#I love a man with four eyebrows

[yappacadaver]

I’m always finding twiggy old men with big sparkling eyes

[lokissweater]

miss pretty

{single dad!katsuki bakugo x kindergarten teacher f!reader}

summary: katsuki bakugo has never liked mess and always made sure his son and his life reflected just that. with years worth of a sparkling clean and organized home, toys put away and not once scattered about, and a barking knack over any calls of disorder in his life— meeting you, his sons sweet and sugary kindergarten teacher who was the definition of pure and who was for some reason turning his fiery heart into complete goo— was altering his boring strict cycles of no messes around… and for the better.

warnings: cursing, FLUFFF GALORE MY GAWD??, no smut but a lil steamy something, slight angst, afab!reader, katsuki thinks you are an ANGEL, sunshine x grumpy trope, mentions of abandonment, WHOLESOME AFFF, use of y/n, all characters are aged up.

word count: 11.4k

authors note: THIS MAKES ME WANT TO BE A MOTHERRRRR omg this one is sickeningly sweet and i’ve gotten a few requests to do sunshine x grumpy with sir katsuki and i WAS ALLL OVERRR ITTT i hope i fulfilled!!! <333 THANK YOU THANK YOU AS ALWAYS FOR ALL OF YOU BEING SOOO SWEETT TO MEEE I LOVE YOUUUU MWAAAHHH :] <33333

katsuki bakugo hated messes.

“oi!” he grunted, his son’s little head turning to look at him as he munched on his gummy fruit snacks from the backseat. “you better not leave that wrapper in here. take it outside with you when i drop you off.”

“kaaayyy!” his son dragged out happily, completely unphased by his dads snappy personality as he contemplated on which color fruit gummy to eat next.

“and wash your hands too. ask your teacher.”

“mhm!” he chirped.

“and don’t be a brat. pay attention.”

“yup yup!”

and for the most part, his life reflected that almost entirely— raising his son to always clean up after himself and not make bombastic huge messes around the house, begrudgingly understanding that he’s a small growing human, that a little spill of apple juice or two is basically guaranteed… but he just hated mess, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t raise his son right to be a clean and organized man even at five years old— katsuki keeping everything in his life practically spotless.

that was of course, until he met you.

katsuki shoved through the other parents in line as he went up to the front desk in the main office with a grip on his sons little hand, not giving a damn about the glares and huffs of bewilderment he got as there was no way in hell he was gonna wait like an idiot with the rest of them.

the lady at the front desk raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“can i help—”

“where the fuck is room twenty four.”

her eyes bulged open as the rest of the parents in line softly gasped and murmured.

“e—excuse me?—”

he rolled his eyes.

“room twenty four.” he pushed. “where is it?”

“sir— if you need me to help you i’d like you to wait in line until—”

“hah?! absolutely not.” he spat. “if i wait in that fucking line my son’s gonna be late why can’t you just tell me—”

“uh sir if you could—”

katsuki’s son giggled as he continued to spout profanities at the poor front desk lady.

“—sir please no foul language there are children around—”

“i don’t give a shit! just tell me where room twenty four is what the hell is so hard about that?!—”

“oh! that’s my class!”

katsuki snapped his head over, fiery red eyes shooting towards the voice until they landed on yours.

“is he one of my kids?” you smiled sweetly, eyes coming down to look at his son.

“oh—” he let his shoulders relax just a tad as he watched you fix the strap of his sons backpack on his shoulder. “i mean— if your class is twenty four—“

“it is!” you beamed, nudging your head. “i’ll show you where!”

“hiii miiiissss!” his son greeted, happy and silly as he followed you down the hall.

“hi honey!” you gushed, just as excited as he was as you patted over his blonde scruffy hair. “what’s your name?”

“milo!”

“nice to meet you milo! are you excited for your first day?”

“yeaaahh!” he cheered, smile bright as he grabbed your hand.

katsuki’s eyes widened.

“milo!” he snapped lowly. “what’d i tell ya? you can’t grab her hand like that you have to ask—”

“oh it’s alright!” you dismissed, smiling. “i don’t mind it at all! the other kids do it too.”

milo snickered and stuck his little tongue out at his dad, and katsuki rolled his eyes.

“is he yours?” you asked kindly, tilting your head.

“who else would he be…” he grumbled.

“i guess you’re right!” you giggled. “he looks just like you.”

katsuki’s eyes flickered to yours before dropping back down, a permanent furrow in his brows as you all rounded the corner.

“here we are—”

“ooo! ooo!” milo hopped up and down. “miss you have race cars?! dad can i please go?!”

he looked over, a mountain of toys scattered about in the classrooms play area, little kids already making a damn mess and the school day hadn’t even officially started yet.

“the hell you asking me for? ask your tea—”

“miss miss can i please go play with the race cars?!—”

“of course my love! go! go have fun.” you smiled, gently ushering him on before milo zoomed over to the play area and crouched down with the rest of the kids.

“oi!” katsuki barked. “put them away when you’re done!”

he huffed under his breath as he watched his son give him a thumbs up and fucking dump the entire bucket of race cars down on the ‘abc’ play rug, taking one in each hand and dragging them across floor.

“he’s so cuteee.” you grinned. “i’m glad he’s not afraid being it’s his first day.”

“oh fuck no.” he mumbled. “milo doesn’t care. the little runt doesn’t have a filter and does whatever the hell he wants without askin’ sometimes.”

he leaned against the doorsill as he watched milo converse with another kid and share a car, satisfaction in his chest that his son was sharing and being nice.

“but i guess he gets that from me.” he finished off.

you nodded. “but that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

he pursed his lips.

“in my experience, not really.”

you hummed.

“i think it’s definitely a good thing… i’d rather be assertive of things and not be afraid of what the consequences will be.”

katsuki looked at you, properly this time.

“what’s a kindergarten teacher afraid of?”

you shrugged, a slow playful grin spreading across your face.

“parents.”

he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and you quickly had to look away, a pink buzz to your cheeks at the way his big built arms flexed.

inappropriate inappropriate inappropriate—

“i don’t know how you do it..” he spoke lowly.

“do what?”

“take care of little shits all day.”

you laughed loudly, reeling over a bit as he watched you out of the corner of his eye.

“i don’t take care of them! i teach them.” you quipped cutely. “they’re small, but this is when their brains drink up the most knowledge… and i love to see the progress from the beginning of the year compared to the end! i love it all really.”

pure.

katsuki curtly nodded, your sweet positive ambiance throwing him completely off, as he doesn’t think he’s ever met or surrounded himself around someone who’s directly emmitted the feeling of sunshine and rainbows and candy as much as you did.

and his cheeks flared up for some reason.

“oh!” you looked to the time on your little wrist watch and walked inside your classroom. “it’s almost time to start! i have to wrangle them all in their seats heh!”

katsuki swallowed and nodded.

“milo!”

he turned and upon seeing his dad wave him over, milo dropped his toys and bounded to him.

“don’t give her a hard time alright?” he spoke sternly, nudging his head over at you for emphasis. “listen. listen and learn and be the best one in there.”

“kaaayyy!”

“and you let me know if any of the other kids mess with you or you deal with it yourself. you already know how—”

“beat the crap out of them!” he cheered loudly and katsuki’s hand flew to clasp over his sons mouth before his frantic eyes looked at you.

the last thing he needed was someone to call up fucking child protective services on him.

“he’s joking! he’s joking… fuck.”

you giggled hard and clutched your stomach, your pretty smile sending katsuki for a loop.

“no you’re absolutely right!” you waved your hands in front of your face, reassuring. “treat others the way you want to be treated, so if someone’s being mean to you, bite back milo, okay? and also let me know first though!”

katsuki gave you a wobbly tiny smile amidst his branded serious face, looking at his son then and ruffling up his hair.

“okay, go.” milo ran off. “and don’t let me pick you up with dirt all over your clothes ya hear me?!”

“byeee daaaddd!”

you could tell that behind his harsh exterior— the slight purse of his lips, stiff frame and bouncing leg gave away that he was only worried about his kid and his first day of school, a sight you’ve seen time and time again since you started working as a kindergarten teacher, and one that never failed to warm your heart.

“don’t worry!” you sweetly smiled, and katsuki switched his gaze over to yours. “i’ll watch him especially… okay? to ease the nerves.”

he softly snorted, attempting to play it off but internally relieved as he pushed himself off the doorsill and nodded, thankful that the teacher milo got was as kind as you.

“um…” he mumbled. “katsuki.”

you tilted your head. “katsuki?”

“it’s my name idiot.”

“oh!” you giggled, a blush rising in your cheeks again as you tried to simmer it down. “nice to meet you katsuki! i’ll see you after school then with milo?”

he stiffly nodded, the way his name sounded so sugary off your tongue something he’d never heard before in his life or was used to at all.

“…ya gonna tell me yours or what?”

“sorry!” you sputtered, laughing nervously. “sorry it just— flew! you know—”

you stuck your hand out and offered it to him.

“y/n!”

katsuki untangled his arms and firmly shook it, grip strong and one that nearly made you stumble forward as you caught yourself and smiled.

“i’ll see you katsuki!”

out of all of the kids you’ve taught, milo was by far the cutest one.

the little man was like your personal assistant— a little bee buzzing around as he followed you everywhere in the classroom and helped you clean up after the rest of the kids that didn’t, ‘yelling’ at some of them to and cutely scolding them whenever he’d catch them leave some things behind, and was always on watch for you like a security guard with his little balled up fists on his hips, surveilling the classroom for any misbehaving kids or messes that you’d missed throughout the day.

all traits you no doubt knew he got from katsuki, even if you had just met him. it was pleasantly obvious.

“thanks for helping me out today, milo!” you gushed, pushing another students chair in as they all sat down and chattered for lunch. “you made my job a lot easier!”

“really?!” he squealed, big glimmering eyes beaming up at you before he happily chowed down on some apple slices.

and you noticed then milo’s lunch was insane, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut up and molded neatly into the shape of panda bears, his watermelon and apple slices shaped like stars with carrots and celery lined up with a little wedge of lemon if he wished, tiny rice balls on the side for a little snack you figured in case what he had didn’t fill him up— all so considerate and careful…

“wow!” you exclaimed, kneeling down next to him. “your lunch looks so yummy my love! did your mommy make this?”

“nuh uh!” he shook his head, cheeks filled with watermelon. “my dad did!”

you faltered.

“katsuki made this?”

“who’s katsuki miss?” he asked curiously, sipping on his little juice box after swallowing the fruit in his mouth.

you giggled. “nothing! nothing. enjoy your lunch okay?”

you went to stand, but milo’s hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“can you— can you eat lunch with me?” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with some carrot pieces in his hands. “please.. i always eat with my dad but he’s not here…”

your eyes softened and you quickly nodded.

“of course! let me just go grab my lunch and ill bring it over! sounds good?”

“yaaaayyyy!” he cheered happily, arms up as you scooched a tiny chair over from a nearby table and sat with him, laughing at his cute expression.

you knew you shouldn’t use a little kid to pry… but you were guiltily curious as to know if katsuki was married or not for reasons that made you ridiculously flustered and red in the face over.

and you wanted to be respectful in case he was… since the ogling you did at his muscles this morning through his black ribbed tank was the most embarrassing moment of your career and one you hadn’t seen coming at all, it catching you off guard and feeling horrible if katsuki indeed had a wife.

but he didn’t have a ring on his finger…

“milo?” you spoke up softly.

he smiled big. “yes miss!”

“does your mommy make you lunch as well or just your dad?”

he shook his head. “just my dad! i don’t have a mom.”

your shoulders deflated.

he didn’t have a mom… at all?

you slowly reached over then and patted his blonde hair, smiling warmly as his cheeks went pink. “that’s alright! i’m sure your dad makes you lunches like this every time huh?”

“yeah!” he gasped excitedly. “yesterday he made pizzas and cut them into dinosaurs! it was so cool! and then!— and then this morning for breakfast i had waffles that looked like dynamite blasts!”

“oh my goodness!” you giggled, your heart absolutely thumping over the fact that katsuki was so dedicated to his son like that. “man, i wish my lunches were as cute as yours!”

his little eyes snapped to yours.

“i’ll tell him!”

your brows furrowed confusedly. “wha—”

“to make you lunch! i’ll tell my dad to make you lunch!”

your eyes widened and you frantically shook your head, cheeks blazing as you laughed. “oh no my love! that’s totally okay don’t worry about me silly—”

“i’ll tell him i’ll tell him i’ll tell him!—”

“milo it’s okay! i’m a big girl.” you grinned. “i’m supposed to make my own lunches.”

milo grumbled and plopped a carrot in his mouth, begrudgingly chewing as he sat there in thought.

“…will you at least let me share some of mine?”

you pouted at his generosity, wondering how a kid could be so sweet as you nodded and held your hand up.

“of course sweetie! whatever you wa—”

milo plopped all of his peanut butter sandwiches in your palm and grinned, earning a gasp from you.

“milo this is too much i can’t—”

“eat it! eat it! eait it!—”

by the end of the day, you managed to get milo to take back his sandwiches in exchange for one singular watermelon star piece, him still doing his regular duties of being your little assistant and helping you clean up after everyone before the final bell rang signaling the end of class, you carefully making sure each kiddo got their designated backpack (as there was often a mix up) and art pieces they made for their parents to take home— a permission slip for the end of the year field trip tucked away inside their bags.

and the minute you stepped outside with the rest of the kids, you were surprised to see that katsuki was one of the first parents there as he stood directly across from your classroom with crossed arms, an angry usual scowl on his face that made you laugh to yourself as you led your kids to sit down on a bench in a single file line until their parents physically came to get them or their vehicles pulled up.

“milo!” you tapped his shoulder gently. “your daddy’s over there!”

“DAAADDD!!”

milo jumped up and ran across the grass, his tiny arms out as katsuki smiled softly and crouched down to pick his son up and settle him on his lower abdomen, you wringing your fingers behind your back and walking up to them.

“were you a brat?” he grunted.

“nope!”

“did any kids mess with you?”

“nope!”

“did you leave a mess?”

“nope!”

you giggled, and katsuki’s eyes snapped in your direction.

“how was he?”

“he did so good!” you gushed, patting milo’s back as he grinned. “was my little helper and everything! didn’t leave a single mess behind and helped me clean up after everyone else… he even made sure everyone was paying attention and not misbehaving.”

“yeah! yeah! see dad?” milo poked his dads cheek. “i didn’t lie!”

“never said you lied you little runt.” he scowled. “…but good job.”

“thanks!”

katsuki set him down after milo started kicking his legs and saying something about the swings, him instantly running towards the playground and to the slide.

“did he actually do all of that?” he spoke up.

“oh yes!” you quickly nodded. “i’ve never had a kid do that before so it was really nice of him to!”

you detached your fingers from around your back and fiddled with them.

“you teach him well katsuki.”

he scoffed and turned his head, cheeks pink as he tried to regain his composure.

“damn right i do.”

you giggled then, the memory of milo telling you he didn’t have a mother suddenly popping into your mind as you watched him happily slide down the blue slide head first.

“hey i don’t mean to um..” you timidly began. “i don’t mean to pry but—”

katsuki raised a brow at you and you snapped your mouth shut.

“nothing! nothing nevermind—”

“spit it out.”

“no it’s alright! sorry i—”

he glared and you cowered, smiling bashfully as you bit your bottom lip.

“milo… milo mentioned that he didn’t have a mommy? i was just— wondering if that was true…”

“tch—” he shook his head. “that’s what you were afraid of askin’ me?”

“i told you i’m scared of parents…” you slumped cutely, and he chuckled.

“it’s just me and him.” he answered. “his mom’s never been a part of our lives.”

your heart sunk a little, eyes sad as your gaze shifted to milo playing and racing around with another kid.

“don’t do that.”

you jumped and looked at katsuki.

“do— do what—”

“look all sad and shit.”

he hesitantly reached over and planted an index finger to the crease between your brows, the feeling rough as he tried to gently drag it down and smooth over the lines.

“it’s fine.” he grumbled, letting his arm fall to his side. “it doesn’t bother him. at least i don’t think it does.”

“no!” you spoke quickly, a crazed blush on your cheeks. “it doesn’t! and milo speaks so highly of you… especially the lunches you make him.”

his brows furrowed. “his lunch?”

“yeah!” you nodded excitedly. “you prepare it so so well! how do you get his sandwiches to look like little bears? and his fruit?! every time i try to cut mine into stars they always break in half…”

he huffed out a laugh, finding your little whine funny as he reached over and ruffled up your hair, you smiling cheekily in response.

“do you use molds?” you asked politely. “to shape out the bear?”

“fuck no.” he scoffed. “i do it myself.”

your eyes flew open.

“what?! so that’s really just you? and the dinosaurs too? the pizza dinosaurs? and the waffles? the ones that looked like dynamite blasts—”

“jesus christ how much did that kid tell you?”

your face grew hot as you smacked a hand over your mouth.

“sorry!” you giggled. “i just was thinking— that his lunch was really cute and thoughtful…” you took your hand away from your face. “i’m really glad that you do little things like that for milo to make him happy.”

katsuki stared at you, your swarm of compliments and sweetness and sunshine and butterflies almost suffocating as you looked at him with those pretty doe eyes, his throat oddly closing up the longer he stared right back and allowed you to pull him into your world of wonder and abc blocks and puzzles.

but it wasn’t suffocating in a bad way, not at all.

and… maybe he did want you to pull him in.

“dad dad dad!”

milo ran over, sweaty and red faced as he reached the two of you.

“there’s a dead lizard in the slide!”

“a dead lizard?” you laughed, surprised as you reached for his little water bottle from his backpack on the ground and uncapped the lid, handing it over and ushering him to drink.

katsuki didn’t know why the domestic sight of you doing that made him melt a bit.

a bit.

“yeah miss! it was big and gross.” he breathed out after gulping some of his icy cold water. “but i buried him!”

his dads red eyes snapped down to his and narrowed.

“don’t tell me you touched that thing milo.”

“i did!” he giggled.

“oh my fucking god—” katsuki snatched his hand and started pulling him to the car as milo giggled and stuck his tongue out.

“it’s a prank! some other girl in my class did… but i helped with the dirt!”

you chuckled softly as you watched katsuki stop and roll his eyes, coming back over to you with a hyper milo.

“say bye to your teacher ya little runt. and you’re still taking a shower when you get home!”

“but i don’t wanna take a showeerrr!” milo whined, letting go of his dads hand and running to you, you crouching and extending your arms big with a pretty smile.

“bye my love!” you hugged him tight as he giggled. “i’ll see you tomorrow okay? and give your daddy a break. no more digging up dirt and playing with dead lizards.”

“kaayyyy!”

you both let go and he stepped back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before bouncing back to his dad.

katsuki choked on his spit.

“oi!” he barked. “you can’t just kiss her cheek milo the hell is going on with you?!—”

“it’s okay don’t worry!” you smiled kindly. “he’s just being sweet is all! i don’t mind.”

“you sure?” he pushed, milo snickering. “i—”

you waved him off and wrung your fingers behind your back, leaning forward.

“i’ll see you tomorrow morning kats!”

and he froze, nodding hard as he quickly took milo’s hand and backpack before walking to the car, his heart completely aflame in his chest and cheeks red as he led his babbling son further into the parking lot and inside the car, buckling him up in his car seat before hopping in himself and starting the engine, unbelieving that he had barely just met you and he was already thinking and acting like a fucking dumbass.

“and then we learned the days of the week! oh!— and we learned numbers! i can count to fifteen dad!”

“that’s good milo.” he responded, pulling out of the schools parking lot and craning his neck to see if he could catch a final glimpse of you and settling once he did, you so pretty and conversing so nicely with another kid until he was out of the lot.

“did you eat all of your lunch? y/n tells me ya shared with her.”

“i did! i did share with her.” he grinned. “she liked my lunch!”

“good.” katsuki gave him a thumbs up through the rear view mirror. “that’s good that you always share. especially with her.”

“yup yup! she’s preeettyyy.”

he rolled his eyes, but a small smile grew at the corner of his lips as he nodded curtly.

“that she is.”

katsuki continued to drop off his son personally at your classroom every morning before school.

even when it had been a couple of months into the year, at this point many students already used to their route to and out of class and their parents just dropping them off and leaving— them not even allowed on campus as security rounded every corner and told any parents who wished to go in that they weren’t supposed to, as per policy.

but not katsuki.

katsuki didn’t give a fuck as he stormed through the main office and ignored the calls of the front desk lady, her already used to the rude asshole who came through the building every morning as he strode by and down the hall to class twenty four… wanting to see you— his son’s pretty kindergarten teacher that was sweet and joyful and someone who was everything he wasn’t, his mind curious and filled with your giggles and smiles throughout the time that he’d gotten to know you and chat with you in the mornings and the afternoons, loving the way you were with milo and treated him like he was literally your own— always watching over him and making sure he had had enough to eat and drink and that his hands were washed when he wasn’t around.

and even katsuki himself— you bringing him candy bags from their classroom parties or donuts that were passed to faculty in the mornings and saving yours for him, treats he always took and ate with no questions asked even though he wasn’t a fan of sugary shit and junk food, always making the exception for you.

he had never experienced honest help like that… he’d never experienced someone caring enough about him and his son like the way you did so perfectly every single day…

and katsuki feared that he was a little obsessed.

“oh! miss y/n!”

“yes honey?” you responded kindly, opening a juice pouch for another student and handing it to them carefully during lunch.

milo dug into his lunch pail and pulled out a small container, sticking his hand up and offering it to you.

your brows furrowed, taking it from him.

“what’s this milo?”

“it’s from my dad!”

you stopped, heart dropping to your ass as you recounted his words.

from katsuki?

“your— your dad?”

“mhm!”

you shakily popped the lid of the container open, eyes widening and filling with hearts once you saw a mix of star shaped strawberries and watermelon and papayas, drizzled over with sparkling strings of honey and singular little blueberries scattered about.

“for me?” you asked softly, crouching down next to milo. “my love— are you sure this isn’t for you? i think your dad cut these up for you—”

“nope! for you!” he gave you a big toothy smile before stuffing his mouth with crackers. “he told me not to eat it and to give it to you.”

he swallowed and reached up, you tilting down your head so he could pat it just like you always did for him.

“i hope you like it miss! they look like the ones you told me looked cute!”

“i— i love them milo.. thank you!”

you picked up a papaya piece and ate it, entirely dazed and love struck as your tastebuds savored over the sweet velvety thick honey, literally blinking back tears at how thoughtful and kind katsuki was.

he didn’t have to do this at all… yet he took the time anyways out of his morning to do this for you.

and your heart nearly fucking gave out.

after school once you got your rowdy kids to sit neatly on the bench and wait for their parents, you extended a hand for milo and he hopped off the bench and took it, you both walking up to a waiting katsuki as he stood there with a soft smile on his face.

“hi kats!”

“hey.” he picked his son up and settled him over his abdomen, milo’s arms clinging around his neck and chin propped up on his dads shoulder as he was exhausted from a days worth of playing and learning.

“i wanted to um—” you peered up at him. “i um—”

his brows furrowed, and just as he was about to bark about you stumbling over your words, he stopped.

your bottom lip was trembling.

you hurriedly wiped your eyes.

“i wanted to thank you—” hic! “f—for the star shaped fruit this morning—”

“why are you crying dumbass?” he mumbled, reaching over and wiping some tears with his rough fingers.

“because it was so nice!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking as you let him wipe your cheeks. “and— and you put honey over it too! you didn’t have to do any of that for me!”

“tch—”

he flicked your forehead softly, not enough to hurt you but enough to get you to snap out of your hiccups as you sniffled.

“it’s just fruit y/n—”

“but it’s not.” you wiped your eyes again. “not to me anyways…”

katsuki slowly lowered his arm, gaze tracing over your pretty face and perfect hair and the way you cried over something so stupid, his brain unable to process the fact that an act as simple as cutting fruit up for you could make you this happy, and it made him want to see what you saw for once— how you saw the world for exactly what it was and appreciated it regardless of how big or small things were, not snippy or angry or spiteful over everyone and thinking everything was out to get him and his son.

“crybaby…” he grumbled. “i’m glad you liked it though.”

“i did kats.. a lot. thank you.” you wiped the last of your tears and smiled. “i’m sorry i cried.”

what a pretty sweet girl…

he shook his head and hoisted milo up, him completely knocked out with drool coming out of his mouth as katsuki felt it run down his shoulder, barely even noticing that though as his entire focus was trained purely on you.

was it okay if he… asked you out? would it be weird? would you tell him to fuck off?

katsuki internally rolled his eyes at his stupid fucking high school boy thoughts, though it didn’t alleviate the gnawing feeling that if you did tell him to fuck off… that he’d be angrily mortified at his fail and probably lose the right to talk to you since it’d be too awkward to.

but you were just so fucking sweet. all of the time.

“listen uh—” he cleared his throat, face growing hot. “i was wondering if ya wanted to eat dinner with me… sometime.”

you stared, eyes big and shocked and katsuki took it defensively and entirely the wrong way.

“forget it.” he snapped. “forget it i didn’t say shit—”

“no! no no—” you quickly shook your head. “no it’s okay i would!”

he stopped.

“you would?”

“of course!” you expressed sweetly, cheeks hurting from how big you were smiling as you tried to simmer down your giddy squeals. “i’d love to have dinner with you…”

his tense shoulders slowly relaxed, an eventual small smile growing on his face.

“a—alright uh…” he sighed. “i’d prefer to take ya somewhere nice but i don’t really have anyone to watch milo—”

you shook your head again, brows pinched. “oh no kats— we don’t have to go anywhere at all! we can order something in at your place and eat with milo? or— or my place?”

“my place.” he replied. “and i’ll cook.”

he cooks?!

“okay!” you giggled, your hand reaching up and patting over milo’s sleepy head gently. “sounds good!”

katsuki and you agreed on the details of the date after and bid each other bashful goodbyes, swooning as you watched him walk away into the parking lot with a sleeping milo in his arms and feeling like none of this was fucking real, for you couldn’t believe someone as handsome and cool as katsuki would ever be interested in someone like you.

and funnily enough, he felt the complete opposite, stressed and extra snappy as he cleaned the house from top to bottom (though it barely needed it), unnecessarily fixed the positioning of the furniture and made milo put away his toys, him not even whining or protesting like he usually did solely because the little man knew you were coming— pretty miss y/n with the pretty smile and the nicest lady he had ever met, and one he secretly hoped would be his new mommy every time he saw you and his dad converse before and after school, thinking you would fit the role perfectly.

especially after his dad had given you those fruits as a present!

“milo!” katsuki called. “come ‘ere!”

his son ran into the kitchen, toy race car in hand. “what!”

“be good today, ya hear me?” he pushed, face stern as he flipped a kitchen towel over his shoulder and sautéed vegetables in his frying pan. “please milo. don’t try to be funny and do somethin’ to scare y/n off.”

milo gave him a look.

“scare miss y/n off? dad you’re gonna scare her off not me!” he giggled. “silly.”

“yeah..” he grunted. “you’re probably right but i’m just sayin’. i’m thinking of the time grandma came over and ya put that fake rat in her purse to try and be funny.”

“ohhh yeeeeah!” he doubled over in little fits of laughter, holding his stomach as he did. “i did do that!”

“see what i mean?” katsuki grumbled, snatching the kitchen towel from his shoulder and throwing it down on the counter top, stepping back to peek in the oven. “you better not do that with y/n please.”

“i won’t!” he grinned. “not when she’s about to be my new mommy!”

katsuki choked as his spit went down the wrong pipe, bending over and coughing uncontrollably in his elbow before spinning around and looking at his son with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“the hell you just say?”

“what!” milo tilted his head. “that y/n is gonna be my new mommy?”

his eyes grew even wider as he dropped the pan he was holding on the stove and leaned back, running his hands over his face.

“oh you little runt please don’t say that in front of her, alright?”

he pouted. “why not?”

“you’ll scare her off! worse than when you put that fake rat in grandmas purse!”

“boooo!” milo stuck his tongue out and crossed his little arms over his chest. “whatever.”

“oi!”

“what!”

katsuki’s doorbell chimed and milo booked it to the front door.

“missss preettyyyy!!—”

“milo get your ass back here!—”

katsuki swung the door open and swooped his son in his arms just as he was about to pounce on you in midair, you giggling and covering your mouth as you watched the scene unfold before you.

“i’m sorry—”

“hiii misss y/nnn!” milo greeted happily, dangling off of his dad as katsuki tried to stop him from wiggling out of his grip. “i’m so exciteeeddd!—”

“hi my love!” you gushed warmly, smile wide as you extended your arms and walked forward, taking milo in your arms and setting him on your hip. “how are you? you excited to hang out with meee?”

“yes! yes!” he vigorously nodded. “i wanna show you all my race cars!”

“oh i can’t wait to seeee!” you bounced him on your hip and he giggled, you turning your attention and smiling at katsuki.

“hi kats!”

“the little brat is hogging—”

milo blew a silly raspberry at him before wrapping his arms around you and shoving his face into your neck.

you laughed and ran a soothing hand over the little man’s back, katsuki rolling his eyes before stepping to the side and letting you in, shutting the door behind him and leading you over to the kitchen.

and jesus christ you looked beautiful, him noting that pink was what you mainly wore on the day to day as he eyed your small rosy cardigan, you walking through his home and looking around and oblivious to the way he was staring at you like a fucking creep.

katsuki bit the inside of his cheek as he watched your eyes scan your surroundings, stupidly nervous about what you’d think of his house and furniture and minuscule decorations, and annoyed with himself that he’d even give a shit about something like that, trying to occupy himself and ignore it as he looked in the oven and lifted lids of various pots and pans, checking over tonight’s dinner.

“i’m sorry i’m behind…” he grumbled and waved his hand around. “had to clean the house and shower milo since he decided to play in the fuckin’ mud this morning.”

“oh you don’t have to apologize for that kats!” you looked at him worriedly. “you don’t have to apologize for anything i totally understand…”

you hoisted milo further up your hip and grinned. “i’m just happy to spend time with the both of you.”

katsuki felt smoke puff out of his red ears as he nodded and scratched the back of his neck, turning slightly and lifting the lids from his pots and pans again.

“miss preettyyyy!” milo whined. “when can i show you my race cars?!”

katsuki scowled and you laughed.

“now honey! but how about we move some of your toys to the living room so i can spend time with both you and dad? how does that sound?”

“yayayay!!” milo cheered, bouncing on your hip as you smiled cutely and set him down, him running off down the hall and you quickly following after him.

milo talked you through his entire collection of race cars as you both sat down on the living room rug— telling you the model of each and every one, what they did, how fast they went, they places they’d gone, and which were his favorites as you excitedly talked to him about his cars and shifted conversation between him and katsuki, a task he was surprised you did so efficiently, but then quickly realized that that was literally your fucking job everyday dealing with little brats talking your ears off and you attending all of them at the same time.

and when it came around to dinner time, you helped katsuki set up even through his snapping and huffing that you absolutely shouldn’t, you giving him a silly little face as you assisted anyways and set up milo’s booster seat, picking him up and sitting him down before buckling him up while katsuki placed your dishes on the table—

and gourmet fucking dishes at that.

you were bewildered. absolutely bewildered as you gawked over the lasagna platter he set before you, it delicate and fancy looking as he had even draped sauce on your gray ceramic plate in gourmet intricate designs, knowing that katsuki had mentioned to you he was a chef over the several months you’d gotten to know him, but you didn’t know exactly to which extent that chef occupation stretched to.

“kats…” you murmured. “what do you do for a living.”

“i told you idiot.” he passed over a couple of napkins and you gratefully took them, taking one then and wiping down milo’s mouth as he messily ate his cut up pieces of lasagna. “i’m a cook.”

“yeah but what kind? where?”

“why?” he gruffed. “does it look like shit?”

“no!” you giggled. “absolutely not the opposite actually! this is probably the most beautiful lasagna i’ve ever seen in my life.”

“duh.” he responded, but sent you a small smile as he ate. “i’m an executive chef down at a restaurant in the city.”

your jaw dropped. “the city?! you’re so cool kats! oh my goodness!”

his face flushed.

“my dad says his boss is a piece of—”

“don’t say it!” katsuki snapped at his son, eyes wide as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, not wanting to encourage the little man any further.

“milo i told ya not to cuss until you’re ten—”

“ten?!” you giggled loudly and let your hand fall, sticking your fork in your lasagna and eating. “as long as he cusses with you and not at you… i think it should be fine!”

katsuki stopped.

you get it. or you rile up his bad cussing habit. either or he might as well have found his fucking soulmate.

“miss pretty!” milo called.

“yes my love?”

“do you have a boyfriend?”

katsuki smacked a hand on his forehead and you snickered.

“i don’t!” you grinned. “why milo?”

“because i want you to be my new—”

“milo if ya shut your mouth right now i’ll buy you two new race cars tomorrow.”

his son gasped dramatically and pursed his lips shut, eyes big and excited as he tried to contain himself and do as told.

“his new what?” you tilted your head cutely, katsuki’s heart hammering against his rib cage as he stuffed his mouth with food.

he shrugged. “the fuck should i know?”

“but i wanna know!” you pouted, taking your final bites of your yummy dinner.

he swallowed.

“do you want dessert?”

you gasped. “oh my god yes! i do!”

“then i suggest you shut your mouth too.”

you laughed over the table, quickly nodding as you pursed your lips like milo and pinched your thumb and index finger together, running it across your mouth and twisting your wrist like a pretend lock before dropping your hand in your lap, giddy and excited over dessert.

katsuki playfully rolled his eyes and stood, collecting all of your plates and stacking them on top of each other before taking them over to the sink.

