later. You’ll let Andrew in on the details that lead up to you finally kissing him. But for right now you need to laugh and smile and pull him into another kiss because you’ve been clearly neglecting yourself from the way he tastes and feels. 

“Fucking finally,” he sighs into your mouth, arms coming to wrap around your waist this time as yours come to rest along his shoulders. He didn’t want to stop kissing you. He’s afraid if he stops- then you’ll disappear or he’ll wake up from whatever sadistic dream his mind conjured up to torture him with. But he needs to stop because now that you’re officially his girl- he can’t have the assholes on the team watching him kiss you because he’s drowning in the little sighs you make against him. He’s immediately in love with the way you whine when he pulls away. “C’mon,” he takes your hand- pulling you farther away from the crowd to walk along the shore. You were floating, letting him take your hand and drag you anywhere- as long as it was with him, you didn’t care. You’ve held his hand before but- this time felt different. His hands were large and warm and almost comfortable- but he stopped walking, apologizing to you before removing his hand. You almost wanted to cry because you just had him but- he just switched the position of your fingers. He forced him to unlace his fingers from yours to adjust the position so that his were on the outside and- “it felt weird. Sorry I-” you shut him up with a kiss.

“I don’t- look,” you pulled away from him- smiling when it was his turn to whine about the kiss ending but you pressed your forehead against his, “I don’t want you to do this for me. If you don’t really want to be with me then that’s okay- we can forget the kiss and-” 

“I don’t want to forget it.” Andrew cut you off, taking your hands in his after shaking his head a little which made your head shake with him. “I- I know I flirt and get on your nerves but- I’ve liked you since I met you. I’m not- I’m not really great at this kind of thing. I’ve written out how I felt over and over again- a million fucking times to try and tell you but I couldn’t believe you’d actually want me.” He kept squeezing your hands, subtly but you felt the incremental pressure of three squeezes every few seconds. His breathing was shaky and he swallowed hard because he was waiting for you to shove him away and- you pulled back to kiss his cheek. He has to be stupid- absolutely nothing in his pretty little head because there’s no way he didn’t think you’d want him. Years of pining after the boy, flirting back and sitting as close as possible and arguing over nothing so you’d get to speak with him and late night calls where you’d sometimes just do your homework together to the sound of breathing and papers shuffling- and he thinks you didn’t want him?

“Why didn’t you kiss me that spring break?” Your voice was barely above a whisper- could barely be heard over the roar of the waves. He sighed- because he knew what you were asking him about. That day still keeps him up at night. One of the biggest regrets of his teenage life because he thought you hated him for it. No- you could never. 

After that Valentine’s Day freshman year, you wanted to believe Andrew liked you back. You don’t call someone beautiful and say that you constantly think of them in a note attached to a giant gorgeous sunflower unless you like them- right? So you tried- you tried to get the shy boy to open up a bit. Not mentioning the valentine but also not being subtle about your feelings for him. The Friday before spring break you bit the bullet- scribbling your phone number down for him because “a bunch of us are going to the beach next week- call me if you wanna come? Or just- call me?” You made sure to emphasize that even if he didn’t want to come, which you hoped he did, he could still call you. Did you feel desperate? Absolutely- but the blush and nod he gave you with that awkward crack in his voice made it so worth it. You waited by your fucking phone the entire weekend- taking it with you every time you went to grab a snack from the kitchen or even to the fucking bathroom in case he called. You realized you were a bit crazy when you took the fastest shower of your life and tripped over yourself to get out when you heard the ringing- only to be annoyed and told your friend you’d call her tomorrow. By Sunday night you had resigned from the fact that Andrew was going to call you. He didn’t think about you. 

Only on the other side of the gender line- Andrew had dialed and redialed your number a million times that weekend. He was ready to strangle himself with the fucking cord because he couldn’t press call- he was so fucking scared and weak and he’s went over what to say to you a thousand times. He needs to do it. Needs to just get it over with but- what if you were just being nice? Just- inviting him out of pure curiosity and friendliness and not because you had as big of a crush on his as he did you? But while he stared at your number that he dialed- he finally pressed call. He wanted to hang up immediately but after the second ring you answered- telling your friend you’d call her back later when- 

“Hey,” Oh- it was not your friend. It was Andrew. God he wanted to fucking vomit and hang up but you sounded almost- excited that he called?

“Oh- h-hey,” ugh you sounded stupid. So pathetic and- “what’s up?” Please hang up so you can die. But you didn’t know the boy on the other end of the phone was just as nervous as you were. Mumbling about his day or asking you about that math test that he was sure he failed. It's at least an hour of talking about- well about nothing really just laughing and getting to know each other without the anxiety of a face to face conversation. You found out he can skateboard. That he can play the guitar badly. That he has a 3 year old brother and his mom just had his youngest brother. He doesn’t have a favorite color but he doesn’t tell you that something about a sunflower yellow makes him smile. And every time you learn something new about him he asks the same about you. Can you skateboard? Play instruments? Siblings? Favorite color? Andrew wants to know everything about you. He wants to learn everything there is to know about you- the things you don’t tell anyone else. But after that hour you ask if he wants to come to the beach. He does. Only for you. You spend that morning tearing your room apart trying to find the perfect swimsuit to wear to the beach. Throwing clothes around your room, digging through your closet and drawers for the perfect one. Which you found but then there was the issue of what to wear over it, how to style your hair, what makeup- if any, do you have? 

On Andrew’s side of the city, he’s doing the same. Albeit less about what he’s going to wear but more about what he’s going to do. That familiar feeling of nausea and anxiety was brewing in his gut. That sense of fear and dread came washing over him. He wanted to turn back the farther he walked from his house to the beach- every step he was screaming at himself to turn back. He did- a few times. Stopping on the sidewalk and turning around for a few steps before telling himself to shut the fuck up and stop being a bitch- well it sounded more like Baz in his head but it worked all the same. But it was worth the internal struggle. Because you immediately left your friends when you saw him, not even saying bye- just running over to him with the most gorgeous smile he ever saw. You pulled him over by his arm- asking if he wants to play volleyball or something and he can’t stop the wicked grin on his face when he asks if you’re up for the challenge. Of course you were. You and the girls annihilated Andrew and the boys- so much so that they claimed a sprained ankle and said it wasn’t fair. But you and Andrew were trash talking and using the net as a poor excuse for a buffer between you both. 

“Here you need more sunscreen,” Andrew didn’t even apply any- he was so fucking nervous he forgot. But you were digging through your backpack for the bottle- rubbing the lotion between your palms and telling him to turn so you can get his back. He didn’t pull away when you touched him. This was the softest way someone had held him since Julia left- your hands were smoothing the redness that burned his skin, smiling to yourself as you got lost in the galaxy of freckles that dusted his shoulders. Maybe you traced them while you rubbed the sunscreen on him- definitely not writing your name on his back either. When you walked around to the front of him- his face was flushed. Andrew was burning and not from the fucking sun. Your hands on him had his entire mind screaming. Yelling at him- it felt so nice and he was doing everything he fucking could to not get excited. Even when you rubbed the lotion into his chest and arms, making the flush on his face swapped when you told him to look at you so you didn’t get any in his eyes. “C’mon- I wanna look for some sea glass.” You took him by his wrist- walking to the water with him in tow. He was still fucking dazed- he still was reeling from how you had touched him. 

