#and it took me a few days to reply too but I wanted to make sure I had time to answer properly :D

[w2soneshots]

neeeeed a george make up sex fic 🤤

Make up, make out -George clarkey

words: 2.0k+

warnings: smut (with plot), unprotected sex, cream pie, multiple positions, lots of dirty talk, angst with a happy ending, Chris is adorable as per, George is a self aware king.

summary: you and your boyfriend, George, get into an argument. You spend the day apart and when he returns home, it turns out all that was needed to resolve it was a quick conversation and some good old make up sex.

notes: hello angels! I made this to celebrate hitting one thousand followers, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for being here🥹💞. I’m crushing hard on George atm so I needed to get this out of my system🙂‍↕️. I hope you enjoy!!❤️‍🔥✨🫶🏼

Not often did you and George argue. When you did it was for something stupid and was quickly resolved with an apology from whoever was in the wrong. This morning was different.

Let's go back to the beginning... you and George met in a bar. He spit his drink all over your dress, went extremely red out of embarrassment, apologised profusely and then offered you his jumper. You fell for him right then and there.

At around seven this morning you were woken up to the sound of the shower turning on. It made its usual loud gurgling sound as the water made its way through the pipes. You groaned into your pillow and tried to fall back asleep.

To no avail, you grabbed your phone and began absentmindedly scrolling through instagram. George opened the ensuite door a few minutes later, wearing just a white towel wrapped around his hips. "Oh, hey babe. Why're you awake?" He asked with confusion as he dried his hair with a smaller towel.

You signed. "Shower woke me up," you muttered back sleepily. He sat on the side of the bed. "Shit, sorry." You pushed yourself up so that you were leaning against the headboard. "Why're you awake?" You asked, head cocked to the side.

"The sidemen are filming a video and needed a guest last minute, since the other guy dropped out," he explained. You furrowed your brows."George?" "Hm?" "Did you forget about our date?" You asked, arms now crossed over your chest.

His eyes widened, it'd completely slipped his mind. "Uhh-" "Oh come on!" You threw the duvet back and stood. "I'm sorry love, I forgot- I- I'll make it up to you," he scrambled, standing to match you.

You lowered your voice after taking a deep breath. "You said that last week," you replied, defeated. "I-" he began but you were quick to cut him off. "Have fun at your shoot, I'll cancel our reservation."

He reached out to you but you threw your hands up and took a step back. "No, no. It's fine!" You snapped before turning and going to the living room to 'sleep' on the couch.

George signed before cursing quietly under his breath. He contemplated cancelling but ultimately decided against it. He then continued to get ready and was gone within half an hour.

Silent tears trickled down your face as you heard the front door close. You were angry. He'd blew you off to film a few too many times and you were tired of it. You wanted him to take opportunities and aspire for more, but when it meant spending your day alone because he had to cancel, you obviously weren't happy about it.

"y/n?" Chris' voice sounded through the living room. You sniffed and quickly wiped your face. "Mhm?" Was all that you could manage without your voice cracking. He walked closer and sat at the end of the couch, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Why're you sleeping on the couch?" He asked, confused, "did George steal all the covers again?" I breathed out an amused laugh. "He left, for a shoot," you responded, sitting up properly. "Oh, right."

We sat there in a slightly awkward silence for a moment before he got up. "Uhm... do you need anything? A blanket?" He asked sweetly. Bless him. You smiled softly up at him. "I'm okay. Thank you. I'm gonna go back to bed now anyway," you replied before standing up. "Ah, okay. Sleep well."

You parted ways and went back to your respective rooms. Living with Chris and Arthur is something you didn't think you'd like as much as you do. You moved in a few months ago and, thankfully, fit right in.

You decided, instead of spending the day moping around the apartment, that you'd ask Shannon if she wanted to go get some lunch and do some shopping (the best therapy). She was quick to text you back with an enthusiastic yes.

As you sat on the rooftop terrace of a pub, the sun shining down on you while you sipped away at your drinks, she let you rant on about how frustrating your morning had been. Since her and Chris had broken up you'd stayed in good contact and actually gotten quite close.

"I get it. It's not selfish to want a little attention from your boyfriend, that's just relationships. Talk to him. Tell him how you feel. Sometimes men need it to be spelled out, for them to understand," she advised you with a calm smile.

"God. You give the best advice," you replied with a sigh. She chuckled and before you could continue, your food came. "Let's talk about something else. I'll deal with everything later."

You had a nice day and Shannon managed to distract you enough for you to enjoy yourself. You said your goodbyes and she gave you a firm hug before whispering, "talk to him. He loves you. You'll be fine." Which reassured you immensely, though you were still slightly dreading the upcoming conversation.

When you got back to the apartment Arthur and Chris were on their way out. They explained quickly that they were meeting some of the other boys for drinks and wouldn't be back until late. You bid them goodbye and then went into your room to get unready since you just wanted to feel comfortable.

The creek of the front door opening an hour later made your breath hitch in your throat. George's footsteps rung through the apartment as he slowly approached your bedroom.

You stood in the bathroom, finishing off your skincare routine after you'd just removed your makeup. "Hey," he began cautiously, leaning against the doorway.

You continued to look in the mirror, keeping your eyes on your face. "Where's the others?" He asked, voice still soft and quiet. He was acting as if you were a deer that would bolt at any minute. "Out for drinks. Surprised you didn't join them," you replied plainly, as you picked up your lip balm and began applying some to your lips.

He sighed, he knew you had every right to be annoyed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, head hung low. You turned your body to look at him. "What was that?" You asked, sounding a little meaner than you meant to. His eyes met yours and he stepped closer.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I love you so much and I haven't been showing that recently, but I do. I love you more than anything. You're the best thing that's ever happen to me and- and I don't want to lose you. I promise I'll try harder. Just please, please forgive me?" His voice was slightly horse and his eyes were full of despair.

It took you a second to process what he'd just said. It was exactly what you needed to hear and -as usual- he'd somehow known what you were thinking.

"God," you breathed, in disbelief, "as if you could get any better. I just wanted to be with you- spend time with you. Of course I forgive you. I love you, you big idiot." He laughed quietly, nodded and wrapped his arms tightly around your torso. You both let out a breath of relief when your bodies met.

As you stood there, your worries long gone, all of the things that had just come out of his mouth caught up to you and you realised that you were... turned on?

"George?" You whispered, voice husky. "Hm?" He hummed back. You moved back, not so much that your body's parted, but just enough so you could meet his eyes.

You stared into each other's souls for a moment before, at the exact same time, you leaned forward and connected your lips.

All of the built up emotions from the day made for a deep and desperate kiss that ignited a fire in your stomach. You were all over each other; his warm hands running from your hips, to your waist, to your lower back, while yours raked messily through his fluffy hair.

"The apartment's empty," you managed to mumble through kisses, "we can be as loud as we want." His arms tightened around your waist. "You have no idea the things you do to me darling," he whispered as he broke the kiss to pepper them around your jaw.

You leaned your head back with a breathy moan, giving him more access as your hand gripped onto his hair. "I," kiss. "love," kiss, "you," kiss. Oh my fucking god.

You wrapped your arms around his neck just as his hands gripped the back of your thighs. Like you weighed absolutely nothing, he lifted you off the ground and carried you into the bedroom.

He set you down on your bed carefully, your legs bent ether side of his hips. "Fuck me George. Please," you practically whimpered while reaching down and attempting to take his belt off.

"I've got you baby, I got ya'." He leant back to remove his shirt and undo the belt that you'd been struggling with moments earlier. You went to take off your top but he beat you to it.

It didn't take long until your clothes lay in a pile on the floor and you were both left in only your underwear. He leaned back down and connected your lips once again.

Slowly, he ground his clothed dick onto you and your mouth dropped open with a whine. "George..." at this point you were desperate, and he was teasing you. He let out a low chuckle before finally removing the remaining clothes separating you.

"Ready baby?" He asked softly. You were quick to nod. "Born ready," you replied breathlessly, voice showing how extremely sure you were.

He used one hand to put it in while the other reached for yours to intertwine your fingers, which is something he's done since the first time you had sex in your old apartment. You squeezed his hand tightly when he reached the hilt. "Oh mmm-"

"I'll never get over this feeling," he whispered into your ear, voice strained. "Move," you moaned in response. Didn't have to tell him twice.

The room filled with the lewd sounds of your bodies slapping together, your moans and George's soft grunts during each thrust. "Oh my god, George! Harder George, harder!" You screamed as his cock hit all the right places.

He loves the sounds you make, though there's usually a bit of teasing after the fact which you don't particularly enjoy but in the moment you genuinely couldn't care less.

His thrusts became sloppier and you knew that meant he was close, though you weren't quite ready for it to be over so... you wrapped your arms around his waist and flipped the both of you over.

He was surprised for a moment then looked up at you with raw attraction in his eyes. You'd, obviously, been on top before but had never done that and it was probably one of the sexiest things he'd ever witnessed.

You started using your legs to bounce up and down, hands finding his chest for support. His hands were quick to assist you by guiding your hips into his.

He watched you; head thrown back, tits bouncing and slightly frowning in pure bliss. All he could think was, "what the fuck did I do to deserve this angel."

He could tell you were close so he moved one of his big hands from your hip and pressed his thumb to your clit. Your legs moved quicker, you saw white and... snap.

George came just seconds after you. He grunted as your body fell forwards, landing on his chest as you caught your breath. He ran a hand through your hair and whispered, "we need to argue more often." Though, really, he never wanted to fall out with you again, but if you did... it'd always end with some unbelievable make up sex.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Barnes Bakes Chapter 1

A request that turned into a short story. Hope y'all like it! *mudak: moron or blowhard in Russian

Next chapter

Bucky waited for the elevator up to his apartment.  It had been another grueling mission and he was just not in the mood for anything but a big glass of his favorite Irish cream liqueur and a pizza.  He and his girlfriend had been bickering over text all day, and he was at his wits end.  Everything had started great between them a few months ago, but she had proven herself to be very jealous, which he had no patience for.  He put his phone on silent as the elevator rose and when he walked out he was greeted by a hallway of boxes.  Great, another new neighbor, he thought as he gingerly walked around and over the boxes.  When he turned the corner he found a woman almost completely sideways to a large box, pushing as hard as she could to get it through the doorway of the apartment across from him, blocking his way.

She grunted as she stopped pushing, then saw him and gasped.  “Oh!  I’m so sorry all my shit is in the way,” she said, moving away from the large box and shoving the smaller ones toward each wall to make a better walkway for him.  

“It’s okay,” he said gruffly, walking toward his door.

“You’re right across from me?  That’s great!  Hi, I’m Y/N,” she said, her voice way too chipper for him right now.  She thrust her hand out towards him with an expectant smile.  Bucky eyed her hand then slowly extended his right hand, shaking it firmly.

“Bucky,” he said simply.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bucky,” she said as her smile widened.  “I’m sorry for the mess.  I’ll get it moved toot sweet.”

He huffed a laugh, catching himself off guard.  “Toot sweet?” he asked.  

“Yeah, I know, I’m an old lady,” Y/N giggled and rolled her eyes.  “Well, I won’t take up your time.”  She turned back to the large box and tried pushing it again, moving it only a couple of inches.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at her.  She was short, reaching only up to his chest, very curvy and pretty.  She was dressed in a very flowy, mint green and white perpendicular striped, strappy summer dress that she kept having to hike up so she wouldn’t step or trip on it that showed off her chubby arms, her body slightly jiggling every time she moved.  Her hair was haphazardly toppled on her head with a good amount of it falling out of the hair tie, and she had a sheen of sweat along her brow from how much she had been moving around by herself.  She would be exactly what he would have gone for back in the day.  Curvy, cute, and from what little he’d just gotten from their first interaction, spunky, which he liked.  He rolled his eyes at himself as he set his things down and pocketed his keys.

“Let me help you,” he said, leaning down to the large box.

“Oh you don’t need to—oh!  Nevermind,” she laughed as he hefted the box easily, carrying it across the threshold of her doorway.  

“Where do you want it?” he asked.

“The kitchen,” Y/N said quickly, pointing the way.

Bucky walked toward the kitchen and put the heavy, large box on the counter with a grunt.  “What’s in this anyway?” he asked.

“Cookbooks,” she replied.  

“Just cookbooks?” he asked, looking at her curiously.  “I don’t think I own a single cookbook.”

Y/N laughed.  “Well, I’m a baker, so I’ve gotta have all the recipes,” she explained.

Bucky nodded like it all made sense.  “Well, let me get the rest and you just tell me where to go,” he said, walking back toward the front door.

“You don’t have to do that Bucky, I can get the rest.  That one was the worst one,” she said, following him out.

“Too late, I’m already doing it,” he said, bringing in another box.  

She gave him an appreciative smile and pointed to where she wanted it.  They created a little system as he took the boxes and she told him where she wanted it, which he could easily find since her apartment was just like his layout but flipped.  Within ten minutes he had all the boxes out of the hallway and in her apartment, ready to be opened and unpacked.

“Thank you, Bucky, that would have taken me ages,” she said with a sigh.  “I really appreciate it.  How can I repay you?”

“Don’t worry about it, seriously,” he said walking toward his door and taking out his keys.  

“Well, what’s your favorite treat?” Y/N said before he could get away.  “Are you allergic to anything?”

He frowned at her.  “I don’t have a favorite treat,” he said.  “And I’m not allergic to anything.”

Y/N perked up at that information.  “Alright, well then I’ll repay you in treats until I can find and bake your new favorite,” she said determinedly.

“You don’t have to do that—” he tried.

“Too late, I’m already doing it!” she laughed, repeating his words from earlier as she backed away from him into her apartment.  “Thanks again sweet pea!”  She winked at him then shut the door.

Bucky gawked at her door for a moment.  She was the strangest and most bubbly person he’d met in a long time, and for some reason it was making him smile again.  Why did he feel all giddy when she called him sweet pea?  He shook his head and went inside his apartment, the Irish liqueur calling his name.

[urdsstiny]

I WANNA BE YOURS | hamzah

the past few days had been challenging for both Hamzah and his roommate, you. your relationship was always a bit strange; you never viewed each other as anything beyond friends, but that was a far cry from the truth.

occasionally, you’d find yourself entwined with him, breathless and sweaty, yet either of you ever discussed it or reflected on those moments. you were just roommates—nothing more.

however, when you brought a reoccurring guest home again, hamzah felt a wave of confusion wash over him. jealously was definitely a part of it. and now, she was introducing them again.

as hamzah stepped into the apartment, he took off his hat with a sigh as it hit the floor. he had been busy filming a vlog all day with martin and hadn’t even noticed that you had brought that guy over again until he emerged from your bedroom, shirtless. from the flushed look on his face, hamzah knew why he’d come over.

"hey dude." the guy greeted him as he brushed by him to the door, a cocky smile on his face. as soon as the guy entered his field of vision, he felt anger boil in his veins. the guys cocky little smirk just making him even more irritated.

"hey." hamzah replied back, forcing a small smile. he moved his gaze away from the guys semi-exposed chest to you, who was exiting your bedroom with a yawn. you didn’t noticed him at first, only finally spotting him when you entered the kitchen. “oh, hey. how was work?”

as you crossed into the kitchen, hamzah followed behind, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "it was alright." he replied, his gaze still eyeing the guy through the window, watching him walk down the sidewalk with a few of his friends.

hamzah looked away as he leaned back in the chair. "y'know, it's kind of strange that you've been bringing that guy over so often." you frowned slightly as you began to make some noodles, too late at night to justify anything more.

"how is that strange?" seeing you begin to mess with the noodles, brought hamzah’s attention away from the window and to you. though his frown stayed on his face. "because it just is. i mean who is he? and does he have to come shirtless every time you bring him over?"

"well," you smirk, "he's gonna end up naked anyways. it's called time saving." you joked as you looked back at hamzah, realising he was not finding it as amusing as you.

and just like that, the irritation was back. the mention of the guy ending up naked and you sleeping with him, just made it worse. he scoffed, bringing a hand to his forehead with a sigh, before mumbling something under his breath.

"what was that?" you asked, not realising you were poking the bear with your question. he raised his head, looking you in the eyes. “you really want to know what i said?" he asked, moving his hand to grip the edge of the table.

you nodded, words failing you as you watched his eyes darken. they looked over your body, clad in an oversized shirt and shorts that were invisible underneath the top. it made hamzah's heart pound harder against his ribcage. he stood from the seat before moving to you, stopping once he was directly in front of you. his gaze scanning over your body before meeting your eyes. "i said, that i'm sick of that guy coming around."

"why?" you lose your nerve slightly at him so close to you "it's not as if he bothers you." as soon as you replied back, the thought of that guy touching you in all of the places that make you squirm, filled his mind. hamzah took a step closer, crowding you up against the counter. "but he does bother me."

"why? did he do something?”

"yes, he did do something. he came here." hamzah replied, voice dropping to a near whisper, his gaze going down to your lips for a split second. your chuckles grew dry as you realised what he was implying. you stood silent for a moment, glancing up at him. "are you jealous, hamzah?"

hamzah's jaw tightened at the mention of jealousy, his gaze hardening. "no." he replied, the lie leaving a bad taste in his mouth. he was jealous, so jealous. he leaned down, his face mere inches away from your own. "why would i be jealous?"

"because you wish you were him.” you choked out, trying to keep the same confidence you had entered the conversation with. it was hard with him looming over you, his gaze making you tremble.

hamzah froze, feeling his heart pound even harder. you were right. he wanted to be the one. he pushed away the thought, trying to fight the growing urge to pin you against the counter. "why would i want that?" he asked, looking straight into your eyes.

you smiled, giving him a sultry look as you answered. "i'm not answering that for you, hamzah." you stated before turning, finishing your noodles. the moment you turned, showing more of your thighs as your shirt rode up, hamzah swallowed as he took in the sight.

he fought the urge to grab your waist and pull you to him, the look on your face making him want to rip away that shirt. he watched as you finished up your noodles, still fighting against the growing urge to touch you. he knew he should leave the kitchen but he couldn't bring himself to move.

you finished with making your food, standing still as you waited to see if hamzah was going to make a move. your chest pounded as you waited on something, anything, words or even just touch. you craved it.

you just standing there, waiting for his next move... it was driving him crazy. he needed to touch you, he needed to hear you say his name. hamzah's hands came to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. your thin shirts the only thing separating the two of you.

you felt his hands come forward to grip your hips as he leaned down into your ear. he pressed up closely against your back, the feel of his hard chest against you making your skin ignite. he leaned forward, his breath fanning over your ear.

"do you have any idea of what you do to me." he questioned, his low voice sending a shiver down your spine. you giggled, and his grip tightened. "maybe."

hamzah's jaw clenched at your response, the grip on your hips tightening. "you’re brat." he whispered, before biting your earlobe. you spun around, his hands moving down slightly as you leaned forward. "what are you gonna do?"

his hands slid to your backside, gripping hard. hamzah looked into your eyes before suddenly picking you up, placing you on the counter. "i think we both know the answer to that." you smirked as you finally leaned in, pressing your lips to his while your hands gripped his shoulders.

he leaned in, meeting you halfway as he pushed his lips against yours, his hands moving up to thread through your hair. hamzah pulled away for just a moment, taking in the sight before him. "i can't stand that there's other guys out there touching you." he said, before connecting his lips to your own once more.

hamzah started pressing small kisses along your jawline, before moving down to your neck. once he reached your sweet spot, he bit down on the sensitive flesh, before sucking and marking it red. he pulled back, staring at the mark before growling and attaching himself to your neck once more.

"that's not m'fault." you murmured as you moved ur neck to give him more access. "i know it's not." he replied against your neck, he slowly moved down, leaving a large trail of marks along your neck, before he reached the hem of your shirt. pulling away for a moment, he looked into your eyes as he tugged on the material. "this really needs to come off."

"i’m not having another one nightstand with you, hamzah." you couldn't be only with him once. he was addictive. he watched as you grew vulnerable, and for a moment, he knew then that was it for him. he would never want anyone else.

he watched as you grew vulnerable, and for a moment, he knew then that was it for him. he would never want anyone else. he shook the thought away, before leaning forward, so his mouth was close to your ear. "i don't want a one nightstand either." he replied, his fingers tugging on the shirt. "i want to make you mine, and only mine."

“make me yours, hamzah.”

[biblical-chronicles]

Locked out

____________________________________________

where you lock yourself out of your hotel room and end up in Noel's.

[18+ !!!] [enemies to lovers]

____________________________________________

The job had its perks. Traveling the world, working with some of the biggest gigs, free booze—Oasis had money to burn, after all. But there was one massive, massive downside.

Noel fucking Gallagher.

It wasn’t just that he was a sarcastic, self-important, grumpy bastard (which he absolutely was). It wasn’t even that he always had some smart-arse comment locked and loaded, ready to wind you up. It was the fact that he seemed to enjoy it, like taking the piss out of you was a personal hobby.

The lads had clocked it ages ago.

"How old are you two, seriously?" Guigs had said just the other night, shaking his head as you and Noel argued over god knows what. "You’re worse than me Nan and Grandad, swear down."

"Yeah, the sexual tension’s killin’ me," Bonehead had added, smirking as he took a drag from his cigarette.

Noel had scoffed, shaking his head. "Fucking hell, mate. I’d sooner shag the local nitty than deal with this one."

You flipped him off, unfazed. "Oh, yeah? I bet the nitty would be the one having to get tested after that, dickhead."

