#but like time and time and time and time and time again I’ve had people leave and i’m

[wainawtmai]

thinking of sukuna and bimbo!reader who people assume are a pair of kinky fucks. They see Sukuna’s aggressive demands and your quickness to follow them and think he’s the meanest dom and you his pretty little sub. His to tie up, spank and berate while you mewl and whimper pathetically for more.

well, the two of you are definitely kinky…

…no one would believe that the huge and terrifying Ryomen Sukuna liked to be used and tied up. With pretty pink ropes that you use to bind his thick muscular thighs to his ankles and his arms to his wrists. They wouldn’t believe the way your pretty doe eyes light up sadistically as you edge him till he growls, promising vengeance.

“you wanna cum, ‘kuna?” You ask sweetly, dragging the sparkly peach acrylic of your nail up his twitching, leaking cock. “if I don’t get a response, I’ll leave you here and you’ll have to find your own way out of these ropes.”

“you wouldn’t fucking dare.” He snarls, red eyes leering at you as best as he could in his position. “I’ve had enough, make me come. Now.”

what a brat, you think, though this is standard for him, his dominant attitude and general sense of authority and entitlement. Despite the fact that he was literally trembling with need, cock forming a pool of pre all over his stomach.

“now that’s not nice, ‘kuna,” you pout, nails digging firmly into the hardened length of his cock. Sukuna jolts and grumbles out a curse, come spurting out of his abused cock pathetically. You watch it all with a tight smile, as he comes ropes and ropes all over himself all the while grunting and groaning your name.

“awww, you came,” you coo, loosening your grip around him, “without my permission.” Sukuna could still see your smile through his blurry gaze as he came down from his high, the crazy sort of look in your eyes. He’d done it now.

“just from the feeling of my fingers digging into your cock.” You trace the fading crescent imprints of your nails along his veiny length, humming at the sight, “such a slut for pain aren’t you, ‘kuna? Despite how much you pretend you’re not.” Your right hand once again circles his cum-soaked cock, left stuffing fingers into his mouth to silence him as you stroke him through overstimulation. He immediately bites down on your fingers and growls, straining against the ropes binding him as his cock aches deliciously.

“you asked to come, didn’t you?” You say, “I’m letting you come, ‘kuna.” You giggle as he thrashes against you, drooling all over your fingers as he tries and fails to glare at you through the intertwining pain and pleasure ebbing through him. the ropes feel too tight but the chaffing against his skin only makes his cock harder. he wants to stop—no, he needs to come.

his second orgasm tears through him, his groans soothing out into pathetic muffled moans. But of course you don’t stop, crazy woman. Your hands tighten and squeeze as you stroke him with no remorse. It hurts so good and you fucking know it, know he can’t resist his bottomless need to feel pain.

“do you want me to stop, ‘kuna?” Usually his pride would keep his lips sealed shut, but you’ve fucked everything out of him, loosened his sharp mouth. He doesn’t know how many times he’s come at this point. “Be good and ask nicely.”

you take your fingers out of his mouth and he hates the way he misses the fullness, “don’t…” he croaks, “stop.”

“god, you’re a freak.” You giggle, resuming your movements, relishing the slight whimper in his voice as your hand circles his throat, nails digging into his neck, and force another impossible orgasm out of him.

fuck, sukuna loved hated you.

[theetherealbloom]

Your Love Feels Like A Sunday When You Got Nowhere To Go

Summary: You are Pedro’s date to the SNL 50 celebration as his newly engaged fiancée.

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Suggestive Content, little SMUT, PiV, Dirty Talk, Short but sweet smut, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Dancing, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: Hi! Yes, I am still working on It Could Happen To You. School is being a bitch and I’m just in a weird headspace rn lol.  Anyway, since this is basically a series now… I’ll make a series masterlist for this soon tehe.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Your Love by JISOO

PEDRO PASCAL MAIN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST |

THE BOWERY HOTEL — DAY 

You arrived a day before the taping of the SNL 50th anniversary show, the energy of New York buzzing all around you. But inside the hotel suite, it was just you and Pedro, wrapped up in a world of your own.

Sweet, romantic Pedro. The man who hadn’t stopped calling you wife since he slid that engagement ring onto your finger.

You twirled the sparkling diamond under the dim lighting, still not quite believing it was real. It had been just over a month since Pedro had proposed, and somehow, you were still catching yourself staring at it in disbelief.

From across the room, Pedro watched you, his lips curling into a smirk as he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

“Caught you staring again,” he teased, voice warm with amusement.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “It’s new. Let me have my moment.”

He pushed off the doorway, crossing the room in a few strides before wrapping his arms around your waist. “It’s not new to me,” he murmured against your temple. “I’ve known you were mine for a long time.”

You sighed dramatically, tilting your head back to look at him. “I’m not your wife yet, Pascal.”

Pedro hummed, his nose brushing against your cheek as he whispered, “Hmm… nah. You are.”

You swatted at his chest, but the way his eyes twinkled made your heart melt.

“You’re impossible.”

He grinned. “And yet, you love me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” you muttered, but the smile on your face betrayed you.

Pedro chuckled at your faux annoyance, his warm breath ghosting against your lips as he leaned in. “You’re so cute when you pretend to be mad at me,” he murmured, tilting your chin up with his fingers before capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss.

You melted instantly, hands threading into his hair as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss grew hungrier, his lips moving against yours with a languid sort of urgency, like he was savoring every second.

His hands roamed—one resting on the small of your back, the other slipping beneath the hem of your robe, fingertips teasing against your bare skin. A soft hum escaped you as his mouth trailed along your jaw, down the curve of your neck.

And then it hit you.

“Wait—” You gasped, breathless, gently pushing at his chest. “We have lunch with Javiera.”

Pedro groaned dramatically, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Mierda.”

You giggled as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression somewhere between frustration and mischief. “Did I forget to mention I invited her to watch you perform?”

“You did,” he huffed, pouting slightly. “And I love that she’s coming. I do. But do we have to be on time?”

You gave him a pointed look.

Pedro sighed, rolling his eyes playfully. “Fine. Fine.” He took a step back, raking a hand through his already tousled hair. “But just so you know, you owe me later.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Owe you?”

“Oh, cariño.” His voice dropped to a sinful murmur as he trailed a slow finger down your arm. “Later tonight, I’m going to have my way with you.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you smirked, smoothing your robe as if unaffected. “We’ll see about that, Pascal.”

His grin was full of promise. “Oh, we will.”

THE BOWERY HOTEL — AFTERNOON  

Lunch with Javiera was set at a quiet corner table in the hotel's restaurant, a space that offered just enough privacy for a family catch-up without feeling too closed off. The scent of fresh bread and herbs lingered in the air as you sipped on a glass of chilled wine, the engagement ring on your finger catching the soft afternoon light.  

Javiera beamed as she reached for your hand, examining the ring for what was probably the fifth time since you sat down. “It looks even better in person,” she said, her voice warm with affection. “I still can’t believe you two are finally engaged.”  

Pedro, seated beside you, chuckled as he reached for a piece of bread. “Finally? What’s that supposed to mean?”  

Javiera gave him a knowing look. “Oh, come on. Everyone saw this coming except you.”  

You laughed, nudging Pedro playfully. “See? Told you.”  

He huffed dramatically. “Unbelievable. My own sister conspiring against me.”  

Javiera grinned, sipping her drink. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen the way you look at her. The way you talk about her when she’s not around. You’ve been a goner for a long time, hermano.”  

Pedro didn’t even try to deny it. Instead, he turned to you, a soft smirk playing on his lips. “Guilty as charged.”  

You rolled your eyes, but your heart melted at the way he was looking at you. Before you could say anything, the waiter arrived with your meals, setting down plates of fresh seafood and warm pasta.  

Javiera leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “So, have you two started thinking about the wedding?”  

Pedro answered before you could. “She keeps saying she’s not my wife yet, but I don’t know… feels pretty official to me.”  

You groaned. “Pedro.”  

Javiera laughed, shaking her head. “He’s never going to let that go.”  

Pedro grinned, cutting into his food. “Nope.”  

You sighed dramatically, but you couldn’t hide your smile. “We haven’t talked about it too much yet. Everything’s been moving so fast. But we will.”  

Javiera nodded in understanding. “Well, no matter what you decide, just know the entire family is already planning in their heads. Mom is probably dreaming up wedding decorations as we speak.”  

Pedro groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Dios mío.”  

You giggled, squeezing his hand under the table. “At least we know it’ll be a party.”  

Javiera smirked. “A very loud one.”  

As the lunch carried on, the conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with teasing, reminiscing, and warmth. The afternoon sun streamed in through the windows, casting a golden glow over the table, and you found yourself stealing glances at Pedro every now and then—marveling at the fact that this was your life now.  

Engaged. In love. Surrounded by family.  

And if Pedro had his way, he’d be calling you his wife a lot sooner than you expected. 

THE BOWERY HOTEL — EVENING

After a long, exciting day, you and Pedro decided to call it an early night, opting for the comfort of your hotel room over any glamorous outings. Room service had just arrived, and the two of you sat on the plush bed, plates of warm pasta and glasses of wine spread out between you. The room was dimly lit, the soft golden glow of the bedside lamps casting a cozy warmth over everything.

Pedro swirled his wine glass lazily, leaning back against the headboard with a contented sigh. “This is perfect,” he murmured, glancing at you with the softest eyes. “No loud crowds, no cameras—just us.”

You grinned, taking a bite of your pasta before setting your fork down. “I still can’t believe you’re going to be on SNL again. It feels like just yesterday we were watching your first episode from our couch.”

Pedro chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, and I was nervous as hell back then.”

“You were incredible, though,” you said earnestly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “And you’ll be even better this time. I’m so proud of you, Pedro. Not just for this, but for everything. For who you are.”

His ears tinged pink, and he let out a bashful laugh, shaking his head. “Stop, you’re gonna make me all emotional.”

“I mean it,” you insisted, scooting closer. “You work so hard, and you never let the pressure change who you are. That’s why people love you. That’s why I love you.”

Pedro set his wine glass aside and turned to face you fully, his expression melting into something unbearably tender. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles along your cheek. “But I thank whatever force in the universe brought you into my life every damn day.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “You’re just saying that because I let you steal half my food.”

Pedro smirked, feigning innocence. “Who, me? Never.”

Before you could protest, his fingers darted to your waist, tickling you mercilessly. A shriek escaped your lips as you collapsed onto the bed, writhing in laughter. “Pedro! No—stop! I’m gonna spill the wine!”

He was laughing just as hard, his face split into the most joyful grin as he kept at it. “Not until you take back that accusation!”

Through uncontrollable giggles, you tried to escape, but he was relentless, his hands finding every ticklish spot. “Okay, okay! You’re innocent! You’re a saint!” you gasped between bursts of laughter.

Pedro finally relented, collapsing beside you, both of you breathless from laughing. You turned to face him, your eyes still shining with amusement, but the moment shifted as his gaze softened, darkening with something deeper. His hand brushed over your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jawline.

“You really do mean the world to me,” he murmured, his voice hushed and full of emotion.

Your breath hitched as his lips met yours, slow and deliberate, the laughter between you fading into something softer, needier. His hand slid to the back of your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and you melted into him, sighing against his mouth. His body pressed against yours, the warmth of him seeping into your skin as he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned into your mouth, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between you. The air grew thick, charged with heat and unspoken promises. Pedro’s lips trailed down your jaw to your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point just enough to make you shiver.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough.

You exhaled shakily, tilting your head back as his hands explored, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing slow circles over your bare skin. “Then maybe we should do something about it,” you whispered, your own hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin.

Pedro didn’t need to be told twice.  

The moment your lips met, any remaining restraint melted away. His hands gripped your hips, fingers pressing into your skin like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. The heat between you was intoxicating, a slow burn that built with every kiss, every teasing graze of his fingertips over your exposed skin.  

His mouth was hungry, insatiable, devouring you with a passion that made your breath hitch. He kissed you like he’d been starving for you, like he was trying to drown himself in the taste of you. His tongue swept against yours, deep and slow, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips that only spurred him on.  

“Fuck,” he groaned against your mouth, his voice thick with desire. “You have no idea what you do to me, cariño.”  

You gasped as he rolled his hips against yours, the hard press of him igniting something primal deep within you. Your fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel more—more of him, more of his warmth, more of the intoxicating way he made your body feel like it was on fire.  

“Then show me,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, but Pedro heard it loud and clear.  

His answering smirk was sinful. “Oh, I plan to.”  

In one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, settling between your legs. The weight of him pressed you into the mattress in the most delicious way, making you arch into him instinctively. His hands wandered, sliding beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming over your stomach before tracing a slow, teasing path upward.  

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw. “I’ll never get tired of looking at you. Touching you.”  

You shivered under his touch as he pushed your shirt up higher, his fingers grazing over your bare skin with a maddening slowness. His lips followed, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, lower and lower, until he reached the edge of your bra. He paused, glancing up at you with hooded eyes, silently asking for permission even now.  

“Pedro,” you whined, your body arching toward him, desperate for more. “Please.”  

That single word sent a visible shudder through him, his control hanging by a thread. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered before finally peeling your shirt off, his eyes darkening at the sight of you beneath him.  

His lips were everywhere—on your throat, your shoulders, the swell of your breasts. He took his time worshipping you, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The contrast of his rough stubble against your soft skin made you gasp, sending a delicious ache straight to your core.  

“You’re killing me,” you murmured, your nails digging into his back as he teased you, his lips hovering just above where you needed him most.  

Pedro chuckled, his breath hot against your skin. “Patience, mi amor.” But the way his voice wavered, the way his own body trembled against yours, told you he was just as desperate.  

And then—finally—his mouth was on you, his kisses turning scorching, his hands gripping your thighs as he moved lower.  

The next moments were a blur of pleasure, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, his touch unraveling you until you were nothing but gasps and moans beneath him. Every flick of his tongue, every slow grind of his hips against yours sent you spiraling higher and higher, until you shattered beneath him, trembling, breathless, completely undone.  

Pedro didn’t stop. Not yet. He guided you through the aftershocks, whispering sweet praises against your flushed skin, his voice raw with love and desire. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “So fucking perfect for me.”  

When you finally opened your eyes, dazed and blissed out, Pedro was hovering above you, his gaze soft but filled with something deeper—something more than just desire.  

“I love you,” he whispered, brushing damp hair away from your face. “Always.”  

Your heart swelled, your body still humming with pleasure as you reached up to cup his cheek, running your thumb over the stubble there. “I love you too,” you murmured, pulling him down for a slow, languid kiss.  

And as he wrapped you up in his arms, bodies tangled beneath the sheets, you knew—there was no place in the world you’d rather be.

THE NEXT DAY…  

THE BOWERY HOTEL — AFTERNOON

The hotel room buzzed with energy, a symphony of laughter, light conversation, and the occasional pop of a hairspray bottle. Your glam team moved around you in a carefully choreographed dance, curling strands of hair, blending makeup, and adjusting the final touches of your red-carpet look. The air smelled of floral-scented powders and expensive serums, mixing with the faint, crisp scent of fresh linens from the open balcony door.  

It was a beautiful afternoon in New York, golden sunlight pouring through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow over everything. The excitement in the room was palpable—not just for the event, but for you.  

“So,” one of the hairstylists, Bella, said with a teasing grin as she ran a brush through your hair, “how does it feel to be engaged to Hollywood’s most beloved man?”  

You let out a soft laugh, glancing at yourself in the mirror as the makeup artist dusted a final touch of highlighter on your cheekbones. “Surreal, honestly. I keep waiting for someone to shake me awake and tell me it’s all a dream.”  

Another stylist, Marie, chimed in, hands on her hips as she admired your nearly finished look. “Well, if it is a dream, you’re living in the most romantic one ever. That ring? Stunning. And the way he looks at you? Girl, you won.”  

Your heart squeezed at her words, warmth blooming in your chest. You knew exactly what she meant—Pedro had a way of looking at you like you were his entire world, like nothing else mattered when you were in the same room. Even after all this time, it still made you breathless.  

As if on cue, the door creaked open, and in walked Pedro, freshly showered, the scent of his cologne—a mix of cedar, citrus, and something undeniably him—filling the room. His tousled curls were still damp, his beard neatly trimmed, and he wore a fitted brown V-neck shirt that clung to him in all the right ways, paired with black dress pants that hugged his hips perfectly. A blazer hung over his arm, though from the easy smirk on his lips, he didn’t seem in any hurry to put it on.  

And, of course, he was grinning.  

“Talking about me?” he mused, his voice carrying that familiar playful lilt as he sauntered in, hands casually slipping into his pockets.  

Your stylists all exchanged knowing looks before Bella smirked. “Oh, always.”  

Pedro chuckled, then placed his hands on the back of your chair, leaning down so his face appeared beside yours in the mirror. His deep brown eyes flickered over your reflection, admiration evident in his gaze. “Damn, Hermosa…” His voice dropped lower, more reverent. “I might have to fight off every person at this event just to keep their eyes off you.”  

Your stomach flipped at the intensity in his tone.  

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress the giddy smile tugging at your lips. “Smooth.”  

“I’m serious,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your bare shoulder. The heat of his lips against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, your breath catching in your throat.  

Marie let out a dreamy sigh. “Ugh. The romance.”  

Pedro straightened, clapping his hands together with a playful grin. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you all to it. Just needed to see my girl before we head out.”  

But as he turned to leave, he caught your gaze in the mirror again, his expression softening into something deeper, something unspoken. And then—he winked.  

A flutter of warmth spread through your chest, and you realized something.  

No matter how many times you saw him, no matter how many times he looked at you like you were the only person in the world—you would never get used to it.  

As the final touches were made, you finally stepped into your dress—a breathtaking gown that made you feel like a dream. It was an elegant yet modern off-the-shoulder number, the fabric a deep, rich shade that complemented your skin tone perfectly. The fitted bodice flattered your curves, while the flowing skirt trailed behind you like a soft cascade of silk.  

You took a steadying breath, smoothing your hands down the fabric before turning toward the door—where Pedro was waiting.  

He was already dressed in his full look, a classic black suit tailored to perfection, the crisp white dress shirt beneath unbuttoned at the collar just enough to drive you a little insane. His salt-and-pepper curls were styled just so, his beard neatly trimmed, and his warm brown eyes—those eyes that always made you feel like the only person in the room—were already locked on you.  

And when you stepped into his view, his breath audibly hitched.  

"Dios mío…" His voice was barely above a whisper, but you heard it, felt the weight of it settle deep in your chest.  

A slow, smitten smile tugged at your lips. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Pascal.”  

Pedro exhaled a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over his heart as he took a step closer. “Mi amor, if I wasn’t already planning to marry you, I’d be proposing again right now.”  

You let out a breathless laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. “You’re ridiculous.”  

“I’m serious.” His hands found your waist, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric as he shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful in my life. And I mean that. Completely. No exaggeration.”  

Your throat tightened, emotions swelling too fast, too much, because—God, how did he do this to you? How did he make you feel so seen, so loved, so entirely his without even trying?  

You swallowed hard, blinking up at him. “Pedro, you can’t say things like that.”  

He frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Why not?”  

“Because…” Your voice wavered, and you let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh. “Because you’re going to make me cry.”  

Pedro’s expression melted into something impossibly tender. “Oh, baby…” He cupped your face instantly, his thumb tracing along your cheek as he studied you, his own eyes glassy now. “Then let’s cry together. Because fuck, I love you so much, I don’t know what to do with it sometimes.”  

Your breath hitched, a tear slipping free before you could stop it. Pedro caught it with his thumb, brushing it away before leaning in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your lips—like he was sealing in everything he couldn’t say.  

You clutched his lapels, pulling him closer. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”  

Pedro huffed out a soft laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “You existed, mi amor. That’s all you ever had to do.”  

A choked laugh left your lips as you shook your head. “You’re the most sickeningly romantic man alive.”  

“And you love it,” he teased, his nose nudging against yours.  

“I love you,” you corrected, voice barely above a whisper.  

Pedro pulled back just enough to look at you fully, his expression so full of love, so full of everything that it made your chest ache. He took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips and kissing your engagement ring before intertwining your fingers.  

“You ready?” you murmured, voice still thick with emotion.  

He squeezed your hand, his gaze never leaving yours. “With you?” He smiled, soft and certain. “Always.”  

And with that, you stepped out into the night, hand in hand, heart in heart, ready to take on the world—together.  

ROCKEFELLER CENTER, STUDIO 8H — EARLY EVENING

The moment you stepped out of the car, camera flashes erupted like fireworks.

Pedro’s hand was warm in yours as you both made your way down the red carpet, stopping every few feet to pose for photos. Reporters called out his name, some calling yours, and you couldn’t help but feel a wave of nerves crash over you.

Pedro must have sensed it, because he squeezed your hand, leaning down to whisper, “Breathe, baby. I got you.”

And just like that, the tension melted away.

You reached the interview section, and almost immediately, Entertainment Tonight flagged you both down.

“Pedro! Congratulations on SNL’s 50th! And—oh my gosh, congratulations to both of you on the engagement!”

Pedro beamed, pulling you a little closer. “Thank you. Yeah, it’s been a hell of a year.”

The reporter turned to you. “How does it feel to be engaged to the Pedro Pascal?”

You laughed. “Honestly? Like dating a golden retriever with a credit card.”

Pedro clutched his chest dramatically. “Wow. Wow. Betrayed on live television.”

The reporter laughed. “Well, it’s clear you two are head over heels. Pedro, can we expect wedding bells soon?”

Pedro turned to you, his smile softening. “Whenever she’s ready. No rush. I just know she’s it for me.”

Your heart stuttered.

You turned back to the reporter, your own smile matching his. “Yeah. He’s it for me, too.”

And as the night went on, with the lights, the cameras, and the sea of Hollywood’s biggest stars surrounding you both, you knew—Pedro was right. You were already his.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

STUDIO 8H – SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE 50TH ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL

You loved watching Pedro perform on stage. It was one of your absolute favorite things. The way he commanded the room with effortless charisma, the way he delivered every line with that perfect balance of humor and sincerity, the way he owned the stage—he was a natural. An absolute force.  

And really fucking funny.  

Sitting in the audience, you could barely keep it together. The energy in the studio was electric, but nothing compared to the way your heart pounded watching him up there, in his element, making an entire room—hell, millions of people—laugh like it was the easiest thing in the world.  

And then it happened.  

The skit with Sabrina Carpenter had already been hilarious—Pedro leaning into his role, playing it up with exaggerated expressions and that perfect comedic timing that had everyone in stitches. But when the music kicked in and he suddenly started hip-thrusting into the air, fully committing to the bit with zero hesitation, your jaw unhinged.  

“Oh. My. God,” you breathed, your entire body stiffening as your brain tried to process what you were seeing.  

Javiera, sitting beside you, didn’t miss a thing.   

“Are you—oh my God,” she cackled, smacking your arm. “You’re so done for.”  

You barely registered her words because your entire world had narrowed down to him—Pedro, on stage, grinding the air like it was his job, all while belting out the ridiculous lyrics to the skit’s song.  

Your face was on fire.  

“Shut up,” you hissed, pressing your hands to your face in a weak attempt to cover how absolutely hot and bothered you were.  

Javiera just laughed louder, fully reveling in your suffering. “No, no, no—don’t go all shy now! Own it, babe. That’s your fiancé up there.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice just enough so only you could hear. “And let’s be real… if he’s that good at hip-thrusting in public—”  

“Javiera!” you choked, shoving her while she doubled over in laughter.  

You turned back to the stage just in time to catch Pedro glance toward the audience, his eyes scanning the crowd before they found you. And oh, the moment he locked onto your completely flustered, scandalized expression, his lips twitched into the smuggest smirk you’d ever seen in your life.  

That bastard knew exactly what he was doing.  

He winked.  

You swore your soul left your body.  

Javiera grabbed your arm, wheezing with laughter. “Oh, you’re in trouble tonight.”  

And yeah. She was absolutely right.

You were in so much trouble.  

But before you could even fully recover from the absolute chaos of Pedro’s hip-thrusting performance, the next skit rolled in—and it wrecked you all over again.  

Pedro walked onto the stage, transformed.  

His usual effortless charm was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a full-blown, committed hillbilly persona. He wore the most ridiculous wig, long and messy, nearly covering his eyes, and a graphic shirt that looked like it had seen better days. The second he opened his mouth, putting on that exaggerated twang and delivering his lines with painstakingly perfect comedic timing, you lost it.  

Javiera was right there with you, grabbing your arm as she wheezed through her laughter. “Oh my God—look at him! I can’t—”  

You could barely breathe. “Stop, I’m actually about to die.”  

Onstage, Woody Harrelson and Kate McKinnon were trying—and failing—to keep straight faces as Pedro went all in on the character, telling some completely unhinged story about how the aliens had abducted him and taken a very inappropriate interest in his “hillbilly butt.”  

And then came the moment—  

Meryl Streep, Meryl fucking Streep, turned to Pedro, trying to deliver her line with composure, but Pedro—your Pedro—gave her this completely deadpan look, blinking beneath that ridiculous wig before delivering a line so absurdly timed, in that perfect hillbilly drawl, that Meryl Streep—the queen of acting herself—broke.  

Her head dipped forward as she cracked up, covering her face, shaking her shoulders, and the entire audience erupted. 

You lost your mind.  

“Oh my God he just made Meryl Streep break character,” you gasped, gripping Javiera’s arm as you struggled to stay upright in your seat. “That’s it. That’s the peak. That’s the moment.”  

Javiera shrieked through her laughter. “Your fiancé just made one of the greatest actors alive break on live TV. Babe, you won.”  

Tears streamed down your face as you tried to pull yourself together, but Pedro kept going, doubling down on his character’s antics, sending the entire studio into absolute hysterics. The audience was howling, and you? You were on the verge of falling out of your damn seat.  

To say you were proud of Pedro was the understatement of the century.  

He was killing it.  

And when the skit finally ended, the camera catching Pedro barely holding it together as Woody clapped him on the back and Meryl wiped away her tears of laughter, you saw it—that look he gave, that quick flicker of his eyes searching the audience, finding you.  

And when he did?  

He grinned.  

That big, beautiful, unbelievably smug grin.  

And you knew.  

You were so in trouble tonight.

