#i did ultimately decide to make it his arm

[veal-exe]

I actually considered including Mulan One, but I didn't because I sat and thought about it for a while, and decided it doesn't actually count. Specifically because while at first the reveal that Mulan isn't a person AMAB is used to treat her as a liar and a snake, the moral of the movie specifically ends up being that the way she was treated was wrong.

The reveal itself is even framed in a villainous way, it's done by a character shown to be anal, annoying, and who no one likes, and in the moment no one other than this pseudo-villain seems truly happy about the situation, even Shang seems to resent 'having' to punish her in some way and he goes out of his way to find a way to do so without sentencing her to anything truly harmful. The reveal is done by a pseudo-villain, and framed in a pseudo-villainous way not on her part, but the advisor's.

This is encapsulated in the way that the men who end up following her have to embrace femininity in order to succeed in the core mission, literally dressing as women and using traditionally "unmanly" tactics to infiltrate the palace. The overall narrative doesn't punish Mulan for her masculinity, it actually rewards her because she blended gendered expectations and stepped outside the roles assigned to her. Notice how in the scene where the men dress up, Mulan does not, she does not have a glow-up moment nor hyper-feminize herself, only the men do, it's almost a cultural exchange of gender in that moment and that is framed as good!

She saves China because she breaks the rules, not in spite of it, and the people who disparaged her for 'pretending' to be a man end up being the ones who are wrong in the end, at no point is Shang rewarded or affirmed by the narrative for the way he treated her, it's only after he realizes he was wrong and that Mulan is wonderful the way that she is that he becomes worthy of her love.

So while Mulan starts with a lot of the tropes I criticized, it ultimately subverts them in ways most of the other examples don't. That's why I left it out, it’s rare media that says, 'she never needed to change to be worthy,' and I wanted to focus on stories where the opposite happens, and why I highlighted Mulan II, because Mulan II completely nukes everything that made Mulan I special!

The live action version is a whole other beast and every day I resent it existing because boy shit howdy did the live action Mulan undermine everything about the animated version, it makes me want to eat my own arm.

I saw a post earlier, I will not be appending my response to that post to the post itself, but I did want to touch upon it.

The post was about how trans men and transmasculine people afab don't have any media tropes that are, we'll say, problematic for them, the way that the 'funny man in a dress' trope is trans-misogynistic, I wanted to discuss that and lay that claim to rest.

Below I will be discussing some tropes in media that affect trans masculine people afab. Some may be worse than others, some accidental, some maybe on purpose, but I've compiled them because I think it's important to understand that just how the harmful tropes aimed at masculine people afab do exist, they just differ in their execution.

DISCLAIMER: If I have worded anything poorly in this post please tolerate it, English is my fourth language and it can be overwhelming to attempt linguistic perfection or the performance of it for native English Speaker.

EDIT: tumblr really messed my layout and formatting up, sorry for that but I'm not fixing it unless I really need to.

1. “Tomboy Gets a Makeover” = Suddenly She’s Worth Something (AKA: Now She’s Fuckable)

This one’s everywhere. You’ve got a character who’s rough around the edges, usually wears hoodies, maybe doesn’t shave, maybe doesn’t even care what people think. And the story punishes her for that. Until someone (usually a fairy godmother or mean girl turned ally) shoves her into a dress, puts some gloss on her lips, straightens her hair...

and then she’s finally seen as beautiful, desirable, and valid.

The core message? Your masculinity is temporary, and your value doesn’t actually exist until you conform to traditional femininity. You weren’t lovable, datable, or even visible until you softened up and got pretty.

This trope tells young people AFAB:

You're not enough unless you perform femininity

Your gender nonconformity is a flaw to fix

If you're not seen as sexy in the "right" way, you're invisible

And this sticks. Especially for transmascs, who grew up seeing their natural instincts or styles treated like a before picture.

Examples:

The Princess Diaries – Mia goes from “invisible frizzy nerd” to prom-queen level once her hair is flat and her legs are waxed.

A Cinderella Story – Sam’s baggy clothes are treated like a shield for her insecurity, until she shows up in a dress and suddenly earns male attention.

The Breakfast Club – Allison is artsy and weird and quietly masc... until she’s quite literally pink-washed and given a makeover so she can be datable.

She's All That – Laney is cool and self-possessed in her own way, but the movie waits until she’s in a red dress and contacts to take her seriously.

Meteor Garden – Shan Cai’s toughness is tolerable, but she’s still only framed as truly “lovable” after being softened through male attention.

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2. “She Pretended to Be a Boy” = She’s a Lying Snake Whore

When characters AFAB dress or live as boys, it’s almost always framed as deception. Not survival. Not autonomy. Not self-expression. Just trickery. There’s a dramatic “reveal” scene where everyone suddenly feels betrayed, like the character has been scheming the whole time instead of just…

living. Sound familiar?

This isn’t just about fiction. It directly echoes how transmasc people are treated in reality, as liars, as fake men, as threats to those around them just by existing. The idea that someone AFAB could be masculine, or just a guy, is treated like a trap set for unsuspecting cis people.

The underlying message:

You can’t be trusted if you present as masculine

Your gender is a mask, a trick, a crime

If people liked you before, they were duped

it’s the same logic used to justify violence and exclusion towards Transmasculine people AFAB in reality.

Examples:

She’s the Man – Viola pretends to be her brother to play soccer, but it’s all “uh-oh she has boobs” humor. Her gender presentation is the punchline.

The King’s Affection – She lives as the crown prince and does a damn good job, but the tension constantly hinges on whether she’s tricking people by being there at all. Masculinity is okay only if it’s secret and painful.

Coffee Prince – Go Eun-chan presents as male to get a job, and instead of critiquing the system that forces her to do it, the narrative focuses on her guilt and “the reveal.” Masculinity is tolerated, but never fully respected.

Victor/Victoria – Gender is treated as a clever disguise. The moment someone finds out “the truth,” it’s all shock, betrayal, and drama. Queerness framed as a con.

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3. “It’s Just a Phase” = You’ll Be a Real Girl™️ Eventually

You can be a tomboy for now. Run around, get messy, be loud. It’s even kind of cute! As a little kid who needs to grow up. Then suddenly, your masculinity isn’t just childish! it’s a problem. Something to “grow out of.” Something to fix!

This trope trains audiences to see AFAB masculinity as:

Immature

A quirk of childhood

A stepping stone to real femininity

And what does “real girlhood” mean in this context? Dresses. Lip gloss. Boys. The implication is that your value kicks in when you start performing the kind of femininity that makes you palatable and desirable. You were allowed to be wild for a minute, but only if you clean up nice later.

It reinforces the same tired message: Girlhood = destination, not a choice. Masculinity is just the wrong stop on the way. If you are Transmasculine AFAB, you are a child who should grow up, immature, being treated as much younger than they are is a huge issue with transmasculine people AFAB.

I would like to add that this is also a misogynistic trope, but misogyny intersects with transandrophobia in ways that are valid to talk about.

Examples:

The Parent Trap – Annie and Hallie are opposites, but Hallie (tomboy-coded) only really “settles down” and softens once she’s back with her mom. Her rougher edge is charming but temporary.

Now and Then – Roberta is the tomboy of the group, and her Big Moment of Growth™ comes when she puts on a dress. Not solving childhood trauma. Not emotional healing. The dress.

Boys Over Flowers – Jan-di is scrappy, resilient, athletic! and then she falls for the male lead and gradually loses every bit of that fire. By the end, she’s quiet, deferential, and soft. like that’s her natural arc.

Hi My Sweetheart– Rainie Yang’s character starts out masc-presenting and bold. She’s mocked, corrected, and eventually “fixed” into a soft, pink, cutesy girl. Her makeover isn’t for her. it’s the narrative giving her permission to be “dateable.”

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5. “One of the Boys” But Never Really One of the Boys

She’s tough. She’s cool. She fights. She hangs with the guys. She might even burp. But make no mistake! she’s never actually allowed to be one. This trope gives characters AFAB just enough masculinity to seem "interesting," then punishes them if they go too far with it.

Again, this is also a misogynistic trope, but the intersectionality here is important even in the ones that don't seem obvious, some people will poke fun at me putting Natasha here for example, but if you do that you're misunderstanding my intent and I do not care for it.

I am not saying ANY of these characters are coded transmasculine, I am discussing how masculinity is treated in regards to characters AFAB.

The message is clear: You can borrow masculinity, but don’t get comfortable in it.

These characters:

Get constant reminders that they're different

Are sexualized, softened, or sidelined the moment they get too close to “boyish”

Exist to complement the boys, not compete with them

Examples:

Avengers – Natasha Romanoff is deadly, competent, cool under pressure, but also constantly shoved into the “team mom” or “sexy redhead with feelings” role. Her backstory centers around forced sterilization, and her arc in Age of Ultron literally says she’s a “monster” for not being able to have kids. Tell me again how she’s treated like “one of the guys.”

How to Train Your Dragon – Astrid starts out as the alpha fighter, but as soon as Hiccup grows up, she becomes a background girlfriend with no arc of her own. Her sharp edge gets smoothed into supportiveness.

My Hero Academia – Nearly every tough AFAB character gets undercut. Mirko is badass but exists on the fringes. Jirou gets development, but only as support. Bakugo’s mom is comic relief. Meanwhile, male characters are allowed complex, messy, powerful arcs without ever needing to "soften" for the audience.

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“AFAB Character Learns to Embrace Womanhood” = Moral Victory!

You start with a tough, scrappy, masculine-coded person AFAB, maybe she fights, maybe she’s emotionally shut down, maybe she just doesn’t want to be like other girls. It doesn't matter, this is how it ends:

She softens. She submits. She “grows” by becoming a wife, a mom, a love interest, a Real Girl™️.

This isn’t healing. It’s containment. The message is: your rebellion was cute, but it’s time to settle down and accept the role assigned to you.

“Growth” = compliance. “Strength” = giving it up. “Maturity” = pink, dresses, and a baby carriage.

Examples:

The Hunger Games – Katniss Everdeen is trauma-coded, masc-leaning, and uncomfortable with romance or traditional femininity. So what’s her ending? A baby epilogue where she’s in a dress, quietly settled into nuclear family life. Is she happy about it? No, but there's no denying that this is her ending.

Mulan II– In the original, she challenges gender roles and becomes a literal war hero. In the sequel? The plot revolves around her needing to prove she can still be soft, feminine, and wife-material. Her masculinity is not allowed to just exist.

Jojo Rabbit – Rosie (the mother) is framed as the ideal woman: warm, loving, feminine. Meanwhile, Elsa (a girl in hiding) starts out guarded and hard-edged, but only becomes “redeemed” once she softens and embraces traditional femininity.

A Silent Voice / Koe no Katachi – The narrative constantly punishes her for not being “nice enough,” and her arc only begins to shift once she becomes more demure and apologetic. She cannot be both a good person and brash or hotheaded, submit or be branded evil.

Inuyasha – Sango is introduced as a demon-slaying warrior. But her story ends in the most vanilla way possible: marriage, motherhood, and sidelining. She loses her edge completely. I hate the end of Inuyasha so much it is borderline a meme in my circles.

Fruits Basket - Uotani is tall, tomboyish, and used to be in a girl gang. She has strength, history, and depth. And then her “big growth moment”? Realizing she wants to be softer and more ladylike, because femininity is treated as the finish line within the story.

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“Masculine Presentation” = Joke Costume or Moral Failure

When characters AFAB wear suits, cut their hair short, or pass as masc in any way, media rarely lets it land without a laugh track, or a moral consequence.

Masculine presentation is treated as:

A silly costume

A failed experiment

A sign of monstrosity

Or something to be shamed out of.

The story makes sure you feel embarrassed for them. It invites the audience to laugh, cringe, or judge, because “girl in boy clothes” is still a punchline in mainstream media. Just like 'Boy in girl clothes' is.

And yes, this hurts trans women, but it also absolutely targets butch, GNC, and transmasc folks. Masculinity is marked as wrong on AFAB bodies, funny if temporary, disgusting if permanent.

Examples:

Scooby-Doo – Velma’s masc coding (short hair, flat clothes, practical shoes) constantly becomes the joke. If she dresses even more masc? She’s “mistaken” for a man and ridiculed. Her queerness and presentation are treated like a quirk at best, a problem at worst.

The Suite Life of Zack and Cody – London Tipton wears a single masc outfit and the laugh track explodes. The outfit itself isn’t weird, but the show acts like the sight of her in anything non-feminine is a cosmic-level joke.

Friends – Rachel and Monica wear tuxedos in one episode, and the joke is entirely that it looks “wrong.” Chandler mocks them, the camera lingers on how “awkward” they look.

iCarly – Sam dresses masc semi-regularly, and is constantly mocked for acting “like a guy.” In interviews, actress Jennette McCurdy has said this ongoing joke contributed directly to her eating disorder relapse. This is not harmless.

Matilda - Miss Trunchbull is heavily masc-coded: big build, short hair, no makeup, harsh voice. She’s a literal villain, and her appearance is meant to be scary. Her masculinity is associated directly with her monstrosity.

Aikatsu! – Girls in suits are used as performance shock value. “Omg, a girl in a tuxedo??” is the whole joke.

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IN CLOSING.

These tropes don’t exist in a vacuum.

they shape how people see us, and how we see ourselves.

When characters AFAB exploring masculinity are only ever jokes, villains, phases, or tragedies, it sends a message: You don’t get to be this. You’re only allowed to visit. And when you're done, you better come back “correct.”

But we’re not punchlines. We’re not broken girls. Some of us are boys.

Some of us are neither.

Some of us are just butch as hell and happy about it.

We deserve stories where we aren’t corrected. Where masculinity on AFAB people isn’t a phase, a disguise, or a joke. But our lives, and the truth of them.

[bartxnhood]

god given solace | bucky barnes

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: in which bucky realizes just how in love he is with you.

w/c: 1k

a/n: hey guys!! i know you must get tired of me saying the same thing lol but i decided to write again. i have been sooo busy these past few months. trying to navigate adult life with graduation and my new job, plus i had a surgery that knocked me off my feet but i have been ITCHING to write. so, even though this is small, i hope you all enjoy!!!

Copyright © 2025 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧

bucky never knew he could love until he met you. all of those sleepless nights, begging, praying to any gods out there just to make them stop. he just wanted peace, no more war, no hydra, no night terrors, and no more fighting.

he wasn’t aware that love is what he so desperately needed. someone to soothe those nightmares, to hold him close and hush him during the worst moments of his life.

but, bucky was convinced he was not capable of being loved. because, who in their right mind would love someone as tortured and damaged as him?

after all, that’s what he was. damaged goods.

but you? god, you were the purest things he had ever seen. you were like an angel that came before him, cascading in white light and warmth every time your gaze lingers on the super soldier.

even now, watching you from the doorway of your shared balcony, bucky finds himself unable to take his eyes off your frame. sometimes, he felt pathetic for the life he harbored for you. trapped in the memory of your first encounter.

relishing in the memories that he looked back on so fondly.

you, the angel, being the only person who could see through bucky. through the “i’m fine” and the “don’t worries” he’d spill, you never put up with his lies.

“you can’t fool me, barnes” you’d say while wrapping your arms around his midsection. bucky sighed as he rubbed his temples, “i know..” there was absolutely no fooling you.

“you can tell me anything, buck..” you pressed a kiss on his shoulder, just above where the metal began.

“does it hurt?”

bucky shakes his head, “no, not right now.”

he’d find himself leaning against the glass door, his eyes trained on your figure as you lean against the metal railing. the skyline of brooklyn in the distance, the moonlight shining on your skin, which only convinced him further into believing you were some sort of angel that was meant for him.

you could do no wrong in his eyes, you could commit a thousand crimes and bucky would still look at you like you hung the moon and stars for him. still, in the end, he felt satisfied knowing that you were his. his to shower with affection, to whisper sweet words in the middle of the night as your bodies lie tangled beneath the sheets of the dark bedroom. not even death could pry you from him.

in the beginning, he tried his hardest not to succumb to his feelings for you. he didn’t want to get attached because attachments always lead to heartbreak, and bucky didn’t know if he could handle another heartbreak.

but you were incredibly persistent, and ultimately it worked.

“i love you..” the words would spill from his lips like honey; the words came so naturally for him, easy as breathing.

the worst left a sweet taste in his mouth.

you turn on your heels just as those words left his lips.

“what?” you laugh, not at him though, but because it was random and very rarely did he. not that he doesn’t love you, but because he doesn’t want the words to lose their meaning.

“i love you,” he repeats as he walks towards you. his hand finds home on your lower back, his fingertips memorizing the texture of your skin that peeked from your sleep shirt.

you smile, hands coming to rest on both of his forearms, and for just a moment, bucky swore he could feel the warmth of your touch against his bionic arm. if he closed his eyes, he could picture it.

“i love you too, james.” you called him every nickname in the book, but sometimes it felt better calling him by his real name. especially in an intimate moment like this.

your brows furrow, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s afraid you’ll slip from his grip. like you’re a figment of his imagination. “what’s wrong..?” you inquire, hands moving from his arms to the base of his neck. fingers entangling with his hair.

bucky shakes his head, “nothing, i just..i just love you s’all”.

you smile, looking into his baby blues that held so much affection when looking at you. like you were the only thing in the universe.

he loved spending his time with you, being in your presence, wrapping his arms around you, and finding peace. no nightmares, no flashbacks, no regrets, just you. just your soothing voice, the stillness of your breathing as you lie next to him. he was so in love with you.

“you are so..beautiful..” bucky found it hard to find a word to describe you. you weren’t just beautiful, you were so much more. you carried this gentleness about you that made him feel at home. home. you were his home.

a smile spreads on your face, a quiet giggle stuck in your throat as you watch his eyes rake over your figure. “bucky..”

“m’serious,” he mumbles. he pulls you closer against his frame, his lips pressing fleeting kisses just below your earlobe.

“you sure you’re okay?” you ask again, your hands still resting at the base of his neck.

“mhm,” he’s still pressing kisses to your flesh, relishing in your signature scent. a gentle reminder that you’re real.

“buck,” your words cut him off, hands finding either side of his face. “cmon..what’s goin on?”

“i don’t say it enough.” he was reluctant to pull away, but he was looking in your eyes again. his hands moved from your lower back to your waist, now. thumbs massaging circles absentmindedly.

you press your lips into a thin smile, tilting your head to the side while your fingers push some hair from his eyes. “oh..bucky..”

“no,” he shakes his head.

“you are my god given solace, y/n. you know that?”

you’re a bit taken aback by his sudden words, your hands pausing their movements. “what?”

“i know it hasn’t been easy to love me, but you’ve been there for me” he’s rambling now, wanting to get his words out while he still has it on his mind. “you’ve shown me love, doll” he presses a kiss to the top of your head, letting it linger for a moment.

“you saved me.”

[bunlaozu]

April Showers

[Redacted] X Reader

type: angst? fluff at the end for u

word count: 1881

warnings: cw for lots of tears

this one is formatted a bit differently, i probably won't develop any sort of style for this for a while but! this time i have some hurt comfort for u, can u tell i love Redacted :3

once again pls don't mind the grammar,,, i was having it edited but ultimately decided to post it before it was finished for one of my friends, ty glasses for ur work tho <33

It was late April, and the spring rains finally decided to roll through Corland bay. The rain kept the two of you inside, as it did most Sundays, too dreary and wet to make use of the final day of the weekend before a new work week began. Usually, Sundays were chore days, a time for sweeping the floors, doing leftover dishes from the previous day, and washing the pile of work clothes from the previous week that no one had had the energy to do.

All the chores were done now and the late afternoon haze cast a cool blue on the living room behind half closed curtains.The setting sun was absent behind thick heavy clouds that rumbled with unshed rain and carried along cool ocean swept winds. The tv was set to a soft volume, some reality show played out its overly obnoxious sound effects that usually, as per routine, was only on for you to giggle at. Redacted laid in his usual spot at the curve of the L-shaped couch, the cushions pressed in from the times the two of you spent in this exact space week after week, with you in his arms watching bad late night tv. He looked like a spoiled cat this way, lounged out on bent cushions not meant for cats to sit on, but clearly understood no one would have the heart to force him up.

Usually, this time spent was relaxing; something soothing and soft before the start of a new stressful work week while Redacted softly ran his fingers through your hair and looked at his phone with the other, a routine.

Tonight was different. Maybe it was the deep thunder rolling through the house, cutting through the gentle evening sounds, or the patter of heavy rains beginning against the large living room panes. Maybe it was the lack of time spent at home this weekend, Friday spent in overtime, errands around the bay, or unfortunate inconveniences keeping you from home. Maybe it was none of that or maybe it was just this; the tv on low just for you, the soft blanket thrown over your legs, your favorite even, the fingers carding softly through your hair and the gentle breaths from above, reminding you that you weren't alone tonight or any night.

Your heart felt tight in your chest and your breath felt rough in a drowning sort of way, like maybe the heavy rains had been pouring into your chest this whole time creating a pool of murky reds. It had clung like a sharp thorned vine all week, small things keeping you from home, little things that maybe would be a bigger fight a week from now lingering stuck to your mind like mold. You wondered to yourself how you'd got here, after only a few months now living together domestically, happy, perfect.. but when did anything perfect stay as it was.

Of course nothing had changed, Redacted was nothing but attentive and sweet, charming and teasing, careful and considerate, and yet. You stared ahead at the small table below your tv where you kept your small knick knacks and plants that you decorated your home together with, the tv drone becoming a faded buzz in the background. It was a small shard of your home, a mix of the both of you so simple but was it really? Maybe tonight was different, maybe one day Redacted would stop meaning everything he said, everything he did for you.. he changed once entirely in the beginning, didn't he? You thought with a growing unease of the pink and pastels, the soft sanitary version you'd been shown of your love when you'd met. It wasn't that it was for a lack of trust in him that you spiraled, but more the question, when will he lose his trust in me? When will I be nothing?

