#and they were just remarkably cute the whole game

[nerdygirl84]

Never in my life did I think I would be deliriously happy after watching an episode of Family Feud but here I am.

[caleignii]

Gamer!Caleb/Fan!Reader

mentions of: smut, fingering, pussy eating lol, p in v, possessive behavior, creampie, jealousy, cumming, breeding, masturbation, rough sex, orgasm, praising kink, sexual overstimulation, caleb is totally a pervert.

summary: as he came to your coffee shop one day, you never thought that you'll meet your favorite streamer caleb?!

a/n: LOLOLOL, OMG HAPPY JUNELEBBB. I've been lazy for almost twoo weeks WHAAAT??? UGHH idek what to do neext. This one is my longest fic so faarr so have fun readingg! Might post the part two of PossessiveMechanic!Caleb tomorrow lolll, stay tuned!!!

A soft ding was heard on your phone.

As you are currently in the kitchen looking for some snacks, you turned to check your phone. A “Mid night stream since y'all fav streamer had been busy from Cappleb” was shown on the notifications not long ago.

Since your favorite streamer, Caleb, or should we call him Cappleb, hasn't been online for nearly four days, you're thrilled and your excitement is visible on your face.

Before you knew his page, you were busy scrolling into Chrome, when the phone suddenly jumped on your hands landing towards your face.

His adorable face, which nearly looked like a puppy due to his eyes, was what drew your attention when you unintentionally clicked on a few tabs and found his page.

At first, you enjoyed watching him stream about his gaming activities. It was clear that he loved airplanes so much that he occasionally even makes replicas of little aircraft instead of his usual gaming streams. Some airplanes on a shelf that can be seen in his background were precisely aligned and appeared to have been well-maintained.

After you become comfy with him, as you haven't missed any of his streams, you began interacting with him in his comments by asking, "How are uuuuu??” or occasionally making remarks about how accurate and skilled he is when playing Valorant.

Feeling flustered when he notices your little comment, “Doin' pretty well angel, how 'boutcha?”

After awhile, you came to the position of one of his most top fans, and a badge next to your name that notifies him anytime you sign up for his streams. Sometimes if your wallet is feeling a bit too full, you'd send him some stars to fund his streams.

cutiaples [Top Fan 🍎]: sent 1000 stars! ⭐⭐⭐

“WHAT IN THE HOLY GYAAAAT! That's a lottt.” he stopped in his game to look in the comments.

cutiaples [Top Fan 🍎]: you've been playing nonstop for 4 hours, thought this would make u smile cute boy ;3

“Wait-wait-wait, my mind's still processing... Thank you so much baby!!!” you were stunned when he called you baby, blood immediately rising to your cheeks.

The look on his face is everything, slightly widened eyes, corner of his lips turning upwards, and the way he giggles. It made you feel like your stomach was moving around.

Right now, when you clicked on the notifications that directed you to his stream, you saw him wearing a black sweatshirt that fits him perfectly and headphones resting around his neck. You observed him as he is presently working on finishing his desktop so that his game may be seen.

You can't help but be impressed by his features, including his fluffy hair, the way his brows move unintentionally, and the way his Adams apple rises and falls with each swallow. The fact that he looks so good without even trying makes you blush.

The whole time you just watch him playing some silly game, laughing off when he does something funny.

Saying farewell to his viewers as he stopped his stream at around 4:00 AM, and you forgot that you still had work to do in the morning.

“Y'aaall don't miss me muuch! Bye-byeee!” his smile is clearly warming, along with his eyes that threaten to close in any second.

You were clearly sleep deprived after staying up all night, as evidenced by your drooping eyes and distracted thoughts. You have repeatedly tried blinking forcefully in the hopes that it might reduce your drowsiness, but it has didn't worked.

“A cup of large iced-americano and a slice of apple-pie, order coming up!” you came back to your senses hearing your manager's instruction.

As you brew the coffee yourself you can't help but to yawn.

“Didn't sleep much huh? Who kept you up all night? Wish that was me tho” your coworker Frank commented.

“None of your business, get back to work we aren't supposed to be chatting, do you want us to get scolded or what.” you shot him back clearly annoyed.

“Jeeezz calm down, here's the apple-pie by the way. Serve it to table fourteen.”

When you reached the designated table, dropping the tray onto the table to a man wearing a cap looking slightly suspicious by how cautious he is acting.

“Here's your large iced-americano along with an apple-pie lemme know if you need something else, enjoy your order!”

“Excuse me, Miss? I think there's something missing in my order.”

As you turn back, you can't help but feel a sense of familiarity against him.

“May I see your receipt please?” when he handed the slightly crumbled paper, you caught a glimpse of his face under the cap he was wearing.

CALEB!?

IS IT REALLY HIM?

“S-sure, it seems like the Lemon chiffon cake is missing. Let me get it for you right ahead” When you returned to the kitchen you tried to think of something else. What if he just looks like him? It'll be embarrassing if I straight up greet him, right?

“Im sorry for our mistake, here's your Lemon chiffon cake Sir. Is there anything else you need?”

“Nopee but thanks anyway!”

You swore share the same voice!

“Clean up table six!” as you came back to your senses you proceeded to go back working.

Following a long day, you were left to clear the final two tables. As you reached to pick it up, you noticed something gleaming beneath the table that definitely drew your attention. Someone appears to have dropped this wallet. A brown pocketbook with blue and orange accents on the edges, as well as the tiny apple charm that had been shining from the earlier sunlight.

You opened it to check for identification or documentation pertaining to the owner. When you opened it, there was $248 inside, along with a piece of lemon-flavored candy. Going on to eventually locate an ID.

Caleb Xia, 25 Years Old, Registered Pilot in the Deepspace Aviation Administration.

Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest.

Caleb? It is him.

You stared at the ID, unable to look away. That soft smile in the picture, the same one you’d seen countless times during his streams, made everything click into place. Your hands trembled slightly as you clutched the wallet. What were the odds?

The wallet felt warm in your hands, still echoing traces of its owner.

Caleb.

Your breath caught when you saw his name—just a thin layer of leather and circumstance separating you from a person you’d admired for so long.

A streamer you watched religiously, heart fluttering at every “hey angel” typed to someone you assumed he'd never meet.

But now, he was here.

In your café.

Ordering lemon chiffon cake and smiling with those same crescent-moon eyes that used to light up your screen at 2 AM.

You didn’t say anything. How could you?

How could you tell him that the barista who brought his coffee was the same person who sent him stars with whispered admiration behind every coin?

That the girl wiping tables and yawning at dawn was the same voice that told him he was doing great mid-Valo match?

No.

You kept it to yourself.

You tucked his wallet safely into a sealed bag, placed it beneath the counter, and watched as the night slipped away like steam off hot coffee.

He came back the next morning, this time with his cap gone and a quiet confidence in his step.

“I think I left something behind,” he said.

You didn’t meet his eyes at first. You were afraid he’d see too much in yours.

“A brown wallet with a little apple charm, have you guys perhaps seen it?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, retrieving it for him. “We held it for you. Thought you might come back.”

“Thanks,” he said, eyes soft with gratitude. “Would’ve been a disaster if I lost it.”

You handed it over, your fingers brushing for a moment. He smiled, and something in your chest lurched.

He started showing up more often after that.

Sometimes for the lemon chiffon. Sometimes for the espresso.

But after a while, you noticed—he didn’t even pretend to look at the menu anymore.

He came to talk.

"Rough night?" he'd ask, noticing your eye bags.

"Yeah, just… couldn’t sleep."

Couldn't? No, you wouldn't sleep cuz he was streaming til 3AM.

"You too, huh?"

He’d sit by the window while the sun stretched across the floor like golden thread. You’d steal glances while pouring milk, wiping counters, pretending not to notice how the light caught in his hair.

You learned things.

He loved planes—real ones.

Not just models. Not just flight sims. He had studied aviation since he was sixteen. He told you about his training, the nights he’d sleep under textbooks, the mornings he’d wake up with paper cuts and dreams of blue skies.

“I wanted to fly away from everything back then,” he admitted once, eyes far away.

You wanted to ask what he was flying from—but you didn’t. Some silences are more sacred than sound.

He became a part of the place. A low hum in your routine.

Sometimes you’d sit across from him after your shift, swapping stories over lukewarm pastries.

You'd tell him about your dream to study design, about how this café was only a stepping stone. He listened, chin in his hand, like every word you spoke mattered.

But still, he didn’t know.

Didn’t know that after your shifts, you raced home, slipped into your blanket cocoon, and waited for his stream to go live.

Didn’t know you still logged in as cutiaples, heart skipping when he read comments, even if they weren’t yours.

You were greedy for the version of him that was just yours, outside the glowing screen.

Then one night, it happened.

He mentioned you on stream.

“There’s this girl,” he said suddenly, eyes flicking nervously to the side of the camera. “She works at this café I go to. She's… cool. Funny. And she listens.”

The chat lit up instantly.

BabyzAyneee: OHHHH HE’S IN LOVE

ladsADICTS [Top Fan 🍎]: SHE BETTER NOT HURT U CAP

calebxsmuncherr: drop the @ drop the @ drop the @

He chuckled, rubbing his neck.

“I dunno. It’s weird. She has no idea who I am, which is kinda… nice.”

You froze.

He didn’t know.

Of course he didn’t.

You didn’t comment.

You didn’t even log in.

You just watched. Quietly.

Because he wasn’t talking to cutiaples anymore. He was talking about you.

The real you.

The one with frizzy hair after a twelve-hour shift. The one who spilled oat milk once on his sleeve. The one who laughed a little too hard at his dumb plane puns.

The next day, you found him waiting before your shift even started.

“Hey,” he said, holding something behind his back.

“What’s that?”

He revealed a small gift bag. “Don’t get excited, it’s dumb. But I found this apple that reminded me of you.”

You peeked inside.

Green apple.

You stared up at him, and in your chest, something cracked open.

“Do you believe in coincidences?” you asked softly.

He tilted his head. “Like... destiny wearing a fake mustache?”

You laughed, even though your heart was pounding.

“I have something to tell you,” you said.

And there, beneath the humming of espresso machines and clink of ceramic mugs, you told him.

“I know you” you blabbered.

You told him everything.

That you were cutiaples. That you’d been watching since before you met. That you were terrified of how real this all became.

He was quiet.

Then he smiled. Slowly. Softly. Like sunrise after a storm.

“No wonder your username felt... familiar.”

“You’re not mad?”

He shook his head. “Mad? No. Just kinda stunned.”

You both sat there, letting the world fall away.

Then he added, “So… my top fan’s the same girl I’ve been falling for. That’s kinda poetic, don’t you think?”

After bumping into each other again—this time intentionally, as he started frequenting the café “for the pie”—you exchanged numbers. Conversations grew from small talk into long, late-night texts. He’d occasionally send you a meme or a blurry pic of the model airplane he was working on with the caption:

“Don’t laugh at its nose 😤”

You’d tease him playfully and call him “Captain Puppyboy” just to fluster him. Eventually, he invited you to co-stream with him—just for fun. Nervous, you agreed.

The chat exploded when you appeared on stream beside him for the first time, cozy on his couch.

OrbitingYourHeart: cutiaples in the flesh???

GalaxyGf4Hire: WAIT THEY’RE SITTING SO CLOSE

Iwmiwmeow: SHIP CONFIRMED??

giDIEon [Top Fan 🍎]: IM JEALOUS BROOO

You both laughed it off, but neither of you denied anything.

As you both play, currently focused on delivering content in real time while managing interactions. Caleb noticed some comments.

frankieer: YOOOOOO, remember that time we almost dated? Wild days. Didn't know yer meeting w some guy now.

He read it aloud, which caused him to lose focus on the game. You, however, forced you to look at what he was reading.

“Who was that?” you paused the game.

“I dunno, i guess some random dude. D'you know him?”

“Lemme see... frankiee?? Frank? The hell are you saying?” the annoyance in your voice alarmed his mind.

“Who's that babe?” he automatically raises an eyebrow, as you've never mentioned someone naming 'Frank' before.

“He's my coworker, flirting with me at any chance he gets.” his head turned back to the screen as his eyebrows knitted together.

“Yeah right.” you couldn't tell the expression on his face,

He turned off his screen so fast, livestream off, tabs off, mic muted, everything, leaving the viewers dumbfounded and shocked.

“Baby—” you were interrupted when he abruptly jolted you into his arms and took you to your shared bedroom.

“Caleb, baby I swear that wasn't true. Please don't believe him. Babe I'm sorryyyy.” while he laid you down on the bed, attempting to coo him.

“You know that you're mine right?” as you nodded to his response.

“Then allow me to further claim you.” as he smashed his soft lips with yours, calloused fingers roaming around the curves of your body. Caleb lifted you up, legs wrapping around his waist.

The kiss went deeply, his fingers tangling in your hair. He could taste himself on your lips, could feel your breath against his skin.

He unclasped youe bra, his mouth capturing one nipple. He sucked and licked, his hand teasing the other. Your breathing quickened, hands tangling in his hair.

“Caleb I want more, please” as the heat in your inner thighs began throbbing.

“And who am I to decline? My pretty baby wants more hmmm?” smirk showing on his lips. “Yes, yes pleasee?”

Caleb complied, his other hand slipping under her skirt to find you wet and ready. He groaned as his fingers slipped inside, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in slow, circular motions.

Your hips bucked against his hand, breath coming in ragged gasps. "Caleb," you moaned, head falling back. "You feel so good."

Caleb's fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. "You're so wet," he growled. "I can't wait to taste you."

As your eyes flew open, gaze locked onto Caleb's. "Yes," you breathed, voice filled with desperation. "Please."

Caleb withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking on them slowly. Eyes darkened with desire as you watched him, body aching for his touch.

Caleb leaned down, his mouth finding her wetness. He licked slowly, his tongue exploring every inch of your gummy walls. You gasped, hands fisting in his hair as you ground herself against his face.

"Oh God, Caleb," you moaned, hips moving in time with his tongue. "Right... ngghhh there, yes."

Caleb sucked on your clit, his fingers sliding back inside of you. Fingers moving in and out, his thumb pressing against your g-spot. Your body tensed, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Caleb," your cried out, orgasm crashing over like a wave. "Yes, yes, yes."

Caleb didn't stop, his mouth and fingers continuing to work until you were boneless and panting. He kissed his way back up to your body, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss.

When you wrapped your legs around him, hands working at his belt. "I want you inside me," you murmured against his lips.

He groaned, his cock hard and aching. As he pushed the skirt up, his fingers finding the wetness once again. He slipped two fingers inside, thumb rubbing your little button that has a bundle of nerves.

"You're ready for me," he growled, voice thick with desire. "You're so ready for my cock."

As you nodded, eyes locked onto his. "Yes, I am," you whispered. "Give it to me, Caleb."

Caleb withdrew his fingers, his cock taking their place. He pushed inside slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Haaaah... baby so biigg nghhh” nails digging into his back as you adjusted to his size.

“You feel so good,” Caleb murmured, his hips moving in slow, shallow thrusts.

”So tight and wet.”

You wrapped your legs around him tighter, hips moving in time with his. "Harder," you whispered, voice filled with desperation. "Fuck me harder, Caleb."

His hips moving faster, his cock slamming into your walls with force.

“Fuuuuckk” body moving in time with his.

"Yes, yes," you cried out, head falling back. "Right there, don't stop."

Caleb's hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pounded into you. The room filled with the sounds of their bodies slapping together, moans and groans echoing through the apartment.

"You feel so good," Caleb growled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Your pussy is so tight around my cock."

His thrusts becoming faster, deeper. Your moans were louder now, body writhing beneath him. He could feel her getting closer, could feel her muscles tightening around him.

"Caleb," you gasped, "I'm close."

Your body is moving again, orgasm building once again. "Caleb," you cried out, body convulsing as you came. "Yes, yes, yes."

Caleb leaned down, his mouth capturing yours in a fierce kiss. He could feel her orgasm, could feel her body convulsing against his. He thrust into her a few more times before he came, his body shuddering with pleasure.

His hips slamming into yours. The bed creaked beneath them, bodies moving in perfect sync. "Fuck, yes," you cried, nails raking down Caleb's back.

Caleb's cock swelled inside you, his body tensing. "Baby ngggh," he groaned, his hips stuttering. You felt him pulse inside, his cock filling your pussy completely. Your own orgasm crashing over. Both of your bodies shook together, breaths ragged. When Caleb collapsed on top of fragile form, bodies slick with sweat.

Both lay together, bodies still joined. His cock softened inside, cum dripping out of your swelling cunt. You smiled, eyes locked on Caleb's. "Are you jellyy because of that??," you murmured. Caleb grinned, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. "Hmmmp!" he pouted, his voice soft. Both stayed like that for a while, bodies entwined, their hearts beating as one.

You were no longer just cutiaples, his top fan.

You were his favorite person.

In every timeline.

On every stream.

And in every quiet, ordinary moment in between.

[tender-rosiey]

lock jaw — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: when I said silence, I meant it literally btw <3

it starts the way it always does—with him talking.

satoru loves to talk. he thrives on it, really.

his voice fills every space he enters, a mix of cocky and teasing remarks, words tumbling out of him like they were just waiting for an audience.

he has no problem being that audience himself, either, monologuing even when no one’s listening.

and right now? right now, he’s very much talking at you.

“—so obviously, I had to step in, because nanamin was totally going about it the wrong way, y’know? I mean, the guy’s got skill, sure, but zero flare. no pizzazz. no—hey, are you even listening?”

you are. technically. but you don’t give him the satisfaction of confirming it.

instead, you tilt your head up at him, one brow raised in that way that always makes his grin twitch wider.

satoru doesn’t like being ignored. that’s why you do it.

and, sure enough, he scoffs. “oh, I see how it is. you think you’re cute, huh?”

you hum, noncommittal.

his fingers drum against the table, restless energy leaking into movement. “it’s a good thing you’re married to me, ‘cause—”

you lift a hand.

it’s not much. just a simple flick of your wrist.

the moment your fingers move, his words catch, cut off like someone pressed pause on a song mid-verse. his mouth is still open, brows furrowed like he can’t quite believe it.

oh, but he believes it.

your technique has always been a thorn in his side. you don’t know what makes it work, just that it does.

no one else can silence him like this—literally silence him, rendering every word, every noise, completely null the second you decide you’ve had enough.

it drives him insane.

you let a few beats of silence pass before you drop your hand. his voice snaps back into existence, mid-word.

“—ain’t no way you just did that again,” he grumbles, like this is somehow the first time.

his mouth pulls into a pout, the corners twitching with the threat of a smirk. “y’know, most wives enjoy hearing their husband talk.”

“I do,” you say, because it’s true.

satoru leans in, one hand propped beneath his chin. “so? why do you keep shutting me up, then?”

you lift your fingers again, just slightly, and watch the way his whole body stiffens in response. he goes silent before you even activate it, eyes narrowing.

“I swear—”

your fingers twitch.

nothing.

his mouth slams shut anyway, like muscle memory has kicked in. his whole face scrunches up, torn between irritation and reluctant amusement.

it takes him a second to realize you never actually used your technique, and when he does, his eye twitches.

“oh, you suck.”

you smile. “I know.”

satoru groans, dragging a hand down his face. “how’d I get stuck with you?”

you just hum, pretending to think. “bad luck?”

he snorts.

and just like that, whatever annoyance he was pretending to have dissolves into something else—something warmer. his head tilts, his voice dropping into that low, teasing hum. “or maybe good luck.”

you don’t let yourself react, but a wave of warmth rushes through you anyway. his eyes gleam behind his glasses, sharp and knowing. he feels it, too.

it’s always been like this with satoru—this push and pull, this game of who can get under whose skin first. he hates being shut up. but he loves being shut up by you.

that’s probably why he keeps trying.

the next time he catches you alone, it’s in the kitchen.

you’re getting water, half-distracted, when arms loop around your waist from behind, a chin dropping onto your shoulder.

“whatcha doin’?”

“getting water,” you deadpan.

“oooh. riveting.” his arms tighten just slightly, like he’s trying to keep you there. “y’know, I was thinking.”

“that’s new.”

satoru gasps, scandalized. “rude!”

he nuzzles closer, all dramatic offense and fake hurt. “as I was saying—I was thinking about how unfair it is that you get to shut me up whenever you want, but I can’t do the same to you.”

you sip your water, unimpressed. “sounds like a you problem.”

“exactly! and since we’re married, your problems are my problems—so really, we should fix this together.”

you know where this is going. you don’t like where it’s going.

“…no.”

“but I didn’t even—”

“no.”

his arms squeeze tighter, his voice dropping into that saccharine lilt. “c’mooon. just one little pact—no more silencing me, and in return…”

“in return what?” you ask, humoring him.

“in return, I’ll—uh—” he pauses. “I’ll try not to annoy you as much?”

you turn your head just enough to squint at him. “you could just not annoy me in the first place.”

“pfft. impossible.”

you roll your eyes, setting your glass down. “then no deal.”

satoru pouts. “you’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty fun.”

“not to me.”

you lift a hand.

his mouth clamps shut instantly.

“…I hate you.”

you drop your hand. “no, you don’t.”

his pout deepens. “no, I don’t.”

and because he’s satoru—because he’s infuriating—he suddenly dips forward and presses a kiss to your cheek.

it’s quick, but deliberate, with his lips lingering just enough to tease you. by the time you turn to scold him, he’s already slipping away, whistling like nothing happened.

the sneaking doesn’t stop.

if anything, it gets worse.

he tests you in public now, dropping snarky comments just to see if you’ll silence him mid-sentence.

he tries to get the upper hand, too—kissing you without warning, murmuring things low enough that only you can hear, things designed to throw you off balance.

and it works. sometimes.

but the thing about satoru? he talks a lot.

he always has.

and that’s exactly why you win.

it happens in front of his students.

which, really, is something he should’ve seen coming.

you’re standing off to the side, arms crossed, watching as megumi practices his stance. nobara is stretching. yuji is bouncing on his feet like he’s ready to fight someone on the spot.

it’s peaceful. quiet.

and, naturally, satoru can’t have that.

he claps his hands together. “alright, kiddos! who’s ready for an essential, life-changing lesson?”

yuji perks up immediately. “ooh, what kinda lesson?”

“the most important kind,” satoru declares, straightening his posture like he’s about to reveal the secrets of the universe. “a lesson in style.”

megumi exhales sharply. nobara groans. you don’t even have to look to know they’re both already tuning him out.

but he’s not done.

“you may think you know fashion, but you don’t. not like me. there are levels to this—depths of drip, if you will—like an expertly curated wardrobe of absolute perfection.”

he gestures grandly to himself. “and lucky for you, I am both your teacher and your fashion icon.”

nobara shoots you a look. “this is every day for you, isn’t it?”

“unfortunately.”

satoru hears it. of course, he hears it.

he places a hand over his chest like you’ve wounded him. “unfortunately?” he echoes, all faux devastation. “sweetheart, you wound me.”

yuji chokes on a laugh. “wow, sensei. that was fast.”

“you don’t get it, yuji.” satoru points at you, sunglasses slipping down his nose.

“this woman right here? my beloved, my precious, my better half? she is cruel.” he sighs, tilting his head dramatically.

“every day, she shuts me up without a second thought. do you know how unfair that is? the strongest sorcerer in the world, silenced—just like that.”

megumi, who has absolutely witnessed this before, doesn’t even look up. “sounds like you deserve it.”

satoru gasps. “et tu, megumi?”

“yeah,” megumi deadpans. “et me.”

satoru clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “see? this is what I deal with. betrayal. disrespect. my own wife using her technique against me at every turn.”

yuji raises a hand. “wait, wait—so she actually can shut you up?”

“oh, she can,” satoru grumbles. “and she does.”

nobara perks up, eyes gleaming. “no way. prove it.”

satoru freezes.

you see the exact moment realization dawns on him—what he’s just done, the challenge he’s issued on your behalf.

you see it in the way his jaw shifts, the way his weight shifts ever so slightly on his heels.

you raise a brow. “you want me to prove it?”

satoru narrows his eyes. “don’t you dare.”

you lift your hand.

“don’t you—”

silence.

satoru’s mouth is still open, but no sound comes out. nothing. not even the beginnings of a protest. his lips move, forming words you can’t hear, before he snaps his mouth shut entirely.

the silence stretches.

then—

“oh my god,” nobara breathes.

yuji loses his mind.

megumi simply nods. “good.”

satoru’s eye twitches. he points at you, accusing, but there’s nothing he can do. you smile sweetly.

after a long beat, you drop your hand.

“—believe you just did that in front of my students,” he huffs, voice returning in the middle of a sentence.

his sunglasses slide down his nose, revealing wide, scandalized eyes. “my own wife, betraying me in front of my kids.”

“they asked me to.”

“yeah,” nobara pipes up. “that was amazing. do it again.”

satoru splutters. “hey! whose side are you on?”

yuji is grinning. “I mean, sensei, that was kinda cool.”

“it was humiliating!”

“you deserved it.”

“I did not!”

you hum, faux thoughtful. “you kinda did.”

satoru stares at you, horrified. “et tu, my love?”

“yeah.” you smirk. “et me.”

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[spread4marvel]

”Real” Man

hiii lovelies!!! so this is my first george weasley x reader story (yes i still write for loki), and i’m rlly excited to get into it soooo yeah send me some requests😚😚

Draco has the audacity to tell your boyfriend that he isn’t a “real man” after a gryffindor victory. George makes sure to vocalise how funny he finds this as he is pleasuring you later that same evening.

Warnings: Muggleborn Ravenclaw reader (for the plot), cursing, unprotected sex, praise kink, George in general, nicknames (love, sweet baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, lovebug), a little dry humping🤔??, anddd aftercare ofc!

Another crushing victory for Gryffindor against Slytherin. You noticed that every game you attended, George tried his hardest to impress you so you didn’t wander off back to whichever book you were reading at the time. You find it cute but it seems Malfoy did not. Quickly you fought your way through the crowd to get on the field where the pair were arguing. When you finally managed to get there, you caught the ending segment of the argument.

“I think you’re right Freddie! I think little Malfoy’s upset that he had the ‘hots’ for my girl and she chose me!” George laughed out mockingly, causing the other surrounding players and students to laugh as well. Malfoy clenched his fist by his sides as his jaw tightened when Fred continued. “Well it was a bloody obvious choice George, truly.” Fred joined back, causing the twins to snicker together as Draco finally managed to bark back a reply.

“Oh yeah Weasley? Clearly your father never taught you how to be a real man. I bet you can’t even pleasure that sorry little mudblood of yours!” Malfoy cackled. George didn’t say another word, that deranged look on his face as he walked closer to Draco is what caused most of his teammates to begin to hold him back for everyone’s sake. Even you interjected at this point. “C’mon George let the stupid git talk.” You tried. Placing a hand on his surprisingly muscular forearm that you simply adored as you tried to persuade him.

He noticed how Malfoy tensed when you were around, and he smirked devilishly at the new upperhand.

“You’re so right love, ‘m think I just need a kiss and i’ll be good as new again.” He remarked playfully to you. His teammates finally releasing him as he stood there awaiting his kiss. You giggled and rolled your eyes, getting up on your tippy-toes due to the height difference that George relished in to plant a kiss to his cheek. His dopey grin grew wider but he was still very determined to ‘rub it in’ Malfoys face. “A real kiss, yeah?” He inquired, pulling you in by your waist and bending down slightly so you could give him a ‘real kiss’ directly in front of Draco.

He hummed obnoxiously as he finally pulled away from you, Malfoy beginning to turn on his heels with a loud huff as he and the rest of the Slytherins retreated in a hurry.

George chuckled mischievously as he finally gave you his undivided attention, his adrenaline still obviously coursing through him as the two of you began to walk back to the Gryffindor dorms together. (usually the two of you go back to the ravenclaw dorms but you don’t force him to walk up all those stairs on quidditch nights) George didn’t typically act like that. It was more Fred’s thing to be rude and crack a laugh from everybody around simultaneously. Clearly, your boyfriend’s twin had been rubbing off on him.

—————————————————————

George had you straddled on his lap on the edge of his bed as you cleaned up some of his minor wounds. At first, George despised this because he felt ‘weak’ having you clean him up but eventually he learned to adapt it as a “post game ritual.” On more calmer quidditch nights, you would have him read you a book or his latest assignment while you tended to him, but right now he was rambling on about Malfoy.

“I mean bloody hell! You can’t play like shit the whole game and then be mad when we win!” He complained, in which you hummed in agreement. “Stupid git, should’a seen the look on his face when Harry stole that snitch.” You giggled at his expression that was supposed to be imitating Malfoys face. The sound of your laughter fizzling all of his anger away as you finished tending to all of his little bruises.

You always ended this little ritual by kissing every mark you fixed, and he stared down at you lovingly as you began. “But you were amazing tonight love, I could hear ya’ cheering from all the way on the pitch.” George complimented. You smiled against his skin before placing another peck down his arms. You knew how much he adored hearing you scream for him. on and off the pitch. “‘m tried my best Georgie, y’know I don’t condone violence but you sure did look good yelling at Malfoy.” You mumbled against his skin, your ‘muggle accent’ under-toning your sentence as he smiled and pulled you closer on his lap. You could feel his hard-on begin to press into you as you mimicked your boyfriend’s grin back to him.

“think you missed a spot, sweetheart.” He remarked cockily as he pointed at an imaginary bruise on his lips. You giggled, causing him to laugh as well. “Oh how could I!” You exaggerated playfully in which he shrugged with a smug smirk.

You pulled him in by the back of his head. Your fingers intertwining in his ginger locks as he immediately began to desperately search your mouth. He resembled a starved man as he kept your lips connected to his. You barely had a moment to breathe before he was pulling you back in, loving how your warm mouth invited him so willingly to paradise each time.

Subconsciously, you bucked your hips against his clothed erection. You only realised that you were practically grinding on him when he groaned into your lips. “fuck pretty girl…” He murmured under his breath and your face flushed as you came to realisation on what you were doing. This wasn’t uncommon for you, you and George had been dating for the better half of a year and although you were insanely comfortable with him… you still managed to get flustered in moments like this. Although George didn’t mind it, in fact, he quite enjoyed the little noises you made whenever he whispered lewd little things in your ears at the worst of all times.