STUDIO 8H – LATER THAT NIGHT

After his skit, he’d barely disappeared backstage before returning to you, his face still slightly flushed from all the laughter and adrenaline. And just when you thought he couldn’t get any more irresistible, there he was—dressed in a plain white henley, the soft fabric stretching just right across his chest, his sleeves pushed up enough to show off those strong forearms.  

And those glasses.  

The square-framed ones that made him look ridiculously handsome, the ones that had your brain short-circuiting every time he wore them.  

Oh, you were so done for.  

Pedro slid back into his seat between you and Javiera, flashing you a small, knowing smile. His hand automatically found your thigh, squeezing lightly—just a touch, nothing inappropriate, but enough to send heat flooding through your body. You swore the bastard knew exactly what he was doing.  

So you did what you knew would drive him crazy.  

You turned to him, grabbed his face, and kissed him dizzy.  

Pedro inhaled sharply through his nose, but he barely hesitated, responding immediately—his hand sliding up to your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to claim you, as if he wanted to pull you into his lap right then and there. His lips were warm, soft, and eager as they moved against yours, deepening the kiss just slightly. His thumb brushed over your ribs, and you felt the way his breath hitched, like he was fighting the urge to take things further.  

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his henley as he kissed you like he needed you—slow, lingering, with an almost teasing edge.  

Javiera groaned beside you. “Alright, you two, I am still here.”  

You pulled away with a breathless laugh, Pedro’s lips still chasing yours even as you separated. His forehead rested against yours for a lingering second, and when he finally pulled back, he gave you that devastatingly soft look—the one that made your heart flip inside your chest.  

“You keep kissing me like that, mi amor,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise, “and I’m not gonna make it to the after-party.”  

You smirked, letting your fingers trace along his jawline. “Who said we’re going to the after-party?”  

Pedro’s eyes darkened ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a smirk. He gave your thigh another squeeze, this time lingering a little longer.  

But before he could say anything—  

Paul fucking McCartney took the stage.  

The first notes of Golden Slumbers filled the room, the familiar melody wrapping around you like something magic.  

Pedro’s entire body shifted as if on instinct. His fingers laced through yours, squeezing tight, before pulling you up with him.  

“You’re dancing with me,” he murmured, voice low and full of emotion, his breath brushing against your ear as he wrapped an arm around your waist.  

“You act like I’d ever say no.”  

Pedro chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he held you close. His other hand settled at the small of your back, guiding you effortlessly as he swayed you in slow, easy circles.  

His touch was everywhere—warm, solid, grounding. You let yourself melt against him, your cheek resting against his chest as the music carried you both away.  

“Once there was a way… to get back homeward…”  

Pedro hummed softly against your temple, his voice low, affectionate. You felt the way his arms tightened around you, the way his fingers traced lazy circles against your spine.  

“You have no idea how much I love you,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion.  

Your throat tightened. “I think I do.”  

His lips brushed your forehead. “You’re everything to me.”  

You closed your eyes, letting the moment sink in, letting his words settle in your heart like something precious.  

As Carry That Weight began, the crowd’s energy shifted—cheers, laughter, voices singing along. Pedro lifted your hand, spinning you gently before pulling you right back into his arms.  

You laughed, breathless, the warmth in his eyes making you weak. “You’re gonna make me cry.”  

Pedro’s hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with so much tenderness. “I love you,” he whispered. “More than I know how to say.”  

And that was it.  

You surged forward, pressing your lips to his, letting the kiss speak for you. It was soft, full of love and something deeper—something that felt like forever. Pedro kissed you back just as sweetly, his fingers threading into your hair, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go.  

As The End played, the final notes echoing through the studio, you held onto Pedro like he was your whole world.  

Because he was.

[thepriceofagift]

PSA!

AO3 is a safe haven for fanfic authors to create anything. This is so, so important for the health of fandom.

Just because you don’t understand why someone wrote something, that doesn’t give you any right to assume the worst and harass them with no context.

I need to rant about this, so I’ll do so.

Trigger/content warning for mentions of sexual trauma below the cut. Proceed with due caution!

I tend to write dark stories.

My current works on AO3 are a duology exploring themes of mental illness, trauma, and surviving sexual assault. They also explore the journey to healing and recovery that follows.

“You write non-con?! You’re a monster!”

I write to cope with my own trauma.

I’m comfortable disclosing what happened to me, but not everybody is.

Let me tell you a little secret: the majority of fanfic authors are women or otherwise AFAB.

According to these statistics, women have an estimated 1 in 4 chance of suffering some form of sexual violence by the time they turn 18 (and men have a 1 in 7 chance).

THE PEOPLE WHO WRITE DARKFIC ARE SURVIVORS.

Real rapists don’t tend to write fanfic about rape. They just rape people.

If you want to fight rape culture, harassing victims over their coping mechanisms is NOT THE WAY TO DO IT.

“But they didn’t say they were a victim!”

Not everyone is comfortable disclosing their trauma, especially if they haven’t processed it yet or if it’s still happening to them in the present.

In the case an actual rapist is writing fanfic, the problem isn’t the fanfic, it’s the fact they raped someone.

(Time to tell my story, because I’m comfortable with it.)

I’ve been sexually traumatized since age 11. At age 12, I grew incredibly depressed and dangerously suicidal. At age 13, I became externally hypersexual, which has followed me to this day.

Though my mental health has vastly improved with help (a loving support network, medication, therapy), the injury isn’t gone. It’s only healed. I still have the “scar”.

“What do you mean by scar?”

Great question, imaginary asker! I mean that I’ve been left with some odd “kinks” as a result of little me fetishizing the sexual trauma as a coping mechanism.

These include dehumanization, powerlessness, degradation, and general despair.

Although I could explore these in reality (in theory), I don’t want to for two reasons: Firstly, I’m aroace. Secondly, these could become incredibly dangerous very quickly, and I don’t want to be hurt again.

So, what’s the solution? How do I engage with this problematic aspect of my own sexuality?

Through fanfiction.

Yep. I’d read explicit material to daydream myself into the place of the protagonist in search of catharsis. I’d choose to read about characters I already liked (in fact, I only posted my first work because Kinich didn’t have any explicit material to my tastes, so I had to do it myself).

“Catharsis” is the concept of healing by feeling the hurt again. If you’ve ever cried, the feeling of renewal and emptiness that comes when you stop is catharsis. It’s integral to healing from any emotional pain.

In order to heal from trauma, we need to process it safely. AO3 gives us a location to do that.

“But I don’t like it! It’s making me uncomfortable, and it’s triggering!”

Then don’t read it. Filter out the tags and block the author.

You see a darkfic? Filter and block.

You see a proship? Filter and block.

You see anything you don’t like on the Internet? Filter and block.

Harassment is never the answer.

Good gods, that was long-winded. Thank you for reading, and please, spread this post around if you can.

"Why can't the freaks on AO3 just go and make a site for all the gross stuff and leave AO3 alone."

Because AO3 is that site. Because AO3 was that site long before you decided AO3 was better than the sites you bullied us off of before, and I can promise you if someone somehow comes up with a fanfic site you like better specifically for the 'gross stuff' you'll try to bully us off that too so you can benefit from it.

AO3's specific core purpose is to preserve fanfiction, yes, but it was also instigated as a host site for the fanfiction that kept getting yeeted off other platforms like Wattpad. Its designed to preserve all fanfiction, not just the fanfiction you, personally, think is 'allowed' to be written.

AO3 is the site for all the gross stuff the freaks make. We've been there just as long as you. We've been funding it just as long as you have. AO3 has specifically said you have a place here. The timeline was literally:

Wattpad/FF.net/LiveJournal purge fanfics > AO3 is born > The people who's fics got purged moved over to AO3 > AO3 gains popularity as the best functioning site > The people who pushed for the fics to be purged off Wattpad move to AO3 > The same people try to push for AO3 to purge fics.

AO3's source coding is open-access. You go make a polished, strict, rigid site where nothing 'icky' is allowed. You go make a site where you can control what is hosted. We already have our space.

[deadsetobsessions]

Duke flicked a hand, light illuminating the abandoned halls of a battered and partially destroyed university building.

A satellite campus of Gotham University and in collaboration with Gotham State Univeristy, Gotham West had been a respected institution of education. Until it fostered and was destroyed by a number of its alumni, such as Jonathan Crane and Ivy, that is. Now, the university was prime playing grounds for the likes of low level criminals and the occasional drug kingpin. They were chasing one now.

“Thanks for helping out, kid.” Jason strode beside him, domino mask firmly on. He wasn’t going as Red Hood tonight, unwilling to spook the kingpin into hiding. He was no less heavily armored, despite the lack of helmet. “Did ya know your eyes glow?”

“Yeah. Scared myself shitless getting water in the middle of the night.” Duke replied, his suit’s stealth mode firmly hiding the main parts of his golden armor.

“Yours glow too, Red.” Barbara remarked, updating their masks with the floor plans. Jason snorted. Barbara had a way of just knowing these things. “Head left.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s not the pit though. They just do that.

They swung left, dropping into a crouch as they heard murmured voices. Along with their footsteps, the voices faded as they left. Duke and Jason seamlessly followed.

“Really? Why?”

“Dunno, ain’t like being a zombie come with a manual.”

Duke grinned. “Pretty sure it does. Die. Wander around and go ‘blehhhh.’ Move slow like you’re old. Eat brains.”

“Are you calling me old?”

“If the boots fit,” Duke smiled smugly. “Plus, look, you’re already going grey.”

Jason huffed and got Duke away from the crumbling railing by playfully shoving him. “Little shit.”

“I noticed you didn’t deny eating brains. Or being slow.”

Jason ignored him. “Seriously, I don’t know. They just do that.”

“I’ve noticed it’s when you’re in a life threatening situation.” Barbara said, dropping information like it wouldn’t alter the world around Jason. “Also, group of people ahead. Looks like they’re planing distribution lines to East End and Gotham Prep.”

“Oh ew, they’d definitely have customers there,” Duke grimaced.

“I’ll let you get the last shot, but you also have to write the report.” Jason offered slyly.

“No way!”

“Well, I’m not doing it. And you get away with more.” He reasoned.

“Says the guy who literally got away with murder.”

“I’m not doing it. You do it.”

“No, you!”

“No, you!”

“No, you!”

“No, you!”

“No, you!”

“Boys.”

“Sorry, Oracle.” They chorused. Chastised but sending each other irate looks like Barbara couldn’t see it through their masks, Duke shoved Jason in as bait with a snicker and took to the roofs. Jason flipped him the bird and kicked the doors down.

“¡Hola, motherfuckers!” Jason shouted, going straight for a head punch. “It’s clobbering time!”

Amongst the erupting brawl, Duke surprised dropped three men before landing next to Jason, uppercutting a goon to interrupt him from nearly bludgeoning Jason with a bat.

“Dude, you’re so lame. Clobbering time?”

Jason shoved him again— making a flung knife miss Duke’s throat by a few inches— and elbowed another man in the throat.

“What else would you call it??”

“Not that!” Duke blinded a guy and punched him in the face.

“It’s classic!”

Duke flew up to knee a thrown goon in the face. Jason gave him a thumbs up as he dodged a shot.

“It’s outdated!”

“Fuck you!”

[writeriguess]

I need comfort please 😭😭😭 I’m so mentally drained right now it’s unreal to be honest but I’m pushing through it as much as I can. Can you do a single mom reader x ghoap (ghost x soap) and then falling instantly in love when the crotch goblin runs up to soap speaking gibberish but pointing at his Mohawk then at his own as to tell him he’s matching then grabs ghost hands and just repeats mama as reader is shouting for him and looking for him about to have an anxiety attack.

author's note: Hey, I just wanted to clarify something. I’ve noticed that “comfort fics” sometimes get published quickly after being requested, which might give the impression that I prioritize them. However, that’s not the case—every fic is written and published in the order it was requested.

If you requested this piece, you might have noticed that I didn’t publish it immediately after seeing it. Please know that I don’t rush requests out of order. The only time I made an exception was for an emergency request, but I now realize that was a mistake, as some people overlooked my author’s note explaining it was a one-time thing. I’m sorry for any confusion, and I appreciate your patience!

Little Hands, Big Hearts

The bustling chatter of the park blurred into background noise as you frantically scanned the area, heart pounding like a war drum against your ribs. One moment, your little one had been right next to you, chubby fingers curled around yours, and the next—gone. Panic wrapped its icy fingers around your throat as you called out his name, voice trembling, breath coming out in frantic gasps.

Your mind was already spiraling into worst-case scenarios. Kidnapped? Hurt? Lost and scared? Your vision blurred as anxiety clawed at your chest. Just as you were about to fall apart completely, a familiar laugh cut through the chaos, warm and amused.

"Oi, look at this, Ghost. Got a wee lad tryin' to match me!"

Your breath hitched as you turned toward the sound. There, standing just a few feet away, was your son—your whole world—grinning up at a man with a bright red mohawk, his tiny hands pointing excitedly at his own messy tuft of hair before reaching out to the man’s head in wonder. Relief hit you like a tidal wave, nearly knocking you off balance.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish stood in all his broad-shouldered glory, crouching to be at eye level with your giggling boy. Next to him, a much larger figure loomed, clad in tactical gear and a familiar skull mask, his usually unreadable eyes soft with curiosity.

Ghost.

But it wasn’t the sight of them that made your chest tighten—it was the way your son had latched onto Ghost’s gloved hand, chubby fingers squeezing tight as he looked up at him with big, adoring eyes and declared in a firm, happy voice:

"Mama."

Ghost stiffened for a moment, his head tilting ever so slightly as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. Soap snorted, clapping a hand on his friend’s arm.

"Well, mate, looks like you just got promoted."

At that moment, you finally found your voice.

"Oh my God, there you are!" You rushed forward, breath still shaky as you reached for your son, scooping him into your arms. Your legs nearly gave out from the relief of feeling his warmth against you. "Don’t you ever run off like that again, sweetheart!"

Your son, blissfully unaware of your near meltdown, simply giggled and pointed at Soap again. "Match!" he declared proudly, patting his own head.

Soap let out a hearty laugh. "Aye, we do match, buddy! Got yourself some good taste, I see."

You swallowed hard, trying to calm the erratic beating of your heart. It was only then that you noticed both men watching you, Soap’s grin easygoing and Ghost’s gaze unreadable, though there was something softer there, something... understanding. It was a look that made you feel less embarrassed for your panic, as if they had seen the same fear before, felt it in their own way.

"Sorry about that," you muttered, cheeks burning. "He—he just really likes hair. And apparently, hands."

Ghost, much to your shock, simply hummed before shifting his grip slightly so he was properly holding your son’s tiny hand. "S’fine. He’s got good instincts."

Soap beamed. "That, and he’s got good taste in company."

"Better taste than you," Ghost muttered, earning a mock-offended gasp from Soap.

"Rude!"

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. "Guess I owe you both a thank you for keeping him entertained while I lost my mind for a second."

"No thanks needed," Ghost murmured, glancing down at your son, who had started humming to himself, perfectly content holding onto the both of them. "We don’t mind."

"Nah, we like him. He’s got spirit." Soap ruffled your son's hair, grinning. "You ever thought about training him early? We could use another recruit."

"Oh, absolutely not," you replied, horrified but amused at the thought of your little one running around with military-grade weapons. "He’s wild enough already."

Soap laughed, while Ghost merely nodded as if he were filing away that information.

And in that moment, standing there with your little one nestled safely in your arms, flanked by two larger-than-life soldiers who had melted at the presence of a tiny, mohawked toddler, you felt something warm bloom in your chest.

Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone in this as you thought. Maybe, for the first time in a long while, you had found something that felt like safety—like home.

[v4mpire45]

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

This is a series, so other parts will be here!

☞ Link: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

Bakugo x Jealous female reader

Synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

Author's note: My girl has crashed out. Whatever will she do? I felt as if this was a little rushed, but I tried.

Here you were, standing outside the dorms, waiting for a party you had zero interest in. Mina, of course, had dragged you along, insisting it would be fun. You weren’t convinced.

The air was thick with humidity, making it even more unbearable. You, Sero, Kaminari, and Jirou were already outside, waiting on the rest of the group. Kirishima was still trying to convince Bakugo to come, while Kimiko and Mina had insisted on “dressing up” for the occasion.

"God, they're taking forever! Can we just leave without them?" Kaminari groaned, fanning himself dramatically. "It’s flipping hot out here, man."

"Stop whining, Kaminari," Jirou rolled her eyes, nudging him with her elbow.

"I mean, in his defense, we've been out here for thirty minutes. The party started twenty minutes ago," you pointed out, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

Just then, Kirishima practically dragged Bakugo outside. The blonde looked pissed, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his scowl deeper than usual.

"Sorry we're late! Is everyone ready?" Kirishima asked, still holding onto Bakugo’s arm like he was afraid he’d bolt.

"No, because flipping Mina and Kimiko aren't here!" Kaminari whined again, throwing his hands in the air.

"Wait!" Mina’s voice rang out from behind. The group turned just in time to see her and Kimiko walking toward them, both dressed in cute outfits that were clearly meant to impress.

"Damn!" Kaminari blurted before Jirou smacked him upside the head.

"Who were you guys looking to impress?" Jirou asked, eyebrow raised.

Sero let out a quiet wolf whistle, his eyes lingering on Kimiko. You deadpanned, giving him a sharp "seriously?" look. He only shrugged, grinning.

"Can we hurry the hell up? I don’t have time for this crap," Bakugo scoffed, already marching off toward the dorms.

The group followed after him, except for you.

Mina, noticing your hesitation, grabbed your hand and pulled you along. "What’s up with you, girly? You haven’t been yourself these past few weeks."

You were about to brush it off with a “nothing” when she continued.

"And don’t even try to say ‘nothing.’ I saw you at the pool party last week, crying in Sero’s arms."

Your stomach dropped. Great. So she saw that.

You sighed. "I’ve just been stressed out, but I’m okay now. Sero and I talked it out."

Mina gave you a skeptical look before nodding. "Alright, I’ll believe you… but you do know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"I know," you said, offering a small smile.

"Good! Now let’s party!" She grinned, dragging you inside.

The moment you stepped into the dorms, the bass from the music vibrated through your chest. The party was already in full swing, people dancing, laughing, drinking soda, and lounging on couches.

Mina wasted no time pulling you onto the dance floor, where you met up with Yaoyorozu, Tsu, Ochaco, and Hagakure. The six of you swayed to the music, letting loose. For the first time in weeks, you actually felt free.

Then Kimiko showed up.

"Oh my god, you guys, Bakugo is so freaking impossible sometimes!" Kimiko groaned, dramatically flipping her hair.

You clenched your jaw.

"What’d he do now?" Ochaco asked, sipping her drink while sliding left and right.

"Ugh, he just doesn't get it! Like, we were talking, and I swear I was flirting so hard, but all he did was grunt at me! Like, how dense can you be?" Kimiko huffed, crossing her arms.

"I mean, it’s Bakugo. He’s not exactly Mr. Romantic," Tsu pointed out.

"Yeah, but come on! I feel like I’m this close to breaking through that tough exterior," Kimiko continued, holding up her fingers with barely any space between them. "Like, he actually listened to me today! And when I laughed, he kind of—"

"Oh my god, can you just shut up about Bakugo for ten minutes?"

The words were out before you could stop them.

The music didn’t stop immediately, but the mood did. Heads turned. Your friends stared. Even people not involved in the conversation glanced over.

Mina’s eyes widened. "Y/N, what the heck?" she muttered, trying to tug you back.

But you weren’t backing down.

Kimiko crossed her arms, glaring. "What the hell is your problem, Y/N?"

The music cut off. More people started paying attention.

You knew you should stop. You knew you should swallow your jealousy and walk away.

But you didn’t.

"You! My problem is you! You’re so desperate! Hop off his balls for once!"

The room went silent.

Mina inhaled sharply. Ochaco’s mouth dropped open. Yaoyorozu gasped. Tsu's eyes widened, and Hagakure covered her mouth.

Kimiko’s expression twisted into something unreadable, shock, hurt, and anger all mixing at once.

You felt the weight of what you just said crash over you like a tidal wave.

"Crap, Kimiko, I’m—"

"Save it, Y/N," she snapped, turning on her heel and storming off.

Yaoyorozu immediately followed her.

Tsu gave you a disappointed look before sighing. "Not cool, Y/N." Then she walked away, too.

Hagakure hesitated before saying, "I’m gonna check on them."

Ochaco shook her head. "That wasn’t you at all, Y/N…" She trailed off, then left as well.

Just like that, your friend group had scattered.

Mina pulled you off the dance floor into a quieter area, arms crossed. "Y/N, what the heck was that?"

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "I don’t know, okay? I messed up."

"That was more than messing up. What even triggered that—" Mina stopped mid-sentence. Realization dawned on her face. "Oh, honey no. Bakugo?"

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

Mina sighed, shaking her head. "I knew something was up. You always look miserable whenever Kimiko talks about him. But seriously, girl, that wasn’t cool. You shouldn’t have let your jealousy bubble over like that."

You swallowed hard, shame sinking in. "I know. I’ll apologize to her."

Mina gave you a firm nod. "Good. I’m gonna go check on them. You need to cool down."

You didn’t argue.

Once she left, you exhaled shakily and slid down the wall, resting your back against the cool surface.

The weight of your own words crushed down on you.

What have you done?

© 2025 v4mpire45 — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

Tags: @tsukikoxo @pet1t3 @anon-mouse223 @nepenthes-things @hakkoyo @ita606 @raeroowrites @dreamybabbyy @ghostkat23 @channnee @sanriihoe @ch3rryjampi3 @eyesforbkg @charlotterosea13

[formula-ghost]

Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Even though you agreed to forgive Oscar, you realize quickly that nothing can go back to how it was before, and some old flames never die.

WORD COUNT: 10.1k

WARNINGS: Lando is very mean to reader behind her back, also reader is lowkey so dumb and frustrating but that's intentional.

TAGLIST: @at-a-rax-ia  @henna006 @linnygirl09 @cassielikereading @judelina @supertrashbread @fastandcurious16 @widow-cevans @czennieszn @irisesinthegarden @wierdflowerpower @sweetwh0re @reginalaufeyson-holmes @honethatty12 @suns3treading @obxstiles @mimiastroos @mrs-reeves-17 @milkysoop @amalialeclerc @starksztony @llando4norris @ginsengi @angxlzinthesky @makanirock05 @htpssgavi @lilypat @1-queenofpotatoes-1 @ameliaalvarez06

A/N: A few things: (1) This one is for Billie. The Grammys did her DIRTY. (2) I realized I have horrifically messed up the pacing since real F1 races are so close together so we’re gonna pretend like there are a few weeks in between Imola and Monaco because this is my fanfic and I make the rules. (3) If this is bad I’m sorry, my life is a mess right now and I’m so sorry it took me so long to get this out to you guys! (4) I went back and found a few people that accidently got left out of the taglist, my bad! I’ve linked the previous chapters below so you can catch up (5) As always, I hope you all enjoy :)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

From your balcony, you sighed in contentment as you heard the gentle lapping of waves from the endless expanse of water that stretched out before you. There were yachts teeming with giggling models, the chattering of French spoken on the streets below, the buzz of such a city of opulence. It was music to your ears. 

The view of Monaco was one you never thought you’d get tired of. The place, though so new, also felt so much like home to you. The streets were paved with hope and memory, the water brimming with joy yet to be.

All of it was yours. Because of Oscar.

Yet again, his name came to your mind to taunt you. 

Maybe taunt was too strong of a word. You weren’t quite sure. You weren’t sure of much of anything, anymore.

Your interactions with your friend had been…awkward, to say the least. You had made a vow to yourself to forgive him, but he seemed…a little too excited to be forgiven, if that made any sense. He wanted to go back to the way that things had been before all of this, but how was that possible?

You had explored every inch of each other’s bodies. You had held each other in the heat of passion. How are you supposed to act as if none of that ever happened?

His words echoed in your brain. I can’t be the boyfriend you deserve. Not right now, at least. 

You had never even asked Oscar to be official. The thought was too far-fetched. I just want my friend back in my life. Like all of that never happened.

Well, at least one of you got what you wanted.

But then again, you truly didn’t know what you wanted from him anymore. To Oscar’s credit, you weren’t exactly making it easy to get back in your good graces.  

The one thing you had been sure you wanted was more independence. No more living in an apartment that Oscar owned, or letting him jetset you across the world to his races and paying for all your expensive dinners.

No, it was time to be your own woman. That meant leaving Monaco.

So you took advantage of every morning you still had in this city that you’d grown to love, knowing that soon, you’d have to leave.

“You don’t have to go.”

Oscar’s voice floated into your ears. He had practically moved in; he was trying to sell his larger apartment, and the place was constantly swarming with real estate agents and potential buyers. Even if it wasn’t so hectic, he hated being there alone, and you refused to go back there with him. Not after the confrontation with Lily back in Imola.

“You don’t have to leave,” he repeated. “I know you’re thinking about it.”

Sometimes it felt like Oscar could read your mind.

“Yes I do,” you responded, sipping your tea, not shifting your gaze from the water. 

“I can just give you the apartment, if you’re worried about it being in your name. I can pay the gift tax too.”

“No,” you whispered. 

“I have more money that I’d ever know what to do with, YN—”

“I don’t,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “So I can’t stay here.”

Oscar knew his arguments were all in vain. You were nothing if not stubborn.

“I need you here,” he said.

“I’ll be just across the border.” It was more than likely; you could probably get a decent apartment in Nice within your budget.

“And what about at my races?”

“I’ll always come to Monaco.” You were also contemplating quitting your job; you hadn’t said it aloud yet, but Oscar knew. You were just waiting until you found something stable to quit. It was only a matter of time.

He was already pushing his luck. You walked past him back into the apartment and the Aussie sighed. 

He didn’t have long to fix all that he had fucked up. 

Especially considering your newfound friendship with Lando, although you had done your best to keep that hidden. Something about it felt…wrong. Like a betrayal. 

Morning pretty girl, read the message from the Brit on your phone. You smiled but rolled your eyes. Lando’s playful flirting and banter was comical to you. Of course, it meant nothing. Lando wasn’t your type, and you weren’t his. 

You shot him back a good morning text of your own, before setting your phone down in the living room to clean up your breakfast. Your phone buzzed again, and Oscar grabbed it.

“You got a message from…Lando?”

“Put my phone down, Oscar.”

“Why are you texting Lando?” 

“Am I not allowed to have friends?”

You walked back into the living room, where Oscar handed you your phone. You plopped down on the couch, opening the device to see what he had texted you. 

