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obsessedwithceleste · 10 months ago

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Lessons in Love

(Or why Enzo should be banned from advanced potion making)

Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw Reader

Summary: Ft. Enzo being bad at potions, the Ravenclaw common room door, and more than one accidental love confession.

word count: 3.3k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

A deep sigh escapes your lips as you walk purposefully through the empty halls of the castle. You loved Enzo. Really, you did. But how that bastard had managed to squeeze enough O.W.Ls out of his arse to get into advanced potion making was absolutely beyond you.

It’s not that you thought your childhood best friend was dumb per se. You simply thought his talents lay elsewhere. Like in herbology. Or anywhere really where adding a pinch too much powdered moonstone didn’t result in a glittery pink potion exploding all over the front of your robes. This never would have happened of course, if your usual, equally talented, potions partner, Theodore Nott, had actually bothered to show up, but god only knew where that boy had wandered off to.

Walking into classes earlier that day you had been giddy with excitement. While potions may not have been Enzo’s forte, it was most definitely yours and advanced potions was finally giving you the challenge you had been craving. Amortentia, your professor had said, is the strongest love potion in the world, thereby making it exceptionally difficult to brew. You already knew this of course as it had all been detailed in the days readings. Not only would it make someone obsessively in love, but it also had an addictive scent, changing to fit what one was most attracted to. Now that was all well and good until one was covered in it.

Originally, you figured that all would be fine. Enzo profusely apologized, quickly following up with a joke about how “at least you’ll smell nice for once.” But oh how right he’d been. It started with students accidentally bumping into you in the corridor as you went from class to class as they subconsciously leaned in to follow the alluring scent. A minor inconvenience you thought. (Although you did have to choose to ignore that third year almost getting impaled on a statue’s sword because he wasn’t paying attention after you passed.)

But then Cho and Marietta couldn’t stop leaning in to get a whiff of the scent all throughout the start of charms, causing Flitwick to continuously shoot concerned glances at the three of you. You eventually caved, moving quickly and silently to the back of the class room where Enzo was sat with the rest of the Slytherins. As soon as he saw you making your way over, he leaned over, whispering something in Daphne’s ear beside him. She gives you a quick look of knowing pity before moving into the empty seats usually claimed by Theodore and Matteo who were, unsurprisingly, still no where to be found.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry,” Enzo mumbles, at least having the decency to look embarrassed as you plop into the seat beside him.

“This is horrible! I did not need to know that Marietta’s amortentia smells like bloody Cormac McLaggen or whatever his name is,” you hiss in response.

Enzo lets out a quiet chuckle, sneaking a quick glance at your house mate.

“Hey,” he whispers after a moment, “What do you smell anyway? You must be going mad having that stuff all over you.”

You shoot a glare at your friend. You had a sinking feeling he already knew, considering he had been poking fun at you for weeks. You shudder remembering all those disgusting kissy faces Enzo had been making at you from across the library just last week. Bloody bastard was fishing for confirmation. Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll simply go away you think to yourself. Enzo however, takes your silence as an admission of guilt, a grin spreading across his face.

“I knew it. So tell me y/n, what does dear Theodore Nott smell like? Cigarette smoke? Hippogriff dung?” He snickers.

“He is my best friend, Lorenzo,” you whisper, giving the boy beside you another withering glare.

Enzo’s face falls at this.

“I’m your best friend.” He grumbles.

“I don’t know why. You’re mean to me,” you reply with exasperation.

He immediately perks up again at this, giving you a slight nudge.

“So I’m right? You do like Theo?” He asks excitedly.

“Enzo, I will avada you, and make it look like an accident,” you hiss in response.

“Come on, y/n, I’m your best friend, you have to tell me these things,” he pouts.

“Oh really? Like how you have to tell me about how you’re probably smelling Daphne’s shampoo right now? Or is it her lavender perfume?” You ask innocently, batting your lashes.

Enzo goes beet red at this, gesturing wildly at you to lower your voice.

“Hush woman! She’s right there!” He hisses.

You say nothing, only giving him a triumphant grin before turning back to Flitwick to try to salvage what few notes you’d been able to take down that lesson.

The final straw occurred during ancient runes when poor, unsuspecting Hermione sat down behind you and asked with a look of bewilderment if you had been showered with Draco’s cologne that morning. Her look of absolute horror only grew as you told her of your distressing situation. You thought she might faint when she realized that Draco had been within earshot and now had a shit eating grin on his face. With a sigh of defeat, you give Hermione an apologetic smile before deciding it was time to turn in the white flag of defeat.

You breathe a heavy sigh of relief as you finally come to a stop outside your common room door. You then frown, realizing you had in fact, made it to your common room door.

“What makes a raven like a writing desk?” The metallic voice of the Ravenclaw common room door asks, springing to life.

This putrid, skanky little-

“You wouldn’t want me to shove either of them up your ars-“

A low whistle catches your attention before you’re able to finish cursing out your common room’s door thoroughly.

“Whoa there feisty, let the eagle be,” Theo’s voice laughs as he steps into view.

The strong scent of roasted coffee beans and smoke that had been burning your nostrils all day hits you once again like a ton of bricks. Giving the eagle another withering glare, you turn your full attention to the looming threat approaching. You would sooner throw yourself off of the astronomy tower than let Theo know that your amortentia smelled like him. Someone had to keep the boy’s bloody ego in check.

“Full offense Theodore, I’ve had a horrendously awful day today, and I really don’t have time for whatever nonsense you’re about to start.” You say with a roll of your eyes as you cross your arms at the boy in front of you.

Theo laughs again, mirroring your movements as he leans against one of the pillars lining the halls.

“Poor principessa. Have a hard day in classes without me?” He asks with a smirk.

You scowl in response. It didn’t help that you had, in fact, missed the brunette’s comforting, albeit annoying, presence all day, but you weren’t about to admit that.

“Now that you mention it, I didn’t even realize you were missing. What snake hole did you slither off to today?” You ask, the lie sliding easily off your lips.

Theo cocks as eyebrow at that but leaves it be.

“Matteo wanted to ditch, had to baby sit. Make sure he didn’t get into too much trouble. You know how it goes,” Theo replied shrugging his shoulders. “And what’s a pretty little witch like yourself doing skiving off class?”

Theo takes another step forward.

“Don’t come closer!” You yelp before you can stop yourself. You had no interest knowing what Theo would smell if he got close enough. He frowns at you however.

“And why not?” He challenges, taking another step towards you. This boy really did not take well to being told what to do.

“I- I smell. Really bad. Had to leave class, I just- ya know, smelled, so bad” You splutter, mentally kicking yourself. Who says that in front of the guy they like? Why were you like this?

Theo’s thick brows shoot up at your declaration before he takes a final large step towards you and leans in, pressing his hand against your forehead before moving it down to feel your cheek.

“Y/n are you ill? Do you need to go see Madam Pomfrey? I can walk you there if you’d like.” He says, any bit of snark his voice previously held long gone.

“I’m fine Theodore, really.” you say, batting his hand away.

“Are you sure?” He asks, looking at you disbelievingly.

He leans in again and takes in a whiff of your scent and you immediately tense, freezing where you are. God damn it. His brows furrow.

“Y/n, you smell perfectly normal, maybe a bit stronger than usual, but definitely not bad.” He says, looking even more confused.

Before you’re able to fully process the words that just came out of Theo’s mouth, Enzo and Pansy come barreling down the hall towards the two of you in a fit of giggles.

“Y/n! y/n, you know I’m sorry, really I am, but if dousing you in amortentia is all it takes to get Draco and Granger to make complete fools of themselves in front of each other, I’d do it again!” Enzo exclaims between breathy laughs. “You haven’t seen ferret boy run past, by chance, by the way have you?

“Sorry, amor-what now?” Theo asks, blinking as he purses his lips.

You look between the three of your friends in alarm, praying no one mentioned anything after Theo had just announced that you smelled perfectly normal to him.

“Oh, you’re going to wish you were there! After you left, Draco was so pleased with himself. Looked like a kid on Christmas. Kept trying to flirt with Hermione until she finally sent a flock of doves to run him out of the classroom! Professor wasn’t too happy bout that one. Let us go early to find the blonde loon,” Enzo says, completely ignoring Theo’s question.

“I’m sorry, amor-WHAT?” Theo asks again, louder this time.

You feel yourself cringe.

“Amortentia.” Pansy snorts. “Do try and keep up Teddy.”

“This is what you get for always skiving off class with Matteo,” Enzo adds, nodding at the boy as if he were his disappointed mother.

“Mhmm. Enzo totally floozied over y/n’s potion this morning. Blew it up all over her and she’s been having people wander up to her to take a sniff all day.” Pansy tells him with a sniff.

Theo blinks again before slowly meeting your eyes as what he said only moments earlier begins to sink in. Pansy, ever the cunning witch, was lightening quick to catch on.

“Speaking of which, I am suddenly so interested in what exactly it is that you smell, dearest Teddy,” Pansy says as her eyes flicker between the two of you, a mischievous grin growing on her face.

Theo scowls at the nickname.

“Campfire.”

“Old parchment.” You say in unison.

Pansy smirks.

“Do you smell that Enzo?” She asks, making a show of sniffing the air around her. “I think I smell- a liar. Or two.”

Enzo only snickers as he eyes the both of you up. He knew exactly what you had been smelling all day and you begin to feel panic rise up in your chest. You send a menacing glare his way, daring him to open his mouth.

“Come on Pans, I don’t think Draco and Granger are the only ones who’ll be chatting up tonight,” he says finally.

Glaring at the pair’s disappearing backs, you once again turn slowly back to the problem at hand.

“Soo,” Theo starts at the same time you blurt out,

“This is entirely your fault.”

Theo’s mouth drops open, and he has the audacity to look offended.

“How do you figure mi amore?” He asks.

“You’re supposed to be my partner in potions, but you weren’t there today, so I had to work with,” you shudder, “Enzo.”

Rolling his eyes at your dramatics and giving you a small smile, Theo lets himself relax, leaning on the wall as he towers over you.

“Enzo isn’t so bad,” he says, slowly bringing a hand up to rest on your waist, gently moving you towards him. You pretend not to notice, taking a small, nervous step forward.

“He singed off Matteo’s eyebrows last year. The year before that, he didn’t realize there was a difference between fire flower and fired flour, and his potion melted through the floor. I heard a Puff call him Slytherin’s Seamus,” you retort. “Do you realize how bad you have to be at something to get made fun of by a Hufflepuff?” He snorts at that, cocking his head in agreement.

“Well I’m sorry alright? I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’ll have to. I have to go in again to remake the potion. Don’t want that bad mark on my grade.”

Theo only hums at this, as you’re finally standing nose to chest with him, forcing you to tilt your head up to still see his face.

“You really do smell nice,” he murmurs, pressing his nose lightly into your hair.

You make a face before nuzzling into his chest to hide the redness growing on your cheeks.

“I’m not talking about this in public. I simply refuse,” you say, trying to melt into him from pure embarrassment.

Theo looks down at you with a devilishly handsome grin before turning back to your long forgotten common room door.

“Hey, open up. She technically answered your little riddle earlier,” he tells the door.

The eagle grumbles something unintelligible as it starts to life again.

“I can always melt you down. I’m sure you’d make a great piss pot,” Theo threatens, going to pull out his wand.

The door swings open rather violently and you’re pretty sure you can hear a rather colorful string of curses come out of the eagle’s beak as you make your way inside. Having been there a thousand times before, Theo easily leads you to your shared, but thankfully empty, dorm room, closing the door behind you.

“You really don’t get along with that eagle, do you principessa?” He asks, throwing his shoes off and making himself comfortable on your bed like he usually did.

“Like you’re any better. You just threatened to turn it into a chamber pot,” you retort, falling easily back into your usual banter. This was fine. This was safe.

Theo only raises a brow at you.

“The blasted door is still mad at me for making a ur mum joke when it asked me if a chicken came before the egg in front of a bunch of second years.” You admit, letting your arms fall to your side.

Theo lets out a loud laugh at that shaking his head and extending his arm for you. You walk carefully towards the bed before hesitantly accepting his invitation. It’s not that cuddling with Theo was something unfamiliar to you, as much as you were hyper aware of the slightly awkward tension between the two of you that wasn’t usually there. You slide your shoes off as well before curling up next to him and laying your head on his chest. The two of you lay in silence and you slowly let your eyelids flutter shut, lost in the feeling of Theo’s chest rising and falling.

“You know. You still haven’t told me what your amortentia smells like,” Theo says, finally breaking the silence as he gently brings his hand up to run his fingers through your hair.

“Take a wild fucking guess,” you murmur, refusing to open your eyes and determined to get further lost in his warm touch.

He only hums in response, continuing to comb his fingers through the soft locks of hair.

“You know when Enzo asked me if I smelled you today, he thought you’d smell like hippogriff dung,” you say eventually.

“Fucking tosser. What did that git smell? Wild lavender?”

“And Daphne’s shampoo.”

You feel Theo snort as if he expected no less of your ever romantic best friend. Silence once again rolls over the both of you as you absentmindedly play with the edge of his shirt, rolling the soft fabric between your fingers nervously. The quiet begins to feel suffocating, so you open your mouth to speak, but Theo beats you to it.

“Champagne. And that perfume you always use. With the little white flowers. Lilies of the valley, right?” Theo says.

You open your eyes to look at him in confusion.

“That’s what you smell like.” He says, carefully running his hand down your spine, sending a shiver through you.

“I smell roasted coffee. And smoke. Not the fire-y kind though. The kind that sticks to your clothes cause you refuse to quit smoking.” You respond, looking into his eyes warily for his reaction.

Theo only smirks in response, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

“Aw mi amore, I’m what you’re most attracted to?” He asks, the teasing bait evident in his voice.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks as Theo gazed intently down at you in his arms.

“Shut up Theodore. You sure know how to ruin a moment,” you say, once again burying your face in a chest.

You feel his chest rumble with laughter before his hand snakes it way up to your chin, tilting your head up and capturing your lips with his. His lips are softer than you imagined as he moves them gently against yours. You let a soft gasp escape and Theo pulls you closer, gripping your waste tightly, and shifting you on top of him, deepening the kiss until you’re both left gasping for air.

“Was that more of what you had in mind amore?” He asks with an innocent smile, looking up at you with what you could only describe as his best baby seal eyes.

“I mean, you were definitely significantly more shirtless when I imagined it, but I can settle.” You joke.

Theo’s eyes darken however, and he lifts you as if you weigh nothing, flipping you over so that he now hovered above you, your back pinned against the bed beneath you. With one swift movement, Theo pulls his shirt up and over his head before lowering himself back down, his chest now pressed against yours.

“Better?”

You can’t help but laugh at the boy’s determination as your eyes shamelessly take in the lean muscle and tanned skin that was current above you.

“Theodore, as much as I enjoy this, you have to put your clothes on. Cho or Marietta could walk in at any time,” you tell him as you begin to make soft circles across his waist line with your thumbs, admiring the boy in front of you.

“Mm. You mouth is saying one thing, but these,” he says, placing his hands over yours, “are saying something else entirely.”

You roll your eyes, pulling your hands out from under his and handing him his discarded shirt.

“One kiss?” He asks, looking at the shirt as if it had mortally offended him.

“One kiss.”

He leans down, once again capturing your lips with his, but with more intensity this time. You feel one of his hands brush your waist as his thumb pushes up under your shirt, the rest of his hand following soon after, gripping tightly at the warm skin beneath. You let out a breathy moan when he flicks his tongue across your bottom lip, and he takes it as an invitation to let his tongue explore the rest of your mouth.

An awkward cough shakes you from the haze and you look up, over Theo’s shoulder to see Cho standing guiltily in the doorway.

“Sorry,” she says, looking literally anywhere but you and the shirtless boy above you. “Bad time?”

You cover your eyes in embarrassment, feeling heat once again rush to your cheeks.

“What did I tell you!” You groan, letting your head fall back onto your mound of pillows. Meanwhile Theo has a much too self satisfied grin across his face.

#harry potter universe #harry potter #slytherin boys #slytherin #ravenclaw #lorenzo berkshire #theodore nott #draco malfoy #matteo riddle #daphne greengrass #pansy parkinson #fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #theodore nott x reader #how do you write in 2nd person #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x y/n

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sageyxbabey · 5 months ago

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Hospital Food | COD x Reader

MDNI

Summary: Your ex-husband (the biological father of your daughter) shows up when said daughter is admitted to hospital. Your current partner (and your daughter) put him in his place.

aka: stupid man gets verbally wrecked by a 17-year-old girl and a SAS soldier. Inspired by the time my stepdad and i roasted my bio dad.

For @the-californicationist 's Nameless Challenge! This means you have to guess which of the delicious war criminals I'm writing about below. (This has inspired a series, so you'll find out who I was thinking of when the second one comes out. ;) )

WC: ~700 words (oops, forgive me cali)

Pairing: f!reader x tf141 member (but who? 👀)

Your ex-husband stood at the foot of his biological daughter’s hospital bed, watching her tap salt out of the little sachet onto a piece of buttered bread. His face was full of condescension, and you knew yours was full of barely contained disgust as you stared at him. God damn the child support agreement that required you to tell him when she was admitted to a hospital. At least you had otherwise full custody of her, you’re sure your ex would’ve been murdered by now if you’d been forced to see him semi-regularly – either by you or your wonderful (deadly, military-trained) partner who hated the man in front of you almost as much as you did.

God, you wish he was here right now. Unfortunately, he was wonderful enough to have gone down to the cafeteria in search of lunch for the both of you – and something sweet to sneak back in for your little girl. He spoiled her rotten, and it made you love him more every time he did.

“That’s a lot of salt,” your ex rumbled. If looks could kill, the stare your 17-year-old daughter levelled him with would’ve evaporated him where he stood.

“Yes. It is,” she spoke.

Tap tap tap, she resumed shaking the sachet.

“They put salt in bread when they make it. White bread is about 3% salt,” he said. As if there was some important point your daughter was missing.

“I know. I’ve made bread before.”

Tap tap tap.

It was taking every fibre of your being not to laugh with sheer joy and vindication as your daughter, the blood of your ex-husband, so casually eviscerated him in the middle of this tiny white room.

“Which is to say, you don’t need to be adding salt to it.” You didn’t think the man could sound any whinier. You were about to step in, but your daughter let out a deep sigh beyond her years (definitely picked up from the soldier who shared your home) and threw the empty salt packet onto the bed tray.

“Tell me, why shouldn’t I eat that much salt?” Her arms crossed in front of her, your ex-husband looked to you for help. He would get none.

“Because… it makes your body retain fluid and raises blood pressure–”

“Correct. I am in this hospital because I have low blood pressure caused by a low volume of fluid in my blood. They give me the salt packet on purpose. I am prescribed literal salt tablets,” she shook the bottle in the man’s face, “because I need to raise my blood pressure up to normal levels.”

Silence. Blinking.

“So I am going to eat this bread because it is what the doctor ordered.” Her head snapped to you, with a chaotic glint in her eye only teenage girls could possess. The next words out of her mouth would stay with you until your dying breath;

“Hey, Mum. When’s Dad coming back?”

You could not fight the grin that spread across your face, the elation jumping in your stomach. A quick glance at your ex-husband’s sour face made it clear that your daughter’s point had struck true – You are not welcome here. I do not need you. I have a real father where you failed.

You opened your mouth to reply, “He’s–”

“Right here, love!” The warm, gravelly voice of your partner filled the room, your daughter’s eyes lighting up with his presence. He stopped to press a tender kiss against your cheek, passing you a toasted sandwich, before he made his way to stand over the shoulder of your precious daughter.

“And I got you something special,” he whispered playfully, “Don’t tell the nurse.” He pulled a poppy seed muffin out of the bag he was holding and placed it on the bed tray in front of her.

“Sorry mate, who are you?” Your partner turned and cocked his head at your ex.

Your man knew exactly who the snivelling creature across from him was. Your boyfriend was just deciding to be a little shit, and it was one of the sexiest things you’d ever seen him do.

“Dad, this is Marcus. You know, the man who got Mum pregnant with me?” Your daughter’s voice was poorly disguised venom.

“Oh, right! Of course. I suppose I should thank you for your part in creating my wonderful daughter.” He stretched a hand out to your ex-husband who, for once in his life, made the smart choice to shake it and give some poor excuse for why he was needed elsewhere.

As soon as he was out the door, you had your arms around your lover, pressing endless kisses to his cheek as your daughter laughed.

“Did you hear what I said, Dad?”

Your partner leaned down to hug the girl – his girl – tightly. He grinned.

“Every fucking word.”

----------

I LOVE MY STEPDAD SO MUCH HE'S MY REAL DAD and my mother and he are truly couple goals. I was on the phone with him the other day when I asked if he remembered this happening. he let out the most fatherly cackle of pure, shit-stirring joy I've ever heard. It was magnificent.

forgot the TAGLIST: @frogtowne @teenagellamaangel @universitypenguin

#cod x reader #cod mwii #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john price x reader #WHO COULD IT BE?#you decide...#imagine any of them you like #BECAUSE ALL WILL BE REVEALED NEXT TIME MWAHAHA #cali's nameless challenge #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw2 x reader

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year ago

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[Mihawk prefers to keep work and his private life separate. On one rare occasion when these two have to comingle, Mihawk is rather upset at the attention you attract.]