“dad!” milo called as he bounced in his seat, katsuki grunting in response.

“what’d you make for dessert!”

“mochi.”

“yaaaayyyyy!” he cheered happily. “can i eat it with y/n in the living room?”

katsuki’s brows furrowed. “the living room?”

“yeah!” milo exclaimed. “so i can keep showing her my race cars!”

he struggled for a moment before eventually nodding. “alright… but don’t make a mess i just cleaned—”

you and milo ended up building a fucking fort once he gave you the all clear, you both saying something about it adding to the ambiance as you used the couch cushions for makeshift walls and milo’s choo choo train sheets for the roof and tent, katsuki before he knew it his entire living room a fucking mess as the three of you sat amongst the scattered about pillows and blankets eating your bits of mochi, milo mainly inside the little tent you made for him as you and katsuki were too big to fit inside with him.

his living room was a mess… but he didn’t mind.

katsuki didn’t mind the mess.

your way of living was entirely different from his, as yours had everything to do with mess due to your full time job with kids— paint all over your hands and face, marker stains on your clothes and sticky glue residue and pieces of cut up construction paper somehow in your hair, all things katsuki despised for years and made sure his house never reflected any of that.

but in that moment, with his living room in complete disarray and the positioning of his couches utterly fucked up? the dishes still in the sink and the table still set?

katsuki didn’t fucking care.

because he had never seen his son so happy. he had never seen him so excited and hyper as you helped him set up and somehow tie fairy lights that katsuki had somewhere up in his attic for holiday seasons around the fort, you looking fucking gorgeous under the dim dark lightning as you read milo one of his favorite children’s books you got from his little shelf in his room— ‘the very hungry caterpillar,’ one of your favorites too as his son followed along with you and giggled whenever you’d make a silly joke only a five year old would find funny.

and katsuki felt warm… that’s all he ever felt when he was around you.

is this what it was like to be a family?

“oh my goodness i almost forgot!” you quickly sat up and handed milo the book, him taking it as you crawled over and reached for your bag. “i brought something for you honey!”

milo gasped and sat up. “really?! what?!”

you pulled out a ceramic cream colored globe with hollowed out stars, a small bulb inside as you scooched on your knees back over to a curious katsuki and milo.

“woah..” his son whispered. “what is it?”

you smiled and reached for the nearest outlet, plugging in the little globe and flicking a switch.

the darkened room illuminated itself then with the soft murmur of a lullaby playing, star shaped shadows slowly shifting around the entire living room as milo gasped and stood, frantically pointing at each moving shadow and gushing while his little mind was trying to process how cool and fascinating this was.

and all katsuki could do was stare at you.

stare at the way you sat back on your ankles and pointed with milo, counting how many stars you could see before it shifted and repeating that for fun, stare at the way both of your eyes glowed with wonder and curiosity, and stare at the way you smiled so gracefully and looked unreal now under the starry lights, his heart on overdrive at how gentle you were and how much you cared about his son.

about him.

and katsuki was sure then he was absolutely sick over you.

you all settled after a while of playing games and eating more mochi, especially milo, the little lullaby knocking him out as he snored next to you in his fort, you and katsuki laying down next to each other as you stared up at the shifting stars.

“i’m sorry i made such a mess in your living room..” you whispered bashfully. “i promise i’ll pick everything up before i leave.”

he shook his head. “don’t worry about it i can pick up. it’s fine.”

you smiled at him warmly before looking back up at the ceiling, feet planted on the blanketed flooring as your mindlessly moved your propped up knees side to side.

“was it hard raising milo on your own kats?” you asked softly, fingers wrung together neatly on your tummy.

“it was at first.” he mumbled. “but i got used to doin’ it on my own.”

you frowned, not particularly happy with the idea that katsuki had to raise a human being on his own without any help or guidance, wishing that he would’ve had someone there to help him every once in a while, or just be there for him.

“you did an exceptional job, okay?” you began. “you should know that... milo is such an honest kid… and he’s so precious too.”

katsuki’s eyes softened, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in fear of you noticing his stupid flustered face as he opted for keeping his gaze glued to the starry ceiling, your sugary peachy perfume not fucking helping as he decided to sit up instead.

“he is.” he grunted softly. “don’t know how his mom didn’t see that.”

you faltered and sat up with him.

“what do you mean?”

katsuki eyed you before looking down, hands flat behind him propping himself up as he thought.

“ah… milo happened because of some random hookup i had in college.” he mumbled. “didn’t love her or anythin’, i barely knew her but still told her i’d support her and the baby obviously.”

you nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“i was there through her entire pregnancy and when milo was born… but the minute she got discharged from the hospital and took him with her, i woke up at four in the mornin’ with a knock on my door and milo left abandoned on my doorstep.”

you gasped, hand hovering over your mouth.

“are you— are you serious?”

katsuki nodded.

“she wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts, nothing. i went to her house and found out she took the first flight she could to fuck knows where.” he shook his head bitterly. “but i didn’t give a shit about me i’ll raise him i don’t care. it was never about me.

he looked at you. “it was about milo. i didn’t want him to know that his ‘mom’ left him behind like that, and i didn’t want him to think it was his fault or anythin’… shits ridiculous.”

katsuki shifted his gaze back up to the ceiling. “still don’t know how she could ever do something like that.”

the sound of a hiccup make his eyes widen and snap back to you, your eyes filled with fat tears as your bottom lip wobbled, hands coming up to cup over your mouth and nose as you tried to keep it in.

“you’re crying?”

you nodded, squeaky slight sobs slipping past your throat as you strained to keep everything down.

“that’s so cruel.” you cried softly, embarrassingly drowning in your tears in front of him yet again. “you didn’t deserve that at all kats… milo didn’t deserve that you both should’ve had such a good mommy and— and a good support system—”

katsuki pushed himself up and wrapped his big arms around your shoulders, pulling you in and rubbing a hand up and down your back comfortingly.

“you cry over everything y/n.”

“s—” hic! “—sorry—”

he laid the side of his head on top of yours as you shook, somehow feeling guilty of what he told you just because of how much you were crying.

more than when he gave you those star shaped fruits.

“oi…”

katsuki pulled back and looked at you, reaching up and wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“don’t cry baby…”

baby?!

you funnily sobbed even more and shoved your face in his chest, him chuckling as he wrapped his arms back around you and gently swayed side to side.

“stop it idiot.” he mumbled. “it’s fine. it happened years ago n’ milo and i have always been alright on our own.”

…but he wanted you now.

now that he knew what it was like to be softly cared for by someone precious like you, to feel what it was like to be warm and fuzzy and sunshine and rainbows and candy all of the time… and katsuki wanted you so. bad.

“i know..” you hiccuped. “and i’m really glad but i just wish you had someone.”

you pulled away and quickly wiped your wet cheeks. “m’sorry i cried all over your shirt—”

“don’t give a fuck.”

you breathed out a laugh and dropped your hands in your lap, looking at your fingers as you sniffed.

you were always crying for him.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

he looked to the side with a blush to his cheeks.

“thanks for comin’ today.”

you smiled brightly and nodded.

“of course kats! how could i not?” you looked behind you to a sleeping milo, reaching over and pulling his blanket a little further up his shoulders. “i want you to know that i wanna be there for you and milo…”

he shifted his gaze to you as you turned back around.

“whether— whether you wanna keep seeing me or not—” you gnawed nervously at the inside of your cheek. “which i hope you do! but— but if not that’s totally fine i just want to be there for you both…”

how were you so pure? so thoughtful?

“why the hell wouldn’t i wanna keep seeing you?” he huffed, grumbly and embarrassed as he pursed his lips. “i’d be stupid as fuck not to…”

you blushed, happy shiny eyes looking at him eagerly like he was everything and more, and he wasn’t used to people looking at him like that whatsoever as your gaze flickered down to his lips and back up.

and you were so pretty.

“y/n.”

“mhm?”

he slowly leaned closer.

“would you be mad if i made a move on you—”

“of course not—”

katsuki lunged and planted his rough lips on yours, you tasting like straight sugar and honey as he placed his big hands on the sides of you head and held you like a piece of delicate glass, kissing and sliding your tongues in each others mouths rather quickly and breathy as he moved one hand from your pretty face down to your waist to grip it.

you placed your hands on the blanketed floor and slowly crawled over to him during the makeout, him reaching and wrapping the rest of his built muscly arms around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap as he ran his hands up and down your sides and back, wanting to feel you as much as he possibly could and squeeze you tight as he gulped your little self down, brows furrowed and lips red.

katsuki pulled away and ran his fiery wet mouth across your jaw and to the spot right below your ear on the side of your neck, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he bit and sucked and still squeezed you, manhandling you in a way and eating you up.

your eyes fluttered open once you heard a slight rustle, your line of sight catching milo shifting a little in his sleep.

“k—kats—” you breathlessly whispered, pushing a little at his shoulders.

he grunted.

“milo—” you pointed. “he’s waking up—”

“the fucks that gotta do with us—”

“kats!”

he groaned and pulled his mouth from you, scowling over to see his son only shifted positions and was now directly facing the both of you, tiny eyes closed as he drooled and was probably dreaming about race cars and his dads shark shaped pb & j sandwiches.

“the little runt is fine—” he shoved his face back in and gnawed at your neck again as you gasped.

“nooo!” you whined and giggled softly. “now i’m scared he’s gonna wake up…”

he huffed and officially pulled away this time, red eyes dilated and half lidded as he looked over your pinky cheeks and shy face, the purple and blue mark he made on your neck making the right side of his lips curve up into a little prideful smirk, you too distracted to notice over the way he clutched and loosened up the hold on your waist repeatedly.

katsuki kept you on his lap and scooched himself down, laying on his back and head on the pillow as he nudged you to lay on him completely over his chest and body, you more than happy to do so as you settled your head on his pecs and got comfortable with his strong arms around you— feeling so safe and looked after.

and you hadn’t expected to sleep over… but you just didn’t wanna leave, and katsuki sure as hell didn’t want you to either as you softly and quietly talked over the small tinkling of the lullaby and milo’s soft breathing, shadowy stars still slowly shifting around you as you easily switched between various topics— ranging from serious to silly as you ran a loving hand over his chest and his on your back, the both of you subconsciously lulling each other to sleep until you were just as passed out on the floor as milo.

since then, katsuki didn’t wanna let you out of his sight.

as if he wasn’t already involved enough with milo’s school activities because of you, this man became a fucking member of the pta and volunteered himself for every single event so as long as you were there, helping you out especially with fundraisers and bake sales as his desserts always sold out quicker than anything else and made bank as he snickered and boasted at the other parents that weren’t selling as much, you giving him a silly glare that never failed to shut him right up as he wanted to be good for you and not upset you.

the front desk lady even went from hating him to loving him, katsuki grumbling and chucking her a bag of leftover fundraiser chocolate chip cookies on her desk as he passed by to drop off milo in the mornings, serving as a ticket way in and to get her to shut up now instead of yelling at him from down the hall.

and he continued to give you yummy star shaped fruits.

except now some days they looked like hearts or little flowers, and he always made his fruit assortments different so you wouldn’t get tired of them and added different dippings like caramel or chocolate hazelnut, you gushing and nearly bawling literally everyday whenever you’d open the container and milo giggling at you during lunch.

you also never went a day without stopping by or staying over at katsuki’s house since your first initial date, your days so much fun and filled with love as you ate lunch or dinner with the two of them, laughing at milo’s sporadic comments or katsuki’s barking and scolding while you either played with milo, helped katsuki clean up the house and him the kitchen or you the kitchen and vice versa, or simply cuddle on the couch with kisses shared amongst you and katsuki— the three of you with milo seated peacefully and comfortable in the middle while you watched a movie or lulled the little man to sleep.

and katsuki had never felt so complete as he started leaving messes behind without even realizing or stressing about it, and he didn’t know when the fuck it was that he turned so soft and sappy— the change a bit strange to those who knew him as he was just a teeny weeny less explosive and angry over small things, and more so when it came to you and his son.

“make sure you keep your little bucket hat on honey, okay? it’s hot today and i don’t want you to tire yourself out milo.”

the end of the year field trip for the kindergarteners this year was a voyage to the local wildlife sanctuary, a gorgeous exhibit that sat right next to the national science museum in your city, its main attraction being the 25 foot koi pond and butterfly wonderland that housed various butterfly species and their little habitats— the kids field trip assignment being to count how many they see throughout the day and pick one koi fish and butterfly to draw on their journals.

katsuki, of course, volunteered as a chaperone.

“single file line please my loves!” you called, hand by your mouth. “and don’t seperate from your friends okay?! everyone stay where i can see—”

“oi!” katsuki barked, snapping and pointing at a rogue kid who decided to break free from the line and run across the grass. “the fuck do you think you’re doing!—”

“kats!” you breathed out a shocked laugh. “you’re gonna get me fired if you talk to the kids like that—”

“shit! sorry— i’m sorry baby hold on—”

katsuki booked it across the grassy lawn and caught up with the running kid on the other side, the rest of your class giggling and cackling as katsuki swooped him up with one arm and dangled him upside down while he kicked and swung tiny punches to his abs, katsuki not even flinching.

“do that again and see what happens brat.” he spat, the little kid not having a single care in the world as he giggled with the rest of the class, all of them deviously planning to piss katsuki off as much as possible since his outbursts were just funny.

“okay okay—” you smiled apologetically at him before taking the dangling boy from his arm and setting him back down, fixing over his clothes and backpack before patting his head and standing upright.

“no more running alright?” you placed your hands on your hips. “don’t we wanna see some cute little fishies and butterflies?!”

“yeeeeaaaahhhh!!” the babies cheered excitedly, each of them immediately returning to their designated spots in two lines as you grabbed your line leaders tiny hands and started the walk down the grassy field to the sanctuary.

“lemme help ya with one line baby—” katsuki went to grab one of your line leaders hands until they burst into a crying fit.

“no! no! i wanna hold miss y/n’s hand!”

katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “what’s so bad about me hah?”

“you’re ugly! miss y/n is pretty!”

the rest of the kids ruptured, laughing as katsuki sent death glares to a literal child, about to spout something nasty until his eyes flickered to your pleading face, his muscles instantly relaxing as he casted his gaze to the ground with a grumble.

you giggled and gave him a sweet kiss to his cheek in gratitude, his face flushing as he eyed your deep blue overalls and pinky shirt and the way your sunglasses sat pretty in your hair on top of your head.

“what honey?” you tilted your head.

“none of your business.”

you snickered and nudged your shoulder with his, looking over at milo from somewhere in the line to make sure he was okay before walking up the front gates of the sanctuary.

the wildlife guide met you once you all were cleared and inside the greenhouse, your kids absolutely restless as they ‘listened’ to whatever the guide had to say and just wanting to break free and run around to look at all of the fishies and butterflies like you had promised, and you not even listening either as you drooled over the way katsuki’s muscles looked under his t-shirt.

“any questions sweetheart?”

“huh?” your eyes snapped to the guide, cheeks pink as you quickly shook your head. “oh! no not at all! thank you ma’am!”

“alrighty then! just please make sure to tell your students—”

suddenly your two perfect lines broke apart as the kids started running around and pointing at fluttering butterflies and screaming, the guide looking like she’d seen a ghost as the usual quiet and serene sanctuary was now the epitome of noise.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry—” you guiltily apologized. “my kids will settle down they’re just excited is all…”

the guide kindly waved you off before walking back to the main office, you turning and expecting to see katsuki standing next to you, but faltering once you saw he was on the other side and pulling one of your kids down that had climbed up the gates of one of the sanctuaries closed off exhibits.

“oh god..” you mumbled, about to make your way over until you spotted milo in a corner alone, staring at one of the koi ponds.

“milo?” you called softly, walking up to him.

your heart sank once he turned and you saw his little tear filled eyes and wobbling lip.

“oh no!” you gasped, crouching down and taking his tiny hands in yours. “what’s wrong my love? are you okay? is it too hot?”

you pushed some of his spiky blonde bangs back from his sweaty forehead as he shook his head.

“i can’t draw!” he sniffled. “and the koi fishies keep moving…”

your shoulders relaxed in relief.

“that’s okay!” you took his journal and pencil, wiping his wet cheeks as you smiled sweetly. “as long as we’re patient with the fishies, they’ll swim back and you can draw them again!”

you opened his journal and flipped to a new blank page, the both of you waiting quietly until a big chubby koi fish swam by.

“there!” milo whispered and pointed, and you quickly drew what you could, just making out the shape of the body before it disappeared again.

“and now we wait!” you grinned up at him. “the fishy will come back around and you’ll be able to draw it again.”

“kayyy!!”

“and you can draw milo. i’ve seen your artwork in class, remember? you always get a gold star!”

he giggled. “i do miss pretty!”

you ran a soothing hand over his back before passing his journal back.

“now you try honey—”

“i love you.”

you froze and looked up, katsuki standing there with a sincere and vulnerable look in his eye.

you stood from your crouched position and looked at him wide eyed.

“i’m not— i’m not good at this kinda shit at all and i always say somethin’ dumb but i do.”

“kats—”

“and i’m sorry it took me so long to say it but i tried to make it obvious with my stupid shaped fruits n’ shit… and i always thought you kinda just knew…”

milo was too busy focusing on catching glimpses of the koi fish to draw with his tongue peeking out to even realize what was going on next to him.

“you’re so patient baby. the way you are with me… the way you are with my kid. i need that in my life and i can’t live without it at this point…” he spoke genuinely. “your fuckin’ fault.”

you giggled and covered your face with your hands, face hot to the touch and bashful at everything he was telling you.

“come here.”

you listened and walked forward, dropping your arms as you wrapped them around his abdomen and his around your head, squishing you in his big chest as he propped his chin up.

“do you love me too or what.” he frowned. “cause if not this is shitty and embarrassing—”

“no i do!” you giggled, pulling away and giving him a cheeky smile. “i do kats you know that… i love you. so much.”

he smiled and pecked your lips. “good, miss pretty.”

katsuki had heard the entire conversation you had with his son, your words seeping with such tenderness and care, and he almost passed the fuck out when he thought about how much of a blessing you were, something he’d be a fool not to snatch up and take as he nearly fucking proposed to you in the middle of the sanctuary like an idiot, not knowing at all how a person that pissed people off for a living was loved by a woman who was the definition of pure.

because how the fuck did an angry dunce like him, get lucky with an angel like you?

“oh my god that dumbass kid is climbin’ the fence again— oi!”

katsuki quickly kissed your cheek before flying to the other side of the sanctuary, you doubling over in laughter as you watched him fight and tug and pull, your student not budging at all whatsoever and the rest of the kids laughing at how red katsuki was getting in the face.

“miss pretty!” milo tugged at your overalls, and you looked down to see him holding up his open journal, a cute wobbly sketch of a koi fish on the page as he smiled big. “i drew it! do you like it?!”

“wow milo!” you gushed, crouching down to his level and taking the journal, examining his artwork. “this is beautiful my love! see? i knew you could do it!”

“thank youuu!” he responded sweetly, his little cheeks blushing as he looked at you like he had another thing he wanted to say.

you tilted your head. “do you wanna tell me something else?”

“yeaaahhh.” he dragged. “please love my dad… i know he’s mean but— but he doesn’t mean it!”

your eyes softened as milo looked down at his shoes.

“and love me too… because i want you to be my new mommy…”

you quickly blinked back tears as to not alarm milo, surprisingly successful at preventing them from slipping down your face.

“i do love your dad honey… and you. the both of you i love so so much.”

he beamed. “really?!”

you nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “and i thought i was already your mommy milo!”

the little man gasped and flung his arms around your neck.

“YAAAYYY!” he yelled. “miss pretty is my mommy! i have a mommy now!”

ever since you came into katsuki’s life, his way of living materialized into something completely different.

because now instead of his house being plain and boring and organized from top to bottom without a single thing out of place— it was warm now… happy. and never went a day without smelling like cookies and vanilla as you and katsuki baked with milo any chance you could, set up more pillow forts and tents with starry ceilings, and slept with milo in his room as he snored content in his little bed, you sprawled directly on top of katsuki like he always had you as you both every day intended to leave after putting his son to rest, but ending up falling asleep on the floor each time.

the three of you were a little family.

and katsuki didn’t know why he hated messes so much in the first place.

because mess signified that something had been there, something sunny and tender, something that signified family as you peppered kisses over both your boys’ faces everyday and katsuki drowning you in his rough ones— your man squeezing you so tight all of the time and anywhere, as milo wasn’t just his son now but yours too as you took him to the park or to the aquarium on your days off, the three of you gently living as both of milo’s small hands were occupied now instead of just one.

katsuki’s life looked like it had been generously cherished and lived in for a change.

and katsuki bakugo loved messes.

so as long as they were from you.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @umemiaa @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs @drftnzume @k0z3me @k4zivy @dindjarins1ut @starrnai @tinyray-lovesfood @iloveoldermenn @dazqa @applepi25 @aria-chikage @blu3-l0v3r @rose-tinted-kalopsia @runfrme @unofficialsapphire @dee-writes-anime @megumisluciouslashes @peachyaeger @yourstru1y4ever

[kbwrites]

You climb into bed, Sukuna’s large body sinking into the space next to you.

You curl into his broad chest, making yourself comfortable. His four arms hold you tight against him, enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth.

“Good night, Kuna~” you coo, snuggling closer into his embrace.

“Good night, brat.” he mumbles, nuzzling his face into your hair. He waits expectantly, growing slightly irritated at your silence.

“Hey...” he frowns, squeezing you tight—your soft snores making him more frustrated.

How did he get stuck with such a disrespectful human?

He shook you gently.

“Wake. Up.” His voice low and commanding, with a hint of impatience.

Your eyes flutter open from the rocking motion, you look up at your boyfriend confused.

“What happened?” You question, eliciting an eye roll and dramatic huff from the larger man.

“You did not give me a proper good night.” He mumbles, gaze not meeting yours. Your eyebrow quirks up in confusion.

“I said good night… oh!” You reach up to peck his cheek, he grunts in response. “Sorry—“

“No.” He sneers, tightening his grip on you. “You are forgetting something else.”

“Say good night… correctly.” You can almost make out a pout forming on his lips. Your eyes widen in realization, a grin spreading across your face.

“The hell’s wrong with your face—“

“Good night Kuna.. I Love You.”

He grunts, the tension in his body easing slightly, loosening his grip on you as he takes a deep breath.

“Do not forget again.”

[beloveds-embrace]

(Arranged marriage to duke john price except it means you married four instead of one 👁️👁️)

Your marriage to Duke Price is one out of necessity: you need a husband before high society begins rumoring you to be a barren woman and too old to be married off, and Duke Price needs a wife who is able to take on Duchess duties of his duchies.

You do not expect love, though you suppose it’d be a nice bonus. You are merely glad that Duke Price is a reasonable handsome man, and he informs you on your wedding night that he will not force himself on you, and there is no need to immediately begin attemtping for an heir.

You take admirably to your new duties, have been raised practically for this purpose though the head butler Kyle is wonderful in helping you as well- actually all the servants have been wonderful towards you. You have regular dinners with John, though they are a bit stilted but at least Chef Johnny’s food is good enough you can easily forget the tense atmosphere. You can tell your husband is hiding something- you are sometimes barred from going to his office to him, certain rooms are not allowed for you, and you are not allowed anywhere near the letters addressed to him- but as long as it isn’t hurting you, why should you bother him? So you never ask, and he seems happy enough that you don’t.

Until you accidentally stumble upon him and Duke Riley exchanging tongues. Very heatedly, hands grasping and tugging on each other’s clothes and Duke Riley sat on your husband’s desk.

It’s hot.

What’s not so hot is the way they both look at you when they realize you are there. You stutter, face a red so fierce it’d put a furnace to shame, and bolt out of the room despite hearing John call your name.

And you also skip out on the dinners for now, pretending you are sick with the help of your maids and their makeup skills.

But suddenly, it’s like your eyes have been opened. It’s not just Duke Riley who seems to hold a part of your husband’s heart; the one time you gather enough courage to maybe go speak with John and address the situation, you see Kyle stumbling out all disheveled and flushed, though he has a very satisfied air around him. He freezes when he sees you, and your jaw drops.

“My lady-“

“I- I’ll just- I’m taking a walk! Alone!”

You go to the kitchens instead, hoping that Johnny would have something delicious you can eat. Maybe something cold enough to wash away the blush on your cheeks.

Johnny is weirdly silent, however, even as he whips up chocolate mousse for you. His silence is not normal, it feels… almost guilty…

You sighs, take in a deep breath, and gather your dress. “Johnny… are you too…-?”

“Aye, m’lady. But-“

You can’t take it anymore. You leave the kitchens, and go straight back to your bedroom to bury your face in your bed. It’s not as if you are upset! It’s just- a rather befuddling situation?

Two nights later, it’s John himself who comes to you. You had assumed it was one of your maids returning with a new jar of oil for your nightly hair routine, but it’s your husband. You are glad it’s winter, and you aren’t simply in a thin nightgown.

“Wife.” He says, voice steady yet strained.

“John.”

You can’t call him husband. You’ve spent the last two days thinking and you were… rather sad. You were in the way of whatever they had (you saw Kyle and Johnny kissing, Johnny specifically sending food addressed to Duke Riley), weren’t you?

John sighs, sitting down on the settee while you remain on your vanity. After a moment of awkward silence, he opens his eyes and looks at you. “…what do you want to remain silent about this?”

You blink, raising an eyebrow. “…huh?”

John’s fists clench. “How much do you want in return for your silence?”

Frowning, you set your brush down and fully turn to him even if you feel exposed despite your thicker nightgown. “Is this about your… partners?” You say the word delicately, then shake your head. “I want nothing, John. If you are worried about me starting anything, I won’t. I just… hope this doesn’t mean you will divorce me?”

Being a divorced woman might as well be a death sentence on its own.

He looks at you, shocked into silence, and you quickly explain; his relationships have nothing to do with you and you aren’t a petty woman, who are you to come between what he and they have? You only hope this won’t take away the protection this marriage gave you.

That night, thus, you and John reach an agreement you are sure both of you are satisfied with.

Except, months later, John is no longer satisfied.

With the ice broken between the two of you. The dinners have become so much more… relaxing and comfortable, far less than they had been. No secrecy was needed when you were around anymore, and you only giggle and look away, feigning innocence when they share tender kisses between one another… and the less polite kisses.

John can’t remain satisfied with this arrangement. You are such a sweet thing, now that he’s become to know you far better. He can see the way his men are looking at you now, something between fondness and hunger and want; Kyle helps you far more often now, despite your insistence that you can do it yourself. Even when you do it yourself, he stays by you and ensures you are comfortable.

And he joins your evening walks, arms looped as the two of you speak, laughing and giggling.

It’s similar to your late night chats with Johnny, where he plies your full of sweets and desserts until even your dreams are full of sweeter kisses you are sure will never be for you. Johnny, who cooks your favorites on hard days and who you heard from Kyle is even more serious about only having the best of the best in vegetables and meats and seasonings.

And Duke Riley… for all his stoicism, he is gentle with you. Even when he’d stared at you with doubt and mistrust, no doubt believing you to be lying to John and simply waiting for the shoe to drop and for you to ruin them. Yet it never happens, and now, during the galas you attend all dolled up on John’s arm and ignoring all murmurs about still having no children, you even dance with him and giggle at his terribly dry jokes, even share a few of your own with him.

Steadily, slowly, obliviously, John has watched each of his men fall for you. This, obviously, made you theirs. It made you his, more and more than you already were.

It’s why your current request is making him clench his glass in his hand, with Kyle looking on in displeasure as well, giving him subtle glances.

“-So that’s why I was asking, John,” you remain sweetly oblivious, adorned in a pretty dress Simon had gotten for you recently. “He will not spread any rumors, I’ll personally make sure of that-”

Your cheeks darken then, and you glance away. “I- I am… merely a bit- unsatisfied, if you understand my point. And the stable man is loyal to you, he wouldn’t say anything.”

It’s clear he needs to keep a better watch over you. Where and when did you even interact with his stable boy, Graves? Though he focused on your words.

Unsatisfied.

Well, he can’t have that, can he? You’ve done your wifely duties so admirably, it’s about time he took care of you as well… and maybe dealt with the baseless barren rumors as well. A baby would keep you nice and content and focused on them alone, wouldn’t it?

Oh yes. Yes, it would.

dukedom au masterlist

Part two

[ellana-ravenwood]

“Batman, you need to-IS THAT A BABY ?!” - Batfam x Fem!reader

Synopsis : Bruce and Batmom bring their newborn daughter to the Watchtower, so she can meet their friends (or vice versa). Includes an overprotective Damian, League members who cannot believe the Batman is smiling, and other shenanigans.  

Oop, I’m back (?). My dudes. It’s been TWO YEARS since I last posted here. Two. Years. I posted like, two life update...don’t know if some of y’all saw it, but long story short : I got married, I have a son now, and everything is going so well in my life that I didn’t really need the validation I got from writing online...Buuuuuuuuuuuuut, I still love writing. And so, after quite a long break, here I am :). Hope you will enjoy this, don’t hesitate to let me know if you do : 

Please, do not repost my stories anywhere else, under any other form. Do not translate and then repost them either. Thank you.

My masterlist : @ella-ravenwood-archives

________________________________________________

“You’re evil, you know that right ?” You say, raising an eyebrow.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my love.” He answers, a small smile on his lips. You turn to him and...Oh that smug look, that smug look you loved so much. He definitely DEFINITELY knew what he was doing. 

And that it was utterly...evil. 

“It’s going to be FUN !” 

Ah, and here’s his little devil. Damian himself. He loved this. Partly because he thought it was funny to mess with everyone, partly because he liked showing that you guys were a family. 

“They won’t believe their eyes !” His little voice kept going, followed by a big roar of laughter that sounded, by all means, more childlike than devilish. 

“That they won’t, they always seem so surprised when Bruce acts like a human.” 

Jason. Still not calling Bruce “dad” (except sometimes, by “accident”, and even him don’t realize he did), he’d only slowly been back at the manor, with all of you. And, for sure, a certain important event which happened about four months ago made it so he came back to live at home.

Dick chuckled and added : “Who would blame them ? We’re talking about a man who eats his burgers with a knife and fork !” He gestured to his father with his left thumb, his other hand shielding part of his mouth as if he was telling them all a secret, as if he was trying to be discreet, so his dad wouldn’t hear...Always quite the little clown, that eldest son of yours. With his exaggerated mannerism, and that sparkle in his eyes, in his smile. 

“I’m certain some of them thought he was genuinely a cyborg for YEARS” Tim added, quite seriously, his tone the opposite of his older brother (and that was just his way of joking...you think). And honestly ? Yeah, you were pretty sure some of your friends at the JLA thought your husband was a robot, at one point. 

Oh yes. That’s where you were going, to the JLA’s headquarters. To execute Bruce’s plan. Quite the evil plan indeed. 

“Hell, even I thought he was one before I met you guys !” Duke chimed in, and that made Cassandra smile widely, as she shook her head up and down pointing at Duke as if to say : “what he just said”. 

And in a very Bruce manner, your husband kept a straight face, ignoring his children’s teasing. Only you, saw that twinkle in his eyes, that smile that might not reach his mouth, but was definitely dancing in those bright blue eyes. 

Oh yes. Yes, your friends were in for quite the surprise. 

************

Meanwhile, in the Justice League headquarters : 

“Oh, hey ! Look, Batman’s zeta tube is turning on ! We haven’t seen him in a while right ?”  

Indeed they haven’t. Because, well, let’s put it this way : Batman’s wife just had a baby. 

A baby girl (finally, right ? You and Cass weren’t TOO outnumbered anymore). 

And Batman had been VERY busy doting over his baby girl. 

Batman had been busy being Bruce Wayne. 

Just a man, who thought he’d never be happy again, not knowing how to handle all those feelings he had for his wife (for you), for his children. 

That was happiness then, right ? 

So, yes. Batman hasn’t been much at the JLA’s headquarters lately. But your husband thought, it was finally time to go see his friends a little bit. He knew they were all up there, because it was their monthly reunion (once each month, they gathered to talk about the state of the world, the universe, what threat lingered, what lurked beyond...and to get very drunk, and see their friends, the only ones who knew what it meant to be a “hero��). 

And that what’s made him particularly evil. 

He knew, they would all be there. He knew what their reaction was going to be. After all, his memory was amazing, he definitely hadn’t forgot the way they reacted the first time they saw you, the first time they learned he had children (childrEN, plural !). 

And he knew they were a little worried about him. 

He had missed their last three reunions, and only answered : “Everything is ok” to their messages asking if he was alright (they hadn’t dared to go see if he was indeed ok, because last time they did that, they found him bed ridden with all the bones in his body broken, and he got so mad at them for butting in his business he worked twice as hard when he was fine again, and didn’t talk a WORD for months...that was, of course, years ago, before you were in his life, but the experience was still in their minds and so, they decided to respect his privacy, he would come to them when ready). And he never pushed his “red button”, him, or anyone in the family. 

They just assumed he was busy, they hoped it wasn’t anything bad. 

Yes. They were worried. For him. For you. For your kids. For Alfred. For your dogs, your cats, your cow...They. Were. Worried. 

And Bruce knew. 

You told him, when your pregnancy was confirmed, to tell his friends. That they would be happy. But after his own initial happy thought, his surge of hope and love at knowing he was going to be a dad again, he started to make his plan. 

Why tell them, when you could toy with them ? 