You up for a coffee later today? There’s a new cafe I’ve been wanting to try.

You texted back quickly, affirming that you’d be there. 

“What did he want?”

“Oscar, seriously? I’m grown.”

“I’m just curious.”

“He just wanted to get coffee later today.”   

“He asked you on a date?” His face was red with impending anger.

“It’s not a date. It’s coffee. Amongst friends and coworkers, which we are. You weren’t this worried when you all left me with him in Italy,” you said, staring into the stitches on the decorative pillows on your couch.

“Things were different then.” 

His words were dripping with some unrecognizable emotion—regret, maybe, or sadness. You couldn’t be sure. But it startled you.

So you ignored it, instead grabbing your laptop and headphones before sitting at your kitchen table. “I have to get this stuff done,” you said, and Oscar just nodded. 

He had his own work to take care of. 

Later that afternoon, as you wrapped up your work and got ready to meet Lando at the cafe, you were already feeling Oscar’s absence throughout your small apartment.

It was like being stuck between a rock and a hard place; you wanted to stay in Monaco, to stay by Oscar’s side, for everything to stay the way that they had always been. But you knew that you just couldn’t.

“Why?” Lando asked, sipping on some fancy tea ordered from the admittedly adorable cafe in a hidden corner of Monte Carlo. Despite your better judgements, you had confided in him about your anxieties regarding the future. “Why would you need to leave so badly? I don’t get it. Just let him pay for all your shit. It’s the least he can do.”

“No, I’ve relied on him for too long,” you answered. “I just need to be more of myself. We’ve always been so…intertwined.”

“I know you two are close.”

“No, it’s more than that. It’s like…our lives are just, I don’t know, connected? Like I didn’t know where my story ended and his began. It’s hard to explain.”

“You must be heartbroken.”

You raised a brow. That wasn’t quite the word you’d use. “What do you mean?” you asked.

“Well, to have all of this happen. You must miss him a lot.” 

“Oh, well, he practically lives with me,” you laughed. “This all started because we got into it before Miami, but we’ve made up now. It’s just hard having to navigate all the logistics.” 

“Oh,” he replied, his voice tinged with a snark that you weren’t quite sure what to make of. He raised his eyebrows and took another sip of his tea.

“What?” you asked. 

“Well, it’s just…I mean, that was quick.” He wouldn’t meet your gaze. “Back in Imola, you seemed pretty pissed at him.” 

“I was. But,” you paused, swirling a small spoon around your own drink, “That crash was bad. Things like it just put everything in perspective, you know?”

“So everything’s fine between the two of you now, because he hit a wall?” Lando chuckled, sarcasm dripping from every word.

You looked up, your brows furrowed in confusion. “Really?”

“I just think you deserve better. You shouldn’t have to beg someone to love you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek before replying, “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but that’s not what’s happening at all.”

“It isn’t?”

“Who told you any of this?” you asked. 

You didn’t know that Oscar had told him everything, that drunken night after Miami. And what you didn’t know, Lando decided, couldn’t hurt you. He liked having the upper hand, dropping little hints that his knowledge was far beyond what anyone thought. “Why does that matter? It’s obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes.”

“Just like it was so obvious that Oscar was cheating on me with Lily?”  You looked back down to the now cold contents of your cup.

Lando was silent for a minute. “Things don’t have to be like this, YN.”

“It’s funny, cause that’s exactly what Oscar told me.”

“Why do you let him get away with all this shit?”

“Do you really think I just welcomed him back into my life like nothing happened? Forgiveness isn’t that simple. Just because we’re not screaming at each other doesn’t mean that everything is fine. It’s… complicated.”

“I’m sure it is. But can I ask you a question?”

You just tilted your head in response, mentally preparing for whatever curveball he’d throw you next. You liked the banter with Lando; it was challenging, like a back and forth dance, or a chess game.

Lando leaned in close, lowering his voice. “You said Oscar practically moved in with you. Where does he sleep at night?”

You laughed at the implication. “I’m not sleeping with him anymore.” 

“Anymore?” he asked.

You paused, your smile fading. Lando’s smile spread ear to ear. 

You had lost the game, finally revealing the truth without even intending to. 

“You’re good, Norris,” you said, swirling your spoon around the cup just to give your hands something to do. “Too good. You know, Oscar’s not too fond of me being here.”

“I’m sure he’s not,” Lando replied. “I’m sure he tells you all sorts of horrible things about me.”

“Are they true?” you asked, though Oscar had told you nothing of the sort. His hesitations came off more as paranoid ramblings rather than juicy gossip or evidence-based skepticism. 

Lando leaned in and smirked at you. “Why don’t you roll over in bed tonight and ask him?”

Your phone buzzed as you fumbled in your bag for your keys outside your front door. You spotted the lanyard, and held your phone in one hand as you closed your bag in the other.

It was really nice to see you today. I’d like to do it again. 

You let out a half laugh, half exhale. Lando was… fun. Dangerous, in a way. He had a mysterious air about him that surprised you, and it was intoxicating. 

You knew you needed to be more careful about what you let slip. He seemed to know every detail, all coming from some phantom source you couldn’t trace. Being a social media manager, you were acutely aware of how easily words could get misconstrued and livelihoods could be destroyed. 

But so was Lando, and after all, it wasn’t like he was a stranger to controversy.

You unlocked the door to your apartment and locked your phone. You’d get to that text later. For now, you had a seemingly endless mountain of work—domestic and professional—to tackle.

But as you set down your bag, you heard the familiar sound of your kitchen sink running.

Oscar was…doing dishes?

You made your way into the kitchen and stood in the entryway. “You didn’t have to do that,” you said. “I was just about to take care of it.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. 

“You should be, like, training or something, not doing my dishes.” You smiled. He didn’t.

“How’d your afternoon with Lando go?” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the sink, facing you. His expression was unreadable.

Truthfully? Odd. Exhilarating. Anxiety-inducing. But you couldn’t say that to Oscar now. 

And as you saw his imposing form, even sloped away from you, the words that the Brit had planted in your head echoed. 

The more time you spent with Lando, the more tense you were with Oscar. You recognized that. 

“It was fine,” you said. You guessed that was the right word to use, at least.

Oscar hung his head low, studying the floor. He was nervous. “Can I tell you something, friend to friend?”

“What?”

“I don’t really like you spending time with Lando.”

You just looked at him, stopped in your tracks by his audacity. “Are you serious?”

“You know he’s up to nothing good, right? Conveniently hitting you up when we’re fighting for the championship, and then he ran brake checked me into the fucking wall in Imola—”

“Oh my God, you are serious.”

“I don’t know what he’s told you, but you can’t trust him.”

“Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds coming from you?”

“YN, just hear me out—”

“Now now, Oscar,” you said, grabbing your headphones and laptop and walking out onto your balcony.  

You took a deep breath before slipping your headphones on and trudging through the work.

You closed the laptop as the sun began to set over Monaco. Oscar walked out onto the patio and sat next to you. 

“I’m going to say this once,” he said. “Please just listen to me, YN. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” 

“I know,” he said. “But I know a liar when I see one. He doesn’t love you, YN. He’s just using you.” 

You were digging your nails into your palm. 

“I don't know what his game is, but we’re all just pawns in it,” he said, his tone more frantic.

“I need to go to bed,” you said. ‘I have to be up early,” you walked past him into the apartment, but he grabbed you by the sleeve.

“YN, listen to me!”

You turned around to face him, your anger now fully unleashed. “Has it ever occurred to you that someone might just like me for me? Can you even imagine a man loving me for more than my body? He’s never even tried to get in my pants.”

“I see the way he looks at you.”

“And so what if he does?”

“He’s trying to drive a wedge between us.”

“You’re the only one driving a wedge between us, Oscar.”

“YN, I’m just saying this because I’m worried about you! You shouldn’t trust him.”

“And I should trust you instead?”

Oscar paused. “YN, I love you and—”

“Stop. Just…stop. I actually do have to go to bed.” You wiped your eyes, swatting away the faintest trace of tears that had come up. “I have to go look at an apartment tomorrow.”

Oscar bit his lip and huffed. “I thought you had forgiven me, YN.”

“I have.”

No. At the hospital, in Imola. I asked you to forgive me so we could be friends again and you said yes. Then you go and start flirting with my teammate and saying you're going to leave Monaco. I don't understand why you’re still so mad at me. I don’t know what to do.”

“Oscar, none of this is about you!” you exclaimed. “I mean, it is, but this isn’t some petty act of revenge. This is about the fact that I need my own life.”

“I used to be part of your life.”

“You used to be my entire life,” you said, and laughed. “Shit, you still are. You don’t get it.”

“I guess I don’t.”

You both paused, soaking in the tension of the scene.

“And you didn’t ask for my forgiveness,” you said. “You asked to act like none of this ever happened. I can’t do that. We…crossed a line. Things are different now.”

The tiniest part of you wanted to hop back on the other side of that line and drag Oscar into your bedroom right now. You craved the feeling of him stretching you, your hands clawing up his back or burying themselves in his hair as he buried his tongue— 

“You said never again,” he whispered. “But we both still feel the same, don’t we?” 

“I really need to go to bed.”

That night, Oscar took the couch. It didn’t matter. You couldn’t sleep. 

As you tossed and turned, you considered Oscar’s word against Lando’s, Lando’s against Oscar’s. 

Lando had said you shouldn’t forgive Oscar. And to his credit, Oscar was making that very difficult. But had you not given your best friend your word?

And what Oscar had said about Lando; he wasn’t trustworthy, he was just using you as a pawn. You hated to admit it, but it was probably true. Hell, Lando would never go for a girl like you. But the back and forth of your banter brought you a thrill you hadn’t felt in months. 

Shit, you had never texted him back. Did you really want to see him again?

You didn’t know how long this charade could go on, until Lando got whatever it is that he really wanted. But Oscar’s words still burned you with fury. 

I’d love to. 

You rode the train to Nice like a zombie, traversing the shitty apartment with lead feet, yawning the entire time. You weren’t missing much. 

Your phone buzzed with a text from Oscar, and you read it on the train ride back. 

I’m sorry for last night.

It’s fine, you replied.

Almost instantly, another message. No, it’s not. I should have just minded my own business. 

You were too exhausted to think of a reply, needing all your energy to make it from the train station back to your apartment in Monaco unscathed and collapse on the bed. 

“How was the apartment?” Oscar asked from the bathroom, preoccupied with his shaving. 

“Shitty,” you mumbled, face into the pillow. 

Oscar looked over. “Sleep badly last night?”

“You don’t even know,” you huffed. “Wait, where are you going?” 

“Buyer,” he said simply, sparing your exhausted brain the boring details of real estate management. 

You made some unintelligible noise in response. “Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll wake you up when I’m back, yeah?”

You handed him a thumbs up as you pulled the covers over you and fell asleep within minutes. 

Oscar would have given anything to be back in that bed, curled up next to you. Instead, he was inside his old, empty apartment, with Lily. 

It had been in her name too, after all. She had to be there for the sale, though neither were too happy to see each other. They looked over documents wordlessly, shuffling the papers back and forth between them, just anxious to get it over with. 

As the lawyers and real estate agents packed up their belongings, Lily sighed, clearly unamused. “It's a bit ridiculous that I had to fly all the way to Monaco for that, no?” 

“Yeah, sorry,” Oscar said, doing his best to make idle conversation. “So, how are things at work?”

“Fine,” she replied, her lips pursed. “How’s the season going?”

“You haven’t been watching?” he asked. 

“I’m busy on Sundays.”

“Ah.” The tension was thick. “It’s been okay.” 

Lily bit the inside of her cheek, determining how far she wanted to take her next move. “How’s YN?”

“Fine,” he replied, too quick and sharp to be genuine.

“That’s not what I heard,” she said. “I heard you made a move on her days after we broke up, and she dumped you because she felt so bad about it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oscar said, a reflex more than a conscious choice to lie.

“Yes you do,” she replied. “And honestly, you all deserve each other.” Her words dripped with venom.

“Why do you care?” Oscar replied, his polite exterior broken by the confrontation. “Isn’t that exactly why you left? But now you’re mad because I actually did it.”

“I thought you were better than that. I wish you could have proven me wrong,” she said. “Oh my God, I was so stupid. Lando was right,” she said, bringing her palm to her forehead and fixing her gaze on the floor. 

“Wh— Lando?”

“Why do you think I finally got the nerve to tell you how I felt? Lando knew you were cheating. And I don’t care what you or her say, I don’t believe you anymore. There’s no way you just…crawled into her bed 4 days after I left you. You had to have been cheating.”

“Lily, I never cheated on you. Why would Lando tell you that?” 

“Because it was happening right in front of my eyes! And for so long I just ignored it and pushed it all down.” Her eyes were prickling up with tears, the effect of the emotion being so fresh in the presence of her now ex-lover. “I just told myself that you all were friends. It was normal for your boyfriend to look at his best friend like that. Oh, yes, it’s so normal for your boyfriend to bring his girl best friend on every vacation, every night out, every trip home! I can’t believe that your fucking teammate had to be the one to open my eyes.” 

“Lily,” Oscar repeated, “I never, never, cheated on you. Yes, I was a horrible boyfriend. And yes,” he paused and sighed before continuing, ‘YN and I… it’s complicated. But never before you left. I don’t know what the hell Lando is telling you but it’s a lie.”

“You’re the only liar. You and YN. She acts like she’s so honest, but I know. You had to have been cheating. You all wanted each other for years.”

“Lily—”

“Don’t, Oscar,” she said, wiping her eyes. “It doesn’t really matter anymore. What’s done is done. I just hope you two are happy.” Lily grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter and swiftly left the apartment, leaving behind only the soft clicking of her heels against the tile of the hallway, and the echo of what once was, reverberating around the apartment before slowly fading into the quiet of the afternoon. 

Back at your place, Oscar entered quietly, careful not to wake you. All he wanted was to sleep.

He slowly took off his shoes and jacket, sinking into the bed next to you. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep; his mind was racing, his nervous system wired. But he wanted to rest, to feel the warmth and weight of your sleeping body next to his own. For just a moment, the world could stop, and he would feel okay again. 

But it couldn’t be. You had always been a light sleeper. The mere sound of his opening and closing the front door had caused you to stir. The feeling of his weight down on the bed led you to rise, stretching your arms about your head before rubbing your eyes.

Oscar couldn’t help it; his eyes glanced to the exposed skin of your stomach from where your shirt rode up when he stretched. You had said no more sex, and he respected that. But it didn’t mean that he wanted you any less. 

“What time is it?” you mumbled. 

“Almost five,” he answered.

“Oh, shit,” you said. You hadn’t expected to sleep this long. You looked over to Oscar, who was hiding his face in his hands. “You can have the bed, I’ll go make food.”

You swung your legs over the bed, but Oscar reached out and grabbed your wrist. “Stay,” he said. “Please.”

That woke you up quick. Oscar could feel the blood pulse through your veins as he held your wrist, a whispered plea for comfort.

“Osc…”

“Lily was there. At the apartment.”

“I don’t think—”

“She said…God, YN, I feel like I’m going fucking crazy.”

“Let go of my arm, please.”

Oscar awkwardly let you go, not realizing that he had essentially kept you pinned to the spot. You wordless rose and left the room for the kitchen.

As you stirred the pot of food to a simmer, you watched the little bubbles rise to the top, like the little kernels of emotion that ran through you. If it were up to you, you’d close the lid on them and leave them forever. But then the house could burn down.

What an apt metaphor.

But truly, you knew you were trying to outrun something, a force so strong you couldn’t ignore it. 

Love, lust, desire? It couldn’t be named. Unfortunately, it followed you around the apartment. 

“How are we friends if we can’t even talk?” Oscar said, having followed you to the kitchen, now standing in the doorway. What he was doing was a bit unfair, cornering you here when you couldn’t really leave. But what else could he do?

“You can talk to me,” you said. “Just not in my bed.”

You refused to look at the Aussie, instead putting all your focus into chopping the vegetables, drowning out his words in the sharp sounds of the knife tearing through the onion and shallots.

“Lily was there. She told me that Lando told her that I cheated on her with you.”

You snorted. “What are we, back in middle school? He said, she said?”

“Well, considering she left me over it, I don’t find it very funny.”

“Oscar, you never cheated. Everyone knows that.” 

“Lando is—”

“Who cares what Lando says?” You used the flat blade of the knife to swipe the chopped vegetables off the cutting board and into the pot.  

“I care!”

“Do you blame him for thinking we were hooking up?”

“I blame him for putting thoughts in my girlfriend’s head that weren’t true.” 

You put the knife on the counter with a thud. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Oscar paused, mentally cursing himself for the slip of words. “I’m just saying, he’s going around saying things without any regard to what damage they may cause.”

“You sound paranoid,” you said, grinding salt and pepper into the mixture. 

“I just…” Oscar grasped for the right words, careful to not let his frustration take over, “I would just really appreciate it if you don’t tell him anything. Because he already took her from me.” 

You put the lid back on the pot and turned the heat down. “The male audacity never ceases to amaze me.”

“What?”

“Oscar, she didn’t leave you because Lando was poisoning her thoughts, or whatever. She left because she was unhappy.”

“She left because she felt threatened by you. Because of what Lando said.”

You finally turned around to face him, your cheeks now red with frustration. “It only took you four days to prove her right! This isn’t about Lando. This is about the fact that you still can’t accept what you did. With her or with me.”

“You wanted it, too,” he responded, his voice now low and husky. “And you still want it. Deep down, you know it.”

You swallowed, suddenly noticing how his arms filled out the sleeves of his shirt just right, and how the blood rushed to his cheeks while he was angry, painting his face a delightful shade of blush. 

“That’s irrelevant.” 

“If I’m guilty, then so are you. Because you imagined every second of it.”

“Not like this,” you whispered. “And you did too.”

He stepped forward, closing the gap between you two. “Stop talking to Lando.”

Your voice rose to a normal level, relieved by the changed tension. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

God, how badly you wanted him to push you up against the wall and take you right then and there. No, you couldn’t. But he was right.

You had wanted this. You were guilty.

It was eating you alive. 

The Monaco Grand Prix. The epitome of glitz and glamor, wealth and class, speed and history. It was everything that you and Oscar loved about the sport of Formula 1, right from the comfort of  your backyard.

Well, not for much longer. But that was a thought you were trying to avoid. 

You had looked at a couple more apartments in your budget, only to be disappointed by all of them. Of course, nothing could beat the picturesque view you had right outside your living room every morning. 

If it were up to you, you would have watched the race from your balcony, but duty called. You put on your best face of professionalism for the weekend.

It turns out, going back to being “just friends” was a paradox. You couldn’t; not after the unhealed wounds, the ghost of phantom touches and unforgettable nights that still haunted both of you. 

But even when you pretended, you couldn’t deny the sexual tension that underlied every interaction. 

You had almost forgotten that feeling; it lingered after your first encounter with Oscar, where you had taken each other’s virginity, but it had been different then. Only a few days and a handful of awkward texts before things just went back to normal. He went back to the UK, you went back to school, he met Lily, and the rest was history.

But now, it was inescapable, breaking into every crack and crevice of the apartment, in every breath between you two that held a second too long of eye contact.

It was torture. At least professionalism was somewhat of a reprieve. 

You raised your camera up to take a shot of Oscar walking out of the McLaren garage, thankful to be able to hide behind your lens. Through it, you could see the strained outline of his muscles underneath his fireproof shirt. His hair was glistening with sweat, and his chest heaved, letting out a frustrated sigh at the results of quali.

“Care to get a picture of the pole sitter, YN?” you heard behind you, and turned to see Lando’s cheeky grin as he shook his hair. His discarded balaclava was in one hand, and he ran his other through his loose curls, balancing his helmet on his hip.

You let out a small huff of a laugh and snapped a quick picture. 

“Let me see,” he said, walking next to you. You held up the small screen for him to see.

“Wow, you make me look good,” he teased.

“Oh no,” you bantered back, “that’s the magic of editing.”

“No way. The only Oscar can look that good on Instagram is because you’re behind the camera.”

You laughed out of reflex at the crude joke. “Actually,” you said, “most pics I take don’t make it to social media.” Lando raised an eyebrow. You continued, “Yeah, most of what we post is from the actual photographers. Leave the beautification to the professionals.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Well, I just like to take pictures, but I’m not very good at it. Most of my actual work is all the boring stuff with the merch.”

Lando’s grin returned. “So all those pictures you took of me at Imola, was that just because you wanted to look at my face, huh?”

“I’d need more than just photoshop to make you look pretty, Norris.” You both knew the joke was false. Lando was perfect—tanned skin, chiseled body, brown coils catching the sunlight and caused golden highlights to cascade through his locks. You couldn’t deny that Lando Norris was fucking hot.

“Ouch! And here I thought you liked me,” he joked. “Considering I’m taking you out to dinner, and all.”

You looked over your shoulder, checking for any other McLaren drivers who may be listening. But Oscar was far out of sight. 

“Just a little friendly meal between colleagues,” you said, a tense smile coming to your face.

“Keep telling yourself that, love,” he said, before being called over to the media tent. 

You gave him another smile as he walked off, but truthfully, you weren’t exactly excited. You weren’t quite sure what to make of Lando, especially given Oscar’s reservations. Getting this close to him, especially in public, was…dangerous. 

You felt that familiar knot of anxiety in your stomach. Maybe Oscar was right.

But Lando turned around and flashed you his award winning smile and a wink, and you giggled out of reflex. Maybe Oscar’s paranoia was wearing off on you. 

It didn’t matter now. You had a job to do. 

Which was very hard to do, considering that no one could find Oscar after he left the media pen. 

Unbeknownst to you, Oscar was back in his driver’s room, doing anything he could to avoid losing his mind.

Quali had gone horribly. At a track like Monaco, where overtaking was so scarce, he had essentially sighed away potential points. And to make it all worse, Lando had gotten pole, and to celebrate, he had stood in front of Oscar’s own garage, chatting you up without a care in the world.

Oscar couldn’t even bear to see it. He had trudged off to the media pen, quickly gave his statement, then booked it to the room to be alone for a while.

But it felt like he was going crazy. He couldn’t relax, his leg bouncing up and down at a fervent pace, his breaths strained. Was he having a panic attack? This must be close to it.

But no, it wasn’t panic. It was anger. He felt like a cringy teenager, wanting to punch a wall, ro drive a car way too fast (as if he didn’t already do that for a living), or… no. He couldn’t go there. He couldn’t indulge his most unhealthy coping mechanism. Not now.

But he felt all the blood rush down south at even the mere thought of the last time he had you in his driver’s room. 

No. No, no, he said to himself again and again. You had said no sex. He didn’t want you to feel used. But just the memory of your mouth on him, the curves of your body underneath his own, was enough to rile him up.

There were too many people outside. He could hear their voices outside the door. The whole damn country of Monaco was too small; there was nowhere to hide from his urges, or from you, for that matter.

Not that he usually wanted to. But he had a little problem to take care of.

His phone buzzed. A text from you. 

Where are you?

What was he supposed to say? Hiding from you, because I’m so stupidly aggravated and horny that I can’t even be around you for fear of ruining our friendship?

He let out an angry groan into a pillow to muffle his frustrations. It wasn’t just the physical aspect that he missed; he missed your warmth, the comforting weight of you beside him in the bed, the tentative way you were always just an arm length’s close, never more, never less.

He should have held you. He should have made you feel loved and not used. It haunted him every day. And yes, he was paying the price for it.

“Congrats on pole, man!” he heard, the voice clear enough to indicate that someone was outside his door.

“Thanks,” Lando’s voice replied, before he heard the familiar sound of the door around the corner opening and closing. 

Yeah, he was definitely paying the price.

Oscar contemplated not going back to your place tonight. 

He still had a few days where he could sleep in his old apartment before the sale fully went through. On one hand, the place was empty and quiet, devoid of life and love. He’d be alone with his thoughts—for better or worse.

On the other hand, he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep anywhere except your bed or couch. He had gotten too used to the familiarity of your apartment. And he wanted to savor every second of you living in Monaco, before your inevitable departure. 

He finally decided against a night of solitude. By the time he finally left the circuit, you were nearly ready to go to bed.  

“Jesus, Osc, where have you been?” you asked, and you tried to ignore how his eyes traced the bare skin of your thighs in your sleep shorts.

“At the track,” he said.

“Well, no shit,” you said, “but no one could find you. I texted you and you never responded.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Quali was just…shit.”

He seemed reluctant to answer where he had actually been, so you didn’t press the issue, but you couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room much longer. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. You sat on your couch next to him, where Oscar had his head buried in his hands. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just a headache.”

“I can get you—” 

“I’m fine,” he said again, this time quicker and more dismissive. 

“Osc…”

“I just wanna go to bed,” he whispered.

“Okay,” you said. “You can take the bed tonight.”

It broke your heart to see him so down. Things were nearly as bad as when Lily had first left him. It scared you—there was only one way that you were able to really help him in that scenario, and you couldn’t go there.

“Just let me grab my phone charger,” you said, getting up to go to the room. He followed you, walking like a zombie. When you turned to leave, he moved to let you walk past, then sat on the bed, hunched over. 

You stopped in the doorway, looking him up and down.  

He looked up at you, locking eyes, and it took everything in you not to scoop him up in your arms and kiss him. He looked so…pathetic, sad, something you couldn’t quite name.

You really needed to find a new apartment soon. Or kick him out. 

You couldn’t do either.

Amongst the many things you could not do was sleep. It was 3 in the morning. Against your better judgement, you slipped into your room, praying that Oscar was still asleep.

You just wanted to see him. To gaze upon his face, smoothed with rest, imbued with the peace of sleep despite the stress of the day. Maybe when he was asleep, you could really pretend that none of this had ever happened. 

As you softly slipped next to him under the covers, his eyelids fluttered open and met yours.

“You can’t sleep either?” he softly whispered, to which you shook your head. You adjusted, rolling over to your side to face him, curling up into the blankets as cozy as you could get. His eyes never left your form. 

Neither of you knew what to do. You felt like strangers.

You had been avoiding any real discussions like the plague. But seeing him now, so vulnerable, you finally broke. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?” you whispered.

“I don’t want to argue,” he replied.

“We won’t. I’ll listen, I promise.”

His eyes drafted down to your lips, then back up to your eyes to meet your gaze. You both knew what was going unsaid. But still he spoke, saying, “I’m lonely. I miss Lily and I miss you. I know that I did this, and that’s why it hurts even more. And I’m so scared of losing you forever.”