Andrew spent an hour following you along the tide. Holding his hands open for every bit of sea glass you found or any shell you thought was interesting. The particularly special ones he had in his pocket- the ones that you kept because they matched the colors of his eyes, green flecks around the soft amber. In his other pocket he had the ones that reminded him of your eyes. The ones you said didn’t look good enough but he wanted them- he wanted to put them next to his bed and see your eyes every night. When the sun started to set you both were still walking along the water- your friends had left and most other people from school. It was really only you and Andrew left. Every few steps your hands would bump into each other, just dancing around each other because neither of you had the courage to grab the other's hand. Not yet. God you had to do something. He spent all day with you. He got you a fucking valentine. He called you. You stopped walking, hands nervously playing with the strings of your hoodie because the spring air was chilled still- he watched you, biting his lip because he wanted to kiss you so bad but he couldn’t. Even then your hands started to play with the strings of his hoodie, panic started to rise in his chest. The second your eyes dipped down to his lips and back up into his eyes- Andrew felt fear. No matter how bad he wanted to fucking kiss you- he was scared. 

“I- um, I-I gotta go-” you couldn’t even ask if he was okay. Andrew didn’t even give you a second to say goodbye or even apologize for making him uncomfortable. He all but ran from you. Not stopping until he reached the safety of his bedroom where he slammed the door shut and locked himself in. Stupid. Fucking stupid. He left you there like an asshole- left you at the beach alone and anything could happen to you because he was too fucking scared to let himself enjoy something. He curled in on himself, pressed against the side of his bed on the floor while trying to shake the way his brain was screaming at him away. Andrew felt his chest caving in on itself. He pulled at his hair and tried to manually turn his brain off like there was a switch. He couldn’t breathe. He tried. He tried to suck in as much air as he could but he felt like he was drowning on dry land. He then tried to beat the thoughts from his mind. Fists raised and tears came- muttering to himself to shut up. To stop fucking thinking even though all he heard was your voice echoed in his head. They wouldn’t stop. In his mind you were pointing and laughing like everyone had done before. You were yelling at him and shoving him into the closet like Billy did. You would never do those things. You never laughed. You never hurt him- but you didn’t want him. Look at him. Fucking weak and pathetic because a girl he liked wanted to kiss him. The face of every person who ever wronged him flashed in his mind- replaced with you. 

He tried everything to calm down. Everything Julia told him to do when she couldn’t be there for him. Andrew forced his eyes opened, scanning his room- he could see the stack of CDs on his shelf, he could see the trees blowing from his window, he could see the backyard light flickering, he could see the scribbled crayon drawing Craig did pinned to his wall, he could see his jersey slung over his headboard. Andrew uncurled his hands from the fists he made, he could feel the carpet underneath his fingers, he could feel the new comforter Smurf bought him, he could feel the sand sticking to his shins, he could feel the sea glass you collected in his pockets. Andrew closed his eyes again- not as hard but enough so he could focus. He could hear Deran crying, he could hear Craig begging Smurf for some juice, he could hear the wind whipping through the trees. Tighter- he squeezed his eyes tighter and rested his head back along his bed. He could smell the sunscreen you rubbed on him, he could smell the chlorine from the pool outside. Finally he opened his eyes. One thing he can taste. Other than the blood from where he was biting the inside of his cheek- Andrew tasted the bitter disappointment of the almost kiss he had with you. He thought you deserved better. Andrew was no good for you. You looked at him like you loved him and that scared him because he didn’t know how to love. 

You cried. You tried to be okay with the fact that Andrew rejected you and ran from you but- you were still a girl who got her heart broken by a boy for the first time. So you walked home and cried the entire way. Cried in your room the rest of your spring break. Ignoring the phone calls because you knew they weren’t him- and you didn't want to talk to anyone but him. But the next Monday you forced yourself to be okay. You plastered on your biggest smile and walked into home room like you didn’t spend the weekend sobbing into your pillow and hating him. Because you didn’t hate him. You couldn’t hate him if you tried because when you saw him- those sad eyes looked up at you and told you he was sorry when his mouth couldn’t. You were still a girl in love with the sweetest boy who wanted to apologize but didn’t even know the words for the feelings he had for you. You never spoke of it. You didn’t bring it up. You just turned to face him and asked if he did the reading for the week. And smiled when he told you he had some interesting sunburn patterns on his skin. You could be in love with someone who didn’t love you back. It was easy. People do it all the time. And in his mind- Andrew was doing the same thing.

“I was scared,” Andrew looked away from you, face full of regret because even three years later he’s still wondering where you both would be if he was more confident back then. Would you be together now? “I didn’t think I deserved you. I didn’t think you actually wanted me. I- I didn’t know what I was feeling and it almost hurt to look at you because you looked at me like I was something more than who I was made to be and-” You shushed him, grabbing his hands tighter and pulling him back to rest your forehead against his. 

“We can start over- okay?” He nods against your forehead- smiling as you reassure him that he didn’t miss anything. There was still time to be made up for. There was so much more he wanted to say- because at 18 years old you think you’ve met the person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with. 

Well- he’s been wrong before.

authors note: everyone who enjoyed this horrific self indulgent mess- please thank @velvetmel0n for listening to my incessant rambling about our soft boy Andrew Pope Cody. She is the backbone of my ideas. And if you didn't enjoy this fic- don't be shy, make a request and i'll find more ways to disappoint! taglist: @foolishseven

[inkpetrichor]

Nasty Dog! | Kuroo Tetsurou x f!reader

4.- Part four

masterlist here<3

cw. MDNI. fem! reader. delinquent! reader. use of yn. smoking. cursing. angst. jealousy. mentions of bullying. mentions of fights/bruising. arguing. hate-kissing. suggestive. smutty. lemme know if i missed anything<3 wc. 5.8k an. i love y'all <3 i'm so sorry about last week's chapter TTvTT i swear we'll have a break from the angst soon. i loved your comments sm tho i appreciate you so much(♡)

When your alarm went off the day after the beach, you didn't even look at the screen. Just slammed your hand down on it, rolled over, and buried yourself deeper into the blankets.

The air felt too cold, or maybe it was just your skin, stretched too tight from keeping yourself together.

Your dad knocked once before cracking open the door.

"You goin' to school?" he asked, voice rough from sleep, like gravel under boots.

You didn't answer. Just curled in tighter on yourself, face hidden in the dark cocoon of your bedding.

He paused. Then just closed the door and walked away, heavy steps fading into the distance. 