“They deserve it.” He told you, and you weren’t sure if they did, but you weren’t about to fight him on that. After all, you too, thought it could be amusing. Amusing to hide your pregnancy, making up excuses as to why they couldn't come see you, and you didn’t come up the headquarter. Amusing, to even hide it quite expertly from any form of news (Bruce was a MASTER of disguise, not only for himself), so it would be a real surprise. 

Amusing, to have your little girl in secret, with only your family. Amusing, but also what you wanted. For this good news to be just between you, your children, and Alfred. Your close family. Because you had too few things that just were yours. 

This had to be yours. Your thing, your secret, your own happiness. Yours, and only yours. And you found it was good, that you guys spend the first few months of your daughter’s life only between yourselves. 

It was nice, to go out “disguised” as a normal couple, and show your daughter Gotham (and how her little eyes already tried to take the entire world within them). 

It was nice, to live in total privacy for a little bit. 

So, yes, you had been a little selfish. And he had, too. You knew it wasn’t just to prank his friends, he kept it all a secret. That it was also to have some quality time with his family. To spend the first few months of his daughter’s life being the only one being utterly smitten with her. 

Though, this last thing wasn't true...You were, too. And your children ? Let’s just say your daughter had not been alone ONCE since she was born. And she seemed to love it. 

Whenever she made the slightest sound, smiled, laughed (or cried), they were there, Bruce was there, absolutely loving that little baby. 

She was almost 4 months old now, and Bruce thought that the gist had to be up. What scale did he use to measure this amount of “readiness�� ? You had no idea. You thought he was just now ready to share his happiness with his friends, and not just his close family. 

And so here you were, after months of secrecy carefully crafted and orchestrated by your husband, in the JLA’s headquarters, along with your family, the little new addition to said family in your husband’s arms. 

Evil. Your husband was downright evil. 

He knew that what was about to happen would have a massive impact on his friends. He. KNEW. 

And as the zeta tube brought all your family up there, you knew that as he saw their faces, your husband was a little TOO happy with himself for his little “prank”. 

************

“Batman, are you al- IS THAT A BABY ?” Very typical, very in character : the first to react was Flash himself. 

None of the other noticed, and they seemed inclined to think Barry had lost his mind but then...

Bruce’s face didn’t move an inch, he just held that little “package”, and had his same stoic expression except...Except there was a little hand grabbing at his chin. 

Then another hand appeared out of that bundle Batman carried, with a bat plushie bunched in a tight fist, shaking it and...Cooing. 

Cute little sounds, and the way- EXCUUUuuUuuuUSE ME ?

The way Batman just softly looked at her, the way his cold expression was replaced by a tender one as he lowered his eyes to her ??

WHAT ?! 

They knew. They knew he had THE softest spot for his family. They knew his scary aura greatly dimmed when he was around his wife and children. They knew that when they weren’t there, he was only made of shadows. They were his light, his salvation. 

They knew he didn’t have the same face expression, when they were around.

Well, when they were looking at him...Barry swore that Batman loomed around his family, standing menacingly behind them, his eyes cold and calculating as if he was ready to fight any seconds to save his loved ones, and then whenever they turned to him his feature would instantly soften. He will ALWAYS remember the first time he met little Dickie, 9 years old and so full of joy and life, and how whenever he would look at Batman and talk to him, said Batman got a softer expression somewhat, but then when Dick turned around, Batman looked about to murder them whenever they came too close from him. 

Once, Tim, also 9 at the time, years after the JLA met Dick, told Barry matter of factly : “He doesn’t kill people. He could break your knee caps though” in a very Tim fashion. The kid was serious. And had noticed the aura surrounding his dad, how it changed when he was around (he noticed more than his siblings, because for a while, Bruce had been really cold and distant with him, since he met him not long after Jason’s death..understandable. So he was the only one who had this sort of behavior aimed at him, the shield Bruce put in front of him to keep everyone away so he wouldn’t be hurt, the shield that now was lowered for them and only them). 

It was his eyes. His eyes that were always hard and cold, became different when looking at you or his children. 

Not to say that his family never exasperated him, or that he never had his “mask” around them. After all, Bruce’s stoic expression was his face by default. It’s just that he was often too focused. And that he spend years practicing hiding his emotions, practicing keeping a blank face. Because Barry also remembered seeing Dick perched on his father’s shoulders, letting himself dangle in his back, his head upside down, whistling and kicking his feet, and Bruce having this stoic mask on, concentrated. 

Anyway, they knew all that. It had been years, since Bruce finally trusted them enough to bring his wife here, and his kids. But yet, yet they were still surprised sometimes.

Like today. 

The picture of Batman holding a baby was...a little weird. 

Even if he opened up to them over the years, he was still mostly very cold, distant and aloof. You know, Batman. That’s just who he was. So sometimes, to see him so devoted to his wife or kids, it was odd to say the least. 

And right now, as he walked towards them with a baby in his arms, the shock was real. Damn it, will there be a day when the Bat didn’t surprise them with something ? 

How did none of them notice you were pregnant ? Proof again Batman was a master of his craft. And that little girl...

Oh your daughter was such a beaming ray of sunshine, that in his arms it was particularly a jarring image. 

The big scary bat, tall, broad shouldered, muscular in every way, his face void of expressions, holding a tiny baby who kept smiling at everyone around, and playing with her plushy. 

Odd. 

Yet, sweet. 

Were they surprised ? Yes. 

Were they a little mad he hid something (AGAIN) this important from them ? Definitely. 

Were they shocked that his daughter was so darn cute and smiling and laughing that much ? Not really, because you were his mom too. 

Were they happy for him ? For sure. 

Were they going to adore that little girl ? Probably as much as they adored his other kids already, which meant...yes. Yes they were going to. 

Damn that bastard Bruce. Always so sneaky. 

Hal, couldn’t help but think : “First, he’s not a vampire, then, he’s married with children, and now, he has that cute baby. This guy ??!!” 

***********

The initial shocked passed, and only after your children MOCKED all of your friends (you had to give it to Dick, he knew how to imitate them so well..and when Damian joined in ? Oh, oh it was a fit of laughter impossible to fight that attacked them), did they approach your daughter. 

“Her name is Martha.” Bruce said “We named her after my mother.” and it wasn’t his usual flat tone he used as Batman. No, it was a soft voice he usually only reserved for his kids. And the reason he was using it now ? Well. He didn’t want to scare his daughter, as he still held her. 

She beamed at him when she heard her name, and babbled some baby nonsense. She then turned towards all those new faces, and you saw Bruce’s hand hold her a little tighter. 

Your beautiful, sweet soul husband. He clearly was worried she’d be scared, meeting all those new people. Especially since they all wore mask. But Martha-

Martha let go of her bat plushy (which Damian caught before it touched the floor, rolling on the ground in a way you thought was quite comedic. Oh, that boy), and lifted her arms up towards- 

“What a sweet little girl !” Diana said with a voice you NEVER heard her use. You realized it was her “voice reserved for babies and domestic animals”, and it made you smile. It was higher than her usual voice, and full of softness. 

You thought your daughter reached for her because she could feel the warmness in your friend. And after all, amongst all of those gathered here today, she was probably the one that adored babies the most. 

Diana looked at Bruce, who only inclined his head a little to give her the ok to lift her from his arms but-

Another arm stopped her, and took the baby away. 

Damian. 

Damian, the one who took his role as a big brother a little too seriously. 

He held Martha protectively against him, and literally sneered at all your friends. 

************

Damian deemed most of them unworthy to hold his baby sister, and only Clark ended up being allowed to carry her. And that was partly because Clark was the only one who knew about Martha, the only one who saw her already, and he had months to convince your son to trust him with her. 

Being an extremely close friend and all, you just couldn’t hide this from him and... no, really, you literally couldn’t hide this from him as he was the immediately noticed that second heartbeat when he listened in to make sure you and your family were safe. Bruce hated when he did that, but Clark wasn’t about to let them be in danger without moving an inch.

Anyway, Clark was allowed to hold her, but he gave her back to you rather quickly because your son’s stare made him uncomfortable. If eyes could kill, right ? 

Damian took his job as an older brother very seriously. He would protect her at all cost. And you had no doubt that he would be the kind of person to burn the entire world down if it meant saving his family. 

Damian only glared at everyone, letting them approach ONLY after they put on a surgical mask so they wouldn’t give her their “viruses or whatever”. 

You had to admit he was a bit much, and you asked him nicely to calm down a little. He relented on the face masks, but made them all wash their hands (twice). 

You ruffled his hair affectionately, what a sweet little boy. It broke your heart, how so many people judged him too fast. He really was, a nice kid. With a heart of gold. He just didn’t have much luck for the first few years of his life. 

But he chose to be like this. Chose to love, instead of hate. Chose to protect, instead of attacking. 

Although, right now, as Diana came back towards his sister, he definitely seems ready to high kick her (which definitely wouldn’t have hurt the amazon). 

************

It was a hassle, to convince Damian to let go of his sister so they could hold her. As per usual, it’s Dick who managed to convince him, saying Martha was all soft and cute, and everyone deserved to hold her at least once. Adding that if one of them dropped her, he would be allowed to do whatever he wanted to them. 

Some of the mightiest heroes of the planet were gathered hear, but the threat didn’t fall on deaf ears. Damian could be a little intense, and scary sometimes. 

They weren’t fooled by Dick’s agreeable smile either. A smile that didn’t always reach his eyes. They knew if they messed up, he would find every way to rip them to shreds. Dick was often seen as the calmest of your children, but his anger issues from when he was a child were never far. And he could be ruthless.  

Diana held her first, and your daughter babbled to her excitedly. 

Of course, being only 4 months old, she just talked gibberish. And it was so sweet, how Diana answered her : “What ? *babbles from your daughter* Noooooo. *more babbles from your daughter* I can’t believe he said that. And then what ? *babbles babbles babbles*”. 

After that, Dick took her back, and asked if someone else wanted to hold her, under yours and Bruce’s watchful eyes. 

Then again, in the room, many were also already parents and knew how to hold a baby. They weren’t too worried, except-

Except Dick, that little sh-, had found a new game in recent weeks. Whenever he gave his little sister to someone else...he pretended to drop her. 

And it made him laugh and laugh and laugh, to give mini-heart attacks to EVERYONE whenever he gave them his baby sister to them, as they always all panicked and screamed seeing her dropped (Dick always had her secure, he only pretended to drop her of course). 

“Oh no careful !” He’d scream, dropping his arms suddenly (she looooved it) while still gripping her, and they’d scramble to catch her, and he would just laugh. 

“You little-” Hal’s colorful words were...imaginative. And Damian was inclined to agree, since his brother pranked him oh, I don’t know, only about A HUNDRED TIMES since their little sister was born. 

You wouldn’t admit it, but it made you laugh a little too. Even if he got you a few times as well, pretending he was going to drop her. Then again, you trusted your eldest son. Once you and Bruce wouldn’t be around anymore, you knew he would hold this family together. 

************

Martha was a calm baby. She let people hold her, curious enough to not fuss and watch them all intently. It made Barry uncomfortable, how she held his gaze and would just stare at him. 

She would stare, and stare, and stare, and her bright blue eyes were EXACTLY like Bruce’s, it felt like being stared down by a miniature version of Batman. 

He didn’t like it. So he gave her back to whomever was closest, which happened to be Jason

Jason, who was always very delicate with his little sister. He handled her as if he’d break her. It broke your heart, to know he probably literally thought that. 

He refused to hold her at first, sure he would hurt her. But she kept reaching for him, crying when he wouldn’t take her, and she was so adorable and-

He caved, of course. After a little while. And he was oh, the fixture of a patient older brother. You knew he would ALWAYS be part of her life, and step in whenever she needed to. 

Right now, she was grabbing his hair, which were getting quite long, and pulling hard on them as babies do and- He didn’t say anything. He just let her do it. 

You really hoped she wasn’t going to take advantage of this when she’d get older, even if you already had visions of her having her brothers and father wrapped around her little finger, having her sister too, and...apparently, the entirety of the JLA. 

************

“How can such an a-hole make such a cute baby ?” Hal said, looking at the little girl he held. She was sort of dozing off, which for sure was adorable. 

Bruce only glared at him, which amused Hal greatly. He just gave him the shock of his life, he could laugh at his expense a little, right ? 

“I believe, to make a baby, you need to-”

“Um, no, Jon, please, I know how to ! It’s just-Oh, forget it.” 

Flustered, Hal Jordan was flustered. Jon J’onzz didn’t seem to get why, but then again, human sarcasms and irony were still very foreign to him. He always answered pragmatically to people. 

Talking about pragmatism. Hal handed back your daughter to Tim, who slipped her in his favorite new contraption : the baby carrier 3.0 (of his own design). Made so he could do all sort of work while having her strapped to him. Keeping an eye on her at all time. 

Tim adopted the use of a baby carrier, so he could still work while taking care of her (he stole the idea from his dad, who definitely hung around with his daughter EVERYWHERE with that thing...which was the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen, this tall broad man and this tiny baby attached to his chest). 

It was so cute to see her little feet dangling while he was working. Damian nearly lost it when he found Tim WELDING two pieces of metal together with the baby carrier on his front. Tim merely said : “I made her baby sized goggles and a fireproof pyjama, she’s fine, and she likes it” and indeed, your daughter didn’t have a scratch, and cried when Damian hauled her away from the sparks. Ooooh the smug look on Tim’s face as his brother gave her back reluctantly. Damian’s was utterly vexed. 

Vexation he forgot just a few minutes later, when Martha decided she had enough of sparkles and made little sounds of protest (not quite cries), and reached her little arms to him. 

As of now, Tim had her in this baby carrier again, and was strolling around the JLA headquarters, showing his new little sister to everyone. 

************

Cassandra didn’t say a word, as per usual. She never liked big crowds, only spoke to those she trusted the most. Her brothers, her parents. 

She only gestured to others. Remained quiet. But she monitored every little movements. 

Hawkgirl approached her sister ? Noted. Carefully studying every move. Martian Manhunter asked if he could hold her ? Noted. 

Superman made little babbling sound at her, while her dad held her ? Noted, with amusement. It was funny, to see one of Earth’s mightiest hero grimacing to a baby to make it laugh, while said baby was held by another mighty hero who was utterly stoned face. Cass’ smiled at her dad, who smiled back for a fraction of seconds before Clark shifted his head up to look at him too, and Bruce went back to his : “ -_-” face, by reflex really. 

Cassandra never spoke much, but she loved a lot. And her way of loving her little sister ? It was to always keep a watchful eye on her, so she could react to whatever she needed. And give her space when she needed to. 

She had many brothers, she often joked that if she lost one, she could just replace him (a joke you didn’t like much, because you knew it was just a self-defense from her, to shield her heartbreak at the mere idea of loosing a sibling), but only had one sister...

Yes. Your youngest child definitely held a special place in everyone’s heart. 

And you could see her slowly creep in every members’ of the Justice League’s heart too. 

Gods, you couldn’t even imagine what would happen to the person who would one day try to hurt her. You could bet, though, he wouldn’t get out of it unscathed (to say the least). 

************

Martha was particularly fond of Duke’s inuit kiss. He had the capacity to instantly calm her, and he could easily feel her inner emotions. 

As she was passed around everyone, and she started to be tired and cranky, he simply retrieved her and brought her to Bruce, because he knew that was her preferred spot to fall asleep. 

He kissed her on the forehead, and sure enough, she was asleep before he could pull away. Your husband put a warm hand on Duke’s head, a warm smile on his face. That boy could always tell what others felt. It was a gift, really, and sometimes a curse as others’ feelings could leak into him. Which is to say that sometimes, when others were sad, he would be too...

But for now, he felt content. At peace. Because his dad was, too. 

And indeed, Bruce, holding his sleeping daughter against his heart, his hand supporting her head gently, was utterly at peace. 

He loved the idea that his arms were his daughter’s favorite place to sleep, and never refused to hold her to help her sleep. You sure were a little jealous, but he told you : “They all always come to you when they need comfort, one kid out of six, you surely can give me, right ?” and though you knew he was joking, it broke your heart a little. 

So, you let go of your jealousy, and let him have this indeed. Martha was definitely a daddy’s girl. And that was good. You could see the impact on your husband, how having a baby in the house soothed him. 

He loved his kids so damn much. He often said they were his lights. And the fact Martha found comfort with him ? 

It reminded him of his own parents. How he would go to his mom, a Martha too, to find the same comfort. To fall asleep in the same way. 

You let go of that small jealousy, as you saw her falling soundly asleep, cuddled up against her dad. And it was funny, how Bruce would take his usual Batman persona, stone faced, standing straight and- 

Having one of two fingers held tightly by both of his daughter’s little hands. She grabbed them as he took her, one hand holding her (she was so tiny...and he was a big dude), the other, she used as a sort of comfort plushy. She held them with all her might, as she slept. 

And Bruce was speaking battle plans, and you had to fight the laughter in you as all your friends couldn’t help but stare at the scene, not knowing how to feel. 

Hal snickered at one point, and he made a gesture for him to zip it, and it was quite an odd scene, as he held his daughter and did that childish gesture. 

Seriously. That guy !! 

************

Batman smiling was...different. 

They all got caught staring at him, when he had his daughter in his arms. Staring because his broad smile was-

Well. Broad. 

It wasn’t his signature smirk. It wasn’t a soft smile. It wasn’t a half-smile. It wasn’t a smile that you could only see in his eyes. 

It was a full on big ass smile (as Barry would say). 

And sure, they already saw him smile like that (although he schooled his face back to “stone mode” when he noticed them looking), never that much. 

As if the birth of his daughter gave Batman another new light, and it was just impossible to yield to his old demon, to brood, when holding that ray of sunshine. 

It made them all feel...soft. And warm. 

It was nice, to know the bat wasn’t just a machine. They forgot it sometimes, that he was, in the end, “just” a man. They forgot why he became Batman. The pain and guilt he held inside. But moments like this, they were reminded of it. 

That the Batman didn’t exist because of hatred, but because of love. 

Because he loved his parents, his city, and now- 

His family. 

It was nice, to get reminded that there was a man below the mask. And though he could be an “a-hole” sometimes, there, holding his baby, he was just that. 

A loving man, who wanted to protect others. 

************

You made a note of every moments you would cherish forever of you introducing your daughters to them all : 

1. The shock on their faces as they beheld the sight of THE BATMAN holding a baby against him, and being so delicate. 

2. Your daughter being the star of the show, all of them smitten with her !

3. Your friends wanting to hold her, and how they beamed at her (and she beamed back, except with Barry, whom she only stared at for some reasons). 

4. Dick’s “game” of pretending he dropped her, and their panicked reaction. 

5. The success of Tim’s baby carrier, and how now, there was always one up in the tower. 

6. Diana and how it definitely seemed like she would move mountain for that child. 

7. How Clark’s eyes filled with tears again, as he looked at Martha. Because it made his friends so happy. You and Bruce. And especially Bruce. And Clark was an emotional man, who suffered too, and was just so happy “The Batman” was happy. 

8. How Jason seemed at peace with his little sister, and how whenever he held her, he seemed less weary than usual around everyone. Like Cass, he didn’t like much being amongst too many people. But now, it felt like he had an “emotional support baby”. Ah. 

9. Their reactions, past the shock, welcoming that new life in the world. 

10. How Bruce monitored his daughter being held by his friends, holding your hand. Even after all those years, when he acted close to you in his Batman costume, it made you...feel things. He always kept a facade as Batman. A facade that would crumble with his kids, and especially with you. PDA weren’t rare. And even after years at his side, it always made your heart beat wildly when he showed affection towards you in public, because it meant- 

Oh it meant so much. 

And you had so many more moments forever ingrained in your heart from that day spend up at the JLA’s headquarters. 

Too many to count. Some sweet, some hilarious- 

All positive feelings. 

And as you and your family stepped back in the zeta tubes, your friends saying “byyyyye” to Martha especially, with their baby voice (making Bruce roll his eyes), and as she waved at them- 

Waved for the FIRST TIME ever oh. 

Oh it felt like you would die of happiness. 

And still, Bruce’s hands held yours tightly. 

He knew. 

He knew, you were the source of this happiness he thought he could never find again. 

He knew. 

He never loved like that before. 

Yes. It felt like you could just die of happiness.

__________________________________________________

And here we are. I hope you enjoyed this. Don’t hesitate to comment and/or reblog, it’s always greatly appreciated :). 

Also, initially, the child was going to be Thomas (their son in my “main” storyline, if you already read a few works from me), but last minute, I was like : “wait no, I want to give Bruce a daughter, and the boys a sister. Also, poor Cass eh ?” and here we are. I really hope you liked this; I’m nervous for some reasons. Anyway. See you soon with another one ? 

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!readers on hot ones

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

this is based partially off of the new hot ones interview with the obx cast. just imagine drew and actress!reader are on opposite teams rather than drew being the question person lol. yall really seemed to like the last interview-fic i did so voila <3

“I’m already sweating.” Madison said, fanning herself as they filed into the studio. Lights and a white backdrop surrounded a table covered with wings, four chairs on each side. They’d already been briefed on how things were going to go, the eight of them divided into two teams and answering questions, their answers deciding whether or not they’d be subjected to one of the very hot wings laid out in front of them.

Drew came up behind y/n, pulling out her chair for her before heading to his own seat opposite her. She smiled at him, soothing her dress down as the rest of the cast sat down. Madelyn, Rudy, and Carlacia took seats on her team whereas Drew sat with Chase, Madison, and JD opposite them.

“You better not be expecting me to go easy on you, Starkey.” Y/n grinned, resting her chin in her hands as she looked at the man across from her, his eyes crinkling as a smile crept across his face.

“You better not be expecting me to go easy on you, my love.” Drew raised his eyebrows teasingly.

“Ok, are we ready?” One of the producers asked, to which the cast responded with excited (or perhaps anxious) cheers. The camera focused in on Chase, who reached and spun the bottle of hot sauce sitting in front of them, the ultimate decider of which team would go first. It spun for a moment before landing on Madelyn, her teammates erupting with hollers as Chases picked up one of the cards.

“Alright, Mr. Rudy,” Chase smiled cheekily. “Outer Banks has hooked viewers with its countless twists and turns, however, name one storyline you think should’ve never made it out of the writers room.”

Everyone let out some groans and giggles as Rudy began to lose himself in thought… and continued and continued to think.

“Is there a time limit on these?” JD quipped, causing Rudy to roll his eyes, stroking his chin in playful contemplation.

“This is off to a great start.” Y/n said, elbowing Rudy lightly.

“Ok, ok!” Rudy said. “I’d say… I wish they didn’t switch to the second treasure so fast. They should’ve stuck at the first treasure longer.”

“That sounds like an answer to me!” Carlacia clapped as the team opposite them picked up their wings with a groan. They each took a bite, chewing for a second before they all reached for the drinks in front of them.

“Shit.” Drew swore as he took a long sip of milk, his cheeks already beginning to flush a bright red.

“Don’t worry there’s more where that came from.” Y/n grinned as Drew shook his head. Y/n reached in front of her, grabbing another one of the question cards.

“Oh, JD,” Y/n read in a sing-song voice, “Outer Banks centers around a group of teenagers, but our cast ranges from 24 to 33 years old. Which of your costars is the least convincing teenager?”

The table erupted into “oohs” as JD surveyed his co-stars, a nervous grin on his face before his gaze landed on Chase.

“I think I have to say Mr Chase Stokes.” JD chuckled.

“Is it because of the beard?” Chase teased as y/n and her team picked up the wings in front of them. With a deep breath, y/n took a bite, her mouth immediately bursting with heat. With a groan, she reached for the ice water in front of her, hoping to soothe the fire in her throat as her eyes began to water.

“No more jokes, baby?” Drew asked as y/n fanned herself off with her hand. Y/n rolled her eyes, tossing the old question card at him. Drew picked the next card, his gaze locking onto the girl in front of him.

“Oh, perfect. Y/n,” Drew began, “part of Outer Banks’ charm is the chemistry between the cast. That being said, who here is the worst scene partner?”

“Oh no!” Y/n groaned, putting her face in her hands as the table broke out in gasps and laughter. She stole a glance at the second wing in front of her, royally coated in fiery hot sauce before thinking of an answer.

“Ok, ok! I’m going to answer, but,” y/n said with an anxious giggle, “you have to let me explain!”

Her co-stars leaned in, each of them with looks of anticipation covering their faces as y/n sat up straighter in her seat.

“My answer is…” y/n paused for dramatic affect, chewing at her bottom lip nervously, “Drew, but—”

Everyone erupted into shrieks and laughter, Drew’s jaw dropping at his girlfriend’s answer. Madelyn covered her mouth, locking eyes with Carlacia before they both turned to y/n.

“No, no, no! You have to let me explain!” Y/n reached across the table, grabbing Drew’s hand, his mouth still agape.

“This is going to be good.” Rudy chuckled.

“He’s not a bad scene partner, he is just so different from Rafe and always makes me laugh, so it takes us a million takes to get a scene done!” Y/n clarified, Drew’s shocked expression melting into a small smile.

“See, you’re just such a funny guy and I love you so much that it makes it hard to do scenes with you. It’s a compliment, really, baby.” Y/n finished with a quirk of her eyebrows, her costars swooning as the couple gazed at each other softly.

“Good save, good save.” JD teased as he and his team reached for another hot wing. The game continued for several more rounds, various questions, and, of course, lots of spicy wings, until they finally made it to the finale.

The table was moved out, their seats being arranged in a circle for a cutthroat game of musical chairs that would ultimately determine the winner of the game. Round after round, the numbers dwindled until one chair and two players remained: y/n and Drew.

“No mercy, y/n!” Madelyn shouted from the side as y/n and Drew rounded the chair slowly.

“C’mon Starkey boy!” Chase cheered. Y/n looked up for a moment, her eyes meeting with Drew’s as the music suddenly stopped. Before she knew it, Drew’s arms wrapped around her torso, lifting her off her feet with a shriek. He quickly sat down in the chair, pulling her down with him, and winning the game.

“Sorry baby,” Drew smirked, pressing a kiss to y/n’s cheek. Y/n groaned playfully, tossing her head back to rest on Drew’s shoulder as the two of them laughed in the chair.

“You’re lucky I love you, Starkey.” Y/n grinned, kissing Drew’s jaw.

“Do you? Do you really?” Drew teased, nuzzling his nose into the crook of y/n’s neck, causing her to squeal with laughter. In all her life, y/n would’ve never expected that she in all her competitive nature would be ok with losing a competition, but here she was, happy as ever.

[retiredteabag]

The soul does not lie

synopsis: Sukuna allows tedious nonsense when he can feel your soul's cravings.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Though he hardly mentions it, Sukuna can, in fact, feel your soul in a way that a normal sorcerer never could. Knowing this helps to make sense of the fact that the man can always tell when you are distressed, even when you try to hide it.

You had discovered this little ability of his when he had come stomping in from the gardens one day while you watched unblinkingly at a horror film.

With your eyes only visible through the slots of your fingers you looked up to see him standing, arms crossed, in the entry way of his chambers.

"What is it that brings you fear?" He had thundered.

"W-what... no, nothing, I'm just watching a movie, see?" You flipped your phone around for the man too see but he did not take his eyes off your form.

"I do not repeat myself." His four eyes were squinted and his eyebrows arched in a dangerously attractive way.

"Kuna' it's a horror movie, that's all, I'm not really scared." You finally announced to the rolling of four red eyes.

"Your soul states otherwise." He quipped before drawing close to try and see what had your soul trembling so fearfully. He was disappointed, to say the least when he was unable to identify what was so "horrific" about your film.

And that marked the moment you realized that Sukuna was able to feel you in a way you could not understand.

Sukuna was NOT a gentleman, he was far, far from it. He loved to bring terror to the masses, very rarely did he allow another beings to so much as speak in his presence. He did, however, have "soft spots" for creatures that sparked his interest, and those remarkably loyal.

Even so, he did not make efforts to calm your nerves when you were anxious. He did not feel the slightest effect in his chest when your sorrow was palpable. He would certainly not allow for time to be wasted on your souls quivering's. That-was none of his concern.

It was not as if he was taking any actions when he allowed your pathetic "cuddling" nonsense when he felt the pangs of misery that surrounded your essence.

You had tried to hold him in the past but he did not see the use in wrapping oneself around another. Even so, he found himself pretending to sleep (even though he did not need it) when he sensed your desperation for his touch.

Likewise, when he could feel the shaky and childish excitement that bled from your soul when you were happy, he could not seem to help but humor you.

As mentioned, Sukuna does not require sleep like your helpless human form. Still, it was not uncommon for the king of curses to close his eyes, relaxing in his ultimate power. Be it when he bathes, when he is lounging on his palace's engawa, when he is seated on his throne, or even when he reclines himself along his chamber's bed.

Sukuna had his eyes closed one evening, feeling his power splay out from his body, grasping at the forms of everyone within his domain. When he sensed your spirit, quickly approaching his chambers.

He made the decision then to seem uninterested when you clambered through the doors.

He could hear the switch in your step as you drew in a breath, clearly forgetting what you had wished to say at the sudden image before you.

The bloodthirsty man had never looked more like a jungle cat, lying atop his bed in such a lazy fashion. He felt the exact moment your soul leapt. He knew you had covered your mouth as your heavy breathing had dulled despite your heartbeat climbing to unusual heights.

He knew of your antics. Having felt you chew on each of his biceps several times. You had that same giddiness now. It was simply that he did not care to move that he kept his eyes closed. Pretending not to notice as you took out your phone, your feet dancing around him. He'll allow you to take your ridiculous photos, he's too... relaxed... to... take issue with your senseless mischief.

He could tell you had finished when he heard you pocket your phone once more, your hands covering your beating heart, you leaned down, holding your breath. The king of curses had to keep himself from squishing his face in ....disgust.... as you planted a chaste kiss in the space between his lower eye and his upper lip.

"You're too precious." You quietly whisper. Brushing your hand softly through his hair. And Sukuna rolled his eyes behind his lids.

Such foolishness he has never seen. Even so- he will allow it.

[sttoru]

.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. it’s late at night and you try to cuddle with sukuna. keyword; try.

wc. 1.2k

tags. true form!sukuna x female reader. fluff, angst (+comfort). heian era. size difference (readers referred to as small). sukuna’s a bit mean, but he also has a soft spot for you. miscommunication ? it gets solved. reader gets called ‘woman, doll’.

“what are you trying to do?” sukuna sighs. you’re up to something again, he figures. his red eyes follow your body as it crawls up to him on the bed.

you’re both tired after a long day of fulfilling some duties here and there around the estate. all you need is a big beefy man wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm and safe.

the perfect man for that is sukuna. those four arms of his wrapped around your small body feel like heaven.

“it’s called cuddling,” you retort. the sarcastic tone you used triggers a deep sigh from the sorcerer. sukuna holds back the urge to say something sarcastic as well.

he doesn’t utter a single word once you snuggle up to his chest. you’ve taught him how to cuddle during the first time you asked him to hold you. sukuna was awkward with showing any type of affection back then.

. . he still very much is.

“hug, please,” you remind him. the cold-hearted man scoffs, though listens to your polite request. all four of his arms imprison you against his chest, your small body nearly disappearing behind his limbs.

that’s what you like most about those cuddles you share together; how you fit so perfectly in his strong arms. it’s much more comforting than you thought it would be.

a pair of hands rests on your waist, the other pair on your hips. sukuna glances down at you and immediately notices that smile on your lips. even after all this time, he still cannot fathom why you’re so carefree around a monster like him.

and that inability to understand you and your love for him is accompanied by an urge to push you away.

“you got your hug, now get up,” sukuna interrupts the silence. his voice is cold and devoid of emotion—he uses that voice when he talks to other people. not with you, “i have better things to attend to.”

thus, it hurts. when he talks to you like that. like you’re not the person he secretly cherishes most. though, you remind yourself of sukuna’s own words. the ones you heard him say a while ago.

‘love is meaningless’, he said. you remember. and yet you kept hoping that he’d change his mind about that statement. you hoped and eventually saw exactly that: your presence and your affectionate gestures mellowed his heart of steel.

but all that effort seems to go down the drain every time sukuna pushes you away.

you know it’s because he’s unfamiliar with the feelings of love. he may not say it nor show it, but you know that sukuna’s afraid of hurting you. so, he creates a gap between you two every now and then.

you know and yet you’re patient.

“oh, ‘kay,” you nod in understanding. you pull away from his embrace and get up from the bed. your bottom lip trembles.

sukuna is not gullible. he’s anything but oblivious. especially if it’s about how you feel and act. he notices every single change in your mood; whether you mask it or not.

you walk to the sliding doors—ready to open them and step out into the hallway. your eyes are a bit watery, but you quickly blink the tears away and take a deep breath in. you reach for the door.

“come back here, woman.”

sukuna’s booming voice makes you stop. you glance at his form over your shoulder. he’s leaning against the headboard of the bed, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.

is he. . . upset?

“why? you said you had better things to attend to.” you answer with a shrug. you try your best to not make it seem like his earlier words had effected you. you turn your head towards the word with a huff, “go on, then.”

sukuna narrows his eyes. he sucks at communicating what he actually desires—what he actually wants. right now that want is for you to stay. even though that completely contradicts his previous words.

the sorcerer doesn’t know what to do. when you’re with him, he pushes you away out of guilt. when you’re away, he wants you back with him.

love is complicated.

“you. . .” sukuna grunts in frustration. all those feelings for you inside of his heart are playing with his rational thoughts. he doesn’t like seeing you upset. he wants the usual you back, “tsk. fine then.”

silence, followed by the creaking of the bed frame. seems like sukuna’s getting up to do whatever ‘business’ he needed to attend. at least, that’s what you thought.

you slide the door open and set a foot outside of the chambers. before the other could follow, you’re suddenly lifted up in the air by a strong pair of hands. your vision turns upside down as your body is effortlessly hoisted onto a shoulder.