His eyes welled up with tears as he continued. “I don’t like this,” he said. “Feeling so far from you, feeling like strangers. I wish I could have shown you how I felt earlier. I wish I didn’t hurt you and drive you away. And I know it’s all my fault. But it hurts.”

“Oscar…” you began, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. But the words didn’t find you. 

“The championship is all I have left, and I can’t even focus because of fucking Lando. And I’m scared that he’s up to something and that he’s going to hurt you too, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“There is something…odd about him,” you said. “I get what you mean.”

“Can I ask you something?” Oscar said, and you nodded. “Does he make you happy?”

“It’s not like that,” you replied. “It’s… I don’t know, like a back and forth. I don’t know what his aim is. It feels like a game. But it kind of scares me.”

“Then why do you keep talking to him?”

“I don’t know.” That was a lie. You did know. “I guess because I feel like I can’t talk to you.”

Oscar bit the inside of his cheek. He understood what you meant. That didn’t mean that it wasn’t like a knife to the chest.

“It’s not…like this. I know we can talk like this. But it’s…” you stopped, swallowing hard. You had to say it. Somebody had to say it. 

Maybe you’d regret it in the morning. But you couldn’t stop now. 

“It’s like…” you began, choosing your words carefully, “I wanted you for so long. And then I had you, but it…it wasn’t right.” Your eyes drifted downward, tracing the soft sliver of light that rested on Oscar’s exposed arms. “I don’t know how not to want. But I can’t want you anymore. Because now I can have you too easily.”

“I don’t understand,” he said. 

“Yes, you do,” you responded. “You said it the other day. We both want it. But we can’t do it right.”

You spoke around the issue, carefully tiptoeing around the discussion of…desire? Lust? Wanting, you had called it. Every word you had said was true. He had felt it earlier in the day. You were feeling it too. 

He could change everything. He could just reach out his hand and touch you. But he was frozen, and so were you. 

“What’s so wrong about it?” he asked. 

“You didn’t touch me like you loved me. You hurt me. And I loved the way it hurt. But…”

“I’ll make love to you right now if you’ll let me. I’d do it right, show you how I really feel.”

The air around you was electric with intensity, like the very first night that he touched you. In the same darkness, you had finally gotten what you so desperately wanted. And you could have it now, if not for one thing.

“I know you would,” you whispered, “and you don’t even know how badly I want it. But… what about her?”

“Her?” he asked, confused.

“Lily.”

The silence that filled the room was heavy, and it threatened to suffocate both of you.

“Lily left you. Because of me,” you said.

“Because Lando was putting thoughts in her head.”

“Thoughts that weren’t far off the truth.”

“So, what? You’re going to deny yourself what you always wanted, for years, because she was here first? Because I fucked up?”

Oscar’s wording made it sound so trivial. And truthfully, you had been there first. 

“How did you feel when you first saw Lando talk to me?” you asked. 

“Pissed. Like I wanted to run him off the track.”

“That’s how Lily felt for years. And she didn’t say anything, and we lied to her and to ourselves until the very end.”

“It’s not the same, though. You know that.”

“The details don’t matter. What matters is that the guilt is eating me alive. I feel like I’m drowning. Even if things between us were better…I don’t want to do that to her.”

“What if she never forgives us? Are you just going to let that ruin our friendship?”

You looked away from him, unable to handle the intensity of his gaze. You couldn’t answer his question.

“I feel like,” you said, “whatever Lando is up to, I know it’s not good, but I deserve it. I deserve him.”

“That’s the most stupid logic I’ve ever heard.” Oscar replied. You laughed. Oscar didn’t. 

He reached out and touched your cheek, causing your eyes to dart back to his. No matter how badly you wanted to avoid him, you couldn’t look away from his gaze that pierced right through you. He saw something deeper. He saw you, in a way no one else could or would. And it was terrifying. 

“YN,” he whispered. “Forget what everyone else said, forget all the messy feelings. What do you want?”

I want you.

That’s what you would have said, if you were not a coward, if you could truly let him in and even try to imagine a world in which your emotions and desires didn’t feel like an ocean that you were close to drowning in. 

“I don’t know,” you replied. That was a lie. You knew it. He knew it. He knew that you knew that he knew it. He just looked at you, biting the inside of his cheek. You wouldn’t admit it. Not after everything that had happened.

In that way, things had gone back to normal.

You turned over to stretch, seeing the first rays of sunlight tinge your window the slightest shade of pink.

“We should get some sleep. Goodnight, Oscar,” you said, pulling the blanket higher and closing your eyes for a brief sleep.

Come the next morning—really, only a few hours later—Oscar’s anger from the previous day had faded to a depression.  All he wanted was for you to hold him, or for him to hold you, but your words still hung heavy in the air. 

This was your punishment, for both of you. 

But by the time he finally dragged himself out of the warm comfort of your bed, you were already nearly ready to head out the door.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you joked, reaching your hand up to tousle his already messy hair, and he melted into the touch. “Are you ready to show them all the Piastri overtake masterclass?” 

“I feel dead,” he mumbled, and you sighed. 

“I’m sorry for keeping you up.”

“It’s okay,” he said, as he yawned into a cup of coffee. “I’m glad we talked.”

Oscar’s reference brought forth an awkward silence that didn’t dissipate until you eventually left for the track, ready again to dawn your thin veneer of professionalism. 

Unfortunately it was raining, and the race had to be delayed. That meant hunkering down in the McLaren garage with Oscar—and Lando.

If looks could kill, Lando would have died ten times over as the two drivers waited for the rain to pass. 

You hovered near Oscar’s side of the garage for the sake of appearances. At least, that’s what you told yourself. You were his social media manager, it made sense for you to hover around him, always ready to capture the next candid shot.

But truthfully, you couldn’t shake the pit in the feeling of your stomach every time you caught Lando looking at you from the corner of your eye. And while you pretended to be oblivious, Oscar didn’t. 

“Okay guys, clear out the garage,” you heard from across the room, as the booming voice of Zak Brown trudged his way inside. “FIA decided that right now was the perfect time for a surprise inspection!”

His voice dripped with sarcastic annoyance, even more than his clothes dripped with rainwater. All non essential personnel—including drivers—needed to leave the garage at once.

You walked along, on your way to find a random spot in the paddock to hunker down. That was, until you felt a hand on your shoulder. 

“YN!” Lando called, smiling when you turned to greet him. His cheeky grin brought butterflies and nausea to your stomach. “You can warm up in my driver’s room if you want.”

You looked over Lando’s shoulder and locked eyes with Oscar, who was close enough to hear every word. If he had been in his car at the time, Lando would have been roadkill.

“Oh, thanks, but I’ve got to get to the paddock and make sure the new guy hasn’t drowned our camera,” you said, a polite and professional smile across your face. 

“No wor—” He was cut off by Oscar’s shoulder bumping into the Brit as he passed. “Oh, hi Oscar, my bad.”

“I should go,” you said, swiftly continuing in the path towards the paddock. You didn’t want to be around for what you knew was happening next.

But if Lando also knew, it didn’t dissuade him from following Oscar back to his driver’s room. 

“Go away, Lando,” the Aussie warned as he stomped down the hallway.

“No, I don’t think I will. I think you’ve got something to say to me.” 

“I think you should shut your fucking mouth and leave YN and I alone.” 

Lando ran ahead of him, blocking the door to Oscar’s driver room. “Why? Why should I leave her alone when she keeps telling me yes, hm?”

“What?”

“I’m just saying, if she really wanted me to leave her alone, she wouldn’t have agreed to go to dinner with me tonight, would she?”

Oscar was dumbfounded by Lando’s claim, and his first instinct was to refute it. But after the conversation last night, he couldn’t put it past you to have accepted his offer of a date. Why you did this, he didn’t know. He couldn’t understand how you let your guilt lead you to such self-sabotaging decisions.

Actually, he could. It wasn’t like he was any better.

“You’re taking advantage of her,” Oscar said, his voice stern. “You don’t love her.”

Lando laughed. “Of course I don’t. She knows it, though. Do you really think she’s that stupid? Well, I guess she kind of is, ‘cause she’s playing right into my hands even though I know she doesn’t trust me. ”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I know it fucks with your head and drives you insane. No matter what you tell her, she won't listen to you. That’s the funniest part. She knows you’re right and she’s going to do the worst possible thing anyway, because she thinks she’s so self-righteous. It’s hilarious. You can tell her every word I say and that won’t stop her from being right where I want her. So you'll just get to watch me use her until she's got nothing else to give me.”

Oscar crossed the short distance between them and grabbed Lando by the shirt. “I swear to God, if you hurt her, I will run you off the track until you're nothing but a spare car part.”

Lando laughed again at his teammate’s warning. “Why are you so mad? I'm not doing anything worse than what you did.”

Oscar released him. “That is not what happened between us,” he sneered.

Lando continued, "You’re right. I guess I'm actually better than you, because I'm not fucking her. Well, not yet at least. I get it, though. I mean, she's not really good enough to bring home to mum, no? But I bet she's a good lay. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

“Get the fuck away from me, Lando. And leave her the fuck alone.” 

“Oh don't worry, I'm leaving,” the Brit said, putting his hands in the air in mock surrender. “Just tell YN to wear something nice tonight for me, will you?”

Lando finally turned to leave, but couldn’t resist one last quip at Oscar. “You know, last season, Max taught me something really smart. To win, you can't just outdrive someone. You have to get in their head. Works pretty well, don't you think?”

“Get the fuck out, Lando, before I hurt you,” Oscar threatened, truly at the end of his rope.

Lando just laughed as he finally walked away, turning the corner and going into his own driver’s room. 

Oscar did the same, taking a deep breath when he finally closed the door. He needed to punch something. He needed to scream. He could do neither.

But that wasn’t the worst problem at hand. He knew Lando was right, about everything. And it terrified him.

He had to find some way to prevent you from going on that date. But how? Was there anything he could say that could prevent what his own failures had set in motion so long ago?

There was a knock at his door. It was a McLaren engineer, telling him it was time to come back to the garage. He had wasted so much time bickering with Lando that he couldn't get his headspace right for the race.

God, he was good at this. 

Oscar made his way back to the garage and locked eyes with you. You had looked over your shoulder, still preoccupied with the new guy and his inability to work a camera. You held Oscar’s gaze for a second too long. 

He made his way over to you. “Hey, YN,” he said, “why don’t you get some rain shots before we have to go back out?”

Oscar was never the type to tell you how to do your job, unlike his teammate, who often jokingly ordered you around like his personal photographer. You recognized his attempt to get you away from the new guy.

You stepped away and brought your camera back up to your eye, taking a gorgeous picture of Oscar’s side profile looking at the rain outside. His hair was perfectly tousled, his jawline perfectly sharp, his cheeks shaded a perfect pink, still flustered from the conversation you knew nothing of. Even after being his friend for so many years, and admiring him for so long, it was moments like this when you were truly reminded how much you loved him.

Because just as Oscar saw you, you saw him. You saw through his carefully crafted exterior; truthfully, as his best friend and social media manager, you had been instrumental in making it. When others saw him as unemotional, you saw the small nuances in how he moved and spoke, the subtle changes in expression. You two had your own language in that way, and your devotion showed itself in moments like these, where you could capture the most beautiful photographs of your friend, letting the world have just a brief glimpse into the complex soul that you had become so enraptured by.

Yeah, you were fucked. 

Oscar finally put on his helmet and began to get ready to roll the car out to the grid. 

“Good luck,” you whispered. You reached out your hand and intertwined it with his, squeezing it as an act of comfort. Even through the rough material of his gloves, you hoped to send him a real message of love. 

Maybe that was too strong a word. You couldn’t tell anymore. 

Though you followed both cars out to the now dry grid, you kept your distance, knowing that now the focus was on the monumental race ahead of them. You let the camera be your shield against emotion, though you couldn’t help how it focused in on Oscar so easily. Even from afar, his eyes quickly glancing at your lens could tell you depths of information. 

At the front of the grid, Lando occasionally looked back on you. He was ready to go, determined to win this race; Oscar was no longer a threat, in the back of the grid and distracted beyond measure. 

But the Brit couldn’t help being distracted a bit himself. You weren’t looking at him. You were pulling away a bit too much for comfort. 

It doesn’t matter now, he thought to himself. He knew you. Not in the deep way that Oscar did, but still enough to know exactly what buttons to push, when to give and when to pressure. It was a skill that he’d come to refine in the past few years, fighting not only against world-class athletes, but also against master manipulators, for the Formula 1 World Driver’s Championship title.

He never thought he’d have to play this dirty to eliminate a teammate. But so far, it was working like a charm, and at this point, there wasn’t much he was above doing to get that title.

Unfortunately, Lando’s ambitions couldn’t keep up with his abilities. He bottled pole at the start and wasn’t able to recover. 

Oscar had a few overtakes, but not anything spectacular. Monaco would not be a race to remember for McLaren that year. 

After getting all your shots of Oscar in the garage after the race, you made your way back to your apartment. You had to get ready for your date with Lando that night.

You had never been the type to have a very strong intuition. You could never distinguish it from anxiety or paranoia. But you couldn’t ignore that pit in the bottom of your stomach that just grew and grew, devouring all your thoughts as you fixed your hair and applied your makeup. 

In the middle of your beauty routine, Oscar came home, exhausted from the race.

“You did great out there today,” you said, giving him a small smile as he flopped down on the bed.”

“I barely got points,” he said.

“Yeah, but it’s a track that’s awful for overtaking and you were going on, what, 2 or 3 hours of sleep? Take the small wins where you can.”

“How are you not exhausted?” he questioned, sitting up to watch you apply your skincare at your vanity.

I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest, that’s why, you thought. But for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to confide your anxieties to Oscar right now.

You knew why. Because you knew that he could change it. He could convince you to give in to your desires, to drown in him. And you couldn’t. You were too goddamned stubborn.

You didn’t answer Oscar’s question, and that familiar heavy feeling dawned in your room.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked. Neither of you really had the energy for talking, but you knew it was more a statement than a request. “I talked to Lando today.”

Ah, so he knew what you were doing. 

“He said some…really messed up stuff about you, YN. He doesn't care about you.”

“I know he doesn’t,” you said, your voice flat and quiet.

“It’s more than that. YN, the things he said disgusted me, and he laughed about it like it was the funniest thing. Please don’t do this.”

“Don’t, Oscar.”

“YN—”

You got up and walked into your closet to get dressed for the night, cutting him off. 

You heard him sigh, and the sound of ruffling clothing filled the room as you both changed out of eye shot of each other. The thought of Oscar undressed in your bed again made your head spin.

You snaked the fabric of the dress over your skin, smoothing it out. You put on your shoes and grabbed your purse before taking a deep breath and stepping out.

“How do I look?” you asked. But you were distracted by a shirtless Oscar sitting on your bed, muscles still taunt from the race hours before.

“Beautiful,” he said. “You’re perfect.”

His voice was too tender, his words too strong. You couldn’t bear it for much longer. You shuffled around your room, organizing your makeup and applying your perfume, trying to distract yourself from the elephant—or rather, shirtless F1 driver that you were in love with—in the room.

“I’m not sure what time I’ll be—”

“YN,” Oscar said, standing up to place himself in front of you, between you and the door. “Don’t do this.”

“Oscar…” you began.

“You don’t have to do this. Stay here with me.” he advanced towards you, closing the gap by placing his hands on your waist.

Your heart skipped a beat. The thin line that had so carefully been drawn after his apology was gone now with his sensual touch.

You looked away from him. He reached up and grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes to look up at his.

“You don’t have to go to him. You don’t have to leave Monaco or find another job. You don’t have to do any of this. YN, let me take care of you.”

Instinctively, you reached your hand out to rest against his bare chest, and you felt his breath hitch. You were going to give in, right here and now.

And God, you wanted to. You missed the warmth of Oscar’s body against yours, the liminal space he occupied in your bed after a night of collision and pleasure. And in that moment, with his soft heart beat and the steady rhythm of his breaths right under your fingertips, you felt…safe. At home. Seen.

Your phone buzzed in your purse. 

“I’m going to be late,” you muttered, stepping back and walking around him.  He let you go easily.

“Get some rest, Oscar,” you told him, a final goodbye, or at least that’s how it felt, as you closed the door behind you and left to go meet Lando. 

[reveuse-de-minuit-writer]

Flimsy Excuses (Caleb x MC)

Caleb is home for the summer, and the tension between him and MC is unbearable. When MC catches him having sex with another girl, things spiral out of control.

NSFW (18+). Jealous and possessive Caleb. Mutual Pining. Denial of feelings. Accidental Voyeurism. Rough sex. Loss of virginity. Squirting. Overstimulation. Multiple Orgasms. Mutual Masturbation. Explicit and gratuitous smut.

Full tags on AO3 here: x

There’s a note in the kitchen with an envelope. Gran’s gone away on a girl’s trip for the weekend. She’s left a list of emergency numbers and cash for groceries and gas. I leave both the note and the envelope as they are, so that Caleb will see them when he gets home. As the oldest and the man of the house, he’d always taken it upon himself to take care of me. He’d know what to do with the money and info more than I would. 

The thought of him now makes the sleepy warmth in my body burn hotter. He’d texted me while I was napping that he’d gone out with his friends for an impromptu game of basketball, and that he might go out with them to the bar afterwards. He’d even sent me a photo of him in the gym locker room, eyes bright and smile wide, before he headed out to the court. 

I wonder what my brother would do if he knew how that photo made me feel. How it made me react. The want, the need, was immediate. He sent me photos of him when he was gone all of the time. When I asked him about it in the past, he said that it’s his way of including me, of making it feel like I’m there with him, even when he can’t bring me. His reasoning is so sickeningly sweet that it turns my insides to goo, even though the pictures make my heart race for another reason entirely. 

I’m weak. I open up my phone to look at the photo again, and have to restrain the sigh that beckons to escape my throat. His hair is mussed just so, his thick, muscular arms are on full display in the white tank top he wears, and the silver glint of the necklace I gave him sits just between his full pecs. He’s so solid, so big, so powerful. Just the sight of him makes me want to burrow myself into his arms until I can fuse myself into him, into one being, so that we never have to be apart again. The ache for him is almost unbearable. 

I breathe deep and set my phone down. His location under his contact name shows he’s still out, so I have time to collect myself before he comes back home. I close my eyes and will the frantic beating of my heart to slow. 

The summer air drifts in through the open patio door, and the last glimmers of golden hour stretch out across the room, casting everything in warm sunlight. It was warm, too warm, despite the AC blasting throughout the house. I grab a sparkling water from the fridge and pop it open, chugging down a few swigs of it to relieve some of the heat. The burn in my throat feels good, and I wipe the condensation beading along the sides of the can across the skin of my neck and collarbone. 

Maybe I’ll go for a swim. Maybe that will help cool me down and distract me from my thoughts. Maybe the burn of the exercise will do me some good. With that in mind, I return to my room and change. My hands drift across the various suits in the drawer as I try to think about which one I want to wear. I see something red at the bottom, and my hands twitch, before digging it out. 

I’ve only worn it once.

The scraps of red that made up the bikini were scandalous. The triangle tops were tiny, barely covering even covering my areolae. The bottoms were a high-cut thong that left nothing to the imagination. Tara had drooled when I bought it, insisting that I had to wear it to the pool party. I wanted something that would give me attention, and this was certainly it. I threw on one of Caleb’s old shirts as a coverup overtop and left with Tara.

When we arrived together at the party, the house was packed. The music was loud, and the bass vibrated the walls. Every hallway and room was densely filled with people, to the point where we had to hold hands to not lose each other. We navigated our way to the kitchen first, eyeing the island filled with booze as we tried to figure out what we wanted to drink first. The shots of vodka we split back at my place swam languidly in my system already, warming me from the inside out. We grabbed our cocktails from one of the guys playing bartender, and headed to the backyard. 

The house and pool were large. It was raised on the side of a hill, overlooking the valley below. It was breathtaking. The music was louder out here, as was the laughter and conversation all around us. Tara dragged me over to the grass in front of the DJ that had been turned into a makeshift dance floor, and pulled me into her. We drank our cocktails and danced, uncaring of the strangers eyes feasting on us, and created our own little bubble of fun. 

Two guys appeared next to us and chatted with us while we danced. They offered to grab us more drinks, and Tara and I continued to twist and grind on one another. The heat of the day, the alcohol, and the dancing was enough to make me sweat like crazy, and I eyed the pool with longing. 

“Wanna go for a swim?” I asked her. 

She eyed the pool with me and enthusiastically nodded her head. We walked over to some chairs that were unoccupied on the fringes of the yard and put our stuff down. Right as I was about to strip, Tara’s voice was a cold sobering crash of thunder over me.

“Oh shit, is that Caleb? You didn’t tell me he was going to be here too.” 

I whip my head around and anxiety grips my throat as I scan the sea of partygoers with fresh eyes. It takes me seconds to find him, and my heart drops into my stomach. I don’t know how I didn’t notice him earlier. 

He lounges with his friends in a group around a fire, all passing around a joint. He’s shirtless, and the sculpted form of his muscles are on full display for every girl at the party to see. He’s relaxed, his legs splayed wide, and his broad shoulders spread across the back of his chair. He’s a picture perfect image of at-ease masculinity. The sight of him makes my blood race, and heat throbs through my core in an instant. 

The heat is doused almost immediately as a beautiful girl in a bright blue bikini walks up to him with a beer, and strokes flirtatiously along his shoulder. I expect him to push her away the way that he always does with women when he’s around me, but instead he smiles up at her, and takes the beer. 

Jealousy storms inside of me, a thick, ugly, turbulent thing that decimates every feeling of warmth and contentment in its path. Sickness roils in my stomach, and I want to drown myself in the pool. I know I have no right to react this way. It’s so wrong. But I can’t help it. I want to burn the girl alive with the force of my glare. I want to make him burn too, since he can’t burn with me. 

“Well, looks like he’s preoccupied. No wonder he hasn’t noticed you’re here yet. I think that’s Madison Bailey, she’s in the Deespace Pilot Program too. She’s really good.” Tara continues, oblivious to the storm raging inside of me. 

Madison. Caleb’s never mentioned her before. Despite all of the people he’s told me about in his program, she’s never come up before. He would tell me if he was seeing someone, right? He wouldn’t hide it from me, would he? Doubt festers inside of me like a poison, corroding every organ and cell inside of my body. 

I watch, helpless to look away, as the two of them talk. She leans in close to him where he sits, and places a hand on the back of his chair. He laughs at something that she says, and shifts slightly in his seat. 

I hate him. I hate her. I hate them both. 

“Do you wanna go say hi?” Tara asks. Her face falls a bit as she looks over at me, and I force myself to smile. It feels unnatural, like it pulls at my skin like a mask, but I maintain it as best as I can. 

“Nah, let’s leave him be. Wanna go swim now?” I ask. 

Tara nods, and the suspicion in her eyes clears away. As I pull at the hem of Caleb’s shirt I can’t help but feel ridiculous. My eyes drift towards them again, and the ugly jealousy inside of me compares us. We’re nothing alike. She’s tall and lean, with full breasts, and long blonde hair that shines with health. My own body is curvier, with wider hips and fuller thighs. While it’s given me a great ass, my own tits look like road bumps in comparison to hers. 

Is that what he likes? Does he prefer a woman with larger breasts? Does he prefer someone with a more model-like build to my own curvy one? Does he like the lightness of her hair? Insecurity eats away at me, and even though I’d felt confident in my bikini before, I’m now almost afraid to reveal it. What would I do if he saw me, so exposed, so on display for him, and he didn’t like it? How could I live with myself after that?

But no, I needed to stop. Caleb clearly wasn’t thinking about me right now, so I needed to stop thinking of him. Who cares what he thinks of me in my bikini? I’m just his little sister, right?

I tug his shirt off over my head, and let it fall in a pile on the table. I can feel the eyes of the men around me appraising my body, and it builds up my confidence somewhat. I resolutely refuse to look at Caleb as I saunter over to the other side of the pool, directly across from him, and take a deep breath, before diving in. 

The water crashes over me, soothing the fever from my skin, and washing away my doubts. I revel in the cool weightlessness for a moment before breaking the surface for air. I hear the splash behind me as Tara jumps in, and turn around, waiting for her to join me. I tread water, purposefully turning my back to where Caleb and his friends sit. I can’t obsess over him if I can’t see him. At least, that’s what I tell myself. 

We swim for a while. The two guys from earlier join us with more drinks in the pool, and we chat and lounge around with them. Tara is more interested in entertaining them than I am. Twilight dances over the horizon, and I sip at my drink, letting the buzz flow like liquid ambrosia through my body. I drift alone to the edge of the pool, taking in the view. 

Two arms come around me, caging me in to the side of the pool. My heart skips a beat, and for a moment, I wonder if it’s Caleb. If he’s finally come in after me. But when I turn my head to look at who is behind me, I see the face of the guy from earlier. He tries to flirt with me some more, but I make up an excuse to need to use the restroom, and escape from his arms. 

There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s handsome, tall, friendly, and seems respectful once I set up the boundary. 

But he’s not him. He’s not Caleb. 

I make my way to the other side of the pool and grab ahold of the ladder to pull myself out. 

It’s only when I’m halfway out that I realize where I am. As I lift myself out of the water, Caleb is right there sitting in front of me. 

He’s noticed me now. 

And he looks furious. 

Before I’m on stable ground, he’s out of his chair and stalking towards me. Fear grips ahold of me, and I’m irrationally struck with the need to run. I pivot, uncaring of the fact that I’m dripping wet, and make my way into the house. I dodge through the crowd, hoping that he’ll lose sight of me as I all but run away from him. I turn down various hallways, until the crowd starts to thin. The third hallway I fly down is empty, and that’s when I feel the iron grip tighten around my wrist. 

In moments, I’m spun around and pinned to the wall. Caleb’s body towers over me, with his other hand clenched in a tight fist against the wall near my head. His violet eyes are dark with anger, and his cheeks and ears burn red. His powerful body is tight with tension, and my body burns with desire and fear equally. The heat of him is so sudden and so intense that it makes my heart race. He’s so scary when he wants to be. 

The glare he sears me with sends my pulse skyrocketing, and my core throbs with an everlasting, aching need. His violet eyes run down the length of my body, and I can’t breathe as they skim down my breasts, my stomach, and my thighs. His gaze is like a physical touch, and I yearn to lean into it, to feel it for real. 

