#no. no it wasn’t. that’s the whole point

[neocrias]

Making out with svt

warnings: descriptions; headcanons; gn (mostly) reader self insert; you might find it a little kinky at some point;

pairings: svt x gn reader

gender/aus: fluff; slightly suggestive;

Scoups

The whole night, Seungcheol tried to focus on dinner, the conversation, and the sophisticated atmosphere of the restaurant. But it was impossible. From the moment you appeared in front of him, wearing that outfit that hugged your body in a way that seemed tailor-made to tease him, nothing else mattered. His dark gaze kept falling on you every second, his jaw clenching every time you moved in a way that made it impossible to ignore the effect you had on him.

On the way home, the tension between you was palpable. The city passed unnoticed through the car windows while the only thing that truly mattered to Seungcheol was the sensation of your skin under his palm. His large hand rested firmly on your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles, occasionally pressing as if testing your patience as if making it clear what was coming next.

When he finally parked in front of your house, he got out of the car first. The click of the door opening echoed in the stillness of the night as he moved around, his calm, calculated movements with that dominant presence that made your breath hitch before he even touched you.

Seungcheol extended his hand, helping you out of the car, his eyes never leaving yours. As soon as you were standing, he shut the door behind you—and before you could even process the movement, his body was already pressed against yours on the car.

The impact was gentle but definitive. One of his hands found your waist, pulling you against him, while the other cupped the side of your face. And then, without hesitation, he took your lips.

The kiss was fierce, filled with everything he’d been holding back the whole night. Seungcheol wasn’t one for half-measures, and there, against the car, under the dim streetlight, he made that clear. His lips were demanding against yours, his tongue exploring your mouth without rushing, as if savoring every second, as if he’d been waiting for this for far too long.

When he felt you melt under his touch, the need for more took over. Without effort, one of his hands slid down the side of your body until it found your thigh, and in one swift move, he lifted it, pressing it against his waist. The contrast between the cold metal of the car and the heat of his body made a shiver run up your spine.

Dressed entirely in black, Seungcheol looked even more imposing. The dark shirt clung to his body, accentuating every defined muscle, and the strength with which he held you against him made it impossible to ignore how badly he wanted this.

The kiss didn’t slow down. Seungcheol deepened every movement, exploring, dominating, as if his intention was to etch the feeling into every cell of your body. The firm hand holding your leg against him, his chest rising and falling against yours, the muffled sound of heavy breathing between kisses – all contributing to the electricity that hung in the air.

When he finally broke the kiss, just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and gleaming with desire, he smiled crookedly.

— I should’ve brought you home earlier... — He murmured, his voice rough.

But the way he pressed his body against yours afterward made it clear that the night was far from over.

Jeonghan

The smell of your parents' house was familiar, a mix of fresh coffee and old wood that brought back childhood memories. Lunch had been peaceful, and Jeonghan, with his charming ways, had effortlessly won over your parents. He laughed at the stories they told about you as a child, his eyes gleaming with that mischievous interest only he could have.

After eating, you decided to give him a tour of the house. You walked through the rooms, stopping at every detail that was part of your history—the mark on the living room wall where you used to measure your height as a kid, the bookshelf filled with old books, the garden where you used to play. But it was in your bedroom that the tour truly ended.

The space felt smaller now, but it still carried your essence. Jeonghan was immediately distracted by the old photos scattered around, picking one up with an amused smile.

— Look at you here, such a cutie! — He laughed, holding a picture of you as a little kid. — Who would’ve thought that this innocent little face would grow up to be so bossy?

You rolled your eyes, throwing yourself onto the old bed with a sigh. The mattress creaked slightly under your weight, and you closed your eyes for a moment, letting nostalgia wash over you. But before you could fully relax, you felt an added weight on top of you.

You opened your eyes only to find Jeonghan sitting on your lap, a mischievous smile playing on his lips as his fingers pinned your wrists against the mattress.

— Jeonghan… — You murmured, your heart racing.

— Yes? — He tilted his head, feigning innocence, but the playful glint in his eyes betrayed his true intentions.

— My parents are in the next room.

He smiled even more, leaning down until his lips barely brushed against yours, teasing.

— And? — His voice came out low, almost a whisper. — I don’t plan on making any noise.

And then, he kissed you.

The first kiss was slow, teasing, as if he wanted to test the limits of the situation. Jeonghan’s lips were warm and soft against yours, and the way he moved—always in control, always knowing exactly what to do – made your entire body react instantly.

But he didn’t stop there.

Jeonghan was a game of cat and mouse, and he loved playing with you. Every time you tried to catch your breath, he captured your lips again, stealing quick kisses, smiling against your mouth, his fingers lazily tracing your face, then trailing down to your waist, where he held you with deceptive gentleness.

The bed creaked softly beneath the subtle movements, and every time you tried to protest, he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his lips molding to yours with more intensity.

Your fingers clenched around his shirt, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. The way he dominated the moment, the way he whispered something between kisses just to tease you, made every cell in your body vibrate with anticipation.

And when he finally pulled away, just enough to look into your eyes, the satisfied smile on his lips made it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing.

— See? — He whispered, his thumb slowly brushing over your lower lip. — Not a single sound.

But his eyes said something else. He was just getting started.

Joshua

The elevator doors close smoothly, and you lean against the wall, holding Joshua's hand, watching him with a suspicious look. You two had just returned from a date, and throughout the entire night, Joshua had behaved better than expected—no pranks, no teasing comments.

He's been too quiet, which is never a good sign.

Then, before the elevator even ascends a single floor, he presses a hidden button on the panel. The lights flicker, the elevator gives a slight jolt, and… stops.

— Oh, no… — Joshua murmurs, covering his mouth with an exaggerated expression of surprise. — Looks like we’re stuck.

Your eyes widen. — What?!

— Yeah, it happened again… These elevators are a bit unstable, you know?

Suspicion hits immediately. 

— Joshua. What did you do?

He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with pure amusement.

— Me? Nothing. — But the mischievous smile gives everything away.

You let out an exasperated sigh and reach for the emergency button, but he moves fast. Before you can even touch the panel, Joshua steps closer and cups your face with both hands, his palms covering your cheeks, his long, warm fingers pressing into your skin.

— Hey, hey, what’s the rush? — He murmurs, his voice low and lazy, his playful gaze shifting into something more intense. — Maybe it’s a sign from fate.

Your heart jumps when he leans in slowly, his warm breath grazing your lips before he finally captures them with his own.

The kiss starts as a tease – just like him. Joshua’s lips move against yours deliberately, savoring, testing, as if he’s relishing your reaction. But as you respond, he deepens it, making it slower, more consuming, his tongue sliding against yours in a heated, intoxicating touch.

He smiles against your lips the moment he feels you melt in his arms, giving in to the kiss, your fingers dragging over the nape of his neck with growing need. One of his hands glides to your waist, circling it and pulling you closer, while the other discreetly moves behind you. His fingers find the right button, and without you even noticing, he presses it.

Suddenly, the elevator starts moving again.

You pull back with a start, blinking in surprise. — Wait…

Joshua lets out a low, satisfied chuckle.

— Oops. Guess it’s working again. — He shrugs as if he hadn’t just tricked you once more.

— You…!

He grins like he’s having way too much fun, his thumb brushing lightly over your swollen lips. — Don’t look at me like that. You liked it.

The worst part? He’s right.

Jun

The muffled sound of the audience echoed through the backstage hallways, and you could hardly believe you were there, accompanying Jun to yet another one of the group’s shows. He seemed calm, but there was something in his eyes—a mischievous glint you couldn’t quite decipher.

— Let’s go grab some water — he said suddenly, his voice casual.

You didn’t find it strange. Jun was the kind of person everyone adored—sweet and attentive to those around him—and he hated being away from you when you had a day to be together, so nothing seemed out of the ordinary. None of the members even glanced in your direction, too busy with their own preparations. So, without questioning, you followed him down the hallways.

It happened too fast. Before you even realized it, Jun pushed open the door of an empty dressing room and, in one swift motion, pulled you inside. The soft click of the door closing sounded louder than it should have.

— Jun-? 

Your voice was cut off as he leaned against the wall and pulled you against him, your bodies colliding in the narrow space. He smirked, a malicious glint in his eyes. — I didn’t scare you, did I?

His expression softened into feigned innocence, but his tone betrayed his true intentions.

Your heart skipped a beat. He looked nothing like the adorable Jun everyone knew—here, alone with you, there was something else, something undeniably provocative.

The question lingered in the air, but before you could respond, Jun slid one of his hands down your waist, giving a light squeeze. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and that cocky smile still hadn’t left his lips.

And then, he leaned in closer, so close that you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

— We’ve got a few minutes… — he murmured, the tip of his nose grazing your jawline.

— Yeah? — you asked, wrapping your arm around his shoulders and tilting up to capture his lips in a slow, restrained kiss. One that Jun wasted no time deepening as he held you by the waist with one arm, while his other hand tangled into the hair at the nape of your neck.

He used his grip on your hair to position you exactly how he wanted, making the kiss more comfortable for him—and better for you. He pulled you closer by the hips, leaving one leg between yours, your bodies pressed together enough to feel the rise and fall of each breath.

Outside, the show was about to begin. But at that moment, nothing else seemed to matter except the way Jun looked at you—and what he wanted to do with those stolen minutes.

Wonwoo

Wonwoo was off today and decided to spend his free day playing the game he had been waiting for over the past two months. He was sitting comfortably in his gaming chair, the room lit faintly by a soft yellow LED light.

The sound of the keyboard clicks filled the air, and the soft light of the late afternoon illuminated the space. Since the beginning of the afternoon, Wonwoo had been immersed in the game, as if nothing else in the world mattered. You watched him for a moment, respecting the fact that he needed this time for himself after working so much. However, it was already night, and the longing for his touch, for his presence, started to weigh on you.

You quietly approached, leaning against his back. Your hands, soft and delicate, began massaging his shoulders, feeling the tension accumulated there. Wonwoo let out a slight sigh of pleasure but kept his focus on the game, as if trying not to get distracted. But it was impossible not to notice the touch of your presence and the warmth of your proximity.

After a few seconds, he tilted his head back, his eyes meeting yours. His smile was gentle but full of something you recognized well: desire, affection, and a slight complicity.

Without hesitation, you moved closer and, with a quick motion, kissed him in the Spider-Man and Mary Jane style, your lips meeting gently as he was still leaning back. The kiss was soft, gentle, and even a bit playful, but full of undeniable chemistry.

Fortunately, that wasn’t enough for Wonwoo – and even less so for you. He took control, spinning the chair to face you without missing a beat, and with one firm hand, placed it behind your thigh, slowly pulling you onto his lap.

The movement was smooth, but full of intention. You settled there, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, and the world around you seemed to fade away. He was closer now, and the distance between the two of you seemed to vanish completely.

The kiss quickly escalated, going from something gentle and playful to pure need and desire. Wonwoo held your waist, pressing you down against him as you wrapped your arms around his neck, instinctively arching your back.

— Your game... — You murmured between kisses and caresses.

Wonwoo simply hummed, not paying attention to your words – he had better things to focus on: marking the length of your neck and shoulders. The sound of battle filled the space between the two of you's panting breaths. The game long forgotten.

The night was just beginning, but you knew that, beside him, time would just be a word.

Hoshi

The office was finally silent. After hours immersed in the group's new project, you and Hoshi were the last to leave. He stretched, intertwining his fingers above his head before casting a casual glance in your direction.

— Ready to go? — He asked, already walking ahead.

— Always. —  you replied, grabbing your bag and following him down the hallway.

Hoshi pressed the elevator button, but when the doors opened, he suddenly made a face as if he had just remembered something important.

— Oh, wait... I think we'd better take the stairs. I heard the elevator has been acting up lately. —  He scratched the back of his neck, his expression a mix of concern and amusement.

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical, not buying his excuse but also not protesting as he started heading toward the stairwell. Hoshi smiled innocently and began descending, still leading the way. You kept following him until, two floors down, he suddenly stopped and turned to you, biting back a mischievous smile.

— Already? — You crossed your arms, tilting your head to the side. — Couldn't keep up the lie for too long, huh?

He didn’t answer. Instead, in one swift motion, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you down a step, making you stumble slightly. Before you could regain your balance, his hands were firm on your waist, pressing your body against his. Hoshi leaned back against the railing, a playful glint in his eyes.

Before you could say anything, Hoshi leaned up, capturing your lips in a deep, yearning kiss. Stealthily, his palms slid along the sides of your waist until his fingers pressed firmly against your skin, keeping you close.

For a moment, the world around you disappeared, leaving only the heat of his body against yours, the intoxicating taste of his kiss. His touch became gentle again, filled with hidden intentions, but the way his fingertips moved was so light that you barely felt them creeping upward.

Not until he reached your chest, teasingly squeezing them.

You pulled away, breathless, your face flushed. Your heart pounded wildly as you opened your eyes again, only to find that satisfied smile on his lips. His scent, mixed with the faint, enclosed air of the stairwell, made your head spin slightly.

— You should know by now that I could never resist an opportunity like this. — He murmured, his voice low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. You could feel his breath far too close to your skin – warm and enticing. The empty stairwell, the silence around you, the way he held your waist as if he had no intention of letting go… everything seemed to conspire against any chance of escape.

But did you really want to escape?

Woozi

You and Woozi had decided to have another one of those afternoons where you both worked on your own projects while enjoying each other's quiet company. His new comeback was approaching, and he still had many songs to work on, while you had to deal with the planning of this new project your boss had made you responsible for.

The room was immersed in a tranquil, almost dreamlike atmosphere. The soft strumming of Woozi’s guitar filled the space with an enchanting melody, blending with the sweet aroma of the warm cookies on the table.

At first, everything felt perfect. Your cup of your favorite drink was still warm between your fingers, and the ambiance seemed to conspire in your favor, helping you focus on the project assigned to you. But as the hours passed, the open pages on your laptop remained nearly untouched, the blinking cursor a cruel reminder that you weren’t even halfway through your planning.

A tired sigh escaped your lips, and Woozi, ever attentive, noticed. He stopped strumming, placing his guitar aside before standing up. His quiet steps didn’t immediately alert you, but soon you felt his firm yet gentle touch as he pulled your chair to turn you towards him.

Before you could question him, Woozi slid his hands around your waist, effortlessly lifting you, making a small laugh slip from your surprised lips. He didn’t say a word, simply carrying you in his arms toward the bed and laying you down gently on the mattress. His eyes met yours for a moment, a silent invitation reflected in the dark shimmer of his gaze.

He lay down beside you, pulling your leg over his hip, bringing your bodies closer. One of his hands traced slow, deliberate paths down your back, making your breath hitch. The kiss that followed was deep and sensual, filled with tenderness and intent. His tongue moved slowly against yours as his fingertips ghosted over your skin, coaxing you into relaxation in his arms.

You let your nails trail lazily down his abdomen, sending shivers across his skin, making him smile against your lips. Every touch was a silent promise that here, in his embrace, you could finally rest. The warmth of his body surrounded yours, and without even realizing it, your eyes began to close.

And just like that, clinging to him, you finally surrendered to sleep.

Dokeyom

You and your boyfriend were having yet another secret rendezvous at your place – just a night to binge-watch some random Netflix series while eating too much pizza and ice cream.

The house was filled with laughter, and footsteps hurried against the floor, as if, instead of a grown-up couple, two mischievous children had taken over the place. Every time you and Dokyeom were together, time seemed to rewind, and each date turned into a collection of questionable decisions and pure fun. The latest one? Play-fighting.

It all started harmlessly – a fierce battle for the TV remote. You grabbed it first, clutching it to your chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Dokyeom, with his usual mischievous grin, tried to snatch it from you, the two of you wrestling as if the fate of humanity depended on who would pick the next show.

What you didn’t realize, however, was that behind your boyfriend’s gentle and smiley nature, there was actual strength. And it was only when, in the blink of an eye, he grabbed your ankle with firm hands and pulled you down onto the couch that you understood how dangerous it had been to challenge him.

— Hey! — you exclaimed, trying to regain your balance, but it was too late.

Dokyeom laughed out loud, triumphant, and before you could turn around or come up with a counterattack, he was already on top of you. He pinned your wrists above your head with humiliating ease, his absurd strength contrasting with the bright, innocent smile he always carried.

— Did you really think you could win against me? — he teased, leaning in a little closer, his eyes sparkling with amusement. — You really shouldn’t underestimate me like that, sweetheart.

Your heart pounded – partly from the fight, partly because the sudden closeness between you made everything feel even more electrifying. Dokyeom held your wrists firmly but not tightly enough to hurt, and the way he hovered over you, his hair falling slightly over his eyes, made the world seem to slow down.

Dokyeom brushed his lips against yours, giving your lower lip a playful bite. You gasped against his mouth, and he finally took your lips in a gentle kiss, his tongue making its way into your mouth.

This kiss would be just like the others you’ve shared, but there was something different about this one – something more intense, something that sent shivers down your spine, that twisted into a familiar knot in the pit of your stomach, and all because of the way he’s manhandling you and pressing you into the couch effortlessly.

— I haven’t given up yet — you breathlessly challenged when he broke the kiss, squirming in an attempt to free yourself, but Dokyeom only laughed, tightening his fingers just a little around your wrists.

— Oh, really? Then convince me.

The challenge was set. And whatever the next bad decision of the night would be, one thing was certain – you two wouldn’t come out of this fight without consequences.

Mingyu

The kitchen was warm, filled with the aroma of spices and the soft sound of the knife slicing ingredients on the cutting board. Mingyu stood beside you, big and imposing, absentmindedly stirring the spoon inside the pan. But no matter how much he tried to focus on the food, he kept watching you – a gaze heavy with something intense, something that made your whole body tingle under his attention.

You tried to ignore it, continuing to chop the vegetables, but his presence was impossible to overlook. The way he moved, how his broad shoulders seemed to take up all the space around you, how the difference in size between you both became even more obvious every time he leaned in slightly to grab something from the counter.

And then, suddenly, you realized. His gaze wasn’t just a gaze. It was a warning.

Before you could react, Mingyu slid closer, his warm body brushing lightly against yours. He didn’t say anything – he simply pushed the scattered utensils and ingredients aside, clearing the counter. Your heart skipped a beat as you slowly turned to face him.

He was already there, too close, too tall, too broad, with those dark eyes locked onto yours.

Your stomach flipped when his hand found your waist, long fingers pressing firmly into the curve. But what truly caught you off guard was when he slipped his other hand under your leg, gliding up to the back of your knee before lifting you effortlessly.

A small gasp escaped your lips as your body was lifted as if it weighed nothing, and within seconds, you were seated on the counter, with Mingyu standing between your legs.

His warmth seemed to consume everything around you. Your breath was uneven, and you barely had time to say anything before he leaned in, his hands gripping your waist tighter as his lips met yours.

The kiss started slow, intense, as if he wanted to savor every second, as if he had waited too long for this. His lips were warm, firm against yours, and as the tension between you both grew, the kiss deepened, turning hungrier, more demanding.

Mingyu slid his fingers across your skin, holding you against him as if he didn’t want to let you go. His left hand trailed up to the base of your throat, his long fingers wrapping around it, applying just enough pressure for you to feel him there, but not enough to choke. Your body fit against his almost naturally, and the sensation of contrast – your height against his, his strength against your fragility – made your heart race even faster.

When he finally pulled back, your faces remained close, breaths mingling. Mingyu’s eyes were darker, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips.

— Forget the food. — He murmured, his voice husky. — I have a better idea...

And before you could respond, he kissed you again, stealing any words that might have left your mouth.

Minghao

The deserted beach looked like a scene straight out of a dream – the sky painted in warm hues of orange and pink, the salty breeze caressing your skin, the sound of waves crashing softly against the sand. Minghao had chosen this place carefully, a secret hideaway where the world seemed to exist just for the two of you.

He stood in front of you, his gaze fixed on you with that intensity that always made your heart race. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his light pants, his posture relaxed, but his eyes said something else – he was having fun, and you knew that meant he was in a teasing mood.

— I have your present. — He announced, his velvety voice blending with the night breeze.

Your eyes sparkled with excitement, and you practically bounced in place, clasping your hands together like a child waiting for candy.

— Give it to me! Let me see! — You insisted, a wide smile spreading across your face.

Minghao let out a short, muffled chuckle, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, the corner of his lips curving into an arrogant smirk. His gaze darkened slightly, glinting with veiled mischief as he replied:

— Beg me. — He answered. — Beg me, and maybe I’ll show you.

Your smile faltered for a second, weighing your options. Minghao loved this kind of game, and you knew the only way to win was to play along. So, slowly, you wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him a little closer.

Your eyes traveled up to his, softer than usual, and you blinked a few times, leaning slightly into him.

— Hao... — Your voice came out lower, almost a whisper.

He laughed, a low, amused sound, and squeezed your waist with one hand before shaking his head.

— I know what you’re doing, but it wont work. — His fingertips brushed along your jaw, tilting your face up slightly. His smirk deepened, a spark of anticipation dancing in his gaze. — I want you to beg for real.

The way he said it, with his voice slow and dripping with provocation, sent a delicious shiver down your spine. Minghao wanted you to truly beg, and judging by the way he looked at you – with that lazy smirk and the mischievous glint in his eyes – you knew he wouldn’t give in easily.

So, taking a deep breath, you leaned even closer, your arms still wrapped around his waist, your fingers tracing subtle patterns along the hem of his lightweight shirt. Your gaze lingered on his lips before slowly meeting his eyes again, filled with something deeper, something more genuine.

— Please, Hao… — Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, and your fingers pressed gently against his waist as if urging him closer. — Give it to me…

For a moment, time seemed to slow down. You saw his smirk falter slightly, his eyes darkening as he took in your words and the way you said them. Then, Minghao tilted his head to the side, his lips curling back into that satisfied smile.

He hummed, looking at you with a predatory glint in his eyes, and finally, he leaned in toward you.

The kiss started off slow, a delicious contrast to his earlier teasing. His lips met yours with patience, as if savoring every second, drinking in the taste of your surrender. But it didn’t take long for the softness to shift into something more intense—the rhythm picking up as he gripped your waist tighter, deepening the kiss.

His fingers traveled up your back, the light touches sending shivers through your skin as he pulled you even closer, as if trying to erase any space between you. You felt his breath mix with yours, the warmth of his body radiating through the thin fabric separating you.

When he finally pulled back, that same smirk lingered, but his eyes now held a different shine – less playful, more intense. He kept his hand tangled in your hair at the nape of your neck, keeping you tilted toward him, and rested his forehead against yours, his fingers still gripping your waist firmly.

— Now that’s more like it. — He murmured against your lips, his voice low and satisfied.

You smiled, breathless, your eyes shining with expectation.

— And my present?

Minghao let out a soft chuckle, sliding his hands down to your arms before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

— I’m already giving it to you.

Seungkwan

The court was empty at that hour, illuminated only by the tall lampposts scattered around the space. The scent of dry earth and freshly cut grass mixed with the night breeze, and the only sound besides the rustling of the trees was Seungkwan’s slightly quickened breath – and your quiet, satisfied laughter.

— Stop laughing. — He grumbled, crossing his arms, but the glint in his eyes betrayed that he wasn’t actually mad.

— I’m not laughing. — You lied shamelessly, holding back another chuckle as you watched him huff.

You had made a bet. Seungkwan, always competitive, had sworn he could make ten consecutive shots without missing a single one. Knowing his exaggerated confidence all too well, you had doubted him. What he hadn’t expected was to miss the very last attempt, and now he was standing there, staring at you with feigned indignation while you basked in your victory.

— Come on, admit it. I won. — You teased, tilting your head to the side. — I told you you couldn’t do it.

Seungkwan rolled his eyes, tossing the basketball away before stepping closer with slow, deliberate steps.

— So what? I missed a single shot, that means nothing. — He grumbled, his voice lower now, laced with that same playful provocation he always used to throw you off.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you held his gaze.

— On the contrary, it means you have to do whatever I want for a full minute.

Seungkwan raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms again as if weighing the idea. The problem was, despite his stubborn front, he already knew he was doomed. The way you looked at him, a mix of mischief and that touch of sweetness that always disarmed him, made his pride waver just a little.

— And what do you want? — He asked, wetting his lips before looking at you more challengingly.

You took a step forward, closing the distance between you until you could feel the warmth of his body despite the cool night breeze. Your fingers trailed slowly up the fabric of his shirt, stopping at the collar.

— You know. — Your voice came out soft, almost a whisper.

Seungkwan let out a short breath through his nose, as if frustrated with himself for giving in so easily, but the way his shoulders relaxed betrayed the truth.

— You’re impossible. — He murmured, and then, before you could respond, he pulled you in by the collar of his own shirt, his lips meeting yours with the perfect mix of urgency and teasing.

The kiss started firm, dominated by his competitive nature, as if he was proving a point. But then, as the seconds passed, the initial tension melted away, giving way to something more genuine. The rhythm slowed, his lips moving against yours more languidly, the heat of his touch consuming every part of you.

Seungkwan cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs brushing over your skin as he deepened the kiss with a satisfied sigh. He had wanted to tease you, but in the end, he was always the one who got lost first.

When he pulled away, his eyes still closed, he took a moment before finally speaking, his voice a little husky:

— I bet you cheated.

— You missed all on your own, babe. I had nothing to do with it. — You laughed, resting your forehead against his.

He opened his eyes, narrowing them slightly before smirking. — Best out of three.

— If I win again, will you kiss me again?

Seungkwan let out a dramatic sigh, but the smile still lingered, hidden at the corner of his lips. — You’re not gonna win.

But judging by the way he was already pulling you toward the ball, you knew he wouldn’t mind losing again.

Vernon

It was only the first month of your relationship with Vernon, and you were already sure he was everything you could ever want: fun, funny, kind, and even a little shy. But there was a problem.

The kiss… or rather, the lack of one.

Vernon always came up with excuses whenever you had the chance to be alone, and it was starting to seem like he preferred anything over kissing you. So when he invited you over for a movie night at his place… you were surprised, to say the least. Was it finally going to happen? Did he want to make it special?

Everything was perfectly set up, the dim lighting in the living room making the atmosphere even cozier – and more romantic. You and Vernon were sitting on the couch, a forgotten bucket of popcorn beside you, while the movie played on the screen. You were the one who picked the film, excited by its premise – TikTok edits – but before you even pressed play, Vernon had already commented:

 — I'm pretty sure I saw some bad reviews about this one…

You ignored him, more focused on other things than the movie. But as the minutes passed and nothing you expected happened the slow-paced plot and forced dialogues started to weigh down. Boredom filled the air. You sighed, resting your head against the back of the couch, and without realizing it, you started playing with the soft strands at the nape of his neck, gently twisting them between your fingers.

Vernon, on the other hand, was distracted, his eyes on the screen, but when you started bouncing your leg non-stop, he smirked, recognizing your restlessness. He didn’t say anything, simply enjoying your impatience in silence.

— This movie is so boring — you huffed impatiently after a few more minutes.

Vernon let out a low chuckle and turned to you, murmuring teasingly: — I told you so.

You huffed again, sinking into the soft couch, but Vernon was more cunning than he seemed, and you barely noticed his warm breath approaching your neck in the dimly lit living room. A shiver ran down your spine as he leaned in closer, lightly rubbing his nose along your neck before leaving a soft kiss on your skin. A mischievous smile immediately formed on your lips.

Slowly, you tilted your head to the side, and your eyes locked on his. For a second, everything faded into the background – the forgotten movie, the justified bad reviews, the untouched popcorn. Vernon still had that playful smile on his lips when you leaned in, and he welcomed you eagerly.

It started slow and comfortable, filled with repressed longing. Vernon gripped the back of your neck firmly, deepening the kiss. You gripped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. Sensing that, Vernon swiftly slid his free hand down to your ass, pulling you onto his lap with a strong, quick motion.

The movie kept playing on the TV, but your attention was on something far more interesting.

Dino

Your boyfriend had to cancel the dinner you were supposed to have because of the rehearsal for his solo launch, but he felt bad about rescheduling with you, knowing how much those moments meant to you – he also didn’t want to be away from you that night. That’s why he invited you to watch the rehearsal.

The muffled sound of the music still reverberated in the air as Dino monitored each step of the choreography in the mirror like a hawk. During the rehearsal, he barely took his eyes off you. Every movement of yours, every reaction, every subtle and hurried touch during the breaks between the clean-up of the choreography seemed to carry something more, an intensity and veiled yearning between the two of you.

And you felt every furtive glance he cast your way, sensing something growing between you, something irresistible.

Now, at the end of the session, the mood was different. The empty room and the sudden silence seemed to make the atmosphere more tense. Dino approached you unexpectedly, his steps firm, almost challenging. He stopped right in front of you, and in a swift movement, he pushed you against the door, trapping you between his body and the cold wood. His gaze was full of intensity, as if he was measuring the moment with precision.

His lips were close to yours, the heat of his body radiating onto you. The pressure of his presence was almost physical, and you could feel your heart racing in your chest, but you also felt a delicious shiver, as if the air around you had changed in temperature.

Time seemed to slow down as he looked into your eyes, trying to gauge if you were ready for the next step, for what had yet to be said. His usual confident smile was now tinged with something more mysterious, something deeper, something between provocation and anticipation.

Dino tilted his head, his eyes locked on yours, and you felt as though the air around you was condensed into a single point of tension. He lowered his voice, almost whispering, and his words were laden with something you could barely understand:

— You know what I want, don’t you?

The question lingered in the air, like a provocation and a promise. He moved closer, his body pressed against yours, and you felt the intensity of his presence like never before. Dino held your chin, tilting your head to the side, and let a couple of kisses and light bites along your neck.

You deeply gasped, feeling the heat of his body against yours. He hid his smile in the crook of your neck, lifted his head up, locking his eyes on yours again, then bit your lower lip, making you whimper softly.

— The others… — you started, but Dino cut your words off before you could continue.

— There’s no one here anymore, beauty — he murmured on your lips, and in the next second, he took your lips in a hungry kiss.

His hands traveled down along your side, lifting you with no effort and pressing your back against the door, his body pressed on yours. After that, he slid his hand right to your butt, squeezing your soft flesh and pulling you against him, pressing your bodies together with fervor and desire.