It didn't take too long for him to notice your unnatural stillness, the kind of forced stillness that annoyingly makes you twitch anyways because of course he would notice, his eyes are only ever on you as if the tv’s glow didn't exist. Redacted's fingers stilled in your hair as he shifted slightly under where your head laid, his gentle concern radiating from him in waves.

"Angel..?" his voice was only just above a whisper, giving the impression he didn't want to break the softness of the evening lest you shatter. (so sweet, too sweet, undeserving.) He tugged you gently upward off his lap to guide your head onto his chest, holding you closer and bringing the soft throw blanket previously on your legs, back around your shoulders.

"Are you ok? Tell me so I can help." he murmured, his fingers finding their way back to your hair to play with. Your eyes stung the moment the words left him, the curtains you were facing going blurry from the water logging your eyes as you refused to look his way. It felt so deeply unfair to have this, the ocean deep divine worship of such a perfect person after so many years apart, your own doing.

Despite this you didn't move, putting a blanket covered hand over your eyes to pad away the warm tears only made worse by the frustration that they fell at all, before finally speaking up in a soft crackling cadence. "You.. you love me- right? Are you.. sure this is what you want?" The second the words left your mouth you cringed, threatening to shy away from his gentle ministrations in an effort to escape the suffocating sweetness.

Redacted seemed to falter for only a moment at the question, a stillness in his frame and a pause in his petting that was still just enough to notice, making you feel unusually cold. “‘Course i love you m’ angel, did.. I say somethin'?" he said with nothing but sincerity, his own voice seeming raw from such an accusation. Redacted seemed not angry or sad, only worried about anything he'd done that could have given you doubt today.

A choked off sob finally bubbled out of your throat, practically suffocating your words. "No! I.. what if? You have me, what's next? What if that's just enough and then-" the words ended in an agonized sound as you did your best to turn away from him to hide your tears. “Wha- what if i get boring one day? or- what if you find someone better? I d-dont want you to go..” the words came out more as a wobbly whine, the tears choking you every few moments as if they didn't wish the words to be said. the evening seemed daunting in a way, the end of the week, the end of a day, the start of a storm.

He cut you off gently before you can begin again with a kiss, not one unkind or meant to silence you but a bone deep compassion for your anxieties. The salt of the tears and the sweetness of cherry and mint mixing together on your lips was a grounding combination, a balm on your cracked open vine wrapped chest. He kissed you and kissed you, breathing sweet nothings and a bottomless devotion into your mouth till the tears finally slowed. His warm steady hands on your cheeks drew soft stars on your skin, reminding you exactly where you were.

He pulled back only just enough to run his stormy blue over your face, a sort of sad smile running into the creases of his face and behind his eyes looking almost like the clouds just outside the windows. "I love you. s'you and always you, y'hear?" he said resolutely, brushing a strand of hair from your face in a gentle affection so painfully sweet that the tears poured down your cheeks silently in fat droplets you were helpless to stop.

"Only you... only you." he practically prayed into your skin as he kissed your temple, your nose, your cheeks, kissing until you choked out a wet broken giggle. Redacted's smile at the sound was like the sunset after heavy rains, a soft glowing thing but this sunset was only for you. He kept you there like this, lavishing prayers of love upon your skin with each gentle caress and kiss for a limitless amount of time, maybe minutes or hours or no time at all.

"I love you too, y'know? And- and so sometimes I think- I'm just glad, is all.." you said softly with a sniffle, trying to wipe your face with the back of your hand only for your partner to catch your wrist. Redacted gently pulled your hand to his chest instead before taking his own scarred fingers to gently swipe the water away, the rough pad of his fingers so light on your cheeks it was almost as if he was swiping the rain droplets from a petal. "Well stop thinkin' so much hm? It’s bad f'you." he said with that grin of his, the one that reminded you of sunny afternoons at lake Bluemoss and multi-colored band-aids, the one you couldn't help grin back at no matter how hard you tried.

He held you against his chest and rocked you back and forth gently, where nothing needed to be said because this already meant everything. The silence wasn't a deafening thing, it was something in company with the storm pattering against the windows and the love inside your home that created its own noise. Suddenly the thunder wasn't so loud in your ears and the rain wasn't so heavy, maybe it would be a clear Monday morning tomorrow and the work ahead wasn't so crushing. You laid there slowly relaxing into his warm hold, dozing lightly to the sound of his heartbeat and the rhythm of his breaths against your ear.

-

The next moment you blinked your eyes open you were alone on the sofa with the throw blanket drawn up to your shoulders. The windows were peacefully dark now and the warm light of the kitchen replaced the earlier evening glow. The rain was only a pitter patter dying as the night crept in, making way for a chilly breezy morning tomorrow. As you sat up confused and exhausted and looked around, Redacted was approaching the couch with a bag of take out and two plates in hand, an exasperated smile on his face seeing you'd immediately woken up.

"Jus' can't let me surprise you, hm? I bought your favorite. Let's eat yea?" he said as he sat down and opened up the delicious smelling paper bag, making the both of you plates full of warm, amazing smelling food.

The rest of the evening was full of soft laughter and a better tv show, ending how it began with your head in his lap and his hands in your hair. The laundry got done eventually of course not by you, and the dishes were somehow done before the morning as well even if you'd forgotten to help with that in the sleepy haze post cry. Maybe he did need to carry you to bed at the end of the night too but maybe pretending to be asleep for that bit was worth it.

[luvlybunnie]

thinking about sweaty anaxa . . .

he comes home all tired, drenched in sweat from the hot summer heat. he walks over to the bed, mumbling about how he needs a shower.

needs to wash the stench off. you frown as you watch him undress, "i can lick it off you?" you suggest.

he spares it a moment to linger, before ultimately deciding to go along with your shenanigans. soon enough, he's laying in your shared bed— arms above his head as you lick a stripe upwards from his belly button and to his nipples. you suck and lick at them a bit before moving on.

you press your face against his pits, inhaling as he pulls away just a slight, squirming beneath your touch. his face is covered in pink, blush coating his cheeks and up to the tip of his ears.

"smells so good." you borderline moan into his armpits, not caring about the soft tickle from his hairs. you open your mouth to lap up the sweat that built up there, whining into his armpit. he hisses and laughs as you do, complaining about how it tickles. you don't care.

you slurp up his sweat and make-out with his pits, soon switching to the other to make love to it the same way as you did the other one.

a / n : this is so self indulgent but he actually makes me insane. nod nod nod nod.

[lxdymoon0357]

you have no idea how happy I was when i saw some one had written for Phineas, I love that guy! Could I ask for drabble or what ever you would like to write for Yandere Phineas with a younger Reader (same age pereshati) that had a big crush on him. Always trying to make conversation with him and get his attention. she confesses but was turned down publicly later was forcibly married someone else was killed with lapileon blood by her husband for her families title. when the time reverse happen with Pereshati and she started to her thing as per the begining of the series. The reader having also remember her fate and still being in love with Phineas decides to openly stop perusing him thinking that if she did that her parents would not have ultimately married her off to the guy she married because she would not have brought embarrassment to the family.

(warnings: forceful motherhood (?), murder, pretty tame actually.)

© Writing belongs to me, Lxdymoon0357. Do not plagiarize, but reblogging, liking and commenting is deeply appreciated.

Darling's new life of blood

Yandere!Phineas who could not stand to be around you sometimes. You were cheeky, mischievous, bright and bubbly, younger than him. Everything he expected from someone your ageand you kept trying to pursue him.

Yandere!Phineas who got gifts from you; books, cuff-links, pendent, brooches. Anything you thought h might enjoy, he was so annoyed with you..but you went out of your way to get those for him, he was almost endeared.

Yandere!Phineas who couldn't dare to love you back, unless he put you in harm's way with his blood, his family and his clan's curse. He always wore gloves around you, covered his body till he could sweat to death to ensure none of his blood would ever make contact with you.

Yandere!Phineas who pushed you away with rude words, snarky comments and reclusive nature. Being so reserved you found it hard to hold a conversation for longer than twenty minutes with him not showing any interest and breaking your heart.

Yandere!Phineas who felt his blood run cold when you confess publicly during a Lapileon banquet, making him immediately turn you down in a way rather harsh to your sensitive heart. "My lady, what makes you think I can see myself marrying someone like.. you?" he said, his eyes scanning you as if you were a filth under his shoe, crushing your heart without a single thought infront of an audience.

Yandere!Phineas who actually admired you more than anything and wanted to keep you safe. You didn't have any immunity to his blood..he couldn't bear if he was the reason you lost your spark and died in his arms.

Yandere!Phineas who could only stare at the cruelty at he watches you get married just a few months after you confessed to some high ranking official. He watches you be loved by a man who wasn't him..

Yandere!Phineas who thinks the world is playing a cruel joke on him when you die right in his arms by Lapileon blood used by your husband he got from Jin, harvested by Islette, though he doesn't know it was Gin..and ends up believing it's his own fault.

Yandere!Phineas who suddenly returns back in time and is now welcoming a new member of Lapileon's, Pereshati. Therdeo's wife who is immune to Lapileon blood.

Yandere!Phineas who noticed how distance you become from him, already missing and yearning for your attention back on him. On your old man, your pretty face always looking away when he tries to even intract with you.

Yandere!Phineas who silently supported Pereshati's doubt in a member selling their blood as untraceable poison and he was ready to go ballistic onto Jin upon hearing of Jin's crimes.. He did land a punch or two, despite scolding from Gloria.

Yandere!Phineas who can't sleep at night, far too paranoid for your safety after you're so distant from him as to not embarrass your parents and family and not be forcibly married off again. He wakes up every few house in worry of you, caring for Islette on top of it.

Yandere!Phineas who uses Jin's blood as a way to kill off anyone he deems competition; male friends, nobles, commoners, servants. He has no fear, knowing he can easily throw all blame onto Jin. He doesn't want to get his own hands dirty with someone else's blood.

Yandere!Phineas who after a lot of convincing from Pereshati and Saoirse decided to ask you for a dance at the next banquet he is present in your presence. He holds a bit too tight, a bit too close and a bit too sweetly with a bit too much love in his eyes.

Yandere!Phineas who ends up having Gloria send your family a request for your hand in marriage and before you could even know it, you're married off to Phineas Lapileon and become his wife and kept in his manor 24/7 with his servants succumbing and addressing your every whim.

Yandere!Phineas who has you be thee mother to Islette, no matter what. She's your daughter too and besides, Islette already like you and you don't really want to upset your husband, do you? And aside from making your husband upset, Islette is a little girl who is in need of a mother, like you!

Yandere!Phineas who is pretty tame, but doesn't ever let you leave thee manor. Far too paranoid, especially with his own blood, he constantly has you build immunity with Pereshati's blood mixed into your blood by any means necessary.

[lususnatura]

it hadn't even occurred to blamore that one could potentially use the green to create new human life-forms. however, if he did know that such a thing was on someone like ivy's mind... he would likely understand at least some of the devastation that came with her trying to do that and ultimately failing. whether it was a blessing or a curse was irrelevant at that moment — blamore didn't have anywhere near close the amount of power she had over plants. so, just the fact that ivy was able to feel their pain would be enough to make it pity the other. but in any case, the fact that his own bodily autonomy had essentially been taken from him because of the green was something horrifying, but it did connect him to other's experiences with it such as ivy's and alec holland's, or swamp thing's.

blamore looked down at the 'grippy socks' that the hospital had apparently found it necessary to clothe him with then. it was used to going either barefoot or running around in thin sandals, so it felt a bit odd; but it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that one this whole situation had blamore feeling odd. blamore had been nervous to reveal this information to harley before out of fear that she might not understand, after all, but it seemed like she actually thought very similarly to it. gender was a social construct that was constantly being re-shaped by society in terms of what was viewed as being 'masculine' or 'feminine.' but who even decided that such a thing needed to be defined in the first place, anyway?

he supposed that having such classifications allowed people to connect with people more easily in a way, but at the same time, it also divided people. blamore crossed his arms at the mention of french not making sense before feigning an incredulous scoff as if he was angry at harley, ❝ oh, my gosh. i can't believe you just said something that's completely true! you're such a bully for insulting my language like that, chère — i hope you know that, ❞ he very lightly pushed onto one of the other's shoulders then to continue putting on this act that it was offended when he really wasn't. blamore was merely messing around with her, as evidenced by the smile that it couldn't help but let spread across its lips.

whenever harley dove into the subject of gender then, he suddenly felt a lot less wary about sharing what he'd been keeing under wraps from her. and that was because he feared he might be rejected by her. but honestly, harley was one of the most nice people he'd met just overall — not even in only the criminal underworld of gotham — so reflecting back on it... blamore didn't know what it was so worried about now. a hum of approval left its lips at the way she pointed out that trying to put a label on different things in regard to what it meant to be male or female was kind of counterproductive (especially considering that could be a rather polarizing topic).

❝ yeah, i suppose you're right about that. but at the same time, the way in which society has created these 'norms' around gender have allowed people to feel like they have a community with others. though its at the expense of it being harder to define yourself as an individual and also to have harmful stereotypes tacked onto you sometimes, which... certainly doesn't make the whole idea seem good. i just have been experimenting with it for a while myself and its weird because, before i became this, i felt like people wouldn't respect the fact that i might want to be called different things so i held off from bringing it up.

but i guess becoming a plant monster hasn't been all bad in the way that its somehow given me more confidence about my gender. so, i wanted to tell you this eventually, but you can still call me your boyfriend if you want; though i would also like to be referred to using neutral pronouns, particularly 'it' or 'its' at times. do you think that that's something you could please do for me? ❞ blamore clasped its hands together in front of itself as if to say 'please' once more before nodding in response to what harley was telling it. ❝ i understand. and i'm more than happy with you being a tomboy, though i'd still be your partner if you ever changed your mind about things. it also makes me happy to hear that you're willing to accept others like that so long as they're not hurting anyone else; that's a good quality to have. ❞

his bony tail curled up to resemble a '6' against his body as he coughed into his elbow, grabbing the sandals he came to the hospital in and taking off the socks with a groan. they were starting to irritate the lichen on his feet, so he changed to tying the sandals around his ankles and walking around in them. ❝ yeah, they told me that the chest tube takes two days... m-minimum, to get all the excess air out of your lungs. that branch had another seed attached to it, so its obvious to me now that this isn't an isolated thing. ❞ blamore coughed once more into its elbow before throwing the seed into the bag it had. it looked confused at the others comment, tilting its head at harley.

❝ growth and attachment? you mean, like, what would happen if you allowed it to fully grow and how it'd attach itself to a structure - like me? make all the pregnancy jokes you want, but i think that that 'child' of mine was that branch that was in the sink because it sprouted out around my spine. food sounds amazing right now, though. i haven't eaten anything since last night, before the surgery. ❞ blamore gave the other's hand a light squeeze before he leaned his head down to kiss the other's knuckles.

a chuckle came from him at the way she stated she wouldn't be letting him on top of the greenhouse. ❝ ahh... there's that protective spirit of yours rearing its head again. though don't worry. it's not like i could even go up there right now if i wanted to, harley. nico told me that he reached out to a person who could fix it, and he said that the estimated time to do so would be three weeks. so i won't be touching it for a while. ❞

Harley winced at the talk about some plants not need outside influences to reproduce. It took her back to a dark time where Ivy was determined to get Harley to stay. It was to the point of trying to create plant children. Children born of the green. In retrospect giving her something responsive that could bridge the gap of communication and make her mother, wasn't too far out there. The problem was that the experiment worked but it was Harley who had to watch life wither in front of her. Pam would find out the hard way that she would be connected and feel their death, something Harley felt was a lesson warranted.

She sat solemn for a moment unable not to remember that moment but quickly shook her head conscious of the conversation. She didn't seem too alarmed as coming to terms with ones individuality was hard. Harley even struggled with this on occasion, but the further she got into psychology the more she didn't really care for gender studies.

" I always felt gender was like a Freudian study. It doesn't really make sense. Kinda like tha' French language. Ya' have masculine and feminine notations fa' pens 'en pencils," she laughed.

" I feel if ya' create these nonexistent lines inta' what is it to be male or female you will always neva' quite be in one or tha' other. I jus' want people ta' be their authentic selves? If it leads to experimenting into things to find out ... good if you make sure ya' ain't hurting someone in tha' process. As fa' me... I've been mostly coined feminine. I can't change my features. Trust me jus' a pair of glasses didn't mask much. I got a touch more respect but not enough. I mostly enjoy tha' company of men, hence why I didn't really have many female partners. So... yer' gonna simply get a tomboy. I'm gonna get dirty, fix cars, enjoy a drink or hang out in dives but I still like to be flirty 'en dress up. Dote on people when I can. I'm just me," she said with a shrug unsure if the talk helped.

Letting go of his tail she saw the hospital made them jittery. It was funny as she may as well have been much the same if she were in the gown.

"Woooahhh... its okay. I got ya. You said two days here. One okay... yer' actually doin' really well. Betta' than most but gotta make sure everything holds. ANddddddd oddly the branch in tha' sink... not yer' usual stuff. I gotta say yer' handling this better than I would. My mind has gone ta' implantin' that seed into a specimen just to study growth and attachment... and you look like its simply something of a collection piece. I feel disgusting for even thinking... Yer' right food... should order food," Harley blabbed before taking Balmore's hand for support.

Taking a breath she looked up at Balmore's eyes. "Ya' know I may not let ya' up ontop of the greenhouse fa' a long time."

[rafesangelita]

hiii there angel i’m so happy you opened up requests again, i love your writing sm. could i plz request sheep!reader and dark!rafe? he’s super rough during sex but sheep!reader is crying and she asks him if he can be soft but he doesn’t know how so she kinda guides him? sorry if this is too specific!

warnings: dark!rafe, mean!rafe, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, slapping, groping, crying, dacryphilia, slight angst, a little bit of fluff

“raferaferafe!” you cried out, heavy teardrops rolling down your cheeks as your nails clawed the sheets for dear life. your scalp burned as rafe roughly pulled at the roots of your hair between his fingers, his jaw set tight as he dug crescents into your skin with his merciless grip. you hiccuped, reaching back to grab onto his wrist to indicate for him to slow down the pace of his thrusts. in hopes of muffling your screams, rafe pushed your face into the plush pillows beneath your head, your knees threatening to give out from under you.

he knew he was sick and deranged for getting off on your tears, each drop bringing him closer and closer to that high he desperately chased. he watched you as you tried to move away from him, your pathetic attempts deemed useless against his strength. “stop— fuckin’ moving,” he snaked a hand underneath you, wrapping his fingers around your neck before pulling you up against his chest, his cock still buried deep within your aching cunt, “do i have to bend you over my lap and remind you what happens when you try to run away from me?” he said through gritted teeth, a shiver running down your spine at the memory.

“no!” you shook your head, your voice shaky as rafe cupped both of your tits, your body molding to his touch like you were putty; soft and malleable. “it hurts too much—” you softly stroked the hand he had around your neck, prompting him to loosen his hold on you. “can we try something different?” rafe left a trail of wet kisses that went from the curve of your shoulders to the underside of your jaw, a dissatisfied grunt rumbling from his chest. he hated to be interjected on, the adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “no, i want you like this.” he whispered, taking your chin and forcing you to face him.

“please, just this once, ray..” you begged, hoping with all of your heart that he would, at the very least, consider what you wanted to propose. rafe blinked, his chest rising and falling as he scanned your face. “what do you want?” you nearly sighed in relief when he said the words, your teary gaze finding his in your dimly lit room. “can you be softer? i mean, like— not hit me and rough me up?” rafe almost laughed at the ridiculous request, the only thing stopping him being the fucked-out expression gracing your features. you looked absolutely spent. soft? gentle? those were two words that rafe has never been quite familiar with.

“you want me to be all sweet and shit?” he moved his hips slightly, the sudden movement sending a shockwave to your system. “y-yes, exactly that..” rafe felt uneasy at the proposition, the idea not sounding enticing to him in the slightest. “i don’t know. i don’t even think i could do that.” rafe pulled out of you with a hiss, a small gasp leaving your lips at the sudden emptiness. “yes you can! i’ll show you if you let me.” you turned around, that pleading look in your eyes slowly making his resolve crumble. rafe thought it over before ultimately deciding to just give it a try.

“fine.”

you laid down on your back, finally feeling some relief as you no longer had your knees pressed into the mattress. instinctively, rafe slotted himself between your thighs, his arms caging you in. “now what?” he quipped, looking at you expectantly. cupping his face, your eyes flickered between his own before the words ‘kiss me’ left your mouth in a hushed whisper. rafe wasted no time, instantly leaning in and taking your lips in a searing kiss, his teeth nipping your bottom lip as he did so. you pulled away as soon as he bit you, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“you have to do it softly. no teeth.” you corrected him, your cheeks heating as he cursed under his breath. “no tongue either?!” rafe asked incredulously, slightly in disbelief. you giggled, pecking his lips. “no. just like this— the way i’m doing it.” rafe followed suit, the slowness of it all feeling completely foreign to him. it took a little bit of time, but within minutes, rafe was kissing you with featherlight touches instead of his usual bruising force, his hands staying on either sides of your head. rafe’s body weight alone provided you with a blanket of comfort unlike the way you felt when he had you on all fours.

you showed him how to caress you instead of groping and grabbing at you. rafe didn’t realize how many things you wanted to change until he was slowly rocking in and out of you, your usual sobs and screams were now soft whimpers and moans that he wished he could hear more often. the way you were looking up at him right now, like you were in pure bliss, was such a stark contrast to the way you usually looked at him; as if you were in pain and silently begging for mercy. holding him close, you stroked the nape of his neck as both of you came with a soft whisper of each other’s names.

rafe buried his face in your neck to refrain from scratching you, your tenderness pulling at his heartstrings. as much as he was above cloud nine right now, your velvety walls clenching around him and taking him for everything he had, he couldn’t help but feel a slight seed of guilt for how he’s always treated you during moments of intimacy. once you two were left panting, rafe stayed nestled inside of you as he turned you two over, wrapping his arms around your waist while you rested your tear-stained cheek on his chest. you listened to the thrum of his heart beat, your eyes fluttering in and out of sleep while rafe ran his fingertips up and down your spine.