It was constant, this back-and-forth, from the moment you woke up to the second you clocked out. Noel loved to threaten to fire you at least once a day, always with the same lazy reasoning.

"Should’ve sacked you ages ago," he’d mutter, watching you tune his guitar before a gig. "Only reason you’re still ‘ere is ‘cause I can’t be arsed teachin’ some other muppet how I like it."

"Yeah, yeah," you’d reply, never looking up. "Don’t do me any favors, Gallagher."

And so it went.

Now, though, none of that mattered. Not the bickering, not the jabs. Because right now? You were stood in the dimly lit hotel lobby, staring at a handwritten sign that might as well have been a death sentence.

"LOBBY CLOSED. OPERATING HOURS: 6 AM - 12 PM."

"Fucking great," you muttered, running a hand down your face.

It had been a long day, and all you wanted was a shower, a bed, and maybe a few hours of peace before having to deal with Noel’s bullshit all over again tomorrow. But no, instead, you had to stand here like a mug because somehow, in your exhaustion, you’d managed to lock yourself out of your room.

Just as you were debating whether you could break into your own room with sheer willpower alone, the sound of footsteps echoed through the lobby.

And just like fucking clockwork—

"Eh?"

You knew that voice.

"Did you get lost, or what?"

You shut your eyes for a brief moment, praying for strength, then turned to see Noel strolling in through the revolving door.

He was still dressed from wherever the fuck he’d been; jeans, adidas trainers, a zip-up jacket with the collar popped just enough to make him look like he was about to sell you dodgy gear in a car park.

You gritted your teeth. "Fuck off, Noel."

His smirk widened, slow and knowing. "Ohh, someone’s touchy."

You turned back to the desk, hoping he’d get bored and leave. No such luck. He sauntered up beside you, eyes flicking to the sign before back to you.

Realization dawned, and then he just laughed.

"No." He pointed at you, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his luck. "No fuckin’ way. You locked yourself out, didn’t you?"

You glared at him, crossing your arms. "No."

He raised an eyebrow, amused.

You exhaled sharply. "Okay, maybe, and no one is even here! How is a lobby not 24/7?"

"And you didn’t take your key, and you didn’t check the sign first," he said, as if reading from a list of your stupid decisions. "Jesus Christ, love. That’s incredible."

You scowled. "Piss off."

Noel, clearly enjoying himself, leaned against the counter, eyes twinkling with pure delight. "Me? Oh, nah. I think I’ll stick around, actually. This is too fuckin’ good."

You groaned. "Go to bed, Noel."

"Bed?" He feigned a yawn, stretching his arms dramatically. "Oh, yeah. That’s right. I can go to bed. Because I have access to me own fuckin’ room."

You clenched your fists. "I have a backstage pass. I’ll just sleep in the tour bus."

Noel snorted. "Yeah? Or on one of them couches over there?" He gestured vaguely to the dimly lit lobby seating area. "Might be comfy, if no one nicks your shite first."

You stilled.

He grinned. "Ohh, right. Didn’t think about that, did ya?"

You huffed. "Fuck."

Noel pressed a hand to his chest in mock sympathy. "Tragic, really." Then, after a beat, "... Guess you’re stuck here then."

You gave him a flat look. "Guess so."

He smirked, clearly waiting for you to crack.

Which is why it pained you—physically—when you exhaled and muttered, "Or… I could stay in yours. Just ‘til the desk opens."

Noel blinked. "Oh?"

You clenched your jaw. "So no one nicks me shite."

His smirk returned, slow and victorious. "Yeah, yeah. ‘Course. Wouldn’t want anyone robbin’ your precious little pass, would we?"

You resisted the urge to deck him.

"Alright then," he said, turning toward the lifts, his voice filled with pure satisfaction. "C’mon, roomie."

You glared at his back as you followed him down the corridors.

Noel shut the door behind him and turned to face you, arms crossed, an insufferable smirk plastered across his face.

"Well, well," he said, leaning back against the door. "Never thought I’d see the day you begged to stay in me room."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you dropped your bag by the chair. "Begged? Fuck off, Noel. I suggested it ‘cause I had no choice."

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Ahh, see, that’s where you’re wrong, love. You had a choice." He gestured vaguely toward the lobby. "Could’ve stayed down there, kept them couches company."

"And let some knobhead nick me pass? Yeah, right." You crossed your arms. "This is just survival, mate. Has nothing to do with you."

His smirk widened. "Yeah? Then why’re you lookin’ at me like that?"

You blinked. "Like what?"

Noel tilted his head, eyes sweeping over you, unreadable. "Like you wanna throttle me."

You huffed, exasperated. "That’s just me natural state when you’re around, Gallagher."

"Ahh." He grinned. "See, I knew you liked me."

You let out a sharp laugh. "Like you? Jesus, Noel, I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire."

His grin didn’t falter. In fact, it only grew.

"Yeah? Funny," he mused, stepping closer, voice low, lazy. "‘Cause you’re still ‘ere, ain’t ya?"

You swallowed but held your ground. "I don’t have a room, Noel."

He hummed, nodding slowly. "Right, yeah. That’s why you’re ‘ere. Not ‘cause you wanna get me alone, see what all the fuss is about."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "You are so full of yourself."

He gave you a slow once-over, something dark and knowing flickering in his gaze. "Yeah?"

You inhaled sharply, blood running hot. "Fuck you."

Noel’s smirk twitched—almost like he’d been waiting for you to say that.

"Ohh, wouldn’t you like that?"

The air shifted.

You were on him before you could think, hands grabbing at his shirt, pulling him down, crashing your mouth against his.

Noel barely had a second to react before he was pushing back, hands gripping your waist, shoving you up against the nearest wall. The impact sent a lamp wobbling on the bedside table, the dull thud of your back against the wall swallowed by the sound of both your ragged breaths.

His lips were warm, rough, demanding. His fingers dug into your waist, like he needed to anchor himself.

You bit his bottom lip, hard, just to be a dickhead.

Noel groaned against your mouth, grip tightening. "Oh, you wanna play it like that, do ya?"

Before you could smirk, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them against the wall, pressing in, chest flush against yours.

You yanked a hand free, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just to make him groan—and when he did, when his breath stuttered, you felt it everywhere.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered against your lips.

You smirked. "What’s wrong, Gallagher?" you breathed, voice teasing, drunk on the power shift. "Thought you could handle me?"

Noel laughed. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, lips grazing your jaw, "I could ruin you."

Your stomach dropped.

You clenched your jaw. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Your grip tightened in his hair again, yanking his head back just enough to make him hiss. His smirk didn’t falter, though—if anything, it widened, smug and infuriating.

"You arrogant twat," you breathed, dragging your nails down the back of his neck. "Think you’re some fuckin’ god, don’t ya?"

Noel chuckled—dark, low. "Please, love," he murmured, voice dripping with mockery. "You’ve been gaggin’ for this since the day we met. Don’t pretend otherwise."

Your teeth gritted. "You’re deluded."

"Yeah?" He stepped closer, the heat of him pressing against you, trapping you between his body and the wall. "Then why ain’t you pushin’ me away?"

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before you even realized it, and that was all it took.

One second, you were glaring up at him, seething, and the next—you were airborne.

A breathless gasp tore from your throat as he threw you onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath the sudden force of your body. Before you could even scramble upright, he was on you—knees bracketing your hips, hands gripping your wrists, pressing them into the sheets.

"You bastard—"

A sharp smack landed on your thigh, jolting you, heat blooming where his palm connected.

You froze.

Noel grinned. "What was that, sweetheart?"

Your breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath him. You hated the way your body betrayed you—the way your back arched, the way your thighs instinctively clenched together at the sting of his hand.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His smirk deepened. "Ohhh, that’s what you like, is it?" Another sharp slap—same spot, same deliberate pressure, just enough to make you jolt. "That why you’ve been windin’ me up all this time? Hopin’ I’d do this?"

You bit back a gasp as his teeth grazed your jaw, lips teasing over the heated skin just below your ear, fingers tightening where he held you down.

"You gonna let me go, or you just gonna sit here runnin’ your gob all night?" you shot back, arching up slightly beneath him, trying to gain some kind of control back.

Noel laughed, a little breathless. "Oh, you love this, don’t ya?" His hands shifted, releasing your wrists just to drag down your arms, over your waist, gripping your hips hard. "All that fight, all that fuckin’ attitude—"

"You love it," you shot back, daring.

Something snapped behind his eyes.

Before you could say another word, his mouth crashed against yours again.

It was all teeth, all tension, years of resentment and frustration and something else entirely spilling out between you.

You clawed at him in return, nails dragging up his back, yanking at his hair, swallowing the groan that tore from his throat.

"Still wanna tell me to fuck off, love?" Noel rasped against your lips, breath uneven.

Your fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him back down. "Shut up." you muttered, crashing your mouth against his again.

He barely hesitated before paying you back, fisting a hand into your hair and pulling your head back, exposing the curve of your throat. His mouth was on you in an instant, hot and open, biting down just enough to make you gasp.

"Fuckin’ knew it," he muttered, voice thick with something triumphant. "Knew you’d be like this—mouthy little thing until you’re under me."

"And yet again, shut it." you snapped, even as your back arched, chasing the feel of him.

He laughed, breathless and sharp, his free hand sliding down to your thigh, gripping hard. Without warning, he flipped you onto your stomach, pressing you down against the mattress with the weight of him. You let out a sound somewhere between frustration and something else entirely, but any protest died in your throat when his hand slapped against your arse, the sting shooting straight through you.

"That shut you up quick, didn’t it?" he murmured, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You tried to glare at him over your shoulder, but the effect was ruined by the way your breath hitched when he did it again, the sharp slap sending heat curling low in your stomach.

"Say it," he taunted, his grip tightening on your hip. "Say you want me."

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

But Noel was nothing if not persistent. His hand slid lower, teasing, just enough to make you squirm beneath him. His teeth grazed your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. "C’mon, sweetheart. We both know you do."

Your pride was a stubborn thing, but your body was a traitor.

You turned your head just enough to meet his gaze, eyes dark with something heady and reckless. "Go on, then," you breathed. "Do your worst."

His fingers dug into your hips as he dragged you back against him, his grip bruising, possessive. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before his teeth found your shoulder again, biting down just enough to make you jolt beneath him. He groaned at the way you twitched, how your body betrayed that last shred of resistance you were so desperately clinging to.

"That’s more like it," he muttered against your skin, his voice thick with amusement. "Knew you just needed someone to put you in your place."

You scoffed, even as your breath came quicker. "You think that’s you?"

He laughed. "Oh, love," he murmured, dragging his mouth up the side of your neck, "I know it is."

His hands slid lower, mapping the shape of you, fingers pressing into every curve like he wanted to commit it to memory. He moved with a slow, deliberate kind of cruelty, reveling in every shudder, every little sound you didn’t mean to make. You clenched your jaw, still stubborn, but it only made him smirk against your skin.

"Still holding out on me?" he whispered, lips brushing your ear. "Let’s see how long that lasts."

Then his hands gripped tighter, and he moved—a slow, devastating roll of his hips that had you sucking in a sharp breath. You felt the shape of him pressed firmly against you, the sheer heat of him burning through the layers between you both.

And then, just to be cruel, he stilled.

You let out an involuntary sound of frustration, which only made his grin widen. "Oh, what’s that?" he teased, rolling his hips just slightly, barely giving you anything. "Getting impatient, are we?"

You gritted your teeth, refusing to play into it.

His breath ghosted over your ear, smug and infuriating. "You wanna try that again, sweetheart?" His hand slid down, teasing at the edge of your waistband, making heat curl low in your stomach. "Or am I gonna have to make you say it?"

You swallowed hard, every nerve in your body alive, burning with the heat of him. Your pride screamed at you to hold out just a little longer, to refuse him one last time.

But then he rocked against you again, the friction sending sparks up your spine, and every ounce of stubbornness melted right out of you.

"Fuck," you muttered, barely more than a breath. "Please."

Noel chuckled, dragging his lips over your shoulder. "There she is."

The moment that single word fell from your lips, his control snapped. His fingers curled into the waistband of your clothes, yanking them down with a rough impatience that sent a shiver racing through you. His trousers quickly followed, ending up in a pile on the floor.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat as he pressed against you again, now with nothing between you. The heat of him, how hard he already was, it made your stomach twist in anticipation. But instead of giving you what you were desperate for, he dragged the moment out, hands roaming over your bare skin, taking his time.

"You feel that?" he murmured, rolling his hips just enough for you to feel the full length of him pressing against you, the slow friction making your breath catch. "That’s what you’ve been fighting, sweetheart. Tell me—was it worth it?"

You barely had time to shudder before he reached back, guiding himself against you, teasing, just barely pressing in before retreating again.

You shifted, pushing back against him, but his grip tightened immediately, holding you in place. "Ah, ah," he taunted, fingers still digging into your hips. "You finally beg for it, and now you think you’re in charge?"

You opened your mouth to snap something back—maybe something sharp, maybe something desperate, you weren’t even sure—but before you could, he thrust inside you in one smooth, deep motion.

The air left your lungs in a sharp, broken gasp.

"There you go." he muttered, his voice a little rougher now.

He barely gave you a moment to adjust before he set a brutal pace, dragging out only to slam back in, the force of it driving you further into the mattress. The sounds of skin against skin, breathless, ragged gasps, and the creak of the bed quickly were the only things filling the space between you.

You fisted the sheets, struggling to hold onto even a shred of composure, but Noel was relentless. His fingers curled around your jaw, tilting your head back slightly. "Listen to yourself" he murmured, lips brushing your ear. "Tried so hard to act like you didn’t want this. And now you’re dripping for me."

The humiliation only made the heat in your belly coil tighter.

As if sensing it, Noel let out a low chuckle. "You like that, don’t you?" He drove into you harder, just to hear the little choked noise that escaped your throat. "Fuck, you’re taking me so well."

His other hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding that sensitive spot between your legs. The second he touched you, you clenched harder around him, and Noel groaned, sending a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you.

"Shit," Noel rasped, his pace stuttering for half a second before he caught himself. "Filthy fuckin’ thing, aren’t you?"

His grip on your hips was bruising, each snap of his hips knocking you further into the mattress, dragging another broken sound from your throat. You couldn’t even think, couldn’t do anything but take it, your body molded to his will, wrecked under the sheer force of him.

And he knew it.

"Where’s all that attitude now, huh?" His voice was tinged with mockery, as his hand smoothed up the curve of your spine, just for a moment, just long enough to make you think he might show some mercy.

Then he fisted his hand into your hair and yanked.

A sharp gasp ripped from your lips as your head was wrenched back, the burn at your scalp sending a jolt straight through you. Your back arched instinctively, pressing you closer against him, the new angle making you whimper.

"That’s more like it," Noel murmured, his grip in your hair tightening as he used it to pull you back against him, making you feel every inch of him sinking even deeper.

His other hand slid up your throat, fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse hammer under his touch.

"You like when I handle you like this, don’t you?" he muttered, voice a low rasp against your ear.

He loosened his grip on your throat just enough for you to speak, but your words failed you. All you could do was let out a broken, pleading sound.

Noel groaned, his fingers flexing around your throat like he felt the way you clenched around him. "Fuck, you’re gonna make me come just with these sweet desperate moans love."

He wrenched your head back a bit further, forcing your spine into a deeper arch, forcing you to take him exactly how he wanted. Every thrust was rough, deliberate, his hips slamming against you hard enough to bruise. Your body had no choice but to follow, every nerve ending alight, a coil of unbearable tension winding tighter and tighter in your core.

"No more remarks? No more telling me to fuck off?" he taunted, breath hot against your cheek.

Your fingers scrambled for purchase against the sheets, your mind a haze of pleasure and frustration. You wanted to say something, wanted to bite back just to spite him, but he was wrecking you, and you could barely form a single coherent thought.

So instead, you just whimpered his name.

"Fuck, that’s it," he rasped, voice wrecked. "You gonna come for me, sweetheart? You gonna fall apart just like this, with my cock buried inside you?"

His fingers dipped lower again, rubbing against your clit in tight, unrelenting circles, the pace of his thrusts turning ragged, desperate. The coil inside you twisted tighter, pleasure crashing over you in waves until you could barely breathe.

"You close?" he taunted, yanking your head back again, making sure you felt every single inch of him. "I can feel it, sweetheart, feel you gripping me so fuckin’ tight. Just let go. Come for me."

Your body locked up, pleasure blinding, white-hot and overwhelming as it crashed over you in wave after wave. You were dimly aware of your own broken cries, of the way your walls clenched around him like a vice, but nothing existed beyond the pure bliss of it.

Noel groaned, voice strangled, as he fucked you through it, dragging out every last shudder, his pace turning frantic. His grip on your hair tightened, his hips slamming against yours one last time before he buried himself deep with a low, wrecked curse.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the sharp, uneven rhythm of your breathing.

Noel was still draped over you, his weight grounding, his skin hot where it pressed against yours. Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. It was like neither of you wanted to be the first to break whatever fragile thing had settled between you.

Eventually, he exhaled, a deep, satisfied sound, before rolling onto his side, taking you with him. His arm hooked around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his chest rising and falling against your back.

"Well," he murmured, voice hoarse, teasing, but softer than before. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

You huffed a breath, still too dazed to formulate a proper response. He felt the way you relaxed against him, how you didn’t immediately shove him away.

A quiet beat passed before he spoke again, voice low but sincere.

"Didn’t think you’d actually let me touch you like that."

You hesitated, your fingers idly tracing over his forearm where it rested against your stomach. "Didn’t think I’d want you to," you admitted.

He made a sound—half amusement, half something thoughtful. "And now?"

You swallowed, feeling the weight of the question.

There was no point in denying it, not now.

"I do want you to now, but you’re still a mug." you muttered.

Noel chuckled, low and lazy, nuzzling his nose against the curve of your shoulder.

You turned slightly in his hold, just enough to meet his gaze. He was already watching you, eyes half-lidded.

"Maybe we should stop pretending we hate each other," you said, voice softer now, more thoughtful.

Noel’s lips twitched, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Oh, love," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering at your cheek. "I never hated you."

Your heart stumbled.

He let the words settle, his thumb grazing the curve of your jaw, before he smirked. "Just really, really wanted to shut you up."

You rolled your eyes, but the bite was gone, replaced by something warm. "And what do you want now?"

His expression turned serious—just for a second. Then, he tugged you closer, pressing his mouth against yours, slow and lingering.

"You," he murmured against your lips. "Think I always have."

____________________________________________

oh who doesn't love some slight enemies to lovers, thanks to whoever suggested this xx

[fenya-scribbles]

Secret

♥--------♥--------♥

Pairing: bf!HanJisung, gn!Reader

Other Characters: Lee Know, Felix, Seungmin

Summary: You’re sneaking around and Han comes to his own conclusions as to why. 

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Content warnings: anxiety, mentions of infidelity

Word Count: 2,964

A/N: You wanted this :3

♥--------♥--------♥

The first time it happened, Han didn’t think anything of it. He’d been sitting on your couch with you curled in his lap, lazily running his fingers through your hair. ���So”, he said, interrupting your mindless scrolling through Instagram, “you remember that I have the day off tomorrow?” “Sure babe”, you replied, turning so you could look at him properly. “I was thinking that maybe we could check out that new café you wanted to try?” You swallowed. “Oh babe, I’m sorry, I made plans with Yeji tomorrow. She’s finally back from her semester abroad.” Han looked disappointed for a second, but he understood. Yeji was your best friend and you hadn’t seen her in literally a year. “No, don’t worry, cupcake”, he said, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face. “You sure?” He nodded. “I’m sure.” “I could come by in the evening? We can watch Howl’s moving castle”, you offered, putting a smile on your boyfriend’s face. “I’d love that, jagi.”

A few hours later, you were lying in bed. Han was sleeping soundly beside you, looking like the sweetest angel baby on the planet. Deciding it was time to sleep too, you went to plug in your phone on the charge beside your bed, when it lit up with a text. 

Seungmin: You’re sure he doesn’t know?

You smiled to yourself. 

You: He’s completely clueless. 

***

It happened again two days later. Han asked you if you wanted to hang out at the studio during his recording session. “I’d love to babe, but I have to run some errands for my mom”, you replied. And he shrugged it off again. It was no big deal right? It’s not like you tried to avoid him or anything. No, that was just his anxiety talking. “Alright babe, I’ll see you tonight then”, he said and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. 

But as it turned out, that was only the beginning. Over the following weeks you started to blow him off again and again. You had a work project or met with Yeji or your parents needed you or, one time, you really didn’t want any company, which was concerning, coming from you. But Han didn’t want to doubt you. He didn’t want to admit, that it worried him, how you seemed to have less and less time for him. Because that was scary as hell, a fear that would set in his bones and make it absolutely impossible to breathe. So he brushed it off. You were still his girlfriend. His girl. His. 

***

“Girl, I’m telling you, this is so stupid”, Yeji said, her fingers tightly curled around the steaming cup of coffee in front of her. “It’s not that big of a deal”, you replied. “What if he gets suspicious, huh? He’s not stupid, you know.” Your best friend was not a fan of your current antics and you knew it. Most of Han’s members weren’t either, but you still stood by your decision. “I know, but he trusts me. He wouldn’t doubt me.” “I don’t know Y/N. Sneaking around with Seungmin like that...” Yeji sighed. “Just don’t come crying to me when it all blows up in your face.” “It won’t”, you said, trying hard to hide the hint of doubt that started to bloom in the back of your mind. 