I need to diffuse the tension before it boils me alive. “Hi Caleb. I didn’t know you would be here,” I begin breathlessly. 

“I thought you said you were seeing Tara,” he accuses, “Funny. I didn’t know this was her house.” 

He damn well knows it’s not. I hated when he played the overprotective parental card. I didn’t lie to him, I knew I would be seeing Tara, I just omitted that I would be seeing her at a pool party. I knew he would be annoying about it. 

But it’s not like he’s innocent either. 

“And you said you were hanging out with the guys,” I spit back, “so which ‘guys’ are you seeing today, the one in the blue bikini?” 

His eye twitches, and a dark shadow passes over him. Our lies simmer in the tension that thickens the air between us. A smirk tugs at his lips and he leans down until our faces are only inches apart. 

“Watching me closely, were you?” He asks softly. His voice is deceptive, as smooth as honey over the bitterness of his mockery. 

My cheeks burn with embarrassment as he calls me out. His smirk deepens, before he leans in closer, his mouth just barely grazing against the skin of my cheek, before resting just beside my ear. My entire body vibrates with the need to lean into him, to touch, to feel every solid inch of him pressed tight into every dripping inch of me. I bite my lip, and the pain clears my head as I stand my ground. 

“It’s okay, pip-squeak. I was watching you too. I was watching as every man in the party watched you prance around oblivious and drunk and naked.” 

My brows furrow in confusion, even as I shiver at the depth of his voice.“I’m not naked!”

His grip on my wrist tightens to the point of pain, and he leans back until our faces are inches apart. His violet eyes sweep a path from my face down the length of my body, before glaring back at me. “Then tell me, pip-squeak, what the fuck are you wearing?”

I spare a glance down at myself, and see the sodden red scraps of fabric that make up my swimsuit. My nipples are dangerously close to being exposed, and the hard peaks strain at the thin fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination. Water drips down between my breasts. The sight is undeniably erotic. When I glance back at him, his eyes are narrowed to furious slits. I’ve never seen him this tense or this angry before.

“A bikini?” I answer him breathlessly. 

His scoff is cold and incredulous. “Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days? Where did you get it from, huh, an adult shop?” 

My cheeks burn with embarrassment, even as my core throbs under his furious scrutiny. 

“I got it online, you dick,” I spit back, “not that it’s any of your business.”

“Oh it is absolutely my business,” he says, leaning down until his mouth is right at my ear again. I can feel the heat of his breath, and I shiver as goosebumps prickle my skin. “It is always my business when my little sister is running around looking like she’s ripe to be fucked,” he continues with a sneer. 

The air between us is thin. The heat of him so close to me, but not touching any part of me other than my wrist, is unbearable. The ends of his hair tickle the heat of my cheek, and I want to lean into him like a cat. Even as his overprotectiveness drives me crazy, even as his words light an anger up inside of me, because he has no right to talk to me that way, my body yearns for him. 

“Stop it, Caleb. Now let me go, I wanna go back to the party.” I say, pushing at the firm muscles of his chest. 

But he’s an immovable object in my path, snarling his fury down upon me. His skin is molten, and his chest heaves as he breathes heavily under my touch. 

“Oh no, the only place you’re going is home.” He says with finality, “Where’s your stuff? I’ll get it for you.”

My heart drops. “What the fuck, Caleb? No, I’m not going home yet. You can’t make me.” 

He whirls around and pins me with a glare that could melt steel. “Oh I very much can and will make you. Do not test me right now, pip-squeak. Now answer me. Where. Is. Your. Stuff?” 

Our glare is a stalemate, before I finally sigh. There’s no point in arguing with him when he’s like this. I mumble where I put my stuff next to Tara’s and he turns to leave. 

“Can I at least say goodbye to Tara?” I ask him, my voice small and defeated. 

He turns his head over his shoulder, and with a flick of his wrist, gravity seems to push down harder around me, warping through the air until I’m pinned to the wall again. 

“You’re not going anywhere until I get back. You will not look at or even speak to anyone else but me. If you so much as move even an inch, I’ll make you regret it,” he promises.

As he walks away, he lifts his evol, but his threat restrains me all the same. The buzz from earlier is all but evaporated, and emotions overwhelm me now that he’s gone. The heat and the shame and the anger are all a frenzy inside of me. He didn’t deny that he was talking to the girl earlier. Did that mean that she was someone special to him? The thought stabs shards of ice into my heart, and tears sting my eyes. I sniffle and try to hold them back. He’ll be so annoying about it if he sees me cry. 

It seems like not even a full minute has gone by before he’s back in front of me. His violet eyes sweep down the length of my body again as he stalks towards me, and my core throbs pitifully, despite the betrayal in my heart. He holds the shirt out for me, but I glare up at him in stubborn refusal. 

“Oh, you wanna play dress up? Okay, fine.” He smirks in the face of my defiance. 

He uses his evol to yank my hands up above my head. He slides the shirt over me until it settles completely over me. He doesn’t bother to hide his satisfaction once I’m covered up, and he smirks as he looks at the shirt. His hand plays with the hem, his fingertips skating against the skin of my upper thigh. His hand is so close to where I need him most, so close to uncovering just how ruined I am for him. 

He leans in close to me again, as though magnetized to my body in the same way that I am to his. His other hand comes to rest on the small of my back, fisting the fabric of his shirt lightly in his large grasp. 

“Pip-squeak, is this my shirt?” He asks in a low, teasing voice full of dark promise. 

 I shiver at his tone, and there’s no way he doesn’t feel it with his hold over me. His eyes flicker across my face, taking in every minute expression, obsessively calculating and watching me. I all but blossom under his attention. The heat between us is unbearable and my eyes flutter as his thumb traces an idle pattern right along the sensitive skin of my upper thigh. 

I’m lost in his eyes, in his touch, in his heat. My brain is scrambled and focused only on the scant distance between us. If only he would lean in. If only he would ease some of the desperation that I’ve always felt for him. 

He’s merciless though. He sees how lost I am in the fog, and he leans in. His breath lands on my lips, and my spine arches beneath his hand. He gasps, and I feel his exhale wash over me. His scent, warm and rich and achingly familiar, saturates my nose, and I want to inhale him forever. I want to bury my head in his neck and lick and bite and mark him as mine. 

The pressure of his hands on my thigh robs me of all thought, and they tremble as his grip abandons my shirt entirely, to span across the back of my thigh. His hand is so large and so hot that it spans across the entire side and back of it. I’m engulfed by him. I want him to pull it up and fit himself between my thighs where he belongs.

“Caleb,” I sigh, unable to help myself. 

He groans and his chest heaves as he struggles to breathe deep. His fingers twitch against my thigh, and his hand on my back grips the fabric of the shirt tighter. “I asked you a question, pip-squeak,” he mutters low, a breath away from my lips, “did you wear my shirt here?” 

“Yes,” I whisper against his lips. 

His answering groan is a broken, needy sound that I’ll play on repeat in my mind for the rest of my life. His grip hardens until it’s all but bruising, and his chest heaves with his uneven breaths. 

“Good girl,” he purrs. 

It’s my turn to sigh, as his praises washes over me like an electric current. Every nerve in my body tingles with pleasure and warmth and yearns for more, for everything he can give me. I melt in his arms. 

The heat and hunger inside of me is mirrored in his violet eyes, and for just a moment there is no doubt, there is no fear, there is only the instinctual primal knowledge that he feels exactly the way that I do. 

But he pulls away. 

In a blink of an eye, that look is gone, and the warmth there is instead as familiar to me as the sound of my own name. The tension dissipates like smoke in the wind, and I return to my own body feeling empty and hollow. 

Of course I’m wrong. He’ll never understand how I feel. He’ll never feel the same way about me. After all, I’m just his little sister. 

“Come on, pip-squeak, let’s get you home.”

The memory plays on repeat in my head as I slide on the bikini and make my way down to the pool. It’s technically the second one, as the original mysteriously went missing from my closet days after the party. I purchased it again out of spite, knowing that Caleb had something to do with it, but I never had the guts to wear it again. 

The pool is heated, but it still is cool enough to chill my overheated skin. My head is lost in the heat of the memory, and if I close my eyes I can hear the sounds of the party going on all around me. I can feel the way Caleb crowded into me afterwards, how his eyes looked so angry and so hungry at the same time. It wasn’t the first moment we’ve shared like that, but it always leaves me confused and wanting. It will be an eternal mystery without an answer to understand what’s going on in his mind when he acts like that. 

I swim laps in the pool, pushing myself to at least get a good workout in, if my mind is determined to fixate on him. I imagine how he must look with his friends right now at the court. Is his hair clumped and dripping with sweat? Is he still wearing his tank, the white material clinging to his broad shoulders and made transparent with the slickness of his body? Or did he abandon it entirely, showing off his physique and my necklace for the world to see. 

I can imagine how his muscles twist and bunch as he moves around the court. If I were there watching, I know he would turn to look at me and wink before shooting. When the ball would inevitably sink in the basket he would mouth to me that his win was for me. 

My arousal is unbearable at this point. Dusk falls over the pool, and I pause, gasping for breath, as I will my body to calm down. I know the slick between my thighs is wet from more than just the pool, but I can’t bear to do anything about it just yet. I don’t know when Caleb will be home, and I can’t imagine what he would do if he found me fucking myself in the pool. The thought makes my cheeks burn and my nipples tingle. 

After a deep sigh, I groan as I pull myself out of the pool. My muscles burn from the exertion, and my legs feel like jelly. I wrap myself in the towel and give myself a few minutes to collect my breath. By the time I enter the house, the sky is a darkened blanket of stars, and the illumination of the kitchen stretches across the grass. 

As I make my way to my room, there’s a sound that makes me freeze. I pause mid-step, and my breath rushes out of my lungs at once. 

It was a moan. A high-pitched one. My ears strain as I will my heart to stop its quick beating so I can hear it again. Did I hallucinate it? Did I will my deepest fears into coming true? Again, a moan echoes throughout the house, this time longer and whinier. It’s followed by a masculine reprimand. I can’t hear what he says, but his tone is angry. I’m so startled that I drop the towel on the stairs.

Caleb’s home. And he’s not alone. 

The hurt that stabs into my heart is overwhelming. It’s like I can feel as it disintegrates piece by piece, the cracks fissuring out into nothing until it resembles a husk of something that can never be repaired. I feel adrift in my own body. Unmoored. My feet walk me in a trance towards the door to his room, and I don’t know if it’s better or worse that it’s left partially open. 

I can’t even pretend I don’t feel a wave of self-loathing as I peer through the opening in the door to look inside. 

Caleb is on the bed, some woman collapsed and all but prone underneath him. His naked back is rigid with tension, and his hips furiously pound into her. I can see his profile, see his thick, long cock as it batters into the girl’s cunt. She whines again, her pleasure obvious as she fists tightly into the sheets below. 

Caleb’s face twists in fury. And his hand comes down hard on her ass. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Caleb growls. His voice is dark, monstrous, and if it weren’t for the fact that I saw the words coming from his mouth, I wouldn’t have believed it was him at all, “I don’t want to fucking hear you,” he snarls, “make one more fucking noise and I’ll gag you. Nod if you understand.” 

I hear a needy, breathless whine, and she nods her head. Caleb hisses before the vicious smacking of skin on skin fills the air as he fucks her again. 

I can’t breathe. I shouldn’t be watching this. But my feet are frozen to the spot. The drops of pool water dripping down my skin no longer leave me chilled, but the subtle sensation sets me on fire. 

I know the feelings I harbor for him are wrong. But in all of the ways I’ve imagined him fucking before, I didn’t know he could be this cold, this dominant. I always imagined him as a passionate lover, as someone who gave and gave and gave until the point where he was so wound up he had to take. I imagined he would whisper sweet words and praise in my ear while filling me up slowly, tenderly, forcing me to feel every slow inch of his cock. 

But I was wrong. Caleb’s hands grip hard on the girl’s hips, and his pounding thrusts are brutal. They rock the bed with their ferocity, and I can see his skin glisten with sweat from his exertion. The girl tries to turn her head around to look at him, and he fists her hair and pushes her face back down into the comforter. 

“I don’t want to look at you. I don’t want to see your face. I just want to see your ass.” He pants. 

He’s so cold, so detached, it leaves me breathless. But the sight of him being so dominant, of him being so ruthless in his pursuit of pleasure, makes my cunt flutter, aching and empty around nothing. 

I never imagined him to be so rough, and now I can’t imagine him any other way. I imagine it’s me instead of her that he’s fucking so ruthlessly. I imagine the battering of his thick cock, long and hard enough to hit my cervix over and over again, uncaring of how much pain or pleasure I feel as long as he gets to fill me again and again. 

“S-slow d-down. It-it’s too—” the girl moans through broken breaths. 

“No,” he growls, and if anything, fucks her even harder. 

The girl wails, and his hand comes down hard on her ass again. It leaves a bright red imprint that stands out against her pale skin. 

“Please!” She whines. 

Caleb growls in frustration and grabs the girl by the throat. He pauses his fucking, while deep inside of her, but his body is anything but relaxed. 

“If you want me to stop, then say your safe word,” he demands, “otherwise I don’t wanna hear you speak again. Do I make myself clear?” 

The girl’s face is wet with sweat and tears, but she keeps her mouth shut. Caleb once again pins her down by the throat and begins to roughly fuck her in earnest. This time, when he throws her down, he’s angled more towards me. I can do nothing more than watch, transfixed, as his abs flex and roll as his hips smoothly thrust back and forth. His head falls back, and his neck is stretched, slick with sweat, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he groans with pleasure. 

Despite the betrayal in my heart, I’ve never been more aroused in my life. My thighs are all but soaked from the arousal that trickles down from my weeping cunt. In a daze, my hand trails down my stomach and grazes gently along the outside of my folds through the fabric. The slight touch is enough to make me gasp and my eyes flutter. But just as quickly as they close, I open them again to keep watching Caleb. 

I pull the bikini bottoms to the side, and swipe a finger through the slick heat of my cunt. It’s obscene, the amount of moisture that coats my hand immediately. It drools out of me, with stray drops puddling on the floor. I insert two fingers almost immediately and try to match the pace of his thrusts. It’s intense, almost too much, and yet it’s so severely not enough. The feeling of fullness, even if it’s only partial, is bliss after aching for him for hours. I can’t help the sigh that escapes me, and my other hand grips tight on the doorframe for support. 

“Oh fuck,” Caleb groans, his pleasure mounting higher. The sound makes me flutter against my fingers, and I hold back my whine in response. I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood, as I fuck myself to the sound of his cock driving back and forth. When I glance back at him, his eyes are closed in pleasure, and his neck and chest are stained deep red. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he moans. His hips stutter as he drives hard into her over and over again. I match his pace, and within seconds I feel like I’m on the edge with him. “Mmm, fuck just like that. Take my cock, just like that. Fuck, I’m cumming, y/n,” he groans. 

It’s the sound of my name moaned breathlessly between his lips that sets me off like dynamite. My orgasm is intense, wracking every sense in my body until I’m shaking and sputtering for breath. The puddle on the floor is large now, from the force of my need for him. My spine tingles all the way down to my toes, and a high lifts my body to the heavens. 

He moaned my name. 

He may have been fucking her, but he moaned for me. 

The knowledge chases away some of the bitterness in my chest. It prolongs the tremors that crash over me again and again. 

I watch with bleary eyes as Caleb slips out of her and peels off the condom. The girl whines, obviously not finished yet, but Caleb just glares down at her. A flash of anger and disgust wash over his face, and it sends a chill down my spine. I almost don’t recognize him.

“C’mon, Caleb, make me cum. I’m so close,” the girl gasps. 

He pulls back from her and ties the condom into a knot before throwing it in the trash by his bed. “Do it yourself,” he says coldly. 

The girl flips over and looks at him. “Don’t be like that,” she says, shocked. 

He just raises a brow at her while he catches his breath and leans back against the headboard. “Don’t be like what? You’re just a hole to fill. Now that I’ve used you, I’m done.” He states coldly. 

The girl glares at him before getting off of the bed. “You are such a fucking asshole. I never should have fucking come here. Don’t ever talk to me or call me again.” She says as she furiously finds her clothes and puts them back on. 

Caleb just rolls his eyes in the face of her anger. “I wasn’t planning on it anyway,” he just says, rubbing salt in the wound. 

The girl lets out a huff of frustration while Caleb rolls off the bed. I take in the sight of him completely unhindered, and despite being soft now, he’s still a magnificent sight to see. He reaches for the discarded boxers on the floor and slips them on easily. 

I should leave now. With my heart pounding, I all but run towards the bathroom and turn on the shower. Not even seconds later, I hear as two pairs of footsteps walk past, one angry and one lazy. I hold my breath, not even daring to breathe, until I hear the door slam shut. 

I exhale and close my eyes, before stripping my bikini off. I hop in the shower and rinse off my hands, before rubbing them over my face. I’m shaking, I realize belatedly. My skin feels like it’s stretched too thin over my muscles, and the blood that races in my veins is near a boiling point. I don’t even know where to begin to decipher how I feel. 

The sight of his orgasm with my name on his lips plays like a record in my head, and I can’t feel anything except for the heat that refuses to dissipate from my body. I’ve never felt a need like this before. It’s all-consuming, chasing away every other stray thought from my mind. 

He thought of me as he came. It was my name he called out. Did he wish she were me? Is that how he wanted to fuck me? The thought makes my legs shake and I have to brace myself against the slick tile wall of the shower. I’ve never even thought of having sex that rough before. 

To be fair, since I was still a virgin, I had no basis of comparison, but I didn’t think it was possible to be like that. Was Caleb kinky? Did he want the whips and chains? Did he want me to call him ‘sir’ and let him fuck me into submission? The thought makes my pulse pound and my core clench. Did I want that too? 

Every fantasy I had of Caleb kissing me tenderly as he made love to me seems foolishly naive in retrospect. I always knew there was a darkness inside of him, but I had no idea he would unleash it like that. Did I like it? Was I okay with it? 

My thoughts continue to spiral out of control. The only thing I know is that my desire for Caleb is a constant. No matter how he wants me, I will want him in turn. Whether that means rough and degrading or soft and tender, I’ll take any shade of him as long as it means having him to myself. 

And he called out my name. 

A sudden bang on the bathroom door makes me yelp, and I flinch beneath the spray. “Pip-squeak, hurry up,” Caleb calls from the other side, “I gotta take a leak.” 

My heart is caught in my throat and my breath stops. There’s another bathroom down the hall. I know he knows that. So why is he here bothering me? 

“Fuck off,” I shout back. 

I force myself to sound normal, to sound like I didn’t fuck myself to him railing a random girl into next Tuesday. I hear the muffled sound of a growl before he bangs again on the door. 

“I’m coming in, don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” he shouts. 

He barges into the bathroom, and makes a beeline for the toilet. 

“Caleb, what the fuck?” I shout at him, covering myself up despite the fact that the curtain that separates us is completely opaque. 

He groans in exaggerated pleasure and I hear the sound of his piss hitting the water. I’m so shocked, so overwhelmed by everything that’s happened in the last thirty minutes, that I can’t even react. What the fuck is he doing? What is he playing at? 

I hear the stream taper off, before the soft closing of the lid. At least he has the decency not to flush while I’m in the shower. 

“Pip-squeak,” comes his voice from the other side of the curtain. He sounds unrecognizable, his voice husky and deep. I’ve never heard him say my nickname like that before. It makes my pulse pound and my pussy drool, and it’s all I can do to keep myself upright against the tile. 

“Y-yeah?” I ask him belatedly. My voice is small and breathy in the bathroom. It echoes back to me and makes me cringe from how needy I sound. 

“Where did you get this?” He asks. 

My brow furrows and I struggle to think about what he could be referring to. Swallowing the tattered shreds of my dignity, I pull back the curtain just enough to peek around and see what he’s referring to. 

He’s so close. Too close. All at once I’m hyperaware of how naked and vulnerable I am in front of him. He stands there, all power and menace, naked except for his boxers, with the bottoms of my bikini dangling from his fingertips. My face flushes scarlet, as I see him holding them. 

They must be saturated with my arousal by now, and he must mistake the wetness for pool water. He stares down hard at the fabric, a tension vibrating in his muscles that I’ve never seen before. Not even moments ago when he was balls deep in some random woman. 

“What do you mean?” I ask him breathily. 

He rubs the fabric between his fingers, and makes a point of gliding his thumb through the gusset, collecting the slick on his hands. My mortification is enough to make me wince as I see him rub it back and forth on his fingers. I want to tell him what he’s doing so he can at least be informed, but speaking those words aloud makes me want to die. 

“I thought I confiscated this bikini from you,” he says coldly, before finally turning to look at me. His expression is hard and restrained. Like he’s on the brink of something terrifying and out of control. “Did you take these from me?” 

I can’t even point out the absurdity of his question with how intensely he’s glaring at me. Did that mean he kept it? I thought he just threw them out. Does he still have my original bikini now? Why?

“I bought a new one,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. 

His hand clenches tight, and his muscles twitch. He laughs to himself, but the sound is humorless and cold. 

“You always enjoyed testing me, didn’t you, pip-squeak,” he says, before glancing back at the bikini bottoms in his hand. He makes a point of gliding his hands more intentionally through the remains of my arousal before bringing up his hand between us. My slick shins on his thick fingers, and my brain short-circuits. 

He knows. 

I don’t know how he does, but it becomes immediately clear that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows that he’s feeling my arousal on his fingertips. He knows. 

“You never knew when to stop, did you?” he asks, his voice accusatory and deep. His violet eyes lock onto mine, as he brings his fingers up to his mouth. He breathes deep, filling his lungs with the scent of my musk, and his eyes flutter closed. He pauses, breathing it in for several moments, and his massive chest heaves with the force of his inhale. 

I can’t speak. I can’t think. Like the moments before, I’m frozen, unable to do anything more than watch. The arousal I tried to subdue before roars to an inferno at the sight of him reveling in the scent of my musk coating his fingers. I must have died. I must have drowned in the pool and this is all some kind of delirious fever dream one sees before their death. There’s no other rational explanation for why Caleb is doing any of this. 

“I have to wonder, is this my penance? My punishment? That you got to watch me, but I’ve never been able to watch you?”

My uneven breath is his only answer. I grip the curtain tight in my grip and can do nothing more than stand there with heat radiating between my thighs. 

“Do you want to?” I ask him. The question is out of my mouth before I can process it. It hangs in the tension of the humid air between us, thick with unspoken need and anticipation. 

Caleb freezes, and his eyes flutter open. The darkness, the hunger, the yearning in his purple eyes is a palpable touch on my soul. I tremble with the intensity in his stare, and watch as he guides his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean. He moans at the taste, and works at each digit with a lascivious diligence. His eyes remain fixed on me, giving me no mercy but to allow him the sight of watching me watch him taste me.

“Do you really want to cross that line?” He asks in a low, dark voice, “because if you do, I’ll want to do a lot more than just watch.” 

My heart flutters like a hummingbird in my chest, and I feel a wild, animalistic need overtake me. I feel like I’m watching an out of body experience as my hand tugs at the shower curtain and pulls it back, baring my body for his viewing pleasure. Caleb’s eyes dip immediately, and his chest heaves as he gasps for breath. 

He looks ruined just from looking at me. His eyes survey every inch of skin that has never been seen by him before. His gaze is covetous, molten, and scorches me from the inside out. I thought I would feel self-conscious if I were ever naked before him. I imagined he would make me feel shy and insecure. 

But all I feel now is power. The way he looks at me is like a sinner looking up at his god. His gaze is worshipful, devoted, and full of a need that echoes inside the very depths of my being. I like being naked in front of him, I realize, if he can make me feel this desired from just a look alone. 

“Are you sure?” He asks again, and his voice cracks. The sound is so endearing that my heart swells and surges, stitching itself over the ruptures he caused so recently. I hold my hand out to him, beckoning him to join me in the shower. 

He strips in a daze, stepping out of his boxers with his eyes unblinkingly fixed on my body. As he steps towards me, the heat between us climbs to an unbearable level. He takes my hand tenderly, the skin of his palm gliding delicately against mine, before his larger hand engulfs mine entirely. 

He reaches out for me with his other hand, but I step back. Immediately, he freezes, and a look of confusion and alarm breaks him out of his trance. 

“I don’t want you to touch me after you just fucked someone else.” I say sternly over the pelting sound of the shower. 

He swallows thickly, and his violet eyes fill with guilt and regret. “She meant nothing to me,” he says earnestly. I believe him, after seeing the way that he treated her. “If I had known that I could have had you instead, I never would have looked elsewhere. You’re the only person I’ve ever truly wanted.” 

The hand he holds he brings up to his forehead and leans into my touch. He closes his eyes and breathes deep, the weight of his guilt crushing down on his broad shoulders. He is every bit the sinner come to repent and beg for forgiveness. 

“Why did you take another woman?” I ask him, my voice trembling despite myself. 

He sighs, and the sound is choked, like he’s breathing around a lump in his throat. His grip on my hand grows tighter, and he presses it deeper into his face. 

“You have no idea how much being in the same house as you, being around you again, drives me crazy. There isn’t a single thought I have that doesn’t involve you. That doesn’t involve all of the things I want to do to you,” he confesses, nuzzling into the palm he holds captive, before pressing a kiss to the skin, “Every smile, every sigh, every touch, every breath you take, and I’m a slave to this need, this obsession. It burns inside of me. And I needed a release. An outlet. Because I couldn’t have you.”

His eyes fix on mine, and the weight of his hunger settles deep into the marrow of my bones. Obsession. That’s what he called it. I can see it in the darkness that shadows his eyes, in the need that coils tight between his muscles and tissue. It beckons to something inside of me, a mirrored desire and fixation, coaxes it to the surface at the slightest tremble of his lips. 

“But you’ve always had me,” I whisper. 

Caleb groans, and he nuzzles further into my touch, kissing my palm before sucking the skin into his mouth. His chest heaves as he gasps for breath, its the same unevenness in my own. 

“Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make it up to you. I’ll do anything, as long as you tell me that I haven’t ruined this chance,” he begs. His other hand tentatively reaches out towards me, and when he sees that I don’t back away this time, he tenderly cradles my face in his palm. 

The air between us stretches and thins as he leans down closer to me. His lips are mere inches away, and his eyes study mine closely. The sensation of power rushes through me again, as I realize that I hold the weight of his heart firmly in my hand. I know that I can break him with a word, that I can shatter his heart as coldly and as cruelly as he shattered mine. 