[carisc4pshaw]

Morning delays

In which Spencer and Fem!Reader are late for work yet again because Spencer can’t keep his hands off her. (Smut!)

word count: 1.3k

tags: porn without plot, Smut, co workers, late to work, love, boyfriend&girlfriend, long term couple, showering together, sex, intimacy, P in V, unprotected P in V, Minor breeding kink, raw sex, 18+, fingering (f receiving), mentions of oral sex (f receiving), nipple play.

warnings: 18+!! whole thing is smut, unprotected sex (don’t be like them guys!)

notes: I don’t think I missed any tags anyway this is the most sexual thing ever written so I hope you horny people enjoy it.

————————-❤️‍🔥—————————

Just before you and Spencer had fallen asleep last night you had set the alarm for 7 am, it probably wasn’t enough time to get ready in the morning but you had a late night watching a movie with your long-term boyfriend not that either you saw much of it because before you got to the halfway point Spencer was on his knees between your thighs sucking your clit and circling your entrance, sliding his tongue into you until you had reached multiple orgasms.

You were certain the alarm hadn’t gone off yet because usually that would wake you straight away but today you were awoken to your boyfriend’s hands up your shirt resting on your breasts and tweaking with your hard-ish nipples. 

“What time is it?” You asked Spencer with a soft moan. 

“Almost 7 am.” 

“Baby we don’t have time, the alarm is about to go off,” You moaned halfway through what you were saying. 

One of Spencer’s hands slid down your stomach, “You want me to stop?”

“Well no…”

“Is your pussy already wet for me darling?” Spencer whispered into your ear. He wasn’t one for dirty talk all the time but when he did it the throbbing between your legs was only ever worse. You needed him badly and by the feel of things, he needed you too. 

You nodded, “Yes Spence.”

“Can I feel?” His hand still moving lower. 

“Yes,” With your signal he slid his hand under the waistband of your panties avoiding your clit as he ran a finger through your folds to collect your wetness, “Mhm Spence.”

“Beautiful, you’re so wet,” He spoke just before the alarm went off. With one quick movement, he took his hand from your panties and switched the alarm off before positioning himself between your legs. 

His large hands landed on your waist gripping you firmly. He leaned down attaching his lips to a nipple swirling his tongue around it for a couple of minutes until moving on to the next. 

His mouth pulled away from your nipple with a loud pop. He rested his hands at the side of your hips playing with the lace of your underwear. 

“Can I take them off now?” He looked straight into your eyes. 

“Please,” You said with a breathy sigh. 

Spencer pulled them off leaving them somewhere in the room, you’d find them later.

“What do you want?” Spencer asked, one of his hands running from your waist to your hip back and forth. 

Your eyes trailed between the both of you where you could see his erection through his boxers. 

“I want that,” You smiled sweetly and innocently. 

“What?” Spencer smirked. 

“Your dick.”

Spencer nodded, “Let me warm you up first.”

With that, he pushed your legs further apart his hands resting on the apex of your thighs, his thumbs nudging your folds due to the size of his hands. 

He used one of his left thumb to run back and forth over your closed folds. 

“Stop teasing we don’t have much time.”

Without another word he plunged his index finger inside of you, quickly curling it inside of you knowing exactly where your most pleasurable spot was. 

“Oh my god. Spence another!” You moaned with a little shout. 

“Yes baby,” Spencer pushed his middle finger inside, pulling them out a small way to push them back in much harder hitting your g-spot as hard as he could.

You reached down between you pressing two fingers to your clit and rubbing it in a quick motion. 

“Oh fuck, Spencer don’t stop,” You moaned loudly throwing your head back. 

Right as you felt your walls begin to tighten around his fingers and that familiar coil in your stomach he pulled his fingers out leaving your core pulsing around nothing. 

“What the fuck babe,” You groaned. You were frustrated, the tears began to well in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry, it just happened when you were frustrated or in this case when you couldn’t reach your peak of pleasure apparently.

“Hey no baby don’t cry,” Spencer wiped the tears from your eyes, “I’m going to make you cum I promise.”

“Why did you stop?” You frowned.

“I wanted you to cum when I was inside of you,” He ran his hand down your hair.

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?” Spencer asked giving you a kiss. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” You reached for his boxers pulling them down just enough that his erection sprung out of them before he discarded the material completely. 

“How do you want me?” Spencer asked. 

You blushed biting your lip, “Like always.”

“Honey, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

You hid your face in his neck, “Raw,” You muttered.

Spencer smirked, you usually did it like that now that you had been together for three years and knew you were both clean but he loved hearing you say it. 

He rested his dick against your folds rubbing the tip against your clit to relax you again after leaving you without an orgasm a few minutes ago. 

You loved how his veins felt against you when he did that but right now you just craved him filling the empty space inside of you.

“Please,” You stared into his hazel eyes that were clouded with lust.

You breathed in deeply as he pushed the head inside of you slowly, his fingers coming to your clit to help as he entered you. He wasn’t too girthy but he had length and his head always stretched you out the perfect amount that you experienced a slight tweak of pain before the rush of pleasure.

Spencer wasted no time in picking up the pace pounding in and out of you quickly since you really had to be leaving soon, mornings were always for rougher faster sex and the evenings were for when he wanted to spend hours worshipping every inch of your body.

His tip grazed the nerves inside of you with every thrust and that partnered with the firm circles on your clit you knew you weren’t going to last very long. 

“Close already honey?” Spencer moaned feeling your walls tightening around him. 

“Fuck! Mhm,” You couldn’t speak anymore without a sting of moans leaving your mouth. 

“Good girl, hold it, I’m almost there,” Spencer thrust harder, your skin slapping together and your hips colliding.

“Spence please,” You moaned. 

“Yes okay baby okay,” Spencer groaned, “Do you want me to pull out?”

“No inside please.” 

Two more thrusts and you came around his dick just before he spilled his seed deep inside of you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Spencer kissed your forehead which had a few beads of sweat on it. 

“You felt so good,” You couldn’t help biting your lip and giving him a satisfied look. 

“So did you sweetheart. I’m going to pull out okay?” 

You nodded as he pressed his thumb against your clit only to make small circles as he removed himself from you. It was slightly overstimulating but you knew he was just caring for you and nothing more.

“We are so late, we still need to shower,” You said looking over at the clock. 

“I thought we could shower at work, you know training is first on the schedule you’re just going to get sweaty again,” Spencer shrugged getting up from the bed to find the pieces of discarded clothing. 

“Excuse me? I’m showering before we leave,” You said with your eyes widening. 

“Why?” He asked and you hoped he was reading. 

“Because we smell of sex, from last night and this morning and I have ropes of your cum inside of me.”

Spencer smirked, “Leave it there, that’s pretty hot.” 

“You’re insane,” You rolled your eyes and got up from the bed.

“I was kidding, take a shower but I do like the thought of me being inside of you like that.”

Again you rolled your eyes, walking toward the bathroom, “Are you joining? We will save time and water.” 

“If I ever say no to that question, know there’s something wrong with me,” Spencer said following you through to the bathroom. 

————————-❤️‍🔥—————————

[i-dared-myself]

Skirt War

Requested by anonymous: Could I req a fic with the stray kids' ninth member being put in a short dress/skirt (you know those that don't look like it'll ride up if you move but it does and its annoying af??) for a performance with a dance dance - that she has to move around a lot and then she keeps trying to pull the skirt down but that piece of shit just keeps going back up. And she spends the whole performance playing tug of war with a bunch of fabric trying not to be indecent and humiliated. And backstage she feels shit bc she couldn’t dance well and looked pathetic and she's disappointed and frustrated and embarrassed and yk. Idk if this is understandable anymore

“Wow, Felix,” you say, “you look really good! The stylists worked really hard with this new set of outfits.”

Felix hums his agreement, adjusting his gloves. “Where’s yours?”

You glance down at yourself. You’re still in your normal clothes. “Ah, they haven’t called me back yet. I think they’re finishing with Seungmin now.”

Felix makes a small sound of understanding, reaching up to touch his hair. He stops himself and drags his hand back down to his side. “Should I dye my hair soon?”

You shrug. “Do you want to? Is your hair even alive at this point?”

You hear someone softly call your name, and turn before you head Felix’s response. A staff member is waving you over as Seungmin and Jisung walk by.

“Looking good,” you compliment them, smiling brightly. You’re excited for what you’ll be wearing for the performance.

So you’re handed the set of clothes that you change into. You don’t even get a chance to look at yourself in a mirror before you’re whisked away for makeup and hair.

You eventually step out, joining the others. It seems as if everyone else has finished with their own styling, and everyone looks great.

There’s one tiny little problem, though.

Your tiny little skirt.

Your shirt is amazing, and you can’t disagree with the fact that you look hot in it. But the skirt is as small as they get. You’re amazed that you’re even allowed to wear it.

You’re fairly certain it’ll stay in place during thr performance, but you really don’t want to take chances. So you do an experimental twirl, heart sinking when the skirt instantly flies up.

Hyunjin recoils when he sees you. “What the-“

“Watch it!” Chan warns, narrowing his eyes. He faces you, eyes widening. “Oh. Oh boy.”

You tug the material down, fiddling with it anxiously. “Is it that bad?”

Jeongin is averting his eyes, which does absolutely nothing to make you feel better. “Nope. It’s totally fine.”

“Did they ask you about this?” Minho frowns deeply, glancing out at the crowd between the curtains. The sound check is almost complete, so you’re running out of time to deal with this.

“No. I wasn’t aware that I’d be wearing this.” Your hands tremble. You feel sick with how short it is. You half believe you’re at risk of your most intimate areas just being on display.

Seungmin grunts a little. “Want my sweater? To tie around your waist?”

You consider it for a moment before shaking your head. “Maybe later. I don’t want it to look like I’m disrespecting the stylists.”

“But it’s fine!” Jisung assures you. “These aren’t our usual stylists, and they don’t know our boundaries.”

“But we also don’t want to start something with this event,” you point out. They stylists had come with the gig, and you didn’t want to disrespect them if you didn’t usually work with them. It might ruin any other opportunities.

“Positions, everyone,” Chan suddenly says. He gives you a pitying look as everyone files into their assigned places. “You’ve got this.”

You’re not as confident as he is, but you force a smile. You tug the skirt down one last time before bounding out onto stage.

The music starts up and you begin to dance. Every movement that involves legs (pretty much all of them) has the skirt flipping up. Felix is behind you for the beginning, and when you catch a glance of his face it’s bright red.

You miss a hand gesture because you’re adjusting the fabric again, and your stomach tumbles. The media is going to have a field day with this. Everyone is going to be talking about how unprofessional you are.

Positions are swapped, and then you’re next to Changbin. He turns his gaze away to be respectful, but it just reinforces the idea in your head that the outfit is bad. That you’re indecent.

You blink back tears as you stumble over yet another move, too busy holding the skirt down to make it to the next spot in time. You’re falling behind, mind focused on your decency and not the dance.

Then your lines come, and your voice cracks. You’re lucky enough that you don’t have to hold your microphone up, because you honestly don’t have a spare hand.

It comes to an end, and you all bow. You walk off stage, perhaps the most humiliated that you’ve ever been.

Changbin loops his arms around you, tying his sweater around your waist. You mutter your thanks and wrench your headset off. 

“Hey.” Chan gently grabs your arm and steers you back to the group. “Let’s talk about it.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You keep your head ducked, gaze locked on the floor. Your throat burns and you’re struggling not to cry.

Jeongin comes up behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder. “I think you did great.”

You shove him away. “Well I didn’t! I sucked because of this stupid skirt! I let it get in my head, and now everyone’s going to be talking about it!”

Minho sits on the ground and takes your hands in his. He gently pulls you down to his lap and lets your cry against his chest. “Yeah, it wasn’t your greatest performance.”

“How is that supposed to help?” Jisung hisses out.

“But Stay loves you no matter what. And if they don’t, they can go suck it.” Minho strokes your hair. 

Chan clears his throat. “I might not have said it in those exact words, but he’s right. And from now on, I’ll make it clear to our managers and staff about our boundaries. Including those that we work with for the first time.”

You hiccup between tears, burying your face further against Minho. “Really?”

Chan hums. “Absolutely. And we have time to change before our next song, so why don’t you go to the stylists again?”

You sniffle and push yourself out of Minho’s grip. Seungmin gives you a reassuring smile as you wander off.

“Excuse me?” you hesitantly say as you approach one of the stylists. “Would it be okay if I got a different skirt? Or maybe some pants?”

He tilts his head, nose wrinkling. “Why? Is there a problem with it?”

“Uh, it’s just that-“ You toy with the material as you try and find the correct words. You don’t want to insult the man. “Dancing in this is very difficult. I don’t feel comfortable in this.”

He smiles mockingly. “Oh, really? Well it’s fine. It’s not even that short.”

“I just danced in it and it didn’t go that well.” You’re aware that you’re running out of time. You need to hurry up. “Can you please just direct me to-“

“Have you considered that maybe it’s just your skill?” he interrupts. He sighs and shakes his head, turning away. “But fine. I could find something else.”

You swallow thickly as you follow him.

Is it actually your own fault? Are you just not a talented enough dancer for these clothes? 

“Is this good enough for you?” The stylist holds up a new set of bottoms, and you wince. It’s even smaller than the one you’re currently wearing.

“Ready yet?” Jisung comes sliding in, eyes widening at the skirt being held up. “Wow, that’s small.”

“Uh, almost,” you weakly tell him.

Jisung’s eyes catch on your face and trembling bottom lip. His arms shoot out to wrap around you, and he pats your back. “It’s okay!”

“Are you wearing this or not?” the stylist snaps. 

“No, she’s not.” Jisung tightens Changbin’s sweater on your waist. “She’s wearing this and we have to go now, since we’re on in less than a minute. But I’ll be telling Bang Chan about you.”

The man pales. Having an idol complain about you was pretty much a death sentence, especially when that idol had as much influence as Stray Kids.

Jisung grabs your hand you the two of you dash out onto stage. You burst out and join the rest of the members, just in time for the music to begin.

This time it goes smoother. The sweater gives enough weight to keep the skirt down, and you’re able to focus on the dance. Your movements are fluid and well-executed, and you know even Hyunjin would be proud.

When you go backstage, you feel mildly more confident. You take a swig of your water bottle as Jisung tells Chan about the stylist.

Jeongin huffs, overhearing the conversation. “What an asshole.”

Seungmin hums his agreement. “A real dick.”

Chan holds up his hands. “Let’s watch the language, everyone. We’re professionals at work.”

Changbin snorts. “Right. If he’s a professional, why did he basically humiliate her?”

Felix hooks an arm over your shoulder. “It’s okay, I bet Minho will screw up soon and everyone will forget about today.”

Minho makes a sound of protest, narrowing his eyes. “Why me?”

Hyunjin wipes the sweat off his forehead. “Relax, it’s just an example.”

Chan calls the stylist over, who appears vaguely nauseated as he steps closer. He bows briefly to Chan before his eyes flick to you for a fraction of a second.

“I heard you had a bit of an issue with one of my members?” Chan blandly asks. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this angry. “Were you the one who put her in that skirt? Were you planning for her to humiliate herself and get kicked out of the industry?”

“Yeah!” Jisung cries out. He’s immediately silenced by Minho.

“S-Sorry,” the man mutters. “I just- I’m sorry.”

“No, no, continue.” Chan arches an eyebrow challengingly. “You just what?”

“Bet he just wanted to see her in it,” Seungmin drawls. “Is that it?”

A bead of sweat rolls down the stylist’s forehead. “Well- It wasn’t that short!”

“Would you feel comfortable wearing it?” Felix chimes in. “Because I thought it was pretty short.”

“Guys,” you say. “Let’s just go home. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Poor thing.” Hyunjin pats your head. “Wanna eat a whole bunch of ice cream with me?”

“Maybe,” you slyly say, walking with him to the van. You ignore the sounds of Chan still scolding the man. 

“If you ever need my sweater again, just ask.” Changbin comes up from behind you to poke at the fabric of the borrowed clothes. 

“Are we just stealing these?” Jeongin questions once everyone is in the van. Everyone is also still in the performance clothing. 

Chan frowns. “Oops.”

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! I was in a car accident yesterday (car took most of the damage, I’m ok other than bruises and sore muscles) and the whole thing has been a whirlwind of insurance and hospital and half asleep crying. I was wondering if I could request James potter x reader for comfort in a situation like that? I’m going through it rn lol hope you’re having a good day :)

Oh I'm sorry lovely! I had a very similar thing happen a little over a year ago, it's sooooo exhausting even when luckily no one is seriously hurt. Thanks for requesting, hope you're having a good/better day too <33

cw: past car accident, no details but talk of general aftermath of police questioning, insurance, etc.

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 799 words

The way James half-jogs up to the automatic doors of the hospital, seeming caught between walking and running, feels like someone is pressing down on the bruise of your chest. You wish you’d called him sooner. 

“James,” you call as he comes in, hating how your voice cuts through the taut quiet of the waiting area. It’s worth it for how his whole self softens when his eyes find you. 

He slows to a fast walk the rest of the way to you, the urgency slowly leaving him—which is appropriate, there is no urgency, everything has happened already—like an engine running out of gas. You stand as he nears, and both of you reach for each other before James hesitates. His hands stop midair, his brow tightening for a moment, before they come tentatively to your elbows.

“Hi,” he says, squeezing. “How bad is it?” 

“For me or the car?” you joke. 

“You.” James is feeling too earnest for joking, it seems. “Well, both of you. But you first.” 

You really thought you’d cry when you saw him. Worried you’d make a whole scene, blubbering and inconsolable, but you don’t seem to have any tears left. It makes sense, you suppose; you’ve cried a lot in the past few hours. First the slow, shaky kind right after getting out of your car, and then a real cry when a police officer had pulled you aside to get your version of events. (It had been embarrassing. She’d been nice about it, though.) Now, you wait for the tears to come, but for all your relief at seeing your boyfriend you feel rather dried up. 

It makes you wish, once again, that you’d called James sooner. You’d wanted to, of course, but you’d been nearly certain you’d be even less capable of holding yourself together if he were there, and there wasn’t much reason for him to be anyways. He was at work and you weren’t terribly hurt, so there was really nothing he could have done while you were talking to the police and the tow company and the paramedics and attempting not to drown in an overwhelm of insurance information. The only thing you really wanted him for was to hold your hand.

“I’m okay,” you say, the necessary preface. “A bit bruised up. My chest got the worst of it.” 

Unconsciously, your hand comes to your sternum as if to demonstrate, gravitating towards the center of the ache. James’ hand follows, seemingly just as thoughtless as it covers your own. He can’t see the bruise, but he makes a low, sad sound anyway. 

His care softens your voice. “They said my neck will probably hurt tomorrow, but it doesn’t yet.” 

“Oh, sweetheart.” James sounds really, truly heartbroken for you. “And the rest, it hurts a lot?” 

You shrug. What’s a lot? You know you could’ve had worse, much worse; still, you could do without that frightening soreness that comes with each breath. 

“It’s not too bad,” you say. “I could still hug.” 

It’s the question he’s been dying to ask, clearly. James’ arms are around you in a second, ardent but still gentle, palms pressing to the high and low points of your bag. It’s a good hug. You melt a little against him. 

James tucks his face into the side of your neck, like he’s trying to get as much contact with you as he can. “I wish you’d called me when it happened.” 

“You were at work.” 

“I’d have left work.” 

“There wasn’t anything you could do. I was fine, I just had to…” a little sigh escapes you, exhaustion creeping in now that he’s here “...talk to people. Insurance and all that.” 

James makes a soft, half-agreeing sound. His thumb strokes the base of your neck. “Still. I could have held your hand.” 

A new ache rises in the back of your throat, coming to join the rest. You wind your arms tighter around James. 

After a few, silent moments, he kisses your neck chastely and loosens his hold. “Ready to go home? Anything else you need?” 

You shake your head. “I’m signed out,” you say, so eager you feel like you could float out the doors. You hope you can entice James to lie in bed with you when you get home. You think you’ll sleep until tomorrow. “Let’s go, please.” 

“Alright, you don’t have to say please, sweetheart.” James curls an arm around your shoulders, pressing a smile into your cheek. “We can go. You need one of those wheelchairs for me to take you out to the car?” 

“Ha ha,” you say drily. “No.” 

“Just checking. Think maybe I ought to ask for one, just in case?”

“James. I will take your car home without you in it.” 

“Alright, lovie, I’m coming.”

[lizard-ratt]

NOTE: this is all steam of consciousness, minimal editing and proof reading, not to be taken seriously. Cool, thanks, enjoy.

WC: 2,288

Steve, in all honesty, should have seen this coming. Really, it was staring him right in the face, if he was just brave enough or smart enough to figure it out.

Eddie Munson was his soulmate.

Since he was young, his parents held a particular distaste for his soulmates. Soulmates, plural. Having read every last word scrawled across his skin, they decided the two people he was bound to for eternity were everything they stood against.

For years, they told him that he was to avoid his soulmates at all costs. “They’re just not right for you,” they said. “We’re just looking out for you.” Then they had nothing to say about them at all, too busy with their business trips to France, Germany, Costa Rica, and wherever else they went to.

Steve decided everything they taught him was bullshit anyway.

He met his first soulmate on accident. Robin Buckley. Assigned to a group project with her in Mrs. Click’s class, he couldn’t get a single word out before she just started to talk. He recognized the words immediately. Could’ve recited them in his sleep.

He glanced down at his watch and waited.

Eventually she petered out and the finished the essay tattooed across his chest. He glanced down at his watch again, ran the numbers and spoke.

“Three minutes and forty-two seconds. Impressive.”

Robin’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “No. No way.”

“I’m sorry, do you need more proof. Perhaps the three page thesis you tattooed across my chest?” Snark came naturally. Probably for the best that he wasn’t on his best behavior. Cause then he’d be lying to his soulmate. Robin needed to know her soulmate was a bitch. Cause he was a bitch.

Robin snorted, but it came out a bit forced. “Thesis, big word for you.”

“You’re avoiding the point,” he prodded.

“I need to process.” Steve could understand that. He accepted it with grace and they moved on to their assignment.

Robin, as Steve found out quickly, was fun. Bitchy in the way Steve was bitchy. They traded barbs and poked and prodded at each other like they’d been doing it their whole lives. Neither of them mentioned the whole soulmate thing.

By Robin’s request, they kept their friendship quiet, for the most part. He was well known and brought a lot of attention wherever he went, and Carol and Tommy probably wouldn’t take too kindly to Steve hanging out with a Band Nerd. That was fine with him. In his opinion, they weren’t good enough for Robin anyway.

One month into their friendship, Robin told Steve that she wasn’t ever going to be interested in him romantically. Told him about Tammy Thompson.

It didn’t shock him as much as it probably should have. It wasn’t like he knew, but it just felt right. Like a puzzle piece clicking into place. Robin wasn’t meant to be his romantic with him. Platonic Soulmates.

“Tammy Thompson’s great and all but she’s a total dud,” he told her.

“She is not!”

“She is! She wants to be a singer. She wants to move to Nashville and shit.”

“She has dreams!”

“She can’t even hold a tune!”

The relief is pouring off of Robin in waves, thick in the air, practically a physical sensation. Robin had looked so scared, like Steve could ever not want Robin in his life.

Later, after they sang Total Eclipse of the Heart together, Robin told him about her other soulmate. Said that she had another one. A simple two words scrawled on her wrist. Robin, right?

“I’ll show you my other soul mark later,” he promised her, in response. “I don’t really feel like taking off my shirt right now.”

About two months into their friendship, Steve showed Robin his other soumark. Lounging in his backyard, he took of his shirt and showed her. First, the giant block of text across his front, her words etched permanently on his skin. Then, he turned around and showed her his back, the other three page thesis tattooed to his body permanently.

“…. Oh. Oh no.”

Steve appreciated the real effort she put into not laughing. It lasted a whole ten seconds before the dam burst and she was in tears.

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up.”

“You are so unlucky!” She got in between wheezes of laughter. “You don’t have any torso left!”

“You think I don’t know this?”

She quieted down, before the laughter started up again. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I just imagined little baby Steve covered front to back with his soulmates’ first words to him.”

“I’m pretty sure I have a picture of myself somewhere…” he trailed off, forcing his grin off his face.

She zeroed in on Steve, like a shark smelling blood in the water. “I have to see it.”

“What’ll you give me for it?” He asked.

“I’ll bake you a cake,” she offered.

“You’re terrible at baking. Try again.”

“I’ll get my mom to make you a cake.” He considered it. Her mother was a fantastic baker.

“Better, but still no.”

“I’ll get Mom to bake you her secret brownies.” That one almost broke him. Those brownies had to have cocaine in them or something, because they were the best thing he’d ever placed on his tongue, but he knew he could still get something better from her.

“Better….”

“I’ll give you my family’s brownie recipe.”

“Sold!” He put on his best impression of an Auctioneer. “You bring me your mother’s Brownie recipe and I will hand over not one but two photos of me as a baby with my Soul Tattoos on display.”

They sealed it with a handshake.

For a few years after that, he didn’t think about soulmates.

He started to date Nancy Wheeler, despite not being each others’ soulmates. They worked, in Steve’s opinion. Then Barb vanished from his house, and he found out that Jonathan Byers took photos not only if the party but of Nancy getting undressed.

He probably should’ve felt guiltier about breaking his camera, but he just didn’t. He told Robin about it, though. She agreed with him that it was creepy, so it eased some of his concern.

Then later, he found Nancy and Jonathan in her bedroom and felt his heart plummet. He ran to Robin as quickly as possible and spent a little bit too long eating ice cream and listening to sad music while crying about how unfair life was, content to break up with Nancy and move on.

Tommy and Carol saw that as the coward’s way out and took it upon themselves to publicly shame Nancy Wheeler.

He ended up in a fist fight with Tommy (got his ass beat) and spent about thirty minutes cleaning off the spray paint from the Movie theater’s Marquee with Robin shouting encouragement.

They later went to apologize for Tommy and Carol’s behavior and all Hell broke loose. He and Robin, he decided, made a pretty good monster hunting team

Things kinda sped up after that.

He and Robin got all their information from Nancy and Jonathan who were, surprise, surprise, soulmates! (They swore up and down the wall that they didn’t do anything and planned to tell Steve, which he believed). They explained the alternate dimension and the monsters inside. A little girl with superpowers who sacrificed herself to kill the Demogorgon.

Steve and Robin went back to his house, laid down, and stayed there for a long time.

For a year, it was just those four. Robin, Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan. He didn’t talk to Tommy and Carol, and let his social standing slip away from him. The four of them fit together. They were jumpy and anxious and any flicker of the lights made them all stiffen, waiting for something Other to crawl from the walls.

It never did.

A year passed in a blur of anxiety and paranoia. He and Robin spent most of their time in each other’s back pockets, never too far from each other. Too worried that it wasn’t as over as everyone claimed.

Then, Jonathan and Nancy vanished with no warning. They had been shifty for a little bit prior to their sudden departure. Going quiet when certain topics came up, giving each other meaningful looks.

He and Robin went to the Wheeler house already positive they weren’t there.

They ran into Dustin Henderson instead.

If asked, later, what happened, exactly, he wouldn’t be able to tell you any specific details. Robin would be his go to whenever he had questions about everything, as she seemed to remember everything in high definition. What he did know is that he threw himself in front of a whole bunch of middle schoolers (and Robin) not once, not twice, but three times. In the process he got himself concussed and nearly mauled by a bunch of Demodogs, while wrapping himself around little Dustin Henderson.

After that, Dustin attached himself to Steve’s side like a barnacle and brought his friends (Lucas, Will, Mike, Max, and El) with him. Steve was okay with that.

He helped Dustin with his hair and gave him a ride to the Snow Ball. He gave the kids rides everywhere and hosted sleepovers and filled the silence with their noise. It settled something that Steve wasn’t even aware needed settling.

He graduated and when his parents didn’t show up, everyone else did. Nancy and Jonathan and the Party, and Mrs. Byers and Hopper. And Robin, playing with the band.

He didn’t make it into college, not that he tried all that hard. Officially, he got cut off, not that it mattered to him all that much. He saved up, stowing away cash whenever he could. Saving the Hush money, and allowance money, and lifeguard money. He was, for a while at least, fine. He still got a job, and Robin was right there with him, applying to Scoops Ahoy.

Dustin left before he could see their uniforms, and he expressed great disappointment in this. Steve promised him free ice cream for when he got back.

The Uniform was… ridiculous. They looked stupid and felt it, too. It got them money and kept them busy, and it was all fine. Even as he got covered in melted ice cream, and cleaned up kids vomit and got yelled at by kids parents, it was all fine because he had Robin.

The Party visited often, taking full advantage of his employee discount and the hall behind scoops that led direct to the theater. At least one of them thanked him each time (Will. Will never forgot his manners).

Then Dustin came home and shit hit the fan again.

Russian Code, hidden Bunker, child endangerment, and more!

More that he didn’t want to talk about let alone think about. More, like the questions, demanding he tell them what they wanted to hear. More, like the fists, like the broken bones and blood and pain. More, like the pleading, begging for mercy. Screaming. Crying. More, like everything that came after.

If Robin and him were inseparable before, they were practically conjoined twins after. After the mall blew sky high and Hopper died, and half of their group left to move to California. They had each other, and that would have to be enough.

Dustin Henderson first mentioned Eddie Munson about two days after his first day of Senior Year and already, Steve was regretting the fact that he still had most of his hearing on his right side. He was able to make his first joke about it, a few hours later. ("Do you think if I ask the Russian's nicely, they'll take away the rest of my hearing so I don't have to listen to Dustin's hero worship of Eddie Munson?") The look Robin gave him was a mixture of so many emotions, he nearly apologized before she burst out into hysterical laughter.

It didn't stop there. It only got louder and louder, the more Dustin got to know the guy.

From all the stories, it should have clicked in his mind, then, that the words tattooed across his back could come from none other than the 'Best Dungeon Master in Indiana'.

He first spoke to Eddie on a random Hellfire night, when he was picking up Mike, Dustin, and Lucas. In a near perfect repeat of the first words he traded with Robin, Eddie spoke before Steve could.

"If it isn't King Steve," he began. Steve stole a quick glance at his watch and he waited for the theatrical monologue to play out before him. Some things of note in the monologue included: scathing critiques of capitalism, scathing critiques of putting people into boxes, comments about the 'Little Sheep' that Eddie had taken under his wing and their supposed hero worship of Steve.

