#I’ve never played this game but I somehow know what he looks like

[ladykailitha]

Share With Me One Love, One Lifetime Part 1

Here we go. The final story in the Boy with a Bat trilogy. It's certainly come a long way from when I first started writing for this fandom. Two years ago on this day, I put out Can Anybody See Me? because there was serious lack of season 2 AUs were Hellfire had taken Steve under their wing. And then it grew from one story into two with Never Hold Back Your Step... and I promised I would get Steddie all the way through season 4 to come out alive on the other side.

The goal is to get all the story out before season 5 premiers. So far of what I've written, we're about 2/3 of the way through season 4. We'll get to the end and then we'll have a short epilogue.

Thank you to everyone who cheered me on to complete this trilogy. But especially @bookworm0690, @kultiras, and @dreamercec.

The title like the previous two stories before it (here and here) comes from a musical. In this case, The Phantom of the Opera. RIP Eddie. You would have loved that musical.

In this we have our boys caught between a rock and hard place, Steve watches Lucas's game, and Eddie gets into some trouble.

~

Steve was going to murder someone. He just hadn’t decided on who yet. Though at the moment it was starting to look like Lucas.

“And you’re sure you can’t move it to another night?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmured. “Mike leaves for California in the morning and most of the other guys have plans too. Then once spring break comes back...”

“You can’t use the drama room because the play is starting up,” Steve finished for him. “Shit. And I can’t have it here. My mom somehow found out about the movie nights and threatened to have my dad kick me out if it happened again.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, nervously chewing on his lip. “And you know I’m gonna want to support Lucas.”

Eddie let out a long sigh. “Yeah I know. Dustin told me. I just wish Lucas had come to me instead of the flying monkeys you know?”

“Me too,” Steve said, closing his eyes. “He just got in with the boys on the basketball team and I’m worried he’s going to alienate himself from his friends if he continues to hang out with them.”

“I’m worried about that too,” Eddie huffed. “And my speech was aimed at Carver by the way. In the heat of the moment I had forgotten Lucas was on it. Got reminded afterwards though.”

Steve opened his eyes and let out answering sigh. The little bell above the door twinkled, heralding the arrival of customers. “Look, I’ve got to go, I have to actually work.”

“Booo,” Eddie hissed. “I’ve got that deal with Chrissy after the game, so I’ll be by after that, okay?”

“Okay, Eds,” Steve said. “Be safe.”

“Yup!”

Steve hung up the phone with another sigh. He straightened up and put on his best customer service smile. “Welcome to Family Video, how can I help you today?”

The rest of the day flew by in a flash and too soon he was picking up Brenda for the game. She had come into the store earlier and was talking about how she really wanted to go to the game because her brother was on the team but her parents didn’t want to go.

So Steve offered to take her. He was pretty sure she thought it was a date, but Steve kept trying to steer here away from that sort of talk. He’s not sure he succeeded.

~

“It’d be funny if we won the championship game the year after you graduated,” Brenda said with a smile.

Oh hell no.

“I wasn’t on the team my senior year,” he said with a bitchy expression. “You would know that if you actually watched us play. I was out with a concussion.”

Brenda smirked. “You know what I mean. I just mean that you were King Steve, we didn’t win the championship once.”

“Yes,” Steve cocking his head forward, “but I’m the one that got us to the championship my junior year. I sunk that last shot with nothing but net that got us into the final game. The other team was better. You can still do everything right and have the other team just be better.”

Then it looked they were going to lose, so they let Lucas play. After all what was the harm of letting him play for the last minute of the game.

And then a miracle happened.

Lucas was at the three-point line and he let go of the ball just as the buzzer went off. Steve rose to his feet as the shot sailed into the air and hit the basket dead on.

Lucas had won the championship game for the Tigers.

Steve was jumping up and down and just screaming. “Yes! Yes! Yes!!!”

~

After the players came back out from the locker rooms, Steve put his arm around Lucas.

“Looks like our hard work paid off,” he said with a teasing grin.

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Thank you, Steve.”

Steve gave him a tight one-armed hug and then whispered in his ear, “If you feel uncomfortable for any reason, just give me a call and I’ll be there in a heartbeat. And don’t let anyone pressure you into something you don’t want to, okay?”

Lucas nodded and then hurried to catch up to Jason and his friends.

Steve shook his head and turned to Brenda. “Hey do you need me to take you home?”

She shook her head. “My brother is going to drop me off before heading the celebration.”

“You got it,” Steve said with a thumbs up. He stopped for a moment. “Which one did you say was your brother again?”

“I didn’t,” Brenda sneered. It’s Andy Snyder, number forty-three.”

Dread pooled in Steve stomach. Andy was the new Tommy H. A bully and a brute, on and off the court.

“He played good tonight,” he said with a fake smile smile firmly in place.

Her returning smile was even less sincere and she walked away. Steve put his hands on his hips and looked up, pressing him lips together.

He was now certain she thought they were on a date, but with Steve paying more attention to Robin then her and rooting for Lucas without even asking who her brother was... yeah. According to her the date was a failure, according to Steve, he dodged that fucking bullet.

~

Steve had barely kicked off his shoes when the walkie talkie he kept next to the door crackled to life.

“Code Red!” Eddie hissed. “I have a fucking Code Red! Is anyone there? Please god, please!”

Steve was on the line faster then from one breath to the next. “Eddie, this is Steve. Repeat, this is Steve. What’s your status?”

“Chrissy is dead, man,” Eddie whined. “She–she rose up into the air, like a puppet on a string and oh god!”

“Shit, shit, shit!” he cursed. “You’ve got to get out of there, now! Stash the van and run for Rick’s. After the game there are going to be too many eyes on my place. You keep your head down, you hear?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed. “Yeah. Oh god, it was so bad, Stevie. Why her? She was so nice to me. Why her?”

“We’ll find out,” Steve breathed. “I just don’t know who would be around right now. Everyone is out scattered because of the game, Nancy and Mike are getting ready to take him to the airport for him to fly out to California and everyone is out celebrating the win.”

“What about Dustin?” Eddie murmured. He hated bringing a kid into this, but if that was who they had...”

“I don’t know where he is,” Steve said chewing on his thumb nail. He should have picked up before he did.

“Shit!”

Steve let out a shuddering breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got work tomorrow, but as soon as I can, I’ll bring you clothes and food enough for you hide out there, okay?”

He had a lot of Eddie’s clothes over at his place, it wouldn’t be hard for him to pack a bag.

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie sighed. “You’ve got a handle on this. Just don’t forget about me, okay?”

“I’d never.”

~

“Hey,” Robin said after Steve pretty much blew up at a customer for not know if her boyfriend liked scary movies or not. “Are you okay?”

Steve grimaced. He had tried to get people on the walkies this morning but he couldn’t get anyone on the line and he didn’t have a chance to talk to Robin, because she had been running full steam about Vickie all morning.

But before he could even open his mouth to answer Dustin came storming in, with Max hot on his heels. “Turn on the news now!”

Robin turned over to the news and sure enough the breaking news was of a girl being murdered at the Forest Hills Trailer Park and the investigation was ongoing.

“That’s Eddie’s trailer!” Dustin cried.

“I saw Chrissy go into his trailer last night,” Max admitted, “and then he came running out screaming.”

“Why you didn’t get anyone on the walkies?” Steve growled. “That would have been great to know last night!”

“My mom sold them for more booze,” she snapped back.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily.

“We need to find him!” Dustin insisted. “He’s innocent! There is no way he did this! He couldn’t have!”

“Whoa!” Steve said sternly. “You think I don’t know that? I’m the one who introduced him to you do you forget!”

Dustin blinked at him for a moment and then nodded. “Sorry Steve, I freaked out when I found that my walkie talkie had been accidentally been turned to the wrong channel, but I couldn’t get him on it this morning and I was really worried.”

“Okay...” Robin said, raising an eyebrow, “and why are you here, specifically?”

“Oh, I was going to hack your system to find out where Eddie might have gone aground?” Dustin said with a grimace.

Steve buried his head in his hands. “Oh I am so getting fired.”

Max scoffed. “As if your peon bosses would be able to tell Dustin even touched it.”

Steve put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes skyward. “No, that’s not why I’m getting fired.”

Everyone else looked at each other in confusion.

“Then why are you getting fired?” Dustin asked with one raised eyebrow.

“I’m guessing you’re going to want to hasten to Eddie’s rescue, yes?” he asked licking his bottom lip slowly.

Dustin rolled his eyes again. “Yes!”

“And how would you get there?” Steve pressed. “You bikes? Because that won’t draw attention to where Eddie might be hiding.”

“Well, no,” Max said, “we’d make you take us.”

“Which means I would be abandoning the job to go look for Eddie if we left now, yes?”

Dustin and Max eyes went wide and then they said together, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve huffed, shaking his head. “You either wait until two when I’m off or I’m going to get fired.”

“Two, you said?” Max said with a wince.

“Mhmm.”

“That’s not too bad,” Dustin hedged. “After all it might take me that long to crack the system and find Eddie.”

He went to go leap over the counter when Steve grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

“Oh hell no,” Steve snapped. “One I just sorted those tapes and I’m not doing it again, and two you don’t need to hack shit, because I know where he is without all the techno bullshit.”

“Techno is a genre a music,” Max supplied unhelpfully.

“And it’s not bullshit if it helps us find him!” Dustin growled.

“Did you even listen to the rest of Steve said?” Robin asked, knocking his hat off his head. “He knows where Eddie is.”

Dustin blinked at Steve for a moment. “How would you know that?”

Steve rolled his head and tilted his head back. “Because I was on the actual fucking walkie talkies you make us carry around everywhere we go and Eddie radioed the party last night. AND I was the only one who answered!”

Dustin and Max blinked at Steve’s outburst, shocked that he would yell at them. But with Eddie missing and a girl dead, it was forgivable.

“So where is he,” Dustin groused, picking up his hat and slamming it down on his head, “if you’re so smart?”

“Reefer Rick’s boathouse on Lover’s Lake?” Steve suggested with a half shrug.

Max folded her arms and glared at Steve. “And how would you know where that is?”

Steve threw his arms in the air with a huff of frustration. “We’d go there sometimes when my dad was being an ass, okay?” He looked down at his shoes and scuffed his shoe on the carpet. “It was a place no knew but us. Sometimes Rick would be there and we’d watch TV sometimes.”

Dustin looked at him disbelieving. “Yeah, sure...that’s all you did.”

“I hate to break it to you kid,” Steve said dryly, “but drug lords actually prefer that their dealers aren’t doing the drugs they’re selling. It’s bad for business.”

“Oh.”

~

Tag List: 10 SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[limon-rat]

When your oc redesign is slowly just starting to look like Gale from BG3

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake’s Unhinged Power Move (ft. Marriage, Ra’s al Ghul, and an Uncomfortable Batfamily)

No one really understood how it started. One moment, Tim Drake was Red Robin—tired, overworked, and fueled by caffeine. The next, he was dropping a bombshell in the middle of a routine debrief:

“Oh, by the way, I married Ra’s al Ghul.”

The room froze.

Dick’s dumbbell hit the floor. Jason choked on his beer. Damian’s sword slipped from his hand. Bruce, staring at Tim like he’d grown a second head, barely managed a strangled, “Tim. What did you do?”

Tim took a sip of his coffee, utterly unfazed. “It’s a power move.”

Jason, wheezing with laughter: “Oh my god. You married Ra’s out of spite? Replacement, I’ve never been prouder.”

Tim smirked. “Something like that.”

-----------

It wasn’t really spite.

Ra’s had been obsessed with him for years. The offers of succession, the constant attempts to lure him to the League—it was never-ending. Tim was tired. Tired of being hunted, tired of the games. So, one day, he called Ra’s’ bluff. If Ra’s wanted him so badly, he’d have to deal with all that came with it. Including Tim’s unrelenting need for control.

Ra’s agreed.

And just like that, Tim Drake became the most terrifying in-law the batfamily had ever seen.

-----------

Talia didn’t know what to think at first.

She’d seen it all before—people manipulated by Ra’s, twisted into tools for his will. But Tim? He didn’t play by those rules. He sat at Ra’s’ desk, sifting through League reports like they were Gotham case files. He didn’t bark orders; he made suggestions. And then, the soup happened.

Talia returned from a mission, bruised and exhausted. Tim, barely looking up from his paperwork, said, “Sit. You’re hurt.”

She scoffed. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity. It’s soup.”

Talia stared. “Why?”

Tim shrugged. “You looked like you needed it.”

It became a routine. She’d return from missions, and Tim would be there. Not with judgment. Not with manipulation. Just quiet support. He listened. He offered advice. He treated her like a person, not a pawn.

Somehow, they started having regular bonding time. Shopping trips. Quiet conversations on the balcony. Tim became a person Talia could trust—a concept she hadn’t believed possible.

-----------

Damian was losing his mind.

“Drake!” he hissed, cornering Tim in the Batcave. “You’ve… corrupted my mother!”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Corrupted? She’s thriving.”

“She smiles at you!”

“I’m very charming.”

Damian’s finger trembled as he pointed. “This makes you… my grandmother.”

Tim smirked. “Respect your elders, grandson.”

“I REFUSE!”

-----------

Bruce was spiraling.

“Tim, this is dangerous.”

“Relax,” Tim replied, sipping his coffee. “I’ve got it under control.”

“You married one of our greatest enemies!”

“Think of it as an undercover op,” Tim said, voice calm and unyielding. “I’m playing the long game.”

Jason, from the sidelines, grinned. “He’s playing 4D chess, and you’re still on checkers.”

-----------

The Real Chaos?

Tim didn’t marry Ra’s to make him happy. Hell no. If anything, it made Tim sick to his stomach knowing Ra’s was smug about it. But if putting up with Ra’s al Ghul meant protecting Talia, stabilizing the League, and giving Damian a family that didn’t break apart at the seams?

He’d endure.

Because Talia was healing. Damian’s mother was smiling. And Ra’s… well, Ra’s thought he’d won.

But the real winner? Tim Drake.

Gotham’s most unhinged vigilante had just become the League of Assassins’ terrifying step-parent. And honestly? It suited him.

-----------

Damian, whispering to Alfred: “I need… therapy.” Alfred: “We all do, Master Damian. We all do.”

[luv4fushi]

thinking about arguing with husband!gojo. it’s funny because he’s the strongest sorcerer alive with several other, more wicked enemies harboring one sided hate for him, yet he’s anxiously glancing at you every now and then as you hiss at him. you’re the only one who can make him doubt his strength.

he usually finds you cute when you’re mad, but right now he doesn’t really appreciate the way your face is scrunched up and how you’re yelling at him.

it’s not his fault. he thinks you’re being so dramatic.

“you’re laughing at me,” you deadpan. “why do you never take things i say seriously?”

“because i honestly don’t think it’s that serious,” he fires back, and your eyes narrow. oh, fuck.

arguing with your husband is never fun. it’s probably because the both of you are stubborn; you’re stubborn because you’re simply right all the time, and satoru’s stubborn because if you’re not right, then he is.

you pause for just a second, but it’s enough to sprout a moment of extreme tension between you and your husband.

“right,” you scoff after you inhale sharply. “you just don’t care, do you?”

“don’t fucking say that,” satoru snaps. “i do care. that’s why i’m here.”

it takes everything in you to not shoot him another death glare. “so i should be thankful for the bare minimum?”

satoru blinks. he would’ve flinched, but he refuses to let you have that sort of power over him. “i’m not giving the bare minimum.”

“yes you are,” you argue back, voice straining as you swallow a lump of anger down the back of your throat.

the both of you are still. it feels like an eternity passes before the anger in you wanes. you’re exhausted and this fight with satoru is surely going to make the both of you upset enough to not talk for the rest of the night.

“i’m sorry that i’m not good enough,” satoru says, breaking the silence. you’ve never heard his voice so small, so pathetic—he’s never, ever shown you this side of him, and you’re starting to feel that dreading pit of guilt tug at your gut.

“that’s not what i meant,” you force yourself to say, sighing.

“but that’s what you’re thinking,” satoru mumbles. he avoids looking at your face.

“no it’s not,” you deny. “it’s never been about that.”

satoru gives you a wary look. “then what is it about? because i’ve done everything i can.”

“everything? really?” you sneer. “do you even love me anymore?”

silence. satoru swears he can hear your heart break.

“baby, don’t say that,” he groans, “c’mon, we were ten points away from three stars. that’s a single plate—one you didn’t turn in because you somehow forgot how to dash!”

you whip around to glower at satoru, your face twisting into an offended expression. “you set the kitchen on fire! how could i do something like serving a dish if the kitchen is on fire?!”

“baby, it’s the same button that it always has been this entire game!” he whines. “and you set the kitchen on fire! you keep forgetting to take the rice off the stove!”

you sigh exasperatedly, crossing your arms to act like some sort of shield between you and satoru’s (truthful) words.

“but you don’t chop up your stupid fish!” you protest. “so i end up doing five things at once!”

satoru opens his mouth to speak, but he knows you’re in the right. he opts to click his tongue instead.

“and every time i asked for help,” you add, frowning, “you just kept bringing out more of the dumbass cucumbers! we don’t have counter space for that!!!”

“that’s for prep to maximize our sushi making! throw it on the floor!”

“are you kidding me? that’s so unsanitary!”

“it’s a game!”

you’re both panting by the end of the fight. you’re biting down on your inner cheek and satoru is scratching the nape of his neck awkwardly.

“… sorry,” he mumbles. “i won’t bring out cucumbers anymore. and i’m also sorry for being mean about you not knowing how to dash.”

“good,” you huff. “‘cause i was seriously not gonna play anymore.”

“and…?” he prods, nudging you in your ribs. you can tell what he wants just by the sound of his voice.

“and i’m sorry for getting mad at you even though you’re doing you’re best at carrying me in this game…” you murmur, rolling your eyes.

satoru’s face brightens and he places a wet kiss on your cheek. “you’re forgiven.”

“love you, dummy.”

“love you too, baby.”

“no more cucumbers unless the ticket calls for them,” you remind him pointedly.

“yes, chef!”

[luveline]

I know you’re asking for Spencer fics… While I adore single dad!Spencer… How about some single mom!reader and Spencer? 💕

You and your daughter work your way into Spencer’s life one chess game at a time. fem, 1.3k

It all starts with, “Hello.” 

Spencer looks up, and he finds any word he could’ve said dead on his tongue. You smile at him oddly gentle, and he assumes he’s got something on his face your afraid to point out.

“Hi,” you say, unperturbed by his lack of response. You keep your head ducked but seem friendly enough as you lick your lips. “I don’t know if you’re busy, but I was wondering if you’d play chess with my daughter. You don’t have to say yes, but she’s really polite and she won’t cheat, and she really wants to say hi.” 

Spencer looks behind you, where your daughter stands a ways away pretending not to watch. She could only be three of your years old —if she can play chess, she’s a prodigy. She has on stripy tights and a dress, a vinyl coat open over the top, her hands wringing together. 

“Okay,” Spencer says. 

Your smile is even nicer, then. Relief and thankfulness aimed fully at him. “Thank you.” 

You meander back to your daughter and bend down to whisper instructions too quiet for Spencer to hear. Shy, your daughter shimmies forward, then walks proper steps when you encourage her with your hand behind her shoulder. “It’s okay,” you whisper, “let’s say hi.” 

The chess boards are built into the tables at the park. Spencer sits on one stone stool, and your daughter makes herself comfortable on the opposite one. You kneel beside her without worry, knees on the dirty floor. 

“Hi,” your daughter says. She has a high voice, reedy, like she needs a drink. 

You rub her arm. 

“Hello,” Spencer says. “Have you played before?” 

“Me and mom play.” 

“So you know the rules?” 

“Some,” she says. 

Spencer’s only human. He does think about the horror of being trapped opposite of a toddler for the next half an hour bumbling through the steps, but it’s not as though he has other things to do, and, really, he loves people. He’s scared of talking, that’s all. 

“We play a lot on my phone, where it tells her what moves she can and can’t do,” you say. “But it’s okay. I have practice, I can be the phone.” 

Your daughter laughs like this is the funniest thing on the planet. “You don’t look like a phone,” she says. 

“That’s nice of you, but that’s ‘cos you’ve never seen my wires.” 

She laughs again. 

“I know all the rules, too, don’t worry,” Spencer says. “Are those your pieces? Or we can play with mine?” 

“Sofie has her pieces, it’s okay, we don’t wanna lose yours.” 