I lean into his palm and stare up at him. I brace myself, prepare myself for the worst, but I have to know before any of this continues. “Tell me everything you did to her.” 

He answers immediately. “I kissed her neck, used my hands to warm her up, and then fucked her until I came.” 

“You didn’t kiss her?” 

“No.”

“Did you put your fingers inside of her?” 

“No, I just rubbed her clit.”

“Did you think of me?” 

“Yes, always.”

“I want you to do to me exactly what you did to her,” I demand, “I want to feel what she felt.”

But Caleb freezes. His eyes flicker back and forth between mine, searching for something in the depths. 

“No, I can’t,” he whispers brokenly. 

“Why not?” I ask him.

“Because I would never treat you the way I treated her. I can’t. You don’t deserve that.”

“But she did?”

“She isn’t you.”

His answer makes the breath catch in my throat. His thumb strokes idly along my cheekbone, wiping away at the stray drops that collect on my face. His expression is so full of adoration and need that it scrambles my ability to think. My heart races at its implications. 

“Then I want you to do to me what you would have, if she was me,” I say quietly. 

Caleb’s eyes close and he lets out a broken moan. His other hand drops mine and wraps around my waist, pulling my body tightly into his. The sudden feeling of his slick skin pressed tightly into me makes my brain short-circuit. His cock is rigid and twitches between the tight press of my belly. The knowledge that it’s Caleb’s cock that rests against my skin nearly sends me into a frenzy. I’m overwhelmed by him, every sense taken over by need and desire and yearning that I’ve felt since the day that I could first form memories. 

“You want me to fuck you, baby?” He moans in my ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and sucking gently. The feeling of his mouth on my skin sends me into overdrive, and I cling to his shoulders for support. My spine arches into him, pressing our bodies even tighter together, and he groans, rutting his hips into me as his cock twitches eagerly. 

Everything in me screams to give in, to finally surrender. But my hand on his shoulder pushes back, and he gently responds, unlatching his mouth from my ear to peer down at me curiously. 

“Not yet,” I say, “Not while you still smell like her. Clean yourself off first.” 

He immediately reaches for the soap behind me. He pours a liberal amount of shower gel into his hands before working it all over his body with a mechanical precision. He’s rough with himself, swiping over his body with firm, indelicate gestures. I take the bottle from him and squeeze some out into my palm. He freezes as he cleans himself, instead focused on me as I begin to rub the soap into my skin. 

In contrast to him, I take my time with myself. I run the soap along my shoulders and arms, tracing each inch of skin slowly before running my hands back up. I spread it over my breasts, rubbing it into my nipples with slight rolls and pinches, before cupping the full weight of my breasts in my hands. Caleb’s heated gaze is glassy with his lust, and his hand idly strokes down his chiseled abdomen to palm at his erection. 

The sight of his soapy fist wrapped around the thick length of his cock makes my breath stutter and my core clench. I can’t look away from the veins of his lower abdomen, and my eyes track them as they lead down the thick veins of his cock. It looks large, even in his hand, and the thought of taking it inside of me makes me feel apprehensive. 

“I like the way you’re looking at me. So brazen. You like looking at my cock, pip-squeak?” He asks with a throaty groan. 

A flush spreads down from my cheeks to my tits, and his eyes trace along the length of it with greed. He licks his lips and his smirk deepens. All I can do is nod, while my eyes fix on his hand clenching and pumping at his length. He groans, and I see his cock twitch, and my mouth floods with the thought of feeling that twitch against my tongue. 

“Keep going, baby, I want you to be nice and clean for me,” he commands. 

Somewhere along the way, somehow, the power dynamic switched, and I find myself helpless to his demand. My hands follow his instruction, continuing to spread the soap down my abdomen and to my legs. I raised my foot on the edge of the tub and work the soap into my calves, massaging the muscle as I work my way higher. Caleb groans as I part my legs, but his eyes follow my hands as they work. 

When every inch of my body is clean, I finally trail my hands towards my messy cunt. I swipe my hands through the thick slick of my arousal, and I lean back against the tile to hold myself up. Caleb bites his lip, and grips the base of his cock with an iron fist. The head of it is deep red, and shines with a mixture of water and pre-cum. 

“Let me see what you were doing to yourself earlier. Let me see how you made a mess of yourself on the floor,” he demands. 

I whine as mortification flushes my cheeks. Is that how he knew? Did he see the puddle of arousal I made? How did he know it was me? But despite my shame, I follow his command. I part my labia, exposing my hole to his gaze and slowly slide a finger inside myself. 

The stretch makes me sigh, and I push it in as deep as I can before pumping slowly. Caleb moans, his hand still gripping tight as he stares at my hand disappearing into my cunt. 

“Add another finger, baby,” he requests. 

I do as he says and add another finger, and the feeling of fullness makes me clench down hard on my fingers. 

“Mmm that’s it,” Caleb hums, “Did you fuck yourself so gently earlier?” 

I shake my head, distrusting of my voice. 

“Then show me how you fucked yourself. Show me how you made yourself cum.” 

I increase the speed of my hand, mimicking the fast, hard thrusts of his cock earlier. The pace is relentless, and my muscles tighten as I push myself rapidly towards the edge. I whine into the air, and the sound buzzes in my ears as my orgasm creeps closer and closer and closer. The weight of his eyes on me, on the heat and greed in his gaze, does more for me than my own hands, and I’m on the brink before I know it. 

“Caleb, I’m gonna cum,” I moan. 

His eyes flutter shut and he moans, before his hand pumps hard on his cock. “Cum for me, pip-squeak. I got you. Let me see you.”

It’s like my body waited for his permission before it crests over me. The orgasm seizes my muscles tight, and I throw my head back against the wall. My cries are loud and echo in the bathroom, mixing with the obscene sounds of my hands fucking into my cunt. Caleb moans, and I open my eyes in time to watch as he spills into the tub, his cock twitching furiously as he pumps himself to the point of overstimulation. I watch the creamy white of his spend swirl down the drain with a tinge of disappointment that I don’t understand. 

Our panting breaths are loud, and for a moment we both just look at each other, as if neither of us can really believe what’s happened. Caleb recovers first, and stalks forward, crowding me into the wall. He reaches behind me and turns off the water. His face hovers close to mine, and despite the waves of my orgasm receding, the hunger in his eyes sets me on fire. 

“That was the last orgasm you’ll ever have without me, pip-squeak.” He vows. 

He slams his lips into mine with all the weight of his pent up need, and I melt in his arms. His lips devour mine as he plunders mine with a passion that takes my breath away. He grabs ahold of my thighs and pulls me up and into his arms. I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist and my hands grab at his hair, bringing his head closer into me. He groans into the kiss, and begins to walk us towards my room. 

He tastes like everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Like apples and musk, and freedom and home. His cock is still half-hard as it nestles against my core, and I rock my hips experimentally against him. His hands on my hips are bruising, and he groans into the kiss, ripping his mouth away with a punishing nip at my bottom lip. 

“Behave,” he growls. 

The reprimand sends shivers down my spine, and he smirks as he feels it. 

“Does my little sister like being told what to do? I can feel how wet that just made you,” he groans. 

“Don’t call me that,” I pout. I nip at the skin along his jaw in retaliation, and his fingers twitch. 

“What do you want me to call you then?” He asks in a husky voice.

“Yours. Call me anything of yours. Except for that.” I say into his skin. My mouth continues its exploration of his neck, and I lick along the path of water that trails down from his hair. 

He groans and nods. “I can do that. Do you like it when I call you baby?” 

I nod as I continue to lick and suck at his neck. His skin reddens beneath my touch, and the sight of the marks does something feral inside of me. 

He presses me back into the bed and climbs over me. He settles between my parted thighs with a teasing rock of his hips, and his cock glides slowly over my clit. My hips jump at the stimulation, and I moan, my nails digging into the strong muscles of his biceps. 

“Anything else you wanna tell me before we continue?” He asks. 

I wrack my brain to think of anything that he could do that I wouldn’t like, but I draw a blank. As long as Caleb is the one doing it to me, I am open to trying anything. 

There is a massive elephant in the room that I need to address though. The thought of bringing it up makes a sudden wave of anxiety settle over me, and I bury my face in the crook of his neck again. Caleb senses the change in me, and pushes my wet hair back from my face, and strokes along the skin of my shoulders. His touch is soothing and familiar in a way that helps make it easier to open up to him. 

“I’ve never done it before,” I whisper into his skin. 

Caleb freezes above me, and a shudder wracks through his body. He breathes in deep, his heart racing against my palm that hovers against his chest. 

“Did,” Caleb begins, before swallowing hard and trying again, “did you wait for me?” 

His voice is so tender, so full of emotion, that I feel the hot prick of tears sting my eyes. I squeeze them shut and cling even tighter to him, trying to swallow past the emotion that threatens to drown me. I nod. 

It’s like I can feel the shift in his body, as he exhales deep into me. His touch, while gentle before, is downright covetous now. He presses a kiss into my hair, and clings to me tight, as though it will calm the trembling in his body too. 

“What have you done?” He asks softly. 

“I’ve only ever kissed. Everything else is, um, something I’ve done to myself.” I confess. 

He groans, and I feel his cock twitch from half-hard to erect. I can feel as it lengthens and hardens against the slippery folds of my cunt, and Caleb absently rocks his hips gently back and forth, barely hinting at the stimulation his cock promises. 

“Have you only ever used your fingers?” He asks me. 

I shake my head no. “I have a toy.” 

“How big is it?” He asks, “I want to know how much I’ll need to prep you.”

My cheeks burn, and I can’t move my face from his neck to have this conversation face to face. “It’s smaller than you, but I already broke my hymen the first time I used it.” 

He moans into my ear, and the feeling of his breath is hot and warm against my skin. Still a seed of doubt lingers in me. 

“Is that okay?” I ask him, my voice small. 

“Of course it’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be?” He asks, genuine confusion in his voice. 

I can only shrug. “I thought you would want to do it yourself. Are you…disappointed that you can’t?” 

His idle strokes along my skin find my wrists, and he loosens my tight grip on him enough to pull back. One of his hands finds my chin and lifts my face up to look at him. 

“Nothing you can do will ever be a disappointment to me. The fact that you saved yourself from me,” he trails off, at a complete loss for words. His eyes glimmer with an unnamed emotion, before his resolve seems to hit him at once, “I will spend the rest of our lives letting you know every single second of every single day how much that means to me. How much you mean to me. And then I’ll do it all again in the next lifetime after that. And then the next one after that. And then the next one—“

“Okay, okay I get it,” I giggle, my eyes wet with emotion. He smirks at my reaction, before his face gets serious again. His eyes are imploring as he looks down at me, his hand cradling the side of my face. 

“Do you?” He asks gently. 

And I know what he means without words. The tears in my eyes spill over, and he catches each one with his thumbs, wiping them away tenderly. I nod, and smile past the lump in my throat. “Yes, I do.” I gasp. 

He kisses me again, and this time it’s tender. While the passion is still there, it’s shifted. No longer frenzied, but instead worshipful, devoted. His tongue traces along the swell of my lips as though committing their shape to memory with its touch. His hands cradle my head, fingers tangling in the damp strands of my hair as he holds me in place to receive his kiss. 

My hands skate along his skin in kind, tracing along the path of his shoulders in the way that I’ve always longed to. They map out every bump and smooth expanse of his skin in the same desperate need to commit his body to memory. 

His mouth descends from mine to make a path down my throat. His large hands sweep tenderly down my arms, his touch just light enough to raise goosebumps along my skin as I shiver with the need for more. He seems to delight in my sensitivity, as I feel him smile into my throat, before his mouth dedicates itself back to marking me up as I did to him. 

Despite having orgasmed so recently, my blood runs hot, and my core aches with need. Every teasing breath and every light touch only makes me yearn for more. I wonder if his tenderness is because he’s afraid of handling me any rougher. Does he see my virginity as a need to treat me like glass? What if I want more?

“Caleb,” I moan, “stop teasing.”

He bites down gently on my pulse, before he soothes the mark with his tongue. “Don’t rush me. I’ve had over ten years to imagine how I would savor you for the first time. Let me indulge myself a bit.” 

I can’t really argue against such a sweet response like that, but Caleb does take the hint and progress things along. His mouth descends to my breasts, and he tenderly kisses my left nipple, while rolling and caressing my right. The feeling of his mouth on my body is more than I can bear, and I sigh, my back arching into his touch. He pulls back with a messy pop, and his violet eyes are glassy with lust. 

“Hi,” he whispers to my nipple. 

I peer down at him and giggle at his absurdity. “Did you just greet my boob?”

Caleb looks up at me and winks before capturing the bud in his teeth and gently pulling. The soft pinch of pain, makes me whine, and Caleb studies my reaction greedily. 

“They’re so perfect they deserve a proper introduction. After all, we’re going to be very acquainted with one another,” he grins into my skin. 

I roll my eyes, but he captures my nipple again, and bites harder. The pain is sharper, and sends tingles down straight to my core, and my hips rock into him automatically. He hums against my skin, and sucks and soothes at the tight bud in return. With every swipe of his tongue and twist of his fingers, the ache between my thighs grows worse. My hips rock and surge against him, and the tip of his cock glides along the folds of my cunt just enough to provide a hint of stimulation, but not enough to give me what I want. 

I huff, and buck my hips up properly, rocking my cunt hard against the tip of his cock. Caleb moans around my nipple, and bites hard in retaliation, while his hips flex and rock into me. 

He leans up and his lips are swollen and red, slicked with his saliva. The slight makes my pulse pound, and my cunt flutters against his thick length. He grinds his hips more purposefully into me, intentionally dragging out the sensation of his cock sliding against my clit. I keen into the air, my fists twisting tight into the sheets, while my hips raise and chase after the sensation. 

“So fucking greedy. So desperate. You always were so impatient.” He groans, before sliding further down. 

I moan at the loss of his cock against my clit, and he chuckles deep and dark. He uses his hands to pry my legs even farther apart, practically pressing my knees into the mattress. He toys with my flexibility experimentally, before hoisting my legs over his shoulders. Caleb turns his head and presses kisses down the skin of my knees up to my thighs, taking his time to enjoy every tremor and tremble his mouth elicits from its touch. I’m practically shaking by the time he turns to repeat his gentle seduction along my other leg. 

“Caleb, please!” I whine into the air, my hand threading into the soft locks of his hair. He hums and flashes a wicked grin at me, his purple eyes narrowed in mischief. 

“Well since you asked so nicely,” he purrs. 

He trails his nose along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, before hovering just next to my weeping cunt. His eyes drink it in, and he inhales deep, his nostrils flaring as he savors my scent. He groans and his hips twitch against the mattress. His hand releases his grip on my thigh to gently stroke between my folds, spreading my labia apart so he can see every inch of me. 

“It weeps so pretty for me,” he marvels in awe, as his fingers swipe through the thick layer of my arousal. It weeps from my core, staining a puddle into my sheets. The feeling of his fingers, knowing that Caleb is doing this to me, has my heart racing and my cunt flutters in anticipation. He groans at the sight, as more slick dribbles out, and catches it with his tongue. 

Caleb eats me out like a starved man. His tongue is relentless, spearing over every millimeter of my cunt, collecting every drop of arousal that spills out of me. My head is thrown back, and my spine arches, and my grip on his hair tightens. He moans as I pull at his hair, and the vibrations on my cunt make me shriek. He enters my hole with his tongue, fucking me with it, while his thumb traces circles over my clit. 

My hips buck wildly, and he uses the rest of his hand to push down on my abdomen, holding me in place. His other arm wraps around my thigh, holding me open so he can continue to feast on my cunt. The sensations overwhelm me, and I’m reduced to putty in his hands. He’s always been so intuitive with me, always known exactly what to do and how to do it. His knowledge translates perfectly into playing my body like an instrument he’s studied for years. 

It takes mere minutes for me to be on the edge again. My cries of pleasure are loud in the room, interrupted only by the lewd sucking noises he makes with his mouth and occasional groans of pleasure. His thumb moves faster over my clit, combined with the feeling of his tongue stretching me out and filling me over and over again, and my body seizes. 

“Caleb, I’m gonna—“ I shout. I can’t even finish warning him, before he groans into my pussy, and sends me over the edge. The pleasure that crashes into me is transformative. My ears ring, and my lungs stop, and I swear my heart stops beating, as every nerve and every cell in my body is reduced to pleasurable sensation by his hands and tongue. 

He rides out the orgasm by swapping his mouth and hands. His tongue seeks out my clit and sucks it hard into his mouth, as he swiftly plunges two fingers deep inside of me. They’re so thick, and so much longer than my own, and he rocks them in and out relentlessly. My cries are continuous, and my hips buck against his other hand that pins me down. The stimulation is too much, but it’s not enough. I can feel him expertly pushing me towards another peak. 

My cries are guttural, as he crooks his fingers inside of me, finding that spot that I could never reach on my own, and fucks me over and over and over again. 

“Caleb!” I scream, as I crest another powerful orgasm. He detaches his mouth from my cunt and instead keeps pistoning his hand inside of me, his glazed purple eyes watching me closely as I fall apart for him. 

“So fucking pretty when you come for me,” he groans, while keeping his hand pressing down hard on my abdomen. 

The sensations flood me, and I feel a pressure building inside of me that I can’t explain. The release is endless, and gushes out of me, spraying all over his hands and face. Caleb’s eyes flutter and he groans as I squirt over him. It’s only after my hands tug at his wrists that he finally gives my overstimulated cunt a break, and I lay there gasping for breath. 

Caleb looks all but drunk as he pants heavily over me, as though he just experienced an orgasm with me. He watches me for a moment before grasping my chin firmly with his hand and crashing his mouth into mine. I can taste myself on his tongue, and the knowledge that it’s me, that it’s my arousal, that saturates his tastebuds fills me with a heady kind of power. I suck on his tongue, desperate for more of it, and he groans into me, his hips grinding against my thigh as he responds to my eager passion. 

“You’ve been holding out on me, pip-squeak,” he slurrs against my lips, “didn’t know you were a squirter.” His hands rub and soothe my thighs that have yet to cease trembling. 

“I didn’t know either,” I breathe into his mouth. 

He smirks against my lips. “I’m honored to be the first.” 

He kisses me lazily, giving me more time to calm myself before pushing me to move forward. My body is languid and lazy from the aftershocks of my pleasure, but my hands roam his skin, greedy for more. My hand trails down along his shoulder to his chest, and follows the trail of my necklace down his pecs. 

I’ve always admired the strength of his body, and his dedication to keeping fit. His muscles are carved from stone, and the heat of him is solid and strong beneath my palm. It’s at odds with the frantic pace of the his heart beating furiously in his chest. As dominant as he may be, he’s still just as effected by me as I am by him. The thought makes my heart soar.

My hand trails down further, following the ridges of his defined abdomen. He gasps at the light touch, and his muscles twitch in response to my gentle exploration. I can tell he wants more, but he restrains himself, allowing me to go at my own pace. My hand continues to dip lower, idly stroking along the veins that run down his adonis belt, before wrapping around the base of his cock. 

The touch of my hand around him, makes him hiss, and I feel him twitch against my palm. I’ve never held a cock before. I don’t know how to make him feel as good as he did to me. But I want to learn. I want to repay the favor. 

With a glance at his face to gauge his reaction, I slowly glide my hand down the length of him from root to tip, slowly tightening my hold around him. He squeezes his eyes tight, and the hand he has supporting himself on the bed tightens into a ball. His other hand wraps around mine, and tightens my grip considerably, until I’m squeezing him in my fist. 

Caleb groans and his whole body shivers as he guides my hand over him, showing me how to pleasure him. After a few strokes, he lets go, and I continue to pump him as he demonstrated. He hisses in pleasure, and his breath is heavy and uneven as he leans into me. 

“Just like that. Doing so good for me, baby. Fucking perfect, like I knew you’d be.” He mutters before capturing my lips in another kiss. 

I experimentally pick up the pace, while swiping my thumb along the slit at the end, smearing his pre-cum down his length. His abs twitch, and he groans into my mouth, before pulling my hand away entirely. 

“Of course you’re a natural. Gonna make me cum if you keep that up.” He growls before devouring my mouth in a breathless kiss. 

When he pulls away, my body is hot and needy, and I think if I have to wait any longer to properly feel him inside of me I’m going to lose my mind. 

“Do you still want it, pip-squeak?” He asks against my lips. “We don’t have to today. We’ve got all the time in the world. I don’t wanna push you.” 

While I’m touched that he’s willing to hold himself back for me, I’m more focused on the obsessive need building inside of me that only he can take away. I grab ahold of his hair and jerk his head down to look at me. He hisses in pain and glares down at me, but waits for me to speak. 

“Caleb, fuck me right now. That’s an order.” I demand.  

His body ripples in pleasure as his pupils blow wide. He captures my lips in another kiss, before pulling back. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers cheekily. 

He pulls at my legs until my knees are pressed to my chest, and guides his cock towards my entrance. He holds my gaze as he slowly pushes in, feeding me his cock inch by inch. He’s big. So much bigger than my toy or his hands. But I’m so wet that the stretch is only a dull aching pinch. He fills me about halfway before rocking gently back, and I can’t help but glance down at his length. It shines with my arousal, and I whimper with the need to feel him inside me again immediately. Caleb’s hand gently grasps my chin and guides my face back to looking at him as he pushes into me again. 

“Eyes on me,” he demands.

This time he goes deeper, and the pressure builds until I have to grip him tight. It’s an ache that only expands until finally he stills, all of him inside of me. The stretch is almost more than I can take, but Caleb stays put, allowing me to slowly get used to feeling him inside of me. His shoulders tremble, and his eyes flutter shut before fixing on me again. 

“So fucking good. Feel perfect around me. Like I knew you would. Your cunt is made for me. Only me. Only I will ever fill this pussy up,” he mumbles as his mouth grazes across my neck, nipping and sucking at the skin around my collarbone. 

His possession makes me flutter, and he groans, nipping at my skin harder. 

“You like it when I tell you that you’re mine? You like it when I tell you that my cock is made to fill you up? That it will never feel empty ever again, because I will always be there to make it full?” He continues his filthy promises against my skin. 

I whine as my cunt flutters tighter around him, and the sharp edge of pain slowly begins to ebb away. His hand trails down to slowly circle my clit, and the stimulation makes me gasp, and I dig my nails into his shoulders.

He rocks his hips experimentally, before pulling about halfway out, before slowly gliding in again. Sparks dance inside of my body as he moves, and the waves of pleasure quickly overtake the pain. He captures my mouth, and moans as his hips slowly start to pick up the pace in earnest. 

With each thrust, the pain dulls to a whisper, and I feel that need for more clawing its way down my spine. He maintains his maddeningly gentle pace, and I think back to how hard, how viciously he fucked the other girl earlier, and my cunt clamps down tight in jealousy. He groans, and thrusts harder, before catching himself and slowing down again. 

“Harder,” I pant into his mouth, “please fuck me harder.” 

His hands tighten on my body, but he pulls back to study my face all the same. “Are you sure?” 

“Please, Caleb. Please fuck me harder, I’ll be so good for you, please, please, please,” I beg. 

It’s like a cord snaps inside of him at the sound of my begging, and his touch becomes iron. He pulls almost all the way out before slamming his hips hard into mine, and I wail out my pleasure into the room. The sound of it is obscene, and only makes me wilder for him. 

“You want me to fuck you hard, is that it?” He asks, while his thrusts become deep and bruising. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” I shout, my eyes rolling back in pleasure as he finally gives me what I’ve been wanting. 

His hips snap viscously back and forth, thrusting his cock deep into me over and over again. His cock bullies into my walls deliciously, and stretches me out until I can’t think, I can’t even speak, because all I am is reduced to how he feels inside of me. 

“Was trying to be nice,” Caleb growls, “but my dirty girl wants to be fucked good and hard, is that right?” 

“Yes, please, Caleb!” I scream. 

He moans and grabs at my legs and throws them together over his shoulder, bending me solidly in half, so he can continue to pound deep into me. The angle makes me grip him even tighter, and I can feel the stretch even deeper. My hands fly out, fisting in the sheets, and it’s all I can do to hang on and take his furious pounding. 

He rises up on his knees, and the sight of him, sweaty and towering over me, flushed from the exertion of fucking me, drives me to the edge. I can tell from the wild look in his glassy purple eyes that he’s close behind me. 

As if he can read my thoughts, his eyes narrow down on me like a predator, and his fucking becomes all but savage. “You gonna cum for me, sweet girl? Are you gonna cum all over my cock?”

I moan at the sinful words and stutter for air. I can feel his cock throb inside of me, and I spasm as I try to find a hold on the sheets beneath me. His thrusts are frenzied and ruthless, and it takes only a few more before I’m coming for him. His cock is relentless, dragging out the pleasure of my orgasm as my cunt spasms around him. I wail my pleasure loud into the room, and scream his name as I cum. 

“That’s it baby. Feel so fucking good. Gonna make me cum. Where do you want it?” He asks, his words half drunk as he fucks me to oblivion and back. I gather what little strength I have left in my arms and pull him down onto me. His weight smothers me, and our skin is slick with our sweat.

“Inside, please,” I whine. 

He moans and his thrusts become erratic. He buries his face in the crook of my neck and bites down while his hips rutting mindlessly as he comes. The feeling of his cock throbbing inside of me, and his hot cum filling me up brings me to a soft peak, and I clench around him, milking his cock dry. His moans and heavy breaths fill my ear, and I pull him to collapse completely on top of me. His heavy weight is grounding, and makes me feel even more connected to him as we gather our breaths. 

Finally, he rolls off of me with a huff, and pulls me with him so that I’m burrowed in his arms. He grips me tight, and his hands stroke idly along my skin, uncaring of the sweat that covers it. As our bodies cool down, he pulls back and cups my face in his hand. The look in his eyes is heavy and fills me with an emotion I can’t name. He kisses me softly, sweetly, pouring everything he feels into it. I grab tight onto his wrists and kiss him back, hoping that he can feel my response as clearly. 

“Can we do this forever?” He asks me softly. 

I turn my head and kiss the palm that cups my cheek. “Forever and ever.” 

His smile is soft and sleepy, but still filled with his trademark mischief. “And forever after that?” 

I let out a sleepy laugh and burrow tighter into his chest. The feeling of rightness, of being home, has never been stronger. “And forever after that.”