“woah!” you gasp and feel the blood go to your head. your eyes are fixed on the back of your lover. you kick your legs in protest, but only get a smack to your ass in response. you whine at that, “put me down!”

“watch it, doll,” sukuna hisses at your fierce demand, a warning to fix your tone. he puts you back down on the soft mattress. he’s surprisingly gentle when he settles you in place—not throwing you on the bed or anything similar, “should’ve listened when i told you the first time.”

your eyes meet sukuna’s and you notice how much they’ve softened. that alone makes the lump in your throat disappear. your love for him isn’t one sided—you’ve always kept that in the back of your mind—yet your thoughts made you overlook the little things he does for you.

his actions speak louder than his words. that’s the kind of man he is.

sukuna’s trying to open up more, though that process is slow. you’re fine with that.

especially when there’s that faint pout on his lips as he stares at you. his eyebrows are still furrowed, his crimson eyes sharp yet warm.

“oh, you want me back in bed this bad?” you tease once you get the opportunity. the man in front of you clicks his tongue and grabs your cheeks with one hand, turning your head up to face him.

sukuna’s eyes are focused on yours. the eye contact is intimidating, but you’re hypnotised. you physically can’t look away. he leans in and bites your lip with his sharp canines, “shut up.”

that raspy whisper alone confirms your assumption. you giggle at his attempt of refuting your point. you’re used to all those intimidating words and actions he pulls to get you to stop your teasing.

those empty threats—it’s becoming rather cute with how hard he tries to deny everything. he fails nearly every time, however.

“come,” sukuna lays back against the pillows after placing a quick and sloppy kiss against your lips. he pulls your body against his and presses your head against his chest, right where his heart is beating, “continue with your.. ‘cuddling’ thing.”

he put your ear right above his heart, because he remembers listening to his heartbeat calms you down. you told him that a while back. sukuna doesn’t understand why you like it, but his fingers massage your scalp either way.

that’s also something that brings you comfort.

you’re surprised by how much he knows about you, but appreciate it anyway. he remembers both the big and small things about you. ‘that’s how he probably shows his love,’ you conclude silently.

[slushycoookie]

What's That Smell? ~ Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader

✩ Word Count: 3.1k

✩ Content: Worst!Logan and Hairdresser! Reader. Wade acts like he's innocent in this, but he's not. Pheromone perfume. Logan doesn't go feral, but he gets there. P in V. Vaginal Fingering. Squirting. MINORS DNI!!

✩ A/N: I had to write about my man reacting to pheromone perfume. Enjoy!

Masterlist | Commissions

“Happy birthday!”

Wade hands you a pink gift bag stuffed with sparkly tissue paper. “It's not my birthday.”

“You're so silly.” He waves you away with a sensible chuckle. “It's someone's birthday somewhere. Anyway, I saw this and thought of you.”

You pull out a small bottle of perfume decorated in a crystal clear color. The design looked oddly familiar, but you couldn't pinpoint where you saw it. “Oh, thanks. I've been meaning to get some more perfume.”

“Well, the gods answered, and as your friend, I am known for reading my friend’s minds.”

You're pretty sure Logan brought it up to him one day, but you didn’t question it. You thanked him with a hug, and he mentioned something about doing a fashion show for Mary Puppins when he left your apartment.

It was nice of Wade to give you a gift. He's always been generous towards you since you were with Logan, but you didn’t expect something like this.

You even mentioned Wade's generosity to Logan later on, who gave a questionable raise of an eyebrow.

“Really? He bought you perfume?”

“Yeah.” You pull out the bag and show him the bottle. “Wasn't that sweet of him?”

Logan squints at the bottle, still not convinced. “I guess so.”

“You guess so.” You rolled your eyes. “Can’t you believe that he wanted to be nice? He doesn't seem like the type to play a cruel joke.”

“Cruel isn't the word I'd use.” He grumbles.

You place the pink gift bag back on your dresser, reminding yourself to use it the next time you go out.

That next time was for running errands. You had to restock the kitchen, enough to last you and your superhero boyfriend, who loves to eat and drink, for a couple of weeks. Plus, you needed to get more supplies for the salon. Logan would meet up with you at the store since he spent the night back at Wade's to prep for Mary Puppin's first day at doggy school. You could tell from the brief phone call last night that he was worn out.

You throw on an oversized t-shirt, leggings, and sneakers. Not the most attractive outfit. Before you left, your eyes landed on the gift bag. Harmlessly, you sprayed Wade's perfume behind your ears and the space between your bicep and forearm.

Running errands was serious for you. You weren't the biggest fan of spending hours at the store, wasting time grabbing groceries. Logan agreed with you on that front, as he didn’t want to waste time either.

Once you stepped foot inside the store, you were ready. With a list in hand, you were filled with total concentration. A few minutes later, there was a shift.

You received a lot more attention.

Many people coming up to you to tell you smell good. You just started in the produce aisle, and four people approached you. It surprised you the multitude of compliments you were getting despite having the appearance of a bum. Others were making conversation while you were trying to shop, asking you simple questions about good salad dressing brands. Or how many spices you have in your home. Trying to get closer to you.

One man didn't seem to get the hint that you were busy. He offered to help you with your groceries while you were in the cereal aisle. Logan's favorite brand of raisin bran was on a high shelf, causing said man to grab it for you. You were polite, but maybe you shouldn't have been, as he constantly hovered around you. Drawn to you for reasons you can't explain. Talking your ear off about whatever he could think of.

“You probably have your own shopping to do. I don't want to distract you.” You say, hoping politely declining him would make him take the hint.

“No, no, it's alright. I don't want to leave a defenseless person like you.”

You hold back at getting annoyed, “…it's a grocery store.”

“Still, I just think-”

“You got cotton in your fucking ears?” In a blink, Logan grabs the intruding guy by his shoulder, effortlessly pushing him away. “She didn't need any fucking help, bub.”

The guy scoffs, rolling his hips to make himself look more arduous, “And who are you?”

“Her boyfriend, who isn't afraid to make you a pathetic stain on the ground.”

You knew he meant it, but you also didn’t want to get banned as you really liked this store. The guy took the hint, leaving the cereal aisle like a defeated puppy.

“My hero.” You kiss Logan's cheek and see him sniff the air. He turns towards you, pupils almost blown. Before you can ask if he's alright, he grabs your wrist, smelling the space between your bicep and forearm. The action makes you laugh a little.

“What's that smell?” Logan takes a few more sniffs, and you feel blood rush to your cheeks. “It's sweet. Really fucking sweet.”

“O-Oh, I put on perfume today.” You didn't need to ask if he liked it as he was glued to your form, sniffing behind your ears, his breath fanning your neck.

“Is this new? I've never smelled this before.”

“Yeah, it's the one from Wade.”

Logan lets out a groan that sends straight to your core. Goosebumps coat your flesh, and you shudder when his hands creep under your shirt to feel your bare skin. His touch was hot, almost making your back arch. You had to remember you were in a grocery store. There were eyes on you two, and you had to regain some control, or else there'd be two new names on the sex offender list.

“Baby, we got things to do.”

You pull away from him, trying to ignore Logan's dejected face at the fact they had errands to run. He hardly said anything else after that. He delegated his role to being the silent shopper, pushing the cart and responding briefly whenever you talked to him. To anyone else, he gave off the appearance of a man not wanting to go grocery shopping. You knew it was something else when you noticed his knuckles turning white from gripping the cart. Everything in your body warned you not to get close to him until the errands were done.

An unsettled feeling arose inside your stomach when the two of you were outside, a cart filled with groceries. Logan mentioned he brought Althea's car, which is one of the few words he's said since then.

He told you to wait in the car while he put the groceries in the trunk. You wanted to help, but he pushed you to go inside, almost gritting his teeth. There, you sat on the passenger side while waiting for him to finish. Logan was taking his time and acting completely different from your usual outings. At one point, you saw him with his head towards the sky, taking heavy breaths, hands on his hips.

You had a feeling this was your fault somehow.

When Logan got inside, you ask, “You okay?”

“No.” He doesn't start the car yet. You could see the veins across his hands when he gripped the steering wheel. “You don't know how fucking good you smell right now. It's everywhere. My nose, my head, my thoughts. You don't know bad I'm trying not to rip your clothes off and fuck you in the backseat. ”

You didn't know what to say, but you liked it. Your thighs squeezed together at how a couple of spritzes of perfume were affecting him.

“Is it that bad? Do you wanna go home instead?”

Logan shakes his head, “You still have to go to the beauty store.”

“I can get those things another day-”

“No, sugar. I'm not ruining your plans because of a damn perfume.”

Butterflies tangle in your stomach. This man still had ways to make you shiver. You just needed to be a responsible adult for a bit longer.

The beauty store was five minutes away, but being in the car with Logan felt like an eternity. His large hand rested on your thigh, creating heat through his palm. Your thoughts wanted him to go higher, near your sex, to feel how horny you were getting. The car started getting warmer too, sweat forming on your brow. If Logan hadn't smelled you earlier, he would probably have smelled you now.

“I'll go in with ya.” He offers when pulling into a parking spot.

“No need! I'll probably be a bit anyway.”

You rush out of the car before he can say anything else. Practically running inside the store so you can get your mind straight. Your boyfriend's words were hovering in your mind, and you resisted the urge to turn back around and have him go by his word.

You needed to calm your mind. Hopefully shopping for more supplies would help and Logan staying in the car.

“Now, what kind of man would I be if I let my lady go in alone?” Logan's gruff tone sent chills across your spine and his arm around your waist to press against your back. No words escaped you as he sniffed behind your head. “Say something.”

“Logan…” You let out a shaky breath, trying not to falter at the proximity. He couldn’t resist copping a feel on your breast, which made you bite your lip. “There are cameras.”

He grunts, burying his face in your neck as you two stand awkwardly in the shampoo aisle. Thank goodness there was no one nearby to witness it.

“I'm behaving.”

“Barely.”

When you were usually out to restock, you were quick, decisive, a separate list on hand to make sure you had everything you needed for the salon. This time, you were slower and more distracted as Logan was glued to your hip. Giving you extra hugs after picking up an item you need on your list. A gentle kiss to your neck. His arm possessively around your waist. The man wasn't even a massive fan of pda either. Whatever this perfume was had him forgo his usual self.

When people were nearby, he didn't leave your side. His large pupils were on them as if they were a threat as if they were going to take you away from him.

If you had any more errands to run, that would have to wait another day. Once you two checked out from the store, your man was about to snap.

Logan was dead silent when he started the car, his knuckles almost turning white again. The apartment was only fifteen minutes away, and you weren't sure if he would be able to hold on that long. You only noticed deep, heavy breaths that overshadowed the radio you turned on to distract yourself. You weren't sure if you wanted to ask if he was okay again. You had a feeling he was going to go true to his word to fuck you in the backseat.

Once pulling up to your apartment, you were ready to get out, but his hand held yours to stop you.

“I'll get the bags.”

“There's a lot of them, I can help-”

“No.” He cuts you off, bringing your wrist up to his face and taking a long sniff. You squeezed your thighs together at the sight. A whimper almost escaped your lips. “Go wait in our room.”

You had nothing else to say after that.

You did as you were told, sitting on the edge of the bed while holding your hands. Your heart pounding in your chest as you heard Logan bring the bags inside. You weren't sure why you were nervous. You were doing what you were told.

Maybe he told you to wait because the scent was becoming unbearable. That he couldn’t focus, or your scent was dampening his enhanced abilities. Did you mess up? All you did was put on perfume. Or did Wade mess up? Did he accidentally bring you something that affected mutants? You should’ve thought twice before accepting a gift from him.

Slow and heavy footsteps made it's way into the room. You watched Logan close the door and lock it as if there was anyone around to disturb you.

“Take off your clothes.” He starts pulling off his own shirt.

You did so, albeit a bit slower than him. Your thighs clenched as you knew your cunt was wet from all of the waiting, the touches, and kisses from the stores, his filthy words. Logan's eyes scanned your naked body when he got closer. You tried not to focus on his hard cock, red around the tip, cum leaking from it. You wondered how long he was holding that in.

“You got some type of power I don't know about?” He doesn't give you a chance to answer when he presses against your naked body. Heat coming from his chest that was making you flustered. “You secretly a mutant, and you decided not to tell me?”

“No! No, I'm not a mutant. I swear all I did was just put on some perfume-”

Logan silences you with a kiss. Hands on your sides while groaning between your lips. You thought he was mad at you, yet he was sticking his tongue down your throat. His rough hands on your sides. You hold on to him for dear life when he parts, sniffing the air, and you feel yourself getting wetter.

“Motherfucking perfume should not make you smell this good, Jesus fucking Christ.” Logan swears while he's buried against your neck again, licking and sucking along your skin. You whine at how rough he's getting, as if he needs more of you. “I won't get mad if you tell me you are a mutant right now because fuck…”

Logan picks you up and tosses you on the bed. You barely have time to recover when he flips you over on your stomach. A hand presses on your back, keeping you firmly against the mattress. His lips kiss behind your earlobe before giving it a gentle nibble. That makes you shift underneath him, causing him to shush in your ear.

“Hold still.”

You do as you're told, whimpering at the touch of his lips against your nape. A light kiss, one that makes you want to put your head back, which is followed up by a nibble. Logan does the same while trailing down your back. You feel his hands palm the globes of your ass while he does so, creating tiny circles with his thumbs.

You moan into your pillow, and you know you're embarrassingly wet now. Your cunt is pulsing with the need to have him inside you already. His fingers dip inside you, and you gasp in surprise. Logan's able to pump his thick digits into your aching hole while leaning over you again, taking another whiff of your perfume.

“Lift your hips up for me, baby.”

You struggle to move your hips as he’s still two fingers inside you, but he helps you, a firm hand on your hip. When he does so, he moves down to your clit. The two fingers coated with your wetness parted your folds, rubbing that sensitive bud. It was getting harder to do as you were told. Keeping still as he played with your pussy. Taking in how delicious you smelled with the perfume.

“Logan.” You murmured against your pillow, “Please…”

“Please? My lady's begging for me?” Logan lets out a short laugh, not stopping his fingers. “You want me to fuck that pretty pussy of yours, huh?”

“Please…” You were on the brink of tears, that familiar feeling in your stomach about to tip over. Logan didn't show you any mercy, making you sob against your sheets. His fingers rubbed your sensitive clit until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You ached for him to be inside, cunt pulsing for him to slip his cock in. Once again, the tip of his nose brushed against your ear lobe as well as his cock in your sex. Your body quivered as his chest was on your back, hovering over you for complete control.

“Think you can give me another?”

You didn't have time to answer as he started pounding into you. Sticky, wet sounds in your ears as you were pinned. Not having a single thought every time Logan's hips met with yours, mouth wide open as you were being fucked dumb. A hint of your drool staining the sheets.

The headboard banging against the wall, mattress squeaking as Logan kept going. Grunting in your ear, saying that your scent was even better after your orgasm. That he wasn't going to come until you squeezed around his thick cock. And he meant it when he rubbed against your pulsing clit. You shook, moaning at his touch and how his cock pistoned into you.

Logan was angled perfectly to where he started hitting your G-spot, causing your vision to get blurry. Still not stopping on the assault on your clit.

“Lo…Logan…” Your body was getting hotter, another climax on the horizon.

“You almost there, princess?” Your answer was only a whine, and that was good enough for him. “That’s it, that's it. Do it for me, baby.”

This orgasm was different. As you came undone, wetness coated Logan's cock, some dripping down your thighs and his own.

“Oh fuck-” Without warning, he shot up inside you. Grunting in your ear while his seed filled your cunt, mixing with your own arousal and trailing down your thighs as well. Logan lazily pumped into you to make sure you got it all while groping your ass.

You could hardly move with Logan on top of you. Thank goodness he didn't rest his total weight on you, or you'd be crushed. He waited a few moments before pulling out, leaving you to lie on your side, completely docile.

No words were said when he cleaned you up, towel between your legs as he kissed your forehead. You started getting coherent enough to realize the groceries were still out, but Logan said he already put them away for you.

With a sigh of relief, you glanced over at the perfume before reaching for your phone to look up the label. That's when your eyes went wide at the reveal.

Wade gifted you pheromone perfume.

No wonder Logan was acting unhinged all day. With his heightened sense of smell, of course something like this would affect him. That is definitely the last time you take a gift from Wade.

As you showed Logan what the perfume was, his brows furrowed in slight annoyance, calling him an asshole.

“But,” Logan folded his arms, glancing away from you. “I wouldn't mind if you wear this more often…”

[mysicklove]

Summary: four-year-old Yuuji didnt mean to bring up Mr. Gojos crush on you, which of course, leads to Sukuna's harsh teasing.

cw: fem! reader (reader gets referred to as girl, pretty, and mommy), curse words, suggestive language, lion king spoilers (lol)

wc: 1.8k

a/n: i love making sukuna an absolute menace. poor yuuji tho. i think i am going to introduce gojo as a character, because I think it would be entertaining to piss Sukuna off lol.

big brother au masterlist

“Su-kuna!”

“The fuck did you just call me?”

“Language,” You scold, not peering up from your book. Yuuji lays sprawled out on top of the both of you – his head in your lap, and practically purring in content when you gently pet the top of his head, while his little legs are on Sukuna’s thighs. 

Yuuji giggles into your shirt, shaking his head mischeviously. “Bad word Su-kuna!”

In an instant, you feel the toddler being ripped away from your lap with a tiny screech. The noise startles you, and you perk up from your book to look to where the boy has gone to. But, you aren't surprised to see him dangling in the air by his ankle – Sukuna’s long fingers skillfully hold onto Yuujis chubby little leg tight enough to not drop him, but gently enough to not cause physical harm. 

The boy doesn't seem to mind this position, being in it so frequently. Giggles and squeals leave the toddler's mouth as he stares at his now upside down brother. “You learning how to speak correctly?”

Yuuji nods his head, and his hands try to reach for Sukunas shirt. You rest your head on the man's shoulder, chuckling at the boy who was squirming in the air. “Uh-huh! F-Fush-i-guro taught me!” The dark haired toddlers last name was hard to pronounce, and it was amusing watching how Yuuji sounded it out.

Sukuna makes a loud groaning noise and you cover your mouth to hold back another laugh. “Of course you made friends with Gojo’s new brat. First he hits on my girl, and now his new kid is gonna manipulate this idiot.” He shakes Yuuji in the air to demonstrate his point, ignoring the squeals. 

You roll your eyes with a laugh. “Just because Megumi taught Yuuji how to say your name correctly, doesn't mean the kid is manipulating him. Y’know Yuuji struggles with words sometimes.” You watch as the child in turn shakes his head in defiance, letting out a “Nu-uh!” that only makes you smile. You turn back over to your lover, kissing his cheek. “Aw, does it make you sad that our little Yuuji is growing up?”

“No,” he quickly rebuttals, “Brat isnt growing up fast enough. I am mad that you're not denying the fact that the white haired idiot is flirting with you.” You know that wasn't the full truth, but alas, Sukuna was extremely stubborn and would never admit that he didn't want his brother to grow up. 

“Fush-i-guro says Mr. Gojo thinks you are pretty!” Yuuji announces, beaming at you from the air. You hold back a wince, smiling awkwardly back at the innocent words of the toddler. You watch as the boys cheeks begin to flush from all the blood rushing to his head, and immediately as if sensing it, Sukuna flips over the boy and instead places him on his lap, holding onto the back of his neck.

The action makes you smile, noticing the thumb that rubs gently at the pale skin. But when you glance at Sukuna, you notice quickly that he was anything but happy. Sukunas dark eyes twitches, flickering to you, and he speaks between his teeth. “Did he now? I may need to have a talk with Mr. Gojo next time I pick the little pest up. Does Fushiguro say anything else?”  

“Sukuna,” you whine, realising that the hold on the boys neck was not out of affection – instead was used to trap the boy while he was questioned. “Y’know Gojo is alot. He just wants to–”

“Fush-i-guro says Mr. Gojo has a crush on Y/N!”

“Yuuji!” 

“B-But, Y/N has a crush on brother,” the boy concludes, furrowing his eyebrows with a small nod. “Right, Ku–um–Su-kuna?” He turns up to his brother, doe eyed with his head slightly cocked to the side in question. 

In response, Sukuna ruffles his hair, nearly sending the boy landing on his back. But, instead he giggles at the rough treatment, shutting his eyes and trying his best to stay upward. “The biggest crush. You make sure to tell the little brat that. Or else Mr. Gojo is going to try take her away.”

Your eyes widen and you push at his broad shoulders. “Sukuna! You're going to get him all worked up!” You exclaim, knowing the very sensitive (regarding you or Sukuna) child very well by now. You turn to the boy, whose own eyes widen as he trying to process the words. “Gojo is not trying to take me away.”

“He is going to take her away if you don't do anything, and little Megumi is going to have a new mommy.” Sukuna was grinning at the boy, as if his brother's fearful expression pleased him. You knew that he was being purposely dramatic – Gojo wasn't even technically Megumi's father, if there was a chance that you guys would ever get together (near zero) you would definitely not be the boy's new mom. But alas, Sukuna continues on with his words. “Thats why whenever you see the two of them talking you have to make sure you to scream as loud as possible.”

You cover the mans mouth before you he can spewl any more nonsense, but it was too late. Yuuji was already tearing himself from the man's lap and into yours – his lips begin to wobble and his eyes flood with tears. “Is-um-is that what you two talk about when I am with Mr. Nanami,” he warbles, thinking back to the multitude of times he has held onto his preschool teachers hand and watched you smile at the white haired man. 

“No, love,” you reassure, turning your attention instead from scolding your lover to consoling the child. “Sukuna is being mean again. Don't listen to him. Mr. Gojo and I are friends.” You ignore the look that Sukuna shoots you, showing how displeased he is at the idea of you being friends with his least favorite person. 

The boy sniffles, wiping his little fists on his face. “I-I dont want you to be Fush-i-guro’s mommy. You have to stay with me and Kuna! P-Please?” He doesn't even attempt to say his brother's name correctly, forgetting how he started the conversation all together. He was focused on trying not to cry, because his brother was sure to tease him, but it wasn't working out very well.

You kiss at his chubby cheeks, shaking your head with an exasperated look on your face, wondering how the hell you got to this conversation. “I am not, promise. I'm not going anywhere. Even if your brother is the worst, brattiest, malicious person alive, I have kinda grown attached to him. Besides, if I left who would I have movie nights with?”

“I am not a–” You shoot Sukuna a nasty glare, and he in return lets out an astonished laugh, but shrugs without care.

Your words make Yuuji perk up from your lap, and his eyes widen with glee. “You like movie nights too?” He was always begging for the three of you to watch movies together, but Sukuna always denies him considering it would end up being a cheesy Disney movie that Yuuji would fall asleep not even twenty minutes into.

“I love movie nights. Do you want to have one tonight?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Sukuna butts in, and you spare him a glance. “Babe, we have plans tonight, remember?” He tilts his head to the side suggestively and you roll your eyes at him.

“Not anymore. Me and Yuuji are going to watch…”

“Human Earthworm 2!” The boy interjects, completely forgetting about his previous experiences with the movie, not good ones.

You poke at his cheeks, shaking your head. “I was thinking The Lion King.” 

“Yes!”

“No,” Sukuna groans, covering his eyes with his palm.

You look at him with furrowed eyebrows. “No? Why are you putting your input in? You're not watching it with us.”

Sukuna, never have been told this before, looks appalled. “The fuck you mean?”

“Bad word!” Yuuji points to him in accusation, but Sukuna just ignores him.

You cock your head to the side, a sly grin pulling at your face. “You're not invited.”

“Why not?”

The two of you make eye contact for a long second, and after a moment or two, Sukuna sighs. “You're really mad about that?” You don't say anything, just continuing to stare at him. “Okay fuck–Yes that is a curse word, astute observation you brat. I am sorry for making the kid cry again.”

“And?”

Sukuna narrows his eyes at you, but you hold your ground. Then, he turns to the boy with a sigh. “Dont scream when you see Gojo and Y/N talk, alright?” He jabs his finger into the boys chest and Yuuji nods his head rapidly in understanding. But, a foxish grin pulls at the mans face and he says, “Instead…The moment you hear him talk to her, you bite his leg.”

He barks a laugh at the confused face of his brother, but when he looks up to you, the smile falters. “Okay, c’mon it was a jo–”

You point your finger to the door. “Couch.”

“You can't kick me out of my own room!”

You don't move your finger. Yuuji glances at you, cocks his head to the side, and then mimicks your action. “Couch!”

The three of you go silent for a long minute, and at this point the boy's hand begins to tremble from holding his hand out for too long. Eventually when Sukuna realizes that there was no point of reasoning, he lets out a dramatic sigh, before crawling out of bed. 

When he notices your smug smile, he flips you off and you can't help but laugh at that. “I am coming back after the movie is done, ya hear?”

“If Yuuji does not fall asleep,” You tease in return, knowing the boy well, and Sukuna rolls his eyes. 

His eyes flicker to the boy who was snuggling up to your chest, trying to find a comfortable position to watch the movie in. Sukuna chuckles to himself, opening up the door, before turning back to the kid one last time. “Hey brat,” he calls.

“Hm?” 

“The father lion–Mufasa. He is my favorite character, so you'll bound to like him a lot. In fact, I sure do wonder if you'll get attached,” he muses, and your eyes widen when you realize what he is saying. Anything that is linked with Sukuna, Yuuji immediately falls in love with. This was bound to cause hysteria. “Enjoy the movie guys! Y/N have fun!” He calls, before shutting the door.

You pause for a moment, sighing into your hand. “Kuna likes the father lion? I want to see!”

You tried everything to avoid turning on the movie after that. But Yuuji, like his brother, was stubborn, and he desperately wanted to see the lion. He grew attached very quickly in that short period of time.

Deep laughs rumble through the house when Yuuji begins to sob over the animated lion's death. You lock the door, and Sukuna stays the night on the couch. 

[rizsu]

he's married ?! nanami kento.

sum. he's easily the top most handsome guy within his job. his relationship status is unknown, so what happens when his co-workers ship him with a female worker?

nanami is well known within his company. tall, insanely fit, and an attractive voice. it's not uncommon for men and women alike to find themselves thinking about him often. what's not common is knowing about his love life. no one knows anything and he would've kept it that way. but when push comes to shove, and you're shipped with someone who's not your beloved, nanami will make it known that he's not only taken but married.

in the coffee-break room there are three guys. now, there's nothing unusual about this — no, no. they're just three guys that are co-workers... except there's a twist. they aren't your regular co-workers, they're your uncommon trio of male gossipers and nanami just so happened to be their newest victim.

"shh, shh! he's here," guy one, tichi, whispers to the others, raising his eyebrows and pointing his chin to nanami's position.

the other two take a quick glance, nodding their heads when they've seen nanami's back faced towards them. it's a perfect moment to strike up a conversation, especially since it's just four men here.

guy two, tacho, shuffles his feet to the empty space near nanami. he pretends to open a sugar packet, fiddling with it as his eyes peep over nanami's shoulder. his heart skips multiple beats when the man himself turns around.

"morning to you, tacho," nanami greets, nodding his head before he turns his attention back to his cup of coffee.

"y-yeah, morning!" he stutters, awkwardly smiling in return. he turns his head to the other two in the background, mouthing the word 'help' to them. unfortunately, they do not give the aid to their friend. instead, tichi fakes a series of coughs and guy three, toeny, gives him a confident double thumbs up. there's no hope, tacho sighs.

it's a silent moment between the men — only the sounds of coffee brewing and a spoon coming into contact with the mug can be heard. tacho's mouth itches him, he happened to remember his group's recent conversation about nanami. he must ask — even if it costs him a mutual co-worker.

"so, nanami," he begins, waiting for nanami to give him the undivided attention.

nanami doesn't face him, but he hums in response. tacho doesn't mind this as an answer, so he continues, "i was wondering if the rumors of you being with the new worker, yeri, are true?"

there is one big lie in that question: there are no such rumors. it's just a theory the trio has been gossiping about every night. nanami's been helping out yeri for quite some time, one can only think that they have a special connection going on.

"that is bullshit," nanami gives a firm answer. nothing more, nothing less.

tacho's stunned, he blinks a few times to recollect himself. "oh — so you're not with her?"

nanami doesn't answer yet, but the two in the back give their unwanted reactions. tichi clicks his tongue three times, shaking his head in disappointment at tacho's second question. it's obvious dumbass, he thinks. toeny, on the other hand, presses his lips in a thin line, pretending to read a magazine that's been on the counter.

nanami reaches into his pocket, whipping out his phone. the trio's confused until nanami speaks.

"i am married man. this is my wife," he educates, pressing the power button to show you as his lockscreen.

he collects three gasps, internally nodding at their shock. that's right, i'm gladly taken.

"all this time you've been... MARRIED?!" tacho's voice heightens, he drops his spoon in shock. it's unbelievable yet somewhat believable.

nanami breathes out a 'yes', raising his arm to show the wristwatch. "she bought this for our five-years anniversary recently. it's quite expensive, going over four-thousand," he brags, emphasizing on key words.

he's been waiting for the precious day where someone indirectly asks for his relationship status. the day has come and he will spend it bragging about his beloved.

nanami doesn't give them a chance to speak, he carries on with his bragging, "she's a very lovely woman. all my bentos are made by her and she writes little notes for each. some may think it's childish but that's bullshit! they just haven't experienced the love of a woman. matter of fact, her most beautiful moments are when she's freshly awake. the smile she gives me is nothing but angelic."

his speech doesn't stop there, but it did for the trio. his words went in one ear and out the next. nanami's blabbering about his wife immediately set a blank face upon tichi, tacho, and toeny. they're jealous and also surprised.

"the way a woman can change a man will never not be amazing," toeny whispers, blankly gazing at nanami's ongoing speech.

[redcherrykook]

──𐙚 think i need someone older (s & f)

olderBoyfriend!Jungkook x inexperienced!reader

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content: some plot first, loss of virginity, age gap of 9 years (he´s 30), thigh humping, little dry humping too, cowgirl, he talks her through it, dom!jungkook, "sweet girl, baby, love", "gguk" lowkey insecure reader, praise, making out, breast play, clit play, creampie, unprotected, hickies on him, big c!ck Jungkook, small karaoke session, he´s whipped and wants to take care of her, short mention of alcohol (bc of that fucking bar he has omg), allusions to reader being short, she's very feminine

note from cherry: i tried to do justice to the people who wanted this, i hope you´re satisfied mwah! sooo sorry if it´s not giving lmao writing this was lowkey exhausting, also sorry for typos as always

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Jeon Jungkook is exactly like his preferred alcoholic beverage; whiskey. strong, rich, smooth, smells like oak and a hint of vanilla caramel. Much like your introduction to the drink, you met this man in a bar.

A real man- none of those barely twenty-year olds that paraded around in their sagged sweatpants and with a bright tap of unlimited unopened snapchats lighting up the dark corners of the bar. Jungkook is pure masculinity, a chest so full with security, so grounded in his abilities that it was practically impossible to ignore how his large, brown galaxy eyes focused on your face, zeroing in on your cupid´s bow while you licked the stinging remains of your moscow mule away- he paid for it, of course.

Once the enticing conversation that felt almost comically easy faded, you expected him to try and take you to his house- mansion, as he revealed in a sidetracked sentence. Although you were looking forward to seeing the small metal pearls below and over his eyebrow move as they crinkle in pleasure, the tight ropes of virginity had not yet been released in your 21 years of living. Shackles that keep you tied down- as promised out of your own, admittedly senseless morality, not to be opened by a stranger. The key to your cuffs belonged to a lover.

It was unforeseeable, nevertheless natural for him to droop his heavily tattooed arm around your waist while escorting you out of the establishment. The sleeve of his white button down folded up along his forearm for you to see the beauty of his skin, wondering just how many more of those carefully crafted works of art he´s hiding beneath the business casual attire.

Once engulfed in the harsh, bitter wind that itaewon possesses, his arm only drew you in closer, so near in fact, you were able to notice a small scar on his cheek, one you hadn´t been able to notice in the curse of a dimly lit place. The more your eyes adjusted to him, so grew your anger at the lighting inside your place of first meeting- it had done an injustice to the man you had already been disgustingly attracted to, stole the wholehearted, inescapable allure of such a mature presence.

The gentleman looks down into your awaiting eyes, only to ask if he may have your number, upon your agreement, he proceeded to tell you that he would be walking you home, wanting you to arrive safely since it must be dangerous for a woman to walk the streets of a party district at 2 am in the morning.

That encounter was four months ago, and only a month after that initial conversation, he had completely taken over you. Swallowed you whole in just how well he treated you.

Insistent of using his black card to buy you anything you remotely showed liking in, dedicated to communication, random flowers that showed up at your office and a constant offer of a ride in his luxurious black mercedes-benz GT63s; no matter how long it took- even if it was a inconvenience, sometimes taking longer to get to you than it would have taken you to simply retort to public transport.

"I told you i´d make it for you, didn´t I baby? hm?" his velvet smooth voice rings, from how he´s standing, with his body pressed against your back, towering over you, you could feel the hardened muscles of his torso meeting you. His large, slim hands reach to either side of your waist, to the glass filled with ice that you´re holding in between your own, gently removing them to resume the task that you were occupied with. Your eyes glance to the bulging of his bicep, that loose, casual tshirt did nothing to hide just how big he had gotten due to his newfound hobby.

you whine- almost, biting down on your lower lip to prevent just that from happening, "thank you gguk" you say, turning to peck the very muscle that´s invading your line of sight. He hums, a low, satisfied sound from the back of his throat.