He didn't ask again. It wasn't the first time you'd had a rough day and decided to sleep it off before going back to school. That tough girl image of yours took its mental stability to keep, so whenever you were feeling a little out of your game, you always chose to avoid school altogether. Too dangerous to show up to a hostile place without a hostile mask to hide behind.

But this time, that hostile, untouchable girl who smirked at chaos and could spit teeth like words was gone. You couldn't find her. Couldn't even imagine putting her mask back on.

You always kept in touch with Emi, though, even on your worst days. You'd be lying if you said you weren't a little protective of her. And without you around for the scary dog privileges, she'd have to either stick to Kiba and the rest or expose herself to bullies and mean bitches who wanted to retaliate against you but didn't have the balls to pick a real fight.

The worst one of them was Hebinuma Mizuki from class 3. A sensitive topic for Emi you had to fix more than once in the past.

So you texted Emi with all the strength you had left.

: Not going to school today. Stay out of trouble for me babes.

Emi <3: eh??? wdym???

Emi <3: i need 2 kno about yesterday! ( • ̀ω•́ )✧ did u tell him u like him or what???

Reading that hurt. You put the phone away before it buzzed again.

Emi <3: did he fuck ur legs out and that's why u won't come 2 school? (≖⩊≖)

Emi <3: wait, r u actually sick? want me to go care for you babes? (ㅅ' ^ ') (ㅅ' ^ ')

You stared at the messages for too long before replying.

: I'm okay Emi. See you on Monday. Stick by the guys.

Emi <3: did Kuroo do smth 2 u? ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!

Emi <3: if u don't answer i'll make the guys beat him up (ง •̀_•́)ง

: I'm fine, Jesus. Just fuck off.

Emi <3: fuck u </3

: Sorry babes. See ya Monday.

Emi <3: </3

You dropped the phone on the bed. The silence that followed was loud, thick. You wandered to the kitchen like a ghost and tried to avoid looking at the couch.

You failed.

That damn couch. A place of memories—too good, too vivid. A blur of messy hair, clever eyes, and long limbs draped in teenage carelessness.

Your stomach turned. You grabbed the ashtray and a fresh pack, and took it all to your room.

The smoke felt hollow that Friday.

And when Sunday came along, you hadn't said a word to anyone since that last text. You hadn't even put on real clothes.

And then, the doorbell rang.

Your dad answered it, and his gravel voice softened just a touch. 

"Shiromaru," he greeted.

You didn't need to see her face to know Emi blushed.

"Good morning, sir."

"You alright? That girl still bothering you at school?" he asked.

"No, sir. Not since Y/N beat the crap out of her."

He looked toward the hallway, where you were standing in the shadows.

"Good," he said. "Look after your friends, kiddo."

You nodded faintly, and then he was gone, headed off to a fight—or whatever it was he did in his spare time.

(Probably debt collecting, although you knew better than to ask.)

After saying goodbye with eyes that lingered just a little too long, Emi entered the house, her expression changing from cheerful to stern in two seconds flat.

She stepped into the hallway, all electricity and fight in her pink jacket and messy space buns.

"I brought you cheap beer and rented the first season of Death Note," she said, lifting a konbini bag. "Also, I need to yell at you for ghosting me. I get that you have these days but a text or a call wouldn't hurt, you bitch."

As soon as she saw your face, something in her switched. The light dimmed.

"Got any cigarettes?"

You just nodded and she breezed past you, right into your room like she belonged there.

(She kinda did.)

"Good. I'm staying over."

"What about school?" you asked, voice scratchy.

"My uniform's in my bag. I don't think your dad cares. Oh also," she glanced over her shoulder with a wicked little grin, "he gets hotter every time I see him, What's up with that?"

You wished you could snort, play along, curse her off—but you didn't have the strength in you. You simply walked up behind her and rested your forehead against her back.

Emi stilled.

"Hey..." she said softly. "Does this one have anything to do with the volleyball captain?"

You didn't answer. You couldn't.

Your throat burned.

Then you shook your head. Once. Then again. 

And then the sob broke out of you like a dam cracking wide open.

Emi turned and caught you in her arms.

"Babes..." she whispered, pulling you tighter. You clawed at her jacket, hands shaking, knees buckling. She fell with you onto the floor, cradling your head against her collarbone like you were something fragile.

"I fucked it up," you gasped between sobs. "Of course I fucked everything up, I—"

"What happened? You're okay. Tell me what happened."

"I... I rejected him."

You couldn't see the way her eyes widened. She stopped for a second, then continued running her hand down your back as you cried.

"I—he was so—he looked so fucking sincere, Emi. I could've just—just kissed him, said yes, anything—but I got scared. I got so fucking scared and I spat on his feelings like a piece of shit."

You couldn't breathe. Couldn't stop. And Emi, for once, was quiet.

Then—softly, "You are a piece of shit sometimes."

You laughed through your tears, a horrible wet sound.

"But you're my piece of shit," she continued. "And you can still fix this."

You shook your head.

"I don't know if he'll want to see me again. I don't even know if I deserve it."

"You don't have to know right now," she said. "Right now you just get to cry. I'll carry your pride for a while, I bet it's too fucking heavy."

Your whole body heaved. You wept like a child, for the first time in maybe forever. For the part of yourself that thought love was too dangerous. For the part of yourself that wished it wasn't.

Emi held you for what felt like hours. She didn't complain when her legs went numb from the awkward position. She didn't care that her pretty clothes were soaked in tears and spit and snot. She held you tighter whenever a particularly violent sob tore through you, and caressed your back gently when the storm seemed to calm.

You didn't notice the door creak open.

Your dad stood frozen in the doorway, broad shoulders stiff, one hand still gripping the doorframe like it was holding him upright, and there was a crease between his brows like he couldn't quite process what he was seeing.

He blinked at the two of you, his gaze snagging on your trembling form. The fists he'd taught you to throw were balled against Emi's jacket now. You were crying so hard you couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, your whole body convulsing in helpless sobs.

You weren't yelling. You weren't fighting. You weren't lashing out like you always did when something hurt.

You were... breaking.

And he didn't know what the hell to do with that.

His mouth opened, then closed. He took one step forward, like instinct kicked in—fix it, patch it up, say something—but the moment his boot hit the floorboard, he froze again. Panic flickered across his face, subtle but raw. His hands flexed at his sides like he wanted to do something, anything—but nothing about this moment was in his wheelhouse.

He looked between you and Emi, and Emi—bless her—met his eyes with calm certainty and gave a single, firm shake of her head.

And something in him seemed to deflate. His jaw clenched. He gave a slight nod, like a huge wolf backing out of a place that suddenly wasn't his territory anymore.

Then, quietly, he shut the door and walked away.

And you? You couldn't stop thinking about Kuroo. His voice an echo in your head.

"You think this hasn't already fucked me up? You think I haven't already let you get under my skin?"

He'd opened himself wide for you—heart in hand—and you'd slammed the door in his face and pretended it didn't matter.