“aww, is someone getting shy? C’mon sweetheart, I can smell you.” He rasped, his voice a little breathless and you whimpered at his filthy words. He gently but firmly grabbed your hips and began to grind you against him. Chuckling as you whined and buried your face into his neck. “‘m need more, Georgie.” You whispered against his skin, planting gentle wet kisses to persuade him further. You could practically hear the grin in his voice. “Guess you deserve it, yeah? You were such a good girl f’ me today.” He murmured as he nipped playfully at your earlobe. You simply whimpered and nodded in response, not entirely trusting your voice not to croak.

His fingers began to fiddle with the waistband of your skirt, teasing you mercilessly. You desperately wanted to tell him to get on with it and stop being a tease… but you also wanted to be his good girl, his sweet little thing who takes what he gives her, his precious ravenclaw who lets him run wild. So all you did was whine. His grin only grew at your self control. “oh? Well this is quite new…” He murmured knowingly. You were about to retort something back, but then you felt his fingers dip under your skirt to rub your cunt through your panties. Immediately, he felt the wet patch on your undergarments and grinned up at you knowingly.

“Naughty little Ravenclaw…” He remarked playfully. Before you could process what was happening, he had you on your back with your hair splayed along his pillow in mere seconds. His bed reeked of his scent, and you simply adored it. He didn’t miss the skip of your heartbeat or the way you had a newfound hunger in your eyes as he effortlessly manhandled you, deciding to tuck that information into his back pocket for now.

George had simple plans for you tonight, but then he recalled Malfoys little ‘pleasure’ comment. Instead of teasing, he slithered his body up your own to press wet kisses along your jawline and neck instead. “What do you need, love?” He asked straightforwardly. This was odd, George normally drew this type of thing out of you until you were a whining mess. “Want you inside, George.” You hummed back, your voice wavering a little but remained true. He groaned against your warm skin before his usual grin returned.

“whatever you like, pretty baby.” He granted as he planted a final kiss. That was one of those nicknames George used whenever he was being sweet, but you could tell his mind was a little aloof. You watched in adoration as he began to strip himself. Hastily tugging away his clothes and discarding them carelessly. You began to do the same, but George’s hand quickly caught yours and gave you a devilish smirk.

“Trying to rid me of all the fun are we? Let me take care of you, yeah?” He teased and you rolled your eyes in response. “Well get on with it!” You insisted, your patience from earlier dwindling thin. This granted you a look of defiance and a remarkably slow George peeling off your clothing one-by-one. Eventually, he couldn’t take the slow reveal and ripped the rest of your black skirt off, causing you to huff in annoyance.

“George! That was my favorite black skirt!” You scolded. You were quickly knocked off of your fit of anger when you felt a long finger slip into your sopping wet cunt. You whimpered almost instantly at the connection. “Doesn’t seem like you mind that much.” He confirmed with a grin, causing you to scoff and whine as he retreated his finger. He was eager tonight, always taking time to savor the taste of your juices as he sucked on his previously inserted digit. “Tasting perfect, love.” He complimented. To say George loved your taste, was an understatement. He relished in it, but tonight, tonight he had a primal urge to claim you.

You both groaned as he began to rub his tip up and down your soaking folds. Both of your eyes glued on the display before he fully slipped inside of you. Your head quickly retreated back to his pillow, eyes screwed shut as he gave you a moment to accommodate to his size. You had taken George many times before, and yet he still gave you this little moment to calm yourself. And yet, you still needed it.

You moaned as he began to move, starting with slow deep thrusts that made you head spin deliciously. He groaned as you clenched around him, his hands gripping your hips as he watched his cock disappear and reappear with each thrust. “Fuck love… you’re squeezing the life out of me down here.” He informed, followed by a sharp hiss when your legs wrapped around his waist and provided a new angle. With this new angle, he sped up his pace, his mesmerizing cock now drilling into you.

Your moans and other little noises were beginning to grow much louder. This seemed to motivate George as he abused the spot that elicited the prettiest noises from deep within you. “Doing so good love, so fuckin’ good for me.” He praised, his words slurring as his head rolled back to reveal his adam’s apple to you. The sight reminded you of sweet torture and it was simply maddening. “J-jus’ like that, feels so good Georgie please don’t stop!” You pleaded with him, no amount of money could pay George to stop as his grip on you grew brutal. He was sure to leave bruises whilst he pounded into you, his erect and long cock hitting the perfect spot within you as he overrode your senses.

You could feel that familiar knot beginning to grow unbearable at his intense pace. Your legs squeezing around his waist as you tried to keep yourself bounded to this world. Every time George fucked you like this it always left you in a floaty headspace. It was one of the few times your brilliant brain wasn’t hard at work, because it was much too occupied and overwhelmed with pleasure.

“You’re so close love I can feel it. So pretty like this baby, so fuckin’ beautiful.” He groaned, your hands flying from the clenched bedsheet to his shoulders as your fingernails dug into his muscular blades. This resulted in a new noise of pleasure from him that made you whimper in return. “Come for me sweetheart, c’mon sweet baby I need to feel you.” George rasped. His voice pulling an utterly filthy noise from you as the coil within you snapped and you came all over his large cock. He let out a guttural moan while he fucked you through your high, making sure to fulfill you whole as he felt himself begin to drawl close.

“Mmm, I-I’m getting their love. Where can I-…” His words trailed off as he couldn’t get enough of your pussy. You fit like a fucking glove around his erection and it was glorious to him. “Inside George please. Want it inside s’ bad.” You whimpered out breathlessly. Your pleas is what caused George to snap as he bottomed out inside of you. Groaning as he began to spill his seed. “Fuck…” He cursed, his cock painting your insides just as you had requested.

He lowered himself on you once he finished. He knew how much you loved his weight on you as the both of you collected your breaths while panting. George was the first to move, planting kisses all over your heated skin while he gently pulled out. “Did so good love, always so good for me.” He complimented. He quickly retrieved a warm washcloth and cleaned the two of you up. He could easily do it with magic, but George loved the intimacy this brought as he peppered kisses all over your body. You were astonished on how he complimented you like that even if you didn’t really do a thing that whole time, but he didn’t mind it. This was a day for you and your pleasure, (as well as his pride)

“I love you so much, love bug. Such a brilliant, bloody perfect, little witch.” He murmured as he finally finished cleaning you up. Joining you in the bed as he cuddled up behind you skin to skin, spooning your bare form. You smiled at the cheesy little nickname, it was corny, but something he always called you when you were overcome by sleep.

“‘m love you too, George. thank you…” you murmured back, sleep already evident in your voice as he chuckled softly and traced comforting patterns along your skin. “Night, pretty girl.” He hummed back, but you had already drifted off as he planted a final kiss to your shoulder and buried his face in your hair. The smell of your- no his vanilla shampoo lulling him to sleep.

————————————————————

Thank you for reading!!! please drop a Weasley twins request or a Loki request for me😇

Night Lovlies!

[lexalith]

FRIENDS || Choi Su-Bong (Thanos)

summary: after late-night sexting with your best friend, everything changes. the bond you thought was purely platonic starts to feel deeper. were these feelings always there, hidden beneath the surface? or did something just… click? is this the start of something real, or the beginning of a mistake that could ruin everything?

warnings: aged up female reader (they’re both in their late twenties) (MDNI), smut (masturbation, fingering, public sex, p in v, oral sex (f and m), sexting, edging, praising, unprotected sex (don’t be silly)) semi and minsu are victims of the reader’s and subong’s freakiness, angst (name calling, miscommunication, pushing, throwing things, lying, deception, fear of commitment, reader refuses to help him at some point, slapping, slutshame remarks), overuse of the words ‘fuck’ and ‘fucking’ (lmaoo), subong should be a warning himself, fwb dynamic, reader uses someone to forget subong, drug use and addiction.

a/n: i’ve never ever written anything here on tumblr before, so i don’t really know what i’m doing, help. also, english isn’t my first language, so mistakes should be present!! lowercase is intentional. this is an au with no games. text messages are in different colors (orange for the reader, purple for subong). the reader’s dialogue is in bold. mind you, this is LOOOONG (it’s a whole fic)

songs that inspired me to write this: friends — chase atlantic || back to friends — sombr || heartbeat — childish gambino || casual — chappell roan

this fic was also inspired by @jedisupernova ‘s writing, check out her page and fics!!! (they’re soooo good)

you’re still thinking about what that guy said. it wasn’t even a big deal, not really. just some random jerk at the club who’d had a few too many drinks and decided to share his unfiltered thoughts about your body. “you’re not really my type,” he’d said, like you’d asked. then he’d laughed and added, “not many guys would go for that.”

it shouldn’t bother you. you know it shouldn’t. but now, a few nights later, it’s stuck in your head, looping like a song you can’t turn off. so, lying in bed, scrolling aimlessly, you do what you always do when something’s bugging you—you text him. your best friend.

subong. are you awake?

yes ma’am. why?

i got a random question. but like, it’s not that deep

???

do you think i’m attractive?

you fire it off without overthinking, like it’s no big deal. it’s not weird to ask your best friend something like this. right?

it takes him a few minutes to reply.

what kind of question is that?

just answer

i’m too high for this shit, bro

you’re not high🙄 liar

i wish i were

omfg can you just say yes or no? please? but be honest, i promise i won’t get mad

yeah, i think u are

really?

sure thinggg, u’re hot mama

dude quit playing, i’m being serious over here

i’m not fucking playing

okay you think i’m attractive but like… what kind of attractive? cute attractive? like awwww. or i’d-fuck-you-raw attractive?

what are we even talking about

why can’t you just answer?😭

what is this for?

for my knowledge

tf is that supposed to mean?

you stare at the screen, mentally deciding whether you should tell him about what happened or not. you hadn’t told him before, not wanting to give it more attention. but this time, you decide to.

ugh, remember i went clubbing the other day? well this dude was being an asshole to me and he said some stuff and i can’t stop thinking about it so just be fucking honest and answer my question

some stuff? what stuff?

he said, and i quote ‘not many guys would go for that’. ‘that’ is me, btw💀

who tf is this dude?

bruh idk, some random guy, it doesn’t matter

it does?

are you gonna answer my question or no?

yeah. i think u r both kinds.

good, good, you think to yourself. his reply makes you relax a little, the knot in your stomach loosening. he thinks you’re attractive. of course he does—he’s your best friend, and best friends are supposed to hype you up.

for a moment, you stare at your phone, chewing on your bottom lip. you know you should leave it there, let it go. but something keeps tugging at you.

so, hypothetically, would you… yk, with me?

the second you hit send, panic sets in. your pulse skyrockets, and you almost want to throw your phone across the room. why did you do that? why couldn’t you just shut up? but you don’t have time to spiral, because the dots appear almost immediately.

are u serious?

and you freeze. your fingers hover over the screen, but you can’t bring yourself to type anything back. what kind of answer is that?

alr, imma be honest. yeah i would

your heart stops. you blink at the message, reading it again and again, like the words might change if you look long enough. you weren’t prepared for this.

subong’s typing…

would u? with me?

you want to lie, to brush it off, but your fingers move before your brain can stop them.

maybe

the dots pop up again. then disappear. then pop up again.

maybe?? that means yes. cmon i’m hot as hell, baby, u know it. u’ve probably touched yourself thinking about me at least once

wtf bro you’re giving me the biggest ick rn 💀

but have u?

and you? i bet you jerk off to my insta photos, perv. don’t even start lmaoo

can’t help it when u look that good💯

you stare at his message, your mind scrambling to process it. you feel your breath catch in your throat. the shock should be overwhelming, but instead, you feel a strange warmth spread through you.

you didn’t expect this. the idea that he’s been thinking about you like that… it sends a shiver down your spine. you should probably tell him to stop, tell him it’s too much, but instead, you feel yourself leaning in, pulled toward this conversation in a way you didn’t think you would be.

i may or may not have done the same with your insta pics

i knew itttt señorita 🙏🏼

shut up

how many times?

why do you wanna know?🤨

i answered ur stupid ass questions, now u answer mine

maybe like idk, two?

no fucking way, just two????????

you think it’s not enough or what???? how many times have you done it?

more than u wanna know

how bad are we talking?

so bad i’ve lost count. u really want me to get into details?

maybe i do

bro, let’s just say that everytime u post i’m over here fighting a battle

you do realize i’m your bestfriend right?

yeah, so?

so aren’t there any girls to jerk off to instead of me???

yeah but they don’t make me as hard

you stare at the screen, your heart pounding, your legs squeezing together instinctively. what the hell is happening right now? and then another message comes through.

even saying this shit is getting me worked up

what???😭 you’re hard??

yeah bro, what's a guy supposed to do when his best friend asks if he would fuck her?

it was hypothetical

hypothetically speaking, if a guy was attracted to his best friend, he'd probably be rock fucking hard right now. so yeah, i'm fucking hard, girl

your stomach flips at the bluntness of his words. you can feel the blood rushing to your face as you stare at the message.

too much info, subong

nahhh, u asked. u wanted details, so here they are

okay… should i leave you to it?

fuck no

damn alr, suffer then🙄

could u help me out?

help you out?????????????

with a pic of u or smth

boy whatttttttttt

what?

i’m not sending you fucking nudes wtf 💀💀

no one asked for that, stupid. just a pic of u

just a pic of you. the request feels so simple. he’s your bestfriend—it’s not that big of a deal, right? especially after everything you’ve both just confessed to each other.

your eyes flick toward the mirror in your room. you’re in your pajamas. no bra. you know how it looks. it’s the kind of thing you wouldn’t think twice about wearing around him in person, but now, with this conversation, it feels different. your legs carry you to the mirror almost on autopilot. you pick up your phone and angle it toward your reflection. you shouldn’t even be entertaining this. but instead, you snap the picture. you stare at it for a moment, biting your lip. it’s not explicit—it’s just you. but still… you know exactly how he’ll see it.

your thumb hovers over the send button, hesitation gripping you. a hundred reasons not to do this race through your head, but one single thought drowns them all out: you want to know how he’ll react. before you can second-guess yourself, you hit send. the moment it delivers, your stomach drops, a mix of adrenaline and regret washing over you. you sit down on the edge of your bed, staring at the screen, waiting for his response, your heart pounding louder with every passing second.

hoooooooooly shitttttttttt

it’s just a pic

yeah, a pic of u looking like that

im just in my pajamas

and i’m hornier now, if that’s even possible

subong you can’t just say stuff like that

why not? we always tell each other everything

i should’ve thrown on a hoodie

i’d still be thinking of what’s underneath

well, glad i could help your horny ass🫡 enjoy or whatever

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

you watch the dots—flickering like they're mocking you. you can't help but wonder what he's typing—or if he's second-guessing whatever bold thing he's about to say. but then, they disappear. nothing. you frown, staring at the screen, waiting a few more seconds. still nothing. you realize exactly what he's probably doing. you bite your lip, heat creeping up your neck as the image forms in your mind: him, sitting there, hand wrapped around his dick, staring at the picture you sent.

you feel like you need to do something—anything—to distract yourself. you toss your phone onto the bed and reach for the remote, flipping on a random tv show. you let the noise fill the silence, but your mind keeps drifting back to him. it's a few minutes later when your phone dings. the sound cuts through the room like a knife, and you hesitate for a moment, staring at the screen, before finally reaching for it.

it's him. he sent a picture.

these are my pajamas. now we’re even, baby

him, standing in front of the mirror, shirtless and wearing only a pair of tight black briefs. the way he's posing is so over the top... he's trying way too hard. his expression is almost comical, like he's not really sure if he's pulling it off but is hoping you'll think he is. you can't help it—you stifle a laugh. but then your eyes drop, and that laughter dies in your throat. the bulge is so obvious, pushing against the fabric in a way that's impossible to ignore. it's not just visible, it's big. big enough that your pulse spikes, and you forget to breathe for a second. that laughter you were holding back? gone. you glance back at his goofy grin in the mirror, but it's no longer funny. shit. you’re wet.

you don't even know how it happens. one moment, you're staring at his picture, then a teasing comment here, a bold reply there—and before you know it, you're lying on your bed, your phone clutched in one hand and your other slipping between your thighs, pressed against the growing ache he's stoked with every message. you've never gone this far with him before—always ignoring his obvious flirting. but you can’t stop now. and he isn’t shy about it either, telling you with detail everything he would do to you.

u'd look soooo fucking good begging under me, baby

and what if i don’t?

then i'd make u

mhmmm, how?

fuck, i’d bury my face between those thighs and eat u out until u can’t take it anymore

a soft gasp escapes your lips as you read, your body reacting to the vivid images his words paint in your mind. you know you shouldn't be doing this—not with him—but the way he's describing everything makes you forget about all the reasons why. you’re far past the point of feeling shy too. you bite your lip, barely believing yourself as you hit send.

i wish you could feel how wet i am just thinking about you fucking me from behind

god damn girl, i’d stretch that pussy so good my dick is the only thing u’d think about for weeks

and then, it's not just texting anymore—you're sending pictures, even though you swore you wouldn't. the first one is a close-up of your fingers, glistening with your juices. his reply comes almost instantly, not as a text but as a voice message. “shit, baby, you're f-fucking killing me... mhmm... look at that. you're so fucking wet f’me, I can almost taste it through the screen... fuck...” his voice is low and rough, broken by soft, shaky breaths. you can hear him stroking himself, moans slipping out between words. you're losing your damn mind over it, replaying the voice message again and again—fingers curling inside of you as you push them in and out, wishing it were his fingers instead of yours.

he sends a pic too. this time, he leaves nothing to the imagination. it’s a selfie, his face barely visible at the corner. the center of attention is his hard dick, hand wrapped around it, tip leaking precum. and the only thing that comes to your mind right there and then is just how badly you want to take him in your mouth.

one picture leads to another, the messages growing dirtier with every exchange. his words are filthy, his photos even filthier, and the way he talks about your body—what he'd do to it, what he's imagining—fucking hell. your breathing quickens, your body burning with need, and before you know it, that familiar tension starts to coil low in your stomach.

shit, subong… i’m close

u’re gonna cum for me? cmon pretty girl, let me hear you

you hit record just as your orgasm crashes over you, moaning his name loudly as you cum on your fingers. after a few minutes, he sends a voice message back “you sound so fucking good… shit, look what you’ve done t-to me… mmm… fuck, fuck, fuck… i’m gonna cum thinking about fucking you, baby. i’m gonna cum thinking about you making those… s-sounds while i fucking pound into you.”

the next few days are a blur. he hasn’t texted, and you haven’t either. but no matter what you do, you can’t stop thinking about what happened. no matter how hard you try to shake it off, it’s there. his voice, the way he sounded saying your name, the damn nudes, the way your heart raced as you typed those things to him.

you don’t know how to feel about it. on one hand, you can’t deny how much you wanted it in the moment. but now? now you’re not sure. did you cross a line? did he? part of you regrets it, wishes you could just rewind and stop yourself before things spiraled. but another part—one you’re trying to ignore—remembers how good it felt, how right it seemed in the moment.

and then there’s the friendship. years of it. he’s been your best friend for a few years now. he knows things about you no one else does and he’s seen you at your absolute worst. like that night you showed up at his door after a horrible breakup. mascara streaked down your cheeks, and he didn’t say a word—just handed you a blanket, put on your favorite movie, and sat there with you until you fell asleep on his shoulder.

but it wasn’t always serious. like the time he tried rapping one of his freestyles for you, all cocky, and you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe. or like the time you tripped over absolutely nothing at the mall, and he laughed so hard he cried, then spent weeks reenacting it whenever you were around. or when he clogged your toilet and tried to fix it himself instead of just telling you. or when he picked a fight with some guy at a club because the guy bumped into you and didn’t apologize. he got all puffed up and said, “you got a problem, man?” like he was some kind of action movie hero. but the guy was huge, like, rugby player huge, and before you could drag subong away, he swung and missed, and the dude took him down in one hit. he spent the rest of the night with a bloody nose and ice pressed to his face, grumbling, “he got lucky.” you still remind him of how he ‘lost a fight in one punch,’ and it always makes him groan.

you’ve got a thousand stupid inside jokes that no one else would understand, like how you always text each other ‘don’t die’ instead of ‘goodnight’ because of some dumb horror movie you watched together. or the fact that he nicknamed you ‘señorita’ when you said you wanted to visit spain one day.

he’s a walking disaster, an endless source of secondhand embarrassment, and somehow, that’s what makes subong… subong. being around him has always felt easy, like slipping into your favorite hoodie—comfortable, familiar, safe.

but friends don’t do… that. what if it’s never the same again? you’ve always been comfortable with him, never overthinking what you said or did around him. now, you can’t imagine looking him in the eye without thinking about what you two did together. you keep telling yourself that things will go back to normal, but deep down, you’re scared they won’t. because you’re not sure you can go back—not after knowing what it felt like to be wanted by him in that way. not after letting yourself want him back.

one day, out of the blue, he texts you like nothing happened. just casually, like you didn't have your hand between your thighs while listening to him moan your name a few nights ago.

yoooo, wanna hop on call and play videogames? i’m bored

at first, you stare at the text, because... what does this mean? is this his way of brushing it under the rug? of pretending nothing ever happened? still, you say yes. because what else can you do? you hop into the call, and there he is—joking, laughing, completely normal. like the two of you didn't cross every possible line. he's so good at acting like nothing's changed, it almost convinces you. you match his energy, responding with the same casual ease. maybe this is fine. maybe you're fine.

then the group chat lights up a few days later: a cinema meet-up. everyone's throwing out ideas for what movie to watch, talking about snacks, debating over showtimes. he's there, throwing in jokes about popcorn sizes and his infamous sweet tooth, and you're sitting there trying to decide if you can handle seeing him face to face. you hesitate, debating if you should just make up an excuse not to go. but then he replies to the chat, tagging you specifically.

u better be there señorita

i will🙃

the day arrives faster than you’d like, and before you know it, you’re standing outside the cinema, stomach flipping as you spot namgyu, minsu, gyeongsu, and semi waving at you. you force a smile and walk over, doing your best to focus on their chatter and ignore the nerves crawling up your spine. but then you see him—subong, leaning against the wall, vape in hand. and when his eyes land on you, he smirks. he knows damn well. he knows exactly what you’re thinking, and he’s not going to make this easy for you. “finally,” he says when you’re close enough. “i was starting to doubt you’d come.” “why wouldn’t i?” you reply. he shrugs, taking a puff from his vape “thought you might’ve had better things to do.” the way he says it feels loaded, but he doesn’t give you time to respond, turning his attention to namgyu instead.

when it’s time to head into the cinema, you try to position yourself far from him, making a beeline for a seat between minsu and semi. you settle in, thinking you’re safe, but of course, subong has other plans. “yo, minsu, my boy,” he says as he walks down the aisle, stopping directly in front of you. “mind scooting over? i’ll sit here.” “uh, sure,” minsu says, shifting down without hesitation. you open your mouth to object, but before you can say anything, subong is sliding into the seat next to you, drink in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other. “hope you don’t mind,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer than necessary. you grit your teeth, keeping your gaze locked on the screen as the previews start. “not at all,” you mutter under your breath.

you think that’s it. but, of course, it doesn’t end there. he shifts in his seat, his arm brushing against yours every now and then, like he’s waiting for you to react. you swear you catch him smirking out of the corner of your eye multiple times. you try to focus on the movie, but it’s impossible when his presence is so loud. every little movement, every tiny glance, has your nerves on edge. and he knows it.

then, you feel it. his hand—light at first— rests on your bare thigh, the heat of his palm sending a jolt through you. you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. what the hell is he doing? his fingers trace a soft line along your skin, caressing just above your knee. you stay still, unsure of what to do, but your body betrays you, not pulling away.

his touch grows bolder, creeping higher up your leg, slipping under your skirt. you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. he's still watching the movie, acting like nothing is happening, like his hand isn't inches away from your clothed pussy. “what are you doing?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper. he turns his head toward you, looking innocent, like he's just minding his own business. “nothing.” “subong—” “i'll stop if you want me to.” you don't answer, torn between wanting to push him away and not wanting him to stop at all. “do you want me to stop? be honest,” he says, still waiting for your response. “no,” you reply, looking away with embarrassment. he chuckles softly—hand rubbing the inside of your thigh.

you drape the thin jacket you brought over your legs, a flimsy attempt to shield his hand from semi’s view. every nerve in your body screams that you shouldn’t be letting this happen, but you don’t stop him. he spreads your legs with his hand for better access, and soon you feel two of his fingers pressing against your clit over the fabric of your panties. your breath hitches, and you try not to move—not even a sound escapes you—but your lips part at the feeling of his touch. he moves them slow—too slow—in a way that has you shifting against him, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more. and he gives it to you. his hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and a low chuckle leaves him when he feels just how wet you are.

subong knows what he is doing. he rubs your clit in circles, gently but with enough pressure to have you biting your bottom lip. and god, his fingers feel so much better than you ever imagined. when he quickens the pace, a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth, pretending to be focused on the screen. but the rapid rise and fall of your chest betrays your so-called calm. before you can collect yourself, semi leans in. “are you okay?” “mhm,” you nod quickly, forcing a smile. “yeah, don't worry, i—” your words falter when his fingers move faster. you bite your lip, trying to hold it together, but he's clearly enjoying watching you struggle. “i-i'm fine,” you manage to stutter. semi raises an eyebrow. “you sure?” “yeah,” you nod. “alright,” semi says before shrugging and turning her attention back to the screen.

you let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through you. your head snaps toward subong, eyes narrowing in a glare that’s meant to convey exactly how ridiculous he’s being right now. you dig your nails into his wrist, “are you crazy?” but he only pauses for a second, leaning in close enough to whisper, “relax, girl. no one noticed.” the audacity of him sends heat rushing to your face. but he doesn’t back down, his fingers resuming their slow, torturous movements. and just as you’re about to reach your orgasm… he stops. your body jerks in frustration, and you whip your head toward him, confused. his smirk only deepens as he pulls his hand from under your skirt, bringing his fingers to his lips and licking them clean. “what the fuck?” you whisper, a soft groan escaping at the loss of his touch. “what?” he whispers back, feigning innocence. “you know what.” “i don't. you'll have to spell it out for me.” “subong—” “tell me what you want.” the frustration wells up in your chest. to him, this is probably hilarious—you being so desperate. but for you? it's humiliating. pathetic. begging your best friend for something like this. still, the need outweighs your pride. you lean in, your lips almost brushing his ear, “i wanna... i wanna cum. please, make me cum.” “yeah? be fucking quiet, then.”

his fingers slip back under your skirt. your breath catches, and you press your lips together, your body already trembling from how close you were before—gripping the armrest, barely able to keep still. every nerve in your body feels like it's on fire, and when his fingers circle just right, you're done. the release hits hard, and you muffle your moans by biting down on your lip so hard it stings.

the days after are... strange. again. no texting, no acknowledgment, no teasing, nothing. it's like it never happened. and when he does text again, it's so casual it throws you off. he sends a random picture, a meme he has found on instagram.

this shit is so funny bro loooololol

i fear your humor is broken😐

naahhh u just don’t get ittt babyy

you reply like everything's fine because, well, isn't it? you don’t even know at this point.

another day, he messages the group chat:

pentagon this weekend?🔥

the replies come fast. namgyu’s working that night. semi has plans with her girlfriend. gyeongsu says he’s too exhausted for it. minsu doesn’t even reply. everyone has an excuse, and eventually, the chat goes dead. then, a private message from subong popps up.

wbu? still down to go?

you and subong had gone clubbing together hundreds of times. hell, most nights it was just the two of you, dancing until your legs gave out, taking blurry selfies, and laughing over cheap drinks. it was normal. so, you type:

yeah, sureee

bet. see u saturday, señorita

when the night comes, your phone buzzes as you’re double-checking your look in the mirror.

outside

outsideeee

outsideeeeeeeee

hellooooooooooooooooooo

one minute, let me grab my jacket

i’m freezing man

one minute my ass

patience is a virtue ❤️

cmooooooooon

u knitting the jacket or what

girl i just hit retirement age waiting for u

you’re so dramatic

and u r so slow, balance baby

you grab your jacket and head out, the bass from his car already thudding through the air when you step outside. you see him leaning against the passenger door, dressed in his usual baggy style—a loose graphic tee, cargo pants, and sneakers that probably cost more than your entire outfit (the only damn thing he saves up for…)—vape dangling lazily from his fingers. when he sees you, his eyes trail over you for a second too long. “you’re overdressed,” he teases with a smile. “you’re underdressed,” you shoot back.

the drive to club pentagon is easy, filled with a mix of rap tracks and subong’s singing. when you finally pull up, the line’s already stretching down the block, but subong doesn’t even blink. “namgyu’s working, right?” he asks, sliding out of the car. you nod. “yeah, he’ll let us in.” inside, the music is already pulsing, bass heavy enough to shake the floors. subong grabs your wrist. “drinks first?” “obviously,” you answer. you follow subong to the bar, the pounding music buzzing in your ears. “what are we starting with?” he asks, leaning against the bar. “shots,” you say, already reaching into your bag. he raises an eyebrow. “you’re paying?” “you’re broke,” you remind him, rolling your eyes before ordering four shots of tequila. when the glasses arrive, he grabs two and hands you one. “guess i’ll owe you,” he says, clinking his glass against yours. “you already do,” you reply, downing the first shot without hesitation. the familiar burn of tequila trails down your throat, and you chase it with a quick breath.

you can feel his eyes on you as you throw back the second shot. you don’t meet his gaze, but you can feel it—the weight of it, the way it makes your stomach flutter. shaking it off, you slam your glass on the counter and signal for one more round. “last one,” you say, mostly to yourself, pulling out more cash. he doesn’t argue, just picks up his shot, watching you as you pick up yours. you both toss back the final shot, and the alcohol is just enough to loosen the knot in your chest. but the way his gaze lingers as he sets his glass down makes it tighten again. “dancing?” you ask. he nods. you push through the crowd till you find a spot on the dance floor. the techno track thuds through your chest as you sway to the rhythm. subong moves with you, not particularly in sync with the beat, but in his own way that somehow works. every now and then, his eyes catch yours, and you have to force yourself to look away.