***

Over time, Han turned needy. A lot more than usual. You didn’t mind, generally, because he was your boyfriend after all, but then he wanted to join in on your baking day with Felix. “Please, jagi”, he gave you his biggest boba eyes, “I’m sure Lixie wouldn’t mind.” You cupped his face and took a deep breath. It was incredibly hard to refuse him when he was pouting at you like that. “Maybe another time, babe”, you said, “I haven’t met up with Lixie alone in a long time and I want some quality time with my friend. You understand that, don’t you?” Han pouted even more, but eventually, he let out a defeated sigh. “But you bring home brownies, right?”, he asked. “Of course, babe.”

Later, when Felix opened the door, you still felt a bit bad for refusing Han. “He’s in his room”, Felix said, “And for the record, just because I’m baking you alibi brownies, doesn’t mean I like what you’re doing.” You pushed past him, leaving your shoes by the front door, and made your way to Seungmin’s room. Being judged by anyone was uncomfortable, but being judged by Felix just hurt your soul. Maybe they were right. Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this. With a deep breath, you pushed the growing doubts aside, and knocked on Seungmin’s door. After a moment, he called you inside. You found him sitting on his bed, guitar in his lap. With raised eyebrows he looked up at you, and said: “Are you still sure about this?” You nodded, doing your best to look certain. “I am. This is what I want.”

***

Three days later, you were at Felix and Seungmin’s place again, about to put on your shoes. Seungmin was standing beside you, lazily leaning against the wall. “Today was fun”, he said. You looked up from tightening your laces with a fond smile. “It was”, you said, “you’re a really good-“ You were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Both your heads snapped towards the door. “Are you expecting someone?” Seungmin shook his head. “No, must be for Felix.” He stepped past you and opened the door. “Han?” Your boyfriend looked at Seungmin - and then his eyes shifted onto you. “Jagi? What are you doing here?” You felt your heart sink, as an uncomfortable feeling settled in your stomach. Fuck. “Babe…I…uhm…”, you stammered. “She was bringing back Lix’s brownie box”, Seungmin swooped in. “Yeah, right”, you immediately agreed.

Han’s gaze shifted between the two of you, uncertain if he believed what he was told. “Right”, he said, drawing out the word. “Lix is in his room”, Seungmin quickly changed the subject, stepping aside to let Han in, but before your boyfriend could move, you squeezed past both of them. “See you at home babe”, you shouted over your shoulder as you bolted down the stairs, leaving both Han and Seungmin staring after you. That was too fucking close. 

***

It was late, way past midnight, and Han couldn’t sleep, the weird scene with you and Seungmin playing over and over in his head. He’d been watching you peacefully sleep beside him for roughly an hour now. You looked so pretty, so calm and innocent, so utterly unable to hurt him. And yet, something was stirring within him. There was this nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, this persistent voice in the back of his head, telling him that something was up. Something was not right. You were hiding something. And he loved you, he loved you more than anything, and it hurt him to mistrust you. It hurt him to suspect you of anything bad. No, he wanted to believe things were fine. You wanted him to be with you by the end of the day, didn’t you? You asked him to spend the night, despite spending less and less of your days with him. You wanted him around, right? You still loved him. You still loved him? 

Han let out a sigh. Gently, he shifted towards the edge of the bed, making sure not to disturb you. Then he slipped out from under the covers and made his way to the kitchen. Maybe drinking some water would help calm him down. Seeing that the dishwasher had run, he opened it to grab a glass - and stopped right in his tracks. Sitting there, between cups and bowls, was a clear plastic box. A box he’d been eating brownies out of for the past three days. Felix’s box. The box you’d supposedly brought back to him earlier that day. But you hadn’t. It was right here. You’d lied to him. 

Suddenly, Han felt violently sick, as all of his fears seemed to come true at once. The picture of you standing behind Seungmin, utterly startled, staring at him like a deer in headlights, once again returned to Han, burning itself into the back of his eyelids. Why had you been that startled? What had you been doing there? With Seungmin? Han’s heartbeat accelerated so fast it left him dizzy, and before he knew it, he sunk down onto the kitchen floor, back pressed against the cabinets and knees pulled up to his chin. Oh no. Oh no. Were you cheating on him? With one of his best friends, no less? Was this where you went when you had no time for him? Han’s body started violently shaking as tears started to run down his face. This couldn’t be happening. You were his world, his heart, his soul. A part of him. You were everything. He couldn’t lose you. Han’s skin felt like it was on fire, his lungs struggled to let in air, his vision was beyond blurry. 

And then his body started to move on its own. He couldn’t stay here, in your apartment, for a second longer. He snuck back into your bedroom, grabbing his hoodie and his phone, avoiding to look at you at all costs. Then he slipped on his shoes and rushed outside. The way home was a blur, he got there purely by muscle memory, as his mind was racing with made up images. You kissing Seungmin. You in Seungmins lap. You tangled up in bed with Seungmin. It made him sick, his heart breaking over and over in his chest. This couldn’t be happening. You were his one and only. His forever. How could you do this? How could this happen? It couldn’t. He couldn’t lose you. No. No. 

He didn’t bother to be quiet when he entered his own home, the door loudly closing behind him. It didn’t take long for Minho to come out of his room, despite the late hour, looking like he’d just fallen out of bed. Because he likely had. “What the fuck, Hannie”, he said, rubbing his eyes. But as soon as he took a good look at his best friend, he knew. “Fuck”, he mumbled, rushing over. And then Han fell apart, utterly and completely, turning into a sobbing, shaking, broken mess in Minho’s arms. 

30 Minutes later, Han was still crying, curled up in Minho’s arms on his bed, as the older one rubbed comforting circles on his back. No word was spoken, Han was unable to even think of speaking, and Minho already knew what was going on. He knew what you’d been doing, and he’d also disapproved, precisely for this reason. But you had insisted, and now Han was inconsolable. Broken. Unnecessarily hurt. Minho cursed you in his head, pulled out his phone and shot you a text. 

***

You woke up early to an empty bed. Confused, you tapped your hand in the spot where Han should be. But he wasn’t. You let out a groan. It wasn’t unheard of that Han disappeared before you woke up, but you still hated when it happened. Groggily, you reached for your phone. Usually, Han sent you a text when he had to leave early. And there was a text on your phone, but it wasn’t from Han. It was from Minho and it had you sit up straight in a flash.

Minho: Tell him or I will. 

The time stamp read 3:47am. Even with your mind not fully awake yet, you could put the pieces together. Han had left your place in the middle of the night. But why? What had happened? Why was Minho telling you to spill your secret? Confused, you got out of bed and made your way into the kitchen. The dishwasher was still open - and there, sitting in the top drawer, Felix’s brownie box was basically staring at you. “Fuck”, you muttered, frantically running your hands through your hair. Han had seen that. And he’d run to conclusions. Oh no. No, no, no. Yeji had been right. As had Felix and Minho. You’d been so stupid, so careless. How could you have ever thought that sneaking around like that with Seungmin would work? Why did you allow Seungmin to lie? And then you agreed? Fuck. Fuck.

At light speed, you got dressed, grabbed your things and rushed out the door. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you made your way to Han and Minho’s place, hands sweaty and mind racing. The thought of Han hurting had your chest clenching painfully. He was the love of your life, your person, your Hannie. You cursed yourself over and over for your foolishness. This was not what you’d planned, this was not what you’d wanted. When you arrived at their place, your hands were shaking, and silent tears were streaming down your face. Nervously, you rang the doorbell. 

“About time”, Minho said when he opened the door. “How is he?”, you asked, voice shaky. Minho huffed. “What do you think?” He was staring daggers at you, but stepped aside to let you in. “He’s in his room. He slept a bit, but I couldn’t leave his side all night. You really fucked up, Y/N.” “I know”, you replied meekly, unable to meet his eyes. “Then go fix it.” Minho shoved you towards Han’s room, barely allowing you to take off your shoes. 

When you entered Han’s room, your heart broke at the image in front of you. Han was curled up in his bed, knees drawn up to his chest. His face was puffy and streaked with tears, his whole body looking utterly exhausted from crying all night. He looked defeated. Broken. A quiet sob escaped your lips as the weight of what you had done crashed down on you. Han didn’t move, but his eyes were open, staring at nothing. 

Cautiously, you made your way towards his bed, perching yourself on the edge. “Baby?”, you said softly, not yet allowing yourself to reach for him. You knew you wouldn’t be able to handle him flinching at your touch, so you didn’t risk it. At the sound of your voice, his gaze shifted towards you. His eyes were so swollen, so red, it sent daggers through your heart. He didn’t say a word, just blankly stared at you. The silence in the room was deafening, a heavy veil of unspoken assumptions.

“Do you love him?” When Han eventually broke the silence, he sounded rough and shaky. “Who?” It was a stupid question. You knew who he was talking about, you knew what he was thinking. But your stupid mouth was faster than your brain and so you made him say it. “Seung-“ He couldn’t finish, as his body convulsed with an earth shattering sob. At that, you threw all caution to the wind and rushed to his side, crawling into his bed beside him and wrapping him in your arms. “No”, you said, “no, baby. I don’t.” 

Han was crying again, unable to push you away, even if part of him wanted to, but the craving to be close to you was bigger. “I love you”, you said, “only you.” You tightened your grip on him. “I’m so sorry”, you said, “I was so stupid. I’m so sorry, baby.” And for a while, you stayed like that. Han slowly melted more and more into you, despite the bad thoughts screaming in his head, as you apologised over and over, reassuring him of your love, tightly holding him close. You didn’t know how much time passed, didn’t care either, you just wanted to comfort your boyfriend, who you had hurt so foolishly. 

When his sobs eventually died down, you allowed him to move back just enough to look at you. “Why did you lie?”, he asked, “About the box?” You sighed and brushed the tears from his face, his flushed skin hot under your fingers. “I’m so sorry about that”, you said, “it was so stupid. I should’ve just said that I met up with Minnie. We panicked, both of us. It was stupid.” Han looked at you, still utterly confused. “Why were you meeting up with him then?” You sighed again. “It was supposed to be a surprise”, you said, “but that’s not an option anymore now, I guess.” “A surprise?” You nodded. “Minnie was giving me guitar lessons. And singing lessons.” 

Han fully sat up, removing himself from your embrace and you immediately missed his warmth, half chasing after him. “He was teaching you?” You nodded again. “I wrote a song for you. For our anniversary. I wanted to be able to sing it.” Han stared at you, searching your eyes. But you held his gaze effortlessly. There was no sign of dishonesty, none of that look you had when you had lied the day before. Slowly, Han took in what you said, putting the pieces together. “That’s why you were so busy these past weeks?” Again, you nodded. “I’m so sorry, Hannie, I should’ve handled it better. I just wanted to surprise you.” You reached for his hands and he let you, curling his fingers around yours. “I love you so much, baby. I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” It was Han’s turn to nod, his gaze wandering to your intertwined fingers. He took a deep breath, as he decided to believe you. 

“You wrote a song for me?”, Han asked eventually, giving you those big boba eyes you loved so much. A soft smile spread across your face. “Yeah.” “Can I hear it?”

♥--------♥--------♥

Fenya’s Masterlist

[izels-writing]

j. potter — how forever feels! [3/?]

Pairing: james potter x fem!hopeless romantic! reader

Summary: the stars have aligned and you and james’ futures have intertwined.

Warnings: harassment (brief), unwanted advance, fake dating trope!!, sad themes, brief violence, james potter being my king, other guy is a butthole, slightly suggestive language toward the end, lmk if i miss anything!!!

PART ONE — PART TWO — PART THREE

a/n: gonna be real for a sec, this was only supposed to have three parts but im having too much fun with this.😭 here is part three!!

TAGLIST: @hisparentsgallerryy @ilovejamespottersomuch @eli-com @froggiedragon

let me know if u want to be added to the taglist!

"are you sure about this? it feels weird..." james mumbled incoherently through his face mask. he attempted not to move his face too much as you'd already scolded him the first time.

the two of your currently sat in your dorm room, after embarrassingly asking your dorm mates to give you the room alone. truthfully, you did it to make it more believable that you were a couple—but it was also nice to spend time with james uninterrupted.

"yes, it's part of the process—if your face doesn't feel weird then you're just not doing it right," you shrugged. a complete lie mind you, but james didn't know muggle stuff that well anyway. magic face masks were much more expensive and hard to come by anyway.

"alright, i believe you, l/n—but if i grow scales, you'll be to blame," he warned jokingly, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

you smiled warmly at his touch and turned back, grabbing a magazine and flipping through it and showing james different fashion styles. you had b/f/n to do girly stuff with, but ever since the seeming strain between her and benjamin a few weeks ago, they'd been spending much more time together alone than usual.

"look at these shoes! they're to die for!" you gasped, showing james the red stiletto with a black rose engraved around the actual heel. "i mean put a black or red dress with it, and they're gorgeous!"

"they are nice, buy them," james suggested with a smile.

you scoffed lightheartedly. "yeah right, potter, they're expensive! the only way i can afford that is by working night and day at a sweatshop,"

"i guess i never really thought about how expensive it might be, i don't really struggle with that," he joked.

you rolled your eyes playfully, shoving a pillow at him. "we get it, mister rich boy," you laughed.

as your makeshift timer went off, you quickly wiped james' face mask off his face. you gently wiped, being met with his contagious smile. then you went to wipe your own face, until he took your towel and began to do it for you. you chuckled and leaned forward, giving him easier access to your face.

"you have beautiful skin," james commented abruptly. "very soft,"

you laughed aloud, grabbing his shoulder to stable yourself as he flushed pink.

"thank you, so do you," you smiled, pushing his hair back messily.

"can i ask you a question?" james chucked. he suddenly looked a little serious.

"shoot," you smiled.

"why're you so scared of love?" james asked bluntly. you froze and tried to smile it away awkwardly, shrugging. you'd confessed this to him one night, after drinking a bit too much at a party and as he put you to bed. he was pretty wasted too, you were surprised he'd remembered.

"dunno, just am i suppose," you replied.

james scoffed. "c'mon, no one is just afraid of love,"

you sighed quietly and looked him in the eye. he waited expectantly.

"c'mon, it's just me and you," he encouraged, shoving your arm playfully.

you nodded. "okay. i guess i've just seen what love can do to people. how it can end, how it can feel, what people can do... i don't want to be on either end of that, even with the good parts," you shrugged. "maybe it's not worth it?"

"it absolutely is worth it," james disagreed. "even with the bad parts, love can be beautiful and pure. true love will make all of it worth it,"

you grinned. "who knew james potter was such a romantic?"

"yeah, well," he chuckled. "i just wish lily would see that,"

you felt your heart sting in a way it hadn't before. he mentioned lily often, and each time, it felt like a silver of your heart was being chipped off and stomped on. you nodded with a small smile nonetheless.

"well, have you ever bothered showing her this side of you?" you asked. "she's not a mind reader, y'know,"

"i suppose i haven't," he chuckled.

"it's a good side of you, you should show it more often. you're a good person and you're a lovely fake boyfriend, i'm sure it would be much better if it was real," you smiled. you meant every word, a bit more than you wanted to. you attempted to catch your breath.

"you okay?" james asked.

"yeah, yeah, want to get a snack? all this self care makes me hungry," you chuckled, attempting to change the subject entirely.

james furrowed his eyebrows, like he didn't believe you entirely. if that was the case, he sure didn't voice it. "uh, yeah, sure," he replied.

you stood up and reached for his hand, helping him up and leading him off to the kitchens. because deep down, in the depths of every feeling and thought you had:

perhaps you did want it to be real.

——

b/f/n frowned. her face was more than heartbreaking and a part of you wanted nothing more than to punch benjamin in the face.

"he said he wanted to take a break?" you frowned, rubbing her arm as you handed her another tissue.

b/f/n nodded. "yeah, he did,"

as long as you had known b/f/n, you'd never seen her this emotional. then again, she really did love benjamin. and she deserved better. she deserved to be treated the way james treated you, even if it was fake.

"he's an idiot. did he say why?" you asked.

"it doesn't matter," she shook her heard. "i stopped listening after he said break,"

you shook your head. how stupid could benjamin actually be. stupid enough apparently.

a knock could be heard at your dorm room door, you and b/f/n looked at each other—both wondering the exact same thing. who could it be?

you stood up and opened the door slightly, peeking your head out. immediately, you were met with a tall, broad boy with rectangular glasses. you gasped immediately in realization.

"oh, james! i'm so sorry! i completely forgot about hogsmeade today!" you apologized frantically, "i can't go out today, uh...b/f/n needs me right now,"

james furrowed his eyebrows in concern. "she alright?"

you nodded. "yeah, she just needs a friend right now.."

"what?! no, go! james she's free, i'll be fine!" b/f/n said, opening the door wider to reveal herself. it seemed as you were talking to james she made her way over to the door as well. her eyes were red rimmed and it was clear she'd be crying, but nonetheless she put a smile on her face like always.

"no, it's fine, i'll stay with you," you assured.

"how about a compromise? come with us, b/f/n," james suggested. 

you smiled widely at james, though it might've not seemed like much—it was sweet to you that he took an interest in your best friends well-being. it was a nice quality.

"oh, i dunno..." b/f/n mumbled, looking to you. you knew she'd feel better if she went out, it'd been two days and being holed up in her room was not doing her any good.

"yes! come! james and i'll have fun with you there, promise!" you grinned.

she sighed. "alright, but only for a few hours, okay? I wouldn't want to get in the way of your alone time,"

you both nodded vigorously.

——

december had rolled by, snow fell and created a beautiful scenery around the castle. you enjoyed christmas, as you were sure others did. it was a time of family and friends and coffee and staying in doors. plus, you were part of the decorating committee of the castle, placing various trees and decor to get everyone in the christmas spirit.

you weren't going home this year, as you and your sibling had gotten into a heated argument with your parents about how you wanted to spend the holiday. they didn't want to spend it at home, but the two of you certainly did. eventually, you all just agreed to do your own thing on christmas despite your upset.

your sibling was a spending the holidays with their best friend, which left you spending it on your lonesome in the castle.

it was the last day before everyone left for winter break, and you were currently helping pass out cookies for breakfast with the house elves and other students that had volunteered. you smiled lightly as students passed by to grab a cookie.

suddenly, a familiar yet unwelcoming face stood in front of you. a few people behind him was the one person you were hoping to see this morning, but the person in front of you was not one of those people.

“y/n, can i talk to you? alone?” benjamin asked, nodding toward a entrance and exit of the great hall. you felt conflicted, but curious nonetheless.

“uhm, sure, mary, can you cover for me?” you asked the brunette, dark skinned girl. she smiled happily and nodded.

you followed behind benjamin, catching james’ eyes—as he stood in line for his cookie—and shrugged when he gave you a questioning look. then, you followed benjamin out into the corridor.

as you stood face to face with him, you fidgeted with your hands. this was really the first time since the letters that the two of you had been alone together.

“i need to talk to you,” he said seriously.

“look, if this is about b/f/n,” you began. “i really think you should talk to her. not me.”

benjamin shook his head. “it’s not…about her, i mean. it’s, well, it’s about something else,”

“okay…” you trailed, crossing your arms. “what is it?”

“i’ve been thinking a lot since i got that letter you wrote, and i know i wasn’t supposed to see it…but i did,” he replied. “so i’m just gonna say it…i fancy you and i think you still fancy me too,”

you could’ve sworn your heart dropped to your stomach. you felt your mouth go dry and you suddenly became very aware of something—you were angry and hurt. how could he think you’re the type of person to do this to b/f/n?

“what? i’m in a relationship! and even if i wasn’t, i would never do this to b/f/n!” you replied angrily.

“yeah, right…relationship,” he scoffed.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?” you demanded.

“i mean when you’re not around, that boyfriend of yours is drooling all over lily evans! you can’t lie, y/n, you fancy me too! just admit it!” benjamin exclaimed.

“you fancy benjamin still?” a hurt voice asked from slightly away. you turned and noticed b/f/n, who’s smile had dropped.

“no! i don’t! i’m in a relationship! and i stopped liking him long ago!” you assured, turning to benjamin angrily.

benjamin grabbed your hand, pulling you toward him. you heard footsteps run into the great hall, leaving you face to face with benjamin. b/f/n didn’t believe you…

“just tell me the truth, y/n, you fancy me, don’t you? that letter, the way you talk to me, there’s no chance those feelings are gone…!” benjamin insisted, keeping a tight grip on your arm as he pleaded.

“let me go!” you replied through gritted teeth, attempting to shimmy your arm away from him.

“just tell me!” he pleaded.

“let her go,” a voice said suddenly, pushing benjamin away so he would let go of you. you stumbled back slightly, being caught by a safe pair of familiar arms.

b/f/n believed you.

“are you alright?” she whispered, rubbing your arms gently. you nodded, both of your attentions being turned to james and benjamin.

james had pushed him against the way, nostrils flaring and anger clear on his face. “she told you to let her go,”

“merlin, now you want to play boyfriend of the year?! how about when you’re ogling lily evans?! you seriously want to stand her and say that you had no more feelings for her?” benjamin snapped back, getting in james’ face.

you weren’t sure what to do, you certainly didn’t want to get in the middle—but you certainly didn’t want james to get in trouble for you.