You hadn't even kissed him goodbye. Not even a half-assed hug or a brush of your fingers. You just left him standing there in the dark, sand clinging to his shoes and love still lingering on his tongue.

You wanted to tear the memory out of your head with your bare hands. Wanted to reach back in time, scream yes, scream wait, scream I didn't mean it like that.

Throw yourself into his arms. Bury your fingers in his hair. Press your mouth to his and say everything you didn't let yourself say.

That's how it should've gone.

If you weren't so fuckin—

"Stupid..." Your voice cracked. "I'm so stupid."

Your breath hitched again, and a fresh wave of tears spilled over your cheeks. You bit your lip so hard it might've drawn blood, but you couldn't stop the ugly, shaky sob that followed.

Emi sighed, long and soft. But not annoyed.

"No, you're not," she said gently. "And that somehow makes it worse."

You hated that she was right.

Because you weren't dumb. You knew what he meant when he looked at you like that. You'd realized when his feelings started to change. You knew how much it cost him to put himself out there. To ask for something real.

And you still shut him down, because you thought it would keep things simple. Because you were scared. Because it was easier to pretend it didn't mean as much as it did.

It meant everything. And you'd thrown it away.

"I messed it up," you croaked, rubbing at your face uselessly. "I fucked up everything."

"Yeah," Emi said, not unkindly. "But you're not done yet." She shifted, legs twisted awkwardly beneath her. "Just... Can we switch positions? My ass fell asleep."

Again, it made you laugh through the tears—a short, wet snort that turned into another sob halfway through.

You nodded and finally pulled away, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your sleeve.

Emi settled against the edge of your bed, stretching her legs out with a dramatic groan and patting the spot beside her.

"C'mon. We're both a mess. Let's be a mess together."

She cracked open a can of Asahi Super Dry—half-warm, with a 50% off sticker slapped on the side like a badge of shame—and took a long, bitter swig.

Then she looked at you.

Really looked at you. Like you were a wounded dog on the side of the road. Like it broke her heart just to see you breathe.

And for once, you didn't look away.

You felt like roadkill. You deserved to.

"Okay..." she started. "Now... Why did you reject him? I thought we'd established you liked him back so... Why?"

"I just... panicked. I thought it would be easier if I kept it simple, if I didn't let it get serious." Your voice cracked on that word. "He looked... crushed. And I knew I was hurting him. I knew it and I still did it."

"You didn't mean it..." Emi said quietly.

"That doesn't fucking matter..." you sighed. "He meant it. And I threw it back in his face because I'm too fucking scared to want something good."

You sat up, hugging your knees to your chest. Your voice dropped to a rasp. "I've been wanted before. Not like that. Not like him. God, Why does he even want me in the first place?"

"Because you are way more lovable than you give yourself credit for."

You rolled your eyes at her, and her jaw tightened. Used at you flinching at affection, but still frustrated you couldn't see yourself through her eyes.

She just sat beside you, her knee touching yours, grounding you.

"'I want us to mean something.' That's what he said. And the worst part?" you whispered. "I wanted to say yes. I wanted it. I wanted to kiss him so bad it hurt. I still do. But I looked at him and I thought... 'He's going to get sick of me. He's going to see the mess I am and he's going to leave. So I'll do it first.' "

You rubbed your palms against your face, smearing the tears across your skin like warpaint. "I didn't protect myself. I just proved I don't deserve him."

"You're allowed to be scared, babes," Emi said softly.

"No, not like that. I hurt him, Emi." Your throat tightened again. "And he didn't even fight me on it. He just... believed me. Like he didn't expect anything more from me. Like he knew I'd run."

It made you feel sick. Not from pity, but from the sheer, unbearable truth of it.

You had been everything he wasn't—cold, dismissive, cruel. And he had looked at you like you were still worth wanting. Even as you threw him away.

You heard the front door creak open again.

Boots. Heavy ones. Then came a knock—two short taps, and the door eased open an inch, enough to let in the hallway light.

Your dad stepped in halfway. Held something in his hand. The plastic crinkled.

He stood there in the doorway like a man about to walk into a minefield. His face was blank, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes flicked from you to Emi, then to the floor, then back to you. He held out the plastic convenience store bag stiffly, like it weighed more than it did.

He cleared his throat. Opened his mouth.

You knew that look. That little twitch of his jaw, the faint furrow between his brows. He was about to try and say something.

Something sincere.

And it was going to be hard for him.

So you cut him off.

"Thanks," you said softly, standing up and walking his way. "Appreciate it."

He blinked. The words died in his throat. You met his eyes—just for a second—and gave him the faintest nod. Not dismissive. Just understanding. 

I know, Dad. It's okay.

He hesitated. For a second, it looked like he might say something anyway. But then his shoulders dropped, just a touch, and he handed over the bag.

Inside were two taiyaki ice creams. 

Chocolate. Your favorite.

Emi's too, probably just a lucky guess.

He didn't say a word as he turned around, boots thudding gently down the hallway.

The door clicked shut behind him.

You stared down at the bag for a moment, throat tightening again.

Emi shifted next to you. "You okay?"

You nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Your voice cracked anyway.

Kuroo didn't expect you to show up to class. Not really.

Still, when he walked in and saw your seat empty, something in his chest twisted. A part of him had hoped—stupidly—that you'd stroll in late, toss your bag down like nothing had happened, maybe shoot him a look, say something cocky and half-dangerous, like you were daring him to still love you.

And God, he would've. 

In a second.

But instead, there was just the empty desk—the same one you'd sprawled across last week, chewing gum and tapping his pen while he tried to write, just to dodge his eyes and pretend you weren't smiling when he finally looked up.

Now you were gone.

And he was doing the one thing he swore he wouldn't: waiting for you to come back.

But you never did.

It was like you'd flipped a switch.

Back to your old self.

Bloody-knuckled. Skipping classes. Laughing too loudly with the other delinquents in the courtyard like nothing had ever happened.

But he saw it—every time your eyes met across the courtyard, or during passing period when you pretended not to flinch.

That mask.

The one you wore so damn well.

And the crack in it. 

He could always tell when it did. That half-second flicker in your gaze, like your heart stuttered. Like maybe you were sorry. Like maybe you wanted to say something. Like maybe you still felt it, too.

He hated it.

Because he still did.

Still loved you, like a fool with no survival instinct.

And just when it started to dull—when he could almost convince himself it didn't ache every time he heard your laugh or every time Yaku asked if you were coming to class, when he could almost push you out of his thoughts—

Hebinuma Mizuki showed up.

Perfect timing.

Too perfect.

Silky black hair. Sweet voice. Honeyed everything. Everyone loved her. Teachers beamed. Classmates melted.

Still, something about her scratched under his skin.

He'd heard the rumors—and remembered that one time he asked.

"Bitch had it coming."

And somehow, that stuck with him more than any answer would've.

Because if there was one thing he knew by now was that nobody got under your skin without earning it.