You let your backpack slip down your back and unveil a chess board box with sellotaped corners. The sleeve inside is unhurt, and you put it in the middle of the table. Spencer takes initiative and grabs the purple ones. You and Sofie arrange the pink ones in a mirror. 

Sofie is surprisingly good at chess, considering her age. Sometimes Spencer ends up playing against you, your advice murmured in her ear, and every time you smile at him he feels a little nauseous.  

He lets her win, of course. The first few times, at least. Over weeks, you and Sofia occasionally see him in the park playing chess, some days in the middle of a game with someone else, other times alone. Sofie comes up to him increasingly confident to ask for the next game, and Spencer realises he’s somehow made two friends. 

“Spencer!” Sofie shouts, tumbling over the grass bank to stop on the end of the retaining wall bordering the chess tables. You’re just behind her, looking tired. 

“Sofie, hi!” 

Sofie jumps down off of the wall before either of you can stop her. “Spencer, where have you been?” She rockets toward him. He stands, worried she’ll fall flat on her face, but she continues to race toward him until she’s throwing her arms around his legs. “I missed you.” 

“Well, I missed you too,” he says, surprised. He gives her back a tentative pat. “I’ve been learning new techniques.” 

“But where did you go?” she asks. 

“I went to Alaska. It was super cold.”

“Hi, Spencer,” you greet, flushed as you plop down on the stone seat opposite him. 

Believe it or not (easily believable), Spencer didn’t ask you your name the first time you met. Or the second. On the third occasion you met, you actually apologised with too much sincerity and said, “I’m so sorry, I never asked what your name was. I can’t believe it. I’m Y/N.” 

So now you’re introduced, and Spencer has a raging crush on you. 

Spencer grins as Sofie sits on his seat, shuffling over so they can sit together. “What, you’re on my team today?” he asks her excitedly. 

“Yes!” She pats the chess board. “Mom, my pieces.” 

“It’s okay, we can use mine.” Spencer’s are already out on the table. He’d been hoping to see you both. 

“I won’t lose them,” Sofie promises. 

“I might. Where have you been, Spencer? Sof made us come here four times last week, we had to play chess with Melinda.” 

“I was working,” he says. “We’re always going somewhere far away, I didn’t realise we’d be there for so long.” 

“‘Cos he’s a special agent,” you whisper to Sofie. 

She puts a finger over her lips, “Mom, don’t so loud!” 

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” You nudge a King back onto his square. “Did I blow your cover?” you ask, your voice a rolling murmur.

Spencer holds Sofie’s back reactively as she wiggles on the seat. He has an answer. He should play along —he’s been reading up on how to flirt like he’s not a lonely weirdo and that’s with confidence and running jokes, but the way you’re looking at him stops him in his tracks. 

No one ever mentions the panic of a shared smile. 

“What happens if people find out?” Sofie asks worriedly. 

“Nothing happens, Sofie, I’m the boring kind of special agent where nothing I do is a secret.” He winces at her crestfallen expression. “I’m sorry. Maybe we can have a secret mission together? Me, you, and mom?” 

“Really?” you ask, surprised. 

Spencer nods enthusiastically. “Oh, yeah! Yeah, of course.” 

“Like… dinner?” 

Spencer bites the tip of his tongue, to an immediate sting. It’s not the first time in his life a conversation he’s in has occurred without him: you’re shared smile was you flirting first. His reciprocation, while not intended, has served as flirtation. 

He didn’t mean to do it, but he doesn’t care, he won’t mess it up, “If you want to?” He clears his throat, his voice returning to a more acceptable tenor. “We could go for dinner… tonight.” 

“Tonight?” 

“Not tonight. Not… unless you want to?” 

“We didn’t have dinner yet,” Sofie says helpfully. 

Your gaze falls to the chess board. “I don’t think I’m dressed for dinner. I had such a long shift.” You’re shrugging, minimising yourself. 

Spencer moves his and Sofie’s first pawn. “You always look beautiful.” 

He cannot look at you after he says it, but he doesn’t need to. 

“Mom, you're doing that smile like when Mr. Mailman brings our letters.” 

“Thank, Sofie,” you say. 

Spencer sneaks a glance at your smile. It’s decidedly shy, and if he were to touch your cheek, he guesses he’d find your skin warming. “What does he do when he brings the letters?” Spencer asks. 

You pin him with wide eyes. 

“He says she’s pretty with a big ‘p’,” Sofie whispers. 

“She is pretty,” Spencer whispers back. 

You move a chess piece with a breathless laugh. “Okay, then let’s get dinner after I wipe the floor with you both.” 

Spencer decides now is the appropriate time to reveal that he is very good at chess. He and Sofie win in ten moves. 

[valkyriexo]

Friday Night Lights | Lee Know

ᑉ³pairing; Jock Lee Know x Nerd Reader

ᑉ³genre; Fluff, Smut

ᑉ³warnings; SMUT MDNI ,dirty talk, swearing, oral m reciving,

ᑉ³Authors Note; 1k event Commisson giveaway winner Louie <3 (sorry it took so long :((( )

You’re used to staying in your lane.

In college, that means your nights are spent at the library, working on assignments, attending study groups, or listening to the whispers of people about crushes, weekend plans, and sometimes, the star athletes on campus. You don't usually pay much attention to that last one—until the whispers turn to Lee Minho. Lee Minho is… different. Confident, popular, and utterly untouchable. He’s the star of the football team, the guy people can’t stop talking about, but also somehow your friend.

Well, sort of.

You met through Jisung, your mutual friend, who has a way of pulling people together. You’ve spoken a few times—mostly polite hellos and small talk whenever Jisung ropes you into attending his hangouts—but every time you do, you find yourself tripping over your words.

You tell yourself it’s nothing—he’s just another guy, after all. But the way your heart races every time his attention flickers to you says otherwise.

“You’re coming to Minho’s game this Friday, right?” Jisung’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

You blink, caught off guard, and turn to face him. “What?”

Jisung leans back in his chair, balancing it on two legs like he always does, completely unfazed. “The game. This Friday. You’re coming, right?” He grins, as if your attendance is already a done deal.

“I don’t know...” you trail off, trying to avoid his expectant gaze. Crowds aren’t really your thing, and the idea of sitting through a packed football game is enough to make your stomach churn.

“Oh, come on,” he groans, dropping the chair back onto all four legs with a loud thud. “You’ve been holed up in this library all week. You need a break.”

You frown, shuffling your notebook to pretend like you’re busy. “I don’t really do... games.”

“You don’t have to ‘do games.’ You just have to show up. Cheer a little, look cute, and maybe—just maybe—have fun.” His tone is light, but the sly look he shoots you suggests he’s up to something.

Your suspicion grows. “Why do you care if I go?”

“Because it’s the homecoming game,” he says. “You know, one of the biggest games of the year? Minho’s going to kill me if you don’t show up.”

When you don’t respond, he rolls his eyes. “You know, Minho? Our mutual friend? The guy you can barely form a sentence around?”

“I do not—”

“Yes, you do,” he interrupts with a smile, leaning forward on his elbows. “And I think he’d appreciate the support. He’s been working really hard this season, and besides...”

You tilt your head, confused. “Why would he care if I’m there? I’ve never even been to one of his games.”

“That’s exactly why he’d care!” Jisung groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “Do you know how many times he’s asked me why you never go? He thinks you hate football or something.”

“I don’t hate football,” you say defensively, though the thought of navigating the chaotic energy of a packed stadium doesn’t exactly fill you with joy. “I’ve just... never really had a reason to go.”

Jisung smirks, leaning forward on his elbows. “Well, now you do.The entire campus is going to be there—students, alumni, even the marching band’s pulling out all the stops. It’s a whole thing. You have to come.”

You hesitate, nibbling on your bottom lip. It’s not like you don’t want to support Minho—he’s always been kind to you in his own aloof, confident way. But showing up at a game, where everyone’s eyes will be on him—and by extension, anyone he cares about—feels overwhelming.

“I don’t know, Ji. Crowds aren’t really my thing.”

“Crowds aren’t the thing,” he says, cutting you off with a sly grin. “Minho is."

Your stomach flips at the thought. You’ve never seen him play before, never witnessed the version of Minho everyone talks about when they say his name with awe. The star athlete, the leader on the field.

“I’ll think about it,” you mumble, quickly shuffling your papers as an excuse to avoid Jisung’s knowing look.

“Uh-huh,” he says, sitting back with an exaggerated shrug. “Just don’t be surprised when I text you the details anyway. You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

So, somehow, you find yourself in the bleachers that Friday night, bundled in your warmest jacket, pretending you’re not scanning the field for one particular player. It doesn’t take long for you to find him. Even among his teammates, Minho stands out, laughing with them, helmet under one arm as he warms up. It’s a little surreal, watching him from here; he’s all focus and intensity, so different from the relaxed, teasing guy you usually see at Jisung’s hangouts. You can’t help feeling your heart race a little faster.

As the game starts, you find yourself getting drawn in, caught up in the energy around you. The team is good, and Minho, even better. It’s not hard to see why he’s the star. Every play he’s part of feels....different. He’s practically flying across the field, tackling opponents, calling shots, making everything look effortless. You can’t keep your eyes off him.

And then it happens.

It’s fast—too fast, really—and at first, you’re not sure what’s wrong.

One second, Minho is sprinting down the field, his face set with determination as he cuts through defenders like they’re nothing. The next, there’s a collision, hard and brutal. The sound of it echoes in the stadium, a collective gasp rising from the crowd.

Your breath catches as you see him go down, gripping his ankle. For a moment, everything else disappears—the noise of the crowd, the whistle from the referee, even Jisung’s voice shouting something beside you. All you can see is Minho on the ground, pain written across his face.

Your heart pounds as players gather around him, the medics rushing onto the field. He tries to get up, but it’s clear he can’t put any weight on his leg. The sight twists something deep in your chest, and before you realize what you’re doing, you’re halfway to your feet.

“Hey,” Jisung says, grabbing your arm and pulling you back down. “He’ll be okay. It’s probably just a sprain or something.”

But Jisung’s words do little to calm the panic bubbling inside you. From this distance, you can’t hear what the medics are saying, but the way Minho shakes his head and slams his fist into the ground tells you it’s bad.

The game pauses as they help him off the field, his arm slung around a teammate’s shoulder, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. Your stomach churns, and for the rest of the game, no matter how loud the crowd gets or how exciting the plays are, you can’t focus. Your eyes keep drifting to the sideline, where Minho sits with his head down, his ankle wrapped in ice.

And all you can think about is how you wish you could do something to help him.

The rest of the game feels like a blur. The energy in the stadium surges back eventually, but not for you. Your eyes keep flicking toward the sideline, where Minho sits with his injured leg propped up, his arms crossed and a stormy expression on his face. Even from a distance, you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s forcing himself to stay composed despite the obvious frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Jisung nudges you with his elbow, breaking your trance. “Relax. Minho’s tough. He’ll be fine.”

You nod stiffly, not trusting your voice enough to reply. Jisung’s probably right—Minho is strong, the kind of guy who shrugs off pain like it’s nothing. But something about the way he looked when they carried him off the field makes your chest feel heavy.

When the game finally ends, with your school securing a narrow victory, the crowd erupts in cheers. Students flood the field to celebrate, but you can’t seem to share their enthusiasm. Instead, you find yourself lingering near the bleachers, watching as the team huddles together, Minho still sitting apart, his helmet resting forgotten at his feet.

“Come on,” Jisung says, tugging on your sleeve. “Let’s go check on him.”

Your heart skips. “What? No. He’s probably surrounded by people—he doesn’t need me there.”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re his friend too. Besides, if you don’t come, I’ll just tell him you were too shy to say hi, and then he’ll feel bad.”

You glare at him, but the teasing glint in his eyes leaves you with no room to argue. Before you know it, you’re weaving through the lingering crowd, your pulse quickening with every step closer to the team’s bench.

When you reach him, Minho is leaning back against the bench, his jaw clenched and his eyes distant. His ankle is now heavily wrapped, a crutch resting beside him.

“Minho!” Jisung calls, grinning as if nothing’s out of the ordinary. “You okay, man? That hit looked brutal.”

Minho glances up, his expression softening slightly when he sees Jisung—and then landing on you. His gaze lingers for a moment, and you suddenly forget how to breathe.

“I’ve been better,” he mutters, managing a wry smile. “But I’ll live.”

“You scared the crap out of them,” Jisung says, jerking his thumb in your direction. “They were about to jump the fence and carry you off the field themself.”

“Jisung!” you hiss, smacking his arm, but Minho chuckles, the sound low and warm despite the situation.

“You were worried about me?” he asks, tilting his head as he looks at you.

Your cheeks burn, and you scramble for a response that doesn’t make you sound ridiculous. “I mean... you went down pretty hard. Anyone would’ve been worried.”

His smile widens, a hint of his usual confidence returning. “Well, thanks for caring.”

The simplicity of his words, paired with the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, sends your heart into overdrive. You want to say more, to ask if he’s really okay, but the weight of his gaze and the teasing grin tugging at his lips leaves you tongue-tied.

“Anyway,” Jisung cuts in, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air, “you should let them take care of you. They're great at worrying—practically a professional.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands as Minho chuckles again.

“Noted,” he says, his tone lighter now, almost playful. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

And just like that, you realize you might be in deeper than you ever thought.

Over the next two weeks, Minho’s injury changes things. He’s benched for practices, forced to watch from the sidelines while his teammates run drills and scrimmage. The ever-present crutches are a constant reminder of his temporary setback, though he still somehow makes them look effortlessly cool.

The trouble starts when Jisung complains one afternoon, flopping dramatically into the seat next to you in the library.

“I can’t keep babysitting Minho,” he groans. “We don’t even have the same classes, and Coach keeps glaring at me every time I’m late because I’m helping him to practice. You should do it.”

You frown. “Me? Why me?”

Jisung grins slyly, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “You’re the only other person he talks to as much as me. Besides, you’re better at dealing with his diva moments.”

“Diva moments?” you ask, incredulous.

“Oh, you’ll see.”

Despite your protests, Jisung isn’t one to take no for an answer, and by the next morning, Minho’s waiting for you outside your lecture hall, leaning on his crutches with an easy grin.

“Hey,” he says casually, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

You blink at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Jisung said you’d help me get to practice,” he replies, his grin widening when he sees the look on your face. “Don’t worry. I’m not that high-maintenance.”

You sigh, already feeling like you’re in over your head. “Fine. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Helping Minho quickly becomes a routine. Every afternoon, you meet him after his last class to walk—well, technically hobble—to the field. At first, it’s awkward, mostly because Minho seems determined to act like his injury isn’t a big deal, even when he’s obviously struggling. But over time, the walks become... easier.

Minho, for all his bravado, is surprisingly easy to talk to. He asks you questions about your classes, your favorite things, even what made you decide to go to the homecoming game. His teasing is still there, but it’s lighter, less guarded, and you find yourself opening up to him in ways you didn’t expect.

One afternoon, as you’re walking back from practice, Minho turns to you suddenly.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

He gestures to his crutches, his expression unusually serious. “Helping me. I know it’s a hassle.”

You stop walking, frowning at him. “It’s not a hassle, Minho. I don’t mind.”

He looks at you for a long moment, something unspoken passing between you. Then, he smiles—soft and genuine, the kind that makes your heart skip.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

You’re about to keep walking when he doesn’t move, shifting his weight awkwardly on his crutches. His expression tightens like he’s debating something with himself, and before you can ask, he speaks again.

“You know... I'm not kidding,” he says, his voice lower now.

“Kidding about what?” you ask, genuinely confused.

“About this being a hassle,” he replies, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “But not for the reasons you think.”

You tilt your head, frowning. “Minho, that doesn’t even make sense.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound more nervous than amused. “What I mean is... it’s a hassle because I’m trying really hard not to screw this up.”

Your heart skips. “Screw what up?”

“This,” he says, his dark eyes locking on yours. “Us. Whatever this is. Because, honestly? I like you.”

The words hit you like a wave, and you’re left standing there, staring at him as your brain scrambles to catch up.

“You… like me?” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper.

Minho nods, shifting his grip on his crutches as if they’re the only thing grounding him. “Yeah, I do. I’ve been trying not to make it obvious, but these past couple of weeks? Spending time with you, talking to you... it’s just made it harder to ignore.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. “Minho, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupts, his tone gentle but firm. “I just needed you to know. Even if you don’t feel the same, I... I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t care about you like this.”

The raw honesty in his voice takes you by surprise, and before you can second-guess yourself, the words tumble out.

“I do feel the same,” you admit, your cheeks burning as you look at him. “I just didn’t think you would.”

Minho blinks, clearly startled, before his lips curve into a slow, disbelieving smile. “You mean that?”

You nod, unable to stop the small smile creeping onto your face. “Yeah, I do.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression soft and full of something you can’t quite name. Then, he exhales a laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he says, his grin widening. “I was starting to think Jisung would kill me if I didn’t say something.”

You laugh, the tension between you melting away. “He probably would.”

Minho straightens up, his confidence sliding back into place. “So, does this mean I can keep making you carry my stuff to practice? You know, since you like me and all.”

You roll your eyes, already regretting this. “Don’t push your luck, Minho.”

The days blend together, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you realize you’ve started looking forward to your time with him. The walks, the conversations, the way he glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking—it’s all so much more than you ever thought it could be.

But today feels different.

When you show up to meet Minho after practice, the field is empty. His crutches aren’t propped up by the bench where he usually waits, and there’s no sign of his teammates. You glance around, your chest tightening with a mix of confusion and unease.

“Minho?” you call out, but the only answer is the faint hum of fluorescent lights from the building nearby.

Frowning, you decide to check inside. The locker room is usually bustling after practice, but as you step in, it’s eerily quiet. The air smells faintly of sweat and detergent, and the echo of your footsteps makes the space feel even emptier.

You turn a corner, and that’s when you see him.

Minho is sitting on one of the benches, his crutches leaning against the wall beside him. His head is bowed, his hair falling into his face as he stares at the ground. There’s a tension in his posture, his shoulders hunched like he’s carrying the weight of the world.

“Minho?” you say softly, stepping closer.

He doesn’t look up right away, but you see the subtle way his shoulders relax at the sound of your voice. “Hey,” he mutters, his tone lacking its usual spark.

You sit down beside him, your knee brushing against his. “What’s going on? I thought we were meeting outside.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I just... needed a minute.”

You wait, giving him the space to speak. When he finally looks at you, his eyes are shadowed with something you don’t see often—uncertainty.

“I hate this,” he admits quietly, gesturing to the crutches beside him. “Sitting out, watching everyone else practice, knowing I can’t do anything. It’s... frustrating.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice. “Minho, it’s okay to feel that way,” you say gently. “But this is temporary. You’ll be back out there before you know it.”

He scoffs, his lips pressing into a thin line. “What if I’m not? What if I come back and I’m not as good? Or worse, what if I get hurt again?”

“Then you deal with it,” you say firmly, surprising even yourself. “Because you’re Minho. You don’t let anything stop you. And besides...” You hesitate, your voice softening. “You’re more than just football. At least, to me you are.”

He blinks, his eyes searching yours. “You really mean that?”

You nod, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from his face. “Of course I do. You’re amazing, Minho, even when you’re not on the field.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, he reaches for your hand, his fingers warm as they curl around yours.

Minho’s thumb traces over your knuckles in gentle circles, and he looks down at your intertwined hands with a soft, almost shy smile.

There’s something unspoken hanging in the air between you, a feeling that’s been growing with every passing day, but now, in the quiet of the locker room, it’s impossible to ignore.

You feel it too—the shift, the tension, the undeniable pull drawing you closer. His gaze lifts from your hands to your face, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the stillness of the locker room, the soft sound of his breath mingling with yours.

“You know,” Minho starts, his voice low, almost hesitant, “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

Your heart beats faster, your pulse quickening. “Do what?” you whisper, even though you already know.

Minho doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he leans in slowly, his face inching closer to yours, his lips barely brushing against the air between you. His hand moves to your cheek, his fingers warm and gentle against your skin.

And then, without another word, his lips are on yours.

It’s tentative at first, soft and uncertain, as if he’s waiting for you to pull away, but you don’t. You tilt your head, your free hand reaching up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. When you kiss him back, it’s like everything clicks into place—like this was always meant to happen.

The kiss deepens, slow and explorative, as if you’re both savoring the moment. His lips are soft, warm, and he smells like freshly cut grass and the faintest trace of cologne. His hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your other hand finding its way to his waist, holding him against you.

For a long moment, it’s just the two of you, lost in the feeling of something new and exciting, something neither of you ever expected. And when you finally pull away, breathless and slightly dazed, Minho rests his forehead against yours, his smile lazy but full of warmth.