the music builds, and you let yourself get lost in it, the alcohol buzzing through your veins and the tension from earlier slowly dissolving into the haze of the moment. after a while, he stops moving and pulls his phone from his pocket. you glance at him, curious, as he squints at the screen. whatever he sees makes him smile faintly before he shoves the phone back into his pocket. “i need to hit the bathroom!” he says, leaning close so you can hear. you blink at him, confused. “right now?” he nods, gesturing for you to follow. you don’t argue—it’s not exactly safe to hang around the dance floor by yourself. reluctantly, you let him lead you off the floor.

he disappears into the men’s room, leaving you standing against the wall, arms crossed. you tap your foot, watching drunk strangers stumble past. a few minutes later, the door swings open, and subong walks out, a small smirk playing on his lips. “what took you so long?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. instead of answering, he holds up a small plastic bag between his fingers. your stomach flips when you see the little colorful pills inside. “what the hell is that?” you ask, but you already know. he grins, tilting his head. “new stuff.” your brows furrow. “what?” “my plug got these,” he says, holding up the bag slightly. “said they hit different. figured i’d try.” he slides one pill between his fingers, studying it like it’s no big deal. then he brings it to his mouth, about to toss it back. “wait,” you say, grabbing his wrist. he scoffs. “what? you want it instead?” you glare at him. “no, subong. what are you even doing? you don’t need that!” he rolls his eyes, freeing his wrist from your grip. “come on, it’s nothing. we’ve had worse.” “worse?” you scoff. “you’re really gonna compare getting blackout drunk and smoking pot to this?” “you’re fucking overthinking it. it’s just one pill. just tonight. trust me.” he says.

you glance at the bag again, at the little pills that seem so harmless yet scream bad idea. “subong…” you start, but your voice trails off. “look,” he cuts in, his voice softer now. “we’re having a good fucking time, yeah? it’ll be just this once, okay? i promise.” “okay,” you say suddenly, lifting your chin. “but if you do one, i’ll do one.” his smirk falters for half a second. “no.” you frown. “what do you mean, no?” “i mean no. you’re not taking one.” “but you can?” you challenge, crossing your arms.“yeah.” you scoff. “that’s bullshit.” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “this isn’t your thing, señorita.” “since when it’s yours?” you snap. “if you’re gonna do it, then so am i.”

he looks at you, really looks at you. then, with an exasperated groan, he reaches into the bag. “fucking stubborn,” he mutters, pulling out another pill. “just this once.” he holds it delicately between his fingers before stepping closer. “open up,” he says, his voice dropping a notch. you hesitate for a second but eventually part your lips, sticking out your tongue. he places the pill gently on it. “there you go,” he says, stepping back and popping his own pill. you swallow it quickly, trying not to think about what you’ve just decided to do.

you move back onto the dance floor, the pill's effects creeping in like a warm wave washing over you. the flashing lights seem brighter now and everything blurs together—colors, sounds, the heat of the crowd—but it feels good. better than it should. your limbs feel lighter, like you're floating, and the energy buzzing inside you pushes you to move. subong is right there beside you, dancing with his hand raised, and you can't stop staring at him. his messy hair sticks to his forehead, sweat glistening on his tanned skin.

before you know it, your arms are around his neck, pulling him in like it’s the only thing keeping you steady. his eyes burn into yours for half a second, like he’s daring you to close the distance. then his hands are on your waist, rough fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and he drags you closer until you’re pressed against him. the music is pounding, but it feels distant—like the only rhythm you can hear now is the way your bodies move together, hips rolling in time, every brush of his skin against yours making you burn.

his breath fans across your lips, hot and tasting of tequila and something bitter—maybe the pill he took earlier—and it makes your head spin. then your mouth crashes into his. there’s nothing soft about it. it’s messy and sloppy, urgent—like you’re both too far gone to think about anything but this. his lips part against yours immediately, and your tongues meet in a dizzying clash of heat and need. his hands slide up your back, fingers threading into your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.

you tilt your head, chasing the kiss even deeper. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth against your bottom lip, a bite that makes you whimper before he soothes it with his tongue. the sound you make pushes him further—he groans into your mouth, his other hand gripping your jaw, tilting your face exactly how he wants it.

you’re not sure where the desperation is coming from, but it feels like if he stops touching you, you’ll shatter. your fingers clutch at his shirt, twisting the fabric as you grind just a little closer, a little harder. he’s breathing just as heavy as you are, lips red and swollen from kissing you like he never wants to stop.

you’ve kissed people before but nothing’s ever felt like this. nothing’s ever felt this fucking good. the two of you stumble out of the club. your legs feel like jelly as you hold onto subong, and his arm wraps around your waist to steady you. his car is parked a few streets over, tucked away in a dark, hidden corner under some trees. “thank god for this spot,” he mutters as he unlocks the doors.

you barely make it into the backseat before he’s on you again—his lips crashing into yours like he’s been waiting for this forever. his hands are all over you, rough and desperate, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. but you’re not going anywhere. his fingers dig into your thighs as he pulls you into his lap, and the second you straddle him, you feel it—hard and thick, pressing right against the heat between your legs. a soft gasp slips out of you, but he swallows it with another kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. fuck, he’s good.

your hands tangle in his hair, pulling as your hips start to move, grinding down on him. his grip tightens immediately, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he guides your movements, rocking you against him harder. the friction creates a delicious, aching pressure that makes you whimper against his lips. “fuck,” he breathes, breaking the kiss just long enough to let his head fall back against the seat. his fingers squeeze your ass, dragging you down against him rougher. “keep doing that.” so you do. you roll your hips, slow at first, letting yourself feel everything. you’re already soaked, already throbbing for more, and from the way his hands are gripping you, the way his breathing is getting heavier, you know he feels it too. “i need to eat you out,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck. “want you to cum on my tongue.” you do exactly what he wants—legs spread wide, thighs trembling as his head dips between them. his breath is hot against your soaked pussy, teasing, before his tongue finally makes contact—slow at first, a long, deliberate lick from your entrance to your clit that makes your whole body jolt.

you gasp at the feeling, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard, but it only makes him groan against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure straight through you. he doesn’t hold back. he devours you, eating you out like a man starved, his tongue flicking against your clit before he sucks it into his mouth. and when two of his fingers slip inside you, curling deep, pressing against that perfect spot, you swear you see stars. “you taste so fucking good,” he groans against you, his lips slick with your arousal before he flattens his tongue and laps up every drop. the way he’s working you—his mouth, his fingers, the filthy sounds coming from between your legs—it’s too much, too good, and your whole body is trembling, hips rolling against his face, chasing more. “shit—subong!” your voice breaks as the pleasure crashes over you all at once. your thighs clamp around his head, your body arching off the seat as you cum hard against his mouth. but he doesn’t stop—his tongue keeps moving, drinking you in, dragging out your release until you’re shaking.

when he comes back up to kiss you—chin shining with the evidence of your release— your hand instinctively moves to rub him through his pants, the hard outline of his dick impossible to miss. he hisses at the contact, his hips bucking eagerly against your touch. “you got a condom?” you ask. he pauses. “yeah, hold on.” reluctantly, he pulls away and starts patting his pockets. his brows furrow in concentration as he checks one side, then the other. finally, with a relieved grin, he pulls a condom out and holds it up. “got it,” he says before kissing the wrapper, making you chuckle.

he looks so fucking hot as he rolls the condom onto his cock, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. but nothing gets him off more than watching you climb back onto his lap, your soaked folds teasing the head of his dick as you line yourself up. his breath stutters, his hands gripping your thighs, barely holding himself back. “fuck, you’re so wet,” he says, voice tight with restraint. then, slowly you sink down onto him. inch by inch, he stretches you open, filling you up until there’s no space left between your bodies. “shit,” he hisses, watching as your slick coats him, making every movement easy, effortless—like your body was made to take him. and when you start moving, lifting your hips before sliding back down, a broken moan escapes his lips. “fuck, baby,” he breathes, hands roaming up your back, gripping your ass, anything to ground himself as you ride him. “you feel so f-fucking good—look at you, taking me so… mmm… so fucking well.” his voice is needy, and when you slam down harder, his hips jerk up to meet yours, pushing even deeper. “oh my—fuck, subong!” you cry out, your walls clenching around him so tight it makes his whole body tense beneath you.

he almost fucking loses it the second he feels you clench around him, his face twisting in pleasure, jaw going slack. his hands grip your hips, guiding you—faster, rougher—eyes locked on where your bodies meet, watching his cock disappear inside you over and over again. he forces himself to meet your gaze, even though his eyes keep threatening to roll back. “fuck, if i’d known how fucking good this pussy is… i would’ve f-fucked you sooner.” he moans as you move faster, bouncing on his cock—every thrust making obscene, slick sounds that only turn him on more. his eyes drop to your tits, bouncing perfectly in time with your movements, and fuck, he can’t decide what he wants more—to keep watching you ride him like this or to flip you over and ruin you.

but then you tighten around him, your rhythm stuttering as you throw your head back, moaning so loud he swears the whole damn neighborhood can hear you. “fuck— i’m gonna—! i-i’m gonna cum!” you cry out, your whole body trembling, thighs shaking as you cum around his cock. and that’s it. that’s all it takes to break him. “shit—ngh!” his body jerks beneath you, his abs tensing as he spills into the condom, his head falling back, mouth open.

his hands are still gripping you, holding you down against him as he rides out every last pulse of his release, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. and fuck—you’re still wrapped around him, warm and wet and perfect. you end up laughing for a solid twenty minutes after that, still too high to fully process what the fuck just happened between you two. but even in your haze, every single detail stays with you the next day.

fucking your best friend while high as fuck one night might’ve been an accident. but then it happens again. and again. and again. and you can’t call it an accident anymore.

it happens everywhere.

in his car, where the windows are always fogged up, your moans echoing in the tight space. in your apartment, where he barely gets the door shut before he’s got you pinned against it, hands rough and greedy, yanking your clothes off like he’s been waiting all fucking day for this. sometimes he doesn’t even make it past the kitchen—he just lifts you onto the counter, knocking over whatever’s in his way, too impatient to care as his mouth moves down your neck. in his bed, where the sheets are always a mess, tangled from how hard he fucks you into the mattress, his hands gripping your wrists, pinning them above your head. even in a club bathroom, right after he gives a show, still high off the energy, sweat dripping down his temple. you’re barely inside before he’s got you bent over the sink, hiking your dress up, shoving your panties to the side, fucking into you so deep you have to bite your hand to keep from screaming his name.

wherever. the second you’re alone, it’s happening. it becomes a thing. a need.

you always figured subong would fuck good. he never shut up about the girls he’s been with, the shit he’s done, bragging like he was the best lay any of them ever had. and every time he talked about it, you’d feel heat pool between your thighs, wondering if he was really that good or just full of shit.

now you knew. and fuck, he wasn’t lying.

he’s rough and passionate—the kind of lover who takes without hesitation but gives just as much, maybe even more. he loves watching you squirm, loves the way your body responds to him like it was made for this. like it needs this. his fingers trail down your skin, barely touching, making you shiver before he finally gives you what you want. and fuck, he lives for it—the way you gasp when he finally presses his mouth between your legs, the way your back arches when he fills you up, stretching you wide, making you take every inch.

some days, he drags it out, torturing you with slow touches, lazy kisses, making you beg before he finally gives in. he’ll tease you until you’re trembling, hands gripping at him desperately, “please, subong… need you so bad.” and then, maybe then, he’ll give you what you’re begging for. other days? he doesn’t bother waiting. before you can say a word, he’s got you pinned to the mattress, yanking your legs apart, pressing himself against you, making you feel just how hard he is. “been thinking about this all fucking day.” then he’s inside you, fucking you like he’s been starving for it.

it’s been months now—this thing between you and subong. but you don’t talk about it. not once. there’s no late-night confessions, no whispered ‘what are we?’ between tangled sheets. he doesn’t ask who else you’re seeing, and you sure as hell don’t ask him. but the uncertainty lingers. because he’s still your best friend. you still laugh at his dumb ass jokes, roll your eyes when he’s being his cocky self, and feel that weird, warm twist in your stomach when you catch him watching you from across the room.

and yet, there are a bunch of little things that scream something more. like that time you sat on his rumpled bed while he was writing a song, and you helped him hammer out stupid-ass verses—even when he swore they’d never work. you teased him for his cheesy lines and then watched his face light up like he’d just discovered a new fucking world. hell, he even calls you his muse sometimes, and you hate how damn proud that makes you feel.

or that stormy night. the rain was lashing against the windows, and you two were locked in his tiny studio apartment. one minute you were laughing, taking silly pictures of him with a digital camera while he smoked, and the next, he had your face pressed against the wooden table as he fucked you from behind—your ass cheeks burning from his vigorous spanking. after, he pulled you close, running his fingers through your hair as if trying to memorize every inch of you.

that one night he showed up at your door at 2 a.m., high off his ass, slurring your name with that cocky grin, his knuckles tapping too fast against the wood. “couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, leaning against the doorframe. “fucking missed you.” you should’ve told him to fuck off, should’ve rolled your eyes and slammed the door in his face because he promised he wouldn’t do that shit again. instead, you let him in, let him collapse onto your bed with a heavy sigh, pulling you down with him. his arms caged you in, the scent of his cheap cologne filling your senses.

then there was the time you caught him staring at you while you were getting ready. you were fixing your hair in his mirror, wearing nothing but his oversized t-shirt, and when you turned around, he was just standing there—arms crossed. “what?” you asked, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. he just shook his head, smirking a little. “nothing,” he said. “you just—you look good in my clothes, mama.”

and when you called him crying after a shitty day at work, voice shaking so bad he could barely understand you. you didn’t even have to ask—he just showed up, no questions. drove way too fucking fast to get to you, and pulled you into his chest so tight it felt like he was trying to hold you together. “who do i need to punch?” he asked, half-joking, half-dead serious. and you laughed, even through your tears, because that was him—always trying to make you smile. he let you cry into his hoodie, let you hold onto him like a fucking lifeline, and then, when you finally calmed down, he kissed your forehead like it was second nature. “you’re okay, baby” he murmured. “i got you.” he always had you.

or the night he took you to some shitty underground concert, knowing damn well you didn’t even like the band. “it’s not about the music,” he told you, grinning like an idiot. “it’s about the experience.” you rolled your eyes, but you still let him pull you into the crowd, still let him wrap an arm around you when the pit got too wild, still let him hold your hand. afterward, sweaty and breathless, you sat on the curb outside, sharing a cigarette while he rambled about how sick the show was. “you should play up there one day,” you told him, nudging his shoulder. “your songs have gotten better.” “you think?” “yeah. you’re good, bong-bong.” the nickname made him laugh. a week later, he showed you something he wrote. something raw and messy and fucking beautiful. he let you hear a part of him no one else ever did.

you even helped him rebrand himself. it started with him pacing his room, muttering to himself, stopping every few seconds like he was about to say something, then changing his mind. eventually, you sighed, rolling onto your stomach while watching him from his bed. “are you having a breakdown or just being dramatic?” he ignored you, still pacing. and then, out of nowhere, he stopped. snapped his fingers. looked at you like he just discovered the secret to life itself. “i’m gonna dye my hair purple.” you stared at him for a long second, waiting for him to laugh or tell you he was joking. but he just stood there, completely serious, shoulders squared like he was about to go to war.

within twenty minutes, you were in his bathroom, gloves on, a box of purple dye sitting between you. you didn’t even ask how he got it so fast. knowing him, he’d probably been sitting on this idea for weeks, just waiting for the right moment to drag you into it. he sat on the closed toilet lid, legs spread, while you stood over him, parting his hair and working the dye through. up close, he looked smug as hell, like he knew he was onto something. the whole rap game was about standing out, and he was done waiting for people to notice him.

the name ‘thanos’ caught on faster than you expected. at first, it was a joke—you called him that to be annoying, and then he used it in a song, and suddenly, people were saying it back to him. dms started piling up. more people started listening. before you knew it, subong wasn’t just some guy making music in his bedroom—he was thanos. and, of course, he acted like he knew it was gonna work all along.

and fuck, the time he brought you home to meet his family. his mom fussed over you like you were the perfect daughter-in-law, laying on your favorite dish and insisting you have seconds. then, saying, “he talks about you a lot”, making subong choke on his food while his sister goaded him about how he treats you like his damn girlfriend. you felt so out-of-place and yet so damn loved by the way he proudly introduced you to everyone, as if you were the missing piece in his fucked-up puzzle. he even opened up to you about his dad—how he never gave a shit about him, never looked at him unless it was to point out everything he did wrong. maybe that was why he kept stealing glances at you like he was trying to make sense of it—of being wanted, of being next to someone who actually cared.

and later that night, when you were both lying on his couch, full and sleepy, he nudged your knee with his. “thanks for coming, señorita,” he mumbled, eyes half-lidded. “they liked you.” you turned your head to look at him, saying, “of course they did. i’m fucking amazing.” he smirked, but it faded quick, his gaze lingering on you a little too long. “yeah,” he murmured. “you are.”

nights that weren’t about sex at all. the ones where he just wanted you close, his hands resting on your back, his lips pressed to your shoulder, his voice low and sleepy in the dark. “you’re warm,” he’d mumble, pulling you closer. “don’t leave.” “i work tomorrow, baby,” you’d say. “i’ll drive you… stay with me,” he’d always replied.

and you did. every single time.

and there were the nights he fucked you like he meant it. not just like you were some girl he was hooking up with, but like you were the only one who had ever mattered. like he was trying to prove something with every touch, every kiss, every time he pressed his sweaty forehead to yours and whispered your name like a prayer.

like he loved you. but he never said it. and neither did you.

so instead, you settled for the quiet moments—for the way he always pulled you into his lap at parties, his hands resting lazily on your thighs; for the way he let you pick the music when you drove anywhere, even though he always bitched about your taste; for the way he let you steal his fries, let you doodle on his lyrics notebook, let you wear his hoodies even when you didn’t ask; for the way he texted you ‘good morning, baby❤️,’ and it made you smile for no damn reason; for the way you woke up to find him still asleep beside you, hair a damn mess on the pillow, and traced lazy circles on his chest while he mumbled some half-remembered melody. for the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching.

you can’t help but hope that one day you’ll both just say the damn words and finally admit that all these little moments mean something. you hope that maybe, just maybe, one day you’ll stop wondering if you’re more than just friends with benefits.

are u busy?

no, why?

good, i’ll be there in 10

i’m on my period

who gives a shitttt, i sure as hell don’t, mama

subong.

yeah?🙏🏼

not in the mood❤️

oh

alr cool👍🏼💯

can i still come over tho? we could watch a movie or something

yeah okayyy, bring snacks (or else i won’t let you in)

i’m the only snack u need, girl

you don’t expect him to show up with anything, but when you open the door, subong’s standing there, hands full—one holding a plastic bag, the other gripping a bottle of soda. “what’s all this?” you ask, raising a brow. he steps inside without waiting for an invite, kicking off his shoes. “you said ‘bring snacks’, didn’t you?” he says, dropping the bag onto your coffee table. “figured you’d want something sweet.” you peek inside—chocolate bars, a pack of strawberry pocky, even a container of sliced fruit. your chest tightens at the thought of him actually remembering the little things you like.“what, no painkillers?” you tease, flopping onto the couch. he scoffs, collapsing next to you, way too comfortable in your space. “what do i look like, a pharmacy?”

you give him a knowing look, and his lips twitch, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. grabbing the remote, you ask, “so, what are we watching?” “something i won’t fall asleep to,” he says, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. “which means no boring indie shit.” you nudge his thigh with your foot. “first of all, my movie taste is elite. second, if you fall asleep, i’m taking pictures.” he grins, lazy and cocky. “yeah? what will you use them for?” heat rushes to your face, and you smack his arm without thinking. “shut up.”

the movie plays, and for a while, it’s normal. easy. you snack on the pocky while subong steals pieces of fruit from the container, acting like he’s doing you a favor by eating the ones you don’t like. he stretches out on the couch, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. goddamn.

it's barely been a few minutes when you find yourself on your knees in front of the couch, his strong hand fisting in your hair as you hungrily suck his dick like your life depends on it. you couldn’t help it. he just looked too fucking good. you take him deep, your nose pressing against his abs, gagging slightly but refusing to back off. he lets out a groan as you take him, the head of his dick hitting the back of your throat. His hand tightens in your hair, guiding your head up and down. “fuck, just like that baby... show me how much you love this dick.” his hips thrust forward, making you gag slightly. “you're so f-fucking good for me... mmm such a pretty little mouth, choking on my cock.”

drool slips down your chin as you struggle to breathe but maintain eye contact, wanting him to see how much you love taking him in your mouth. the wet, obscene sounds of you slurping and gagging fill the room. he watches you intently, pupils blown wide with lust, his dick throbbing against your tongue. moaning around him, the vibrations make his thighs quake. "shit... you’re gonna make me fucking c-cum," he breathes out. “you gonna… you gonna let me cum in that s-sweet mouth of yours, hm?” “mhmm,” you purr around his length, looking up at him with hooded eyes. you double your efforts, sucking him hard and fast, your hand pumping what you can’t reach. he holds your head in place as he comes, making you to swallow every last drop. you take a moment to catch your breath, wiping your mouth before sitting back up.

the bathroom lights hum to life as you rinse your mouth and splash cool water on your face, trying to shake off the heat thrumming through you. you press your palms against the sink, inhaling deep in an attempt to look less flustered. the movie’s still on when you come back. you get comfortable, leaning into subong just slightly. he doesn’t say anything, just lifts his arm and lets you settle in against his side. the warmth of him seeps into you, and you rest your head on his shoulder. subong smiles at you before kissing your forehead, something that shouldn’t mean anything but somehow does.

you shift slightly, but he just pulls you in closer, his body solid and warm against yours. your heart stutters in your chest, and the thought of what you are—what you actually mean to him—becomes impossible to ignore. the longer you sit there, the harder it is to pretend this is normal. your heart is beating too fast, your mind racing with thoughts you’ve been shoving down for months. finally, you tilt your head to glance up. “subong,” you start, your voice quieter than you mean it to be. he hums, eyes still on the screen, but you can tell he’s listening. you swallow, suddenly nervous. “what… what are we doing?” that gets his attention. “what do you mean?” you sit up a little, putting some space between you—enough to see him clearly. “this. us. it’s been months, and we’ve never talked about it.” “what’s there to talk?” “i mean, is this just sex to you?”

he doesn’t answer right away. his jaw tenses, his eyes flicking away for a second like he’s weighing his words. “does it feel like just sex to you?” he finally asks. your chest tightens. “no.” his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily. like maybe he’s been trying to convince himself of something different. “right. it’s not just sex, we’re friends, too,” he says. “then why are we acting like this?” you push. he rubs a hand over his face. “i don’t know.” he leans forward, elbows on his knees. the silence stretches thick between you, but you refuse to let it suffocate you. you need to know. “what do you want this to be?”

subong exhales hard, dragging a hand through his hair. he looks frustrated, like he doesn’t even want to have this conversation. like you’re ruining something by asking. “why do we have to call it something?” he says finally, and your stomach twists. you blink, sitting up a little. “because it’s been months, subong. because we’re not—we’re not just fucking and then going our separate ways. because we’re sitting here, cuddling, watching a damn movie, and it feels like more.” his jaw clenches, his fingers tightening around his knee. “it doesn’t have to mean anything.” that stings. worse than you were expecting. you swallow around the lump forming in your throat. “it does to me.” his face twists, like he hates hearing that. “shit, don’t fucking do this,” he mutters, shaking his head. “why can’t we just keep things the way they are?” “because i’m tired of pretending this is casual when it’s not,” you snap, your voice cracking. “not for me, at least.”

he squeezes his eyes shut for a second, like he’s trying to hold something back. when he looks at you again, his expression is unreadable, but his next words hit like a punch to the gut. “then maybe you shouldn’t have let it get this fucking far.” you feel like the air has been sucked out of the room. “what?” “i never promised you shit.” the words cut deep, sharper than anything he’s ever said to you before. you open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. because he’s right. he never did. but the way he touched you, the way he held you after—none of that felt like nothing. you shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your voice steady. “are you fucking kidding me?”

he hesitates for a second too long. and that’s all you need to know. you force yourself to nod, pressing your lips together. “okay.” his brows furrow, like he wasn’t expecting you to take it like that, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything else. you grab the remote, press stop on the movie, and push yourself off the couch. “you should go.” “are you fucking serious?” you cross your arms over your chest, fighting to keep your composure. “yeah, i’m serious. get the fuck out.” “we have one fucking shitty conversation, and now you don’t want me here?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “what the fuck do you want from me, subong?” your voice shakes, and you can feel it crack, but you force it out. “sit here and pretend like i didn’t just fucking tell you how i feel? pretend i’m not fucking hurt because you—” you stop yourself, biting your lip so hard it almost bleeds. his jaw clenches. “what?” you let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “because you don’t fucking care.” “i never said i don’t care.” “you might as well have,” you snap, voice breaking with frustration. “you just don’t give a shit enough to do anything about it.” he presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, breathing hard through his nose. “just because i care doesn’t mean we have to slap a fucking label on it!” “and i just have to be okay with that?!” you snap, your voice rising. “i have to sit here like a dumbass and pretend this is fine when it’s not?”

he throws his hands up, his face twisting in frustration. “for fuck’s sake, why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult?” “difficult?!” you let out a humorless laugh. “you’re the one acting like a fucking idiot, subong! you want to fuck me, cuddle me, act like i’m your fucking girlfriend, but the second i ask you to be honest about what this is, suddenly i’m the problem?! you even introduced me to your damn family!” he freezes for half a second when the words leave your mouth, then he stands up, jabbing a finger in your face. “what the fuck did you just call me?!” you swat his hand away, your glare burning into him. “don’t fucking point at me like that!” his jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare like he’s barely keeping himself from snapping. “you wanna talk about being a fucking idiot?! look in the fucking mirror!” he spits. “you’re the one acting like some needy little bitch because i won’t say what you wanna hear.” “fuck you, subong!” you don’t say anything else. you just turn on your heel and walk out of the living room, heading straight for the kitchen. your hands are shaking, your chest tight, and you just need to put some distance between you and him before you completely fall apart. behind you, you hear him scoff. “seriously? you’re just gonna walk away mid-fucking-conversation?”

you grip the edge of the counter, squeezing your eyes shut. maybe if you stay quiet, he’ll take the fucking hint and leave. but of course, he doesn’t. you hear his footsteps as he follows you in. “you always do this shit,” he mutters, his voice dripping with irritation. “running off the second things don’t go your way.” you whirl around, your eyes burning. “what should i do, then? hm? get on my knees and suck your fucking dick again?!” he clenches his fists at his sides, his mouth opening like he’s about to argue—but then he hesitates. because the truth is, you do mean something to him. he just doesn’t know how to fucking deal with it. subong has never done this before—never been in something that wasn’t just fucking around, never had to deal with real feelings, real expectations. and the idea of fucking it up? it scares the shit out of him. but instead of admitting that, instead of being honest for once in his life, he just does what he does best—pushes, lashes out. it seems easier than dealing with what he feels when he’s around you.

“why do you care so fucking much about not calling it something?” you ask, your voice softer now. “if we’re not seeing other people, if we’re always together, if you do care about me, then why?” his throat bobs as he swallows hard. and then—because he’s a fucking coward—he lies. “who says i’m not seeing other people?” you freeze. his face is unreadable, but you can see the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he already regrets saying it. “you’re lying.” your voice is quiet. he just shrugs, “i’ve been seeing this girl.” “who?” you raise your voice, taking a step closer as tears start falling down your face. “who?!” “i’m not fucking telling you!” “are you serious?! aren’t we supposed to be friends too?! we used to tell each other everything!”

his eyes flick to yours, and for a second—just a second—something flashes in them. something like guilt. but then he shuts it down, scoffing as he shakes his head. you continue, “but we’re not even friends anymore, are we?” “don’t say that.” “why not? it’s true, isn’t it? friends don’t do what we do,” you wipe at your face, even though the tears won’t stop fucking falling. he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, pressing it against the inside of his cheek like he’s trying to hold something back. but then he just shrugs again, voice flat. “guess we’re not fucking friends either, then.”

your vision blurs as you cry, no matter how hard you try to keep it together. “get the fuck out, subong.” your voice breaks on the last word, and you hate how fucking weak you sound, how pathetic. and the second the first real sob rips out of your throat, something in him shifts. “fuck. no, i—” he exhales, raking a hand through his hair, his voice softer now, like he’s realizing he went too far. “i didn’t mean it. i’m sorry—i’m sorry, baby.” “don’t fucking call me that!” “you gotta listen to me!” you shake your head, taking a step back, your whole body trembling. “no. i’m done listening to your fucking bullshit.” “baby, please.” his voice cracks, and his hands reach for you—hesitant, like he doesn’t know if you’ll let him touch you. “please.” you slap them away instantly. “don’t fucking touch me.” “you’re really just gonna shut me out like this?!” “you shut me out first!” “i fucking care about you!” “not enough!” his breath catches in his throat, and for a second, he just stares at you. “you’re being fucking dramatic.” “get the fuck out of my house, subong.” “why are you being such a fucking—” “say it.” your voice is a challenge, daring him to go there. he doesn’t hesitate. “bitch. a fucking bitch. you—you’re acting like a bitch.”

you’ve had enough. without thinking, you shove him—hard. he stumbles back a step, caught off guard, but you don't stop. you shove him again, your palms flat against his chest. “you’re a fucking asshole! fuck you! get out! get the fuck out!” his jaw tightens, like he wants to argue, like he wants to throw something else back at you, but you're already stepping forward again, grabbing his arm and shoving him toward the front door. subong wrenches his arm away, but you don't let it stop you. you push him again, shoving him past the threshold. but he’s not moving, so you grab the nearest thing—his damn sneakers—and chuck them at him, one after the other. the first one bounces off his chest, the second one catches him square in the shoulder. “what the fuck, man?!” subong barks, flinching back, his face twisting in irritation. he barely catches the second shoe before it can hit the ground. “you’re a crazy bitch!”