"c´mere baby" patting one of his muscular thighs, his eyes drift to your figure walking towards him, iced tea in hand, just like he had made it for you. Sweet, light, refreshing, much like your presence in his life. Almost like a sign from the stars that his hearts content was somewhere, bundled in the form of a shorter girl with eyes that could entrance any sailor- far less siren like, no, wide with love and purity. Just what he had yearned for in any women he had met before you-whether tangled in meaningless sheets or involved in a month long, semi serious relationship, Jungkook was yet to cross paths with the one woman that would make him turn so desperate, he would have begged for their happiness on his knees. It might be romantic, even a tad dramatic to admit that from the very first word that left your pink glossed lips, he knew better than anyone else that he was in deep, deep trouble. Upon seeing the curve of your waist, hearing that soft, lulling voice, that embarrassingly obvious fact only intensified after finding out just how delightful you truly were, it made him want to rip his hair out- do anything in the possibility of his grip to see even a glimpse of your smile, of that lighthearted, cheerful giggle you let out regularly. He was drawn in my your feminine nature, by the way you let yourself fall into his caring embrace.

He´s quickly directed back to reality as soon as your legs make it to either side of the thigh he had patted earlier, a familiar position for this equally familiar occasion. Muscle memory sets in for him, grabbing the large karaoke remote to hand to you while he turns the microphone on. "Can you sing something to me first?" the question sets his bunny smile off, nodding instantly "Sure love, chose a song for me" he says. Your mind floods with ideas, but you settle for a song you´ve heard him hum millions of times, mindlessly going about.

"Malibu nights?", jungkook questions excitedly while the instrumental sets in, he knew the answer, but his heart swelled with joy at the notice you took to this song. After all, he loved to sing. Another layer to him that has you melting, growing into the embodiment of love that is endlessly cherishing what little fractions were revealed to your eyes in each fleeting moment. His honey voice reaches beautiful highs and lows you can only compare to something angelically otherworldly in nature.

It made you want to know just how deep he could growl, how far his sounds can drop with the dirty nothings you would love to have whispered in your ear. You felt filthy for letting your mind wander to such extends when all he did was sing, lulling you into drunken harmony with him. Still, you consciously lean back into his body, letting him wrap his arms around your waist, encircling it with his vanilla oak scent.

During the past four months, you were doomed to have to shatter his hopes, reveal the truth that somehow felt shameful ; that you´re fully untouched. Nothing further than a bad makeout had yet graced your skin, it made you feel even smaller admitting something so vulnerable to a man that carries almost an entire decade of experience more. Much to your comfort, his hands found the curve of your cheeks immediately, telling you that there is nothing to be embarrassed about, he would hand you the full control, you set the pace.

Internally, Jungkook drooled at the idea that the woman of his dreams was to have her first, the most memorable, sexual encounter with him. Your body belonged to him, devoted to only remember the touch of his lips, the curve of his cock, how he would mold you to his shape without the intrusion of another man having tried the same. Not that he would have wanted you any less if that had not been the case, but for one time in your relationship, he was oh so selfish to want you all to himself, aroused that your first person induced orgasm was going to be his and his alone. The prophecy fulfilled when on one, alcohol induced night a week ago, two of his long, tattooed digits made their entrance into your tight hole, relentlessly filling you until your soft thighs shook, until after your third high, he licked his fingers clean and let you taste yourself on his tongue.

The tunes get lost in silence, he sets the microphone down, having felt the warmth of your mound beneath the tights while you tried to subtly gain friction, scooting back on him. His palms find your thighs, tightly flushed around his muscle. They´re shamelessly wandering up and down the thin material that prevents his hot, calloused fingers from feeling up your smooth skin.

"Wanna do that again, love?" jungkook mutters, his pillowed lips latch on to your exposed neck, right at the gentle curve that paints the beginning of your shoulder, soft, faint kisses that leave a trail of barely sounding sighs behind.

"Do what?" feigning innocence to avoid internal humiliation, you ask him, knowing he wouldn´t let it go, not until you told him to. The sound of his husky chuckle sounds right on the sweetspot of your neck, he sucks a little harder, encouraging you with the constant rub to your thighs. Instinctively, the heat inside your panties grows as do the intensity of your desperate moans, your hips push back on his thigh, seeking the solidity that grants you the portion of satisfaction your needy button longed for

"that" he simply says, having found an anchor in your hips now, your plaid skirt bunches around his hands, slowly- tortuously so when met with the deliberate little humps he helps you to complete on him. You practically whimper once his tongue glides across your skin, dragging from your shoulder, up your neck, intertwined with his open mouth, loud kisses that don´t seem to stop.

"that´s it... do you even know how cute you sound?" he smiles, and you feel it, you feel the smile rise to his lips with every additional kiss, every noise you grant the hungry male. "gguk, wanna see you" you whine- the high pitched noise has him twitching in his training joggers, semi errect but about to stand stiff, just as noticeably as that night seven days ago, having formed a huge tent inside his slacks, there was no hiding his attraction, no use to conceal his utter need for you.. nor his size, not that he would be capable to anyways.

To your request, he helps you turn around, now facing that dim glow on your slightly embarrassed features, taking note of how you nibble on your lip with every grind forward, "that feel good sweet girl?" he asks, ghosting his lips over yours faintly, just enough to see how much you need it, "mhm.. really good" you mumble back, chasing after his lips that he can't deny you of any longer, the kiss is gentle, but nourishes your heat further

"wanna feel even better?" the pit in your lower abdomen grows at the tone of his voice, something much stronger is seeping through his system, something that screams dominance, you nod- naturally wanting to get lost in it. Jungkook's hands stop assisting you, instead, they take to your shirt, "can i take this off of you baby?" he waits for that little hum of yours before swiftly tugging it away from your form

It's almost frightening how quickly your mind reverts back to wanting to run away and hide, your arms fly across your chest, everything you felt so good doing stops and he stops too,

"don't hide, you're perfect, you're so fucking sexy" his eyes trace your skin, hands wrapping around your wrists to pull your arms away, revealing your chest hugged into your bra, and jungkook almost forgets how to breathe properly,

he groans- groans that delicious deep noise that makes your head spin, even more so when you feel his appreciation for your body, hands pulling you closer by the waist so can bury his head into your cleavage. "so beautiful" he mutters, darting his tongue out to lick the slit between your tits, "wanna touch all over you, make you feel so good" he says, finding the clasp on your back to open it with one hand. a silent reminder of his experience, one you did not have in the slightest but somehow, it felt even better that way

"mh.. feels good gguk" you can't help but moan at the forgein sensation, his lips wrap around your hardend nipple, groaning sweetly while he sucks on it, carefully swiping his tongue over the little nub- your other breast is securely fitted into his palm, thumb playing with it just like he does with his mouth, mirroring every little flick

"feels so good doesn't it? you smell so good baby" his lips move to do the same to your other breast, switching sides with a trail of saliva sticking to his lips,

In that moment you feel so sensitive, so lost in his secure hold and at the same time, so small in his skillful dominance that you simply relish in the feeling, grinding your soaked core into his thigh over and over, long, hasty drags over his muscle while his lips work magic on your skin, squeezing a little tighter, sucking a little harder because every stuttered whimper fuels his urge to take care of you

"that's it baby.. keep going, you're so good" your hands find his dark chocolate locs, threading through it with the need to ground yourself. it feels as though every time your clit meets him, instead of getting you closer to sensational relief it adds to the ache, feeds into your desire to take and take more of him, be consumed by his strength

"want this off please" your excited fingers fiddle with the hem of his oversized shirt, earning a smug grin from your boyfriend as he detaches from you, discarding of his top

Although you have seen him shirtless before, it's impossible not to salivate at the sight, at his toned broad torso that curves into a unfairly small waist, large arms flexing when he reaches for your tits again, massaging them once more,

"like what you see pretty?" he says, teasingly cocking his head and biting at the metal ring on the corner of his lip, you blush- the slick drools out even more between your thighs, "so hot gguk, annoyingly hot" he chuckles, joining the sound with your airy giggle, but he sucks in a breath as soon as you shift in his lap, now fully straddling him, naked chest pressed to his with your head burried in his neck, "hmm.. what are you up to baby?" his hands find your back, soothing himself not to pounce on you because the strain in his pants is staggering his breath, your errect nipples are rubbing against his skin and it´s making him shiver, desperate, oh so desperate for you

but he knows all to well not to overwhealm your sweet, virgin body, to let you take all the time you need until he can feel every breath of your submission

"wanna feel you gguk, can i?" jungkook almost purrs at how innocently you ask, suppressing the need to grind his hips into your heat from below, "of course baby, anything you want. it's all yours"

he meant it, every vein cursing through his body belongs to you, working, pumping blood through him for the sole purpose of loving you, taking care of you. "all mine?" you hum, aroused by the confidence he emitts, your hands trace up his torso, creating a small distance between your bodies to feel up the hard lines on his abdomen with laboured breath of your own, lips finding every small patch of his neck that make him hum, make his sighs of pleasure slowly turn into groans "all yours my love" the answer wasn't necessary, not when you already started to leave traces of you on his skin, faint, red bruises on his neck that he's impatiently waiting to run around with

"you feel so fucking good, need to feel more of you, will you let me sweet girl?" his words are intoxicating, washing away any doubt or fear and replacing it with a intense craving of sexual desire "please gguk i'm so wet for you" the sound reaches his ears and shuts down his entire system, his hands carelessly rip down your skirt and stockings, leaving you in those tiny grey boyshorts that he looses his mind over "baby how did you hide all this from me?" his hands caress your thighs, your hips, up your waist and to the soft flesh of your stomach with hungry, insatiable eyes that long for a taste of your every inch

"all yours" you mimic him, sounding just like him with your sultry, shy voice, already wanting to remove his own bottoms which he catches on, ridding himself of the nuisance "yeah, all mine. this is all mine" he says, smiling softly

Your drenched underwear meets his errection as he pulls you back on his lap, hands sitting on your waist, you look so vulnerable- almost fragile in his grip, shyly moaning because the curve of his cock presses into your skin like it was molded for you, needy folds clinging to your underwear and your clit throbs- throbs begging for another taste of friction

"I don't know how to do any of this" he suddenly he hears you mumble, seeing how you're playing with your fingers that sit on his lower abdomen, your head is turned to them, a slight pout decorates your features

jungkook feels the need to sob- to take away whatever is making that pretty head of yours feel so threatened even though you're the best thing he has ever felt, the only person he ever wants to lay his hands on ever again

"that's okay baby, hey, look at me for a second will you?" you comply, craving his lead, his security to catch you, most of all that gentle, masculine dominance that floods your senses effortlessly

"you're doing so so well pretty, you don't have to worry okay? i'll take you through it, make you feel so good" he says, cupping your cheeks in his palms while sitting up a little to press kisses to your nose, your forhead, your lips and cheeks,

unable to contain your smile, you nod, gaining back the heartbeat in your willing feminity to let him take care of you, "thank you baby" you say with upmost honesty, pressing your lips to his in a kiss of adoration

"mhm.. come on, let's get this off of you love" his whipers lingers on you, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear before pulling it off your lifted legs, he moans at the sight of your bare cunt, slick attached to the cloth and glistening over your feminity

"so beautiful, do you even realize how lucky i am? how thankful i am that this sweet, sweet girl is all mine to love?" he says softly, so softly that your eyes gloss a little bit, feeling so utterly vulnerable in front of him, so sexy in the most feminine way possible. blush creeps up your cheeks, his hands find your inner thigh, dancing around the sensitive skin "you're too sweet gguk"

he returns your smiles, lifting your hand to kiss it before intertwining it with his own, lacing his fingers into you because being apart from your body feels like torture in this moment. but you're eyes are busied elsewhere, locked on the large outline that stands rock solid insides of his calvins, a small, wet patch that indicates his arousal decorating the very top

"go ahead baby, take it off" not needing to be told twice, you help yourself to his boxers, tugging them down in one, slow motion that leaves him biting his bottom lip, he pushes them down to his ankles, kicking them off

both of you sit like this for a moment that feels like eternity, raw, bare and without a chance to hide in front of the other's desperate gaze, comfort, pure love that's inseparable with a pulsing you can no longer ignore, not when he´s so big, so broad and decorated with a vein alongside his curved shaft

he grabs at the flesh of your ass, pulling you to sit your gushing cunt over his stiff length, cursing at feeling how soft you are, how much arousal truly spills from your body

"you're so.. big gguk.. m'scared" your whine makes him coo, stroking your head while a possessive grip that stays on your hip, his left hand tethering to your hair in the meantime, "don't be, you were made for me sweet girl, made for it" your head falls to his shoulder, arching your torso into his body with a small hump to his leaking cock, "that's right baby, feel it, feel how hard i am for you" spurred on by his encouragement, you tighten your hands on his bicep, rolling your hips over his, his entire shaft is coated in your essence, angry pink tip meeting your swollen clit repeatedly, so much so you feel your thighs shake, feel an impending orgasm waiting to flow over your body,

Ripping yourself of that sensation, not yet- you tell yourself

"want it gguk, want it so bad" jungkook hums, kissing your neck messily, cock throbbing beneath you, "want what pretty? talk to me" he says, his own desire to claim you all to himself becomes unbareable with each passing second that you stay put

You shift forward again, whining, "please gguk" he groans, twitching at how desperate you sound, entranced with how needy you've become for him, he didn't even have to make you beg for it, you just did

effortlessly perfect for him, "come on, tell me my love" but he has to hear more, he needs to hear the dirty confession falling from your pure lips

"want your cock jungkook, please" there it is- that submissive, whiny plead for him, it makes him feel alive, throwing his head back on the black leather couch momentarily "good girl, fuck baby you're so cute" he praises, taking the base of his cock into his hand but something stalls him, "do you want me to eat you out first? make it nice and slippery?" his teeth graze your ear, kissing over the shell of it, "no gguk i want it, want it now"- another nibble, "anything for you"

Your hips lift, hovering your tight, clenching hole over his thick manhood, hands sweaty and grasping at his firm shoulders, he spots your anxiety, wishing nothing more but to ease it

"sit down on it baby, it's gonna sting okay? but you're so good, I know you can take it" more, more reassuring words that you drink in, just as you sink down on it, wincing as your brows meet in frustration

"hurts.." you mutter, fingers digging into his tanned skin- you can't bring yourself to move down further, clenching your muscle tightly around only his fat tip that feels like it's splitting your drooling pussy open. his hands find your back again, "ssh baby.. i know... but you'e such a good girl, i know you can take every inch of my cock"

It takes a couple more kisses to your shoulder for you to sink down fully on his length, painfully so- having your hands claw into him, your lips trembling in confusion of why it feels so good to have him stuffed into you so deeply you can feel it inside your tummy, stretching into every crevice of your gummy walls. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before, fulfilling, deep pressure that you could get lost in- bathe in

Jungkooks feelings have synchronized with yours- he's unsure where you end or where he begins but you're clamped down on his cock, your skin already wet with sweat as it sticks to his unforgivingly, moans and shaky breaths fill in the silence, a unspoken question lingers, awaits for you to answer it

until you do, taking his large hands to your hips before pressing yours against his full pecks, a glint of confidence spites your eyes that makes jungkook want to hear you cry out his name over and over again

"oh fuck- baby you-" you whine, rolling your hips forward, mouth parted when you feel him move inside of you, slolwy, deeply "that's it my love, take your time, so sexy like this" his voice is far from stable, you moan again- the grinding becomes faster, assisted by his hands that pull you onto him just the way you like it- just like he said, you have it all, its all yours

"what- what if you can't come?" he needs to contain a laugh at that- the question is so absurd to him, so unimaginable that it makes him slightly angry why you couldn't understand that he could cum from seeing you alone, from one kiss to your chaste lips- he's already twitching at how sloppy, how loud your cunt is around him

"I almost came from seeing how needy that little pussy of yours is, you feel how hard i am don't you? all because of you baby" he mutters in response, you flourish at it, getting familiar with the grinding motion but you need more, you deserve more- so you start bouncing on him- up and down, slamming your own, curved hips down onto him. he's mesmerized by your pleasure, watching how your brows are knitted, how your lips leak with drool and airy moans, how your tits bounce- he gropes at them, cupping them greedily, his hands itch for your skin, for you to let yourself go on him

"good girl.. look at you, a natural at riding my cock- don't even need my help" you shake, exhaustion already growing in your eager hips but you cannot stop, you don´t want to stop taking every inch of his cock back into you, lifting your hips only to take him back in, "you're filling me so much" you moan into his mouth, having formed a unity with his lips that welcome you like home, "just like that pretty, little humps for me" he mumbles back, interlacing his tongue with yours

he tugs at your nipples with his inked fingers, reciprocrating the moaning, he mirrors you, throbs when you clench, explores your mouth when you part for him impatiently. it leaves you to no choice but to become his own reflection, your hips ground themselves in a stable rhythm as your fingertips roll over his own nipples, unexpectedly he whimpers, bites down into your shoulder cautiously

"That's it baby, driving me fucking crazy" he grinds his hips up into you, unlocking a feeling of bliss that leads you to errupt into pornographic moans, your hand flings to muffle them, eyes rolling back into your skull,

Jungkook is making love to you, letting you reach a state you would not have been able to imagine, not even in the slightest when all you have ever felt are your fingers hastily, uncoordinated on your bundle of nerves. still, he can feel you´re holding back, afraid to be loud- to take up space, but he's having none of it

"Dont be embarrassed sweet girl, you sound addicting, so cute, give me every little noise" sinful sensuality floods you with his encouragement, "gonna make you cum for me, deserve it don't you think?" you don't- in fact, you can't think, long gone into pleasure while his hips piston into you from below,

he slaps your clit gently, your walls clench from how good that feels, "i asked you something baby" he repeats, distracted by your droopy eyes that threaten to shut him out at any moment, "answer me sweet thing, do you deserve to cum hm?" he taunts, rutting his hips with a slower but harder motion, force that hits your g-spot- reels you back into the moment, you head moves frantically "yes, yes please i need to cum"

Jungkook groans in satisfaction, "that's right.. best little cunt, all mine" he goes back lapping at your chest, licking his way to any patch of skin that your addictive smell lurs him to- he feels all over your skin, sneaking his fingers to where your bodies morph into one so he can draw tight circles on your clit, stimulating you to cry out his name,

"Jungkook.. i- i can't stop it i-" you stutter, thighs tensing around him, the feeling is so overwhealming that you can't keep your head up, can't warn him more than that since you're already letting your dew sprinkle out- letting the shocks roll over your body

"just like that.. make a mess on my cock baby, you did so well, come for me" he rasps, his heavy balls release into your tightness at the thought that crosses his mind- the knowledge that he had made you orgasm, that your virginity belonged to him solely,

It embraces the both of you, fills you with a sense of euphoria that none of you wish to end

As the high washes over you, you break out into a small shudder, aware of his milky cum that splurts your walls white, aware of the oversensitive area between your legs that jungkook's fingers slowly stop touching, landing to your unstable and sore thighs instead.

his heavy breathing is woven into yours, contrasting how slowly, lazily he manages to caress your naked skin, finding comfort in your warm body

the small whisper of his name catches him off guard, he hums, pulling back to cup your face, "are you okay my love? feel good?" his eyes rank over your tired features, glowing before his very own eyes,

"so okay. I love you" you breathe out, pressing a kiss to his button nose,

"I love you too baby, so proud of you" his nose nuzzles against yours, "you were so so good"

your shy giggle lights up his face like it always does, "thank you.. for taking my virginity... felt so good" you mumble with your bottom lip tucked away between your teeth- it awakens his soft- still nestled cock, his hands grip your ass- feeling the flesh spill beneath his fingers "thank you for your trust baby, but god, you're gonna make me lose it" jungkook says into your neck, nose tracing the delicate line of your shoulder,

"why? is it too much?" unbeknownst to you, Jungkook rolls his eyes in annoyance, how could you be so fucking adorable?

"Let me show you why" he answers, making your head perk up a little,

"Wanna lay down for me pretty? I can give you another one, as many as you want. You deserve it, wanna spoil you, fuck i wanna give you everything you want" faintly audible as he's speaking into your skin, having already laid you down onto the cold cushions of his unreasonably expensive leather couch.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot angst [18+]

title. let me be free of you

He would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

ᰔ pairing. friends to strangers au - best friend!gojo x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru, your love of a lifetime, tells you he’s engaged to another woman. inspired by the novel & netflix series “one day” created by david nicholls

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, angst, mentions of sex/explicit content, coming of age themes, reader & gojo are in their 30s, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, cheating, lots of mutual pining & longing, bittersweet ending

ᰔ word count. 4.8k

a/n. hellooo! i've had this finished in my wips folder for a long time but never got around to posting it sooo just wanted to let it see the light of day haha. hope you enjoyyy <33

➸ masterlist

“I’m engaged.”

The words leave Gojo’s lips as much less of a confession and more like a blabber, like a toddler desperate to keep conversation going in the face of a disinterested adult. Wasn’t how he expected to share the news of a lifetime to the love of his lifetime, but he hopes it breaks your heart to hear it. 

He watches your eyebrows flatten from the crease that was bothering them before, and then slowly raise into soft arches above your eyes–those damn beautiful eyes that, even when they twinkle with hurt, still make his heart skip a beat in his chest.

He recalls for a moment the night the two of you met, drunk and dizzy from drinking out of a shared bottle of Prosecco, which only had half of the liquor left in it to start when he had first found it bleeding out to dry on the grassy lawn at the front of your university. It was graduation night, the last day to celebrate finishing four years of hell, and he had nothing to his name other than a rolled up diploma shoved in the pocket of his suit pants and the charm left in the youth of his smile. He wanted to spend the night with Aiko Rei, which was not a unique desire as most men on campus did, and he had a fair shot of getting into bed with her just like all those times before. But instead he was sitting at the top of a staircase inside the campus’s English literature building, making history in the crisp year of 1986 by being the first man of the robust age of twenty-three to pass up sex with the school’s lady heartthrob for–well, conversation with a sort of ditsy girl that he just met a half hour ago.

“What do you plan to do with your life?” he heard you ask him, a hard enough question to stomach when one is sober, and an impossible question to stomach when one is already trying not to puke flat Prosecco.

“Pardon?” he asked, in hopes to dissuade you from the question. In hopes that you’d get the hint. But you don’t. And he’d soon learn throughout the years of your friendship to come that you never did.

“Your life!” you exclaim, “we’re graduates now! What do you want to do with it?” You pat harshly at his thigh, closer to his groin than to his pocket, most likely because you’re tipsy too, but he realizes you’re referring to the rolled up paper protruding at the pocket. 

Truthfully, Gojo had never thought much about what he wanted to do after graduation. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d make it this far. Not once since he got here, not once since he flunked out of first-year history, not once since his father passed away during his third-year final examinations, and most certainly not after he got caught having “unethical affairs” with his communications professor just two months ago. And yet the esteemed board of scholars decided he was fit for a diploma anyway, and now he’s answering to, effectively, a stranger what he plans to do with said piece of paper.

“I don’t know,” he says to you, “I’ll do whatever.” 

Gojo Satoru could get by with doing whatever. He was good at everything he did. But his teachers and mentors and his own father would always warn him– son, it’s better to be an expert at one than a half-assed show-off in all. Well, they wouldn’t use the expletives, but that’s what it had sounded like in his head.

His dad would’ve liked you. He was always telling him to find a girl that challenges him, asks him the right questions, and pushes him to become a better man, the kind of woman his mother was to his father. Much opposed to the airheaded girls of Gojo’s college campus he would sneak into the house and forget to shoo off before sunrise, an occurrence that happened enough times for the respect in his father’s eyes to dwindle with each woman he’d watch his son dispel from their residence. Until eventually, Gojo started paying rent as punishment.

So, twenty-three year old Gojo, what do you plan to do with your life? Or do you have no idea of anything that extends beyond where you are right now, sitting across this strange girl you’ve just met on the death of your educational youth, at the top of a stairwell lined with passed out, drunk newly grads at nearly 4 in the morning? Right now, he’s eyeing the hem of your dress, the way it’s ridden up slightly but the mesh overskirt still tickles the skin of your thigh. He’s certainly able to picture what’s beyond that fabric, and maybe imagine the color of your panties, but what’s to come for his life? No. As previously mentioned, he never thought he’d get this far.

Gojo is thirty-four now, eleven years since that night the two of you met. And he sits next to you on a garden bench under a pitch black sky with stars speckled across, but only dimly visible. 

It’s been years since he’s seen you. You two had a “falling out” at the cusp of thirty, almost a decade of friendship fizzled away, because of his selfish actions. He couldn’t let you go, but he couldn’t want you the way you wanted him either. He didn’t feel like he deserved to have you. You were too good for him, and he knew it. So he wasted a decade chasing after other women, and in return, he lost the one he knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.

It’s the night of your college roommate‘s wedding, all gathered here today to celebrate their love, and he knew he’d run into you here. You were the bride’s maiden of honor, and you looked beautiful. With your hair half tied up, a pretty clip twinkling with every movement of your head, and with strands falling down over the smooth curve of your neck, bare skin of your chest tightly covered by the nude fabric of your dress. He was fully lusting after you, and he has been all night, the picture of beauty and grace, and it was wrong. Because, again, he’s–

“You’re engaged?” you finally break through his thoughts, break through the trance that he was lost in by the sea of your eyes. Forever pulling him in like you were a wicked siren for his soul, when all you’ve ever wanted from him was his love.

He shifts a little, the thick fabric of his navy blue suit stretching with the movement as he fidgets with his hands in his lap. He’s sitting close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the contrast of his broad masculinity so evident against the feminine curve of your bare arm, the thin strap holding up your dress threatening to fall down the hill. His thumb twitches, because he wants to pull it back up into place for you like a gentleman, but he’s not sure if that’s what his hand would actually do. Because all he really wants to do is peel the dress off of you. 

“Yes,” he says, still tantalized by the glow of your skin under pale moonlight, “engaged.”

“To be married?”

“Well, what other kind of engaged is there?”

“You’re not allowed to get married.”

He snorts. “Says who?”

“Says me!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter, "I turn my back for one moment, and you've gone an got engaged? You're awful!" The strap of your dress falls down over your shoulder, his eyes immediately darting to it. He sees you pull the strap up back into place, and a flit of his eyes to your face reveals to him the slight dusting of an embarrassed pink to your cheeks. 

There’s a silence that settles between the two of you. Distant commotion is heard, likely from the wedding venue as people engage in reception activities and dances and cheers, while the two of you remain in this garden escape, the wall of primly trimmed bushes sheltering you two from having to pretend to be people you’re not amongst a crowd.

“Aiko…” he hears you say beside him, and although the name of the woman that has rolled off your tongue is the name of the woman he’s supposed to love, it only makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear you say her name. “She seems lovely.”

“She is,” is all he can manage to say. And he also knows this seemingly lovely woman is probably drunk off her face back at the reception hall, giggling at all the men that approach her from the sight of her flushed face, and he should feel some sort of jealousy or possessiveness over that, but he can’t seem to muster any. Unlike the grit he had to his jaw an hour ago when he saw you dancing with a man he heard you introduce to your friends as just an “old friend” of yours from college. He felt more anger in that moment than he’d ever felt watching his soon-to-be-wife getting talked up to by the sleazy men twice her age. 

“She must be very rich,” you say. “She looks it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Her family’s very well off,” Gojo says.

“So will you become rich too?” you ask him, “when you marry her.”

His eyes flit to the sky briefly. “Doubt it.”

“How come?”

“The old man doesn’t like me very much. I imagine he’ll cut ties after the wedding.”

“Her father?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Well. I guess it’s not every father’s dream to find out his prim and proper daughter’s been knocked up by the good-for-nothing boyfriend he’s been threatening her to say good riddance to for months now.”

The silence finds the two of you again, but this time haunting and gutting. That was a blabber, if anything. So nonchalantly said, with no emotion or spirit, to the one person in this world who he’s always felt like he can be himself around.

“She’s pregnant?” you say beside him, voice breaking slightly at the end, and he can’t bear to look at you for some reason. Some sort of admission of guilt, but what for? What exactly was he repenting for?

He lets out a small laugh, like the absurdity of the situation finds him all the same. “Yeah.” 

“That–” you start, stiff next to him, before he feels the tension relax but only rigidly, “that’s wonderful, Satoru. I’m–...I’m really happy for you.” You turn your torso to wrap your arms around him, and his lips brush the sweet skin on your forehead as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps one arm around you, a sort of friendly hug as he rubs the skin of your arm soothingly, and his heart aches from the emptiness when you release him. 

“Wow…” you say, looking up at him with pretty eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you blink rapidly to process the information, and he wonders if you really are happy for him. He doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to be furious, to tell him off for getting another woman pregnant after leading you on for so many years, maybe he wants you to slap him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until all he sees is a million of you through dizzy vision like some paradise. He wants you to be mad, because it’d mean that you still care. It’d mean that you still think there’s something here to salvage between the two of you. 

But he’s engaged. And he’s having a baby. What was more final than that?

“So…are you marrying her because of–”

“The wedding is in four weeks,” he cuts you off, but he knows the statement answers your question regardless.

“Satoru…”

He leans off to the side a little to reach into the pocket of his suit pants, and he pulls out what is now a slightly bent envelope and he hands it to you. You take it from him gently, holding it weakly like it was something beyond you. Like something distant and foreign and strange. When all it was, is a wedding invitation. 

“Listen…” he starts.

He sees your eyes dazed as you stare at the lettering on the outside of the envelope.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, y/n. And I know the last time we saw each other was–” Hostile. Angry. Disappointing. Ended with you cussing him out on the street and then saying you never want to see him again. “...not ideal, but I still care a lot about you, and, uh, so, it would mean a lot to me if you came to the wedding.” For fucks sake, even on the brink of losing you forever, he still can’t find the right words to say. “Aiko, she–” He tastes bitter in his mouth, “well, I’ve told her a lot about you, and she’d really love it if you came as well.”

You’re silent as you gently peel back the opening of the letter and then pull out the small card stock invitation. The gold printed letters shine as you inspect it, fingers tracing the patterns of words that profess the Rei family’s intent to wed their daughter to Gojo Satoru. Your Gojo Satoru. Your best friend in this whole wide world. He watches your eyes carefully, but he can’t discern what he finds in them.

“Gojo Satoru…” you drone off, “to be wed. And to be a father.” Years of late night talks of the future, of kids and Christmas and love, with reality seemingly sly on the horizon only to have crept up so abruptly. It was pinched between your fingers right now. That reality.

His shoulders sulk slightly. And when you look up at him again, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I can’t come to this,” you whisper, “and you know that, Satoru.”

His heart breaks. A physical pain that twists in his chest so tight at just the sight of seeing you sad. Sad again over the actions of his own. They say you always hurt the one you love, and he had always wondered what sort of evil person would do such a thing, only to find out he’s only ever hurt you this entire time. 

He should’ve kissed you that night the two of you met at graduation. Should’ve shut you up and all your existential questions by pinning you to a wall and pressing his lips against yours. He should’ve taken you to bed and fucked you, and then held you in his arms until you woke up in the morning. Should’ve listened to you talk his ear off about how he’s just like all the other guys, who pretend to care, but only want to have sex and then never to speak to the girl ever again. And he should’ve laid there in bed, nose nuzzled in your hair, taking all the scolding despite having no intent to ever leave you.

Instead, he wasted so much time. Sure, he had your friendship. His best friend for years, but the two of you could’ve been something more. Could’ve spent the years together, instead of writing stained letters or leaving messages on answering machines while the two of you were miles away. He could’ve been waking up with you every morning with the scent of your shampoo on his sheets, instead of clinging to pillows in foreign motel rooms. He could’ve been engaged to you, and he could be whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how much he wishes the baby will have your eyes. 

But his thoughts are lost in fantasy. He is what he’s done, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes fall to your lap, the invitation still held loosely in your hand, and then a droplet of water falls onto it.

“I–” you stutter, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks with a hesitant swipe of your hand, “I need to go.”

You stand up off the bench and he quickly stands up with you, grabbing your wrist to keep you here with him, and you halt but only with you facing away from him. He yanks at your wrist harshly, pulling you into him so his chest is flush to your back, his arms wrapping strongly around you and his nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in greedily like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

“Satoru–” you gasp, your hands immediately grabbing at his forearms that are tightly crossed across your collarbone. “What are you doing–” 

“Say it,” he whispers, gruff and impatient, “tell me to do it, and I will.”

“T-Tell you to do what?” you stutter, struggling a little in his hold but he only holds you tighter.

“Tell me to leave her, and I will,” he says, his lips brushing at your ear now, the scent of your perfume maddening to his senses, and one of his hands slowly trails down and the knuckle of his thumb presses into the softness of your breast.

You squirm, a small and soft moan leaving your lips.

“T–” you breathe in harshly, “this is wrong.” 

“I don’t care,” he growls, arms sliding lower to hold you under your breasts, so tightly that your heels lift off the ground. “Just say the word, and I’ll leave everything behind for you. I promise,” he breathes in deep, the desperation making his head hazy, “that I’ll do things right this time. Just you and me–” 

“You’re going to be a father,” you remind him, and he shuts his eyes closed tightly, the responsibility of the word bearing on his shoulders but his desire for you overshadows every shred of sense or dignity or integrity he has left in him, because he felt like he was losing his mind after wanting you for years just to never have you. 