“I think,” he murmurs, his voice low, “I could get used to this.”

You smile, feeling a quiet thrill at the thought. “Then I guess we’ll have to make it happen.”

Minho's grin softens, his hand still warm against your cheek, and he leans in once more.

This time, the kiss is different—deeper, more certain. There’s no hesitation, no wondering if this is okay. His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space between you. His lips move against yours, gentle yet deliberate, as if he’s making up for all the times he’d held back.

You respond, feeling braver now, your fingers finding their way to his collar, tugging him just a bit closer. The locker room is completely forgotten; it’s just you and Minho, the world melting away around you.

You wanted him, of this you were sure.

"Darling, why don't you let me help you forget about it all?" You purred, as your hands made their way down his chest stopping at his waist. You pulled him towards you and kissed him harder, your need for him overpowering any doubt that was left in your mind.

You knelt between his legs, the anticipation building between you. You place both of your hands on his legs and slowly began to push them apart, allowing yourself to slide in between.

"Y/n…" he said, placing his hand on top of yours, almost as if to stop you. His fingers lingered, trembling slightly. "A-Are you sure? " he said "I don't want to pressure you"

"Shh... let me," you replied softly, as you began to unbuckle his belt, your eyes never leaving his. "I want you, Minho. I want this."

He groaned as you palmed him through his boxers. You could feel him getting harder under your hands.

"Y-you don't have to, baby" He said through his moans. You slowly pulled down his boxers, his  erection springing free. "We can take it slo-OH," You leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his pink tip.

You continued by placing a trail of kisses down his cock, keeping eye contact with him. You licked your way back up to the tip and took him in your mouth, your tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, tasting his pre-cum as it seeped from the top.

He couldn't help but throw his head back and lean further onto the bench. His breath caught in his throat as his ears began to turn a shade of red. You bobbed your head up and down, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock.

The only thing heard in the locker room is the lewd sounds coming from your mouth along with his whimpers.

Minho moaned loudly, his hips bucking involuntarily. You took him deeper into your mouth and sucking harder than before. You reached up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your fingers as you continued to pleasure him.

"Fuck, Y/N," He moaned. "That feels so good. You're so good."

You responded with a low growl, taking him even deeper, his tip kissing the back of your throat.

Your lips were locked around his shaft. You choked slightly around his cock, tears beginning to fall from your eyes as his tip hit the back of your throat continuously.

He whined for more, almost sobbing when you completely removed yourself from around him, removing your lips from him with a pop.

You lick your way up his cock, once again paying extra attention to his swollen tip. His gaze locked onto yours, he began to thrust his hips forward, his thick, hard cock pressing against your lips. You parted them slightly, allowing him to slide inside once again.

He began to fuck your mouth roughly, his cock sliding in and out of your throat with each thrust. You could feel the saliva dripping down your chin, but you didn't care - the only thing that mattered was pleasing him.

"I'm go-gonna.... fuck.. gonna cum." he said, his thrusts beginning to slow down.

You feel the familiar slip of your glasses down the bridge of your nose, threatening to fall off completely.

Before you can react, Minho’s hand gently brushes against your nose, and with a soft chuckle, he reaches up, pushing your glasses back into place. His fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary, his touch warm against your skin. You felt his cock twitch in your mouth, your glasses sliding sending him overboard, and his cum paints your throat. You swallowed, your eyes never leaving his as you sucked him dry. 

He pulled his cock out, and you pressed your thumb down onto his dripping red tip.

The lower half of your face glistens, your features wet with your his cum.

"Fuck you're pretty" he said hold your chin with his hand. “I didn’t know you knew how to do that," his voice a mix of amusement and admiration. “You’ve always seemed like the super nerdy type—guess I was wrong.”

You laugh, feeling a bit shy under his gaze. “Well, I do have my moments of... unexpected skills.”

Minho’s smile softens, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you reply, a grin tugging at your lips. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out more.”

He chuckles, leaning in again, and you both fall back into the moment, the world outside fading away once more.

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[wonderjanga]

Sweet Dreams

Billy likes sleeping. Just as any normal human child would. Unfortunately though, he’s not a normal human child. He juggles two jobs, Whiz Kid and the JL. Technically three if he counts patrol and actually being a hero in Fawcett as separate from the JL. Point is, he does a lot of stuff and sleeping is a wonderful to refresh himself. So, one day, he tried to get sleep as Marvel to make up for that lost time.

Then, the dream started.

Marvel: “Zeus? What are you wearing?”

Zeus: “Huh?” * looks down at his clothes* “The heck… Billy this is your dream. Why did you make me appear like this?”

Marvel: “Maybe because I didn’t expect to see you?”

Zeus: “Why wouldn’t you- Oh wait. You’ve never slept in your Champion form have you?”

Marvel: “No?”

Zeus: “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Come.” *gestures for him to follow and starts to walk off*

Marvel: *follows*

Zeus: “See, Batson, whenever Champions fall asleep, that can allow their patron gods to invade their dreams. That’s actually with me and the others are doing right now!”

Marvel: “Oh uh… cool?”

They played some cards, and yelled at each other about how people were cheating. Solomon won nearly every game. Except Uno which Mercury somehow won. There was a lot more suspicion of cheating when that happened. They then just sat in a circle like preteens at a slumber party and started gossiping about the other gods and goddesses from both Greek and other mythology. All in all, it was basically a sleepover, and if Billy was being honest, he didn’t hate it. Though, what he did hate was the fact that when he woke up he felt even more tired then before he went to sleep.

He noticed this was a pattern after a couple more times of him trying to make up for lost sleep as Marvel. As a result, Billy started kicking himself out of the dreams so he could actually sleep. The gods didn’t like this because Billy was apparently a chill little guy to hang out with. He of course, still said no, but you see, the Gods can be really, really… annoying when you say no to them.

Marvel: *sitting on a roof in Fawcett*

Zeus: “JOIN US!”

Marvel: “No.”

Achilles: “Please, Batson?”

Marvel: “No.”

Solomon: “Billy, please don’t leave me alone with them.”

Marvel: “Sorry, Solly. Still no.”

Solomon: “Again with that nickname…” *honestly doesn’t know whether he likes or hates it*

Zeus: “Wait, why is Solomon the only one who gets an apology?”

Marvel: “He’s the only one I feel bad for.”

Zeus: “WHA-”

This made Zeus mad so he pettily took away Billy’s ability to use lightning as Marvel. The Batson boy went a week before he caved and hung out with them in his dreams again.

Zeus: “You’re here!”

Marvel: *frowniest frown on his face*

He was then sequestered away by Zeus to watch Achilles and Hercules have a hot dog eating contest.

Mercury: “Who do you think is gonna win, Bill? We can have a bet!”

Marvel: “I don’t have any money to bet.”

Atlas: “Yes, Hermes. You forget he’s a… how do humans nowadays say it? Ah right. A brokie.”

Marvel: “Atlas, you just fell so hard down my favorites list your below Zeus now.”

Atlas: *extremely offended* “BELOW ZEUS?!”

Zeus: “HA!” *literally points and laughs*

The Next Day…

Wondy: “Brother, is something wrong? I’ve never seen you drink coffee before.”

Marvel: “I spent my night watching Achilles and Hercules shove hotdogs down their throats to see who could out-eat the other. Meanwhile, Atlas and Zeus were fist-fighting in one corner while Mercury kept trying to coerce me into making a bet with him, even though I had literally no money to make said bet.”

Wondy: “Oh.”

Marvel: “Yeah. Oh.” *sips his coffee* “Anyways, how was your night?”

[letsbangts]

tell me what to do || jjk

⤷ summary: when the familiar becomes unfamiliar what do you do

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 3.4k

⟶ genre: angst, established relationship au, breakup au

⟶ content: boyfriend!jk, big argument, talking about breaking up, the blame game, basically misunderstanding due to miscommunication

⟶ warnings: explicit language

↬ a/n: once again, this a very old piece I polished up. okay so this was my second piece of work so read with caution. I was absolutely obsessed with the song so I used the lyrics as a guideline for writing, I incorporated the lyrics into the story. let me know what you think i really appreciate feedback & recommend a song if you’d like and i’ll write a scenario with it like i did with this song :) angel xoxo

˖⁺. ༶ NOW PLAYING ༶ .⁺˖ tell me what to do shinee 01:43 ─✮───── 03:07 ⇆ ⊲ II ⊳ ↺ ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

masterlist ˚.⋆˚.⋆˚.⋆ join my taglist

these days, i don’t know, i don’t know you. you look like you gave up on a lot of things but i hear your silent scream

I sit at the dining table drinking tea in my home - our home but lately nothing seems like ours anymore. It feels like there never was an ours, never an us. I don’t even need to sense it, I can see it. It’s as though I don’t know him anymore. He looks like he gave up on a lot of things, and like he gave up on us. I can almost hear him silently screaming for an end, our end.

lovers without extreme development is this the losing hand that time has placed? we haven’t ended it but it’s already over

He walks through the doorframe fully dressed ready for his day while still sporting his messy bedhead that he somehow manages to make look angelic. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed, I still see his beauty and that’s something I don’t think could ever change. Because that is what he is a beauty inside and out and that can’t simply disappear.

He greets me with a gentle kiss on the forehead, a soft “good morning” and a soft smile. We’ve been like this for a while now, stuck in this certain level of interaction almost a routine. Like lovers without any extreme development, without any growth in our relationship if you can even call it that anymore.

“Did you sleep well?” I ask a bit apprehensively.

He picks up the coffeepot, while avoiding any slight piece of eye contact and pours himself a cup with the coffee I made for him, just another part of our routine. I’ve always hated coffee, its dull blackness, the bitter taste, the way it leaves a stain, how the smell lingers, and how it keeps you awake. But after Jungkook that view changed for me, its dull blackness suddenly started reminding me of Jungkook’s dark dreamy eyes, the bitter taste of it reminded me of his lips as that was my only intake of it, and those stains it left was warmth around my heart, the smell was like being engulfed in his arms, and it allowed me and him to be up spending more hours together. In a way, coffee was like a representation of our love.

However, that love has turned black and bitter just like the coffee in his mug. The sweet smiles we always shared and the bright laughs that used to be heard between us vanished. He vanished, pulled away and it was too late to try to pull him back.

“Mhm,” he replies nodding while taking a sip, and like our love, it disappears as he swallows it down.

I nod with him and look down at my hands wrapped around my mug. Is this the losing hand that time has placed? Were we just doomed to keep repeating the same routine with each other in denial, in silence similar to the one we are currently sitting in a few metres apart while we are living in different worlds away from one another?  We haven’t ended it but it’s already over. We were already over.

He refuses to have conversations with me when before no one could ever shut us up. Instead of constantly messing around to get a smile out of each other, he always seems to be at a safe distance away from me.

there’s a knot that can’t be untied in front of us

As the bottoms of both our cups are revealed, so is our obvious stunt to keep a conversation from starting. Jungkook sets his mug in the sink and approaches me, and with just those movements my heart races.

“Well I’m going to head off okay?”, he stares at me with an expression I struggle to read…it’s almost…apologetic.

“Yeah, I need to start getting ready anyway,” I say.

“Okay then I guess I’ll see you later,” he says like it's a question while picking up his keys and approaching the door. As if he is unsure we will return to each other as if we are not one another's home.

I hum in agreement and just as his hand is about to touch the knob. I realise he forgot, one of the things that I assumed had turned into second nature for us has slipped out of his head. Now fearing that I could be the next thing to slip out of his head or even worse slip out of his life.

“Jungkook?” I call out.

He turns almost too quickly like he has been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to.

“Yeah?” he turns with wide eyes.

I give him a look, a look that speaks words only he could understand.

“Ah,” he sighs approaching me.

He cups my face with two hands, hands that are all too familiar but feel like they belong to a stranger at the same time.

He gives me the kiss I had reminded him of. It isn't necessarily part of our routine but something we have always done. It was always our sign of love to the other before we headed out into the world, a reminder of our love.

A reminder I think is much needed for us both.

He pulls away still holding my face “Sorry” he says and this time the apologetic look in his eyes is all too clear matching his voice.

But as I hear his words his ‘sorry’ seems to be for a different reason than just forgetting to kiss me before leaving the house. But without thinking more I just let it go.

“It’s okay. Get going now or you’ll be late.” I laugh softly and with one last kiss, he’s out the door.

There’s a knot that can’t be untied in front of us, both knowing that we should let go, that we should kiss goodbye one last time and both walk out of that door and go our separate ways for good. But that is easier said than done.

Jungkook and I both well aware of the fall in our relationship are also conscious of the love that will forever remain between us. The history between us is far too much for us to walk away. To take five years of memories and experiences with a person you’ve grown with so much that they have become an attachment to your life, to you as a person is an unimaginable pain that we would both rather avoid.

It is also scary, Jungkook is the one thing I remember having through everything, he is essentially a part of me. The thought of becoming one person again is something I never pictured having to do again. In all of my plans for myself, and for the future he is right there beside me. I have become accustomed to considering things for two people I couldn’t imagine just worrying about me, one person.

But as I consider what is right for the two of us all I can think of is that maybe we were better off as two separate people.

you don’t tell me but you want me to know you think that you only gave the words you threw at me because you’re too used to me

As the day comes to a close I hear the door open and footsteps follow. The sound I used to anticipate now makes me tense. Nevertheless, once the owner of those steps and so much more turns the corner, my lips can’t help but leap into a smile that’s both relieved and nervous.

Jungkook takes off his shoes and takes a seat beside me, with yet a space once again between us.

“Hey,” he breathes out as he settles into the couch.

I slightly hesitate, “Hey”

We sit in silence but hear everything that wants to be said. An invisible weight piling up on our shoulders, an awkwardness that has become usual between us. So I finally broke it and said it. The moment we never believed would come or tried to avoid finally came.

“L-look Jungkook," I take a deep breath and continue, "we both know what has happened between us-“

“Ye-Wait, what?” he interrupts, eyebrows furrowed.

“No, it's time we finally faced it, we’ve run our course. I supposed our time together was only supposed to be this long.”

“What are you talking about?-“

This time it is me who interrupts.

“It's just hard for me to let go of you, you just mean so much to me but I can’t control how you feel.”

“Huh? How do I feel? What do you mean? What are you even talking about right now?" he rushes out.

“It's okay you don’t have to keep silent like you’re keeping some secret from me, I know. You’ve lost feelings for me”

“No, you’re not listening to me-“

“Kookie, it's okay I’m a big girl I’ve broken up with a guy before.”

“Break up?", his voice panicked, "Woah just listen to me for one second, will you? Holy shit!”

Once again we sit in silence except this time I can’t hear the silent words waiting to be said.

He shakes his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You think you know but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about not even close.”

“I-I thought-“ I stutter out eyes widened.

“Yeah exactly, you thought. Or is that what you want? Do you want to break up?” he asks staring me directly in my eyes, his voice much softer with apprehension.

“I want to make things easier for you,” I reply in a whisper head lowered as I fiddle with my hands in my lap.

He gives me a look, a look as if I have just said something impossible to comprehend. We were both unaware of what had been happening between us for months. It's like he has become so used to the act we put on to ignore our downfall that he forgot it was an act.

“Easier? " he scoffs a laugh with zero humour, "Is breaking up something easy for you?” he argues back.

The fact that he was going to sit there and continue to play this game even after I called it out sparked an emotion inside of me and the one that decided to come out was anger.

“Oh, come on Jungkook! We both know you checked out on us a long time ago.”

His eyes widen and then he also snaps.

“Me? I checked out, are you being fucking serious right now? I know I have pulled away a bit but you didn’t give me any sign to do otherwise!”

“Are you seriously turning this on me right now?” I snapped back with a newfound boldness to defend myself instead of my initial plan to make this an easy conversation for him. For us.

“Well, I’m not going to blame myself, even though that’s what you’re trying to do. Just because you know me, you think that means you know all my inner fucking feelings. When it's clear you don’t know mine or your own!” He says in a stern and loud tone that I have heard him use in the past…. just never to me.

indifferent and painful words left deep scars on that day words that made me realize that i’m still a fool

“Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so easy for me to read your feelings if it wasn’t so blatantly obvious on your face and the way you act differently around me now!”

“And you think I started acting the way I did simply because I suddenly just lost all my feelings for you? You can’t be that clueless!”

The words being thrown between us were indifferent and painful which had already left their mark on both of us and only made us more frustrated. At this point, the distance between us seems bigger than the couch itself and my heart feels heavier than when I thought we were about to break up.

“No, you can’t be this low into making this seem like it’s all on me! And not knowing my feelings how does that even make sense?” I blurt out.

“Seriously, I know when we first started having problems we both started acting slightly different towards each other but it was never this bad…” voice much calmer and less tense than it was a few seconds ago as he continued.

“But it was after my birthday, you know after what happened, you just changed how you acted toward me -with me completely.” His tone turned the air serious almost still. I felt it slap me right across my face, run right into my chest knocking the air out of me.

“I-I did?", making my way full circle back to stuttering.

The next words that come out of his mouth make me realize the fool that I am. And at this realization, I could only tear up. Choked up it is my eyes this time that turn apologetic, while his eyes look at the floor before us.

He nods.

“You did. At first, it was just little things like not asking me to pick you up on my way home or not asking for my shirt to wear to bed. But then it turned into so much more.”

I looked down filled with a bit of shame. Until I heard a sound from him I didn’t expect, a chuckle.

“Just like that. You didn’t even look at me anymore. At the table, in the car, you even turn your back to me when we’re in bed. I used to catch you staring at me even when I wasn’t looking at you.” He smiles fondly at the memory and it’s his turn to look down at his hands.

He plays with his bracelet, one I got for him two years ago for his birthday. He shakes his head, ”It’s as if my presence makes you completely uncomfortable now.” his voice cracks.

And it is right then when I do too.

if only i can erase it if only i can

At that moment I wished I had done the exact thing he told me I always did. Because once I did look up at him what I saw broke me. His eyes filled with tears he is trying to hold back, a few escaping but he is quick to wipe them away. It was the worst thing I could see besides looking at me driving him away. It was me hurting him. If I could erase everything I did to make him think that I didn't love being around him I would, and now I could.

i took you for granted but just thinking of you not being there i don’t want to go through that my world would crumble

Although I may not be able to erase everything I can change everything from here on to prove to him he has the wrong view of what he is to me. He is the furthest thing than just an uncomfortable presence. He is my best friend, my roommate, my chauffeur, my home, my family, and my lover. My everything. Even the thought of him not being in my life…my whole world would fall apart.

am i the one for you at some point, you were keeping me in check i said you changed a lot but i changed the most the one for me, i didn’t know but that promise keeps suffocating us time keeps lingering but our time keeps getting destroyed

The tears running down his face make me think he feels the same, that he doesn’t want us to end like this. It assures me of us, that he is the one for me and I am the one for him.

“I’m sorry,” he looks at me and for the first time in a while we both look into each other’s eyes with hopefulness, “I said you changed a lot, but I was the one who changed the most. And I kept acting that way because I had made myself think that was what you wanted. I didn’t want to let you go so I thought by doing that I would hold onto you longer but that very thing is what suffocated us. It's what wrecked our relationship and sent it down even further. We had so much time to fix it but it just kept getting destroyed.” I say with two streams running one under each eye.

He finally speaks after what to me feels like a whole lifetime.

“It's okay, I mean, it's both our faults though,” he sniffs, “We should have had this conversation a long time ago.” He has gone back to fiddling with his bracelet this time him being the one to break eye contact.

He laughs, again catching me off guard with the unexpected reaction.

“It’s funny, the one thing we did the most even when we didn’t need to or weren’t even supposed to do, is what we failed to do when we needed to the most…talk.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as well at the irony.

“I guess we took all those times we told each other to shut up when watching movies to heart.” I chuckle out and he laughs at my response.

that smile came to me, more brightly the cold hands became more warm two lonely souls met not lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely i’ll look into you again, i’ll place your breathing in my ears even if everything but us changes

His smile seemed brighter now more than ever. At that moment the room seemed to be glowing.

I reached out and grabbed his hands,

“I love you, I have always and will always. I don’t want to give us up, I never have. We’ve been together for too long to go back to being lonely and I’d be an idiot to pick loneliness over you.”

I looked at him the whole time watching his expression with every word. I look through the tears in my eyes at him and when I feel him squeeze my hands in his the tears spill over all over again.

“You are the only girl who has had my heart for years. I’ve never debated giving it to anyone else. I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I’ll get us back to the good place where we were before. Even if something has to change I don’t care as long as we are the only thing that doesn’t.”