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

When Mihawk said "It will be just a moment, my dear", you didn't think the issue would take more than half an hour. Yet here you are, two hours after he had left you in a fussy lounge in the back of Midnight Grove...

...and not a Dracule Mihawk in sight.

You let out an exasperated sigh and take another sip of your mai tai. The band is playing yet another song that sounds vaguely identical to the previous one. Similarly, the mob of other patrons seems to be merging into one, murky background of blurry figures in your eyes. Being used to the peaceful yet refined companionship of Mihawk, the aura of Midnight Grove is beyond unbearable.

Mindlessly playing with a coaster featuring a howling wolf, you don't notice a Marine cadet approaching you.

"I'm afraid I have to arrest you, my lady."

The unexpected and, frankly, unwelcome comment makes you look up from the devilishly fascinating coaster. Your eyes fall on a well-built man with long hair and a smug expression. The glint in his brown eyes makes you tense up in discomfort.

"Excuse me?" you ask him, not understanding the meaning behind his words.

The cadet gives you a bad parody of a flirtatious smile. "You look too beautiful," he purrs out.

You can't help but laugh. Somehow, you're undecided whether his pick-up disgusts or amuses you or maybe both. Perhaps his audacity forced a laugh out of you - the ring on your fourth finger is neither modest nor simple. Considering how the large gem in the golden band shone in the low light of the Midnight Grove, even a blind man could tell from a mile away that you are anything but single.

"Anyone waiting for you at home?" he continues his rather poor attempt at flirting.

With a casual flick of your wrist, you toss the coaster on the table. Feeling both curious and entertained, you decide to play along - for now, at least. "Why are you asking, sailor boy?" you question before taking another sip of your drink. The ice has melted and the diluted drink now tastes mostly of old freezer.

"He must be mighty jealous about you. And considering the gold you're wearing," he makes a point of staring at your cleavage, "a millionaire, too."

"Oh, this?" You look down at the necklace of jewels and pearls. A memory flashes before your eyes, suddenly remembering Mihawk's face, barely visible in candlelight as he clasps the jewellery around your neck, telling you sweet things only men in romance novels tend to say. "Yes, it's a gift from someone. I'm sure you know him," you tell the Marine cadet in a casual tone, already imagining how hilarious his face of terror will be when he realizes whose spouse he's been trying to woo. "Tall, yellow eyes, a rather large sword and...

"Awfully annoyed at your impertinence, boy."

The low, guttural voice laced with withheld anger makes both of you look away. There, standing right behind the cadet, is Mihawk himself. Part of his large physique blocks the scarce lighting, making him look significantly more insidious. In the twilight of the Midnight Grove, with fury burning in his eyes, Mihawk appears closer to a demon than a man.

Although the room is dark, you can clearly see the way the cadet's blood draws from his face and the way his eyes are suddenly bigger than an owl's. He scrambles to his feet, almost falling off his chair. Then, muttering apologies and promises of better behaviour, the young Marine runs off only to disappear in the crowd of Midnight Grove's patrons.

Mihawk's eyes follow the youngling for a moment.

"I should have him strung up and killed," he says more to himself than you.

"Or," you speak up, a playful smile curling your lips, "you could sit down, have a drink with your beautiful wife and gloat about the fact that you're the only man to undress her."

You might just be a witch because the change in his demeanour is instant. There is still something wild in his bright, yellow eyes but it's not bloodthirst or anger anymore. You notice how he glances at the ring and the necklace, admiring his own signs of "ownership". One would think they're big enough to send the message. Alas, some people just refuse to receive it.

"You have me convinced," Mihawk says as he sits down next to you.

#opla #opla x reader #opla fanfiction #one piece live action #one piece netflix #mihawk x reader #mihawk #dracule mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk one piece #mihawk fanfiction #mihawk x you #dracule mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x you #dracule mihawk fanfiction #dracule mihawk fanfic #dracule mihawk imagine #dracule mihawk x y/n #op mihawk

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earthtooz · 2 years ago

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x : BETWEEN LOVE AND LIES :*+ﾟ

in which: you thought nagi was dating you for media reputation... so why does this relationship feel suspiciously real?

warnings: 11.9k words, pro-soccer player!nagi x physiotherapist!gn!reader, reader has hair, lots of food, not at all a realistic story but that's okay pls don't come for me, SLOOWWWWBURN, fake-dating au, reader is oblivious :<

a/n: goodness. if this flops i will cry bc i spent way too long this for it to be healthy for me. enjoy !

↳ 5K EVENT MASTERLIST ༉‧₊

nagi approaches you the day after his name goes viral.

you weren’t doing anything spectacular, merely putting away all the kits and equipment you’d used for the day when the white-haired soccer player approaches you, his hands in his pockets, strolling over to you as he would on any occasion.

your heart races- as it does whenever he’s around, regardless of said occasion, but what tumbles out of his mouth next was worthy of ceasing your heart rate all together.

“wanna date?”

you’re speechless. malfunctioning as you register what he’s saying. the sheer casualness of it all is alarming and you have to snap yourself back into your physical environment before your mind loses to a universe of questions and doubts.

out of all people who have asked you to date, nagi was definitely the most unique. was he okay in the head? did he come for a check up? did he get one of rin’s kicks to the head? or was he just straight up delusional?

“uhh, why?” you ask, cursing yourself a little for how disgusted you sounded.

fortunately for you, your ungracious tone didn’t phase him, not one bit. “isn’t that what two people do when they like each other?”

yeah, romantically. you don’t even think nagi likes you beyond simply platonic, whereas you have to try and shove your feelings for him down your throat every morning before walking in to the training grounds for blue lock’s official team.

you find yourself agreeing regardless, still a little overwhelmed by everything that was going on.

the soccer player then has the audacity to give you two thumbs up in approval, a dumb smile plastering on that expression of his. this confuses you even more.

“okay cool, so what should we do now that we’re a couple?” he asks.

you glance away, unable to look him in the eye for too long without getting flustered. the various weights and foam rollers still scattered on the floor catches your attention, reminding you of your previous task before nagi came to stir up a storm. “well, i have to put these away amongst various things. you can sit on the couch if you want to pass time?”

“do you need any help?” he questions, already bobbing down to be eye-level with you, ignoring the second half of your statement.

“no it’s fine, thank you though.”

“are you sure?”

“yeah! i don’t want to bother you.”

“well if you do this all by yourself, it’ll take longer, and you take longer, it means i have to wait longer to spend time with you.”

when you turn around to say something, the words die on your throat when you realise just how close he’d come to you during the time you had your back towards him. a flash of hurt crosses his typically emotionless eyes when you instinctively recoil from him, his innocent stare dimishing just a little.

“you know how much i hate waiting. it’s such a pain, so let me help out and you’ll get done faster, right?” his hands are already reaching for some of the foam rollers before you can stop him. with an affectionate sigh, you take it from him, placing it back in its original spot.

“fine,” you say with a smile. “if you insist then would you mind putting the ice packs in the fridge? isagi’s ankle was messing up earlier and chigiri came in for his knee again.”

the white-haired hums before obeying, his footsteps that shuffled along the floor telling you know that he is carrying out his duties that you’ve assigned for him. the way his tracksuit makes a noise every time he walks is distracting, but you can’t help but think how much nagi reminds you of a penguin. the adorableness of it all might just kill you.

if only the internet and ‘#nagi seishiro’ tags knew just how much of a teddy bear that 6’3, legendary prodigy, nagi seishiro was, and how you had to massage him almost everyday after training sessions otherwise he’d come to practise the next day with the resolve of a five year old.

being a junior physiotherapist for the blue lock team, you only took care of a few blue lock athletes as your clients since the team was divided between you and a senior physio. nagi wasn’t one of your assigned athletes, however when you first came to the job, he would come during almost closing times (when you had no one booked) and ask for a massage, even if he had his own physiotherapist to request that of. however, nagi seemed to always have some sore muscle because his demands for a massage became a daily recurrence.

you just hope whatever is wrong with him gets sorted out soon.

sure athletes are meant to work hard and use their bodies in the field but physio massages were to assist with injuries by minimising the risk of them, fixing the alignment, or help extend any limited range of movement.

whatever. now’s not the time to think too hard about it because you’re about to go on a date with nagi seishiro.

after cleaning up your space so you could prepare to take care of more athletes tomorrow, nagi is sauntering over to you once more. this time, he drapes himself all over you, causing you to stumble a little from how heavy he is. you pray to whoever’s listening that he can’t feel or hear the way your heart races in your chest, threatening to climb up your throat and jump into his hands.

“tired, nagi?” you question, words muffled against his shoulder as you bring your hands to soothingly pat his back.

“yeah,” whines the white-haired. the smile that creeps onto your face is one full of adoration for the man slung over you. “let me take you out.”

“where to?”

“a night market? it’ll be fun.”

“sure.”

at your confirmation, he separates from you with an excited glimmer in his eyes,

after grabbing your bags and setting out, you’re violently flooded by dozens of paparazzi and interviewers who are click their cameras in hopes of catching blue lock’s soccer player who has taken the world by storm. it’s a little overwhelming, but when nagi covers you from the reporters with his arm which had his tracksuit jacket draped over it, you’re thankful for his thoughtfulness, especially when you’re relying on his grip around your waist to pull you in the right direction.

the crowd is shouting a flurry of things, nothing that you can make out amongst the mess of your mind, your heart, and your ears.

it’s not until you decipher someone shouting something about dating rumours with a japanese pop singer, that you piece together his intentions; a loud wakeup call to the reality of your ‘situation’ with nagi.

the possibility that nagi was using this ‘relationship’ for media coverage and acknowledgement was very likely, especially with his recent growth in popularity and social media following- it would be understandable if he wanted to prolong his moment in the spotlight by entering beneficial relationships.

except typically, celebrities would do it with other celebrities.

so what’s the appeal behind using you?

a funny feeling brews in your gut, one that clawed at your chest with a series of disappointment, anxiety, and dismay. it was unbelievable that someone as hot, both literally and figuratively, as nagi would be interested in you; a junior physiotherapist fresh out of university, but you had hoped. his abruptness today and the whole ‘we should date’ ordeal was to dispel the media from his back, not bred from any genuine feelings.

if this was the only chance you got to stand beside nagi and have him hold you like this, so protectively against him, then you were going to take it until fate deemed it over and pulled you away from him itself.

you were young and simply put, nagi could provide the companionship you were looking for.

fortunately, the press left him alone at the parking lot where security guards were standing, two in the booth and one purchased near the gate. you give them a shy greeting and they return it with a bow.

“sorry about that,” nagi mutters, not looking at you even when you turn your head to stare up at him. “i wasn’t expecting paparazzi to be right outside, they’re such a pain.”

“it’s okay, if anything i owe you a thank you for covering me from them,” you huff, stuffing your hands into your pockets, mind still a little frazzled over the memory of how protective nagi was over you. “stuff like this happens when you’re famous, mr soccer hotshot.”

he rubs his neck, looking to the side as his next words tumble out of his mouth: “does that impress you?”

“why wouldn’t it?”

you try not to think too hard about the blush that manifests on his face, pinning it on the colder weather and frostbite rather than your words.

“so… where’s this night market? i didn’t know tokyo had many night markets.”

“just in shibuya.”

“won’t it be busy?”

“yeah,” he shrugs before adding as an afterthought: “does that bother you?”

“no not at all, i just thought you hated big crowds and busy places.”

“‘s won’t be so bad with you there.”

for someone who prefers to keep quiet majority of the time, nagi sure does have a silver tongue. this is probably the third time in the past half an hour that he’s made your stomach flip, and you can’t help but question his intentions. if he was trying to make you actually fall for him to make your relationship look more legitimate then he’d be disappointed to know that you already had, way before he approached you today.

he agrees to drive the way since one: it was easier and two: you could avoid the paparazzi that way.

upon arrival, you’re glad to see that there aren’t too many people in the crowd. since it was a weekday, students would be participating in extra curriculars and businessmen would be only just finishing work. the majority of the people here were older with a few couples here and there.

“oh, they have lemon tea,” nagi mutters, grabbing your hand before unceremoniously dragging you to the stand. his excitement was endearing, especially when all 6’3 of him approaches the lemon tea stand, needing to bend down in order to be seen by the elderly stand owner. a flash of surprise crosses the maker’s face as he makes eye contact with the white-haired.

“two lemon teas please,” requests the soccer player, using his hands to gesture ‘two’ as he fishes out the appropriate amount of money.

“hey, you’re that soccer player, nagi! you scored an awesome goal the other day. mind if i get a picture?” the owner’s gruff voice requests, a cheery smile making its way onto his face.

“oh. sure.”

you take the picture for them, counting down ‘3, 2, 1’ as nagi gives the camera a peace sign and the owner has a wide, bright smile on his face; so bright that you couldn’t help grinning as well. “i’m putting this on my store front. now you want two lemon teas?”

“coming right up!”

“did you just buy me a lemon tea without asking?” you question, a smile appearing on your features as you glance up at your companion.

he meets your eyes, “yeah, ‘s there something wrong with that?”

“no, not at all. i wouldn’t mind some lemon tea right now. i’ll pay you back.”

“don’t worry about that,” nagi cuts you off before you can even reach for your wallet. “everything’s on me.”

“but-”

“-it’s on me.”

the stand owner is handing over two iced cups of lemon before you can continue bickering and nagi hands one over to you with a wordless expression and you’re compelled to take it, though reluctantly.

“are you two a couple?” the owner asks.

nagi nods, “yeah, we are.”

“ah! no wonder. you two look amazing together, you bagged a real gem,” he says to nagi, pointing at you. you laugh it off, flattered.

“i know i did. thanks for the tea, sir.”

“thank you!” you call out to the owner before being dragged away by nagi again, careful not to spill your drink from how much vigour was in his steps. for his one stride, you had to take two.

after going from store to store and blindly following nagi who led the way with his stomach, you’re eventually brought to a less busy, picnic-like area where there were various benches for you to sit on. it was away from the busyness of the main street, but still had lanterns hung around the premise, combating the darkness of the early sunset during colder months.

you take a seat beside him whilst he sets down the variety of food he bought from the merchants, not trying to think too much about the way nagi presses himself closely against you.

“oh, one of my games had a character drop an hour ago,” he absentmindedly comments, opening his phone for the first time since being with you. you catch a glimpse of his dim phone screen, seeing the notification banner from the game he was referring to.

“that’s cool,” you mutter, unsure of what else to say as you take a bite into the red bean taiyaki.

“yeah, he’s a cracked character. been wanting him forever.”

“are you gonna pull? i wanna see him.”

“really?”

when you give him the nod of affirmation, nagi opens the game whilst you continue eating, gentle anticipation hanging in the air as well as a comfortable silence. it doesn’t take long before he’s purchasing special event tokens, going to the special character screen and pressing the ‘draw x10’ option. you peer over his shoulder, trying to resist the urge to rest your chin on it.

you’re snapped out of your reverie when nagi emits a small gasp. “no way.”

“what?” you ask, watching the way his screen lights up in gold which signalled a successful draw. he looks up at you, eyes wide and mouth partially parted. “did you get him?”

“yeah, on the first go,” he says in wonder, a dazed look in his eyes. “that’s never happened before.”

“no way! you’re so lucky!”

nagi’s face erupts into a small smile, and you’re caught off guard all of a sudden when his hands snake around your waist, pulling you up to sit on his lap. the new proximity and abruptness of it all causes your mind to stop for a second, shutting off as nagi peers up at you with stars in his eyes. you want to hide, but his grip around you is too tight, pulling you in to him.

this feels criminal.

“nah, i just think you’re my lucky charm.”

a quiet squeak of ‘is that so?’ is all you can reply with before looking away, trying to distract your rampant thoughts, hoping that the cool breeze will calm the heat creeping up to your face. “so,” you begin, trying to recover yourself from embarrassment. “can i see your characters? all of them?”

“all of them?” nagi repeats and you miss the small look of bliss on his expression.

“yeah.”

“i showed them to you the other week.”

“okay, well show me this new character then.”

“as you wish.”

he talks you through the characters and their tutorials, showing you their special combos and ultimate moves, all whilst you have to feed him the variety of foods he bought whilst dragging you around like a dog and its owner. as he munches on the takoyaki, kebabs, and sweet potato, you realise just how bottomless nagi’s stomach was and the way he hums in satisfaction after each bite was very adorable.

the night fades into a nice memory of laughter, emptied food boxes, and easy conversation. somehow nagi has manoeuvred himself so that his head was now in your lap, snowy hair spread so invitingly as you resist the urge to run your hands through it, wanting to respect any boundaries of his.

every so often you have to remind yourself that this wasn’t real.

reality hits you once more the following morning when you check social media just to see ‘#nagi seishiro’ trending all over again, all talking about the paparazzi photos that were taken yesterday. taking a glimpse for yourself, you hate the way your gut sinks, especially as articles with the title ‘nagi seishiro with a new lover?’ shine in your face.

it only solidifies your speculations about this (fake?) relationship, and despite coming to accept it, growing resentment poisons your system, rendering you incapable and bitter as you let your breakfast grow cold.

at least nagi correctly covered you with his jacket, your face is completely obstructed, only your body is revealed. you thank your lucky stars that you decided to not wear your ‘blue lock’ staff clothes that morning and just opted for your own athletic wear, that way your identity could be hidden at least just a little.

a message from reo captures your attention and you click on it immediately.

reo: is that you with nagi?

you: yeah!

reo: about fucking time. got sick of you two never doing anything.

you: haha 😐thanks reo 😐

reo: did he take you to the night market last night?

you: yeah! it was fun :)

reo: that’s good, nagi’s been waiting forever.

reo: don’t break his heart

you scoff at the irony of reo’s last text, typing something noncommittal before throwing your phone else where.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the whole team practically knows about you and nagi when you return to work the following monday and the second you enter the building, you’re swarmed by the friendly faces of bachira, isagi, and chigiri, who are seemingly holding a tired nagi hostage. quite an amusing sight. three people, who are roughly a head shorter than the white-haired, restraining a lethargic 6’3 athlete with their bodies.

“are you really dating nagi?” isagi begins before you could even fit in a ‘hello’.

“uh… yeah?” you sound unsure; because you are. a fake relationship is still a relationship, it’s just that one party is more infatuated with the other.

“damn. i didn’t think it was real,” mutters chigiri. “are you sure? he’s not like… paying you to do this, right? you like like him?”

“yes?” you exclaim, a little overwhelmed. “i’m not getting any monetary returns even though i wish i did.” nagi narrows his eyes at you, you poke out your tongue. “please, no more questions, it’s way too early for this.”

“you don’t know how long we’ve been waiting for nagi to ask you out, y/n. even we placed money on him,” reveals isagi but before you could say anything in response, bachira cuts in, practically skipping up to the white-haired.

“finally grew some balls and asked, good job bro!” bachira sings, patting nagi on the back with a violet slap before disappearing.

“see you at practice, nagi!”

the three athletes disappear and you finally exhale after holding in a breath for what felt like ages. what an animated way to start the day.

you hold your breath again when nagi approaches to stop in front of you, a singular coffee cup in his hand; one that he holds out to you.

“good morning, nagi,” you greet.

“hey, i got you coffee.” instinctively, you take the cup from him, immediately warmed up by the heat emanating from it. “i hope it’s still warm. i’ve been waiting for you for a while.”

“you were waiting for me?”

“yeah. wanted to see you before going to training. makes my day less of a bother.”

you smile into your cup, trying to hide the effect that nagi has on you. you were so stupid for him it was insane.

“i’m sorry for making you wait, the trains were a little delayed this morning,” you confess, “but thank you. you’re very thoughtful, nagi.”

his face contorts into an ugly expression, a display of his feelings that are quickly quelled by the feeling of your cold hand grabbing his warm ones. “you take public transport to work?”

“i don’t want to pay for parking and everything. it’s not all bad, i get lovely views and a wake up call every morning.”

the white-haired athlete makes a face of contemplation briefly. “let me pick you up from now on.”

“no, it’s fine. i don’t want to be more of a hassle. i know how much you hate waking up to even just come to work so-”

“-i want to.”

your heart flutters at his insistence and all you can mutter out is a feeble ‘ok’ before slipping your hand out of his. you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to get used to the way nagi seishiro so effortlessly warms your insides; to the point that it becomes an unrecognisable pool of putty.

after a moment, you regain your senses. “you should be going off to practise. don’t make ego mad before the day even starts.”

he groans, “won’t you come and watch? i’ll feel a little better if you’re there.”

“i have my own work to get to but i don’t have many checkups today so if i can, i will.”

“i suppose that’s good enough,” mutters nagi before pulling you in for a loose hug, arms wounding around your waist, breathing you in before stepping back, as if rejuvenated by your touch and presence alone.