“i love y/n, you don’t get to stand here and question that. you can’t just jump from b/f/n to y/n and expect it to smooth over like nothing, they’re both great and they certainly deserve better than you!” james replied angrily, shoving him back into the wall.

benjamin threw a punch, but with james’ stellar reflexes, he missed and james threw a punch back—knocking benjamin to the ground. benjamin landed on the ground, holding his nose as he glared up at james. james went to hit him again, but you quickly ran over and pulled james away and to the group of his three friends and your friend where they stood as they had watched.

“blimey, mate, you certainly took care of that,” sirius snickered. “what’s his problem anyway?”

“he’s a twat, that’s what,” b/f/n spat. you all glanced back to where benjamin had been and noticed he had quickly left, likely from the embarrassment.

“c’mon, let’s have breakfast, i need a snack after the show, you’re joining us, right b/f/n?” peter asked, looking at your best friend with starry eyes.

you had figured out, through little hints, that peter had always harbored a small crush on your best friend throughout the years.

she smiled at him and nodded, shrugging. “i suppose so,”

“you guys go ahead, i need to talk to james,” you told them, they agreed quickly. you watched as they left before turning to james.

before he could say a word, you hugged him tightly and pressed a long kiss to his cheek. you felt a smile creep up to his face. you pulled away slightly.

“thank you,” you whispered with a smile.

——

as you all ate breakfast, the topic of winter break came up. you tried to avoid revealing your plans of staying at the castle, but it seemed b/f/n did not get the hint.

“y/n, you have to be careful, he’s staying over break too, i don’t want you to get caught alone with him,” your best friend warned.

james’ turned to you incredulously. “you’re staying here over winter break?!”

you took a sip of your drink casually as you nodded. “yeah, it’s no big deal. i figured i’d spend it in my dorm,”

“but he’s going to be here too! what if you see him? or worse, what if he sees you?!” sirius exclaimed dramatically. “this isn’t going to work,”

“i can take care of myself,” you assured sirius with a small smile.

james shook his head. “i don’t want to risk you being alone with him, you’re staying with me,”

you turned to james. you had sort of thought it was an unspoken rule to keep parents out of your unique situation. clearly, that wasn’t the case.

“yeah! you can finally meet the creators of your boy toy here!” sirius grinned.

“i dunno…” you chuckled nervously, though you could see b/f/n encouraging you from the corner of your eye.

“its load of fun, the potters always make you feel welcome—i can attest to that,” remus added. “plus, they’re not strict so you and james can even sleep in the same room—sirius and i are going to!”

you felt your eyes widen slightly. sharing a room? a bed? with james?!

“c’mon,” james nudged from beside you. “this way you can experience a real potter christmas, i know your safe, and we have some alone time,” he grinned. you knew it was a part he was playing, but it made it all more enticing.

you turned to james, who had leaned slightly to become face level with you. a small smile grew on your face.

“come on, don’t make me beg,” he joked, pouting playfully.

“alright, alright,” you laughed, shoving his face away in a playful manner. “if it gets you to stop making that face, i will stay at your house for winter break,”

“wicked!” he exclaimed, kissing your head quickly.

[m4iya]

Sick day Sakusa Kiyoomi

fluff, crack, protag is a little bit of a clean freak wc: ~1k

The blaring alarm ringing from your phone immediately forced you out of bed - you scrambled to get ready for school otherwise you’d be late. However, despite only having been awake for a few seconds, you felt like something was off.

Your face seemed swollen, and you couldn’t breathe properly from one nostril, not to mention the aching pain in your throat whenever you swallowed.

And so, as obvious as it was - it still hit you like a truck. You were sick!

After washing your face and eating breakfast, the first things you did were taking some medicine and throwing your clothes and blankets into the laundry; not wanting the bacteria to spread any further than it already had. Popping a throat lozenge into your mouth, you made sure to wear a mask to help keep the people around you safe. And with that, you headed off.

You were careful not to get too close to anyone - they probably didn’t want to touch you, and sick or not, you definitely didn’t want to touch them. Your classmates greeted you, and you replied with a nod or a wave. Talking might hurt your throat, and you didn’t want to risk transmitting any germs. Feeling a little out of place in your face covering, you walked towards your desk. However, to the left of your table sat a person who also happened to be wearing a face mask. Figuring he also might’ve been sick, you paid it no mind and unpacked your belongings. Oddly enough, as you cleaned the surface of your desk with an antibacterial wipe, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you. Soon after, class commenced and you shifted your focus to your textbooks.

Once break began, you were suddenly approached by a classmate - the same person you had noticed from before that had been wearing a mask. Though now, he’d lowered it to his chin, and stared right at you for at least a few seconds before speaking. “Sick?” He asked, a hand hovering over his lowered mask. He didn’t exactly sound or look concerned for you; it was more like he was concerned for himself.

As soon as you nodded in response, as if on cue, he immediately swiped it back over his mouth and nose and stufffed his hands inside his pockets.

Wow.

And with that, he left back to his own desk. You took this as an opportunity to eat your lunch, since that was what break was for. Though, it seemed he had other plans, as he was soon standing in front of your desk again, this time holding a few items.

“You should use these.” He placed an unopened pack of disposable gloves, hand sanitiser and a mask in a sealed packet onto your desk.

What was all of this for? Sure, you were wary of spreading your germs and catching new ones, but wasn’t this a little excessive?

“Don’t you need these?” As you spoke, a hand went up, holding the bridge of his nose where he mask sat as if to completely seal it. He shook his head in response, “I keep extras.”

“Also, I don’t always see people keeping themselves and the things around them clean, but at least you wiped down your desk before touching it. And you’re already sick.”

So that’s where the feeling that someone was staring daggers into your back came from. The drifting idea that ‘Awh, this random guy cares about me?’, quickly disappeared from any train of thought you might’ve had as soon as he bumped into the empty chair behind him in an attempt to keep a distance from you. You stifled a laugh.

Propping your bag onto your lap, you placed the items he had given you inside. “I’ll definitely make use of these.” You tried to smile at him, but weren’t sure whether or not he could tell due to literally half your face being covered. He nodded, walking back to his desk as the bell sounded for the beginning of next period.

Someone you’d never spoken to, approaching you with what could essentially be considered a ‘care pack’ was the last thing you would’ve expected to happen today. Well, he didn’t exactly look like the type to approach people on his own in the first place, and his semi-permanent scorn didn’t help much either. But he had spoken to you, and put himself in risk of being caught in your crossfire (a snotty sneeze if you removed your mask).

For the rest of the day, instead of being preoccupied with studies, or trying to heal from your cold, you just couldn’t stop thinking of ways to get his attention again, other than noticing him jump a little every time you coughed during class.

With a checkup at the doctors and a some extra rest than usual, you were back to normal in a little over a week. You did this while making sure to use the things the boy had given you - sanitising your hands frequently, wearing a new pair of disposable gloves whenever you went out, and changing your masks between uses (he hadn’t given you more than one mask, and it was the disposable type).

Heading to school, you made a mental note; you’d make sure to talk to him today, even if it was just once. He can’t just do all that and simply disappear!

Walking towards the classroom door, you caught a glimpse of a masked person holding the door handle with a tissue. You could tell it was him from the mask, but the tissue was an extra giveaway.

“Hey!” You waved, walked towards him, making sure to maintain a sizeable distance.

“Are you better now?” He asked, walking into the classroom.

“Yeah, the stuff you gave me really helped. I made sure to clean everything and switch things up every few hours.” You replied, following him inside. Other than the few students bunched up at the front of the class, the two of you were practically in your own bubble. But how were you going to make him stick around? He didn’t exactly seem like he’d want to hang out with you. Then again, he did help when you were sick despite seeming mortified of you.

“Obviously you’d get better if you kept things clean.”

That wasn’t underhanded, right?

You weren’t exactly a germaphobe, only being a little extra meticulous than usual when it came to keeping things clean. Though you had a pretty big hunch that he might be, and because of that, you made sure to maintain a distance between you both just in case.

Following him to his table as you spoke, he seemed a little silent. Was he just letting you speak instead? Maybe he was always like that. You noticed the characteristic scorn on his face fade ever so slightly as he wiped his desk before placing his bag onto it.

“You said you weren’t sick, right?” He muttered, sliding his mask down.

Lost in thought, your head immediately perked up at the sound of his voice. “Not anymore, why?”

“You don’t need to stand so far then.” He replied, placing the pouch of disinfectant wipes back into his bag. He avoided your gaze as your eyes scrambled, suddenly being taken aback by his quips and habits. His full brows slowly contorted back into a frown, and he simply couldn't stop adjusting the positioning of the mask as he shifted it up to his nose bridge. Where did those beauty marks come from? Did his hair always look so soft?

What does he do in his free time? Does he have a hobby? Is he really as standoffish as he looks?

Is he free on the weekend? Or does he have plans?

Seems like getting his attention was going to be much easier than it looks.

other works

[acescorazon]

Changes

Chapter: 22

Title: Maybe

Rating: M

Warnings: Language, Crocodile. Dialogue Heavy because Mihawk and Crocodile want to bicker.

Word Count: 3532

Chapter excerpt:

Oh, this shouldn’t feel good.

Mihawk’s still a little cold, and he smells faintly like the ocean, but his body is firm and his embrace soothes some of Buggy's anxieties, as well as his heart and his spirit. God, it’s been too long since he was last held by a man, hasn’t it? Or at least that’s what he tells himself. 

Mihawk leans down slightly and rests his cheek against the top of Buggy’s head, “You didn't have to thank me, though. I'm just glad you're alive and well.” The comment is almost surreal to Buggy. Months ago, Mihawk probably wouldn't have cared if Buggy lived or died, but right now he's telling him how happy he is that he's alive. It’s weird.

“Don't try and butter me up.” Buggy murmurs in response. 

“I'm not. I was afraid I wouldn't make it to you in time.”

“Oh, quit lying… You're not afraid of anything.” 

“That's just not true. I was genuinely afraid I wouldn’t be able to save you.” 

Buggy groans softly. He knows he shouldn't believe a word Mihawk's saying, but his feelings are all screwed up right now. Mihawk gives good hugs and is surprisingly good at sweet talking, and Buggy’s trying his hardest not to believe him and just melt into his arms, but Mihawk isn’t making it easy for him.

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As Buggy trails behind his two fellow members of Cross Guild, he keeps his eyes glued to the ground and remains quiet. So much has already happened on their first trip out to sea together, and Buggy is still processing everything from the events that just transpired to his own thoughts and emotions. He wants to say something to Mihawk and Crocodile, but he doesn’t know where to start. Is now even the right time to say anything? After all, their horrifying encounter with the sea king barely came to an end less than twenty minutes ago. 

In the end, Buggy decides not to potentially annoy Mihawk and Crocodile by speaking to them right now. He listens to them bicker instead, and It’s both a relief and (oddly) endearing to see them acting so lively, especially after such a scary situation.

“Will you stop coddling me already?” Crocodile grumbles in a gruff voice as he leans onto Mihawk for support. “I already told you I can walk on my own. Told you I didn’t need to see no doctor neither.”

Mihawk sighs as he ignores Crocodile’s protests and helps him to the infirmary anyways, “I have a headache. Will you shut up for two seconds?” he asks, and Buggy just knows that the world’s strongest swordsman is rolling his eyes right now, even though he can’t see him do it. 

“You think you’re the only one with a damn headache? Do you know how long I was underwater? I almost passed out because you took forever to come get me.”

“I couldn’t save you both at once. Buggy was the first one I saw, so naturally I saved him first.”

“You couldn’t have saved him any faster? I know you’re not as young as you used to be, but for fuck’s sake. Another few seconds and I would have fuckin’ croaked.”

“I swam as fast as I could,” Mihawk replies after clicking his tongue, “You’re such an ungrateful man. I should have left you at the bottom of the ocean.”

God, they’re annoying, Buggy thinks as he tries to hold back a smile. Shouldn’t they just be happy that everyone’s safe and sound, and that their crew didn’t have to abandon ship? Any normal person would be celebrating that they're alive right now and not arguing, but then again, Mihawk and Crocodile are anything but normal.  

“You should’ve.” Crocodile agrees, “Drowning would have been way better than dealing with your constant babying. You worry too much, y’know? I don’t like it.” 

“Someone has to worry about you. You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days.” Mihawk mutters under his breath. 

“Aw, you have a heart after all.” 

“I have a heart, but very little patience for obnoxious fools like you. If you keep irritating me, I’ll slice you in half.” 

“HA! I would love to see you try.”

The altercation doesn’t become physical even though heated words were exchanged and a threat was made. Instead, Mihawk continues to drag Crocodile to the infirmary and Crocodile lets it happen despite all his complaining. Buggy wishes he were surprised, but he's not. There were days when he wished that Mihawk and Crocodile would finally clash and kill one another so that he wouldn’t have to live with both of them, but things almost never got physical between the two. In fact, they seem like they're two peas in a pod and like they secretly enjoy arguing with each other. Maybe bickering is some weird form of entertainment for the two, who knows?

Once in the infirmary, Mihawk and Crocodile continue their fight (if you can even call it that) as the rest of the crew run around, warming up blankets and towels, and looking for spare clothes for the three wet men. Buggy can’t help but roll his eyes as he begins to get undressed. Jeez, do they ever stop? He wonders, once his feelings of endearment turn to annoyance. 

“You’re so irritating. Just let the doctor check you out.” Mihawk tells Crocodile. 

Of course, Crocodile continues to refuse to get checked out by the ship’s doctor, though. “I don’t need a doctor to tell me something I already know. I’m fine. What I really want to do is go to sleep so I can wake up early and get us back on track.” 

“Will you forget about your plans for two seconds? We just ran into a sea king. We need to make sure everything is alright before we head to Prickly Pear. We should stop by the nearest island a–”

Crocodile raises his hand up and cuts Mihawk off quickly once he mentions changing their plans, “Are you kidding me? Everything is fine. There’s no reason to stop now.” Ah, now that sounds like the Crocodile Buggy knows. He really does have a one track mind, doesn’t he?

“Everything might appear to be in good condition right now, but it’s late and assessing any damages the ship might have taken from the attack will be difficult. Plus, I’m sure the men need a break after tonight.”

“Bullshit. We just started sailing, there’s no reason to stop now. We ain’t even halfway to the island yet.”

“It’s not bullshit, it’s the truth. You seemed like you were thinking so reasonably before. What happened? Did you lose what little sense you had left while you were underwater?”

“Oh, fuck off. Even if we abandoned the ship, I wasn’t going to abandon my plans. We would just have to get to Prickly Pear in the lifeboats instead.”

Mihawk’s eyes go wide and he scoffs. For once the world's strongest swordsman seems caught off guard by something. “What an idiotic idea. You do realize we wouldn’t have made it all the way to Prickly Pear in just a lifeboat, right? If the ship had sunk, we most likely wouldn’t have had food or water, or emergency supplies. Not to mention navigating the sea would be damn near impossible in a lifeboat. We’d all die before we made it there.”

Crocodile scoffs right back at Mihawk, “Oh, please. Don’t be dramatic.” he replies, sounding rather dismissive. 

Buggy’s on Mihawk’s side this time, but he doesn’t let the other two know that. He remains quiet and pulls his wet shirt over his head instead, shivering slightly when he feels cool air make contact with his wet skin. Maybe I should have packed a few more pairs of clothes for this trip after all, he thinks. There were so many things Buggy didn’t account for like accidents, or tears, or giant sea squid attacks, and maybe he should have. A captain should be prepared for anything, after all. 

Buggy’s about to pull off his boxers next, when he notices the room has gone rather quiet. He looks up and quickly realizes that Crocodile and Mihawk are staring at him intently. What'd I do now? He thinks as he suppresses a sigh. “What's wrong?” He asks. He expects some sort of answer, but Crocodile and Mihawk simply exchange looks before going back to their previous conversation. It's weird, but Buggy doesn't question it because Crocodile and Mihawk are just weird in general, man. 

***

Buggy spends the next few hours being monitored by the ship’s doctor alongside Mihawk and Crocodile. During this time, Mihawk somehow convinces Crocodile to make a pit stop at a nearby island as soon as possible. It’s incredible how Mihawk always manages to get Crocodile to change his mind, even if it takes some time. Buggy would have never managed to do something like that. Arguing with Crocodile is always such a headache and he tries (but often fails) to avoid doing it at all costs. 

The infirmary eventually clears out and quiets down with only the sounds of various machines operating filling the room. Once the rest of the crew is gone and all that remains is the three founding members of Cross Guild, things become strangely peaceful between the three of them as they sit around, waiting to get the okay to leave. Buggy didn’t think he’d ever live to see the day where he could be at peace with Crocodile and Mihawk around. But, truth be told, he doesn’t mind their presence in the infirmary with him, at least not right now. 

He lies in a hospital bed, wrapped in a giant, warm blanket, and stares at the ceiling as time slowly passes by. It's boring, but it's nice. Having nothing to do is a lot better than having Crocodile and Mihawk yell at him, or order him around, or try to beat him up, that's for sure.  

Crocodile clears his throat all of a sudden, though, and disrupts the peaceful silence in the room. “Look, Hawkeye. You better not let this go to your damn head…” he mutters, “But you really saved my ass back there, and I appreciate it.” he pauses after Mihawk grunts in response and then glances over at Buggy, “You too. You might not have saved me, but you tried, and I’m grateful for that.”  

Aw, so he really can be nice after all, Buggy thinks sarcastically - He can't help it, the thought appears in his head before he can stop it. 

Buggy remains silent for a moment before he causally replies: “Meh. There's no need to thank me. I couldn't have stood around and done nothing while you went overboard, could I?” He asks, waving his hand. He swallows before quietly adding, “You scared the shit out of me when you went overboard all of a sudden, you know that right? I'm glad you're okay.” The words sound so strange coming out of his mouth given the fact that he’s saying them to Crocodile, but he means them. “I… I’m glad you’re both okay. I was worried you guys wouldn’t make it back to the ship alive, actually.”  

Mihawk chuckles quietly, “You were worried about us? How cute.” he replies, “And here I thought you still hated our guts. Are we finally starting to get on your good side, Buggy?” That comment alone makes Buggy’s face burn with embarrassment. Ew, no! He takes it all back! He wasn’t worried about Mihawk or Crocodile at all. In fact, he was actively praying for their end. 

(That's not true at all, and Buggy knows it.)

“Huh…” Crocodile stares at Buggy for a moment, sizing him up, or something, “You are kind of cute, aren’t you?” He asks all of a sudden. Excuse me? Buggy finds himself thinking, obviously taken back by Crocodile’s sudden compliment. Did he just call me cute? No, I must be hearing shit again. The worst part about this all is how nonchalant Crocodile is about the whole thing. It's like he didn't just call the man he hates with all his guts ‘cute.’

Crocodile turns and looks over at Mihawk, who’s lounging lazily in his own bed, “He’s a pretty boy, ain’t he? He’s all soft, and he’s got a real pretty face.”

“He is.” Mihawk simply agrees, which shouldn’t be surprising, but his answer only adds to Buggy’s confusion and makes him feel more flustered. Is this a joke? This feels like a joke, if you ask Buggy.

“Quit messing with me…” Buggy mutters under his breath as he feels a wave of agitation and frustration mix with his confusion and embarrassment. They shouldn’t just say things like that so casually… Buggy’s a gutless coward, not a pretty boy -- Those were their words, not his, by the way…

“Who’s messing with you?” Mihawk replies with a scoff, “You’re pretty, and anyone with eyes can see it.” It’s not that Buggy can’t appreciate a compliment, it’s just that this moment feels so surreal to him that it almost feels like it's staged or even just a cruel joke. 

“I’ve never really looked at you before,” Crocodile admits, “But, Hawkeye’s right. You’re a real pretty thing.” How is Buggy even supposed to reply to something like that? He has no idea, so he waves his hand dismissively and mutters a quick response, “Yeah, thanks.” After that, he tries his best to finally get some rest, but it’s hard with all the thoughts buzzing around in his head.

Buggy never does fall asleep, though, and It sucks. He’s exhausted by the time the doctor finally sends them on their way. Granted, he can probably sleep all day and leave Mihawk or Crocodile to tend to the ship and crew if they aren’t too tired themselves, but still.  

The sun is just beginning to rise and illuminate the infirmary in a soft, warm glow as Buggy shuffles out of the room behind Crocodile and Mihawk. He’s about to head back to his room when he suddenly remembers something. “Hey, Uh, Hawkeye, can I speak with you for a minute?"

Mihawk hums in response, “Of course,” he replies before allowing Buggy to pull him to the side. Buggy hesitates for a moment, waiting for Crocodile to disappear from his line of sight before he finally speaks up, “I probably should have said this earlier… But, uh, I just wanted to thank you for saving me.” Buggy tells Mihawk. “I, uh… This might sound a little silly, but I'm just now realizing how much you do for me and Cross Guild in general, and I really appreciate you for always saving the day. And, yeah… Thank you.” 

Mihawk stares at Buggy for a moment, looking pleasantly surprised by Buggy's words. “I didn't think the day would come where I'd receive your praise, Captain Buggy.” He jokes as he reaches out and slowly grabs Buggy’s hand before giving it a squeeze.

Damn it, don’t do this to me… Buggy thinks as he looks around the empty hallway and double checks to make sure no one is around. His heart is fluttering from Mihawk’s touch, but he tries his best to ignore it and remain calm. “Don't get used to it.” He mutters, “I'm not going to shower you in praises every time you do something.” 