His words were exactly what I wanted and needed to hear, enabling my tears to keep falling down my face but now out of pure happiness, the pure bliss of us finally back to one another. We were finally back to being us.

I pull him towards me by the nape of his neck, foreheads resting against each other. With our lips brushing,

“I love you” I whisper to him.

He lovingly smiles back.

“I have always loved you too.”

And those were the only words I ever needed to hear from him.

i hope you’ll tell me first don’t cry no more if your heart can see me don’t cry no more

He pulls me onto his lap, legs dangling over his. I bury my head in his chest, my arms wrapping around his strong torso. His arms pull me into a tight embrace, one that signifies neither of us is about to go anywhere.

“Now stop crying, baby.” He teases me, the only evidence of his tears is the red in his eyes.

“I can’t they won’t stop now.” I giggle out past my sobs.

“It’s okay now, we know our feelings are on the same page.”

i’ll go to you first at the end of a different road i’ll wipe your cheeks that are wet with tears and ask you

“Now we just need to figure out where to start where do we go from here,” he continues as he holds my face again as he did hours ago but now the gesture felt completely different as he used his thumbs to wipe my cheeks that were wet with tears, I look into those dreamy coffee coloured eyes of his as I listen to the next words that came out of his bitter coffee flavoured lips that I can already taste,

“Tell me what to do”

[kismetlotts]

Kinktober 🎃 day one: Thigh riding!

cw: thigh riding, dry humping, reader is bratty, mention of food and eating, mentions of spanking, mentions of oral sex, public sex, mention of horror films, mention of male and female masturbation, dominant Simon, breast play, reader and Simon have banter (he isnt just a nob)

Simon Riley who had never really cared or enjoyed going out to the cinema. So what a new movie you want to see has come out- are you that impatient, you can’t wait and watch it home but instead spend a stupid amount of money on overpriced popcorn and drinks just to be in front of a big screen? And not only that but surrounded by other people who are chewing- rustling sweet packets and slurping on their straws- laughing loudly at moments that aren’t even funny and sitting way too close to each other? No, he absolutely hated it.

“Simon please! I’ve been wanting to watch this horror film ever since they revealed it was being made! Please can we go?” You’d asked him, eyes almost glossy with tears from how hard you’d been begging him. Your shoulders slumped and eyes full of hope when he throws his head back with a sigh, how could he say no to his pretty girl?

It was date night after all, the two of you usually did something romantic together. The idea of date night was perfect at first, you’d gone bowling, star gazing, played card games, you’d even roped him into a karaoke night somehow- but now it was usually a nice meal out before coming home and fucking for hours. Now don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t complaining about it, the food was usually good and the sex was incredible but it could get a bit repetitive. A change could be nice- even if he hated it.

“Fine but get a seat in the corner at the back. I don’t want to be near people.” He grumbled as he opened up his phone, finding the website and passing it over for you to book. You whined, throwing your head back in annoyance like a spoiled fucking brat and Simons jaw clicked. If he wasn’t so irritated by the fact he was being forced to go to the cinema, he’d stand up and make you lean against the wall. His hand spanking your behind so hard it would leave a hand print because you know better than to act like this. You know better than to act like a child.

“But Simon! We won’t even be able to see the screen! No one ever sits at the back!” He looked up at you, his eyes darker than the sky outside, as he crossed his arms, biceps pretty much spewing out of his t-shirt as he stared, coldly, at you.

He was already pissed off you were wasting money to go see something you could watch together. Curled up on the sofa, in a warm blanket as he passes you a warm hot drink he’d made. There was no way you could convince him to sit in a middle seat surrounded by other people. He blinked slowly, waiting for you to speak but you just turned away.

Huffing as you booked the seats in the far left corner, last row and turned back around. You passed him his phone back before you ran upstairs to slip on some decent clothes. Changing out of your pyjamas and into something comfortable, pulling your hair up and out the way before rushing back down stairs to find your shoes. Simon looked you up and down, his eyebrows furrowed at your outfit and you froze.

“What?” You asked but his eyes remained on your body before slowly looking up and locking eyes with yours. It was clear there was something on his mind from how focused he was on you, how he was trying to read your every move, looking away quickly and back to his phone.

“You not going to get ready?” He asked and you let out a small laugh. Was he actually serious? Did he think that you were going to come running down the stairs in a long red cocktail dress, makeup done to the nines, heels and a matching handbag to watch a horror movie in a cinema? You shook your head, slipping into your trainers as you spoke.

“It’s a cinema Simon, not a formal event. You need to be comfy in order to enjoy the film. Do I nod look good?” His eyes fell down you again and fuck, how could he allow you to go out dressed like this? Your thighs looked perfect in your tight black leggings, they sculpted and shaped your figure so well and that baggy grey hoodie which was originally his made you look incredible. As much as you suited long beautiful dresses, makeup and hair, you dressed so effortlessly made it impossible for him not to chub up in his jeans.

“Yeah, you look stunning. How’s about we get goin’ then?” His voice was gruff as his body emerged from the chair he was dominating, his figure towering over you as he reached for his car keys and headed out. You let out a smile before following him to his car and sliding in the passenger seat as he drove.

When you’d arrived, you’d managed to talk him into letting you buy a large box of popcorn and two drinks, despite him saying how much he didn’t want one. The two of you had found your seats, sat in the corner as you began to tuck into your snacks already, grinning like a happy little girl while Simon sat beside you, sulking- scrolling on his phone. You frowned at him about to tell him to ‘Grow up’ when the movie started.

You’d gotten about halfway through and the popcorn and your drink was already gone, and instead of eating you sat anxiously watching the film. The jumpscares making you leap out of your seat meanwhile Simon just laughs. You were impressed how little he flinched, figuring it must have been the fact he’s used to loud noises in the military, but actually it was because he wasn’t paying attention the film. The light from the big screen shined down onto the material of your leggings, his body warmed with hunger.

He wanted to be between your legs right now, he wanted you to trap and squeeze his face between your thighs as he devoured you. Hoping you wouldn’t let him breathe or let his face go until you came on his tongue, his little bratty baby who can use him however she wants. He’d spoil you, he’d spoil you so good.

His eyes traced up the curve of your tits in his hoodie, it was only a subtle little curve due to how big it was on you but fuck, it was enough to get him throbbing in his underwear. His hand instantly palming himself through his jeans before a grumble of annoyance left your lips.

A pair of two, a woman and a man, had just snuck in, squeezing by people watching the movie before sitting down in the seats in front of you. The man’s head was quite tall and blocking a heavy portion of the screen for you and you groaned leaning in next to Simon.

“I cant see.” You’d whispered and Simon snorted, looking back at the screen with a smirk, hand now placed at his side despite his urge to start stroking his cock.

“Well you’re the one who wanted to come.” He teased, the back of his head hit the top section of his seat, his eyes glued to the screen, just to let you know he had a perfect view and you bit your lip in rage. Not only could you not see the film you’d wanted to watch for months, the guy who you dragged along and begged to come had a perfect view. He didn’t even want to be here!

“Well you’re the one who picked where we sat!” You spat back out to him, keeping your voice quiet as you sunk back into your seat, watching what you could of the screen because the more you bickered, the more of it you missed. Simon laughed as he remained in his position, eyes flickering from the screen to you and despite the banter, his heart tugged slightly.

You did want to watch this film, as much as he hated cinemas he knew how much you loved this film franchise and it was a shame to spend all this money on the both of you not having a fun time. His arm swooped around your waist tugging you towards him, up and over the arm rest between you and into his lap. Your eyes went wide, head turning to face him him.

“What are you-“ But before you could question him, he kissed your lips, a smile on his own as he looked into your eyes, leaning in again. His mouth found your ear as he quietly whispered.

“Just enjoy the movie, love.” And with a deep breath you smiled, turning your attention back to the screen and getting lost in the film again. It was easy for you to just sit back and relax, eyes running over the screen as you watched it softly. Perched up in Simons lap, completely obvious to how hard Simon was fighting for control. How hard he was fighting the urge to push you back over to your seat and fuck the living hell out of you.

Your ass was pressed nice and neatly against his length, he was sure if you decided to move a slight bit, that you would be able to feel it and it was making him a madman. His hands rose to your waist slowly, diving beneath the fabric of your hoodie, feeling the smooth warm skin in his hands, squeezing it and rubbing it slowly. His head fell to your shoulder, watching the moving from there but he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to last.

“Simon?” You’d whispered as that was his limit reached. Hearing you whisper his name back to him had him breathing heavier, his hands digging into you as he pushed you back against him. Your eyes widening when you felt him under you, feeling his body brush against yours sent sparks to your pussy. The movie was a distant memory all of a sudden as you moved your body forward and against him. Rolling my hips in subtle movements.

A groan left his lips but instead of keeping you on his cock he lifted you slightly, placing you on his thigh. Bouncing his leg a little underneath you, wanting you to please yourself, as your skin flushed in the dark. You shouldn’t be doing this; not here. There was over 20 people in the room and here you were, riding against his thigh like a whore but it felt heavenly. The friction was addictive against your clit, warm, melted- like drowning hot honey. Your head flew back and Simons hands raised to your tits, pinching your nipples through the bra and squeezing them tightly to keep you needy.

“Keep going, be a good girl and hump my thigh.” He whispered, watching in awe as your hips rocked faster. Your eyes unfocused and hazy, while your mouth hung agape. You could feel your pussy throb inside your panties and the urge to stuff your fingers down your leggings was unbearable. It was so wrong- but it felt so fucking right.

You rutted against him faster and faster as one of his hands left your tits and instead grabbed your cunt through your clothes. His thumb finding your clit instantly and he circled it through the fabric: watching your orgasmic expression while your body twitched. When he withdrew his hand you flipped around facing him, grinding against him while looking deep into his eyes.

Suspenseful music played through the speakers of the cinema, and a laugh left your mouth at the timing. The louder it got, the closer you felt. Simon picked up on this gripping your waist eagerly, helping you rock against him while he praised you. People clutched their popcorn buckets and closed their eyes in fear while you threw your head back, until screams echoed the room and a moan left your lips.

Collapsing back into Simon as your chest rose and fell, your cum gushing out your hole and dampening your panties shamelessly- you probably leaked through your leggings too either how wet you were. Simon smiled to himself, kissing your neck long and hard as he held you close, his touch comforting and sensual as he calmed you slowly. Letting you come down from the high he gave you before chucking.

“Maybe cinemas aren’t the worst thing ever..”

[russo-woso]

Comment || Arsenal x reader

Request | Masterlist

Warning mention of bullying, mental health problems, mention of suicide

Summary You accidentally reveal why you don’t interact with your team

A/N this is a sadddd and angsty one so buckle in

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Y/N, you’re coming to the restaurant with us, right?” Katie asked, seeing you try to scurry out of the room without anyone noticing.

Unfortunately for you, Katie saw you and was curious whether she’d see you at the restaurant that night.

To celebrate the end of the year and Christmas, the team had organised a meal out at a local restaurant, nothing much but enough to satisfy the whole team.

You hesitated a bit, you also unaware of your own answer.

You see, you hadn’t always had the best experiences with a team.

Your previous teammates had made a few comments here and there about you.

She doesn’t deserve to get minutes

Why did the club even sign her

Shittiest player I’ve ever seen

Drop her back down to the Sunday league

At first, they were just small remarks that happened every so often, but then it turned to 24/7.

In the changing rooms, over text, on the pitch. Everywhere, anytime.

They were bullying you.

And even when you brought it upon the manager, he just shrugged, ‘that’s banter for you’ he had told you whilst laughing.

Maybe you were just being sensitive. Maybe you were taking it the wrong way. Maybe this was how a team was supposed to play.

From that moment onwards, you thought it was normal.

You didn’t complain about it anymore, just bottling up your emotions so they didn’t have to see it.

It wasn’t until a very poorly played game that you realised just how damaged they’d made you.

You had played the final four minutes of the game.

When you ran onto the pitch, your team was already losing 4-0.

And although you’d impacted the game massively and had prevented two goals in them four minutes, you were entirely blamed for the loss.

You had dreaded walking into the changing rooms after, all your teammates angry at their performances but somehow blaming it on you made it a lot better.

One of your teammates had squared up to your shaking body, their finger pointing at you.

Your breath became uneven as you closed your eyes in dread.

“You were shit today! You were the reason we lost! You were a let down today. You made us lose! Do us all a favour, Y/L/N and fuck off. We don’t need you on our team! You just fuck up our play and make us fucking lose! Nobody likes you, Y/N. You’re a shit player!” She screamed, the rest of the girls agreeing. She finished shouting at you, but was not finished without pushing you to the floor.

You put on a strong face, standing up and grabbing your stuff before walking out.

You walked for miles in the rain, no car, your phone dead, just you and your thoughts.

You don’t remember much from that night, you’d passed out on some bridge for most of it.

But you remembered one thing.

You remember laying on the bridge, your body fighting for consciousness and thinking would it be so bad if you were to never wake up?

Would anyone actually miss you?

You had your mum left but she mainly focused on your older brother more - he’s a lawyer and had kids - no more explanation needed.

You were so close to completely giving up, so close to letting ending everything.

You used all your strength, pulling yourself up and taking yourself over to the edge of the bridge.

The river underneath was violent, the water crashing against its beds with purpose.

You started counting down in your head, dunking it with your heartbeat.

3… 2…

“Dear! What are you doing?” A voice exclaimed from behind you.

You turned with watery eyes to see a woman, 65 maybe?

You looked in her eyes, a solace look in them.

“Please… look at me. I’m a complete stranger to you. You don’t know me, I don’t know you. But what I do know about you, is you have so much to live for that maybe you don’t realise you have. Take a look around. What do you see?” She began, taking a few steps towards you.

“Bushes, the river, trees.” You listed, taking deep breaths steady your breathing.

“Trees. Look how they’re blowing in the wind. They’ve got no control over themselves. They’re being pushed around and they can’t do anything, but one thing that they are doing, is having a tiny bit of strength to keep them standing. A storm may have big impacts but at the end of the day, they go away. What you’re going through now is just a storm, I promise. You’re young, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Go travel, go to London, go somewhere you’ve never been before. You’re just stuck in a storm, a bad one, but at the end of everyone is sunshine.”

You listened to her words, taking into account what she was saying.

Slowly but surely, you stepped back from the edge, collapsing into the womens arms.

You’ll never forget that night.

The woman, you didn’t even find out her name, but you knew she was your guardian angel that night.

And although you didn’t completely believe her words, she was right.

You were in the middle of a passing storm.

Not only two days later, you were sat in your managers office being told you were going to another club.

You were given a list of clubs that were interested but one stood out massively, a London club.

You were doing what the woman told you to do, you were going to London.

Which leads you back to the conversation with Katie, your Arsenal teammate.

“Umm… I’ll have to see how tired I am.” You lied, making up a random excuse.

“You said that last time, Y/N.” Alessia pointed out, a playful smile on her face, a completely innocent one which meant no harm.

“And the time before that.” Kyra then added, gently knocking her shoulder into yours.

“Please come, Y/N. I barely know you, it’ll give us time to get to know you.” Steph explained

You hesitated between yes and no.

“Okay. I’ll be there.” You finally said after a few moments.

Everyone cheered, telling you what time to be there and how excited they were that you’d said yes to going.

Maybe these girls aren’t as bad.

—

You were one of the first ones to arrive at the restaurant, not wanting to be late.

Katie and Caitlin were already there and called you over.

One by one, the team filled the table, a buzz filling the air as everyone chatted to each other.

You sat quietly at the end of the table, having nothing really to say.

“What’re you doing for Christmas, Y/N?” Alessia asked, obviously realising no one was talking to you.

“Nothing much. I’ll probably get a few snacks in and watch some…” you began but soon slowed down your words as you set eyes on someone from across the room.

There, sat your guardian angel, your lifesaver.

“Y/N?” Alessia asked, confused but followed your eyeline to see the woman. “Are you okay?”

“I haven’t seen her in months.” You mumbled to yourself but Alessia also heard.

“Who is she?”

“She saved my life.” You responded, not knowing it would lead to you revealing your secret.

“Oh my god…” Alessia whispered, realising it was a big moment for you seeing her again. “Is she a doctor? Were you ill?”

“No.” You shook your head, your eyes not leaving the woman. “My old team, they used to make comments about me. It started with a few - what I thought were harmless - comments but they continued coming. Over message, in the changing rooms, on the pitch. They made me feel like I didn’t belong there - that I didn’t belong on earth. After the match against PSG—” you began

“—The one where you played a few minutes?” Alessia questioned, you nodding in response. “You played incredible that match. You completely turned the game around.”

“Yeah, I thought that too. But after the match in the changing rooms, I got blamed for the loss. My old teammate pushed me to the floor and the rest of them laughed at me. I ended up walking into the rain and walked for miles. I collapsed on this bridge at some point and I decided to go towards the edge. I was counting down in my head. My heart wasn’t racing, I think it was the calmest I’d felt in years. It was what all my teammates wanted so I was going to do them all a favour. I was going to… I was on seven when I heard a voice behind me. It was her. She saved me.” You explained, looking back to Alessia but seeing 25 sets of eyes on you.

Most of the girls had tears in their eyes, your story hitting them hard.

“That’s why it took so long for to come out with you. It wasn’t any of you personally and I’m sorry if it felt like that but I don’t think I can ever trust teammates again.”

“Y/N, don’t say sorry.” Leah’s breathed out, leaning over the table to take your hand in hers. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“I know it might take some time to realise but not all teams are like them. If you can, can you please trust us. We want to show you what being in a true team feels like.” Kim told you, rubbing your back comfortingly.

“I’d like that, thank you.”

“We’re here for you, Y/N. Here at Arsenal, we’re not just a club, we’re a family. Whether you like it or not. Some of us - Kyra - can be annoying sometimes but at the end of the day, we’re a family, and that’s the most important part. We’d like nothing more than to be your family from now on.” Lia added, sending you a smile.

“A family, huh? I think I’d like that.” You said, a smile appearing on your face.

“Enough of that now. That’s your past, it’s time to think about the future. And I’m not having you all alone on Christmas so you’re coming with me to my family on Christmas.” Alessia stated confidently, not giving you any choice.

“Alessia, I can’t, it’s your—”

“Ah, no — remember we’re family.” Alessia told you, hitting your shoulder with hers.

“Family.” You whispered quietly, smiling to yourself.

You took another look over to the woman.

She was still talking away to the man she was with but managed to catch your eye.

She sent a wink and a smile over to you.

You took your eyes off her for seconds and when you looked again, she was gone.

You never knew her name, and you didn’t know who she was, but you couldn’t be more grateful.

Not only had she saved your life that night, but she had also brought you a family.

[littlelamy]

how you met

rockstar!rafe x model!reader

The pulsing bass and dim lights made it easy to get lost in the heat of the underground club. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, spilled drinks, and the kind of energy that came alive after midnight. It was the perfect place to forget… or be forgotten. Exactly what you’d needed after your friends all but forced you out tonight, insisting that life didn’t end just because you’d left your famous ex in the past.

"Look around!" one of them yelled over the music, nudging you with a sly grin. “This is exactly what you need!”

“Right,” you muttered, taking a sip of whatever drink they’d ordered for you, scanning the room with a sort of lazy detachment. You weren’t really looking to rebound with anyone here. That is, until you saw him.

He was on stage, barely ten feet away. Shirtless, tattoos splashed across his skin, he had that dark, brooding edge that made him look like he was born for a stage like this, all arrogance and mystery wrapped up in a stunning face with a jawline that could cut glass. His voice was raw, gravelly, like he was spitting out every word with a vengeance, and somehow, he had the entire crowd hooked.

Rafe Cameron.

You recognized him immediately—he’d been the face (and body) of a million indie music magazines you’d been in too, though your worlds had never actually crossed. But seeing him up close, hearing him live, felt different. You watched, your heart picking up speed with each word he growled into the mic, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room until—

He saw you.

There was a beat, maybe two, where the energy between you was so thick it was almost tangible. His gaze raked over you slowly, starting from the glossy heels that matched the clingy little dress your friends had practically begged you to wear. His eyes were heavy, hooded, and every time he looked at you, you could practically feel the heat licking at your skin. You arched a brow, pretending not to notice, barely giving him a second glance, which only seemed to make his stare even bolder.

“God, he’s looking right at you,” your friend whispered, practically squealing in excitement. You kept a cool exterior, giving Rafe the most casual of glances before looking away, leaning back to take a slow sip of your drink. His band continued their set, but he never stopped glancing in your direction, his attention flickering between the song and whatever spell you’d cast over him.