“work hard, nagi.”

you go your separate ways, him to the field and you to your office where various coworkers resided.

after a morning of answering emails, going to meetings and consulting the results from various body screenings, you finally have a chunk of time around 11:45 am to go and watch practice. as soon as you entered the training grounds, you’re a little stunned and impressed to see that they were all doing shooting drills, landing them perfectly with no effort, the harsh sound of shoe slapping against leather ringing throughout the area.

nagi notices you almost immediately, his eyes lighting up a little when you shoot him a small wave before wandering into the bleachers, taking a seat in a second row.

you continue watching, straightening up in your seat whenever it’s nagi’s turn, waiting to watch the genius at work. the results are no less than impressive every time but you have to pretend like you weren’t at all marvelling at him whenever he turns around and looks at you expectantly.

15 minutes later, ego calls for an hour lunch break, allowing the players to break off to do whatever their heart desires. the first thing nagi does is walk over to where you sit in the stands, leaning over the first row of chairs to reach you.

“why hello there, soccer sensation,” you greet and he gives you a lazy smile.

“hi.”

“you going to go for lunch?”

“yeah. have you had something to eat yet or do you wanna grab a bite together?”

“i brought cup noodles but i don’t mind. don’t you want to go with your friends?”

“you’re better.”

“please shut up, that’s so cringe,” you murmur with an undeniable grin, one that causes his gaze to soften as well. “let’s get lunch together then.”

“let me get dressed,” the athlete says, about to run off when you abruptly stop him, causing him to turn around suddenly, his hair whipping around with his actions. “what’s up?”

beckoning him over, he returns to where he stood before and you take out a hair tie, one that you store in your pockets all the time just in case. “does your hair not bother you when you practise?” you silently ask for permission, hand merely hovering near his head until you realise that he was okay with the contact. “it’s getting all in your face, even i was annoyed when watching you.”

gently, you run your hands through his hair and despite the sweat on his forehead, it’s still soft and fluffy. goodness you could play with it forever.

then, you gather nagi’s front bangs, bringing them together to resemble a unicorn horn, tying it with your hairband. when you part from your work, you’re pleasantly surprised that it holds but you suppress a giggle because of how ridiculous he looks, paired with that dazed look in his eyes, you never thought you’d see nagi like this.

when you reach to tug your hairband out of his hair, he waves you off, taking the updo out himself.

“can i keep the hairband?” he pleads and you quirk an eyebrow.

“it’s just a hairband,” you say.

“so you won’t miss it right?”

“no, i won’t-”

“-okay, epic,” he mumbles before putting the hair tie around his wrist and a part of you swells with pride at the sight; a feeling that you try to shove down with little success. “can i get changed now?”

“yes, go.”

whilst you watch the white-haired disappear from your vision, you can’t help but wonder how you got yourself into this situation with such a weirdo. still, you adore said weirdo and this was no one’s fault but your own.

nagi wears the hair tie for the remainder of the day.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

roughly two months or so pass by and the days become a blur, especially since training is becoming more rigorous for the team due to the preparations for their spring soccer season. your schedule is piled day by day with athletes coming for their regular checkups and consultations, leaving you drained as soon as the work day is over.

nagi, your loving ‘partner’ notices this because he always likes to stick around after hours and bother you for a massage. he always insists that you do it because it’s like an immediate ‘full heal’ but you just think that he’s too lazy to book a professional masseuse and that you’re the next best thing.

whatever. at least he’s cute.

“i hardly see you nowadays,” he mutters, voice muffled by the leather bed of your workspace.

you gather a little more lotion on your hands, spreading it along his calves before pressing your thumbs into his muscles, trying to identify where any tight spots might be. “i’m sorry, i don’t have much time nowadays. appointments with you guys go all the way til six, and i don’t get home until 6:30. then i’m practically out like a light.”

he hums in torment and in consideration, tensing his shoulders a little as a natural response to the pain in his legs. “well, tomorrow’s a saturday. can i take you out?”

“i don’t know, some athletes may sporadically come and bother me to get a massage so i’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

“be serious.”

“i am free tomorrow.”

“sick. keep it that way.”

“even if athletes bother me for a much-needed massage in order to perform at their best?”

he huffs something in response before flopping his face back down on the leather bed, the (seemingly invincible) knots in his calves taking too much of your attention for you to think too hard about tomorrow’s date with nagi.

he’s still wearing your hair tie around his wrist.

true to his word, nagi picks you up the next day at 3pm for your date since he insisted that was the earliest he would be ready by (meaning, it’s the earliest he can wake up). when you meet him, you’re a little stunned by the amount of disguises he’s wearing. sunglasses, beanie, and a face mask, you’re not sure whether he’s going to attract more attention or blend in.

also, when you’re 6’3 it’s hard to avoid eyes.

“hey, i’m supposed to meet someone called nagi, he’s got white hair, grey eyes, 190 cm, have you seen him?” you ask as soon as you approach the soccer player. he sighs through his mask when you erupt into a fit of laughter. “i’m just kidding.”

nagi brings down his mask to sit below his chin. “your boyfriend is right here,” he corrects, voice demanding and authoritative, sending shivers down your spine.

“so he is,” you mumble, stepping closer to engulf him in a hug. he wraps his arms around you in return and you contentedly sigh when he pulls you into the comfortable, expensive material of his hoodie. “what’s with the disguise?”

“i don’t want anyone to ruin our day out so i’m wearing this.”

“ever so thoughtful aren’t you?”

when you take a step back, nagi’s careful to not let you stray too far which is indicated through the protective arm he keeps around your shoulders.

“should we get going?”

“yeah.”

the white-haired laces your hands with his, his grip gentle yet committed to keeping you near him as you stroll down the warming streets of tokyo.

“it’s finally spring,” nagi comments offhandedly, causing you shift your gaze towards him. you’re surprised that he was initiating conversation, majority of the time it was you doing the rambling and him partaking in the listening. “the cold weather was getting bothersome. hated going to practise all freezing, makes warmup so hard.”

“i like the cold weather,” you say. “it’s easier to dress for winter than it is for summer.”

“that is true.”

“do you like spring?”

“yeah, ‘s my favourite season.”

you didn’t think someone like nagi would bother too much with having a favourite season. “why’s that?”

“it’s a good season for napping and staying inside. i like that i don’t have to do much nor think about much.”

such a nagi response. you admire how stubborn he sticks to his ideals and general philosophy, it’s a comforting quality and aspect to have.

“plus it’s your birthday season,” you add.

he looks at you with a gentle smile before repeating: “it’s my birthday season.”

nagi takes you to a park where the cherry blossoms are in full bloom, its petals decorating the scenery and ground, creating a dainty, lovely carpet of pink and beauty. however, the main attraction of the date isn’t the scenery of the park but rather, the lake where several pedal boats float on the water; some occupied, some vacant.

the soccer player shows the attendant his purchased tickets, getting them scanned before you’re led to get on one of the boats.

“so… are you liking the date?” nagi asks when you’re out far enough from the dock so that no one can hear you. here, he takes off his mask, tucking it into his pocket.

“i am, i’ve been wanting to ride one of these boats for a long time but i’ve just never found the time,” you confess. “i’m glad that it’s with you. thanks, nagi.”

he looks away, an obvious pink tint appearing on his cheeks as he rubs his neck in embarrassment. “it’s okay, i s’pose.”

“you’re so cute,” you say whilst raising one hand to drag through his hair.

“stop,” he whines but not brushing you off or pulling away, instead, he leans into your touch.

a few minutes of silence pass by before nagi speaks up again, retreating back into his personal space as he fishes for something in his hoodie pocket. he pulls out a long velvet box, handing it over for you to take which you do with a little hesitation.

“i wanted to give you something to mark two months,” he tells you and you feel your heart drop.

“wait what? two months? i didn’t know we were celebrating that!” (because you spend too much time fretting over the day he’d tell you that he wants to break up, not needing this fake relationship anymore.) “i didn’t get you anything, i feel terrible now-”

“-it’s not a big deal, i just wanted to give you something.”

“nagi i can’t accept this, this is too good-”

“-i insist.”

“but i don’t have anything for you-”

in the blink of an eye his hands are clasped tightly around yours, his face incredibly close to yours that you’re stupefied into silence. “i. insist.”

you stare at him for another three seconds before relenting, opening the velvet box with the utmost care in fear that you might drop it in the water; a horrifying thought.

a gasp of delight slips out of your mouth when you see an emerald necklace beaming brightly in your face. it’s in the shape of a pendant, encrusted around a halo plate with gold surrounding it, and from the looks of it, it couldn’t have been cheap.

looking back up at him to express the disbelief you feel, you’re silenced by the gentle look in his eyes, one that shines with adoration and devotion.

“it’s beautiful,” you whisper, unable to talk much louder in fear that it’ll cause the emerald to shatter in your hand. “you shouldn’t have.”

“i wanted to because i really like you. stop worrying.”

you exhale deeply, a little flustered and caught off guard by how candid he was. this feels suspiciously real.

“where did you learn to be so romantic?” you quiz, using humour to narrow how awkward you felt.

“shoujos,” he answers shamelessly.

“ah.” makes sense as to why he makes you feel like you’re in one. “can you help me put the necklace on?”

the white-haired shines with glee, features brightening for a second. “y-yeah, of course.”

“thank you.”

when he grasps the jewellery in his hold you turn around to expose the back of your neck to him, practically holding your breath when you feel his warm fingers brush against your skin, his touch barely there yet still prominent enough to blaze trials of fire where he caresses.

“how do i look?” you ask, turning back around.

“beautiful,” he says, no louder than a whisper.

eventually the boat ride comes to an end and you return back to the dock. a lingering feeling of bliss and giddiness resonates in your chest, evident in the undeniable grin plastered on your face whilst you walk through the park; this time with a pretty gemstone adorning your neck.

“nagi, look!” you exclaim, gesturing over to a company-branded photo booth that had set itself up in the middle of the park. there were various people lining up for one and judging by the pleased squeals from groups of students, it would be a nice memory to keep for today. “should we take one?”

“sure,” he shrugs, letting you drag him to hop in the queue which was going much faster than you anticipated.

when it’s your turn, there’s hardly any time to discuss poses when the cameraman clicks the countdown button so unexpectedly. you reflexively hug nagi whilst smiling and he just gives a simple peace sign. he then stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you to place his head atop yours. finally, he bends down to kiss your cheek, rendering you completely mentally inable as you default a pose, not entirely too sure which one whilst you wait for the countdown and the camera flash.

“you guys are so cute!” the photographer exclaims, handing your photobooth strips already. even then you hadn’t regained your senses, relying on nagi to guide you with his hand on the small of your back.

glancing down at the photo strip, you’re stunned into speechlessness at the last photo. you can still remember the feeling of his lips on your cheek, specks of his warmth lingering on your skin whilst you continue trying to register what just happened.

you might explode or something.

“cute,” nagi mumbles whilst putting the photo strip into his wallet, pulling you in by the waist to stand closer to him, whispering in your ear. “i still have one place i want to take you.”

“do you?” you squeak, earning you a nod as he leads you through the park, coming to a stop when you enter a somewhat secluded section that had a sign labelled ‘private picnic rooms’ with various price ranges according to the number of people.

once again, he claims to have a reservation and you’re led by an attendant towards a specific area that had a table scattered with plates of snacks and various decorations. the vibe of the room was incredible with tatami mats, a floor to ceiling glass window that outlook the cherry blossoms, and if you tried hard enough, you could hear a stream running.

“you… really outdid yourself,” you murmur, wandering over to one side of the table, expecting him to sit on the other. instead, he takes the spot right beside you.

you’re not too sure if this layout is how the establishment intended it to be but it is now.

“so you like it?”

“i do. i love everything you’ve done today, you’re too good for me.”

“not true,” he grumbles, too quiet for you to address it further but loud enough for you to hear.

your relationship doesn’t make any sense to you. why is nagi trying so hard to impress you when this relationship was just for beneficial gain? what does he get from booking a pedal boat ride, buying you a (clearly expensive) emerald necklace, then taking you to have a private picnic?

picking up a piece of halved mochi with the provided fork, you give the first bite to nagi who is more than happy to oblige, chewing on it with a satisfied expression.

he’s so cute, you could pinch him.

your eyes then flit over to the decorations on the table, reaching over to the branch of cherry blossoms in a vase before you could think, ripping off one of the sticks with the bloomed flower and putting it in nagi’s hair and behind his ears. his adorableness just tripled.

“aww you look really cute with pink!”

“ya think so?”

“yeah! you’re so pretty nagi,” you reach over to fiddle with the flower, not registering how close you’d gotten to him until you feel his breath fan across your face.

then you comprehend it, frozen in place for a second as you study nagi’s beauty from an angle you hadn’t before. how his snowy hair fanned perfectly over his forehead, the way the light bounced in the reflection of his eyes, and the imperfections that littered across his skin all contributed towards making the pretty being that was nagi seishiro.

he leans in. you freak out, instinctively turning your head.

your breath gets caught in your throat when you feel nagi’s lips brush against the corners of your mouth, lingering there for a moment before parting and the look of hurt that flashes across his face hurts your soul.

did you do the right thing? you thought you did- you know nagi isn’t into you the way you are into him. this relationship was made for media attraction, for him to gain more seconds of fame, so why does he keep acting like you two are real? why does he keep protecting your identity from the internet, why did he wear a disguise when meeting you when he would have wanted to boast that he was taken, why does he want to kiss you?

why does he look so hurt when he didn’t?

this was all so confusing.

tension lingers in the air for the rest of the date. you try to compensate for it by being a little more affectionate, giving in to your desires of openly loving him for the day. nagi’s satisfied.

you don’t notice how the cherry blossom fell from his ear.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

you won’t find answers to your questions for a long time. in fact, the amount of questions you had quadrupled one night when you had spent the day at nagi’s apartment after work one day to watch a tv show that was on his ‘to-watch’ list.

“stay the night?” asks nagi, resting his head on your shoulder to give you his best puppy-dog eyes. you will yourself to not look at him by keeping your gaze firm on the television screen.

“oh this episode sounds good. maybe we can watch this then i’ll get going,” you mutter whilst fiddling with the remote, dutifully ignoring his pleads and the way he tugs at you; something that does not resonate well with him.

“oi. don’t ignore me.”

with a rough exhale, you finally turn towards him. “i can’t.”

“why not? we don’t have work tomorrow.”

“i know but i just feel bad to bother you and take up your space.”

“you’re not botherin’ me. there’s so much space here, it feels empty without you.”

“nagi-”

“-won’t you call me seishiro? or something more romantic?”

the relationship shifts with his very words and you feel the genuine desperation that bleeds from nagi through his tone. when you look him in the eye, part of you shines with hope that maybe your relationship was real and not bred for media benefit.

in this moment of weakness, you let the top of your walls crumble.

“okay, seishiro.”

he beams. a smile so pure that you shatter like glass in his hands. “yay.”

you then find yourself underneath him as he lays his entire body weight over you, pressing you into the comfortable cushions of his couch as his hands delicately run up and down your waist. paralysed with confusion at the amount of love he pours into his touch, you keep forgetting that the higher you climb, the harder the inevitable fall will be.

“stay the night, please?”

how could you say no when he was asking so nicely? “okay, seishiro.”

“yay.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“hey seishiro, are you ready?” you ask, fiddling with your rings as you round the corner of your living room where your oversized boyfriend is lounging across the couch whilst you got ready (boyfriend still feels weird to say even if he has zero problems with addressing himself by that title).

“yeah. let’s go-” he grumbles, cutting himself off when he glances over at you, eyes widening. “-whoa.”

heat rushes to your cheeks whilst nagi continues to shamelessly marvel at you, slowly standing up to cross the distance between you, his hands naturally hovering to hold your hips when he’s close enough. his gaze lingers even longer on the emerald necklace that sits between your collarbones. “like what you see?”

he stays silent for a second, leaving you to anticipate his answer. “we don’t have to go to isagi’s,” he mumbles. “how do we feel about staying in?”

“don’t. your best friend is hosting this party, can’t you at least show up for him?”

the white-haired sulks. “but you look so good. why should i celebrate that shortie instead of you?”

you push his face away, jokingly fed up with your boyfriend’s lazy attitude. “isagi is also my friend and i want to celebrate with him, just for an hour or two and then we can leave. deal?”

“fine.”

twenty minutes later, you arrive at isagi’s place where a good amount of his closest friends had gathered, showing up far earlier than you and nagi did.

truthfully, you were looking forward to isagi’s party since he was not throwing a massive rave where everyone was invited- those always ended up to be more unfortunate than fun in your opinion, and that wouldn’t exactly cater to his shy and sensible character. tonight was a gathering for his friends to hangout and celebrate. some you recognise from the team, some of them must be from high school or elsewhere.

bachira’s cheery face is the first one you see upon arrival, his smile wide as he practically bounces off the walls in excitement and you already begin to wonder just how many desserts and sweets he’s had upon arrival.

“hey it’s the couple of the century!” he exclaims with a wink. nagi keens at bachira’s compliment, all proud and boastful as his hand creeps up to hold your hip protectively. “lookin’ good as always!”

“yo, where’s isagi?” the white haired questions.

“around, i’ll take you to him c’mon!”

the two soccer players are off before you can even count to three, nagi and bachira disappearing into the crowd as the hyperactive boy drags your 190 cm of a boyfriend through the crowd. well, at least he took the gift you both bought with him, but now you feel a little alone and very awkward.

walking around the hallways of isagi’s, you feel a little out of place since most of them seemed to be high school friends. it’s not until you reached the kitchen that you sigh in relief, met with the familiar, friendly faces of chigiri and reo who see you first.

“hey!” the red-haired calls out, waving at you as you walk over to them. “it’s good to see you, y/n, how are you?”

“hey chigiri, hey reo, i’m good! i just arrived but this seems like a cool gathering. isagi’s really outdone himself,” you greet.

“yeah he did. good way to unwind before the soccer season gets too crazy,” reo chips in. “nice outfit by the way, you served!”

“oh shut up, you look amazing yourself. you too chigiri.”

“so… where’s nagi?” the purple-haired asks, checking his phone to see if he had received any texts from his best friend. “didn’t he come with you?”

“yeah but bachira dragged him to go talk to isagi as soon as i arrived. you know how he is.”

after a few more minutes of talking with the two, you finally pause the conversation out of concern about nagi’s whereabouts might be. you thought he’d come and find you after a while but guess you’ll search for him first.

informing the pair first before breaking away, you wander into the rooms where bachira pulled nagi into, blindly hoping that they’ll be in there. to your chagrin, there were only a few unfamiliar faces spread along the couches, discussing something with a drink in their hand. you ignore the sight of otoya and one of isagi’s friends sitting too close for comfort.

when you walk into the next room, you stop in your tracks at the sight in front of you: nagi leaning against the wall with a stranger who clearly has no distinction of personal space, their hand resting on his chest. your heart plunges the bottom of your stomach as distraught settles within you because of the scene unfolding in front of you, chest churning with a distant ache that you can’t put your finger on.

then he looks over at you.

the instinct to turn around and run overpowers any rational judgement, especially when a flurry of emotions begin to well up inside you, causing you to sink further and further in an ocean of doubt and fear.

you had no right to be jealous, not over nagi because you’re just his ‘pseudo-partner’, he’s not really yours and it’s moment like these that truly humble you into remembering. you’re just his ‘pseudo-partner’, you’re just his ‘pseudo-partner’, you’re just his-

“-where are you going?” comes an indifferent voice from behind you. all anxiety floods out of you like a broken dam. a warm, large hand tugs on your wrist and even if he had not spoke, you’d know from touch alone that it was nagi behind you. the multitude of times that he’s spent holding you, intertwining his hand with yours, and cherishing you has forced you to brand him into your memory.

you are his. even if it is not mutual, you would be his until he stomps the fire out.

“i-i thought i was interrupting something,” you stammer, looking into at nagi’s doe eyes.

“you didn’t. actually, you made it better by coming,” he says before wrapping his arms around your torso. “that person wouldn’t leave me alone, such a pain. tried to say i was taken too, so glad you came.”

you return the hug, trusting his words. “glad i came too.”

nagi pulls you out of the water.

“can we leave yet? i don’t wanna be here anymore.”

“just a little longer. i haven’t even seen isagi yet. plus, we should dance.”

he gives you a quick look up and down before nodding in agreement. you smack his shoulder.

you manage to locate isagi rather quickly. he was near the food bar where refreshments and various desserts and snacks laid so after greeting him, wishing him ‘happy birthday’, and chatting with him for approximately five minutes before nagi started getting bitchy, you’re pulled into the dance floor by the white-haired. he said that they were playing a good song when you asked why he was being so impatient.

with a laugh, you give in.

nagi doesn’t really know how to dance but you can’t help but be a little entertained, deciding to end his awkwardness when you grab his hands and lead him through some moves, singing along to the song with each other. it ends with your arms around his neck and his around your waist (again) when a slower song plays.

hiding your face in his chest, you breathe in the subtle aroma of his cologne that you urged him to put on earlier. when he gently prompts you to look up at him with a hand gently pulling on your hair, your breath gets caught in your throat at the close proximity as nagi stares at your lips, glancing up to meet your eyes again before leaning in.

this time you don’t feel as cruel, bracing yourself for the first sip of water after crossing the desert, for the final puzzle piece clicking into place, for the feeling of his lips slotting against yours; for the feeling of completion.

instantly you relax at the sensation, melting into his embrace as you hold onto him a little tighter, wanting more. you want to take as much of him as he’ll allow and even then, you’ll cherish every last part.

you want him the same way the ocean longs for the moon.

parting from him makes you feel empty. the lidded look he gives you is full of temptation and… love?

snapping out of your reverie, you step away from him, using his dazed state to create some distance between the two of you as you come to your senses. senses that scream at you for possibly ruining… this.

you hate that you keep running away from him, leaving him in the dust of the mess that are your feelings. it’s immature, irrational, and downright childish, really it is, but how else can you stop the way you’re about to burst at the seams? how can you stop yourself from devoting yourself fully to nagi seishiro if you don’t forcefully screw the lid over your emotions?

for the second time tonight, the white-haired chases after you because there was never another option. he despises being away from you and despises it even more when it’s him you’re running away from, wanting nothing more than to be by your side at all times.

for the second time tonight, he grabs your wrist but now, he leads you through isagi’s house, weaving through a series of well-kept and simply decorated rooms to finally arrive at a balcony. one that was untouched by the party goers.