“fuck off!” your voice cracks again, but you don’t care. you’re already stepping forward, already reaching for the door—and you slam it in his face. the sound echoing through the room. for a moment, silence. a long, awful pause where your breath hitches, where your chest tightens so much it feels like you’re suffocating. then—“open the door. c’mon, open—open the fucking door!” he slams his fist against the wood. “stop being so fucking childish!” “you’re calling me childish?! grow up, subong! you’re twenty six, you don’t know what you want and you still dress like a fucking kid!” he bangs the door. “you’re one to talk, girl! always dressed like a damn slut!”

you squeeze your eyes shut and stumble to your room until your knees hit the bed, and then you’re collapsing onto it. the first sob breaks out of you before you can stop it, and then another, and another. you curl into yourself, pulling the blanket over your head, pressing your hands against your ears. but it doesn’t block him out. “fucking talk to me!” another bang. you hear the doorknob rattle. “baby, please! i’m sorry, okay?! c’mon, don’t do this! we’re fucking friends!” your voice is muffled when it finally comes, thick with tears, but loud enough for him to hear you. “go away!” “not fucking happening! open the damn door!” “go away or i’m calling the fucking cops, motherfucker!” that seems to work. you curl tighter, press your face into the pillow, and sob until the sound of his fists against the door fades away. he did this. he made you feel this way. and he fucking hates himself for it. but it’s too late.

the next few days are absolute shit. you barely leave your bed at first. your body feels too heavy, your chest too tight, your eyes too sore from crying. when you do finally move, it’s only to go through the motions—brushing your teeth, pulling on the same oversized hoodie, forcing down a few bites of food even when everything tastes like nothing, and going to work. you don’t check your phone at first. you can’t. but eventually, the screen lights up, and you don’t have to look to know who it is. subong. you let it ring. he calls again. and again. when it finally stops, the texts start.

pick up the fucking phone

cmon baby please

i fucking miss u

don’t do this shit to me

u make me so fucking angry

bro istfg

please

you turn the phone face down. but he doesn’t stop. every time you glance at your screen, his name is there.

i know u r reading these

don’t fucking ignore me bro

at least tell me u r okay

minsu asked why u didn’t come with us today

just fucking answer

is it that hard?

years and years of friendship man and u throw it all away like that?

u r fucking selfish

i hope u know that

the texts keep coming. always at random times. but the worst ones come at night. one day, at 4:12 a.m., your phone buzzes against your nightstand. you try to ignore it, try to pretend you’re asleep, but something tells you to look.

im highhg as fuvckk bro

look whatu vdone to me

fukcing bittvhhh

its urA fault

i mis uu

u r myybhaby❤️❤️❤️❤️

its fucking 4am. i wake up at 6 to go to work, stfu and leave me alone

can i cone over? plewaasse

answer bitchj

fuck you, subong. i don’t want to see you again

come bsck

i loveyouy

you block him, roll over, and squeeze your eyes shut. but sleep doesn’t come easy. not when the last words he sent are still glowing behind your eyelids, burning into your brain.

blocking him should have brought peace. should have been the final step, the clean break. but it doesn’t feel like that. instead, it feels like holding your breath underwater, waiting to resurface, except there’s no hand to pull you up this time. the first few days, you keep checking your phone out of habit. unlocking it without thinking. but there’s nothing. you still reach for him in small ways—almost texting him when something funny happens, almost turning to tell him about your day. but you can’t do that. you won’t do that. so you keep yourself busy. you pick up a book, let your eyes scan the words without really absorbing them. go on long walks, let the cold air bite at your skin, hoping it shocks you out of your thoughts. start journaling, writing down everything except his name, except the way your chest still feels hollow. you even try new things—take a yoga class with a friend, bake cookies at 2 a.m., cut your hair just to feel something different. but memories of him are stitched into the fabric of your life.

you hear his voice on the radio sometimes now, when they play a song of his that went viral. see him in the reflection of dark car windows, like he’s just a step behind you. hear a joke and immediately think about how he’d laugh, head thrown back, eyes crinkling at the edges. you tell yourself that eventually, you’ll forget. but some nights, you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he’s staring at his too. if he’s thinking about you. and the ache doesn’t go away.

your phone rings one night, when you’re already in bed. you almost don’t answer, but when you see semi’s name flash across the screen, you pick up. “hello?” your voice is groggy, tired. “hey,” semi says. “sorry, did i wake you?” “no,” you lie. “what’s up?” there’s a pause. hesitation. then, “it’s subong.” your stomach drops. “we’re worried about him.” she rushes the words out, like she’s been holding them in for too long. “he’s been acting weird lately—worse than usual.” you close your eyes, already knowing where this is going. already knowing what she’s about to say before she even says it. “he’s been taking those pills,” she continues. “the ones he used to mess with sometimes, but now he’s on them all the time. it’s like he’s not even—shit. he was out,” she says, frantic. “namgyu couldn’t wake him up at first, it was fucking bad, dude. and now he’s still high as hell, barely making sense, and he keeps—” she hesitates. you frown. “he keeps what?” “he keeps mumbling your name.” you feel like you’ve been punched in the chest. you press your fingers to your temple, trying to stop the pounding in your head. “fuck.” “he’s not okay,” she says. “he’s barely sleeping, barely eating. he looks like shit. well, he always does, but you know what i mean. and when he does talk, it’s like he’s—like he’s not there.”

you take a shaky breath. you shouldn’t care. you don’t care. he’s not your problem anymore. but your stomach still twists at the thought of him like that. “maybe you could talk to him?” semi says, hopeful. “when he feels better. i think he’d listen to you. gyeongsu is gonna take us to the hospital in a few minutes, maybe you could come too? we’ll pick you up. we’re at namgyu’s apartment, we had to take him—” “we’re not friends anymore, semi,” you cut off, swallowing down the lump in your throat. silence. “what?” she says. “what do you mean?” “he hasn’t told you?” “told us what?” “it doesn’t matter,” you say finally, letting out a heavy sigh. “i can’t help him.” “but—” “i can’t, semi.” the words come out sharper than you mean them to. she falls quiet. after a long moment, she sighs. “alright, okay,” she says, voice heavy with disappointment. “i just… i didn’t know.”

and even though you tell yourself it’s not your problem, even though you tell yourself you did the right thing—you don’t sleep that night. maybe you’re the most horrible person ever. for not helping him. that’s what you think to yourself as the days go by. you don’t go to see him. you don’t text semi back. you tell yourself that there’s nothing you could have done, that he made his choices, that you’re not responsible for saving him. but the guilt sticks to your ribs.

you keep moving forward. and then, somewhere along the way, you meet him. he’s nothing like subong. not really. but sometimes, in the way he leans back in his chair, in the way he runs his fingers through his hair, in the way he laughs when he’s had one too many drinks—he almost is. (he even likes rap!) and maybe that’s why you let him take you out. why you let him kiss you. why you let him press his hands against your skin and pretend it feels right. it doesn’t. but you let it happen anyway. because it’s easier. because when you close your eyes, you can almost pretend it’s subong. it’s fucked up. you know it’s fucked up. but you tell yourself it’s fine. that it doesn’t matter. that this is what moving on is supposed to look like. but it’s not fair. you know you shouldn’t be doing this. and when he asks what’s wrong, why you get quiet sometimes, why you look at him like you’re seeing someone else—you just smile. shake your head. press a kiss to his lips and hope he never realizes that you don’t mean it. hope he never realizes that no matter how hard you try—subong is still the only one you see.

he invites you to a show one night, says it’ll be fun. you don’t really know much about it—just that it’s some rap battle tournament called ‘rap battlegrounds’—but you’re bored, and it’s something to do. you don’t ask too many questions because, honestly, you don’t care that much. he picks you up, and you follow him through the neon-lit streets to a club you’ve never seen before, the bass already thumping from inside. he leads you through the crowd to a small corner of the club. it’s dark, gritty, with exposed brick walls and dim, flickering lights that barely cut through the haze of smoke hanging in the air. the floor is sticky. it’s the kind of place you usually avoid, but tonight, you let it slide.

you're barely paying attention, your eyes drifting over the crowd, the noise just background filler. the battles blur together, the hype not really doing anything for you. you're zoning out, tapping your foot to the rhythm of the beat, hoping this night will pass quickly—regretting all your life choices when he wraps his arm around your shoulders. when suddenly, a voice crackles through the mic, cutting through the noise. “yo, yo, yo, we got a real one up next! fresh off that new heat, straight killin’ the game—make some noise for ‘thanos’!” you freeze, snapping your head to the stage as the crowd cheers. “…and he’s goin’ up against the beast, the local legend, the one and only jace ‘the hammer!’”

there’s no way. you blink, trying to process it, but everything’s too dark, shadows everywhere, making you second-guess yourself. but then, you hear it—his voice. your stomach sinks. this is real. subong is here. for a second, you think you might pass out. he’s standing there, center stage, all cocky confidence, rapping like he owns the room. you wish you could ignore it, wish you could pretend he’s just another guy on stage, but he isn’t. and you can’t. and then it happens. his eyes sweep across the crowd, like he’s eating up the attention, and then they land on you. he freezes. just for a second—just long enough for his flow to falter, the words dying on his tongue. the beat keeps going, but he doesn’t, and the guy he’s battling jumps in, taking advantage of the opening. subong blinks, shakes his head, tries to recover—but it’s too late. he’s lost the rhythm, lost the momentum, and the battle ends with subong’s opponent eating up the win. the crowd erupts, but subong doesn’t hear any of it. he stands there for a second, chest rising and falling like he can’t believe it—like he can’t believe he actually lost. then, without another word, he shoves the mic into someone’s hand and disappears behind the stage.

someone else takes the spotlight almost immediately, the next rappers stepping up, music booming through the speakers again. you turn to the guy beside you, grabbing his wrist. “i wanna leave.” he frowns. “what? why?” you glance toward the side of the stage, your stomach twisting. subong won’t just leave it alone—you know him. “i’m just—i’m kinda tired.” the nervousness in your voice alarms him. “are you okay? what’s wrong?” “nothing. i just don’t wanna be here right now.” he studies you, and you can tell the exact moment he realizes how tense you are, how your shoulders are stiff, how you haven’t stopped glancing over your shoulder. his expression softens, just a little. “hey,” he says, voice quieter now. “it’s okay. i’ll take you home.” “yeah?” “of course.” you don’t move when he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. and it feels like… nothing. just lips on lips, a fleeting warmth that barely registers. your chest feels tight, like you need to shake something off, drown something out. so you kiss him back, harder this time, pressing in, searching for something. maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the way seeing subong on that stage messed with your head, knocked you off center. maybe you just want to prove to yourself that you can feel that rush with someone else. but you don’t. no matter how deep the kiss goes, no matter how much you try to lose yourself in it, there’s nothing there.

and just a second later, he’s ripped away from you—shoved back so hard he stumbles, nearly knocking into the bar behind him. and when you look up, you already know. subong stands there, shoulders tense, and his eyes locked on you. “what the fuck are you doing?!” “me?! what the fuck are you doing, subong?!” the guy composes himself and goes back next to you with a strained expression, one of his hands caressing his side. “what’s your problem, man?!” “who the fuck is this?” subong demands, his eyes never leaving yours. you exhale sharply. “just leave me alone.” disbelief flashes across his face like you’ve just insulted him. “nah, what the fuck is this?” he gestures vaguely between you and the guy. “this who you’re with now?” the guy straightens up. “is there a problem?” subong laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “yeah, there’s a fucking problem. who the fuck are you?” “just go, subong.” you cut in quickly. “no. i’m not fucking leaving.”

the guy beside you steps in, placing himself between you and subong. “you know this asshole?” he asks you. you sigh, “he’s… we used to be friends,” you reply. “yeah, and i’ve probably fucked her more times than you have, bro,” subong adds, a smirk on his face. “don’t listen to him,” you tell the guy before redirecting your attention to subong. “you’re being more than ridiculous right now. stop it. leave us alone.” he just stares, like he didn’t even hear you. like you didn’t just tell him to fuck off. “ridiculous?” he repeats, like the word itself it’s funny to him. “you wanna know what’s fucking ridiculous? you showing up here with—” he finally looks at the guy, eyes dragging over him like he’s barely worth acknowledging “—this.” “enough! i said… leave us alone.” “no, we need need to talk.” “she told you to leave, man.” the guy interrupts. wrong move. subong’s lips curl into something mean. “and who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” he sizes him up, scoffing. the guy doesn’t back down. he squares his shoulders, keeping himself between you and subong like he actually thinks that’ll stop him. subong steps closer, just enough to invade his space. you step forward, grabbing the guy’s arm. “seriously, let’s just go—”

subong’s hand shoots out, grabbing his collar. the guy shoves him back instantly, and that’s all it takes. subong’s always been quick to anger, and now he’s pissed. “relax,” the guy says, lifting his hands like he’s trying to de-escalate, but subong’s past that. “relax? you want me to relax when you’re out here kissing my girl?” the guy exhales through his nose. “you wanna fight me over her that bad?” he shakes his head. “man, you already lost once tonight.” subong’s expression shifts in an instant. his shoulders go tense, his nostrils flare, and his jaw locks so tight you swear you can hear his teeth grind. he snaps, swinging first. it’s fast, a punch aimed straight for the guy’s jaw, but he dodges, stepping back just in time. the guy doesn’t waste time. he drives forward, ramming his shoulder into subong’s chest, sending him stumbling back. for a second, you think it might end there—but of course, it doesn’t. subong recovers quick, too quick. he surges forward, grabbing the guy’s shirt and yanking him down just to throw a knee into his ribs. the guy grunts, shoving him off, and then they’re both swinging. fists connect, curses fly, and you can barely keep up. the guy tries to hold his own, landing a few hits, but subong barely flinches. he’s fueled by something else, and he’s not stopping. one punch lands hard against the guy’s cheek, snapping his head to the side. another follows, a brutal hit to his jaw that makes him stumble. then another. and another. the guy grunts, arms coming up to shield himself, but subong doesn’t let up. he grabs the front of his shirt, yanking him forward just to slam his fist into his face again.

blood splatters. and that’s when you snap out of it. “subong, stop!” he doesn’t hear you. “subong!” he pulls back for another hit, and you move before you even think. you grab him by his shirt, using all your strength to shove him back. he stumbles, losing his grip on the guy, his eyes wild when they snap to yours. “what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, chest heaving. subong’s nostrils flare, hands still clenched into fists like he’s seconds away from going back for more. the guy groans, wiping blood from his face. “you broke my fucking nose, man! you’re insane!” he yells. “shut the fuck up,” subong spits, but before he can go at him again, you shove him harder. “leave him alone!” his breathing is heavy, his eyes dark, burning into yours. for a second, you think he might listen, that the fight might finally be over. but then, in one swift movement, he grabs your wrist. “what are you—” you barely get the words out before he pulls you with him, dragging you through the crowd, past the stage. “let go of me!” you struggle against his grip, but he doesn’t stop. people turn to look, but no one moves to intervene. they just watch. before you know it, you’re backstage, away from the lights, away from the eyes—trapped in a space that feels too small.

subong finally stops, shoving you back against the wall. you barely have a second to catch your breath before you’re shoving him off. “what the fuck is wrong with you?! what the fuck was all of that about?! huh?!” you slam your hands against his chest, but he barely moves. his jaw clenches, and when he speaks, his voice is rough. “what the fuck is wrong with me?! you’re really asking me that?! when you’re the one out there acting like a desperate fucking slut?!” your head jerks back, a bitter laugh ripping from your throat. “are you fucking serious right now?! you just beat the shit out of him, and you’re mad at me?! for what?! for moving the fuck on?!” “yeah, i fucking am!” he snaps. before you can react, he steps in, closing the space between you in an instant. his hands come up, slamming against the wall on either side of your head. your whole body tenses. he’s seething, breath ragged and reeking of cheap liquor and god knows what else. “why?!” “because you’re mine!” “yours?! fuck off!” you shove at him again, hard. “and take a goddamn shower while you’re at it. you smell like a fucking alleyway.”

his nostrils flare. “yeah? well, you smell like a cheap whore.” rage flares hot in your chest. “right, because you’d fucking know, wouldn’t you?” you sneer. his head tilts, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “at least i don’t pretend to have fucking standards. what’s his name, huh?” your stomach turns, but you don’t let it show. instead, you smile. “why? you jealous? go cry about it, asshole.” he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “you know he’s just using you, right? you’re nothing but a warm hole to him.” your hand flies up before you can think better of it, shoving his face away. “yeah. like that wasn’t exactly what i was to you too, motherfucker.” he stumbles back a step, running a hand over his jaw. “we never talked about what the fuck we wanted, or what we expected from each other. so don’t—don’t—” “that’s what you tell yourself? that you didn’t lead me on? that you didn’t fuck with my head for months?!” you cut him off. “you’re a fucking coward, subong. too fucking scared to admit you wanted me, but the second i move on, suddenly you give a shit?” “move on? to who? that fucking loser? you think he actually gives a shit about you?” “and you do?” “you can’t just act like we never fucking happened!” “we didn’t happen, that’s the thing!” you shoot back. “you didn’t want to be with me like that,” your voice wavers, but you force yourself to hold your ground. “so you don’t get to fucking act like this. you don’t get to be jealous, you don’t get to start fights over me, and you sure as hell don’t get to drag me back here like you own me.”

his throat bobs as he swallows. he looks away for a second, like if he doesn’t meet your eyes, this won’t sting as much. like he can pretend this isn’t hitting him the way it is. his fingers twitch at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to hold onto something—maybe the last shred of whatever this used to be. his breath comes sharp through his nose, the kind that’s meant to steady him but doesn’t do a damn thing. “i didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters, voice rough around the edges. “i don’t—i don’t own you.” but there’s something bitter in the way he says it, like he hates that it’s true. like he hates that he ever let it get to this point. you’re not his anymore. you never were, really. “then stop acting like it! don’t try to ruin everything just because you can’t handle the fact that i moved the fuck on!” for a second, he doesn’t say anything. his eyes flick over your face, tongue running over his teeth like he’s trying to stop himself from saying something worse. but then— “if you had, you wouldn’t have let that motherfucker shove his tongue down your throat right in front of me.” you scoff. “you think i did that on purpose?” he steps in, too close, and you instinctively take a step back. “fuck yeah, you did. you wanted me to see it. you wanted to fucking piss me off.” “you piss yourself off, subong! newsflash! not everything is about you! get over yourself.” “get over myself? you made me look like a fucking idiot out there!” “what the fuck are you talking about?” his eyes flash. “you made me lose the fucking battle, man!” you blink, caught off guard for half a second, then roll your eyes. “first of all, i’m not a man. second of all, don’t blame that shit on me.” “right. it’s never your fucking fault, huh?” he shakes his head. “you just get to do whatever the fuck you want and act like it doesn’t affect me.” you throw your hands up. “if you weren’t such a fucking asshole, maybe this wouldn’t have happened!” “yeah?!” “yeah!”

and then there’s silence. thick, heavy silence. his breathing is still ragged, his hands still curled into fists at his sides. your heart is pounding, your own fists clenched just as tight. then subong scoffs, shaking his head. “you’re so fucking full of shit.” “excuse me?” “you wanna talk about me being an asshole when you’ve been ignoring me for months? like i didn’t fucking exist.” the pain in his voice is evident and it catches you off guard. “i wasn’t—i didn’t ignore you. i was trying to heal. you’re seriously throwing that in my face right now?” “yeah, i am. don’t act like you’re the only one who got hurt.” “don’t do that.” “do what? tell the truth? you fucking blocked me, girl!” “no! don’t—don’t twist shit around just to make yourself feel better,” you snap. “you know exactly why i did it. don’t act like you’re the fucking victim.” “who is it then? you?” he scoffs. “oh, eat shit, subong! you never fucking came to see me!” you throw your arms out, exasperated. “not once! you could’ve fixed this, but you didn’t.” his jaw clenches, but he doesn’t look away. “you think i didn’t want to?” “i don’t know what the fuck you wanted!” your voice cracks, but you don’t care. “i called! and texted you every single fucking day!” “and you think that’s enough?! after everything?!” "i almost fucking overdosed!" he yells. "i was at my fucking lowest, and you—" he lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "you weren't there." you shake your head, anger bubbling in your chest. "don't put that on me, subong. you did that to yourself," you snap, voice sharp. "don't fucking guilt trip me with that." "are you serious?" “what do you want me to say? did you expect me to just forget everything and come back to you like nothing happened? you promised me—how many times?—that you weren’t gonna do that shit anymore, and here we are! and not only are you trying to make me feel like a fucking piece of shit for it, but you’re also acting like this—all of this—is my fault? when you were the one who decided i wasn’t good enough to be anything more than a fuck buddy?”

his expression falters—just a flash of something almost guilty—but then he scoffs, masking it with anger. “you’re really trying to act like you didn’t fucking replace me the second i was gone?” “replace you?” you repeat, incredulous. “you can’t be serious right now. i wasn’t the one fucking other people when we were…. whatever we were!” he freezes, his face draining of color for a split second. “don’t bring that shit up.” “oh, I’ll bring it up, alright. because you can’t say that shit to me when you were too busy screwing around while i was waiting for you to call me your fucking girlfriend.” he opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a group of people walk past, glancing over at the scene. a couple of them whisper, eyes flicking nervously from you to subong. his face hardens, irritation flashing across his features, and without warning, he grabs your wrist. “what the fuck are you looking at?” he snaps at them. the group quickly averts their gazes, pretending they weren’t just watching him. he yanks you away and you struggle for a moment, trying to free yourself from his grip, but he doesn’t let go. you’re too caught up in the heat of the moment to really think about where he’s taking you. before you know it, you’re being shoved through a door into a dimly lit room backstage, the door slamming shut behind him with a force that echoes in the silence. the room is small, cluttered with his belongings—bags, jackets, and scattered items. a mirror with round vanity lights casts a dull glow over the space, reflecting the mess on the counter: a half-empty water bottle, energy drink cans, his vape, a lighter, a bunch of candy wrappers and a few crumpled papers.

“you need to stop doing that!” you snap. “dragging me around like i’m—i don’t know—like i’m some puppet!” he ignores your words. “listen,” he says, “i tried to make it right, okay? i did.” “calling me? texting me?” you scoff, disbelief laced in your voice. “that’s what you think making it right looks like? all you ever did was send bullshit messages—half insults, half nothing at all.” you shake your head. “if you actually meant it, you would’ve come to me. you know where i live, where i work—you had every chance to show up, to prove that you actually gave a damn. but you didn’t.” his voice shakes now. “i thought… i thought you didn’t fucking need me anymore! i thought you’d be better off without me!” “better off without you?! that’s the dumbest excuse i’ve ever heard!” before you can stop yourself, you shove him, hard enough that he stumbles back a step. “you were my fucking best friend, you idiot!” your voice cracks as a tear rolls down your cheek, and you have to look away. “and i…” the words tangle in your throat. you swallow hard, forcing them out. “i fucking loved you.”

the words hit him like a fist to the gut. he swallows, his throat suddenly dry. because he knows. he knows exactly how that feels. he’s loved you too—probably longer than he even realized. but he’s never said it. not properly. not in a way that mattered anyway. and now? now it sounds like it’s too fucking late. “loved,” he repeats. “past tense?” you don’t answer. “you don’t—you don’t love me anymore?” the words slip out before he can stop them, and he hates how pathetic they sound, how fucking vulnerable they make him. “subong i—i’m sorry, i can’t… i can’t do this,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “answer me,” he presses, stepping closer, his pulse thundering in his ears. “please.” “i’m not talking about this,” you say firmly, reaching for the door. but he moves faster, pressing his hand against it, keeping you trapped in the small room with him. you squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling sharply. “i don’t want to see you again, subong.” “i do.” “well, i don’t.” “why not?” “because it fucking hurts!” the words barely leave your lips before the weight of everything crashes down on you all at once. “it… it hurts.” your throat burns, and suddenly, you can’t hold it back anymore. a choked sob rips through you, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crying.

subong’s eyes widen for half a second, like he doesn’t know what to do with the sight of you breaking down in front of him. but then, without hesitation, he reaches for you. “i know,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. “i know, baby.” the warmth of him, the familiarity, the way he holds you…it all feels too fucking good. too safe. too much like home. you sob into his shirt, fists clutching at the fabric, body shaking as months’ worth of pain and anger pour out of you. he holds you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other resting firm against your waist. “i’m sorry,” he breathes.

you suck in a sharp breath, realization slamming into you. and just like that, the warmth turns suffocating. “no,” you whisper, pushing against his chest. he stiffens. “what—” “get off me.” he hesitates, grip loosening slightly, but you shove harder, forcing space between you. “fuck, subong, what the hell am i doing?” he looks at you, confused, almost dazed, like he doesn’t understand why you’re suddenly pulling away. “baby—” “don’t call me that,” you cut him off. “i can’t—i can’t do this with you.” his jaw tightens. “you don’t mean that. you know you don’t.” “i do! because you fucking broke me!” you yell, hands trembling. “and i hate that you still make me feel like this!” you pause, trying to catch your breath, wiping at your face furiously. you hate the way the tears cling to your skin. you hate even more that he’s standing there, watching you cry. you force yourself to steady your voice. “i’m leaving.” “no, you’re not.” he’s there—blocking the door. you let out a frustrated breath, shoving at him again, but he doesn’t move an inch. “subong, move.” nothing. he doesn’t even blink. “is he your boyfriend?” the question throws you off balance. your brows furrow, and for a moment, the anger is eclipsed by confusion. “what?” “that guy. is he your boyfriend?” you exhale sharply, shaking your head as you glare at him. “jesus christ, subong, really?” “is he?” “it’s none of your business,” the words are clipped, laced with venom. his eyes darken. “none of my—?” he drags a hand through his hair, like he’s barely keeping himself together. for a second, it looks like he might actually lose it. “seriously? you can’t even say no?” “why does it matter?!” you snap. “it fucking matters to me!” your heart pounds. you don’t know why it’s so hard to answer, why the words feel like they’re lodged in your throat. his patience wears thin. “fucking hell, just—” “no!” you cut him off. “he’s not my boyfriend, okay?!” you shake your head. “did you fuck him?” “are you serious right now?” “answer the fucking question,” he demands, stepping closer. you scoff, shaking your head. “you’re actually insane.” “fucking answer!” “yes!” the word rips out of you before you can stop it. “yeah, i did. happy now?”

for a moment, he doesn’t react. he just stares at you, like the air has been knocked from his lungs. his jaw clenches, his nostrils flare. but nothing can stop the thought from sinking its claws into him—someone else touching you, having you, getting what he let slip through his fingers. it makes him sick. and it’s his own damn fault. he knows he has no right to be angry. no right to feel this way. but the jealousy curdles in his stomach, and before he can stop himself, the words tear from his mouth like a whip. “you’re a fucking whore.” the second he says it, he hates himself for it. but he doesn’t take it back. your fury is instant, white-hot.“fuck you! don’t call me that!” “i’ll call you whatever the fuck i want!” he snaps. he needs to hurt you, to make you feel even a fraction of what he’s feeling. “you really don’t see how fucking pathetic that is? spreading your legs for some guy who doesn’t even matter?” the words taste like acid in his mouth, but he spits them out anyway. he doesn’t know how else to deal with the anger, the self-hatred he feels. it’s easier to take it out on you than to admit the truth—that he ruined everything, that he’s the reason you were with someone else.

your vision goes red. before you can think, before you can stop yourself, your hand swings up and smacks across his face. his head jerks to the side from the impact, and for a moment, everything is dead silent except for the sharp sound of your ragged breathing. then, slowly, he turns back to you, his jaw tightening, his tongue running over the inside of his cheek like he’s tasting the sting of your palm. “did you just hit me?” his voice is low. oh, he’s angry. “yeah, i fucking did,” you say, your hands trembling. “because you’re a fucking piece of shit!” “you’ve got some fucking nerve!” he seethes, shoving your forehead with two of his fingers, forcing your head back slightly. you slap his hand away, your own anger doubling at the touch. “do that again, and i’ll break your fucking fingers, motherfucker,” you warn. “you just slapped me!” “and you called me a whore twice, subong! i wonder how the fuck i was ever friends with you! you’re a hypocrite!” he steps closer, jabbing a finger in your face. “don’t fucking talk to me like that!” “and i told you many times not to fucking point your finger at me!” you yell, shoving his hand away harder this time. so hard his arm jerks back. “who the fuck do you think you are?! you can’t fucking judge me when you’re the one who—”

his patience snaps. he grabs a nearby chair and hurls it at the wall. it hits with a loud crack, rattling from the impact before toppling over. you flinch, but you don't back down. “real fucking mature.” “you don’t fucking get it.” “why do you even care, huh? you have plenty of other girls to fuck, don’t you?” you spit. “so why the fuck does it matter who i’m with? why is it a problem when you do the exact same shit?” he doesn’t say anything. fine. you’re done here. you reach for the door again, shoving past him. “i’m leaving—” “i lied.” his voice stops you cold. slowly, you turn back, brows furrowing. “what?” he swallows hard. “i lied about it. there was never another girl.” you stare at him in disbelief. “i just—i said that shit to piss you off. to make you hate me. but i never—” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “i never touched anyone else when i was with you.”

your mind spins, struggling to piece together what he’s saying. he’s lying again. he has to be. “you expect me to believe that?” your voice is defensive. “i don’t give a fuck if you believe me,” he snaps back. “it’s the truth.” your throat tightens. there’s something in his eyes, something desperate, something you’re not used to seeing. “why?” he hesitates. his lips part, then press into a thin line. “because i—” he exhales sharply, looking away for a moment before forcing himself to look at you again. “because i love you. i’ve—” “don’t fucking lie to me, subong.” frustration flashes across his face. “i’m not lying, okay?! i’ve—” “sure as hell you aren’t.” “jesus—can i fucking talk?!” you huff, arms crossing tightly over your chest. your jaw aches from how hard you’re clenching it. but you don’t interrupt again. you let him speak. “i’ve loved you for so fucking long, and it scared the shit out of me. you were my best friend and i didn’t—i didn’t know how to do it. how to be with you without fucking it all up.” you shake your head, gripping your arms tighter. “you can’t just say this shit and think it fixes everything,” you whisper, voice trembling. “you loved me, and you never told me. you preferred this… this shit between us rather than just… being fucking honest. you—” your breath shudders and you stop to breathe for a moment. “you’re confusing me, subong.”