The moment they finished, you expected him to disappear backstage. Instead, Rafe practically leaped off the stage, heading straight for the bar, for you.

“Didn’t think a girl like you would ever show up in a place like this,” he drawled, voice low and teasing as he leaned an arm on the bar next to you. He smelled like sweat and the faintest hint of smoke, and somehow, it was intoxicating. Up close, he was even more gorgeous, a mix of rugged, careless appeal and a confidence that was probably earned from too many one-night stands.

“Maybe you don’t know what kind of girl I am,” you replied, shooting him a little smirk. You wanted him, yes, but the game was too fun to rush. Besides, you were still reeling from the effect he had on you. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

Rafe chuckled, and there was something wicked about it, like he already knew exactly what you were doing and had every intention of breaking down your resolve. “Oh, I know. I’ve seen your face on more magazine covers than I can count. Got them all over my place, by the way.” His eyes roamed your body again, this time with no hint of shame. “But trust me, you’re even better in person.”

“You talk like you think you’ve got me all figured out,” you shot back, the smirk playing on your lips as you turned to face him. His stare was unrelenting, blue eyes devouring every inch of you, and there was no hiding the smolder in them. He’d probably perfected that look a long time ago, and it was undeniably sexy.

He leaned in, his lips brushing just past your ear. “You want me to figure you out?” His voice was a low, dangerous whisper. “Because, baby, I’ll take all night if that’s what it takes.”

You couldn’t help the way your breath hitched at his words. He was crass, unapologetic, and entirely too good at this game, but you weren’t about to let him know he’d gotten under your skin. Yet.

“Oh, please,” you replied coolly, rolling your eyes as if unaffected. “Like you could handle it.”

Rafe’s grin widened, flashing that perfect smile that made your pulse thud in your chest. “Big words for a girl playing hard to get,” he said, his hand reaching to twirl a strand of your hair between his fingers. He was close enough that you could see every detail of the tattoos etched along his collarbone, and you had to focus hard to keep your cool as he looked at you like you were something he was seconds away from devouring.

You arched a brow, meeting his gaze head-on. “Playing?” you echoed, feigning nonchalance. “This is just my normal.”

His laugh was a dark, husky sound, and the way his fingers brushed along your arm left a trail of heat on your skin. “If that’s the case, sweetheart, consider me hooked.”

He paused, eyes locking on yours as he closed the distance, his hand coming to rest on your waist. You could feel his warm breath on your lips, smell the scent of whiskey on his breath. You knew exactly what he wanted—and, if you were honest with yourself, you wanted it too. But you weren’t about to make it easy.

You let a long moment of silence stretch between you, your eyes flicking to his mouth for the briefest second before meeting his gaze again, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Then I guess you’ll just have to work a little harder for it, won’t you?”

Rafe’s smirk softened into something that was almost a grin. “Oh, trust me, I don’t mind putting in the work.” Without another word, his lips crashed against yours, hungry, unrestrained, a kiss that held every bit of the reckless energy he had on stage. His hands held you firmly, like he was staking a claim, and the way he kissed was more than just a kiss—it was a promise, a challenge, a taunt all in one.

As you pulled away, a satisfied smirk played on your lips. Rafe was left standing there, his hand still lingering at his side as if reluctant to let go. You met his heated gaze, letting a slow, coy smile spread across your face before stepping back, savoring the way his eyes stayed locked on you, intense and unyielding.

With one last lingering glance, you turned on your heel, swaying your hips with each step, knowing full well he was watching every second. Each sway was deliberate, your heels clicking against the floor in time with the pounding bass of the music, and you didn’t look back, but you could practically feel his eyes tracing every curve.

Rafe’s husky voice rang out, half-amused, half-starved, over the music. “You’re playing a dangerous game, you know that?”

You glanced back, giving him a sly wink. “Guess you’ll just have to catch up and see.”

His smirk grew, and you knew you’d just sparked something wild in him. Just the way you wanted it. And as you slipped into the crowd, you could already feel the tension simmering, ready to pull you back to him the second you both decided to stop playing games.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @dinakisser @rafecameroninterlude @sstargirln

[chukys-mouthguard]

What if?

Genre: fluff

Word count: 3,229 words

Featuring: matt rempe x female reader

Warnings: drunk guy being an asshole at the bar, aggressive/protective Matt

Note: okay, this is the first thing I’ve written in years, please be kind 😅 I just got a thing for this man now idk…feel free to send in some requests or let me know if you want more to this story? Not sure if it will be a one off or a little series

“Okay, how do I look?” You walk down the hall of your apartment, stopping to pose for Matt so he can give you his stamp of approval. He eyes you up and down, as if he is going to deliver some harsh critique. Your outfit is nothing crazy; jeans, a gray long sleeved bodysuit, black heeled boots, and a small cross body bag. With the New York City weather still chilly out, you figured it would keep you warm along with the alcohol you’d be consuming.

“Beautiful as always. But let’s try and keep the collecting of guys' phone numbers to a minimum tonight huh?” You laughed as you playfully smacked Matt’s arm. Making your way to the fridge to grab your High Noon you’d started sipping on before getting dressed. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous Matthew Rempe.” He shot you a cocky smirk as he leaned on the kitchen island next to you. “Me? Jealous? Never. Because I’m the one in your apartment and not them.” You rolled your eyes as you swallowed down the last bit of seltzer before unplugging your phone from the charger nearby. “Okay Mr. Chauffeur, let’s hit the road.”

You loved having Matt in NYC playing with the Rangers. The two of you had been best friends since you were teenagers, though you’d lost touch a bit once you moved to New York. Matt’s stint in Hartford allowed the chance to slowly reconnect, but having him now with the Rangers was even better. The two of you often spent nights at each other's apartments, going out to dinner, and of course you attended every home game you could to see Matt play.

You’d always had a soft spot for Matt. Sure he was a bit intimidating being practically 7 feet tall, his knuckles cut up or bruised half the time, and a black eye never seeming to catch you off guard anymore. But you’d gotten close enough to see the side of him most people don’t experience. Though you never imagined your relationship being anything more than what it was. Friends, and nothing more than that. But you couldn’t deny the way you had paid attention to how he’d grown into a man. He had outgrown his awkward phase, and you now looked at him and saw him as handsome, not cute or adorable like he was when you were growing up.

You constantly find yourself thinking, what if you weren’t just imagining things? When he spends the night and walks into your room wearing just a towel after a shower. The way he hugs you and lingers longer than just a friend would. The way he takes care of you when you’re drunk. Or nights like tonight, where he’s willing to stay up late to be your designated driver when he’s got an early morning skate and a big game tomorrow night.

Just one day, one day you’d love to kiss him and see what happens. Or flirt a little extra and see if he takes the bait. But you also don’t want to lose your best friend in the process, or be turned down and embarrassed for thinking he’d ever feel that way about you.

“So what’s the plan for tonight?” Matt asks as he puts a hand on the back of your seat as he looks over his shoulder, backing out of his parking space. It’s such a cliche action, but boy does he look good doing it, and your heart certainly skipped a beat.

“The typical routine. Start at Tucker’s. Then move on to 1989. Then finish-“ “At Coop’s?” Matt smirked as he looked out at the road. One hand on the wheel with the other resting on his thigh. He was literally in jeans and a hoodie yet somehow he looked just as good as he does in a suit on game day. “Either that means I go out too much, or you’re finally starting to pay attention when I tell you things.” “Definitely not paying attention, it’s you going out too much.” He laughed as you playfully punched his arm, pulling out your phone to text your friends that you were a few minutes away.

“So Cooper’s closes at 2:30, but I honestly don’t think I’ll last that long. Especially because someone has a big game tomorrow! And I wanna be well rested. So let’s plan for like 12:30/1? Is that okay?” You looked at Matt a bit apologetic, knowing he’d have to be up early for morning skate. But he was always adamant about driving you, no matter what time it was.

“Of course, you know I’ll be here no matter the time. I’ll plan to be at Coop’s around 12:45. I’ll come in to get you too, it’s gonna be cold and dark out. I don’t want you walking to find me.” You put a hand to his cheek as you make a joking pouty expression. “Aww, such a gentleman Matty.” He smiled at your touch, almost leaning into your hand as he looked back at you, “Anything for you. Now go on, I know the girls are waiting. Text me if you need anything, and I mean anything y/n. I’m not that far of a drive.” You let out a sigh as you undid your seatbelt, “Honestly Matt, nothing to worry about, I’ll be fine.” You blew him an air kiss as you exited the car, heading into the first bar of the night. Matt sat and watched you show your ID to the man at the door, waiting until he saw you get inside safely to drive away.

As promised, Matt arrived at Cooper's around 12:45. He was thankful that you and your friends chose to end your nights at a bar that wasn’t too crazy, but also not too crowded that he might be recognized. Just to be safe he threw on a hat to shield his face as much as he could, though the bar was so dark he doubted anyone would be able to make out his face in the crowd.

He handed his ID to the bouncer before making his way inside. He texted you a simple “I’m here”, you would know his typical meeting place and where to go. You were in the restroom when Matt texted, quickly replying “bathroom, be right out” before you sighed as you stared blankly at the wall. The line in the girls restroom always 100 times longer than it was for the guys.

Matt didn’t mind waiting, he checked some scores on his phone. Assuming that the line was long since girls love to use the buddy system when going to the bathroom. He scanned the crowd and enjoyed people watching, nodding his head and smiling softly as your friends gave him a wave from across the bar. He checked the time again, before glancing over towards the hallway to find you pushing past a crowd of girls to exit the restrooms. He chuckled to himself as he saw the frustration on your face, knowing you probably waited 20 minutes just to pee. He started to walk towards you but fell back as he noticed a guy stop you in your tracks.

“Can I help you?” You looked at the man a bit confused, you’d recognized him from the crowd of people, but hadn’t interacted with him much. He was out with a group of guys for someone’s birthday. You only knew that because they mentioned it to you and your friends at least 30 times. Definitely trying to help the birthday boy get laid. “I noticed you’d left your friends, I thought maybe my shot at getting to buy you a drink was gone.” You chuckled to yourself, why does this have to happen in front of Matthew?

“Oh, yeah, I’m actually on my way out. So, maybe another time. Sorry.” You try to excuse yourself but he moves with you, cutting you off. “Oh come on, one more drink isn’t gonna hurt anyone. Or if you want we could go somewhere else, just the two of us and get a drink.” He had a cocky grin on his face as you looked at him in disgust. He was clearly drunk, and wasn’t keen on taking no for an answer. You looked at Matt standing just a few feet away, a concerned look on his face as he wasn’t sure what was going on.

“Look, I’m not interested, okay?” He scoffed as he seemed to be a bit insulted by your comment. “Not interested, you and your friends were dancing right up against our group all night. I saw the way you were eyeing all of us guys, I’d say you were interested sweet heart.” You gagged at the smell of alcohol on his breath as he got closer to you. “Yeah news flash buddy, it’s a small fucking bar. My option was dancing right next to people or on the bar.”

As you tried walking past him to get to Matt, you felt a tight grip on your wrist pull you back, “That sounds hot, can you put on a show just for me?” His hands attempted to grab more than just your wrists but before you could react Matt was already stepping in, pulling the guy away from you and pinning him to the wall by the collar of his shirt. “Don’t you dare fucking touch her like that.”

You were a bit taken aback at the way Matt stepped in. Sure he’d protected you from dumb drunk guys before, but never like this. His jaw clenched as his grip tightened on the collar of the man’s shirt. “And what the fuck are you gonna do about it huh? What are you her little brother or something? Ain’t no way you’re banging a bitch like that.” Matt’s grip tightened on his collar as he pushed him harder into the wall, “what did you just call her?!” His voice louder, drawing a bit of attention, thankfully none yet from the bouncer.

“A bitch, and what are you gonna do about it?” The drunk dumbass laughed in Matt’s face and you knew this wouldn’t end well.

Before you could step in, Matt’s fist connected with the guy's jaw, causing him to stumble to the floor. Before pulling himself together and running off to the restroom.

“Fuck!”

Matt shook his hand as he winced, immediately realizing he fucked up but his anger got the best of him. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” You grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door. Thank god no one seemed to really notice the altercation that just took place.

The walk to the car was quiet as Matt was still fuming, you simply climbed into the passenger in silence. He gripped the steering wheel tight with his good hand as he peeled out of the parking lot. You sat next to him, studying his face to see when it might be a good time to say something. Blue and purple started to appear across the knuckles on the hand that threw the punch as he let out a large sigh.

“I’m sorry.”

You let out a soft laugh as you rested a hand on his thigh, softly holding his bruised hand, careful not to hurt him. “Sorry for what? You didn’t do anything wrong? You stepped in as I would’ve hoped you would the second that guy put his hands on me. Don’t be sorry for that!” He seemed to relax at your touch, so you kept your hand on his, slowly brushing your thumb over his skin to attempt to calm him down.

The rest of the car ride was quiet, the two of you heading back to Matt’s apartment since he had to be up early for practice. You kept your eyes on him, studying the look on his face, wishing you were in his head to know what the heck he was thinking. He took your hand in his as you two walked through the quiet parking garage, then headed up the elevator.

You knew your way around his place, first going to his room to grab an oversized t-shirt to throw on before heading to the bathroom to take off your makeup. Matt was sweet enough to go out and buy you your own toiletries to keep at his place. Including your makeup remover and even your 4 step skincare routine.

Matt came to join you in the bathroom as you brushed your teeth. He smiled at the sight of you as he leaned against the wall: your hair in a messy bun, his oversized Seattle Thunderbirds t shirt covering you up enough while still giving him a good view of your legs. “What?” You chuckled as you tried not to choke on the tooth paste threatening to fall from your lips. He just shook his head, “Just glad nothing bad happened to you tonight. I’m glad I was there.” He took your hand, his fingers fiddling with yours, “I just kept thinking what if i wasn’t there, I couldn’t handle it if anything would’ve happened.”

You looked at him in the mirror, relief and exhaustion covered his face. “I’m really glad you were there too, but I really hope we don’t end up with a possible scandal on our hands.” You started laughing as you exited the bathroom, Matthew following suit. “New York Rangers rookie Matthew Rempe gets in a bar fight over a girl.” You spoke in a sarcastic newscaster voice as you made your way to the freezer, grabbing a bag of frozen peas to tend to Matt’s fist bearing the proof of his heroic actions at the bar.

Matt chuckled along with you before wincing at the feeling of the cold bag on his hand, “If it happens, so be it, I was ready to knock that son of a bitch out after what he said to you.” You shot him a glare, “Matthew Rempe. Absolutely not, I am not worth you getting in trouble with the team because of a dumb bar fight.” He walked over to you, now the one shooting you a glare. His arms rested on either side of your waist as he gripped the edge of the counter. “Y/n, yes you fucking are.” You shot him a look as he swiftly picked you up and sat you on the island in front of him. A cocky grin coming across his face at how caught off guard you were, gripping his biceps tight as his hands now moved to rest on your thighs. “I’d fight 20 guys at the bar if they put their hands on you and said shit like that guy tonight.” His tone now more serious, his smirk fading as you two stared at one another for what seemed like an hour. The voice in your head screaming at you, this is your what if moment. Take it or leave it, but it may never come again. What if he’s trying to confess his feelings, what if he’s trying to make a move but he’s too scared. What if you just beat him to the punch. What if-

Before your brain could even rationalize a thought or an action, you felt Matt’s lips crash into yours. His hands cupping your face as yours snaked up his neck to grab a handful of his hair. The kiss like fireworks and a weight being lifted off your shoulders all at once. He began to smile into the kiss, before pulling away with a slight laugh.

“Oh yeah, that’s exactly what every girl wants. The guys she’s been dreaming of kissing to pull away laughing!” You rolled your eyes and frowned at him as a look of shock washed over his face. “Been dreaming of kissing huh??? I knew it!” You immediately turned red, covering your face with your hands, though Matt found it extremely cute.

His hands gripping your thighs before lifting you off the counter, “It’s okay, i get it. I’m sure there’s lots of girls out there who dream of kissing me.” “Matt! Shut up!” You laughed as he carried you down the hall into his room, tossing you on the bed while he finally changed out of his jeans and sweatshirt. “Hey, listen…if you’re interested, maybe we could work something out so that you can be the only girl who gets to kiss me from now on. How does that sound?”

You barely heard him, too busy staring as he stood in just his underwear in front of you. Your eyes tracing every detail of him before his laugh interrupted your thoughts. “Damn, one kiss and all of sudden you’re just head over heels huh?” You pull a pillow over your face out of embarrassment as you feel the bed sink beneath his weight. Matthew now hovering above you as he pulls the pillow away from your face.

He brushed some hair from your face as your fingers play with his chain hanging from his neck, “you really want to kiss me and only me from now on?” You blushed as he shook his head laughing at you, “of course you goof! That’s all I’ve wanted for like the last 5 years, probably even longer!” You felt yourself trying to fight a smile, though you were sure your cheeks were bright red, letting Matt know you liked his response.

He laid next to you as you continued to play with his chain, now resting on his chest. His thumb tracing circles on your thigh as you smiled like a dork to yourself, your heart bursting with excitement that all your what ifs had come true.

“So if I agree to this-“ you say up, trying to pull a serious face as you looked down at him. His hands still glued to your thighs, as if he couldn’t get enough of touching you now. “Do I get a cute custom Rempe jean jacket or something to wear to your games? Like I wanna be decked out and I want people to know that I'm the only girl you’re kissing from now on.” Matt rolled his eyes and laughed at your change of tone, as you babbled on and on about your ‘conditions’ should you agree to this. But he loved the thought of you in a Rempe jacket at his games, getting to see afterwards and kiss you like crazy after a big win, to have you be his biggest fan cheering him on every night. Even though you already were, now it would be more special.

“Listen.”

Matt cut you off as he pulled you into his lap, his hand pulling your face to his as he kissed you. This time the kiss was soft, as he took his time to really take in the feeling of finally getting to kiss you and be this close to you. “If you be my girlfriend, I’ll get you whatever jacket you want, I’ll get you the best seats at the Garden for my games, you name it. Just make me the happiest guy ever and be my girlfriend!” You laughed at how he begged like a little kid who couldn’t contain their excitement.

“Yes-“ you peppered his face with a hundred kisses, “Matthew Rempe, I would absolutely love to be your girlfriend.”

[rush-the-stars]

AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART I

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|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.5k || ao3 || Part II -> coming soon! || masterlist ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

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“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

***

Suguru tries to tame you.

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✧ SPRING FEVER collab masterlist ✧

cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader if you squint, biting, blood, marking, eventual forced bathing in later parts, eventual forced feeding in later parts, eventual smut in later parts; masturbation, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?

a/n: this is for @lorelune 's SPRING FEVER collab!! i have been working on this for awhile now and i am excited to share it! this should be about 3 parts...i am very close to finishing the whole thing so i should be releasing a part a week for the next two weeks!

thank you for reading!! i would love to hear your thoughts <333

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“I think you’d be perfect.” 

Suguru’s voice is a caress, low and soft, as he sits across from you. 

Somehow, he always makes you feel like he is just beneath the surface of your skin, even if there is a respectable distance between you. He always makes you feel as if he is lurking somewhere in the lowest parts of you, pulling at strings you once thought hidden to yourself. 

You’ve kept your distance for this reason.

You swallow hard. 

And then you manage to get your voice to unstick, to find it somewhere inside of you and bring it to life. It’s firmer than you’re anticipating and you’re proud;

“I don’t think I would be.” 

Suguru looks at you in a way that makes you feel as if he’s seeing through you, pulling you open slowly to gaze at all the inner workings of you. His dark eyes are keen, so sharp, even if they’re shaded by half-lidded lashes. 

He smiles pleasantly and indulges you, but you know he believes very firmly that he is, in fact, right, “why not?” 

“I told you when I agreed to join you—all I wanted in exchange for helping you, was to be an unbound Omega.” You force yourself to meet his eyes and to not get sucked into the dark tide of them. 

“You asked for my protection.” He reminds you. 

Your eyes flash this time, heated, a little spark that skitters to life inside of you.

“I didn’t—“ 

“Is that not what you’d call it?” Suguru asks, “when I interfered, every time, to be sure no other Alpha got to you? Or when I scented you to keep them away?”

Prickling warmth dots your cheeks, can feel at the back of your neck, too, the tips of your ears. You try a different tactic. 

“I’m not a homemaker.” 

His smile is soft, “I don’t want a homemaker.” 

“I’m not obedient.” You counter again, as if you could dissuade Suguru Getou once he’s made up his mind.