“why do you keep doing this?” he asks, pleading for an answer as desperation laces his voice and eyes. “why do you keep running away?”

you’re stunned. he’s hurt by your carelessness and the way you constantly recoil from him as if he was electric, his powerful figure slouching, all his quiet confidence and stubbornness seeping out of him, running to pool at your feet.

“am i doing something wrong? i thought you liked me.”

“i-i’m confused,” you stammer stupidly.

he grows even more perplexed. “you’re confused? i’m even more confused! one second i think you like me then the next, you’re trying to avoid me. why do you keep doing this? i really really like you, y/n. but it doesn’t feel like you like me at all sometimes.”

“no!” you blurt out. “it’s not like that! i do like you, a lot, in fact i might even… love you? it’s just…”

as you try to recap the timeline of your relationship in the past few months, you find yourself at a loss for words as you truly realise the multitude of your stupidity. you might slap yourself in the face.

this entire time, nagi has liked you- genuinely liked you for who you are yet you’ve been denying the love he has been trying to share with you since you internalised it all to be a sham. that someone like nagi seishiro couldn’t want you in the same way you wanted him. you’ve been hurting him this entire time and you don’t know how to begin explaining why.

well… no other option than with one word at a time.

you go to grab both his hands, inhaling. “i didn’t think we got together based on genuine feelings.”

he recoils, eyebrows and nose scrunching.

“i thought you were using me to- i don’t know, trend on the internet by teasing everyone with some sort of secret relationship which sounds so stupid, i know, but i just couldn’t believe that you would want me for me,” you ramble, only stopping to breathe. “these few months have been amazing but i lowkey thought you were going to break up with me and say something like ‘surprise! i’ve never liked you’ before leaving me. i don’t deserve someone like you and-”

“what?”

you shut up.

“you thought you don’t deserve me? that’s the biggest lie i’ve ever heard. you’re perfect. i was the one that got lucky.”

“lucky? you? really?”

“yeah,” he breathes. “you’re like a gift sent by fate.”

that renders you speechless for a little. there’s more to say, you know there is because of the pregnant silence that lingers around the two of you for a little but maybe that’s for another time.

are you dreaming? this feels surreal. maybe you’ll start floating too.

“also, why would i want to trend for any other reason but soccer?”

“i don’t know! you asked me out really abruptly- i’ve never been asked out like that before! talk about confusing. and the paparazzi was waiting for us after too like, what was i supposed to think!”

“i see.”

“yeah.”

more silence.

“so… you love me?” nagi asks and you groan, removing your hands from his to cover your face from embarrassment.

“i guess i do,” you grumble.

“hey, don’t hide from me,” the white-haired says before grabbing your wrists to lower them from your face. “i love you too.”

“really?”

“yeah.”

“that’s cool.”

“it is.”

you do both of you a favour by kissing him fervently.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“sei, shouldn’t you be getting ready for the match or whatever it is you athletes do?” you ask when nagi’s mop of white hair peaks up from behind the door to your physio office.

he steps out from behind the doorframe, crossing the distance to get to you. he’s sporting his blue lock tracksuit with his hands dug into his pocket and you’re a little envious of how comfortable he looks. “i was until i realised you weren’t there. i was waiting for you to show up.”

“well i don’t really have to be there early. i just get there around 20 or so minutes earlier.”

“i see.”

“why, did you want me there or something?” you ask with a cheeky eyebrow raise, poking him in his sides causing him to recoil a little from your touch.

“why else would i walk all this way?”

“a stunning 50 metres- i’m so sorry for your perilous journey,” you comment, placing a kiss on his cheek before walking away from him to set up your box of medical supplies including kinesio tapes, bandages, and cold spray. he slumps down on the waiting couch near the entrance.

your role as blue lock’s official therapist meant that you had to be on standby for the team at all time during official matches. even though you aren’t their nurse, you still bring first aid things like ice packs to minimise the amount of time spent travelling between offices, especially if that distance is not needed.

after scanning the box for the last time and mentally ticking your checklist of materials required to bring, you pat your leg in satisfaction before standing up. “i can go to the field now. there’s probably tape changes that i need to do.”

nagi lazily grins, searching for your hand to help pull himself up. “yay.”

“you need to be warming up while we’re at it.”

“aw. okay.”

the walk back to the field is painless enough with nagi holding onto your hand for dear life whilst carrying your box of supplies for you. for someone who is about to compete in less than an hour, he is surprisingly calm, hardly different from his passive, pacifistic self. should you be nervous on his behalf?

stepping in to the field, you’re overwhelmed by the enormousness of blue lock’s home stadium, the lights shining down on you so brightly that you need a moment to recollect yourself. to think that all these empty seats will be filled with various people scares you mindless; even vacant it was still overwhelming.

“y/n!” isagi’s voice breaks you out of your reverie and he jogs over to you with that friendly smile of his. “what’s up?”

“hey isagi, sei dragged me out of my office,” you grumble before turning around to the white-haired who places your supplies on the ground, instructing him to: “go continue warming up.”

he grumbles something incoherent, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead before running off, leaving you a little flustered as the dark-haired player waits patiently to talk to you.

“so what’s up?”

“i just needed my ankle to be retaped, is that okay?”

“that is my job so come over,” you say, beckoning isagi to one of the benches nearby where you decide to station yourself for the time being.

whilst you’re unrolling the adhesive, he awkwardly sits there with his shoe and sock off, exposing his joint where he already you tape it for him.

“do you want pink or blue tape?” you ask, holding up the two options.

“pink.”

the background noises of athletes shouting and kicking soccer balls fill the silence whilst you cut up the length needed to tape isagi’s ankle.

“how are you and nagi?” he asks.

“we’re good,” you respond, mentally reminding yourself to give isagi a present in exchange for his birthday being the sole reason why your relationship strengthened. “both been busy cause of the season but it’s fine.”

“that’s okay, you’re making it work!” he reassures, “well, nagi is really happy.”

“is he now?” you ask, looking intently at your hands as they worked around isagi’s ankle, hiding your giddy expression from the soccer player. the effect nagi has on you will never disappear.

“yeah! always talks about you to us.”

“does he?”

“of course, why wouldn’t he? swears you’re the best thing to have happened to him in a long time or whatever.”

your heart warms uncontrollably. nagi seishiro was going to be your downfall.

finishing up on isagi’s ankle, he tests it out quickly before thanking you and running off again to blend in with his teammates again. ‘don’t work too hard!’ you yell out after him.

after retaping chigiri’s knee, commanding karasu to do his recommended exercises, and other various checkups, the boys are ushered back into the stadium so the audience could begin filing in. before nagi went in, he runs over to you, bundling you in his arms despite the various exclaims of ‘hurry up!’ yelled at your white-haired partner.

“gotta go,” he says breathily.

“wait, shouldn’t you take this off?” you ask, gesturing to your hair tie which sat snugly at his wrist.

“do i have to?”

“you can always rewear it after the match sei, it’s not a big deal.”

“fine. i’ll see you soon then.”

you give him a smile of reassurance, hugging him back. “go. i’ll be watching, my superstar.”

his eyes shine. “cheer for me, won’t you?”

“of course i will. i’m your lucky charm,” you tease but he takes your statement quite literally, grinning at what you say which only illuminates the cheery look on his face.

“can my lucky charm give me a kiss?”

cupping his face, you quickly place a peck on his nose before lightly pushing him away. you know the kiss is not good enough to satiate his hunger but perhaps that’s just what you want from him, to try hard for a better reward. and in this case, by trying harder, he would bring home the trophy.

“go line up!” you command.

nagi grumbles something before stepping away, “i’ll score for you.”

he dashes towards the stadium entrance, leaving you in a lovesick daze as you watch him retreat. someone clears their throat behind you and you remember where you are, sitting down to preserve some professionalism.

sitting in the medics corner was scary, especially as you watch every seat getting gradually filled with an onslaught of different people, but all you need to do for the 90 minutes is watch and be attentive to the game and the health of the players. an easy job for the amount of pay you get.

when the teams walks out into the field, everyone in the stands erupt into a roar, waving their various flags and colours. despite the chaos, nagi looks over at you and you blow him a kiss, unsure of whether or not he could actually see you.

as everything settles down, the match finally begins, starting off with a bang. from time to time you talk with the two other blue lock medics and spend the other moments admiring your boyfriend in his athletic glory.

it’s not until almost halftime that something disastrous happens. when itoshi rin collides face-first into another player, toppling over on the field on top of each other, the crowd erupts into a series of gasps and concerned noises. as the referee’s whistle is called, you three official blue lock staff scramble to the middle of the field where a crowd was gathering around the two, trying to help their soccer players but stepping out of the way when you approach.

“where are you?” one medic begins asking.

“the stadium. we’re in the middle of a match,” comes rin’s gruff tone.

“you are?”

“itoshi rin.”

“how many fingers am i holding up?”

“four.”

“what hurts?”

“my fucking face,” rin snarkily replies, trying to stand up but not making it past his knees as he stumbles a little, holding on to his nose. “shit.”

taking his hand away, there are droplets of red coating his skin and you snake yourself under his arm in order to assist with helping him to the medic’s area, another nurse doing the same. hopefully it’s not serious and he won’t need be to sent to hospital, only benched by ego. which, he was.

in your panic, you don’t register any of the commotion happening within the players themselves whereas nagi, on the other hand, hears it all clearly. how a player on the team he was playing against says something like ‘look at that cutie. reckon i could cuff ‘em?’ where his friend replies with a ‘yeah dude. seems like a babe to be honest, workin’ as a nurse and shit’, geturing to you.

nagi has never felt such an overwhelming urge to punch someone, to jump the two players and tear them apart with the fury he feels accumulating in his insides.

the whistle to notify that the game was continuing disrupts nagi’s train of thought. he goes back into position but not without snaring at the opposition.

blue lock seems to be doing fine without their number one player for the remainder of the game; in fact, nagi is practically dominating the whole field as he shoots, earning goals left and right for blue lock. he’s moving with unmatched determination; a blazing kind that you’ve never seen from him despite having seen countless of his games. you wonder what happened to him since rin got injured, where did the calm, unbothered nagi go? why are you kind of scared of your boyfriend right now?

maybe your good luck kiss worked in giving him the boost you predicted.

however, you never could have predicted the huge turnaround that your life would take when nagi’s jealousy gets too ahead of itself. when his urge to show the world whose you are outspeaks his rationality, too caught up in the torments of untamed jealousy. he’s never felt this way before; a carnal desire so inherent that it makes him feel bare.

only you could do this to him.

and only you could fix the ugly monster inside him

when blue lock scores the goal needed to take the trophy home, the stadium is deafening, so loud that you need to cover your ears from the unrestrained passion of fans and watchers alike, the buzz of excitement unmatched.

nagi is awarded man of the match, taking home a shiny trophy in recognition of his athleticism and remarkable talents. yet the first thing he does when taking his prize is not rush over to his teammates and… do whatever it is that men do, but to run over to where you reside, a possessive and dark look in his eyes. it sends shivers down your spine.

he sweeps you into his arms, winding you so close that you can feel the body heat radiating from him, even through the fabric of his jersey. the trophy presses against your back.

“can i kiss you?” nagi questions although it sounds more like a demand, especially with that breathy voice due to how much he’s been running around.

short circuiting for a moment, you reply: “but everyone’s watching.”

“let them.”

you’re well aware of the multitude of cameras that may be pointed at you and nagi. if you act stupidly, it will appear on the internet and who knows what repercussions it might bring, are you ready to be thrown into a life of chaos, joining alongside your boyfriend?

the answer is obvious when you take the initiative of kissing him, allowing him to devour you whole: his first act of establishing just exactly who you were to the entire world.

you adore how scandalous this feels.

his second act comes mere minutes later at the exit where paparazzi and media were waiting patiently behind barriers for their star players. this time, instead of leaving alone or with his teammates, there’s an unidentified figure accompanying him, hugged close to his side and proudly wearing his jersey. the very one that boasts ‘NAGI’ along the back. everything descends into chaos.

an immense feeling of deja vu encompasses you when you recall the day nagi asked you out and the overwhelming lineup of paparazzi and photographers that waited for him outside. it’s different now. you feel confident in your place beside nagi, looking perfect to him in his clothes- as if you were meant to be his.

nagi walks in front of you to use his stature to protect from the greedy eyes of the internet whilst you use your hands to cover your face as best as possible, all to ensure your privacy from those who are going to eat these photos up when they see them.

and- well, if everyone is going to see them then why not send a little message whilst nagi’s here?

the kiss nagi sneaks on your neck is entirely proprietorial, a clear sign of affection for the whole world to see as he eyes the cameras with a deadly look in his eyes.

“mine,” he mutters in your ear, sending one last glare over his shoulder before disappearing from their nosiness and intruding flashes.

the cameras can see your hair tie that slips up when his sleeves are tugged too short.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

your notifications are rampant the next morning, mostly because of friends, and ‘#nagi seishiro’ has taken the internet by storm once again.

this feeling of anxiety settling in your stomach will never go away whenever you check social media to see if any of your information has been leaked and by whatever miracle, you’re absolutely relieved to see that nothing drastic has been revealed.

speaking of boyfriend, nagi stirs from where he lays beside you, stretching for a moment before patting the bed in search for your warmth.

shutting off your phone and putting it down, you watch him try to locate you, unable to stop the smile from stretching at the corner of your lips. he’s adorable. even more so when he has to open one eye because his instincts were failing him.

“oh. why are you awake?” he asks groggily, still adjusting to consciousness. nagi tries to sit up to rest on his elbows only to fail miserably and fall face-first into his lush pillow.

“body clock,” you say. you’ll talk about yesterday later. right now, it was just you and him and the soft glow of the sun saying good morning.

“turn it off and go back to sleep.”

“fine.”

“c’mere,” nagi beckons you over weakly, hands reaching for your figure but falling short due to the enormous size of his bed.

it’s not like nagi to splurge on things but it is like him to splurge on getting the most comfortable bed ever, so when he demands you to fall back asleep, how could you say no when it feels like napping on a cloud? and with your adorable boyfriend? some things in life come too easy.

shuffling back towards him, he’s quick to throw an arm and a leg around you, trapping you in.

“my body hurts,” whines nagi. “so much.”

“what do you want me to do about that?”

“massage later, please?”

“is that all i am to you?” you question teasingly whilst rubbing hearts into his skin.

“maybe,” he sings.

astounded, you give him your best look of betrayal. “we’re breaking up.”

“no, don’t do that,” nagi pleads, hugging you closer as if you were going to get up from his vice grip in the first place. “don’t be mean.”

“oh sure because i’m the mean one,” you joke as he burrows his head into your neck. instinctively, your hands card through his hair, extra soft from washing it last night. after a moment of silence, you speak up. “you’re trending again because of me so just remember that what i said about our fame-grabbing relationship was true.”

“i didn’t mean for that to happen. i’m just too good,” he takes his head out of your neck, doe eyes looking up at you with heart wrenching awe. “and i love you too much to hide it.”

you pat his cheek, unable to stop a wide, dreamy smile from appearing on your face. “go back to sleep.”

“‘k. goodnight.” the second nagi’s head hits his pillow, he’s out like a light.

it’s a little surreal to be wrapped in his embrace like this, to be able to gaze at his features so closely and unabashedly whilst his arms extend to mould you into him. even being as close as humanly possible isn’t enough for nagi who has an unlimited desire for more, at all times.

if it’s you he wants, then you’ll happily grant it.

the last thing you see before falling into a deep slumber is a hair tie that lies on his bedside table.

#pls be nice to me i'm really fragile rn i'm sorry this wasn't amazing #nagi x reader #nagi fluff #nagi seishiro x reader #seishiro x reader #nagi x you #nagi drabble #blue lock x reader #blue lock nagi x reader #blue lock drabble #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff

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chillinglyadventurous · 28 days ago

Text

The Fever

Thank you so much for the request!!!

Stanford Pines x Reader

Tags: Fluff, sick

It started out with a sneeze. You didn’t think much of it. You’d been trudging through the rain with Dipper and Mabel in search of a scampfire just to prove to your boyfriend you could find one without his help. Ford had told you it wasn’t going to happen. The weather conditions weren’t right. It was about to rain and unseasonably cold for mid August.

How the kids didn’t get sick was beyond you because you felt like death. You were freezing and shaking, but hot and sweaty all at once. You couldn’t decide whether you were more comfortable in your sweatpants and one of Ford’s sweaters that you had stolen from his closet or in barely anything at all. You couldn’t tell whether the heat or the cold was worse.

Had it not been for Stan’s big mouth, Ford wouldn’t have even known you were sick. Besides the occasional sniffle, you looked okay-ish. No. You looked like hell, but makeup helped hide it. “Geez, [Y/N], quit coughin’ or you’ll get the whole house sick!”

Ford’s head had snapped in your direction, finally taking a good look at you. He’d been busy, usually only climbing into your shared bed after you had knocked yourself out cold with a shot of NyQuil syrup. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? I would have dropped every-“

“I’m fine,” you insisted only to be betrayed by a slurry of hacking. You resigned under his intense gaze. “Fine, I’m sick. It’s not a big deal. I just have a cold. I’ll be fine.”

Without another word, Ford’s large hand was placed to your forehead to gauge your temperature. First his palm, then the back of his hand. He moved to your flushed cheeks, bright red visible beneath the makeup you had tried to conceal it with.

Ford gave you a disappointed look, “You have a fever of 102! You most certainly are not ‘fine’, darling.”

He pulled you out of your chair only for Stan to call out as you followed Ford to your bedroom. “Yeah, get Patient 0 out of my kitchen!”

Quickly, Ford had you in his bed, stripped of your day clothes and into one his sweaters. His flannel pajama pants were on you soon after. On his bed, he slipped three pairs of socks onto your feet and bundled you up in every blanket he could get his hands on.

“You need to sweat it out,” he ordered as he tucked the blankets around your form. You were successfully burrito-d. “Once your fever breaks, the worst is over.”

You had expected him to be a bit more wary around, very cautious of whatever germs you could give him, but he kissed your forehead before leaving you in his room. After a single minute, you were bored. You tried to stand, but he had tucked you in too tightly. The most you could do was sit up, barely able to reach the book on his bedside table.

You groaned in disgust as you read the title. Statically Accurate Knowledge. With nothing better to do, you opened it only to be further disappointed. The book in your hands, all 472 pages of it, was just a run-on equation. Nerd.

Just as you were resigned yourself to counting the floorboards, Ford reappeared with a hot cup of tea. “Drink this. It should right you in a second.” He laughed as you timidly sniffed at the liquid he had given you. Of course it wasn’t chamomile or some pleasant flavor. “It’s best if you don’t smell it.”

“What is it?” You asked, voice scratchy as you spoke.

He pet over your hair which was already damp. Your shivers had mildly subsided, but he could still see your teeth trying to chatter. “Well, it will make you tired. You’ll sleep whatever is plaguing you off.”

You were already exhausted, but you held your breath and downed the steaming liquid. Your body instantly relaxed. You felt warm, so comfortably warm. Then, drowsiness overcame you.

Ford laid you down again. Before he could leave you? You grabbed the sleeve of his sweater. His eyes were kind as they landed on you. “Stay with me?” You whispered, your eyelids so, so heavy.

“Certainly.”

With the blankets curled around you, acting as a barrier, Ford held you close. He tucked your head beneath his chin as you dozed off. You hoped you’d feel better in the morning, but, maybe, you’d play this up for a little longer once you were feeling better. You loved when he took care of you.

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #stanford pines #ford pines #ford pines x reader #stanford pines x reader #stanley pines #chillinglyadventurousfics #stan pines

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haechoxo · 4 months ago

Text

[11:03 pm]

two weeks barely crept by.

an unbearable two weeks of virtually nothing, half-assed dms, shared instagram posts, before haechan just stopped altogether. the hangouts and nights spent together no longer existed. as if your friendship no longer existed. the most contact you had beyond whatever this could even be considered was stolen glances at the group’s regular cafe meetups and apartment hangouts that jaemin so very obliviously insisted on both of you showing up to, and neither of you would dare to break jaemin’s heart.

johnny threw another party, doyoung taking initiative soon after and promising it would be chill this time. it was the only way he could convince everyone to show up after the last one.