He turns you around in his hold so that you face him, and he crashes his lips to yours, muffling the surprised mmf! that dies in your throat in surprise as his hands hold your waist, relishing in the feeling of satin fabric pulled taut over your curves.

Forbidden, yet a taste that he’ll risk because there was no curse that was worse than the fate of having to pine after you for years.

Ah.

But.

But it was all fantasy, this moment in his head, where he takes you on the freshly cut grass of this garden. 

Something that only briefly flashes through his mind as his warm hand wraps around your wrist, from where he was still seated on the stone bench, and not on his feet holding you like he dreamed for. Like he longed for.

He feels the weight of his arm so heavily, as if it weren’t his own, and he slowly lets go of your wrist.

When he looks up at you, there’s longing in your eyes. A hurt that he didn’t even know he was capable of causing, just for him to realize that you’ve always looked at him that way, and he’s never been keen enough to know it until now. He grew up too late. He took too long.

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches in for it, then flips it open and sees his soon-to-be-wife’s name on it. He feels nothing at the sight.

“Hello?” he speaks into the device when he holds it to his ear, and he sees you take a couple steps away, rubbing anxiously at your elbow as you pretend to busy yourself with the study of the lamp. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. I, uh, I’m just with a friend. A couple of friends, actually. We’re having drinks by the pond. Mhm. Yes. I will. Okay, see you soon. I—…I love you too. Bye.” And then he snaps the phone shut. 

“Heading back?” he hears you ask.

He stands. “I’ve got to.”

“Okay.” 

You two walk down the shrubbery of the garden that was arranged like a maze, him a few paces behind you, and he watches the delicate line of your posture as your hand brushes against the green walls of foliage that encase the two of you, the feeling of wanting to touch you and hold you almost suffocating. 

“Hey,” he calls out to you, and he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. You turn around immediately to face him, like his voice was permission to do so.

“Yes?” you ask.

He blinks up at the starry sky, and then looks at you again. The soft cast of distant warm lighting falls over your face, making you appear like a renaissance painting, similar to those that you would point out to him at museums when you two would see each other on holiday back in your early twenties. He could never understand the charm of those paintings, no matter how many times you tried to explain it to him, but seeing you in this light right now, he finally understands the beauty that you saw. 

“I’m, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and then scoffs out a small laugh, “I’m a little drunk right now, but–” He stops himself. What was he trying to say? And was it of conscious mind? “I just need to tell you that…I really regret…not speaking to you. I mean, for letting the silence drag on for years. You’re my–...my best friend. We’re a pair, you know? The two of us. For years, people would ask me where you were. And why they haven’t seen us together at all recently. And it was hard to admit that we hadn’t spoken in years.”

You take the smallest of steps towards him, and look up at him with empty eyes. 

“What I’m trying to say is, is that, well,” he finds himself tripping over his words, “I miss you. And I miss our friendship. And–...I miss having you around.” He glances down at his shoes, polished and reflecting off the moonlight directly above him. He rocks back and forth on his heels ever so slightly. “I know you said that I piss you off to lengths unimaginable to my tiny pea-sized brain, but I can’t help myself, y/n,” he admits, “I think you and I, we’re just meant to always be. In some how, or some way…”

You purse your lips together, gaze shifting lower to eye at the silk of his tie. 

“Can we be friends again?” he asks, the words feeling juvenile on his tongue. Like whispered apologies between children on a playground after shoving one another onto wooden chips, except the wounds he’s left on you run much deeper than a superficial scrape. 

You blink slowly, tilting your head up at him. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

You wipe your palm off on the satin of your dress. “I missed you too, you know.”

His eyes widened slightly.

Your hand finds its way up your arm, until you weakly cup your elbow with your palm and look off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “There were so many years where I thought that there was something between us. And maybe I was foolish for thinking that way, that you would ever see me that way–”

“y/n,” he tries to interrupt you. 

“But…the pain of not having you the way I wanted to was much less worse than the pain of not having you at all,” you say, your gaze finally shifting towards him. “But, the thing is, I needed to feel that pain to get over you. I had to.”

His heart stills at those words.

You glance down at the ground now. “I missed being able to tell you things. To laugh, and cry, and argue. I miss humbling your stupid ego. I miss being able to call you at any time, knowing you’d pick up when I needed you.”

His heart aches so much he wants to reach into his chest and hold it.

“The thing is,” you continue, “you would’ve been the first person I would’ve run to to tell them that I lost my best friend.” There were tears shining in your eyes. “But what could I do when you were the one that I had lost? Who could I have turned to then?”

He lets out a shaky breath, and in a swift motion, his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you to him in an embrace.

You’re stiff in his hold, mechanical and rigid, so contrary to the soft tears you leave behind on the fabric of his sleeve, but slowly and surely, you warm and thaw. Your hands slide up past his shoulders, linking behind his neck. And his head drops to the curve of your neck, swaying you with him slowly as if it were a first dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you.”

You breathe out slowly. “Just let me go, Satoru. Let me be free. Let me be free of you.”

He feels the air knock out of his lungs, and the two of you slowly pull your heads away from the embrace to look at one another, although your hands still find a place on his shoulders, and he still holds you close to him by a delicate hold of your waist. 

He wonders if in another life, you two were happy. He wonders if he could ever take back all the decisions he made, and start all over again. On that day the two of you met on that staircase in the west wing of the literature building, he would make a different choice. If he could, he would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you. 

“It’s time for me to go,” you whisper, eyes darting across the features of his face, studying them but with a familiarity that only you know, because you held his entire life in your palm. Your gaze meets his again, faces just inches apart, and the sweet curl of your eyelashes makes him weak in the knees. “It’s time.”

He nods slowly, his own eyes studying your face as well, except it looks foreign to him now. 

It’s all been said and done. There was nothing he could do to right the wrongs, or undo all the pain. He was to be a father now, and his duties were now towards his wife and unborn child. And no longer to the woman he holds in his arms, one he’s sure he will never stop loving for as long as he lives. 

It’s a sweet moment, the two of you gazing at one another. You look so pretty from this angle, looking up at him with the smallest tilt to your head and round searching eyes. His head subconsciously dips down towards yours in the second that he glances at your lips, but he stops himself. And when you make no move to create distance, he finds himself closing it again, until his lips brush against yours ever so softly. And then he captures them in a kiss, firm and unmistaken, finding solace in the way your lips move against his too, unsure yet passionately at the same time. Your fingers ever so slightly dig into his shoulders while his thumbs soothe at the skin of your waist, the two of you savoring the last moments of a kiss that’ll be the sweetest one you’ll ever know.

You pull away first, a small puff of air leaving your lips as you glance downwards. He rests his forehead against yours, never once looking away from your face. And you both breathe slowly, the soul of the chaste kiss entirely vanishing into the air along with all the hope that the two of you had left to make anything of the way you feel about one another. It was a kiss that almost disqualified any level of sin or guilt or wrong, because it was like one you two owed each other, after years of familiarity and longing. It was the goodbye that the two of you deserved.

His hands slowly let go of your waist, and he takes a step back away from you, softly clearing his throat. The distance feels like a galaxy away, and he briefly runs his thumb along his bottom lip, because the ghostly feeling of your lips on his still remains. 

“Shall we head back?” you ask him, prim and proper in posture and eyes widened in a formal gaze.

His lips are parted, and he finds that he’s panting slightly. And then he slowly nods his head. “Yes.”

.

.

.

[the end] 

a/n. i am sooooo freaking obsessed w "one day" by david nicholls and really wanted to write something inspired by it!! the book literally ripped my heart out and stomped on it like there were so many scenes where i just longingly stared out the window because of how shattering it was but dear god i really enjoyed it, and the show was also so dfkjhsfkhs i had sm feels watching it. so yea this was fun to write!! i hope you enjoyedd n thanks so much for reading :)

➸ masterlist

[pseudowho]

Stoic

When Gojo assumes Nanami Kento's lack of PDA for the reader shows a lack of desire for her, a tipsy Kento is quick to correct him.

Warnings: 18+ drabble, Kento goes on a smutty rant

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'A quick drink' after work had soon turned into two, three, four. Shoko took full advantage of the rooftop bar's balcony, smoking and idly chatting; Higuruma and Atsuya gossipped and quipped, snorting into their drinks; Satoru observed Kento and you keenly behind his dark lens; you stood, excusing yourself to the bathroom as Kento gave you a gentle smile.

"I'm sorry," Satoru interrupted loudly when you were gone, his pot boiling over, "I just-- I just don't get it, Nanami." All eyes were on Satoru and Kento now-- Kento, with one thin eyebrow raised in quiet disdain at Satoru, and Satoru, with his elbows planted forward on his knees in challenge.

A few moments of silence. Kento huffed, "Should I be apologising for someth--"

"--you've been together for years," Satoru interrupted, "and I'm just not convinced. She could be-- she could be a coat rack for all the affection you show her, you're supposed to not be able to keep your hands off her--"

"--you want me to grope my fiancée in public, am I correct--"

"--well maybe, anything to show that you love her--"

Kento laughed out loud, deep and humourless, continuing to chuckle into his glass, scoffing to himself; "Love her," he rumbled, swirling his whiskey, amber eyes flickering and carnal in the firelight.

Shoko had turned, smirking, to watch the scene. Atsuya leaned back, scowling, chewing on a toothpick with crossed arms. Hiromi leaned, glimmer-eyed, into the drama, one hand cupping his jaw and the other clasping his wineglass. He picked up the bottle, slowly beginning to pour another glass.

"I don't love her," Kento spat, downing his glass of whiskey in one smooth swallow, hissing and slamming the glass down on the table, "I worship her. I'm obsessed with her."

Satoru was silent, mulish, as Kento continued.

"I would walk through rains of bullets for her," he mused aloud, "I would cut off fingers with blunt knives--"

"Nanami, alright, I'm sorry--"

"Any second I'm not with her," Kento continued, his voice quieter, darker, the group leaning into him, "is a second wasted. I don't know what point there was in the years I spent without her-- probably just there to build me into even a semblance of the man she deserves--"

"--why are we doing this--"

"-- and when I'm not thinking about talking to her, watching her, being near her, holding her, or-- fuck, just having her look at me goes bone-deep...I spend at least eighty-percent of my time thinking about different ways to make her cum--"

Satoru was blushing now, his face in his hands, while the others leaned into Kento's mild breakdown with awe, "--fucking hell Nanami, I didn't mean--"

"I almost died last week, at work," Kento mused, as a laughing Hiromi slid the glass of wine down the table to Kento, which he caught seamlessly, "because I was too busy thinking about how her mouth had felt around my cock the night before, because I was pondering the many applications for my tie, because I was thinking about how incredible she felt underneath me--"

Atsuya and Shoko whispered together, Hiromi now giggling to himself unashamedly; "Oh he's really going for it--" "I know I know, shhh, let him finish--"

"--and I've been sat here with her all evening, resisting the urge to strip her, tie her wrists together and have her ride me until I go fucking blind, all because of social-fucking-propriety, just for some long streak of jizz like you to say I clearly don't love her--"

Satoru had shrunk in on himself now, his soul quietly leaving his body, mortified and put to rights as Kento tsked, swirling his wine before downing that, too. He accepted the bottle Hiromi slid towards him in approval.

"...it really just is rather rude and presumptuous of you, isn't it, Gojo?"

The group sat in stunned silence as you returned, sitting beside Kento and laying a hand on his crossed knees. You felt the bizarre tension; Hiromi unable to conceal a blush as he looked at you, Shoko giving you a knowing smile around her cigarette, Atsuya unable to make eye contact. You smiled uncertainly.

"...what did I miss?"

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Still waters run deep 💀💀💀

[pucksandpower]

Shouldn’t Have Done That

Mafia boss!Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader

Summary: trying to get one of the most dangerous men in the world to put a hit out on the love of his own life probably isn’t the brightest idea (or in which, for someone with a PhD, your professor is shockingly stupid)

Warnings: 18+ content, sexual harassment, imbalanced power dynamics, graphic violence, and descriptions of bodily harm

The door to your apartment swings open, and the chatter from the hallway stops. Four of your classmates shuffle inside, their footsteps faltering as they take in the sight before them. They’re silent for a moment too long.

“Wait,” Katie says, her eyes wide as she looks up at the vaulted ceiling and back down to the gleaming hardwood floors. “Is this your place?”

You shrug, tossing your keys into the bowl by the door. “Yeah.”

“You live here?” Carla echoes, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“I mean,” you chuckle lightly, “obviously.”

The apartment, with its high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Mediterranean, feels miles away from the cramped student housing they’re all used to. It's not just the space. The sleek furniture, the abstract art pieces on the walls, the elegant touches — none of it exactly screams student budget. They’re trying not to stare, but they’re doing a bad job of hiding it.

“I thought we were coming over to, like … study,” Peter finally says, breaking the silence, a nervous chuckle following.

You give him a playful nudge with your elbow. “We are.”

“But here?” Katie crosses her arms, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow. “Come on, what’s the deal? This place has to cost a fortune.”

There’s a beat, then a couple of them laugh, but it’s a little strained. They’re not joking. They’re genuinely trying to piece it together. You could brush it off, let them make their own assumptions, but something about their wide-eyed curiosity feels harmless.

“My brother,” you say, almost casually. “He’s … well, he’s doing okay. He helps me out.”

They’re all staring, but it’s Carla who finally speaks up. “What does your brother do?”

You hesitate for just a second before answering. “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure.”

Katie’s eyes narrow. “You’re not sure?”

“I mean, I know it’s something with negotiations. Like, high-level stuff. It’s complicated.” You wave it off like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t really matter. Because it doesn’t, right? You’ve never been the type to get too involved in his work. You just trust that he knows what he’s doing.

Carla tilts her head, curious but not pushing further. Peter, on the other hand, leans against the kitchen island, his lips curving into a smirk. “Something with negotiations? So, what? Is he, like, a spy or something?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that.”

“Are you sure?” Peter presses, his tone teasing but with just enough edge that he’s probably half-serious.

“Not everything is out of a Bond movie, Peter,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“But the view!” Katie says, pulling everyone’s attention back to the massive windows overlooking the water. “I can’t believe you get to wake up to this every day.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Carla adds. “I’d never get any work done.”

“I manage,” you say, grinning. The truth is, it’s still surreal to you too. This place is everything you didn’t know you wanted, and sometimes you catch yourself staring out those windows, trying to remind yourself that it’s real.

“Man, I bet you never want to leave,” Katie says, still wandering around like she’s in a museum.

“Not when she has everything she needs right here,” Peter quips. “Look at this kitchen. You could probably host a Michelin chef here.”

You open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water. “I wouldn’t know. I mostly use it for reheating leftovers.”

“You’re telling me this place has a kitchen like this, and you’re eating takeout?” Carla gasps dramatically, as if this is the most offensive thing she’s heard all day.

You shrug, uncapping the bottle. “Priorities.”

There’s a pause as everyone takes another lap of the apartment, taking in the minimalist, yet undeniably luxurious decor. The vibe is light, but you can feel the unspoken curiosity still lingering in the air.

“So … how well off are we talking, exactly?” Katie asks, not looking at you directly but instead at the marble countertops.

You shrug again, like it’s not that big of a deal. “Comfortable. Let’s just say he’s good at what he does.”

“I’ll say,” Peter mutters under his breath, and you can’t help but smirk.

For a moment, there’s silence again, but then Carla’s eyes light up like she’s had the best idea in the world. “Wait. Hold on. You know what I need to see?”

You raise an eyebrow, curious but already a little wary of where this is headed. “What?”

“Your closet.”

You blink, caught off guard by the request. “My closet?”

Katie jumps in, clapping her hands together. “Oh my god, yes. I didn’t even think of that. You have to show us.”

“I-” You hesitate, glancing towards the hallway. You hadn’t planned on giving them a tour of your personal space. “It’s not-”

“Come on!” Carla insists, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the hallway with an eager grin. “We won’t judge. We just want to see.”

“Please?” Katie adds, pouting slightly for emphasis.

You laugh, giving in. “Fine, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

As you lead them down the hallway, you can feel the anticipation in the air. When you stop in front of the large double doors, their excitement is palpable. You twist the knob, pushing the doors open with a small sigh.

“Okay, here it is.”

The collective gasp that follows is almost comical. You step aside, letting them wander into the massive walk-in closet, which feels more like a high-end boutique than anything else. The walls are lined with shelves and racks overflowing with designer labels. Chanel, Dior, Balmain, Gucci. Every label under the sun is here, all neatly arranged and organized in a way that’s both overwhelming and aesthetically pleasing.

Carla immediately rushes to a rack, her fingers brushing over the fabric of a Givenchy gown. “Are you kidding me?”

“This is unreal,” Katie whispers, her voice filled with awe as she runs her hand over a pair of Louboutin heels. “It’s like a dream.”

Peter whistles low, leaning against the doorframe, trying to play it cool, but even he looks impressed. “I’ve never seen this much designer stuff in one place.”

“I’ve only worn, like, half of it,” you admit sheepishly.

Carla spins around, her mouth hanging open. “Half? You could dress an army in here.”

You laugh, leaning against the doorframe, watching them fawn over the collection like kids in a candy store. It’s surreal, seeing your life through their eyes. To you, it’s just your brother’s way of making sure you’re taken care of, but to them, it’s something out of a movie.

Katie pulls out a vintage Valentino dress, holding it up in front of her. “I would die for this.”

“Please don’t,” you tease. “It’s just clothes.”

“Just clothes?” Carla repeats, incredulous. “This is practically a museum of couture.”

They spend the next several minutes pulling out pieces, laughing and gasping at everything from limited-edition handbags to extravagant gowns, and you can’t help but smile. It’s kind of fun, seeing them so excited, even if you still feel a little weird about the whole thing.

Finally, Carla turns to you, eyes wide. “Okay, you have to let us borrow something for the next event. Like, you have to.”

You shake your head, laughing. “We’ll see.”

But as they continue to gush over your closet, you realize that maybe it’s not such a big deal after all. Maybe sharing a little piece of this life with them doesn’t have to feel strange. Maybe it can just be fun.

***

Class is over before you realize it. Professor Turnier’s lecture on the intricacies of international negotiations had been more droning than usual, and the faint buzz of students gathering their things fills the hall. You shove your notebook into your bag, barely listening to the idle chatter around you. There’s a slight tension in the air that you can’t quite place, a sharpness that feels out of sync with the mundane end to the lecture.

You stand up to leave when you hear the professor’s voice, smooth and calculated.

“Could you stay behind for a moment?”

You freeze, glancing over your shoulder. His words aren’t unusual. He often asks students to hang back to discuss assignments or offer advice on projects. But something about his tone feels different. Off.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and nod, offering a polite, if tight, smile. “Sure.”

The last few students file out of the room, their footsteps echoing in the now-empty lecture hall. You hesitate before walking down toward his desk, feeling his gaze tracking your movements. His office is just off the hall, an enclosed glass-walled space where you can already see stacks of papers cluttering his desk.

“Come in,” he says, gesturing towards the open door, his voice too casual.

You step inside, noting the heavy scent of tobacco clinging to the air, and the way the blinds are partially drawn, casting strange shadows across the room. You stand near the door, feeling a sudden urge to stay as close to an exit as possible.

“Have a seat,” Turnier offers, motioning toward the chair across from his desk.

“I’m okay standing,” you say, trying to keep your tone light, even though your instincts are kicking into overdrive.

The professor doesn’t push it. He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers together, watching you with a strange smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve been doing quite well in this course,” he starts, his voice calm and slow. “Very well, actually.”

You nod, unsure where this is going. “Thanks. I’ve been putting in a lot of work.”

“I can tell,” he replies. “You’re … very impressive.”

There’s a flicker of something unsettling in his words, and your stomach tightens.

He clears his throat, standing from his chair and walking around the desk to lean casually against the front of it, much closer now. “You know, I’ve been thinking. Someone like you, with your intelligence, your connections, could really go far in this world.”

You glance toward the door, wondering how much longer you’ll have to listen to him before you can politely excuse yourself. “I’m just focusing on the coursework right now. Trying to stay on top of things.”

“Of course,” he says, nodding, but his eyes are still on you. There’s a slowness to his movements, a deliberate lack of urgency that feels like he’s setting up for something. “But you could be doing so much more. I could help you.”

You take a step back instinctively. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

His smile widens, though there’s nothing friendly about it now. “You know exactly what I mean.”

You stare at him, the air in the room thick with a sudden, unmistakable tension. The distance between you feels far too small. He’s watching you with a kind of predatory stillness, like he’s waiting for a reaction, like he wants you to feel trapped.

“I should probably go,” you say, your voice steady but your heart pounding in your chest. “I have another class soon.”

Before you can move, his hand darts out, grabbing your wrist with a firm grip. The shift from casual to threatening is immediate, and panic flares in your chest. “You’re not going anywhere yet.”

You try to pull your hand free, but he tightens his grip, pulling you closer. His other hand moves to your waist, fingers curling possessively as his breath catches in a disgusting, anticipatory way.

“I could do a lot for you,” he murmurs, his face too close to yours now. “You’re smart enough to know that. I could make your career. Or ruin it.”

His hand slides lower, and you freeze, caught in the horror of the moment, disbelief mixing with disgust. But then something in you snaps.

“Get off me,” you say through gritted teeth, your voice trembling but fierce.

He laughs, a low, condescending sound that makes your skin crawl. “You don’t want to make this difficult.”

Your body moves before your mind fully catches up. With all the force you can muster, you slam your knee upward into his groin. His breath catches in his throat as he doubles over, releasing you instantly, his face twisting in pain. He stumbles back, clutching himself, groaning in agony.

You don’t wait for him to recover. You turn toward the door, ready to sprint out of his office and never look back. But just as your hand grips the doorknob, you hear his voice, raw and venomous behind you.

“You’ll regret this.”

You stop, your pulse pounding in your ears, but you don’t turn around.

“I’ll make sure you regret this,” he spits, still hunched over but his voice sharp and filled with fury. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

You swallow hard, every muscle in your body tensing.

“You think your money can protect you?” He sneers, his words like poison. “I have friends — powerful friends. You think you can humiliate me like this and just walk away? You’ll never have a career. I’ll make sure of it.”

You stare at the door in front of you, every instinct screaming at you to leave, but his words hang in the air, twisting into something darker, something more sinister.

“I know people. People who could make your life hell. Mafia connections, sweetheart,” he says with a sickening smirk, though his voice is still ragged from the pain. “You have no idea how easily I could ruin you.”

Your breath catches, your fingers gripping the doorknob so tightly your knuckles turn white. His threat lingers, the weight of it pressing down on you. You’ve heard stories — whispers of people who move in dangerous circles, people who have connections that go far beyond what you’d ever imagined dealing with.

You know he could be bluffing. He probably is. But what if he’s not?

You force yourself to open the door, stepping out into the hallway, your legs trembling. You don’t look back. You can’t. The hallway is empty, the echoes of your footsteps the only sound as you walk, faster and faster, away from his office, away from the suffocating tension of what just happened.

But his voice, that horrible promise, follows you like a shadow.

“I’m going to ruin you.”

You step out of the building, the cool Mediterranean air hitting your face, but it doesn’t calm the storm inside you. You feel the bile rise in your throat as you stop just outside the doors, leaning against the wall and trying to steady your breathing.

Your mind races, replaying everything that just happened. The feel of his hands on you, the way he looked at you, the way he thought he could get away with it. And then his threat — the weight of it hanging over you, heavy and suffocating.

What now?

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you don’t look at it. You can’t focus on anything but the gnawing sense of fear and anger churning inside you. For a second, you consider going back. Reporting him. But then you remember the look in his eyes, the cold certainty in his voice when he made that threat.

Mafia connections.

It sounds ridiculous, like something out of a movie. But here, in Monaco, where money and power intermingle in ways that blur the lines between the law and something far darker, it doesn’t feel so far-fetched.

You push yourself away from the wall and start walking, needing to move, needing to get away from the university, from the weight of what just happened. But as you walk, your mind keeps circling back to the same thought.

He’s not going to get away with this.

You refuse to let him.

***

You don’t remember driving to Charles’ apartment. The world outside had blurred into a haze of flashing lights and slick streets, your breath ragged in your chest as you fought to hold back the tears. By the time you park the car, your hands are shaking, white-knuckled on the steering wheel. You sit there for a second, trying to gather yourself, but the weight of what happened presses down, heavy and relentless.

Finally, you stumble out of the car, slamming the door shut, your footsteps hurried as you rush toward the entrance of the building. Your vision swims, the tears threatening to spill over, but you force yourself to keep moving, to get to Charles.

You don’t even knock when you reach his door. You punch in the code he gave you a long time ago and push the door open, not caring about anything but the need to see him, to feel safe for even a second.

Charles is in the living room, standing by the kitchen counter, his head turning the moment you step inside. His face instantly shifts from casual surprise to deep concern when he sees you — your tear-streaked face, your trembling body. He moves toward you without hesitation, his arms reaching out before you can even say a word.

“What happened?” He asks, his voice low and urgent as he pulls you into his chest. His strong arms wrap around you, holding you close, his warmth grounding you in a way you didn’t even know you needed.

You try to speak, but the words are stuck in your throat, tangled with sobs. You collapse into him, your legs giving way as the tears finally break free. His grip tightens as he catches you, lowering you gently onto the couch, cradling you like a child. You bury your face in his chest, gasping for air between sobs.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, rocking you gently, his hand running through your hair in soothing strokes. “You’re safe now. You’re with me. Just breathe, okay?”

You try to follow his instructions, but your breaths come out jagged, choking on the tears. It feels like the whole day is crashing down on you at once, and the more you try to hold it together, the more everything falls apart.

He keeps murmuring reassurances, his hand never leaving your hair, his other arm a firm anchor around your shoulders. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. Just take your time.”

It takes a few minutes before you can even manage to form a coherent sentence. The sobs slow, but your whole body still trembles in his arms. You pull back just enough to look up at him, your face wet, eyes puffy, but the words still feel thick on your tongue.

“Charles …” Your voice breaks, and another hiccup escapes before you can stop it. “It’s … it’s my professor. H-He …”

His face hardens instantly, the warmth in his expression replaced by something darker, colder. “What did he do?”

You swallow, trying to steady your breathing, but the panic rises again as the memory of that office, the way his hands grabbed you, floods back. You squeeze your eyes shut, your words coming out in a rush. “H-He tried to touch me. He wouldn’t let me leave. I-I had to push him off me, and he said … he said he’s going to ruin me, Charles.”

Your voice cracks, and fresh tears spill over as you cling to him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

Charles doesn’t say anything at first, but you feel the tension radiating through his body. His grip on you tightens, and when you finally open your eyes, you see the fury etched into his face, his jaw clenched so hard it looks like it might snap.

“He what?” His voice is low, almost too calm, but there’s a dangerous edge beneath it.

You nod, your words barely a whisper. “He grabbed me, and I pushed him, but he … he said he’s going to fail me now. He said he has mafia connections, and he’s going to ruin my life.”

For a second, Charles just stares at you, his eyes dark with something unnameable. Then, suddenly, he pulls you even closer, wrapping his arms around you so tightly it feels like he’s trying to shield you from the entire world.

“He’s not going to do a goddamn thing,” Charles says, his voice rough but steady. “I won’t let him. I promise you, he won’t get away with this.”

You hiccup, shaking your head against his chest. “But he … he said-”

“I don’t care what he said,” Charles cuts in, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, pressing your face into his shoulder. “He’s not going to touch your career. He’s not going to touch you. I’ll make sure of that.”

Your whole body shakes, the weight of his words sinking in, but the fear doesn’t leave. It clings to you, tight and suffocating, like a shadow you can’t shake. “He said he knows people, Charles. Dangerous people.”

“I know people too,” he says, his voice hard, cold in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “You’re my sister. He’ll wish he’d never crossed you.”

You pull back slightly, blinking up at him, your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He lets out a slow breath, his hand brushing a tear from your cheek. “You don’t need to worry about that. Just trust me, okay? I’ll handle it.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he says, his tone brooking no argument. “I’ll take care of everything. You just need to focus on staying safe. I won’t let him come near you again.”

Your lip trembles, and you lean into him, letting yourself be comforted by his certainty, by the strength of his promise. But the words the professor had said — his sneering, his threats — they linger in your mind, gnawing at you.

“What if he really can do it?” You whisper, the fear creeping back in. “What if he ruins me, Charles? What if-”

“He won’t,” Charles says firmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You press your face into his chest again, trying to breathe through the panic. He holds you, rocking you gently, his voice a steady anchor in the storm.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he murmurs, his voice softening. “You’re my little sister. No one messes with you and gets away with it. Do you understand?”

You nod against his chest, your tears slowly subsiding as his words wrap around you like a protective shield.

“I’ll make him pay for what he did,” Charles says, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “He’s not going to hurt you again. And he sure as hell isn’t going to ruin your career. I’ll make sure of it.”

For the first time since you walked into his apartment, you feel a small flicker of relief. Charles has always been the one to make things right, the one who takes care of things when you can’t. If anyone can fix this, it’s him.

“But how?” You whisper, looking up at him, your voice fragile.

He meets your gaze, his expression softening just a bit, though the fire still burns in his eyes. “I have my ways.”

The cryptic answer doesn’t do much to soothe you, but there’s something in his voice, in the way he holds you, that makes you trust him. You know he means what he says. He always has.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into him again, your body exhausted from the rollercoaster of emotions. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Charles says, his voice gentle now. “I’ve got this. You just need to rest. Take a breath. You’ve been through enough.”

His words wash over you, and you feel yourself relaxing slightly, the weight lifting just enough for you to breathe again.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand still cradling you like you’re something precious. “You don’t need to thank me. You’re family. I’ll always protect you.”

***

Max sits at the head of a long, polished mahogany table, a glass of whiskey resting in front of him. The dim lighting casts sharp shadows across the room, reflecting the power and wealth that permeates everything around him. He’s calm, calculating, the very image of control, his blue eyes scanning the room as his men discuss the details of the night’s business. There’s an unspoken respect, an awareness that every word spoken in his presence is weighted, measured, as if any misstep could have consequences.

Charles is beside him, his right-hand man and oldest friend, the only one who can match Max’s intensity. Charles leans back in his chair, but there’s a tension in his posture tonight — something Max doesn’t miss.

Max notices everything.

It’s been that way since the day he took over the family business, since he became the Max Verstappen, the name that inspires both reverence and fear in equal measure.

His phone buzzes on the table, breaking the momentary silence. He reaches for it, raising an eyebrow when he sees the number. Unknown, but local.

“Hold that thought,” Max says to the room, lifting a finger as he stands up and steps away from the table, phone in hand. He walks toward the tall windows overlooking the city. Monaco spreads out beneath him, glittering under the night sky. With a flick of his thumb, he answers the call.

“Yeah?” His voice is deep, smooth, but edged with impatience. He doesn’t do pleasantries with strangers.

There’s a pause on the other end, and then a voice, hesitant but smug, seeps through. “Mr. Verstappen. I wasn’t sure if you’d answer.”

Max frowns slightly, recognizing that tone — someone who thinks they’ve called in a favor, someone who believes they have power. He hates those kinds of people.

“Who is this?” He asks, cutting to the point.

“This is Alan Turnier. I was told you’re a man who gets things done … discreetly.” There’s an oily confidence to his words, and Max’s frown deepens.

He’s heard the name before. Some professor at the university, an arrogant prick by all accounts. Charles had mentioned him in passing a few times, and now the man is calling him, of all people.

“And what exactly do you want from me, Professor?” Max’s voice is low, his tone dangerously calm. He already doesn’t like where this is going.

“Well,” the professor begins, “I’ve got a problem. A student. A rather difficult one, actually. She’s been causing some … trouble, and I need her to be taken down a peg or two. You know, rough her up a bit, teach her a lesson.”

Max’s grip on the phone tightens, but his face remains impassive. He’s handled scumbags like this before. He’s used to people thinking they can use him to solve their petty problems.

“Who’s the student?” Max asks, keeping his voice steady, though there’s a hard edge beneath it now.

The professor chuckles like he’s sharing a secret. “Her name’s Y/N Leclerc. She’s been a real pain. Thought she could get away with disrespecting me, so I figured I’d call in a favor. Make sure she learns her place.”

Max stops breathing for a moment.

The name hits him like a sledgehammer, slamming into his chest with a force he didn’t expect. His mind races, his body going rigid as every instinct flares up. Charles’ sister. Your name. The girl he’s known for years. The one he’s always been protective of, even if he’s kept his distance. The one who’s always had that soft, unaffected smile that somehow disarmed him, even when nothing else could.

His free hand curls into a fist.

“What did you say?” Max’s voice drops dangerously low, quieter now, but the threat in it is unmistakable.

“I said she needs to be put in her place,” the professor repeats, not realizing the fatal mistake he’s just made. “A little lesson in respect. Maybe scare her a bit — she’s been thinking she’s untouchable.”

Max’s vision narrows. The world outside the window blurs as a violent rage surges through him. He’s usually calm, calculated, but this? The idea of anyone laying a hand on you? His jaw tightens, his pulse quickening with the force of the anger boiling inside him.

Without another word, Max pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it for a second. He doesn’t think — he acts. His grip tightens, and with a sharp motion, he hurls the phone across the room, sending it crashing against the wall. The sound of it shattering echoes through the room as shards of glass and metal fall to the floor.

“Max?” Charles’ voice cuts through the haze, concerned and alert. He’s already on his feet, moving toward Max. “What the hell was that about?”