“You’ve been quite good for me.” Suguru says smugly and this time, a little noise of embarrassment or frustration eeks out of you. A short, sharp little growl from your throat, almost a groan of irritation.  

“I—I’m doing your dirty work. That’s our agreement! You give me assignments that I complete and in return, I get my freedom.” 

“I don’t know why you’re so opposed to this. Is it not similar already to what we have now?” He asks simply, “I’d still let you roam, if that’s what you’re so scared of.” 

“No it’s that—that power and mentality that I don’t want you to have over me.” You snap. 

“I already have it,” he says and it isn’t intended to be cruel, but certainly is, “how long do you think you’d last, without the protection of an Alpha?” 

“I didn’t have any before you.” 

“You were starving, injured, and constantly on the run before me.” You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off, “it would still give you what you want.” 

“I don’t want to be yours.” You say frankly, perhaps to be cruel yourself. And then you show teeth a little, flash them in warning, “I don’t want your mark.”

Suguru looks amused, if anything, by your display. 

His smile is knowing and insufferable. It makes your anger ratchet up inside of you, hackles rising. You feel a little growl working its way out of your throat. It tears out of you in annoyance, when he says, “I don’t believe you.” 

You slam the door so hard on its hinges that it rattles the entire wall. You wish it would rattle all the world. 

***

Your cursed technique rips to life like a star exploding outwards. 

Beast that you are, it overtakes you, transforms you until you are all claws and dripping, little fangs. Your body elongates, elegant, and built for speed, viciousness. The horns atop your head are sharp, too, curled the slightest into a crescent shape. The beast in you stretches and pulls at your bones, fits your skin to it in a way that you have come to know well. 

(“Cursed technique: Cursed Creature,” Suguru hums, “allows you to turn into a cursed version of yourself, a sort of,” he pauses, looking you over, “monster?” 

“That’s right.” You tell him, body trembling all over, in dire need of food. Care. Sleep. 

He places a large hand on top of your head, strokes gently, until his hand nudges your cheek, beneath your chin so you are forced to look up into his eyes. Depthless violet. 

“You have a deal.”)

The sorcerer is cast backward with the force of your transformation. In this form, everything heightens, sharpening into brilliance. So much brighter, clearer. So much more overwhelming. 

You are a flash of darkness when you move, a mass of lethality. 

The sorcerer doesn’t stand a chance, the moment you dash past him with a deep swipe of your claws, you know this will be an easy match. You chitter in this form, excited, warbly little sound erupting from you before you careen towards him again. 

This time, he is warped away. 

But you are fast, changing your trajectory mid-step to catch up to where he was warped. 

Except, this time, a white haired sorcerer takes his place. 

Your claws meet air. 

A growling hiss erupts from your throat. 

Satoru Gojo. 

Suguru told you to stay away from him. At all costs.

And speak of the devil, your name is called, whistled almost. Your head turns to find Suguru appearing, too. 

Faintly, the more human part of you wonders what the occasion is. 

For a moment, all you can see is threat. Your hackles rise as your growling gets lower, more sinister, your form moving behind Gojo as if you might circle him, unable to let down your guard. 

“Call off your pet,” Gojo says. 

Suguru calls your name again and there’s something else in his tone now, a little sharper. 

(Fear, you wonder faintly, in some far away part of your mind. Is he worried Gojo would hurt you?)

You come to heel at Suguru’s side, remaining in this form, making a low, threatening sound still. Warning. Your claws still drip with the blood of that sorcerer. 

“Go,” Suguru says to you. 

Your head snaps to look at him, eyes narrowing. “I’m not leaving,” you snap and the words have a bite to it, around the curves of your fangs. You look back at Gojo. If this comes to blows, you don’t want Suguru facing Gojo alone–you don’t want to leave his back suddenly unguarded. 

It’s counterintuitive to you, goes against all of your instincts. You don’t leave him, you don’t leave his side, his back. 

“Go,” Suguru says, harsher this time and the command seeps into you. You waver. And then, “I won’t tell you again.” 

When you hiss at him in that warbling way of curses, he smiles faintly, almost fondly, as your teeth drip with venom. But you do listen to him this time.

And with your heightened hearing, you hear Gojo underneath his breath as you slink away;

“How interesting.” 

***

When Suguru returns to you, he is unharmed. 

You’d paced the length of the hallway outside of his room in the compound until you could have worn a hole into it. 

Few would be brave enough to wait for Suguru outside his door. 

When he arrives, he is mildly surprised to see you, before his expression melts into a sort of—smugness. A knowing glint to his eyes. 

“Why would you send me away?” You snap.

“You could’ve gone in, you know, if it would’ve soothed you.” Suguru says instead, head nodding towards the door to his suite. “Would you like a key?” 

You blanche, taking a half step back, “I don’t—“

It allows him to get to his door and open it. You’ve been here before, in the privacy of his suite, but now it feels strange. A little different. He holds the door open for you. 

You glance at the threshold and feel as if you’re making an important decision. 

“Come on,” he says smoothly and before you can think twice about it, you are being led inside, his hand drifting somewhere near your lower back. He never touches you, the feeling is a phantom one, the impression of it. You shiver a little. 

But you round on him again, “why would you send me away?”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, instead he goes rifling in a drawer, digging around a little. 

His suite is larger than others. The living room is open and attached is the kitchen. It’s all light wood, with tall windows that overlook the courtyard. You know, despite never being inside, that his bedroom is down the hall and to the left. The bathroom is across from it. You’ve sat many times on the floor of his living room with him, going over assignments, plans that he has, and what he’d like you to do. 

When he finds what he’s looking for, he makes a soft noise, before turning to you with a small, gold key. 

“I don’t want a key!” You snap. 

“It’s a spare, take it just in case.” He replies and when you don’t move to grab it from him, he takes your hand in his much larger one, and opens your palm to him. 

He places the key in your hand. 

And then his eyes catch yours, “you were worried.” 

“No-!” you get out, “I don’t like being—I’m supposed to protect you.” 

Suguru smiles, hand still swallowing yours, “isn’t that sweet?” he remarks, “an Omega attempting to protect an Alpha.”

Immediately, you jerk away from him.

The key is still in your shaking fist. 

“Don’t start,” you snarl, low and vicious and hurt, “I’ve always been the one at your side.” 

“Yes,” he agrees, hand falling back down to his side listlessly. “I already told you that.” 

You’ve always been at my side, he’d said, when he was trying to convince you to–

“That’s not what I meant!” Your voice rises without your consent and you feel an embarrassed, angry flush through your face for being so worked up. The room is thick with your worry and anger and frustration, all of your pent up energy like a knot in your chest, in your voice. It’s in your heart and the way you look at him. 

“It doesn’t matter what you meant,” Suguru says easily, “it’s still the truth.” 

When you slam the door this time, you hear something fall from the wall. 

But the key is still in your trembling hand, digging indents into your palm, and your heart is still a beast in your chest.

And behind the closed door, Suguru Getou smiles fondly, and retrieves the fallen, shattered frame from the floor. 

***

For a while, you avoid Suguru. 

You stuff the key he gave you in your nightstand drawer, far in the back, in an attempt to keep it out of sight and out of your mind. 

And at first, you think he is respecting your boundaries; you receive assignments through others from him. You see him only in passing and he never speaks directly to you. He hardly acknowledges you. 

But after a week and a half, it begins to feel like punishment. 

And the key is starting to burn and itch in your mind. You think about it at night, tossing over in your bed; you think about unlocking his door at this hour. What would you find? Would he be asleep? Awake? Alone? Fully dressed? 

You think of him half bare and lounging, hair slipping over his shoulders, and the scent of sandalwood and fig. Tonka or something woodsy, maybe. You know it well and it lingers long after he leaves you. 

You suddenly miss it, crave it. 

Him. 

You twist beneath your sheets. 

Why did he have to–

You make a soft noise of frustration, turning over again. 

You’re restless. 

Something beneath your skin begins to itch and squirm. 

Previously, Suguru had hardly mentioned your status as an Omega. He rarely acknowledged it; you were too brilliant of a sorcerer for him to care, you thought. You were too powerful. The only instance he brought it up was to scent you, a form of caution in a particular instance, for a particular mission. The memory still simmers in your mind, the way he’d rubbed the gland on your wrist with a careful thumb. He’d given you clothes of his to wear. He’d had you sit in his quarters for long hours, until it seemed as if you were his, in some way. 

But now that he’s actually brought it up, offered you his bite, to be his, it paints him in an entirely different light. 

Had he always…wanted you? 

Was he always planning this? 

The naive, desperate parts of you want to believe this is a recent thought of his. Previous to this, he only ever saw you as another sorcerer, a powerful one that aided him. You had always been one of the closer ones to him, at his heel, his beck and call. 

You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought of Suguru this way; as an Alpha. An unmated one, who kept your company. 

And he does, no matter how badly it burns to admit it, protect you.

You know he wards off Alphas. 

You know he perhaps does more than even that. 

But you don’t want—

You don’t want to be mated. 

You don’t want to suddenly be coddled by him, held back, don’t want to be the little thing that keeps his bed warm.

Your face heats with the thought. 

Images flash through your mind, flickering, melting together like film that bleeds and runs, of him overtop you. Shrouding you. His hair on your shoulders and back. You think of his mouth on your throat, teeth in your neck. 

You rub at your eyes suddenly as if to clear them.

You know he leaves on a mission for a week in two days. 

You assume, at some point, he’ll speak to you. And break this strange silence. 

You’ll both return to normal then.

And then perhaps you won’t lose any more sleep over him.

***

Suguru never says goodbye to you. 

It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does—you just figured he’d finally drop this silly little silence game.

You suppose he must’ve thought the same of you.

Besides, what were you expecting from him? An apology? It’s foolish to even entertain. You knew you weren’t going to apologize either. The least you’ll do, when he returns, is  act as if all is normal again. Perhaps it’s better that way, not to address what he’s put in his head recently. 

The more you speak of it, or think of it, the worse it unravels in your mind. 

On the second day that he is gone, you realize you miss his scent. 

You realize it has become such a staple in your everyday life that its sudden disappearance  is almost alarming. It makes you more irritable, more vicious. You snap at the others faster, bite out insults and brutalities. 

You—

Well, you miss it. 

Him, maybe. 

The admittance is a hard one to swallow around. It burns going down. 

On the third day, you’re genuinely craving his scent in a way that makes your teeth ache. You had no idea you could even miss a scent like this, need it so bad that your body would betray you with a physical pain in your chest. Somewhere in your mouth, under your tongue. 

You try to ignore it. 

You go on with your life. 

But by the fifth day, you are agitated and aggressive. Everyone knows something is wrong with you. You know something is wrong with you. You can feel it beneath your skin, crawling, squirming. It makes you want to tear out your hair, rip at your nails, or sink your teeth into something. You’re restless.

You can’t sleep. 

You can hardly eat or think. 

And as you lay awake in your bed, kicking at sheets, sweating and twisting, you know what it is you need. 

You’ve known the whole week. 

You throw back the covers and wrench open your bedside drawer. 

The key rattles, hot, like it knows it’s finally about to be used. It’s musical sound a siren song, it’s been burning away in there the whole week. 

You swipe it and turn sharply from your bedroom. From your own apartment. 

It’s the middle of the night; not a soul sees you in the compound. 

Like a person possessed, you walk. Your back is straight. Your steps are quick. Your mind is set, on fire.

Suguru’s door has haunted you the whole week.

The key in your hand digs into the flesh, carving it’s divots there like your hand might be the lock itself. 

You try not to think about it–you unlock the door. You throw it open. 

You shut it behind you, slide the lock back into place. 

Darkness greets you.

You wander in like you know the place (you do, you do–)

You wander in like it’s yours to wander in. 

Instantly, something loosens inside of you. 

You exhale hard. 

Inhale sharp. 

The smell of him, fainter because he’s been gone, assaults your senses, sweeps over them. You take in a lungful like gasping for air, you smell faint traces of fig and sandalwood. Notes of tonka that you long for, that urge you to move deeper into his space. 

In the dark, you make your way down the hall, towards his bedroom.

You haunt the arch for a moment.

Guilt or regret or embarrassment almost seize you. They make you pause. 

Some sane part of you is clawing at your insides, wailing to turn around and leave. Leave now. 

But he gave you a key.

He gave you a key, you think in circles, again and again. He gave me a key. 

You cross the threshold.

You sink down into his bed and his scent is strongest here, even still, after several days it’s his. 

You turn over the covers to get beneath them, cool sheets against your legs, sliding and smooth. You turn your face into his pillow and inhale. 

A soft little groan works it’s way out of you.

Instantly, your muscles slacken. 

Everything leeches from you; your anger and irritation and restlessness. 

It soothes you so deeply and so swiftly it makes your head spin. 

You curl beneath his blankets and take deep pulls of breath, squirming a moment if only to bring his scent tighter around you. You envelope yourself in it.You shroud yourself in it. 

And finally, after five days of restless nights, you fall asleep almost instantly. 

Not a single dream. Not one moment where you wake or stir. 

You sleep deeply. 

In the morning, the sun warms you through the broad windows like a content cat. 

You stretch lazily like one, too.

Suguru will be home tomorrow. 

You know you need to leave his bed, hope that your scent dissipates by the time he returns. 

You didn’t do anything wrong, you know—he gave you a key. 

He gave you a key. 

But rather, you know he would never let you live it down. He would use it instantly, as ammunition for his argument, the debate that the two of you keep circling.

You don’t quite leave as quickly as you should still, though: 

You linger.

You’re comfortable.

Calmed for the first time all week.

And when you do slip out, it’s silently, locking the door behind you.

Like maybe you won’t ever let yourself back in there, trying to shut it like it was a one time indulgence and gone now from your mind and body. 

But his scent clings to you. 

And little do you know, your scent clings to his sheets—and to Suguru, it’s sweet as can be and unmistakable—irreplaceable.

He collapses in his own bed when he returns and knows you’ve been all over it. He can smell the crush of dark berries, jasmine, the soothing note of vanilla that clings to you, that he’s come to adore. 

He grins to himself and knows then, he’s got you right where he wants you.

***

For a moment, you think Suguru is going to make you be the bigger person and apologize upon his return. 

Instead, he finds you. 

And he doesn’t say he’s sorry for his recent behavior, but he does say;

“I’d prefer if you didn’t avoid me in the future.”

It feels like sorry enough. 

And for some time, things return to a state of normal.

A version of it.

It isn’t quite like it was before—in fact, you seem to spend more time around him than previously. He calls on you more. He brings you into his space more frequently, often urging you to eat with him, beside him, at his table.

This is ideal for you. Close but not too close.

Although, he begins to ask, don’t you have your key? Can’t you let yourself in? 

You say you haven’t used it.

He hums like he knows differently, but doesn’t press you.

Until finally he asks you to retrieve a notebook in his study and bring it to him.

Fetch, he says.

“It’s locked, isn’t it?”

“You have your key.” He answers simply, not looking up from the book he is reading. 

For a moment, you almost protest, but something stops you. Maybe the twitch in his brow.

It’s a useless argument to pick, anyways.

You do have a key.

It would be fastest, easiest, to just use it.

So you do. 

And you hand him the notebook he asked for, fingers brushing against his as he takes it from you with gentle hands.

“Thank you,” he adds, voice so smooth and low, almost tempting.

You swallow a little.

Then you quickly avert your gaze. 

“Whatever,” you grouse, but he smiles fondly, amused.

And it opens another door, more than just the one to his suite.

***

Tentatively, you begin to come and go.

The first (second)  time you use your key to enter without his order, he is careful not to react to you any differently than how he usually does. 

His eyes brighten a little, though, like a leopard that’s caught something interesting in its sights and is waiting to see what it’ll do. 

Still, you grow more comfortable entering his space on your own. 

You claim portions of it; a corner of the couch. A particular cushion around his low table. All of the sunny patches in his suite become yours, scented with you, indented with you. More than that, some horrible, hidden part of you adores that your scent is all over his space. 

It’s comforting to find it beside his scent. 

It soothes a part of you that you don’t wish to admit to. 

His hands grow bolder. 

Now they’re always hovering at the small of your back, the nape of your neck. He tucks strands of your hair away from your face and though you jerk away from him, it’s often half-hearted. You snip at him and he only smiles.

Pleased. Smug. Knowing. 

His hands guide you as you walk beside him.

You grow accustomed to his touch in some way—he makes sure of it.

Then, as if to prove something—

Another cult member begins to cause trouble with you; he is another Omega. He begins with snide comments and remarks that test your patience. He doesn’t stop until you are growling and bristled and ready for a fight. 

And all it takes to stop you is Suguru’s large hand coming down on the nape of your neck. 

His thumb rests atop one scent gland at your throat, fingertips pressing delicately into the one on the other side. Hand wrapped around the back of your neck.

“Easy,” he murmurs and just like that, you can feel some of your aggression slip from you, deflate like a balloon.

It’s involuntary, the energy and anger unspooling from your body in an instant. In the back of your mind, you’re alarmed; how easily it was for him to effect you. It’s terrifying.

You swat his hand away, lurching from him, another little growl in your throat.

But you don’t fight him or the look in his eyes, the way he tilts his chin up in the barest hint of dominance. 

You storm off.

Instances as such continue to happen, though, where he’s able to sooth or quell your temperament with a touch. A word. A look. 

It comes to a head while you’re eating dinner with him. 

“You’re so wound up,” Suguru comments lightly, “your scent is so sharp with it. What’s bothering you?” 

Reflexively, you snap, “you are.” 

And it’s meant to be some sort of insult but Suguru’s lips twist into this hitched little smile. “It’s my fault you’re wound up?” He asks lightly. 

“Don’t twist my words.” You respond, fixing him with a glare, “you bother me.” 

He’s still deeply amused by this, you can tell by the twinkle in his eyes. The smug way he holds himself. 

“Would you like me to help you?” He asks. 

“No,” you say reflexively. 

A beat of silence before he says, “come here. I’ll help you.” 

There’s a command in his voice, laced there, and doing something strange to your head. 

You hesitate.

He pounces, “just a massage.” He soothes, “I can tell your shoulders are knotted up and tense. I can see it.”

His voice has dropped into that soothing lull.

Warily, “away from my glands?” 

He smiles, “of course.” And then, “come here.”

Your body moves easily now and he murmurs, “sit in front of me. Back to me—there, that’s it.” 

It feels more vulnerable than it should to show your back to him, to sit in front of him like a child to their mother. You try to keep your posture straight and careful. 

But then he sets large, warm hands to your shoulders. His fingers dig into the meat of them gently, pressing into your muscles which spasm and twitch in pain. You yelp, jerking away. 

Suguru tsks, “see how tense you are? You’re in pain.” He scolds softly and you feel heat smart across your face, “sit still for me. I’ll be gentler.”

True to his word, he eases up, fingers careful as they run into your tense muscles.

He finds bundles of twisted up tension in your back and shoulders, pressing into them until a noise springs from you—a groan, a whimper, a little growl. He works the sounds out of you. You swear he’s doing it deliberately and you wouldn’t be surprised if it was all just to humiliate you a little. 

But you finally loosen and slacken for him. 

When you finally sink into his hands, he murmurs, “I don’t know why you fight this so badly.”

You let go of a heavy sigh, “you do know why. Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.” 

“Because you’re stubborn?” Suguru asks lightly and you snort, despite yourself, “because you don’t know what’s good for you?”

“You’re no good for me.” You respond.

Suguru’s turn to sigh and if he digs his fingers in to make you yip in pain, he’d never say it was purposeful. 

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

Reflexively, you jerk away from his touch, you turn to look at him over your shoulder with a sneer. 

“I’m not a pet.” 

Suguru does not heed your warning and instead gently pulls you back towards him by your waist. 

“No?” He asks lightly, fingers resuming their steady massage. You go completely still like prey, unsure, wary. Angry. Humiliated. “It’s not a bad thing to be a pet. You’re thinking about it all wrong.” 

His fingers ease up towards your neck and you stiffen again. 

“Suguru,” you say in warning as he nears your scent glands. Perhaps to what he’s said.

“You’re my pet now,” he continues, “though you don’t like to admit it. It’s not so bad, is it?” 

Stubbornly, you don’t answer him.

But after a moment, you say, “if I’m already yours, why do you need this last bit of me? If you already see me as your pet, why do you want me so terribly, in this way—“

Suguru suddenly pulls you back deeper, into his lap, against his chest. 

You squirm, but he holds you tight, hooks his chin over your shoulder.

Alarm bells ring frantically in your head now that he’s so close to the glands in your throat. 