It was strange, listening to him talk. Like puzzle pieces falling into place. One of the first mysteries of Steve's life, and it was all coming together before him. Context finally provided for some, frankly, insane sentences.

Finally, Eddie wore himself out and stared at Steve expectantly. Steve stole a glance at his watch, did the metal calculations, and announced loudly, "You spoke at me for four minutes and two seconds. That is impressive."

Eddie's eyes bugged out of his skull, as did the other members of Hellfire that Steve could never remember the names of.

"There is no way..." one of them muttered. The one with the halo of curly hair in the flannel.

Steve turned and lifted his shirt to show the veritable wall of text tattooed to his back. Shoulder to shoulder, neck to hip, he was covered. He heard a sharp inhale of breath, before he dropped the shirt and turned back.

"Surprise?"

Steddie soulmate first words are fun and all but Eddie Munson will forever be a dramatic motherfucker, Steve has a full 3 page essay scrawled over his back about the dangers of capitalism and his dad hates it, you think Eddie would get the chance to speak to the Steve Harrington and wouldn't milk it for the most Shakespeare worthy performance you've ever seen in your goddamn life

Bonus points, Robin is his platonic soulmate and she'll ramble till the sun goes down so steve just has no space left on his body by the time those two are finished

[ravens-bird]

Yours to Keep - Sylus.

Pairing: Sylus x F!Reader.

Tags: Boyfriend Sylus, fluff, smut, kissing, fingering. this was supposed to be like soft sex (and it is) but I almost got carried away. Blame the man not me. Not Beta'd we die like Caleb. MDNI‼️

Nicknames used: Sweetie, Kitten, Sweetheart.

Note: Based on the prompt "Making love, except it’s on the bedroom floor" (link)

wc: 3.6k.

Sylus had long since stopped being surprised by your tendency to do random things on a whim. By now, he knew better than anyone to not question the little things that you did just because they felt right.

Like when you decide that having a whole block of cheese as a midnight snack was completely normal, or when you apply random products and make questionable concoctions in the name of skincare and then drag him into it while calling it a ‘spa day’.  

Sure, watching you Do Your Thing was quite amusing to him, but sometimes he wished he could take a look inside your head and Understand.

Case in point, he wasn’t sure why you were sprawled out on the plush carpet beside the bed, akin to a cat that curled up and napped anywhere it deemed a worthy spot. His red eyes flicker with quiet amusement as he stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching you.

“You do know we have a bed and a desk in this room right, Sweetie?”

You don’t bother looking up, shrugging in response as you spread out your haul from the gift shop — a thick leather-bound scrapbook, three different types of decorative tape, a set of colourful markers — and Sylus stopped counting.

His eyes furrow. “What are you doing?”

You finally glance up at him, blinking at him as if he was being silly. “Scrapbooking? Duh.”

His lips twitch at the corners, though the sigh he lets out is equal parts amused and exasperated.

“I can see that,” his tone is dry. He straightens up, pushing off the doorframe as he saunters towards you, a little curious. When you pat the space next to you, urging him to join you, he doesn’t hesitate.

He lowers himself onto the floor beside you, stretching his long legs out in front of him as he leans his back against the bedframe, taking in the mess— ahem, the arrangement of art supplies. The carpet is warm, and the faint evening light streaming in through the window paints the room a warm gold.

You scoot closer to him, nudging the scrapbook towards him. “Wanna help?”

He hums in thought, reaching for one of the photos from the pile you'd set aside — probably to include in the scrapbook, he assumed.

It was from one of your first public dates together, taken at Café Destiny — with you striking a peace sign, half out of the frame, while the camera had caught him mid-sip, eyes on you instead of his drink.

He smiles, picking up another one.

This one was from the new year celebration, taken by the twins — you were beaming, while Mephisto perched on your hand, with a tiny white ruff around his neck — an imitation of the Grumpy Crow plushie, looking thoroughly affronted and a touch betrayed, with his head turned towards Sylus who was standing out of frame.

Sylus hummed in amusement, flipping through a few more photos. His sharp eyes softened as he took in the little snapshots of your time together — laughing over coffee, wandering through night markets, you dozing off on his shoulder in the back of a car after an auction. Most were candids.

He briefly ponders how much you might have bribed Luke and Keiran for these.

“You’re really into this, huh?” His voice is softer now, more curious than teasing.

You smile, turning back to the task at hand. “Of course. It’s our memories.”

There’s a warmth spreading through him that he doesn’t quite know how to react to. So instead of trying, he just picks up the Polaroid camera beside him, aims it at you, and snaps a picture.

The flash makes you startle. “Hey!”

His crimson eyes gleam with mirth as he shakes the developing photo in front of you like one would dangle a feather-toy in front of a curious cat.

Once it clears, he holds it up for the both of you to see. For a quick picture, it had come out rather well, but it looked a little silly - because he had snapped it right as you closed your eyes.

Your pout lasts all of three seconds before you’re giggling, reaching for the camera yourself. Sylus doesn’t resist when you take it from him, instead hooking an arm around your middle and pulling you to him.

You squeak at the sudden movement, instinctively grabbing onto his arms as he settles you into his lap with ease, resting his chin on your shoulder as he keeps a lazy hold on your waist. Trying to ignore the way your heart flutters, you lift the camera, angling it so both of you fit in the frame. “Alright, smile.”

Sylus huffs but obliges, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

You press the button, the camera clicks, and as the photo develops, you glance down at it with satisfaction.

“See?” you say, turning the picture toward him. “We look cute.”

You glance up at him, still in his arms, expecting him to study the image but instead he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You let out a small, surprised noise before melting into it, reaching up to touch his cheek softly.

When he pulls back, your smile is dazzling.

Sylus has always wondered how it would feel like for his heart to race — either out of fear or excitement. Lately, he’s been experiencing it often, thanks to you — though, oddly enough, it seemed to be due to a secret third thing.

Which was not much of a secret, anyway.

Everyone around him — at least, those he considered relevant — knew he was smitten with you. But still. His chest feels full.

So full that, when you giggle again, he doesn’t think — just shifts the scrapbook and the photos aside, guiding you gently down onto the carpet with him as the camera slides out of your grip, falling into the carpet with a muffled thud.

You let out a small gasp, eyes wide, as he flops you down, one arm bracing the back of your head as he mindlessly shoves the camera aside.

His name barely leaves your mouth before he’s pressing his lips to yours, fingers grazing your waist with his free hand. He kisses you slowly, deeply, and you lose yourself in his kiss, his touch, the scent and feel of him, that you forget entirely about what you were doing.

He pulls back a little and your breath is shaky as he nips at your bottom lip, before he swipes his tongue over it, soothing the sting. His hand slides up, cradling your jaw with a tenderness that makes your heart stutter. His thumb traces just below your eye, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing the shape of you.

His face is so unguarded, so open, that words fail you.

Sylus despised vulnerability.

The mere thought of giving someone that kind of power over him had always been unbearable. Not that it was a common occurrence or anything — but with you, it was different. You made it feel less like a weakness and more like something he could surrender to — something safe.

He may not always find the right words to tell you how he feels, but in moments like this, his touch speaks for him.

Desire sings in his veins as you tug lightly on his collar, kissing him again. When his tongue teases the seam of your lips again, you open your mouth, and the noise of satisfaction that escapes your lips has his ego soaring.

He was determined to drag out more such sounds from you.

He goes easily when you flip him over, relaxing under you as you straddle his waist, feeling the press of his hardening erection against your heat. He watches you with a quiet intensity as you settle yourself over him, taking the lead, and his sharp intake of breath when you roll your hips gives you immense satisfaction.

His hands trail up your thighs to rest on your hips. “I’d rather take the initiative,” he speaks, red eyes sparking. “But I must admit. It is quite nice seeing you on top like this sometimes, kitten.”

You roll your eyes playfully, tipping forward to kiss again. He sighs against your lips, squeezing your side in response, before his fingers begin fidgeting with the material of your shirt.

You splay your palm against his chest, right above his heart, while resting the other on his shoulder, letting him hold you up and his hand sneaks beneath your clothes, caressing the skin underneath. 

Before long, he starts moving his hips too, jerking upward to grind against you and you gasp into his mouth, and his responding groan sends a spark of desire straight down to your cunt, and suddenly, there’s just too many layers of clothing separating the two of you.

Sylus seems to be thinking the same, because when he tugs at the hem of your shirt, you pull back, pulling it off immediately so that the only thing covering your upper half is your bra. When you reach for the buttons of his shirt immediately, he chuckles lightly.

“You’re rather impatient today, Sweetie.” 

You ignore his comment, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing them off his shoulders, and the amusement vanishes from his eyes when you run your hands down his front, all the way down to the waistband of his pants. 

He sits up then, pulling you into him as he presses hot, wet kisses against your lips, your cheek, your jaw, and your neck, trailing down to the swell of your chest before he unclasps your bra in one quick movement, baring your breasts.

You feel a wave of heat wash over you, tinging your cheeks red — not in embarrassment, but because of the way he looks at you. His eyes rake over you slowly, and the quirk of his mouth tells you that he's enjoying it immensely.

That, and the way his cock hardens further underneath you.

His voice is a quiet rumble as he cups one breast and gives it a little squeeze, “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Sylus—” His name is barely out of your mouth before he rolls a pert nipple between his fingers, and you whine. “Stop teasing.”

He chuckles again, “Your wish is my command, kitten.”

And when he takes your other breast in his mouth, his wet, hot tongue pressing against your nipple, your nails dig into the smooth, pale skin of his shoulder. His shirt was shoved off one shoulder, resting at the crook of his elbow and the sight of him like this, with his mouth on your chest, a faint blush on his face, is truly one to behold.

Your fingers get lost in the strands of his hair, tugging at them as he worries the sensitive flesh with his teeth, when his right hand trails down to the waistband of your shorts. You lift your hips readily when he tugs, and he pulls back to slide your shorts off you with ease.

“So eager,” he murmurs teasingly, as if he wasn't the one who started all of this. You don’t get to retort, because his hand is on you again, rubbing you against the fabric of your damp panties.

Sylus's fingers ghost over the material, teasing the sensitive skin beneath, before applying just the right amount of pressure that sends a surge of warmth pooling low in your belly, and your breath catches in a soft whimper as he finally pushes your underwear aside, dragging his fingers up to circle over your clit.

When you buck your hips against his hand instinctively, craving more friction, impatient and a little desperate for him to just touch you properly, god damn it all, he gathers some slickness in his fingers, slowly pressing into you.

A delicious mix of relief and tension flooding over you.

He thrusts his fingers in and out slowly at first, and you moan at the sensation, clenching around him. when he curls his fingers ever so slightly, and finds that one spot that has you crying out and grinding into his hand, he picks up his pace. Soon, you start to feel the waves of pleasure heighten, and you wrap both arms around him, holding on.

When Sylus gently presses the pad of his thumb against your clit, keeping his pace steady as he breathes against your mouth, you could do little except cling to him, and you come hard, drenching his hand, lap and your panties as well as your thighs.

He flips you over gently, letting you rest on the carpet on your back and you immediately try to stop him. 

“We’re going to ruin the carpet—!”

“I don’t care about the carpet, Sweetie.” He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, pushing you back down gently. “Not when I'm on top of you.” 

He pulls your panties off easily, and you help him take his shirt off, running your hands down the swell of his muscles appreciatively, and gasp in pleasure when he presses his clothed erection against your core.

You reach down, palming him through the material of his pants, as he kisses you again, and with great patience, he kneads the softness of your body, running his hands up and down teasingly yet carefully, as if he was trying to etch the memory into his mind.

“Sylus, please.” You whimper, empty and needy, already starting to feel aroused again, and he caves, letting you unzip his pants and take them off along with his underwear. 

He reaches for the nightstand and takes a condom out. You bite down on your lip in anticipation as you watch him roll it onto his fully erect cock. Despite the number of times you’ve done it before, the Moment Before was always a little intimidating. 

He lines himself up at your entrance, breath quickening as he looks down at you, gaze soft yet burning with anticipation.

"Are you ready, Sweetie?" His voice is low, laced with desire and affection.

You nod, heart racing as he presses a gentle kiss to your brow as he begins to slide inside. Your breath hitches as he sinks deeper, burying himself to the hilt.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust.

You nod quickly, urging him to move. "Mmm, you feel so good."

"You're so tight," he breathes against your lips as he kisses you sloppily.

When he starts to move, your toes curl with the sensation and you wrap your legs around his waist. His breath shudders as he picks up the pace, and the wet squelching sounds of his dick sliding in and out of your cunt, paired with the sounds escaping you both, adds a layer of lewdness to the whole ordeal.

“Shit, you feel so good, Kitten,” Sylus’s praise unleashes a swarm of butterflies in your tummy, and you grip his shoulders harder, your head falling back. 

Just as you feel your climax start to build, Sylus slows down, making you whine but he merely hushes, uncurling your legs from around him and shifts.

“Patience, sweetheart.” Despite the commanding tone of his voice, his eyes and touch are gentle. But what you wanted was not gentle. Not right now. 

However, your protests are once again thwarted as he lifts your right leg up, pulling you closer by the hips, still inside you. 

You’re about to ask him what the hell was he trying to do — though you have an inkling as to what it is, when he slinging your leg over his shoulder and moves again, thrusting inside you. Deep. 

Your garbled moan gets a devious smirk in response, as he tilts his hips just enough, angling himself to hit your G-spot, his cheeks splotched red to match his eyes. Strands of light hair stick to his forehead, while beads of sweat dot his brow and temple. 

There are four red half-moons on each shoulder, from when your nails dug into him, and the half faded hickeys on his collarbone begs for attention.

He looks so sexy like this.

Your breath stutters as you catch his eyes, and the way he’s looking at you — the intensity of it, makes you wonder what you must look like to him. Naked and flushed, panting as your breasts bounced with the momentum of his thrusts, the sight of him moving in and out of your wet cunt… 

“Lost in your head again, Kitten?” The huskiness of his voice carries a hint of warning in it — something dangerous. “When I’m still inside you?” 

You quickly shake your head, but he’s unconvinced as his pace slows down yet again. 

“Sylus—” You gasp as he presses his thumb against your pussy again, rubbing your clit with just enough pressure for you to whimper. You try again. “Please.”

Sylus chuckles, low and dark, the sound vibrating against your skin. He watches you with sharp eyes, drinking in every little reaction as he drags his thumb in slow, torturous circles.

“Please, what?” His voice is a whisper of sin, teasing, coaxing. His hips barely move now, keeping you right on the edge, just out of reach.

You squirm beneath him, fingers digging into his arms, nails biting into his skin in frustration. He loves that—loves how desperate you get for him. But he’s not done playing.

“You get lost in that pretty head of yours so often,” he murmurs against the side of your calf, pressing a lingering kiss to the bend of your knee. “Maybe I should fuck you hard enough to remind you exactly where you are.”

His crass words send a shiver down your spine, anticipation crackling through your veins. Your breath catches when he pulls out nearly all the way—only to slam back in with a force that steals what little air you had left.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growls as he turns his head to bite your leg slung over his shoulder, leaving an imprint on the skin, setting a brutal rhythm that has your body arching off the carpet, your moans spilling freely now. His fingers don’t stop either, overstimulating you and pushing you closer and closer to the ledge.

And this time, there’s no room for wandering thoughts—only him, only this.

Not that your thoughts ever strayed far from him to begin with.

But now, your mind is blissfully blank, lost in the waves of pleasure as your body tenses and trembles beneath him.

Your release crashes over you just as he continues his pace, dragging out every sensation, every spark, until he follows soon after — burying himself deep inside you with a low, shuddering groan as he too chases his high.

You sigh a little as he pulls out, feeling the sudden emptiness in you as he rolls off of you, laying next to you, breathing a little heavily. You both lay there for a moment, with you being drowsy after coming twice. 

You’re only half aware when he gets up to dispose of the used condom, and don’t protest much as he scoops you into his arms, holding you to his sweaty torso. 

He breathes you in, his lips ghosting over your ear as he whispers softly, "I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you."

And in the silence that follows, you feel your heart swell. The words come out before you can rethink them, breathless and full of warmth. "I’m all yours to keep."

Which is true. You don't think anyone else could quite make you feel the way he does, and anything else couldn't compare.

So when you smile, holding onto him like he’s your whole world, he finally understands why people compare love to the sun, the moon, and stars.

Because here, right now, having you in his arms—he has them all.

“Have you caught your breath yet, Sweetie?” His fingers rub lazy circles on your back as you nuzzle into his side. You hum sleepily in response. 

Then he chuckles, voice dark with intent. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Your eyes snap open. “Sylus, are you serious?”

He tilts his head, amused. “What? You look so pretty all wrecked like that. How could I resist?”

“No way! First, you interrupt my scrapbooking, and now you want to continue?” You scoff. 

“That’s not a no,” he drawls in response, before sneaking his hand down and giving your ass a quick, teasing squeeze. You yelp, swatting at him as he grins against your temple. 

“It is,” you wag a finger in front of his face playfully. “Let’s just clean up and get dinner already!”

Sylus sighs, clearly reluctant to let the... session end, but after a moment, he gives in. “Fine, fine.” He pushes himself up, then effortlessly scoops you into his arms, making you squeak, before he carries you to the attached bathroom. 

But as the warm water starts to stream down your bodies, his hands find your hips, his lips find your neck, and well…

Who’s to say that you both will only shower, though?

The night is still young.

Note: found the Praying Mantis position quite hot, despite its name being very... yeah. I think it's Sylus for me (get it??? 🤣)

Masterlist.

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER FOURTEEN ━━ Show a Little Loving

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 6.4K

❀ ━ warnings: detailed make out but it doesn’t go any further

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: think TATBILB

THE NEXT MORNING, Jo woke up feeling like she was in a completely different reality.

Nothing looked different—the room was the same, the dim winter light slipping through the curtains, the soft weight of the blankets tangled around her legs. The air in the cabin was cool, and the scent of coffee and something sweet, maybe cinnamon, lingered in the air from downstairs. Normal. Everything was normal.

Except for the fact that Jo was—and still is—decidedly not.

She’s never been less normal in her entire life.

Because for the first time in her entire life, she likes someone who isn’t Asher Davis.

And that someone is Paige.

When she woke up, Jo stayed frozen under the covers, trying to process it—like if she just laid there long enough, she could force her brain to make it not true. But the weight of it merely pressed down on her, undeniable, suffocating. She felt like she’d just unlocked some secret part of herself she wasn’t supposed to find, like she’d just opened a door that can’t be shut.

She spent the entire night tossing and turning, hyper-aware of every single thing Paige did.

The way Paige curled up beside her like she always does, shifting close like she’s drawn to Jo in her sleep. The way her breath tickled against Jo’s neck, steady and warm. The way she tucked her face into Jo’s shoulder, lips brushing against her skin. Jo barely slept because of it. She just laid there, rigid, heart hammering against her ribs like a drum, panicking.

And then later this morning, when they were brushing their teeth together in the tiny bathroom, Paige kept nudging her shoulder. Jo doesn’t even know if it was on purpose—Paige is like that, casual and comfortable, always touching Jo like it’s second nature—but Jo noticed. She felt it. And it was so stupid, so small, but it sent a wave of something through her, something warm and unbearable and foreign.

And now—now they’re on the ski lift, and Jo is trying so fucking hard to act normal.

It’s not going well.

Paige is sitting way closer than necessary, thighs pressed against Jo’s even though there’s a whole chunk of space open on the other side of the lift. The cold metal bar rests against their laps, and the mountains stretch out below them, snow-covered and endless, but Jo can’t focus on any of it.

She can only focus on Paige.

She doesn’t get it. Paige has always been touchy with her. They’ve shared a bed countless times, always leaned against each other, always sat too close. This isn’t new. This isn’t different. But now, it feels different. It’s like Jo’s senses have been turned all the way up, like she’s suddenly attuned to every single point of contact, like her body is tracking Paige without her permission.

And she doesn’t like it.

She shifts slightly, just enough to put some space between them, but Paige only grins and leans in closer, bumping their shoulders together. “You’re quiet,” Paige says. “Cold?”

Jo forces a shrug, not trusting her voice. She knows it’s uncharacteristic, but everything about her seems to be that way today.

Paige hums like she doesn’t quite believe her, but she doesn’t press.

Jo bites her tongue inside her mouth and stares straight ahead, pretending to be interested in the scenery, pretending her heart isn’t trying to climb out of her throat.

She cannot be weird about this.

She won’t be weird about this.

Because if Paige notices something is off, Jo has no explanation. What the hell is she supposed to say? Sorry, I just realized I have a thing for you and now I can’t function like a normal person anymore?

Absolutely not.

And worse—what if her family notices? They know her better than anyone. If she doesn’t get her shit together, they’ll realize something’s up.

Jo swallows hard, stomach twisting. She can hardly survive herself knowing this—if other people did, she doesn’t know what she’d do.

So she keeps her mouth shut, keeps her body still, and hopes to God this feeling will go away before she completely loses her mind.

And then, thankfully, they reach the top of the lift. Meaning Jo has something else to focus on.

Getting off of it on a snowboard isn’t hard, not really, but it’s definitely not something you want to mess up unless you enjoy face-planting in front of a bunch of strangers. Jo angles her board as the bench slows, pushing herself forward with practiced ease, gliding down the short slope leading away from the drop-off point. She turns just in time to watch Paige follow behind her, arms slightly outstretched, knees stiff.

Paige doesn’t fall—which is honestly impressive for a first-timer—but Jo can tell it’s more luck than skill.

They then make their way over to the side, where Jo’s family is already securing their bindings. Jo sees Paige watche, then follows suit, crouching down and clipping in her back foot like she’s done it before. For a second, Jo thinks maybe she has—that maybe she totally overestimated how difficult this was going to be.

Then Paige stands up.

And just stands there.

Jo doesn’t even have to say anything—she can see the exact moment Paige realizes she has no fucking clue what to do next.

The thing about snowboarding is that, once both feet are strapped in, there’s no casual shuffling around like with skis. You have to commit to your movements, shift your weight with intention, trust the board to follow. Paige, currently, looks like she doesn’t trust anything. She’s frozen in place, weight too evenly distributed, arms slightly hovering like she’s trying to counterbalance pure fear.

Jo’s family doesn’t notice. Of course they don’t. They’re already pushing off, racing down the slope like they forgot they just dragged a complete beginner onto what is definitely not a beginner run.

Which means it’s entirely Jo’s problem now.

Jo sighs and turns back to Paige, who immediately schools her expression into something completely nonchalant, like she wasn’t just panicking a second ago.

“I’m good,” Paige says, nodding.

Jo lifts a brow. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Paige insists, overconfident. “I ski all the time. How hard can it be?”

Jo snorts, shaking her head. “That’s like saying, ‘I can ride a bike, so how hard can a unicycle be?’”

Paige glares. “That’s not the same thing.”

“It’s exactly the same thing.”

Paige groans but doesn’t argue further, which is good, because Jo is pretty sure that if she lets her go down the slope without at least trying to teach her something first, she’s going to have a very injured best friend by the end of the day.

Which—yeah, Paige doesn’t need any more injuries.

Jo drops down onto the snow, motioning for Paige to do the same. “Okay, before you kill yourself—”

Paige sighs. “Very encouraging, thanks.”

“—I’m gonna teach you the basics.”

Paige rolls her eyes but listens as Jo explains how to shift her weight, how to stop using her heel edge, how to not immediately die the second she starts moving. She nods along like she gets it, but Jo knows she doesn’t, because when she tells her to try stopping, Paige just stares at her.

“Like this,” Jo demonstrates, digging into her heel edge and coming to a smooth stop.

Paige squints. “I don’t think my feet can do that.”

Jo gives her a look. “They can. You just have to actually try.”

Paige glares at her, then attempts it—and immediately wobbles so hard she almost eats it.

Jo bites her lip, trying so hard not to laugh, because she knows if she does, Paige will shove her straight into the snow.

Still, watching Paige struggle is… entertaining.

Actually, no, it’s worse than entertaining, because Jo is finding it way too endearing, and that is a problem.

But it’s hard, because Jo is stuck here watching Paige, her flushed cheeks, her concentrated little frown, the way she huffs whenever she messes up but refuses to ask for more help.

Jo has to get it together.

She clears her throat and moves on to the next part—teaching Paige the “falling leaf” technique, which goes just about as well as expected. Paige flails. A lot. She makes little frustrated noises, glares at Jo when she tries to help, insists she’s got it even when she absolutely does not have it.

Jo grins, probably too much, but she can’t help it. She’s never seen Paige like this before. Paige is good at everything—basketball, school, literally any sport she tries—but right now, she’s an absolute disaster.

And Jo finds it so ridiculously cute, it makes her chest constrict.

Why, why, why, why, why?

By the time they move on to full turns, Paige is mildly competent. She’s still wobbly, still too tense, but she starts linking her turns together, starts actually looking like she knows what she’s doing.

Jo watches her, nodding approvingly. “Look at you.”

Paige looks at her, grinning wide, blonde hair slipping out from under her beanie, flushed from the cold, happy.

And Jo—Jo feels something tight in her chest.

Something warm and annoying and confusing and—

She tears her gaze away before it turns into something worse.

Eventually, they decide Paige is ready for the slope.

Jo isn’t entirely sure that’s true, but there’s only so much practicing they can do before Paige gets impatient and wants to actually go somewhere. And Jo gets it. She does. Paige isn’t the type to sit around mastering the basics—she’d rather dive in headfirst, figure it out on the way down.

Which is how they end up at the top of the easier slope—the one Jo’s family didn’t go down.

It’s still not technically beginner-friendly, but it’ll have to do.

Jo studies Paige as she shakes out her arms, shifting her weight back and forth like she’s hyping herself up. She’s still pretending she’s not nervous, but Jo can see it in the way she breathes in deep, lips slightly parted, exhaling like she’s about to take a game-winning shot instead of just… sliding down a hill.

Jo shakes her head, telling the blonde, “You’re gonna be fine.”

Paige doesn’t meet her eyes. “Yep,” she says, sounding uncharacteristically unenthusiastic.

“Mhm,” Jo confirms.

Paige rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, she pulls on her goggles. And then she takes a final breath, gives Jo one last I’m totally calm and confident nod, then pushes off.

Jo follows immediately, ready to intervene if Paige immediately eats shit.

She doesn’t.

In fact, Paige actually does an okay job.

She’s still stiff, still a little too tense, but she’s making turns, shifting her weight properly, keeping herself upright. Jo even hears her let out a small whoop at one point, though it quickly turns into something that sounds suspiciously like a scream before she regains control again.

Jo has to laugh. “Not bad, huh?”

Paige breathes out hard. “I’m doin’ great, thank you.”

Jo grins but doesn’t argue. Paige’s balance is still shaky, but she’s improving with every turn, her confidence visibly building—until they get too close.

Jo realizes it a second too late.

She shifts left, trying to create space, but Paige is still a beginner, and she wobbles at the exact wrong time. She catches an edge, stumbling forward, and Jo barely has time to react before she gets caught in it.

“Shit—”

Then, they’re both tumbling.

Jo crashes backward into the snow with a heavy thud, the impact sending a jolt up her spine, her board kicking up powder. Paige lands right on top of her, effectively knocking the air out of her lungs.

Jo groans, blinking up at the sky for a second before lifting a gloved hand to shove her goggles up.

“Shit, bro, that hurt,” Paige mutters against her chest, fumbling with her own goggles, breath puffing out in visible clouds.

Jo exhales sharply, trying to process—not the fall, not the pain, but the fact that Paige is on top of her, head pressing into her heavily layered chest like it belongs there.

She’s too close.

Jo feels it everywhere—Paige’s weight, the warmth of her breath against the fabric of Jo’s jacket, the way her hand is braced against Jo’s sides as she tries to push up, but she’s still struggling with her goggles, fingers catching on the strap.

Jo shakes her head. “You’re a mess—”

Without thinking, she reaches up, gloved fingers brushing against Paige’s cold skin as she pushes her goggles back, slipping them up over her helmet.

Paige shakes her head a little, her other hand dropping to Jo’s side to keep herself balanced.

The world is quiet around them—just the muffled sounds of distant snowboarders, the crunch of powder under shifting weight, the occasional gust of wind.

Paige blinks down at Jo, blue eyes so blue in the snow-bright lighting, her face flushed from exertion, from the cold, maybe from something else too.

And Jo—Jo can’t look away.

Her chest tightens.

Her fingers are still against Paige’s face, and Paige isn’t moving, isn’t pulling back, just watching her with something unreadable in her expression.

Jo’s gaze flickers down—to Paige’s lips, slightly chapped but still soft, still way too close to her own.

And for a second, for one reckless, impulsive, insane second, Jo thinks about leaning in.

The thought sends a jolt through her.

She shoves it down so fast it makes her stomach churn, immediately pushing Paige off of her before she can even fully process what just happened.

“You’re too heavy to be laying on me like that,” she says, trying for humor, but the words come out a little strangled.

Paige grabs her own bearings, letting out a startled laugh, sitting up on her knees. “Hey!”

Jo rolls over, sitting up quickly, dusting snow off her sleeves, trying to act normal, trying to breathe properly, trying not to think about how she almost—

God.

She can’t do this.

PAIGE STEPS out of the bedroom, rubbing at her arms as a shiver wracks through her. She knew changing into just a t-shirt and sweatpants was a bad idea, but her sweatshirt is still damp from falling in the snow earlier, and putting it back on felt like asking for hypothermia. She’ll have to live with it, she guesses, even if the cold air nips at her skin, goosebumps rising along her forearms.

The day has been long, another one spent out on the slopes. Since Paige’s first time on a board yesterday, she’s improved tenfold, and today had been much much more enjoyable, only a few falls to round it out.

She hears movement in the kitchen as she rounds the corner, the soft clinking of mugs and the faint hum of Jo moving around.

Paige slows her steps.

Jo’s back is to her, standing at the counter, stirring something in a mug—hot chocolate, probably, based on the rich scent of cocoa that lingers in the air. The sight of Jo, standing there so effortlessly domestic, makes something warm curl low in Paige’s stomach.

Paige is used to it, at this point. It happens constantly, the unshakable heat that rises whenever Jo does literally anything. Yesterday, it had been on the slope, when Jo helped her up from the snow, when she brushed Paige’s hair out of her face, when she looked at her with something so unreadable, so intense, that Paige had felt frozen in place.