She'd been circling ever since you'd vanished. Suddenly, she was all about school spirit, popping up outside the gym during practice. Offering water bottles with a sugary smile and leaning too close when she talked to him, giggling like she couldn't help herself.

It was annoying. He knew what she was doing.

But he let her do it anyway.

Yaku noticed first.

"You sure Y/N's okay?" he asked, tossing him a towel during water break. "I haven't seen her in class since Thursday."

"I don't know," Kuroo muttered, drying his neck. "Why don't you ask her? You two get along."

Yaku raised a brow. "You get along even better."

Kuroo didn't respond.

"I think it's because of Hebinuma hanging around you so much," Yaku added, not looking at him as he stretched out his legs. "Maybe that's why she won't talk to you anymore. Y/N hates her guts. Always has."

Kuroo cracked a humorless smile. "Interesting theory."

But he knew better.

It wasn't Hebinuma.

It was the beach. It was the silence. It was him avoiding you out of pride and pain. It was you avoiding him right back because you were too much of a coward to face him head-on after he'd laid himself bare for you and got nothing but sand in his teeth for it.

He knew you hated Hebinuma. Of course he did.

Still didn't stop him from letting her hover. Didn't stop him from letting her touch his arm when she talked. Or fake laugh at his dryest jokes. Especially when he could feel you watching.

Especially when he wanted you to watch.

It happened right after practice, one lazy Friday.

Hebinuma had "accidentally" waited until practice was over, until the sun was casting long shadows across the front of the gym. She bounced toward him with that same cutesy walk, giggling about how she'd love to support the team, maybe become their new manager—

And then, Kuroo felt it.

Like static electricity on the back of his neck.

He turned.

You were standing a few meters away, bag slung over one shoulder, hair a mess like you'd just fought someone and won. A faint bruise blooming along your jaw, and your eyes—

Murderous.

It was the look of someone who'd come to apologize. Someone who'd worked up the nerve, finally. And walked right into a punch to the gut.

You looked at Hebinuma like she was trash on the sidewalk.

Then you looked at him.

Like he was worse.

He arched a brow. A challenge, maybe.

You just sighed. Disappointed. Furious. Tired.

Then turned without a word, slipping a cigarette from your blazer pocket, exhaling smoke into the sky like you needed somewhere to put the quiet fury.

Hebinuma kept talking, oblivious or pretending to be, tugging at his sleeve as she rattled on about her "manager application" and how Coach Nekomata was being soooo picky.

Yaku wandered over, towel draped around his neck. Watched the scene like a car crash. Then muttered behind him, just loud enough:

"Are you trying to piss her off?"

"Maybe," he answered.

And it kept happening.

Hebinuma showing up during lunch with bentos "for the team," but handing his first. Laughing too loud at things he didn't say, brushing imaginary lint off his uniform.

Always conveniently when you were close enough to see it.

Kuroo never stopped her.

Didn't really encourage it either.

But he let it happen.

Because he knew what it looked like. Because of the way your jaw would tense when you saw it, because of the way you'd flick your cigarette a little harder or shoulder past him in the hallway with an empty glare ahead.

Because it felt like punishment. For both of you.

Because he didn't know how else to make you feel it.

And maybe, deep down, he wanted to see how long it would take before you snapped.

Because that tension—him pretending he didn't care, you pretending you didn't hurt—it couldn't hold forever.

And Kuroo, for all his logic and control, knew one thing for sure:

The longer you stretch a spring, the harder it snaps.

"How dare he?!" You paced like a caged animal, fury coming off you in waves.

Emi leaned back against the wall, dragging deep on her cigarette, eyes narrowed. "Yeah, he lost points from me too, hanging around that bitch."

"How fucking dare he?!" you snapped again, spinning toward her, jabbing the air with your finger. "You know what? I'm glad it's her. If it was any other girl, maybe I'd be sad. But this?" You scoffed. "This just pisses me off. And I can deal with angry way better than I deal with sad."

"We know that." Emi took another drag, exhaling smoke through her nose. "Wait... So you're not scared they'll actually date? Everyone thinks they're already a thing. Maybe they are."

You shook your head, taking one last hit of your cigarette before grinding it out under your boot like it owed you something.

"Nah. Tetsurou is smart. Way too smart. He probably sees right through her..." You hesitated, then started pacing again. "But the fact that he does see through her and still lets her do her little act? Still lets her put her hands all over him? That pisses me off even more."

"So? What're you gonna do?"

You stopped. Crossed your arms. "...I don't know."

Emi rolled her eyes, tossed her cigarette to the ground, and grabbed your shoulders.

"You talk to him! March up and say, 'I was scared. I was a coward. Please forgive me. I love you.' Then you date him. Boom!" She spun away, arms wide like she was directing a play. "Jesus, I'm glad you're not all sad and mopey anymore, but these fights you've been picking lately? They're scrambling your brain."

"I hate being in love, dude. That shit's gross. Makes me all sappy and soft."

"It also makes you cuter~"

You grunted. She just laughed, slinging her arms around your neck and rubbing her cheek against yours like an annoying cat.

"I'm joking~ You've always been soft and cute." Then she shoved you away with a grin. "Now go. Do the one part of a relationship you've been avoiding like a complete dumbass: communication."

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face before heading toward the gym.

It was Monday now, and almost two weeks of this stupid dance was enough. Enough missing him. Enough pride swallowing. Enough pretending.

You waited for the final bell. Waited for that slow burn of guilt and longing in your chest to get hot enough to move you—but not so hot it turned into something reckless.

You were ready to talk. To say something. Anything. Mostly sorry.

You were.

Until you saw who he was talking to.

Hebinuma fucking Mizuki again.

Your skin crawled the second her voice floated toward you. Your blood turned to boiling tar.

You didn't hesitate.

"Tetsurou," you called out, voice sharp like a whipcrack—more warning than greeting.

Both of them turned. You walked straight up, eyes locked on her like a loaded gun. Hebinuma flinched.

"Don't pet every stray puppy you see," you snapped. "That one's got mange."

Kuroo blinked like he had to double-check what you just said. Hebinuma did too—twice—then plastered on a tight, fake smile.

"Oh, L/N-san. No need to be so hostile..." she cooed. But her jaw was tight. One eye twitched. Sweet as arsenic.

"Hebinuma," you said flatly, folding your arms. "That one's off-limits."

She blinked—slow and fake, like a dumb deer. Then you saw it—the flicker. That glint in her eye.

"I didn't know you two were..." she started.

"We're not." Kuroo cut in—too fast.

Your jaw locked tight.

Hebinuma smiled, sharp now. "Be careful, Kuroo-san. Her and her friend—"

"What's that about my friend?" you snapped, stepping forward.

She flinched, but kept going.

"I'm just saying..." She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear with mock innocence. "Being seen around girls like her could tarnish his reputation."

The fury in your chest flared red-hot.

"Worry about your own business," you growled, "and get the fuck out."