“Don’t play dumb,” Suguru muses, half-mocking, “it doesn’t suit you.” 

“Let me go,” you snarl low and hot.

“What are you scared of?” Suguru responds, “that I’d trap you? If you’d take my Bite, I’d let you roam further than I do now. You’d be safe.” 

“Liar,” you hiss, “I’m not dumb.” 

“I’m not trying to stifle you, I’m trying to set you free.” Suguru almost purrs and his voice is warm and low and creeping up over your spine and trying to find its way inside you. 

You begin to squirm this time, thrashing in his hold until you manage to wriggle free, falling forward onto your hands and knees. 

Instinctively, you turn to keep your back protected, scrambling away from him. You bare your teeth at him. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

He watches this show of aggression with amusement, tilting his head slightly. And then he sighs, “I don’t think anything I say will convince you at this point.” 

You narrow your eyes at the tone. Your hackles rise. 

In an instant, he has grabbed you by the ankle and pulled you back to him. 

Underneath him.

You shove hard at him, twisting and fighting as he settles himself over you. 

You realize how solid he is, how strong, and large. He doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even flinch. 

“Suguru,” you hiss at him, pushing as hard as you can on his chest.

“See how easy it was for me to subdue you?” He says then, voice smooth and low. “If I wanted to take you, I simply would’ve already. You’re no challenge to me; if I wanted to trap you, I would’ve.”

“Get off me!” 

You thrash hard beneath him and in an instant, he has your hands uselessly pinned above your head, stretching you out beneath him.

His nose dips, near the scent gland at your throat. You squirm.

He squeezes your wrists, “stop squirming.” He murmurs low, “or my instinct will be to bite.”

Your stomach does a horrible flip, a flutter of—fear, excitement. 

“Just—get off—leave me alone!” You get out, voice high and tight. You try not to arch away from the way he lets his face fall to the crook of your neck. 

“Hush,” Suguru hisses, nudging his nose beneath your ear.

He’s scenting you. 

He’s done this before and despite everything in you, you finally go slack. You force yourself not to tilt your head or offer up more, rather let him urge you into the way that he prefers. 

He nudges his cheek and nose against your jaw. He lets out a relieved breath, fitting more of his body to you and you feel the push of chest into yours, his hips.

You squirm a little and a growl erupts from his throat.

You fight back the sound that almost works its way out of you now, swallow around it.

When he’s finished, he asks, “would you like to scent me?” And instinctively, you want to say yes, but you temper yourself. Then he adds, “I’m sending you away on a mission alone. I’ll be scenting you until the day you leave now.” 

You catch his eyes, glinting.

“So, I thought it only fair if you’d like to scent me, too.” 

You don’t know why, but something squirms inside of you, something a little hurt. 

“You’re sending me away?”

Suguru hums softly, “I need you to take care of something for me. I only trust you to do it.” 

You flex your hands a little in his hold, but he doesn’t budge. 

He nudges at your jaw again, gentle, and murmurs, “this would be easier if you’d take my mark.” 

You turn your head then to shield your throat, and face him. His nose nearly brushes yours and you look up at him through your lashes. You bite your tongue from any further complaints, dipping down to the crux of his throat now. 

Easily, perhaps eagerly, he bares his throat for you.

Satisfaction erupts beneath your skin as his scent washes over you, dark fig and oud, sandalwood and musk. Carefully, your nose runs along the column of his throat. 

“I’m not even—“ you huff, retry, “I haven’t had a Heat in—it wouldn’t take, anyways.” 

“Ah,” Suguru says and you wish you hadn’t told him at all. Realization dawns over his features the way a cat might realize it’s caught its mouse beneath its paws. “Is this what you’re so scared of?” 

“No—I prefer it this way. It’s another reason that you can’t. It wouldn’t work.” You say stubbornly and perhaps in your irritation, you burrow further down into the crook of his neck, tuck your cheek to his skin to nudge. 

“I could give you a temporary one,” he murmurs, “I’d let you do the same in return, of course.” 

You go quiet, brushing your lips against his skin, hesitating. 

“I don’t need it.” You finally decide, even as you let the blunt side of a tooth nick gently against his neck. “I can protect myself.” You pull away to look at him again, “am I not one of your strongest?” 

“You are my strongest.” He agrees, he praises. “But am I not also strong?” He asks, “and yet you still insist on protecting me.” 

You open your mouth to protest, but he takes your chin in hand suddenly, words dying before they can escape. 

“You are my strongest.” He says, “I would like the world to be aware of it.” 

“I told you, I don’t want to be yours–” 

“Then stop protecting me. Flee. Run away and never return.” Suddenly, his touch, his body, all of him is gone. He rolls off of you and onto his back beside you. Cold air sweeps in. You can feel his touch like burning imprints on your skin. 

You turn your head to the side to look at him. 

“You would hunt me down if I ran.” 

A flicker of a smile ghosts his face. 

“And if I ran from you?” He asks, “if I discarded you?” 

Something twists so viciously and sharply in your chest that your eyes sting with it. You lock your jaw tight. You stare up at the ceiling. 

“You refuse to speak but your scent is spiced with distress, sour with despair.” He turns to look at you, “not so easy to hear, is it?” 

“I can’t stand you or your games.” You get out. 

“There are no games.” He says evenly, “only the one you’re playing with yourself.” 

You scoff, “which is?” 

He sits up slightly, over you, looking down at you, the inky silk of his dark hair sliding over one shoulder. 

“Seeing how long you can outrun what you want.” 

You exhale roughly, in exasperation, and then you ask dryly, “and what do I want, Suguru?” 

“To be taken care of.” 

“I don’t need–”

He cuts off your growl before it can start, taking your chin in hand to turn your head towards him once more. “You never have, but it doesn’t mean you can’t want it.” 

“I don’t want it either.” You snap. “You have some grand delusion of me in your mind that I am some weak, submissive creature in need of your care.” 

“I’ve said none of that, have I?” He hums. “Now you’re twisting my words, being purposefully churlish–in hopes of, what? To scare me off?” 

His palm opens up against your jaw, your cheek. His thumb touches your bottom lip. 

“You snap and you snarl and posture as some ferocious, independent creature to scare everyone off. I don’t blame you–I am certain you protected yourself many times this way from lesser people.” His voice is soft, almost a lull, you allow his palm to open against your lips, to turn your face into the cup of his hands. “You don’t believe anyone can handle you and you hope if you bite hard enough, tear into them, they’ll run off. And then you’ll feel vindicated; you were right, you are too much to handle. You were right, you are a monster. You’re unworthy of care or companionship or protection.” 

His hand moves upward, baring his wrist to your mouth now, “go on,” he encourages, “bite me. As hard as you like. Scream and cry and tear into me. Loathe me and scorn me.” He leans closer, over you, as he hushes like a mother to their child, “I’ll still be here, with the rings of your teeth marks littered in my skin. I’ll be the only one, bruised and bloody, still taking care of you–no matter how badly you fight me.” 

Out of anger or frustration or something else entirely, tears prick your eyes. As if to hide them, you open your mouth against his wrist, gentle first–warm and soft lips and tongue. He looks enraptured. He looks starving. 

You sink your teeth into his skin viciously. 

He hisses in pain, sharp, but doesn’t pull away. “There,” he coos, leaning over you, sinking into the pain, “is that what you wanted?” 

Blood bursts into your mouth in a way that is almost startling, sharp and metallic. It should be gross and horrible and–you whine a little, somewhere in the back of your throat and bear down harder. 

If that’s what he promises, you’ll make him prove it. 

If he wants to be the one beside you, you’ll make him pay. 

He leans down to kiss at your cheeks, gentle, humming. You realize there are tears. Your jaw aches. 

But you don’t let go and he doesn’t even flinch. 

“Does that feel better? To get your teeth into someone who isn’t scared of you?” He murmurs, nudging at your tense jaw, kissing there. “Shall I do the same to you?” 

You release his wrist and shove him off, hard enough that he gives and he goes. 

You stand up and storm out of his chambers, slamming the door on its hinges as hard as you can. You hope it knocks over every painting on his walls. You hope the entire compound somehow hears it. You hope it breaks something in the same way that something has been broken open inside of you.

You wipe his blood from your mouth with the back of your hand.

Suguru doesn’t even bandage the wound. And he wears his sleeves high, so that all the world might see it.

[reverie-starlight]

I miss knb and I wanted to write something for aomine :’) I’ve never written for him and it’s been a while since I’ve watched the show, so forgive me if you feel that his characterization is a bit off. hello from late january cause that’s when I’m queuing this 👋🏻

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. lots and lots and lots of fluffy pet names bc that’s the focus of the drabble. he calls you shnookums once just to annoy you bc he’s a little shit. that’s a warning in itself tbh. mentions of alcohol/drunk character. characters written as adults, not high schoolers.

aomine has specific nicknames for you depending on the situation you find yourselves in.

he reserves “babe” or some shortened variation of your name for when you’re in public.

it’s quick, it’s casual, and it doesn’t get him a lecture on why it’s not funny to very loudly address you as “shnookums” when you get separated at the grocery store.

(though in his defence, he thought it worked wonders. you were back at his side within seconds after straying too far on accident with a half embarrassed, half pissed off look on your face. he thought it was hilarious.)

~~~

he calls you “baby” when he greets you after a long day at work. when he’s picking you up from your classes. normally only in your presence, because he doesn’t need the teasing remarks about how soft he’s become from his teammates.

not that he really cares at the end of the day- he’ll call you what he wants to call you (provided you also like it, of course) but there’s something less casual about it that makes him want to keep it just for you.

that “something” being the time you got drunk and offhandedly mentioned loving the way it sounds in his voice. he now gets to enjoy the small, barely noticeable uptick of your lips whenever he opts for it. no one else gets to see that.

he’ll help you with your coat and press a kiss to your hairline, murmuring a soft “hey baby, missed you today”.

it’s probably the most common of the names he uses on you out of all the available options.

~~~

he saves the saccharine pet names for when he knows you’re not feeling your best. whether you’re mentally drained, physically exhausted or sick to any degree, there’s never not a time when hearing him be sickeningly sweet with you doesn’t ease the pain.

“need anything else, sweetheart?”

“how are you feeling, gorgeous?”

“yeah, we can cuddle, doll, c’mere.”

these are also the times he plays up the compliments (more than usual).

“even when you’re sick, you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. don’t let it get to your head, though. or do- I know how to deal with that just fine, too.”

~~~

he doesn’t have one set nickname for you when you visit him at practice, but when you watch him play in an official game?

as long as you’ve known him, he’s never believed in luck- he got himself to where he is with his skills, luck had nothing to do with it.

so it surprises you the first time he refers to you as his good luck charm. it’s not said in some grand gesture, not brought up in those fluff promotional interviews when reporters ask him if he has one.

it’s whispered quietly into your ear before he jogs onto the court.

a murmured thank you against your lips as soon as he’s running off again, high on a win, straight to you.

you ask him about it one day and he just shrugs. “everything is different now. I play better when I know you’re watching, it’s energizing in a way I’ve never felt before. you’re right, I still don’t believe in luck, but somehow I was able to find you. and I don’t know if I would call that luck, either, but until I find a better way to explain it you’re just gonna have to put up with that title a bit longer.”

so you do, without complaints, because it’s cute trying to watch him convey his feelings honestly and still in a very aomine way.

~~~

your absolute favourite nickname that he’s given you, though? angel.

you’re his angel.

the title is first appointed when you pick him up one night from a bar after celebrating with his team. his usually brooding expression visibly lights up when he sees you and he makes his way over. it’s been a while since he’s been this drunk, so it makes you laugh when he stumbles over and throws an arm around your shoulders.

“what a sweetheart, you really came to pick me up?”

you scoff and try to get him into the car, waving at his teammates who were staying with him until you got there. “what, baby, you thought I wouldn’t?”

he shrugs with an absentminded grin. “it’s just nice to have a… battle angel or whatever that term is. I dunno what it is.”

you can’t help but laugh. “you mean a guardian angel?”

“same thing, you knew what I meant!” his words are slurred and he’s now leaning his entire body weight against you.

“oh you are so wasted, daiki, let’s get you home.”

and it’s whispered again at home as he’s falling asleep, “my angel… thank you for taking care of me tonight.”

your heart squeezes.

now it’s reserved for only the most intimate of moments with him- he doesn’t want to overuse the name and risk it losing its meaning.

because it does hold a deeper, unspoken meaning between the two of you.

after a long time apart because of his away games? after he wins an important match? loses a match and he’s thankful you’re there with him? you get a promotion at work? you pass a difficult class with flying colours? all situations where he’d call you angel.

he has a full arsenal of names for you, clearly, and you love every single one of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

this feels a bit messy. even after editing, I feel like the quality went down a bit, so we’ll see if I end up posting it. but I love him a lot and I’ve been rewatching knb, so I needed to do something for him to keep the brainrot at bay.

tagging: @dira333

[lynnie-ee]

Day 4; Convince.

╰┈➤"Telling your friends that you're in a relationship with Scarabia's vicehousewarden was supposed to be easy and nice to share...Once you can convince them you're telling the truth, of course."

╰►Gender neutral reader, oneshot, 3.2k words.

╰►Note: The prompts are based on words I found interesting and then I put them on a roulette to decide when I would write about them, lol. English is not my first language, so please let me know if there are any grammatical mistakes <3. Not proof read, I haven't written in a long time, so I apologise if anything is out of character.

╰►Masterlist / Inktober Masterlist.

⤿

⤿

Sleepovers at Ramshackle started as something casual. It only happened a few times every month, maybe the day after an overblot, as a way to make (Y/n) some company after difficult days. However, after some time, they became more regular, and more crowded.

At first, it was only Deuce and Ace. Then Jack joined, then Epel, Ortho, and somehow, even Sebek started to assist, under the excuse that Silver guarded Malleus back at Diasomnia, whereas he was in charge of guarding Ramshackle in case Malleus decided to visit Ramshackle at night, as he usually did (Malleus never went when the Prefect informed him that they were going to have a sleepover with the first-years).

They usually played video games, watched movies or just talked about school stuff. Like they did now, as they were reunited at the lounge of Ramshackle; Ace, Deuce and Epel laying on some makeshift beds that were on the ground, the Prefect sitting on one of the sofas with Grim, Sebek and Jack on the other sofa nearby, and Ortho sitting happily on one of the chairs of the room.

 “Did y’all know that Rook’s partner from the Science club broke up with his girlfriend?” Epel commented, as he ate some chips out of a now half-empty bag.

“Epel, don’t you think it’s quite inappropriate to talk about other people’s personal life?” Jack questioned.

“Uuuuh, you’re talking about that one guy from Scarabia?” Ace asked right away, promptly ignoring Jack’s words.

“Yeah, that one.” The Pomefiore student nodded. “You think he cheated or something?”

“It’s kinda mean to suggest that.” Deuce commented. “…But I heard that his girlfriend found some messages from another girl on the past holidays.”

“If that’s the case, he should be punished for tarnishing his dorm’s reputation with such immoral behaviour.” This time was Sebek who joined.

“They didn’t break up because of that, though.” The Prefect clarified. “It was because he did terrible on his last exams, and his girlfriend told him through the phone, and I quote, ‘she wouldn’t date a dumb loser’, something like that.”

“How do you even know that?” Ace was quick to question.

“I was at Scarabia when the girl called him, she was loud enough to be heard even if he didn’t have the volume up.” They replied nonchalantly, as they accommodated the blanket that covered Grim and them, as the small beast complained that he was feeling cold.

“What were you doing at Scarabia either way?” The Pomefiore first-year asked as he reached for another bag of chips.

“Oh, about that…” The Prefect murmured, now wondering if this was the time to tell them. After all, this was one of the few times when all of their friends were reunited in a place without other students around, and they probably would notice at some point, if they hadn’t noticed already. “Now that we’re talking about that, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

“Oh, really? Do tell us, Prefect.” Ortho encouraged, moving his chair to hear them more clearly.

“Well, I waited a little bit before telling all of you because we decided to be more discreet for now, but I think is best for you to hear it from me rather than someone else.” (Y/n) started, as the rest of first-years looked at them expectantly. “I’m dating someone.”

For a few seconds, silence prevailed over the room, no visible reaction out of their friends, until Ace suddenly yelled triumphantly.

“I knew you were dating Kalim! Pay up, Deuce!” He immediately turned towards his dormmate to collect their bet.

“Well, congrats Prefect, good for you-“

“What? I’m not dating Kalim!” The magicless human was quick to correct. “I’m dating Jamil!”

Another silence.

And then, Ace’s loud laugh.

“C’mon Prefect! You don’t have to lie.”

“It’s okay if you have a crush on him or something, but you shouldn’t pressure yourself to say such things…”

“We can help you if you want to look for someone else, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” (Y/n) questioned discomposed by their friends’ comments, probably more upset at the fact that they weren’t mocking them, and their suggestions seemed genuine, for some reason.

“Please don’t be offended.” Deuce tried to reassure them. "It’s not that you’re ugly or unattractive, I think you’re very nice and pretty. It’s just that…”

“Jamil is…Jamil, y’know?” Ace complemented Deuce’s comment. “I see him a lot at practice, he just doesn’t seem the kind to date someone.”

“Yeah, besides isn’t he like, busy all day with his dorm stuff?”

“Jamil is a very diligent vicehousewarden and a dedicated guardian to Kalim, a relationship would only distract him from his duties!”

“Idia says that he could probably beat him in a competition of who sleeps less, it would be incredible if he managed to be in a relationship even with how tired he probably is.”

“I think you are exaggerating…But I agree he doesn’t look like the kind of person to be in a relationship.”

“His food is really good! You should invite him over more frequently.”

“That’s not the point of the conversation, Grim.” The Prefect sighed, wondering when they thought this would be a good idea. “I’m not saying I like him; I’m saying I’m dating him. Like, we already went through all the confessing part and stuff, he’s my boyfriend!” They stared at their group of friends. “You don’t believe me, don’t you?” They asked with a deadpan expression.

“I’d never call you a liar.” Jack answered immediately. “But it is hard to think about it…”

“Even you, Jack, I can’t believe this.” The magicless human sank onto the sofa, offended that none of them could imagine them dating Jamil. They knew he was handsome and committed to his responsibilities, but c’mon, they were the Prefect of Ramshackle, the one who survived multiple overblots, who built their dorm from scratch and managed to stay sane (lowkey) on a world that wasn’t even theirs. It wasn’t difficult to put some respect to their name, wasn’t it?

“You’re all bad friends and I hate you all.” They mumbled as they covered themselves with the blanket with a dramatic demeanour. “Even Grim was more supportive than all of you.”

“You were?” Ace frowned towards the direction of the little beast.

“He makes nice meals and always brings my henchman food for lunch! He’s not that bad, he brought the great Grim a tuna can once.”

“It’s not like Grim is the best source of information, though…”

“You know what? I’ve got nothing to prove to you.” (Y/n) got up abruptly, the offended expression still adorning their face. “You will see it by yourselves soon enough.”

“Sure, Prefect, if that makes you sleep better at night.”

“One more word and I’ll kick all of you out of my dorm.”

⤿

⤿

“What class do we have after this?”

“Shared gym class with Vargas.”

“Great, I’ll have to listen to Sebek screaming for an hour more than usual.”

“I’ll let you know I speak on a perfectly decent volume! You humans just have weak ears!”

“Great Sevens, have mercy on me…”

The group of first-years walked on the main hallway, already on their way to their next class, when the Prefect caught a glimpse of a certain vicehousewarden who seemed to be walking towards another classroom.

‘This is my chance to prove them wrong.’

“Jamil, hey!” The magicless human separated from the group to get close to the Scarabia student, who looked at them as soon as they heard their voice. “How are you-“

“I’m very sorry my love, I’ve got a test with Crewel in less than five minutes, I’ll talk to you later.” He walked past quickly with an apologetic voice tone, leaving the Prefect started as they watched him disappear promptly at the end of the hall.

As they stood there, even now far away from their group of friends, they could hear Ace’s snickering, the sound even more prominent as they walked back with them. After all, they were close enough to see how the vicehousewarden turned them down, but not close enough to hear the fondness of Jamil’s voice or the pet name.

“Very romantic, Prefect.”

“Shut up.”

⤿

⤿

The cafeteria buzzed with the sound of multiple chats of the many tables filled with students from different dorms all around the place. (Y/n) arrived at the table where Ace, Epel, Ortho and Sebek were waiting for them, as Deuce and Jack hadn’t finished their club practice yet. As they sat next to them, their phone suddenly buzzed.