And now—now, it’s just the way Jo stands there, all soft and warm and anything but hers in the low light of the kitchen.

Paige hesitates for a second, then smirks to herself, an idea forming in her head. She moves quietly, barely making a sound as she steps up behind Jo, hands flexing at her sides, anticipation bubbling in her chest.

Then, before Jo can realize what’s happening, Paige strikes—

Cold hands pressing firmly against the back of Jo’s neck.

Jo screams.

It’s high-pitched, startled, and absolutely hilarious.

She jolts forward, nearly sloshing cocoa over the counter, then whirls around, eyes wild, before smacking Paige’s arm, sending a weak but retaliatory shove into her shoulder.

“What is wrong with you?” Jo yelps, voice still breathless from the shock.

Paige is cackling, clutching her stomach. “Oh my God, your face—”

Jo glares at her, rubbing at the back of her neck with a dramatic shudder. “You suck. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Paige grins, stepping beside her, nudging her lightly with her hip. Jo just mutters something under her breath and turns back to the counter, still grumbling as she grabs another mug and pours some hot chocolate for Paige, shoving it at her without another word.

They end up drinking together, leaning against the counter in a comfortable quiet, warmth settling between them.

Paige takes a sip of her cocoa, sighing into the comforting heat, before glancing over at Jo—only to immediately snort.

Jo blinks at her, confused. “What?”

Paige just shakes her head, grinning. “Joey, you got a little—”

She gestures vaguely, but Jo just frowns, not getting it, so Paige doesn’t think much before she lifts her hand, reaching out, swiping her thumb carefully across Jo’s upper lip to wipe away the hot-chocolate mustache.

And Paige—Paige really should’ve thought about what she was doing before she did it.

Because suddenly, Jo is looking at her.

Really, really looking at her.

Those wide, dark eyes staring up at Paige, so open, so deep, so endlessly fucking beautiful, and Paige’s breath catches somewhere in her throat.

Her thumb lingers at the corner of Jo’s mouth, pressing lightly into the soft skin there, and Jo doesn’t move. Paige doesn’t even think she breathes.

Her lips part, and Paige’s gaze drops, just for a second, just long enough for something unspoken to crackle between them, thick and heavy and—

The sound of footsteps breaks them apart.

Paige jolts, snatching her hand away so fast it’s almost unnatural.

Jo takes a sharp breath, blinking rapidly, stepping back, shifting away.

And then Peyton waltzes in, completely oblivious to the moment she just shattered, announcing cheerfully, “I’m making cookies, and you two are gonna be my helpers.”

Paige’s heart is still racing, and she shoots a glance at Jo, who looks… composed, somehow, like she didn’t just—like they didn’t just—

But Paige knows her.

She sees the way Jo’s fingers twitch against the mug she’s holding, the way her jaw clenches just slightly, the way her shoulders are drawn just a little too tight.

And Paige knows.

Whatever that was—Jo felt it too.

It doesn’t really undo anything in Paige like it should. Because, recently, things have just been like that. It’s weird.

Paige swallows hard, turning back to Peyton with a too-easy grin. “Oh, yeah, we’ll totally help.”

Jo lets out a quiet laugh beside her, and when Paige glances over, she finds her smirking too, They both know they’ll be no help—if anything, they’ll be a nuisance, eating all of the dough before Peyton can even put it in the oven.

For now, the tension’s been almost buried under something playful, something safe.

But still—Paige knows.

She felt it.

And no matter how hard Jo tries to act normal, no matter how hard Paige tries to shove it down—

It’s still there.

JO LEAVES Mia’s bedroom, closing the door softly behind her as she rakes a hand through her hair. The faint scent of strawberry-scented hair chalk clings to her hoodie, and her fingertips are slightly stained pink and blue from helping Mia color streaks into her light brown hair. It had been cute, how excited she was about it—sitting cross-legged on the bed, practically vibrating with energy as Jo carefully twisted sections of her hair and dragged the chalk down in soft strokes.

Jo’s family does their gifts on Christmas Eve—Jo’s parents are firm believers in the magic of sleeping in on Christmas morning, rather than waking up at the crack of dawn to open presents—and tonight, was just the same as always. The living room had been a mess of ripped wrapping paper and scattered boxes just an hour ago, Jo and her sisters laughing over their gifts, their parents watching with fond amusement. Paige had fit into it like she belonged there, pressed beside Jo for the entirety of it.

Jo frowns slightly as she steps into the hallway, suddenly aware of the quiet that’s settled over the cabin. It had been loud earlier—Peyton arguing with their dad over the rules of a board game, Mia showing off her new gifts, Christmas music playing softly in the background—but now, it’s peaceful. Dim lighting, the distant hum of conversation from the living room. She wonders where Paige went.

She heads toward the kitchen, where her mom is finishing up the last of the dishes, running water humming over the faint clatter of plates. “Where’s P?” Jo asks, leaning against the doorway.

Her mom doesn’t even glance up as she says, “Oh, I think she went out to the hot tub.”

Jo nods, but her chest tightens, just a little.

She turns on her heel and makes her way to the room she and Paige are sharing, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. She exhales, standing still for a moment, debating.

She thinks about joining Paige. Thinks that it’s normal for best friends to do that, to sit in the hot tub together after a long day, soak in the warmth and relax. But she also knows herself, and she knows the way her thoughts have been slipping these last few days, the way she catches herself looking at Paige for too long, noticing things she shouldn’t be noticing. She knows that if she goes out there, if she lets herself be alone with Paige like that, she might not be able to control the way her mind wanders.

Whatever, she decides. She wants to get in the hot tub.

So, she grabs the bikini she packed, changing quickly before wrapping herself in a towel. The air in the cabin is warm, but she knows the second she steps outside, the mountain air will cut through her like a blade. Still, she forces herself forward, padding toward the back deck, bare feet light against the wood floor.

When she opens the back door, the cold hits her immediately, biting at her exposed skin. She shivers, hissing, “Shit, it’s freezing out here.”

Paige startles slightly, turning her head. She’s sitting in the hot tub alone, the water bubbling gently around her, steam rising in wisps. Her eyes catch the deck light for a second, flickering bright, and she huffs a quiet laugh. “It’s warmer in here.”

Jo rolls her eyes, setting her towel down on a nearby chair. “Oh, really?” she says, sarcastic, before stepping into the hot tub.

And then her gaze fully lands on Paige, and—well, fuck.

She looks good.

It’s not like Jo hasn’t seen Paige in a sports bra, in oversized sweats, in all kinds of casual, effortless outfits. But this is different. Her blonde hair is down, slightly wavy, damp at the ends. Her bikini is turquoise, standing out against her skin, making her eyes even more blue in the soft deck lighting. And—shit, Jo shouldn’t be looking—her biceps. Jo knows she’s been training through her ACL recovery, knows she’s been getting stronger, but she hasn’t let herself really notice until now. Hasn’t let herself register the way Paige’s arms look, the lean muscle in her shoulders. And then there’s the cross chain hanging at her collarbone, resting against her skin, catching just enough light to make it glint faintly.

Jo swallows hard, forcing herself to look away, sinking into the water as she exhales. The warmth is immediate, a contrast to the crisp night air, and she tries to focus on that instead of the low, lazy grin Paige is giving her.

“You finally decided to join me,” Paige murmurs, shifting slightly, the water rippling around her.

Jo smirks, because it’s easier than letting anything real show. “Yeah, well, I figured you’d get lonely.”

Paige rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, stretching her arms along the edge of the hot tub, tilting her head back slightly. Jo catches herself staring at the curve of her throat, the faint glisten of water against her collarbone, and quickly looks away.

This is fine.

Paige doesn’t seem to notice the way Jo’s whole body is too tight, too aware, too much as she leans back against the edge of the hot tub. Instead, she shifts slightly, gaze flickering away from Jo, looking out toward the mountains. Jo follows her line of sight, letting herself focus on the view instead of the heat curling in her stomach, the undeniable feeling of wanting something she isn’t supposed to want.

The view really is something.

The mountains stretch high and dark against the night sky, the peaks dusted with snow, the stars scattered above them like someone spilled glitter across the horizon. The air is sharp with the scent of pine and frost, the only sounds the occasional distant rustle of wind through trees and the soft bubbling of the water around them. Jo’s been coming here since she was a kid, since before she could even really appreciate how incredible it was. It never gets old.

Paige exhales, voice quiet, almost reverent. “It’s kinda perfect here.”

Jo glances at her again, at the way the dim deck lights reflect in her eyes, making them almost glow. And for a second, Jo doesn’t think she’s talking about the view at all.

“Yeah,” Jo agrees, looking away, looking anywhere else. “It is.”

Silence settles between them, thick but not uncomfortable. Jo tries to let herself relax into it, but then she hears the shift of water, the subtle movement before she feels it—before she realizes that Paige is moving closer to her.

She tenses before she can stop herself, her fingers curling under the water.

And then Paige is looking at her again, something soft in her gaze, something almost vulnerable, like she wants to say something but isn’t sure if she should. It’s a rare look for Paige, whose confidence is as natural as breathing, who always seems to know exactly what to say and when to say it.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Paige says, and her voice is quiet but serious, enough that it throws Jo off for a second.

Jo swallows, holding eye contact with her for a long moment before looking down at the water, watching the way the steam curls off the surface. Her face suddenly feels warm in a way that has nothing to do with the hot tub. “Well, it’s not like I’d ever let you stay at campus by yourself on Christmas,” she murmurs.

Paige tilts her head slightly, considering that. “Yeah,” she says slowly, “but a lot of people wouldn’t have just let someone tag along with their family for the holidays.”

Jo looks up again, furrowing her brows, because the way Paige says it—like she was expecting Jo not to invite her—rubs her the wrong way. “You’re not just any someone, though, P,” she says, voice firm. “You’re my—”

She stops short, the words catching in her throat, because—well…

She doesn’t actually know what this is anymore.

She’s never let herself think too hard about it, about the way they slipped into each other’s lives so fast, like gravity pulling them together. Her roommate, her teammate, her best friend. But none of those words feel right for this, for the way her heart is hammering, for the way Paige is looking at her.

Paige shifts closer still, the movement rippling through the water, stealing the air from Jo’s lungs.

“Hm?” Paige hums, like she’s waiting for Jo to finish.

Jo forces herself to breathe, gripping the edge of seat in the hot tub just to have something to do with her hands. She exhales sharply, shaking her head once, barely. “You’re just—my person,” she settles on, because best friend doesn’t suit the way her pulse is thrumming, doesn’t suit the way her entire body is tuned into Paige’s every shift, every breath.

She makes eye contact again, and—Paige isn’t looking at her eyes anymore.

She’s looking at Jo’s lips.

That’s definitely not something best friends do.

Jo’s stomach flips violently, her entire body going stiff with tension, with awareness, with want. Paige’s gaze flickers back up, just for a second, and Jo swears she sees something shift in her expression—like realization, like something clicking into place, like maybe, maybe she’s been thinking about this just as much as Jo has.

The air between them is heavy, electric, charged with something neither of them are saying.

And then it snaps all at once when Paige shifts even closer, so close Jo can feel the faintest brush of her knee against hers under the water, and Paige says, “Jo?”

It’s quiet, almost hesitant, and it’s the first time Jo has ever heard Paige say her name like that, like it means something more.

It undoes her completely.

She doesn’t think. Doesn’t even hesitate.

She just moves.

Leans in instead of pulling away, lets her eyes flicker shut as she presses her lips to Paige’s, her heart slamming against her ribs.

And Paige—Paige doesn’t pull away.

Paige kisses her back.

It’s soft at first, like they’re both testing the waters, and Jo melts into it, lets herself get lost in the warmth of it. Paige’s lips are soft, gentle against hers, and Jo feels like she could drown in the way Paige tilts her head just slightly, deepening the kiss.

And then—something shifts.

The hesitation begins to fade. Paige moves in closer, her hands finding the skin of Jo’s waist under the water, and Jo exhales shakily against the blonde’s mouth because oh.

Paige kisses like she plays basketball—effortless, confident, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Like she’s taking her time memorizing Jo, mapping her out piece by piece. Jo barely has time to process it before her body reacts on instinct, her fingers reaching out, finding Paige’s shoulders, gripping just tight enough to keep her as close as possible.

The heat between them rises, spreading through Jo’s chest, making her lightheaded. She’s hasn’t felt something like this in a long time—if ever, really. This dizzying, overwhelming need. She can’t remember if it was ever like this was Asher. Jo was always just so used to him—but Paige… Paige is entirely different.

Paige kisses fast yet slow, soft yet rough, the perfect mix. She shifts again, pressing in closer, and Jo can’t help but chase her, tilting her head, her fingers slipping up from Paige’s shoulders to thread into damp blonde hair. Paige makes a soft, pleased sound against her lips, and Jo swears she feels it all the way down to her toes.

Jo’s needy now, desperate in a way that catches her off guard, but she hardly finds it in herself to care. She tightens her grip on Paige, her nails digging into her scalp, pulling her impossibly closer because it’s still not enough.

Jesus fuck, Paige is a good kisser.

The blonde lets Jo take control for a moment, lets Jo press her back against the edge of the hot tub, but then—just as quickly—Paige is taking the lead again. Her grip on Jo’s waist tightens, fingers pressing into slick, warm skin as she shifts them, pulling Jo forward, guiding her onto her lap. Jo’s breath stutters as her bare thighs press against Paige’s, her knees pressing into the edge of the seat on either of Paige’s hips.

Paige’s grip is firm, her touch sure and steady in a way that makes Jo’s skin feel like it’s burning.

She should say something, do something, anything other than let out the small, helpless sound that slips past her lips as Paige pulls her in tighter.

But she does. And Paige hears it.

And something about it—about that quiet, desperate little noise—seems to spur Paige on, because then she’s tilting her head, chasing Jo’s lips again, capturing them in a kiss that’s deeper, hungrier than before. Her tongue slips into Jo’s mouth, licking around, and Jo inhales sharply at it.

Jo’s mind is a mess, spinning wildly, but all she can focus on is this—Paige, the way she tastes, the way she feels, the way every press of her lips, every swipe of her tongue, sends electricity straight through Jo’s veins.

The second Paige’s lips leave hers, Jo almost whimpers at the loss.

Her breath is uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly as moves beneath her, her lips ghosting away from Jo’s mouth, trailing down, down, down—until they’re pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the sharp line of her jaw.

Jo swears she forgets how to breathe, her hand tightening in Paige’s hair, half-gripping her chain, as well.

Paige doesn’t stop. She presses a kiss to the spot just beneath Jo’s ear, and Jo shudders, her fingers tightening in Paige’s hair. She can feel the heat of Paige’s breath against her skin, feel the way Paige’s lips part just enough for her tongue to sweep out.

Paige’s hands grip onto the skin of Jo’s waist before one begins to slide up, fingertips tracing Jo’s spine before settling firmly at the back of Jo’s neck, holding her in place. Paige’s other hand trails from her hip, down to the curve of Jo’s ass, palming and kneading it in a way that makes the brunette feel the need to clench her thighs together—anything to relieve the ache growing between them.

Instead, she makes a noise—something soft and high-pitched, something that she doesn’t even realize she’s made until Paige reacts to it.

Paige groans a little, exhaling sharply, her lips nipping along the column of Jo’s throat, her tongue sweeping across the skin to soothe it. Jo’s head tips back before she can stop herself, before she can think, before she can do anything other than feel.

And God, she feels everything.

Paige’s mouth, Paige’s hands, the firm grip keeping her exactly where Paige wants her.

Jo’s heart pounds, and she doesn’t know if it’s from heat of the water or the heat of Paige, but she feels like she’s burning from the inside out.

She tries not to think about what this means, about how everything is changing, about how she’ll have to deal with this later.

She tries not to think about whether Paige wants this the same way she does.

Paige has a roster. That much, Jo knows. She’s seen it, heard it, talked to some of it—mostly just Celeste, but still. Jo knows that all of this stuff is casual and fleeting for Paige, just another part of her life.

But Jo isn’t like that. She doesn’t do this kind of thing. She doesn’t let herself get swept up in the moment, something that could be nothing, in something that might not mean anything to the other person. Seriously, she literally dated the same person for nearly six fucking years.

But then—what could this be? Paige is her best friend, her teammate, her roommate. If they became something more, they couldn’t fuck it up because it could ruin everything. Not to mention the fact that it hasn’t even been a month since Jo and Asher broke up. She’s still trying to mend that crack in her heart.

All of these thoughts should make her pull away. It should make her stop.

But they don’t.

Because right now, with Paige’s lips on her neck and her hands holding Jo so close, it feels like none of that even matters.

Right now, Jo doesn’t care if this is just another fleeting thing for Paige or if she should even be doing this with a break-up so fresh.

Because right now, Paige wants her.

And Jo wants Paige.

So, she lets herself have it.

She tightens her grip in Paige’s hair, tugs just slightly, just enough to pull Paige’s mouth back to hers, just enough to draw another satisfied sound from Paige’s throat. Paige’s nose nudges Jo’s as she tilts her head, pressing into the kiss again, deep and slow and absolutely devastating.

And Jo lets herself get lost in it.

That is, until the sound of the back door opening shudders around them.

Jo feels her entire body jolt like she’s been electrocuted. The heat from the hot tub is nothing compared to the fire scorching under her skin, the way her heart slams against her ribs like it’s trying to break free. Beside her, Paige reacts just as quickly—springing away, water sloshing violently between them, the absence of her warmth immediately and startling. Jo doesn’t dare look at her, doesn’t dare move, because if she does, she’ll have to genuinely acknowledge what’s just happened. She’ll have to process the way her lips still tingle, the way her chest is still heaving, the way Paige was just kissing her like she fucking meant it.

But she doesn’t have time for that, not when Mia—innocent, unsuspecting Mia—is standing by the back door in her little Rudolph-themed swimsuit, eyes bouncing between Jo and Paige like she’s trying to put the pieces together.

“Hi…” the little girl says slowly, tilting her head.

Paige is the one that moves first.

“Um,” she stammers, her voice higher than usual, her hands flexing uselessly at her sides as she stands up too fast, nearly slipping in the water. “I’mma—uh, I’m just gonna—shower. Yeah—shower.”

Jo watches, still slightly frozen where she sits, as Paige snatches up her towel with more urgency than necessary and books it inside without so much as a glance back. The door slides shut behind her, leaving only the ghost of her presence and the realization of what’s just occurred.

Jo is still stuck, still trying to catch up, still trying to make sense of the fact that she kissed Paige—she kissed Paige—and Paige kissed her back—and—

And then Mia lowers herself into the water, grinning.

That fucking grin.

Jo narrows her eyes before Mia can even open her mouth. “Don’t.”

Because… yeah, she just—can’t talk about this yet. Maybe never.

Jo clenches her jaw, her teeth grinding together as she stares down at her hands as if they hold all the answers. Maybe they do—because just moments ago, they were holding Paige.

Jesus, what has she gotten herself into?

[hookedonhuge]

make a story with a lot of bloating and belches please

Here we go! Ended up putting in more effort than planned, haha. Aches and Gains: What the hell… where am I? Who are all these huge men walking around? Oh that’s right, the gym. I was working out wasn’t I? Yeah, my muscles feel really sore, must have been a killer workout. Pushing myself to my absolute limit, what a legend I am.

Who is this? Someone waving. Oh they are worried. Don’t worry, haha, I’m fine. UURRP! I just take this place seriously, that's all. Needed a quick rest. Vision’s still a little blurry but I’m getting there.

Now where was I? Just finished a set or did I finish my whole workout? Yeah I’m so sore I must be done. Especially my abs, they are really tight. I guess it was a core day. BUURRP! Oh that feels much better. I can get up now.

Whoo! I’m starting to feel alive again. Let's check out my pump in the mirror. Bet I’m looking real huge today. This shirt is kinda hard to get off, it’s so tight. Must be a crazy pump. Ah, there we go!

What the?! I’m freakin’ huge but… why have I lost so much definition?! My belly is so damn bloated! That’s okay, just my protein shake kicking in. No problem. Damn, look at the pecs on me though! Jealous of these bad boys, losers? Hahaha! King of the gym today. UUURRRP! I was already big and now I’m even bigger! URP!

I keep belching. Kinda weird but it relieves the pressure in my belly. I just need to get it all out, and find my abs again, haha. BUUUUURRRRRP! What are they all looking at? Goddamn greatness, that’s what. Oh don’t give me that pissy look staff, this place might as well be mine anyway.

I still haven’t relieved all the pressure in my gut. Aaaahhh! It hurts so much. UUURRRP! It’s like I’m inflating. I can’t get it out quick enough. BUUUURRRRP! Yeah, I know everyone, I don’t want to burp this much, okay. Geez. Everyone is on my case today. Oh great, now a staff member is coming up to me. This is unbelievable, I haven’t done anything wrong. Oh… my protein shake. Yeah guess I left it back there. Thanks. URRPP!

That cleared some room for a bit more protein shake. Bottoms up. Tastes so good. I’m so hungry too. Can’t stop myself from chugging it all. UUUUUUURRRRRRRP! That hit the spot. Hope y’all can smell that, it reeks of stale protein, hahaha. Deserve it for being so judgy.

God! I can feel myself getting bigger. Yes! I’m growing so much, so huge. My gut though… I look like I’ve eaten a five-course meal… twice. Aaaaaahhhhh! So much pressure… need to get it out… now! 

BUUUUUUURRRRRRRAAAAAAAPPP!

Looks like I caught someone with that point blank. Looks like they might pass out too. Hey, want another one? UUUURRRRP! Hahahaha! Take this! BUUUUURRRRRP!

WOW! Just caught myself in the reflection and damn! I’m so big, I’m jealous of myself. Look at these huge guns. Boom! This chest keeps getting bigger too. And my back, chef’s kiss. So goddamn wide and perfect! Legs looking thick too! I’m such a beast, let's go! Who cares if I’ve got a big, bloated belly. Bigger is better right. I’d take it any day with these gains. BUUUURRRRAAAAP!

I’m starting to get used to these burps. Feels so nice when I let them out. Like a lion’s roar. So manly. UUUUUUURRRRRRRAAAAAAAP! Is this too disgusting for all of you? Well bad luck. BUUURRRP! I’ve got a lot more coming! BAAAAUUUURRRRP! Let me show you all what a beast like me sounds like…

BWWWWWWOOOOOOUUUUUURRRRRRAAAAAAUUUUUUPPP!

Hahahahaha! This entire gym reeks now! Oh look here, we have a big, strong man coming up to start a fight. I’m the king of this gym, okay bro. Wait, not looking for a fight. Complimenting me? Hell yeah! This big guy gets it. New gym buddy right over here. What’s this? A protein shake. Thanks bro, I actually feel like I need another one.

This is UURRP unbelievable, how BUURRP can a protein OOUURRP taste so damn UURRP good? What has BOOOUUUURRRP he put in this UUURRRP thing? No seriously what is in it? Nevermind. Just a bro helping another bro out by giving him some fuel.

Time to leave. Not sure if this gym can handle me for much longer. This employee at the reception looks pissed, haha. Well I’m gonna tell him what’s on my mind.

BUUUURRRRP-OOOOUUUURRRRAAAAAP-BWWWWWOOOOOUUUUURRRRRP!

Don’t think I’ll need to pay to get in anymore.

[sonotpattismith]

let him make a woman out of me

pairing: martial arts!sukuna x preacher's daughter!reader word count: 13.5k content: angst, religious themes, religious trauma, low-key sacrilegious at points, implied sexual harassment/abuse, mentions of miscarriage, smut, 18+ a/n: this was just supposed to be a self-defense trainer sukuna fic, but I was listening to Ethel Cain and my religious trauma jumped out idk what happened SORRY- also thank you to @yoyoheart for the inspo :')

You had never been sure who’s wrath you feared more: your father’s, God’s, or the world that both of the aforementioned possibilities sheltered you from. Perhaps they were all one in the same, as your father lived to enforce his own version of God’s will, and the world of the small community surrounding you bent to their every whim. 

Of course, you had never been so naive as to believe there wasn’t a whole other world beyond the confines of your father’s commandments and God’s watchful eye, even though you had never seen it— a faith you had learned from the very Bible that shackled your mind— believing without seeing, the presence of the other world lingered all around without your needing to touch it to acknowledge the fact. 

None of these things though could have prepared you for the trials and temptations ahead of you; not your father’s scorn, not God’s promises, and certainly not the world that had kept you barred for so long— because you never knew this was what all these things were hiding from you.

Nothing could have prepared you for Sukuna. 

Here you were though, staring up at the martial arts gym in the middle of a city you had never known, with hopes that it would help bring you that much closer to feeling confident in the world you were always a fingertips brush away from. Second doubts were creeping into your muddled mind though, because the man emerging from the back of the gym at the sound of the front door jingling with your arrival was monstrous, unlike anything you’d ever seen before, but everything you imagined Lucifer’s deceptive beauty to be. 

He was tall, ducking his head ever-so-slightly through the archway as he took a long swig from his water jug. Even the way his long finger’s wrapped around the plastic appeared perilous, the flimsy material bending under what looked like it was supposed to be a casual grip. Tugging the wire from one of his headphones down, he raised a brow at your timid stance while leaning his hands on the front counter. 

“You my six o’clock self-defence beginner?” His question rang in your ears, making your heart pound violently against your chest. 

This was supposed to be who would be training you? He looked like the very people you were hoping to learn how to defend yourself against, what with the menacing marks that littered his otherwise captivating face. He reminded you of what the scripture had said about how even Lucifer masqueraded as an angel of light. 

“Oh, um…” Your gaze flickered, taking note of the way the sleeves of his compression shirt strained pitifully against the swell of his biceps. This man could kill you with a flick of his wrist should you make a wrong move. Twisting your fingers into the hem of your hoodie, you mustered the courage to respond to him as his brows rose in an exasperated go on expression. “You’re the… martial arts trainer?”

“There a problem with that?” The subtle edge in his tone had your breath hitching, every doubt that you were sure you had buried when you left your hometown flooding back to you. 

“No! I just…” Your anxious voice trailed, and the silence in the modestly sized gym had a premature sweat breaking out onto your neck— you were alone with this man. “Is there maybe a um… female trainer?”

His face remained intimidatingly neutral for a few seconds before the slightest of amused smirks broke the sudden tension. Pushing off the counter, he trailed around to the front, a motion that had you inching back in a manner you could only hope was subtle. Instead of stopping in front of you though, he moved past you and toward the front door. You watched with furrowed brows as he pushed it ajar before shoving the door stopper between it and the frame. 

“Look princess— this is my gym.” He explained with a resigned sigh. 

For a moment, Sukuna had contemplated rolling his eyes at your request. It wasn’t that he was offended— no, he was far too accustomed to the intimidated stares and shuffles away from his vicinity. Still, irritation was a state of second nature to him, built up over years of needing to put up with the aggravatingly shallow individuals that had plagued his life since he was a teenager and first sprouted both in size and fear factor. 

Taking a better look at you though, he had to remind himself of how he came off most times. Your comparably small frame was swallowed up by his shadow, and by the way your wide, dewy eyes darted about the gym, it told him that perhaps he needed to tone it down a notch. After all, you were a kind-looking girl all by herself in a gym with a six foot something bodybuilder who couldn’t understand it when people told him he had a perpetually murderous look in his eyes. 

Standing up once the door was successfully propped open, he made his way back over to you as you tried to conceal your shell-shocked expression. Meanwhile, the assessing glint in his ruby eyes as he dragged his gaze up and down your tense figure did nothing to ease your nerves. 

“So, no, I’m the only trainer here.” He finally continued before meeting your eyes once again. “What are you here for?”

“Um… what am I here for?”

“Why are you taking these lessons?”

 You blinked apprehensively up at him as memories of your life leading you all the way here to this stranger’s gaze flooded your mind. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you tried to straighten your posture in an attempt to appear more confident than you actually felt. 

“I want to protect myself.”

He nodded firmly at your answer, leaning his elbow against the counter. 

“And do you think anyone fucks with me?” He fought back an amused smirk watching you flinch back at his crass words. It made him wonder what the fuck you were doing here, as it was becoming abundantly clear that you were likely heavily sheltered. In his experience, girls like you always had some helicopter parents doing all the protecting for them, even at their grown ages. Your lips twitched nervously as your eyes continued to flutter up at him. “Hm?”

“No— no, I don’t think anyone… bothers you.”

“And why not?” At this point, you were almost sure he just enjoyed seeing you sweat as he continued to press with a mocking tilt of his head. Sensing your apprehension, he nodded encouragingly. “Go on, I’m a big boy— I can take it.”

“Well, you’re— y’know, tall and… big.” You weren’t sure what other term to use without flat out calling him scary, but he seemed to have understood you anyway— much to your relief. 

“So, you’re telling me you’d rather have some pipsqueak trying to teach you how to kick someone’s ass?” 

“Oh… well I guess that—”

“Oh—” The pink haired man mocked before pushing off the counter to head toward the center of the mat that was covering the majority of the gym. “Get your ass over here, we’re already running behind.”

Despite the nerves still taking hold of every inch of you, you quickly sprang into action at his command. Setting your bag down by the counter, you gave one last hesitant glance his way before tugging down the zipper of your jacket. Shrugging it off your shoulders, you were left in your long-sleeve top that, despite covering nearly every inch of you, made you feel unnecessarily exposed in his presence. You tugged at it in hopes it would stretch into a less form-fitting material as you walked to stand before him. 

“Take that off.” 

“W-What?” You stammered out, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. He jutted his chin toward you. 

“Your necklace— if it gets caught on something while training it’ll fuck up your neck. Don’t wear jewelry when you come here.”

Your fingers slowly creeped up to curl around the cross that dangled from the dainty chain around your neck. It was the one your father had gifted you after your first Communion so many years ago, and it hadn’t left your body since. With a small nod, you reached up to unhook the chain. Your fingers trembled though, slipping and sliding the hook out of your grasp as your face began to heat in embarrassment. 

“Sorry.” You attempted a nonchalant smile, but it appeared more like a grimace as you continued to struggle with the clasp. 

Sukuna watched you silently, the way your eyes wouldn’t meet his, the guilt that swam behind them as you fought to maintain your composure long enough to do what he’d asked of you. 