“how about i bathe you after this? i’ve never done that, either..”

[theorphicangel]

alt universe where reader and sukuna don't break up in a messy way, this is much more civilised than the current series of drabbles i wrote, fluffy i promise!! happy belated valentines!! <3

Ex bf! Sukuna who shows up on your doorstep on valentine’s day, with flowers, a heart shaped balloon and a massive teddy bear.

You catch him by accident, his actions hoping to be anonymous until you open the door to leave for what seems to be a date. 

You’re all dolled up, with a dress that accentuates your figure and your hair all done up and ready. Sukuna’s mouth seems to go dry just at the sight of you, the realisation of what he has lost now creeping up on him.

‘What are you doing here?’ you frown, glancing at the array of objects in your ex boyfriend’s hands. Sukuna hesitates with his words, struggling to form a sentence whilst you gaze at him, you don’t seem angry. Just confused.

‘Yuji made me come.’

Sukuna swallows thickly, awkwardness filling his body. 

‘Yuji?’

Sukuna nods. ‘Him and Jin bought all this shit and didn’t know what to do with it.’

‘So you’re giving it to your ex?’

Sukuna’s shoulders drop. It’s barely been a month since you split, you’re both on good terms but you both agreed to stay out of contact unless necessary.

‘Okay, maybe I bought a thing or two but Yuji made you a valentine’s card at school. He really wanted me to give it to you.’ he admits.

‘Right.’ You mull over your words wondering what to say next. ‘Tell him I said thank you.’

‘I will.’

Silence fills the hallway. The elephant in the room is so obvious but neither of you know how to address it. Sukuna’s heart thumps in his chest, ultimately fearing the worst. 

You’ve moved on already,

‘Do you have-’

‘I’m-’

You both start at the same time and interrupt each other. You decide to let him speak first. 

‘Are you going on a date?’

It’s the question that has been sitting on his tongue ever since he saw you all dressed up. 

A slight smile reaches your lips at the thought of his possessiveness, a tinge of excitement at his proposed jealousy. Yes, you felt bad for thinking this way but deep down 

‘No, I’m having a galentines.’ you state.

You can visibly see the relief on Sukuna’s face, his shoulder drops from all the internal tension that he was holding within. 

Sukuna clears his throat. 

‘That’s nice.’

You hum, letting the silence make way between the two of you again. 

‘I should get going.’ you speak after a minute. 

‘Right, of course.’ 

You lean up to him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. You can smell his cologne, it’s stronger than usual evident that he dabbed on a little extra before coming to meet you. 

Your lips are soft and it’s only after a blink that you pull away leaving Sukuna totally dumbfounded in your arms.  A mark of red lipstick on his cheek is the only evidence that you leave behind, visual evidence that he wasn’t just imagining things and you did kiss him. 

Immediately his cheeks burn red, the tinge of redness leading all the way up to his ears. 

‘Thank you ‘kuna.’

[norrissm]

❀ WE LISTEN AND WE DON'T JUDGE — LN4

Lando Norris x Reader / est. relationship / library

Syn. Doing the TikTok challenge with your boyfriend. We listen and we don’t judge . . . except we do ;)

So Lando and I decided to hop on the TikTok trend, filming ourselves all cosy in bed — him in a hoodie, arm around me, and me holding the phone while trying not to crack up.

I hit play and turn to look at Lando. He was examining me while biting down on his laugh a devilish glint in his eyes.

“We listen and we don’t judge.” We say in unison.

“Okay I’ll go first,” I began.

“I once tried on your race suit when you weren’t home.”

“Wait what?” he huffed. “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?” He hollered, half laughing. He was mad but the dusky pink in his cheeks gave it away.

I held on to his shoulder while trying not to choke on my breath with the way I was giggling at his comical expression.

“Did it fit though?” He asked giggling at the thought of it. “No Lan, your arms are too big,” I replied. I cupped his jaw unable to keep myself from chuckling. “Uh huh, fair.”

“Okay my turn,” Lando said.

“We listen and we don’t judge.”

“I keep screenshots of your texts when you say nice things about me.”

I was rendered speechless. My jaw hung open, warmth gushing to my cheeks with the biggest smile on my face. Lando was already out of frame as he hid his head, quivering down in my lap holding my knees for dear life. His neck was entirely a shade of red.

“Lando…”

“No shut up, don’t make a big deal.”

“But baby that’s so CUTE!” I called out now rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s so sweet. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He murmured now sitting up. “Okay okay next question!”

“We listen and we don’t judge.”

“I keep one of your hoodies in my cars when I miss you during race weeks.”

Now it was Lando’s turn to be speechless. He was thawing into a puddle. Immediately switches to a soft tone.

You do?” eyes crinkling into crescents at the idea of me nuzzling into his hoodie during his absence.

Instantly bombards me with a hug mumbling I love you into my neck — now both of us entirely out of frame.

After prying him off, now Lando entirely clinging to me and a love-struck smile on his face, we proceeded with the challenge.

“I once fake slept so you’d keep playing with my hair.”

He said spinning to me with a proud smile. I huffed at his confession although it made my heart skip a thousand beats.

“YOU LIAR!”

“What?? You were doing it so nicely. Scratching my scalp and shit.”

“So you mean I was sitting there for 20 min—”

“Yes and it felt great.”

I heave a pillow toward him which he successfully swerves with goofy grins on our faces.

“Okay last one,” I said. “We listen and we don’t judge.”

I hang back a bit, shyness overshadowing my demeanour. I clear my throat and barely veer away from Lando.

“Um, I kinda love when you’re all sweaty after a race. It’s disgusting, but it’s also unfairly attractive.”

My voice came out quieter than I aimed at as I looked at Lando. His mouth was barely open as he poked his tongue into his cheek. A cunning snicker appeared on his face.

“Uh-huh,” he plodded closer. “You’re down bad.”

I rolled my eyes at his teasing. Pressing him back by his chest. His body was warm under my fingers.

“Whatever, your turn”

“Alright then, we listen and we don’t judge.”

His demeanour switched to a more assured one this time around. He leaned nearer to me practically only whispering to me.

“I purposely wear gray sweatpants around you because I know you stare.”

My breath clamped in my throat under the gaze he ensnared me in. Before I could say anything he went on.

“I like it when you wake me up like THAT in the morning.”

“Lando STOP,” I whimper into my palms blanketing my face.

“Yeah? Then why are you hiding?” He picked on me. I could hear him sneering at this point.

“I’d give up a podium just to see you smile when you need it.” He declared ultimately.

My groans were hushed as I peeked at him from before my fingers. “You can’t say that.”

He simply chortled and whispered, “Come here, love.” Arms lurking around my waist as the video cut off.

[COMMENTS]

ln4fwdc: ‘I like when you wake me up like that in the morning’ SIR THIS IS A WENDY’S DRIVE-THRU.

user17371818: THE WAY HE LEANS IN AND LOWERS HIS VOICE. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS INFORMATION???

op81girlie: McLaren admin seeing this: ‘we don’t get paid enough for this job.’

maxriss: THE WAY HE SAID THE LAST ONE I JUST KNOW HE MEANS IT.

landoscar481: I just know this man is a PROBLEM behind closed doors.

reblog and follow <3 all rights reserved ©norrissm please do not copy, save, or translate my stories.

[81pastrys]

The Helmet

Summary— She begs Lando to fuck with the helmet on and he caves

Warnings— smut ; helmet kink? Mask kink? ; multiple orgasms ; aftercare

A/N— this one is shorter but I think it’s really good

Lando One Shots

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws @dollywons

Request— Hi!! Can I please make a smut request for Lando where him and the reader are in a relationship and she has a thing for him wearing his helmet, Lando knows that and she always asks him to keep it on in the bedroom but he always says no but then one day he gives in? Please please please!

“Baby I’m not wearing a fucking helmet when we have sex!” Lando laughed. She asked nearly every night they were in Monaco if he would wear a helmet during sex and he refused. She even hinted at races that he should ‘keep it on for later’ but never caught it in the moment.

“Why not?” She asked. “You look so hot in them please?!” She begged. Lando shook his head at her. She groaned at his disapproval. “Lan.” He sees the way she drools over him in the garage or watching replays of him putting it on, taking it off, holding it even.

“You know they’re like super fucking hot and claustrophobic?” He asked. She nodded, she couldn’t get her counter argument out before he came up with an idea. “Will you stop asking if I say yes?” She went red and nodded.

“Unless it’s too good.” She muttered. He sighed and told her to pick a helmet from his game room. Of course, she picked the classic 24’ helmet.

She handed it to him, giving him innocent puppy eyes. “Alright but after this no more asking.” He said. She nodded and they ended up naked in the bedroom.

She bit her lip as he towered over her sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his helmet. That in itself was hot. She rubbed her thighs and he scoffed at her.

“I didn’t even put it on and you’re dripping?” He asked. “This will be the easiest way to make you cum.” That it was. He put the helmet on and grabbed her chin to look up at him.

He laid her back and tested how wet she actually was. Two fingers easily slipped in. Even if she was turned on usually there was some sort of resistance, but not this time. He took that as a sign she was ready in every way possible for him to ruin her.

She could hear him breathe in his helmet, that turning her on even more. He lined up, teasing her folds with his tip. He was hard, but not turned on by the helmet restricting airflow. The visor was up, sure, but it got hot quickly.

She whined and he slipped in, the quicker he got this over with the better. Her walls hugging him as he was quick to bottom out. She moaned and clawed at his arms. He groaned, the muffled sound making her squirm under him.

He wasn’t moving and she was desperate for it. When he did start moving her eyes stayed on his through the helmet. Her nails digging at his forearms. He hissed at the pain but it was quickly over when she came, quicker than she ever had.

Her body writhing and shaking with pleasure as he kept his slow thrusts. He chuckled in the helmet and decided to tease her, angling his thrusts perfectly. “Fuck lan.” She moaned.

“What? Are you already done?” His muffled voice caused her to groan. She tried to hold herself back but ultimately another orgasm hit her like a freight train. Her back arched and her hands gripped a pillow to throw over her face.

He moved the pillow and watched her face as pleasure wracked her brain. The helmet just, did something to her. He could feel her insides contracting around him, making it harder to keep thrusting.

He stilled inside her and her breathing slightly calmed. “Two more?” He taunted. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he shook his head at her, moving them to his shoulders. His thrusts were quicker this time.

He held herself thighs as he made note of her body language. She was enjoying this way too much for it to be normal. He felt her legs begin to shake again and slowed down, edging her from another orgasm.

“Not so quick, you’ve been waiting for this.” He teased her. Lando was using this to his advantage. He sped up and slowed down, driving her insane.

One of her legs was pushed to the bed and his angle was just right, hitting a spot that made her cum instantly. He stilled inside her while she wriggled her hips against his. He groaned at the movement and started a rougher pace. Riding her 3rd orgasm into her 4th. He pulled out and came over her belly.

He took the helmet off and ruffled his hair. He placed the helmet safely on the dresser and dampened a cloth from the bathroom to clean her up. He kneeled at the foot of the bed in front of her as she calmed her breathing.

One of his large hands rubbing her thigh as she did, his cheeky smile was all she could see when she sat up. “Never again?” She questioned breathless still.

“I don’t know you seemed out of it love.” He said. “Maybe for special occasions.” He bargained. He gently cleaned her body, her hips jerking at the cold towel.

Lando in his helmet? Fuck me.

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @itznotsophia @justaf1girl @kallanfiona

[eclipixels]

Casual

Character: Yoichi Isagi, Meguru Bachira, Hyoma Chigiri, Rin Itoshi, Seishiro Nagi, Reo Mikage

Content: "Casual relationship with the boys but it’s just you getting ahead of yourself and planning to talk to them about getting serious until you saw a headline about 'your' man going official with another lady." - @captainshindo

     Yoichi Isagi

      You weren’t the jealous type. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

      Isagi Yoichi was never officially yours, not in the way that mattered. Sure, he kissed you like you were the only person in the world, pulled you into his arms like he had no intention of letting go, and whispered things at night that made your stomach flip. But there had never been a label.

      It was fine. You were fine. Until you saw the headline.

      "Blue Lock’s Rising Star Isagi Yoichi Goes Official With Mystery Beauty!"

      Your stomach dropped. The article featured blurry paparazzi shots of him with some woman—her face obscured, but her hand was clearly clutching his wrist. You read every line, dissecting every word like it held the key to your survival of your heart. The journalist speculated, fans freaked out, and suddenly, it felt like the whole world was deciding where Isagi’s heart belonged.

      Except, no one had asked you.

      You slammed your phone down, anger bubbling up, not just at him but at yourself. You had been ready, so ready, to have the talk, to define what this thing between you really was. But now? What was the point?

      When Isagi came home later, he immediately noticed something was off.

      "You’re mad at me."

      "Really?” You scoffed.

      "Yeah, you are." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Is this about the article? I have no idea who that woman even was, I’m pretty sure it was a fan."

      Your eyes snapped to him. He looked guilty. Good.

      "Why would I care?" you asked, voice tight. "We’re not dating, right? I mean, not really. So why should I care?"

      His heart cracked when you said that. Did this mean nothing to you? Truth be told, he was planning to talk to you soon about your relationship. He wanted to be yours officially, now he feels dumb for not doing it sooner. Because now, his baby’s heart was broken and he didn’t know how to fix it.

      "Come on, you know that’s not—"

      "Not what? Not true?"

      And it wasn’t like he could just announce to the world that he was taken. Right? But still, he could’ve done something. At least that's what you told yourself.

      Isagi sat in bed that night, phone in hand, searching for ways to subtly (or not-so-subtly) let people know he was taken.

      What he found was… questionable.

      “Give her your hoodie, post her on your story, make it obvious.”

      Okay. Normal enough. What else, though? He wanted to do something more than that.

      “Hickeys are the ultimate mark of possession.”

      His face burned. He thought about it for half a second, then realized they were temporary. That wasn’t enough.

      And then he saw it.

      A tattoo. Permanent. Undeniable. Forever.

      It was impulsive, but so was he.

      Isagi came home, a slight wince on his face as he rolled his shoulder as he began experiencing the weak symptoms of a tattoo flu.

      "Hey."

      You barely looked up from your phone.

      He hovered for a second, then sighed dramatically. "You’re still mad."

      Silence.

      "Okay, well, can you at least look at me?"

      With an exaggerated eye-roll, you glanced up and immediately did a double take.

      "What the hell is that?" you asked, pointing at the fresh ink on the side of his neck.

      Bold, black letters. Your name. Right there for the world to see.

      "A tattoo," he said casually, like he hadn’t just done the most insane thing in history.

      Your mouth opened. Then closed. "No, yeah, I can see that. Why?"

      Isagi scratched the back of his head, suddenly sheepish. "Well, I wanted people to know I’m taken."

      "That’s the way you went about it?"

      "Yeah, but this way, they can’t argue about it." He grinned, a little too pleased with himself.

      “Check my socials” He said with a smug expression. You gave him a puzzled but cautious look as you slowly opened your social media.

      He posted you. Not just that, he put your name in his bio with a heart emoji.

      You blinked. Slowly.

      "You’re insane."

      "Maybe." He stepped closer, tilting his head with a smirk. "But now you can’t say I’m not serious."

      “That is a good picture of us,” You hummed, squealing on the inside at the gesture. He really did that.

      “Match bios with me before it looks like I’m embarrassing myself.” He said sternly and you laughed, your eyes falling past from his lips to the fresh tattoo on his neck.

      “That’s permanent”

      “So is this,” He smiled slyly, pulling you in for a kiss.

      Damn him. Damn him and his stupid, reckless, insanely hot commitment.

      You exhaled, shaking your head. "You’re lucky I love you, Isagi Yoichi."

      That was the first time you said those words to him. I love you.

      "I know. I love you too.” He grinned. Yeah, and so does the whole world know now too.

     Meguru Bachira

      You weren’t the type to rush into things.

      Or at least, that’s what you told yourself when you first started seeing Bachira Meguru. It had been casual, fun, and effortless. The kind of relationship where dates blurred into late-night calls, where teasing turned into lingering touches, and where stolen kisses didn’t come with strings attached. You liked him. A lot. Maybe too much.

      That was the problem.

      You told yourself it was just fun. That the way he’d tug you close after a match, sweat still dripping from his bangs, meant nothing. The way he sent you voice notes about the most random things, like how the vending machine near his training center always stole his coins. It wasn’t anything special.

      But you wanted more. And after weeks of convincing yourself it wasn’t just one-sided, you’d decided it was time to have the conversation. The ‘what are we?’ talk. The ‘I think I want to be with you officially’ talk.

      You had it all planned out. You’d meet him after practice, maybe go for a walk, maybe grab something to eat. You’d be subtle about it, ease into it the way you always did with him. No pressure. No big declarations.

      Then, fate decided to punch you in the gut.

      Your phone screen lit up with a notification, the kind you usually ignored. But the name caught your eye. Bachira Meguru.

      It wasn’t a text. It wasn’t even a message from him. It was a headline. A big, bold, soul-crushing headline plastered across a sports gossip site.

      “Blue Lock Star Bachira Meguru Goes Official with Rising Model Hana Yoshida!”

      The article was filled with pictures, ones you’d never seen before. Bachira with his arm draped over her shoulders, grinning like he had no worries in the world. Her hand playfully on his chest. Them standing too close, their body language screaming intimacy.

      You stared at your phone, the weight of your own naivety sinking in.

      Had he ever mentioned her? No.

      Had he ever given you any reason to believe it was just you? Also no.

      You had assumed. And that was your mistake.

      The realization was sobering. The night before, he had sent you a voice note about his latest match, his usual excited rambling filling your ears. It felt normal. Easy. Safe. But now, the words rang hollow in your memory, like they belonged to a different story altogether.

      You inhaled sharply and forced a laugh, the sound bitter in your own ears.

      Wasn’t this a blessing in disguise? If you had spoken to him any sooner, you would’ve made a fool of yourself.

      Dodged a bullet. Saved yourself from embarrassment.

      You locked your phone and tossed it onto the couch, letting out a long breath. Maybe it was time to let go of the idea of ‘what could’ve been’ and accept what was staring you in the face.

      Bachira Meguru was never yours to begin with.

      You had ignored his calls. His texts. His voice notes. Bachira was starting to panic. Had he done something wrong? Had he messed up what you two had, without even realizing it?

      The overwhelming feelings he had for you were impossible to express, no matter how hard he tried. He never quite knew the right words, but he knew this. He couldn’t lose you. After years of isolation, of feeling like no one truly understood him, you had come into his life. You got him. And now, the thought of that slipping away, of you slipping away, was unbearable.

      So, in the dead of night, with anxiety clawing at his chest, Bachira showed up at your door. A bouquet of your favorite flowers in one hand, a bag of your favorite snacks in the other, and an apology for whatever the hell it was he had done to make you pull away. He wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for, but he knew he couldn’t stand this silence between you two any longer.

      When he stood there, nervously shifting from foot to foot, the words he blurted out took you by surprise, and all the anger you had been holding onto melted away in an instant.

      “Are you breaking up with me or something? What did I do?”

      You blinked, taken aback. “Meguru, you really don’t know? You didn’t see the articles and— wait, you thought we’re together?”

      “Well, yeah," he said, frowning, his eyes wide with confusion. "I’m your boyfriend, right? Or did… Oh no, did I assume wrong?” He looked at you in a mix of worry and uncertainty, and something in your chest tightened. He looked so lost, so vulnerable, and you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy.

      “No, no, it’s not that,” you said quickly, trying to explain. “I just saw you with that model, and I thought—”

      “It was for a commercial for Chris Prince’s brand,” he interrupted, his expression softening slightly. “Wait… people are thinking it’s more than that?”

      “The article says it’s official,” you said, biting your lip, unsure how to explain the confusion that had swept over you.

      He froze, processing what you said, then his face shifted to a mix of disbelief and determination. “The hell? No, no way. I’m fixing that. But first,” he said, his gaze locking onto yours, “I need to fix this.” The cool night air swirled around him, his features glowing in the soft light, giving him an almost ethereal quality.

      You blinked, momentarily speechless.

      He stepped closer, leaning in as he looked into your eyes with such intensity that you couldn’t look away. “We are together. Yes?”

      You felt your heart race. “Okay,” you answered, the tension in your body easing with the words.

      Without another word, Bachira leaned in and kissed you. Soft, sweet, but with a warmth that melted away any remaining uncertainty. When he pulled back, he glanced up at you with a shy grin.

      “Good. Can I, uh, come in?”

      You blinked again stunned from the kiss before quickly stepping aside. “Oh, yeah! Sorry, come in!”

     Hyoma Chigiri

      Chigiri was great—amazing, even. Every moment spent with him was effortless. The two of you didn’t define things; it was simple. Casual. Late night skin care dates, movies, shopping, boba. No pressure, no expectations. Or so you thought. But somewhere between laughing over late-night games and the quiet mornings at his apartment, you’d started to wish for more. You didn’t just want him in your life—you wanted him. And not just as a casual companion, but as someone who would be there in the long run. So, you had decided to talk to him about taking things a step further.

      You reread your draft one more time.

      “Hey, Hyoma. I know we’ve been having a lot of fun, but... I’ve been thinking a lot about us. I think I’m ready for something more serious. What do you think?”

      You bit your lip, ready to send it, but then the familiar buzz of a notification caught your attention. A headline. Your eyes widened in disbelief.

      “Hyoma Chigiri Goes Official with Miku Takeda”

      Your breath caught. The picture accompanying the article was of Chigiri, smiling brightly beside a woman with shoulder-length brown hair and a radiant expression. She looked happy. And he was happy, too. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the wave of disappointment, but it was too much. The words blurred before your eyes as a dull ache settled deep in your chest.