Jamil: ‘I brought you lunch’

Me: ‘I can bring my own meal, you know? I’m not that irresponsible’

Jamil: ‘A meal better than curry?’

Me: ‘…I want you to know that I really love you.’

Jamil: ‘I’m on the tables next to the windows, come quickly’

“I’ll be back in a minute.” The magicless human notified their friends, as they made their way towards the table where Scarabia student was waiting for them.

“Hey handsome, how did you do on Crewel’s test?” The Prefect asked right away, discreetly taking his hand to squeeze lightly as a greeting.

“It was good, I just got late after running some errands in the morning.” He sighed, squeezing their hand back, and then softly dropping it to take the extra lunchbox he brought. “Here, take it.”

“Thank you, Jamil, I really appreciate it.”

“It was nothing, I hope you like it.”

“You cooked it, of course I will. You’ve got practice today after class, don’t you?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothing, just asking. See you later.” They turned back, ready to go back to their table with their friends.

‘Heh, now I can show the guys that my beautiful boyfriend brought me a fantastic lunch-'

“Hey stop that! If you’re not careful I’ll-AH, Oh, I’m very sorry!” Suddenly, a first-year from another class crashed against them. “I’m so so sorry, my friend here was bothering me and I- Great Sevens, your lunch!”

Well, now the lunch made by their beautiful boyfriend lay on the ground, and (Y/n) could only stare at it with a deadpanned expression.

“You’re okay?” Jamil rushed to their side, promptly checking if they were hurt by the other student.

“Yeah, but the lunchbox…”

“I can pay for your lunch! I really apologize.” The first-year spoke again. (Y/n) had seen him a few times before, and they knew he wasn’t a bad guy, his only crime was being a bit clumsy and having annoying friends. They had that in common, perhaps.

“No, don’t worry, it's alright.” They commented with a dismissive expression.

“I can give you part of my lunch, if you want.” The vicehousewarden was quick to offer.

“It’s fine, like I said before, I brought my lunch as well. Besides, curry is your favourite. I’ll see you after class.”

“Alright, have a nice meal.”

“You too.”

They turned around and came back to their seat, this time without the lunchbox between their hands, sitting on their spot as they stared at the table.

They, in fact, forgot to bring their own lunch.

⤿

⤿

Two classes and one-half of a sandwich that Epel gave them later, it was finally the end of the day. It was tiring, but at least it was Friday, which usually meant that a sleepover would take place at Ramshackle, but this time, the boys wanted to try a new video game in which (Y/n) had no interest, so the sleepover would be moved to Heartslabyul, leaving the Prefect a night to rest.

After making a quick stop by the cafeteria, they walked towards the gym, where the basketball practice took place. There, (Y/n) could spot Jamil right away, near the benches. As they entered the room, they greeted other students briefly, noticing then Ace chatting with other first-years in the middle of the court.

‘Maybe this could be a good opportunity to show him he was wrong…’

“It’s good to see you, my love. Did you enjoy your lunch?”

“Yeah, it was very…delicious.” The prefect answered with an awkward smile. “Are you busy after practice?”

“Not really.” He answered, making (Y/n) look at him curiously. “Kalim came back to Scalding Sands for the weekend, for an important family gathering, and he requested for me to stay here.”

“Really? Did he say why he did it?”

“...No.”

“How strange, because Kalim told me last week how happy he was to give you a free weekend to spend with me.” The Ramshackle student teased with a smile. Ever since he found out they were dating (which was like two days after they got together), he seemed so excited for Jamil that (Y/n) could swear that he was probably waiting to organize their wedding right away.

“…Yeah, very unusual. Don’t think much about it.” The vicehousewarden dismissed the topic, a faint blush on his face.

“Well, considering that, would you like to come to Ramshackle tonight? Grim is staying a Heartslabyul, so we could watch a movie or something like that. Only if you want, of course.”

“Yeah, sounds good to me.”

“It’s settled, then.” They smiled at him. “Practice is probably going to start soon, so I should leave. See you at Ramshackle at 6?”

“I’ll be there.” Jamil looked around for a few seconds, before towards them to leave a soft and brief kiss on their lips as a way to say goodbye.

The Prefect stood in their place for a few seconds, dumbfounded, as Jamil walked away nonchalantly towards where the rest of the team was. They had kissed before, but it wasn’t often in public, due to Jamil’s reserved nature, so it was surprising for them.

‘Take that, Ace!’

They walked happily towards the exit, until the figure of a certain first-year appeared through the door.

“Ace? Weren’t you here already?”

“Yeah, but I had to refill my water bottle. Why are you here, anyway?”

“Well, I…” They mumbled, until they suddenly realised. “Wait, you didn’t even see?!”

“See what?” The Heartslabyul student asked, genuinely confused.

“You know what? I don’t care anymore.” (Y/n) sighed, walking away from the gym, and leaving his friend confused at their change of demeanour.

⤿

⤿

“So, they don’t believe you?”

“Yeah, and you haven’t been cooperative either.”

Jamil and (Y/n) chatted as they prepared to go to sleep. They had already spent the evening watching movies and talking, and after Jamil had made dinner for the both of them, they realised how dark was outside. This motivated (Y/n) to suggest that it was too late and too far for Jamil to walk alone back to his dorm (It was 11 pm and it was a 15-minute walk), so he should just stay the night.

They were already lying on bed, just talking, when (Y/n) remembered the dilemma that had bothered them for the past few days and started to narrate his failed attempts to demonstrate to their friends that they were, in fact, incredible enough to date Jamil.

“I didn’t know I had to cooperate in the first place, so that should excuse me.”

“You literally walked past me when I wanted to talk to you.”

“I was late.”

“The boys mocked me for the rest of the day!” (Y/n) complained, plopping their head onto Jamil's chest to prove their frustration. “I can’t believe they don’t think I’m capable of dating you.”

“If it’s making you uneasy, I could talk to them-“

“That would be even more embarrassing.” They sighed. “I gave up. If they don’t want to believe me, it’s up to them.”

“I don’t get them, though. I thought I was obvious, back then when I started to like you, so I believed that your friends would notice.”

“You had too much faith in them. Besides, you weren’t obvious, even I didn’t notice.”

“I tutored you for Trein’s class and I helped you manage your dorm.”

“And?”

“That's a lot more of anything that I’d do for anyone else that wasn’t you.” The vicehousewarden threw one of his arms around (Y/n), who answered by nuzzling closer to him.

“Yeah, you may have a point there.” They replied, yawning as they started to feel the exhaustion get to them. “Can you believe they thought I was dating Kalim at first?” They commented lightly, suddenly feeling Jamil’s body stiffen.

“…They did?” He questioned, a frown on his face, receiving a quiet ‘Mhm’ as an answer. “…I think it would be okay if we started to be less discreet.”

“It wouldn’t make you uncomfortable?”

“Well, holding hands wouldn’t be so bad, right.” The Scarabia student replied, trying to sound nonchalantly. “Besides, it would keep your friends away from incorrect and wrong suppositions.”

“It’s fine by me.” The Prefect mumbled, once again yawning. “But we should sleep already, I’m tired.”

“Goodnight then, my love.”

“Goodnight dear.”

⤿

⤿

“Prefeeeeect, we’ve brought you cat!”

“Leave me on the ground! I can walk by myself!”

“You went to the kitchen at 4 am and Riddle caught you, I’m not leaving you until (Y/n) gets you back. I’m getting collared if I don’t!”

“The great Grim was just hungry!”

“Ace, the Prefect is probably sleeping, I don’t think they’ll open the door at this hour.” Deuce mumbled, ignoring Grim's complaints.

“Fine, let’s just leave him in their room.”

The three of them opened the door to the dorm, the interior still cold due to how early it was, the ghosts nowhere to be found yet, even as they made their way through the stairs.

“(Y/n), sorry to bother you, Riddle sent us to drop Grim by and- Ace, isn’t that Jamil?!”

“What are you saying, why would he be here at this hour- Wow, yeah that’s him!”

The duo didn’t even bother to keep their voices low, causing (Y/n) to stir up due to the sudden noise, making them sit down on the bed a few seconds later to look for the source of such scandal.

“Ace…? Deuce…? What are you doing here...” They mumbled, interrupting themselves with a yawn. “What happened to your sleepover?”

“That’s not the point right now, what’s Jamil doing here?!”

“Well, he-“

“My love, what’s with all the noise…?” This time was the vicehousewarden who woke up, tiredly sitting on the bed, until he realized they had company. A company that now was looking at him like he grew two heads.

“Did he just call the Prefect…?”

“Yes, he did.”

“It’s too early for this nonsense.” Jamil mumbled, feeling his cheeks heating up, as he sighed to mask his embarrassment.

“I literally told you two I was dating him like a week ago. Now, I won’t receive Grim before 11 am, so leave my dorm before I call Riddle.” (Y/n) ordered, plopping themselves in the bed to go back to sleep.

“But Riddle said he’d collar us if we didn’t-“

“Not my problem, out of my dorm.”

“But-“

“If you don’t leave right now, I’ll tell Floyd you were the one who ate his snack yesterday.” This time was Jamil who spoke, already annoyed.

“Yeaaah, let’s go Deuce.”

The vicehousewarden sighed once again, coming back to the position he was in as soon as the Heartslabyul students left.

“I’m never speaking to them again.” He mumbled against the Prefect’s hair.

“Why? Because they saw you all soft when waking up?” They teased, chuckling quietly.

“No, because they have no sense of decent hours to wake someone up.”

“Hey, look at the bright side, we don’t have to convince them now.”

“Yeah, whatever, now go back to sleep.”

(Y/n) smiled tenderly, wrapping their arms around the figure of the vicehousewarden.

“As you wish, my love.”

⤿

⤿

⤿

[daddyfordaeddy]

Pairing: San x f! Reader

Word Count: 2269

Warnings: cursing, talks of insecurity about your nether regions, too much league of legends talk, none otherwise (smut warnings under cut)

Genre: smut, fluff, rated M for mature, established relationship au

Summary: You lost a bet to San, and now he gets to do whatever he wants

Smut warnings: fingering, oral (male & female receiving, fem focused), blindfold, dirty talk, spit play, light bondage (yn's tied to a chair), multiple orgasms

I’m only doing a couple of the February Filth Fest, and this is day/track 25! free use/spit play, and i chose the latter (once more)! i know almost nothing about spit play so i hope its good!

And if you want to know what other days I’m doing? You’ll just have to wait and see ;) This is the second to last one!

-

“Baby, can you come here for a minute?” Your boyfriend, San, calls for you and your head pops up from the book you were reading. It wasn’t very interesting anyway, something you had to read for class, so you have no qualms about putting it down and seeing what San needs. He’s currently in the computer room, waiting for you with a large and mischievous grin on his face.

“What’s that look for,” you laugh, approaching him and leaning down to peck his lips. “You look like a cat who swallowed a bird.” San pouts at the analogy but he can’t really fight it.

San sighs, his eyes crinkling with a smile and you can’t help but kiss him again at the adorable sight. “I just had an idea. Hear me out, okay?”

You laugh but plop into your chair next to him. “Shoot.”

“So.” San seems almost embarrassed but the smile on your face doesn’t waver and he squares his shoulders. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to bet with me. You know how you’ve been playing league pretty competitively lately?”

You nod. Your friends roped you into playing ranked games with them and you’ve somehow made your way as a platinum player. Every so often, San would join you and your friends in playing games and every time he does, you’re reminded of how he used to be a diamond level. “Yeah, why? You wanna play again?”

San chuckles. “Kind of. I don’t want to go the competitive route again, but I want to play one game with you.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. You may be good now, but you’re pretty sure San has been practising behind your back. “What do I get if I win?”

San’s smile grows wider. “You can do whatever you want with me in bed. But the same goes for me if I win. Deal?”

You hum. “Sure, but we get to pick each other’s champions.”

Without another word, San holds out his hand and you give it a firm shake. “I’ll have you play Neeko.”

You snort. “Well, you picked so nicely you can play Akali. I’d let you be Graves but I’ve never played against one.” San leans over to smack your leg but you dodge it with a giggle.

San sighs but his eyes are full of fondness. “Of course, so kind. Now, I hope you’re ready to get your ass beat.” His words are tender but he’s not playing around. He’s both competitive and horny and he’ll do whatever to win. And you won’t lie, you’re enjoying the idea of it too.

“I think you might be talking to yourself, Sannie,” you wink. “I hope you like getting pegged.”

-

The beginning of the match was fairly easy. The bots, of course, were evenly matched and you and San were fairly even. Although you tend to scale more late-game and San does best in mid-game, you were playing it safe.

“Ah, fuck!” You squawk when the opposing top just shows up, stunning you and San lands his first kill. “That was so mean,” you complain and San chuckles, leaning past his computer screen to pat your knee.

“Sorry, baby, that’s the game,” he hums before narrowing his eyes to reconcentrate. You find it hotter than you should. Unfortunately, after your death, San got a leg up and it’s hard to pick up the slack. And with how close the two of you were in skill, that small difference turned into a big difference. In no time whatsoever, your nexus is already on the brink of death and no matter how hard you try, you end up losing.

“Fuck,” you whine, pulling off your headphones and slinging them around your neck. “That was so close I could almost imagine my victory.”

San snickers, rolling his chair over to practically flop onto your body. “Sorry, baby, but it looks like I’m the winner here.”

You pout playfully, carding your fingers through his soft hair. “Fine, fine. What do you wanna do,” you concede, bending down to kiss his temple.

San hums but you know he’s not really thinking about it. You’ve known him long enough that you can tell that he had been planning this for a while. “I wanna eat you out.”

His words cause you to stiffen and turn your eyes away. You’ve always disliked the idea of you receiving oral. Not because you find it gross, of course. You like sucking dick, what difference is there? Your past boyfriends offered before, you just didn’t take them up on it and they didn’t press the issue. It just stems from your insecurities about your vagina, you suppose.

In your eyes, it’s too weird-looking. And you know San is just happy to do whatever but you can’t get over your mental block. But as San stares up at you, you sigh. You’re too prideful to back out. It’s not like it’s the worst thing San could’ve chosen. You just don’t like it. It’d be like if you won and wanted to peg him.

“You don’t have to if you don’t–” San tries to help you when it takes you a tad too long to respond but you shake your head.

“It’s okay. You can.”

San’s eyes brighten and his lips twitch but he sits up, a little more serious. “Are you absolutely sure? I don’t want to make you feel like you had to.” And your heart blooms with appreciation for his words. And it only makes you want to trust him more.

“I am.”

—

Your body is stiff in the chair you’re tied loosely to as you anticipate what's to come. A blindfold rests over your eyes and it's almost barely see-through so you can see the shadows moving around you but not what it is. You're not quite sure what you expect but the unsurety of it all makes your thighs clench.

“You're so tense,” San's voice floats towards you and you can almost feel his presence as he comes to stand in front of you. “Are you ready?”

At your nod, his hand comes to rest on your bare thigh, nothing covering your lower half except the hem of your shirt. “Don't worry, I'll make you feel good, baby.”

Before you can even respond, his breath ghosts over your cunt and your breath stops in your throat. He giggles at how stiff you're holding yourself before he presses a soft kiss to the junction of your inner thigh. And another. And another.

“Hurry up already,” you groan. “Can't get this over with if you take five years–” Your words are cut off as soon as San places a kiss to your clit, pleasure shooting up your spine. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as your hips jerk at the sensation.

“Come on, don’t be shy. I want to hear all your pretty moans,” San hums, pressing another kiss to your clit as his tongue darts out to flick at it. “Taste so good baby, can’t believe I finally get to do this. Been dreaming about eating you for dessert and now I finally get to. So perfect for me.”

Your thighs are so tense, both from your nerves and from the feeling of his tongue pressing against your folds. “San–” you groan, clenching so hard you feel you may get a cramp in your hip, but San’s having none of that. His thumbs press into the junction connecting your thighs and torso, and you hiss at the pressure. “Fuck,” you groan.

You can hear the slick sounds of San lapping at your pussy, his nose pressing into your clit so perfectly you fear you may come already. His fingers are pressing slowly into you as he licks around them. “Fuck, you’re squeezing around me so well,” he groans. “So needy, look at you.”

Without warning, he spits on your pussy, and you gasp at the sensation of his saliva dripping down your heated skin. “San!” You don’t know how to react and your boyfriend chuckles at your astonishment. He bends down, licking at the mixture of your slick and his spit, kissing your clit again as he bites at the flesh.

A high-pitched whine escapes your throat as his teeth scrape against your folds and your hips kick up as you reach your high, coming with a groan. It feels like you’re about to pee, just so much more intense, and your core clenches as your head is thrown back in bliss. San’s tongue leaves your folds although his fingers are still pumping inside of you.

“Fuck, babe, I didn’t know you could squirt,” he says, voice filled with awe. “Fuck.” He spits again on your pussy, flattening his tongue to lick a long stripe up it and your breath catches at the feeling.

“Oh God,” you groan, eyes fluttering shut as your teeth work into your spit-covered lower lip. “Fuck, it’s so much, Sannie.”

San hums, mouth still pressed against your sopping cunt and if you think hard enough, you can just imagine how shiny his face must be after eating you out for what seems like hours. “You’re just so perfect, how could I stop?” he groans, the vibrations in your cunt making you twitch. “Colour?”

“Fuck– green,” you cry, trying to grind down on the chair, and San chuckles, puffing his warm breath onto your nether regions. “Sannie, please–”

Without another word, he spits onto his free hand, pressing his palm onto your clit and rubbing it in small circles. You can’t help but arch your back, whimpers and gasps leaving your lips like you’re getting paid for every sound you make. The light filtering through your blindfold is suddenly covered, and before you can even register what’s happening, San’s lips press against yours and you eagerly accept his kiss.

You can taste yourself in his mouth as you lick into it, mouth falling open as San spits in it. “Swallow,” he commands, and you rush to do so, eyes rolling back in your head as his fingers pump inside of you and the hand that was rubbing your clit moves up to pinch and knead your breast.

“Nng, San, I’m close again,” you warn, and San laughs, kissing down your neck and biting at your shoulder.

“Ah, again? So needy, begging for me,” he hums, mouth travelling down to suck at your other boob, his teeth scraping over your nipple. “You’re so pretty, (Y/N), taste so good, I could eat you up for hours.”

And, true to his word, he presses his tongue against your flushed skin, dragging it down to taste the mixture of sweat and come until it reaches your clit again. With a groan, he slurps at your sensitive bud, nipping at it.

“Shit–” you cry out, legs jerking. San laughs, drawing his fingers out of your cunt and away from your chest as he pins your legs down to have uninterrupted access. The hot muscle of his tongue slowly presses into you, flicking at your convulsing flesh so perfectly. With so many sensations overcoming your body, you feel like you might die as you reach your second orgasm of the night.

It washes over you wave after wave, and San’s tongue won’t stop pushing in and out of you at a slowing speed. “So perfect for me,” he repeats himself as he sighs against your quivering pussy. “You’re dripping so much for me. Eat you so well you can’t stop, hmm?”

“Fuck off,” you gasp, although there’s not much bite to your words. Not when San spreads your lower lips and presses his tongue impossibly further into your wet heat. “Ah, shit.”

As much as he likes to tease you, San doesn’t want to overwhelm you and he slows down, letting you come down from your high without too much overstimulation. Your body feels limp on the chair, your legs jello. You feel San’s breath on your temple right before he kisses it as he unties your wrists and pulls off your blindfold.

You blink blearily up at him, a smile forming at the sight of how wrecked he looks just as much as you. His hair is a mess and his crooked grin is shining with his spit and your slick. You grab his collar, unable to resist pulling him for another kiss as your hand wanders down to press against the obvious bulge in his slacks.

“Ah–” San sighs at the pressure, just letting you unzip his pants and pull out his thick cock, your thumb rubbing the head of it. “You don’t have–”

You interrupt him by leaning down and pressing your lips against the tip, letting your spit dribble down the length of it before enveloping half of it in your mouth. As you reach down to fondle his balls, you keep his dick resting in your mouth, spit pooling and sliding down the veins.

San looks ready to blow already, his eyes squeezed shut and his hand gripping your hair. It makes your heart and cunt throb at how beautiful he looks and you scrape your teeth gently against him. With an almost pained groan, he comes into your mouth and you swallow the bitter taste with a sigh and hum.

The hold he has on your hair loosens and his hand falls to cup your face to bring you back up to him for another long kiss. “Thanks for letting me do this,” San smiles against your lips and you tug him closer by his belt loops.

“Thanks for doing this,” you smile right back. “Next time, I’ll win.”