Mihawk chuckles softly, “I didn't expect you to.” He replies, then he pauses for a moment before speaking again, “I'm probably asking for too much, but can I hug you? Just for a minute, i promise.”

The question almost makes Buggy choke on his own spit. Huh? He wants a hug? It’s a simple request, but it feels like a huge one to Buggy at that moment. He shouldn’t be allowing Mihawk in his personal space so easily, should he? This should definitely be where he draws the line. Right, but…

Mihawk has been so good to him lately…

Despite his own hesitancy, Buggy’s eyes soften slightly when he sees Mihawk open his arms. Just once… he thinks. Just this once because Mihawk has been so sweet and because he saved Buggy’s life. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s been horrible to Buggy in the past and that Buggy still hates him. He's just going to give him a hug because he's thankful, that's all. Buggy steps forward and as soon as he’s close enough, Mihawk grabs him by his waist and pulls him into a tight embrace. 

Oh, this shouldn’t feel good.

Mihawk’s still a little cold, and he smells faintly like the ocean, but his body is firm and his embrace soothes some of Buggy's anxieties, as well as his heart and his spirit. God, it’s been too long since he was last held by a man, hasn’t it? Or at least that’s what he tells himself. 

Mihawk leans down slightly and rests his cheek against the top of Buggy’s head, “You didn't have to thank me, though. I'm just glad you're alive and well.” The comment is almost surreal to Buggy. Months ago, Mihawk probably wouldn't have cared if Buggy lived or died, but right now he's telling him how happy he is that he's alive. It’s weird.

“Don't try and butter me up.” Buggy murmurs in response. 

“I'm not. I was afraid I wouldn't make it to you in time.”

“Oh, quit lying… You're not afraid of anything.” 

“That's just not true. I was genuinely afraid I wouldn’t be able to save you.” 

Buggy groans softly. He knows he shouldn't believe a word Mihawk's saying, but his feelings are all screwed up right now. Mihawk gives good hugs and is surprisingly good at sweet talking, and Buggy’s trying his hardest not to believe him and just melt into his arms, but Mihawk isn’t making it easy for him.

The lack of awkwardness scares Buggy, and so does the amount of time he spends in Mihawk’s embrace. This should have been a quick, awkward, encounter, but they hold each other longer than they should. When Buggy realizes this, he immediately tries to pull away, but Mihawk grabs him and pulls him back towards his chest. “Wait.” he murmurs, "Can I just hold you for a little while longer?” 

“Huh?” Buggy asks, and he despises how soft his voice comes out sounding.

"I've never held someone like this before. I think I like it.” Mihawk casually confesses. He says it like it’s a completely normal thing to say to Buggy, but it isn’t. This is weird. They shouldn’t be doing this. Buggy shouldn't be doing this for fuck's sake. He hates him. He hates him with all his guts. This shouldn't feel so natural. This is grossly crossing the line. They need to STOP.

(Why does Mihawk’s body feel so good pressed against his?)

Buggy is utterly speechless for a moment, but against his better judgment, he slowly begins to hug Mihawk back again, “Ugh. Don't get used to this kind of stuff. I'm only letting this happen because you saved my life.”

(Is that really the truth, though?)

“I know.” Mihawk replies, chuckling. His laugh sounds so pleasant to the ears at that very moment, and Buggy wonders why. Why does Mihawk’s touch feel so good? Why does his laugh sound like music too his ears? Why does Buggy feel so...off right now because of horrible ol' Mihawk?

“This doesn't change anything, either. “ Buggy adds as he clings onto the back of Mihawk’s dress shirt tightly.

“I know, but I hope things will change between us soon. I hope you’ll be able to truly forgive me and — “ 

“I forgive you, okay? Just shut up.”

Mihawk goes oddly quiet, and his silence confuses Buggy. Isn’t this what he wanted? Hasn’t he been seeking Buggy’s forgiveness endlessly and trying to prove to him that he’s changed? What’s wrong now? “Do you really mean it?” He finally asks. 

Maybe. Probably. Buggy still has so many emotions he needs to sort out, but he thinks he forgives Mihawk for the most part even though their messy past always lingers somewhere at the back of his mind, "Yeah… You’re forgiven or whatever, but don’t go thinking we’re best friends now. I still kind of hate you, but I’ll tolerate you for the sake of Cross Guild.”

“How do I get you to start liking me back?”

“You won’t. Now, let me go, you're cold.” 

“Stay and warm me up then.” 

Okay, that’s enough. Buggy breaks away from his and Mihawk’s hug (finally) “Listen, Romeo…” He says, and as the words leave his mouth, his voice cracks slightly. God, he doesn’t know what’s more embarrassing, Mihawk’s flirting or that stupid voice crack he just experienced. Either way, now he’s annoyed and even more flustered than before. “I said nothing’s changed. I still don’t like you like that.”

 

Mihawk hums, “I know.” he says before he grabs Buggy’s hand one last time, “But…” He pauses, clearly choosing his words carefully before he speaks again, “Maybe we can talk some more later…”

Turn him down.

Don’t give him hope.

You hate him. Don’t let this get out of hand, you’ll regret it. It’s dangerous. He has feelings for you and he’ll start thinking you like him if you keep playing these stupid games.  

...But what if...?

Buggy bites the inside of his cheek, “Maybe. I’m not making any promises, though.” he replies.

You dumbass. There's a voice at the back of Buggy's head that's yelling at him and telling him: Why do you do this to yourself? You hate him. Do you not remember all that he’s done to you? He’s hurt you, idiot. Don’t you remember that? Why are you acting differently now that he’s saved you and has been nice to you a few times? You shouldn’t let him keep doing this. You should turn him down. What if he goes back to his old ways and hurts you again? It’ll crush you, you know it will.  

Buggy ignores that voice, though, the moment Mihawk starts talking to him again, “Perhaps we can start off as friends and build some form of trust between us and, then…”

“...Maybe." Buggy reluctantly agrees, "I should go, though, I’m tired.”

"Okay, sleep well, but I hope we can talk more when you wake up, Buggy."

Good god, even his goodbyes are sweet now. Buggy can't handle this right now. He needs to get far away from this man and as quickly as possible before he does something dumb.

[i-didnt-hate-it]

Hey I did a Walter Mitty and replied to this in my head but not irl.

Personally, my most "therapeutic" movie experiences come when I'm watching a movie in a theater, because it demands my full attention and the experience is so much more immersive. I can't just pause it and do something else or look at my phone during a scene that might make me uncomfortable.

Of course, all art is subjective, so you might not (and probably won't) get the exact same experience that I had, but I hope you still enjoy these.

I watched more movies in the theater in 2024 than I have my entire life, I'm pretty sure, so most of these are probably gonna be 2024 movies lol.

If you haven't seen The Wild Robot, I'm pretty sure it's streaming on Peacock now, and I can't recommend it enough. There's a scene that breaks me to my core every time I've watched it, and I think it always will. There's so much I could say about this movie, but the heart of it is a story about found family, and especially about motherhood. So, no matter what your relationship with your mother, I'd bet this makes you feel something. The song at the end makes me cry every time, too.

Following up with another Lupita Nyong'o movie from last year is A Quiet Place: Day One. I was not expecting to start bawling like a baby in the middle of this movie, but I think most people who lived through covid-19 and everything else that 2020 brought can really relate to what this movie has to say about finding the beauty in the simple things and enjoying life even when the world is falling apart around us. Omg I'm literally tearing up just writing about it. It is an action horror movie so it's kinda intense, but I'd highly recommend it even if you haven't seen the other Quiet Place movies. This one is just so powerful.

Another one that had me bawling my eyes out when I watched it was IF, the imaginary friend movie from John Krasinski. Now I was going through a few "grown-up" problems when I watched it, but aren't we all, like all the time? There's a pureness and beauty to IF, and the emotions that built throughout the movie broke through in the final scene, and I was blubbering in the front row. If you've ever wanted to grow up, or not wanted to grow up, or be a kid again, I think this will hit you where it hurts. In the best way.

These kinda go without saying, but the Inside Out movies will make you emotional, because their whole thing is emotion. The first one definitely still gets my tears flowing more than the second, but 2 got me thinking about more complicated emotions. Which makes sense, since that's kinda the whole plot of the movie lol. Walking out of Inside Out 2 literally felt like walking out of a therapy session.

This one is definitely more niche, but if you've ever struggled with your gender, or sexuality, or even just feeling like an outsider, like you don't belong, "I Saw The TV Glow" might just rip your heart out. It definitely seems to be one of those "you get it or you don't" movies, but if you feel like letting nostalgia tear up your entire perception of reality, I'd recommend it. I don't think I actually cried the first time I watched it, but I think that's because it took me to a place beyond tears. There's no easy way to explain I Saw The TV Glow, so I'd say give it a try if it piques your interest.

We Live In Time also made me feel a lot of things. It's a sad story, but the way it's told makes it very bittersweet, with more sweet than bitter. It's a beautiful love story and Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield are absolutely wonderful.

These last two are pretty uber-specific, but I feel like I need to mention them. The first is the Monk movie, Mr. Monk's Last Case. If you've watched Monk at all, you need to watch the movie. Me and my sister absolutely lost it at the end, it's just so beautiful we couldn't hold back our tears.

Last one is "No One Will Save You" on Hulu. I really wish I could see this in theaters, I need the biggest screen possible. If you watch this, watch it by yourself, with all the lights off, with headphones if you can. It's an alien invasion horror movie, but it focuses on one character, and she never speaks, because she has no one to talk to. The movie is so intimate, you're just holding your breath right along with the main character. No One Will Save You is one of my favorite movies for a lot of reasons, a lot of them I'm not even sure of myself. Sometimes I feel like no one else will get quite as much out of it as me, but if you want to follow a tragic character through an exciting but also extremely thoughtful ordeal, give it a try.

*For the last 2 options, you dont have to count anything that happened when you were a little kid

[eemamminy-art]

If you're still doing these: Fordolyse (or anything Lyse!) hc + 👻? (I am in a spooky mood and there is so much weird stuff in the Lochs :3)

hc + 👻 for a headcanon about supernatural occurrences

There is so much spooky stuff in the Lochs, I always wished they would explore that more in the game 👀 I don't feel confident enough in the lore of the Lochs or Ala Mhigo more generally to think of something related to that, but here's something!

So I like to headcanon (or maybe it's close to the actual canon in the 4.1 msq echo scenes, I'm not entirely sure if it's just my interpretation or not) that Fordola's resonant causes her echo to be basically on 24/7. She's hearing thoughts, she's seeing memories, she's just haunted by other peoples' pasts and presents and tormented by it more often than not.

With that in mind, can you imagine how often she must see Yda and Papalymo? Lyse brings them both up often, so you'd have to figure they're both at the forefront of her mind at any given time. Probably the first time she sees Yda in Lyse's memories it turns her pale white, recognizing Yda as the freedom fighter who gave her some glimmer of hope as a child before that hope was crushed yet again. She sees Yda in every possible context that Lyse ever did: all her best and worst moments, times of laughter, joy, and sorrow. Her giving speeches to Lyse to inspire her to never give up, and telling her fondly about the Ala Mhigo that once was before Garlemald invaded. Rallying Fordola from beyond the grave, just like she did all those years ago.

Likewise, Papalymo was always a stern voice of reason for Lyse, but would give her comfort when needed, too. I think the first few glimpses of him would anger her, maybe causing her to stand up and shout at the phantom, leaving Lyse totally puzzled as to who she was talking to. Over time she would see the logic in some of his lectures, how he was always the one to keep Lyse grounded and keep her from flying off the handle. Something that rubbed off on Lyse and made her a more mature and level-headed person now, recalling his words and living by his values.

Seeing the ghosts of Lyse's past helps Fordola to understand the amazing person she is now, and to recognize how much room she has to grow still herself.

Thematic headcanon ask meme

[cursingtoji]

the cardio machine i want is on the cardio machine

cw: gym rat toji x loser!gf - size kink, sweat kink (?), toji is a big old meanie. loser!gf series: geto gojo nanami.

loser!reader who, like a million other sedentary people on new year’s eve, said “new year new me” and proceeded to enroll at the local gym.

gym rat!toji who knew how things are in the beginning of the year, so the first week he arrives one hour earlier than usual to avoid all the lazy fucks that won’t last two months.

of course he makes a few mental bets on the ones that would quit and how long it would take, you included.

it’s easy to spot the “i don’t want lift weights cause i don’t want look jacked” type of girl.

at the breaks between one set and the other he looked around, not surprised to see you slowing down the treadmill after running not even two whole minutes.

sometimes he caught you staring at him through the mirror, not an uncommon occurrence amonst the women there, though you surprised him one day by tapping his shoulder after he finishing his weighted squats.

“can you… give me a few tips?” he looked so intimidated, from up close his shoulders looked like a wall, he stared at you from above, dark green eyes seemed to be heavily judging you, “never mind this was a bad idea, sorry” you turned around, grabbing you bottle and running off the gym.

by the time you managed to gather the courage to show your face back there two whole weeks had passed.

“consistency is the key you know” you were distracted looking down your phone while slowly walking the treadmill when the handsome man appeared beside you, the sudden presence destabilized you.

before you could become the viral video of the week when inevitably a gym employee decides to post the security footage of your ass rolling off the active treadmill, toji wrapped one big arm around your waist and pulled you to the stable floor.

“you caught me off guard the other day” he said completely unfazed by saving you from a life of embarrassment, “then you disappeared.”

“yeah i didn’t know if i wanted to come back anyways, i haven’t see any results so far” you pulled the hem of your shirt down.

toji snorted, “‘course you ain’t seeing results, sweetheart, you don’t lift.”

“well, it’s hard…” toji rolled his eyes, there was always an excuse.

though he also did a new year’s resolution of being more patient, for his kids primarily but teaching a cute thing like you could be a good exercise too.

soon enough, toji was correcting your form, texting you asking why you haven’t showed up to the gym and ringing your bell incessantly when you complained about muscle pain and said you wouldn't go that day.

“it’ll feel better once you start to move” he explained, resting on your door frame when you opened the door on your pajamas.

“let me alone, just today” you whined.

“you asked for my help now go put on something without cartoons on it” he waited for you to turn around and slapped your butt. it had been only one week he was coaching you but there was already a weird intimacy due to the fact he was pretty much always looking at your body and touching you.

to correct your form. obviously.

"what do i have to do today, coach fushiguro?" you asked from your bedroom through an ajar door which allowed toji to get a peek at your pink underwear and cute ass.

"cardio, bicycle first. get some blood flowing on those sore muscles" he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows watching you bend over to grab a biker shorts at the lowest drawer then holding back a laughter at the grunt of pain coming from you.

"once it gets better i can teach you other types of cardio" he walked around your kitchen examining your cabinets and stuff you kept in your fridge. needless to say it was all junk.

"can't wait" you replied sarcastically, failing to understand the meaning.

it took a few more days till you got used to toji's training, then he decided to focus on your upper body.

"such a simple movement, how do you manage to get that wrong?" he raised from the bench he was sitting behind you watching your form through the mirror. you almost dropped the weights at your feet when he came close. it was almost scary how much bigger than you he was especially seeing it throght the mirror. his right hand wrapped around yours on the dumbell and his bicep touched your arm as he pushed your arm closer to your body, "tuck your elbows in, straight your back" his free hand pushed your shoulders till they were touching his chest.

how come he smelled so good, so... musky and...

"are you even making any force?" he lowered his head, his reflection looking annoyed. so you decided to ignore the sudden heat between your thighs and flex your arm the way he taught you.

and just like he promised, when you were consistent enough and handling a good 5 minute run he decided to show you a more pleasing cardio.

"toji please~" you whined, thighs burning from riding him, you were using his rock hard abdomen as a support, but still.

"one more minute, come on" he looked at the watch on his wrist and slapped your ass, "haven't i prep-ed you good enough?" his thumb rubbed your bottom lip then pushed in meeting your tongue, where you tasted yourself in his digits one hour after he ringed your bell and said he was going to reward your good discipline, but he had to strech you first.

"good girl" you felt his abdomn flex when he raised from his laying position on your bed, "now leave it to daddy" he pecked your lips and quickly changed positions, putting a pillow under your ass and rolling his neck to start his cardio of the day.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Since everyone seems to love my sex shop stories, here’s another one.

Phone calls were literally a game for us. Not all phone calls, but there was a specific brand of call where guys would creep on us. 90% of the workforce at the sex shops was women. So we’d get dudes calling jacking off or trying to get their jollies from us.

The game: make them hang up. We could have hung up. On a few occasions I did, but for the most part we made a sport out of getting creeps to go flaccid. It really depended on a caller.

You couldn’t just go in for belittling them straight off- some guys wanted that. You had to tailor your strategy to the perv. Overall it was pretty fun and it turned an aspect of the job that could’ve become a major bummer into a fun sport. We’d get excited when the phones rang.

So one day the phone rings. I pick up and it was very clearly a young teen who was putting on a deep voice. I was utterly delighted, I’d never had a crank call before. He said, “I have a dildo emergency! Can you deliver 5 boxes of dildos to my home?!”

It took everything in me not to crack in that moment. It was so funny. It was like three kids had walked through the door in a trench coat and the phrase “dildo emergency” was one of the funniest things I’d ever heard.

But I kept it together. In smooth customer service tones I replied, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear you’re having an emergency, but due to the nature of our product we do require people to come pick it up themselves.”

The caller audibly deflated. Some of the deep voice he was putting on bled away when he said plaintively, “But it’s an emergency…”

“I’m sorry, sir, rules are rules.”

He hung up. I burst out laughing and told my coworker what had happened. She said, “I will buy you lunch if you call back and pretend you can deliver something.”

This sounded like an all around win for me, and the kid hadn’t used anything to block his number. So I called back.

“Hello!” This was before caller ID was common for home phones and so he picked up in his totally normal voice, several octaves higher than before.

“Hello, I’m calling regarding your dildo emergency?”

“Oh! Hem hem,” he coughed, getting his voice back into character for me. “Yes! The emergency!”

“Well I’ve spoken to my manager and it’s your lucky day. We’ll be able to make a delivery after all. Five boxes you said? We can swing it by later, we’ll just need your name, address, and credit card number.”

He was thrown by needing to provide info and was silent for a moment then said, “Well how much is it for five boxes?”

“About five hundred dollars, sir.”

He slipped out of his character voice to exclaim, “Five hundred dollars?! What kind of dildos are they?!”

“Just standard six inches with balls, sir.”

This was his breaking point. He started wheezing with laughter trying to repeat the phrase “six inches with balls” incoherently.

“So your address and card info?”

He hung up and I broke down laughing too. We both got a kick out of it, and I won the game twice in one day.

[chastiefoul]

waking them up with kisses

ft. nanami, gojo, sukuna, toji short, fluff, light-hearted. honestly such a word-vomit, written while i was half asleep. but hey hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! slightly suggestive on gojo

nanami

there’s a slight smile on his face by the third time your lips made contact with his skin, yet he showed no of being awake to you, who’s still oblivious to his subtle change of expression as you kept peppering soft kisses across his cheekbone. finally a low chuckle escaped him, he just couldn’t help it. “good morning to you too, my love,” he muttered, pulling you who’s still in his arms closer. the warmth of your body as he embraced you sent an unexplainable ticklish feeling to his stomach.

“seriously, it took so many kisses to wake you up,” you said lightly, brushing the strand of his blond hair. such a weird sensation, to be this giddy right after you woke up, but it’s one nanami welcomed so openly. “hmm, i might need even more to be fully awake,” he replied with a teasing smile, closing his eyes. you felt his leg tangling with yours, there wasn’t a part of his body that wasn’t touching yours. like a cat snuggling for warmth.

your hand couldn’t keep itself still, moving from his hair to his cheek. running along your thumb gently across his lashes, and the man suddenly fluttered them open. there wasn’t anything except love as he gazed at you so softly, grabbing your hand as he planted a kiss on your palm. all of it just felt so right, and you couldn’t help but wish that time ticked slower in small moments like this.

gojo

a big grin made its way to his face almost immediately when you started showering the man with kisses. his hair messy from sleep as he lied down, surrendering himself to your attacks; he laughed genuinely, the beautiful sound made you more determined. the mere expression of him being that happy brought you the same if not more amount of joy.

when you finally pulled away there’s a satisfied smile on his face as he opened his eyes. “best morning ever,” he said, pulling you close to his chest, forcing you to rest your head there as you listened to his steady heartbeat. “that’s what you said last time too when i woke you up with a head,” you bantered, there’s a lightness in your chest. he chuckled once more.

“well every morning i start by seeing your face is the best one baby, couldn’t help it,” he muttered, very lightly pinching your cheek as he said this. he then raised your chin with a finger, making you look up at him as he kissed your lips sweetly, moving slowly at the beat of his own drums as he pecked the outer corner of your mouth, and then your cheek. and then there’s just pure mischief on his eyes.

“my turn now!”

sukuna

sukuna indulged himself in a few more of your gentle touches on his face, the softness of it almost made him felt like he was out of place. yet he couldn’t help it, savoring each of your kiss as to making sure he won’t get used to it. finding wonders to every of your move as he cherished it so.

“i’m awake,” he mumbled, thinking it’ll stop you from doing it. but when your response was just to give you more of it he couldn’t help but blinked awake; the sight of you smiling down at him almost made his heart burst. “morning!” you said sweetly, resting the palm of your hand on his bare chest.