Max doesn’t answer immediately. His chest heaves with barely restrained fury, his hands still balled into fists at his sides. He breathes deeply, trying to steady himself, but the rage won’t let go. It claws at him, consuming him.

“Max.” Charles is in front of him now, eyes searching his face for an answer, his own tension rising. He’s seen Max angry before, but this? This is different. Personal. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Max finally meets his gaze, his voice like gravel as he speaks. “That was Turnier. The professor.”

Charles’ eyes narrow at the mention of the name. “What did he want?”

Max clenches his teeth, trying to control the storm inside him. “He wanted me to rough up a student for him. Said she was causing trouble.”

Charles’ face darkens, his own anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Who?”

Max’s eyes burn with intensity as he holds Charles’ gaze. “Y/N.”

The moment her name leaves his lips, Charles freezes. The color drains from his face, and his jaw tightens. “What?”

Max doesn’t repeat himself. He doesn’t need to. The weight of what the professor asked for hangs heavy between them, the unspoken understanding thickening the air.

“He didn’t know she’s your sister,” Max says, his voice low but lethal. “Didn’t know she’s my family.”

Charles exhales sharply, his fists clenched. “What did you say to him?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Max growls, his voice hardening. “I hung up. Smashed the phone.”

There’s a long pause as the two of them stand there, the weight of the situation settling in. Charles looks like he’s ready to explode, his hands twitching as if he wants to hit something, anything, to release the rage coursing through him.

Max, however, remains deadly calm on the outside, even though the fury inside him is almost unbearable. His mind races with possibilities, with thoughts of what he’s going to do next. He has power, more than Turnier could ever imagine, and he’s going to use every ounce of it to make sure that man never comes near you again.

“We’ll handle this,” Max says finally, his voice cold, determined. “He’s going to regret even thinking about touching her.”

Charles nods, but his eyes are still filled with a kind of wild, protective fury. “I want to be there when you do.”

Max meets his gaze, and for the first time since the call, a grim smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You will be.”

For a moment, they stand in silence, the only sound the faint hum of the city below. Then Max turns back toward the table, his movements deliberate as he grabs the decanter of whiskey and pours himself another glass, the liquid sloshing into the crystal tumbler.

“Call Nico,” Max says to Charles, his tone businesslike but laced with an edge of menace. “We’re going to need a cleanup crew. And tell him to bring the big car.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, already pulling out his phone, his expression steely. Max takes a long sip of the whiskey, the burn of it doing nothing to dull the fire inside him. He knows what needs to be done, and he knows exactly how to make Turnier pay.

The professor had no idea who he was messing with.

Max sets the glass down with a sharp click, his mind already working through the logistics, the steps he’ll take to destroy the man who dared to threaten you. Because this isn’t just about revenge. It’s about protecting what’s his. And as far as Max is concerned, you’ve always been part of that.

“I’ll take care of it,” Max says, more to himself than to anyone else, his voice low and final.

And he will.

No one touches you. Not ever.

***

Max moves through the dimly lit warehouse with the kind of purpose that turns heads and commands silence. Every step is deliberate, every movement calculated. His men line the walls, standing in the shadows like sentinels, but none of them speak. Not when Max is like this. Not when the air is thick with the unspoken threat that something bad is about to happen.

Charles walks beside him, his face set in hard lines, his shoulders tight with barely restrained fury. The kind of fury only family could ignite. The kind that burns hotter and longer than anything else.

At the center of the room, tied to a steel chair, is Professor Turnier.

He’s already bruised, his face swollen from the initial “conversation” Max’s men had with him. But this? This is different. Max and Charles didn’t come here to chat. They came to finish this.

Turnier’s eyes dart nervously between the two men as they approach. His arrogance, his smug self-assurance — it’s gone now, replaced by something desperate and fearful.

“Please … I didn’t know!” Turnier’s voice trembles as he speaks, his words tumbling out too quickly, as if speed could save him. “I didn’t know she was your sister. If I’d known-”

Charles steps forward before Max can, grabbing Turnier by the front of his shirt and yanking him forward, close enough that the professor’s breath hitches in fear. “You think that matters?” Charles hisses, his voice low, lethal. “You think it makes a difference who she is to me?”

Turnier’s lips quiver, his face pale. “I-I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean?” Max’s voice cuts in, smooth but ice-cold, his hands sliding into the pockets of his tailored suit as he steps up beside Charles. “You didn’t mean to assault her? Didn’t mean to threaten her future? Didn’t mean to call me, of all people, to finish your dirty work?”

Turnier’s mouth opens, but no words come out. Max watches him with a look of disdain, his lip curling slightly. It’s pathetic, really — this man, who had so much confidence, so much entitlement when he thought he had control, now reduced to a trembling, sniveling mess.

Max tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he studies Turnier. “Do you know what I do to people who ask me to hurt someone I care about?”

Turnier shakes his head frantically, tears already beginning to spill from his eyes. “Please … I didn’t know. I didn’t know who she was. I was wrong, I see that now. Just — just let me go. I’ll leave. I’ll disappear. I won’t come near her ever again. I swear!”

Charles lets out a low, bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it. He releases his grip on Turnier’s shirt, only to backhand him across the face with such force that the chair tilts. The professor yelps, blood spraying from his split lip as he teeters before slamming back down onto the floor.

“You think it’s that easy?” Charles growls, his hands flexing at his sides, itching for more. “You think you can just walk away after what you did?”

Turnier groans, his head lolling to the side. “I-I made a mistake. I can fix it. I can-”

“No.” Max’s voice is sharp, final. “There’s no fixing this.”

He steps closer, crouching down so he’s at eye level with Turnier, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes boring into the professor’s. Turnier tries to look away, but Max grabs his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “You thought you were untouchable, didn’t you? That no one would question you. That you could do whatever you wanted and get away with it.”

Turnier’s breath comes out in shaky gasps, his eyes wild with fear. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just let me go.”

Max shakes his head slowly, as if he’s disappointed. “You don’t understand. This isn’t about what you can do. It’s about what I’m going to do to you.”

Turnier whimpers, his whole body shaking now, the weight of his impending fate finally settling in.

Max stands, his movements graceful, effortless. He turns to Charles, who is vibrating with rage, his fists clenched, every muscle in his body taut like a coiled spring.

“Charles,” Max says calmly, “what do you think we should take first?”

Turnier’s eyes widen in terror as he realizes what’s coming. He jerks in the chair, trying to free himself from the ropes that bind him, but it’s no use. His voice cracks as he screams, “No, please — no! Don’t!”

Charles steps forward, his eyes gleaming with a cold, focused hatred. “The tongue,” he says, his voice low, almost detached. “He won’t need that anymore.”

Max nods, as if that was exactly the right answer. He moves to the side, and one of his men steps forward, placing a gleaming pair of pliers on the table in front of them. Turnier’s screams grow louder, more desperate, but Max simply gestures to one of the guards.

“Gag him,” he orders.

The guard nods, shoving a rag into Turnier’s mouth to stifle his cries. The professor writhes in his chair, his face contorting with panic, but there’s nowhere to go, no one coming to save him.

Max picks up the pliers, turning them over in his hand, his eyes cold and detached as he tests their weight. He looks at Charles. “Do you want the honors, or should I?”

Charles’ lips twist into a grim smile, and he steps forward, taking the pliers from Max without hesitation. “I’ve got it.”

Turnier’s muffled screams are nothing more than background noise now, a pathetic, meaningless sound that neither man pays much attention to. Charles leans down, grabbing Turnier by the jaw and forcing his mouth open, the gag now drenched with the professor’s tears and saliva. He positions the pliers inside the professor’s mouth, gripping his tongue with merciless precision.

Turnier’s eyes roll back in his head, his body jerking violently against the ropes. Charles pauses, glancing over at Max, who watches with a cool, detached expression.

“Do it,” Max says, his voice calm.

And Charles does. The sound of the tongue being ripped from Turnier’s mouth is wet, violent, and final. Blood gushes from the professor’s mouth as he slumps forward, his body sagging in the chair as he groans in pain, the gag doing little to mask the wet, gurgling sounds of his suffering.

Charles tosses the bloodied piece of flesh to the floor, wiping his hands on a handkerchief one of Max’s men offers him. He looks down at the professor, disgust evident in his eyes.

“Not so smug now, are you?” Charles mutters, stepping back as Max approaches again.

Max crouches down, staring at Turnier, who can barely keep his head up. “We’re not done,” Max says softly, his voice chilling in its softness. “You hurt her. You wanted to destroy her life, her future. Now we’re going to make sure you never hurt anyone again.”

He motions to the guard once more. “Strip him.”

The men don’t hesitate. They move quickly, cutting away Turnier’s clothes until he’s bare, his body trembling in the cold air of the warehouse. Max nods to Charles, who steps forward, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He picks up a blade this time — small, sharp, efficient.

Without a word, Charles steps forward and swings the knife with brutal precision. The scream that comes from Turnier’s throat — guttural, primal, filled with the pain of someone who knows they will never be whole again — echoes through the empty warehouse.

Max watches impassively as the professor collapses in on himself, blood pooling beneath the chair, his sobs now nothing more than broken gasps. He kneels again, leaning in close, his face calm, his voice quiet.

“If you ever thought you were untouchable, I hope tonight has taught you otherwise. You will never speak again. You will never harm another woman again. You will spend the rest of your life as a reminder of what happens when you cross someone who’s mine.”

Max stands up, looking at Charles. “Make sure he’s cleaned up. Dump him where someone will find him. Let him explain to the world what happened without his tongue.”

Charles nods, his chest still heaving with anger, but he knows it’s over. Turnier’s life is ruined. He’ll live, but barely. And the fear will stay with him forever.

Max takes one last look at the professor, broken and bleeding, before turning to leave. His voice, cold and resolute, echoes in the warehouse as he walks away.

“No one touches her. Ever.”

***

The next day, you walk into the lecture hall with your usual sense of dread. Every step feels heavier than the last, the weight of what happened with Professor Turnier pressing down on you like a lead blanket. Even though Charles assured you everything was handled, you can’t stop the anxious thrum of nerves coursing through you. What if Turnier follows through with his threat? What if he finds some way to make your life hell without you even knowing it? The thoughts circle in your mind like vultures as you make your way to your seat.

The room is already buzzing with the usual chatter of students. You sit down next to Camille, who shoots you a quick smile before returning to scrolling through her phone.

"Are you okay?” She asks absently, still distracted by whatever is on her screen.

You nod, forcing a tight smile. "Yeah, just tired.”

Camille glances at you, her brow furrowing slightly, but she doesn't press it. "Same. This class is killing me. I swear if I have to sit through another one of Turnier’s mind-numbing lectures, I might actually pass out.”

The mention of his name sends a jolt through you, but you manage to keep your expression neutral. The thought of seeing him, of facing him after what happened, makes your stomach twist. You wonder if he’ll look at you, if he’ll acknowledge anything at all — or if he’ll act like nothing happened. The idea makes your skin crawl.

More students trickle in, filling the room, the noise level rising with laughter and chatter. You find yourself scanning the doorway, bracing yourself for the moment when Turnier walks in with that smug expression, as if he still holds all the power. Your heart hammers in your chest, fingers gripping the edge of your notebook a little too tightly.

But the door swings open, and instead of Turnier, someone else walks in.

There’s an immediate hush that falls over the room, the shift so sudden it feels like the air has been sucked out of the space. The new professor strides in confidently, carrying a few books under one arm and glancing briefly at the rows of students. He looks like he belongs in an entirely different world — a man in his mid-40s, tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and sharp, intelligent eyes. He wears a tailored suit, but his demeanor is far more relaxed than Turnier’s ever was.

He sets his things down on the desk at the front of the room, and for a moment, no one says a word. Everyone seems to be waiting for some kind of explanation, the tension palpable as the professor faces the class.

“Good morning, everyone,” he says, his voice calm, clear, and authoritative. “I’m Professor Mathieu, and I’ll be taking over for the remainder of the semester.”

You feel the shift in the room as everyone processes what he’s just said. Whispers immediately break out among the students, confused murmurs of “What happened to Turnier?” and “Did anyone know about this?” ripple through the lecture hall. Your heart skips a beat, and you sit up straighter, shock momentarily pushing the anxiety aside.

Camille leans in toward you, her voice a hushed whisper. “Did you hear that? What do you think happened to Turnier?”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. “No idea,” you say quietly, hoping the tremor in your voice isn’t noticeable.

At the front of the room, Professor Mathieu doesn’t seem fazed by the murmurings. He taps his hand on the desk lightly, drawing everyone’s attention back to him.

“I understand you all have questions,” he says, his tone not unkind, “but I’ve been asked to inform you that Professor Turnier is no longer available. As far as the specifics of his departure, that’s not something I can discuss. What I can tell you is that I’ll be taking over for the rest of the semester, and I expect we’ll all be able to adjust without any issues.”

You can feel the tension in the room crackle like static. Some students exchange glances, but no one dares ask any more questions. You, on the other hand, are frozen in your seat. No longer available. The words echo in your head like a distant bell, sending a surge of relief and confusion through you.

Camille nudges you, leaning in closer. “Do you think he got fired?” She whispers.

You shrug, keeping your voice low. “Maybe. I mean, it’s weird that we didn’t hear anything about it.”

“Super weird,” she agrees, still watching the new professor with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “I wonder what he did.”

The same question nags at you, but for an entirely different reason. You think of Charles, his words from last night still fresh in your mind: I’ll take care of it. He won’t hurt you ever again. You wonder what exactly he meant by that. Clearly, Turnier isn’t coming back, but what happened to him?

Professor Mathieu opens a folder on the desk and begins to speak, pulling your attention back to the front of the room. “Now, as I said, we’ll be continuing with the curriculum as planned, but I’ll be implementing some changes to the structure of the course. We’ll focus less on rigid theory and more on practical application, which I believe will be more engaging for all of you.”

The shift in focus seems to settle the room slightly. The murmurs die down as he moves into his lecture, his voice smooth and confident. But even as the class starts, you can’t shake the feeling of something monumental having shifted.

You’re barely paying attention as Professor Mathieu drones on about diplomatic history and the complexities of statecraft. Your mind is somewhere else, replaying the events of last night, the relief you felt when Charles held you close and promised to make things right. You glance at the students around you. They have no idea, no inkling of what almost happened. What could have happened.

Suddenly, you feel Camille nudge your arm. You blink and realize you’ve zoned out completely.

“Are you okay?” Camille whispers, her voice laced with concern. “You look … spaced out.”

You offer her a small smile, though you know it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah, just tired, I guess.”

Camille studies you for a second, clearly not convinced, but she drops it. “Well, this is going to be an interesting semester,” she says, her voice light, but there’s an edge to it. “I mean, Turnier just disappearing like that? Something’s gotta be up.”

You glance over at her, trying to play it cool. “Maybe he retired early or something.”

“Yeah, but no one knew? No announcement, nothing? Feels sketchy.”

You don’t respond, just nodding along as you turn your attention back to the new professor, who’s already deep into his lecture. But as the minutes tick by, you can’t help the growing sense of unease in your chest. There’s relief, sure — Turnier’s gone. But the fact that it happened so suddenly, so completely, leaves you with more questions than answers. What did Charles and Max do?

Camille shifts beside you, flipping through her notes and scribbling things down. “At least the new guy seems decent,” she mutters. “Way better than Turnier.”

You nod, though your mind is elsewhere. You can barely focus on the lecture, your thoughts spinning like a whirlpool. Is Turnier really gone for good? Did Charles and Max … do something more than just get him fired? You remember Max’s cold eyes, the way he’d told you once, in passing, that he’d do anything for family. That no one crossed him or those he cared about without consequences.

What kind of consequences?

Your phone buzzes in your lap, pulling you from your thoughts. You glance down discreetly and see a message from Charles.

Everything’s taken care of. You’re safe.

You stare at the words for a long moment, a chill running down your spine. Safe. The word should make you feel better, but somehow, it only deepens the mystery.

You glance around the lecture hall again. Everyone else is oblivious, focused on their notes, their laptops, their whispering conversations about the sudden change in professors. But you know something they don’t. You know that the world you live in is a lot more dangerous than they realize.

***

When you step out of the building, the afternoon sun blinding for a second, you blink to adjust. Students mill around the campus courtyard, some gathered in groups, others rushing to their next class. You fish your car keys out of your bag, already mentally going over what you’ll make for dinner tonight, but as you approach the edge of the steps, you stop dead in your tracks.

Max is there.

Leaning casually against the sleek, charcoal body of his Aston Martin Valkyrie, arms crossed, aviators shielding his eyes. The car is a thing of beauty — sleek lines and aggressive angles, a car that demands attention. And it’s getting it. You can feel the stares from all around. Students have slowed their pace, eyes darting between Max and you. Whispers start spreading through the crowd like wildfire, curious and speculative.

You swallow hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your pulse picks up. It’s not unusual for Max to turn heads, but seeing him here, on campus, waiting for you, feels like something else entirely. He’s never been the type to drop by unannounced — especially not in a setting like this.

You step down from the stairs, feeling like every pair of eyes is following you, but your focus is on Max. His casual confidence is unnerving, but then again, it always has been. There’s something about the way he carries himself, like he’s always in control, that makes it hard to breathe around him sometimes.

“Max?” You call out, a mix of confusion and concern in your voice. “What are you doing here?”

He pushes off the car and takes off his sunglasses, revealing those sharp, blue eyes of his, which are locked entirely on you. He walks toward you with a swagger that’s impossible to miss, as if he owns every inch of space he moves through.

“I’m here to pick you up,” he says smoothly, voice low but with a hint of amusement.

You look over your shoulder, towards the student parking lot. “But I drove here,” you protest, feeling a little ridiculous saying it aloud. You motion vaguely in the direction of your car. “I’m fine. I can-”

Max cuts you off with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll have someone pick it up and drive it back to your place. You’re coming with me.”

You hesitate, feeling the weight of the dozens of gazes on you. Max doesn’t seem to care about the attention at all, which isn’t surprising. He’s used to it. But the thought of climbing into his car, with what feels like half the campus watching, sends a jolt of nervous energy through you.

“Max, I-” you start, but he opens the passenger door with a casual, almost commanding gesture.

“Get in,” he says, his tone leaving little room for argument.

You glance around, noticing some of your classmates openly gawking at the scene. You feel a flush creep up your neck, but there’s no way out of this without causing even more of a spectacle. With a sigh, you lower your head slightly and step forward, sliding into the seat of the Valkyrie. The leather is cool against your skin, the interior smelling of something clean and faintly masculine. Max shuts the door behind you and walks around to the driver’s side, slipping in with fluid grace.

As soon as the door closes, the low hum of the engine fills the air, and Max glances over at you. “Seatbelt,” he says quietly, waiting until you click it in place before pulling away from the curb.

You can’t bring yourself to look out the window as the car glides through campus. You know everyone’s watching. You can almost feel the collective curiosity, the questions that will follow this moment — why is Max picking you up? What’s your relationship? The ride is smooth, the low rumble of the engine making it feel like you’re floating. Max doesn’t speak, and neither do you, but the silence is charged with something unsaid, heavy in the space between you.

It’s not until you’re out of campus, away from the prying eyes, that you risk a glance at him. His jaw is set, eyes focused on the road ahead, his hands relaxed on the wheel. There’s something about the way he drives — calm, controlled, like he’s in command of everything around him.

You chew on your bottom lip, unsure of how to ask the question that’s been gnawing at you since this morning. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you break the silence, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Did you … did you and Charles have anything to do with Turnier being replaced?”

Max doesn’t answer right away. His fingers flex on the steering wheel, his gaze still straight ahead, but there’s a flicker of something dark in his eyes, something cold and calculating. For a moment, you think he might brush off the question, but then he exhales through his nose, a short, humorless sound.

“We took care of it,” he says, his voice firm, unflinching. There’s a note of pride in it, too, a quiet sort of satisfaction.

You feel a shiver run down your spine. “What … what did you do?” You ask, even though you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

Max glances at you, his gaze steady, unyielding. “Turnier won’t be taking advantage of anyone else. Ever again.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with implication. You stare at him, trying to process what he’s just said. There’s something final in his tone, something that makes your chest tighten with a mixture of relief and dread.

You swallow hard, turning your gaze back to the road. The tension in the car is palpable now, thick and unspoken. You know better than to push for more details. Max and Charles operate in a world where consequences are swift and absolute. You don’t need to ask what they did to Turnier. The important thing is that he’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.

But the weight of that realization — of what Max and Charles might have done — sits heavily in your stomach. You glance at Max again, trying to find something in his expression that might offer more reassurance, but his face is unreadable.

“So that’s it?” You ask, your voice small. “It’s over?”

Max nods, a slight tilt of his head. “It’s over.”

You should feel relieved. You should feel grateful. But there’s something unsettling about how easily they made Turnier disappear. About how calmly Max talks about it, like it’s just another business transaction.

The car continues to glide down the road, and for a while, neither of you speaks. You’re lost in your thoughts, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt. The reality of it all is sinking in now — Turnier’s gone. He’s not coming back. But at what cost?

You steal another glance at Max, wondering how much he’s willing to do for you. For Charles. For family.

“Thank you,” you say softly, the words barely audible.

Max doesn’t respond immediately. He keeps his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. But then, after a moment, he nods once, almost imperceptibly.

“Anything for you,” he says, his voice low and quiet. But there’s a weight to his words, a promise that hangs between you like a silent vow.

You don’t know how to respond, so you just sit there, the sound of the engine filling the silence. Part of you wants to ask more questions, to understand what exactly Max did. But the other part of you — the part that knows how dangerous his world is — tells you to leave it alone.

So you do. You sit back in your seat, watching the city blur by outside the window, and try to focus on the fact that, for now, you’re safe.

***

Max pulls the Valkyrie into the underground garage of his building, and the moment you step out, the cool air hits your skin, grounding you again. The weight of the day, of everything that’s happened, still presses on your chest. You follow Max through the private elevator, feeling the tension rise the higher you go. When the elevator doors slide open, revealing Max’s penthouse, the warm glow of the lights and the familiar scent of home greet you.

Charles is waiting.

He stands by the window, a drink in hand, but the moment he sees you and Max step in, his expression softens. He strides over, his eyes searching your face, concern etched in every line of his posture.

"How’re you holding up?” Charles asks gently, wrapping you in a brief but firm hug.

You exhale into his embrace, grateful for the comfort. "I’m … better,” you admit, your voice steadier than you expect. But the presence of both men, these two constants in your life, makes everything feel a little less overwhelming.

Charles glances between you and Max as he steps back, something flickering in his eyes. “Good. You’re in safe hands.” The way he says it, like there’s something more behind the words, makes your heart skip a beat.

Max doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, tall and imposing, his gaze fixed on you. You feel the weight of it, the intensity, and it’s making you too aware of everything — the closeness of him, the way his arm brushes against yours as you move toward the dining table, the way your pulse quickens every time he looks at you.

The table is already set — simple but elegant. You all sit, and Charles takes the head of the table, a casual smirk tugging at his lips as Max takes the seat opposite you. The food is rich and fragrant, the kind of meal that should make your mouth water, but you’re finding it hard to focus on anything other than the electricity buzzing in the air between you and Max.

The dinner conversation starts out light. Charles talks about work, a new deal he’s working on, and you try to engage, but your mind keeps drifting back to Max. His presence is impossible to ignore, especially when you feel his eyes on you. Every time you steal a glance at him, he’s already looking at you, like he’s been watching you the whole time.

And he has been watching you.

It’s not subtle, the way Max’s eyes linger on you, the way his gaze softens whenever you speak, like he’s memorizing every word. You try not to read too much into it — this is just Max being Max, right? He’s always been protective, always looked out for you. But tonight … there’s something else in the way he looks at you, something deeper, more intense.

You take a bite of your food, trying to focus on anything other than the heat creeping up your neck. But every time you dare to look back at Max, you catch his gaze, and your heart stutters in your chest. There’s a softness in his eyes, something that makes your breath hitch, and you have to look away before it overwhelms you.

Charles, ever the observer, doesn’t miss a thing. He watches the silent exchange between the two of you for a good part of the meal, his eyes flicking between you and Max like he’s piecing together a puzzle. His lips quirk up in a knowing smile, but he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

It’s halfway through the meal when the silence stretches a little too long, the weight of the unspoken tension thick in the air. You keep your eyes on your plate, your hand trembling slightly as you reach for your water glass. Max hasn’t said a word in what feels like forever, but his gaze — God, you can feel it like a physical touch.

And then, just when the tension feels unbearable, Charles leans back in his chair, placing his utensils down with an exaggerated clatter, and clears his throat dramatically.

"Alright,” he says, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "This has been fun and all, but I’ve had enough of watching you two make heart eyes at each other across the table.”

Your fork freezes midway to your mouth. You glance up, eyes wide, and catch Max’s expression — a mix of surprise and amusement flickering across his face.

Charles grins, entirely too pleased with himself. "Seriously,” he continues, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "I mean, it’s cute, don’t get me wrong. But how long are you two gonna keep pretending there’s nothing going on here?”

Your face burns, and you open your mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. You don’t even know what you’d say if you could. Deny it? Laugh it off? You’re not even sure what this is, let alone how to explain it.

Max doesn’t flinch. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, and raises an eyebrow at Charles. "Heart eyes?” He repeats, his tone casual but with a hint of a challenge.

Charles smirks, not backing down. "You heard me. I’ve been sitting here watching you two eye each other like you’re the only people in the room. I swear, it’s exhausting.” He looks at you then, his eyes softening slightly. "And for the record, there’s no one in this world I’d trust more with my sister than you, Max.”

Your heart skips a beat. The weight of Charles’ words sinks in, heavy and full of meaning. Max doesn’t react immediately, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch.

Charles leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his grin widening. "So, why don’t you two put us all out of our misery and just kiss already?”

The room goes still. You can’t breathe. You glance at Max, your heart racing, and for a split second, you think maybe he’ll laugh it off, that this is just Charles being Charles, stirring the pot for his own amusement.

But Max doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t hesitate. His eyes lock onto yours, intense and unwavering, and before you can even process what’s happening, he stands up, his chair scraping against the floor as he moves.

The next thing you know, Max is in front of you, and without a word, without a second of doubt, he reaches across the table, his hands sliding under your arms. He pulls you out of your seat with such ease, like you weigh nothing, and before you can even register it, you’re being tugged across the table toward him.

Your breath hitches, and your hands instinctively find his shoulders as he pulls you closer. His grip is firm but gentle, and his face is just inches from yours now, his eyes dark with something you’ve never quite seen before.

And then, with a slight tilt of his head, Max closes the distance.

His lips press against yours, warm and soft, and the world around you melts away. Everything goes quiet, every sound, every thought, drowned out by the feel of his mouth on yours. It’s a slow, deliberate kiss, like he’s savoring every second, and your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can feel it through your chest.

You can feel his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, and you melt into him, your fingers tangling in his shirt as you kiss him back. The taste of him, the warmth of his skin — it’s all consuming, overwhelming in the best possible way.

Charles lets out a low whistle from across the room, but you barely register it. All you can think about is Max, the way he’s holding you, the way his lips move against yours like he’s wanted this for a long time.

“Well,” Charles says, breaking the moment with a grin, “about damn time.”

Max’s breath lingers warm against your lips, and for a moment, the world feels suspended — just you and him, the faint hum of the city outside, the quiet flicker of candlelight on the table. His hands tighten slightly on your waist, pulling you even closer, and the electricity between you ignites into something undeniable.

You kiss him again, harder this time, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his hand slides up your back. Your fingers tangle in his hair, and there’s an intensity in the way he’s holding you, as though he’s been waiting for this moment for years. It’s a slow burn at first, but then something shifts, the heat between you building until you feel like you might explode if you’re not closer, if you can’t feel more of him.

Max responds in kind, his grip on you firm, and his lips more insistent. You forget where you are, lost in the sensation of him — the taste of his mouth, the feel of his body pressed against yours. It’s like nothing else exists, nothing else matters.

But then, from across the table, Charles clears his throat loudly.

You pull back slightly, breathless, and Max’s eyes flash with frustration, as if he’s annoyed at being interrupted. You glance over at Charles, who’s sitting with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in amusement, but his expression is serious.

“Alright, alright,” Charles says, his voice calm but firm, like he’s trying to keep the situation from spiraling. “That’s enough for now.”

Max shoots him a look, clearly not on the same page, but Charles just shakes his head.

“Nope, not happening,” Charles continues, pointing between the two of you. “Nothing — and I mean nothing — gets any further without a ring.”

A heavy silence falls over the room. You blink, trying to process what Charles just said. You and Max are both frozen, still tangled together, and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You expect Max to say something — to push back, to laugh it off — but instead, he lets go of your waist and steps back, his jaw tight.

Without a word, Max turns on his heel and walks out of the dining room.

You’re left standing there, stunned, your heart racing for a whole new reason. “What … just happened?” You murmur, looking at Charles for some kind of explanation.

Charles looks just as confused as you feel, his eyes following Max as he leaves the room. “I don’t know,” he admits, his brow furrowed. “I didn’t think he’d-”

Before he can finish his sentence, Max strides back into the room, something small and familiar in his hand. Your eyes widen when you realize it’s a jewelry box. The dark velvet catches the low light, and it’s clear from the way Max holds it that this isn’t a last-minute idea.

He stops in front of you, his expression steady, but there’s a glimmer of something in his eyes — something raw and vulnerable. He meets your gaze, and his voice is low, serious when he speaks.

"Good thing,” Max says, flipping open the box with a flick of his thumb, revealing a dazzling diamond nestled in the center, "I’ve had this since the first time I saw you. Years ago.”

Your heart stops. Literally, you can feel it stutter in your chest as the words sink in.

“What?” The word escapes your lips in a whisper, your gaze darting from the ring to Max’s face, trying to understand if this is real, if you’re not imagining the whole thing.

Max holds your gaze, his eyes unwavering. “I knew,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I knew from the first moment I met you, there was no one else. You were it for me.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t think. You can’t speak. The room feels smaller, quieter, like the entire world has narrowed down to just this — the man standing in front of you, the ring in his hand, the weight of what he’s saying.

Charles, who had been watching the whole scene with a mixture of amusement and curiosity, now leans back in his chair, crossing his arms with a satisfied smirk. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Max doesn’t take his eyes off you. “I’ve been waiting,” he admits, his voice soft but certain. “Waiting for the right time. But Charles is right. There’s no point in pretending anymore.”

Your chest tightens. You’ve always known there was something between you and Max, something unspoken, something simmering beneath the surface. But you never expected this — never expected him to have felt it for so long, to have been carrying this weight of certainty with him all this time.

The ring sparkles in the dim light, beautiful and overwhelming, and your mind races, trying to catch up with your heart.

“You’ve had that … since we met?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max nods once, his gaze unwavering. “Since the day Charles introduced us,” he says, his voice low, gravelly. “I knew then. And I’ve kept it, waiting for you to feel the same. I didn’t want to rush you, didn’t want to push you into something you weren’t ready for.”

There’s a pause, the silence between you both filled with a thousand unsaid things.

Charles clears his throat, the amusement in his voice more pronounced now. “So, are we going to do this properly, or what? You’ve got the ring. She’s standing right there.”

You shoot Charles a look, but you can’t help the small, nervous laugh that escapes your lips. “You’re really ruining the moment, you know that?”

Charles shrugs. “Just trying to help.”

Max smirks, and for a brief second, you see the playful edge return to his expression. But then his eyes are back on you, serious, and the weight of what’s happening comes crashing down again.

He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, his presence filling up the space around you. “I’ve loved you for a long time,” Max murmurs, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “And I’ll keep loving you for the rest of my life. If you’ll have me.”

You blink back the sudden wave of emotion that threatens to spill over. You never imagined that this moment — this moment — would feel so natural, so right.

“I don’t-” you start, your voice catching, but then you take a deep breath and try again. “I don’t know what to say.”

Max’s smile softens, and he takes your hand, pressing the small jewelry box into your palm. “Say yes,” he whispers.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and for a moment, you just stand there, staring up at him, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions racing through you. But then you look into his eyes — those dark, steady eyes that have always been there for you, always protective, always his — and the answer is clear.

“Yes,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out past the lump in your throat. “Yes, Max.”

Max’s face breaks into a smile, something soft and relieved, and before you can say another word, he’s pulling you into his arms, kissing you with a fervor that leaves you breathless all over again.

Charles lets out a low whistle from the other side of the table, his voice laced with humor. “Well, it’s about damn time.”

Max doesn’t pull away this time. He just kisses you deeper, one hand cupping your face, the other pressing the ring box into your hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world. And to him, you know it is.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, he grins. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

You laugh, your heart soaring, and whisper back, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

***

Max pulls the car up to the curb in front of the university, his sleek Valkyrie drawing curious stares from students lingering outside the building. You’re still adjusting to the events of the night before — the suddenness of it all, the weight of the engagement ring now resting on your finger. It feels unreal, like you’re caught in some strange but thrilling dream.

He gets out of the car first, walking around to open the door for you. His hand extends toward you, a protective gesture, and you take it without hesitation. The moment you’re standing, Max pulls you into his arms and kisses you, slow and deliberate, as if he’s making sure the entire campus knows that you’re his.

There’s a pause when he pulls away, his hand still resting on your lower back. “You sure you don’t want me to stick around? Make sure no one bothers you?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Max gives you one last look, his brow furrowed slightly with concern, but then he steps back and nods. “Alright. Call me if you need anything.”

With that, you turn toward the building, the weight of his gaze on your back as you walk away. Your heart is still racing from the kiss, and you know you’re about to walk into a storm of questions — your friends haven’t even had time to process everything that happened yesterday.