      You blinked rapidly, trying to piece everything together. You two hadn’t exactly made anything official, sure, but... hadn’t the connection felt special? You had been special, hadn’t you? There had been nights spent tangled in each other’s arms, mornings where you stayed in bed a little too long, stealing kisses between sleepy grins.

      A dark thought crept in, taunting you, Was he even serious about me?

      Without thinking, you grabbed your things, leaving the coffee shop in a daze. The cold wind bit at your skin, but you barely noticed. You didn’t know what you were feeling anymore. You had imagined a future with him, and now it was slipping through your fingers like sand.

      The next day, the confusion still gnawed at you. It was hard to focus on anything other than the image of Chigiri standing next to someone else. The woman was probably sweet, charming, someone who could give him everything you could never offer. Was that why he hadn’t wanted to make things official? You were a fool to have expected more.

      You were lost in your thoughts when your phone buzzed again. A text from him.

      “Hey, can I see you later?”

      Your heart skipped a beat. You stared at the message, reading it over and over. He wanted to see you? What could he possibly want to talk about?

      It wasn’t long before you heard a knock on your apartment door. You hesitated for a moment before opening it, only to find Chigiri standing there, his usual calm expression now tinged with uncertainty. His eyes softened when he saw you.

      “Can we talk?” he asked, his voice gentle.

      “I can't,” you replied, trying to sound neutral, but your voice wavered.

      “Why?”

      “I have to um, walk my pet fish.” You gave a poor excuse.

      “Princess, you don’t have a fish.” He bluntly said, giving you a pointed look. Your heart fluttered at the nickname. Why was he here? Why was he calling you that? Why was he playing with you like this? You defeatedly let him in, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling on you. There was an awkward silence between you two. He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly unsure of where to start.

      “You saw the article, didn’t you” he said finally, his tone a little more serious.

      You nodded, avoiding his gaze. “I did. I didn’t know you were seeing anyone seriously.”

      “I am,” He said defensively and you gave him a confused look. Was he here to break your heart all over again?

      “If that's all you came here to say then—”

      “You.” He interrupted you. “It’s you. I’m serious about you.”

      “What?”

      “It’s not what you think,” he replied quickly, his voice tense. “That woman in the photo, she was just a fan who asked to take a picture. Nothing more. I don’t know how that rumor even got started.”

      You bit your lip, feeling a rush of embarrassment flood through you. Of course, you hadn’t asked him about her. You’d just jumped to conclusions, letting insecurity take hold of you.

      “Oh.” you murmured, guilt creeping into your voice.

      Chigiri ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated with himself. “No, this is my fault. I should’ve made it clear our relationship so you’d never have to feel this way.” His eyes softened as he stepped closer to you. “But what I’m saying is, I’ve only been focused on you.”

      Your heart skipped in your chest, and you met his gaze at last. There was no mistaking the sincerity in his eyes.

      “Yeah, um, me too.” You awkwardly answered, suddenly feeling small under his gaze.

      “Can I be your boyfriend? Officially?”

      “Yes.”

     Rin Itoshi

      You had always known that Rin Itoshi wasn’t the type for deep emotions. His cool demeanor, sharp gaze, and the way he carried himself on and off the field. it all screamed that he was in control, always. And when you found yourself in a casual relationship with him, it was easy to slip into that mindset.

      For weeks, it had been nothing more than stolen moments. Quiet, private conversations after practice, a few casual dinners here and there, and the occasional late-night texts. You were often there for him during his more emotional problems. You knew Rin wasn’t big on showing affection, and in return, you respected his boundaries. But in the back of your mind, you started to wonder if there was something more. Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself, but you couldn’t help it. Every time he looked at you, there was a flicker of something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to share.

      You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. You were enjoying the moments you shared with him, and that was enough, right? But as the days went by, something inside you told you that you wanted more. You had no idea how he would respond, but the thought of asking had you nervous.

      You planned it all out. You’d wait for the perfect moment, maybe after one of his matches when his energy was high, and then you’d talk. Just the two of you, no distractions. You’d explain how you felt.You hoped he wouldn’t brush you off, maybe, just maybe, he’d feel the same way.

      But of course, life had a funny way of throwing curveballs when you least expected them.

      It all started on a random afternoon when you were scrolling through your phone. You were at home, taking a much-needed break from work and from your thoughts of Rin. The screen flickered to a news headline that made your stomach drop.

      "Rin Itoshi Goes Public with New Girlfriend—Is the Blue Lock Star Finally Settling Down?"

      Your eyes went wide, and your heart skipped a beat. There, on your screen, was a picture of Rin and a woman, someone you had never seen before.

      It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. Your mind raced as you scrolled through the article, each sentence tightening the knot in your stomach.

      Was this it? Had you been just a casual fling for him all along? Was this the end of whatever bond you thought you had? The thought of Rin moving on with someone else. Someone so glamorous and perfect for him, of course. It lleft you feeling small and foolish. You had been planning to have that conversation, and now, it felt like everything was too late.

      With trembling fingers, you dropped your phone on the couch and buried your face in your hands. It was the ultimate slap to your pride, the crushing reality that your feelings were never going to be returned the way you had hoped.

      What had you been thinking? You had let yourself get carried away, fantasizing about something more than what was real. You had never asked him where you stood, and now it was too late to fix it. You laughed bitterly at yourself, feeling the sting of embarrassment.

      The next day, you avoided Rin. You weren’t ready to confront him, not yet—not with the painful sting of the news still so fresh in your mind. It hurt more than you expected, this grief, and you needed space to think. You decided to take a walk, but somehow, your feet led you to the one place you always went when you were hurt—a quiet pond tucked away near the park.

      You hadn’t expected to find him there.

      As soon as you spotted him, your breath caught in your throat. You froze, a sharp pang of discomfort settling in your chest. You considered turning and walking away before he noticed you, but it was too late. He saw you.

      "Y/n..." Rin's voice broke through the silence, and there was something in his tone that made you pause. Relief. You didn’t know how to explain it, but it was unmistakable.

      You took a step back, instinctively wanting to retreat, but he caught it. Panic flashed in his eyes, and the urgency in his voice grew. “Don’t go.”

      You stood still, unsure of what to say or do, as he closed the distance between you. The cool air felt heavier with the weight of the moment. Rin’s usual composure was gone. He looked almost vulnerable as he started to speak again.

      “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said, his voice softer than you had ever heard it before. “The woman in that article... I’ve known her for a while, but we’re not dating. It was just a misunderstanding.”

      You blinked, your mind racing to process his words. "Oh... okay."

      You didn’t know how to respond. The silence stretched between you, thick with all the things unsaid. Now didn’t feel like the right time to voice your feelings, not with everything still so raw.

      Rin seemed to sense your hesitation, though. He took a deep breath, his gaze steady but intense. "I think... we should be together."

      Your heart skipped, confused by the sudden shift. "What?"

      “I don’t like the thought of us not being together,” he continued, his voice firm yet vulnerable. He was a mess. His emotions were all over the place. He was so scared of messing this up with you. “So, will you...?”

      You blinked again, unsure if you heard him correctly. “You’re asking me to be your girlfriend?”

      His expression softened, the edges of his usual coldness melting away. “I am.”

      You hesitated, the doubts swirling in your mind. "I don’t want to get hurt."

      Rin stepped closer, his eyes locking onto yours with a sincerity that took you by surprise. “I promise, I won’t do that to you.”

      You took a shaky breath, the tension in your chest easing slightly. "Okay."

      As soon as you responded, he shocked you with a chaste kiss, his face heating up immedietly afterwards.

     Seishiro Nagi

      It had been an unusually calm week for you and Seishiro Nagi. Despite the usual chaos that surrounded him, whether it was from Blue Lock’s relentless competition or his fanbase constantly buzzing about his status, you and Nagi had settled into a nice routine. There was no commitment, no promises. Just the two of you enjoying each other’s company in a casual, laid-back way. He’d show up at yours some nights, you'd binge-watch youtube or play video games, and the occasional kiss was exchanged, but it was never anything too serious.

      It was comfortable. Simple. And deep down, you felt like it was enough for you.

      But lately? Lately, something has shifted. Maybe it was the way his hands lingered just a bit longer when they brushed yours, or the way his smile made your heart beat faster than it ever had before. He didn’t say it, but you could feel something brewing underneath the surface. You wondered if maybe, just maybe, it was time to talk to him about what this was, what you two were.

      You stood in front of your mirror one morning, nervously adjusting your hair. The moment had to be right. You’d already rehearsed what you were going to say. “Seishiro, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we could try something more serious?” The words sounded perfect in your mind, a perfect reflection of your growing feelings. No turning back now.

      However, fate had other plans.

      While scrolling through your phone that afternoon, you stumbled upon an article. The headline hit you like a ton of bricks:

      "Seishiro Nagi Officially Goes Public with New Girlfriend!"

      Your heart stopped. You felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs. Your hands trembled as you read the article further. There was Nagi, smiling in a photo with some unknown woman. The words “new girlfriend” loomed over the image like a cruel reminder that whatever you and Nagi had shared, whatever you had hoped for, wasn’t real.

      You had been overthinking things. This was just a casual thing to him, wasn’t it? You’d misread everything.

      Suddenly, the message you had planned to send him felt ridiculous. Why bother talking about getting serious when clearly, he was already with someone else?

      At that moment, the emotional whiplash was too much. You needed space. You couldn’t face him. You locked your phone screen and pushed all thoughts of the conversation aside.

      For the rest of the day, you tried to distract yourself. You threw yourself into your work, watched mindless videos, but it was all in vain. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw that headline. Your Nagi, someone you had been secretly falling for, was with someone else.

      Meanwhile, Nagi had no clue that his whole world had just fallen apart.

      He was sleeping soundly, sprawled out in his bed, his phone discarded on the nightstand.

      The evening sunset pierced through his window as he blinked his eyes open, groggy but still content. He missed you, he wonderd if you were busy. A small smile tugged at his lips as he sent you a message. You always knew how to cheer him up after a long day.

      But there was no reply.

      Weird.

      Nagi tilted his head, frowning as he locked his phone and stretched his arms above his head. He figured you were just busy or had fallen asleep early. Still, he felt a little disappointed. You two hadn’t played together in a while.

      He got out of bed, grabbing a quick snack before going back to his room to play a few rounds of valorant on his pc. Yet, something gnawed at him, something felt off. He decided to call you.

      But you didn’t pick up.

      Weird.

      He tried again. Still, no response.

      Now, Nagi was starting to get that feeling in his gut. It wasn’t like you to ignore him like this. His thoughts were interrupted when his phone buzzed again.

      This time, it was an article. The same one from earlier, only now it was everywhere. Nagi’s eyes widened as he saw the headline about him and the new “girlfriend.” He froze.

      What the hell was going on?

      His first instinct was to brush it off as some stupid gossip, but his feelings quickly turned into panic as he realized you must’ve seen the article.

      You were sitting on your couch, trying to make sense of everything, when you heard a knock at your door.

      Your heart skipped a beat. Part of you wanted to believe it was him, but the other half knew that was unrealistic. Even if he was here, you didn’t want to face him. Not like this. You didn’t want to explain the mess in your mind, the whirlwind of emotions, and the jealousy that had sprung up when you saw that article.

      You opened the door and there he was. Nagi.

      And before you could say anything, he kissed you—firmly, his lips pressing against yours in a way that made your mind go blank. His hand cupped your cheek, and when he pulled away, his eyes bore into yours, a mix of determination and something else you couldn’t quite place. He hoped you could feel all of his love for you through it.

      “You’re mine. Not anyone else,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “That news article? Fake. All of it.”

      You blinked, completely shocked. “What… what do you mean?”

      Nagi sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what was going on until just now. I didn’t even realize you saw it. But I wasn’t with her. I was never with her. It’s all some stupid misunderstanding.”

      You could hardly process his words. Your heart pounded in your chest, and suddenly the flood of emotions that had built up came rushing in. But before you could speak, Nagi kissed you again before pouting.

      “Now that we’ve cleared that, can we play Overwatch?”

      It was absurd. You were still trying to digest the fact that he’d kissed you that passionately and now he was asking to game? Your face was still red from the gesture.

      “...Okay,” you finally muttered, still a little dazed.

      “Good, I’ve missed playing with my girlfriend.” He smiled, ruffling your hair as he walked past you to get to your room. You almost choked. You’ve been his girlfriend? Since when?

     Reo Mikage

      You had always known your relationship with Reo Mikage wasn’t exactly typical, but that never stopped you from dreaming. Reo had a way of making everything feel effortless. He was charming, with an enigmatic allure that seemed to make everyone gravitate toward him. And yet, he always found a way to make you feel special. Whether it was through a text, spoiling you with gifts, late night walks, a shared glance during class, or a quiet dinner date at one of the many upscale restaurants his family frequented, Reo knew how to make you feel like you were the only one in his world.

      You weren't from the same social circle as Reo, and that difference stung every time you allowed yourself to think about it. Reo was the heir to a vast fortune, a golden boy in the world of soccer, destined for greatness. His family’s wealth and influence were legendary. Meanwhile, you were just another girl trying to make it through school, scraping together money for lunch while juggling part-time jobs. You didn’t feel like you belonged in his world, even if Reo never seemed to care about that. He had a way of looking past the things that defined people’s worth in the eyes of the world. But the reality of your difference in status was something you couldn’t fully ignore.

      It wasn’t as if Reo was outwardly dismissive about your life or background. No, Reo was sweet, considerate, and—frustratingly—always seemed like he genuinely enjoyed your company. But lately, you were starting to wonder if you had been kidding yourself. Maybe you were just another fleeting thing in his life, a distraction before he inevitably moved on to someone more suited for him. Someone from a wealthier, more established family. Someone who could fit seamlessly into his world.

      That was why, after months of casually seeing each other, you found yourself sitting on the edge of your bed one evening, staring at your phone screen and rehearsing what you were going to say to him. You’d been thinking about it for weeks now. Maybe it was time to have the conversation, to ask him where you stood and if there could be something more between you. You had convinced yourself that it was the right time. Reo was always warm toward you, his touches tender and his words soft. Maybe he was waiting for you to make the first move.

      But then, as you scrolled through your social media feed while absently flipping through notes for your upcoming exam, you saw it.

      The headline nearly knocked the breath out of you: "Reo Mikage Goes Official with Korean Chaebol Heiress, Seung Hae."

      Your heart dropped into your stomach as your finger hovered over the screen. Was this some kind of joke? You blinked twice, then read the article again. It showed pictures of Reo with a beautiful, tall woman at a high-profile event. Her arms draped around his, smiles exchanged, the kind of chemistry you never seemed to get from him.

      The worst part? The woman was breathtaking, with long black hair, flawless skin, and a designer outfit that screamed money. Her family was a significant part of the Chaebol world in Korea, and she fit perfectly into the realm of Reo’s lifestyle. Someone his family would approve of.

      A strange mix of anger, sadness, and embarrassment bubbled up inside you. You could feel your face flush with humiliation. It wasn’t the first time you had thought about the possibility of Reo seeing someone else, but this felt different. It felt real.

      Reo had been so kind to you, so sweet, that you thought maybe you were building something together. But now it all felt like a lie. You had been foolish to think he could ever be serious about someone like you. Maybe this was his way of showing you that your relationship could never be more than a fleeting thing.

      I guess I was just a phase, you thought bitterly.

      The next day, you avoided Reo. It wasn’t easy, especially since he always found ways to pick you up after school or find a day to hang out but you kept your distance. Whenever he texted you, asking if you could meet, you came up with a vague excuse about needing to study or work. Every time your phone buzzed with his name, you winced.

      But despite all your avoidance, Reo never seemed to give up. His persistence only fueled the fire of your insecurities. What could he possibly want from you now?

      Then came the day he appeared at your school’s courtyard, standing by a bench, watching you from afar. His expression wasn’t one of frustration or confusion; it was one of pure determination. It was oddly nostalgic back from when he used to go to school here.

      “Y/n, we need to talk,” he called out.

      You froze, clutching your bag tighter as you forced a tight smile. “There’s nothing to talk about, Reo.”

      “Don’t give me that,” he said, closing the distance between you. “You’re avoiding me, and it’s clear something’s wrong.”

      Your breath hitched. You could feel the tears starting to prickle at your eyes as the weight of it all hit you.

      “I saw the article,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I saw the pictures of you and her.”

      Reo’s face paled for a second before his usual calm demeanor returned. He raised a hand, gently cupping your face. “Love,” he began, his voice steady. “She’s just a family friend.”

      Your heart stuttered in your chest as you looked up at him, uncertain. “Then why was she wrapped around you like that? You and her, together like that... it didn’t look like business.”

      “She was posed up like that with several other sons of prestigious families there. I promise you, you’re my only one.”

      You swallowed, the tightness in your throat easing slightly. “But I’m not... I’m not like you. You have your world, Reo, and I’m just... me. It’s not the same.”

      Reo stepped even closer, his eyes soft and focused on you. “You are my world, and that is more than enough for me. Don’t ever think it isn’t.”

      The sincerity in his voice hit you like a wave, and suddenly the weight you had carried for so long felt like it was lifting.

      “I’m sorry I didn’t explain it sooner,” Reo said, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “I should’ve told you about the event but I didn’t know the press would spin a story like this.”

      “Oh”

      Reo chuckled softly, his hands still gently holding your face. “I hope you know that you’re it for me, Y/n.”

      Your heart fluttered in your chest. This was real. In that moment, all your insecurities seemed to vanish. Maybe you didn’t come from the same world as Reo, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t share a future with him.

      “Does that mean we’re together?” You asked.

      “My heart was yours since the day we met.” He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

[amoressb]

𐙚 nerds do it best

pairings : nerd bf!jungwon x reader

synopsis : when your bf comes to class with a new look

note : this is sort of a long one !! not too sure how i feel about this one, i couldn’t get to the point honestly but i still hope you enjoy my rambling !!

You made it to your classroom a little earlier than usual but it doesn’t bother you much since you’ll be accompanied by your boyfriend jungwon. You and jungwon usually walk to school together since you guys live in the same neighborhood but different streets. He wasn’t answering your messages or calls which made you a little worried. He’s always the one to do those things but today it was the other way around and he doesn’t answer? weird. There was a possibility that he went to sleep later than usual so thats ultimately what you thought.

After getting your things out for class, you decided to go to the bathroom and stroll a bit before class since again you’re way earlier today. Soon or later you arrive back to your classroom and basically everyone is in there seats talking waiting for class to start in about a minute or two but wheres jungwon? He hasn’t taken his seat next to you, let alone even arrive since the desk and seat were both empty. You decided to send him a message again in hopes he’ll respond.

you : class is starting, where r u???

hello jungwon?

baby?

With no luck and class starting you had to put your phone away and just hope he’ll come in later. While waiting for him you were having a hard time focusing worrying about him but the sound of the classroom door drew you out of your daydream. There he was. Jungwon..but your smile on your face turned into surprise and confusion when you see he now has..BLONDE HAIR?? AND ITS CURLY???

Jungwon apologizes for coming in so late and makes his way to your seat with a cheeky yet embarrassed smile. “hi baby” he quietly giggles putting his stuff down and looks up to you only for you to be completely shocked. “alright class we have nothing left for today so you may talk quietly till your next period” the teacher says to which you immediately turn to jungwon and ask “when did this happen?!” you say as your hand reaches up to his hair and run your finger through it softly. “just last night..thats why i came in to late, i finished at around 2” he says and you notice just how tired he was with how slow he was talking and his eyes seem heavy.

“it looks really good on you tho. makes you even more cute and hot” you say completely mesmerized now that you can fully process it all. His now blond hair, glasses, his cute smile and beautiful eyes. It made you fall more in live with him. “why don’t you lay down and rest for the remainder of the class hm?” you ask him. He just hums and nods as he scoots closer to you and lays his head down on your arm thats on the desk and wraps an arm around your waist not forgetting to take off his glasses so they don’t get damaged.

The whole time he was sleeping, you were running your fingers through his hair softly and rubbing his back softly at times hoping to soothe him and make sure he gets enough sleep to make it through the rest of the day. Surprisingly tho his hair was still super soft even after possible heavy bleaching. You had to ask for his hair routine..

Throughout the rest of the day, you couldn’t take your eyes off of jungwon. Which wasn’t hard since you were together in all your classes AND sat next to each other. “you’re staring yk and you’re gonna miss everything” jungwon says with a cheeky smile as you stare at him with heart eyes. “i can just have your notes” you say in a trance looking at him. He giggles at your state but continues taking notes knowing he will indeed give you his notes.

By the end on the day, you took basically no notes. You were completely focused on one thing and one thing only. Jungwon. The second you guys step foot outside, you immediately jumped on him and gave him a gentle yet tight hug and started peppering his face with kisses. “AHHHH you’re such a pretty boy. ily ily ily!!!!” you say and by now jungwons face was quite red. All the attention you’ve been giving him today was amazing yes. He loved it. But it was too much for his heart to handle, so it was easy for him to fold in front you. “i love you too but can it wait till we’re out of everyone else’s view?” its not that he’s embarrassed about you showing your love to him. It’s the fact that hes so red right now. Thats whats embarrassing.

Too bad for him, that didn’t stop you. You made it all the way home, hand in hand, you going on and one about how his new look was absolutely perfect on him. “stay at my house for a bit?!” you said excitedly knowing he’d say yes and end up sleeping over. Thank goodness it was friday. “when do i ever decline to that invite” he smiles as you lead him into your house all the way to your room.

You both change clothes, him always having clothes left over at your house to the point you bought extra drawers just for him for how often hes over and you changing into one of his sweatshirts and your sweatpants. You decided to stay in your room and watch a movie. Immediately you pull him onto your bed, he got closer and laid on top of you, head in the crook of your neck. “so..what do you truly think of my hair my love” he smiles tiredly sort of knowing what you’re going to say.