he sighs. you can see it in his eyes—the regret, the pain, the anger at himself. then, he steps closer. his hands find your face, fingers gentle as they cup your cheeks. his thumbs move carefully, wiping away the tears you hadn’t even realized were still falling. his touch is soft—so fucking soft it almost breaks you. you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing against the lump in your throat. you shouldn’t let him do this. shouldn’t let him hold you like this, shouldn’t let yourself sink into the warmth of his hands. but you do. because it’s him. “i’m sorry, baby” he murmurs, his breath warm against your face. “fuck, i’m so sorry.” his voice is lower now, and when you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you—his brows furrowed. “i didn’t mean to hurt you,” he continues, his hands steady on your face. “i swear to god, i didn’t.” “but you did.” “i know,” he whispers. “i was a fucking idiot.” his thumbs still trace slow paths along your skin, like he’s trying to ground himself in the feel of you. you try to look away, but he won’t let you. his grip isn’t forceful, but it’s firm—just enough to keep you there. “i can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his brows furrowing deeper, like it physically hurts him to admit it. “no matter what i do—it’s always you.” “don’t—” “it’s the truth,” he cuts in, his hands sliding down to your jaw, his fingers just barely brushing your neck. “i wake up thinking about you. i fall asleep thinking about you. every fucking song i write is about you. every stupid little thing reminds me of you.” you shake your head, blinking back tears. “stop it.” “i can’t,” he breathes. “i don’t know how.”

he leans in slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours. “tell me you don’t feel the same, and i’ll go.” your heart pounds so hard it hurts. he’s so close… and the way he’s looking at you, like he’s daring you to push him away, makes something snap inside you. before he can say another word, you grab his shirt and yank him down, crashing your lips against his. subong freezes for half a second, like he wasn’t expecting it, but then he groans into your mouth, his hands gripping at your waist as he kisses you back just as hard. he barely gives you a second to breathe before he’s backing you up, walking you straight into the wall. the impact makes a sharp gasp escape you, but he swallows it down, one hand threading into your hair, tilting your head back as his mouth moves against yours.

then it happens—your breath catches, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek. he stops. his lips hover just over yours, his chest rising and falling against you, and he pulls back just enough to look at you. “are you okay?” you don’t answer. instead, you pull him back in, your fingers curling around the back of his neck. you kiss him harder, and he lets you—lets you take what you need, lets you pour everything you can’t say into this. his fingers tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to pull your head back before pressing his forehead to yours. “tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs, breath hot against your lips. in a broken whisper, you finally say it. “i need you.” he’s been waiting to hear that. for months, it’s been the only thing on his mind—you. every time he got high, every time he tried to flirt with someone else, every time he told himself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter. but it was all a lie. because you did. you always did. and now you’re here, in his arms, needing him. and he’s so fucking mad at himself for wasting all this time, for pushing you away, for pretending he didn’t want this when you’ve been the only thing he’s wanted.

that’s all it takes. he’s on you in an instant, his hands gripping your waist as his mouth crashes against yours. he walks with you, never breaking the kiss, his fingers pressing into your sides, guiding you until your legs bump against the edge of a small table. before you can steady yourself, his hands move to your hips, helping you up until you’re perched on top of it. his lips leave yours, dragging along your jaw and your neck. one hand slides up, fingers curving over your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt. the touch alone makes a soft moan slip past your lips. he swallows the sound with another kiss, deep and greedy, before tugging your shirt up, his palms skimming your skin as he pulls it over your head. his other hand moves with purpose, working the clasp of your bra. the second it falls away, his mouth is on you. you gasp when his tongue flicks over your nipple, your head falling back as pleasure shoots through you. “gonna make you feel good, baby,” he promises, his breath hot on your skin as he switches to your other breast, his teeth grazing your nipple just enough to make you squirm. his free hand slides down your stomach, unbuttoning your pants with practiced ease before slipping between your thighs. you spread them instinctively, your breath hitching when his fingers brush against the damp fabric of your panties. “you’re so wet for me already,” he says, pulling back to look at you, his eyes dark with hunger.

subong takes his time peeling your pants off, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, your knees, your ankles. once they’re gone, he hooks his fingers into your panties, dragging them down at the same agonizing pace, his lips following their path. he tosses them aside without a second thought. then he’s on his knees, hands spreading your thighs wider as the cool air hits your skin, making you shiver. “let me show you how sorry i am, yeah?” you nod slowly in response. subong leans in, his breath hot against you, and you bite your lip, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach. and then his tongue is on you, licking a long stripe up your center, parting your delicate folds, exploring your wetness. you gasp when it finds your clit, your hands flying to his purple hair as his tongue swirls around it in slow circles. “f-fuck, yeah, right there,” you whimper, and he hums against you in approval.

he focuses all his attention on it, flicking his tongue over the sensitive nub before sucking it gently into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing out as he applies gentle pressure. you feel one of his fingers slide inside you, then two, curling them upwards and hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back. his tongue never leaves your clit, licking and sucking in perfect rhythm with his fingers, and you can feel that familiar pressure building in your lower stomach. your hand travels to the side of his face, your thumb caressing his cheek as he works you. moans grow louder, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face. “subong—” you try to speak, but the words die in your throat—the pleasure too strong. he smirks, feeling you tightening around his fingers. “that’s it, baby” his voice is muffled against you. “cum for me.” and you do, your back arching, knuckles white from gripping the side of the table, a cry tearing from your throat as you fall apart. his mouth never stops, drawing every last wave of pleasure from you until you’re boneless, panting.

you try to catch your breath as he stands, pulling you into him, his mouth claiming yours again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. your fingers tremble slightly as they find the hem of his shirt, slipping beneath the fabric. he shudders under your touch, muscles tensing before he exhales, letting you lift the shirt over his head. it falls somewhere behind him as your hands roam his chest. this isn’t like before. like the other times you’ve had sex. there’s something different in the way his fingers brush your skin, in the way he watches you like he’s afraid to blink, afraid to miss a second of this. you reach for his waistband, tugging at it, and he lets you, his breathing uneven as he watches your hands work him free. his pants and boxers slip to the floor, and he steps out of them, never once breaking contact.

“do you… do you have a condom?” you ask quietly. he stills, his hands resting on your hips as he looks at you. his brows pull together slightly. “no,” he admits, then asks, “do you?” you shake your head. “no.” “shit,” he exhales, his forehead falling to your shoulder. you can tell he’s frustrated—not at you, but at the situation. “it’s… it’s okay. we don’t need one,” you add softly. his head snaps back up. “you sure?” he asks, and you nod. “i want to feel you.” your words are the confirmation he needs. he grabs your thighs before pulling you closer to the edge of the table, spreading them apart to find room between them. his raw tip presses against your clit and you take a deep breath when he starts grinding against you, his stiff dick sliding across your wet slit. you both moan at the feeling, but nothing compares to the gasp that escapes both of your lips the moment he slides inside of you.

he’s slow at first, letting you adjust to the feeling, his hands holding you in place as he sinks in deeper, stretching you around him. you try to steady yourself, holding onto the side of the table with one of your hands again. his breath is uneven, and each slow, measured thrust makes you ache for more. but then his pace shifts. his grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls back and thrusts in harder and faster. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the space between you, mixed with your breathless moans and his ragged groans. when you meet his gaze, his brows are furrowed, his lips parted. you can see it all written on his face: how much he’s wanted this, how long he’s been waiting, how badly he’s yearned for you. he looks like he’s barely holding himself together, like he’s afraid he won’t last because you feel too fucking good. “fuck,” he grits out, voice strained, his fingers flexing against your hips. “i missed you s-so fucking much…” his words cut off in a groan, his head dropping forward, forehead pressing to yours as he fucks you like he’s trying to make up for all the lost time. “i missed this… mmm… missed this pretty pussy of y-yours.” he drives into you harder, like he’s trying to claim you, like he’s trying to erase every trace of anyone else who’s ever touched you—muttering curses under his breath like he’s punishing himself as much as he’s fucking you. your nails scrape down his back, leaving red streaks in their wake, and he groans at the sting, at the way you cling to him. “fuck, baby—” he gasps, voice rough. “was he better than me? tell me,” he demands, his thrusts turning brutal, each one punctuating his words. “did he—did he fuck you like this? mmh? shit… did he make you cum like i-i do?” there’s anger in his voice. not at you—at himself. for waiting too long, for not telling you the truth when he had the chance, for letting someone else have you. you shake your head in response. his hand grips your chin, forcing you to look at him. “answer me.” “n-no!” you whimper “he… he didn’t, baby. only you—mmph!—only you make me f-feel this good.”

his grip on your chin tightens for a second before he releases you, his hand sliding down to wrap around your throat instead. not squeezing, just holding—just feeling you. his pace doesn’t slow, if anything, it gets rougher, like your answer wasn’t enough to satisfy the anger. “that’s right,” he grits out, sweat slicking his skin. “he could never…he could never fuck you like this.” his other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise as he slams into you, making you cry out. you hold onto him, and he loves it—loves feeling you claim him the way he’s claiming you now. and fuck, he needs this, needs to remind himself that you’re here, wrapped around him—that you’re his. “look,” he mutters, commanding. “look how fucking g-good you’re taking me.” your breath hitches as your eyes drop, and fuck—seeing it is different. watching the way his dick disappears inside you, the way your body clenches around him, the way he’s completely buried in you, over and over again… “see that?” he pants. “you were made for me. this was fucking made for me.” his hand moves again, sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, precise circles. “shit—subong!” you let out a broken moan. “y-yeah… fuck, yeah, just like that!” a whimper slips from your lips when subong fists your hair, tugging your head back up until your eyes meet his again. “say it,” he practically pleads. “say that you're mine.” “i-i'm yours!" you gasp, your voice shaking, your whole body trembling from the intensity of him. “i'm fucking yours…mmm… always been.” “i’m yours too, baby.”

his thrusts grow frantic and his breath comes in harsh, uneven bursts. all he can hear is the sound of his name falling from your lips in desperate, breathless moans. he swears he’s never heard something as beautiful. you can tell he is close, holding you in place as he leans over you, his forehead pressing against yours. your body tenses, your gummy walls clenching around him, his fingers still pressed on your clit as he pounds into you, making it impossible for you to hold back. your body tenses, and your free hand clings to the back of his neck with desperation as you kiss him, trying to muffle your whimpering. “gonna cum for me, b-baby?” he whispers, pulling away for a moment. “gonna—mmh! gonna cum on my cock?” you can’t even nod. his words are like a spark, and you can’t hold it back anymore. your body snaps, the pleasure flooding you. “subong!” you cry out, legs shaking. he watches you, his name on your lips, and the sight of you completely undone drives him to the edge. with a final, deep thrust, he follows you, quickly pulling out, his release spilling into your lower stomach. his face contorts, a strangled gasp escaping him as he rides out his own climax. he stays there for a moment, his body pressed against yours, both of you breathing heavily, sweat-slicked skin sticking together. “i love you,” you whisper, hands running through his messy hair. “i love you too, señorita,” he smirks, his hand cupping your cheek before leaning in to give you a small peck on the lips. “i missed you.”

subong is a good boyfriend. or at least he tries to be. he still messes up sometimes, still says things without thinking, still gets into fights he shouldn’t, but he’s trying. you see it in the way he waits for you after work, hands shoved into his pockets like he’s trying to play it cool, but you know he’s been standing there for a while. in the way he walks on the outside of the sidewalk, even though you never asked him to. you see it in the way he always grabs an extra drink when he stops by the convenience store, handing it to you without a word, like he just knew you’d want one. in the way he texts you did you eat? before he even says hello. in the way he always grumbles about carrying your bag when it looks too heavy, but takes it anyway. in the way he lets you steal his hoodies, rolling his eyes when you show up wearing one but never actually asking for it back. you see it in the way he lets you mess with his hair, even when he pretends to hate it. in the way he looks at you, like he still can’t believe you’re his. in the way he says your name, soft around the edges. in the way he tells you he loves you—not just with words, but in a hundred different ways, every single day.

there’s no confusion anymore. no second-guessing, no wondering where you stand with each other. he wants you, and he’s not afraid to say it. he tells you all the time, in every way he knows how. sometimes it’s casual, like when he looks at you in the middle of a conversation, something soft in his eyes, and says, “you know i love you, right?” like he just needs you to know. and then there are times when he’s shameless about it. like the time he made it his entire mission to embarrass you in front of both of your friends, throwing an arm around your shoulders and grinning as he declared, “isn’t my girlfriend the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen? no offense to you, semi.” there’s a beat of silence before half of them go “what?!” while the others just exchange knowing looks. “wait—dude, since when?!” namgyu asks. “oh, come on,” semi scoffs, rolling her eyes. “like we didn’t all see this coming.” subong just smirks, pulling you a little closer, dropping a kiss to your cheek. he’s here, and he’s yours, and he makes sure you know it.

you’re still best friends. you still laugh until your stomach hurts, still steal food off each other’s plates, still shove at each other like you’re kids. except now he kisses you after. or before. or sometimes instead of shoving you back. he’s still stubborn, still gets on your nerves more than anyone else. he’s not perfect, but he never pretends to be. and maybe that’s what makes it feel so easy. there’s nothing to prove, nothing to question. just the two of you, exactly as you are, exactly as you’ve always been. just you and him.

if you’ve read this far, i love you, let’s get married pookie ong

[riotgurlll]

Chance (From Date Everything) Headcannons... NSFW

Okay so I'm obsessed with DE as well as Chance, And i've seen SO little material for this cutie so I'm taking it into my own hands.

TW: NSFW content, aka explicit material, spelling and grammar errors probably, plz be warned and lmk if I missed anything.

Contents/Mentions: Dom/Sub dynamic, Roleplay, depictions of male genitalia, mentions non-monogamy, gender neutral/afab or amab inclusive

---

-Chance is a nerd. A dork, if you will. Did you see how excited he was when you indulged in his interest in GnG? The way his pretty brown eyes lit up when you expressed that you'd be interested in joining a session of his? He's such a sweetheart.. The more you visited him, the more he felt himself growing fonder and fonder of you. The way you went along with his stories, listened to him ramble on about the subject in it's entirety- gods, everything about you was just so perfect...

-He'd be a liar if he said you didn't turn him on.

-Chance may be a dork, but that doesn't stop him from teasing you- in his own cute and cheesy way, sometimes. Take things from the character sheets, to the other sheets? Say less! If chance is sure that you're interested in him, he's not afraid of making some flirty remarks.. clearly.

-He's a switch, 100%. Sometimes, when you two are playing a game and you're heavily debating you options, or he's watching you as you write about or draw your character, he can't help but admire your features. His mind drifts to... other things, as well. He just can't help it! You're so... alluring. The way your clothes fit your body- whether they're tight or baggy, doesn't go un-noticed by him. It's not uncommon for him to compliment you openly, simply- because deep down? He knows you love it when he does.

He can't help but imagine taking control over you- to show you how grateful he is that you spend so much time with him.. He'd quietly tell you sweet nothings, praising you for your kindness and creativity. He'll stroke your hair gently, holding it back for you to it doesn't fall in front of your face while bends you over and fucks you on your desk. You can't help but feel flustered... Poor Dasha! Mac too... But let's be honest, Mac has seen all the fanfiction you've read on your nerdy crushes, so they aren't surprised. And Dasha? Honestly probably rooting for Chance in her head. She's... so proud...! (sniffle)

But alas, there really is no true privacy in the house, and honestly, we all know not a single object in that damn house objects to seeing you that way. (haha. get it. objects. ha..)

But what if you were to get on top of him? Even if things started out with him having more control, he'd fall apart. Can you blame him? Seeing you bouncing on him like that is literally one of the hottest things you could do, like... ever. He'd be letting out all sorts of noises- whimpers, moans. I just KNOW he would get all whiny when he gets close, for sure. Feeling you clench around him drives him insane... Don't even get him started on the view.

-Speaking of, I think he's vocal ALL the way. Moans, Whimpers, whines, it doesn't matter. Personally, he hates the whole idea that men should be quiet during intimacy- why would he hide his pleasure from you? He wants you to know. He wants you to know how your beautiful self makes him feel. He'll talk you through it too, his voice getting all soft and low while he fucks himself into you. Chefs kiss, fr. Expect to here "yeah?" from this man. Especially if you're into it, cuz he knows full well what that'll do to you. He'll have the audacity to ask you if you feel good while you're cock drunk.. like mf? Obviously????

-Definitely into praise, both giving and receiving. He'll tell you how good you feel, how pretty/handsome you are.. He'll go on and on about how you're perfect for him, about how he fits inside you just right. He'll tell you that all he want's is to make you feel good, just like how you make him feel.

And if you praise him? That's a quick way to get him into a submissive space reeeeaaaal quick. Something about hearing you compliment him, tell him he's doing so good? He'll fold immediately. Tell him he's pretty- he'll whimper with no hesitation as he rests his head against whatever part of your body is closest to him. Your stomach, crook of your neck- forehead, he's down bad. BAD bad.

-Biceps. this doesn't have to be NSFW, but if you're like me, it is. iykyk.

-^^^ Okayyy, I'll expand upon this... I think he's both buff and chubby at the same time- I mean, look at him. He probably works out just so he can look like an OC of his or something, but who gives a fuck. He's strong, and soft. I just know this man gives the best hugs, don't even fucking play w me rn. Imagine him hugging you close while he fucks himself up into you? Yeah. Yeah. I don't need to say anything else about this.

-He's a solid 4.5 when he's soft- and now I know some of ya'll think that's tiny but it really isn't. Regardless, he's a grower anyways. When he gets hard, he's around 6 inches. I don't think he's circumsized though in all honesty. I just know this mans tip is sensitive. Chance is also thick, like serious girth here. You know those mini sized soda cans? That's probably the closest thing I can compare it to. I'm thinking his base is #f5ae8a- (Yeah. we're getting specific). His tip is probably around a #fb9888 color.

His cock is def curved too- upwards, to the left. It's so heavy that it has to lean one way anyways.

-OKAY. Imma state the obvious here. CLEARLY this man is into roleplaying in the sheets. It's cannon bruh. Now, this can be a spectrum- And if roleplay in bed isn't your thing, he won't force it on you whatsoever. It's not something he requires sexually.

However, if you are into it, he's happy. It doesn't even have to be some elaborate scenario. Cosplay as one of your GnG characters? He's sat. Or just cosplay in general- Put on a Tifa Lockhart (FROM THE LATER GAMES.) fit if you're fem leaning, he's acting like a damn dog. It doesn't have to be a fantasy outfit, it could be any reasonable character, he doesn't give a PISS. Going to a Renaissance festival with friends? Better see him while you're in that outfit cuz he's gonna be all over you. He's a nerd, he can't help it.

-Two man w Parker?- OOP??? Who said that... guys.... oh my gosh...

-When it comes to oral, of COURSE he loves giving. He would eyp or syd for hours if u could take it, that's just the truth- but he does have a guilty pleasure for receiving. Watching you go down on him is literally a dream come true. He'll be grabbing your hair, fucking up into your mouth, all while sounding like a damn porno above you.

"Just like that.." "Please, don't stop.." "y'feel so good...-"

-He'd call you nicknames for sure. Beautiful, Handsome, Honey, Love, Sweetheart- anything,really. And he'd love to hear you call him those things too. Could definitely get behind sir and ma'am in a roleplay scenario.

-Honestly a thigh/ass guy. Phatty or nah, he doesn't give a fffFFFFUCK. Wrap those damn legs around him- crush his head, do whatever. And you best believe he looooves hitting it from the back. He'll grab onto your hips like he needs it to live.

-He doesn't care what you look like, but I feel like he would have a sweet spot for chubby people. Def the type of guy to say there's "more to love". He loves a tummy.

-Sit on that mans face. He loves that shit SOOO much. And no, don't hover either, he'll grab you and make you sit if he has to- he's not playing.

-He'd also love to see you lingerie. Put on something dark red and lacey, he'll be on his knees unwrapping you like a present in seconds. He'll press kisses all over you, down your stomach, your thighs, chest, neck- he can't get enough of you.

-Chance would love it if you grinded on his thigh while he was doing something- maybe updating a character sheet, taking notes for a storyline while also having a hand on your hip/ass as he helped you rut your hips against his strong leg. Occasionally, he'll press kisses to your lips and jaw before getting back to work.

-He loves his hands. He loves running them all over your body in places you like and allow him to. He loves being about to grope at your body, being able to hold you, move you at his will. He's got big hands too, no doubt. Big, strong hands with thick fingers that feel amazing inside of you, or wrapped around you.

-Would mumble "Holy crit" During it. Don't lie to urself, he would. That man will be giving you the most dubious back shots in centuries and you'll hear him whisper it under his breath.

-If you were to tease him, he'd definitely get all blushy. he's so cute!!! He'd get all stuttery, probably avoid eye contact. Just because he's more confident than he may seem doesn't mean you can't make him flustered, and TRUST me, it's easy to make him flustered- if it's coming from you, of course.

-Not smutty or nsfw but I headcannon him to have HELLA tattoos up and down both his arms. I know he already has one on the underside of his forearm, but I'm talking SLEEVES.

-Check ups every now and then. You guys have a safe word too- which just so happens to be Gargoyle.

-Aftercare is sooo important to him. He'll be sure to clean you up gently, get you some water, a snack if you need it. He'll cuddle with you, run his hands through your hair- whatever you need, you have it. And it's the other way around, if you're domming him, make sure you take care of this man. It makes him feel so loved and cared for- if you brush him off, then he just feels tossed around and used.

[madamechrissy]

Streamer Takuma Ino loses his streak!

cw- fingering while on stream, teasing, oral (f receiving) fluffy and cute, Ino being a munch

this is a cute drabble for @inotaku-talkz bc i love them very much!

You feel Ino getting thicker and harder as you sit right on his lap, gaming with him as the two of you stream. He's struggling to make it go down, but he keeps missing his shots every time you wiggle, you love to do it just after you land a headshot, torturing him on live.

"Hah, look Takuma! Nailed his ass," you giggle as you shoot down the last teammate, Ino smiles brightly up at you, resting his hand on your waist for a moment during the stream.

You two met gaming online and pretty quickly became best friends, despite both being competitive. You were streaming together as the two of you were ranked highest on the game. You've never sat on his lap before, shocking him when you finally did, and he struggled to function, the chat was remarking on Ino's lack of skill currently.

How can he focus when you feel so good on him?

His hand slips to your thigh, away from any prying eyes under his desk, while he's dead for a whole round and you're trying to revive him and grab his flag. You feel his breath against your neck as his finger trails higher, making your tummy tense, and his lips brush your ear.

"You distracted me," he pouts as you giggle a bit again. "It's true."

"Just sitting here?" You murmur back, focusing and leaning forward, eyes on the screen, shifting your hips a bit as if to tell him - go higher.

"You know you are, trying to end my number one position. Cruel tactics." You laugh again, shaking your head, the stream is full of people that ship the shy boy under you, whose chocolate eyes are looking right at you while he feels your heat on your inner thigh.

You inhale sharply, and he tenses, worried this may not be what you want, but your thighs spread for him, biting your lip as you miss your shot for the first time all day. He struggles to hold back an embarrassing moan on camera, as the two of you act normal, like he's not now brushing your clit over your panties.

"Sniper up on the left," he calls out, your eyes flutter as he does, his long fingers brushing up your slit, making you soak them. "Good shot, pretty."

You barely control the toggles and focus as his fingers are slotting in and out of your messy cunt moments later. That wetness drips down your thighs, as you kill one player after another with insane precision. With every pump you're even better, as his cock leaks against his boxers, wanting to have you cum for him.

Your gummy walls grip his fingers while you whine out softly before you can stop yourself, finally ending the stream early. You turn to him and gasp when he's sucking your juices off his digits.

"Ino..." You're grinding on him now in his big black gamer chair, he can hardly take how good you feel over his denim, soaking him as you kiss the arousal off his lips, his hand delicately holding your chin. "Mnh, please...."

Ino's signature black hat is quickly tossed off his head when he sets you right up on his gaming desk, shoving the glowing keyboard and mouse out of the way, burying his face against your cunt. He's pressing on your gspot with the pad of his finger as his tongue circles your clit, playing you like his favorite game.

You're gasping as he looks up at you under his long brown lashes, while you tug at his silky locks, closer and closer. "Mnh, m'gonna... close, close!"

"Mmm, cum for me, pretty please?" He pouts all cute like he's not fucking your mind up with his mouth.

When you nod weakly, and he gets you cumming and gushing across his face, he can't help but cum in his boxers from drinking you, he whines against your pretty cunt as he does. Feeling you shake, hearing you cry out, looking at your pretty face, hes ruined forever, spurts of hot cum making his boxers stick as it keeps pulsing out.

After cleaning up, Ino is much more focused, landing shot after shot and gloating while you're hopelessly missing them all this time, still disoriented and shaky. The stream keeps talking about you two, when you decide to give him a kiss right on the cam, confirming such rumors are true, earning his sweet little blush.

Hope you like it pookie ily 😘

[traiaadd156]

No! But listen the damian wayne al ghul yandere! Head cannons(from my on going blog pinned up.)

Warning!; violence, cncs, coaxing/gaslight, bruises, smut w plot, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, aged up! Damian, him being smitten(?) cringe dialog💗 fem reader. Him being a lil sweet(?)

Yan!damian who wouldnt even block any hits or scratches you make just so he would have any sort of markings of you! I could just see him looking a bit flustered when you actually land in any good hit or kick. Since he is always the one having the upper hand all the time.

Yan!damian literally has heart eyes whenever you're trying to rip his face off with your teeth or gouge out his eyes and eat them to spite him, he truly is in love. Not just because of your kindness but soon enough how you tried to convince yourself you weren't crazy like him.

The way he eases you whenever he pushes himself in, feeling your walls clench and suckle. God, the way whenever you hit and drum at his chest lowly grows weak and your muscles no longer tense. Soon your arms wrapping around his shoulders you'd be balanced.

Even he leans in so you could bite him and have more areas to scratch and mark, the scent of you he could only remember than bottle, but if there was an option to he'd do it.

The wetness and erotic sounds coming out of your body, every snap of his hips and the 'plap plap plap' becoming more audible, just like every mewl and whimper that comes out. A hot messy opened mouth kiss so he could swallow any sound you made, since it only was for him.

Yan!damian is in heaven, or hell. Either way he is enjoying it, he no longer felt your anger towards him which was a little disappointing at first since he really wanted to break your ankles if you escaped one more time so you could truly be only dependant on him. There is no option in leaving.

Yan!damian is a SUCKER for any bite marks and visible red marks either on his arm or neck, just anywhere in general. And when the first month hits when your finally coaxed into accepting your life in that underground house he built for the two of you. Good god he is over the moon! When he sees that you arent even trying to escape or become less hostile it was an improvement. He wears that shit like a fucking trophy, he would never admit it out loud but it feels like you made him whole.

To fill his greed, he only wanted you. The love you gave, the peace of your presence and the flesh you'd fill him with.

Yan!damian finally lets you out after he is sure you wouldn't run away, he found it so cute whenever you seemed surprised or happy over the smallest thing. Your first official date happened to be in an expensive carnival he had driven too, he would watch from the corner of his eye when you had opened the window to let in the fresh air to hit your face.

But of course he would always be there even whilst on the carnival date, even the bathrooms. He had made you dress down and wore baggy clothing and a cap so you wouldnt be recognized as the missing person from last year.

Yan!damian watching you stuff your face with whatever food that seems to interest you, or items you wanted him to buy so you could decorate your dead looking room. Of course he always seem to heed, but it was always attached with a bit of a remark since he found your eagerness a bit childish(even if it made him happy you no longer were shutting down on him.) it was a nice change, you practically looked ridiculous with the amount of things you were carrying that he couldnt carry since his hands were also full and how he had to practically drag you away from the ring tossing games(you lost two times already)

Reader; "please just one more round!" Pleading to him whilst he dragged you away, he was growing a little too wary since the stall owner was looking at your face too long. Why should he be looking when there isnt anything to look at?(Not that he'd let you be with anyone else anyways..)

"No way, And you already have enough gelato and fries. Your going to vomit when we go home." He stated gruffly, using that logic as you solemnly nodded in a huff whilst following him holding his hand out of instinct.

Yan!damian God the way his heart jumped out when you held his hand, just grabbing his three fingers since it was easier to hold that way. And so you both had driven home content, you were asleep in the back seat with all the things you bought that couldnt be fitted into the trunk. (And of course he was forced to carry you bridal style out since he didn't want to wake you up, it was rather easy manhandling you now that he didn't hesitate like he'd break you.)

I hope u guys enjoyed even if it was a small blurb^⁠_⁠^

[belovedcloud]

Video Games

pairing: brothers best friend! leon kennedy x fem! reader

✎ synopsis: you and your brother's best friend don't really get along, especially at night time when all your brother and leon do is bash games. a phone call erupts and your brother is gone - a confession goes south.

✎ notes: fucking hell, it has been so long since i have made any posts. i literally have had no motivation + i kinda fell out with resident evil + leon but i'm back into it for a bit! hopefully anyways, i hope you all like this - quite short and sweet but it has been in my drafts for months.

➤ WC: 2.9K

➤ CW: leon's a bit rude in the beginning but playful, pet names such as princess, baby etc. unprotected sex, fingering, having sex in someone else's bed.

At first, it was harmless name calling and what not. Nothing too serious between the two of you as your brother had introduced you to his best friend. His so called 'brother' he would call him. God knows how much you love hate him for meeting Leon. He was always such a pain in your ass.

Your disputes with him carried on ever since, he always liked to annoy you when he came to stay over in your brothers room. And for what? His whole existence was made to annoy you, you were certain of it. However, it wasn't helpful that he was the cutest boy you have ever seen. Leon's dirty blonde locks that he threw back regularly to get it out of his eyes. His lips that looked so soft - never once did you see him have cracked lips when he was giving you a remark.