Sure enough, the second you’re inside the courtyard, you hear voices calling your name. You look up to see a group of your classmates, their eyes wide, jaws practically on the floor. They surround you like a pack of excited reporters, eager to get the scoop.

“Who was that?” Katie asks, her eyes still fixed on the spot where Max’s car had been. “And please don’t tell me that’s the same guy who picked you up yesterday. Because holy shit, girl.”

Peter, arms crossed, steps closer, squinting at you with a mix of amusement and suspicion. “Is that why you’ve been acting weird lately? You’re seeing someone?”

You can’t help but smile, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. “Uh, yeah,” you say, holding up your left hand to show the ring. “That’s Max … my fiancé.”

The group collectively gasps, the air around you suddenly filled with a flurry of shocked exclamations.

“Fiancé?” Carla nearly shrieks, grabbing your hand to inspect the ring up close. “Excuse me? Fiancé? How the hell did we not know about this?”

Katie, clearly still processing, stares at you with wide eyes. “You mean to tell us you’ve been engaged this whole time and didn’t even mention it?”

You laugh nervously, knowing what’s coming. “No, no, it’s not like that. It’s … it just happened. Yesterday.”

The shocked silence that follows your words is almost comical. They all exchange glances, trying to make sense of what you’ve just said.

“Yesterday?” Peter echoes, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You mean you got engaged yesterday?”

You nod, feeling the pressure of their disbelief. “Yeah. Yesterday.”

“And you’ve been seeing this Max guy for how long exactly?” Carla, her arms crossed, eyes skeptical.

You hesitate, knowing the answer is going to send them into another round of questioning. “Uh … officially? One day.”

The shock hits them all at once. They’re staring at you like you’ve just announced that you’re moving to Mars. The disbelief is palpable, and you can practically hear their minds racing.

“One day?” Katie finally blurts out, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You got engaged after one day of being together? Are you serious right now?”

Carla, clearly concerned, steps forward and lowers her voice, like she’s trying to be gentle. “Y/N, I love you, but … are you sure about this? One day? That’s … I mean, that’s crazy.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of their judgment, but you stand your ground. “Look,” you say firmly, meeting each of their gazes in turn. “I know it sounds insane. But we’ve known each other for years. Max is Charles’ best friend. We’ve been in each other’s lives for so long, and … we’ve loved each other for a long time. We just didn’t make it official until now.”

Your friends exchange glances again, clearly unsure of how to react. They’re still in shock, still processing, but you can tell they’re trying to understand.

“Okay, but …” Peter starts, struggling to find the right words. “How did you go from ‘just friends’ to engaged overnight?”

You laugh, the memory of last night flooding back, and you shrug. “It wasn’t exactly overnight. It’s been building for a while. We’ve both known how we felt, but neither of us acted on it. And then … well, things happened, and we just decided to stop pretending.”

There’s a long pause as your friends take that in, their faces softening a little. You can see the concern in their eyes, but also a flicker of understanding.

“So … you’ve loved him for years,” Katie finally says, slowly nodding. “And he’s loved you for years. But you just made it official now?”

You nod, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “Exactly. It might seem fast, but we’ve known this was coming for a long time. We just didn’t realize it until now.”

Your friends are quiet for a moment, and then Carla sighs, throwing her hands up in the air. “Okay, fine. I still think it’s crazy, but … if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”

Peter chimes in, smiling a little. “I mean, the ring is gorgeous. And that car? Damn.”

There’s a ripple of laughter through the group, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you. They’re not completely on board yet, but they’re starting to come around.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Katie teases, nudging you playfully. “If you’re moving this fast, I’m assuming it’s next week?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “We haven’t even talked about that yet. It’s still sinking in for both of us.”

Carla grins. “Well, I guess we’ll have to start dress shopping soon. It’s probably going to be some extravagant, over-the-top wedding.”

You can’t help but smile at the thought, your heart fluttering. “I don’t know about that. But … yeah, maybe.”

They laugh again, and you can feel the tension easing. The questions aren’t completely gone, but they’re starting to trust that you know what you’re doing. They’re your friends, after all — they want you to be happy, even if they don’t fully understand how this all happened so fast.

As you start walking toward the lecture hall together, Peter loops his arm through yours. “Alright, tell us everything. How did he propose? And how did we not know you were in love with him this whole time?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s a long story …”

“Well, we’ve got time,” Katie says with a grin. “You can fill us in after class. We need details.”

As you all head inside, you glance down at the ring on your finger, the weight of it feeling more natural with every passing minute. It’s strange how quickly everything has changed, but it also feels like it’s been a long time coming. Like this was always where you were meant to end up — with Max, with the man who’s loved you from the start.

And no matter what anyone else thinks, you know in your heart that this is right. You and Max may have only made things official yesterday, but the love between you has been there all along, quietly waiting for the right moment to bloom.

Now, it’s finally your time.

***

Class lets out early today. You’re grateful for the extra time, but it’s a bit inconvenient — Max isn’t supposed to pick you up for another half hour. Standing outside the lecture hall, you scan the sea of students milling around, watching them scatter toward their cars or the nearby café.

You check your phone. No messages. It’s still too early for Max to be on his way, so you settle on waiting near the steps, trying to enjoy the sun and the slight breeze. You absentmindedly twist the engagement ring around your finger, the cool metal grounding you. The past few days have been a whirlwind, and every time you look at that ring, it still feels surreal. But it also feels like everything is finally falling into place. You belong with Max. You always have.

"Hey.”

The voice cuts through your thoughts. You glance up, blinking in surprise as you see a guy from your class approaching. You recognize him vaguely — one of those people who sits in the back, never really participating in the discussions. You’re pretty sure you’ve never spoken to him before, but now here he is, leaning against the wall near you with a smirk that makes your skin crawl.

“Hi,” you say politely, not wanting to be rude but also not particularly interested in starting a conversation.

He doesn’t take the hint. “I’ve seen you around,” he says, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “You don’t usually hang out here after class. Waiting for someone?”

Your instincts tell you to keep this short. “Yeah, my fiancé. He’s picking me up soon.”

The word fiancé doesn’t seem to deter him. In fact, it seems to spur him on. His eyes flick down to your hand, where the ring gleams in the sunlight, and then back up to your face with a cocky smirk.

“Fiancé, huh?” He steps a little closer, his voice lowering as if trying to be conspiratorial. “That sounds serious. But, I mean, you don’t really seem the settling down type. You sure you wanna tie yourself down so soon?”

You stiffen. “I’m sure,” you reply firmly, shifting your weight and turning your body slightly away from him, hoping he’ll get the message and leave you alone.

But he doesn’t. “Come on, we’ve never really talked, but I’ve seen you around. You’re smart, cool … definitely too interesting to be someone’s fiancée already.” He flashes you what he probably thinks is a charming smile. “What’s the rush?”

You swallow, trying to keep your cool. “There’s no rush. I’m happy. I’m with someone I love, and we’ve been together for a long time.” That’s not entirely true, but it’s not a lie either. It’s not something this guy needs to know, anyway.

Instead of backing off, he leans in closer, a predatory gleam in his eye. “Maybe you don’t know what you’re missing. Just saying, you and I could have some fun.”

You take a step back, feeling your pulse quicken. “I said, I’m in a relationship.”

He shrugs, as if your words are meaningless. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time. What’s the harm in a little flirtation? It’s not like he’d know.”

Your patience snaps. “I’m not interested,” you say more forcefully, taking another step back. “Please leave me alone.”

The guy laughs softly, shaking his head. “Wow, playing hard to get, huh? I get it. You’re probably bored with this fiancé of yours, right? Guys like that, they don’t know how to keep things interesting.”

Before you can respond, you hear the familiar roar of an engine. Relief floods through you as you spot Max’s Valkyrie pulling up to the curb. The second the car comes to a stop, the door swings open, and Max steps out, his eyes immediately locking on you — and the guy standing too close for comfort.

Max takes in the scene in an instant. His entire demeanor changes in the blink of an eye, shifting from calm to deadly. His jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he stalks toward the two of you with purpose.

The guy is oblivious at first, too caught up in his own attempt at charm to notice the approaching storm. “Come on, sweetheart,” he’s saying, his hand moving slightly toward your arm. “Just give me a chance.”

That’s when Max arrives.

Before the guy’s hand can even brush your sleeve, Max grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him backward with enough force to make him stumble. The guy lets out a startled yelp, spinning around to face Max, his expression morphing from confusion to fear the moment he realizes who he’s dealing with.

“Hey, man, I was just-” the guy starts, but Max cuts him off with a low, menacing growl.

“She’s not interested,” Max says, his voice deadly calm. His hand is still gripping the guy’s shoulder, but it looks like he could crush him with that one hand alone. “And you’re going to walk away. Now.”

The guy’s eyes dart between you and Max, clearly weighing his options. He starts to stammer, trying to salvage his bravado. “I-I didn’t mean anything by it, man. Just talking …”

Max’s grip tightens, his knuckles turning white. “You think you can talk to her like that? Disrespect her?” He leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper that’s somehow even more terrifying. “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

The guy’s bravado crumbles completely. His face pales, and he raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! I’ll go. Jesus …”

Max releases him with a shove, sending the guy stumbling backward. He doesn’t wait around to see what happens next — he turns and practically sprints away, disappearing into the crowd of students.

For a moment, there’s silence. Max watches the guy retreat, his chest heaving with barely restrained fury. Then he turns to you, his expression softening immediately.

“You okay?” His voice is gentle now, a stark contrast to the cold fury he’d just displayed.

You nod, still a little shaken but grateful. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Max steps closer, cupping your face in his hands and scanning your expression for any sign of distress. “If he touched you — if he so much as breathed on you wrong-”

“He didn’t,” you assure him, placing your hands over his. “You got here just in time.”

Max’s eyes flicker with something dark, a protective fire that hasn’t fully extinguished. “Good,” he mutters, pulling you into his arms. He holds you tightly for a moment, as if he needs to reassure himself that you’re safe. “I don’t like anyone looking at you like that.”

You smile softly, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I don’t like it either. But it’s okay now. You’re here.”

Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I’m always here. And I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

You nod, leaning into his touch. “I know.”

He kisses you then, right there in front of the university, his lips capturing yours in a slow, possessive kiss that tells everyone watching exactly who you belong to. When he finally pulls away, he presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’ll make sure no one ever bothers you again,” Max murmurs, his voice low but fierce.

You smile up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

With one last glance around to make sure the guy is well and truly gone, Max leads you to the car. He opens the door for you, and as you slide into the passenger seat, you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of security. Max is always in control, always one step ahead. And you trust him completely.

As Max pulls away from the curb, his hand finds yours, resting between the two of you. You don’t need to say anything — the silence between you is comfortable, filled with the unspoken promise that no matter what happens, you’ll face it together.

***

After dinner, the soft clatter of cutlery fades into the background as you start clearing the plates. The dim light from the chandelier casts a golden glow over the dining room, making the atmosphere feel intimate, heavy with something unspoken. Max leans back in his chair, watching you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

You stack the plates, trying to focus on the mundane task, but you can feel his eyes on you, tracking every movement. Your breath hitches slightly as you turn toward him, plates in hand, and smile nervously.

"Do you want dessert?” You ask, your voice light, though your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

Max’s gaze darkens, his lips curling into a slow, wicked smile that sends shivers down your spine. “The only dessert I want,” he says, voice low and gravelly, “is right in front of me.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as his meaning sinks in. You freeze, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is, the way his eyes travel down your body like he’s already undressing you in his mind. Your hands tremble as you put the plates back down on the table, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.

He doesn’t move from his seat, but there’s a tension in the air, pulling you toward him as if he’s some magnetic force you can’t resist. “Come here,” he says softly, but it’s not a request. It’s a command.

You hesitate for a second, unsure if you can even make your legs move, but then your feet carry you around the table, closer to him. By the time you’re standing in front of Max, your knees feel weak. His eyes stay locked on yours, full of heat and possession.

When you’re within reach, Max takes your hand, pulling you gently toward him. You end up standing between his legs, feeling the heat of his body seep through his clothes, and all at once, your breath catches. His hand slides up the back of your thigh, slow and deliberate, sending a thrill of anticipation shooting through you.

Max’s other hand rests on your waist, tugging you closer until you’re pressed against him. “You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your stomach through your dress, “I’ve been patient with you. So, so patient.”

Your hands find his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt to steady yourself. “Max …”

He looks up at you, his eyes half-lidded but full of that same intensity. "Tell me something,” he says, his tone suddenly shifting, darker, more dangerous. “Has anyone else ever touched you?”

You blink, taken aback by the question. You feel your face heat up again, your pulse racing as his words sink in. “What?” You stammer, barely able to string two words together under the weight of his gaze.

Max’s hand tightens slightly on your thigh, his thumb tracing small circles that send jolts of electricity through you. “I asked,” he says softly but firmly, “if another man has ever touched you.”

The meaning of his question slams into you, and your throat goes dry. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of your chest. You try to find your voice, but it comes out barely above a whisper. “No … no one.”

A satisfied smile spreads across Max’s face as he tugs you even closer, his hands sliding up your waist. His voice is a low, rumbling growl. “Good. Because if they had, I would’ve tracked down every single one of them.” He pauses, eyes gleaming with dark intent. “And made sure they didn’t have hands to touch anyone with again.”

Your breath catches at the promise in his voice, a possessive edge that sends a delicious shiver down your spine. You know Max means every word. There’s no doubt in your mind that if anyone had dared to cross that line, he would’ve hunted them down, one by one. His protection is absolute, as is his desire.

You shake your head, barely able to focus on anything but the way his hands feel on your skin, the way his words wrap around you like a cocoon. “No one’s ever touched me like that,” you whisper again, more firmly this time. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Max’s eyes darken further, his grip tightening on your hips. He pulls you down until you’re sitting on his lap, straddling him, your dress bunching up around your thighs. His hands settle on your waist, holding you in place. “That’s right,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. “Because you’re mine.”

The words send a thrill straight through you, and you can feel the heat pooling low in your belly. Your body reacts to his touch, to the way his hands move with deliberate slowness, like he’s savoring every second. His lips trail up your throat, pressing kisses that make your head spin.

You close your eyes, your breathing ragged as you let yourself sink into the moment, into him. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groans softly in response, his grip on you tightening.

“Max …” you whisper, barely able to form coherent thoughts with the way he’s touching you, the way he’s making you feel.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes blazing with desire and something deeper — something that makes your heart pound harder in your chest. “You’re mine,” he says again, his voice low and commanding. “And no one else will ever touch you. No one else will ever have you.”

You nod, breathless, and he smirks, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

Before you can react, Max leans in and captures your mouth in a searing kiss, his hands roaming over your body as if he can’t get enough. The kiss is heated, intense, filled with all the pent-up emotion that’s been building between the two of you since that first moment you laid eyes on each other.

His hands slide down your back, pulling you impossibly closer as his mouth moves against yours with urgency. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, and you can’t help but respond to him, your hands gripping his shirt tightly as if you’re afraid to let go.

The world outside fades away. There’s only Max — his touch, his kiss, his possessiveness, and the way he makes you feel like you’re the center of his universe.

He pulls back, breathless but grinning like he’s won a prize, “No one will ever doubt that again.”

Max’s lips hover over yours, his breath warm and steady, igniting something deep within. He shifts you slightly in his lap, adjusting his hold, and then, with deliberate slowness, his mouth trails down, leaving a scorching path along your jawline and down your neck. His movements are unhurried, savoring every inch of skin like he has all the time in the world.

You can feel your pulse pounding under his lips as he kisses lower, the anticipation building with every second. Max pauses, his mouth just inches from the neckline of your dress, his hands firm on your waist. His eyes flick up to meet yours, a dark, hungry glint in them.

“Mine,” he murmurs softly, the single word vibrating against your skin. Then, without warning, his teeth graze lightly over the delicate fabric of your dress, right where your hardened nipple is pressing through. The sensation is startling, electric — enough to make you gasp and arch involuntarily.

A low, approving sound rumbles from Max’s chest as he lightly takes the hardened bud between his teeth, through the fabric, teasing and testing. His gaze stays locked on yours, watching every reaction, every twitch of your body. He’s not just touching you — he’s learning you, reading you, knowing exactly what makes you shiver and tremble beneath his hands.

You bite your lip, a soft moan slipping out despite your best efforts to hold it back. Your fingers clutch the back of his neck, tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Max hums in satisfaction, his tongue flicking out briefly to wet the fabric, making it cling to your skin. The sensation is maddening, a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you breathless.

“Tell me,” he murmurs against you, his voice rough and low, “how long have you wanted this?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, his mouth closing over your covered nipple once more, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. “Tell me how long you’ve been dreaming of me doing this to you, touching you like this.”

You swallow hard, trying to think past the haze of desire clouding your thoughts. “Max, I-” Words are impossible when he’s touching you like this, when his lips are doing things to your body that make your thoughts scatter in every direction.

He growls softly, releasing your nipple with a final, gentle tug of his teeth that makes your whole body jolt. “Answer me,” he demands, his hands slipping under your dress, pushing it higher until the cool air of the room brushes against your bare thighs. “How long?”

The urgency in his voice, the possessiveness — it’s overwhelming. Your breathing comes in shallow pants as you try to form a coherent thought, try to answer him. “Since … since the first day we met,” you finally manage to whisper, your voice trembling with need.

Max’s hands pause on your thighs, his grip tightening. His eyes blaze with something fierce, something primal. “The first day?” He repeats, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, as if he’s savoring the admission. “You mean to tell me you’ve wanted me like this-” his hands slide up, pushing the hem of your dress higher, exposing more of your skin “-for years?”

You nod, helpless under his gaze, under his touch. “Yes … always …”

A dark, satisfied smile curls his lips. “And I’ve waited,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his fingers tracing the curve of your inner thigh, “all this time. Waiting for the right moment to make you mine. To claim you.” He leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “No more waiting.”

You shiver at the intensity of his words, the promise in them. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty — only the overwhelming certainty that he’s going to take you, claim you, in every way he’s ever dreamed.

Max’s hand slides higher, skimming the edge of your underwear. His touch is featherlight, teasing, and you can’t help the way your hips tilt toward him, seeking more. He lets out a low chuckle, his fingers dancing along the lace edge but never quite dipping beneath it.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “So perfect.” His thumb presses down lightly, just enough to make you gasp. “All mine.”

You bite your lip, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. “Max, please-”

He pulls back, just enough to look at you, his expression serious, almost reverent. “No one else gets to touch you like this,” he says, his voice firm and steady, as if making a vow. “No one else ever will.”

You nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “No one else, Max. Only you.”

His eyes darken further, and then he’s moving, shifting your position on his lap until you’re leaning back against the table, his body hovering over yours. He leans down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s fierce, almost punishing, as if he’s pouring all the years of pent-up desire and frustration into that one kiss.

His hands move with a single-minded determination, sliding your dress up and over your hips, exposing the thin scrap of lace beneath. Max pauses, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, laid out before him like some offering, and something feral flashes in his gaze.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, his hand sliding up your thigh, fingers brushing against the lace. “All mine.”

You whimper softly, your body arching toward his touch, and he growls softly in response, his fingers pressing more firmly against you.

“And no one else has ever touched here,” he says softly, almost like a question, his fingers teasing along the edge of your underwear.

You shake your head frantically, your eyes locked on his. “No, Max. Only you.”

The satisfaction in his expression is almost palpable, his chest heaving with barely restrained control. “Good,” he murmurs, his hand slipping under the lace, fingers finding your slick heat. He groans softly, his head dropping to your shoulder. “So wet for me. Just for me.”

You moan softly, your hands tangling in his hair as his fingers slide deeper, finding that sensitive spot that makes your whole body shudder. He watches you, his eyes never leaving your face, as if memorizing every reaction, every gasp, every moan.

Max stills, and he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. His chest heaves with every labored breath, and his pupils are blown wide with desire. But underneath all that raw hunger, there’s something deeper, something softer. A question. A pause.

“Are you sure?” He whispers, his voice rough and low, almost strained. His fingers brush lightly over your cheek, a gentle contrast to the way his body is pressed against yours. “Tell me now if you want me to stop.”

You meet his gaze, seeing the war within him — the need to take what’s his battling against the desire to protect you, to make sure this is what you want too. The vulnerability in his eyes, the way his thumb caresses your cheek, makes your heart ache in the best possible way.

“I want this,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the trembling of your body. “I want you.”

Something shifts in his gaze — any lingering uncertainty melts away, replaced by pure, unadulterated determination. He swallows hard, his jaw clenching. “I need you to understand,” he says softly, his voice almost guttural, “that once I have you — once I’m inside you — there’s no going back. You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go.”

Your breath catches, your heart beating wildly at the weight of his words. “I know,” you murmur, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath. “I want to be yours, Max. Forever.”

That’s all it takes.

Max’s mouth crashes against yours, the kiss bruising and desperate, as if he’s trying to pour every ounce of his need, his love, into it. His hands move quickly, tugging the lace of your underwear down your legs and tossing it aside. Then, he’s standing, pulling you up with him.

With a single motion, he sweeps the table clear, dishes and glasses clattering to the floor, forgotten. He lifts you effortlessly, setting you down on the table, your legs spread wide around him. The cool surface of the wood contrasts sharply with the heat of your skin, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Look at me,” Max commands, his voice low and husky. His hands cup your face, holding you still as his eyes bore into yours. “I need to see your eyes when I make you mine.”

Your breath hitches as he steps between your legs, his hand sliding down to grasp his length. He’s hard and heavy in his palm, the sight of him — so big, so ready — making your heart race even faster. He strokes himself slowly, his gaze never leaving yours, and your body clenches with anticipation.

“Max,” you breathe, your hands reaching out to clutch his shoulders. “Please …”

He lets out a low growl, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady. The broad head of his cock brushes against your entrance, and you can’t help the way your body arches toward him, seeking more.

“Easy,” he murmurs, his voice a strained whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You shake your head, your nails digging into his skin. “You won’t. I want-”

The words die on your lips as he begins to push inside, the stretch of him almost unbearable. Your breath catches, and Max’s grip tightens, his jaw clenched so hard it looks like it might crack.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. He’s barely inside, just the tip, but it feels like too much and not enough all at once. “Tell me if I’m hurting you, liefje.”

You bite your lip, shaking your head. “No … no, it’s — it’s so good. Keep going, Max, please-”

He exhales sharply, his breath hot against your neck, and then he’s pushing in further, inch by inch, until he’s seated deep inside you. The fullness is overwhelming, the sensation of him stretching you, filling you, sending sparks of pleasure and pain shooting through your body.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but cling to him as he stills, giving you time to adjust. His hands are trembling against your skin, and you realize with a start that he’s holding himself back, fighting to keep control.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, his voice tight with strain. “So fucking perfect. And you’re mine, do you understand? No one else will ever have you like this.”

You nod frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Yes, Max. I’m yours — only yours.”

His eyes blaze with something dark and fierce, and then he’s moving, his hips pulling back before thrusting forward again, burying himself deep inside you. The movement is slow, measured, but you can feel the barely restrained power behind it, the way his body is trembling with the effort to go slow.

“Fuck, schatje,” he groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. “You’re so tight, squeezing me like that. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You gasp softly, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your body trembling with every thrust. “Max … please … I-”

He growls softly, his pace quickening, his grip on your hips tightening. “What do you need?” He murmurs, his voice a low, rough whisper. “Tell me what you need.”

“More,” you breathe, your body arching into his, seeking more of the pleasure only he can give you. “I need … more …”

Max’s breath catches, and then he’s moving faster, his hips driving into you with a force that sends shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. The table creaks beneath you, but you barely register it, too lost in the feeling of him inside you, filling you completely.

“Is this what you wanted?” He growls, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. “To have me fuck you like this, to take you hard and deep?”

You can’t form words, can only moan and nod, your body trembling with every thrust. Max’s hands slide up your back, holding you closer, his pace relentless.

“God, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice thick with pleasure. “So fucking good. I want to keep you like this forever, keep you under me twenty-four-seven. Fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go.”

His words send a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, your body tightening around him. “Max-”

He’s panting now, his movements becoming erratic, his control slipping. “I hope you know,” he murmurs, his voice rough and desperate, “that I’m never letting you go now. You’re mine — forever.”

You can’t do anything but cling to him as he takes you, his body driving into yours with a force that leaves you breathless. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter until —

“Max!” You cry out, your body convulsing around him as the orgasm rips through you, shattering you into a thousand pieces.

Max groans, his hips slamming into yours one final time before he stills, his body shuddering with his release. His head drops to your shoulder, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the harsh panting of your breaths, the steady thud of your racing hearts. Max’s hands are still trembling as they slide up to cup your face, his lips brushing softly against yours.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice rough and raw. “I love you so much, schatje.”

You smile softly, your hands tangling in his hair. “I love you too, Max. Forever.”

And as he kisses you, slow and tender, you know that forever with Max is exactly what you want.

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader being the best couple for 10 minutes

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

compilation of funny moments based on this ask <3

when they got too into playing the wii…

“Get off of my side!” Y/n squealed, hitting Drew with her hip as the two of them stood in front of the TV waving their Wii remotes around wildly. Madelyn panned the camera around the room, Just Dance played on the screen and the couch filled with the Outer Banks cast as they watched the couple play.

“I’m not on your fucking side!” Drew laughed, wedging himself in front of y/n, essentially blocking her view of the screen. The two of them continued dancing, bumping into each other and giggling as the intense game continued.

“Get down, get down!” Y/n laughed, jumping on Drew’s back like the character’s on the screen, the room erupting into cheers as Drew held onto y/n’s legs. The two of them started giggling, their entire bodies shaking with laughter as the game ended and they fell to the ground in a heap.

when y/n interrupted drew’s beauty sleep…

“Are you filming?” y/n asked JD as he held her phone, camera focused on Drew’s soft, sleeping face. JD nodded, his small giggles audible as he zoomed in on Drew on the couch. Y/n waved to the camera before holding up the box of crackers in her hand.

“My name is y/n y/ln and today JD and I are going to find out how many crackers we can put on Drew’s face before he wakes up.” Y/n whispered, digging in the box and placing a cracker on Drew’s forehead. 

“One.” Y/n said. JD stifled his laughter as he handed the phone back to y/n, grabbing a cracker from the bag. With a dramatic flourish, JD gently placed a cracker on Drew’s ear, the man not even moving the slightest. 

“Two.” JD said. The two of them continued, passing the phone back and forth as they placed more and more crackers on Drew’s sleeping face.

“Four–” y/n giggled as she placed another cracker, “–teen.”

Drew let out a groan, his eyes blinking open slowly. He lifted his hand to his face, wiping one of the crackers away from his eyes as y/n and JD collapsed into laughter.

“What the fuck?” Drew grumbled as he lifted one of the crackers, examining it groggily before his lips curled into a confused smile.

“Fourteen,” y/n said to the camera. “Fourteen is the number of crackers we can put on Drew Starkey’s face before he wakes up!”

when they weren’t paying attention in an interview…

Drew and y/n sat next to each other, both of them staring at each other as Chase and Madelyn answered a question from the interviewer. The camera picked up Drew mouthing something to y/n, causing her arm to shoot out and grab him. Her movement a bit too quick, her already unstable chair wobbled, sending y/n tumbling to the floor with a squeal.

“Oh [bleep]!” Y/n swore, laughing as she climbed back into her chair. The entire cast turned around, their faces confused.

“What is going on back there?” Madison laughed, y/n smoothing her dress down as she settled into her seat.

“I have no idea. I am not involved.” Drew said, a smirk dancing on his lips.

“You are such a liar!” Y/n groaned, elbowing Drew lightly as he bit his lip, attempting to hold back laughter.

when y/n saw drew’s new hair…

“Ok, are you ready?” Drew asked, sneaking up behind y/n with his new platinum hair. Y/n stood with her back to Drew, nodding enthusiastically as Drew placed his hands on her hips. He had convinced her to film it under the guise that he was shaving it all off again, his hair getting quite long, but what he left out was that he was also bleaching it the color she had expressed her love for in the past.

“I already miss your long hair.” Y/n said with a faux pout as Drew ran his hands along her sides before spinning her around to face him.

“Oh my god!” Y/n gasped, her hands flying over her mouth. Drew smiled, tilting his head down so she could get a closer look at his short, icy hair.

“What do you think?” Drew asked, raising his eyebrows as y/n continued to look at him silently.

“You look like young President Snow.” Y/n giggled, her hands running along his head lightly.

“What?” Drew laughed, furrowing his brows as y/n continued to admire his hair.

“It’s a good thing. I promise. He’s hot, just like you.” Y/n said, biting her lip before pressing a kiss to Drew’s still very much confused face.

when they went to the club…

Madison filmed as Drew, Chase, and Austin danced in sync, grins on their faces as they danced humorously. She panned the camera around to y/n, who stood staring at them, her brows furrowed and a drink in her hand.

“I don’t think y/n likes it.” Madison laughed, causing y/n to grimace at the camera before turning back to the boys’ dramatic and embarrassing dance moves.

“Oh no, oh no!” Madelyn laughed as Drew danced over towards y/n, his eyes locked on her as he took her hand. Handing her drink off to Madison, y/n followed him as he spun her around, the two of them laughing as they stumbled along the dance floor. With a flair, Drew dipped y/n down, causing the rest of the cast to let out gasps before erupting with laughter.

“Drew!” Y/n squealed as he brought her back up to her feet, dancing around her with a smirk on his lips.

“How about that?” Drew said into the camera before grabbing y/n by the waist, spinning her around to pull her into his chest.

when they made a tik tok…

Y/n and Drew sat on the couch opposite each other, y/n holding her phone as they started their video:

“I’m passing the phone to the person who is always on their damn phone but never answers my texts.” Y/n said. The video cut to Drew, a smile on his lips.

“I’m passing the phone to the person who always has a stomachache.” Drew laughed.

“I’m passing the phone to the person who once got so drunk he fell asleep on the kitchen counter and—” y/n giggled, Drew gasping behind the camera, “Chase had to carry him back to his room.”

“Ok, so we’re doing that.” Drew said once he got the phone. “I’m passing the phone to the person who once farted so loudly—”

“Drew Starkey, no!” Y/n said off camera.

“...who once farted so loudly while we were babysitting my niece she made her cry.” Drew finished, laughing loudly, leaning off the couch. A loud crash sounded before the video abruptly cut to y/n, tears in her eyes as she keeled over in laughter.

“I’m passing the phone to the person who just spilled an entire bottle of wine on our brand new couch.” Y/n laughed, panning to the large, red stain on their couch before panning up to Drew, who was picking up the overturned bottle with a groan.

“I am the person who spilled an entire bottle of wine on our brand new couch.” Drew said with a thumbs up.

when they couldn’t get through a scene…

Y/n and Drew stood opposite each other, clad in swimsuits despite the freezing cold air around them. They were shooting a scene where their characters, Caroline and Rafe, shared an intense moment, Caroline following Rafe as he drunkenly stumbled down the beach

Take 1

“You can just [bleep] whoever you—” y/n said in character, but stopped once Drew’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh, sorry I forgot… not allowed to say that.” Y/n giggled.

Take 2

“You can just sleep with whoever you want and I’m just supposed to wait around for you?” Y/n scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Uh… yeah?” Drew furrowed his brows, turning to face her with a drunken smile on his face. Y/n tried her best to bite back a laugh but failed, her hand covering her mouth.

Take 3

“You can just sleep with whoever you want and I’m just supposed to wait around for you?” Y/n crossed her arms across her chest. Drew spun around, but misplaced his foot, causing him to stumble.

“[beep]!” Drew swore, catching himself just before he face planted into the sand.

Take 4

“You can just sleep with whoever you want and I’m just supposed to wait around for you?” Said with a huff.

“Uh… yeah.” Drew said, cocking his head to the side as he looked at y/n, a drunken smirk on his face. Y/n scowled, shaking her head.

“You’re an asshole, Rafe.” Y/n scoffed, biting her lip as she gazed at Drew with disgust. A shocked expression fell over Drew’s face, him taking a dramatic step backwards.

“An asshole?” Drew said incredulously, causing the two of them to break into giggles.

Take 5

“An ASS-hole?” Drew scoffed, y/n giggling.

Take 6

“An asshole?” Drew gasped, a smile wide on his face.

Take 7

“An asshole?” Drew scoffed, taking a step forward. Y/n took a step away from him, a look of disgust on her face.

“Yes, you’re an asshole. Don’t call me.” Y/n spat, turning on her heel and leaving Drew behind. He kicked at the sand in front of him, mumbling to himself lowly.

“Cut! We got it!” The director shouted, y/n turning back around and running full speed at Drew, tackling him into the sand.

when drew set off the smoke alarm…

Y/n wheezed behind the camera as she filmed Drew, a panicked expression on his face as the smoke detector blared in the background.

“Shit! Shit!” Drew laughed, reaching into the oven with a dish towel. He pulled the pizza (now burnt to a crisp) out before running through the apartment. Y/n followed him, stumbling with laughter as he flung the backdoor open before throwing the pizza onto the concrete.

“Oh my god!” Y/n squealed, dumping a glass of water onto the pizza. With a sizzle, the smoldering pizza melted into the patio.

“Holy shit.” Drew panted, leaning over to catch his breath as he looked down at the smoking pizza. Y/n continued laughing behind the camera, zooming in on Drew as he shook his head.

“You’re never cooking pizza again.” Y/n laughed, causing Drew to whip his head to the side and look directly into the camera, his mouth agape.