“omg i love it. it looks absolutely perfect on you and the glasses too. you look so cute yet so hot. I LOVE IT!!” you ramble about how good his new look is. He smiles into your neck happy you like it. “really? cuz i didn’t think it looked good at all, felt really weird” he voiced out his worries a bit. You this whole time had your fingers running through his hair, moved in closer to him if that was even possible and gave him a kiss on his head. “no i think anything you do, you will always look handsome in my eyes” you smiled into his hair. “i love you jungwon” you move some hair from his face. “i love you too pretty” he leans up a bit to give you a quick kiss on the lips then back to his position falling asleep almost immediately. Blonde jungwon will forever have you weak in the knees.

[vivimura]

headcanon - cuddles with boyfriend!riki ♡

PAIRING ~ sleepybf!nrk x menacegf!reader

SUMMARY ~ your boyfriend riki never lets you be the big spoon when cuddling and probably never will.

GENRE ~ fluuffff, disgustingly cute, playful argument.

WORD COUNT ~ 984

ᯓ★ i'm gonna die lonely this is so cute is it so much to ask for

with an exaggerated sigh of tiredness, you launched yourself to the comfort of your’s and riki's shared bed, squirming into the warm material of the black duvet covering it. you made grabby hands at him as an invitation for him to join.

riki fondly rolled his eyes at your actions, rather theatrics. he pulled his shirt off first, leaving his torso exposed before he climbed onto the bed and flopped on his side, on his designated side of the bed. he patted the space next to him. “come here,” he mumbled, his eyes already closed.

you huffed at his mannerisms and blatant laziness of making an effort to move, but enjoyed his cuddles too much to not roll your way closer to him, giggling as you did so.

with practiced movements, you pulled the duvet to cover both of your bodies, essentially blocking out the rest of the world.

as soon as your body was next to his, riki’s arms were around you. he pulled you in so your body was flush against his, your back pressed against his chest. his face buried into the crook of your neck, his breath fanning your skin once again as he settled down. 

he sighed deeply in contentment, completely relaxed now that you were with him again. “mine..”

you frowned at the sudden and disrespectfully forced spooning. you wriggled in place, tapping on his arms surrounding you in a manner undoubtedly annoying. “you never let me be the big spoon!”

riki smirked lazily as he held you tighter in place, basically molding your body to his. “and i’m not gonna,” he mumbled against your neck, his words slightly muffled. “i like holding you like this.. you’re so small..”

“rikiii..” you whined out his name quietly, yet in a pitch high enough to deliberately irritate him. you squirmed in place, attempting to turn around and be the one spooning him instead.

riki let out an amused scoff as you tried to push against him, your small hands attempting and failing to flip yourself over. “nuh-uh,” his arms were like iron as he held you against him, refusing to let you even budge. “stay..”

“this is so unfair..” you dramatized in a way that might make one believe it was the end of the world. you gave up trying to turn around, momentarily, deciding to dig your face into the pillow below your head, angrily grumbling into it.

his smirk turned into a full on grin as he listened to your muttered complaints.. riki found it so adorable, the way you had tried to push yourself over but ultimately failed— you just weren’t strong enough. 

you were just so adorable. he pulled you even closer to him, arms wrapped fully around your middle and chest against your back. he nuzzled his face against your hair, eyes closing again. “cutie..”

his little compliment only managed to irk you. here you were, trying to hold your boyfriend and lull him to sleep, and he was calling you cute? “just let me spoon you, ki!” you whined out, your attempts to sound intimidating only coming across as a child denied candy to him.

“no.” one of his legs slipped in between yours, pushing them apart as he tangled with them. “no spooning me.”

“well, why not?” you questioned, with a small pout.

“cause i’m holding you instead..” riki mumbled, rubbing his nose against your ear. “and i’m not letting you go..” one of his hands came to rest on your hip, his fingers lightly massaging your skin. “stay still.. and go to sleep..”

with a petulant ‘hmph!’, you began wriggling in place and trying to turn over yet again, his nonchalant replies and behavior rattling you to the point of utter stubbornness. “but i wanna hold you sometimes too..” you sulked and pouted at him, hoping he’d take pity and give in.

“baby.. please..” riki mumbled against your neck. “just give up and let me hold you..” he pulled you impossibly closer, his chest now completely pressed up against your back. you could feel his heartbeat against you— along with that damn growing grin against your skin. “we both know i’m stronger than you anyways..”

you gasped, almost offended by his statement. “not true! i’m just as strong, if not stronger!” you defended, your words a clear lie even to an idiot.

“it makes me feel small when you spoon me, i wanna be the one holding you for once, y’know..” you continued in a dramatically mellow voice, before he could get back at you for your obvious lie earlier.

another smirk formed on his lips, your tantrum continuing to show your defeat. “don’t care.” riki’s fingers trailed over your hip, occasionally stopping just to caress the curved skin. “besides.. i'm supposed to be the one protecting you..”

“no fair, i can protect you too.. i got my guns.” you asserted, flexing your non-existent biceps and throwing nearly laughable punches in the air as a display of your strength.

“i know you can.. my strong baby,” he teasingly mumbled, the smirk evident in his voice. “but i think i can protect you better..” he nuzzled his face against your head, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. “i'm stronger and there’s no changing that.. now go to sleep.. please.. i don't wanna listen to you complain anymore..” he continued, bringing the hand not on your hip to stroke your hair, knowing it always lulled you to sleep. a few seconds went by, and you were as silent and still as a rock.

"baby?" riki frowned at your sudden lack of irritating (and endearing) him, and peaked over your shoulder. he was met with the sight of you fast asleep.

he smiled like an idiot and shook his head fondly, admiring your rarely peaceful form for a good few minutes before giving into exhaustion himself, holding you tight in his arms all night long.

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 8564 tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: longer chapter woohoo, was gonna write after break but had so much inspo. wrote on my phone, so if there’s any typos, please ignore 🥹 series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The nights haven’t been easy in the past couple of days. Mingled with a growing sense of anxiety added on top of your already heightened stress, your brain just can’t seem to shut off. You’ve tried melatonin and no more caffeine, but caffeine is ultimately getting you through the day and keeping you up when needed. In all honesty, you’ve already been struggling with sleep, but with the surprise meet with Suguru, dread’s been pooling in your stomach.

You have no doubt he spilled the beans. Hell, you would too if that was your best friend. You can only hope he somehow didn’t, though. A small part of you would be a little annoyed if he did, because again, he has no role in this. At least not a big one.

A sudden banging on your door jolts you upright, checking the clock and it’s not even 7:30 yet. Only one person could be demanding your presence so early. A heavy sigh leaves you, forcing your stiff muscles out of bed, wrapping yourself in a robe before trudging to the front door. When you peek through the peephole, your landlord stands there with an annoyed expression on his old face, foot tapping the ground in impatience.

“Bastard,” you mumble to yourself before opening the door. “Good morning, Mr. Sato.”

Seems he doesn’t have time for fake pleasantries, “Y/N, I’m assuming you saw the eviction note I left on your door yesterday morning.”

Unfortunately. “Yes, sir. I did.”

His arms cross, scratching at his greying mustache, “So, is it also safe to to assume you’ll have the money by next Friday?”

You sigh heavily, hand running through your hair. This is not how you wanted to start your morning. He was already making your life hell by suddenly raising your rent out of nowhere three months ago for so-called “renovations”. But you’ve yet to see any actual renovations being done. Not to mention, you’ve been bugging about your heater no longer working, and during this time of year, you and Koji are practically freezing to death. You had to buy a portable heater, small, but it gets the job done. Although it’s mainly in Koji’s room because you’d rather freeze than let him. “Look, Mr. Sato, I’m really trying here. I’m working hard to get the money, but please understand that—”

“Understand? I’ve been understanding, Y/N. I even applied last month’s rent to this month, just ‘cause of you.”

Of course, he’s gonna throw that in your face. Landlords seem to take their title so literally that if he didn’t have this much control over your space of safety, you would’ve ripped him a new one. Also, how could you forget that to even get him to agree to that plea deal, you were forced through an hour and a half of an uncomfortable, infuriating dinner with the man. Really, he’s not giving you much to work with here, but then again, you shouldn’t have had such high hopes. “I know, I know,” you reply, scratching at your roots. “I’ll have the money, okay?”

“You better,” he says gruffly. “Or I’m renting this unit to someone who can actually afford it. I’m hurting here too, you know?”

You huff. “Yeah, thanks.”

Without another word, you close the door in the man’s face, locking it. Leaning your back up against the hard surface, you close your eyes and will yourself to stay calm and positive. Counting back from ten and then back, a small tip your therapist showed you before your insurance no longer covered it. It’s okay. It’s only the start of the day, you have 20 something hours left. Now’s not the time to throw yourself a pity party and play woe is me. Now’s the time to just pick yourself up and move on. You’ll find a solution for the money, you always do.

Though this time, you can’t help but feel you’re really fucked.

I mean, you honestly have no idea how you’re going to come up with almost four thousand dollars in just a week. That sounds quite literally impossible in every single way. You get paid next week, but with taxes, you’re going home with maybe three thousand, so how will you get that extra thousand?

Unless some miracle decides to hit you, which almost never seems to happen. You used to think someone hoaxed you, or you were just born with the most unluckiest luck ever. Or, the more cynical thought you tend to have, you were fated to live a life in strict financial management, and hardships are constantly thrown at you left and right.

But hey, you’ve made it this far, right?

“No, I haven’t.”

“You what?!”

“I haven’t told him.”

“Y/N, what the fu–”

“Jesus Christ, I know, Hana. You don’t have to make me feel even more like shit.”

Your friend stops mid-way, eyeing your very displeased expression. She sighs and relents, slumping back in the small chair in the backroom of the cafe. She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, letting your confession simmer and process. When she does, it’s an honest question. “But���why?”

Why. You feel like you’re staring to hate that damn word. “A lot of reasons, I know it’s not really justified, but I just…need someone to understand me for once. Not come at me for my dumb decisions.”

Your words feel bare and raw, not completely exposing the extent of the emotions you’ve been harboring, but enough to make her stop. Hana regards you with pursed lips, a hint of sadness in her eyes. Finally, she nods. “Okay, I won’t question you anymore. You have your reasons, and your reasons are always valid. So, I’m behind you on this. We stick together, remember?”

A hint of a smile forms on your lips, quietly thanking her. She comes forward to give you a hug, one you immediately reciprocate. Her auburn hair tickling your nostrils, arms seemingly tightening. “Don’t go holding things in anymore, I told you that. I’m here, to talk, listen, whatever.”

You and Hana met three years ago. She was just your co-worker at the time, now promoted to your manager. Although she’s two years younger than you, you two relate to a lot of things. Whether that be movies, food, what guys are hot, or alcohol. If anything, Hana might be your only friend in general. It’s a little sad, maybe, but at least you have someone to come to when you need to talk about adult issues your five-year-old wouldn’t be able to comprehend.

“I love you.” You find yourself muttering.

“I love you too, girl. Now, get out there, your break’s up.”

Jokingly scoffing and nudging her, you stand from the seat and do a quick stretch. Preparing yourself for yet another few hours of dreaded customer service and fake smiles, you walk out of the backroom, pushing the small curtains aside that separate the back from the counter, and clock back in.

“Cash or card?”

“Hello, how can I help you today?”

“Would that be all?”

“Have a nice day.”

Are all phrases any retail or customer service worker finds a little annoying, if not a lot. It’s so draining. And when the customers don’t greet you back, your pettiness shines through and you won’t even say have a good day to them when they’re leaving. Although, the job does have some upsides to it. For example, you get to make free coffees, take whatever pastries are left at the end of the day home, and the customers are never really bad. Of course, you have had a couple experiences, but nothing compared to a chain store. You’re even starting to use your customer service voice throughout the day, even when you’re not at work. Honestly, that’s not very good.

As you’re wiping up the counter, you feel a buzzing in your pocket. Taking your phone out, you see a set of numbers, an unsaved contact. You give Hana a quick glance, muttering a “just a sec”, before going back to the back to answer. “Hello?”

“Y/N?”

God, it’s gonna take some time getting used to his voice on the regular now. “Oh, Suguru. hey…uh–what’s up?”

There’s some shuffle on the other side like he’s adjusting the phone. “Are you busy right now?”

“Well, yes. I’m on the clock.”

He sighs, phone switching to his car output. “Where do you work? I’ll come now.”

“What?” you splutter out, head shaking. “No, Suguru, you can’t just pop out at my job. I’m busy, just tell me what you need right now.”

“I’m not sure I should.”

That statement alone scares you a bit. His cynicism always got on your nerves, but it also worried you from time to time. Most of the time, he didn’t mean any harm because that’s just how Suguru was, but it still did its job. Contemplation strikes through you. “Is it bad?”

He hesitates, which only further skyrockets your anticipation. “Honestly, it’s not too bad. But still, I need to talk to you.”

A breath emits from your lips, one you didn’t know you were holding. Eyes meeting the ceiling, you ponder over your decisions. Eventually, you come to a conclusion. “Fine, but it can’t be too long. I’m at Deja Brew, the cafe on–”

“On Express, got it. Be there in a bit.”

He’s hanging up before you even get a chance to question that he knew the cafe you worked at. If he did, surely he would have visited at least once, but you’ve never seen him come in. And you’re every day. Unless he usually comes when you’re not clocked in anymore. Anywho, you steel yourself for the inevitable conversation. Anticipating whatever bad or not-so-good news he'll give you.

“So.”

“Mm, this is good.” Suguru nods appreciatively, sipping from his coffee. You made it for him before he arrived, as a weird sort of gift to him. You two have situated yourself in a booth in the corner. Hana was a little confused as to why you were taking a break while you were on the clock, even regarding you with an almost scolding look. But the second she saw Suguru follow, her expression changed.

You practically saw the heart eyes form, smiling in a bashful way. That’s one thing you forgot about. The way girls would magnetize themselves towards the man, his best friend too. The two together were an almost deadly duo.

“Suguru,” you say, a hint of exasperation in your tone. “Please just…don’t stall anymore. Why did you want to see me?”

“Right,” he clears his throat, sitting up straighter. Once more, his steely gaze meets yours, you have to hold back the sudden urge to look away. “Like I said, it’s not terrible news, but not very good either.”

You nod, wanting him to just stop with the extraness and get to the point. “Okay, say it.”

“Satoru.” is the first thing he says, gauging your automatic grimace to his name. “He knows.”

Figures. “And you told him?”

He nods in response. You exhale, rubbing your face. “Suguru, why? I didn’t say you could.”

“I mean, I didn’t think I needed permission to tell my best friend he has a secret love child he hasn’t known about for five years, Y/N.” You hate when his voice gets like that, like you’re a school child who’s just been caught by her teacher for doing something she wasn’t supposed to. “Anywho, he knows. He wasn’t…very happy.”

You slowly ask, unsure if you’re ready to hear the answer. “What did he say?”

“More so what he did than said,” he pushes a stray strand of black hair out his eye and behind his ear, arms crossing. “He’s been quite easy to anger. I mean, I haven’t really talked to him because he’s not answering my calls, but I’ve been hearing from people at the office. He also kicked my ass out right after I told him. But that’s all I know at least, Nanami says he’s like a ticking time bomb.”

Jesus Christ. You don’t know what else you were expecting, you’re surprised he hasn’t done worse, but like Suguru said, that’s all he knows. His state is most likely a hundred times worse than what’s being thrown at you right now. You feel an intense guilt pool, mixing with a slight fear. “Did he…do anything else? Say anything?”

“I don’t know, he’s not talking to me right now.” Suguru concedes, leaning closer to you, brows furrowing in a seriousness. “Look, I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel worse, but I should let you know. He’s going to try and seek you out now that he knows about his son. You know that, right?”

Of course, you fucking know that. That’s what makes you scared, the possibility of somehow running across him in the most unsuspecting of places makes you want to stay holed up in your shitty apartment. “Yeah,” you gulp. “I figured.”

“I don’t know how he’ll react if–when–he does see you.” he honestly admits. “I just think you should reach out to him first, before he does it. I have his number, you should ca—”

“Stop.” you hold a hand up, eyes closing. “No more, I don’t want to be told what to do. I just…need some time processing everything right now.”

“Y/N–”

“Suguru,” your eyes open, staring at him dead on. “You seriously can’t expect me to jump from one thing to the next. I need fucking time to figure out what I’m gonna do. I’m already stressed as it is, now I have to worry about my son’s father possibly trying to reach out and that just sets me more on fucking edge. You come to my work, spring this on me, and I–” you’re rambling. Cutting yourself off in the middle of a sentence, choosing not to finish it. The last thing you need to do is rant to him. Besides, you’re just starting to see him again after five years, that would absolutely put him in a weird place between comforting someone who was once his friend, and backing up his life-long best friend.

You jolt a bit when you feel a warm palm envelope your hand, his thumb gently rubbing across your knuckles. Looking back at him, he gives you an all too familiar look. One that can make you just pour out everything you’re feeling right at that second. It’s a horrifying technique he has. “I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is make you feel like shit. I should’ve been more considerate. I’m sorry.” He apologizes with a soothing intonation. Again, it’s making you feel warm. “It’s a hard situation, I could never know exactly what you’re going through. but…I care about you, Y/N. I always have, even without Satoru’s involvement. So, I’ll do better and not overwhelm you.”

Damn it, Suguru. Now you’re making me feel bad! Not trusting yourself with words, you meekly nod, slowly pulling your hand out his grasp. You miss the way his eyes dart down to his now empty grip, a small downward twitch to his lip that he expertly hides. “I should go back to work, I’m assuming you do too.” You stand on wobbly feet, giving him one last lingering gaze. “On the house, by the way….yeah, bye.”

Suguru watches you disappear behind the curtains, a small pit expanding in his gut. He pushes it away without thought, sighing to himself as he stands and exits the cafe. He walks down the sidewalk to his blacked out 2025 Mustang GT parked on the street. Getting in with a heavy head that’s full of all kinds of emotions. Some he doesn’t try to acknowledge, but the ones he does, it’s all worry and concern. He really doesn’t see how this situation can somehow turn around. Maybe you two will have a very mature and calm conversation when you cross paths.

He almost laughs to himself when he begins driving. Calm? Mature? Yeah, right. How do you have a calm conversation about hiding a kid for five years? Not to mention, you and Satoru are equally stubborn; it used to be so infuriating for him.

Suguru had patience, a lot of it actually. But you two tended to test that. Although, he would always forgive one of you the quickest. Cough, cough. You. It was like you had this weird thing about you that made the people around you just…like you.

His grip tightens on the wheel, biting his lip. He gets to a red light, thumb tapping on the material. Damn it all.

There’s a ringing that emits from the car’s speakers, looking at his touch screen to see the familiar name. Using this as a distraction, he answers. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Shoko’s voice sounds out. “Where are you? Thought you were paying for my lunch.”

He huffs, eyes rolling, and moving the car forward once the light turns green. “I never agreed to that.”

“Sure you did,” Shoko replies, exhaling a breath. She must be smoking. “Anyway, hurry up. I’m already waiting outside. I thought Satoru was coming, is he gonna be late again?”

Yeah, no. “I don’t think he’s coming anymore.”

“Why not?” Shoko asks.

Suguru exhales heavily, turning the street towards the meet-up spot with his friend. “Some shit happened, I don’t think he’s doing good.”

Shoko pauses, adjusting her phone in hand. “What happened?”

Suguru too stops, completely forgetting how Shoko has no idea about what has transpired in the past couple of days. “I’ll tell you when I see you.”

Satoru has never been surprised before, not technically. He’s a smart man with quick instincts and a good foresight, it’s like he can always tell when something is going to happen, before it happens. Even for birthday parties, his perception and people reading skills are great, he knows when someone’s lying or not telling the full truth.

In short, he knows a lot of things.

But, what he didn’t expect was for 1) even hearing your name ever again after the breakup, and 2) you have a son, his son. A son he had not one goddamn clue about. The only person who’s ever been able to throw him off his game is you.

Even back when you two dated, there were moments where you’d either say or do things that would make him pause for a second and think how unlikely that was of you. He knew you’d lie sometimes, small white lies weren’t foreign to him because he did it too. But, he never thought you’d deliberately keep something like this from him.

And to top it off, if Suguru never saw you by chance that day, would you have ever even told him?

Now that really fucking pisses him off.

When Satoru is mad, everyone else’s day is ruined. When he’s mad, you can see it in his face, his body, how he’s just barely holding himself back. It’s even more scary when Satoru is known as the laid-back, playful and unserious type of man. So when he’s mad, almost no one in the office wants to make him even angrier, let alone be around him.

He’s barely slept a total of ten hours within the past two days, mind keeping him awake. He’s trying to not imagine the image of you holding a boy who looks like him because he’s already broken one too many pairs of glasses and the thought alone makes him infuriated. He sees a blinding white flash of betrayal, hurt, confusion, and anger.

He doesn’t mean to take it out on his employees, but their feelings are not on his list of priorities.

He has a son.

A son who’s five, apparently.

Five whole years of being kept in the dark, not even being blessed with a smidge of information about his offspring. While he was off fucking women, having fun, dreading about taking over his father’s business, you were god knows where, changing fucking diapers and losing sleep. And for what? Were you that fucking scared to tell him?

Oh, he’s so going to rip you a new one when he sees you.

But, he’s still not sure if he wants to do that. Afraid of what might happen, he’d rather not blow up on you, but can you blame him if he does?

He just found out he has a secret love child from a woman he knew years ago and know he’s expected to act like everything is normal in this boring fucking meeting?

Not to mention, if his father finds out, he’s not sure what will happen. If anyone else finds out, for that matter. If anything, he needs to get a reign over this messy situation before he’s allowing anyone to know.

“Mr. Gojo? What do you think?”

At the sudden mention of his name, he snaps back into focus. Eyes flickering over to the bald-headed man who currently stands in front of the table of other withering men, the screen projector displaying a multitude of different statistical data. The man falters slightly, his grip tightening on the laser pointer as Gojo’s eyes land on him

Shit. He has no idea what they were even talking about. “About?” He clears his throat, appearing nonchalant, though the tight hold on the ballpoint pen says otherwise, the faint click of it opening and closing the only indication of his simmering irritation

The room feels colder, quieter.