He had been teaching self-defence lessons for a few years now— not as long as he’d been involved in martial arts, but long enough to recognize certain cues and quirks in the people that passed through his gym. It had begun out of irritation, all the kids being brought into a martial arts class by their parents because they were getting bullied, all the women fearing the rising crime rates in this city— weak people bothered him, they pissed him off like nothing else. 

When deciding to begin teaching individual lessons geared specifically toward self-defense, Sukuna tried to tell himself that it was because he wanted at least one less wimp walking out into the world each time he finished a class— that, and the extra income certainly didn’t hurt. It was beginning, though, to teach him harsh truths about himself and about the world he had convinced himself he hated for so long. 

It was never weak people that bothered him. No, instead he was quickly coming to the startling realization that he saw himself in each frail recruit. Of course, it was never the version of himself that he had now grown into, but the young boy who had been alienated by the world under the false pretenses of love and righteousness. Sukuna had to be reminded each day that where weak people were— the self proclaimed righteous were never far behind, and nothing infuriated him more.

In the midst of your mortified fumbling, you hadn’t noticed that he’d stepped closer to you, reaching behind you to push your hands away and nimbly unhook it himself. You peered up at him through your lashes as though too scared to meet his gaze head on as his large hand came back around to hang in front of you, dangling the cross just beside your nose. He was glowering down at you, sharp eyes seeming to assess your every breath, and, for a moment, you were sure he could see straight through you. 

“Thank you.” You mumbled sincerely, holding your palm up for him to carefully drop the necklace in the center of it. 

The towering man stepped back to allow you to place the jewelry safely into your bag before rejoining him. In the minuscule interaction, you came to the comforting resignation that he had already had the chance to use that grueling size of his to his advantage, but the only use he put to his hands thus far was to help you. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous is all— I was being judgmental. Let’s start over.”

“No, remember that.” Sukuna insisted with a nonchalant shake of his head. He raised a splayed out hand in front of him before nodding toward it. “Punch me.” 

“Punch you?” You repeated, eyes flickering apprehensively between him and his large palm. “Aren’t you supposed to… I don’t know— put gloves on or something?”

His expression deadpanned at you, and you could practically hear that unimpressed glint in his eyes asking you— are you serious right now? The borderline exasperated look on his face actually managed to break through your nerves for the first time since you’d walked into the small gym. A horribly concealed, breathy laugh escaped you as you realized the ridiculousness of your question. It made him look away from you for a moment, fighting back a tired smile of his own that showed just how long he’d been working today. 

Quickly collecting yourself, you squared your shoulders to show him that you were ready. He nodded at you, barely adjusting his stance to prepare for whatever force your comparably small fists would deliver. His scarlet eyes observed your form as you hurled your balled up fist forward with what looked to be all the strength you could manage. You wouldn’t have the chance to see if it dealt any damage because you were quickly curling back, cradling your fist into your chest with a pained groan.

“That’s why you need to correct your form before you jump into anything else.” He explained simply, not at all phased by your pathetic attempt at a punch as he cracked his neck concerningly loud. 

“If you knew that, why didn’t you teach me that first?” You gaped in exasperation, wringing out your now throbbing knuckles. 

“Because now you’ll never forget to fix your form, huh?”

The first thing you learned about Sukuna is that, when there was an option to learn the hard way— he always took it. It didn’t matter that he was lightyears taller than you, or that the only thing you’d ever hit in your life was your pillow, or that you were a girl. In that hour that you were his student— he was going to make sure you learned. 

Despite the dull ache that remained in your hand the remaining hour as he demonstrated the proper posture to take, even down to how you should be breathing, it was exhilarating to have been taken seriously for once. His corrections, though gruff and direct, were never the condescending tone you had grown so accustomed to among the men who you grew up alongside in the church. 

They, like your father, had so many stories to tell you of the heathens that were often drawn to the city with allures of its greed and idolatry. These caricatures they’d conjure up would leave you shaken at night as you prayed to the Lord for any alternative— stuck between the fear of what may be awaiting you should you leave the safe confines of your hometown, and the isolating horror of what it may mean for you if you stayed. 

It began to make you wonder though as you placed your water bottle back into your bag and shrugged your hoodie back on. You questioned the tales you had been fed your entire life— because none of them had ever mentioned that the people in the city, who had a knack for giving into the sins of the flesh and denying the name of the Lord, would also be the first to speak to you instead of at you. Perhaps it was just Sukuna though— you wouldn’t know.

“I have you down for the same time next week.” He instructed firmly while moving to shelf the weights he’d been having you use to practice your form. “Better be practicing too— I can tell if you’re bullshitting me.” 

It had only been a little over an hour, but you had somehow felt as though you’d already grown accustomed to his intense way of speaking. Then again, there was also the possibility that it was sliding off your shoulders because he was treating you with the kind of basic human decency you hadn’t even known was possible for so long. Additionally, you took comfort in the fact that you knew what he was thinking— what with him being so terribly honest even about what pissed him off. You didn’t have to guess what atrocities might be hiding behind sickly sweet, feigned smiles and traitorously kind words.

So, you only smiled and nodded affirmatively at him as you bid him a goodnight. From behind you, he only grunted in response, casting one last look at you from over his shoulder as you left the gym, still practically bouncing with adrenaline. That exercise-induced dopamine hit only lasted so long though, because you were soon reminded of how far you’d parked your car as you stared out into the now pitch-black night surrounding you. 

Your fingers fiddled with the straps of your bag as you lifted yourself onto your tiptoes to survey all the dimly-lit alleys between yourself and your vehicle. All your skepticism about the fear-tactics you had been fed your whole life flew out the window in favor of recalling all the stories about what happened to girls like you out in these big cities. Gulping down the anxious lump in your throat, you bounced on your heels apprehensively. 

Slowly sliding back, you found yourself pulling open the door to the gym once again, where Sukuna was cleaning the space up for the night. He looked entirely absorbed in the task at hand, headphone tucked snuggly into his ears and face scrunched initimidatingly firm. It made you hesitate, but you weren’t able to concern yourself any longer about if you were being a terribly annoying inconvenience to him, because he caught your hovering form in his peripheral. 

“You forget something?” He questioned with a calculated raise of his brow. 

Chewing on your cheek, you remembered the fear that look struck in you the moment you’d seen it first— the subtle temper that seemed to be permanently lurking behind it and how his stature did nothing to comfort his observers. 

“No, um…” You pursed your lips, your blunt fingernails rapping against the door as he watched you expectantly. At the ridiculousness of your own request, you found yourself flushing.

“Spit it out.” 

 “Do you think you could walk with me?” You finally squeaked out at the sound of his impatient order. He blinked incredulously at you a few times, so you clarified. “To my car? I-I just parked kind of far and…”

Your words trailed in embarrassment as he watched the way you glanced behind you uneasily, but he knew. How could he not? He’d been doing this for far too long, after all.  

Though the man had his own, begrudgingly personal reasons for being in the line of work he was in, it always ended right when that hour was up. Knowing that he had already done all that he would have been able to in the time allotted, there was never any pull for him to try harder or dig deeper. Of course, it could also have been attributed to the fact that he’d never been one to care much for connection— not when what he had learned so early on about connection severed so many critical parts of him at such a young age. 

Still, it was the very reason his typically automatic refusal faltered. The look in your eyes was humble, flickering between him and the darkness that lay behind you. Your gaze held a vulnerability not unlike the kind he so vehemently detested— the one that had once glimmered in his own eyes. 

With a soft click of his tongue, he tugged his headphones out and shoved them into his pockets. Your lashes fluttered as his long legs began striding toward the door, and you stepped aside for him to push through it. Already a few yards ahead of you, Sukuna paused and swiveled his head around to see that you were still at the door.

“You coming, brat? Or do you need to be carried too?” Despite his taunting words, his tone didn’t hold the malice he intended it to, and you knew it too. With a soft, wobbly smile of appreciation, you quickly fell into step beside him, nodding in the direction of your car. 

It was silent as you two walked beside one another, the only noises permeating the peace being the thuds of your feet against the concrete and the jingling of his keys deep in his pockets where he had shoved his hands. Sukuna’s crimson eyes regarded you discreetly from his peripheral, noting the way you walked as though the ground might give out on you at any second. It was becoming clearer to him by the second that you were new to being out in the world on your own— at least that’s what your shifting eyes and tense shoulders told him as the rowdy conversation of a group of men grew closer with each step of your trek. 

Even through your attempted subtlety, he picked up with a sharp precision the way you inched ever-so-slightly closer to him at the sudden intrusion. Casting his eyes to the side, his fist clenched twice in contemplation before he pulled it from his pocket and rested a guiding hand on the nape of your neck as you two passed the group in what he hoped would be a message to chill the fuck out.

The motion stung at your nervous system for a moment before you felt his fingers tighten as the two of you brushed against the men on your route. The protectiveness that came like a second nature to him spread a subtle warmth through your chest, one you were sure to stomp out before you let it fester anymore. Now a safe distance from what sounded to be a drunken group, his grip on your neck eased up. Clicking his jaw, he felt a sense of relief for a fear that wasn’t his to shoulder as he wondered what would have happened had you not come back for him.

The worn down car beeped a few feet away from you as you clicked at the key, and Sukuna’s hand slowly fell from your neck. 

“Thank you.” Your tone was overly sincere for an action as miniscule as walking you to your car, but it only added to the growing, twisting sensation in his gut that said something was off about the look in your eyes. Despite this, you smiled up at him, far more assured than the tense one you had given him when you still feared him. 

“Yeah, whatever,” He muttered, shoving his hands back into his pockets as you tugged open your door and settled in. Finally taking the chance to glance over you again, the man leaned his hand against the dingy vehicle. “Don’t park so fucking far next time. There’s a lot behind the gym.”

In the growling irritation that laced his tone, you were still able to detect that he was trying to help you— even if he wanted it to seem like you were deeply inconveniencing him. Still, you didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness, so you nodded ardently. 

“Behind the gym, got it.” 

His lips twitched up softly at your sincerely affirmative tone, but he made sure to turn his face away before you could see it. 

“Not everyone’s out to get you.” Sukuna grumbled as you clicked your seatbelt on. Perhaps he was jumping the gun with his assumptions, but he had a sneaking suspicion about the way you view the world around you. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip at his words. “And get a can of mace, will ya? Not always gonna be around to play knight for you.”

He didn’t give you the chance to respond, closing the door firmly with his monstrous hand. Waiting until he heard the soft click of your door locking, you watched as his broad frame stalked away from your car. 

God won’t allow you to be tempted beyond what you could bear.

It was meant to provide you solace as you recalled the scripture, however it only fed your doubt the entire drive to your apartment, thoughts of how his warmth felt against your skin haunting your once steadfast beliefs. 

It was more than his sinful beauty that plagued you though— it was the wisdom he seemed to keep about the very things that terrified you. Like a gatekeeper into the depths of your naivety, Sukuna seemed so sure of his every move and belief, and, in turn, he seemed to hold that same confidence in you. It was so foreign to you to receive that confidence without the need to prove yourself first— always guiltily fragile before proven innocently competent. 

You busied yourself as best you could in the days that followed, trying to build your new apartment from the ground up and make it into some semblance of a home. It was with a haste that you came though, only a duffel bag on your shoulder and certainly no furniture to liven up the space. With the limited budget you were working with, you spent a day searching though thrift stores and garage sales for decent enough pieces that would suffice for your living space. 

With each bill you pulled from the modest wad of cash you kept hidden within a sock at the corner of your bathroom cabinet, the looming reality of being truly on your own was settling in, and you wondered who the hell would hire you with only babysitting experience. It was just another reason to curse your upbringing, never having prepared you for the real world, because in their version of it, teaching you to bring up a child was all the preparation you needed. 

You shook your head in an attempt to veer yourself away from where your thoughts would eventually take you. In your journey of self discovery, you were quickly learning that pitying yourself wouldn’t save you from the uphill battle of moving forward. 

A determined huff escaped you as you finally located the parking lot Sukuna had told you about the week prior. Though you no longer feared him in the way you had upon first meeting, it was the energy he emanated that had you needing to hype yourself up to enter the gym for your second lesson that evening. 

He was doing warm ups when the bell on the door chimed alerting your arrival, his long legs spread into a near completely horizontal line on each side of him as he leaned to the right to grasp onto his foot. His movements were almost supernaturally fluid, and it was jarring to see such precise agility coming from a man with such an imposing figure. The hem of his black, compression shirt had ridden up in the midst of his stretch, revealing the wickedly small sliver of his sculpted back. 

There was the smallest of parts between your lips as you found yourself leaning forward with each centimeter the fabric continued to crawl up. The abrupt lifting of his head snapped you from your pathetic gawking though, his scarlet eyes finding yours instantaneously. 

“What’s wrong with you?” He questioned brashly, taking note of the subtle flush in your cheeks. He twisted his torso to crack his back before standing easily from his place on the mat to gather a few gloves and weights for the lesson. 

“Oh— nothing.” You shook from your thoughts long enough to smile at him, to which he only responded with a quirk of his brow and an unconvinced grunt. 

“You practice like I told you to?” 

You nodded at him, dropping your bag carefully onto the side of the counter before moving to unzip your jacket. This time around, you had half a mind to pick a less form-fitting t-shirt lest you be forced to anxiously readjust yourself between every move. 

“I tried. I don’t really have any weights though, so…” 

That subtle vulnerability, the unnecessary embarrassment in all your explanations was driving him insane. It made him want to shake you, to scream at you to fuck the world and stop being so damn scared of everything. It’s not what he was here for though, so he pushed the timid twitching at the corners of your lips to the back of his mind and nodded for you to stand before him and demonstrate the form he had spent so long perfecting with you the week prior. 

You felt like shifting your weight under his scrutinizing gaze as it dragged from your firmly planted feet up your parted legs and to the controlled stiffness in your spine. Sukuna circled around you, akin to a predator stalking its prey— at least a helpless lamb in the jawls of a wolf was exactly how you felt at the moment. 

He hummed, placing one hand on your shoulder and the other at the center of your back to straighten your posture. Nodding to himself at the correction, he almost allowed his hands to fall when he caught sight of the deep bruise forming on your forearm. 

“The fuck happened to you?” The man questioned with a laser-like focus, lifting your injured arm to emphasize what he was inquiring about. 

When your eyes fell upon his target, that infuriatingly familiar blush coated your cheeks once again. Pulling your arm from his grasp, you traced a gentle palm over the nasty mark. 

“I was… trying to put together a coffee table.” You murmured bashfully, not lifting your gaze for fear of his reaction. 

It was silent for a moment. 

“A coffee table?” Sukuna repeated as though perhaps he’d just heard you wrong, a subtle exasperation in his tone. You only nodded. “And what, did it grow fucking arms and fight back?” 

At this, you giggled hesitantly, but his seriousness only made your laughter bubble up uncontrollably. Had he not been so perturbed at your claim, perhaps he would have found himself fighting back a smile at the sound. Quickly adjusting to fix your posture once again, you shook your head in an attempt to fight off your tickled smile. 

“No, no, I just—” You shrugged sheepishly as he stared impatiently down at you. “I’ve never had the chance to do stuff like that before, so I don’t really know how to use all the tools.”

“Right,” He responded doubtfully, still eyeing the blackening mark just above your wrist for a moment longer before he released it. “You at least get the shit standing?” 

“Well… no, but my landlord offered to come over after he got off work to help me with it.” 

This made Sukuna pause mid shoulder stretch, a volant sense of unease seeping into his chest. Slowly lowering his arms back down to his side, his cautionary gaze struck you sharply. 

“Your landlord?” He began lowly, making you nod hesitantly. “Offered to come to your house to help you build a table— at night?”

You gulped at his warning tone, the growing expression of exasperation on his face gave you pause. The disbelief in those crimson eyes suddenly made you feel sickly insecure about the decision that you were so confident would fix your little dilemma. Picking at your nails, you cast your eyes to your feet where they still sat planted firmly in the mat below you. 

“I mean, yeah. I don’t really know anyone—”

“So you were gonna let a stranger into your place by yourself?”

“You were the one that told me that not everyone was out to get me.” Your feeble attempt at a defense only made him scoff disbelievingly under his breath, hands on his hips as he looked to the side in frustration. 

“Yeah, but—” He clicked his tongue with a shake of his head, and it was clear that he was trying to reign in his temper. “I’ll teach you how to put the damn table together. Don’t let that asshole into your place, so help me god.”

You gaped at him as he moved around you to shift around the weights that he’d set out for today’s lesson with no real rhyme or reason. Sukuna only knew that if he didn’t do something to distract himself from the possibilities of what kind of scumbag you were about to let into your space, he would have barrelled out the door to find the asshole himself. 

“But—”

“But what?” His abruptly challenging tone made you flush. It wasn’t out of fear though, it was the finality in his tone that was stirring that familiar warmth in the pits of your stomach that only seemed to make its star appearances when he was nearby. 

It wasn’t his intention to come off so harshly— though it never was, that sharp tongue was simply ingrained into his bloodstream— but there was a fierce protectiveness that stirred in him that needed to guard that infuriating innocence of yours the way no one bothered to protect his. Taking note of your flushed cheeks, he released a calculatedly controlled sigh before softening his tone as best as he knew how to. 

“Quit overthinking it. I’ll show you how to do it so you don’t gotta be asking assholes to help you for stupid shit.” He grumbled, finally coming back around to stand in front of you as he nodded for you to get back into form. 

It took you a few moments, too busy staring up at him with a type of gratitude he wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of. To be fair though, he was holding out something that you too had yet to grasp at, and it was the chance of independence Sukuna was forcing into your unsuspecting hands. Your eyes shone even through the downright ugly lighting of his gym, flaring your presence throughout the space in a way the very walls were unworthy of. 

He could barely look at you as the two of you exchanged numbers after your lesson that evening, feeling for the first time in so long defenseless against what your perfectly intact soul would do to him should he continue meddling with it for too long. That fear didn’t stop him from knocking— perhaps a bit too firmly— on your door just a few days later, because if anyone was going to be blinded by whatever fucking sunshine you miraculously still kept in your pocket while living in a city like this— it sure as hell wasn’t going to be your creep of a landlord. 

“You live in a fucking shoe box.” Sukuna commented gruffly as he ducked in through your front door. 

This made you glance around the modest apartment, but your estimation couldn’t possibly be correct now that his imposing figure was taking up so much space. There was a subtle sense of your heart racing in your through at the sight of him, hair rustled and damp as though freshly showered, in his joggers and the t-shirt you had been praying would be loose enough to not showcase each rippling muscle in his abdomen. It seemed your prayers had fallen on deaf ears though— much like they seemed to have been your whole life. 

Sukuna was big, and devilishly handsome, and generous— and he was a man in your apartment unchaperoned, and you couldn’t tell if the notion scared you or excited you. It made you wonder if whatever threat Sukuna was so sure your landlord would pose to you would have been safer than the temptation this man wafted toward you with each confident step into your space. You felt small beside him, even more so here than you ever did in that gym. 

“I moved in a little bit of a hurry.” You explained with a bashful huff, finally finding the courage to shut the front door. 

Quickly falling into step behind him, you followed as he stalked toward the heap of wood on the floor of your living room. 

“Shitty roommate?” He guessed absentmindedly while squatting down to inspect the disheveled instruction manual on the floor, setting down the toolbox he’d brought with him.

“Uhhh, yeah, I guess you could say that.” You offered a forced smile as you allowed yourself to fall back onto the couch behind him. 

The pink-haired man abruptly lifted his head at the sound of the second-hand furniture creaking softly under your weight. His brows were raised into his hairline as he shook his head expectantly at you.

“Uh-uh, you better get your ass over here, Princess. I told you I’d show you how to do it, and I’m fucking showing you.” 

His sharp command had you springing into action, hopping off the couch to kneel down beside him. From so close, the scent of the musky body wash that still clung to every inch of him. Hiding your sheepishly tickled smile, you nodded affirmatively at him. He regarded your eager posture with a sidelong glance, the anticipation you held for learning how to put together a damn coffee table softening his brash expression ever so slightly. 

“What— your old man never teach you how to use a damn screwdriver?” His grumbled question, though accusatory, held more curiosity than he was willing to admit that he held for you. 

“He always said that was… man’s work.” The soft laugh you attempted didn’t conceal the regret laced in your tone, especially not from Sukuna’s keen senses. 

Your explanation had a scowl forming abruptly on his already intimidating face. That grossly outdated sentiment sounded so familiar to him, and he found himself pressing to confirm despite the way his question may reveal a part of his past he tried to bury under all his muscle and tattoos. 

“Jesus freaks?” He didn’t look at you as he made his assumption, instead focusing on laying out the tools you two would need. 

“He was— is a preacher; my dad.” 

It was all beginning to click into place— your near irrational fear of the world around you. The odd slip up in tenses wasn’t lost on him either, and it only added fuel to the fire of his building questions. 

“Preacher’s daughter, huh?” Sukuna whistled lowly in amusement. You hung your head down so your hair would curtain your face. “Surprised they let you leave the nest without a ring on your finger.”

He had been half expecting you to reciprocate his banter with that bashful defensiveness that seemed to roll off your tongue so easily, but you had fallen silent as he picked up the base of the table. Pulling his lips into a thin line, his eyes seemed to unconsciously drag down toward your neck, noting that it was still bare of the cross he’d unhooked from it weeks prior. An inexplicable guilt panged deeper at his chest with each second that passed within your silence. 

“Eh, I think it’s all bullshit, anyway.” He wanted to ease that tension he’d unknowingly placed upon your shoulder. A determined sigh escaped him as he shifted onto his knees. “Grab me one of the legs.” 

At this, you glanced up at him in surprise, lips parting gently, too thrown off by his confession to be relieved that he’d shifted the topic from your leaving home. With a fluttering gaze, you did as he asked. 

“What do you mean?”

“All that religious superiority crap— it’s all bullshit.” His reiteration only made you scoff out an uncertain laugh. A smirk tugged at his lips at your shock. “Quit blubbering and watch me. You’re doing the next one.”

“So what do you believe then?” You challenged, leaning against your hand that lay splayed out just beside his hip as you observed the way his hand curled around the grip of the power drill.

“If you’re asking me if I believe in some all knowing god or fairy or whatever the hell it is you people come up with to feel better about yourselves— then no. There ain’t no higher power, I don’t buy it.” 

The dull buzzing of the tool filled the small space separating the two of you. About a minute passed before he finished securing the respective screw, and he pulled back to assure you were still paying attention. Your eyes narrowed along with your accusatory smile. 

“You don’t really believe that.” 

“You don’t think so?” He muttered with a small smirk, nudging at your arm for you to take the power tool from him. 

Your breath hitched as his warm hand enveloped yours over the grip to press down against the two fingers you had placed over the trigger. The heat from his chest was radiating against your shoulder that had subsequently pressed right into him. Once he was sure you had grown used to the weight of the hefty tool in your grip, he slowly released your hand. 

“I think you only want to believe that.” You weren’t sure where you had found the nerve to test him in such a way, but something in the way his haughty smirk faltered subtly as you turned back to observe his reaction made you believe that there was some truth to your words. “It just sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself, is all.”

“Yeah? And what about you?” He prefaced his rebuttal by sweeping the hair from your neck, revealing the absence of your own symbol of belief. The sudden brush of his fingertips across your sensitive skin made your fingers stall against the trigger. “Never put that pretty necklace of yours back on.” 

“So?” You tried desperately to sound more confident than you felt at the moment, but the breathlessness that lingered in your tone betrayed you.

“So, maybe you’re trying to convince yourself that you still believe it, too.”

It was his fierce defensiveness over the walls he’d built around that part of him that was talking right now, stomping so carelessly over what was clearly a sensitive topic for you. No matter how much you didn’t want to hear it though, you knew he had dug deep, and you couldn’t understand how he had seen right through you. 

The guilt of your doubt was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. Laying awake at night these days, you prayed and prayed for signs and answers, begging the Lord to tell you that what you had to do to protect yourself wouldn’t damn you. You were running though— running from the very temple you were meant to be tethered to. Would God grant you his mercy still? And if he was a merciless God, would it be so blasphemous of you to turn your cheek against him?

Your pained vulnerability reflected in your dewy eyes as they bore into his. Sukuna’s jaw ticked, taut with the type of vexation he only reserved for himself. It wasn’t his intention to wound you, only to disarm you against looking too deeply into him. If you pried too far, perhaps you would understand that he wasn’t just terribly astute. Rather, the doubt etched across your gentle features was much like a looking glass into his own past— he saw himself.

Sukuna blinked slowly at the war waging on in your mind against righteousness and safety, and he saw a young boy ostracized in the name of the Lord. He saw a boy frenzied in his turning the already frayed pages of his Bible in search of answers that would have been blurred by his tears should he have found them. In spite of all the ways his faith excommunicated him, even he couldn’t deny the way the promise of an all merciful God comforted him even as he was tearing himself away from such sentiments. 

“Don’t listen to me.” The man finally grumbled, turning from you to survey the screw you’d just secured into the table. It was a bit crooked, splitting the wood surrounding it ever so slightly, but it was secure nonetheless. “It’s good to… believe in something bigger than you. Hold onto that.”

Because God only knew how lonely it felt to have been burned so savagely that he was rendered incapable of belief, but the sting of the Father’s loving punishments always hurt much more. 

Sukuna left you that afternoon with a freshly built coffee table and more confusion than someone who seemed so sure of himself should have been able to provide. Sinking down on your couch, you eyes remained glued to the fruits of yours and his labor, your mind running over all the eye rolls of feigned annoyance he’d offer whenever you’d mess something up. None of them ever negated the subtle pride evident in the twitch of his lips every time you’d beam up at him with the hope that you’d finally gotten a technique down. 

No matter how quickly he tried to backtrack, his words only fed the ever growing mountain of doubt that had sprung up before you had even packed your first bag to leave home. It sounded personal to him, as though he was speaking from painful first-hand experience. Just a few months ago, someone so confidently spouting heresy in such a way would’ve had you running the other way, back to the safety of conformity. Now though it only seemed to draw you deeper into his contrasting orbit. 

Each lingering, crimson stare and brush of his calloused hand worked their way into perspiring dreams, accompanied by sensations of longing you weren’t sure you had ever allowed yourself to feel. Either that, or the neatly groomed, prim and proper boys of your church you had been surrounded by growing up could never come close to permeating the barrier the Lord had put up in your mind against sinful thoughts of temptation. 

Sukuna though— Sukuna was temptation incarnate. He was everything you had been warned against, and he seemed to have been pulled straight from Ezekiel, boiling over with each accusation the Lord wrought against Lucifer. He was the seal of perfection, that sharp tongue of his full of wisdom, and his flesh perfect in beauty. The signs all pointed toward deception— yet, much like a naive and longing Eve, not even the fear of damnation could hinder you from how sweet that forbidden fruit might taste against your awaiting lips. 

“Focus.” Sukuna growled as you were knocked onto your back for the third time that day. 

Though it took every ounce of courage left in you to show up for your next lesson the following week, that gnawing urge to let your fingertips brush against the fire outweighed any survival instinct you held for your poor soul. It might as well have been for not though, because you couldn’t for the life of you concentrate hard enough to brace yourself for the test attacks he continued sending your way. 

The trainer wasn’t fairing any better though. This had somehow become personal to him. Each strike he was able to land and stance he was able to dismantle struck an unanticipated irritation in his chest, because if he was able to disarm you so easily— surely someone else with less favorable intentions would be able to as well. He tried to be tougher on you, push you harder, but, in truth, it was difficult for him to focus on his own technique each time he pressed himself against you in demonstration. 

It was borderline pathetic. Sukuna had been in this field for years now, and he prided himself on the level of professionalism he always maintained with his students. Perhaps it was one of the reasons he never allowed himself to toe the barrier of professionalism and connection, because they could pant and press against him all they wanted, but it never meant anything to him— not until you. 

That type of determination in your eyes wasn’t uncommon for the women who came in for self-defense classes, but his fatal mistake was digging deeper. Now, despite the puzzle pieces still being strewn about and disorganized, he still held an ample amount of them to begin to be able to see the bigger picture. 

“I’m trying.” You huffed out in frustration, brows drawn together in subtle embarrassment as you took his outstretched hand to help you up. 

“Bullshit.” He spat out instantaneously as you stumbled up with the force of his pull.

 Shooting a palm out toward his chest to steady yourself, you tried to keep your eyes trained on anything but him. It was no use though— he had been picking up on each little lingering eye and flushed cheek of yours since last week, and it was driving him insane. 

“Shouldn’t you be teaching me how to like… I don’t know not get kidnapped?”

“Should I be?” He challenged immediately, and this time his bewitching eyes caught yours with no real intent of ever letting them go. The question was calculated— prying. Sukuna wanted to know why you were here, that much you could tell.

“Aren’t you the teacher?” You tried to reciprocate that same level of trial, but this type of banter was new to you— especially with a man. 

“Aren’t you the one paying me?” 

Sukuna’s lip curled up at the way your resolve slipped under his logic. Nonetheless, he hung his head for a moment as though collecting himself before stepping back a few paces. Once backed up sufficiently, he nodded at you. 

“Okay— new lesson. Try to escape.”

“What am I escaping?” You laughed hesitantly, looking around the small gym like a child would scope out potential hide-and-seek locations. 

At once, a wolfish grin lit up his face, casting his eyes ablaze with a dangerous glint that had you regretting asking for a change of pace in the first place. A nervous gulp forced its way down your throat.

“Me.”

No quicker than you could process his response was he lunging forward, his monstrous hand closing around your forearm in a crushing grip. You yelped in surprise as he tugged you forward. 

“C‘mon, you would’ve been in the back of the van by now, Princess.” He taunted as he watched you struggle against him. “What would you do?”

With a grunt, you tried to pull away from his hand’s demanding weight, but it only made your wrist ache with the strained effort. 

“Ground your feet again.” The man demanded, continuing to yank at your arm. “Forget your posture and your ass is getting taken.” 

It took a disciplined focus to halt your attempts to fight against him long enough to plant your socked feet into the mat once again. With the proper distance and subtle bend of your legs, it had admittedly become easier to keep yourself from falling against his firm tugs. 

“See where my thumb is?” His free hand reached up to pat at where his thumb curled around his middle finger on your forearm. “It’s the weakest part of my grip. Twist your arm out toward the weak spot instead of fighting against the strongest part.” 