His blue eyes was the thing that enchanted you the most. In most cases, harsh eye contact would be shared amongst you two after a session of bickering before either one of you stormed off.

So tonight, you weren't happy that your brother had planned a little sleepover with Leon. At their age you didn't know if it was embarrassing or cute for them to have a sleepover. Nonetheless, it wasn't like you could do anything about it. It was just a fact that you had to get over the situation and avoid Leon like the plague. That would be simple, right?

Hearing the front door slam shut, you could automatically tell who walked in - your feet were uncontrollable as you whisked down the stairs and saw Leon with his duffel bag.

"Are you sleeping over or moving in?" The snarky joke left your lips whilst you watched Leon take off his shoes, a small grunt leaving his mouth hearing your remark.

"Hm, I could move in if I wanted to... although maybe it wouldn't be a good option for the both of us princess." That damn nickname, every time he would get you with that nickname. His lips curled up slightly as he watched your eyes roll back to his response. However, Leon couldn't help but have his eyes travel over you. As much as he wanted to deny it, you were pretty. Very pretty in his eyes. He understood that it would be weird for him to flirt with you, since he was your brother's best friend but he couldn't help himself.

The air was beginning to thicken and with that, Leon made his way past you on the staircase; practically leaping as his feet went up 2 steps at a time. Oh whatever, it wasn't like you planned to see him again tonight.

Or so you thought.

It was those fucking video games that the two of them would bash every night. Peace? Not an option with your brother's screams and Leon's laughter echoing out the whole house. Even noise-cancelling headphones couldn't block them out. It was 1:12 AM.

With dissatisfaction in your step, your feet plod on the floors of your home - down the hallway towards the fated room that was causing the most ruckus known to man. The shimmering door handle was begging you to bust the door open. That's what you did.

"Can you both shut up and turn whatever you're playing down?!" A voice echoed through Leon's ears. It was none other but yours and all he could do in that moment was chuckle - you were cute like this. "Mind knocking next time?" Leon voiced out as your brother nodded to his statement, a teasing tone was laced in the question. Leon's eyes shot down to your bare legs, the hem of your shorts barely peeking as you wore an oversized shirt for comfort.

"Well could you mind turning down the volume? Every time I have to-" Your response was cut short due to a loud ringtone vibrating the room. Glancing down at the side table, your brother's phone was basically bouncing up and down as a random caller ID popped up.

"You still haven't changed that ringtone?" Leon joked, snickering hearing the music play - granting a "shut up!" getting backfired towards him as his best friend left the bedroom to answer the call.

Once your brother left the room, it became a bit awkward. Leon didn't feel like sitting on the floor with a deflated cushion anymore so he opted for the bed that rested against his back. His eyes glanced up to meet yours as he cut the silence short.

"We're all alone now huh?" Leon's small laugh soon turned into a smirk as she patted the empty spot on the bed beside him, wanting you to come closer to him. Or at least come into the room instead of just standing in the doorway. Hearing that teasing tone in his voice alone, you knew he was up to mischief.

"Hell no." You scoffed, crossing your arms tightly against your chest whilst looking at Leon with scrutiny in your eyes. "Oh come on, I don't bite. I swear!" He gave you a cheeky grin, his icy blue eyes shining under the lamp shade. "And besides, you know you want to." Leon added on, shuffling his body weight on the double-sized mattress emphasizing the bleak spot next to him.

It wouldn't hurt to sit next to him would it?

Leon watched intently as you sat down next to him, the way your thighs were squidgy against the sheets whilst you ruffled your shirt slightly. His eyes seemed to be entranced by you alone. How could a girl be so beautiful? Sure, he's seen pretty women before but you - you were different. You made his heartbeat rapid unlike any other girl had ever done. It was weird, crazy and honestly scary.

"What are you looking at?" Your voice reverberated in his ears, snapping him out of his trance. It was becoming obvious to him that he could not convince himself that he didn't like you. "You." A hushed whisper came out of his mouth, it was quick and swift but it was heard by the both of you. Shifting yourself to look at him properly, you could not see his face without his hair strands covering his eyes - averting themselves from you for once.

"Why?" A slight snort came out of your lips, making Leon scoff and shoot his head up. "I don't know and it's pissing me off." Eh? What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Pissing you off? Am I really that weird to look at?” Your voice mocked a sad tone; your eyes peered into his as Leon looked at you. There was no way you found yourself weird to look at, he was sure of it. 

“Beautiful.” Was all that Leon could fathom at that moment; it was all he could see in front of him. His lip trembled as the adjective whispered from deep within him – confusion flooded his body to why he was so emotional in this moment. He saw the way your pupils dilated so slightly, almost a shock horror to him. No words came from you, just tranquillity filled the air; it wasn’t awkward anymore. 

“You’re joking with me, right?” 

“Joking? Why would I joke about that?” 

With that, your hands crumpled the bedsheet that enveloped your body – a wave of longing bouncing between the both of you. This literally couldn’t have been happening at a worse time – you both in your brother’s room with an eerie sexual tension. You had to remind yourself; he’s your brother’s . best . friend. Although, it didn’t seem that Leon cared in this moment, the feeling of his hand approaching yours at a snail like speed. “What are you doing?” The semi-rough touch of his fingertips stopped you in your tracks, your eyes peering down at the scene in front of you. 

Almost in a nervous confession, Leon’s hand encircled your own – his face a tinge of red. “I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to finally realise that I do like you.” You genuinely couldn’t be okay in this situation. A confession from a guy you should supposedly hate yet, your heart yearns for. The lips of yours slightly part, your throat begging to be used to say your side. Shamelessly, a fat smile shone on his face – almost a laugh was about to blow. 

“What the hell are you smiling about?!” You yapped out, stuttering over your words, your head snapping right from his. That goofy grin of his, more or less scrutinising you due to highly strung you were. “You’re just cute, that’s all – you can’t even say anything in this.” A lazy chuckle left him, staring you down from your pretty face, down to your body – his icy blue eyes tracing over your legs all the way down to the socks you were wearing. 

Leon had continued to stare at you, but to pinpoint to where the staring occurred, he was eying your lips. Whatever lip balm you had used tonight still left them soft and plump. 

“Leon, we literally can’t... My brother is literally outside!” His hand spread across your mouth, stopping you from talking and making you look at him again. Leon was pressed up against you, another one of his signature laughs trespassed into the air – a mischievous look in his eyes. “He’s still going on about basketball or something, he won’t notice.” His mumbled whisper tickled your earlobe. Did you hear him correctly, or was he seriously being a dumbass? 

“I- Fine. One kiss.” You were stern in what you allowed in this situation, because there was no way you were going to allow your brother to see not just you, but Leon having sex on HIS bed. “Yes ma’am.” 

He didn’t hesitate; he never did when it came to something he craved to do. Leon’s lips on yours surprised you, they were soft – softer than you would have expected. However, you not disclaiming what type of kiss was allowed did prolong the action made between the both of you. As both of your lips collided, saliva was shared and sweet noises left between you two. Kisses soon turn into touches as your fingers manoeuvre around his  body; his arms pull you into him. The hold on you, possessive. 

“Thought you said one kiss, hm?” A smug smile spread on his face as he watched your lips pant slightly. Your fingertips had stopped moving, leaving themselves on his hardened chest. 

“Shut up.” 

One of Leon’s palms now had tapped his lap, indicating for you to straddle him. With a quick look at the closed door – your body automatically moves. Feeling your thighs straddle his own created more of a hard-on that begged for the tiniest amount of touch. Without struggle, his hands shifted to your waist; granting you permission to rock yourself onto him. Subconsciously, you do just that. Looking at the dingy clock, it was only 1:38 AM. It wasn’t long before your brother would come back. 

“I-” 

“Yeah, yeah I know – I would’ve preferred taking my time with you but seems like we gotta do this fast princess.” 

That same nickname you hated now turned into one that gave you shivers, the rasp in his voice now brings a desire that was unbeknownst to you. Shuddering from his touch, you feel Leon flip you onto the soft pillow his back was once on. He brings himself closer to you, close enough for your foreheads to touch. “Comfy?” His lovestruck eyes peer into yours, making your heart quicken to where all you can respond with is a shaky nod. 

Lifting the hem of your oversized shorts, Leon’s hands grope at your thighs, the edge of shorts teased his fingertips. “Pretty girl.” He had ached for you, he wanted to show you how he could treat you. Those same fingertips had led themselves to the crotch of the shorts; although not noticeable by sight, you had created a damp spot between your legs. 

“Excited? You like the way I talk to you.” His thumb pressed up against your bud, slight taps causing your legs to twitch. “Leon... Stop teasing.” A breathless chuckle left you, attempting to demand for something more than just some rubbing. 

“How about you give me the same treatment you give to those stupid games?” You exasperated out. 

“Hard then.” 

Leon’s gentle movements snapped into one of eagerness, his fingers pulling the crotch of the shorts to the side. “No panties?” He mumbled out, admiring the pretty sight in front of him. Without pausing his quick movements, his fingers slicked themselves with your wetness, rubbing up and down. Rapid breathing supported his fast fingers – the two of them sliding into you. 

Once again, Leon’s hand now plastered your mouth. “Mmph!” was all you could muster as he kissed your forehead. “No noise, or he really will know.” The demand Leon had wanted from you was a large one, his fingers curved inside whilst slowly thrusting in and out of you. He was good, too good when the pads of his fingertips hit that sweet g-spot. Something you could never do when you needed it most. An otherworldly sensation, nonetheless, with the boy you so believed you hated. Your head movements were erratic, signalling it wasn’t long before something drastic would happen. 

“Uh uh.” He murmured, removing his fingers and now only slightly rubbing your clit. Fuck, you were so concentrated on his face and fingers, your eyes hid themselves from the stiff boner making an imprint on his sweatpants. 

“See what you do to me?” Leon groaned quietly, quickly freeing his boxer-covered cock from his sweatpants – ensuring that no wet patch would stain his sweatpants. His pre-cum had already made itself visible on his boxers; he did not want your brother to see it on his pants though. Palming himself slowly, your eyes followed every hand movement he had demonstrated to you, alluring you with each pump that spilled the littlest amount of pre-cum. Completely pornographic. 

Leon’s head shot back to the closed door, before freeing his cock from his boxers. There laid a deep pink tip, glistening from his pre-cum. 

“Please.” Your hands tightening around his arms, begging to be fucked by him. It no longer was wanted but needed. He so selfishly had removed his fingers from inside your pussy, so it was at least right for him to fuck you. Right? 

“Patience baby.” Leon removed his thumb from your aching bud, now shocking it with each slap he made with his dick to your clit. A teasing bastard. “Come onnn.” You tutted, poking at his chest. “So needy.” 

It was easy for him to slide his cock in, the wetness from both you and him elicited a not so quiet moan. Leon’s solution in that was to share kisses with you once again. Sweet little kisses synchronised with both your bodies slapping against one another. Eye to eye, nose to nose, Leon looked at you, “Hard, you wanted it.” 

Third times the charm, his hand now covered your lips. The thrusts connected with loud clapping sounds whilst the bed creaked. No way in hell your brother would not hear this. Leon didn’t care. He was completely mesmerised, your thighs were slick, and his eyes beheld such lust and love. 

“Fuck princess, keep squeezing.” You peered your eyes open, seeing Leon’s head thrown back. The sheer sight already making you tighter than ever imaginable. No words could leave your mouth; you couldn’t talk back at him like you always did. Not at all when all your throat could conjure up was the muffled moans trying to escape the palm of Leon’s grasp on you. Yet; you didn’t mind. 

A deep breath echoed in your ears as Leon whipped his head back to look at you. “Oh, fuck, look at you.” The softness of his voice contrasted the hard slams made into your pussy. His hips snapping up and down – draining him of his late-night energy. 

His other hand removed itself from your waist, providing no support as your body jolted up and down – the oversized shirt now stretching to show a slight sketch of your chest – small movements of your tits bouncing. Leon’s thumb lazily rubbing your overstimulated, puffy clit. “Gonna make me cum, oh fuck, baby...” He hushed out, his thumb moving with the rhythm of his hips pumping. The only thing possible to you was to shudder in pleasure, reaching the point of an ethereal orgasm. 

Both of your bodies untensed, predominantly yours that lay tired as Leon pumped his cum all over your clit. Slapping the tip once again, making a low hum whilst kissing your temple. 

“Was that okay?” He whispered, grabbing the near-empty tissue box on the nightstand. Taking a few tissues in hand to wipe you. A bashful smile fanned out on your lips. “Mhm, just a little tired.” A yawn escaped you mid-sentence, looking at him dizzily. Leon had a gentle smile on his face, “cutie.” 

Footsteps could be heard from downstairs once you both came out of your lustful daze. 

Seems like the risk was worth it.

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! thank u for reading :)

-> masterlist

[wosospacegirl]

Stuck with you - part 2

Summary: Y/n’s used to Alexia’s overprotectiveness and the pressure of her career—but Kika? The shy, socially awkward teammate who’s starting to make her feel things she didn’t expect.

Warnings: Y/n is absolutely oblivious to everything, Kika is adorably awkward, Alexia is a complete idiot, Aitana is old, and Olga is mother. <3 Real warning now - angst!! Alexia and Y/n fight on this one, again.

Word count: 5.5k

MASTERLIST

part 1 and part 3 here

..

The week of training had been intense.

An Él clássico was approaching, and Romeu was making sure all the girls were physically and mentally prepared, even if it meant pushing them to the brink with his bizarre ideas about team dynamics.

Y/n wanted to win the game, of course, but she also wanted to keep all her limbs.

When Alexia and Y/n arrived at training–without any fighting, miraculously– they were quickly separated by the assistant coach into two teams: seniors and youngsters. 

“What is he doing?” Vicky whispered to Y/n as they made their way to the left side of the pitch. “I bought new training boots, tio [bro], I wanted to use them for, you know…football, not this.”

“I have no idea,” Y/n replied. “He always comes up with the most absurd ideas ever known to mankind, or well, manager kind.” 

“Guys, guys!”

Y/n and Vicky turned around at the sound of Jana’s voice.  She was walking towards them, her ponytail swishing with each step she took on the grass.

However, it was the girl on Jana’s side that caught Y/n’s attention.

Kika.

She had the same sweet smile on her face as she always did. People might expect Kika to be tired by now; it was Friday and she had completed her first full week at Barcelona, but instead of tired, she seemed excited and full of energy.

The whole team had warmed up to her already, even Alexia. Y/n had noticed the other day how Kika and Alexia had a cordial and amicable conversation in the changing room.

It was something about Alexia wanting to learn Portuguese–Alexia had never mentioned this desire to learn another language to Y/n.

“I think we’re doing a tug of war,” Jana said, a mischievous glint in her brown eyes.

“What?!” Y/n and Vicky said in unison.

Romeu was known for creating…unique training methods. Most of them had weird rules and were very physically demanding, but tug of war? That was–peculiar– even for Romeu.

“How the hell would tug of war help us in anything?” Vicky asked exasperated. 

“We’re just going to get burns on our hands,” Y/n muttered, facepalming. “Now it’s a good time to pretend to have cramps or what?”

Kika chuckled at Y/n’s remark, which brought Y/n’s attention back to the Portuguese girl.

She had a pretty smile, and a cute laugh as well.

“Kika said she saw the biggest rope in Romeu’s office, and that he was searching about how the tug of war could be beneficial to other sports,” Jana explained, placing her hand on Kika’s shoulder, who leaned into the touch.

Hmm, okay.

Y/n shifted the weight between her feet, trying to suppress the uncomfortable feeling in her chest. It looked like Kika was really settling in.

“What were you doing in Romeu's office?” Vicky asked, raising an eyebrow.

“He called me to talk about how my first week went,” Kika replied.

The conversation was cut short when Romeu walked onto the pitch. And it looked like Kika was right after all.

Romeu had the largest rope Y/n had ever seen. All the other girls were staring at it weirdly, wide-eyed.

“Alright, girls! Today we’re doing tug of w–”

“Why?” Y/n interrupted, deadpan.

“Huh?” Romeu asked, raising an eyebrow while turning to Y/n. The large rope on his hand made the scene look…comical, to say the least.

“Why are we doing this? Does it have a real benefit?”

Romeu was silent for a moment, not used to the players questioning him.

“Hm, yes, Y/n.” He said. “It’ll make the team grow closer together, it’ll tighten the bond you all have with each other.”

“Why tug of war, though,” Jana asked, clearly confused. “Is this supposed to make us stronger or just humiliate us?”

“You guys will have to work together as a team,” Romeu explained. “And it’ll be fun, trust me, no humiliat–”

“I don’t think it’s fun,” Vicky said bluntly. “Does anyone think it’s fun? To pull a rope around and what? Laugh at the team that loses?”

“Yeah, it seems boring,” Pina chimed in.

“We could just play volleyball if we’re trying to build team spirit,” Vicky suggested.

“Or we could just play football,” Y/n added with a shrug before looking at her arms disappointed. “I’ve got the upper body strength of a noodle, this isn’t gonna end well.”

“I’m with Y/n on this one,” Pina agreed, leaning in on Patri, who also nodded in agreement.

Jana raised her hand like she had a better idea. “Oh, we could also–”

“Do you girls want to go back to La Masia?” Romeu interrupted, emotionless.

The four girls immediately shut their mouths and shook their heads.

“If you’ve got better ideas, you can coach next week,” he muttered. “Kids…” 

Y/n rolled her eyes but stayed quiet, listening as he explained the dY/namics of the game.

She was zooming out when she felt a sharp tug on her ear.

“Stop talking back to Romeu,” Alexia whispered, a typical frown on her face.

The girls were too busy listening to the instructions to hear their conversation. Thank God, Y/n didn’t want everybody to hear her getting lectured by Alexia…again.

“Stop tugging my ear like I'm five!” y/n hissed back.

“Stop acting like you’re five,” Alexia replied. “I know it’s hard for you, but try, yeah?”

“Why don't you tug Vicky's ear too?” y/n asked annoyed. “She’s just as bad as me.”

“Because I didn’t practically raise Vicky like I did you,” Alexia said, smirking slightly. “Be on your good behaviour, please.”

Y/n turned to Romeu and the group, making sure they were all too absorbed in the tug-of-war thing before turning back around to face Alexia.

“Ale, come on,” Y/n said. “Don’t make a deal about it.”

“Managers are supposed to be respected,” Alexias said, ignoring Y/n, with a tone that made it clear she was serious.

Alexia was the perfect little player. She always trusted her manager, always listened to them, and always made sure to be the best captain and athlete for them, especially for Romeu.

It wasn’t that Y/n was impolite to Romeu or any other manager she had, it just was that she didn’t put them on the same pedestal that Alexia did. 

Y/n didn’t see a problem in questioning Romeu, but Alexia felt like she was the only one allowed to do that, or else, it was disrespectful.

“I didn't disrespect him! Why are you bothering me about it, tio?” Y/n argued.

“You know he’ll bench you if he doesn’t like your attitude,” Alexia said quietly. “I want you on the pitch, not sitting on the sideline.”

Y/n’s heart softened at her words, but she still didn’t like how Alexia tugged at her ear like she was a kid. 

But Alexia was right–only this time, though. She needed to be on Romeu's good side to play one of the most important games of the season.

Last month Patri said something to Romeu that he didn’t like and she was benched for two whole games. Y/n didn't want to end up like that, especially with El Clássico approaching.

“Okay,” Romeu said, clapping his hand. “Split yourself into those two teams I talked about, seniors take the right end of the rope, youngsters, the left.

“Aitana, you stay with the seniors,” Romeu said, pointing at Alexia, Marta and other players.

Aitana looked at him confused. “But Ona is with the youngest and we’re just months apart.”

“The classification is based on who has more back pain and who forgets where they put their keys,” Vicky teased.

Aitana gave her a blank stare while the whole team laughed. 

“Right, so I’m basically a walking cane now,” Aitana said dryly, crossing her arms as she started to walk to the other side.

Alexia greeted her with open arms, a victorious smile on her face, even though the teams hadn’t even started the game.

“She’s really like a big sister to you,” Y/n heard Kika’s voice behind her. “Oh–sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude on your conversation,” Kika said laughing nervously. “I just– I overheard it.”

“Yeah, she’s…too much sometimes,” Y/n said with a small, amused smile before preparing for the tug of war.

Kika positioned herself directly in front of Y/n.

And then it began.

Both groups were pulling the rope with everything they had.

Y/n’s fingers were burning from the friction, but what was really burning was the spot on her thigh where Kika’s leg was pressing against her. 

Kika was directly in front of her– bent low to keep her foot– so in consequence, her thigh was firmly pressed against Y/n’s.

Y/n shouldn’t have worn shorts to training, she should have stuck to her leggings, or sometimes that covered more skin. 

Y/n tried to ignore it.

Y/n was going to think of puppies. Flowers. Anything but Kika.

“Pull the fucking rope!” Jana’s voice barked from behind her. “Why are you letting it slip?”

Crap. She was distracted.

Kika distracted her.

Y/n gritted her teeth and pulled the rope harder. Across from her, Alexia’s face was set in that determined, slightly terrifying expression that usually meant she was winning. 

But this time, La Reina lost.

When Alexia’s team hit the ground in defeat, Alexia shot up unnaturally fast, her white training kit smeared with dirt and grass. Sweat dripped down her forehead as she pointed at the younger girls.

“They cheated, Romeo!” Alexia protested furiously.

Y/n had been too busy celebrating to care about Alexia’s reaction. She hugged Vicky, and then Jana, then Ona–and finally, without thinking, she wrapped her arms around the nearest body around her.

“We did it!” Y/n said, happily, still riding the high of winning over the seniors, and especially, Alexia.

That was until she realised it.

Kika. She was hugging Kika.

Y/m froze when she realized, pulling back immediately as if she had touched something on fire.

“Oh– I'm sorry,” Y/n stammered.

“No, it's…alright,”  Kika said, her voice nervous, but softer at the same time.

Kika’s ace was flushed, the redness creeping down her neck, her hands shifted at her sides, not knowing exactly what to do.

Y/n gave her an awkward smile before heading to the changing room.

That should’ve been the end of it — except when Y/n glanced back, she saw Kika laughing with Vicky and Patri, an arm draped around each of them.

Kika didn’t seem to get nervous when the other girls were around her, only when Y/n was. She didn’t seem to tense up around them.

Maybe it was something personal? Maybe Y/n made Kika feel uncomfortable somehow? 

Y/n wasn’t the most charismatic person around. That’d be Vicky and Jana, but she didn't like to think her personality was prone to make others uncomfortable.

Y/n thought she was rather distant already. She didn’t fuss over anyone like Alexia did–so she thought she and Kika were okay, but seeing how Kika just looked way more at ease with the other girls left a bitter taste in Y/n’s mouth.

Yeah… Y/n needed to back off.

It wasn't the first time Kika acted nervous around Y/n.

Just yesterday Y/n asked if it was okay if she used the treadmill next to Kika at the gym and Kika began stammering.

Was Y/n that unbearable to be around?

It wasn’t like she wanted Kika to be nervous and uncomfortable around the other girls. She just wished Kika could.

Maybe be more at ease with her, too?

..

That doubt lingered in Y/n’s mind as she poked at food later in Barcelona’s restaurant. Marta and Aitana were chatting away, but Y/n couldn’t focus. 

The stranger feeling in her chest–one that she couldn’t put a name in–was too loud.

Y/n was pulled out of her thoughts when Alexia sat down by her side, putting her plate–filled with greens– on the table and grumbling under her breath.

“What?” Aitana asked.

“Just… the tug of war was so unfair and–”

“Déu meu,” [Oh my god] Y/n muttered as she pushed her chair back, grabbing her plate.

“Estrellita, where are you going?”

Y/n rolled her eyes at the nickname. How many times will she have to ask Alexa not to call her that?

“Eat in peace.”

“What do you mean?” Alexia challenged. “Do I disturb your peace?”

“Every day,” Y/n shot back.

She heard Alexia mumble something about how Y/n still hadn't lost the teenager's moodiness but ignored her. She just wanted to find a new table.

Unfortunately, every spot was taken–except one.

Kika's.

She was sitting alone, though she didn't seem to mind.

Y/n hesitate. She wasn’t about to pull an ‘Alexia’ and invade Kika’s space.

But then–

Kika waved.

Y/n blinked confused, Maybe it was for somebody else. She looked at her left, then at her right.

Kika continued to wave.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows and looked behind her.

“You are hopeless,” Alexia muttered, pointing at Kika. “Don't you see Kika waving at you? Go sit down!”

Before Y/n could process it, Alexia gave her a light shove in Kika’s direction.

Y/n found herself standing awkwardly in front of Kika’s table, unsure what to do with her hands.

“Hi?” She tried.

“Hi,” Kika smiled.

They were in silence. 

“Do…do you wanna sit?” Kika asked nervously. 

There it was again– that nervousness. Yep, Y/n was definitely making her uncomfortable, no doubts about that now.

Maybe Kika was just being polite and offering a seat because she felt bad watching Y/n standing in the middle of the restaurant.

“No, it's okay,” Y/n said quickly.

“Oh, are you sure?” Kika asked, looking around. “All the other tables are full.”

Okay. So it was just pity.

“Hmm,” Y/n looked at the free chair in front of her, not really sure about what to do…eating while standing up seemed pathetic, even for her.

“I can eat standing up with you, if you want” Kika offered, saying, already moving her plate.

“Oh no! I’ll– I’ll just sit,” Y/n blurted, hurriedly sliding into the seat before Kika could follow through. “Here. I’ll sit here.

Kika's expression faltered a bit. 

Yep, she definitely did not want Y/n there.

It was like one of those moments when you offer someone food–to be polite–and they actually say yes.

It wasn’t like Y/n didn’t understand it. She wasn’t the easiest person to be around. She was–in addition to other things– quiet, grumpy, maybe a little rude when she absolutely didn't mean to and when she did mean to.

And now she was sitting here, and probably bothering Kika.

Y/n shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She was going to eat fast, keep her head down, and leave before Kika could notice.

But when Y/n looked up, Kika was eating normally, seemingly unfazed, almost as if Y/n wasn’t there.

Y/n decided to follow Kika’s lead and appreciate the amazing fish Barcelona’s cook had prepared. 

The silence between them stretched on, heavy and awkward.

Y/n was good at silence, the best ever. She could be quiet for hours without a problem. 

But in some way, being in silence in Kika’s presence felt…wrong. 

“So…how’s your day been?” Y/n asked,  trying to steer some conversation. Asking about Kika’s day was good, casual, safe territory. 

Although she pretty much spent the whole day with Kika, she knew almost everything that had happened. Next time she should try asking about the weather.

Kika smiled shyly, taking a bite of her food before answering. “Good and busy! I’m getting used to everything here.”

Y/n nodded, offering a small smile pressed in a tight line on the lips. 

Before she could respond, Kika reached for her glass of water, but her hand slipped, and the glass tipped over, spilling water all over the table and onto Y/n’s lap.

Kika’s face flushed red immediately. "Oh no! I’m so sorry, I–”

Kika quickly grabbed a napkin and started dabbing furiously at the mess on the table. “I’m so sorry, I didn't mean to–It just–” The girl kept rambling, her words tumbling over each other as she panicked. “Do you have a change of shorts?! Merda, you can grab one of mine, no problem.” [shit] 

Y/n just… stared at the whole thing for a moment. Not in a mean way, just in a–blanky way, like her brain needed a minute to process whatever had just happened…because of course, this would happen today.

Right at the moment that she was having some–very minor–success in trying to socialise with other people the universe decided to pour cold water on her, literally.

“It’s okay,” Y/n muttered after a few seconds, barely loud enough for Kika to hear. Y/n wasn’t sure what she could say, she never spilt her drinks or anyone or had anyone do it to her…and it really was okay. It was only water. 

Should Y/n…take more napkins? They were all in Kika’s hand already. Should she get up now? Maybe grab a towel in the kitchen to dry the table? Oh that would be a good idea, maybe Y/n could grab more napkins while she was in the kitchen and–

“I’m such an idiot,” Kika mumbled under her breath.

“No you’re not,” Y/n said quickly, too quickly. 

Y/n bit her lip, feeling like she already said too much. She wasn’t the best at comforting people, and knowing her luck, she shouldn’t even try to comfort Kika, she would probably make her feel worse. 

She always seemed uneasy around y/n, especially now.

Kika turned away her attention from the table to Y/n’s legs. She started at Y/n’s tights, and then at the napkins on her hands, and then at Y/n’s leg again. She took a step closer and nervously began drying Y/n’s shorts–and bits of her skin.

Y/n’s breath got caught up in her mouth. She just…froze, again. Kika rubbed the rough material of the cheap napkin against shorts, but the fabric had already absorbed most of the water, so it felt like Kika was drying–y/n’s skin?

“Hey, it’s okay,” Y/n said firmly, reaching out to grab Kika’s wrists before she could rub another napkin into her skin. They kinda burned.

Kika froze instantly, her hand still hovering just above Y/n’s leg. Her fingers twitched while holding the napkins, almost as if she wasn’t sure whether to pull away or insist on drying Y/n off.

Then Kika looked up, her brown eyes wide and startled, and for a moment she just…stared.

Y/n, as a great connoisseur of social interaction, stared back, slightly pressing her hands against Kika’s wrists. 

Her skin was soft and warm, and Y/n liked it. It feels comforting to touch it.

“I should, hm–” Kika stammered, yanking her wrists away from Y/n and moving too fast and nearly knocking Y/n’s glass off the table in the process. “I-I will..grab more napkins.”

“Yeah, right,” Y/n nodded, stiffly, watching as Kika hurried off like she was running from her. Again.

Y/n stabbed the piece of fish with her fork bitterly, not caring about how wet her tights were. She only cared about how Kika hurried off like she couldn't get fast enough.

In the end, Y/n didn’t see Kika for the rest of the day. She wasn’t training at the pitch in the afternoon, but Y/n didn’t know why. 

So she asked around, very casually, about the missing girl.

At first, she tried Vicky and Jana.

“Hi,” Y/n said, leaning in one of the lockers while Jana changed her shirt and Vick did her hair. “How was lunch? Didn’t see you guys at the restaurant.”