[sheepispink]

okay i’ve been following you on AO3 and accidentally found your tumblr 😭 but i’ve had this idea and i literally can’t get it out of my head so i wanted to request it to you 🧎

jazzsinger!reader (or like a popular singer/actor mayhaps a model 👀) x Simon “Ghost” Riley | okay so imagine reader has been frequently going to a cafe that ghost also goes to, and they kinda just bond because both of them are wearing a mask (or something to cover their face ex. mask and glasses with baseball cap) while barely talking to anyone except to order their drinks (i’m a tea girlie and i love me a good cup of oolong tea 🫡). I just imagine some 6’1 dude in all black next to someone noticeably smaller also wearing black attire staring menacingly at the wall waiting for their drinks. Then after a while they grab their drinks, look at each other, nod, then leaves without uttering a word. Then after a while it turns into a romantic relationship and when introduced to everyone else (the task force) they just lose it cause how does the skull wearing weirdo on their team get a smoking hot partner 🤨

Anyways please take my humble request with a grain of salt 

-🫄

i have tried, whether i have succeeded i do not know but i did have a lot of fun with this one so thank you very much for the ask!! Also mind my spelling mistakes, its like way too early rn LOL

You don't know how this even started, or who this man really is besides that you always walk in at the same time each morning and most of the people here are terrified. It’s likely his stature, 6’1 and dressed in all back, though you’re not too different yourself. Working as a singer and occasional model meant fans would be found in the most unlikely places, especially since your recent single blew the charts entirely. After your fans spotted you at your last local grocery store, you’ve had to take your own drastic measures, dressing in practically all black with a mask and a baseball cap just for good measure. So, in one way or another, you two were practically matching as you stood waiting for your drinks. Infact, it occured so often that your drinks would be served together; your hands brush as you pick up your cups until you glance up at each other and give a quick nod before disappearing again.

That was until today, where you walked in to see the man had gotten to the line before you for once, however it was much longer than usual. Still you waited patiently, humming your new song to yourself as the queue slowly moves, albeit very very slowly. Eventually you get fed up, peering round the hunk of a man to see what or who’s holding it up. “Bloody kids.. dont even know what they’re doin’ ”The man grunts out, surprising you as he looks back and you nod, looking forward. Two young teenagers were working, though they looked far too inexperienced especially with their hair not even up around the baked goods nor aprons on. But that wasnt the worst of it— no, they were just sloppy in general, having to remake coffees and not even knowing the measurements for each type. “Guess they have to start somewhere..” You hum, a small sigh leaves you although the man doesnt say anything back, clearly not taking a liking to his coffee being so delayed. Well, you cant exactly blame him.

Finally, you both stand to the side as the kids prepare your drinks, with you occasionally checking your watch considering you have to grab an uber to your producer's house for a quick meeting. You were close, practically growing up together since you went to the same university. Being late would cause problems though, and you tap your foot a little, wondering how hard it is to make a simple oolong tea. “Order 55 and 56!” You both step forward as always, reaching for your drinks until you realise this doesnt look like your oolong tea at all. Peeking at the label, you realise you had accidentally take his, hence ‘Simon’ written on the side.

”Think I took yours Simon.” You’ve got a little bit of a cheeky note to your voice since discovering this information about him, making him roll his eyes. He hands the cup over to you and reaches for his out of your hands. That’s when your brows furrow, realising why you even picked up the wrong one in the first place.

”Hey— this isnt even your drink. It’s a latte.” You hold it up to him and he peeks through the lid, eyes narrowing beneath his balaclava but settling again. “It’s fine—“

”No it’s not.”

Before he can try and stop you, you’ve already walked up to the counter and facing the lazy teenager there who had been mid-call with her friend. “He asked for a black coffee, not this.” You narrow your eyes at her, annoyed by her clear incompetence especially as she didnt seem to care at all that she was supposed to be working. “It’s just a bit of milk; he wont die.” She shrugs, only making you all the more annoyed as you pull down your mask. “Make a new one, now. Do you even know how many people would beg for a job of yours?”

The teenager is more shook by the fact you’re the jazz singer that she’s been a die hard fan of for the past year and she just embarrassed herself in front of you by acting like an idiot. “I- i’m so sorry! I’ll make it now!” She scurries off to make it, and you feel the presence of the soldier behind you again, glancing down at you.

“Didnt know you had a pretty face hiding beneath all tha’ ” He hums, noticing how your cheeks flush just a tad before you pull the mask back up.“Thanks, you didn't have to.”

You can only shrug, letting your hands fall from their stance on your hips. “It was nothing.. you’re right, they’re stupid kids.” He chuckles, watching the girl scurry quickly over and hand him the drink as she profusely apologises to you over and over.

The two of you leave the store, with you groaning as you pinch the bridge of your nose. “Damnit..” He raises a brow towards you, his mask crinkling slightly as you take your phone out, pulling up the uber app. “What’s wrong?” He murmurs, lifting his mask a tad to sip the coffee before lowering it again. “I won't be able to come back to this coffee shop anymore..”

”Oh? Too many fans?” Surprisingly his voice has a teasing lilt to it, making you look up at him with wide eyes before hiding your gaze again. “Yeah.. not that i’m not grateful but it can be tiring.”

”C’mon, i’ll give you a ride, that uber will take forever.”

He takes your number after he drops you off at your friend's house, leaving you with radio silence. Then, the next morning he sends an address, more specifically a coffee shop that he particularly likes and where you can start anew until the fans die down. Sometimes he’ll give you a ride after and he’ll even text when you’re late for your coffee run. It shifts into regular texts, longer conversations, brushing hands as you wait for your drinks he paid for, still with that same menacing stare. On an off chance he may just annoy you just a tad, leaning his arm on your head as you look up at him in horror before giving him a faux punch. “I’m not that short!”

Somehow, you end up meeting his task force, your hand held tightly in his. “T-this is your partner?” Gaz’s jaw is dropped just as much as Soap’s is, only Price chuckling at the whole situation. None of them had ever believed that Ghost would get a bird, especially not one as pretty as you are. “Hi everyone.”

You grin, finally pulling down your baseball cap and Soap nearly topples over right there and then. Gaz has his gaze flicking between you two, from Simon’s sharp eyes and black out to your bright face and sweet grin. “ What..?? When..?? How?!”

They drag you over to the couch promptly after, forcing you to tell them all about how you two met and if Ghost really is a softie after all. Meanwhile, Price pats Ghost on the shoulder, the stiff man still tense since he thought this whole meeting wouldnt go too well. “You know they wont let this go, right?”

“..I know.” Simon huffs, but he’s grinning behind the mask.

[itsnesss]

Hello how are uuu👾,I heard ur requests were open!💜

May I please request Hwang In-ho x player! fem reader who is really affectionate (not sexually tho) like a fluffy affectionate bunny rabbit,has pigtails and always says I love you a ton!,like we need some fluffy and sweetness for our frontman as we had too much smut already💜👾

𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟎𝟏 | hwang in-ho (the frontman) × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | emotional distress and vulnerability, violence and intense situations, psychological themes and manipulation

word count | 0.8 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The atmosphere of the game was suffocating, a place where hopelessness and fear weighed in the air like an impossible-to-remove blanket. But you were different. Where others saw the end, you found reasons to smile. Where others felt fear, you radiated a contagious tenderness.

Your two pigtails bounced with every step, and your eyes shone even in the darkest corners of the shared dormitory. No one understood how you could keep that sweet spirit in a place like this, but they didn’t try to stop you either.

" I love you!" you exclaimed enthusiastically, throwing imaginary hearts with your hands. Sometimes you said it to other players, sometimes to the soldiers, and even to the air.

But, above all, you said it to him.

" I love you, player 001!"

The first time you said it, most didn’t even bother to react, accustomed to your constant displays of affection. But you noticed. You saw how he, the older man with the serene smile, slightly raised his gaze toward you. He didn’t say anything, but that small gesture was enough for you to try again the next day.

" I love you, player 001!"

And the next.

" I love you, player 001!"

You didn’t expect him to reply, but every time you said it, there was a slight blink in his eyes, a barely noticeable curve in his lips, almost imperceptible, but present.

The games continued, cruel and relentless. There were days when you felt you couldn’t smile anymore, but then you would see him. Always calm, always watching, as if he knew something that others didn’t.

One night, while everyone slept, you approached him with light steps. He was sitting on his bed, awake, staring at the ceiling.

" Can’t sleep, player 001?" you whispered.

He slowly turned his head, surprised to see you there.

" Not much, little one." His voice was soft, almost fatherly.

Without asking for permission, you sat beside him, hugging your knees.

" When I can’t sleep, I like to count the things I love." You smiled sweetly. " Like... I love you, player 001!"

He let out a soft laugh. It was the first time you heard him laugh.

" Do you always say that?"

" Of course. Everyone needs to hear that they are loved, don’t you think?"

He watched you in silence for a long moment. There was no judgment in his eyes, only curiosity.

" It’s been a long time since I’ve heard something like that."

" Well, you’ll have to get used to it! Because I’ll tell you every day," you said with a mischievous smile.

Over time, you noticed how he began to care for you in small ways. He would offer you his extra portion of food without you asking. He would walk beside you during the games, making sure you were safe. And, though he didn’t say it, his presence became a refuge for you.

In one of the toughest rounds, you almost fell while running, but a firm hand caught you.

" Not so fast, little one," he murmured, helping you stay on your feet.

Your heart beat hard, but not from fear.

" I love you, player 001!" you told him, and he smiled tenderly.

The scariest night was when the lights went out, and everyone started attacking each other. You hid under a bunk, hugging yourself, trying not to cry. But then, footsteps approached.

" Come out." You recognized his voice instantly.

" But... I’m scared..."

" I’m here. No one will hurt you."

Carefully, you came out and hugged him without thinking. His body was stiff at first, but then you felt one of his hands gently stroke your hair.

" You’re shaking," you murmured. " Are you scared?"

" No, I just... don’t want to see you hurt."

Your eyes filled with tears.

" I love you, player 001!"

He sighed, and for the first time, his words surprised you.

" I love you too, little one."

It was a whisper so low that you almost thought it was a dream. But that night, you slept in his arms, feeling safe for the first time since you entered the game.

Over time, everyone started noticing his softness toward you. No one understood how someone so serious, so mysterious, could tolerate the girl with pigtails who never stopped saying "I love you."

But you knew the truth. Beneath all his calm and coldness, there was someone who also needed affection. And every time you looked at him, with your eyes shining and your contagious smile, he felt it.

" Hey..." he said one time while you shared a piece of bread.

" Yes?"

" You didn’t tell me anything today."

" Nothing?" you asked, confused.

" You know... that thing you always say."

You chuckled.

" I love you, player 001!"

And he, with that small smile he reserved only for you, replied softly:

" I love you too, little one."

[desiredlvr]

your turn 𐙚

warnings - flirting & fwb!billie

The soft hum of the camera's shutter echoed through the studio, accompanied by the quiet rustling of clothes and the occasional direction being given by the photographer. You leaned against the wall, watching Billie, who was being snapped in a variety of poses for her latest photoshoot. The lights reflected off her skin, casting a glow that made her look like she belonged in a magazine.

Her hair was perfectly messy, as though she had just rolled out of bed—yet she looked effortlessly stunning. She shot a quick glance over at you between takes, her eyes catching yours for a second longer than usual, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

You gave her a subtle nod, trying to play it cool, but something about the way she looked at you made your heart race.

“Is that how you always look at people, Billie?” You teased, pushing yourself off the wall and walking toward her. 

She chuckled softly, her voice low and playful as she adjusted her pose for the next shot. “You’ve got it all wrong, Mama,” she said, her gaze following you like a magnet. “I’m just trying to make sure I’m keeping your attention... and it’s clearly working.”

You smirked, leaning against the set, arms crossed. “Maybe,” you said, biting your lip to keep from smiling too widely. “But you’re going to have to work harder than that if you want to impress me.”

Billie raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. She shifted her body in a way that made the camera click faster, but her eyes never left you. “Oh, trust me. I’m just getting started.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her confidence. “I’m sure you are,” you said, your voice softer now, letting the flirtation linger. “But don’t think I’m going to make it easy for you.”

Billie’s gaze flickered down to your lips for a split second before her eyes met yours again, a glint of something daring in her eyes. “Who said I wanted it easy?” she asked, her tone dripping with teasing challenge.

Your heartbeat picked up, but you stayed calm, walking slowly toward her with a small grin. “You’re persistent,” you said. “I’ll give you that.”

Billie leaned in just a little closer, her breath brushing against your cheek. “I like to get what I want,” she murmured, her voice now hushed, almost intimate. “And right now, I want your attention.”

The air between you two crackled with tension, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you, the photographer’s calls barely audible in the background.

You could feel her eyes on you as she stepped back, giving you just enough space to breathe, but she wasn’t done. “Are you going to make me work for it, or will you just give in already?”

You grinned, tilting your head slightly. “You’ll have to find out,” you replied, your voice teasing yet soft. “I’m not that easy to win over, Billie.”

Her lips parted slightly, as if she was about to respond, but the photographer called out, asking her to change positions. With a playful wink, Billie turned her attention back to the camera, but you could tell the smile she was hiding was for you.

As the shoot went on, the moments between the two of you became charged with something undeniable. Every glance, every word exchanged, felt like a flirtation wrapped in mystery. And as the photographer wrapped up the session and the lights dimmed, Billie was the first to break the silence, her voice husky and close as she approached you.

“You were right,” she said with a sly smile. “I’m going to need a lot more to win you over. But I’ve got time.”

You couldn't help but smile back, already feeling the thrill of what was about to unfold. "You better hurry," you said softly, your gaze lingering on her lips once more. "I’m not sure how much longer I can wait."

Billie’s grin widened, her eyes shining with something deeper now. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’m a fast learner.”

[drdemonprince]

im really envious of u. I like reading your writing and the stories you tell about sex and stuff and it sounds like u have a lot of fun. I don’t no if I will ever be able to live like that. im autistic and very inhibited is probably the best word. I find it hard to meet new people and go new places. a few times I have gone to local munches but been too introverted to say anything to people and I just sit there feeling self conscious and silly. they have been really nice. but I haven’t made any friends or anything. I feel like I need someone to take me under their wing kinda and give me an in. It seems like I’d really enjoy it a lot but don’t no how to make my way in. I don’t feel confident enough to just use apps and hook up. especially as im so new to it all and dont no what im doing really. I’ve read what you say about going to the social gatherings and stuff but what if im too shy to say anything? I don’t no how to be more uninhibited but I feel like that’s what I need.

please keep in mind that I was not doing any of this shit until I was like 32 years old. up until then I was in only a handful of relationships, mostly ones I had stumbled into through no agency of my own, and I had never really lived out any of my kinky desires. hell I had barely even gone out to a club or a concert or anything on my own, certainly not very often, let alone a sex club or something like that. I had to practice socializing on my own terms, and trying new things alone and scared and finding what was valuable in them despite those feelings a lot. like many many years a lot.

I didn't really venture out into the gay bath house or any of the cruising bars until I had a partner who was interested in taking me to them. that provided me with an in and an emotionally safe anchor with which to explore. I am also indebted to friends who showed me around places like steamworks and explained to me the nonverbals of cruising, which I then went ahead and put in my own cruising guide.

to this day I still have a much better time at events like puppy play night when I go with some homies and can spend some time joking around with them and using their support to help meet people before eventually breaking off and wandering into a back room to get laid. I still routinely have nights where I will go out on my own and do very little but sip from my drink and stand around awkwardly for four hours, maybe dance a bit, and go home.

cruising is an exercise in patience. you are never guaranteed any particular outcome or experience. you work with what nature gives you, and you learn to find some appreciation in simply being there and bearing witness. 9 times out of 10 you get turned down or there just isn't a spark. happens on the apps too.

shooting your shot and getting turned down is a successful consent negotiation. everybody has done everything correctly and it ended the only way that it should have. there's nothing to do but dust yourself off, not take it as some dramatic declaration of your life worth, and go at it again.

I recommend visiting cruising spaces with a friend. and just going purely for voyeuristic and anthropological reasons the first couple times. The only way you become a person who can do this stuff is by doing it, a fuck ton of times. message a lot of people. Go to a lot of events.

at some point you have to find the very act of going to be motivating and enjoyable in some way. thankfully I am fascinated by humans, enjoy dancing, like having a little drink or an edible and wandering around, and treat it all as very valuable writing fodder. you have to find what set of motivations work for you. because it's not about instant success or gratification ever. It is always a lot of waiting and watching and wondering what the night is going to bring, and making peace that often it will bring nothing at all except for being alive amongst others.

keep at it though. start really small. I am so glad that I got to this point, because yeah my life is really interesting and sexually gratifying and fun. but it also is entire weekends of just standing around nursing a drink and doing nothing and looking like an NPC. happens to the best of us

[star4daisy]

18/02 - husband - 1272 words - @rosekillermicrofic

“Where is he?” Barty asked desperately as soon as he entered the hospital. “Where the fuck is he?”

No one answered him. The place was a convoluted mess, with people running around, crying kids and wounded people in the waiting line. Barty barely avoided colliding with them as he ran to the front office.

The line was so big he considered stabbing himself to get admitted, that’s when he saw his salvation in the form of one Pandora Rosier. Barty skipped the line to where she was way ahead, ignoring all the protests around him. If anyone tried to stop him, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from getting physical.

“Do you know how he is?” he didn’t bother saying hi to her, he couldn’t make himself talk about anything other than Evan.

Pandora didn’t look nearly as distraught as Barty felt, but she had always been better at keeping her emotions in. It must run in the blood.

“Haven’t gotten any information yet, they said I needed to check here first.”

“Motherfuckers.” Barty cursed, ignoring the old lady in front of them who was sending him dirty looks.

It felt like an eternity before they were called, but Pandora only had two people in front of her in line. Barty let her do the talking, he wasn’t in the right headspace to be polite to anyone right now. Not when Evan was injured and Barty didn’t know how he was doing. Didn’t even know if he was alive. No. Barty couldn’t let himself go there or he’d lose his mind. Turn the entire hospital into ashes in his wake. Hell, he might let himself burn too so that he could meet Evan again.

“What’s your name, sir?” The lady finally turned to him after Pandora had already given all her information and Evan's.

“Bartemius Crouch Junior.” Barty had no patience to entertain her.

“Document, please.”

Barty gave it to her as quickly as he could, almost dropping it in the process, he didn’t know why his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Okay, Mister Rosier just got out of surgery, he’s still at the ICU, so only family members and partners can go up.”

“Okay, I’m his partner.” Barty didn’t even blink, there was a time when it would’ve cost him everything to admit it, but now it came as easy as breathing.

“I meant legally,” she clarified with an apologetic look. “His sister can go in, but I’m afraid you're not on the allowed list.”

“Excuse me?” Barty’s voice went up without even meaning to. “I’ve been with him for years, we’ve known each other since we were eleven and you’re telling me I can’t fucking see him because we don’t have a stupid piece of paper saying we’re partners?”

“I’m sorry sir, but only spouses and family members are allowed, you’ll have to wait until he’s out of the ICU.”

“Wait my ass, I’m going in to see him.” Barty hit his fist on the glass separating them.

“I’m gonna need you to calm down, sir. Or you’ll be asked to leave.”

Barty’s laughter was brittle. “The only way I’m leaving here is if you're all on a casket if you don’t let me in.”

“Barty,” Pandora interrupted his tirade. “Evan is fine, he’s in the room now. He wouldn’t want you to end up in jail or worse when he’s okay.”

“Fuck off, easy for you to say when you can go in. I need to see he’s okay with my own eyes. I don’t believe this cunt or any of these useless motherfuckers.”

“Barty,” her tone was full of warning.

“I need to see him.”

“There’s nothing we can do.”

“Yes, there is,” and then Barty turned around and started running.

He had no idea where he was going, barely avoiding hitting running nurses, he heard footsteps behind him but gave it no thought, he had a one-track mind when he was determined and nothing made him as focused as Evan.

Barty saw a sign with ICU written indicating that it was located on the seventh floor and ran to the elevators. He pressed the button five times before he saw security coming in his direction.

“Shit,” Barty checked around him for anywhere else he could go when he saw the sign for the stairs, without thinking twice he threw it open.

Barty was out of breath before he hit the third floor. He wanted to kill himself. Fuck him for never accepting Potter’s invitation to do cardio with him. They reached him before he got to the fifth floor. Barty was never smoking again, he was so out of breath he thought they might have to call a doctor for him too.

Maybe they would have if Barty hadn’t punched the first security guard to reach him, or if he hadn’t kicked the second one making him almost fall off the stairs. Unlucky for him he wasn’t in his prime anymore after all the running, Barty should've dealt with them before running, maybe he would've had a shot but as it was now he was taken kicking and screaming bloody murder.

Barty spat blood at the security guards' feet as soon as they threw him out through the emergency exit, he hadn't even felt it when they hit him. “I’m gonna kill all you motherfuckers.”

“You’re lucky we aren’t calling the cops on you,” They warned him.

Barty paid them no mind, even though one security remained outside to watch if he was gonna try to make a run for it again. Barty had never been so pissed in his entire life. How dare they not let him in just because he didn’t have a stupid piece of paper saying Evan was his forever?

It wasn’t like they hadn’t already been committed to each other for years, Barty had simply never believed in the concept of marriage. Not when all the examples he had were bloody awful. But now, after this, he was making Evan his husband as soon as he got out of the hospital.

Barty was pacing in front of the hospital when he had his most brilliant idea, he wasn't sure what gave him the idea, but he knew it was the only way he was being admitted to the hospital again after the stunt he had pulled. 

Barty turned to the guard with a shit-eating grin on his face — he couldn’t stop himself — he was a bloody genius. Barty took out the pocket knife he carried everywhere he went. He was getting in there even if he had to draw more blood.

“Don’t even try it,” the man warned him, his eyes widening as soon as he saw the knife in Barty’s hand. “Stay back,” he said as he reached for his walkie-talkie and called for reinforcement.

There was no need, Barty just needed him to see what was happening. As soon as the others stepped back outside, complaining that he was still there Barty turned the knife and stabbed himself on his side.

“Oh, shit.”

"Crazy motherfucker."

“Oh my fucking god, hold him.”

Barty was still smiling when they stopped him from hitting the floor and carried him inside the hospital. He laughed when they admitted him to the ICU and said he needed immediate surgery. 

“Barty?” Pandora asked with worry when she saw him passing in a litter. He didn’t even see when they put him there. “What the fuck did you do?”

Barty got one glimpse of Evan sitting down on his bed with a frown on his face before he passed out.

Evan was alive.

It was worth it.

[chrissssssmut]

YANDERE Winter from aespa being a friendly schoolmate, sees Karina being a little kind to you day by day as you become friends, before Winter goes berserk calling Karina a b*tch (lowkey could torture or k*ll her, would be kinda hot ngl), before Winter goes and dominates your world, warning you to love her and only her always.

👀

BENEATH THE SMILE

Yandere Winter x Male Reader feat. Karina

AN: Okay so this might be the last one I am writing for this week. I am super exhausted 😆😭. I literally wrote this after making the An Yujin one XD. Enjoy!🙏♥️

Winter had once been Edenvale Academy’s golden student. Everyone knew her as the sweet, caring girl who always went out of her way to help others. She was a shining example of kindness, always with a smile, always ready to lend a hand. If a classmate struggled with homework, Winter would offer to tutor them. If someone was feeling down, she was the first to comfort them. Her reputation was flawless, and her charm was unmatched. She made people feel seen, heard, and appreciated.

But as time went on, something began to change in her. At first, it was subtle. A tiny flicker of irritation when she noticed Karina talking to you a bit too much. Winter, the kind girl who’d once been praised for her selflessness, found herself gritting her teeth at the sight of Karina laughing at your jokes.

It was only a few months ago that Winter had smiled brightly at you and asked how your day had been, her voice warm and inviting. “Did you understand the math problem from class today? If you didn’t, I could help you after school,” she’d offered, her eyes full of kindness.

You had gratefully accepted, eager to get her assistance.

But now, those smiles felt like they were painted on. Her kindness was becoming suffocating, almost possessive. And it all started when Karina started spending more time with you.

“Hey, are you going to the school event tomorrow?” Winter asked one afternoon, her tone light but her eyes narrowing slightly when she saw Karina approach you.

“I was thinking about it,” you replied, glancing at Karina who was standing just a few feet away. Karina smiled at you, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Winter’s voice suddenly became sharper, though she tried to mask it with forced cheer. “You know, Karina’s always so sociable. I think she’ll be there for sure.” Her eyes flickered toward Karina, lingering just a moment too long. “You know, she really enjoys the attention, doesn’t she?”

Karina blinked, taken aback by the implication. “What do you mean by that?”

Winter’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a coldness creeping into her voice. “Oh, nothing. Just that she’s always so eager to be around you. But then again, I guess she always has been, huh?”

You, not understanding where this was coming from, tried to smooth things over. “I think we’re all just friends here, Winter.”

Winter’s smile grew tighter, her grip on her bag a little too firm. “Oh, I’m sure,” she said. But her voice dropped, low and almost mocking, “But some people don’t always know their place, do they?”

As the days passed, Winter’s mood became more unpredictable. She no longer walked through the halls with that radiant smile. Instead, her steps were heavy, her eyes always darting to where Karina was. If you and Karina exchanged a glance or a laugh, Winter’s face would twist, her lips curling into a smile that never quite reached her eyes.

It all came to a head one day after lunch, when she caught Karina talking to you in the courtyard.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that essay. You really did an amazing job on it,” Karina said, leaning in a little closer to you as she spoke. You could see her giving you a flirty smile.

Winter, watching from a distance, felt her blood boil. She stormed over to the two of you, her footsteps loud against the concrete.

“Oh, you two seem close,” she said sweetly, her voice almost saccharine as she slid between you and Karina, wrapping her arm around your shoulders possessively. “What’s going on here?”

Karina looked at her, confused by the sudden tension. “We were just talking about the essay. It was a lot of work, but I think we’ve got it figured out.”

Winter’s grip tightened on your shoulder, a smile still plastered on her face. “Really?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Funny, because I don’t remember you being all that interested in essays before.”

Karina’s brow furrowed, sensing the shift in Winter’s tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Winter leaned in, her face too close to Karina’s, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “It means that I see what you’re doing. Trying to worm your way into his life. But it’s not going to work.”

Karina blinked, shocked by the words. “What are you talking about?” she asked, genuinely confused.