With a fluttering gaze of determination, your face scrunched up as you maneuvered your arm against the Achilles heel he’d revealed to you. A triumphant laugh escaped you as your arm twisted underneath his own and subsequently broke free. There was barely an opportunity given for you to give a hop of glee, because Sukuna wasted no time lunging forward once again. The motion made you squeak in surprise, jumping into action to race across the gym, where his thundering footsteps weren’t far behind. 

“What happened to your victory dance, Princess?” The man taunted as you ducked behind the counter, knocking over your abandoned bag in the midst of your pursuit. He prowled on the other side, knees bent ever so slightly as if waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce on you. With a mocking tilt of his head, he offered you an intoxicating smirk. “What— you think a kidnapper’s gonna let you go just cause you got out once?”

“Well, I was hoping he would—” You jolted to the right as he pounced to the left as though to swoop in on you. An anxiously tickled smile tugged at your lips. “—grant me a little mercy considering I got it on my first try?”

“He was granting you mercy by giving you a head start.” 

A shriek left you as you watched him hop over the counter with ease. Adrenaline was coursing through your veins as you barely escaped his grasp, his fingertips catching against the fabric of your t-shirt. In the back of your mind, you knew you should have been taking this seriously, and your activated fight or flight response certainly was. The less disciplined part of you though— the one still riding on the high of her newfound freedom— couldn’t help but like the game of cat and mouse he had sprung upon you. 

It was something in his predatory eyes and lascvisious smile, with his canines glittering under the dim lights above you— it was almost making you want to be caught. You wanted to know what he would do, how his victory would translate against the grips of his sinful hands. 

That shuddering falter in your step as the blood rushed down your body made sure you’d find out soon though, because his arms were quickly taking advantage of your misstep, wrapping around you from behind to clutch at your wrists. You couldn’t stifle the gasp that ripped up your throat as he pressed himself against your back.

“What now, hm?” Sukuna challenged as you finally began to struggle against his grip. 

You could barely concentrate enough to hypothesize what might be the right technique to use here, because heat was bursting from his chest and soaking through your clothes like rays of the sun, and it was rendering you useless, your breathing laboring with each nudge of his chin against the crown of your head. 

“Drop your weight.” He finally offered, and it sounded as though he was expending no effort to keep you secured. 

Against his chest, he could feel each ragged expand and deflate of your ribcage as it became clear it wasn’t only him being affected by the proximity. Though his mind was telling him to hold you tighter, keep you this close just a bit longer, he wasn’t sure how long he could maintain his composure without causing a serious problem. 

With a shuddering nod, you allowed yourself to fall into his grasp, your t-shirt sliding up with the sudden movement. 

“Faster— all at once. You’re supposed to catch them by surprise, make them lose grip.” His arms quickly hoisted you back up in tandem with his barking order. “Do it again.”

You nodded deliriously at his command, nearly drunk on the scent of his body wash lingering on his perspiring skin. Doing as he said, you quickly kicked your feet out from underneath you, your weight falling limply into his arms. 

Sukuna grunted softly, and you had assumed it was from this catching your now dead weight. You were painfully unaware of how the swell of your ass had rolled against his groin on your way down, and he was fighting forces greater than demons to continue this lesson. Glancing up toward the ceiling in a desperate attempt to shift his focus, he sucked in a calculated breath. 

“Good, now wriggle out with your hips, make it impossible to keep the grip on you.” 

He regretted his instruction as soon as it left his mouth— because just as you began writhing out of his grasp, no mouth of counting back from one-hundred, or repeating multiplication tables he hadn’t thought of since middle school was able to stop all the blood remaining in his brain from rushing to his dick. 

“C’mon,” The man grunted half out of desperation for this to be over with already to maintain any sense of professionalism he could still manage. “Use your feet— kick me— get out.”

In your hazed oblivion, you did as you were told, swinging back to land a barely impactful kick to his shin. When that did nothing, you reared back once more, this time making sure your foot collided with his knee. This maneuver finally did him in, though his arms remained locked around you as his leg gave out under him.

You tumbled to the ground along with him, the air temporarily abandoning your lungs at the impact of his firm chest against your rib cage. From under you, he groaned from what you thought was the force at which he hit the ground. Unbeknownst to you though, it was the fact that you were now frantically shuffling around to apologize to him, and you had sat directly onto his growing… dilemma. 

“I’m so sorry.” You gasped out, your hands that had finally been released falling forward on either side of his head to support yourself. “Are you…”

Your breathless concern trailed off as you looked down at him to find he was already staring up at you, ruby eyes half-lidded with a certain hunger you weren’t sure you could place. Despite this, the intensity of them made an incriminating heat spread between your legs. Unlike you, Sukuna had experience in this walk of life, and he could pinpoint that look in your eyes that told him he wasn’t alone in his wandering thoughts. Still, he felt it was far from his place to make the first move— not when you’d clearly never been in such a position before. 

So, he stayed perfectly still beneath you, save for the ragged rise and fall of his chest as your hair curtained around him and enveloped him in your scent. The tips of his fingers dug into the cushioned mat beneath him. 

The tendrils of temptation swirling in his heated eyes made you realize that it was no wonder you had been so quick to believe the cautionary tales you were told about lust growing up. In all your years being raised alongside what were meant to be God’s children, his born again men, all of the lecherous gazes sent your way in the midst of sermons or while receiving the body and the blood— every last one of them held the threat of caged animals. 

God said to abstain from the passions of the flesh because they’d wage war against your soul, but the scripture failed to mention the white flags your heart would so quickly wave when met by the eyes of the right beholder. Sukuna wasn’t sin, or lewd temptation— he wasn’t the morning star that would soon capture you in his fall from grace, despite how the uncharted emotions he stirred in you led you to believe. He couldn’t possibly be all those things— not when he was staring up at you as though your poorly timed awakening was a gift you were bestowing upon him. 

The apprehension in your gaze was palpable, and, though he couldn’t be sure what his encouragement might mean, he allowed his head to tilt in the subtlest of nods at you. You hoped all the romance novels that you’d hide under the shoebox in your old bedroom hadn’t failed you as you leaned down with a timid quiver of your lips to offer your first kiss to him, one he could feel all the years of repression hidden behind. 

A baritoned hum reverberated in the back of his throat as he allowed his eyes to shut, relishing in the feeling of your exploration. The sound served to validate your reserved actions, allowing you to melt against the way his doughy lips molded against you with all the confidence of an experienced man. Your chest gradually lowered against his, the hands that had since been idle by his head instinctively sliding up to grasp at his strapping shoulders that flexed dangerously under your touch. 

It felt as though that incandescent ball of energy that had been building in your chest since the moment you first laid eyes on him was traveling up your throat, trailing a blazing heat in its wake while it spilled from your whimpering lips to find its home in him. Sukuna’s neck strained up to hungrily leverage a better angle to take whatever it was that you were willing to offer him. 

The way your hands remained ever so timid in their exploration, one remaining balanced on his shoulder as the other trailed hesitantly up his neck— it was filling him with a warmth unbeknownst to him if from the anticipation of your next move, or the burning fondness that seemed to gnaw at his stone heart each time he was reminded of the innocence that had been forced on you. Whichever it was, it had his hands finally moving from their respectful place on the ground to lace your fingers together, guiding your trembling hand up to brush against his flexing jaw and heating cheeks until the message was set in stone that you could do with him whatever you pleased.

The sudden reassurance made way for your fingers’ insatiable journey up the remainder of his face and into his pink tufts of hair. Sukuna moaned unabashedly at the sensation of your once shy grip curling into his roots, the sound sending shockwaves through your already buzzing system as he bit at your bottom lip before his tongue raced out to chase the subtle sting away. 

You arched against him, and it was then that you became painfully aware of the unfamiliar stiffness pressing against you. Though you knew that you had already crossed that strictly set moral line separating your human instinct from the parts of you that you could actually accept, it was still evident that this was completely different territory than a mere kiss. Even so, you couldn’t deny the way his concealed arousal excited you, pulling you like a magnet deeper into his allure.

The hand you had remaining on his chest curled into the fabric of his compression shirt as you pressed your hips down in a way you hoped was subtle. Of course, he could feel every breath and tremble of you though, and most definitely heard your gasp when your small shift caused him to press sinfully against your own heat. 

It wasn’t what he had expected, not with how much courage it seemed to have taken for you to give into your temptation to simply kiss him, but he was pliant beneath you. Sukuna was offering up his own body to the altar of your self-discovery— and despite all the verses he swore to erase from his mind, he could suddenly recall through his wanton haze that the Bible referred to one’s own body being offered in sacrifice as the utmost form of spiritual worship. It was far from him to agree with the very pages that tormented his youth, but as you experimentally rolled your hips against him to chase that pooling desire spreading through you, he was sure that he was a man of the Lord once again. 

Your lips parted from his, foreheads still pressed together while the barely audible, breathless moans slipped from you. He watched your expression fervently, taking note of that subtle frustration that creased between your brows in the pursuit of a relief that your clumsy ruts were insufficient to provide. Reaching up, his hands closed around your waist to adjust you over his straining length. 

“Try now.” Sukuna instructed in that husky tone of his that only made your affliction that much more damning, slipping a strand of your hair carefully behind your ear to get a better look at you.

Ever the obedient student, you did as he said, though it hardly took any effort on your end as his urging hands aided in the steady rhythm of your thrusts. It wasn’t long before you were steadying your hands against his chest, too overwhelmed by the foreign pleasure to be embarrassed by your pitched moans. 

Faster than you could grasp, everything that you had been told for so long was being pushed to the back of your mind to make room for him. He was rendering you utterly speechless with only his half-lidded stare and charitable hands. Sukuna thought if he didn’t keep his hands glued to your hips that they may be tempted to drift up your top, ablaze with an infuriating curiosity of what it was you always hid under those baggy shirts. 

He didn’t though, and perhaps that’s why you felt emboldened enough to chase the pleasure you’d been told was corrupt all this time. You couldn’t possibly feel the immorality the congregation always spat upon the act, because his hands were so much different than the pleasure-driven ones that grabbed at you with no regard to your own wishes. Sukuna’s hands were driven by a desire to teach you as they had been doing so diligently for weeks now, eyes studying you much like they studied your posture before you’d take a swing at him. 

Your release was building, swirling within the pits of your stomach and so incriminatingly evident in your shortening gasps, your scrunched face and nails that dug into the firm muscles of his clothed chest. The groan that escaped him sounded so melodic through the blood coursing in your ears. It left your fingertips brushing against the waves of your release, encouraged by the knowing glint in his eyes. 

A muted gasp of his name began to fall from your parted lips, but he only nodded at you hazily. 

“I know, Princess, c’mon.” 

The safety of his encouragement had you tipping over that rapidly building precipice, squeezing your eyes shut until he tapped at your ass with a firm command to look at him. It was when you opened your eyes back up though, a peculiar type of fuzziness clouding the edges when a glimmering caught your attention from your peripheral. Your gaze drifted up to where the dull lights were catching on the charm sprawled out on the floor by your fallen bag. It was your cross necklace— the one that had been lying forgotten at the bottom of your bag for weeks now. 

The sight of it clutched at your already racing heart, bringing you to a stammering halt as you jolted back with a mortified gasp. Sukuna quickly sat up at the sudden abandonment of your release.

“What—”

“I-I’m so sorry.” You whispered frantically, your fluttering gaze desperately attempting to hold back the tears lining your waterline. 

You flinched back when his grip on your waist tightened with concern, and it was enough to make him release you all together. His hands fell slowly in bewilderment while you shuffled backwards until you were off of him. 

“The fuck do you mean ‘sorry’?” His tone was harsh as always, but he just wanted to understand the sudden fear in your energy that hadn’t flared up in his presence since that first time you two met. 

“I shouldn’t have…” You shook your head, a trembling hand coming up to cover the lips that you’d allowed to act so blasphemously. “It was wrong, I—”

“Did it look like you were doing anything fucking wrong to me?” 

“But I should have known better— I do know better.” At this point, it appeared as though you weren’t talking to him anymore, but to yourself, to whatever part of you was telling you that what you two just shared was anything other than pure. Shaking your head, you stumbled up to your feet, and Sukuna quickly followed suit. “If they found out—”

You stopped yourself, almost as though you knew you were about to open a can of worms that he would not be so easily coaxed to close back up. He narrowed his sharp eyes at you. 

“If who found out?”

“I should leave—”

“Like hell you should.” Sukuna hulking arm shot out over your head to shut the door you were frantically prying open. The tears you had been desperately withholding were stinging furiously at your fluttering eyes. “Who are you trying to protect yourself from?”

At his astute question, you only looked down, somehow feeling both exposed and safe entrapped by his imposing figure. 

“Huh?”

“I don’t know, Sukuna.”

“You don’t know.” He chuckled bitterly with a nod, staring at the wall by your head with a far off look in his eyes that told you he wasn’t letting this go anytime soon. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve learned then, huh?”

An urging hand was placed at the small of your back, and he was leading you quickly back to the mat. 

“Please, just let—”

“Nah, we’ve still got half an hour left.” Sukuna firmly shut down your plea before nodding for you to get into proper form. “Go ahead and take me down.” 

It didn’t matter how unwavering you attempted to make your glare, his firm stance didn’t falter as he awaited your first move with a calloused expression that contrasted so starkly against the passionate way he was gazing up at you just minutes prior. Sinking your teeth harshly into your bottom lip, your body trembled as you adjusted your posture and lunged into a side step to swipe at his feet. 

It was just as he’d taught you— always using your opponent’s size against them to knock them off balance. You had done it perfectly too, but this time around he wasn’t so lenient in falling over in demonstration as he normally did. This time, he had a point to prove, and his firmly planted feet didn’t falter at your sweep as he took the opportunity to reach down and swallow you up by your midsection. 

A grunt of frustration rolled from you as he hoisted you easily into the air. You kicked out your legs, trying with every last ounce of your waning energy to hit his groin, his shins, stomach— anywhere that might allow you to escape. It was all for naught though, and he was absorbing each of your comparably weak blows as he kneeled to the ground and pinned you beneath him. 

“Escape.” The practically fuming man commanded again, pinning both your hands at the small of your back. 

Your flaming cheek was pressed against the cushioned mat, beginning to gloss over with the sheen of sweat your exertion was producing. Each exasperated pant that escaped you was bringing you closer and closer to understanding just what it was that he was trying to prove, yet you still strained against his grip and jostled your shoulders desperately. 

“What are you gonna do if whoever the fuck they are find you, huh?” He had lowered himself until his chest was pressed against your back, his lips brushing against your feverish ear. 

The since built up tears finally boiled over as the last shred of hope and energy abandoned you, falling limp against the mat as the salty waves cascaded freely down your cheeks. His grip on your wrists slowly eased up, and that harsh scowl was being replaced with a more resigned frown. 

“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” Sukuna rationed with you. 

In truth, his resolve was breaking with each heaving sob that spilled from your lips. Finally releasing you all together, he watched in barely concealed unease as you made no attempt to move from your position on the floor. So, he instead worked to pull you up himself, shoving your trembling form against his chest as his eyes remained locked blankly at the counter behind you. 

“I left— I-I ran away.” Your confession was barely comprehensible through your desolate sobs. “I didn’t tell anyone, I just left. I had to leave. I had to—”

“What do you mean you had to?”

Your nose burrowed deeper into his sternum before you shook your head. 

“I tried; I tried, and I prayed, and I begged God to lead me back on his path, but I just… I couldn’t do it anymore.” You continued to babble as you clutched at his shirt. The more you spiraled down the memories you left behind, the more scared he was becoming of what you might tell him. “I thought he was trying to test me— test my faith, but how could I trust in a God that abandoned me like that? That let them…”

Your face scrunched with the trailing of your words. It made a ball of nauseating dread pool in Sukuna’s stomach, his face hardening once again. 

“Let them what?”

“They told me that lust was blasphemous, that God’s children didn’t give into sins of the flesh, but they used the same hands to pray as they did to wander when offering me my blessings every Sunday. What was that supposed to tell me about my God?”

The man’s jaw clicked with the force of his clench as he absorbed your infuriated explanation. Your tears were rapidly becoming ones of rage, continuing to recall each time you stood in waiting, dreading your weekly eucharist as you knew how the associate preacher’s hands liked to stray too far as he performed the sign of the cross against your chest. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” You cried, pulling away from him to shove your face into your hands. “So why do I feel like I’ve damned myself? Like I’ve turned against God’s will?”

“God’s will wasn’t for you to be used by those lowlife fucking perverts hiding behind the Bible.” Sukuna finally snapped, trying with everything in him to level his voice lest he displace the rage swimming through his veins. 

“But how am I any better, Sukuna?” Your sudden outburst took him aback. “I gave in too.”

He scoffed incredulously at you. It wasn’t you that he was so bothered by though, it was the depths in which those people had sunk their claws into your psyche that irked him so deeply. Grasping at your jaw so you’d look him in the eyes, the solemn expression on his face made you shiver. 

“How are you any better? Because you wanted it this time, and so did I.” He emphasized, and your damp face flushed furiously at his words. “Don’t you dare fucking compare what they did to you to what happened back there.”

Clutching at the wrist of the hand that grasped you, you tugged at it to no avail, shaking your head once again against his hand. 

“You don’t get it—”

“Oh, I don’t?” Another menacingly bitter laugh slipped past his lips. “You don’t think I grew up hearing the same bullshit? That I had to beg forgiveness for shit that wasn’t my responsibility to be sorry for?” 

The grip you had around his wrist faltered as his words sunk in. You allowed your eyes to rake over his tattooed face, as though you couldn’t believe that someone who appeared so starkly different than you had once absorbed the very lessons that had placed you before him in the first place. 

“I had a twin, you know— least I was supposed to. Preacher used to tell my mom that God took her baby away because she gave into temptation out of wedlock.” 

The tremble in your bottom lip didn’t stop him from driving his point home, not even when your eyes began to pool once again with regret. 

“You know I still remember that damn verse line for line? No matter how much I tried to forget it.” Sukuna’s desolate tone continued to tug at your heartstrings, but it was almost freeing to hear that perhaps you weren’t the only one forced by your circumstances to question the faith that had been thrust upon you. “‘But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away from his own lust, and enticed. Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin; and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death.’”

His thumb reached up to swipe at the fresh tears that began to fall from your sorrowful eyes despite the fact that it was his grief that was filling the space between you. He had finished his drawn out battle against his own spirit long ago though. 

“You think that’s what I am? Death conceived? That I was a punishment from God cause my mom wanted to fool around?”

“No— I don’t think that.” You finally cried out firmly, and it was the first decision you’d made in quite awhile that you felt confident in. “You’re none of those things. I won’t believe that.”

“How do you know that?” He tested, drawing you closer to him with a burning desire to kiss away each tear that dared disturb that kind face of yours.

“Because you’re good, and you’re kind, and you’re everything they ever told me to be afraid of,” You heard the sharp inhale he tried to conceal, because of all the sharp tongues that had spat troves of profanities at him, no one had ever called him good. “But they were wrong about you, and so was I.”

Humming deeply at your explanation, he tilted his head at you. 

“So, what the fuck makes you think they were right about anything else?” 

His challenge lingered in the heavy air between you, your breaths mingling as you stared down at the lips that had just spun your world on its axis. It had been a lifetime of being told that your body wasn’t to be trusted— that it would test and betray you time and time again. At the very least, despite the notion acting as a marionette puppetting each thought and breath you’d experienced thus far, there was some sort of safety in the familiarity of your cage. 

Still, Sukuna seemed to be awaiting you outside the confinement of your apprehension with all the beauty you once thought akin to the devil himself, but you had come to realize that he was the closest thing to holy you’d ever held within your grasp before. You wrestled with the part of you that had been conditioned to believe your worth was in your virtue and your purity, and the part of you that thought his lips were proof that man truly was created in God’s image.

He could see the storm brewing behind your apprehensive eyes, biting back the sharp lecture that was instinctively conjuring up in the back of his mind that would shake at your shoulders to snap out of the chains they’d bound your mind with. Instead, a strained sigh fanned out across your face, and he was suddenly reaching behind you to grab your abandoned necklace. 

“I’m not telling you to give all this shit up.” He murmured, twisting the cool, silver cross between his fingers.

 Looking down at the pendant, you weren’t sure that you could recall a time that it ever appeared so blinding. After a moment of contemplation, he lifted it carefully before draping it across your neck once again. Your nose brushed against his chest as he leaned forward to secure the clasp in the back. Of all the years it spent weighing down on your chest, you couldn’t help but feel that Sukuna had taken a certain weight off of it that had since been suffocating you. 

The tips of his hair tickled at your cheek as his head dipped down to press heated kisses to your jaw. Your lips parted, head falling to the side unconsciously to allow him more room. The gentle moans he was procuring from you made the corners of his lips twitch up as they trailed down your neck and left goosebumps in their wake. It wasn’t long before his descent led him to the pendant laying proudly against your chest, and he pressed a final kiss to it before lifting his head once again. 

“But don’t let it make you believe shit you don’t want to, you hear me?” You only nodded, eyes transfixed on his lips as they drew closer to yours. His thumb pressed down against your chin to hold you in place for him to offer you a fervent kiss, sighing yearningly into you before pulling back. “If I’m not a sin then you sure as hell aren’t one either.”

You smiled softly at his words, chasing his lips while your hands twisted more confidently up his nape and into his hair. 

Truthfully, you weren’t sure if it mattered to you anymore whether or not Sukuna was sin incarnate, or a test of your faith, or God’s punishment to an unholy woman, or whatever it was that your father would so ardently convince you of. Right now, his hands were traversing your waist with a tenderness no man had ever bestowed upon you, and his heathen tongue was knocking at your lips in search of permission to enter. You understood more with every inch of you he kissed why Lucifer had fallen from grace with the hope of being worshipped himself.

Your father, if he was even looking for the daughter that had fled from his feigned mercy, would simply have to forgive you of your sins.

a/n: where my ethel cain girlies at

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[goldfades]

past relationships, exes and flings | chapter two, DAYLIGHT

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.9k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | after running into your ex, you and kylie have some reflection time. joe realizes that his hook-ups aren't fulfilling, but ja'marr reminds him of who he really is underneath all the hurt.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | kinda angsty, mentions of past relationships, tay/reader bonding!! again, this is such a sloooow burn series so be ready

You weren’t sure who the Chiefs were playing.

Not that you hadn’t been trying to pay attention—you had, really—but somewhere between the first and second quarter, you realized you had absolutely no idea which team was on the other side of the field. It didn’t help that Taylor was curled into your side, an arm draped around your shoulders, squeezing you gently every time Travis did something remotely worth cheering for.

"You having fun?" she asked, her voice just loud enough to cut through the roar of the stadium.

You nodded, because it was easier than explaining that football games had never really been fun for you. They were just… familiar. A backdrop to your childhood, a constant in your life. You had been sitting in the stands for as long as you could remember, watching your brothers carve their way through the sport, watching them win, watching them lose. It wasn’t new. None of it was new.

But for Taylor, it was.

So you leaned into her warmth, let yourself cheer when she did, pretended like the weight in your chest wasn’t getting heavier and heavier with every passing minute.

It was easier that way.

After the game, you went out to eat.

Somewhere lowkey—well, as lowkey as you could get when you were with Taylor Swift—where the lights were dim and the noise was loud enough to drown out any lingering thoughts about the game.

You were finally starting to settle, finally letting yourself enjoy the post-game buzz, when you saw him.

Jayson.

The second you saw him, everything else in the restaurant faded.

The warm lighting, the distant clatter of plates, the low hum of conversation—it all became white noise, swallowed by the rush of blood in your ears. Jayson Tatum was here. Here. A few tables away, sitting with a group of people you didn’t recognize, laughing like he hadn’t once shattered you so thoroughly you weren’t sure you’d ever feel whole again.

Your stomach dropped, a sick twist knotting its way through your chest, because suddenly it was December again. Suddenly, you were back in the middle of that breakup, the most public, most humiliating moment of your life. You were reading the headlines, seeing your name next to his in bold, ugly letters, dissecting every photo, every quote, every little piece of your pain that had been turned into entertainment for the world to consume.

Travis stiffened beside you. He saw him too.

And if there was one thing about your big brother, it was that he had never been the type to think twice before throwing a punch when it came to protecting you.

“Let’s go,” he said, already pushing his chair back.

You barely had time to register his words before Taylor was tugging at your hand, her fingers warm and grounding against your wrist. “Come on, babe.”

You should’ve argued. Should’ve said something about how you weren’t going to let him ruin your night, that you didn’t care, that he didn’t affect you anymore. But you knew that would be a lie. You weren’t sure if you could even breathe properly right now, let alone sit here and pretend like seeing him didn’t send you spiraling back to the lowest point in your life.

So you left.

You weren’t even fully out the door before Travis was muttering, “Motherfucker. Just seeing his face makes me wanna—”

“Don’t,” you cut in, voice shakier than you wanted it to be. “Just—don’t, Trav.”

His jaw clenched, but he nodded, running a hand through his hair as he let out a sharp exhale. He was still wired, still pissed, but he wouldn’t push it. Not if you asked him not to.

Taylor, though, was quiet. Too quiet.

And when you turned to her, she was watching you with something so heavy in her eyes, something so full of understanding and sadness and anger that it nearly knocked the breath out of you.

She knew.

She’d known before—she knew the headlines, the surface-level details, the way the media had painted you in the aftermath—but now? Now, she really knew.

And suddenly, for the first time since it all happened, you wanted to talk about it.

The words came before you could stop them. “It wasn’t just the breakup.”

Travis and Taylor both looked at you, startled by the sudden admission.

You swallowed, throat tight. “It was—God, it was everything. He was in my life for so long, I—I thought it would always be that way. We had this stupid back-and-forth thing, and I let him—I let him treat me like I was disposable, like I was something he could just come back to whenever he wanted.” Your voice wavered, thick with something you didn’t want to name. “And then when it finally ended—really ended—it was so public. I couldn’t escape it. I’d open my phone and it was everywhere, people picking sides, making jokes, acting like—like it wasn’t my life that just fell apart.”

Taylor squeezed your hand, her grip firm. “I hate him.”

That pulled a watery laugh out of you, and you shook your head. “I think I do too.”

Travis was still tense, his hands flexing like he was trying to physically restrain himself from going back inside and doing something that would definitely end up all over the news. “I should’ve hit him when I had the chance.”

“I think you did have the chance,” you pointed out. “A couple times.”

“I should’ve hit him more.”

Taylor sighed, but there was amusement in it. “Okay, violence aside, let’s go home, yeah?”

You nodded.

And as the three of you walked toward the car, the weight on your chest didn’t feel quite as heavy anymore.

Kylie had a way of making things seem simpler. Not easy, but manageable. Like no matter how deep the hole you’d fallen into, she could always build you a ladder out of sheer willpower and stubbornness alone.

And right now, as you sat on the couch in her living room, surrounded by the chaos of her kids running in and out of the room, she was trying to do just that.

“I’m just saying,” she said, adjusting Bennett on her hip as she reached for her coffee, “heartbreak isn’t the end of the world. It feels like it is, trust me, I know. But it never actually is.”

You sighed, watching as Wyatt toddled over with a toy in hand, babbling about something you couldn’t quite decipher. Kylie reached down instinctively, ruffling her daughter’s hair before she turned back to you.

“I’ve been where you are,” she continued. “I mean, maybe not exactly where you are, because, you know—" she gestured vaguely, "—I wasn’t dealing with the entire world watching my love life implode. But still.”

You huffed out a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Glad someone finds my misery entertaining.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” She shot you a look before taking a sip of her coffee. “I’m saying I get it. I get how much it sucks. I get how it feels like you’re never going to be okay again, like no matter what you do, you’re always going to have this big, gaping hole where he used to be.”

You swallowed, glancing down at your hands. Because, yeah. That was exactly how it felt.

Kylie sighed, shifting Bennett in her arms before nudging your knee with her foot. “But you will be okay again. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. Even if it takes a while. Because heartbreak sucks, but it doesn’t last forever.”

You let out a slow breath, looking up at her. “And what, exactly, is the secret to moving on?”

Kylie smirked. “Oh, there’s no secret. You just... do it. One day at a time. You wake up, you do your best, and then, one day, you realize it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”

You stared at her. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” She shrugged. “And if it makes you feel better, you will find someone else.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Absolutely.” Kylie grinned, shifting so she could reach for her phone. “And when you do, I fully expect to help you stalk him on Instagram and determine whether or not he’s good enough for you.”

You groaned. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe.” She winked. “But I’m also right.”

You shook your head, but for the first time in a long time, the idea of moving on didn’t seem so impossible.

The locker room smelled like sweat, grass, and the faint, lingering staleness of protein powder. Preseason camp had been brutal—long days under the relentless August sun, drills that made even the veterans question why they ever picked up a football in the first place, and competition so fierce that the air always felt thick with something unspoken.

Joe sat at his locker, tape still wrapped around his knuckles from practice, shoulders tense as he stared down at his cleats like they held the answers to something he couldn’t quite put into words. He could feel the weight of his teammates around him—the easy banter, the occasional slap on the back, the sound of pads hitting the ground as guys peeled them off like second skin.

Ja’Marr plopped down beside him, kicking his own cleats off with a grunt. “You good, Joey B?”

Joe smirked slightly at the nickname but didn’t look up. “Yeah.”

“Uh-huh.” Ja’Marr leaned back, stretching his arms over the bench. “You’ve been acting weird, man.”

Joe exhaled through his nose, finally glancing over at his friend. “Weird how?”

“Weird like... I don’t know. You’re doing things, man.” Ja’Marr waved a hand. “Going out more. Talking to random girls. You—” He pointed at Joe. “—are acting like me.”

That made Joe huff out a quiet laugh. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“It’s a weird thing.” Ja’Marr eyed him. “That’s not you. You’re not a casual guy.”

Joe didn’t say anything.

Because Ja’Marr wasn’t wrong.

Joe had never been the type to chase after girls just for the hell of it. It wasn’t that he didn’t like women—he did. But he’d always been a relationship guy. A stability guy. The kind of guy who found one person and built something solid. That was just how he worked. It was how he thrived.

But now?

Now he didn’t have that.

And maybe that was why he’d been filling his time with meaningless interactions, fleeting distractions that never really amounted to anything. Because at least if he was doing something, he didn’t have to sit in the quiet and think about what was missing.