Her voice shook a little, but again, she continued. She seemed braver than usual—like she thought Kuroo might protect her. 

(She was wrong.)

"Ah, L/N-san... Why are you always so mean? We used to be good friends in junior high~"

Your voice sliced through her fake sweetness.

"I was never your friend, you nasty bitch. Don't tie my name to yours. And take a few steps back before I catch mange, too."

Her smile cracked. Red bloomed across her cheeks—anger or humiliation, maybe both.

She opened her mouth, but you were already moving in her space. Eyes narrow.

Nose inches from hers and heat rolling off you like a flame about to catch.

"Scram," you said, low and deadly. "Just seeing your face pisses me off. Or do you want a little reminder of first year?"

Her pupils shrank. 

There it was—fear. 

But instead of answering, she looked at Kuroo like he'd save her, like he might step in.

He wasn't even looking. One hand was pinching the bridge of his nose like you were giving him a headache.

(You were.)

She shook her head with a huff and stomped off, perfume lingering like rot under flowers.

You turned to Kuroo with a smirk tugging at your lips.

He didn't return it.

Still rubbing his temples, he looked at you like you'd just insulted his mother in front of a teacher.

"I was looking for you," you said casually, ignoring the thundercloud over his head.

You jabbed a thumb toward where Hebinuma had vanished. "Since when do you hang out with bishoujos? That's not like you."

"What are you doing here?"

Your smirk faded. And you nodded slowly toward him. "I get it, you're pissed."

"Yeah! I'm a little pissed," he snapped. "She could've been Nekoma's manager."

You frowned. That's not exactly what you were thinking he was pissed at. 

"You guys don't need a manager. You're cool. You've always handled it."

"What would you know?"

"Whoa. Attitude." You raised both your hands like you were surrendering. "Sorry I scared your little fan. You wouldn't want her around anyway if you—"

"My what? Wait. Are you jealous?" His eyes widened, faking surprise. "Is that why you barked at her and scared her off?"

"Not entirely," you shrugged, smug.

"You're not even denying it."

"I don't share, Tetsurou."

"You can't monopolize me."

"I can try~"

"I don't get it," he muttered. "We make out, we sleep together, we do everything couples do—but when I actually ask you out, you reject me. Then you show up and threaten a girl who breathes near me. What the hell am I supposed to make of that?"

He moved closer without thinking. You didn’t move back. Not even an inch.

You crossed your arms, glaring off to the side. "Honestly? She's just a bitch. That's ninety percent of it. But yeah, her batting those fake-ass lashes at you and putting her hands all over you? That did set me off a little." 

Your fingers twitched as you glanced toward where Hebinuma had left, jaw clenched. "I'm getting pissed again. I might go back and—"

Kuroo's hands gripped your shoulders, firm and sudden, shaking you just enough to snap your eyes back to his.

"Stop. Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Trying to punch your way through every emotion."

"I don't do that."

"You do."

"I don't—"

"Fuck's sake!" He groaned, dropping his head like you were physically draining his soul. "Why do you even hate her so much? What did she do?"

"She's using you," you snapped, not really answering the question. "She knows I'm into you, and she's gonna use you to piss me off."

"Well, joke's on her, then. You're not that into me anyway. You rejected me, remember?"

"She's using you," you repeated.

"And you're not?"

You froze.

You could've apologized right there. That was the whole reason you came.

But the image of Hebinuma touching him—her claws on his arm, her voice in his ear—was still stuck behind your eyelids.

"Okay, well, she's using you in a gross Machiavellian way. I'm using you in a cute Ayn Rand way."

"You hate Ayn Rand," he snapped.

"Exactly," you muttered.

He stared. "You know what? It doesn't matter. You're giving me a migraine. Just... leave me alone."

He turned on his heel, the movement sharp.

Your jaw locked. You threw a silent apology to Emi and stepped forward, forcing the words out.

"She's a bully. Hebinuma."

He didn't turn. But he paused.

"She used to bully Emi in junior high. Still spreads rumors about her. Just 'cause she's a gyaru. Just 'cause she's jealous. I know she looks sweet, but she's poison."

Your voice had dropped—lower, honest. It hurt to say, to tell on Emi. But it was the only way to reach him.

You exhaled sharply. "Ask Kenma. She tried to make his life hell in his first year too—for a while. I bet he could smell her a mile away and that made her uneasy. Good luck he didn't give a fuck... Ask him if you don't believe me."

Another pause. He stopped. Shoulders tense. Then turned—just enough to glance at you over his shoulder, jaw ticking.

"I also thought there was something off about her. She's fake."

You scoffed. "Then why would you even consider letting her hang around you like that? Are you trying to piss me off?"

He rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it.

"Not everything is about you, Y/N."

"If it's about you, I want it to be."

That stunned him. Just for a moment.

"Let's do it," you said. "The dating thing. The... feelings n' shit."

He turned the rest of the way. His brows drew together sharply. His mouth parted, then clamped shut again—like he couldn’t decide if he should laugh or scream. Like he couldn't believe your audacity.

"That's your confession?"

You stepped closer before your brain could stop your feet, pulse punching behind your ribs. "Take it or leave it."

His eyes flicked over your face like he couldn’t decide where to settle—your mouth, your eyes, your mouth again.

"Okay. I refuse then." His voice was low—dangerously low. “You show up, bark at some girl like I belong to you—and then what? Drop half a confession like it’s supposed to fix everything?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The air between you buzzed, charged and heavy. His chest rose and fell, uneven. The heat building between you turned suffocating.

His gaze dragged back to your lips. Just for a second.

But it was enough.

"If you think that’s how you make it up to me for breaking my heart, think again. I want an apology. A real one. Then a cute confession. Like in the movies. With a letter and chocolate and shit."

"Am I a clown to you?" you hissed, lip curling.

"Oh, shut up."

You grabbed his tie at the same time he surged forward, and the kiss landed like a spark in dry grass.

Instant. All-consuming.

You gasped into it, hands fisting his shirt like you'd been drowning and just found air again. He groaned, hand sliding to the back of your neck, holding you there, mouth hungry against yours.

Tongues clashed. Teeth grazed. You didn’t even know what the hell you were doing—just that you had to. That his mouth was fire and yours was gasoline.

You kissed like enemies. Like neither of you wanted to give in first, breathing each other in like poison you couldn’t help drinking.

His breath hitched when you tugged at his tie and bit down on his bottom lip—not enough to hurt, just enough to piss him off. He shoved you back a step, crowding you against the brick wall behind the gym. His lips chased yours again, hungrier, messier. His hands slid under your shirt, palms hot, fingers splaying across your spine like he needed to hold something solid or he’d fall apart.

He pulled back just enough to growl, "I’m still mad at you."

"I know," you whispered. "I'm mad at me too."

Your hands tangled in his hair, dragging him back down. You were breathless. Shaking. But you didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

He kissed you like a grudge—like he didn’t know whether to devour you or destroy you. All frustration and bruised ego and unspoken need.