“We went to that Italian place I told you about,” Jana said while bending down to fix her boots. “The one you said was way overpriced and that you’d never go?” 

Y/n rolled her eyes at Jana’s comment. Y/n didn't like to go out much, not even with her friends — she just liked to play football and go home. Vicky understood that better than Jana. Jana’s love language was quality time or something like that.

“But it was good,” Jana added, “I ordered caprese salad and Vicky had some fettuccine alfredo.”

“Hmm,” Y/n said, trying to sound disinterested.

“Why do I think you only asked about our lunch because you want something?” Vicky asked. “What is it? Just say it.”

“Have you–like–seen Kika?” Y/n asked, playing with her hair and not making eye contact, “I’m just curious, haven’t seen her around for some time.”

Vicky and Jana shared a look Y/n couldn’t quite decode.

“We haven’t seen her since the tug of war earlier,” Jana said, smiling at her. “But maybe she’s at physio?”

“Yeah, I don’t know either.”

Y/n mumbled something that sounded like a thank you and left the room.

She needed someone nosy, someone who was always in other people’s business.

And that’s when she saw Aitana and Alexia at the pitch, both stretching their legs while having a conversation.

Without thinking too much, Y/n casually walked over, positioned herself next to them and started to stretch, trying to look as nonchalant as possible while awkwardly pulling her thigh up against her body.

“Estrellita, hi!” Aitana said smiling. “What do you want?” Aitana was always straightforward.

“What? Can’t I just hang out with my lovely teammates?” Y/n said, voice just a little too casual.

Aitana raised an eyebrow while Alexia looked amused.

“Well–” Y/n said, looking at the two girls. She couldn’t be as honest as Aiatana, so she had to…play around a little bit. “I was wondering about our schedule for the day.”

“Schedule?” Alexia asked, confused. “What schedule? We do the same thing every day: gym, training, lunch, training, go home.”

“Hm, right,” Y/n said. “But it's not always the same for every player.”

“Yeah, that’s why they send us our own weekly calendar,” Aitana pointed out, her tone suspicious.

“Are you looking for someone?” Alexia asked, a knowing smile on her lips.

“What?! No of course not,” Y/n said way too fast. “Why would you think that? I’m just trying to have a conversation here…”

“Right,” Aitana said suspiciously, dragging out the word like she didn’t believe her for a second.

“Well, if you happen to be looking for someone–” Alexia said, “And that someone happens to be the new Portuguese girl, just know that she’s doing some media training for the rest of the day.”

Alexia winked at her.

Y/n felt her face heat up instantly. Great. Just great. Without saying a word, she turned on her heel and stormed off, nearly tripping over her own shoelace in the process. ‘Perfect’, she thought, scowling. ‘Now I look like an idiot on top of everything else.’

..

“Fix your face,” Y/n muttered while sitting on the passenger seat, Alexia by her side, hands on the wheel as she started the car.

“I’ll fix mine when you fix yours,” Alexia grumbled back, in the same tone as Y/n. 

They were in silence.

Y/n hummed through the songs playing on the radio while Alexia had a frown on her face, her lips in a tight line.

“I just think it’s unfair, Estrelitta,” Alexia stated after 14 minutes of no talking–Y/n counted, it was the closest she got to heaven.

“What?” Y/n asked as they drove through the park Alexia used to take her to train a few years ago when she still was a teen.

It was a good memory.

“That you guys cheated!” Alexia snapped.

“Déu meu, Alexia,” y/n said as she considered throwing herself out of the moving vehicle. “How can you cheat at fucking tug of war, Alexia?!”

“Okay, first: language,” Alexia said sternly, “Second, you can cheat by using magnesium to get a better grip on the rope.”

Alexia said magnesium in the same tone someone would disclose a big, juicy, secret.

“And where do you think we would find magnesium,” Y/n asked exasperated, she tried to be a chill person but Alexia really brought out the worst in her. “We’re footballers not fucking Rebeca Andrade e Simone Biles.” 

Y/n made sure Alexia saw her rolling her eyes, to get her point across. 

“I saw something white on Jana’s hand,” Alexia continued. “Maybe she got it from someone else…do you happen to know any gymnast?” 

“Do I look like I know a lot of people to you?” Y/n asked impatiently. “Better yet a gymnast…? You sound like you would prefer Jana to have cocaine on her hands rather than magnesium. Chill, Ale.”

Alexia never dropped an argument, never. 

Y/n learned to deal with this by simply walking away. She wasn’t one of those people who always needed to be right, but Alexia was.

Unfortunately, Y/n couldn’t walk away from a moving car.

Alexia did not stop complaining though. 

Alexia moaned for 9 minutes straight–y/n counted, again – about the tug-of-war thing. Y/n was going to burn the fucking rope next time she was at the training centre so Romeu would never bring it up.

When Alexia brought up her hallucination about Jana using magnesium for the eleventh time, Y/n decided it was enough.

Y/n had a bad day.

Kika had been acting weird around her while acting normal and friendly with the other girls. She got all wet at the restaurant because Kika spilt water on her–not that she was mad at the girl. And to top it all off, Y/n made a lot of mistakes during the afternoon sessions.

The only–small–victory of her day was the stupid tug of war, and Alexia was taking that away from that by being a whiner.

“Alexia! Please, shut up,” Y/n snapped, turning her torso to stare at Alexia, who seemed to cough off guard by Y/n’s sudden shift in attitude.

Moments ago she was just listening to it. Her usual grumpy face. But now? Now she was mad.

“I really don’t know how Olga can deal with you,” Y/n continued. “You’re impossible to put up with! It was a game, Ale! A game! Get over it.”

They had finally arrived home and Alexia turned off the car before she turned to Y/n, anger on her face.

“At least, I have someone to put up with me,” Alexia said as she got out of the car, slamming the door shut. 

Y/n mouth was agape. “And I bet Olga has to really try because you’re annoying as fuck!”

Y/n followed Alexia inside the house, making sure to slam the car door even harder. When Alexia opened the door, they continued their yelling.

Olga who was lying on the sofa in her pyjamas couldn’t understand a thing of what was happening and why the two women were yelling at each other.

Alexia threw her training bag on the floor. “I’m annoying but at least somebody loves me!” Alexia said angrily. “I'm not angry and cranky all the time like you are.”

Alexia’s words felt like a slap to her face. 

Y/n froze, staring at Alexia, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do. Especially because, deep down, and given her history, it was true.

Y/n’s parents had sent Y/n off to live with someone they didn't know when she was only fourteen. Laura, her ex-girlfriend, had only been with her for the money. 

“Alexia!” Olga sternly said, getting up from the sofa quickly.

If Y/n wasn’t so upset by what Alexia had just said, she would have laughed at the way Olga tugged at Alexia’s ear–the same way Alexia did to her–while giving her a full lecture about empathy.

Unfortunately, the damage was done. 

She quickly took her training bag and made her way to her room, ignoring the way Alexia and Olga were calling for her.

..

Hours had passed, maybe two, maybe more. 

Y/n had already taken a shower and changed into comfy clothes. She decided she was going to take the sadness away.

She was lying on her bed, her face buried in her pillow when she heard a soft knock on her door. Y/n didn’t answer, hoping whoever it was would just leave her alone.

“Y/n,” Olga’s voice called softly before she opened the door anyway. Typical.

“I brought you some water,” Olga said, setting the glass on Y/n’s nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Also thought about bringing some chocolate, but I was scared you would…throw it at my head”

Despite herself, Y/n let out a chuckle against the pillow.

“There she is,” Olga said with a smile. “Look, I know Alexia’s a complete idiot sometimes and what she said earlier…”

Y/n tensed, her smile disappearing as she pressed her face closer to the pillow. It was like if she couldn’t see Olga, then Olga wouldn't see her as well.

“She didn’t mean it like that,” Olga said quietly. “I know it sounded bad — like really bad — but she was angry, and you know how her mouth runs faster than her brain sometimes, well, most of the time.”

Y/n swallowed hard, her throat tightening.

“She’s not wrong, though,” Y/n muttered, her voice muffled. “At least she has people who care about her– her parents, her sisters…you.”

“You really believe that? That you don’t have people who love you?” Olga asked, her voice softer now. “Because if you do… then you’re more oblivious than I thought.”

Y/n turned her head slightly, just enough to see Olga sitting beside her on the mattress, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“You think Alexia doesn’t care about you?” Olga continued, looking at Y/n's face, her wide eyes reminding her of when Y/n was just a kid. “That I don’t? That the girls don’t? Even Alexia’s family treat you as their own, Cariño.”

“That’s different,” Y/n said quietly.

“It’s not,” Olga insisted. “I know things haven’t been easy for you… with your parents, with…” she hesitated, “…with Laura. But you’re not alone, Y/n. Maybe your family doesn’t look the way you thought it would, but you have one. And Alexia? She’s part of it — whether you like it or not.”

“She’s just... bad at showing it sometimes,” Olga added. “But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re family to her and that she loved you very much and–”

Olga smiled sweetly. “And I know that I love you very, very, much.”

Y/n finally turned her head completely to Olga, no longer hiding half of it on the pillow.

“She has a funny way of showing it,” Y/n muttered. “We just…fight all the time.”

“She just... she says stupid things when she’s pissed off,” Olga said, a sad smile on her face. “But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that she’d do anything for you. 

Y/n blinked quickly, trying to fight the stinging in her eyes. “She's annoying, though.”

“Yeah,” Olga chuckled lightly. “She’s Alexia. Being annoying is part of the package–it’s her charm.”

Y/n let out a small, tired smile.

“I’ve already talked to her,” Olga said more seriously. “But if you want, I can give her the same lecture again in front of you.” 

Olga sat close to Y/n, her hands caressing her scalp. Y/n let her do it. It felt good. Comforting.

“I would love that more than anything,” Y/n said teasingly, but Olga knew her and could tell Y/n still wasn’t okay. 

Alexia’s words had stung her– badly.

“Do you want me to go?” Olga asked softly, her finger still running gently through Y/n’s hair. “Or to stay? It’s up to you. Alexia’s sleeping on the couch either way.”

Y/n smiled at Olga.

She thought about saying no, about curling back into her own thoughts and just…trying to get back on track on her own. But decided against it.

“You can stay…if you want to,” Y/n mumbled, changing her gaze from Olga to the mattress. “Only if you don't mind tough.”

“I would love to stay here with you, cariño.” Olga shifted her position so she could get more comfortable, her back against the headboard while Y/n lay by her side, her hands never leaving Y/n’s hair.

It was quiet. Y/n liked quiet–except if it was with a certain Portuguese girl–but here with Olga, it felt comfortable, almost motherly. 

Y/N's breathing slowed, and she felt her eyes heavier and a slight pain behind them. Y/n let herself fall asleep.

She heard Olga saying something, but she couldn’t remember it when she woke up the next day.

..

Notes: taglist on the comments. Let me know if you want to be added and if you don't want to be part of it anymore!

Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

MASTERLIST

Part 3 here

[stove-top96]

Wicked Game

Ch. 01

Y Batfam x GN Reader

Featuring: Platonic Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephane Brown, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Damian Al-Ghul Wayne.

1.9k words

Prologue <- Ch. 01 -> Ch. 02

Class schedule

1st period - Art

2nd Period - Maths

12:00 - 1:00: Lunch

3rd period - Biology

4th period - English

( 5:00 -> Basketball game)

<Y/N>

Cool, I’ll see you tomorrow then.

Tim stared down at his phone, unable to look away. you were just so cute.

He replayed your conversation in his head—every glance, every word, the way you copied his notes—over and over again. The fact that you were his partner? It was perfect. It practically accelerated their plans 10x.

His grip on the phone tightened. Giddy smile creeping on his face. He wanted to keep texting with you, but knew he couldn’t. He needed to be careful.

”What is so important that it is keeping you from your responsibilities?”

Tim rolled his eyes.

Damian. Snarky as ever, standing by the bat computer with the same judgemental expression he always had. He’s been pressing for updates nonstop, and throwing snide remarks whenever possible.Tim wanted to tell the family about the ‘new development’ right away, but Damian’s constant questioning made him hold off.

It’d be easier just to tell everyone on patrol. Dick would be in the city tonight, anyway. He’ll tell the whole family once everyone’s together.

Sure it’s a little selfish, but he’s not keeping it a secret forever, only a few hours.

It takes all his strength to put his phone away and get prepared for patrol. Excitement coarsening through his veins.

Damian Just scoffed and turned away in disgust.

Patrol is expected to go by without a hitch. Most of Gotham’s rogues are locked up in Arkham. The streets will be relatively quiet. Couple of rookies tonight at best. It'll be a breeze tonight.

But Tim wouldn't be able to focus tonight, not fully. His mind would be too preoccupied.

“Red Robin, Nightwing. There’s a bank robbery 3 blocks north”

Oracles' words snapped Tim back to reality. He was thinking about you again.

“On it” Nightwing spoke into the coms. Leaping off the Roof with an effortless grace making his way over. Tim was quick to follow, pushing down all thoughts of you.

“5 individuals, all armed… Be careful” Oracles voice echoed through the coms.

“Nothing we’ve never handled”

watching from the rooftop opposite of Westwood Bank, it was obvious these men were amateurs.

One was fumbling with the alarm system, cursing under his breath. Another was banging on the register, trying to force it open. The other 3 were likely in the back fumbling through the more valuable vaults.

It was very sloppy and clearly unplanned. Easy.

“Whoever takes down the most wins.” Dick smirked. The only way they’d be able to get any type of entertainment out of this was to make a game of it.

“Sure” Tim didn’t really care to win or lose but he’d figure he might as well humour Dick. It’ll make it go by quicker.

Busting through the window of the building, glass shattering in a hundred pieces. The men were slow to react, before they could even raise their guns. Dick and Tim’s batarang sliced through the air, disarming them with a clank.

The noise sent the other three into a panic. Two of them raced in guns blazing. They were clearly rushed, aim painfully sloppy.

Shots fired throughout the building, ricocheting off the walls. Dick was quick to throw one of his escrima sticks, CRACK. He knocked the smaller one out.

The bigger one hesitated for half a second, more than enough time for Tim. One swing of his Boa-staff and he was out.

Tim took a deep breath. Standing tall over the man, pride swelling in his chest. He took the biggest guy in one swing. His mind flickered back to you. What would you think of that? Would you be impressed? Tell him good job?

“TIM LOOK OU—“

Dick’s warning barely registered. Before he could even turn around.

BANG.

A noxious sting rang through his side. The impact sent him crashing to the floor.

The force left him winded. He knew his suit was bullet proof, but the pain was unbearable, a sharp fiery burn in his ribs. It was excruciating.

Dick was fast, he moved in a blur. Tim could hardly focus on him. His vision was beginning to fade. White spots clouding his vision; the pain was just too much.

He needed to close his eyes, he knew he shouldn’t.

but he did anyway.

+++++

BEEP BEEP BEEP

The grating alarm is quick to piss you off. You smashed the snooze button, groaning. You just wanted 5 more minutes of precious Beauty sleep.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Jesus— has it seriously already been five minutes?

With a groan you turn it off you and roll out of bed. You grab your phone to scroll through your socials as you make your way to the kitchen. You have a game today so you gotta actually eat breakfast for once— even if your options are limited.

Scanning the kitchen— seemed like cereal was your only option. You poured a bowl of ‘fruit rounds’. It tasted like cardboard but you had to eat. As you scrolled through TikTok your mind drifted back to yesterday.

Tim Drake

It was weird thinking about it, some random scholarship kid talking with the biggest nepo baby in Gotham. At least his family taught him some manners, he was nice enough to let you copy his notes. Which was more than you could say for most students. Yikes.

Finishing up with breakfast, you went about the rest of your morning routine. Packing up for the game you triple checked you didn’t forget anything. Coach would literally Kill you.

The ride to school was… odd.

Your stomach twisted and you broke into a cold sweat, it was like your first day of school all over again.

You stared out the window, trying to focus on the buzz and chatter in the subway anything to take your mind off this feeling

What would happen if you had a bad game?

The thought had been in your head since you found out about the game last week. But today it was relentless, it was all you could think of.

Bad games meant losing , Losing meant a bad season. Bad season meant.

No scholarship.

your breath hitched. This scholarship was your ticket out. Without it, you’d end up like her, like your mother. Swallowed by Gotham and everything she has to offer.

That wasn’t going to be your future.

Art and Maths go by in a flash. It’s always been hard for you to focus in class on game days.

Like always you make your way to Brandi’s locker, she’ll ease your mind.

“You look like a wreck” She raises an eyebrow, waiting for any sort of explanation “Game day nerves” you sigh feeling a wave of stress wash over you. You want nothing more than to collapse in bed. Pretend none of it’s happening.

She hums, “Ohhhh, forgot that was today” Brandi is the only one who truly gets it. Her GPA drops below 3.7? She's gone. you lose more than you win? you're gone.

She doesn’t press, instead talking about how her day was. It’s what you love about Brandi, she knows what to do.

You two go back and forth telling stupid jokes and gossip about other students.

Until you’re interrupted by a group of girls heading towards your lunch table. One girl breaks away from the group, she’s beautiful— blue eyes, shiny brown hair and flawless skin. The kind of pretty that can be bought. Expensive skin-care, hair products, the whole nine yards.

“Umm your y/n right?” She asks through giggles, the girls behind her are all whispering and laughing to each other. Something tightens in your chest. “Yeah… why?” You ask, voice quieter than you’d like.

“So like… are you like… friends with Tim now?” She hardly gets through her sentence, giggling and looking back at her friends.

“Uhh no?” You respond, with a little more confidence.

She stops laughing, her eyes narrowed “Oh!? So then why were you talking with him?” her voice is sharper.

What is with her? Is this middle school? “We’re assigned partners” you answer flatly.

“So you like weren’t passing notes with him?”

For a second you just blink at her. Why would you be passing notes with Tim Drake? You were just copying his notes.

”No”

“oh okay” She turns on her heels, heading back to her group. The giggles and side eye’s start up again.

You clench your first. This is why you wanted to avoid him— Dumb rumours, unwanted attention.

“What the hell was that about?” Brandi asks, “Why would I know?” you stab at your lunch, taking another bite of your food.

“Since when were you partners with Tim Drake?” She asked.

You froze.

If she didn’t know… How the hell did Tim get your number?

+++++

Tim woke up in his room. Mind still foggy and body aching, from whatever happened on patrol last night.

Fuck, he missed the chance to tell everyone about yesterday.

He groaned and reached for his phone—8:20. Still breakfast time, everyone but Jason should be downstairs.

It took all his strength to make his way downstairs. It was a bad idea to be moving so soon after an injury. But he had to tell them.

His body was screaming at him by the time he made it to the dining room.

“Quite the show Drake.” Damian sneered, not bothering to turn around and face him.“Who knew you were such an easy target?”

Tim rolled his eyes. No one at the table disagreed with Damian's comment. Deep down they all knew he was right.

“What happened out there?” Stephanie raised a brow. Dick and Duke looked up, expecting an actual, reasonable, explanation.

Tim paused, the pain stinging in his ribs.

“…I was thinking about y/n” he answered honestly.

A fork clanked on a plate.

“Enough to get shot?” Damian scoffed, shaking his head. “It’s not like you even have the guts to—“

“we’re assigned partners for a project… we were supposed to work on it today after school” Tim cut him off, hand clenching at his ribs.

Everyone at the table pauses. then everyone’s staring up at him.

Even Bruce.

”We sat beside each other yesterday, they copied my notes… I even texted them last night, before patrol” He tries to sound casual, but pride swells in his chest. He’s the first person in the family to talk with you.

The family see’s through him right away.

”you texted them?” Asks Dick

Tim nods, Damian scoffs.

“And you didn’t think it was necessary to tell us?” Bruce’s voice is calm, his expression neutral. But Tim knows him—he was analyzing everything.

“I was going to tell everyone on patrol” he exclaims, hand clutching his side as he limps to his seat. “it’d be easier to come up with a plan together”

His reasoning seemed sound, but the family knew better.

“You’re not fit to go to school today” Bruce stated coldly, turning back to his meal.

Tim paused “But-“

”you’ll invite them over tomorrow.” His voice is final, he sets his coffee cup down with a quiet clink “I’m sure they’d love to meet the family.”

+++++++++++

Chapter 1! Although the prologue feels more like Chapter 1 than a prologue. I stayed up way too late to finish this. If you want to be added to the taglist just ask me :).

Taglist: @jjsmeowthie @crazycaoticsimp

[melliemell]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT.. POCKY GAME WITH THE BSD CAST (preferably Ranpo and Dazai, feel free to add whoever u want!!) MAKE IT ROMANTIC TOO PLZ I CANT GET THIS IDEA OUT OF MY HEAD🙏🙏🙏

LOTS OF LOVE - an anon who lost their glasses

👀👀this... this was too fun to write ohmygod you have no idea

Now you've managed to get me stuck on thoughts of silly little moments with those losers too aaAAAAAA I gotchu nonnie, you ask and I deliver😌

BSD Cast ft. Pocky Game

(Dazai, Ranpo, Fyodor, Chuuya; high-key suggestive, blame them not me)

Dazai

“It’s a very delicate procedure.”

“Mmm, big boy business, I see.”

“Shush. Good students listen to their sensei first and give smartass remarks later. Now…” 

 It would be Dazai’s idea, not surprising in the slightest. The thing is, he’d be very convincing about this, all sweet smiles and an offhand remark how cute it’d be ‘cause couples are supposed to do sappy things, duh. An innocent enough suggestion, one you found amusing but nothing to bat an eye about. 

Until you add Dazai’s complete disregard for social norms and he’d be pulling those things out in the most embarrassing, inconvenient places he could think of. Mostly to annoy you, secondly to see how red in the face you’d get if he put you in a compromising situation. And oh boy do those happen often. 

One moment you’d be in the middle of discussing important work matters with Atsushi, the next Dazai’s sliding up in your personal space, pocky already hanging at his lips. Worst is he’d act as though this is your average activity, batting his lashes all sweetly at you as he waited. If you snap the pocky with your hand instead he’d react as though it was his heart you just crushed, you cruel beauty of his.

It’s all fine though, things considered. So long as he does get his kiss in the end. Behind some privacy this time.

Ranpo

No. Do not engage with this man in a pocky game, he will be an absolute menace about it.

Unlikely to suggest it himself as it means he’d have to share his snacks with you. Could be convinced if informed of the chance of getting free smooches though. But he’d whine about it, probably already munching on the pack you bought as you were explaining the rules to him.

In the case of you managing to save some for the actual thing…

“Yeah, yeah, can you get on with it? I wanna play already.”

Ranpo does not, in fact, play. The moment you get in place, both of you biting onto your respective side, Ranpo all but throws away any and all rule-information you gave. Who needs those? Only losers, that’s who.

He’s already bitten off almost the entirety of the pocky, lips finding yours a second later as he pulls you in, hands smashing up your cheeks on both sides. You can practinally hear him munching on the chocolate which makes this all the more hilarious. Talk about mixed priorities. 

Second try goes just as the first one; any illusions of a game forgotten as you were pretty sure Ranpo’s impatience wasn’t quite something you were equipt for…

The third and final chance (last pocky, unfortunately he ate the rest) wasn’t really a chance, honestly. Not when you could just push him back on the couch and kiss him stupid as you climbed atop. 

He might get the remaining pocky later. Maybe.

Fyodor

“How charming.”

Would be amused by the whole thing. Unexpectedly easy to convince, and it gets even weirder as he calmly complies with the rules, nodding patiently. Before you know it you’re staring down at each other, one pocky distance between you two.

Not the type to rush into things, letting you get closer to him instead. Expect a lot of raised eyebrows and chaste kisses as you go through the whole pack. Did you think this was a one go thing? Silly you. A happy, satisfied partner is a compliant one, after all. Little things like this cost him nothing, but could bring a smile on your face. Why would he waste an opportunity like that?

Unlikely to push things further… but just as unlikely to stop you from leaving a few more kisses on him. One or two at the edge of his lips. One accidentally finding its way on his jaw. A trail of feathery brushes down his throat and soon he’d be getting the memo pretty well. 

You can’t help it. There’s something about Fyodor’s damned calmness that always leads to this. Maybe it’s the presence of character; something solid and secure before you that always manages to crawl under your skin. You’d be pulling at his shirt and trousers before you know it, pocky game entirely forgotten.

Chuuya

This one’s a trickie.

Chuuya’d be split between wanting to give in to your sillies, but also… why? Why this? Why not go to that nice and fancy restaurant he talked to you about? The one with the molten chocolate cakes; he’d treat you to all the sweets in the world if you’d ask him. 

Embarrassed at first, and trying his best to sneakily pull himself out of the situation. Until you finally manage to corner him, pocky box in hand and a roguish glint in your eyes.

Maybe it was his dignity, or maybe he was playing too much into the tough guy persona. But the moment you sat him down, a winner’s determination written all over your face– oh, no. Hell no, this was on.

Forget about any cute couple moments. Oh nono, it was all narrowed eyes and prolonged stares of intense analysis, each trying to predict the others’ move. One wrong decision, just the slightest distraction and–

Before Chuuya had you round the waist, rolling you suddenly on the bed as a panicked yelp flew from your lips. The absolute ass. And he’d be laughing about it too, looking down at your sprawled form with the goofiest smile, trying to bite into his lower lip to stifle yet another fit. 

“You all good, sweets? Guess ya lost this round.”

And you’d pull him down, your breath ghosting over his widening grin.

“We’ll see about that.”

[bambisnc]

𝒦𝖨𝖫𝖫 𝖬𝖤 𝖲𝖮𝖥𝖳𝖫𝖸 ⚜ like you want me euthanized

                  ୨ৎ ─── 西村力; as the rival prince you sneak out to meet at night

ft. royalty au % angst + oneshot + 1.4k && w. implied yearning mentions of being a pawn reader is lwk a tsundere / ki is a menace swearing ˖ ✧

[ 陰 ♡ ] : so sao paulo by the weeknd happened heh. also how do u work the queueing / scheduling thing askinf for a friend. also also someone make me a layout i cannawt w/ ts pmo icl

                  🔗. 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝙁𝗶𝗟𝗘 ᰈ̠ 𝗡𝘼𝗩𝗶𝗚𝘼𝗧𝗘 ✮ 𝗖𝙇𝗶𝗖𝗞

you weren't supposed to be here.

tomorrow was the day that would see envoys from a neighboring kingdom, kwangya, being greeted into your own land.

your parents had been more than clear with their instructions on how you were to behave in front of them, how you were to dress, how you were to carry yourself.

how you were to speak, smile, stand and so on. 

with the dawn of the new day, you would be promised wholly to its second prince in return for their monetary and political support.

being a pawn in the game of nobility was something you had long become accustomed to. the inclination to speak up against a decision imposed on you had simply died down after one too many punishments.

and yet.

yet, as the grandfather clock in the piano room—right next to the tall window which had been your way out—chimes once, it is reiterated to you just how late it is for a "harmless" nightly stroll.

you try not to think about the man who’d been the one to incite this unnatural behavior which was so out of the carefully docile persona you put out. 

all it had taken was one teasing remark. “you’re too much of a little puppet, hm? it’s almost cute.”

nishimura riki spoke too much for his own good.

“i worry about you sometimes,” he'd said.

bullshit. you hate him and he hates you and that’s how the world works.

“you? sneak out? no offense, doll, but i’d sooner believe the moon’d fall from the sky.”

you had let slip your careful smile in favor of glaring at him. you were not just a puppet.

(except you were. you knew this and you knew he wasn’t a stranger to the fact either.) 

but a white hot flash of wanting to prove yourself—you recall not being able to fathom why, at that moment, why would you even care about his opinion?—forced a firm, “i’ll do it.” out of your lips before you could even take a moment to think about it.

the brief startle on his features was almost worth it.

that is, of course, until it was buried behind the infuriating smirk that was so nishimura riki that it made you recoil a little.

he’d spent the whole evening afterwards and the few of the following days calling you out on how you were just bluffing and, really, he’d love to see you actually pull something like that.

it had seemed odd for a moment. to consider a simple rendezvous to be of such high stakes. 

but the underlying implications of the act soon caught up.

unknowing is bliss just as much as it is a necessity to be aware, after all.

the innocence of the act to prove that you were in control, would be lost completely should a stray palace worker chance upon your meeting.

because when you’re a member of a royal family, then it is on you to uphold the honor, the dignity and the duty that comes along with the title.

if only as a mere facade.

it barely even registers that you’ve reached your destination due to being too caught up with your own jumbled thoughts. 

something obstructs your line of sight. a hand, not close enough to touch but close enough that you can feel it’s warmth on your cooler skin. 

you’d panic, normally, but a soft brush against your ear and the low voice immediately following is enough to let you know exactly who it is behind you.

“well, well. color me surprised.”

ni-ki’s presence is overbearing.

as much as you hate to admit it, he is everything and more required of a prince. the calm nonchalance and unspoken dominance is only one of the things that you despise about him (and begrudgingly also find yourself in awe of.)

“and here i was so sure you wouldn’t show. thought you’d leave me out here in the cold all alone.”

you lift your hand to swat his off of where it rests and turn to look at ni-ki, retort all ready. but the very little space that is present between both your figures is something you hadn't accounted for. 

it takes a minute for you to get over your apprehension disgust.

you simply settle for an eye roll.

“hm? cat got your tongue?" there’s that smirk again. you wonder if he does it on purpose. if his aim to provoke you is so great that he’d risk all to achieve it. “don’t leave me hanging, now.” 

“no. it’s merely too cold.” a feebler, more tame response than what you’d usually hurl towards him. maybe the lowered temperature (or the lack of sleep) is making you soft.

he hums in agreement. ni-ki’s movements are fluid, easy, practiced when he takes off his own warm coat and drapes the garment over your shoulders, tugging you imperceptibly closer in the process.

“not really dressed for midnight excursions, are we?”

“it is well past midnight.” but you suppose he’s right. your flimsy excuse for nightclothes are hardly appropriate.

he laughs at that and the rich sound rings clearly through the garden.

you hate it. he should know better—should know to be quieter, unless he wants for everyone in a 2 mile radius to be drawn to the place. “do you always have to have the last word?” 