Winter’s gaze flickered to you, and she smiled. “He’s mine. And if you think you can just take him, you’re sadly mistaken.”

That night, Winter put her plan into motion. She approached Karina with an innocent smile, her eyes wide with mock concern. “Hey,” Winter said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “I’ve been thinking about what happened earlier. Maybe I overreacted. I just got caught up in my feelings.” Her voice was sweet, almost apologetic.

Karina, ever the forgiving person, smiled back. “It’s alright, Winter. I get it. I was a little forward. It won’t happen again.”

Winter’s smile became unsettling. “Actually, I was thinking… maybe we could hang out tonight? Just the two of us. I could really use a night to catch up.”

Karina, who had no idea what was coming, agreed. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

And so, she showed up at Winter’s house later that evening, unaware of what awaited her.

When Karina stepped through the door, everything went dark.

The next thing she knew, she was tied to a chair, her head throbbing from a blow to the back of her skull. She could barely make out the shape of Winter standing in front of her, her once gentle smile now twisted into something cold and calculating.

“Winter?” Karina gasped, fear creeping into her voice. “What is this?”

Winter crouched down in front of her, her hands gently brushing Karina’s hair back. “Oh, Karina,” she cooed mockingly. “You should’ve stayed away. I’ve been patient. But now you’ve pushed me too far.”

“Winter, what the hell are you doing?!” Karina shouted, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and confusion. “Let me go!”

Winter tilted her head, her eyes dark with menace. “No. You don’t get to play innocent anymore. You’ve been trying to steal him from me for weeks, and now it’s time to teach you a lesson.”

She grabbed Karina’s face with an iron grip, squeezing her cheeks painfully, forcing her to look into her eyes. “I’ve tried to be nice, Karina. But now you’re just a problem. A problem I’m going to get rid of.”

Karina’s heart raced, her eyes filling with tears. “Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “I never wanted any of this.”

Winter laughed, but it was hollow, devoid of the warmth she once exuded. “It’s too late for that now.”

Meanwhile, you were left bewildered. Karina had suddenly cut ties with you, leaving you with a dozen questions and no answers. You called her, desperately asking what had happened. But all you received was silence. Your confusion turned to worry, so you did what anyone would do: you asked her for her location.

When Winter answered her phone, her voice was eerily calm. “She’s with me,” Winter said, sounding almost pleased with herself. “You should come here, see for yourself what happens when you let someone get too close.”

“Winter, where is she? What’s going on?” you demanded, trying to make sense of everything.

Winter’s voice softened, but there was a strange edge to it. “Just come here. It’s time you understood who belongs with you.”

You rushed to Winter’s house, your stomach in knots. The door was unlocked when you arrived, and you entered, calling out for Karina. The silence was deafening.

When you stepped further inside, you heard Winter’s soft voice behind you. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she whispered, sending a chill down your spine.

A sharp pain seared through your side as she pressed a knife against you, a harsh reminder of what she was capable of. “Now you’ll see the truth,” Winter murmured. “You belong to me.”

She led you toward Karina, whose face was streaked with tears and bruises. As she tied you up beside her, Winter’s touch was possessive, claiming you in front of Karina.

“You see, Karina?” Winter sneered. “He’s mine. And now you’ll never get him.”

Karina sobbed, her voice barely a whisper. “Winter, please, just let us go…”

Winter’s eyes gleamed with delight as she turned to you. “You promised, didn’t you? You said you’d stay with me.”

You nodded, your heart heavy with the weight of your words. “I promise. I’ll stay.”

With that, Karina was freed, but not without a warning. If she ever spoke of what had happened, Winter would kill both of you.

At school, life went on. The students whispered about how perfect Winter and you were as a couple. How everyone envied your relationship, wishing they could find someone like Winter—someone so kind, so devoted, so perfect. They had no idea about the darkness that lurked beneath her smile, and you could only watch silently, knowing the truth.

As you walked down the hall one day, you overheard a group of students talking near the lockers.

“I’m so jealous of them,” one girl said, her voice dreamy. “Winter and him, they’re like the perfect couple. So cute together.”

“I know! They’re always so lovey-dovey,” another girl replied with a giggle. “I wish I had someone like him. He’s so sweet, and Winter’s just the perfect girlfriend. They seem like a fairytale.”

Another student chimed in. “Ugh, I wish I had that kind of relationship. They’re just so… perfect. I can’t even imagine what it’d be like to have someone care about you like that.”

You could hear the envy and admiration in their voices, oblivious to the truth behind Winter’s twisted version of love.

And as you passed by, your eyes met Karina’s. She looked away quickly, her expression full of silent pain. You could only offer a look of regret, knowing that the world would never know the truth about what happened to you both.

And Winter? She stood beside you, her grip on your arm tight, a smile that hid a thousand secrets.

[rat6ix]

SEPARATED .

Chishiya x reader

Summary: When you and chishiya get separated from kuina and the rest of the group while trying to get away from the king of spades you both are forced to confront your feelings

Warnings: smut, probably ooc chishiya but i’ll try my best, kissing, grinding/dryhumping, riding, they don’t take off their clothes all the way cause they’re kind of not trying to get killed at any second, readers a lil nervous guys, hair pulling sorta kinda.

Wc:1.3k

— 🐀

—

Maybe running behind the guy that never took his hands out of his pockets was a bad idea, cause now you were stuck in a random apartment complex with the guy you’d been thinking about undressing the entire time you’d known him. You, chishiya, kuina and the others had been running from the king of spades previously, trying not to end up stuck to the ground with a bullet through you like the other unfortunate people in his sight. But unfortunately you and chishiya got separated when the king of spades threw a bomb your way before you both could make it in the car.

You were a little glad but also scared cause you had no idea where your friends were now, glad because the five of you aren’t squished together in the back seat of the car tatta was driving. Now that brought you back to your current problem, chishiya. He was in the other room while you raided the kitchen for some food that wasnt rotten and actually edible. Eventually you got lucky, stumbling upon their canned food cupboard. Grabbing the cans you made your way to the living room where chishiya sat on the couch tinkering with something electronic on the coffee table.

You set the food and the can opener down on the table as well as the forks you’d found, sliding a can you opened to him. He eventually stopped tinkering and nodded as thanks. You both ate in silence, the whole time you were trying not to look over at him. You eventually caved as he let out a loud sigh, curious as to what for.

“You’re sort of pathetic.” He spoke after a while, putting his food down on the table in front of you both.

“So I’ve been told.” You acknowledged, suddenly your can of food was the most interesting thing in the world.

You could practically feel his smug smile from across the couch, your eyes refusing to meet his. He hummed before speaking again.

“If you weren’t constantly staring at me when you thought i wasn’t looking i’d start to think you didn’t like me.”

You froze, knowing you’d been caught. Of course, nothing could make it past chishiya. You should’ve known, but maybe you were too busy staring to notice. You couldn’t try to defend yourself, it wouldn’t make a difference. So you kept quiet, shrinking into yourself and trying to get back to your food; even if your stomach was upset from anxiousness.

“I find myself staring at you sometimes.” He confessed, still staring at your face that was now twisted in shock.

You accidentally slammed your can down on the coffee table a little too hard, so stunned by what he said to remember your own strength; You were lucky it wasn’t one of thoes fancy glass ones. You could see chishiya’s eyebrow raise from the corner of your eye, his arms crossed and resting on his chest. You finally looked at him, trying your hardest to not break eye contact. You noticed the side of his mouth twitching upwards, he finally had you looking at him just like he wanted.

You didn’t know what to do as chishiya made his way towards you, sitting too close for you to function properly. You definitely didn’t know what to do as he took your face in his hand and pressed his mouth to yours. Your hands were stiff at your sides as you kissed him, not knowing if you should touch him. He pulled away with a content look on his face, using his hand that wasn’t gripping your face to guide your hand to his own. You got the memo as you moved your other hand to his shoulder and pulled him in again.

You made your way into his lap at some point, trying not to break the kiss as you pushed him back into the couch cushions. When the kiss was broken chishiya looked up at you with half lidded eyes, his hands settled on your hips as you tested the waters and pushed your lap against his. His reaction was small, his hands tightening their grip on your hips as he bit his lower lip the smallest bit. He’d let out a sigh with a whiny undertone as you grinded against him, resting his head on the cushion behind him as you kept going.

He lifted his head to look at you as you stopped, only to let out a gasp as you pulled his cock out of his pants. You lifted your hips to pull your own pants down to your thighs before sliding down on his cock, a quiet moan leaving you as you did. Chishiya dug his fingers into the couch as you rode him, the tips of his fingers turning pale from the pressure. You leaned down to kiss him, putting your hands on his chest to keep steady. Chishiya brought his hands up to your back, sliding them up your shirt as you deepened the kiss.

Every once in a while he’d let a groan escape into your mouth, his hips bucking upward and reaching deeper into you. You tried not to get too loud, breathing heavily with the occasional moan. Chishiya cursed under his breath as you tugged at his hair and broke the kiss, his eyes clouded with lust as he locked eyes with you. A smile made its way to your face as you took in his disheveled state. his cardigan was falling off, his hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat, his eyes were heavy with lust and his mouth was slightly ajar as heavy breaths and the occasional whine left him.

“Mmm, you’re laughing at me?” He teased, his mouth closed and raised into a smirk.

You shook your head, the smile still on your face. Instead of replying verbally you leaned down to press your lips to his neck, he moved his head to the side to give you better access. His eyes almost completely rolled back into his head as you sucked on the exposed skin, his arms slacked against you. You pulled moan after moan from him as you continued your assault on his neck, you were sure he wasn’t going to last long like that.

He could barely keep his head up when you finished, the blissed out expression on his face matching perfectly with the red and purple bruises on his neck. Your lips were probably swollen by now from the kissing and covering chishiyas neck in hickies, your lips shiny from being covered in both yours and chishiyas spit from your previous make out session. The side of chishiyas neck also shining from your assault, a sheen of saliva coating it and highlighting the bruises.

“Gonna cum soon..” he whispered, nails digging into your upper back as he rested his head in between where your shoulder and head meet. You quicken your pace at this, chishiya letting out a noise of surprise against your skin. You dont doubt that your back was covered in marks from chishiyas nails at this point, even if nobody would be able to see them you would be able to feel them under your shirt.

His grip switched when he came, pulling you into him by your shoulders; his arms hooked under yours as he moaned. You came not long after that, the feeling of you squeezing around him making quiet whimpers leave his mouth. You weren’t any better, whiny moans leaving you as you rode out your high. Chishiya muttered something unintelligible into your shoulder before pulling you off his lap, carefully as to not hurt you.

He shoved himself back into his pants before searching the empty apartment for something to clean you with. Eventually he did, it wasn’t much considering the state of the world but it was better than leaving you leaking with his cum. After he was done he pulled your pants up and pulled you so you laid next to him and pressed a kiss to your sweat covered forehead. It didn’t take long for you both to fall asleep, deciding it would be the best course of action.

—

[luv4arinn]

THIS!!

April is my comfort character (and yes, I also love Megan Fox, I’m not complaining). She’s so sweet, I adore her. I’ve always seen her as a mother/big sister figure to the turtles, and that dynamic is pure gold.

BUT GOD— Bayverse April had SO much potential for real character development.

And what did they do with her? Oh, right, they added that super necessary shot of her butt in the first movie. Wow. Such a great contribution to the plot. Absolutely essential. I hate how they sexualized her.

Like—HELLO?? This girl lost her entire family in a single night. Her father died in a fire, and the only thing she had left were four little turtles and a rat. And not only did she save them from the flames—she freed them, let them live, and loved them from the very start.

While anyone else would have run away, April treated those five mutant experiments as her family, even as a child.

Don’t tell me she didn’t feel incredibly guilty when she left them in the sewer.

Don’t tell me she didn’t cry in her bed, wondering if they survived.

Oh God, my girl.

And then she grew up admiring SACKS, only to find out that he was responsible for her father’s death.

She also grew up believing it had all been a dream, that the turtles and Splinter had died that night. Until one day, years later, she sees them again.

Where is April’s emotional arc? Where is her trauma?

You’re telling me she felt guilty when she accidentally led Sacks to the lair???

And the worst part? That Shredder showed up and almost killed Splinter.

WHAT A LOAD OF CRAP.

AND ON TOP OF THAT, you’re telling me that by the second movie, Raph DIDN’T teach her how to break skulls??

LMAOOOO. Be serious.

Better yet, you’re telling me they cut scenes between April and Raph??

WHAT.

We need MORE Bayverse April content. I’m on my knees. Begging.

So YES, I’m joining the cause.

Here, have some more headcanons for our sweet April <3



April is absolutely obsessed with yellow. It’s her color, her essence, her vibe. But not just any yellow—her yellow. If you see a piece of clothing in that shade in her closet, chances are she bought it in multiple versions: jackets, blouses, heels… even phone cases.

April is an honorary turtle, whether she likes it or not. She’s their human sister, and you can bet they’re always causing chaos in her apartment. Pizza stains on the couch? Of course. Mikey hanging from the ceiling fan? Don’t ask. Donnie trying to install some weird tech in her toaster? Definitely.

April and Donnie are the ultimate geek disaster siblings. There’s no way she understood all the information Donnie dumped on her about Baxter Stockman in the second movie the first time. God, I know she was a fan of him too before realizing he was insane. She gets excited over the same nerdy topics as Donnie—though sometimes, she just nods and pretends to understand.

April knows Mikey has a crush on her. She’s not stupid, it’s so obvious that UGH— but she doesn’t want to hurt him, so she pretends she never noticed. To her, Mikey is like her little brother. She gives him hugs, ruffles his bandana affectionately, and tells him he’ll find someone amazing one day.

Leo respects her more than he lets on. He doesn’t trust many people outside of his family, but April earned that place. When he’s stressed, sometimes she’s the only one who can calm him down with a simple “Hey, breathe. We’ll figure it out.”

April drives like a lunatic. They trust her to get them out of dangerous situations, but every time she gets behind the wheel, EVERYONE holds on like it’s their last day on Earth. Raph yells insults, Mikey enjoys it way too much, Donnie calculates survival odds in his head, and Leo just accepts his fate.

When she found them again, she spent nights watching videos of their childhood. Sometimes she cried, sometimes she laughed, but mostly, she wondered what her life would’ve been like if she had never lost them… or her father.

After the first movie, Raph taught her how to kick ass. Oh my God, YES. Though she had to wait for him to take the initiative because she didn’t want to be a burden (she never would be). Now she can take down a guy twice her size without hesitation.

THIS WOMAN FACED SHREDDER ALONE HUNDREDS OF FEET IN THE AIR. WOAH. She’s got nerves of steel.

That’s why she’s 100% protective of her family and loved ones. Yes, even Vern. Especially Vern, because she knows he’d probably be dead without her.

If someone says anything even remotely offensive about them, April is already throwing daggers. Say one more word, and this woman will POUNCE. She’s mastered the “watch me destroy you with a single sentence” technique in interviews and doesn’t hesitate to use it.

She’s incredibly studious and takes her job seriously. I’m sure she had to fight to stop being seen as just a pretty face. She probably had to deal with way too many condescending remarks in her career, and every time someone tried to belittle her, she responded with cold, hard facts.

She can go hours without sleep when researching something. One time, Leo had to literally take her laptop away because she hadn’t rested in two days.

She has a special connection with Splinter. He’s like a father figure to her, and even though she doesn’t always talk about her emotions, there are moments when Splinter simply serves her a cup of tea and says, “I’m proud of you, April.” And that’s enough.

Her apartment is always a mess, but somehow, she knows exactly where everything is. Donnie tried organizing it once. Big mistake.

Mikey once took her skating through the sewers, and while she screamed like crazy at first, she ended up laughing like never before. It was the highlight of her week.

She’s an absolute fan of heroes and comics. And I know she loves Star Wars. (I’m sure Leo does too, but he just pretends he doesn’t.) Ask her anything about it, and she’ll hit you with incredibly specific information and bibliographic references. Donnie and Mikey once tried to test her knowledge, and they ended up with their heads stuffed full of facts about the original trilogy, Legends, and why Han shot first.

Absolutely, she buys/gives merch to Leo. And to the turtles, too. If you see Leo wearing a black hoodie with the Jedi Order logo, that was April. If Mikey suddenly shows up with a glow-in-the-dark Deadpool t-shirt, that was also April. Raph with a Punisher jacket? Yep, April.

I’m convinced the wardrobe change for the turtles in the second movie was all her doing. I mean, Donnie wearing solar panels as a loincloth… we all cried. April made sure they were dressed more appropriately, but also in a way that fit each of their styles. Mikey was the hardest because he liked everything (“BROOO, what about this? Or this? OR THIS?”), and Leo only agreed because she assured him that “Jedis also evolved their armor.”

No doubt she expands Splinter’s tea pantry. If there’s a rare, expensive, and hard-to-find Chinese tea, April has already gotten it for him—in three different versions. Mikey and Raph don’t understand how there can be so many differences between “grass-flavored teas,” but she and Splinter can spend hours analyzing them.

Yes, she supplies them. Clothes? Yes. Food? Yes. When she saw their fridge stocked with nothing but soda and pizza boxes, she nearly cried. Now, half of it is still soda and pizza, but at least there’s some fruit and protein.

She shares a love for bonsais with Splinter and Leo. It’s their relaxation activity together. But ironically, I know this woman has killed a cactus at least once. Mikey never let her live it down.

You cannot convince me this woman hasn’t gotten at least one tattoo. She loves body art and shares that interest with the brothers. I’m sure she let at least one of them tattoo her—probably a design by Mikey. Something small on her wrist or behind her ear, with a meaning only they understand.

Leo and Donnie made sure everything was 100% safe and sterile. Donnie literally turned Mikey’s space into a mini improvised tattoo studio. “God, April, if you’re going to do this, at least don’t die of an infection”.

Mikey was way too excited. “BROOO, THIS IS ETERNAL ART!” He made at least five sketches before she finally chose one.

She and Raph have a tradition of watching UFC fights together. He yells like he’s in the arena, and she just watches with a beer in hand, completely unfazed—until she sees the perfect kick and mutters, “Shit, that was brutal.”

Even though she helps them in their crime-fighting, she keeps trying to remind them not to forget how to live. Sometimes they show up at her place expecting to plan their next mission, only for her to force them to watch movies, play video games, or just hang out like a normal family. Well… as normal as four giant ninja turtles and an infiltration-expert reporter can be.

Donnie has taught her basic hacking. Not at his level, but enough to sneak into certain databases without getting traced. This is a problem, because now, whenever she wants a big scoop for work, Donnie gets a message like: “Hey, hypothetically speaking… if you had to break into TCRI Industries’ private files… how would you do it? Just curious.”

If Mikey is sad, April notices before anyone else. And even though she can’t give him what he truly wants (her romantic love), she always makes sure he knows how much she loves and values him. She’s the first to hug him, to make him laugh with a dumb joke, and to remind him that someday, he’ll find someone who loves him as much as he loves the world.

If she ever disappears, she’s probably at a nerd convention dressed as a Jedi. Leo would pretend not to be interested, even as she tries to convince him to come with her.

I mean, in full cosplay, who would even realize he’s an actual mutant turtle and not just a Jedi-Hulk crossover?

Obviously, Leo said no.

“April, it’s a public event. I can’t risk it.”

“Leo, there are guys in Iron Man suits that look straight out of the movies, and no one questions them. Literally no one would look at you twice.”

“No.”

“Coward.”

In the end, Mikey did go with her, dressed as a Mandalorian. He ended up signing autographs because everyone thought he was a hyper-realistic animatronic.

She has a theory that turtles don’t have actual fingerprints.

After multiple failed attempts to get them to use touch ID, she concluded that their prints are too irregular for normal sensors to read. Donnie took this personally when he tested it and failed. “This is impossible. My hands are scientifically perfect.”

She has the power to calm Raph down when he’s too fired up. Not with words. Just with a look.

When he’s about to lose control, she gives him the stare. The one that says “No. Don’t do it.”

And… well, he doesn’t always listen, but at least he hesitates.

She knows exactly how to make Leo agree to a plan that isn’t his. Just make him think it was his idea. It’s an art she has perfected.

“It would be great if someone designed a strategy that included this and this…”

“Hmm… maybe we could—”

“That’s an excellent idea, Leo! I knew you’d think of it!”

“…You’re manipulating me, aren’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She has her own underground information network. Being a reporter and the turtles’ best friend has taught her how to move in the shadows. She has contacts everywhere—hackers, informants, low-ranking cops who hate corruption… She knows how to get intel without leaving a trace.

If she needs to go undercover, she does it with ridiculous disguises. No sleek, sexy black suits—she goes full grandma mode with awful wigs, oversized glasses, and the most unflattering clothes possible. Nobody suspects the clumsy woman who drops her purse every five seconds.

One time, Raph took her to train with Casey. And dear God, this woman fought for her life not to fall flat on her face on the ice. Raph mocked her mercilessly until she threw a snowball at his face.

She’s the only human on Earth who immediately understands Donnie’s jokes. Sometimes, she even finishes them before he does. Mikey considers this a scientific abomination beyond comprehension.

She drives like a maniac but has never crashed. It’s a miracle. She’s come dangerously close to hitting poles, jumped between moving cars, pulled off maneuvers that defy physics… but her record remains flawless. The cops can’t catch her if they can’t keep up.

Raph nicknamed her “ferrous” after watching her stand her ground against Shredder.

“You’re tougher than most people I know. You don’t break.”

She won’t admit it, but that nickname makes her smile a little every time she hears it.

She’s a fan of rock and alternative music. She has a playlist for everything. Training with Raph? Metallica. Investigative work? The Killers. Speeding away from the Foot Clan? AC/DC.

She does not fear Baxter Stockman. She did for about 0.2 seconds the first time she saw him. Then he opened his mouth, and she realized she could manipulate him into spilling information. Spoiler: she did.

If anyone hurts her turtles, she becomes a vengeful demon. She’s not a fighter, she doesn’t have super strength, but she’s smart and completely unafraid to get her hands dirty. She can make someone’s life a living hell with just a few phone calls and some well-done investigative work.

She’s been kidnapped so many times she doesn’t even panic anymore. The first time: “OH MY GOD!” The fourth time: “Okay, what’s the plan this time?”

If Casey calls her “babe” at the worst possible moment, she hits him. Not seriously, but just hard enough on the arm to make him understand that now is not the time.

Vern is only alive because she tolerates him. She genuinely cares about him, but there are days when, dear God, that man is unbearable.

If any of the turtles are injured, she’s the first to act. She’s not a doctor, but she’s learned enough from Donnie to perform advanced first aid. She’s also the only human strong enough to hold Raph up when he’s stumbling from an injury.

Mikey uses her as his human meme reference.

“APRIL, I LEARNED HOW TO MAKE MEMES WITH YOUR FACE.”

“Mikey, I swear if you Photoshop me into another Shrek meme…”

“…Oops.”

One time, she beat Raph in a pizza-eating contest. He swears he was just having an off day. She never lets him forget it.

If Splinter says he approves of her, then she’s family. And if anyone messes with her… They mess with the turtles.

that’a all bye <3

bayverse! April headcanons

because i hate the way megan fox was sexualised in the movies i wanna give her more personality than just being hot and smart 😭 i heart u bayverse April

- she thrifts! not just expensive 'real vintage' designer labels but everything, she also finds clothes than can be easily upcycled and tweaked for the boys. Her signature color is yellow so you KNOW she has rare and whimsical pieces she collects in her wardrobe

- speaking of which; she sews! Mikey often rips or breaks his stuff (like shoes and shirts) and hes always giving her bits and pieces to fix up. As much as Donnie is a tech wiz, Aprils expertise lies in the art of DIY! shes tried to teach Don how to sew but ironically its one of the few things he cant crack

- shes a stem nut, OBVIOUSLY! her and Don bond the most over new technology and the advancement of science and digital technology. her and Don made her a pc from scratch and its one of her most precious memories

- April has a really bad sweet tooth, when the guys get pizza for the rare nights in, she's reaching for Mikeys candy stash for sure (she makes sure to replenish it with all their shared faves)

- her favourite candy is anything sour! but actually sour, we're talking throat numbingly sour to the point where at the end of the bag all you taste is blood 💀 it freaks everyone out lmao

- she has a masters in journalism and a degree social sciences, its so important to her to give visibility to the stories rarely talked about. Shes very dedicated to her profession and genuinely gets mad that all vern cares about is attention from fans and the camera

- April is also very passionate about nutrition and fitness! she goes total big sister mode when the turtles neglect their protein intake especially with how big and physically demanding their jobs are. a few times she's tried to teach Leo how to cook for his brothers and hes just about learned how to not burn eggs on toast but shell be damned if she starts cooking for 4 6ft men 😭 respectfully not her job!

- she's incredibly protective of her friends, whoever they may be, even Vern. she doesn't take lightly to disrespect and she WILL trash talk you to silence if you make anyone she cares about feel less than

- when she was younger she wanted to be a zoologist or anthropologist. Like her dad, she's always had a love for science and research, but she loved animals so much as a kid and it crushed her when she realised her father was experimenting on animals

- she feels personally responsible for the turtles and Splinter, she visits them atleast once a night, whether on face time or in person. the fact that they feel theyll never be accepted in society weighs heavy on her heart. she wishes things were different

- she knows Mikey has a crush on her, but she doesn't know how to let him down gently and honestly doesn't wanna open that can of worms, so she just pretends she doesn't notice his very desperate flirting

- sleeper build april. SLEEPER BUILD APRIL. people treat her like shes fragile just because she's beautiful but shes also incredibly strong with amazing endurance. i mean hello?! SHE CAN RUN IN HEELS. thats badass

- she loves game nights w the turtles and Casey, she loves playing MK and her go-to character is ofc Mileena (goated and no im not biased)

- she may or may not have a dedicated collection of disguises for super sleuthing and recon. shes very proud of it and will give a tour if asked

- she wants to learn ninjitsu, just doesn't know if she should ask or wait to be asked. she feels awkward and sometimes wonders if its not her place, even though in reality Splinter would be happy to train someone so dedicated to justice.

- her favourite drink is banana protein smoothie!! the lair has a smoothie just for her 😭 they have to hide it from Mikey before he gets back into his liquid pizza phase again

- she likes hero comics/shows (like 2012 leo!). Naruto was her childhood and its kinda beautifully ironic that she's like a ninja by proxy now

thats all for now! its been like 5 years since ive written headcanons so sorry if the format is boring, lmk if you want more headcanons! ok bai