Ja’Marr sighed, shaking his head like he already knew what was running through Joe’s mind. “Look, man, I get it. Breakups suck. But this whole... whatever this is? Not you.”

Joe clenched his jaw, flexing his fingers against his knee. “Yeah, well. Maybe I need to figure out who I am without her.”

Ja’Marr studied him for a second before nodding slowly. “Fair enough.”

Joe appreciated that about him—Ja’Marr never pushed, never tried to psychoanalyze him the way some people did. He just... got it.

“But for real,” Ja’Marr added after a beat, standing up and stretching, “if you ever wanna talk, you know where to find me.”

Joe smirked. “Yeah. At the club.”

Ja’Marr grinned, tossing a towel at his face. “Damn right.”

Joe shook his head, watching as Ja’Marr walked off, leaving him alone with his thoughts once again.

And that was the thing.

No matter how many people surrounded him, no matter how much he tried to distract himself—at the end of the day, he still felt alone.

[vershautece]

Imagine the whole phd thing was your inside joke nobody else knew about and one day you’re at a gathering and somebody asks “so luigi, thinking of going for that phd soon?” He smirks and looks towards you like “what you think of me and a phd baby?” OHHHH LETS GO HOME RIGHT NOW AND I’LL TELL YOU

*when i first started responding to this ask i didn’t even mean to write a whole oneshot haha but omfg guys this is like size kink heaven

—

omg this is what im saying he would literally be this cocky and teasing😣 and yes i love the idea of it being an inside joke like u guys were prob just cuddling scrolling on your phones and he starts laughing bc he’s just seen a tweet about someone doing a phd and it inspired the joke😭 ur both giggling like children and then u turn to him and decide to tease, batting your lashes. ‘so is it really as huge as you say, sir?’ & you know damn well it’s a whole 7 inches bc ur insides have it memorised. ur rubbing his bulge through his pants and when he tells u to straddle him you’re giggling and whining while u dry hump

he’s going along with your playing dumb gimmick: ‘you need help remembering how big my cock is baby? don’t want just the tip, no? you want the whole thing? how many inches am i, princess?’

‘mm, 5?’ you’re messing with him still, grinding your hips onto his clothed crotch. his hands are moving between your sides, your lower back and gripping and kneading your ass in your loungewear.

at your words he immediately scoffs, and cocks his tongue to the inside of his cheek: ‘yeah sure baby, so you wanna see if you’re right?’ his smirk is making you so wet, and it’s surely gonna leak through the thin fabric you’re wearing. your hands are pushing on his chest now while you rock your hips against his.

‘mhmm, show me baby, i don’t think you can call it a phd if it’s only 5 inches. hm?’ u tease him, and move back off his crotch a little to palm him through his sweatpants. he’s so hard now, and u almost moan out loud at the feeling of him even through fabric.

‘take it out then, sweetheart’ he’s looking at you with pure lust in his eyes as you sit back to pull his sweatpants and his boxers down his legs, throwing them onto the other side of the bed.

his cock is fully erect, almost slapping against his stomach, and he hisses at the feeling. ‘what do you think, baby?’

you’re nearly drooling at the sight, and you giggle, biting your lip. ‘still think it’s just 5 inches, lu’ you bat your eyelashes, pouting slightly, and he nods slowly in response. ‘see if you can take those 5 inches in your mouth then, come on. if it’s only 5 you can do it, sweetheart’

you don’t break eye contact with him as you put him in your mouth, and you only get halfway down before you start to gag. the sight of u struggling to deepthroat him while maintaining eye contact has him going insane. he lets out one loud groan as soon as he’s in your mouth, and instinctively moves his hand to your hair, holding it out of your face. ‘why can’t you take it all, bellissima? hm? come off my cock for a second and answer me, yeah?’

you reluctantly take him out of your mouth, and tease him by spitting out his precum back onto the tip of his cock. ‘mm, think i need to feel it inside me lu, y’know if it hits my cervix then maybe i can say you do qualify for a phd’

u and luigi literally never have sex without him hitting your cervix - he knows you’re messing with him and his size kink is going crazy. he gives u that smirk (u guys know which oneee) ‘that’s fine baby ill give it to you, but you didn’t answer my question. why can’t you deepthroat my cock, beautiful?’

‘mm, stop asking questions and tell me to put it inside baby’ you moan, rocking yourself on his bare thigh and stroking his cock - you’re still fully clothed, and this friction isn’t enough

‘so fuckin’ needy, hm? yeah, you want my dick inside you? take everything off baby, there wasn’t any point in wearing panties cause you’re leaking through your clothes, mm’ he sits up a bit and reaches forward to rub your pussy slowly through your pants. he can locate the clit even through your clothes, and he slaps it lightly as a way of telling you to strip off. you take off your tank top, shuffle out of your pants, and then pull down your soaking panties, and luigi is jerking off slowly in front of you, trying to control his moans. you position yourself on him, replacing his hand with yours on his cock so that you can guide him into you. slowly, you start to push in the tip, and you nearly scream at the pleasure from his tip alone. ‘mmmm, lu’ you place your hands on his chest, and he’s smirking up at u. ‘mhm? this is just the tip baby girl, you gonna push me in deeper? shouldn’t be that difficult since im not that big, huh? cmon’ and he starts drawing slow circles on your clit just to tease you even more. you roll your eyes and push him in deeper, letting out another pornographic moan. ‘luigiiii, mm you’re so bi-’

his smirk grows wider: ‘i’m what? repeat that baby’ he lifts his hips to slowly push the rest into you, groaning at the feeling, and when he bottoms out you lean forward onto his chest and put your arms around his neck. ‘you’re so big, mmmm Mr phd’ you giggle into his chest

‘yeah? it’s more than 5 inches, huh, princess?’ he wraps his arms tight around your waist and gently pulls your face from his chest. he kisses you passionately, and you’re both giving each other teasing smiles when u break the kiss. ‘mhm, feel you in my cervix’ you moan softly; he’s not even started moving yet.

‘yeah, i know baby’ he coos at you, caressing your abdomen where his imprint is. ‘start rocking your hips, and i’ll get to making you feel so good, hm?’ he kisses you again softly as you start grinding on his cock. ‘mmmm, i’m so lucky’ you moan

his arms are moving up and down your torso now, and occasionally to your ass to knead it and grip it. ‘yeah you are, and so am i with this beautiful girl on top of me. you look like an angel, my baby’

you’re blushing down at him, soft moans spilling from your throat as you increase the pace. he’s kissing your neck now and leaving hickeys, while u tangle your fingers in his curls. ‘yeah, grind on my cock just like that, oh fuck’ he’s moaning into your neck, and you keep this pace going for a good few minutes, until he tells you to stop.

u both look at each other with lust filled eyes, a needy whine leaving your throat as you stop moving. he chuckles softly at your desperation. ‘c’mere, baby girl’ he wraps his arms tight around your waist again, and shifts his position on the bed to sit up properly against the headboard, still inside you. ‘c’mere’ he continues to coo at you, then brings u down onto his chest, planting his feet on the bed for the perfect angle to start thrusting up into you. he kisses your forehead, and holds you so tight. you’re prepared for him to start thrusting rough, but instead he starts an extremely frustrating pace of one rough thrust, then stilling inside u, another rough thrust, stilling inside again, and repeat. you want him to be fucking you dumb, not teasing you at this slow pace but it’s so so intimate, and his words in between the thrusts have you feeling like you’re in heaven. ‘i’m starting off slow like this baby, need to make sure you’re really savouring the feeling of how i hit your cervix, mhm? promise i’ll go faster soon’ he speaks to you so sweet and soft, kissing your forehead over and over.

*thrust* ‘mm, that’s it bellissima, you’re taking it so well’ *thrust* ‘mhm, my baby taking my cock so deep for me’ *thrust* ‘yeah, you feeling good?’ *thrust* ‘oh that’s my girl huh? mm, amore mio’

to all of this you’re just responding with moans and incoherent babbles, fingers tangled in his curls - the sensation and the contrast of him thrusting and then stilling inside is heavenly, and you don’t mind the teasing anymore.

‘all you can do is moan for me, hm? all dumb on this phd?’ he’s still at the same pace, and when you still don’t respond he smacks ur ass in between thrusts. u manage to let out a reply through whines: ‘mmm i love you luigi, my baby’

‘i know, sweetheart, i know. i love you too, always wanna show you how much’ he stops thrusting altogether and kisses your shoulder. ‘luigi, please’ you moan, desperate for him to fuck you properly. ‘pazienza, amore mio’

you’re arching your back like a slut waiting for him, and when he starts a steady pace you can’t control any of the whines and moans that leave your throat. ‘oh, luuu, i needed this so bad, your cock’s so fucking big, shit, i can’t’ your eyes roll into the back of your head, and his grip on your waist is so secure it’s making u even dizzier thinking about how protective he is of you. ‘that’s it, sweetheart - is it too much?’ his pace is getting unbelievably faster, and he keeps saying things to you as if you have the energy or brain capacity rn to reply.

‘no it’s perfect baby, want you inside me like this forever’ you manage to reply, and then you’re pressing sloppy kisses all over his neck - your moans vibrating against his skin triggers louder moans from him. ‘oh you’re so good to me, i’m the luckiest girl in the world’

‘baby girl - bambina - i wanna take care of you forever, make you my wife’

‘luigi, i’m gonna cum’ you whine, his words getting u even closer.

‘mhm, you close? yeah? cum for me, beautiful’ he pushes you back off his chest so he can see you, and the eye contact is insane. ‘i wanna see you come undone for me, amore mio, i’m so close too’

‘cum inside me, lu’ you whine desperately, hands gripping his curls so tight. his thrusts haven’t slowed once, and u think it can’t get any better till he suddenly hooks his hands under your ass and makes you jump on his cock, while he shifts his position so that you’re both sat up properly chest to chest, and he bends his knees even more to adjust the angle of his thrusts that somehow makes you feel even better than you already felt.

‘i’m gonna cum, fuck baby, oh, i love you so much’ his moans are erratic, and he’s sucking and kissing your boobs, hands still gripping and smacking your ass.

‘mhmmmm, me too, oh i love you’ you’re rocking your hips frantically to meet his thrusts now, and he pulls away from your boobs just for one second to say something: ‘dolcezza, play with your clit, my pretty girl’

and now your fingers are working erratically on your bundle of nerves, the last thing to push you over the edge as you get your release, screaming luigi’s name. you fall forward onto his chest immediately, while he continues his thrusts to get his own release.

‘that’s a good girl, cumming all over my cock, that’s it - gonna fill you up with mine now, mhm’ he’s muttering these words in your ear, followed by loud grunts as he spills inside you, right before collapsing on the sheets with you on his chest.

you’re both breathing heavily for a few moments and he’s stroking your hair with one hand, pulling you as close as possible by your waist with his other hand. he’s the first to speak: ‘so you’re gonna tell me i qualify for a phd now?’ he’s smirking into your hair, pecking the top of your head. ‘baby’ you giggle into his chest. u caress his cheek and whisper in his ear, ‘of course. and these 7 inches belongs to me’ you’re smiling up at him, and he raises his brows in response. ‘oh so you do admit it now, huh? i know your pussy has every inch of me memorised, you can’t mess with me sweetheart’

he shifts you slightly to slowly pull his cock out of you, and you both giggle at all the cum that drips out onto his stomach :’) then, you look up at him innocently, moving your hand to his softening cock. ‘can you fuck me in the shower, please baby?’

[a-mint-bear]

Comfort Object

Male Yandere x Reader

You see a really weird "job" post online, and the money seems too good to be true. But you aren't really in a position where you can turn it down...

You hope it doesn't get weird.

---

It was a very… concerning “job” posting.

But desperate times, and all that. 

It had shown up about a week ago, and it wasn’t hard to see why no one had taken the poster up on it as of yet. 

Bedmate Needed

● 11 pm to 6 am

● $25/hour up front

● Riverside Motel

● Room 44

● Not a sex thing

The last note seemed tacked on in a later edit, but it was still… not great.

You’d have to be either a gullible idiot or a desperate one to go for a job like this. Unfortunately, you were the latter. Very much so.

You couldn’t take another night on the street. It was getting so cold out. The promise of a warm bed was almost enough to lure you in on its own. But the money… 175 bucks just to sleep in the same bed as some internet creep?

Despite the clarification in the post, this had to be a sex thing, right?

You hadn’t gone that far, despite everything. It’s not like you hadn’t considered it… but the thought was too terrifying. Making yourself completely vulnerable to a stranger that could just decide you were less than a person and do whatever they wanted to you? You had to draw the line somewhere.

But at this point, you weren’t sure that there was a line you weren’t willing to cross anymore. 

. . .

The Motel wasn’t the seediest you’d ever seen around town but it wasn’t a place you would’ve voluntarily stayed at even two months ago. Back when you had options. 

Creepy post guy opened the door after a couple of knocks, with an awkward, pregnant pause between them. He wasn’t quite what you expected for an internet creep, but he was still a sight to see.

Really bad posture and dark, greasy-looking hair, with the darkest circles under his eyes you’d ever seen. He looked like he was about to pass out at any second, but he held it together long enough to gesture you into the room. 

“Hey…” His voice was low but he sounded nervous. And so, so tired. “You’re… You’re a little early. That’s…that’s fine. Uh, come in.”

You felt his eyes on you as you passed him, and it didn’t help your anxiousness. Not one bit. 

“Hey so, I-I really…I uh, need a shower.” He stumbled over his words with a breathy, nervous laugh. “Unless you wanna sleep next to a… fuckin’ sweaty mess all night. Do you wanna go first or…?”

You must’ve looked nervous because his eyes went wider, digging into his pocket.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to… Oh, uh…here.” He nodded, pressing the money into your hand. “Up front, just… just like I said. You just…just seemed like you maybe sorta needed one too.”

Some part of you must’ve still had an ounce of pride left because your whole body felt on fire with shame, embarrassment so consuming that you froze up. It had been a couple of days…

He just looked away, seeming like he was embarrassed himself. 

“I w-wasn’t gonna like… try to join you or peep on you or nothin’!” He tried to assure you, eyes darting in a panic and talking a bit too fast. “If I, like, go first? I won’t get mad if you change your mind and leave… I get it. I’m not gonna like… go after you or call the cops or nothin’ like that. I just…”

He stared at the floor, nails digging into his arm as he seemed like he was having trouble breathing.

“I really… I really need this.” He was so quiet, but his voice was so desperate.

You couldn’t really be considering this, could you?

He seemed more like a weird, awkward, sad guy than a real danger or some kind of pervert.

And you really did need a hot shower. 

It seemed like a safer bet to have him go first, if you were really going through with this. And it would give you a chance to look around the room for a spot to tuck away your pocket knife, just in case.

When he was in the shower, you did just that. The spot between the mattress and bed frame would be easy to grab at if things got hinky.

If things got all touchy-feely, as you suspected they would, him finding that on you or leaving it in your pocket when your clothes got tossed wherever would be really inconvenient. 

Steam rolled out of the bathroom when he stepped out, shirtless but with sweatpants and a towel around his neck. He was thin, almost alarmingly so, but you could still see muscle, enough to pose a problem should he decide to overpower you.

This was your last chance to back out, before you’d be vulnerable to this odd stranger.

But even if you left, the money wouldn’t last long, and it’s not like you had any other options. 

You were so grateful that the motel tub wasn’t disgusting, but you would’ve gotten clean regardless. Two days worth of sweat and funk was washed away and it felt so heavenly… But it was hard to relax when you were trying to stay hyper alert of any noise that could be that man trying to get in or even eavesdrop.

But…

Nothing. 

You finished your shower and brushed your teeth, doing everything you could to feel clean that a motel bathroom could provide. And there was no sign of the guy. 

But you had to go back out there eventually. You supposed you could lock yourself in here and get a full night’s sleep indoors, even if it was on the floor of a motel bathroom with your back against the door, but part of you just said “fuck it” and warily peeked around the doorway into the bedroom.

The lights in the room were dim, but warm. He was sitting on the end of the bed, one knee tucked into his chest, staring at the tv as the bright colors of a nightly talk show reflected in his eyes, but something told you he wasn’t really watching. His eyes met yours and you froze.

“It’s almost eleven…” He mumbled, his head resting awkwardly on his shoulder. His hand ghosted over the spot on the bed next to him. “… Will... will you stay?”

So many thoughts raced through your head. What would happen if you laid down beside him? You could probably deal with sex… even if it felt a bit wrong. But if he wanted to hurt you?

Your brain reminded you:

What do you really have to lose?

When you told him you would stay, sitting next to him, you could see him relax. Just a bit.

“If you still want to leave-”

But you cut him off, almost afraid he would talk you out of it after you’d made up your mind.

Avoiding his stare, you told him you had nowhere to go.

The bed was cold, it might take a bit to warm up with the two of you in it, but it was the least of your concerns at that moment. 

“So it’s...” He’d spoken up so suddenly, you hoped he didn’t see you flinch. He was staring at the ceiling, seeming just a tiny bit calmer. “... it’s fine if you just… lay there or h-hold onto me, or play on your phone or whatever, anything is fine. Just… just don’t leave ‘til mornin’. Okay?”

A worrying pause, but you told him you understood.

And that was that. He laid next to you unmoving for almost an hour before you had the nerve to move at all, shifting slowly to your side to face him.

His eyes were shut, his breathing even, but somehow you knew he was still awake. It was like he was trying to sleep but it just wasn’t coming to him. He looked so worn down, like he could just keel over any second. It definitely made him less intimidating, but you weren’t letting your guard down, no matter how much your body was screaming at you to just let go.

Despite your better judgement, you wondered if he really was being genuine about this not being a sex thing. It was a relief, sure, but it just raised more questions.

Why were you here?

. . .

You’d stopped looking at the bedside clock a while ago. It had to have been hours by then.

Your anxiety and dread somehow felt quieter under the lull of impending sleep. Despite everything, your body was at least grateful for a warm bed and hot shower, and if you didn’t sleep there now, you didn’t know when you’d be able to sleep somewhere warm any time soon. 

Every moment that ticked by, you felt your resolve slipping. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, just to let go… This whole situation was weird, but you just wanted to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He hoped against everything that he would just fall asleep.

Just this once, he didn’t want to have to follow through with it. But he was so damn tired. There was this ache behind his eyes that he could feel in his bones, his mind never stopped racing… 

He could feel your body heat in the bed next to him. You had either been very scared or very considerate, you’d only moved once since you laid down with him. 

He hated that he had to do this. He felt sorry for you, he really did. But it was drowned out by the buzzing in the back of his brain. The constant whispers in his ear. 

There had been so many before now, it was a miracle he hadn’t gotten caught. But this was a huge, dangerous city. Everyone in it was just a blip to anyone paying attention. 

He could feel their skin under his palms buzzing at the back of his brain. How their eyes stared into his, burning with betrayal, fear, helplessness. How he saw them fade away.

How it was the only thing that worked to let him finally sleep. The only thing that quieted the whispers, at least for a little bit. 

Some booked it after getting the money. Some just showed up and straight-up robbed him. Some tried to leave in the middle of the night, thinking he was asleep. But if they stayed and fell asleep, that was that.

He told himself that he gave them all a chance. 

If you managed to stay up all night, you’d be safe. But he really needed this… It was already day three, and he’d never made it past day five without completely losing it. Trying to fight this, it was too hard. The longer he stayed awake, trying to avoid what had to happen, the worse he felt. The louder the voice got. The deeper the ache in his bones. But the more often he did it, the easier it got. And that was worse in a different way. 

It was wrong. He wasn’t so deep in it that he couldn’t see that. The morning after, he always hated himself and what he did. 

But as the days went on, it would all creep back in. And doing it again felt less and less horrifying to him. 

You were scared. He could tell. And you had every reason to be, he told himself. But it just meant it would take you longer to fall asleep. 

He could wait all night. And if you made it the full seven hours, you weren’t what he needed. You’d be free from him, from this. Hopefully you wouldn’t come back, no matter how badly you needed the money.

He wondered what you meant by having nowhere to go.

But he tried not to wonder too much. It would make this harder. 

He could hear your breathing getting slower, your body relaxing into the bed. You wouldn’t last much longer. 

His eyes shot open when he felt you suddenly touch him, tucking your forehead into his shoulder. You weren’t quite asleep, a cuddler? He almost laughed to himself when half-asleep you looked a bit frustrated, like it wasn’t enough.

You muttered something about being cold, lazily scooting your body closer to him up the bed. He felt his breath catch when suddenly, his head was pulled to you, tucked into your chest as your arm circled him. He was suddenly the little spoon, but facing you. He could hear your heartbeat. 

He wanted to say something, wake you up or wriggle free to make what he had to do easier on you when you fell asleep. He felt a hand in his hair, playing with it and idle gentle nails on his scalp. 

It was… nice. Everything felt calm, the buzzing and horrible thoughts were still there but they were being drowned out by the warmth of your skin, the thump of your heart in his ear.

You were mumbling something. He held his breath, trying to hear.

You told him, or whoever you were dreaming about, maybe even no one at all, that he was okay. That he was safe. 

He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Something was different this time. He felt all his control slipping away, and for once, he wasn’t scared. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You woke to a sunbeam across your face, and the strange man in your arms, sound asleep. According to your phone, it was 10 am. You were grateful for the extra hours in a warm bed, but would he be mad? Did he have somewhere to be?

You couldn’t remember anything past drifting off next to him, but the two of you were tangled together, he seemed so comfortable.

Now that it was over, and your anxieties were much quieter, you really got a good look at the guy. He wasn’t… unattractive, you supposed. He was all elbows and ribs but laying against your chest made him look so soft and harmless. 

Wasn’t the worst way you’d ever made 175 bucks.

You wondered if he’d shell out the extra 100, or if that would be pushing your luck. 

Either way, it would be best to wake him up.

Gently scratching at his scalp, you told him it was getting late.

You watched as his eyes struggled to open, and for a few calm moments, he just laid against you. After a beat, he gasped and jolted up, head swiveling around the room in a panic.

“I…” He seemed really out of it, almost scared. “I actually…”

He stared at you, eyes wide. You told him it was ten in the morning, hoping everything was okay and if it wasn’t, that he wouldn’t take it out on you.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, and for a moment you were sure something bad was going to happen, but somehow, it was even worse.

He was crying.

Breaking down, sobbing hard as he just kept staring at you. Even with the odd night you’d just had, this was somehow the weirdest part. 

Despite yourself, you asked him if he was okay. He pulled himself together and you were startled again when he touched your face, his thumb gently grazing your cheek. It was tender and sweet, and it was freaking you out a little. Just a tad. 

“You… It was you…”

All you could think to ask was if you should get going, maybe trying to make it seem like you had someplace to be, or were at least trying to be considerate of his time. But it didn’t seem like he was taking the hint. 

He grabbed your hands in his, the sudden contact made you jump. He pulled them to his chest, he was too close. The way he was looking at you…

“Can we… Can we do this again? Like tonight? Please?” He was practically begging, the look in his eyes changing. That nervous, achingly tired gaze was hopeful. And so warm.

“You can have the room, if that’s what you need!” he offered, maybe somehow having picked up on your current situation. “I can pay more too. Just p-please…”

He held your palm to his cheek, staring up at you.

“I need you.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a bit of a different one from me, but i kind of liked how it turned out

that feeling when your new yandere was totally gonna off you but you were just too comfy

he's never gonna let you go. you're the only thing keepin him from killing again, ya know?

i don't have a ton of yanderes that actually kill, as odd as that seems. but this guy is one of them

he's not supposed to be a huge commentary on any particular mental health conditions, i did a bit of "research" into psychosis induced insomnia (using that term VERY loosely), but like does he hear voices because he can't sleep, or can he not sleep because he hears voices? who can say? certainly not I, the dummy who made him

i wrote this one pretty much right after my last big deadline ended, but it got reworked a bit cause it just needed some tweaks:

the yandere started out as tired but crass, kind of a dick, and when he switched after that good night's sleep it felt off. It felt more interesting if he was a bit pathetic and creepy, it felt like less of a red flag for the reader to stick around

the reader was originally going to be a straight up s*x worker that got hired by the yandere for him to kill, but it didn't really feel like my place to make that commentary on violence against s*x workers or to more or less soften it with a yandere love interest. it just didn't feel right for something so unserious

but ive been having horrible writer's block lately, so i thought i'd finally put this one out. i need to read/play some yandere stuff and get inspired. let me know if you have any recommendations y'all ✌️

[nhlclover]

PUSHING IT DOWN AND PRAYING QUINN HUGHES

pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader

summary: ever since quinn's confession, the magnetic pull of your ex has lingered in both dreams and waking moments, forcing you to confront emotions you believed were long buried.

warnings: 18+, (not insanely descriptive but) p in v, oral (fem!receiving), cheating (in your head and in person!), kind of toxic behaviour from both you and quinn

wc: 3.54k

notes: based on 'pushing it down and praying' by lizzy mcalpine. technically a part two to my fic last christmas but not necessary to read before this one! this is my first time writing something that actually veers into smut and i kind of liked it 🤫🤭

Quinn was haunting you.

Ever since the holiday party, when he told you he missed you, his presence has plagued your thoughts. You had hoped at first that it was just the encounter that had your mind tangled up in him again. A fluke. An inconvenient memory dredged up by too much wine and the way the Christmas lights had cast a golden glow around his face, making him look as heartbreakingly beautiful as he always had.

But it wasn’t just a one-off. He lingered everywhere. Seeped into everything.

He was in photos your friends reposted on Instagram, him celebrating as he racked up points in what was set to be another Norris-deserving season. You walk down the street and he’s staring down at you from a billboard. Someone at work mentions his name in passing, and you have to grip your coffee cup just a little bit tighter.

Even in the most intimate, protected moments, he’s there.

You’re with Caleb, naked and tangled up in his sheets. His hands and lips take turns tracing patterns down your skin. You close your eyes, tilting your head back against the pillow, and then suddenly, Quinn is there, hovering in the space between your thoughts, intruding like he always does. It’s his hands gripping down on your thighs, it’s his breath that’s hot over your core. It’s his black locks that your fingers thread through, his tongue that pulls you close to completion.

It’s his name that nearly slips past your lips instead of Calebs.

The second you realize, your entire body goes cold with horror. You feel sick. You feel like you’ve betrayed something, even if you’re not sure what.

It should stop there. It should be enough to shake you, to jar you back into the reality of what you have — what you chose. But it doesn’t.

Quinn lingers.

Like a ghost with a vengeance, he refuses to be exorcized from your mind. You try everything to rid yourself of him, desperate to cleanse him from your system like a sickness. You delete his number from your phone. You block him on Instagram. You unfollow the team’s page, stop watching their games, turn off the TV when his name is mentioned. But it doesn’t matter. You still see him in flashes, in the shadows of your everyday life, in the places you least expect him.

You tell yourself that Caleb is enough. He’s stable, he’s kind. He looks at you like you’re his whole world. And yet, no matter how much you try to convince yourself, you can feel the guilt creeping in, poisoning what should be simple, should be easy. Because Caleb doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve a half-present version of you, someone who is always a breath away from slipping into a memory, a ghost of a love that still has its claws in you.

And you do love Caleb. That’s what makes this worse. You love him, but Quinn is in your blood, tangled in your bones. No matter how many times you try to wring him out of you, he stays.

You don’t mean to let him in, but Quinn is relentless. Even when you spend the rest of the night curled in on yourself, forcing your mind onto anything but him, he lingers in the edges of your consciousness, slipping in through the cracks you swore you sealed long ago.

You fall asleep telling yourself you won’t think about him. But the harder you try to push him away, the faster he finds you.

And then suddenly, he’s everywhere.

His hands, broad and warm, map your body, claiming you like he never lost the right. His mouth, hot and sure, drags across your skin, lips brushing over your jaw, your throat, lower. His voice, low and wrecked with want, says your name like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

It feels real. Devastatingly real.

You arch into him, gasping when his fingers dig into your hips, when his body presses you deeper into the mattress. His hips drill into you, overwhelming pleasure wreaking your body. You’re close, so close, his hands adding to the pleasure until finally—

You wake up in a sweat, your heart hammering against your ribs, sheets tangled around your legs like they’re trying to hold you down, keep you from moving, from running from the truth that’s finally caught up to you.

The dream was so vivid it may as well have been real. It wasn’t just a memory, wasn’t just another unwelcome reminder of Quinn’s existence — it was something else entirely. Something new. Something that felt so raw, so visceral, so devastatingly consuming that you could still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the weight of his name thick on your tongue. You swear you can still taste him, still hear the low rasp of his voice murmuring against your ear, still feel the way he held you, worshiped you, and took you apart like he had every right to.

And you wanted it. God, you wanted it so badly.

The realization sits heavy in your stomach like a lead weight, nausea curling at the edges of your consciousness. It’s not just some intrusive thought, not just a fleeting moment of weakness. It’s something deeper, something more dangerous. It’s the kind of desire that threatens to upend everything you’ve built, the kind that makes you question every choice you’ve made since Quinn walked out of your life.

You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to block it all out, trying to push the images away. Caleb is sleeping beside you, blissfully unaware, his breathing slow and steady. He’s good. He’s steady. He’s the kind of love that doesn’t set you on fire, but keeps you warm.

But warmth has never been enough to stop you from craving the burn.

You sit up, legs swinging over the side of the bed, toes curling against the cold wood floor as you try to shake the dream from your mind, but it clings to you like a second skin. You know then, in that moment, that something has to give. Something has to change.

You can’t keep pretending that Quinn isn’t still under your skin, still a part of you. You can’t keep pretending that this is sustainable, that you can shove him into the darkest corners of your mind and expect him to stay there. Because he won’t. He never has.

You take a shaky breath, your fingers curling into the sheets. There are only two choices now. You either find a way to finally, truly exorcize him from your life for good — or you give in to the pull that’s been dragging you back to him since the moment he told you he missed you.

The clock on your side table reads a quarter past midnight. You know Quinn’s habits. You know how they used to contradict yours, the way his mind would keep him up until the early hours of the morning. He’s probably up. He’s probably thinking hockey. Thinking about how he can change, how he can improve, how he can lead better. You wonder if maybe his mind slips from hockey. Maybe it slips to you?

So you do something reckless. Something you swore you wouldn’t do.