“stop crowding me!” your speech was a bit slurred, having drunk a lot more than usual. choosing to stay around mark, chenle, and jisung was proving to be a poor decision on your part with the way they’ve successfully managed to box you in near the back door. mark sighed, giving chenle and jisung a look, effectively sending them off to give you some space as he rubbed your back in a comforting gesture, but you shoved him off, grabbing another beer and stepping out onto the porch for some fresh air by yourself.

another poor choice on your part as you were unaware of haechan exiting from the other door as well, stepping out for a smoke break.

“so you and mark, huh?” he broke the silence. god, why does he have to speak?

“what does... what do you care?” you mumbled, taking a long sip of the cheap beer.

“think prim and proper gentlemanly mark is gonna appreciate you drinking that much?” the audacity.

“what. do you. care? what does it matter to you or mark?” silence. he’s taken aback by your tone, only now is he picking up on the inebriated state you’re in. “‘s not like you ever did.” you’re not making any sense.

“huh?” now he’s playing dumb, of course, looking at you like you grew a second head.

“what are you goin’ on about?”

“why do you get to react to all that i do constantly? why are you the only one allowed to be jealous, say- say all your bullshit and make me feel bad!” you scoff, “mark was never the problem, right? i was. w-what does she have... that i don’t?” any snide remark he had ready to fire, died on his tongue as he watched your glassy bloodshot eyes glare back at him.

“it’s not fair, donghyuck.” he flinches, hearing his own name leave your lips in such fashion. “you don’t get to act like i’m yours if you won’t show me, it’s not fair for you to act like we were nothing. i gave you everything, hyuck, and you left me.” why are you telling him all of this? he’s just standing there in stunned silence, without a care in the world, and your words just keep pouring out, one for each sip of that disgusting cocktail taeyong mixed earlier.

“you were doing so well at leaving me alone before, but you’re really fucking bad at it right now.”

previous - next

a/n ; ok chapter five………. not as exciting as the last ones….. not sure if i like it too much i read it over a few times and had bff proofread as well soooo hope u enjoy!! advice is appreciated! xoxo jelly

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kenmaswoman · 4 months ago

Text

confessing to atsumu - fluff , 1.1k words

almost everybody assumed you were friends with osamu because of your massive crush on atsumu. To be fair, you were never really good at hiding your feelings, whether it be the way you blushed when he simply greeted you in the corridors or the way you begged osamu to let you join one of their practices one day. Everybody knew you had a crush on atsumu. You didn’t really care though, you were friends with his brother, not him so what’s the worst that could happen? him rejecting you? you’ll simply move on.

It worried you at times because you did not want osamu to think that the only reason why you befriended him in the first place was to get closer to atsumu. But as time passed you realized he knew your bond went beyond your silly (disgusting) crush on his twin.

“how come you’ve never told tsumu you liked him?” osamu asked you sitting on his bed “it never really mattered, he knows i like him, everybody does. and he’s never mentioned it to me” you reply “for what it’s worth i genuinely do not think he knows” osamu says “knows what?” atsumu asks barging in “none ‘yer business get out” osamu yells at his brother “what? I can’t be third wheel for today” he says as osamu laughed. if only he knew… “no yer can’t. plus i’ve gotta go for a short while. wait for me here?” osamu asks turning to you “fuck no. why would i wait hours in your room bored as fuck when i can go home?” you replied back “i’ll make dinner when i come back” says your friend “‘kay i’m sold” you say sprawling on his bed “entertain her for me please” samu says to his brother before leaving

you’ve seldom hung out with atsumu alone, which is part of the reason why your palms are a little sweatier than you’d like to admit. you reminded yourself you should not worry tho, he was just a silly boy after all.

“so what were you talking about earlier?” atsumu asks. man he really was not going to leave you alone “the massive crush i have on someone” you reply nonchalantly. he knew of this crush already so why should you be ashamed “you have a crush on someone????” he asks, it makes you get up in an instant. no way he was being serious “atsumu be for real right now” you say in disbelief. was this man THIS much oblivious? “you like samu right? i thought you guys were dating so calling it a crush is super weird to me” he replies looking at you dead in the eye. he was indeed this much oblivious.

“you’re laughing a little too hard at me right now, it’s hurting my feelings” atsumu says, you could hear the pout in his voice. “i’m sorry it’s just unbelievable to me. me dating osamu???? never in a million years oh my god” you say wiping a tear from your eye. “then who’s this mysterious crush? i want to be in on it too” he asks. you could tell him, you thought he knew already so telling him now wouldn’t make much of a difference. plus if he were to reject you right now, you’d have osamu’s cooking to look forward to. “you. i like you. it’s so obvious too, everybody knows about it” you say not looking at him. bravery was not an adequate adjective to describe you “samu knew?” he asked “yea, told him the first time i talked to him, wanted to get it out of the way so he knew i wasn’t using him to get to you” you reply laying back down on osamu’s bed, grabbing one of his pillows to place on your stomach “this fucking bitch” was all astumu muttered, making you look up to him confused. he was taking a real long time to answer your confession

“before you even befriended to osamu i kept talking to him about how i had this massive crush on you. when he started befriending you i was sooo mad and jealous and at one point i assumed you guys started dating because you got closer and you’d constantly be here and hang in his room with the door closed, also you guys would eat together and shit… he’d even cook for you! he never cooks for me when i ask him to only when he’s in the mood… so eventually i stopped mentioning my crush on you because you know it’d be disrespectful to like my brother’s girlfriend. but now that i know that he knew you liked me this whole time and never said anything to me???? i’m gonna kill him.” he rambles

“you like me too?” you asked surprised, fully seated up once again. “yea but that’s not my concern right now. just wait until the bitch gets hom-“ he says before getting cut off to the front door opening. you were half amazed at the timing and half baffled at how you guys liking each other was ‘not his concern right now’.

“you. come here” atsumu says yelling at osamu “why’s he mad?” your friend asks you. you didn’t answer though, still busy trying to come up with the best way to shake some sense into atsumu. “you knew this whole time. THIS WHOLE TIME. that she liked me and never said anything even though you knew i liked her back??? i even stopped mentioning her because i thought you were dating why would you not correct me on that??” atsumu says his hands gripping his hair out of frustration. “you thought her and i were dating?… i guess a lot more things make sense now” osamu replies a hand on his chin. and before atsumu could even reply he received a kick right in his rib

“ouch. why would you do that” atsumu says rubbing his side pouting at you “ i’m sorry ‘not your concern right now’??!!! i’m gonna make this your concern boy” you say threateningly “why do you cook for her if you’re not dating?” atsumu asks “she bribes me. a real gaslighter this one” he says moving to the kitchen to prep dinner. and as he sees you pounding on his brother to get him to pay attention to the milestone you guys seemed to have reached, he sighs knowing that his days will inevitably get worse as time progresses. maybe he should’ve let atsumu think you guys were dating for a little longer. perhaps until he no longer shared the same house as his twin

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artemis32 · 11 months ago

Text

Duplicity

Dabi / Touya Todoroki x reader (ft. Tomura Shigaraki & Keigo Takami)

****

First fic in yonks, and it's a dark one (seriously. read the warnings)

i have three other fics i'm working on that i'm hoping to have done in the next week or two :))

word count - 7.5k

tw: dark content, noncon / dubcon (mostly noncon), (pseudo) incest??, yandere, threesome, gangbang, vaginal sex, oral sex (both m and f receiving), throat fucking, slapping (not in a sexy way), praise, degradation, they're all pretty mean, voyeurism, choking (not in a sexy way), Dabi is called Touya pretty much the entire fic, and he has a Jacob's ladder, the big dick Shiggy agenda continues, violence, creampie, no protection (wrap it before you tap it kids), chasing, Touya has a thing for tits, some head injury (reader should really have that checked out), Keigo's kinda just there for the vibes tbh

bnha masterlist

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The mumble is dejected, barely uttered under your breath, and promptly followed by a heavy huff.

Your day had been hell personified, to put it lightly.

A slew of unfortunate events had been what made up your day, bad luck from the moment you’d opened your eyes that morning - late, might I add.

All of your bad luck had culminated into what had probably been the worst day of your life, and to top it all off, you’d been forced to walk home in the rain. Twenty minutes of trudging down a bunch of empty streets saw your already terrible mood plummet, becoming ten times worse.

You’d been looking forward to the day’s end - all you wanted was to get home, for some peace and quiet and whatever leftovers you could find shoved in the back of the fridge.

That’s why, right now, you feel yourself itching with barely concealed irritation.

There, sat far too comfortably on the sofa, was your brother.

Step brother.

As if you’d ever call that waste of space your brother.

Worse still was the fact that he had two of his creep-fest friends with him.

That wasn’t what annoyed you, although you hated that they had decided to spend their time here instead of elsewhere.

No, what annoyed you most was-

“You couldn’t have picked me up? I had to walk in the rain. Twenty minutes Touya!”

He glances over at you, barely registering your words, his attention more focused on the game he’s playing with one of his friends - the blue haired one who has a habit of seemingly undressing you with his eyes everytime you see him.

You shiver in slight disgust as he eyes you up.

“And? How’s that my problem?”

You groan in frustration, kicking off your shoes in the entryway and stomping up the stairs towards your room.

“Fucking stupid, waste of space, dumbass, idiot - I’ll shove that damn controller up your ass.”

You take a deep breath, calming yourself.

It’s fine. This is fine.

After you’ve calmed yourself and changed out of your soaked clothing, you head downstairs again, pausing on the landing to stare out the window.

The rain pelts down in thick sheets, so heavy you can barely see beyond the window.

You preoccupy yourself with grabbing something to eat, shoving a few slices of leftover pizza onto a plate and into the microwave. While it heats up, a thought hits you and you head back to the living room.

“Hey Touya, when’re mom and dad getting home?”

He doesn’t answer. You wait a while, thinking he’s preoccupied.

Still nothing.

You ask again.

“Touya-”

“Fucking hell!” he yells, slamming his hand down on the coffee table.

The screen flashes as his character dies and Shigaraki snickers next to him.

Touya turns to glower at you.

“Stop bothering me.”

You roll your eyes.

“When’s dad getting home?”

He leans back, flicking at the controller as another round starts up. Shigaraki hands his controller over to Keigo, or Hawks as his friends mockingly call him.

“Eh? He’s not coming home. Him and your mom left for a business trip this morning - didn’t they tell you?”

You still.

A business trip?

You hum out a distracted thanks, heading back into the kitchen as the microwave blares. You grab the still-hot plate before heading back up to your room, crawling under the pile of blankets on your bed.

****

You put the thought of your parents and their last minute business trip out of your mind. Instead, you think about other things.

Like the fact that Touya refused to call your mom ‘mom’.

You didn’t blame him, per se. In fact, it was probably better that he didn’t.

It was just strange - Shouto, Fuyumi and Natsuo all called your mom theirs, so it was always jarring to hear Touya call her ‘your mom’, or even worse, by her first name. But it never seemed to bother her, so you never mentioned it.

It wasn’t as if he was even around often enough for it to be a big deal.

Mostly, he stayed with one of his friends, coming home only when no one else was around or if he needed a change of clothes.

It was an arrangement that suited everyone, though your father never seemed to appreciate his son’s flighty nature.

Whatever, it was none of your business.

All you knew was that whenever he was around, he made your life a living hell.

Before your mom had married his dad, you’d never had any siblings, so the only image you had of that type of relationship before was the stuff you’d seen on tv.

Shouto and Natsuo were nice enough, adopting you as their younger sister. You’d joined their family early enough that it felt as if they really were your siblings - you were barely four years old at the time, two years younger than Shouto.

Fuyumi had smothered you in the beginning, coddling and cooing at you like a pet.

Once the novelty had worn off, she’d become somewhat of a normal older sister, though still far more affectionate than what you expected.

Touya though - he avoided you like the plague, at least for the first few years after you’d been forced to live together. Sometime after your tenth birthday though, he’d turned into your own personal tormentor, teasing you like some stereotypical middle school bully, pulling at your hair, tripping you while you walked up the stairs, locking you in the basement if you went down alone to get something out of your dad’s office. Once or twice, he even managed to get you into a headlock, letting up only once you were seconds away from passing out.

It was horrible, and your siblings stepped in wherever they could.

He seemed to lose interest after a while, settling on slinging insults your way whenever he was near. Eventually even that seemed to lose its appeal, and, as of late, he’d gone back to ignoring your very existence, as he had when you’d first met.

It might have hurt your feelings, if you’d had any type of relationship with him. Now, you were just thankful he wasn’t trying to wrestle you to the ground whenever he saw you.

Your musings are cut short by a loud clap of thunder, and you flinch as the windows rattle.

Thunder never bothered you, but the storm seemed to be getting worse, and in the back of your mind, you registered that Shouto still wasn’t home.

You fidget with the blanket on your lap for a few more moments, trying and failing to distract yourself with your phone. You find yourself tapping Shouto’s contact, calling him before you can think twice.

Most of the time, you were concerned your siblings would find you clingy and annoying, as Touya had no problem reminding you, but you cared for them, and that meant you fretted over every little thing.

You pull at a loose thread on your sweater while the line rings, staring vacantly out the window as rain continues to streak down, blurring the view of the garden.

Will it flood? They might have mentioned something on the weather report this morning. I really should start paying more attention.

“Hello?”

You lurch forward. “Shouto? Hey, what’s up?”

He greets you, asking why you called.

“Well, you aren’t home yet and the weather’s looking pretty bad. I just- I was wondering if you’re coming home tonight?”

If you were talking to anyone else, you’d be worried about sounding pathetic - needy.

But it’s your brother. Your older brother who loves you and would never mock you for your concern.

He hums before answering. “Oh, yeah, I forgot to let you know, I’m staying over at Midoriya’s tonight. We have a project to work on and it’s just easier to stay here for the night.”

“Oh,” you say.

There’s a long pause, neither of you saying anything for a long moment.

“Okay, I just- um, wanted to check in.”

You take a deep breath, pulling yourself together.

“Well, have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’s about to put the phone down while you scramble to keep him on the line.

“Wait!” you exclaim, “Mom and dad are away on a business trip”

“Yes, I know,” he says evenly.

There ‘s another pause.

“Natsuo should be home soon though - his classes ended about half an hour ago, so you won’t be alone,” he reassures you.

“Okay,” you say, sighing through your nose. “Okay, I- goodnight Sho, see you tomorrow.”

He bids you goodnight once more before ending the call.

You stay still, not moving from your spot for a long moment.

The truth…

The truth was that you weren’t exactly comfortable being alone in the house with Touya. Well, Touya and his friends.

Not that he’d ever done anything beyond bullying you, but - well, you hadn’t been alone with him for more than ten minutes since you were seven years old, and you weren’t eager to try your luck.

Bruises healed, but his scathing words took longer to soothe.

You shake your head.

No.

No, grow up - there’s no need to be so scared. It’s just for one night. And besides, I can just stay in my room and he’ll stay downstairs. Far away from me. And Natsuo will be here. I won’t be alone.

This is fine.

It’s fine.

****

After taking your dishes to the kitchen, you make your way back upstairs and head to the bathroom you and Shouto share, locking the door before stripping and jumping into the shower.

The hot water helps work the knots out of your neck, and you sigh heavily as you stand under the jets of water.

After scrubbing your hair and body, you leave the shower and brush your teeth. Enveloping yourself in a massive towel, you unlock the door and pad over to your bedroom.

A hot shower had unsurprisingly done wonders for your mood, and you felt much better now. Although, a part of you wished you’d properly relaxed and taken a bath instead - you were sure your muscle aches would be a thing of the past if you had.

You stop short in the middle of the hall.

The door is ajar. Your door.

You’d shut it.

Before you went to the bathroom, before you’d gone downstairs to the kitchen, you had shut your door.

Hands shaking, you reach for the handle and push it open.

Nothing.

It’s empty.

You sigh through your nose, closing the door behind you and heading over to your closet.

After changing into your pyjamas - sleep shorts that could just as easily pass as underwear for how short they were, and a ridiculously oversized shirt, stolen from either your father or Natsuo - you head over to the hamper in the corner of your room, dropping your towel into it and-

You let out a strangled sound, and it dies in the back of your throat as you freeze with your hand still outstretched.

Laundry was a chore you kept up to date with at all times, preferring to keep your clothing separate from the rest of your family.

You tended to wash your underwear in a separate load too, so it often took longer to get to.

That being said, you were supposed to do a load today, and there, on top of the full hamper, was a pair of panties.

Your favourite pair.

The lacy white undergarment lay crumpled up, discarded in a hurry. And it was covered in something thick - both creamy and white.

You feel yourself gag.

Anger- No, rage blinds you as you move to the door.

****

You storm downstairs, unthinking as you march into the livingroom and stand with crossed arms in front of the TV, ignoring the indignant yells that follow as both Tomura and Keigo die in the game.

“You’re disgusting.” You spit out, your words venomous and your tone scathing as you keep a tight grip on your soiled underwear.

Touya regards you with a bored, uninterested look, pausing for the briefest moment to eye the panties crumpled in your hand. The two other men take the unprompted disruption as their chance to take a break, Tomura standing up and heading towards the bathroom.

“Hm? Did someone upset the poor sensitive baby?” He asks in a mocking tone, rolling his eyes as he holds out a hand for the controller.

“You and your disgusting degenerate friends are the ones who upset me. Stay out of my room, and keep your goddamn dicks in your pants.” You snap scornfully, glaring down at him.

He pauses, his eyes narrowing as he sits straight and leans forward, his voice dropping an octave as he stares you down intently.

“What?”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Don’t ‘what’ me, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Tomura returns from his trip to the bathroom, flopping down on the couch with a grunt as he restarts the game, craning his neck to peer around you at the TV.

“No. I don’t. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the literal cumstain one of you left on my underwear. Just because none of you have ever felt the touch of a woman doesn’t mean I appreciate you using my underwear to get your rocks off.”

His eyes lighten in amusement at the words, and the smug smirk he wears as he glances at his friends makes your blood boil.

“The kitchen, huh Shiggs? You dirty freak.”

Somehow, you don’t think the words are meant as an insult. The three laugh, ignoring you completely. Keigo even claps the blue haired reprobate on the shoulder in an almost congratulatory gesture.

Rage roars in your ears, and any sense of civility evaporates as you glare at them.

“I’m telling my mom.”

The words, however childish they may be, slip out before you can stop them. It’s all you can think to say at that moment.

Touya pauses, wrinkling his nose in an expression similar to disgust as he scoffs.

“Your mother? Ha, fuck off, I don’t care what she thinks. She’s not my mother. She’s nothing. She’s a brainless bimbo whose only purpose is to spread her legs for my asshat father.”

The words sting more than they should, considering you know they’re not true, and you bite back, uncaring of how you might hurt him as the words spill out of you, trembling hands clenched so tightly your nails dig into your palms, drawing blood.

“Yeah, well, at least she actually loves me. It’s more than you can say for your mother. And at least the rest of the family actually want me around. Fuck, at least Dad looks at me- he’s too disappointed in you to even look at your face.”

Tomura and Keigo’s reactions tell you everything you need to know. You just fucked up. Royally.

The only sound besides the constant battering of rain against the large windows is the sharp intake of breath from Touya’s two friends, and they sit deadstill, staring between the two of you as they wait with bated breath for Touya’s response.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t even move.

The room seems frozen in time. No one moves, no words are spoken to break the silence.

You move. The smallest of steps, a miniscule shuffle to the side, towards the staircase.

It seems that’s all he needed.

Touya is on his feet in an instant, darting towards you, but you’re already making a mad dash for the stairs.

He tackles you down before you’ve even made it halfway, grabbing your ankle and jerking you closer midstep. Your forehead collides painfully with the edge of a step and you let out a pained, strangled whimper.

Much of what Touya tells his friends is lost to the ringing in your head. All you really register is him picking you up, feeling near weightless as he carries you past the living room, his friends’ leering gazes digging into your scalp as the two of you descend into the basement.

Your attempt at wriggling out of his arms is pathetic and half-hearted, and when you try to grab at the door frame to halt his movement, he cruelly twists your wrists, his expression unchanging at your cry of pain.

The last thing you see before the basement door closes is the enraptured gleam in Tomura’s eyes.

****

You weren’t ever really allowed in the basement, not that you had a reason to enter the restricted space.

Regardless, you never wanted to be down there. It was cold, and dark, and it sent a stab of unbridled panic down your spine. It only really contained your father’s old office space and a spare bedroom which had been used as a storage space for the better part of the last twelve years. All in all, it was an empty, forgotten space.

The handful of times you’d been down there never ended well.

And as usual, the problems had to do with Touya.

Always Touya.

He’d locked you down there for hours once, before it had become essentially abandoned.

You’d been five years old, still young and believing the best of him. He’d told you it had been a game of hide-and-seek.

Only, you’d spent the better part of eight hours screaming and sobbing, completely unheard in the soundless backroom of the basement. You’d passed out on the bed sometime after the six hour mark, sleeping soundly until you were found.