“i’m already exhausted looking at your energized-self on the first light of the day,” he claimed, covering your hand with his. “well, we have a date today, of course i’m excited,” you said, the exuberance was apparent on your voice. sukuna looked like he was thinking for a moment before making you lie back down on his arms.

“let me sleep a little longer, then we will do whatever it is that  you want.”

toji

“what’s got you so chirpy, hm?” he had an lazy smile on his face, eyes still closing. his calm expression betraying the giddy feeling in his chest; you were so fucking cute, what’s a man supposed to do? once again you planted a kiss on his lips, right on his scar. there it was again, the damn itch on his chest he couldn’t scratch.

“nothing, just happy,” you replied, drawing random patterns on his chest. “yeah?” he brought you closer with the hand that’s still wrapped around your waist. you nodded happily, snuggling closer to his neck.

toji thought words such as forever or eternity was bullshit until that moment, until he's got you tightly in his hold; all safe and cozy without a care in the world. yet in that split second he wanted it to be true. y’know, just to humor him a little.

“if i didn’t know any better i woulda thought you won a lottery or something.”

but it would be wrong. since he already won it when he met you.

[iknityounot]

(Long post, sorry y'all)

A little more than two years ago now, my grandmother passed away. She and my grandpa had moved down to my home town a few years before so we could take care of them. I brought them groceries once a week, helped them write checks, fixed tvs, and found lost things. I was really close with my grandma.

In addition to her hilarious personality and dry wit, one of my favorite things about her was that she was a painter and a crafter like me! She used to crochet, and I took her to the craft store a couple of times so she could get more yarn and books on crochet. But her arthritis and the shaking in her hands kept getting worse, so she eventually had to stop.

She kept her most recent project, a granny square blanket, safely packed away in a plastic bin. She told all of us she was going to finish it one day.

Her hands never got better, and when she got sick, and we found out it was cancer, she rapidly deteriorated.

After she passed, I went to work helping my mom clean out my grandparents apartment so we could move my grandpa in with her. In our frantic cleaning, I found that bin again:

DOZENS of granny squares, dozens of half used skeins. I asked my mom what she wanted me to do with it, and she said she didn't care. I set it aside and later took it home.

Maybe a month later, that tumblr post about the Loose Ends Project was going around. It felt like a sign--I was never going to learn to crochet in order to finish my grandmother's blanket. But they might be able to help!

So I filled out the interest form. They got back to me SUPER quick. And maybe 2 weeks later, I was paired with volunteer in my state (only 2 hours away!) and the box of yarn, granny squares, and my grandmother's crochet hook were in the mail. That was at the end of January this year.

Over the next couple of months, my "finisher" emailed me regular updates on her progress, and asked me questions on my preferences for how she constructed the final blanket.

At the end of August, the blanket was done!

I had always intended the blanket to be a gift for my mother. So I cleaned it up, put it in the only bag I had big enough to fit it, and drove to my mom's. I gave the blanket to her and she was gobsmacked. I explained to her all about Loose Ends, and how someone volunteered to finish the piece for us. She was speechless. (I was quite pleased with this, because I am not the best at giving gifts, so this was a pretty exciting reaction!)

She said that it was the most thoughtful gift she had ever been given. She said "your grandma would love this". To which I replied, "yeah, I know she really wanted to finish it a couple of years ago". But that was when my mom dropped the bomb of a century on me--she told me that my grandma had started making those granny squares OVER 30 YEARS AGO. She had started the blanket when my grandpa was staying in the hospital, but that was back when my mom was younger than I am now! My grandma had packed them all away, planning on finishing it, when my grandpa was sent home from the hospital. Then it went from house to house, from condo in Chicago to their apartment in my hometown. All that time and my grandma had wanted to finish it, but couldn't. First because she was busy, then because she forgot how to do it, then because of her arthritis, and then because of the cancer. My mom said she had given up on expecting my grandma to finish it. 

She said I brought a piece of her childhood with her mom out of the past.

And really, all of this is to say, if you have seen or heard about the Loose Ends Project and have an uncompleted project or piece from a loved one who has passed away--these are your people. They were so kind and treated my project with such care. That box probably would have been found by my own grandkids one day if I hadn't heard about Loose Ends.

Five stars, absolutely worth it!

(From what I understand, you can sign up to volunteer too! If you have time to share, it might be worth checking out!)

[rafesangelita]

♡ just dilf!rafe making sure everything is to his liking when his precious little bunny comes home from all of her beauty appointments!

warnings: fluff, bunny being a lil clingy, suggestive language, use of the nickname ‘daddy’ (pls scroll if it’s not for you), heavy petting, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), praise, finger sucking, slight overstimulation

a/n: i recently got all of my beauty appointments done so this felt fitting lol. read more of dilf!rafe x bunny!reader here <3

wc: 1.4k

while rafe never let you step out of the house by yourself, there was very few instances when he did. going out with your girlfriends and paying for all of your appointments was one of those things, and he didn’t mind in the slightest. the day would start very early in the morning so that you’d have enough time to get everything done. rafe would watch you from the front door as you basically hopped down the driveway in excitement before getting into your best friend’s obnoxiously pink car, your lip gloss still sparkling on his lips from when you kissed him before leaving.

maybe it was the father instinct inside of him, but rafe made it a point to always pay for you and your besties meals, the idea of you going hungry or having an empty stomach just not sitting right with him. you and your friends would start the day by knocking out whatever took the longest, so that all of you could breeze through the extra upkeep and still go shopping afterwards. despite rafe tracking your location and checking where you were at religiously, he still wanted you to text him and send him photos and updates throughout the day.

he’d smile down at his phone whenever your contact name, which you came up with by yourself, would pop up on his screen.

[1:15 PM] bunnie ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡: i miss you sooo much already daddy. thank you for the food it was yummy <3 me and the girls still have a handful of things to do but i’m hoping to be done soon!!

[2:57 PM] bunnie ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡: i think you’re going to reallyyy like the color of my nails!! my toes came out super cute too 🎀

[4:03 PM] bunnie ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡: (1 attached image) look at this pink flatiron at the salon! i need one just like this! pretty pleaseeee!

he’d reply to each message, even going ahead and buying that flatiron with overnight delivery so you could have it in your pretty hands in no time. you two would go on like this until you’d finally send him that ‘on my way!’ text, a relieved sigh falling from his lips. as much as he liked for you to have your girl time, he selfishly wanted to have you all to himself more than anything. rafe had already been anticipating your arrival, your favorite candles already lit up upstairs in his bedroom. it wasn’t long before he heard the faint bump of music outside, your playful yelp sounding from down the driveway as you struggled to carry all of your shopping bags.

rafe was quick to help you out, your best friends teasingly telling him hi as he briefly waved at them before guiding you inside. “oh, i missed you!” you didn’t waste any time in throwing your arms around his neck, the scent of sweet vanilla filling up his senses. you clung to him like a koala, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist as he made his way upstairs. “yeah? i missed you more.” you breathed him in, smiling softly against his chest as he put your bags down on the chair he had in the corner. “everything go good?” he took a seat at the edge of the bed, resting his hands on the soft globes of your ass.

“mhmm!” you nodded, “i’m happy with how everything came out.” rafe pecked your lips before helping you up on your feet. “let me get a good look at you.” standing up, you couldn’t help but feel shy as he scanned over your figure agonizingly slow. “your hair looks real nice, baby, that style suits you.” your cheeks heated at the simple compliment. “wow look at your lashes, ‘you try out a different lash map?” you gasped softly, hitting his shoulder playfully. “look at you using girly terms!” rafe was bound to learn about the stuff you’d be rambling on and on about, your lashes being one of many things he now knew the intricacies of.

“your eyebrow lady did a real good job, too.” you wiggled your brows suggestively, fluttering your lashes at him while he took your hand in his. “you were right, i absolutely love this color on you,” he took in the pinky nude of your manicure, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles, “let me see those toes.” you giggled, bringing your foot to his lap as you held onto his arms for leverage. “wow, you got a bow charm?” you smiled down at the sight, “yes! isn’t it so cute? she even put on some rhinestones for free because i’m a regular!” rafe massaged the back of your calf, guiding you back down on the bed.

“damn, bunny, and your skin is so soft, you got that full body wax?” you welcomed him between your thighs, running your freshly manicured nail down the side of his jaw. “yes, i know how much you like it..” he kissed you deeply, his lower half grinding down on where you needed him most. you couldn’t help the whine from leaving your lips, your glazed orbs shining with something mischievous. “do you want to see how that came out, too?” rafe smiled, his fingers already hooking between your skirt and the waistband of your panties. “yeah? you gonna let daddy inspect you?”

once your clothes were off and forgotten about on the floor, rafe took your thighs and spread them open to expose your bare cunt, the look on his face making you take your bottom lip between your teeth. “fuck,” he marveled, “you’re just so pretty, you know that?” you smiled, melting under his gentle touch. he looked up at you as if to ask ‘can i?’ before you nodded. rafe sat back on his heels, stroking your glistening folds as you writhed with desire. “i need to be inside of you so bad..” oh, how bad you needed that too. “rafe, we can’t have sex for at least a full twenty-four hours.” you pouted.

“but we did it last time.” you giggled, shaking your head. “i know, but i’m so sensitive..” rafe sighed, leaning down so he could whisper against your lips. “would a little touching hurt, though?” you gasped when he slipped a digit inside your entrance, his long digit filling you just right. with the pad of his thumb, he began rubbing hard circles on your clit, your eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. “you’re so perfect, always dressing and getting dolled up the way i want you to.” he curled his finger, nudging that soft spot inside of you that made you see stars.

your back arched softly off of the bed, your fingers intertwining with his own. he kept his eyes on your trembling form, your mouth falling open as moans and whimpers fell from your lips. “i’m so close, ray..” the man above you lowered his head between your thighs, popping his digits into your mouth so you could taste yourself on his fingers. “so soft and smooth, i could eat this cunt for days.” you cried out loud when you felt his tongue prod at your opening, the tip of his nose finding your sensitive bud. “fuckkk!” you covered your mouth at the slip up, yelping when you felt rafe pinch your inner thigh.

“what have i told you about cussing?” he groaned, pulling away from your soaked pussy before diving back in again, your hands shooting up to cup your tits. rafe watched your face carefully, the rise and fall of your chest being a telltale sign that you were going to finish soon. you felt the familar heat begin to simmer in your tummy, your thighs threatening to snap shut as the coil in your stomach got tighter and tighter with every stroke of rafe’s tongue. “oh, my god!” your eyes rolled back when the band in your tummy finally snapped, your orgasm hitting you in waves of pure bliss.

your breath shook as you thrashed against rafe’s mouth, your thighs locking around his head as he pinned you down by your hips. your mouth opened but no sound, except for a pathetic shriek came out, your hands fighting rafe off in an attempt to pull away from him. that only made him grip you tighter, his tongue working relentlessly on your poor cunt. it wasn’t until you tapped out, your nails digging into rafe’s arm before he gave you a final kiss, his gentle hands massaging into the skin of your calves. you whimpered as rafe helped you come down from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your vision hazy.

rafe licked his lips clean, palming at the hard-on in his boxers. “how about just the tip?” all it took was one blissful glance at him through your lashes before he was yanking you towards the edge of his bed by your ankles.

[bitterrfruit]

southpaw [ii]

boxer!Ghost x reader cw: dub(verging on non)con. lots of blood if the pics didn't make that obvious. 18+ mdni here's part 2 to my boxer ghost fic. this one is feral. sorry [masterlist]

Your communications with Simon following the frightening tryst in his sitting room had been few and far between. 

After he had abandoned you throbbing and empty and you plummeted back to earth, you swiftly left. He had called you a spiteful little shit when you stormed out of his flat in a huff, with just a shred of caustic humour in his tone that belied his bitterness. 

When your wits — with the force of a kick to the belly — had returned to you in the taxi home, you had told yourself that was that. You’d block his number and you’d kick the revoltingly crude and violent stranger out of your life. Reduce him to a foul memory. 

But as you went to check your phone, looking at the six exchanged messages between yourself and his unsaved number, you faltered. A failure of your self-assertion. Instead you dumped your phone in your bag and glowered out of the window for the duration of the drive home, sucking on your vitriolic arousal like a sour drop. 

You resentfully returned to your quotidian routine the next morning. Catching the subway to work and back, slogging through the Monday at your desk while sorely trying to distract yourself from the residual sensation of his fingertips in your slit. You stared into the voids between the pixels of your monitor, offering one-word answers when any of your coworkers addressed you — so vacant throughout the day that your manager had to check in with you, and you dismissed your fugue as a mere headache. 

Your phone didn’t go off once that workday — no text from a friend, nor a relative, not even spam. Only whilst packed in the train car on the way home, sardine-squished between people taller than you, did your phone buzz in your pocket. 

A text from the number you failed to block. 

Can still smell your cunt on me. 

Mortified, you immediately tucked the phone to your hips and shut the app, hoping the people pressed against you couldn’t read the message that just mired your phone screen. 

The follow up appeared as a banner. 

Making me hungry. 

Your cheeks burned hot and you bit down on nothing, too humiliated to return to the app and reply to his filth. You stuffed your phone in your pocket for the remainder of the sticky train ride, and only reopened it once you had arrived back home and locked your front door behind you. 

You hammered out a reply with splenetic fingers as you took off your coat. You’re a degenerate. 

His answer came quickly. Still grumpy?

Stop messaging me. 

The bouncing ellipses of his typed reply appeared and vanished a number of times, and you scolded yourself for attentively awaiting the answer you had expressly refused. When no reply came, your chest became heavy. 

And it remained heavy, for the next two days, while your phone stayed as empty and dry as you were. Every time you picked it up you felt the flutter behind your ribs, the briefly lifted spirits as you silently hoped for a text from him. Maybe even a missed call. And every time it was blank, you felt your stomach sink. Stupid, for you had all but told him to fuck off. Perhaps you simply wanted him to persist. To insist. 

In your capricious impatience you even typed out a few messages to him, but your shame ensured that they remained unsent. 

You could have just apologised. 

Didn’t think you’d give up that easily. 

I didn’t mean never message me again. 

On Wednesday evening, after work, you returned to the bar you had met him at. Maybe he’d be there, waiting for you, hoping you’d return so that he could accost you. You even planned for it, practised your spiteful response for when you found him there — you’d ignore him for a bit, to make him squirm, to force him to make the first move. Maybe you’d even pretend to have forgotten his name. 

When he wasn’t there, you bitterly paid for your own drink and went home after only one. 

You gave up hope as another sluggish day came and went, arriving home to your empty apartment and getting ready for bed far earlier than you normally would. Washed your face and brushed your teeth before nine-thirty. 

You simply couldn’t face the indignity of reaching out to him. Not after setting your own boundary and he had aberrantly obliged it. 

Once it hit ten you tucked yourself into bed under your winter-weight duvet, forced shut your eyes as you resisted the urge to check your phone before going to sleep. 

And just as a groggy, heat-dizzied slumber began to suck you in, hallucinations of his mammoth hand kneading between your thighs, you heard your phone vibrate loudly atop the wooden surface of your nightstand. Its bluish glow illuminated your dark bedroom for a few seconds before it dimmed again. 

Instantly awake and buzzing with adrenaline you reached to check, snatching your phone from its resting place and glaring bright-eyed at the screen. Probably just an email. Maybe a text from your coworker. Or a pop-up ad for UberEats. 

Fight tomorrow at 8. 

It wasn’t even an invitation. He was just informing you, and even that was a generous presumption. Maybe he was arrogant enough to assume you’d be there without an overt expression of his desire to see you. 

Your seat is by the ring. 

Bastard, you thought. Almost blurted it aloud. You chewed your lip. You knew you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t. 

It took you a few attempts to conjure up a response. You typed some out and then swiftly deleted them. 

Eventually, you landed on; You rly think i’m going to come and watch?

Wouldn’t have got you a seat if i didn’t. 

You scoffed at your screen. Why should i?

Still wound up, are you?

The prick. Wtf does that mean?

All grouchy i left you high and dry?

You didn’t notice your thighs grinding together. No. You're a dickhead and i can’t believe i went out with you.

Quit bitching, jesus. Then, a follow up; You’ll get what you want after.  

Your better conscience told you to slam down the phone and abandon the conversation and the fling in its entirety. Unbridled asshole that he was. Instead you held your thumbnail between jittery teeth and rubbed your toes together. 

Who are you fighting? You asked, ungracefully changing the subject. 

Does it matter?

You bit your lip. Not interested in watching you lose. 

I won’t. 

His arrogance made you snort. How do you know?

Got a prize to fight for. 

His charm was shallow and crude, skirting a charade, and yet it unleashed a swarm of butterflies in your chest. Funneled a loathsome heat into a pool between your legs. 

You knew what he thought his prize might be. He hadn’t been shy about it, had he? He plainly believed he could win your cunt as easily as he could a championship belt. 

What’s that? You texted back, after a deliberate delay, wondering whether he’d follow up the text with something more explicit. 

You tell me. 

Dumped the burden on you to be the vulgar one. Not your strong suit, so you decided to attempt to emasculate him. As if such a thing were possible. 

Hm. The other guy might fight to win it too. 

The typing bubbles of his reply came and went for a minute. Wouldn’t put it past him. 

You know him? 

Mate. 

You’re fighting your mate? 

Yep. n I’ll beat him like last time. 

You couldn’t explain the blooming heat in your belly at the prospect of watching him beat and be beaten by someone like him, big and heavy, just as ribald. You imagined a rivalry, all in good fun, until it wasn’t. You imagined they’d be looser with their fists, less mindful of the rules, when it was only their mate at the receiving end of the blow. You wonder if his opponent knows about you. What he might have told him. 

And if you don’t? 

There was no sense in your question, and no vindictiveness in your doubt. Maybe you just wanted him to express some possessiveness. To double down on his certainty. To claim ownership. 

You nearly smacked yourself as the notion smeared its way through your head. 

He’ll be a lucky man.

Not even a lick territorial. You chose not to dissect your lack of disappointment. 

You didn’t reply to his final message, fingers too busy pinching at the angry clit under your knickers, hoping the castigation would settle the lust that throbbed in your temples — you knew it wouldn’t, but the compulsion to alleviate the burning in its nexus puppeteered your arm as though on strings. 

Didn’t let yourself come, though. His ragged words wended about in your head, leaden and demanding. You can wait, like me.

Trudging through the Friday was infinitely more gruelling than any of the days prior. Tumescent anticipation churned in the pit of your stomach, every waking minute. You could not focus on a single task beyond the picking of your fingernails and crossing of your legs. Busied yourself with regular trips to the bathroom, to wipe away the distracting wetness that puddled in your core every time you reread the (not even that sexual) messages in your phone. 

When a colleague glibly asked you what your Friday night plans were, you lied. Night in, probably. You told yourself that you hadn’t yet decided whether you would attend. A smarter girl would avoid it like the plague. 

You knew yourself better than that. 

Despite his lack of contact, you still tortured yourself under the shower after work. Scrubbed clean every mound and every crevice, re-shaved the same areas you tended to until they were raw, left a fruity-sweet hair mask in your locks for long enough that the tresses imbibed the scent. Smeared your body in your caramel-macadamia body lotion, brushed through your lashes a coating of mascara, painted on a layer of rosy-pink lip-gloss. 

You excavated your entire closet in the hunt for the right kind of outfit; you wanted to look pretty, but not like an overdressed deer in headlights. Like a cool-girl who knew how boxing works (you didn’t), but not like you were trying too hard. Settled for a miniskirt and a graphic tee, boots and stockings to keep you warm. You hadn’t forgotten his refusal of them the last time, but it was a cold and windy evening, and he could fuck himself. 

As the time passed seven and you still hadn’t heard from him, just as you began to wonder whether he had given up on you all together — he finally texted you. 

The only content of his message was the address of the venue, with no frills nor any sly attempts to provoke you. Simply the name of the arena and the street it was on. Knowing you’d need a drink, or two, or three — you plugged the location into Uber and booked a ride instead of driving yourself, and it was a ten minute trip through the dark sleet. 

The arena, so he called it, was barely an established venue — some kind of run-down community centre with layers of faded and peeling posters glued to its grimy brick walls, windows of steel-meshed glass and a single street light hanging over the push-door entrance. 

You carried your heart in your teeth. It evidently would not be a televised fight, like you had wistfully imagined. What kind of back alley shithole–

The resentful thought was knocked out of you along with the wind in your lungs as a shoulder collided with you — a pair of men with their hands in the pockets of their puffers steamrolled past you, noisy raillery as they went through the entrance. 

Attendees of the fight, you supposed – hoped – because you elected to follow them, with no other recourse, head held low under the hood of your jacket to avoid the rain. 

You elbowed the glass swinging door when the men in front of you didn’t hold it for you, and immediately you heard the rowdy din of a crowd elsewhere in the building, muffled by walls or floors. The interior was brutally bright, beaming fluorescent bars hung ungracefully from the ceiling, their glow bouncing off the painted white cinderblock of the walls and onto the peeling grey linoleum. 

Some kind of club or gym, you ascertained – peering down the halls and into doors, you spotted weights and bars, foam mats, black-and-red punching bags hanging from chains. 