You get up. You grab your vest and your keys, not bothering to change into proper clothing. You ignore the tightness in your chest as you slip out of Caleb’s apartment, moving through the cold, empty parking garage like a ghost yourself, drawn by something you don’t understand but can’t resist. Your internal autopilot takes you down a familiar route, your heart pounding with every turn you take.

You don’t know what you’re expecting as you approach Quinn’s building, but you hope it’s still the same one. Hope that, for all the ways things have changed, this one thing remains the same. Because if it doesn’t — if you get to his door and find a stranger behind it, or worse, nothing at all — you don’t know what you’ll do.

But when you step inside the familiar lobby, heart hammering against your ribs, your breath leaves you in a rush. It’s the same. The same floors, the same dim lighting, the same quiet hum of the elevator as you press the button for his floor. Your stomach twists as you watch the numbers climb, each one bringing you closer to something you might not be able to take back.

By the time you’re standing in front of his door, your entire body is buzzing with nervous energy, hands clenched into fists at your sides. The reality of what you’re doing crashes into you all at once, but it’s too late to turn back now. You’re here. You’ve already made your choice.

You raise your hand, knocking twice, sharp and decisive.

Seconds pass. Then more. And just as doubt begins to creep in — just as you think maybe, mercifully, he’s not home — the lock clicks. The door swings open, and there he is.

Quinn.

His hair is tousled, dark strands falling over his forehead like he’s been running his hands through it all night. He’s in a hoodie and sweats, and for a brief, excruciating second, you imagine how he must look underneath — imagine the way his body must still move, still feel.

His eyes widen when he sees you, surprise flickering across his face before something else settles there — something heavier, unreadable. His brow furrows as his gaze sweeps over you, taking in the obvious signs that you’d been asleep before rushing over. The floral sleep shorts, the hoodie far too thin for the cold, the puffer vest thrown on in haste. The messy, low braid, the fuzzy slippers, the oversized glasses that Quinn always thought were too big for your face — but you looked so damn cute in them.

“What are you doing here?” Quinn's voice is rough, like he hasn’t spoken in hours, maybe even like he’s just woken up, though you know that not to be the case. Or maybe it’s just the weight of the moment settling between you, thick and heavy like fog rolling in over the water.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. Now that you’re standing here, now that you’ve actually done this, the words don’t come as easily as they did in your head. But you didn’t come all this way to back down now.

“I—” you falter, inhaling sharply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I needed to talk to you.”

Quinn studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he steps back, pulling the door open wider. The second you cross the threshold, it’s like stepping back in time. His apartment smells the same — clean, but lived in, a mix of laundry detergent and something inherently him. The familiarity sends a pang straight through your chest. You shouldn’t still remember these details. You shouldn’t still care. But you do.

He closes the door behind you, and when you turn to face him, the air between you feels thick, charged. His arms are crossed, his stance guarded, like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say.

“So?” His voice is quieter now, tinged with something that almost sounds like resignation. “What did you need to talk about?”

Your fingers tighten into fists at your sides. You remind yourself why you’re here. Why you needed to see him.

“You shouldn’t have said it.” The words slip from your lips before you can stop them.

Quinn’s jaw tenses. “Said what?”

“You know what.”

Silence stretches between you, taut and unyielding. He knows. You know he knows. And yet, he just watches you, waiting.

You exhale harshly, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. “At the party. You shouldn’t have told me you missed me.”

Quinn’s throat bobs as he swallows. His arms drop to his sides. “Why not?”

“Because it messed with my head,” you admit, voice cracking slightly. “Because I was fine. I was moving on.”

He scoffs softly, shaking his head. “Were you?”

“I was,” you insist, even though your voice lacks the conviction you wish it had. The words sound brittle, as fragile as glass. “I was happy, Quinn. I was growing. Moving forward. And then you—” You break off, shaking your head as the emotions rise, thick and suffocating in your throat. “Then you showed up and dragged me right back to where I was before. Heartbroken over you.”

Quinn flinches, but it’s fleeting. He schools his features into something colder, unreadable. You almost wish he wouldn’t. You almost want him to hurt the way you’ve been hurting.

“I’m with Caleb now,” you say, the name a tether, an anchor you cling to. “And he’s—he’s incredible, Quinn. Everything a girl would ever hope for in a boyfriend.”

Quinn’s eyes darken, but you barrel on, desperate to get the words out before they choke you. “He’s thoughtful. He listens. He shows up. God, he’s everything you weren’t.”

The silence that follows is deafening. For a second, you wonder if you’ve gone too far, if the bitterness in your voice has crossed a line you’ll regret. But then Quinn speaks, and his words slice through you like a blade.

“Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself that he’s enough for you.”

The audacity of it — the sheer nerve — snaps something inside you.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” you snap, your voice trembling with fury. Quinn doesn’t back down. His gaze is steady, unflinching, and it infuriates you.

“I mean, God! You’re haunting me, Quinn! Like some goddamn ghost with a vengeance.” The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered. “Ever since that stupid party, you’ve been everywhere. In my head, in my dreams, even when I’m with Caleb—”

You stop yourself, but it’s too late. The truth hangs in the air between you, heavy and damning.

Quinn’s brow knits together, eyes sharp with something knowing. “Even when you’re with Caleb?” he repeats, voice low.

You hate him for that. Hate the way he can see right through you, the way he always has.

“Forget it… You know you’re so goddamn infuriating the way you think you can just walk back into my life and tell me something like that!” you say, your volume raising with every word. You knew it was late and Quinns’ neighbors would probably have some choice words for him in the morning, but right now you couldn’t care less about his reputation as a tenant.

Something flickers in his gaze, something guilty, something hesitant. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, don’t,” you snap. “Don’t fucking say you didn’t mean to. You knew what you were doing.”

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s it?” You shake your head, laughter bubbling up again, but it’s hollow, bitter. “That’s all you have to say? No genuine apology, no explanation, nothing. Just… sorry. Sorry for what, Quinn? Sorry for being a coward, sorry for being a fucking asshole?”

Your voice cracks as you continue, the weight of your emotions finally breaking through the thin veneer of anger you've clung to. Tears blur your vision, hot and relentless, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

“Sorry for letting me fall in love with you and then walking away like it was nothing? Sorry for showing up at that party and throwing my entire goddamn life into chaos? Sorry for being in my head all the time, in my bed, in my fucking heart?” Your voice falters, raw and ragged. “Or are you just sorry because I showed up here and ruined your night?”

Quinn takes a step closer, his face tight with emotion, but you don’t give him a chance to speak.

“You ruined me, Quinn,” you sob, the admission wrenching free from your chest. “And I hate you for it. I hate that I can’t forget you. I hate that no matter how hard I try, you’re still here.” You press a shaking hand to your chest, where your heart feels like it’s splintering apart. “I should be over this. I should be happy. I am happy. Caleb is good. He loves me—”

Your voice breaks completely, and the tears come in earnest now, unstoppable and all-consuming. Your shoulders shake with the force of it, all the pain and confusion and longing spilling out in a way you’ve never let yourself feel before.

Through your sobs, you manage to choke out one final, devastating truth: “But I still love you, and I hate myself for it.”

The weight of your confession hangs heavy in the room, and for a moment, there’s only the sound of your ragged breathing and the thick, oppressive silence that follows.

And then Quinn moves.

He crosses the distance between you in two long strides, his hands coming up to gently but firmly grip your shoulders. You try to pull away, ashamed of your outburst, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace that’s as familiar as it is shattering.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “God, I’m so sorry.”

His words are a balm and a blade all at once. You press your face against his hoodie, the fabric dampening your tears, and you cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping you upright. His hand rubs slow, soothing circles on your back, grounding you in the midst of your chaos.

For a moment, you let yourself sink into him, the comfort of his presence erasing everything else. His warmth seeps into your bones, and despite every rational thought screaming at you to pull away, you stay. It's dangerous, how easy it is to fall back into this, how simple it feels to let him hold you like he used to.

“I tried to move on too,” he admits quietly, his voice low and raw. “But it’s you, it’s always been you.”

His words tear through the walls you've built, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. You want to push him away, to tell him to shut up, but your body betrays you, leaning closer instead. It's infuriating, this pull he has on you, this gravitational force that drags you back no matter how far you run.

Then his lips find your temple, lingering there as if he's testing the waters, asking permission without words. You shudder against him, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. His lips move down, pressing soft kisses along the apple of your cheek, until he hits the corner of your mouth. His hand tightens at your waist, and before you can think it through, his mouth is on yours.

It's everything you remember and more.

His lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours with a hunger that matches your own. The anguish melts away, replaced by a desperate, aching need that leaves you breathless. His hands trace up your torso, holding your chest against his, and you let out a sound you can’t contain as he deepens the kiss.

It's intoxicating. Familiar and yet completely new. He tastes like everything you miss, everything you swore you didn't need but always craved.

And for a moment, you let yourself get lost in it.

But then the weight of reality slams into you.

You break away, gasping for breath, your chest heaving. Quinn's eyes are dark and dazed, his lips red and swollen, but you don’t let yourself linger on the sight. You push him back, putting space between you, your heart pounding so loudly you can hear it in your ears.

“What the hell are you doing?” you demand, your voice shaking with anger and confusion. “You can’t just— God, Quinn, you can’t just kiss me and expect everything to be okay!”

He takes a step toward you, but you hold up a hand, stopping him. “No. Don’t. Just… don’t.”

The tears are back, blurring your vision, but you blink them away. “You don’t get to ruin me and then kiss me like it fixes everything. That’s not how this works.”

Silence stretches between you, thick with tension. Quinn looks like he wants to say something, but you don’t give him the chance. You’re already moving toward the door, your hands trembling as you reach for the handle.

“Wait,” he says, his voice desperate. “Please— don’t leave like this.”

You pause, your back to him, your shoulders stiff. “I can’t do this, Quinn. I just… I can’t.”

And then you’re gone.

You don’t look back as you walk down the hallway, the sound of your footsteps echoing in your ears. Your chest feels like it’s caving in, your lungs struggling to take in air. But you keep moving, keep walking, because stopping would mean facing the truth you’re not ready to confront.

That no matter how much you hate him for complicating your life, for breaking your heart, for being the chaos in your carefully constructed world — you can’t fully hate him.

Because deep down, you still love him.

And that terrifies you more than anything else.

[seoups]

want you back - m. fushiguro

you and megumi's relationship ended terribly. you'd spent the past few months trying to forget him- only to run into him at a party your best friend forced you to go to. cw: angst with a happy ending song: want you back by 5sos a/n: ik i just posted a megumi one but i love this man so here is yet another one

“NO MATTER WHERE I GO, I'M ALWAYS GONNA WANT YOU BACK.”

The first time Megumi saw you after the breakup was at a party. He hadn’t even noticed you until Itadori gasped loudly and pointed with no attempt to hide his shock.

You were standing across the room, talking to some guy, doing the same arm touch you did to him when you first met.

His stomach began to churn.

He couldn’t stand to see it. Couldn’t stand to see you moving on while he was still daydreaming about the memory of you. All he wanted to do was leave and try to forget you- something he’d attempted for the past month since you’d broken up.

“Let’s just go,” Megumi put down his drink. “No way,” Kugisaki insisted, crossing her arms. “You can’t let this breakup take over your life.”

That was when you spotted him too.

Your whole body froze, eyes locking with him across the crowded room. And suddenly, this party- this entire night- became your worst nightmare. Your best friend had insisted on you coming with her to this party and flirting with the guys to at least try and get yourself back out there.

You didn’t want to. This wasn’t something you typically did.

Megumi knew this. That’s why he was just as confused as you were.

Too frustrated and embarrassed by getting spotted by your ex-boyfriend, you spent the rest of the party on the couch and on your phone, pretending you weren’t hyperaware of his presence.

Megumi wouldn’t lie- he spent most of the night watching you. Ignoring every girl that tried to talk to him. Brusing off Kugisaki’s glares at him.

All he could think about was you.

The freckles on your back he’d spent time studying after the first time the two of you spent the night together.

The sound of your laugh that echoed through his brain anytime he dared to smile.

The way that you’d talk his ear off whenever you had the chance.

The way that you’d lean into him, desperate for his touch on hard days.

The way that your face would light up whenever he knocked on your door.

The way that you looked at him like he was the best thing in your life.

The roses on your shirt when you ended things with him.

The way your voice cracked as you told him, “This isn’t working.”

When the haze of the party became too much, you slipped out towards the balcony, craving some fresh air.

The air was cold and crisp, a nice contrast to the heat of the moving bodies at the party. You leaned against the railing, your fingers curling around the cold metal as you thought about you and Megumi’s prior relationship.

But then the door slid open behind you. Before you even turned to look, you knew who it was.

Megumi stepped onto the balcony, his hands shoved into his pockets. He wasn’t sure if he should have even followed you. But he made the plunge.

“Needed air?” he walked up to the railing, standing beside you. You let out a short, humorless laugh, “Clearly not as much as you did.”

A thick silence settled between you. You turned your gaze back to the skyline. But you could feel him watching you- studying you the way he always had.

“You seem different,” he finally said. “You do too.” “I guess we haven’t seen each other in a while, then,” he exhaled through his nose, barely nodding.

You hummed in agreement, watching the city lights twinkle in front of you. The part noice still bled through the glass door behind you. But out here on the balcony, it was quieter. Less suffocating.

But Megumi’s presence filled the space beside you in a way that made it impossible to ignore him.

The two of you hadn’t been alone together since the breakup. You’d made sure of that. It was easier to pretend that he didn’t exist when you weren’t looking straight at him.

But now, you were. And the weight of everything that was unsaid at the end of your breakup pressed against your ribs as if your lungs were going to explode.

Megumi shifted, his elbows resting against the railing as he turned his head slightly, his eyes still stuck on you. It made your throat tighten.

“You were talking to that guy inside,” his voice remained even. You tensed, “Yeah.”

His fingers curled into his palms. The image haunted his brain. The way you laughed at something the guy said. The way you reached out, touching his arm like you used to do to him when you laughed too hard.

“Didn’t think that was your thing,” he said finally. You let out a breath, your grip tightening on the cold railing, “It’s not.”

He knew that. He knew you would never do casual. Whenever you let someone in, you did it with your whole heart.

His jaw clenched, “Then why were yo-“ “Because I thought it’d help,” you snapped, turning towards him with frustration thick in your voice. “Because everyone kept telling me to move on from you. Everyone kept telling me I should put myself back out there as if I wasn’t the one who-“

You stopped yourself, biting down hard on your lip to stop them from moving.

Megumi’s gaze sharpened, “Like you weren’t the one who what?”

You looked away from his eyes for a moment. Megumi let the silence linger, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure you could say out loud.

Then, barely above a whisper, you said, “Like I wasn’t the one who ran away from us.”

Megumi stiffened. There it was. The truth he’d been waiting to hear come out of your mouth for months.

He’d spent months trying to figure out why you’d left. Everything was going perfect. He couldn’t understand why you’d leave.

And now that he was standing right next to you, with the weight of your words settling between you two, all he could think about was the way you used to look at him. Now, all that remained in your eyes is a look of apology and regret.

His throat tightened, “And now?” You inhaled sharply, your breath shaky, “I don’t know.”

But you did. And so did he.

Megumi turned fully toward you, shrinking the space between you by just a few inches. Close enough for you to feel his warmth and to smell the faint traces of cologne left on his hoodie after tonight. Close enough that if you turned your head just a little more, you’d be back in the place you had missed so damn much.

“Then figure it out,” he said quietly, his voice raw and honest.

Because he wasn’t over you. And he wasn’t going to pretend that he was. Not when you were standing right in front of him, looking like you might still want this too.

[psycholuvrgirl]

duplicity! [teaser]

rafe cameron x sweetheart!pogue!oc [baby porter]

summary: baby porter, the pogue princess, asks rafe cameron out on a date after losing a bet. to her surprise, rafe says yes.

warnings: nsfw (very brief smut)! 

a/n: this is just a teaser for this series. this series will follow the plot of obx, so a lot of it is going to seem very familiar, just with a twist because baby will be in it

wc: 2.1k

it was meant to be just one simple task: ask rafe cameron on a date. baby lost a bet with jj and the punishment was simple, but the problem is baby porter is, unlike most pogues, terribly shy.

“guys i don’t think i can do it,” she says, glancing across the boneyard where rafe was standing. he has an arm wrapped around his sister, sarah, laughing with kelce and topper about god knows what.

“you lost, baby, you gotta do it. deal’s a deal,” jj says.

“deal’s a deal,” she breathes out. “okay. i can do this.”

“you can do this,” kie assures.

baby stands from the log she was sat in, crossing the sandy expanse until she was right in the lion’s den of kooks. also unlike most pogues, baby got along with most of the kooks—she wasn’t like other pogues, which meant she wasn’t treated like one. so her presence didn’t seem to unnerve anyone in the group.

“sup, baby,” topper says, throwing back a swig of his beer.

“hi baby,” sarah says with a warm smile, “what’s up?”

“uh, well, actually…” baby straightens her back, clearing her throat and doing the best to sound as confident as she can. “i’m here to talk to rafe.”

“me?” rafe asks, pointing the lip of his bottle to his own chest.

“mhm,” baby says with a nod.

the kooks ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at this, making rafe mutter threats at them as he follows baby away. she shoots the pogues a glance—a final plea to be done with this, but they all just give her encouraging thumbs-ups. so she continues to lead rafe to a more secluded area.

“am i in trouble with the pogue princess?” he teases.

“don’t call me that,” baby says through a whisper.

baby isn’t sure when she earned the nickname “pogue princess” but she didn’t like it, not one bit. it made her feel weird, but for some reason the nickname coming from rafe’s lips didn’t seem to bother her as much as it normally would. but she quietly scolds him all the same.

they both take a seat on a large branch that washed ashore, rafe’s whole body turned towards baby as he awaits whatever it is she dragged him out here for. baby clears her throat, uncrossing her legs just to cross them back over.

“so, rafe…” she says.

he lets out a laugh. “so, baby…” he takes a sip of his beer. “what d’ya need?”

if baby has learned one thing from her pogue friends, it’d be to just “let it rip” in any circumstance that could remotely use that advice. so that’s what she does.

“will you go on a date with me?” she asks, words tumbling out faster than even she can comprehend.

“what?” he asks with another laugh, “i have no idea what you just said, b.”

she clears her throat again, sitting up straighter. “i said…” she looks down at her nails, picking at the pink polish coating them. “will you go on a date with me?”

she braces herself for rafe’s reaction. she expects laughter, for him to holler in her face and say the big “no” as if she just asked him for a million dollars.

“sure.”

her eyes bug out of her head, head snapping up to look at him. “what did you just say?”

“sure,” he repeats.

“y— you wanna go on a date? with me?” she asks. a small smile raises to his lips, the smile turning into a quiet chuckle. he nods, and baby’s eyes only widen further. “seriously?”

“yeah, i mean, you’re cute,” he says, “why not?”

her skin burns at the compliment. “you think i’m cute?”

“why do you sound so surprised? you know you’re cute,” he says.

“no i don’t,” she says.

“well…” rafe scoots closer to her, his cologne invading her senses. “i can assure you…” he kisses her left cheek. “that you, baby…” then her right. “are very cute.” his lips meet hers, just for a moment. the kiss is over almost as soon as it began and baby porter is still left a blubbering mess after it. her mouth opens to speak, then closes, then reopens. no words come out though, making rafe laugh just a little more. “how about tomorrow night? i’ll pick you up at around seven?”

she nods wordlessly and he chuckles.

“i’ll see you then,” he says, standing from the branch. he holds out a hand to her and she takes it, letting him pull her up effortlessly.

“see ya,” she breathes out.

he leans over, pressing a kiss to her cheek before walking away. she stands there stunned for far too long, and when she finally snaps back to reality she scurries back to her friends.

“how’d it go?” john b asks.

“should we start planning the wedding?” jj asks.

“he… he said yes,” baby says.

kiara’s head nearly snaps off from how quickly she turns, pope drops his beer on the sand, john b’s jaw falls slack, and jj spits out the beer in his mouth.

“he what?” pope asks.

“you’re going on a date with rafe cameron?” jj asks. before baby can answer, he howls with laughter. “oh my god, that is priceless!”

but, for some odd reason, baby porter didn’t find this funny—not even a little bit, not even at all.

“what are you even worried about?” jj asks, “it’s rafe fucking cameron. you don’t need to impress the guy, you just need to get this over with.”

a honk from outside pulls baby’s attention away from her friends. “that’s him.”

“we’ll walk you out,” pope says. baby turns to pope with a scrunched face. “what? it’s for safety reasons.”

baby sighs, reluctantly standing and allowing her four friends to follow her out of the chateau. rafe is on his phone, standing next to his car, and looks up at the sound of the front door shutting. he looks over baby’s outfit—a sundress over a bikini, just in case. his eyebrows raise as he looks her over, then his face falls as he notices the pogues behind her.

“have her home by eight,” jj says.

“jay, it’s only seven,” baby says, shooting jj a glare.

“fine. eight thirty,” he says.

“ignore him,” baby says with a small, nervous giggle. rafe laughs with her, but it’s evidently forced for her comfort.

“just, don’t do anything stupid,” kiara says, ever the blunt one in the group. “bring her back in one piece, okay?”

“okay,” rafe says, in hopes that they’d go away. and his wish is granted because they all reluctantly head back inside, tossing looks over their shoulders at baby. she doesn’t seem to notice though. no, not when her focus is on the tall man in front of her.

“hi,” she says.

he smiles. “hi.” he makes his way to her, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips that makes her heart flutter.

and the rest of the night goes the same. he brings her onto the druthers for a picnic under the stars, bringing them to the middle of the ocean so they have privacy, the stars and a few candles being the only light they have on the deck of the boat.

“have you ever gone night swimming?” baby asks.

“hasn’t everyone?” rafe asks. both of them are laying next to each other, most of the food packed away by now. they stare up at the stars as the silence of the night engulfs them, only breaking the silence every so often.

“probably,” baby says with a laugh, “i guess that was a silly question.”

“did you want to?” he asks, turning his head to look at her. “did you want to go night swimming?”

she turns to him with a bright smile, nodding rapidly. rafe gets up from his spot, helping baby up. he strips off his shirt as she gets rid of her dress. rafe runs and dives off the end of the boat and baby follows him, diving into the cold ocean. they both resurface, letting out joyous laughs when they see each other. 

despite everything she’s been told about rafe cameron, baby actually finds herself having the best night of her life with him. her heart sinks a little at the thought of everyone’s judgements making it take this long for her to ever get to know the beautiful boy in front of her.

“why are you frowning?” rafe asks.

“oh, am i? i didn’t mean to,” she says. baby swims closer to him and he grabs her, letting her wrap herself around him.

“are you not enjoying the date?” he asks.

“no, i am!” she exclaims, her heart quickening at the thought of him believing this is anything other than perfect. “i’m loving tonight, honest!”

“then what’s wrong?” he asks, tucking a soaked strand of hair behind her ear.

“it’s just… you’re so different than what i expected,” she says, “i wish i had asked you sooner.”

rafe doesn’t bother with words. he was never good with words anyways. instead he presses his lips to hers, their lips moving passionately with one another. heads twisting as baby holds onto rafe just that much tighter. like he might slip away if she doesn’t, like the moment might fade to nothing if she lets him go.

the brush of something against her leg has baby scrambling to climb rafe, ruining their perfect kiss as she yelps.

“what was that! something touched my foot!” she exclaims. rafe breaks into a fit of laughter, but she’s still trying to climb him as if he’s a tree. “it’s not funny, rafe!”

she quickly swims over to the side of the boat, hauling herself up and shivering on the ledge. he follows her up and guides her inside. the air is warmer down below and rafe wraps a towel around baby’s shoulders.

“there you go,” he whispers.

“thank you,” she says with a shy smile.

rafe responds by reconnecting their lips, cupping her cheek with one hand as the other lands on her waist. her arms wrap around his neck, letting her hands move through his hair. when his tongue slips against hers, caressing it sensually, she lets out a whimper that goes straight to rafe’s dick.

he gently nudges her down onto the couch. he hovers above her without detaching their lips. he pulls at the tie of her bikini top, slipping the fabric away. he pulls back and looks down at her with hearts in his eyes.

“wow,” he whispers. baby crosses her arm over her chest, but he gently pries it away to continue admiring her. then, he dives in. his lips wrap around one nipple, his hand massaging the other. he switches after some time, leaving baby to mewl at the sensations he’s causing. 

“kiss me again,” she says, trying to pull him up. he obliges, climbing back up to bring their lips back to their prior rhythmic dance together. his hand slips down her body, falling beneath her bikini bottom and massaging her wet slit. she lets out a quiet whimper as he gathers the wetness on his fingers, then a loud moan when he brings his fingers to her clit.

“you like that?” he asks. she nods her head and he dips back down to kiss her, swallowing every moan that falls from her pretty lips.

he slowly pushes one finger inside of her, then another. leaving her a mess underneath him. she grinds up towards him, chasing her own release.

“rafe, please,” she pleads as he slips his fingers in and out of her.

“please what, baby?” he pants. she’s past using words at this point, too lost in her own pleasure to make her mouth form anything coherent. so she takes matters into her own hands, literally. she drops her hand down to cup him, massaging him through his board shorts. she slips her hand inside, wrapping her tiny hand around his length. they both grind into one another’s hands, chasing their highs. when they both get their release they lay there, content with one another’s company. 

interrupted by the ringing of baby’s phone, they both reluctantly go back to the deck to retrieve the device.

“did he kidnap you? what’s taking so long?” kiara asks.

baby rolls her eyes, “i’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“tomorrow?” john b shrieks.

“goodbye guys.”

since that night, rafe and baby have been inseparable. in secret, that is. both went home to report to their friends that the date was just a bust, both knowing that if their friends knew about their successful date that they’d never hear the end of it. so that’s how the relationship went. sneaking out late at night, long weekends spent alone together, calls until the early morning. it worked for them — secret, intimate, and just perfect.

[ayumigotabittoolonely]

"He probably hates me" x "I love her so much "

{teen nanami x teen reader fluff series!}

Last part - The confession that wasn't supposed to happen!

Previous part - the mission mishap

💌💌

You weren’t nosy.

Okay, maybe you were a little nosy. But in your defense, it wasn’t your fault that you overheard the conversation. You were just there. Existing. Standing in the hallway, minding your own business, when you heard Nanami’s voice.

And because your brain had decided that everything about him was worth paying attention to, you… paused. Just for a second.

"I don’t see the point in this."

You recognized the tone immediately Nanami’s classic, tired, I-hate-everything-about-this voice.

"You never see the point in anything fun," Haibara shot back. "I’m just saying, you could, y’know, talk to her."

Your stomach twisted. You had a very bad feeling about this.

"That would be unnecessary," Nanami said.

You frowned. What would be unnecessary?

"Unnecessary?" Haibara snorted. "You like her, dude. It’s so obvious it’s painful."

Your breath caught.

Wait. Wait.

There was a long, stretched silence. For a moment, you thought hoped Nanami might correct him. Might say something you could brush off, laugh about later, pretend it meant nothing.

But instead-

"I know," Nanami murmured.

And just like that, your heart flipped upside down.

Haibara made a choking sound. "Holy—you’re actually admitting it?!"

Nanami sighed. "It doesn’t change anything."

You couldn’t breathe.

"You’re so hopeless, man." Haibara groaned. "Why don’t you just tell her?"

There was another pause, and when Nanami spoke again, his voice was lower. Quieter.

"Because she thinks I hate her."

Your chest tightened.

Haibara scoffed. "Well, yeah. You’re kinda bad at what’s the word? human emotions."

"I’m aware," Nanami muttered.

"Then fix it," Haibara said, exasperated. "Before she actually moves on and you have to spend the rest of your life being an emotionally constipated sorcerer who let the love of his life slip away.(Not me roasting him)

Nanami exhaled sharply. "That’s dramatic."

"Not as dramatic as you."

You could barely focus anymore. Your brain was stuck on one thing one ridiculous, unbelievable thing.

Nanami liked you.

Not tolerated. Not put up with. Not found mildly acceptable.

He liked you.

The realization hit like a wrecking ball, knocking the air straight out of your lungs.

Which was exactly why your foot accidentally nudged the doorframe.

The voices inside went silent.

Crap.

"…Did you hear that?" Haibara asked.

Double crap.

You turned to flee, but before you could make your great escape, the door slid open and there stood Nanami, staring at you with a look that was somewhere between horrified and resigned.

Busted.

You opened your mouth, scrambling for an excuse, a joke, anything but Nanami just sighed, running a hand down his face.

"Of course," he muttered. "Of course you were standing there."

Haibara, meanwhile, was grinning like an idiot. "Well. This is awkward."

You swallowed hard, meeting Nanami’s gaze. "So… you don’t hate me?"

He sighed again. "No. I don’t."

"You-" You exhaled, something bubbling in your chest. "You like me?"

Nanami hesitated. Then, with all the reluctance in the world, he nodded. "Yes."

Silence.

Then—

"Finally!" Haibara threw his hands in the air. "I thought I was gonna have to force a confession out of you two!"

You barely heard him. Your heart was still racing, your hands curled into fists to stop them from shaking. "You absolute idiot," you breathed.

Nanami blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You let me think you hated me?" you demanded. "This whole time?"

Nanami looked away. "I didn’t know how to-"

"You-" You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. Then, without thinking, you grabbed his tie and yanked him forward.

And kissed him.

It was quick. Messy. Desperately overdue.

Nanami froze for half a secondbthen melted into it, his hands hovering before finally settling on your waist. His lips were warm, careful, uncertain as if he couldn’t believe this was happening.

When you finally pulled back, you stared at him, heart pounding. "Next time," you huffed, "just tell me."

Nanami exhaled, dazed. "Right."

Haibara whistled. "Holy crap. That was hot."

You and Nanami both turned to glare at him.

Haibara just grinned. "You’re welcome, by the way."

Nanami sighed. "Go away."

But despite the exasperation, despite everything there was a tiny, tiny smile ,playing at the corners of his lips.

And for the first time in forever, you realized Nanami Kento had never really been good at emotions.

But when it came to you, he was willing to try.

I know it was short but I wanted to make it simple, short and cute 😭

I'll make a longer series of Suguru geto SO COMMENT DOWN TO GET TAGGED!

@cheriiepies

[The End]