Your mother had been in a panic by the time she’d found you, letting out relieved sobs of her own as she scooped you up into her arms and cradled you against her chest soothingly.

Your parents had thought, completely unaware of the truth, that you’d strayed down there alone and managed to lock yourself in. Since that moment, you’d been banned from wandering into the basement by yourself.

Similar things had happened over the years, and unsurprisingly, Touya had been the root cause of many of the problems you’d dealt with.

Presently, he tosses you uncaringly on the bed, scoffing in bored amusement as you scramble over the bed and huddle against the headboard.

Despite your earlier brashness in confronting him, you were terrified. The reality of the situation had set in, and you felt your stomach roil as Touya stared you down with heavy lidded eyes, his gaze contemplative as he scans your half-bare body.

You’d seen that look before, and it made your skin crawl. It terrified you.

It was how Tomura looked at you when he brazenly palmed the bulge in his pants.

How stupid of you, marching downstairs and confronting three grown men, as if you had any chance of winning an argument. You wished you’d had the forethought to at least put on a proper pair of pants.

You swallow thickly, clenching your trembling hands into tight fists as you straighten your spine, attempting to appear calm and unaffected.

“Okay Touya, you’ve made your point. You can stop now, I-I won’t tell anyone.”

It’s an effort to swallow your pride, but you manage the words through gritted teeth, bowing your head as you continue.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry for being, uh- For being mean.”

Touya rolls his eyes as he leans forward and grips your ankle tightly, his palm calloused and warm, pulling you closer in one quick jerk, your ass teetering on the edge of the bed. “Imoto…” he trails off, his tone far too sultry for the situation, caressing the inner side of your ankle with his thumb, stroking the soft skin as he tilts his head, deep in thought.

His grip tightens again, to an almost painful extent, and you suppress a cry as the delicate bones of your ankle groan under the pressure. His voice is cold and condescending as he speaks.

“You’re so stupid.”

You lean further back as he hovers over you, surveying you with flat, emotionless eyes.

“I don’t care that you were mean. Just like I don’t care if you tell anyone. I don’t care if they believe you either. You know why? Because no one will do anything,” he whispers, toying with the hem of your shirt as he regards you with cool indifference.

“I could do anything I wanted, and no one would say a thing. In fact, I will do what I want… Do you know what I want?”

You shake your head, hesitant and silent in your state of panic.

“Aw, imoto, you know you shouldn’t lie to your big brother,” he murmurs patronisingly, gripping the hem of your shirt as he slowly lifts it up, leaving it to rest just above your bare breasts.

His pupils are blown wide as his hand trails down your waist, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Y’know, you’re pretty grown now, aren't ya? I wonder… Have you let anyone touch you yet?”

He hums to himself, not pressing you for an answer as he continues in a stupor, seemingly unaware of your silent horror. You’re completely frozen, too shocked to move, to speak, to do anything. You can’t even bring yourself to lower your shirt as you listen in abject horror as he continues on.

“I really hope you haven’t. Not that it really matters… Touya-nii will take real good care of you, don’t you worry… It’s about time I treat that bad attitude of yours too.”

You’re frozen in disbelief and fear, completely paralysed as he shoves a leg between yours, keeping them open as he shifts his grip from your ankle to your hips.

The stupor is short-lived, and your struggles renew twofold as he paws at your clothed cunt. There’s a satisfying thwack sound as your foot connects with his jaw, though the sense of victory quickly fizzes out within the long bout of dead silence. Touya tilts his head to the side staring at the wall blankly, and after a few long moments, he moves, slowly facing forward again, rubbing his jaw, seemingly completely ignoring you as he works his jaw.

He huffs, the sound reminiscent of an amused scoff as he looks down at you with rage simmering in his eyes.

“Like I said: You’re so fucking stupid.”

You don’t see the slap coming. All you register is the blurred sight of his arm flying towards you, his numerous rings glinting in the lowlight of the room, and the sudden burn of his backhand striking you across the face. A short, surprised huff is all you can manage, the sharp taste of blood and the stinging pain of rapidly developing welts on your cheek distracting you from reacting.

A trembling palm presses to your tender cheek, and you look up at him with shocked eyes.

“You… hit me.”

He lets out a sardonic laugh, rolling his eyes as he clicks his tongue and caresses your cheek, condescending in his tone.

“Aw, my sweet little sister. You sound so surprised. If I’d known you were such a baby, maybe I’d have taken my rings off for you. Here-”

He pauses, pulling away as he discards his rings haphazardly, turning to frame your face with his calloused palms. His eyes soften slightly as he looks down at you, caressing your tender, reddened cheek for a moment, his fingers lovingly stroking the warm flesh before digging into the fat of your cheeks and his gaze hardens.

The next slap feels worse than the previous, if that’s even possible.

You’re still reeling from the rough strikes, jolting out of your daze as you feel Touya’s palms ghost over the inside of your thighs.

His gaze is focused and razor sharp as he soaks in the sight of your scantily clad core, his palms encasing the tender, soft flesh of your thighs.

Squirming uncomfortably does nothing as he pins your hips down, shifting to kneel on the floor before the bed, yanking you closer and throwing your legs over his shoulders.

Dread drops into your stomach like a stone, making your head spin. As badly as you try to keep them at bay, tears bubble up, dripping down your temples as you sniffle, staring up at the ceiling as you beg.

“Stop– Stop!” You wail panickedly, thrashing beneath him, making no attempts to disguise your sobs. “Stop or I’ll tell Dad!”

He lifts his head from where it was descending between your legs, grinning wickedly at the words.

“Dad? Aw, you sweet, innocent thing. He’d do the exact same thing if he could. Where do you think I get it from, huh?” he says mockingly, condescending as he slaps your cheek lightly before moving back to his previous position, his mouth dangerously close to your centre despite your tightly clenched thighs.

“Come on now, open up for me. It’ll only hurt more if I have to make you.”

A pleading whine is all you can manage as you shake your head, keeping your legs pressed together.

His eyes turn cold at that, all playfulness and teasing leaving him in an instant. He cruelly digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs and huffs in annoyance at your yelp of pain, leaning forward as you jerk your legs apart from the pressure.

A moment later, his warm mouth envelopes your clothed sex.

Your hips jolt, and you gasp in surprise, eyes wide and rounded as you stare down at his bowed head between your legs.

This… This was wrong. So wrong.

Even if you didn’t like him, even if you were loathed to admit it- He was your brother.

Your brother.

“Touya… Stop, please. Please,” you beg quietly, your voice quivering with effort as you reach down to his head, intent on pushing his face away.

You don’t get very far.

His grip is like a vice on your wrist, and he doesn’t look up and he squeezes down painfully, tutting in mock disappointment.

“Did your mother never teach you it’s bad manners to interrupt someone’s meal?” he murmurs, not looking up at you as he massages your hips, hooking his fingers over the hem of your sleep shorts.

It’s torturous. A sick, twisted punishment, the way his focus is wholly dedicated to undressing you.

Shame floods your chest, burning up your neck and over your ears.

He pulls your shorts down, inch by inch until you’re exposed to him, shivering in the cold, stagnant air of the basement. He looks up at you then, regarding you with cool indifference as he kneads the fat of your thighs.

“Itadakimasu,” he purrs softly before descending on you.

A breathy, strangled garble is all you can manage as he licks a smooth, confident stripe up your slit, twirling his tongue lightly around the bud of your clit before returning to your cunt.

His tongue is teasing, punishing as he laps at your core, slurping loudly as if to humiliate you. It works, tears of shame burning your eyes as he pulls away after a few minutes to stare up at you with an appraising eye.

“Someone’s enjoying this, hm? Look at how worked up I’ve got ya…” he hums softly, shifting his hand to rub tight circles on your clit as he stares you down.

“You’re a disgusting whore, getting off on this. Like mother, like daughter, huh?”

The words snap something inside of you, and you decide in that moment, you want to hurt him- kill him. Gouge his eyes out and shove them down his throat.

“I hate you.”

You glower and slap him across the face with as much force as you can muster, not giving him a moment to react as you kick his shoulder, sending him careening back before you jump off the bed, yanking your shirt down in the process.

Though you try to sprint for the door, your relief is short lived.

At least the floor is carpeted here, you think gratefully, sparing your head the aching reverberation as your skull bounces off the ground for the second time that evening.

He wrestles you onto your back, keeping you pinned with frightening ease.

You realise in that moment, he’d been allowing you to put up a fight. Though he seemed somewhat lanky at first glance, his torso and arms were corded with muscles. Muscles he used to keep you restrained beneath him as he ripped off your shirt, tearing through it like paper and leaving you stark naked beneath him. Your struggles had been little more than a game to him, one which he’d played along with all evening.

Screams and pleas fall on deaf ears as he snarls down at you, hatred simmering in his eyes. A thin trail of blood drips down from his cheekbone and onto your bare chest, the scratch on his face red and angry from where you’d struck him.

“I was going to be nice, get you all prepped and ready, maybe even give you an orgasm or two. But you’re such an ungrateful fucking whore,” he spits, wrapping his hand around your throat to quieten your wails.

When you continue struggling, thrashing beneath him with flailing limbs, he lifts you up slightly by your throat before slamming you down, knocking the last of your breath from your lungs.

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to punish you for that little stunt just now, and then I’ll let my friends upstairs have their way with you too. It’s the least you could do after you were so rude to them, hm?”

You have no words left. No hateful insults, no pleas, no threats, nothing.

All you can do is cry soundlessly as he unbuckles his belt, the metal clinking as he yanks it off and shoves his pants down his thighs, lining himself up with your mostly unprepped entrance.

He slaps your cheek lightly, shaking your head as you try to dissociate from reality.

“Nuh uh, none of that now. I want you here. Pay attention,” he hisses, gripping your jaw tightly before shifting his palm back down to your neck, his grip bruising and painful.

A pained squeak is all the noise you can manage, clawing at his hand on your throat as his cock shoves into your core.

It’s agonising, painful, feeling him force his way into you, violating you.

His hips jerk forward in short spurts, fighting against the resistance of your unprepared core with every stroke, his Jacob’s ladder rubbing your walls raw with each vicious stoke. Tears dampen your temples, burning your eyes, and you wait for the pain to subside as he pushes in to the hilt and stops with a puff, his breathing evening out after a long moment.

The two of you lay there in silence, and you suck in a shuddering, wheezing breath as he released the column of your throat. His hand travels down your bare body, coming to rest on your pubic bone as he uses his thumb to massage tight circles into your clit.

His ministrations leave your legs quaking, and your orgasm overtakes you without warning, slamming into you like a tidal wave as you whine and arch your back off the ground, begging him in broken babbles to stop.

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, and he seems to double down, grinning cruelly as he continues to flick your swollen clit.

“Come on now, you can give me one more,” he coaxes teasingly.

And you do. You cum again, your walls fluttering around his cock as your eyes roll back in your head.

His fingers stop their tortuous movements while you pant, but you’re not granted a reprieve as he grips your hips, lifting them slightly to position the back of your ass on the top of his thighs. He jerks his hips forward, snickering as you gasp and whine before drawing his hips back and slamming forward.

The movement makes your breasts bounce, and he immediately sets an arduous pace.

You dig your fingertips into the carpet beneath you, clinging onto it for dear life as he fucks his way deeper into you, pressing your thighs to your chest.

The noises you let out are disgraceful, moans and whines that would put a pornstar to shame, but your mind feels blank, empty of all thoughts besides the feeling of his cock filling you up, the mind numbing massage of his piercing against your gummy walls.

Touya isn’t much better off. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth and his brow is furrowed, twitching as he grunts and moans each time he bottoms out inside you, feeling your walls suck him in deeper with each stroke. You’re both covered in a light sheen of sweat, panting heavily and trembling with the exertion, and your cheeks still shine with tears.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “My sweet little sister, nothing but a dumb little cumslut. What would everyone say if they could see you now, huh?”

His words are hateful and meant to hurt you, but you can’t think, can’t respond in anything but breathless moans as he pulls you closer and picks up the pace.

“Say thank you. Say ‘thank you big brother for making me cum’. Say it.”

He’s as demanding as ever, tweaking your nipples in punishment when you make no attempt to respond, insead laying dumb and drool covered beneath him.

“Say it,” he orders you.

“T-Thank you- fuck- thank you Touya.”

He scoffs, slapping your tits with an open palm.

“Thank you Touya-nii,” he corrects you, squishing your cheeks together with one palm as he shakes your head back and forth.

“Thank you Touya-nii,” you whine, writhing beneath him.

He rewards you by leaning forward and spitting into your squished open mouth, clamping his palm over your mouth as you gag and try to spit it out.

“Ah ah, swallow.”

You do.

He pats your cheek in a gesture that seems almost loving, shifting his fingers down to your clit once more.

“You wanna cum again? Wanna cum on your big brother’s cock?”

It’s a rhetorical question, he’s already forcing you over the edge for the third time that evening, leaving you a twitching, overstimulated mess beneath him.

"It was me, by the way. I used your underwear- I came to tell you Natsuo wouldn't be home tonight, but instead all I find is some lacy white shit."

He chuckles at your horrified expression, groaning at the feeling of your fluttering walls.

“-’m gonna fill you up,” he grunts to himself, gripping your thighs, digging his nails into the tender flesh as he uses your body.

His words fill you with cold dread, but you don’t have time to interject before he stills with a throaty groan, slumping over you as his cock twitches inside you and warmth floods your belly.

“F-Fuck, so good-” he mumbles into your chest as he presses kisses against your tits, still grinding into you as your walls twitch pathetically around him.

He huffs a spiteful laugh at the whine you let out as he pulls out of you, his cum dribbling out of your spent cunt. He lightly slaps your cunt, smirking as your legs twitch, before he sits back on his haunches and tucks his now limp dick back in his pants.

“Up. Get on the bed.”

Your mind, somewhat coherent once more, is in a frenzy.

What the fuck had you just done.

This was wrong. So, so wrong.

What would your parents say? What would your siblings say?

Oh God, if they saw this, saw you…

You feel sick, your stomach roiling as you sit up, shoulders shaking with cold realisation.

Another harsh slap to the face pulls you out of your panicked reverie.

Touya looms above you with cold eyes and an unimpressed expression.

“Get on the fucking bed. Right now. We’re not done here.”

You know by now that fighting is useless. He was so much bigger and stronger than you, so easily able to subdue you. Not to mention the other two men upstairs-

No. Please no.

But your suspicions are confirmed as Touya walks to the door and leaves the room, coming back a moment later with his two friends in tow and a cruel smirk on his face, tutting mockingly at the anguish on your face.

“I did warn you. You have to apologise for your bad manners. Come on sweetie, be a good girl for them, yeah?”

None of them wait for a response, both Keigo and Tomura pulling their aching, leaking cocks from their pants as they hover above you, leering down like a pack of hyenas.

Touya doesn’t slap you when you try to dissociate this time, content to let his friends use you while he lounges in the armchair in the corner of the room, watching with a disinterested expression. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he seemed bored.

Keigo seems to have some sick fascination with your mouth, shoving his cock down your throat without warning or preparation and letting out a throaty moan as your throat convulses around him.

His palm remains locked around your neck, watching with rapt attention as your throat works awkwardly around the thick intrusion.

You’re almost thankful for the distraction of his cock, for the way Touya had stretched you out minutes prior, when you see the length bobbing between Tomura’s legs.

How it was possible for someone to be that big, you didn’t want to know.

Your eyes remain transfixed in muted panic on the monstrous member as Tomura makes his way around the bed, propping you up on your knees before he spits on your cunt.

The feeling of a fat glob of spit hitting your entrance and sliding down the length of your slit makes you cringe, shivering in disgust at his actions. You’re not given a moment's warning before you feel the fat head of his cock rubbing against your entrance, trying to pry its way into your tight heat.

A panicked, muffled garble escapes you as you jerk forward, only serving to fit more of Keigo’s length down your throat in your attempt of escape.

Tomura lets out a hiss of displeasure, digging his fingertips into the fat of your hips as he jerks you back towards him, forcing the head of his cock into your pussy.

It hurts, you want to say. It won’t fit, please.

But you can’t. All you can do is choke down gags and sobs as Tomura rips through you. Everytime you think he’s bottomed out, he just keeps going. He keeps going until it feels like he’s pushed through your cervix, until he sits snugly in your stomach.

He doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath, doesn’t grant you the smallest of breaks like Touya did. Instead, he immediately sets a harsh, forceful pace, and each stroke feels like a punch to the gut.

From his spot in the corner of the room, Touya lets out a low whistle, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his knees.

“Look at ya. You’re loving this, aren’t ya? Hm, if I’d have known being dicked down was all you needed to shut up, I’d have done it ages ago.”

His words flow in one ear and out the other, your sole focus on not choking around Keigo’s length as he bottoms out and keeps you pinned in place with his palm planted on the back of your head.

As much as you try to ignore it, his throaty, vocal moans make your core clench around Tomura who scoffs. “You were right, she really is a whore. I can feel her sucking me in.” Touya only hums in response, watching now with an almost enthralled expression as his two friends plough into you simultaneously. “You probably love this, hah? Dumb little slut.”

The swat he places on your ass leaves a stinging red welt on the smooth flesh.

You’re too lost in the unwanted pleasure to even think about responding. You let your mind wander elsewhere, losing yourself in the toe curling sensation of Tomura’s dick rubbing up against your walls, filling you completely.

Maybe if you pretend it’s someone else, anyone else-

You cum so hard you black out for a moment, losing any and all sensation in your hands and feet as your limbs fill with a strange fuzzy feeling. Your orgasm was so sudden, so unexpected and all-consuming that you struggle to keep yourself conscious and up on all fours, arms and legs trembling as Tomura whines through his teeth.

Keigo grips your hair at the roots, bringing your attention back to his cock as he moans, tilting his head back and flooding your throat with his cum without warning.

He tuts, pulling out of your mouth with a sigh and tapping your chin with his fingers.

“Be a big girl and swallow now, will ya?”

You wince, grimacing as you swallow down his thick, salty seed.

His smirk is devious as he pats your cheek, zipping up his pants and walking over to Touya. He leans down and whispers something in his ear, though their conversation is lost to you as Tomura flattens your chest against the mattress and picks up his pace.

You can’t stop your tongue from lolling out your mouth as he rails into you, your drool forming a puddle beneath you, soaking into the cream duvet. All you can manage is breathless, whiny moans - the only sound in the room besides his own grunts, the slick pattering of your cunt, and the banging of the headboard against the wall.

The thick duvet lays twisted beneath your fingers, and you cling to it desperately as Tomura pants above you like a dog in heat, using your cunt like some glorified fleshlight.

By the time Tomura finishes inside you, you’ve climaxed twice more. He collapses on your back, breathless as he licks a stripe up the ridges of your sweaty spine.

You’re too exhausted to even whine or wrinkle your nose in disgust. It’s all you can do to fight from passing out, puffing from the exertion.

Goosebumps cover you as the sweat cools on your skin, leaving you shivering and sticky.

Touya approaches the bed, murmuring something to Tomura, who grumbles and gets off of you with a grunt before ambling out of the room.

Once only the two of you are left in the thin silence, Touya speaks. His voice is little more than a low murmur as he crouches down next to you, softly brushing the sweaty strands of hair off your face.

“You look so pretty like this. All vulnerable and used… I hope you know how this changes things. You’re mine now. All mine.”

The sentiment makes your stomach curl. If he sees the cold dread on your exhausted face, he doesn’t comment on it, instead pressing a soft, small kiss to your temple.

“Come on, I’ll carry you to your room.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, lifting you off the bed with ease before leaving the basement and making his way through the house, to your room. The sight of the soft, baby pink walls feel surreal after the past few hours. You feel as if you’re violating the clean, pure space of your bedroom, soiling the sheets as Touya sets you down on your bed.

He bustles around your room, grabbing another sleep shirt and tossing it your way before coming to settle down beside you on your bed. You make no move to put on the shirt.

You don’t do much of anything but stare blankly at the wall opposite your bed.

Touya hums softly, stroking your hair.

“Ya not gonna say anything?”

There’s a pause.

“Huh. Okay then… I think you’ll move in with me. Well, Tomura and me, that is. It’s a nice place, you’ll like it.”

Again, a pause. He seems to be waiting for a reaction, a change in facial expression, something.

…

Nothing.

He sighs heavily.

“Come on, don’t be like that. It’s not as if you didn’t enjoy it. You’re lucky it was storming outside and no one’s home. I’m sure the entire neighbourhood would’ve heard you moaning like a whore.”

It’s a jibe, one meant to get a rise out of you.

Nothing.

“...whatever. You’ll come around sooner or later, hah?” he hums, ruffling your hair.

He stands and stretches, seeming to contemplate something for a moment before he sighs again, covering you with a blanket and leaving your room without another word.

Only once the door clicks shut, do you allow yourself to cry, your small sniffles muffled by your pillow.

Despite your fear, your strained emotions, the ache between your thighs and in your jaw…

You fall asleep, curled up in a tight ball beneath a pile of blankets.

Unconsciousness welcomes you with open arms, and you pray that you stay asleep indefinitely, not wanting to wake up and deal with what had happened.

You dream of shadowy figures, larger and faster than you, with glinting silver jewellery and cruel smirks, all looming over you.