The man clears his throat nervously. “The expansion plan... into the Asia-Pacific region. Whether you think it’s viable in the current climate.”

Gojo leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed, though his pen continues its faint, rhythmic clicks. His expression is unreadable, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he lets the silence stretch a moment too long. “And you need my opinion on this?” he says finally, his tone polite but tinged with condescension.

The bald man shifts on his feet, adjusting his glasses. “W-We... wanted your insight, given your, uh, experience overseeing the European division.”

“Right,” Gojo says, dragging the word out just enough to make the man squirm. He tilts his head, his icy blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Well, if I’d been paying attention, I’d probably say something about how overly cautious you all seem to be. But that’s just a guess.”

The bald man blanches, stammering, “O-Overly cautious? We’ve taken every factor into account—”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Gojo cuts in smoothly, his voice softening just enough to disarm the growing panic in the man’s voice. “I’m just wondering if maybe all those ‘factors’ are holding you back. Are we leaders, or are we playing it safe like everyone else?” His eyes flicker briefly over the rest of the table, daring anyone to challenge him.

The bald man hesitates, then nods quickly, his nervous energy palpable. “Of course. You’re absolutely right, Mr. Gojo. I’ll revisit the projections to—”

“No need,” Gojo interrupts again, flashing a faint, humorless smile. “I trust you’ll figure it out. Unless you think I shouldn’t.”

The man practically trips over his words in an effort to assure him. “No, no, of course not. I’ll make the adjustments immediately.”

“Perfect,” Gojo says, the finality in his tone dismissing the topic entirely. He shifts his attention to the projector screen, the numbers and graphs blurring together as his thoughts drift.

The room eventually moves on, the hum of conversation resuming. But Gojo doesn’t miss the quick glances from across the table, the subtle unease lingering in the air.

He taps the pen against the table, his jaw tightening. It’s taking everything in him not to snap, not to let the weight of the fact that his ex-girlfriend is a filthy fucking person seep through the cracks.

Let them sweat. It’s the only thing keeping him entertained today.

The minute the awful meeting of ifs and hesitant decisions is over, he’s pushing out his chair, being the first one to leave the haunted room. It’s a bad mistake on his end, because his secretary, Aiko, is on his ass. “Mr. Gojo, your father is waiting for you in your office.”

Great, as if things couldn’t get any fucking better. He holds back a remark, gruffing out. “For?”

“He didn’t say, sir. He just wanted me to tell you to see him as soon as the meeting finished.”

He really, really doesn’t want to see his father right now. The two were too alike, constantly butting heads which only ended in a harsh set of insults being tossed around, mingled with occasional threats of “never passing the company down to someone as idiotic as you”. His father is bluffing, of course. He has no other person to pass it down to, with Satoru being the oldest and only son of his father’s. His long legs easily lead him to the doors of his office, to which he hesitates. Taking in a big breath, before opening the doors and closing them soon after. “What is it?” he asks, walking over to sit in his chair, leaning back comfortably.

His father, Yamato Gojo, the current CEO of the Gojo Group, who sits leisurely on the black leather coach stands up to position himself across from his son. Arms crossed and the permanently etched frown on his face. “Why didn’t you come to the dinner yesterday? There were very important people there you needed to meet. I texted and called you.”

Why didn’t he go? Can he really just say “sorry dad, I was stressing about this shithole I’ve found myself in”. No, he can’t. Instead, he shrugs and brushes his father off. “I was already busy.”

“Busy with what? What’s more important than networking?”

“A lot of things, actually.”

Yamato dislikes that answer quite a lot, frown seemingly deepening, regarding his son with another usual disapproving look. “Satoru, this is serious. They were expecting you and you embarrassed me. I won’t let this happen again, when I say you need to be somewhere, you be there. No if, ands, or buts. You’re pissing me off.”

How ironic of him to say that considering he’s having the exact same effect of Satoru. He isn’t scared of his father, hell no. But he does know to pick and choose his battles. And with the way his mind is completely scrambled right now, he forces himself to intake a huge breath of air. “Yeah, yeah. Fine, I’ll be there next time. Happy?”

“Only after you prove it.” Like father, like son. Satoru hates how his father always seems to want to get the last word in. But his father hates how he does the exact same.

Throughout the entirety of his shift, up until he clocks out of work and walks to his designated parking spot which houses his white 2025 Mercedes-Benz SL-Class. Driving back to his high rise penthouse on autopilot, his thoughts zeroed in on one person only. Or well, two people.

Satoru wasn’t ever sure he wanted to be a father. He knew it was expected of him, but so many people had such high expectations of him, it became exhausting. Too exhausting. Does he even have a right to call himself a father to a child he never knew, a child who probably doesn’t even know him?

His right hand reaches for his phone, calling a number without taking his eyes off the road. It answers on the first ring, but Satoru doesn’t give him the chance to respond. “Do you know where she lives?”

There’s a falter, hearing Suguru’s deep breath come out on the other end. “No, I don’t. And nice to hear from you too.”

“I don’t have time for your sarcasm right now.” He stops at a red light, using his left hand to rub the crease between his furrowed brows. “Do you know anything? Her number? Where she works? Where did you see her so I can go over?”

“Satoru, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to go meet up with her again. You’re obviously not in the right mind space and I don’t want you two to—“

“I’ll argue with her all I want, I have that goddamn right to.” Satoru grits out, interrupting his friend before he has the chance to spew out more shit he’d rather not listen to right now. “Answer me.”

In Suguru’s mind, he knows if he gives Satoru even the tiniest bit of information regarding your whereabouts, he’ll storm over there and probably say things he doesn’t mean. Satoru tends to think emotionally in very dire situations, a bad habit of his. Still, although he knows his best friend should be angered by this situation, Suguru doesn’t want to involve himself. More than he has. After speaking with you, he’s come to the conclusion that you’ll reach out to Satoru soon. Considering the fact that he already knows. “I don’t know, I saw her at a grocery store, but she was just shopping.”

“Fuck,” Satoru groans, moving his car forward again. “Well how the hell do I—“

He’s cut off by a small vibrate to his phone, a message. When he looks down, the screen is overtaken by a new call coming in from Himari. Honestly, she’s the last person he wants to talk to right now.

“What’s wrong?” Suguru asks, after noticing the small beat of silence from the other end of the phone.

What isn’t wrong? “Gotta go, call you later.”

“Sat—“

Satoru ends the call, picking up the new one. “Hey.”

“Baby,” Himari’s light voice fills his ears, sighing in relief. “Can you come pick me up? I’m at the mall but the tires of my driver’s car popped.”

He’d rather not, but Satoru has found out that it’s been quite difficult to say no to his girlfriend. So, he puts his own internal and external battles to the side, making a right turn and exhaling. “The mall?”

“Yes, baby. Thank you so much.”

He hums back in response. “Be there in ten, wait outside.” Once again, he hangs up and a suffocating silence fills his car. Hands tightening around the wheel, he reels himself in with a big inhale, then exhales. He can’t show these sorts of emotions in front of the woman, for she’ll no doubt question and question about what’s wrong, which will then lead to an argument. He doesn’t need arguments.

As Satoru sees the mall in the distance, he’s overrun by the sudden determination. The determination to find you and meet his son.

“Just one more question, Koji. Then let’s eat dinner, how does that sound?”

The young boy groans in annoyance, the math work of simple addition problems laid out in front of him. He hates math, almost as much as you, excelling in other subjects like English and Art. “But Mama……” he drags the words out in a childish manner.

Plating two plates of tonkatsu chicken with curry, one plate smaller than the other, you turn to your son who now has a pout on his face. You resist the urge to pinch his cheeks. “You can do it, you did the other ones so well.”

Sitting next to him, you look over at his workbook. Just one more problem. It’s a problem consisting of three numbers, 5, 23, and 6. Simple in your eyes, but a disastrous monstrosity in the eyes of a five-year-old. “Mama will help you, okay?”

“Okay, Mama.” Koji grumbles, reluctantly grabbing his red pencil again.

Times like these you cherish. Sure, it’s mundane and not very exciting. But it’s the little things that matter most to you. Helping your kids with homework, helping them learn to ride a bike, tie their laces, it’s all wonderful experiences from your perspective. Proof of the fact that your chubby little baby isn’t very little anymore, growing into his own person. Although, the more he grows, the more he’s starting to resemble his father. It’s scary at times, when he looks at you and you get random flashbacks.

Eating dinner and washing up is another thing you love. After such a hectic day, you just want to unwind with your son. You had put in your PTO for the convenience store a month in advance; after a particularly hard month. Finishing at 5:00pm, like most people do, is a breath of fresh air.

You let Koji tire himself out in the tub, then the living room, to which he has Cars playing (his favorite movie at the time). He plays with his own small set of matching cars, while you sweep the kitchen. Your eyes flicker over to your phone that lays face up on the island, a bubbling sensation forming in your being, one of contemplation. You wonder to yourself, would you call Satoru? You know his number by heart, he most likely hasn’t changed it.

After the breakup, you cut off all contact with him and his friends, even choosing to get a new phone and new number, just to avoid any possibly drives of texting him, or to avoid him texting you. You quite literally wanted to erase every memory about him.

Kinda hard to do that when you’re raising his carbon copy.

After another blind minute, you pause your sweeping and grab your cellular device. You’re about to grab Suguru’s business card from your purse when a sudden question hits you.

How was he able to call you earlier at work if you had never given your number to him in the first place?

Your brows knit together while you come up with any possible solutions and reasoning to that thought, coming up blank. Seriously, how did he call you? Without thinking, you go to your recent calls, pressing the first one, and raising your phone to your ear.

It rings for about a second, before Suguru’s coaxing voice follows. “Hello?”

“How did you get my number?”

“What?”

“How did you get my number? I didn’t give it to you at the store.”

You can practically hear the way he’s trying to formulate an answer. Coming up with a shitty one. “I just…guessed.”

You say nothing, your eyes narrowing on a certain spot on the blank white walls of your kitchen.

Another second passes before he gives in, too easily. “Okay, okay. Look, I don’t want to sound creepy or anything but—“

“Were you stalking me?”

“What?! No! Of course not, Y/N. I’d never do that.”

“Then tell me how you got my number without me telling you.”

He sighs. “…I have a friend. He’s in the law enforcement and I…may have asked around. But before you get any ideas, I was worried. You just fell off the face of the Earth and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You can’t stop the huff that leaves you. Should you feel complimented that he went out of his own way to do all this or invaded? Maybe both. Honestly, you did that all for a reason. And he blatantly went behind yours, probably everyone’s, back to get some information on you in a shady way. Isn’t that illegal or something? “Suguru, when people do that, it doesn’t mean they want to be found.”

“I know, Y/N. But I was worried, so was Shoko and Satoru—“

“Does he know my number too?” You ask, already feeling your panic run up your veins, boy straightening into a stiff position.

“No, no, he doesn’t. Just me.” He quickly relieves you.

You guess that’s somewhat better. Although you still feel mildly annoyed at Suguru for what he did. “Is that all you know?” The way he doesn’t respond immediately makes you feel even more frustrated, jaw clenching.

“I….” He lets out a heavy breath. “No, it’s not.”

“What else do you fucking know?”

He winces at your now harsh tone of voice, though he knows it’s all expected. “It wasn’t on purpose, I just wanted your number, I swear. But when you’re looking for that kind of stuff, other things pop up like…address and…yeah.”

If only he could see your expression right now. “You know where I fucking live?”

“Yes, Y/N….”

Okay, now your privacy is very invaded. You have never really gotten angry with Suguru, let alone get into an argument. He always knew when to stop, what not to say to make someone else feel worse, but did he just get fucking dumb after all these years? “…are you serious?” You know he is, not even giving him the chance to answer your rhetorical question. “Fuck you, Suguru. I can’t believe you—you completely—I don’t even know what to tell you right now.”

You can hear the guilt in his voice, tone softening. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I had the best intentions, I was never going to visit you or call you without your specific permission to.”

“Did I give you permission to call me earlier?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Exactly.” With another scoff, you bite your lip, picking the correct words to voice out. You wouldn’t say you’re a word vomit person, usually. But right now, you just feel…slightly weirded out. All this time, you thought you had solitude. But Suguru knew where you were this entire time? “Goodbye, Suguru.”

“Y/N, wai—“

“Don’t. If I need you, I’ll tell you. But right now I don’t want to speak to you.”

He pauses, feeling his gut tighten. Nonetheless, he nods and mutters. “Okay, I’ll give you space. Just please know I’m sorry and I really didn’t have bad intentions.”

Seems like this is the second time today he’s apologizing to you. You don’t like it. Without another word, you end the call, putting your phone back on the hard surface of the island. Jesus Christ. What the hell is going on, seriously?

One minute you’re stressing about getting evicted, then you have to worry about Satoru somehow running into you, and now you find out Suguru has just casually known your address all these years. Why is all of this deciding to be sprung on you all at once? Out of no where? The world must be punishing you for every unholy deed you’ve done in your life; it really doesn’t seem fair. At all. Can’t things just go right for once in your life? You just want to go at least a day without external stressors fucking you over in every way possible.

Of course, you’re unlucky. That’s just how things have always been for you. The universe has a twisted sense of humor, and you’re the punchline to every cruel joke. The thought of Suguru knowing your address sends a cold, uncomfortable shiver down your spine. What else does he know? What else has he been hiding?

The questions swirl in your mind, each one more suffocating than the last. You sit down heavily on the edge of your worn-out couch, its cushions sagging beneath you as though they, too, are tired of carrying your weight. You bury your face in your hands, the skin of your palms rough against your cheeks, and take a deep, shaky breath.

Satoru (and Suguru). Their names alone bring up a storm of emotions you can barely keep bottled up. You’ve worked so hard to keep them, and everything they represent, in the past. Yet here they are, forcing their way back into your life like unwelcome ghosts.

You glance at the stack of overdue bills on the coffee table, mocking you with their bold red lettering. As if you didn’t already know you were drowning. Maybe it’s time to stop fighting the tide.

You watch Koji focus on the bright screen, moving his toy cars in unison with the movie. Willing yourself to worry about the now, to convince yourself that you’re not done, that there’s still some fight left in you.

However, that seems to be proving harder each and every single day.

It’s a chilly, but sunny winter day. The sidewalk filled with other people going about their day. You’re wearing a black trenchcoat, along with a scarf. Hands stuffed into the pockets of your coat as little puffs of white air leave your mouth, a stark piece of evidence of how cold it is today. The heels of your shoes clacking down the concrete, making your way to the familiar cafe of Latte Lounge.

Saturdays are supposed to be happy days, a final breath of fresh air after the business of the weekdays prior. The day where people enjoy Mother Nature and what she has to offer, a day of sleeping in, a day of no responsibilities.

A woman like you has no Saturdays. It’s like every day is a cold, hard Monday.

You finally spot the cafe, its large, glass windows giving you a sneak peek to the liveliness that resides inside. Of course, most people do choose to go to cafes on Saturdays. Especially this early in the morning. Walking in, the small bell above the door dings. The workers behind the counter greet you; while you give them a half greeting back, your eyes scan the environment. It takes a few seconds, but you see Mr. Ito sitting at a table for two in the corner.

You prepare yourself with a heavy sigh, forcing your feet to maneuver you over to the man who smiles and stands once he sees you approaching. “Ms. Y/N, good morning.”

“Good morning.” You’re a little caught off guard when he takes the empty seat from across from him and pulls it out, a silent move of help. Sitting down, he pushes your chair in then walks back over to his own. He laces his fingers together on top of the table. “Get whatever you’d like, on me, remember?”

“Oh, I’m not very thirsty right now.”

“No, please. It’s my pleasure, especially for meeting with me so early this morning.”

A part of you wants to deny his niceness. But, he did cause you to lose money you could’ve still had to spare if you didn’t have to call in Sana to watch Koji. And well, coffee always makes you feel better. “Just an iced vanilla latte.”

He nods and stands up. “Great, I’ll be back.”

Watching him go up to the counter and order, you look back down at your lap. Koji misbehaving sounds odd, he’s always been an obedient kid. Of course he has his moments, but he understands when to listen and when to goof around. A few minutes later, Mr. Ito sits back down with two cups of coffee, sliding yours over to you. You thank him and sip. Hm, not too bad.

There’s a small silence that flows over you two as you taste your coffees, but you wait for him to speak first. He did schedule this little meeting, after all. He clears his throat. “So, Ms. Y/N, again thank you for meeting with me.”

You nod. “Of course, Mr. Ito. Anything for Koji.”

Mr. Ito smiles, his hand waving you off. “Oh please, call me Haruto.”

Already trying to get on a first name basis. Simply nodding again, you raise an eyebrow for him to continue.

“Anywho, like I said earlier this week, I have concerns about Koji’s behavior. You see, he’s had about six instances where he doesn’t listen to me when I say it’s time for silent reading time. I understand he’s a talkative child, but he usually does not act out like this. Would you happen to have any idea as to why he is behaving this way so suddenly?”

“No, I don’t. Koji listens well, and he hasn’t come to me specifically about getting in trouble.” You respond, lips pursing.

Mr. Ito nods in understanding. “I can assume so, but his behavior has started affecting his peers, as well.”

You sit up straighter in your chair. “In what way?”

“Well,” Mr. Ito tilts his head, seemingly recounting the times Koji has misbehaved. “The students who sit around him have started coming to me, complaining about how Koji doesn’t leave them alone. They feel as if he’s taking away from their learning.”

What? Not to mention that that sounds quite…interesting for other five year olds to say, but no way Koji has been that bad. Maybe it’s your bias as his parent, but this is brand new to you, very brand new. Even when he’s home, Koji always insists on doing his homework before playing or eating dinner. So really, you’re not sure how to react to this surge of new information about your own child. “I really don’t know, Mr. Ito. I mean, Koji is a great boy, he listens very well to me and the other adults in his life. I’m just as shocked as you are right now.”

Mr. Ito leans back in his chair, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. “I’m not doubting your parenting skills. Koji’s clearly a bright and energetic boy. Maybe too energetic for some of his classmates to handle.” His tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent there, something you can’t quite place. “It’s possible he’s just seeking attention in ways that might not be obvious at home.”

You nod slowly, though his words don’t sit right with you. Koji doesn’t come across as attention-seeking at all. If anything, he’s a bit reserved until he’s comfortable around someone. “I’ll talk to him tonight and see if I can figure out what’s going on. Maybe there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

“I’m sure you will,” Mr. Ito says, his smile deepening as he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. The movement feels deliberate, like he’s closing some invisible gap between the two of you. “You’ve always struck me as a very attentive parent.”

The compliment lands awkwardly, and you find yourself straightening your back again, instinctively pulling away from his lingering gaze. “Thank you, Mr. Ito,” you say curtly, steering the conversation back to its purpose. “I just want to make sure Koji’s doing well and that his behavior isn’t affecting his classmates.”

“Of course,” he says smoothly, not missing a beat. “And I’m here to help however I can. We could even set up regular meetings if you’d like, to make sure we stay on the same page about Koji’s progress.”

“That won’t be necessary,” you say, your polite tone edging into firmness. “But I do appreciate the offer.”

His smile falters for a brief moment, but he quickly recovers, leaning back in his chair as though he hadn’t just been testing the waters. “Understood. Please, don’t hesitate to reach out if you ever need anything. My door is always open.”

You nod, feeling a distinct shift in the atmosphere—one you’re eager to step away from. “Well, are there any other concerns I should know about, Mr. Ito?”

He looks like he wants to say more, but decides against it. “No, Ms. Y/N. None at all, thank you for coming out.”

“Thank you for the coffee, have a nice day.” You reply, wasting no time in standing up, grabbing your drink in one hand and bag in the other. Though, his voice speaking again causes you to stop.

“Ms. Y/N,” Mr. Ito’s voice stops you just as you push your chair back. You glance at him over your shoulder, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “I really hope I didn’t come across as too forward earlier. I’m just...invested in making sure Koji has everything he needs to thrive.”

You offer a polite smile, settling the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Of course, Mr. Ito. I appreciate that.”

He smiles, but there’s a pause before he continues. “It’s rare, you know, to see a parent as involved as you are. It’s refreshing.”

The compliment makes you pause, and you clutch your coffee cup a little tighter. “Well, Koji’s my world,” you reply simply, brushing off the remark.

“As he should be.” Mr. Ito leans back in his seat, his fingers lightly tapping the side of his own drink. “But I imagine that must get exhausting sometimes, especially since you seem to handle everything on your own.” His tone is casual, but there’s a softness to it, as if he’s inviting you to confide in him.

You blink, his words catching you off guard. Is he fishing for something? “It’s not always easy,” you admit cautiously, “but that’s just part of being a parent.”

“True,” he says with a small nod, his eyes lingering on you a moment too long. “Still, you shouldn’t hesitate to lean on the people around you when you need to. It’s not a sign of weakness, you know.”

You stiffen slightly, unsure how to interpret his words. They seem innocuous enough, but the way his gaze flickers toward you feels... calculated. “I manage just fine, thank you,” you reply, keeping your tone light but firm.

“Of course,” he says smoothly, raising his hands slightly as if to placate you. “You strike me as someone who handles things with grace. It’s admirable.”

You glance at your watch, eager to end the conversation. “Well, I should get going. I’ll talk to Koji about everything we discussed.”

“Of course.” Mr. Ito stands as you do, his smile as steady as ever. “Thank you again for meeting me. And...if you ever want to talk more, even just about life in general, I’d be happy to listen.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, and you force another polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Ito. Have a good day.”

“I can walk you to your car, I’m heading out as well.” He quickly suggests.

You shake your head almost instantly, smile feeling more narrow. “No need, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“But I—“

“Thank you again, but I really must go.” You cut him off, feeling your patience run thin and the desire to be cordial and polite stretching too much. You nod stiffly and turn around to briskly walk out the cafe. However, just as you do so, you collide into something, or someone.