You were suddenly fraught with the same discomfiture that simmered whenever you were somewhere you didn’t belong. You followed the men through another set of doors, and down a long flight of stairs — the light of the fluorescents gradually grew dimmer as you descended into the darkness, where the hammering of an unruly crowd only became louder. The walls were unpainted in the subterranean floor of the building, and instead gave way to raw cement. At the base of the stairs was a small queue that disappeared around a corner, and you self-consciously stood behind the pair of men you had stalked there. 

Uncertainty roiled in your stomach, suddenly feeling as though you had made a terrible mistake — the basement was dark, and loud, and it struck you that the only voices you heard were male. You should have had a drink before you left. And just as you anxiously considered turning around, three more babbling men piled in behind you, sandwiching you between the groups of them, conspicuously alone. 

As the line moved forward, it became clear that the queue was held up by bouncer, and you were next up. A tall man with thick arms, disconcertingly vascular, sinewy neck as thick as a buffalo’s — you wondered if he was a fighter himself, moonlighting as security for the fight. 

“This in’t a nightclub, pet,” he informed you roughly, and as though only just noticing the solitary woman in front of them, you abruptly felt the attention of the men behind you on your back. 

Sure as shit isn’t, you thought to say, but nervousness held your tongue. 

“I’m — yeah, um, I’m here to watch the fight,” you simpered, swallowing after you spoke. 

He let out a huff of laughter at that, and you noticed him catch the eye of the attendees behind you. “Got a ticket, then?”

You gritted your teeth, chewing back curses as you realised the bastard hadn’t even given you one, let alone notified you ahead of time that they would be checking for them. 

Adjusting your fists in the pockets of your puffer coat, you shuffled awkwardly on your feet. “I was invited.” 

“Yeah?” He probed amusedly, “by who?” 

“Simon—” you blurted, cutting yourself off upon realising you didn’t even know the man’s surname. “He’s — um, he’s fighting.” 

The bouncer chortled raucously at that. “Riley?” He laughed, “fuckin’ hell. Alright then. Go on.” 

His tone made your knuckles turn white. What was so funny? “Thanks,” you murmured. 

“Good luck,” he jeered after you, and before you were compelled to ask for what, he was already conversing with the men behind you. 

There was a short and narrow corridor of cement and dim yellow lights around the corner, old posters tacked to the walls, and the commotion of the crowd made your ears reel as it bounced off the concrete. The air was heavy and hot, dense with smoke and body heat, and you suddenly felt too warm for your puffer. You shucked it from your shoulders as you reached the end of the tunnel, sucking down a deep breath as you were birthed right into the snake pit. 

The room within was far larger than you would have believed possible, concrete ceilings high enough that they faded into the darkness. The crowd was deep, droning, perhaps three- or four-hundred strong. All seated in or standing around their rows of plastic chairs, bottles of beer and cigarettes in hand. 

You held your breath as you charily scanned the cement cavern, absorbing all the details you could fit in your congested mind, and wondering if you might see Simon lurking somewhere, waiting for you. But the space swam in shadows, barely lit by the odd crimson lightbulb hung on long wires from the ceiling; the audience’s faces only illuminated by the floodlights that hung in the centre of the atrium – blindingly bright and stark cold, they hammered down on the square ring underneath.

There, you caught sight of him. His back to you, standing in the corner and leaning on the ropes, shoving the end of an unbranded drink bottle into his mouth. You knew it was him by the buzzed auric hair that cladded his skull, the still staggering breadth of his titanic shoulders, the inky scratchings of his tattoos that sheathed his left arm and crept across his chuck to lick his neck. 

You found something of a fissure between the drunken spectators, so you gawkliy weaseled yourself through the braying men on your way to the seat you hoped had indeed been saved for you. 

And as though he had scented you on your approach, Simon’s head perked and turned over his shoulder, and his beady eyes immediately fastened on you. A rakish grin stretched in his lips as you came to a stop by the ropes – thankfully unimpeded – and he turned his gargantuan body to face you fully. 

You hadn’t yet seen him without a shirt on, and the gauzy disbelief was plastered across your face at the sight of him up close. Cumbersome muscles wrapped his ironclad form like the overworked meat of a bull, almost doughy with the lard layer of a well-fed man. His chest was stocky and broad, alabaster skin smeared with freckles and grisly mauve scars, hirsute with a coating of wheaten curls. 

He crouched down with spread knees to get a shred closer to your height, the stage of the ring a good metre off the ground. He wrapped his thick fists around the ropes, and peered at you through them as though behind bars. You tried not to glance down the leg of his shorts that hung loose from his thighs. 

“Look at you,” he crooned, toothy and oozing satisfaction. “Didn’t think you’d show up, pretty.” 

Your stomach went all tight when he called you that. “Didn’t you?” 

“Thought I was a dickhead,” he derided, a breathy chuckle at the memory of your churlish insult. 

“You are.” 

He tilted his head, no argument. “Just came to watch me lose, eh?” 

You cracked a smile at that, and his gratification at your capitulating scorn practically dripped from him. Sick of your bitching, so he said. 

“Yep,” you said, through a simper. 

He looked over his shoulder, then briefly leaned to the side – he pointed behind him with his thumb. “There’s your winner, then.” 

In the far corner, you saw his opponent. 

Not quite as tall but somehow heavier, so laden with muscle that he looked encumbered by it – but he couldn’t have been, not given how he bounced on the balls of his feet like he weighed a hundred kilos less, shanks turning carved and solid with every hop. He shook out the hocks of his arms, contorting his neck to stretch out the tight meat. 

The man wore an unkempt mohawk down the crest of his skull, shaven sides a few weeks grown-out, mottled by the little pink knicks of healed scars. His carved cheeks were coated in a poorly kempt stubble, brows pulled together in concentration, a deep crease between them. 

You froze when he noticed you staring – snagged your probing eyes with a tumid smirk – and cold embarrassment ran down your spine. 

You quickly looked back at Simon, who was all but chortling at you.  

“Not as pretty as me, is he.” 

You couldn’t think of a witty riposte before your mouth began to speak – almost formed the words just as pretty – but you at least had the sense not to inspirit him. “That’s your friend?”

He shrugged facetiously. “Wouldn’t go that far.” 

In the nebulous vacuum of the atrium you heard a bell chime, three sharp dings, and the already tumultuous crowd erupted into an uproar that made you wince. Time to fight. He glanced over his shoulder, kept a few short moments to bid you farewell before he turned into the bout. 

“Do I get a kiss for luck?” He goaded, and you could tell by the mordant tone in his throat he expected you to say no. 

And you did. Gave him an unflinching shake of your head and a pert smile. “You haven’t earned one.” 

He grinned wide at that, barbed and cocksure, as he stuffed a rubbery black mouthguard into his mouth and clacked it into place over his teeth with his thumbs. There was something rabid in his eyes, stark-black and puncturing, edacious at the challenge you had given him and rearing red-hot to fight for you. To earn his prize. 

Your stomach knotted up at the thought, and it made you a little queasy. 

He had already demonstrated an effrontery in his nature, forcibly indulging you with a hand over your mouth and fingers between your legs – an act he decided he didn’t need to earn. He just did. 

You couldn’t help but envisage what he might feel emboldened to do once he believed that he had earned it. What prizes he’d purloin from you. 

You hurriedly swung your head around to find yourself a seat. An empty chair – thank god – wedged between two bulky strangers, one in a suit and the other in a wifebeater. No indication that it was for you, specifically, but you elected to claim it. It was a good spot, too. Right in the middle, not at a corner. The men beside you paid no mind to you, eyes (and likely wallets) rapt in the fight. 

The two bulls in the ring turned to face each other, bouncing heavy on their feet, shaking out every meaty limb and rolling their ox shoulders. Adrenaline thrummed in your chest and sat high and humid on the back of your neck – the kind of heady anxiousness that felt like a hunk of steak between your teeth, one you weren’t allowed to bite into.  

An announcer stood in the centre of the ring, microphone in hand, a snaking wire hanging out of its base and coiling across the foam floor. He opened with gentlemen – the lack of a preceding ladies felt pointed and offputting – and his spiel lacked the dramatic flair you had seen once or twice in a televised match. 

No, instead, he bellowed gruesome statistics into the mic with no polish or class, and your mind went fuzzy as you absorbed it. 

Fighting out of Glasgow and still a little wet behind the ears. Record of 33 wins and 1 loss. 21 wins by way of knockout. Weighing in at 109kg. 1.88 metres tall. In the blue corner, slipperiest cunt alive – Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish. 

In the red corner, a fucking ugly Mancunian with 41 wins, 3 draws, and 4 losses. 37 knockouts. 113kg. 1.97 metres tall. Deadliest southpaw this side of the Pennines – Simon ‘The Ghost’ Riley.

They smile at each other, frothing at the mouth and manic in the eyes, mouthguards making their lips all puffy and dumb. Even quantified, their magnitude is challenging to fathom. You can almost feel the ground vibrate as they jounce on the foamy canvas, watching their heavy muscles jiggle and tighten with each movement.  

Final decider of the trilogy. One win each. Odds are in the Ghost’s favour tonight – old dog with old tricks – four-to-six. Glaswegian underdog odds at six-to-five. Get your wagers in. 

There was something decidedly boorish about the way the announcer roared into the mic, the scathing badinage he spewed towards the two fighters had you believing he must have known them personally. There was nothing legitimate about any of it, when you came to think of it – a considerable griminess sunk heavy in the air and filled up your nose, and you didn’t know how you hadn’t noticed it earlier. 

The frigid realisation rinsed you like cold water, when the announcer stood between them and they raised their fists – ungloved. Wrapped only in tape, a few thick layers over their knuckles, but not remotely thick enough to protect their own bones, let alone their opponent’s. 

Simon invited you to a fucking bareknuckle. You weren’t there to watch a boxing match, you were there to watch bloodsport. 

Suddenly, the knot in your guts wrenched a lot tighter. The label of deadliest carried the weight of feasibility, however horrific the notion was for you to swallow. Distended dread simmered in your stomach and singed your throat.

So why were you on the edge of your seat? 

The dings of the bell made you jump, and the announcer hopped out of the ring as though fleeing from an unspent grenade. No referee. 

The two beasts faced down in earnest, smiles fading – though their impressions remained – huffing and bobbing their heads as though about to charge, loose fists hung in the air close to their faces, heavy cocks bouncing around in their polyester shorts. They were mirror images of each other, minor differences in stature notwithstanding – Simon in his sinistral stance, leading with his left, Johnny with his right. 

They circled each other like sharks, dithering about when to throw the first blow – you saw their mouths move as though speaking to one another, but you couldn’t hear it over the racket of the audience. 

Then, in a blink, Simon jettisoned a fist with such speed and barbarity it blurred through the air, and the smack of its collision cut through the uproar of the crowd – parried, by Johnny’s rigid forearm, and in the flurry Johnny had thrown a retaliatory roundhouse to his adversary’s ribs. 

You winced at every impact as though you could feel the strike on your own skin — they were so fucking brutal with each other, not dampened by even an ounce of concern nor a drop of reservation. No, they bulleted fist after fist, and the blunt smacks of knuckles beating thick meat made your teeth chatter with every collision. 

Round one was over as soon as it had started — three harsh dings of the bell, and then carnivores pulled away from each other, lumbering to their corners and grabbing their drink bottles. 

Simon was already dripping with sweat; he was glossy with it as though freshly showered, it beaded along his brow and traveled in rivulets down his back. His chest hounded with each haggard breath, he wiped his nose with his forearm and met your eye. 

You shrunk a little under his stare, because it didn’t look like him. Not to say you were exceedingly familiar with his face — only the third date, after all – but there was something potently unhuman in him. A reflection of some omophagous barbarian, a minotaur in both stature and constitution. 

He gave you no acknowledgement beyond a blink. He turned his back to you without so much of a nod, shaking himself out like a wet dog. His ferine mind was utterly ensnared by the hunt, you could see it on him, his eyes bulged with it. All red and frayed around the edges. 

Three dings. Round two. 

Their blood-hungry ferocity did not hamper, their vigour to remain at each other’s throats seemingly inexhaustible – the sheer violence made your eyes go glassy, delirious in morbid shock, unable to look away and yet unable to watch too attentively. Knuckles to cheekbones, to ribs, to ears; a volley of savage strikes that seemed aimless and unending, until–

Johnny’s gauzed fist slammed into Simon’s jaw, a blow that he almost followed to the ground, and hot red blood rained out from the site of impact. Splattered carmine in a fan across the grey canvas mat. Simon let out a currish snarl as he turned his head to shake out the blow, and the audience erupted into a deafening furore. Betters on the underdog especially jubilant, you supposed. 

The bells dinged. Round ended. 

When Simon turned to return to his corner and you got a glance of him, nausea climbed foamy up your throat. Blood cascaded from a deep split in his top lip, saturating his chin in bright-red that oozed down his neck and chest, pooling between his pectorals. Looked as if he had been down on all fours, tearing raw meat off the bones of a fresh catch with his teeth, letting the mess plaster him in his ravening. 

You couldn’t look away from him. Something purely eolithic, primitive, animal, simmered in the back of your head, sent leery little shivers down the nape of your neck, coiled up tight between your legs. Why was your mouth watering? 

“That oughtta hurt y’old bastard,” called Johnny from the far corner, voice plush with pride, beaming with it. “Maybe ah’ll win the prize, after all.” 

Your fingernails nearly tore ladders in your stockings. Was he talking about you? 

Simon’s head rocked back from his shoulders, and he cracked a smile, stretching the deep rupture in his lip. Riled. Pumped so full of epinephrine and testosterone that he hardly flinched. He turned back in. Ready to combust. 

The instant the bells chimed – round three – he charged. Hooked a colossal leg around the back of his opponent’s knee, and they were quickly down and knotted on the mat.

You knew vaguely that boxing was fists only – nothing below the belt, no holds – and yet, they wrestled around on the floor like it were a different sport entirely, flinging punches and elbows and hooks from prone positions, growling like skirmishing bears in the frenzy.

A few flips of heavy bodies and Simon had Johnny flat on his back, leviathan knees either side of his hips. Simon curled forward, then, pinning Johnny down with entangled arms – and ran his mouth and nose down the length of his opponent’s neck, smearing a painting of fresh blood over his sweat-soaked skin. Johnny bucked and kicked in an almost pitiful effort to free himself, but in so doing only had more of Simon’s blood slathered across his collar; some on his cheek, some in his mouth. 

You were by turn muddled and revolted by the roiling heat in your core at the sight – repugnant, you thought, unjustifiable– 

WIth a hard buck the Glaswegian broke himself free, and with a twist, managed to land an elbow into the side of Simon’s head, a hard crunch of bone on bone. 

Simon was inexplicably unruffled, his injurious grin almost pleased at the challenge – but with a rapid bludgeon square in Johnny’s nose, he finished the fight, and that was that. Johnny’s head ricocheted off the foam, and still twisted up with his rival, blinked dimly at the ceiling. 

You didn’t even know the man, and you felt pity for him hard and cold in your chest – always sympathised with the underdog, couldn’t help it. He lay there with his hands on his chest as Simon pushed himself to stand, towering over his victim, rolling out his shoulders after the exertion. In the pandemonium the announcer thundered out the count to ten, and when Johnny only rolled onto his side to let the blood of his broken nose pour from his mouth and not down his throat, the count concluded with a deafening knockout. 

If you thought the spectators were loud before, now you knew the true meaning of the word – chaotic uproar that shook the walls of the building, the triumphant howling of those who had bet on the southpaw almost as strident as the upheaval of the ones that bet on the wrong dog. You stood up to hesitantly applaud alongside the men beside you, only fearful that if you remained seated you’d get swallowed up by the stampede. 

In the uproar Simon turned pointedly to face you, his savage eyes riveted to yours – and, like that, the rest of the building sloughed away. It was only him, the fleshy beast, and you, glossy-eyed in his crosshairs. 

There was a weight in how he looked at you, something foregone, a fate already decided on your behalf. You felt it tugging you downward, hanging from your neck, and you could only stand there and wait for it to happen. 

He won. 

You couldn’t put up much of a fuss, after that. He hopped out of the ring once the show had ended, landing on the hard ground beneath with a thud. His eyes were peeled, his pupils pin-pricked, honed in, and you could only hold your breath as he paraded towards you. 

He reached out to take your jaw in his bloody hands, thumb and fingers dimpling your cheeks as he yanked you into a revolting, blood-soaked kiss - his lips were pillowy, wet with sweat and smeared in hot blood, and you could taste the briny metal in your mouth. Tasted like butter and corroded iron. It was awkward too to kiss him over his mouthguard, cumbrous in his mouth, you could feel its rubber on your bottom lip when he sucked it between his teeth. 

You wrestled him on instinct, smacking him on the chest to deter him, and your palm was instantly clammy with his sweat. There were people, men, surrounding you on all sides – spectating, jeering, hollering at the show the boxer was putting on for them. It made you shrivel in humiliation, and it only made Simon chortle. 

He burrowed under his lips with his free fingers as he separated from you – your jaw still in hand – hooking his fingernails into his mouthguard and unsealing it from his teeth with a pop. He pulled it out of his mouth with a repulsive slurp, dragging gooey bands of blood and saliva along with it that clung to his bottom lip. 

He grinned at you, then, and slick red filled every gap in his teeth, pooled at the corners of his mouth like a fucking rabid dog, and you could see the dark exposed flesh between the split in his lip. It made you shiver. It made your chest hot. 

He wiped away the blood he left on your mouth with a thumb. “Where’s my prize, pretty.” 

There was little you could do as he ferried you through the dissipating crowd, patting you on the bottom like he was guiding a cow, and you felt him huffing hot air down the back of your neck. 

When you initially hesitated to go anywhere with him, as he was, he threatened to throw you over his shoulder instead. And that, somehow, would have been even more mortifying than being publicly carted off to be victory-fucked by the champion, so you swallowed your pride and walked instead. 

Walking, if you could call it that – he was at your heels, practically driving you for the entire distance from the ring to an inconspicuous corridor at the quiet end of the atrium, out of sight and in the shadows. He all but pushed you there, nudging behind you if you walked too slowly, giving you a smack to coax you forward. Not the same entrance you had arrived through, but your frenetic thoughts hadn’t quite grasped that yet. 

“In ‘ere,” he instructed flatly, hooking a finger into the collar of your t-shirt to stop you from walking onwards. 

A door with a window at eye-height, steel-meshed glass that did not obscure anything behind it.

“What’s in there?” You asked quietly, perhaps stupidly, because he let out a huff of laughter at the question. 

“What d’you think,” was all he said, and your stomach dropped. 

You opened it with shaky fingers and shuffled inside. More gym, by the looks, though the room was dim and expansive; more empty boxing rings – practice rings, you supposed – punching bags and gloves hanging from walls, and the entire floor of the room padded in black rubber. 

It dawned on you, then, with a hot flush down your spine. “We’re - we’re not going back to yours?”

He was pressing behind you by the time you finished the question, nudging you deeper into the room, and he already had his sticky hands bunching up the bottom of your t-shirt. “Not waiting that long.”

Your lungs shrunk, suddenly too small to suck in a deep breath, so you sipped at the air like it was liquid; he flayed off your t-shirt in one go, forcing your arms up into the air to pull it from your head. Your hairs stood on end as he dropped it to the mat – the air was dusty and cool but were blistering hot to the touch, blood simmering in your veins. He could probably see it, rising blush-red in the back of your neck, sweaty at the nape. 

He huffed approvingly, and you winced when he snapped the band of your bra against your back. He hunched over your shoulder, looking down your chest – his humid arms hooked under yours, pumped up and vascular after their carnage, and seized your breast in a monstrous hand. He kneaded it roughly through the cup for his own gratification – paid no care to the chirp of pain that jumped from your throat at the needless strength of his grip, the firm core of your breast aching in the vice. 

“Nice little bra,” he grumbled. “Put it on just f’me, eh?”

You only panted, bashfully avoiding a real answer. Because, you did. You knew exactly where this night was headed, what you girded yourself for – you just didn’t expect that it would happen here, like this, while he was soaked in sweat and blood and ripe with lust worked up in the fight. 

“Knew you were a slut,” he said, under his breath, mouth and nose pushing into the crook of your shoulder and getting a good sniff. “Mh. Moment I saw ya.” 

You reeled at the denigration, so acrid it made you shiver. Praise webbed in his repugnant words, though — he said it hungrily, exuberantly, exalting you for it. Made your guts go all twisty. Made fluid heat sink downwards and pool in your core. 

His blood was viscid and icky on your skin, smeared up your shoulder — he was unperturbed by his injury, almost excited to get you covered in it, to mark you with it like a pack animal. 

“I’m not,” you breathed, no real defense, and he chuckled at that. 

“Yeah, y’are. Just picky, eh?” He crooned. “Made me fuckin’ work for it, didn’t ya?”

He unclasped your bra with deft fingers, and it came loose with a pop. As though he had made some unspoken command, you shimmied your straps down your shoulders for him, and let it fall from your arms. 

He took you by the hips and spun you to face him. Shark eyes sunk instantly to your tits when they bounced with the motion, and a pleased curl tugged in his lips.

“Mh, look a’ that,” he murmured to himself, thumbing your pebbled nipple and chuckling breathily when you squeaked at his pinch.

His heavy hand slid then your shoulder, giving you a downward nudge. 

“Knees, pretty,” he grunted dryly. “Suck it for a bit.” 