And when you wake up hours later, you awake all your belongings packed up in cardboard boxes, and to Touya next to you in bed, his fingers pumping in and out of your core, his other palm massaging your breast.

He nips at your ear, smirking against your neck. "Morning imoto..."

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year ago

Text

Who Taught You How to Love Like That? - Chapter One

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x female character (third person) Warnings: Sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics. Word count: ~2.5k Series masterlist

Chapter summary: Desperate to pay off her student loans, she downloads a dating app with a twist, and makes an interesting match.

She sighs, her eyes scanning over the PDF of her payslip for the month, before locking her phone and letting it drop heavily onto the kitchen counter.

“Bad news?” Mysaria quirks an eyebrow, sliding a glass of wine across to her.

“These student loan repayments are fucking killing me. I’ve basically worked an entire week for free this month.” She complains, taking a huge swig from her glass.

“Bummer.” Her flatmate says. “Any way I can help?”

“Unless your mattress is secretly stuffed full of cash, no. Super Noodles for me for the rest of the month, once I’ve paid my share of the rent.”

“You could give being a sugar baby a try?” Mysaria says with a smirk over the rim of her wine glass.

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, or take up pole dancing lessons and become a stripper!”

“I’m being serious.” Mysaria, puts her glass down and pulls out her phone, flicking to the App Store and typing. “See? There are loads of apps, why not give it a try?”

“Isn’t that just prostitution?” She wrinkles her nose in disgust.

“Hey!” Mysaria chides. “Sex work is real work, but this isn’t prostitution. Most of these guys are just desperate, lonely guys who earn big bucks and are willing to spoil you in exchange for a conversation or a few selfies. You don’t even have to sleep with any of them…unless you want to.”

“I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

Even if she did go through with it, she was inexperienced, and would surely be a disappointment to any potential sugar daddies she might attract. She’d had one boyfriend in her entire life, it had lasted six months and they’d never gone beyond unsatisfying quickies that focused entirely on his pleasure. The idea of taking money from a stranger in order to pay her bills makes her incredibly uneasy.

They’re half way through their second bottle of wine as she scrolls through her phone. Mysaria is snoring softly on the sofa next to her, while an episode of some trashy reality TV show plays away to itself in the background.

Her thoughts keep drifting back to her flatmate’s mention earlier in the evening of sugar babies. She knows it’s likely the wine inspiring her actions, but she finds herself scrolling through the same apps they’d looked at previously.

Seeing one with particularly good reviews, she presses download before she’s had a chance to think twice about it and then goes through the process of setting up a profile, picking the best photo she has of herself on her camera roll.

Her heart races as she swipes with shaky fingers through photos of a myriad of men. She stops when she sees the look of one she likes.

Larys, 45. Tell me all your secrets.

His curly brown hair and piercing blue eyes immediately capture her attention, and she enjoys the flirtatious nature of his tagline. She swipes right and is stunned when she gets an “It’s a match!” notification. Wow, that was fast.

Instantly a message pops up from him.

Hello beautiful. How are you this evening?

She smiles, this seems harmless enough.

I’m fine, thanks. Just watching TV. How are you?

Her eyes linger on the screen as she awaits his reply.

I’d be better if I could get a look at your pretty feet. How much?

Bile rises in her throat and she throws the phone away from her in disgust. The worst possible start she could have asked for. She silently curses Mysaria’s stupid idea and vows never to open the app again.

Three weeks later and she is thoroughly fed up. She’s tired of never going out or doing anything, sick of existing on instant noodles. When she receives another payslip and sees yet another loan repayment has eaten away at her earnings, she reaches breaking point. She considers looking for another job, but she currently doesn’t qualify for anything beyond an entry level position in her field, and the pay everywhere else is no better than what she’s already on.

Her thumb lingers over the app that she hasn’t touched for weeks, too scarred by having such an awful first encounter to bother with it again. However, she’s desperate and willing to try anything - not with Larys though. She’s quick to unmatch with him, eager to forget his disgusting request.

She swipes mindlessly for a few minutes, not finding anyone attractive, until she happens across a photo that stops her in her tracks.

The man in question has sharp features - an aquiline nose, an impossibly chiseled jawline and sculpted cheekbones. His long white blonde hair frames his face elegantly, his only imperfection is the scar that runs across his left eye, a slightly duller blue than the right. She wonders if he’s still able to see out of it.

Aemond, 35.

No tagline, no other photos, save the one of him staring directly into the camera. He seems intense and mysterious. She swipes right, unable to fight the disappointment she feels when it’s not an instant match.

She closes the app, her desire to look at anyone else has been thwarted by how ridiculously good looking he is.

She has nearly forgotten about him when her phone buzzes the next day. He’s matched with her. She unlocks her phone, her palms sweaty with nerves, and looks at his message.

Hello.

Simple, to the point, possibly the words of a serial killer? She pushes the thought away and types out a response.

Hi. How are you?

She almost gives up and puts her phone away in the time it takes for him to reply, but eventually he does.

I don’t do small talk. Tell me about yourself.

Her eyes widen as she reads the message. He’s either incredibly rude or just not used to interacting with other people. She decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. She tells him about her history degree, about her museum job, about her living situation and her aspirations to one day become a curator of historical artifacts. He is unsurprisingly evasive when she attempts to ask about him.

So, what brings you to the app?

She decides there’s no point in hiding the fact that she’s strapped for cash, she wouldn’t be using an app that matches sugar babies with sugar daddies if that weren’t the case. She explains that her student loan repayments are crippling her, half expecting not to hear from him again. His next message is much quicker to arrive.

How much? And are you free Saturday night?

Dread gnaws at her stomach. Oh god, what does he expect of her? Hesitantly, she types out the remaining balance she has on her student loan and asks what he has in mind for Saturday. Again, he replies straight away.

Give me your bank details. I need a date for my nephew’s engagement party.

Her eyes widen. This cannot be real, and yet it’s happening. Dazed by his forwardness she sends across her account number and sort code, and tells him she’s free on Saturday.

Her mouth runs dry when after a few minutes her banking app pings with a notification of a deposit. The full amount she owes on her student loan has been transferred to her under the name ‘A. Targaryen.”

Aemond has transferred her thousands of pounds as if it were nothing more than pocket change, and all under the loose agreement that she’ll attend a party with him. This man has to be obscenely wealthy, or insane, perhaps both.

Her phone vibrates again. Another message from him.

Transferred. Give me your number, I hate the messaging interface on this app.

With clammy hands and a pounding heart she types out an entirely too long, rambled message of thanks, along with her number.

She wonders if she’s blown it when she doesn’t hear from him again, yet the money still sits in her bank account, feeling as though it’s burning a hole in it. She hasn’t exactly played it cool, most sugar babies probably accept money with cool sophistication, not simpering words of gratitude.

She feels like she’s forgotten how to breathe when he texts her on Friday.

Tell me your address and dress size.

Once more, she’s taken aback by how blunt he is, yet she complies and provides both.

When she arrives home from work later that evening, there is a package waiting for her. She opens it to reveal a black silk gown. The cut of the fabric is beautiful. Her jaw drops when she sees the Chanel label. This likely cost more than the entirety of the clothing she owns put together.

There’s a note that simply reads: Wear this tomorrow - A.

She smiles at the neatness of his handwriting. Aemond is a strange man, and yet she can’t help the intrigue she feels towards him. This is his second act of generosity towards her in the space of a week and they’ve yet to even meet.

She spends all of Saturday ensuring she is waxed, exfoliated and moisturised all over, before carefully styling her hair and applying make-up that she feels will do the eye-wateringly expensive dress she’s been given to wear justice.

She is jittery with nerves when a sleek, black sports car pulls up outside the block of flats. She can just tell it’s Aemond, nothing that costs that much has any business being on this side of town otherwise.

She hurries downstairs to meet him, eager to avoid the embarrassment of him seeing the mess that is the inside of the pokey, little flat she shares with Mysaria.

He steps out of the car and she inhales sharply at the sight of him. He is tall, at least six foot easily, despite her wearing heels he still towers over her. A well tailored, black suit clings to his long, lithe form and his white hair is pulled back neatly into a bun that sits at the nape of his neck.

“You must be Aemond.” She says, praying her make-up is enough to hide the evidence of how hot her face currently feels.

“Mmm. Yes, I must. You look good.” His right eye rakes appreciatively over her form, and when his left doesn’t follow the motion, she realises it’s a prosthetic. “Shall we go?”

He gestures towards the car, walking around to the passenger’s side to open the door for her.

He fills her in on what’s expected of her as he drives. His nephew, Jace, has gotten engaged to his longtime girlfriend, Baela. He is sick of fending off questions around why he’s not with anyone yet, especially from that side of the family. He expects her to stick by his side for the evening and he’ll deal with any awkward questions that may arise.

They arrive and Aemond is ever the gentleman, quickly stepping out of the car to open the door for her and offer her a hand out.

She shivers at the feel of his hand against hers and is stunned further still when he interlocks their fingers, keeping a firm hold of her hand as they enter the house.

“Just play along.” He whispers.

She is immediately struck by the opulence of it all as they walk through the foyer. This is a family that comes from old money. It was clear from the antique furnishings and vaulted ceilings that the Targaryens had always had money and always would.

She balks a little, unsure of if she will fit in, suddenly self conscious. Aemond seems to pick up on this.

“Relax.” He whispers to her. “Everyone here looks like shit compared to you.”

His words, combined with the tickle of his breath against the shell of her ear sends a shiver down her spine.

True to his word, he doesn’t let her stray from his side the entire evening. The tension between family members is unmistakable. The sneers with which a trio of dark haired young men regard Aemond is incredibly off putting.

She is informed by Aemond that the eldest of them is Jace, whose engagement they are here to celebrate. She meets Aemond’s mother, the doe eyed, auburn haired woman is pretty and seems shocked but delighted at the sight of her son with an actual date on his arm.

The lies that flow from his mouth are effortless. He had met her at the museum she works at when he’d come in to browse an exhibition. They’d hit it off instantly and been inseparable ever since.

Every touch of his hand at the small of her back feels like a brand and as the night goes on, and the champagne continues to flow freely, she finds herself eagerly playing up to the part of dutiful girlfriend. She leans into every touch, her eyes fluttering closed at the gentle press of his lips to her hairline. He is respectful, too respectful, never getting handsy or going for a full on the lips kiss.

When the evening draws to a close and he escorts her back to the passenger side of his car, she feels bereft at the loss of his touch as he moves around to the driver’s seat.

“You did well this evening.” He tells her as she starts the engine. “We put on quite the show.”

Remembering that none of this was real, that she’d been paid to be here startles her out of her tipsy fantasy that this is an actual relationship and her mouth presses into a tight line as she nods.

They drive in silence for a while before Aemond speaks again.

“If you’re up for it, my mother is having a birthday meal this Wednesday. She mentioned tonight she’d love for you to come. Are you available? I’ll pay you, obviously.”

So much for this not feeling like prostitution. She’s already paid off her student loan, she could just say no, but then she wouldn’t get to see him again.

“Y-yeah, sounds good.” She says meekly.

They pull up outside the block of flats and, right on cue, Aemond is striding around the car to get her door. She wobbles on her heels as she climbs out, the effects of the evening’s alcohol getting the better of her, and falls against his chest.

His large hands move to steady her by the shoulders and as she looks up into his face she is struck by how gorgeous he really is.

Her eyes slowly close, as she leans in, her lips pressing towards his.

His grip on her shoulders tightens, pushing her back ever-so gently. “You don’t need to do that.”

Her eyes snap back open, shame coursing through her like liquid fire. “Oh…��

“I’ll text you the details about Wednesday. Thanks again for tonight.”

He gets back into the car, driving away as she stands on the kerbside, feeling thoroughly embarrassed.

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webanglikethat · 6 days ago

Text

to every single queer person out there—trans, gay, bi, pan, ace, nonbinary, however you identify—let me just say this: I am so, so fucking sorry. SO, SO, SO FUCKING SORRY. I am furious. I’m pissed off beyond words. english seems like a forgotten skill as I'm typing this. I am so sorry.

we never deserved this. we never fucking deserved this.

I am sorry that you’ve been betrayed like this, that we’ve all been betrayed like this. I’m sorry that SO MANY of our damn votes weren’t counted, like we don’t even matter. like we’re just numbers on a page that they can toss out without a thought. like we can just be erased, as if we do not exist, like we’re puzzle pieces that don’t fit into their perfect picture, so they just throw us out, discarded, like we were never there in the first place. I’m sorry she just conceded, just gave up. left us hanging. just handed us over like we’re some afterthought, like we’re collateral damage in this disgusting twisted fucking game. as if our lives, our rights, everything we fought for, meant nothing. she just rolled over and let us get steamrolled, like we’re just noise, just numbers on a page, just nothing worth fighting for. do they even care that real people, people who trusted her, who put their hopes in her, are being crushed by this? and not only in the US. we ALL believed in her. and ... she ... just ... she was gone. just like that. and we’re the ones who have to pay the price. we’re the ones left with our futures on the line, wondering what rights we’ll have tomorrow, if we’ll even be safe tomorrow. and she just… gave it all up. handed us over to people who are hell-bent on erasing us, who’ve been clear from day one about what they think of us, what they want to take away. how do we even make sense of that? how do we believe in ANYONE? how can you abandon us in the lion's den and yet demand compassion and trust? to trust in the very hands that have left us to bleed, to burn, to fight alone?

we deserve better. we deserved someone who would stand with us when it mattered, who wouldn’t just throw in the towel and walk away when things got tough. we’re not just collateral. we’re not disposable. we’re human beings with lives, with love, with the right to exist without fear. we aren't statistics, diagrams, names forgotten on a wall. we are queer, and we are real. and she ... just left us to face down a nightmare she knows damn well is coming. so how dare they tell us to “keep faith” when they’ve shown us that our lives were never worth the fight to them. we needed someone who would dig in and say, “no, you can’t have them. not now, not ever.” and instead? we were left out in the cold to fend for ourselves. like always. like fucking always. and this isn’t just some political setback for us. this is our lives, our right to exist. we’ve fought and bled and stood through hell just to claim an inch of ground to live openly, to love who we love, and to be who we are. we deserved so much more than empty promises. and we won’t forget this.

right now, it feels like every warning, every fear we’ve had has come to life in the worst way. and let’s be real—what’s next is terrifying. I will not sugarcoat it. rights are going to be stripped away, our existence denied, our safety threatened. trump hasn’t hidden it; he’s promised it. this was supposed to be our home too. but they’re pushing us out, forcing us to hide. so please, if you need to, go back into the closet. change states if that’s what it takes. hell, think about leaving the country if you can, because it’s becoming clear that staying might mean risking everything. you do not owe anyone anything, just think of yourself first. you are your own priority.

and god .. Love. Love—something so pure, something so simple—has been twisted into a reason for others to hate us, to fear us, to hurt us. we were never supposed to be the ones people saw as a “threat.” that label should belong to hatred, to racism, to homophobia, to everything that has poisoned this world. but instead, somehow we are the ones they call dangerous. we are the ones they want to erase. and it’s maddening. what kind of world are we living in, where the fight to just exist is an endless battle? was it not love that led Eve to take that fateful bite, trusting in the bond she shared with Adam? and if love is the foundation upon which humanity was built, how can we be faulted for following its lead? of all the things we could hate, and we chose love.

if this moment feels like it’s too much, if it feels like everything you’ve fought for, every piece of yourself you’ve worked to own, every right, every dream, every bit of safety is collapsing around you -- I get it. I feel it in my bones. it feels like drowning, like being swallowed whole by a storm that never ends. the shore seems so far away. but listen to me: don’t you fucking dare let them break you. don’t let them get that satisfaction. don’t give them that power. we are not here to let monsters erase us. we’re here to outlast every single one of them. we’re here to survive and thrive. we are queer, we are real, we exist, we will continue to exist.

their power, their hatred, their cruelty—it won’t last forever. I know it's difficult to see the light at the end of this tunnel. but they are the ones who don’t belong in a world built on compassion, on love, on freedom. You are the real thing. You are here. You deserve to be here, and you deserve to feel safe, loved, and free.

if you’re feeling like there’s no point anymore, if this all feels like it’s too damn much to take, please just hang on. this fight is brutal, and sometimes it feels like it never ends. but I’m begging you—don’t give up. don’t let them have that final victory. don’t let them silence your voice, your light, your life. scream, cry, punch walls, call someone, reach out, hold on to whatever will keep you here another day, another hour. do whatever you have to do to survive this moment. because you’re needed. we need you. the world needs you.

you might not see it now, but you are a part of something big, something powerful, something they wish they could destroy but never will. you’re part of a legacy of resilience, of love, of defiance against hatred. every queer person, every person who has ever had to stand up against a world that told them they shouldn’t exist, that they should be crucified, erased, beaten up, has carried that legacy forward, passed it down so we could be here. so you could be here. and they did not survive all they did, did not fight, did not sacrifice so much just for us to lose hope. we’re still here because others fought and held on. now, it’s our turn. we owe it to them, to ourselves, to hold on with everything we have, to fight with everything in us.

and one day, I promise you, I truly pinkie promise you, that you’re going to wake up in a world that has moved beyond these hateful voices. one day, you will wake up in a world that sees you, that values you, where you don’t have to fight just to exist. you deserve to live in it, to walk in the sunlight without fear, without shame. they don’t get to take that from you. they don’t get to erase you. they don’t get to win.

this moment is hard. it’s beyond hard. but you, every single one of you, are worth it. you are not alone in this fight. you are surrounded by countless others who feel this too, who know this pain, who are holding on right alongside you.

so please, hold on. you belong, and nothing they do can change that. they cannot snuff out your light. they cannot erase your legacy. they cannot undo the love you were born to spread.

stay. fight like hell. be louder, be prouder, be everything they tell you not to be. because you are worth every ounce of this battle. and we will see the day they’re gone. we will make it through.

we too shall rise from the ashes.

to my queer family, my phoenix.

#lgbtq #us politics #elections 2024 #usa election #presidential election #elections #donald trump #fuck donald trump #lgbtq community

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moodymisty · 3 months ago

Note

Would you consider to write of Morty x Pregnant reader?? It's ok if ignore this btw you're stories are wonderful💕

Author’s Note: beep boop here's a snippet

Relationships: Mortarion/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Tokophobia/pregnancy

It’s been months, and yet the news still feels unreal. If he thinks about it for too long, he almost feels like he’s split between a reality and an unreality; You belonging to the ladder.

'I, I’m pregnant, Mortarion.'

He had refused to believe at first. The Primarchs were sterile, surely. They were abominations created in a lab. Beings that spit in the face of humanity yet supposedly beyond them.

But sure enough, you gave him- verbatim - a speech received from the medicae; Pregnant, was once again the conclusion.

He continued to deny it at first, in his own head, and continued to act like nothing had changed.

But then your belly started to grow, and something in him changed. He remembers the exact moment, when your turned to speak to someone and the swell of your belly was recognizable, and Mortarion could no longer deny his reality. The reality.

You were pregnant. You were going to have a child, and he was their father.

Mortarion had left many things unfinished in his life- but he wanted to make good on this one. To be the father he had been denied.

“Go back and rest.”

Mortarion is blunt as you watch him write moments after walking in. You’ve been sick, sicker than most pregnant women, and he can only imagine the toll his accursed genes are doing to your body.

More than what he already does to you; the Barbaus made poisons that stir in him, pouring from his lungs in ragged breaths. Sometimes he wonders how you can tolerate him, let him touch you do this to you- and seem not the least bit disgusted by him.

“I love you, but I will go crazy if I’m locked up in there anymore.”

The look he gives you is less than approving.

"Can I at least have a few minutes here before I go back?" A refusal is on his lips, but he swallows it. You seem to take that as welcome enough and make yourself at home.

As much as he did want to send you back, it's been awhile since he's seen you up and about. Or in general. He's busy, and you're always in the quarters he rarely uses.

You walk past him to look out a large viewport, at the nothingness beyond it. Mortarion notices that your belly has gotten even larger. Resting, and you’ve taken to drawing in that time.

He wonders how the other primarchs will react when they find out. They don't even know you exist, let alone that you're about to have his child. In an odd, prideful, selfish way, he's excited to see their reactions; That he has something they don't.

"They starting moving, by the way." Mortarion looks at you, eyebrows raised. "A few nights ago they started wiggling. You were with your captains so I couldn't tell you right away."

Stepping closer you look at him, rubbing what he presumes is sleep from your eye.

"Do you want to feel?"

Of course he does. He would want nothing more, but he can't find the tongue to say those words. Not without tripping over himself. Instead he rises from his chair and kneels in front of you, reaching a hand out. Once it rests on your belly you put one over his own.

It takes a moment, before he feels them shifting. Something in him almost becomes, frightened. In the same way when he saw how big your belly was getting, this is another moment where he realizes that he isn't in an unreality- this is it.

"Come sit with me."

Mortarion moves to sit back at his desk and bring you to rest on his lap, where you lean comfortably into his chest.

You hum with the satisfaction of winning, and he rests a hand on your belly, before continuing his work.