Your open-lidded coffee fumbles a bit in your hand, quickly steadying it. Though it does manage to stain the white shirt of the person you just bumped into. Just great. You hold back a wince and apologize. “I’m really sorry, I wasn’t—“

Your words leave you, your breath feeling like it’s been stolen straight from your chest. Every hair on your body stands up straight, your heart falling straight to your ass like you’ve just hit the biggest drop on a rollercoaster. You know that feeling when you question if something is real or not, pleading with yourself and every deity watching that it’s not? Well, that’s exactly how you feel right now.

It feels like a spotlight has been shone on you without your consent and you suddenly want to throw up. Because as your eyes have moved up to profusely apologize to the stranger, a bucket of water filled with nostalgia and past memories drowns you.

The bright blue, unmistakable irides stare back down at you. A million memories play on repeat, but one thing’s for certain.

The past has never felt so close, and you suddenly want to erase it all and scream.

a/n: the dreaded reunion is here! thank you for reading and the tremendous support! <3 stay tuned for next chap, sorry if yall thought these two were boring, chapter 3 will be getting more into it

taglist: @celestialforce @theclassbookworm @tbzzluvr @uhenivid @ofkilljoysandslytherins @sadmonke @bunheadusa @shartnart1 @lady-of-blossoms @itsinherited @duooy @ari-sa @dakotali @mew4-ever18 @iv-vee @devils-blackrose @a-girl-with-thoughts

[punkssavior]

tired of you.

| cm punk x fem!reader

my wwe fic tumblr debut. feeling chaotic.

title is a foo fighters song!

“regret, anger, and a pair of gym shorts.”

content warnings: post breakup. smut. angst. pet-names. choking. mentions of blood/semi-blood play. pain kink. pnv, riding.

i definitely went off the rails and lost the plot along the way.

** part two, part three <- linked here!

wordcount: 8.3k

There was something wrong with you.

Maybe, the problem was the pounding headache. The one that’s lasted three days so far and felt like a doldrum banging in your skull.

Maybe, it was the streaks of eyeliner that stained your lower lashes and wouldn’t wipe off no matter how hard you tried.

Or maybe, just maybe, the problem was the urge to reach for your phone and dial up the number of a man who you know wouldn’t right his wrongs.

Yeah, something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

It was a Saturday night— alone in your one bedroom apartment. A quiet, dreary week that led right into a hellscape of a weekend. You were always told that breakups were hard, but never this hard.

The stubborn heart that beats inside you almost took hold of the reins when the thought of calling Punk crossed your mind. But the more logical part of your body, your brain, ultimately decided that— maybe that wasn’t the best idea.

The breakup was far from mutual. If anything, it was completely one sided. The last thing you remember from that night a few weeks ago was standing in your apartment door with angry tears in your eyes as Punk drove away from your duplex in a torn down Chevy Malibu.

Like nothing even happened.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could stare at your TV in boredom, watching the same rerun of action movies that played every Saturday night around the same time.

It was getting late.

Maybe you should get some sleep.

But God knows your mind wouldn’t allow it.

As you stand up to gather the growing pile of blankets that collected in the midst of your ‘breakup-self-loathing’, you begin to fight that intrusive urge once more.

You couldn’t call. It was way too late. He was probably asleep, or out somewhere training like he’d do when he couldn’t.

You didn’t want to bother.

Because that’s the last thing you ever wanted to be.

Bang, bang.

Your head whips around; two loud knocks at your door almost rattled it right off its hinges.

Bang, bang.

With a cautious air, you walk to the door and rest your hand on the knob. Before you could even begin to twist it, there it was again.

Bang, bang.

Soon enough your heartbeat matched up with the rhythm of the pounding door— making you anxious enough to look through the peephole.

Low and behold, as if he could read your mind from the miles that separated your apartment from his, there Punk stood. Leaning on the bannister that held up your rickety old porch with his arms crossed tightly to his chest.

It was cold, about 30°, yet there he was in a t-shirt, long dark hair slicked back, like he’d just walked through the rain. You freeze in your tracks, hand shaky over the brass doorknob as you debate opening the door.

Would you let him inside? Would you banish him out to the cold and make him talk to you from behind the threshold? Would you finally stick up for yourself and act like you were asleep? Hoping maybe, just maybe, he’d fuck off and take a hint?

You didn’t want either of those things. You didn’t want him to stand out in the cold, or turn around and leave.

You’d been secretly waiting for the moment where he wouldn’t care about the consequences of his actions.

Nor did you want him to “take a hint”.

You swing the door open, acting completely on instinct. But your breath is caught somewhere in your larynx when you realize that he is actually standing there.

“Nice jammies, player.”

“What do you want?”

Your heart stops. The words you spoke were completely off rip, seeing him in person for the first time in weeks must’ve carried a lot more weight to it than you anticipated.

Punk’s straight face morphs into a smile, his eyes darting down your figure and back up again.

“Came here for the gym shorts you stole. I did my laundry this morning and realized they were pretty much all gone.”

“So— why didn’t you come this morning? Instead of trying to break my door down at midnight?”

You cross your arms over your chest, the black and pink heart pajama set that he had gifted you for Valentine’s Day this past year seemed to be the star of the show. The draft from the outside was cold enough to send chills up your spine, as Punk stood there and just looked at you.

Come to think about it, maybe it wasn’t the wind.

“I was busy. Surely you were too, no?”

“I‘ve been here all day. Maybe if you called and asked, you would’ve known that.”

As you stand slightly elevated before him in your bunny slippers, you can’t help but notice the way he keeps inching closer.

“Well, maybe if you’d answered my calls from last week, we wouldn’t be standing here in the cold. Face to face. At midnight.”

You freeze, as he rattles off, your hands moving to your hips.

He called you last week?

“You called me last week?”

“Mhm. Sure did.”

A puff of air leaves your chest, noticing the now rising goosebumps across his sleeves of tattoos, and feeling slightly guilty about keeping him out in the cold.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you call me?”

Punk chuckles, brushing a lock of that slick dark hair behind his ear. He looked amused, to say the least— maybe he just wasn’t grasping onto the concept of breaking your heart and smashing it all to pieces. Maybe he thought that reaching out to you would be the good little ego boost he needed to carry on his week in the training gym.

“I called because I wanted to check in. Y’know— see how you were doing.”

Your brow furrows, in an attempt not to show him your hand of cards. Truthfully, your heart skipped about seven beats at the way his voice softened, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“You’re joking, right?”

“And why would I joke about that?”

Punk leans on the doorframe, his eyes darting behind your shoulder at the living room that the two of you used to cuddle up and watch movies in. Maybe the sight of it after the breakup was finally cracking that iron-clad cage around his heart.

You never understood Punk. Not fully, at least.

Despite a three year long relationship that ended abruptly on a random Wednesday night— there were so many layers to his character that you just begged and pleaded to understand. He was caring, but sarcastic. An open book, yet somehow there were pages stuck together by an immeasurable amount of glue.

You wanted to learn more, your only wish was to be able to speak in a language that the both of you understood.

You figured that maybe, three years just wasn’t enough time.

“Wanna come inside?” you ask softly, breaking the silence, your voice barely reaching the surface of the now whipping wind.

“Only if you’ll have me.”

As you step back and let him in, you just— watch.

You watch how he kicks his sneakers off in the same exact spot he always did whenever he’d get home from the gym. You watch him anchor himself onto the wall, as if he were about to dig into his pocket and hang up his car keys on the hook that’s remained vacant since he left.

Must’ve been a repeated habit, or muscle memory. But your chest tightened at the thought either way.

“Your shorts are in my dresser,” you hum, still fighting the feeling of heartburn as he moves fluidly through your living room, “I could go get ‘em if you want.”

“Like I don’t know where your bedroom is. You think I’ve got amnesia or somethin’?”

Looking at Punk felt like a slap in the face. A hard one, at that.

His tight, perfectly fitted t-shirt molded to his cut body, contrasted to the loose gym shorts that hung just above his knees made you want to scream at him for being so visually appealing. But instead, you just smiled warmly, and bit your tongue.

There’s a brooding cloud of silence looming over both of your heads. An unspoken tension thick enough to cut with a butcher knife. Punk was acting casual, a bit too casual for your liking. I guess he figured that those stupid, sea green eyes searing into your forehead were enough to let you forget about what happened in this very room.

“Look, maybe you hit your head on the way here because last I checked, you dumped me. And now— here you are, standing in my living room.”

A catty smile flashes across Punk’s face, his lip ring catching in the light above your kitchen island as he leaned on it with that familiar sense of cockiness.

The one you knew, the one that you unfortunately loved.

“Shit, okay— we’re taking a bit of a leap here, aren’t we?”

“Tell me the real reason why you’re here. And don’t fucking bullshit me.”

The jumble of hurt words you’d been pushing down your throat for weeks— finally had a target. Your voice betrays you at the end of your sentence, fleeting off into a much weaker tone than you anticipated.

“I already told you why. I’m here for my shorts.” His posture straightens as he speaks, putting up his guard as the tension rises.

“Bullshit. You know I fuckin’ hate when you lie, dude. What is this, a wellness check? Did you feel so inclined to check up on my sorry-ass to the point where it kept you up at night?”

Punks hands come up in defense as you move an inch closer, wagging a helpless, beaten down finger at him. Yet that smug smile painted on his cheeks remained, only making you more enraged.

“Wellness check? What the fuck is your problem?” his laughter is indignant, as if he were pitying you, “You really think I’d drive down here in the middle of the night to smile in your face and laugh at you?”

“Newsflash, dickhead. You’ve been doing that this whole time.”

In seconds, Punk’s face switches back to a blank slate. He seemed visibly taken aback by your words. His hand, still dawned in a piece of old wrist tape, clung to his chest.

“Wow. Well, I’m sorry— for trying to keep the mood light— and greet you at your door with a fuckin’ smile when I know damn well that I’m the last person you want to see right now… But have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re not the only half of this mess suffering? Maybe you’re not the only one who stays up way later than they should, thinking about where everything went wrong?”

As he grows more animated, he nears closer, to the point where you could still smell the remnants of his cologne and see the drops of frustrated sweat beading on his forehead. You wanted to keep screaming, but your voice was caged behind gritted teeth. You guarded yourself with your arms, mimicking his posture as you crossed them over your chest.

“Well maybe you should cut some slack for the girl you left crying in the doorway, Punk.”

His stage name shoots off your tongue like poison, now in a heated face-off with the man you once loved.

And maybe still did, beneath the scratched up, broken down surface. That was the reason why this all seemed so complicated.

“Do you want your fucking shorts, or not?—”

“—Keep the damn’ shorts, Y/N!” He cuts you off before you could even dream of continuing.

Another silence falls over the room after all the shouting, only the TV in the background filling only half of the void that was your brain right now. Despite getting those harsh words off of your chest, a part of you felt inclined to say no more. You figured you’d done enough irreparable damage to both yourself and Punk. It was in your best interest to leave it be.

“Sorry for yelling,” you mumble, a bit sheepishly.

Punk still stood against your kitchen island, his hand now rubbing his temples between middle finger and thumb.

“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Awkward. That was the word to describe it. After airing out grievances, finding out that you weren’t the only party in this sick and twisted dance with a lingering feeling that tugged on your heartstrings, everything else surrounding you was just awkward.

You stare at Punk intently, letting him shake his head and mutter curse words under his breath.

“I’m sorry for coming here unannounced. But what I said was true.”

“Hm?” you hum, worried that if you said too much, his vulnerability would be guised as a momentary lapse of judgement.

“I still think about what happened.”

A deep breath catches in your throat the moment his eyes meet yours. It was hard to look at him in general after all that you’d been through, but it was even more difficult to pull yourself away from the defeated, sorrowful expression on his face.

Being so openly honest and true to his inner monologue was a rarity for Punk. You could tell how much he hated the fact that he was admitting this to you, let alone standing once again in your living room after already breaking your heart.

“Seriously,” you begin to say, bridging the gap between your bodies with a sharp tug on his wrist, “Tell me why you came here. If it wasn’t for those two pairs of stupid shorts that you haven’t asked me about in two and a half years, then what was it?”

Punk grimaces, still beaten down by his own honesty, “You just don’t let up, do you?”

“Answer me, asshole.”

You were still aggravated, and the quickly tightening hold you had on his arm was proof of that.

“I came here because I missed you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” A wave of something much more dreadful than relief washes over you— it seemed more existential and off putting than anything. “I missed your face. Your voice. The scent of your perfume. The way you bitch me out to get off and have a good time fuckin’ doing it.”

“I— I genuinely do not believe you,” you mutter, tripping over your words, slightly twisting the skin on his arm in pure, unbridled frustration, “There’s gotta’ be some other excuse.”

Punk’s face comes to a pinch, mulling over your words while simultaneously experiencing the burn from your untamed grip on him.

“There’s no other excuse,” he blurts, bordering a whine, “What? You want me to admit that I’ve been up for days? Unable to sleep, to eat, to wrestle, to fuckin’ unwind and jerk off without the thought of you crossing my mind? Is that what you want?”

Your jaw clenches at the rise you’re getting out of him, wanting nothing more than to smack him across the face.

“Maybe you should’ve said this all to me, what, a month ago? Instead of trying to pop by on a Saturday night like I’m one of your idiot friends?”

It was getting to a point where your nails were surely leaving marks, his arm fully surrendered to you as you took out your pent up anger on one of his innocent limbs.

Punk’s face tightens, the gap in his teeth visible as he writhes in discomfort, “Jesus fuck, you’re hurting me—”

“Touché.”

Having almost completely given up on trying to fight your cat-like grip on his arm, Punk does the unthinkable. With a crooked, masochistic smile, he wraps his free arm around your waist and pulls you straight into his chest.

“You wanna fight dirty?” he asks, his voice a low, rigid grumble.

Rather than replying, due to the sheer shock running through your spine, you just nod your head meekly.

“We can fight dirty,” a wry chuckle leaves his lips as he leans into your angry face, “Baby, those eyes of yours are quite telling.”

“I’m sick of your shit, Punk,” you spit, still tangled in his sultry words, “it’s too hot and cold with you.”

“Really? Tell me more. I saw how you froze up when I said that I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Tell me that my words didn’t leave a mark in that pretty head of yours.”

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck

This was getting to be too much.

You wanted to pull away; but the thought of tasting his lips again after you were forced away from them for so long just seemed intoxicating.

“I don’t have to answer you,” you mumble, trying your hand at defending yourself whilst simultaneously breaking your neck to ignore your desires.

“But I bet you really want to.”

You swallow hard at the feeling of his blistered palm trailing across your side. And your nails continued etching marks into his flesh; the closer he got, the harder you tugged .

“We’re not together anymore. I have nothing to fucking say to you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with speaking your mind though, right? That’s what you used to tell me…”

That burning feeling in your chest was back again— like hot lava rising up your throat. You wanted to retort, but couldn’t help but notice how he was completely ignoring the small pooling of blood from the gashes on his forearm.

“…Remember what you used to say to me, Bunny? ‘Don’t be afraid to show a little bit of that heart, Punker. Acting like you care won’t kill you.’ Man, if only you could see yourself right now. Being a damn hypocrite…”

“Stop it.”

The nickname he’d revived from the dead felt like a karate chop to the throat, all while he was still holding you tightly to his chest. His body language read passion, but his words oozed anguish.

He glanced down to your lips, eyeing them with a crooked smile.

“What? Stop what? Stop trying to get you to break down those stubborn walls of yours and be honest with me? I know I hurt you baby, but you can’t keep it all bottled up forever.”

You grabbed him tighter. Tighter. Tighter. Until his face came to a pinch and he was yanking his arm from between your bodies.

He hisses at the sight of trickling blood running down his colorful tattoos, eyeing you shamefully like you were a dog that just crapped in the house.

But rather than letting that anger carry over into another screaming match, he takes the hand that you’d held hostage, and runs it through your hair.

“Bet you needed to let that out, didn’t you?” Punk coos, a complete 180 switch in his demeanor, that same hand trailing down your cheek towards your neck.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Ditto, player.”

SMACK.

Your palm lays flat across the side of his cheek, his head whips to the side. A surge of searing anger seemed to free itself the moment your hand connected with his skin, a small splatter of his blood from your fingertips painting across his jawbone.

He shakes his head, and looks at you, that grip he had on your hip tightening as his eyes narrow, and bore into yours.

“You asked if I wanted to fight dirty, didn’t you?” your voice is weakened by the sheer force of that smack. But Punk just nods like a pompous asshole, a slow and desperate smile sliding across his face with the corners of his mouth coming to a Cheshire-cat-like point.

In moments like these, you had to remind yourself of a few things. Punk knew you better than anyone else— your friends, most of your immediate family, even the people you’ve met in passing and spilled your guts to on a whim. You and Punk would spend hours just talking. About anything. About nothing. There was something about his demeanor that drew out the most vulnerable, tucked away parts of your person.

He also had the ability to use what he knew against you. And from the facial expression he made, and from what you could tell from knowing him, he knew that smack held a lot more weight than just pure anger.

He was into it. You were into it.

With a low, practically inaudible growl, Punks hand slides up the front of your body. You could feel the roughness of his palms and the cool touch of his fingertips lingering from standing out in the cold, as he makes his way past the little plastic buttons of your pajama top.

“I love it when we fight, Bunny,” he grumbles, that hand making its way to your throat, “You wanna show me how angry I make you? How much of an asshole I am for breaking your heart?”

Your breath sputters when he clamps his hand down, gently squeezing the sides of your throat. You could only imagine how you looked to him right now— still a bit ticked off, but now a whole lot more desperate.

“I want— an apology.”

“Really? That’s all you want from me right now?”

As you open your mouth to squeeze out an answer, he presses the pads of his fingers into your neck, hitting that blissful pressure point and instantly relieving your three-day-long headache.

“Yes. That’s it,” you breathe, finding it hard to concentrate on only one feature of his face.

The hand of his that stayed stagnant on your hip began to travel downwards, following the curve of your ass all the way down to where it met your thigh. You swallowed, feeling the pressure from his hand fighting the building, anxious saliva from going down.

“Are you sure about that? You don’t seem very confident—”

“—Yes. Yes. For the love of God, please just—”

Your sentence becomes more and more incoherent as Punk slowly spins you around. Your body replaces his, leaned against the kitchen island, still feeling cowardly beneath his over 6-foot stature.

“Just what? Wanna hit me again?” his eyes narrow with challenge, the grip on your throat still in charge of this dance, “Do it. Hit me again. Show me that you’re not afraid to show me what’s on your mind.”

SMACK.

The sheer power from the second slap loosened Punk’s grip on your throat— you breathed out shakily at the loss of the contact, feeling the delayed sting that shot through your palm the moment your knuckle cracked his jaw.

He eventually frees your neck from his hold to aid his wounded cheek, rubbing it softly as those viridian eyes ask you for a favor that his words had yet to reach.

“Jesus Christ baby. You sure know how to lay a good one don’t ya?”

“Fuck you.”

Your palm began to throb in time with the beating of your heart, the surface skin now tender from two measly slaps to a man who gets hurt for a living.

“Fuck me? Alright. If that’s all you have to say then—”

SMACK.

“I hate you! God, I fucking hate you!”

That dry, fervid rage suddenly morphed into a mess of soggy tears— your words biting violently as they fanned across his now helpless face.

You couldn’t help yourself from crying. As if you hadn’t done enough. But now, in the same vein of feelings you felt the moment you saw his silhouette through the peephole, crying was really the only thing you could do.

“I—I am so fucking sick of you! Who the fuck do you think you are? Coming to my apartment, standing there with that stupid, shit-eating smile. Acting like you didn’t have any part whatsoever in ruining my goddamn life!”

“Y/N, I—”

As much as you wanted this to be a civil conversation, there was no turning back as the tears rolled down your face and onto the floor.

“I’ve been crying over you for weeks. Weeks. You left me. After telling me our relationship was practically meaningless. After dumping me with zero fucking explanation! I’m tired of you, Punk. So. Fucking. Tired.”

Silence.

The tears just kept on coming, there was nothing you could do to stop them from searing hot streaks down your face.

Nothing you could do to stop you from yelling now, either.

“Fuck you! Fuck your stupid hair. That stupid shit box car you drive. Your stupid piercings— and stupid tattoos that you refuse to get touched up because I said I liked them the way they were!”

Punk’s face was a blank slate. All it took was for you to start barking out your qualms with him, and suddenly he was at ease like a soldier.

In the heat of your tirade, you slither out of his arms, angrily marching over to the couch and picking up a throw pillow.

“I can’t fucking believe you. You would think three years meant something, right?! But noooo. Not for Mr. CM Punk. You got to carry on life as usual after you left my house that night. You got to parade around your ring, hearing a crowd of people chant your name like you’re the second coming of Christ! All while I was at home sobbing over gym shorts! Fucking gym shorts!”

The pillow you’d been smacking against your hand was perfect ammo to toss at his head; you grunt as you throw it, listening to the pitiful thud as it slams against the wall behind him.

“You want the shorts? I’ll give you the fucking shorts. The same way I gave you the hours it took me to sew your fucking name onto the tags like you asked me to!”

Your throat felt like sandpaper, your heart racing at 90mph and fluttering with every honest truth you spoke.

“I bet a selfish part of you missed having me around, didn’t you? Because without me, who makes you breakfast in the morning? Who else sits through your God-awful, mean jokes when nobody else is around to hear them?”

It was getting harder to stay away from him now, the adrenaline rush that came with smacking him across the face was the last little push you needed for your penultimate sentence.

“Who else is there, Punk?” the volume of your voice lowers when you take a hurried step closer to him.

SMACK.

“Who else fucks you like I do?”

For a split second, you see the glass in Punk’s eyes shatter. You see all of his rugged features soften and he searches your face for something, anything to say.

But just when you think he’s about to pull away, and curse you out for berating him with your spiteful tongue, his lips crash against yours in a bruising kiss.

You melt into him instantly, all of the pieces of your scrambled up puzzle falling back into place the moment his hands hold you against his body.