“…” sheer pettiness makes you fall silent.

a beat of awkward silence.

your attention can’t help but be drawn to the clean, cedar-like scent which seems to have rather quickly overtaken your senses. the only way you can describe it is to be purely and totally nishimura riki.

you hate it. hate that you find yourself finding comfort in it, hate that he’s so close to you.

you hate that you want him closer.

“c’mon doll. gonna leave me hanging now?”

it takes you another minute to speak up again.

“what do you want.” and you do everything in your power to ignore the bite lacking in your words.

if ni-ki notices, he doesn’t comment on it. his expression however, falters at your response, if only briefly.

“a thank you for the coat would be appreciated.” his voice is still soft. as if in a conscious effort to match your own.

you scoff instinctively. it gives you something to do, something that isn’t hyper focusing on how you’re leaning into the pseudo embrace of his warmth. “you … why did you call me out here?.”

there’s barely any space between your chests—ni-ki’s hands still fiddling with one of the buttons on the oversized garment covering your figure—yet his sharp gaze never strays one bit.

“maybe i wanted to see if you’d actually do it,” he says finally. “sneak out. meet me.”

“i didn’t do it for you.” but you did. you’d rather die than have to admit it to him, though.

he shifts suddenly then, face dropping to be level with yours, “no? then who, doll?”

you open your mouth before realizing you have to pause to think. 

“hey,” he pipes up again, effectively shutting up any defense you could come up with, “you’re shivering. ‘s it still too cold?”

you realize with a start that you’d really like to shut him up. with a kiss, maybe. or a slap, if you’re feeling nice. 

“no just. just tell me why you called me here.” you say instead.

a silent beckoning. you simultaneously hope and dread his answer for apprehension that it will be exactly what you want to hear.

“i just wanted to see you. one last time.”

last time? 

“what’s that mean? don’t tell me you’re finally running away. got too tired of being a pain in the ass for me?”

he laughs again and this time you hate him for stalling. it’s too late, he’s too close and you’re ... way too confused. 

“i won’t ever get tired of that. of you.” his words drip with the signature effortlessness you’ve come to associate him with, and yet.. something’s different. “i meant i wanted to see you while you can still spare time for little ol’ me.”

spare time? doesn’t he know of the countless nights you’ve spent so far thinking about things you so desperately want to say; waiting with bated breath for a chance to verbalize them. despite knowing in your heart that there’s hardly a possibility that you’ll get to. of course you could spare time for him—

oh.

one last time. he meant to spare him one last chance to see you before you’re promised to someone else.

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 @amatabelle @i-am-not-dal @liyahhhh620 @elleetlalune @eunwonji @s0shroe @wensurr @unhakies @starniras ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[sinners4ever]

All Mine

Pairing: Elias “Stack” Moore x Mariah “Mimi” Black!Oc

Content|Warning(s): 18 plus, drinking, smoking, a little toxicity, tension, cat and mouse, vulgar language, oral fem receiving, p in v penetration, fingering, car sex, brat tamer, hair pulling, smacking, spit-play.

Summary: Mariah and Stack often played this game. It was evident to everyone around them that they wanted each other badly. But, neither one of them would put their pride aside to admit it. Every moment, every glance, every smart remark built a palpable tension…maybe tonight the game gets old..who knows.

It was a warm night in The Delta. Mariah and her friends were headed to the club for girls night after a long week of work. Mariah was a baddie if you’d ever seen one. Short with a cute frame and skin that glittered like bronze under the glow of the sun. Her friend Keisha was teasing about her possibly seeing her “man that wasn’t her man” at the function tonight, Stack. “Girl, when are you gonna stop playin’ and snatch that nigga up? It’s obvious y’all fuck with each other for real.”, Mariah sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “Ain’t no body worried about that nigga, Keisha damn.” Keisha and the rest of the crew giggled girlishly and continued racing down the highway while they pregamed on their way. Mariah knew she liked Stack a lot. Every-time she saw him she could feel the butterflies in her stomach just fluttering away and her heart would race, but he was so irritating. Always having something smart to say or just him thinking everything was game even if secretly that’s what she loved about him. After they made it inside, Mariah went to the bar and grabbed a drink before going back to find her friends. The music was thumping and the vibes were amazing. She was already feeling the effects of her drinking before they arrived and now she was a little tipsy swaying or shaking her ass to whatever music was playing. She was in her own world until Keisha tapped her and pointed into the direction of Stack in the corner of the club letting some girl grind on him as if they were fucking right there on the dance floor. She would be lying if she said it didn’t ruin her whole mood, but she was gonna lie regardless. She waved him off and walked away. “Fuck that nigga, Keisha.” Little did she know he already knew she was there and was growing tired of chasing her…so it was time to get her attention. He smiled to himself seeing her walk off trying to be as unbothered as she could. He had no real interest in whoever this girl was, just a pawn in his little game nothing more.

After a while she was getting tired of seeing that bitch on him so she decided that two could play that game. She grabbed the finest nigga standing on the side lines while the song “All Mine by Brent Faiyez” played and started grinding on him slowly. He held on to her hips and matched her rhythm perfectly. She stood in perfect view of Stack and instantly his whole mood shifted. His jaws clenched and he had visibly gotten tired of whoever this girl was. He stood there for a while watching Mariah seemingly enjoying that niggas hands all over her and it made his heart race. What the fuck was going on he had the upper hand just a few moments ago? He cleared his throat and bucked the drink in his hand before making a beeline to her. “Aye brah, move she’s spoken for.”, He spoke roughly. The dude she was with laughed him off, acting like he didn’t even speak. Stack then turned his attention to Mariah. “Mimi, if you don’t get this clown ass nigga off you. I will.”, she giggled and moved her body slightly to the left looking past him. “I think shawty you was dancing with is looking for you.”, he scoffed. “Ain’t no body worried about her, I don’t even know her name. Mimi, come on stop playin’ with me now.”, rolling her eyes she told dude to go get them something to drink. “What the fuck you want, Stack?” Damn he looked fine as fuck when he was mad she thought. He grabbed her arm and pulled her off into his section. “You bogus as fuck for that shit. Letting that random dude touch on you like that.”,She was in disbelief. “You mean like how you had that girl you don’t even know all on you like you were her nigga? Please, Stack it’s not like you’re my man or something. I can do what I want.”, he moved closer to her and pulled her into him by her waist. “Nah, baby you got me fucked up for real. This right here is my shit.” She bit her glossed lip nervously. They’ve never gotten this close before what was going on with him all of a sudden. “Boy, you don’t want me for real, stop playin’.” He looked around and spotted her friends leaning into ear. “Go tell you lil friends you’re leaving with me…now.” She didn’t know why but that command made her stand upright and she listened. Her friends smiled at each other knowingly while they said their good byes.

The ride was mostly quiet besides “Vibes Don’t Lie by Leon Thomas” playing on the car stereo. Mimi watched him drive so attentively, noticing how his fingers gripped the steering wheel. The way he focused on the road and the way his free hand held onto her thigh. He found a park and stopped there. “Why are we here, Stack?” He pulled out a preroll and put it between his lips to light it. Inhaling and exhaling the smoke slowly he looked her little frame over and licked his lips. “To just talk, Mimi. I’m tired of this back and forth bullshit.” The look on her face was priceless she rolled those big brown eyes. “Back and forth the fuck are you talkin’ about. You’re the one always acting like you run some shit over here. Last time I checked you and I aren’t together, fucking, or even talking so you have no say so.” He chuckled and slowly put the blunt out. “That’s what you think, but I think you know who you belong to don’t you, baby?” He leaned over the console and gripped her thigh again this time sliding his rough hand up her mini skirt resting it on her inner thigh. Her breath hitched and she looked at him confused. “Now here’s the thing, Mimi. I want you…wanted you since the day we met and I know you want me too. The little games…attitude you give is cute, but I think you really just want some act right.” She blushed and looked away. His free hand turned her face back toward him. His eyes were dark , intense, and filled with desire. They looked at her plush lips noticing her breathing picked up. He smiled and leaned in letting his lips hover over her for a moment before he pressed them against hers roughly. He grabbed the back of her neck, adding more pressure into the kiss. Her body was putty in his hands. She grabbed onto his t-shirt pulling him in even closer. He groaned and she responded with a moan that had his dick rock solid. A hand wrapped underneath her skirt to grab that soft ass of hers that he’s been dying to touch. “Fuck, you so soft, baby.” He buried his face in her neck inhaling her scent while he licked and sucked on it leaving hickeys behind. “You so fuckin’ pretty, mamas. You know that?” She responded with a ‘uh-huh’ and all he could say was, “Good girl.” He slid his hand into the front of her lace panties quickly finding her hidden pearl. She gasped leaning her back and he smiled at how she reacted. “Damn, you so wet, mamas.” His two fingers rubbed circles around that sensitive clit of her and she bucked her hips in time. Slowly he slid those fingers down to her entrance and let them slip inside. She held onto his arm whining at the stretch, but soon melting into his once he started to curl his fingers up into her pussy. “Oh-fuck…Stack.” He smacked her thigh. “Nah, baby what’s my name?”, She quickly responded, “E-Elias…”, he praised with a quick good girl and continued to play in that juicy pussy all while watching her come undone. “It feels good don’t it, babygirl? You like that shit?”, she nodded rapidly “Mmmhmmm…”, he kissed her again picking up the pace feeling her warms tightening around his fingers. “You finna cum ain’t you?”, she responded with a moan and her body started to tremble. “Cum on my fingers, baby.” She did as he said and creamed all over his fingers even squirting a little on his leather seat. He smiled and kissed again patting her on the ass. “Get in the bag I wanna taste that pussy, mama.” She damn near flew into the back seat and he laid down the seats laying her back kissing her plush lips again and again. His hands exploring her body grabbing onto her rounded breasts playing and pinching at her nipples. Her pussy leaking and pulsing in response.

He spread her legs apart holding them to her chest while he laid soft kisses to her inner thighs. Her body jolted with each soft kiss that sent electricity through her body. He looked into eyes as he took the first long lick dragging his tongue flatly against her clit applying a little pressure. “Ooo…Elias…” he responded with another lick starting to suck on her clit. She tasted so sweet it made his eyes roll back. She grabbed onto his head pushing his face into her pussy more and it only motivated him more. Pushing her legs up further he buried his tongue in her pussy fucking it with his tongue while she bucked her hips back and forth damn near fucking his face. She sighed and moaned in pure bliss while he devoured her with no mercy. His dick was starting to hurt being confined in his pants so he unbuckled his pants and let it pop out of his boxers. She knew he had big dick energy but damn she wasn’t expecting that. She was practically salivating at the sight of it. “You want him?” She nodded and he obliged. He obliged held her legs to her chest and lined the tip of his dick up with entrance and slowly slid inside. That first initial moan from her as he slid in was music to his ears. She put her hand up trying to get use to him as he stretched her out and he swatted her hand away. “Uh-uhhh you can take him, baby.” He moved his hips slowly pulling his dick in and out and she was already forgetting her name and seeing stars. “That’s it, pretty girl.” His thumb rubbed her clit simultaneously while he stroked her slow and deep at first, but soon after she got used to his size he picked up the pace slamming his dick into her cervix. She was screaming in pure ecstasy while he continued to rub circles around her sensitive bundle of nerves. Her mind blank…only thing that was in her mind right now was him…only him. “Say ahh, babygirl.” She followed his instructions blindly and slowly letting spit drip into her mouth before he kissed her sloppily letting their tongues play with one another’s. “Oh my god, Daddy…I’m gonna…cum…I’m gonna cum.” He’d been wanting to be the reason she said those words for a long time and finally she was saying them. “Go head cum on this dick, baby.” Mariah’s legs shook as her whole entire body convulsed with this release her back arched and she was cumming uncontrollably. The sight of it pushed him over the edge and he reached his peak with her. Filling her up until his cum spilled out of her.

They laid there in the back seat catching their breath and he kissed her shoulder with her legs tangling around him. “You all mine now.”

[hiraizyo]

girl, do you really wanna be my friend?

pairing: megan skiendiel x masc!reader

synopsis: megan needs your help staging a relationship. things get a little out of hand once it comes to public displays.

tags: fake dating trope, nonceleb!au, making out, slight mature language.

now playing: pretend lovers, montell fish.

a/n: been thinking about meg having a masc gf with a size difference lately… this was the result of that.

“are you fucking kidding me?”

“what is it?” lara asked as soon as she heard megan’s yell of displeasure.

“look at this!” the chinese girl shoved her phone in her friends face. taking it into her hands, lara comes eye to eye with an instagram story of megan’s ex and her new girlfriend.

“oh, yikes…” the redhead muttered lowly, handing the phone back to her. she pursed her lips, feeling pity for her friend.

megan’s previous relationship had only just ended a mere two weeks ago after being together for over ten months. to move on that fast, lara knew it was huge sting to the ginger.

megan flopped onto her back, her elbow almost knocking lara in the process. she groaned loudly, anger running through her whole body. her ex girlfriend had told her multiple times how much megan meant to her, only for her to move with the girl she was supposed to not worry about.

it was absolute bullshit.

“what are you going to do?” lara questioned, moving to lay on her side while resting her head on her propped up arm.

“what can i do?” megan retorted back, staring at the ceiling in hopelessness.

it was enough to have her heart broken over the relationship ending, but seeing the instagram story sent her mind into a deep spiral. hurt, betrayal and rage was all that she felt in the moment.

lara hummed at she contemplated different ideas in her head, trying to figure out the best solution for this.

“oooh wait, i have an idea.” she grinned devilishly, sitting up and crossing her legs.

megan lifted her head, her interest piqued. seeing the look in her friends face, she shuffled upwards until she was laying with her back on the headboard, waiting patiently.

“you should one up her, show her that you’ve moved on too.”

it was a simple idea, one that wouldn’t require much effort — the only question left was who.

that’s when you came in.

lara had the perfect idea for megan to have you act as her newest lover. it wasn’t going to be hard to believe in any case. the indian thought you were exactly megan’s type, and she always imagined that you’d make a great couple.

you were a mutual friend of lara and manon, discovering that when the latter arranged for you to meet her newest group of friends, only to be surprised that you already knew the redhead girl. that was a little over three months ago, and by now you’d made somewhat of a connection with each girl in the group.

two days later, when you were over at lara’s for a short visit, megan had made her request to you while the rest of the girls were busying themselves with playing games on the tv.

you and megan were off to the side, sitting on a two seater couch.

“so… you want me to pose as your rebound?”

it was meant as a taunting remark, but megan, already nervous for asking you this, thought you were serious about it.

“no! no, not a rebound.” she awkwardly scratched the side of her neck, eyes wide. “just maybe as my new… girlfriend?”

her voice squeaked. it was hard not to find her adorably cute.

“i’m just teasing, darling.” the pet name rolled off your tongue out of habit, but it didn’t stop the blush that dusted over megan’s cheeks.

“oh,” she mumbled, looking down. “so, will you? help me with this?”

you grinned, thinking it over in your head.

you weren’t currently involved with anyone, and megan surely seemed like a girl you’d go for. it wouldn’t hurt to do this, even if it was just a once off thing.

“sure.” you agreed after a few seconds.

megan didn’t expect you to say yes, her eyebrows raising up in surprise. the look on her face resembled a fish out of water, mouth hanging ajar.

“o-okay,” she stammered, “cool. okay, thanks yn.”

you chuckled at seeing her like that, all nervous and tense. quickly checking the time on your phone, you noticed you had to leave now in order to be time to pick up your younger sister, hyein, from a friend’s place.

“i’ve gotta go now, but i think we should meet up or you could text me to plan this.” you suggested, pocketing your phone.

megan nodded in agreement, already planning what she’d have you do in her head. when you stood up and stretched, your shirt rose slightly, exposing your lower abdomen. the ginger tried not to let gaze linger, but damn you looked good.

you sauntered over to the group, pressing a kiss to lara and manon’s cheek, ruffling yoonchae’s hair and telling lara to let her parents and sister know you give your regards.

after the game had finished with lara and sophia winning, the former sat herself next to her friend.

“so, did you ask?” she inquired, a teasing smile tugged on her lips. lara played with megan’s fingers absentmindedly, a habit of hers that began the closer they grew.

megan hummed, “yeah, i’m supposed to text her a plan of how it’s going to work.” she used her thumb picked at her finger nails of her free hand, coming up with different scenarios.

“oh cool, do you have anything in mind?”

she shook her head as a way to say no, but it would come to her eventually. megan leaned in closer to lara, speaking in a hushed voice.

“do we let the girls in on this?” she asked, looking over at them as they restarted the game.

yoonchae had taken lara’s place as sophia’s partner in mario kart, so they were all distracted enough for the two girls to discuss their plan.

“maybe only manon, since her and yn are close. but it would be more believable if the rest didn’t know.” lara commented, almost as if she was an expert in this whole faking a relationship ordeal.

megan thought it over, deciding lara was right. the conversation ended, and they watched and laughed as manon and daniela cussed at one another after losing.

a couple days later, you found yourself in megan’s room. she’d texted you, asking to come over in order for her plan to take place. she thought a simple action such a posting a picture on her story would do. after all, it was how she found out hex ex had moved on.

you waited patiently, sitting on megan’s bed and admiring the interior design of her room and the decorations that hung on her walls. there were a couple pictures of her and the girls, a framed photo of her family and a few band posters hanging on her walls.

when megan walked into the room, you turned to her looking like an obedient puppy. she found it funny considering your large stature.

“alright, so like, how are we going to do this?”

the ginger laughed at your eagerness, the frown on your face making her laugh enough me. she gestured with her hand, “follow me.”

megan strolled out the room with you in tow. you were now in the bathroom, with her closing the door behind you.

“i was thinking of a mirror pic, like all those couples do on instagram.” she told you, moving a few things around the bathroom counter top in order to make space.

she faced you, planting her hands face down on the counter and pushed off the ground, sitting down in the surface. the white marble counter had enough space for her to be there, it was long and had a square sink in the middle, with draws underneath it. there was a large mirror behind her, good enough to capture a perfect photo.

megan signaled for you to come closer, handing you her phone. the camera app was already open, awaiting the start of your agreement.

“we should try and make it intimate.” she told you, while you stepped closer to position yourself in between her legs.

you thought of poses you could do before settling on one that thought would definitely send a message she was taken.

placing a hand on her lower back, you looked directly at her.

“is this okay?”

with your height, megan was eye to eye with you, feeling your breath on her skin. she nodded silently, while you slid your hand down until a part of it was tucked into the back of her jeans.

the tank top she wore allowed for her to feel your skin on hers, her heartbeat rising at the feeling. your stepped closer, the proximity making you hyper aware of everything in the room.

megan then wrapped her arms around your neck and you leaned in, near enough for you to tuck your head into her neck. holding the phone up with your right hand, you snapped a couple pictures, hoping it would be enough.

when you finished, megan let out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding, her arms unwrapping from behind you. you handed the phone back to her, looking down at what you captured.

“do you think it’ll work?” you questioned.

“mh, i hope so.” she gazed up for a split second.

neither of you realized that you were still so close, the sudden awareness of your proximity caused heat to run through both of your bodies.

she chuckled and stared at down her phone, thinking you both looked amazing.

this would definitely do.

quickly open up imessage, she sent the photo to lara, asking her opinion on it. her nails tapped against the screen, as you watched the words delivered turn into read.

meg <3: *one photo attached*

meg <3: thoughts?

lara responded back almost immediately, her message making both you and megan laugh aloud.

lara 🍒: oh GIRLLL

lara 🍒: that’s so hot !!!

lara 🍒: pls tell me ur posting it

megan typed a quick message to her, and then opened up instagram to post it on her story. she captioned it ‘mine ;)’ and placed her phone down on the counter when she was done.

you stepped back, titling your head. “was there anything else you needed?”

the chinese began to think of any other ways for the two of you to sell the ruse, suddenly remembering a party that adéla would be throwing this upcoming weekend.

“actually, my friend is having something this saturday.” she informed you, leaning back on her hands. “i don’t know if my ex will show up, but it’d be great to have you there either way.”

“you got it, gorgeous.”

that was how you ended up standing with megan in a room full of people that you didn’t know. the rest of the kats’ were scattered around different parts of the house, enjoying the party with their own entertainment.

the music boomed loudly in your ears as you weaved through the dancing crowd, trying to make your way over to megan on the other side.

“here you go.” you handed her the drink she’d ask for a few moments ago. she flashed you a light smile, telling you thanks while you took a sip of your own.

you and megan began conversing over the marvel cinematic universe, discussing your favorite movies and characters of the franchise. her voice occupied your attention, hanging on to every word.

then, as if it was happening all in slow motion, her eyes caught sight of her ex over your shoulder.

megan stilled, stopping herself mid sentence. you noticed this as you looked at her in confusion. she gazed at her ex girlfriend, before she looked back at you, her voice low. she placed her hand on your back, bringing herself closer.

“she’s here.”

you tried to sneak a glance, craning your neck to the side and looking over your shoulder. “the ex?”

“uh huh.” she confirmed.

megan glanced for a second time, quick enough to notice her ex looking, but also quick enough for her not be caught staring. she was holding hands with a woman, but her attention was on the ginger. megan could feel eyes burning holes into the side of her head once she placed her gaze back on you.

carefully, she set her drink down on a surface nearby. she whispered lowly, leaning in closer until you could feel her breath fan against your skin. megan’s eyes looked up into yours, holding hints of a question and nervousness.

“can i kiss you?”

the question fell from her lips quickly. it caught you off guard, almost knocking the air out of you. your mind spiraled. you knew at some point you and megan would have to kiss in order to sell the scheme of your fake relationship, but now it was becoming a reality.

you cleared your throat, taking in a deep breath.

"sure, yeah, that— that's fine." stumbling over your words, you pat your thigh softly with your hand, as if to remind yourself this was really happening.

megan giggled one last time at your reaction and your attempt at composing yourself. her hand was still on your back, moving down slowly until it rested on the lower part. she began to fill the gap, gazing up at you for a final confirmation, before her eyes fluttered closed as she pressed her lips against yours.

the kiss was sweet, albeit a little bit tentative, but it was nice nonetheless. megan’s lips were soft, and you could taste the sweetness of her strawberry lipgloss.

as you pulled away, your lips hovered over hers, quietly mumbling, “i think we can do better than that if we really want to convince her.”

megan frowned, “huh?”

you placed your own cup down on a table beside you, and leaned down to capture her lips again. your left hand was now cupping her jaw while the other went to hold her waist, lightly pressing her against the wall.

megan gasped into your mouth, her eyelids falling closed while her hand on your back pressed deeper into the material of your t-shirt. her free hand fell to hook her fingers into the belt loops of your jeans, pulling you closer by the waist.

this time, the kiss was rougher but still had a tinge of gentleness to it. her lips moved against yours in a rhythm that seemed as if you’d done this before. everything around you began to fade away, feeling only megan; her hand bunching up your t-shirt in a fist, her delicate lips, her chest moving up against yours.

time seemed to slow as you pulled away from one another, being so close that you were sure she could feel your heartbeat. megan’s eyes were still closed for a short second before they opened again and she gazed at you with a hazy glint. the both of you were breathing heavily, the kiss clearly taking an effect.

you were the first to speak, eyes still trained on her lips. “do you think that did it?”

megan looked lost, momentarily forgetting where she was and why she was doing this in the first place. she breathed, slowly. her voice was hoarse when she finally replied.

“yeah,” she swallowed, “mh, definitely.”

should i do a part 2? 😋

[crownjewel123]

hiiii!!!

i had an idea for an isaac x fem!reader fic, i saw one about stiles ages ago and i still can’t find it but it was about the reader being a cheerleader and wearing stiles jersey for one of his lacrosse games. stiles had a pre-existing crush on her but they like didn’t talk much yk i just thought it was really cute and i was wondering if you could do something along the same lines but for isaac?

plsplspls i love ur work sm

Oh hell yeah! That’s honestly so adorable, and I wouldn’t mind to do one with Isaac that’s like that. (Credit to the op though, whomever you are- I haven’t read that one or I would tag).

Also thank you so much! I’m just getting back in to TW so I hope this does it some justice? I adore Isaac.

————————————————————————

Isaac Lahey is a cute guy.

Anyone with eyes can see it.

It’s become a sort of, tradition, on the girls cheer team to confess to their crushes in unconventional ways. What way exactly?

‘Borrowing’ a guys jersey and wearing it at the game. But the hardest part was finding a way to obtain it. I mean, asking directly has its perks sure- no when you’re trying to surprise someone though. Besides, as cute as he was, talking to Isaac directly just seemed a bit intimidating.

So, who better to ask than Scott McCall?

Finding him at his locker the day before the game was easy. He knew who you were, of course. Being one of his friends since the fourth grade had its perks. Nobody even bat an eye when you showed up at his locker beside him and Stiles.

“Hey Scott, can I ask you a favor?” You didn’t mind the way both of their gazes flickered to you. Not yet, anyway. Not even with Stiles apprehension- he always knew when you were planning something.

“Hey, what’s up?” Scott closes his locker as he pulls his books close, turning to face you directly.

“..Could you help me get one of Isaac’s jerseys for the game tomorrow?” As soon as the question left your lips- Stiles spit his water he had been sopping at. Lowering his drink from his lips, he looked to you directly.

“You-… you?! You… like LAHEY?” Stiles voice raised a few octaves as he spoke and you shushed him with a furrow of your brow. He didn’t need to spoil it now.

“Stiles, c’mon.” Scot gently nudges him with his shoulder to quiet down. “They’ve had a crush on Isaac since forever, how did you not know?”

Stiles is still muttering, he raises his arms and shoulders in a mock shrug. Maybe he was too caught up in everything else to notice. It’s not as if he was looking at you like that..

“Anyway,” Scott continues, throwing an amused glance at Stiles, “I’ll meet you at your car after lacrosse and cheer practice.” He assures you with a grin. Satisfied, you pat Scott’s shoulder and send a look the still sputtering Stiles direction.

“Thanks Scotty,” you laugh as you pass Stiles, playfully patting the top of his head, “Good luck buddy.”

And then you went on with your day. Practice went by pretty quickly after running through the routine on the sidelines a few times. You somehow didn’t get caught starring holes into the side of Isaac’s head as he played, and somehow got the formations down. When everyone dispersed for the night, after you climbed in your car Scott appeared within five minutes. With a smirk to you, he had pulled out a jersey with ‘Lahey-14’ and hands it over.

“I can’t wait to see his reaction.” Scott remarks with a laugh. As if he already knew the outcome, and it was the good ending. Like a romance fanatic knowing two characters were pining for one another before the characters themselves. You just smiled and took the shirt.

“I almost want to wear it before the game- but I don’t want to tip him off.” You laugh, and Scott laughs along with you.

“You should definitely leave it as a surprise,” Scott laughs before opening your door and slipping out of the car, “See you tomorrow?”

“See ya!” You call, waving to your friend.

You’re both oblivious to the curious gaze of Isaac Lahey, who had been watching the whole time. Only able to hear and see bits and pieces.

The next day is a bit of a blur. In all honesty, when isn’t it. Most of the teachers here at Beacon aren’t exactly the most memorable. In fact, some have tried to kill you-and your friends/friends families so..

Anyway, when the cheer meet up starts, you’re already anxious. The girls team meets up in the locker rooms before the big game. It’s there, on top of your cheer uniform that you’d worn for the day, gets its new addition. Slipping Isaac’s jersey from your backpack, before you toss it in a locker, you pull it over your head and stride over to the others. There’s a roar of amusement, and intrigue as you join the circle.

“I knew it!” One of your friends on the team, Jerrica squeals. “You two are gonna be so cute together!” She cheers, grabbing your hands tightly as her brown eyes meet your own.

You smile, cheeks warming as your gaze turns to the captain. She sends you a knowing look before clearing her throat and addressing the team.

“Alright y’all, we’ve been putting in the work. We’ve got this down, don’t forget to spot, and watch out for one another. We’re gonna kill it tonight!” She cheers, earning an uproar from the team before leading everyone out to the field.

The nervous steps up to the table as you walk out into the field. Eyes drifting around the field to see who you can spot. There’s Stiles, bench-warming, who has turned to spot you- he just waved. Waving back, your gaze ventures past him to the field. Scott and Isaac are tossing a ball back and forth with their helmets on. A pre-game practice, that they didn’t really need.

As the cheer team steps onto the sideline, Scott softly grins in a knowing sort of way. The ball is in his own net as he throws a look and a wave your way. With a gulp, you wave back, cheeks warming as the always curious Isaac turns around to face you. As he moves, you can feel your heart hammering in your chest- and you know they can hear it. You feel his eyes on you before you see them, following the team down a little with your back to him. The perfect opportunity for him to read your back- ‘Lahey - 14’.

When you stop a little to the side of the team, you almost jump out of your skin when you turn to see him beside you. That wasn’t supposed to happen- he wasn’t supposed to approach until after the game. But, he didn’t exactly follow the rules.

“My jersey looks good on you,” Isaac murmurs as he peers down at you, an unreadable expression on his face. The kind of look that would make your heart melt if you didn’t contain yourself.

“Oh-uh.. Yeah?” You reply weakly- still a bit surprised.

“Definitely,” he brushes a stray hair over your ear, leaning down so your faces are inches apart. “Maybe after the game, you and I can go somewhere to celebrate?” He grins as you stammer a moment, starring up at him as your brain processes his words. You’d been expecting to be the one approaching him after this, and he had entirely flipped the script.

“Absolutely,” you agree after a moment of collecting your thoughts. “Just us?”

“Just us,” he confirms, caressing your cheek with his hand. It looks like he wants to say more- but Coach blows his whistle signaling a huddle before the match. He looks over you one last time with his piercing blue irises and beams. “You should keep that jersey- and wear it for me every game night ,” he calls as he hurries away.

Behind you, the girls cheer team swoops in to huddle around you. All spouting their praises and support before getting ready to cheer for the game.

With a smile, as the game starts, your eyes meet Isaac’s out in the field. He smiles at you in this way that makes your heart do a backflip, and you can’t help but feel like you made the right choice.

It’s a date.