#mortarion x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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mythicalmaven · 7 days ago

Text

Beyond Boundaries - Oscar Piastri (THIRTEEN)

A very angsty chapter but with a good ending! whoops! The positive will return, no worries! <3

Masterlist ↳pairing: oscar piastri x female!norris!reader ↳word count: 4,3K ↳chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, ↳chapter warnings: friends to lovers, brothers teammate trope, talking about feelings, crying, realizations, angst (but with a happy ending)

↳series summary: Since Oscar joined McLaren as your brother’s teammate, you two have quickly become best friends. Recently promoted to be Oscar’s physiotherapist, you both relish the opportunity to spend more time together. However, as the new role brings you closer, you both realize you might be feeling more a little more for each other than just friendship

“OSCAR JACK PIASTRI!” Lando’s voice rang through the hall as he barged into Oscar’s hotel room, eyes blazing with barely contained rage. “YOU ARE SO DEAD!”

Oscar, hunched over his suitcase, froze and looked up, bewildered. He could tell immediately that Lando was beyond furious, but he couldn’t fathom what had set him off.

“Lando, what the hell are you talking about?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed, scratching the back of his neck in confusion.

Oscar had just arrived back after qualifying, planning to freshen up before heading over to your room, as he did every race weekend. He’d been thinking about you the entire way back, looking forward to unwinding together, the familiarity of those private moments giving him a sense of calm after the intensity of the day. But now, standing here, all he could do was rack his brain, trying to figure out what could have provoked Lando like this.

Lando’s fists clenched, the knuckles going white as he glared at Oscar with pure disgust. He slammed the door behind him, sending a tremor through the room. “Don’t play dumb with me, Oscar. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Oscar’s face twisted in confusion, his mind whirling. Was this some bizarre prank? Lando was known for his sense of humor, but this felt... different. More intense. More real. Slowly, he got up from his crouched position and perched himself on the edge of the bed, his voice calm but uncertain. “Lando, I seriously have no clue what’s going on. Did I do something wrong?”

Lando let out a humorless laugh, practically spitting the air out in disbelief. “Are you actually this clueless, or are you just lying straight to my face right now?”

Oscar’s patience was wearing thin. “Lando, for the last time, what is going on?” he demanded, voice rising as frustration bled into his tone.

Lando’s face twisted with anger, and he kicked the door behind him, a loud bang reverberating through the room. “Jesus Christ, Oscar, you’re a fucking asshole.” His eyes flashed as he took a step closer, his voice dripping with disdain. “Maybe next time, don’t lie to my sister about your so-called ‘feelings’ for her if you plan on sticking your tongue down someone else’s throat behind her back.”

Oscar’s heart stopped, his face going pale. “Lando,” he began, trying to keep his voice steady, “What are you talking about? I had to kiss her on the cheek, nothing more. You knew about that—you know it meant nothing.”

But Lando’s expression only grew darker. “Oh, so now you’re not just an asshole; now you’re a liar too. I’m not talking about that.”

Oscar’s stomach twisted. He had no idea what Lando was getting at, but a cold unease settled over him. “What are you going on about, then?”

“If you were trying to hide your little escapade with that attention-seeking bitch, maybe next time you should close the damn door of your driver’s room before deciding to shove your tongue down her throat.”

Oscar’s face drained of color, realization finally sinking in. “Oh god, did you see that?” He stammered, starting to explain, but Lando cut him off sharply.

“I didn’t,” he hissed, eyes blazing, “but she did.”

Oscar’s heart shattered, his voice catching. “I promise, Lando, it’s not what it looked like.”

Lando’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.” His fists clenched tighter, his voice deadly quiet. “You’d better have a damn good explanation for this, Oscar. Because if you don’t—and I mean it—if you even think of stepping near her again, I swear to god, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Oscar was left in stunned silence as Lando spat the words at him, guilt and regret washing over him like a tidal wave. His mind flickered back to what had happened earlier, replaying each moment with increasing dread.

*flashback to earlier*

Oscar had been in his driver’s room, unwinding after the high of qualifying, hoping to cool down before meeting up with you. Ava had followed him in, chattering on about the race and the PR obligations they’d fulfilled. They shared a laugh about the awkward peck on the cheek they’d had to perform for the cameras, the faint taste of staged affection still lingering.

“You looked so stiff out there, Oscar,” Ava teased, smirking. “You know, if we don’t make it look real, they’re going to know. We should really practice if we want people to buy it.”

Oscar tensed, shifting uncomfortably. “I think we’re fine, Ava. It’s just PR. We’re not meant to look that serious anyway.”

She rolled her eyes, brushing off his hesitation. “Come on, Oscar. Don’t be so uptight. This is for show. It doesn’t mean anything.” Her voice softened, and she took a step closer, her eyes glittering. “Let me teach you a few tricks. Just… trust me.”

He backed away slightly, eyeing the door. “This really isn’t a good idea, Ava. It could easily go too far.”

But Ava seemed determined, giving him a knowing smile as she leaned in and pecked him lightly on the lips, her eyes flickering toward the door. Oscar felt his stomach clench, a mix of unease and annoyance. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want her. He was only doing this entire act to protect you from unwanted scrutiny and questions.

“See?” she murmured, stepping closer still, her fingers brushing his cheek. “It’s not so bad. A bit of practice never hurt anyone.”

Before he could protest, she was kissing him again, her arms winding around his neck as she pulled him in closer. He hesitated, feeling every fiber of his being rejecting this, but her hand slid around to the back of his neck, urging him to deepen the kiss. Uncertain, he felt her hand snake up into his hair, tugging lightly as she pressed closer, the intensity escalating.

Oscar was caught off guard, feeling her press her hips into his, guiding his hands to rest on her waist. He’d barely noticed the way her eyes darted toward the door, a glint of mischief flashing in them as if she knew someone was watching.

He froze, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of discomfort, his mind flooded with the realization of how much he didn’t want any of this. Summoning all the strength he had, he pushed her away, breaking the kiss and stepping back, his face flushed with frustration and embarrassment.

“Ava, this isn’t right,” he muttered, his voice strained. “I’m not comfortable with this at all. This isn’t what I signed up for.”

She smirked, feigning innocence. “Oh, really? You didn’t seem uncomfortable a second ago.”

He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to snap back. “I’m doing this PR stunt for the sake of appearances. To protect someone I care about. But I’m not going to pretend that you and I…" he said, gesturing his finger in her direction and then back to himself "are anything real, because it's anything but.” He gestured to the door, his voice quiet but firm. “Please. Just leave.”

She shrugged, her smirk lingering as she made her way out, leaving him alone in the room, a strange mix of relief and dread pooling in his stomach.

*end of flashback*

The memory dissolved, and Oscar found himself back in the awkward quiet of his hotel room, his heart pounding in his chest as Lando’s words echoed in his mind. You’d seen it. You’d seen everything.

Oscar’s stomach twisted violently, leaving him feeling nauseated and weak. His mind was a churning mess, every second replaying the scene, the look on Ava’s face, the moment he’d seen her eyes flick toward the door. That sickening realization that she had known. And worse, that you had seen it all. It was as if the ground had been ripped out from under him; his legs felt unsteady, his heart beating erratically, each thud filling him with a helpless dread.

Lando looked down at him, his expression hard and unyielding, arms crossed tightly over his chest. There was no pity in his stare, only barely controlled rage mixed with something that might have been desperation. Lando’s voice was low, but the intensity cut through the air like a knife. “I don’t know if what you’re saying is true, Oscar, or if you’re just a damn good liar,” he said. “But if you’re serious about this, if you really care about her, you’d better get your ass over there and fix this. Because I don't ever wanna see that look on her face, ever again.”

Lando’s words struck hard, each one landing like a punch. The warning wasn’t just a threat; it was a declaration, a fierce brotherly loyalty that Oscar knew was unwavering. The way Lando looked at him, with such disdain mixed with pain, it cut Oscar to his core.

“If I find out you’re lying,” Lando continued, his jaw clenched, “I will make sure you lose that seat at McLaren. I’ll make it my mission, Oscar. You know how much my sister means to me.” He shook his head, an angered exhale escaping him. “I warned you about hurting her.”

Oscar couldn’t hold back any longer. His voice shook as he forced the words out, raw and desperate. “Lando, I swear to you, I’m telling the truth.” His hands clenched at his sides as he looked down, feeling his chest tighten painfully. “This is… it’s such a horrible misunderstanding. I never wanted any of this to happen.”

Emotion welled up inside him, a mix of fear, shame, and regret, and he felt his throat close up, his vision blurring. His breath grew uneven, and despite himself, a tear slid down his cheek. Then another, until he could feel the hot, shameful trail of them spilling freely, powerless to stop.

Lando’s expression softened slightly as he watched Oscar crumble before him, the fight momentarily leaving his own features as he absorbed the depth of Oscar’s remorse. He looked away for a moment, as if weighing his options, and then his voice came, gruff but more measured. “Then you need to go to her,” he said quietly. “Go to her, now. She’s going to be devastated. If you’re telling the truth, you can fix this. But you’d better go now.”

Oscar swallowed hard, nodding. He was already reaching for his jacket, his heart still pounding but with a sense of urgency to repair the damage. He couldn’t bear the thought of you feeling hurt, betrayed. The very thought twisted the knife in his gut, driving him forward.

“One more thing.” Lando’s voice stopped him in his tracks, and Oscar turned back to see him standing firm, his eyes cold again. “This PR thing—it’s making things worse. If you really want a future with her, end it. Because if this ever happens again, you’re going to lose her. And you’re going to lose a hell of a lot more.”

Oscar met his gaze, giving a solemn nod. “You’re right. I’ll stop it. I can’t… I can’t put her through this.” His voice was barely a whisper, but the conviction was there.

Lando held his gaze a beat longer, then sighed, giving a slight nod of grudging acceptance. “Go fix this, Oscar. And don’t make me regret trusting you.”

⁺⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺ ⋆⁺

After spending time with Lando, letting yourself unload the heartbreak and confusion, you’d assured him you’d be alright eventually—that you just needed some time alone. Retreating to your hotel room, you tried desperately to hold yourself together, to avoid being swallowed whole by the storm of emotions that seemed intent on drowning you. But the harder you tried, the more impossible it felt.

You caught your reflection in the bathroom mirror, and the sight was sobering. Your eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with smudged mascara that had streaked down your cheeks in uneven, telltale lines. You looked broken, more raw and vulnerable than you could remember feeling in a long time. The weight of it settled heavily, pressing down on you with each passing second.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. Startled, you wiped your face quickly, taking a deep, steadying breath before walking over to the door. You didn’t open it, unwilling to let anyone see you like this. “Lando,” you called out, your voice strained, “I told you I’m fine. Just… just go.”

But instead of your brother’s familiar voice, you heard the voice you least expected—and least wanted to hear.

“Y/N, it’s me,” Oscar’s voice was soft, rough around the edges. You froze, feeling your heart twist painfully at the sound of him. Every part of you wanted to sink against the door, to open it, to confront him. But instead, you stiffened, the hurt quickly filling the space where vulnerability once lingered.

“Just leave me alone,” you managed, barely able to keep the tremor out of your voice.

“Please, baby,” Oscar’s voice broke on the word, thick with desperation. “Please, open the door. Let me explain. It’s all… it’s all a big misunderstanding.”

A wave of emotion washed over you, and your chest tightened as you sank slowly to the floor, resting your back against the door as you fought to keep your voice steady. “There’s nothing to explain, Oscar. I was there. I saw it,” you whispered, pulling your knees up to your chest and burying your face between them, as if trying to block out the memory of it.

“You don’t get it, Y/N,” he pressed, his voice breaking again. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

You let out a bitter laugh, muffled as you pressed your head against your knees. “Oscar,” you mumbled, voice hollow, “You had your tongue down her throat. There wasn’t any press around, no cameras to put on a show for. You can’t call it anything but what it was.” Your voice was so quiet, almost fragile, just loud enough for him to hear through the door. “Besides… It's not like you owe me anything. We were never exclusive. I’m not your girlfriend.” You swallowed hard, the words cutting deep. “And considering what I saw, it’s obvious you don’t want that either."

There was a long pause, the silence stretching between you two, heavy and painful. You could feel him on the other side of the door, his presence almost palpable, and it took everything in you not to reach for the handle. But your heart was guarded, waiting, hesitant to give in so easily.

The silence was broken by a ragged, unsteady breath, and then you heard him sink down to the floor on the other side of the door, mirroring you, with only the cold, impersonal wood between you.

“Please… please don’t say that,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together. “I know I don’t deserve for you to listen to me right now, but it wasn’t what you think. It wasn’t real.” His voice cracked, and you could hear the tremor in his words, the strain of holding back tears. “Ava, she… she forced it. I didn’t want it, I didn’t—I pushed her away.” His words were stumbling, broken by emotion, and you could feel his desperation as he tried to explain himself, to make you see the truth he was so desperate for you to understand.

You stayed silent, torn between wanting to believe him and the vivid memory of what you had seen. Part of you, the part that had loved and trusted him, wanted to believe every word. But another part, the one that had been hurt, was afraid to trust again, afraid to be vulnerable. You felt your throat tighten, your hands curling into fists as you struggled to hold back your own tears, feeling them dry on your cheeks as you pressed yourself harder against the door.

He paused, gathering himself before continuing, his voice raw with honesty and regret. “She kept… pushing it, saying we needed to make it look real enough for people to believe it. She’d go on about how it would all fall apart if we didn’t act convincing, kept saying we had to practice that stupid kiss.” He let out a shaky breath, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “I told her no, but she just wouldn’t stop pressing, and then she just kissed me"

He took a shaky breath, his words fractured and heavy with guilt. “I-I didn’t want it,” he stammered, his voice thick as he tried to speak through his tears. “I swear… I didn’t want any of it.” His voice cracked, a choked sob escaping as he struggled to keep going, the desperation evident in every trembling syllable.

You heard him shift against the door, his back pressed firmly as if trying to ground himself. “I felt trapped,” he continued, his words punctuated by small, hitched breaths. “Like… like if I didn’t go along with it, I’d ruin everything—the whole stupid plan. And… I didn’t want to drag you into that. I was scared. I didn't want to ruin things for you”

Another tear-choked breath left him, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I… I couldn’t keep doing it. I pushed her away. I told her I couldn’t—” His voice broke, a raw, unsteady exhale filling the silence as he struggled to compose himself. “I told her it was wrong. I told her it was wrong, and I wanted it to stop.”

His voice faded, overcome by a quiet sob that made the door between you feel thin, almost nonexistent. The vulnerability in his tears was unmistakable, and even in the silence, you could feel the weight of his remorse pressing against you.

Oscar’s voice grew softer, pleading. “You don’t have to say anything if… if you don’t want to. But I just need you to know that it wasn’t me. I didn’t want that, any of it.” His voice faltered, but he kept going. “I’m done with this stupid agreement, this entire PR stunt. I’ll quit it—even if it doesn’t mean I get you back. I just… I can’t keep doing this. I love you, Y/N.” His voice dropped, barely more than a whisper, the words raw and honest.

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at something deep inside you, pulling you closer to that fine line between anger and forgiveness. You felt the sincerity of his words, the pain that bled through them, and despite yourself, part of you believed him. But the fear held you back, the hurt silencing the words that you wanted to say.

A silence fell between you, thick with unspoken words and shared pain. You could hear his shaky breathing through the door, and you knew he was crying. The sound wrenched at your heart, stirring a sadness that mixed with your own, leaving you feeling both hollow and heavy, unable to find the words to respond.

Moments later, footsteps echoed down the hallway. You could hear someone approaching, and then a familiar voice—one that made your stomach twist.

“Well, well, Oscar,” Ava’s voice cooed, feigning sympathy. “Is it really worth all this? She’s not worth it, you know.”

Oscar’s shoulders tensed, his breathing growing heavier as he turned to look at her, his eyes flashing with a newfound clarity, a sharpness born of betrayal. He recoiled from her, yanking his shoulder away from her touch, his expression a mixture of disgust and fury. Without a second thought, he rose to his feet, facing her with a look that could have frozen fire.

“You’ve done enough,” he spat, his voice low and filled with a venom you’d never heard before. “You’ve already ruined everything. Leave me alone.”

But Ava merely arched an eyebrow, her smile twisting as if amused by his anger. She opened her mouth, perhaps to retort, but Oscar didn’t give her a chance.

“Just… stay the hell away from me.” His voice was louder now, strong and unwavering, the raw pain of it echoing through the corridor. “I don’t ever want to see you near me again. Not at the track, not anywhere. You hear me?” He took a step back, his voice rising with each word, carrying both fury and anguish. “I’m done with this agreement. Done with you. Done with this entire PR stunt!”

The volume of his voice carried through the door, and even you could hear the finality in it. For a brief moment, the hurt and anger felt a bit lighter, a flicker of hope stirring beneath it all. The words he’d said, the fire in his voice—it felt real.

There was a shuffling of footsteps as Ava moved away, clearly surprised by his outburst. Oscar remained standing in the hallway, staring after her until the corridor grew silent again, empty save for him and the lingering echo of his words.

Slowly, he sank back down, his back pressed against the door again, his breath coming in short, shaky bursts. He didn’t say anything else, but his quiet, broken presence felt closer than words could convey. And though your heart was still bruised, still guarded, you found yourself shifting slightly, pressing your shoulder to the door, closer to where you knew he sat on the other side.

Oscar took a deep, shuddering breath, wiping at his eyes as he sat against the door. You listened to the sounds leaving the Australian's mouth, still pressed against the other side, your heart aching with every tear-choked word he’d spoken. Slowly, as silence settled around you both, you felt him begin to shift, his weight moving as he gathered himself to leave. He exhaled quietly, almost as if he were accepting that this was the end, that he’d done all he could.

The thought of him leaving stirred something urgent within you, a longing that broke through the hurt and fear. Without fully thinking it through, you reached for the handle. Just as Oscar rose, taking a few hesitant steps away, you opened the door.

“Oscar,” you whispered, reaching out to grab his arm.

He turned around sharply, his red-rimmed eyes wide with surprise as he stared down at you, disbelief mingling with the faintest glimmer of hope. For a long, fragile moment, the two of you simply looked at each other, the air thick with everything unsaid, every apology, every promise, every feeling that had built up over months. The intensity of his gaze, softened by the tears still brimming in his eyes, filled you with warmth, melting away the last of your hesitation.

You took a shaky breath, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I… I love you too, Oscar.”

The words seemed to break something within him. His face crumpled, a fresh tear slipping down his cheek as he reached out, cupping your face in his hands as if you were something precious, fragile, something he couldn’t bear to let slip away. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, wiping away the last remnants of your tears, his gaze so full of tenderness and vulnerability that it took your breath away.

And then, without another word, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours with a quiet desperation, a raw need that spoke of every moment of anguish, of every ounce of longing he’d carried for you. His lips were soft but insistent, moving with a careful, almost reverent passion, as if he were pouring everything he felt into this one kiss. You could feel the slight tremble in his hands, the way his fingers pressed gently but firmly against your skin, grounding himself in your warmth.

The kiss deepened, slowly, his lips parting as he moved closer, pulling you into him as if he couldn’t bear to be separated by even a breath. His tears mingled with yours, salty and warm, the emotions overwhelming as the kiss became a quiet exchange of love and sorrow, each movement a promise, a silent plea to never let go. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you held him close, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of him.

His tongue brushed lightly against your bottom lip, a gentle request that you answered by parting your lips, allowing him in. As your tongues met, a wave of emotion washed over you both, the kiss growing deeper, more intense, every second drawing you closer, until it felt as though nothing else in the world existed but the two of you. The taste of him, the softness of his lips, the way his breath mingled with yours—it was intoxicating, and you felt yourself melting into him, surrendering fully to the quiet, consuming love that bound you together.

His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss grew needier, more fervent, yet still so achingly tender. Your lips moved together in perfect harmony, slow and deliberate, savoring each touch, each taste, until the world seemed to fade away. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss even further, his tongue caressing yours with a slow, deliberate intimacy that left you breathless. It was as if he was pouring every unsaid word, every unexpressed feeling, into this moment, and you could feel it in every movement, every touch, every trembling breath.

After what felt like a lifetime, the two of you slowly broke apart, your foreheads coming to rest against each other as you both tried to catch your breath, your eyes still closed, savoring the warmth and closeness. His hands lingered on your cheeks, his thumbs brushing gently over your skin as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you, to lose this connection even for a moment.

“Please,” you murmured, your voice soft and full of emotion. “Please be mine.”

Oscar’s breath hitched, and he opened his eyes, his gaze meeting yours with a vulnerability that took your breath away. “I’ve always been yours,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You managed a small, tearful smile, your fingers brushing over his cheek, wiping away the remnants of his tears. “I mean… for real this time. Be my boyfriend. Please,” you said, your voice a soft, tender plea.

A smile broke through his tears, a pure, radiant joy lighting up his face as he looked at you, his eyes shimmering with a love so deep it was almost overwhelming. “There’s nothing I would love more,” he murmured, his voice soft and trembling with happiness.

And in that moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, you felt the pain and heartache begin to fade, replaced by a quiet, steady warmth, a promise of something real, something lasting.

—————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺—————

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