Your fingers went cold, blinking up at him as though feigning innocence might appeal to his human instincts. His face was stony, and the needle-sized holes of his pupils gave you no sympathy nor patience. Refusal crossed your mind, a gust of air, fleeting and skittish—

A transient thought, really, because there was no refusing him, and the thought of daring to frightened you more than the thought of a sweaty cock in your throat. 

Your eyes travelled the length of his torso as you awkwardly lowered yourself to your knees. Sweat pooled in the pit between his pectorals, sticky with congealing blood that clumped in the sedges of his chest hair. A thick and ungroomed blanket of straw curls trailed down from his navel, over the slight chub of his lower stomach, primordial padding over the rigid abdominals underneath. Met with the satin polyester waistband of his red-and-black shorts, loose on his thighs – the sheeny fabric strained where his cock hung heavy, and you could see every ridge of vein and head through the satin. 

You swallowed, and he huffed impatiently. 

With a wrapped hand he yanked down the front of his shorts – no briefs underneath — he unsheathed his cock with a fist around his base and narrowly missed hitting you in the nose with it. You concealed a grimace at the sight of it, inches from your face – it was ugly, burly, mauve at the smooth head, ruddy foreskin pulled back by his fist. Roped with plum veins that webbed under the rubicund skin, shuddering with heat.  

More frighteningly, though, was its magnitude – fucking prodigious thing, fat from base to tip, thick like a log and so long it made you dizzy with dread to even consider taking it in your mouth, let alone in the cunt that tightened up at the thought. 

You shouldn’t have been shocked, really – anything smaller would have looked disproportionate to the behemothic size of him. And yet, alarm was bright and hot in your face, and your throat dried up as you looked at it for too long. 

Simon chuffed, amused. Ego stroked. He fixed a hand to the back of your head, and a breath lodged your throat.

“Not gonna suck itself,” he growled, lightly slapping his cock against your cheek. “Open up.”

You drew in a shaky breath, resting a flat hand on his hip to balance yourself, and curled your trembling fingers around his shaft. Fist now free from carrying the weight of it, he combed his thick fingers through your hair at the crown of your head — not to encourage, only for a better grip. 

With parted lips you leaned forward, jutting out a wet tongue and running it from halfway up his shaft, along the ridge, to the underside of his head, and he let out a grunting sigh that made your nerves spark and your head spin. 

After another lick and a tug on the back of your head, you finally summoned the bravery to open your mouth — unhinged your jaw to allow his cock to fit, and it jerked in your mouth when you wrapped your lips around it. 

It was salty and sticky with sweat, fetid with the musk of riled up testosterone. You might have found it unpleasant if you weren’t dazed by your own concupiscence, molten lust roiling in your belly and turning the flavour of him into a sapid aphrodisiac. Your eyes fluttered shut as you tried to inch it deeper into your mouth, but the enormous pressure of the back of your tongue made you gag loudly around it. 

“Bit big for that little mouth, eh?” He preened hoarsely, but he took no pity. The hand on the back of your head was unforgiving and coaxed you forward with a nudge. “Easy. Wider. Careful with those teeth.”

Your eyes began to water as he stuffed himself deeper, driving you by the skull, until the thick head of his cock plugged the back of your throat and you could no longer breathe through your nose. You could only hold on to the air already in your lungs, wrenching shut your eyes as he drove his hips slowly forward, cockhead against your tonsils. 

“Mh,” he groaned, “tight little throat. Might park up in here.”

You blinked up at him when he said that, eyes wide and wet with strained tears as you silently pleaded with him through your clumped lashes. 

“Oh, girl, you wouldn’t like that would you?” He jeered, grinning at the terror printed on your face, “you want me in your cunt, eh?”

A whimper got stuck in your chest when the tip of his cock hit the flat wall at the very back of your throat, and your heart rate began to decelerate with the lack of oxygen in your blood. Chest ached with the need to breathe. 

“Poor girl,” he mumbled lowly, hand lodged at the back of your head and not allowing you to reel away. Cold horror rinsed you at the rigidity of his grip, a reminder of his strength, a hint at the sadism that bubbled under the surface of his skin. He wouldn’t let you breathe. “Neglected little cunt, I bet. She hungry, eh?” 

Your vision began to double, black spots around your periphery as you choked on him — you wondered if your cheeks were turning blue, and you wondered if he enjoyed the sight. 

“Can’t breathe, pretty?” He said, as you put both fists on his hips, shoving with all of your might — his massive hands kept your head utterly still, right where he wanted it. “‘M only halfway in and you’re choking. Not used to this eh?” 

He finally pulled his pelvis back, releasing the suction in your throat and forcing you to gag, and you were at last able to breathe — you heaved deep a breath through your runny nose, and the rush of oxygen made your head spin. He grunted as he raked out his cock from your mouth entirely, and it dropped heavy once it pulled out from between your lips. A long string of gooey saliva drooled from your mouth, and suddenly your entire head felt empty and hollow. 

You sniffed, wiping your nose and wet cheeks with your palms, your tears scarcely abating. A thick finger hooked under your chin and hinged up your head on your neck, forcing you to look at him. 

“None o’ that,” he growled, rubbing an errant tear away with the pad of his thumb. “Don’t want tears.”

“Sorry,” you squeaked on instinct, fearful of reproach, and a satisfied smile cracked briefly in his lips. 

He stepped around you, then, circling you like a vulture before looming behind you, and you remained dead still on your knees. A harsh hand fitted at the back of your neck and abruptly shoved you forward — you bleated as you tipped over and landed on your palms, on all fours on the padded floor. 

The ground vibrated under you as you heard him drop to his knees behind you, heart in your throat. “Gotta get a look at my prize.” 

He lifted up the back of your miniskirt, holding it against your lower back — before you heard him growl indignantly, and your skin prickled up. 

“The fuck’d I tell you about stockings,” he snarled, the indignant anger rumbling in his throat made your teeth chatter. He swiftly had his paws on your ass, fingers clawing up the stretchy nylon into fists and immediately tearing the thin fabric along the seam that flossed you with a shrill zip. “Just get in the fuckin’ way.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered. You were appalled by your own obsequiousness – your lust rendered you sycophantic, grovelling, too eager to please. 

He let out a low huff of laughter. “Mh, all sweet now, aren’t ya?”

You felt his thumb wedge itself in the cleft of your ass, over the fabric of your knickers – you squeaked and tensed up when he pressed against your asshole, and he chuckled to himself. He dragged it down to the dip of your cunt, and he exhaled hoarsely. 

“Messy little thing,” he grumbled, hooking his thumb under your gusset and dipping between your folds, and you caught your tongue in your teeth. “Barely touched you and y’already ruined your knickers.” 

The rich pride in his voice made you melt, a potent inebriant that made your mind go foggy and your tongue wet. 

“Waited for me, did ya?” He asked huskily, heavy breathing growing more laboured with each inhale. You nodded obediently. “D’you stick your fingers in y’self while you waited?”

“No,” you breathed, eyes on the mat underneath you, though they fluttered shut when the tip of his thumb grazed your clitoris, pointedly declining it too much attention. 

“No?” He badgered, incredulously, you could hear the toothy grin through his voice. “Not even one?” 

“I didn’t,” you insisted weakly, shaking your head. 

“Haven’t come in a while then, have ya?” 

“I haven’t,” you promised. 

He grunted in approval, and his hands slid to the waist of your skirt. “No wonder y’been so bitchy,” he grumbled. “All worked up and fuckin’ grumpy.” 

He jerked down your bottoms with enough force that you heard seams popping, and you yelped – he shucked them down your thighs with little grace, and you fell flat on your belly as he straightened out your legs to tear them off entirely. 

“Just need a good fuck to sweeten y’up, eh?” He gibed, hooking both mammoth hands into your waist and hoisting your hips upward, propping you up on your knees. 

He hunched over the back of you, then, and you felt his cock rest heavy on your rear. He fixed a hand to the nape of your neck, resting a portion of his weight (you were sure that any more would snap your spine under his hand) to pin you down. 

“Don’t you?” He pressed, hucking up a lump of blood-drenched spit into the fingertips of his left hand, and he reached back to smear the emulsion against your already sodden cunt. 

“Yeah,” you chirped as he pushed a wide finger into your hole, voice high-pitched and laboured under his restraint. 

The girth of one rough finger was already enough to sting, even with the amount of slick that had saturated you – you shivered in dread at the weight of his cock against the crease of your ass, at the thought of your neglected cunt having to tear itself in half to just to fit him. 

And then he pushed another finger in, and your vision went blurry. 

“Gorgeous little cunt,” he hummed to himself. “Nice n’ wet. Must be aching, mh?” 

Restless, his fingers slipped out from you and he straightened his back, holding his cock and smacking it against your asshole, and your whole body went stiff. 

To your dizzying relief he instead dragged his blunt head down the cleft of you, nestling in the slick folds of your pussy – he offered you no time to gird yourself, bucking his hips forward and stuffing his cock deep into your cunt whether you liked it or not. 

A pained shriek erupted from your chest as he drove into you, cockhead ramming into the plug of your womb with a force that winded you, the girth nearly ripping the thin skin of your entrance as it bulldozed itself to the root. Turned quarry in the shock you jerked underneath him to unskewer yourself, wriggling eagerly to slither free. 

“Get back ‘ere,” he grunted disapprovingly, yanking you back and hoisting your hips back up. He snatched your clawing hand by the wrist, twisted it behind your back and pinned it to the arch in your spine. “Too late to run away now, pretty.” 

He wrestled you until you stilled underneath him, and you whimpered as he coiled back his hips and proffered you a very fleeting reprieve. 

“S’that hurt, mh?” He queried wretchedly, and you squeezed shut your eyes as you nodded your head. He pushed into you again, only slightly slower, and you could only whine underneath him. 

“Yes, fuck–” you sobbed, seeing stars in the struggle. “It hurts–”

He hummed, almost cooing at you. “Won’t hurt for long, love.” 

With his non-restraining hand embedded in the flesh of your ass, he rocked into you again, and you nearly bit your tongue off. Your body was as stiff as a board, every muscle tensed to brace yourself for each thrust – and each push stung, a shooting pain that bulleted up your spine every time he hit the deepest part of you. You could only squeak and hiccup and wriggle when he allowed you, but he kept you firm to the floor. 

Only when his rhythm steadied, and he let out low groans of satisfaction into your back, did your bones begin to loosen. The sharp pain abated into a swollen pleasure as your walls gripped and fluttered around his cock, each rut driving you deeper into the padded floor. 

“Mh,” he crooned, when your yelps softened into fluid whining. “Tha’s it. Just needed to stretch ‘er out a bit.”

You felt hot dribbles on your back, rilled up your spine and dripped onto the mat – his blood, leaking from the still fresh split in his lip, you heard him lick his teeth. It should have disturbed you, his iron-reeking blood drooling onto your bare skin, smeared around by the arm against your back. Instead it made you dizzy with some feral, animalistic lechery.

It made the air smell like rust and sex, and you felt like a rabbit caught in the wolf’s maw. You wondered if he’d sink his teeth into you. You couldn’t ignore the thought of his blood and his spit being fucked into the deep ridges of your cunt. Maybe the mucosa of your pussy would imbibe it and his impression would be permanently embedded in the sticky depths of you. 

“Fuckin’ perfect cunt,” he groaned, speeched slurred by his own intoxicant pleasure. He lifted a kneeling leg and planted his foot flat on the floor to drive himself deeper, greedy hands burrowing into the flesh of your hips as he speared himself into you. “Kept it nice and tight for me, didn’t ya?” 

You nodded winsomely, cheek smushed against the mat underneath you, panting out whines that left humid fog on the rubber. 

He snorted, then spat, and you felt a wad of warm saliva land directly on your puckered hole. It twitched on reflex, and you sucked a sharp gust of air between your teeth — he rubbed your other hole with the pad of his thumb, gradually increasing the pressure, coaxing it to loosen for him. 

“Pretty little asshole, too,” he mumbled gruffly, a growl in his throat that made your hairs stand on end and your body turn rigid. “Y’ever had something in here, girl?” 

You whimpered, heart racing with such ferocity it made your temples throb and your eyes sore. 

“No, I—” You chirped through a held breath, interrupted by a buck of his hips and a pounding into your cervix. “I h-haven’t.”

He exhaled, deep and throaty. “We’ll ‘ave to change that.”

A squeak lept from your throat when his thick thumb pushed through the clenching entrance, constricting around his knuckle as he stretched it open, until his palm was flush with your rump. 

“Mh — fuck. Be a shame to neglect a cute little hole like this, eh?” 

You expected it to hurt, braced yourself for the sting — but in your fuck-drunk stupor you let him in with a comfortable ease, and it felt good. 

A winded whine seeped out from your chest as you took what he gave you, a renewed surge of heat and slick flooded into your cunt and dribbled down your leg. 

“Like that, do ya?” He purred, tugging at the thumb inside you and pushing it in again with the rhythm of his ruts. “All your little holes stuffed?”

You babbled like an idiot, whining and squeaking as he savagely fucked into you with a bestial vigour. Yes, yes, please, yes—

His pace only hardened as he chased his release, panting like a dog and dripping his blood and sweat down your spine. Your knees began to ache under the weight of him, rocking forward with every thrust, grinding against the concrete under the thin rubber. 

“Mh — perfect little thing — takin’ my cock like a fucking angel, eh? Fuckin’ made for it, just for me, just for me to fuck proper—”

His ravening tirade turned you to pudding, rugged voice breaking with the fury of his pleasure, bullying your cunt as deep as you’d take him. 

“Shit—” He grunted through teeth, leaning his full weight into you and making your eyes water with the strain on your neck. He chased a few hard ruts, blunt head shoved hard against your cushiony cervix as his cock jerked inside you. “Agh — fuckin’ Christ—”

You gasped in shock when you felt his come pump into you, pressure building against your womb as he filled you up so full you worried you’d pop. 

“Simon—” You squeaked on instinct, unsure if out of maligned pleasure or the brief flash to reality that slapped you in the face — he fucked you without protection. 

“Yeah, pretty thing—” he puffed deeply, sinking down onto your back as his fervour was drained out of him and into your pulsing cunt.

With that, reality flitted away as fast as it appeared. 

A mournful sigh escaped you when he slipped his cock out of your pussy, his warm come quickly drooling out of your hole once it was no longer plugged; it ran down your thighs and dribbled onto the mat beneath you. He plucked his thumb from your pinched hole and rested himself on your rear. You felt immediately and woefully hollow, holes shuddering around nothing so eagerly they ached. 

“Simon,” you whinged, repeating his name, with your motivation utterly eluding you. 

“You’ll get yours, girl,” he growled breathlessly, come-sated sweetness gone as it came. “One fuckin’ second.”

Something abominable had slithered into your mind and taken root, you thought. The vitriol in his words should have made you bristle, but it only made you needier. Maybe it spoke to a recondite self-loathing buried so deep in your soul you had never touched it, let alone acknowledged it. Maybe you just liked the way his harsh voice went all gravelly when he snarled at you. 

You yipped as he suddenly grabbed you by the hips, his recovery brief, and you were flipped unceremoniously. Landed on your back with a thud, limbs flailing in the blur — he grabbed you by the ankle and dragged your body towards him, held your legs open where he was kneeled between them. 

He caught your eye, then; beady, shark-like, a glint of insatiable hunger that reflected in the pools of black. The split in his lip had reopened in his fervour, and his blood oozed fresh and red down his chin, into his teeth. Didn’t hamper him, though – he burrowed his gluttonous fingers into your hips and lifted your lower half off the floor. 

A yelp of disbelief jumped from your throat as he hitched your thighs over his shoulders, pelvis in the air while your head remained balanced on the mat. Only on your back, glancing briefly around the room, were you suddenly reminded of where you were. 

Fucking the southpaw on the floor, in the middle of a somewhat public gym – you could still hear the murmurings of the audience still in the building, and only then noticed that Simon had left the door to the quiet room ajar. 

“Wai– wait, wait– Simon–” You stammered, watching as he licked the blood from his teeth, wolf-eyes peering at you from over your mound. 

Figures that he didn’t care to listen. He buried his mouth in your cunt with the ferocity of a starved animal, flat tongue smearing over your slit for a taste, before he suctioned your clitoris into his mouth as though he might drink an orgasm out of you. 

Not remotely put off by the surfeit of his come that still leaked from you, nor by the open wound in his mouth that weeped blood into your cunt, amalgamating with your fluids and his into some abhorrent concoction of lust and violence. No, in fact, he ate you with such a hunger that he must have been deliriously relishing in the debauchery of it all.  You felt the emulsion drool down the valleys of your groin, glossy red beads trailing down your belly and between your breasts in rivulets. You felt it drip from your neck, into your hair. 

“Ah – fuck–” You whined helplessly, arching your spine, heels inadvertently slamming into the meat of his back. 

He groaned into your cunt as he sucked your clit between his teeth, seemingly fighting the urge to bite, and the vibrations of his low voice made a shudder wrack you from your skull to the soles of your feet. His grasp of your hips was harsh, thumbs burrowing into the tender pits of flesh behind the bone, and it only made the surging pleasure in your core even more voltaic. 

More than a week since the last time you came, and that was at the plastic hand of a shitty bullet vibrator you got for free with a magazine; a climax so unsatisfying and meaningless it left you feeling emptier than you did beforehand. A week since he had brought you so close with his vindictive fingers, and a week of trying to recreate the feeling of his with your own, only to be sorely disappointed every time you tried. Worked up and grumpy, so he said–

It didn’t take him long to bring you to the same point he left you, burning and twitching and squealing under his touch – but this time had you seeing stars, had you bucking into his head like you might suffocate him with your pussy. You were sure he’d be pleased if you did, because he didn’t once come up for air. Kept your clit in his bloody mouth, under his lapping tongue with a consistency of pace and pressure that made your ears ring. 

But, you could still hear the creak of a hinge. 

Feel the vibrations of footsteps across the floor. 

Your eyes shot open and you wrenched your neck to look towards the door – an enormously painful angle to have your spine at – and there stood a silhouette of a man, lumbering unfazed into the room. 

“Simon!” You shrieked, kicking his back and writhing in his grip in desperate effort to stop him or break yourself free. A fool’s errand, really. There was no escaping him once he had you in his snare. “Stop, stop – Simon – there’s someone, ah–”

Mortified horror rinsed over you, molten hot, as the man continued his approach, and Simon did not relent. Persisted in laving your clit with unfettered voracity and only reinforcing his grip of your pelvis to keep you still, ruthless fingers implicitly chastising you for making a fuss.  

Only when the voyeur was a few feet from you could you determine who it was – vision significantly impeded by the angle of your head, you only saw him upside down– 

It was Simon’s opponent. 

Johnny. 

He looked down at you with lidded eyes, piercing blue even in the dark. Still in his boxer shorts, shirtless, sculpted muscles of his shoulders and arms carved out by the dim light seeping out from the door behind him. Dabbed under his nose with a blood-soaked towel, before his hand dropped to his side. Even in the darkness you could see the pitch in his shorts. 

Your hackles were raised but your panic was forcibly smothered by your blinding pleasure; incoherent whines and pleas leaping from your throat as you felt your smouldering core unwillingly tighten up, ready to burst despite your humiliation under the eyes of a spectator.  

“Simon – fuck, please, stop – he’s, ah – you’re gonna–”

You were a spluttering mess by the time you were swallowed by the tsunami of your orgasm, so forceful that you suddenly lost the ability to breathe – it ravaged through you in waves that made you buck and wail like he was truly sinking his teeth into your flesh. He might as well have been, with how sensitive your pebbled clit was under his unceasing tongue, all puffy and shuddering after its beating. 

You whined desperately as the shattering climax abated, leaving your muscles frail and your bones all floppy, and any fight within you turned to milk and trickled out of you, buttery and soft. Johnny only watched attentively, and you would have shrivelled up with ignominy if all vitality hadn’t been drained from your body and into Simon’s mouth. 

He finally peeled his lips from you, licking them as though having eaten a succulent meal, and he dropped you from his mouth. Lowered your hips so that your buttocks rested on his lap, legs wrapped around his torso. You could only lie there, utterly breathless, turning your head away from both of them as though that meant they couldn’t see you. 

Simon gave you two reassuring pats on the thigh, wiped his mouth with his other forearm and smeared blood and come through the auburn arm hair that coated it. 

“Tha’ better, pretty?” He purred huskily, thumb grazing your skin. “Better be all nice n’ sweet, now, eh?” 

Johnny lets out a grunt, petulant disappointment in his throat. “So that’s what ye broke my fucken’ nose for.” 

Simon snorted vindictively. “I wasn’t losin’.” 

“S’not fair,” Johnny grumbled. “If I knew that was the prize I woulda snapped yer fucken’ neck.” 

The unbridled violence in the way they spoke to one another made you sweat – laden with something morbid, a perverted hunger woven between every word, oozed from the two of them like tar. 

“Easy, boy,” the southpaw chided roughly. “You’ll talk yourself into another concussion.” 

“Psh,” his opponent retorted. “Yer just worried I’ll clatter ye now that I know the stakes.” 

Simon let out a hoarse huff of laughter at that, unimpressed. Turned to look down at you, wide hand heavy on your lower belly, and he grazed your bullied clit with his thumb. You twitched with the shock, blinking distraught at him through wet lashes. 

“Kid wants a rematch,” he grunted. “What y’reckon, pretty?”

idk guys. don't judge me. i was ovulating while writing this and it has been the kind fugue state where i need skin between my teeth. i hope someone gets what i mean by that