His cheek was tender, hot to the touch, and your hand was still lingering from that one final smack, yet he encouraged you to cup his face as it hovered in the aftermath.

The initial kiss grows more primal, a twisted dance of heavy breathing and knocking teeth brings Punk’s hands to travel.

Suddenly your mind is back where it started, an unshakable feeling of wavering uncertainty as he lifts your leg to rest on his hip.

“You— you don’t get to do this,” you stammer, not making any attempt to regain your composure, “you don’t get to just— walk in here and destroy everything I’ve been working so hard to rebuild.”

Your noses knock against each other as your breathing becomes one, Punk pulls away with a tug at your bottom lip.

“Then tell me to leave. Push me away. Kick me out.”

As you open your mouth to retort, his body rolls against yours, leaving your head to spin and freeze up like it always did whenever he turns you on.

“Go on, Bunny,” he continues his torturous drawl, bending down to nip at the sensitive skin behind your ear as he whispers, “Tell me to leave.”

A quiet whimper takes over whatever else you’d planned on saying. Any and all remnants of anger from your rant had suddenly disappeared.

“You—”

Your sentence is cut short by your other leg being picked up off the ground. You gasp, clinging yourself to his hips as he spins you, holding you between the wall and the rising warmth of his body.

“You know I can’t do that, you fuckin’ asshole.”

Another searing kiss, one that made stars pass behind your eyelids as his hands held you tighter. Tighter. Tighter. Surely the pads of his fingers would leave bruises in only the places he could see— he loved to know that he was the only one to touch you in the places that get hidden beneath layers of cotton and lace.

He always did. He always will.

A gasp flies past your lips, and his, as he adjusts his grip on you, nailing you higher to the wall with the sheer weight and force of his lips. His own twisted form of crucifixion.

“God, you’re addicting,” he mumbles into your cheek, his line of kisses getting sloppier as he can’t decide where to pay attention to, “You slapped me ‘till my face went raw… You scratched me ‘till I bled…”

A groan of his own interrupts his string of lustful sweet nothings, only for you to take it as your opportunity to grab his chin in your hand.

You look him in the eye, still feeling the burning sensation in your chest— but this time, it wasn’t anger. It wasn’t sadness. It was fighting that feeling that you could never quit.

As you look at him, you take your thumb, still stained with blood from before, and trail it across his bottom lip. His lips and chin are defiled with that perfect shade of scarlet — his eyes glittering as you paint him red.

“…And you cursed me out like a fuckin’ bitch,” he chuckles wryly, his tongue flicking out to catch the blood you’d left.

“And yet—” You cock your head to the side, your features fully softening for the first time since he arrived at your door, “—you’re still here with me.”

Before you could even think, Punk is grabbing at the buttons on your pajama shirt and anchoring you to the wall with his hips. His actions are frenzied, popping open the first, second, and third button.

“Fuck this,” he grumbles in frustration, fully surrendering, tugging at the bottom hem and lifting that black and pink heart printed pajama top over your head in one full swoop. You can’t help but chuckle as he tosses it behind his head, and gets straight to work on worshipping the valley of your breasts with open-mouthed kisses.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Bunny,” he breathes out between each time his lips press against you, “I wanna slap my damn’ self for breaking your heart.”

As he caters to you, you find your hands lacing through his hair, pushing it back to reveal a slit in his eyebrow. The same one he refused to shave back in no matter how many times you asked.

Maybe he thought that you seeing it tonight would help him get lucky.

And judging by the position you were in right now, it clearly worked its magic.

“All these sweet nothings aren’t gonna change the fact that you’re an asshole,” you state plainly, but finding it harder to speak due to him pinning you against the wall.

“You can call me— whatever the hell you want,” says Punk, tucking a strand of your frizzed up hair behind your ear.

The heated encounter had blindly begun to move towards the couch. You found yourself going limp in his arms the moment there wasn’t a sheet of drywall holding you up like a puppet on strings. Punk had you completely at his mercy— although fast-paced, steamy, extremely desperate sex was a staple in your repertoire.

“Is this how you planned on apologizing to me?” you ask, tailing off your sentence with a squeak as he tips you back to lay on the couch.

Punk crawls his way up your topless body, licking a stripe from your belly button all the way to the start of your jaw.

“Wasn’t planned, no. But I suppose that fucking it out to the point of forgiveness is better than a healthy conversation, right?”

Although forgiveness wasn’t a thing that crossed your mind until now, the events that had unfolded within the past thirty minutes had your head in knots. How could a man who you’d sworn off ‘till death come back into your life, simply with a bat of his pretty eyelashes and a flash of the gap in his teeth?

Maybe Punk’s visit was the universe telling you that you’d met your match. You simply couldn’t stay away.

After any and all clothes that barred access to the places he needed you most were removed, you found yourself swimming in a pool of dizzy, love-drunk thoughts. Punk took his time with you, yet still seemed as though he was rushing to get to where you needed him most.

“Fuckin’ Christ, I missed you. I missed you so much,”

Punk groans, taking a moment to stare into your soul before dipping down to bite at your bottom lip with his teeth.

You sigh in bliss, having not felt the touch of him, or anyone else for that matter, since the last time you saw him. As fucked up as it was, you missed this feeling.

You really missed him, too.

“Can I?” you begin to say, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt after another pick up of that steamy makeout session.

“Of course. Anything you want. Have me topless, have me naked, fully clothed, I don’t fuckin’ care.”

You chuckle at his eagerness, he helps you in taking off his tee, and your mind freezes up when you notice the beginning of a tattoo on his chest.

“Is this new?”

You trace the outline of ink with your manicured finger, following its shape all the way to the curve of his shoulder.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Been thinkin’ about a chest piece for a while.”

“Mmmh, yeah?” you hum, a fluttering feeling rumbling through your stomach the moment you realize that his hand had travelled to the waistband of your panties. “Chest tattoos are fucking sexy.”

Punk smirks, inching that wandering hand down past the waistband of your underwear towards your throbbing core. He bites his lip, that silver lip ring getting caught in the crossfire.

“Glad you think so, Bunny.”

An immediate wave of pleasure crashes over your senses the moment you feel his finger tease at your dripping slit. He always took the time to make sure you were fully ready— but you were afraid that your screaming match from earlier had you more hot and bothered than you’d like to admit.

“Punk, c’mon—” you whine indignantly, writhing beneath him as he slowly starts to spread your own wetness across your folds, “Not getting any younger here.”

“Impatient now, are we?” he bites back, making it a point to slowly, tauntingly dip in and out of your entrance with his slender finger.

You can’t help but moan out in purse frustration— impatience, as he called it.

“If you don’t hurry this along and fuck me already, I’ll send you home with blue balls and no gym shorts.”

As he opens his mouth to retort, you shoot your hand down to catch his wrist, shaking your head at him disapprovingly.

“Don’t remember you ever being this desperate to get fucked, Bunny,” he chuckles lowly, keeping you and your stamina on its toes as he flips your position to have you straddling his lap, “And here I was thinking you were a fan of the slow, sappy shit.”

“People change, y’know,” you shrug, finding a comfortable position to grind your hips down onto his bulge as you slide your hands up his chest towards his throat, “I think you may have ruined me for good.”

Punk was an athlete. He was quick on his feet, and even quicker to get into the minds of anyone he deemed a worthy opponent. When it came to you, the most worthy of them all, he read you like a book. Cover to cover.

“Ruined you?” he asks, watching your hands climb his chest towards his throat, “Is that why you felt so inclined to almost kill me earlier?”

You clasp your hands around his throat, pushing out a shaky sigh from his chest. A smile spreads across your face like wildfire, your hips now wielding a mind of their own against the hard-on in his shorts.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be dramatic— Are you going soft on me, Punker? I thought you liked it a little— rough.”

When you looked back down at his face, what you didn’t expect to see was an airy grin. Punk must’ve done a lot of thinking in the time you were apart— because the Punk you knew a month ago wouldn’t stand for a second of this role reversal. But now, it seemed as though he was basking in the art of submission.

Safe to say, you had him whipped once again.

Fucking finally.

A low rumble from Punk floats to your ears, the first sign of his bleeding impatience. His eyebrows furrowed, the tip of his nose twitched, all while your hands were still wrapped around his neck and gently squeezing the pressure points on either side.

“I really meant it when I said you ruined my life, y’know,” you coo to him quietly, rolling your hips down past his crotch in order for your mouth to be level with the new ink traced on his chest, “Because now, I can’t think of anyone else who makes me feel the way you do.”

“Bunny…” Your nickname sounds like prayer in his gravelly voice, as you take your time and nip at the sensitive skin above his peck. Your teeth leave bruises in their traces, but you knew he didn’t mind.

“I really did try to forget about you. It’s true— but I just couldn’t help myself… Thinking about those big, sad, green eyes every time I slid my hand between my thighs t’ try and get myself off.”

A trail of bruises adds on to the weight of your words— all of which were true. You thought you’d had it all under control the moment your relationship with Punk ended. But the harder you tried to forget about those aforementioned eyes or the spiteful, sarcastic bite of his tongue, the more you really fucking missed it.

“You’re fucking evil, you know that?” Punk gasps, a broad hand flying to brush rogue hair from your forehead.

“What about me is so evil? The fact that you loved me so good and fucked me so hard that you stained my conscience?”

In a lingering spike of anger, you dig your nails into his abdomen, watching his muscles flex beneath the grapple you held. Punk winces, returning the favor with a tug at your hair.

“I don’t think it’s evil. I’d say you left your mark,” you add onto the torture, dragging your nails past the tattoo on his stomach towards the waistband of his shorts, “And now, I think it’s only fair that I leave mine.”

The speed in which your lips reattached to his should've been a worthy competitor to the speed of sound; moans catching between heaving, desperate breaths as Punk held you like you were the last thing he’d ever touch.

“Take your fuckin’ shorts off—” you demand, a lightning bolt of confidence shocking through your spine as he follows your orders without question. All while your lips were still entwined.

You blindly reach down past where the hem of his shorts were, a sloppy frenzy of movement as you feel his cock free itself and spring up from the confines of his briefs.

A moan is caught in your larynx as your hand finds his thick shaft, locking eyes with him the second that skin touches skin.

“I— I bet you’ve been dreaming of this shit. Beatin’ the hell outta’ me, bossing me around—”

“—Oh please. I could do this in my sleep. I was always just worried about bruising that big, dumb ego of yours.”

You bite your lip, and Punk just sighs, his head hitting the throw pillow that you didn’t choose to launch at him while he stood against the wall.

“The biggest and dumbest. Yet you loved me more than anything. Isn’t that strange?”

Your eyes narrow at his smug expression. Despite being on the short end of the stick, he sure did have a mouth for the ages.

“But I’m not the one that came here all mopey, trying to put on a fuckin’ show because I missed incredible sex and the smell of vanilla perfume.”

“You didn’t deny that you love me.”

Your lip twitches at his smug expression. You’re almost tempted to rear that same hand back and slap him once more.

“Bite me.”

In a haze of rough, needy kisses and enough love bites to kill a man, you’d finally felt that your teasing quota was met. One final peck to the tip of his nose had Punk gasping for air, as you slithered your hand between your bodies and palmed his cock. You lift your hips, his pupils blown like he’d just seen the center of the universe.

“Missed seeing you on top of me—” Punk blurts out, looking shocked at the delicacy of his own words.

You flash him a wicked smile, not wasting any time in pushing your panties to the side and teasing his tip at your entrance.

“Bet you missed this pussy too, hm?”

Your condescension only adds to the fire raging in those evergreen eyes. Punk can only nod into submission as you lower yourself onto him, stretching out your walls around his cock and reinstating your title as the perfect fit.

Collective sighs fill the air, but there was still a small amount of unspoken tension that lingered above your heads like a storm cloud. There was only one way to release that tension— and it was the best way that you knew how.

Before you know it, the pace of your rocking hips picks up in speed, and the trembling breaths leaving Punk’s parted lips sounded like church bells ringing in your ears.

“Oh my God, fuck— Bunny—” he grunts, his hands grabbing tightly onto to your waist like clothespins as he guides you up and down his cock.

“Say my name. My— real name.”

Now that demand was something you knew he hated to do.

Although never showing any distaste for your real name, he had an aversion to using it. Only allowing himself to use it was of the utmost importance.

For himself, he preferred you just call him Punk, simply because ‘Phil’ just felt too mundane for his eclectic, brooding tastes.

The same went for you. The phenomenon of a ring name was something that got him more hot than bothered— and since you weren’t a wrestler, nor were you planning to be, he was left to his own devices to give you one. That was when ‘Bunny’ came about.

He may have chosen ‘Bunny’ for a multitude of reasons—it could have been for the fuzzy boots you wore on the winter night you’d met him outside of an indie show, or the way your nose crinkled up every time he said something that made you wince. For a while, you’d assumed that he’d forgotten your real name.

But you never really questioned his logic. Hell, you rarely questioned any of his idiosyncrasies at all.

If Bunny was what he liked to call you, then Bunny it was.

“Say my name, Phil. Fucking— say it.”

An impetuous moan breaks you out of your reminiscing, feeling that rage inside of you bubble back up into the desire to cause him more than just emotional pain. You take your hand and cup his jaw, fiercely pulling his spaced out eyes back into yours.

“Ah, fuck— fuckin’ Christ, you’re a lunatic.”

Your grip on his jaw grows tighter, watching him fight a smile with the ruminating thought of his masochistic ways in the back of your mind.

“You love this shit,” you pant, still rocking your hips with an utmost force that eventually brought the coffee table beside you to rattle, “Admit it. Tell me you love it and say my fucking name.”

An array of sloppy sounds fills the room once again, you can see, and feel, Punk’s shoddy attempts to fight back your ruthless aggression with his hips.

He slams into you upwards, a ping-pong of changing power dynamics, your entire body somehow feels like it weighs a ton.

“Kiss me. Bite me. Do it— do it ‘till it hurts.”

Suddenly, you’re crying out, loosening your hold on his jaw to run your nails down the front of his chest. He winces in pure, unbridled lust at the feeling of that brief sharp pain, and snaps his hips up even faster.

“Say my name first,” you barely squeeze out the words.

“Shit— Y/N— I fucking love you.”

Your wish was his command.

As you continue to bounce on his cock with enough force to drive you off the rails, you duck down, and slam your lips against his.

It was almost as if that final kiss was what he needed to send him to the brink of climax— his rhythm suddenly sloppy and his hands now crawling across your back to keep you pinned to his chest. You almost go weak in his arms when he bites at your neck, running his hand through the back of your hair and holding you closer— as if closer than you were right now was even humanly possible.

“Punk, oh my God— just like that, yeah. Right— right fuckin’ there—”

The rhythm of his hips was hitting every single mark— your walls tensing around his thick shaft with each snap of his hips and every glance into his needy eyes. He groaned for you, that poor, beaten up face of his looking as though you had him under a spell.

“Nobody fucks me like you do,” you breathe out, hoping your words were everything he needed and more to push him to the edge, “I love you. I still love you— so fucking much.”

A symphony of moans breaks you out of your bouts of praise, his hips snapping upwards with utmost force and bringing your entire body to tremble above him.

“Oh fuck. Fuck, Y/N!”

And suddenly, as if you were whipped through space and time, stars and fireworks fluttering towards the pit of your stomach— his cock twitches inside of you with an unspeakable amount of desperation and desire, reaching his climax in tandem with yours.

“Jesus Christ,” you sigh, sinking down to lay your cheek atop the fresh ink on his chest.

Punk lets out a low whistle, one that sounds familiar, and oddly comforting to you. It is reminiscent of a sigh of relief, as if having you wholly again was the one thing that kept his sarcastic quips and shitty ego afloat. All of that tension that lingered in the doorway of your apartment disappeared in an instant, his hands wrapping around you tightly as you attempted to level your breathing.

“You really know how to wear a man out, don’t ya?” Punk comments, tracing hearts and stars across your shoulder blades.

“I feed off souls, it's how I stay young.”

A simultaneous, hearty chuckle shakes both of your bodies. There was a feeling brewing around in your head that you couldn’t quite place your finger on. Maybe it was regret, but it was far too early to tell.

Especially with him still being inside of you.

“A succubus of sorts, hm?” says Punk, picking up your chin.

“Maybe. Maybe my mystifying, witchy-woman powers are what brought you here.”

“Or maybe I’m the one who can sense sadness. Don’t think I didn’t see those kicked-puppy-dog eyes when you opened the door...”

There it was again. The Punk you knew and loved. Defensive, yet somehow still able to make you swoon.

“...Gotta admit, there is a bit of magic between us.”

After laying in Punk’s arms for a long while after, that overwhelming sense of impending doom had dissolved completely.

You watched Punk scramble up and down the stairs of your lofted apartment to grab you everything you needed. A warmed washcloth and a glass of water; the two staples in your aftercare routine.

“Need anythin’ else?” You hear his disembodied voice from the kitchen above the running water.

“Actually, I do,” you comment, sitting up fully on the couch after he’d re-dressed you in your pajamas, “I need you to admit that coming here at midnight to bother me about a pair of gym shorts was a stupid fuckin’ plan.”

Punk freezes in his tracks, a sly smile sneaking onto his lips as he reaches over to dramatically turn the faucet off, “Guess I didn’t really think it through. I was more focused on seeing you. I needed an excuse to cover my own ass— the shorts were the best I could do.”

“Do better,” you snarl, “Still want ‘em back?”

Before replying, Punk slides beside you on the couch, his arm ready to cradle your head into the crook of his neck. He presses his lips against the side of your head, keeping there as his breathing slows.

“You can keep the shorts, Bunny. Just as long as you take me with ‘em.”

[yandere-romanticaa]

"By the stars, how foolish can one person be?"

His voice was quiet as night but dark as sin, his grip on your wrist tighter than any chain made by mortal hands. Fingernails dug deep inside the soft flesh but his face remained stoic as ever. The professor's pale face seemed to almost shine underneath the moonlight as his one visible eye leered down at you as if you were no better than a mere cockroach he could just squish with his little finger.

Honestly, he probably could and for the longest time that was your opinion on him.

For ages now, you had thought that Anaxagoras did not fancy you whatsoever. Whenever you would cross paths the man would do nothing other than poignantly glare in your direction, arms crossed on his chest as he would turn his gaze elsewhere whenever you'd make eye contact with him. Trying to reason with him proved to be pointless as the man would only spew absolute venom at you, but he would do it in such an elegant way that you were often left speechless at the sheer refinement of it all, as if he was writing up some twisted poetry for you. Amphoreus was known for its endless sea of romantic songs, secret love affairs and honeyed words but this was different.

This particular rose had thorns. Sharp thorns.

And it had no desire to be plucked whatsoever.

Eventually, you stopped trying. The desire to get to know the scholar had all but diminished, it was instead replaced with an inkling of dread. Simply spotting him in a crowd sent shivers down your spine, especially if he was coming straight towards you. He would always carry himself with such vigor and confidence but that would all melt away into childish pettiness the moment he stood before you and opened his mouth.

It was as if he actively enjoyed making you uncomfortable.

And you had no idea just how true that assessment was.

Enough was enough. Mustering up all of your courage, you decided to confront the seemingly devious man for his heinous actions. You grilled him profusely, practically begging him to just say what it was that he disliked about you. Heck, you had even offered to steer clear from him for good, that if you ever even caught a glimpse of him in a crowd that you would make yourself scarce.

Anaxa was oddly quiet after that proposal. No snarky comment, no nothing. It almost made you miss his old attitude that day.

But now standing before you was a man who was scorned. Even with the mask he tried to wear, you could still make out the ghost of a quiver on his thin lips. He was wracking his brain for an answer, his eyes wild as he suddenly broke into a maddening grin, his other hand now finding a place around your waist to bring you even closer to him. Pressing your hands on his chest proved futile, his grin wider than any beast ought to have.

"Oh how I despise you..." he whispered in the dark night. It was beyond difficult to understand him but you regardless kept your mouth shut.

He never did like to be interrupted...

His hand trailed downwards to your waist as one of his fingers started to trace a soft pattern on your spine, almost as if he was trying to be affectionate with you.

"You are like a knife that keeps stabbing my heart, over and over... You simply never seem to stop, do you?"

He suddenly pressed his forehead against your own, his hair tickling your entire face as Anaxa was now fully taking up every part of your personal space. From the corner of your eye you noticed the gun which was holstered on his waist but he spoke up just as fast.

"Eyes on me, sweetling. You do not have the luxury of running away from this."

It was hard to breathe, hard to think. You wanted to hit him, to shout at him to do literally anything - but it was all so pointless, especially since he had you so close.

"You have become my punishment, my ultimate temptation." purred Anaxa, his grin still just as big if not even bigger now. With wide eyes you gaped at him like a fish out of water but he merely cackled at your bewildered reaction, it clearly being amusing for him. His lips ghosted over your own, as if he was contemplating whether or not he was going to steal a kiss.

"Oh how I despise you with my whole entire being and yet all I can do is beseech you to just humor me. You have committed the crime of making me fall for you and I cannot forgive you for such a transgression."

He was punishing you. Anaxa was not able to comprehend the depth of his feelings so he showed them the only way he knew how. He had a little bit of madness in him and he wished for you to see it, to feel it.

Bear witness to his pain. See just how completely and utterly you had ruined him with nothing else other than committing the crime of existing. You had wormed your way into his heart without ever meaning to and Anaxa was going to make you pay dearly for that crime.

A/N: a few of you asked me how I'm doing since I wrote my last Anaxa post and I just wanted to thank you all for the kindness! But to ease your worries - massive mood swings are just a part of my character and that's just not going to change LMAO. I'm just the kind of person who has extremely good highs and very deep lows. I am easy to sadden but the up side is that I'm just as easy to cheer up!

But yeah - more Anaxa fics! Heck yeah! He's really tricky for me to pin down but this is the best I can do for him, so far anyway. This was written before 3.2 so I wonder how much his character will differ compared to the idea of him that I have in my head. I also simply must give a shout out to the lovely @harmonysanreads because her Anaxa fics really helped me!