The kiss slowed—only slightly. Still desperate, still angry, but now there was something else slipping between the cracks. Something vulnerable.

He broke away again, panting. His forehead pressed against yours. His hands were still on your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go, even if he knew he should.

"I want more than this," he said, voice raw and breaking.

You shut your eyes.

"I’m trying," you said, barely audible. "I came here to try."

Your lips were swollen. So were his. Your whole body thrummed, screaming at you to pull him back, to fix it the only way you knew how.

But he didn’t kiss you again.

He stepped back—like it hurt to do it—and dragged in a breath.

Then he looked at you. Long and hard. Like he was reminding himself of the reason he was so mad at you.

"I’m not your outlet," he said hoarsely. "You don’t get to use me every time you’re bored or jealous or scared to feel something real. Come to me when you're ready to actually talk feelings…"

His voice cracked. Just barely.

"Figure your shit out. I'm tired, Y/N."

And just like that, he turned.

You didn’t stop him.

Your breath left you in a slow, broken exhale. Your mask slipped. Shoulders sagged.

"Right."

Next chapter↪

tags. @themoreeviltwin @taylordenae @rhea-sylvea @iluvikeu @tgnvhp @adangerousbalance @orphicarchive @tammytaamm @iluvmusicxoxo @rvm1ne @kuzoq @espressocandies @ashley95943734 @jayathelostdragon @kyokoyya

[ifangirlalot]

could you write a fingering smutfic w reader x mike or richie?? I love your fics 😭‼️

˗ˏˋ 𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐓𝐒 ˎˊ˗ | starring mike wheeler & richie tozier

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

*~smut!~* [𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘]: fingering, lewd language, no p in v this time

You guys do know it's okay to request for more than one character, right? I'm more than happy to do more than one :p

Also, sorry to disappoint, but requests are off until further notice, I have like 20 something in my inbox that I need to get...... :')

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

┊ ˚➶ ｡Mike Wheeler ˚ ☁️

Mike Wheeler was most certainly not a "ladies' man". Mike Wheeler was a nerd. He spent most of his time playing nerdy fantasy RPG games in his basement with his friends. He didn't know the first thing about pleasing a woman.

Or at least, he didn't think he did.

But from the way [Name] was currently writhing underneath the tips of his fingers, the way her plump pink lips were opened into an 'o' shape, the lewd, pornographic moans slipping through as she screamed at him for more, he was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, he was better at it than he gave himself credit for.

[Name]'s fingers closed around his wrist as his two digits continued to piston in and out of her wet, gummy opening. "Oh god- oh god, Michael, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop!" she begged, panting heavily for a few moments before elicting another loud moan.

Mike's teeth sank into his lower lip as he slowly circled her clit with his thumb. He watched with fascination as she parted her legs even further apart, chewing on her own lip as she looked between her legs, watching his fingers appear and disappear from her pussy opening.

"Cumming soon." [Name] announced, tilting her head back against the pillow.

With new motivation, Mike pulled his fingers out slightly and jammed them back in at a new speed. He could hear the wet pap sound his fingers made every time they thrusted into her sweet, wet hole. She was so wet he could see the moisture glistening beneath the dim lighting in his basement.

And then she came. With a series of throaty moans, high pitched gasping, and loud whimpers, [Name] spilled her orgasmic liquids all over his fingers. He could feel the bulge in his pants throbbing as he watched the thick, cream colored liquid drip down his wrist.

┊ ˚➶ ｡Richie Tozier ˚ ☁️

Richie pretended to be into the movie playing at the Derry theater. He really did. But he just couldn't. The damn thing was so fucking boring. So about twenty minutes in, he walked his fingers between he and [Name]'s seats and to her thighs. She was wearing a sundress tonight. Lucky for him, right?

Keeping his gaze straight ahead so as not to draw attention to himself, he pushed the hem of the dress skirt up slowly with his index finger. He could feel the soft, smooth skin of her thigh beneath his fingertip.

[Name] gasped, quickly pushing his hand away. "Richie, are you crazy?!" she hissed, her face flaming red with embarrassment. "Not here, we're in pub-"

Richie cut her off. "Shhh… Just relax, doll. Lemme work my magic."

Evidentally, she wasn't too objected to him, as she didn't protest again. On the contrary, she cracked her legs open slightly. Richie smirked to himself and slowly pushed his hand up her skirt again.

His fingers reached what he wanted and he let out a low, satisfied hum. "Hm… all wet, doll? Damn girl.. already?" Richie smirked and pushed the girl's panties aside.

As his fingers began working her over slowly, [Name] let out a soft moan and reached between her legs, placing her hand over Richie's above her clothes. Richie inserted two digits into her sweet, juicy cunt and slowly thrusted them, his thumb brushing her clit in quick stroking motions. He wanted so badly to finger fuck the shit out of her, but he didn't want the noise of her sopping cunt to draw attention over, so he kept his thrusts slow and even.

[Name] could barely contain herself as is anyway. She squirmed and whimpered through her clamped shut lips, her hand pushing against Richie's and trying to get his fingers to go in deeper, deeper.

Her sounds were starting to get to him. He could feel his cock stirring to life in his jeans and he groaned quietly, wanting nothing more than to bury inside her pussy to relieve the both of them. But instead, he pummeled his fingers deeper into her cunt and ticked off the minutes until this damn movie was over.

[citruswriter]

Prompt

"Did you really just call me —---"

I just like the idea of the boys being called the wrong name by an overtired reader

Bayverse Turtles x Eepy Reader

Listen with me! ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

A/N: THANKS POOKIE!

Leonardo x Reader 🧡

You'd been up for over 24 hours.

You were working on some damn essay and surrounded by a graveyard of red bull cans.

You were barely even awake, slowly tapping at the keys on your laptop while Leo sat on your bed reading a book.

"I think it's time for bed, dear." He said finally, getting up to take you to bed.

You whined in protest as Leo gently tugged you. "Fuck off, Mom. I need to finish this". You muttered and Leo couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh I'm mom now?" He questioned and you tilted your head back to look at him, a sleepy smile appearing. "Oh hey Leo".

Que this man laughing his ass off.

"Come to bed, blossom. You're so tired, you just called me mom". He said, picking you up bridal style.

You couldn't help but snort with laughter. "That's fucking hilarious."

You were asleep before your head even hit the pillow.

Leo took the time to pick up a little bit before crawling into bed with you

"Of all things to call me, you call me mom". He muttered as he kissed your forehead.

Trust me, you will never live this down. He's teasing you about it for years.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Raphael x Reader 🧡

Raph had been out on a night patrol and had left you in his room. You wanted to wait up for him, really you did. But you were just so damn tired.

So you got all comfy and cozied up into a little tiny ball before drifting off.

When Raph finally came back, he couldn't help but smile down at you

"I'm back kitten." He muttered, gently shaking you. You whined and pushed him off if you.

"Lemme aloneeeeee." You whined, not exactly fully awake. Raph raised a brow ridge at you and tried to pull the blankets back in hopes for some cuddles.

"Hunter if you don't fuck off, I'm beating your ass and then telling mom". You growled before turning over, huffing.

Raph stood there for a few seconds before chuckling and rolling you onto your back.

"Hunter?" Was all he said and you cracked your eyes open.

"Hm? Oh hey baby." You said with a sleep giggle, unraveling some to give him some blanket so he could crawl in and cuddle you.

You hummed as he drew you close against his plastron.

"So who's Hunter?" He asked and you scrunched up your face. "My older brother." You replied.

Raph laughed softly and kissed your cheek. "Go back to bed, sweetness"

And for your information, yes. I have an older brother named Hunter. Fuck you Hunter.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Donatello x Reader 🧡

Oh boy.

For once Donnie was trying to drag you to bed.

It had been hours and you were still researching for your latest hyperfixation. And as much as he understood and admired your passion, it was bedtime and goddammit this man wanted his fucking cuddles.

He noticed your eyes droop and he sighed, standing up to tug at you.

"Bedtime, little one". He said but you just whined, tugging your arm back. "Five more minutes, Dad."

Donnie let out a laugh. "Did you really just call me dad?" He snickered and you slowly drug your eyes over at him before giggling.

"Oh my gosh I did." You said, planting your face in your hands and laughing with him.

"You. Me. Bed. Now". He said, picking you up. "Bossy, bossy." You teased but nuzzled into him none the less.

He scoffed and laid you down. "You're way worse. Don't even." He said as he cuddled up to you, arms trapping you against him.

"G'night". You said, speech slurred from how sleepy you were. Donnie nuzzled into your neck, breathing you in and chrruing softly.

"Good night, my dove".

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Michaelangelo x Reader 🧡

You were so tired. You had stayed up all night last night playing video games with Mikey and now it was midday and you were dead tired.

You leaned your head back onto the couch that you and Mikey had been sitting on and you could feel yourself getting drowsy.

Mikey looked over at you and nudged you. "(Y/N)?" He questioned as he notified you drifting off.

You whined and pushed his arm away. "Not now, April. Whatever earth shattering news story you have right now can wait". You complained.

Mikey couldn't help but laugh. "No way you just called me April." He called and you lifted your head to look at him and laugh yourself.

"Oh fuck. I'm so sorry, Mikey". You giggled out and Mikey smiled softly, grabbing you and placing you on his lap.

"Get comfy. You can take a nap on me." He offered and you smiled, squirming around until you were all comfy.

It didn't take long before you drifted off into slumber against him. Mikey did his best not to move too much.

And when you woke up, there was pizza and orange crush waiting for you.

Oh and you're never living this one down. Not with Mikey. Be prepared to die of embarrassment.

It's shitty, I know. But it's also super cute so I'm posting it anyways and ya'll can suffer with my cringe.

[hoshifighting]

Hello! I love your work 🥹 I hope you are well

Just wanna ask your thoughts on how the seventeen members would react to see you driving speed / you being fast on connected apps like ‘Find My’ heheheeheh

Thank you ❤️

a/n: thank u sweetie, i loved it!! im doing well!! <33 i hope i understood well.. like a gearhead girlfriend?... made w/ luv ❤️

WARNINGS: mentions of breakig the speed limit

seungcheol: “yo yo yo, slow the fuck down, we ain’t tryna die today!!” he’s literally shouting through the app, and you could almost see him gripping the imaginary 'oh shit' handle in the backseat. he loves you, but he’s lowkey shitting bricks rn, “bruh, this ain't fast & furious... i swear if we crash, it’s on you.”

jeonghan: sigh “baby, why you gotta be like this?” he’s too cool to actually panic, but you can feel him judging the fuck outta you. he’ll make you feel like the most irresponsible person alive while also making it clear he’s kinda impressed. “next time, let me drive so we don’t both end up with speeding tickets… but like… you kinda look hot doing it though, not gonna lie.” he’s smirking on the other side of the screen.

joshua: “ok but like… are we trying to break a record or what?” he’s nervous but trying to stay calm, but you can tell he’s clutching his pearls behind that smooth tone. “maybe, uh, we could slow down just a tiny bit? just a suggestion...” definitely trying not to freak out completely, but he’s one bad swerve from straight-up praying.

jun’s all for it, honestly. he’s got his phone up to show the speedometer on his end, clearly thriving. “you wanna hit 120? bet, i’m down, let’s fucking go!” jun’s just living it, probably snapping selfies like it’s no big deal while the car’s shaking at 90 mph.

hoshi: “wait—WAIT! y/n, no no NO, what the hell?? slow down before i shit my pants.” he close his eyes, dramatic as fuck, genuinely convinced y’all are about to fly off the highway. nearly crying as he clutches his phone. “i got shit to do tomorrow!! i can’t die today, not like this!”

wonwoo’s just... chillin’. he doesn’t really say much at first. just sends a simple, “you good?” text. he’s the only one calm in this whole situation. when you don’t respond right away, he hits you with, “bet you won’t keep up with the guy in the ferrari tho...” and you’re like, oh shit. he’s egging you on. he's vibing with the chaos, but lowkey wants to see how far you'll take it.

woozi: “y/n, you better chill the fuck out.” straight-up scolding you. no fluff, just pure frustration. jihoon’s too rational for this speed demon shit, and he’s already calculating how much the damn fine’s gonna be if you get caught. “if you crash, you better hope i’m not in the car, ‘cause i ain’t helping your ass.” classic jihoon—pissed, but still kinda impressed at your audacity.

seokmin: “YO, SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!” pure panic in his voice,like he’s watching a horror movie. “do you wanna give me a heart attack? holy shit!!” he’s basically pleading with you at this point, full-on hands shaking, worried sick like a damn mother hen. “i’m way too pretty to die like this, please, for the love of god, just slow down.”

mingyu: WELL THIS MAN HAVE LICENSE FOR IT, no fear at all. “you drive like a fucking beast, lemme hop in the car next time.” he’s fully living for the thrill, no reservations whatsoever. he’s gassing you up like no one would. adrenaline junkie.

minghao’s already over it. deadpan as fuck. “why you gotta stress me like this? i’m way too zen for this shit.”

seungkwan: “OKAY STOP! STOP! i didn’t sign up for this kinda trauma. you tryna die young, huh?!” yelling in the app for you to pull over before he passes out from sheer anxiety. “i’m never getting in a car with you ever again, swear on my life.”

vernon: “i mean, if we crash, we crash. kinda sick though, right?” no panic, no complaints, just lowkey impressed. “but like… how fast can you actually go?”

chan: “y/n, this isn’t a fucking video game!” poor baby is stressed out, clenching his fists like his life’s on the line. “i can’t do this. my heart can’t handle this. you tryna give me a heart attack?!” genuinely scared shitless. “you really gotta slow down before i fucking pass out in the toilet bro”