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taintedcigs · 6 months

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˚ 　　　 . ✧ 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐄

vol 1; made to break your heart — king!steve harrington x fgirl!reader

summary: in which you see your ex making out with someone else leaving you with no choice but to fall right into the lap of his enemy, steve harrington. (wc: 5.2k+)

warnings: smut smut smut, minors DNI, or*l sx (receiving and giving oop), some good ol’ bj, drinking, drgs, weed basically, no use of ‘y/n’, degrading, praises, LOTS OF PRAISES, they are both switches but idk if that counts??, nicknames! reader is kinda heartless basically a maneater, steve is an arrogant bastard, and hes got a big BIG di–heart. some lil’ eddie mention that u might miss if u blink!

authors note: i am kinda thinking a pt.2 of this IM open to all ideas, but i kinda am thinking of making it like a mini-series? and maybe introduce eddie in the second part, and then make part 3 steddie? mmmhmm? what do we think? my asks r open for all and any ideass anyways not proofread bc of my lazy ass. ignore any mistakes.

please like + reblog + interact to support me ! thank u ily

read vol 2 here

Booming music filled your ears, sweaty bodies swaying away from you but you couldn't care less.

Whispers from your back, collected gasps, and all you could do was watch.

Fingertips clutched on your dress in fury, gaze unable to tear away from the scene playing out right in front of your eyes.

Tina’s lips were locked onto Billy’s, you thought it was pretty soon to be swapping salivas considering it had been barely two days since he broke up with you.

The red cup in your hand was almost smushed from the hardened impact of your fists, with a quick go, you downed it, ignoring Tommy and Carol’s cackles as they watched you.

With a roll of your eyes, you were quick to turn away from them, ignoring your friends calling out for your name—you didn’t need this, you didn’t need to be pampered. You just needed a generous amount of drinks, and maybe someone to keep yourself busy with.

Tina and her lame-ass party could go fuck themselves.

Billy was an asshole, no real surprise there. And you didn’t care, because the relationship had run its course, again. Tough shit. You were used to it. Another break up with him.

You didn’t care about it, the only thing you cared about was him crossing the line, making out with another girl in front of everyone.

Each break, the two of you fucked whoever you wanted to fuck, just to end up together again, drunkenly. But this time he made it everyone’s problem, and you couldn’t let him get away with that.

The whispers, and the collective giggles every time you passed by were making your blood boil.

You couldn’t let that dipshit ruin your reputation, you weren’t going to pathetically pine over someone who could barely make you cum. And you weren’t going to let any of those gossiping assholes think otherwise.

You stumble onto the porch with a string of curses leaving your pouty lips, quick to fish out a joint courtesy to that Munson kid, always providing you with the best weed, either free or cheap, depending on how much you adjusted your skirt or batted your lashes at him.

Maybe, you should pay him a visit. For fucks sake, you’ve seen him play, and he could roll a joint blindfolded, he knew how to put those fingers to use.

You could just imagine the scorching look on Billy’s face, his velvety lips scrunched together, a sickening feeling sinking into his stomach, knowing that you fucked Eddie Munson, the guy he always went to get his weed from.

The idea of it brings a delicious smirk to your lips. But it wouldn’t be enough, no. You needed something more, something bigger.

“Need a lighter, honey?” A coarse, smooth tone has your head cocking, the joint sitting on your lips rising with the impact.

Steve fucking Harrington.

Falling right into your lap.

Billy would’ve flipped the fuck out if he knew. He always warned you about him, telling you that Harrington was off limits, no matter what. Well, until now.

Your gaze locks with his, dangerous, filthy, and exactly where you want him. Before you can drag out the joint to answer him, he acts quicker, brushing his fingertips on your chin, almost tugging you closer to him, he licks his lips, wetting them with a chuckle.

With a gentle flicker of his lighter, the tip of the joint smolders, casting a warm glow to your face that accentuates the smirk curved on your lips.

Your dress rides up your thighs when you straighten up, taking an inhale from the joint, you blow the smoke in his face without a care. He eyes each of your movements, the stupid grin sitting on his lips growing wider the more his eyes move up and down your body. You almost want to chuckle at how easy this is.

But you also know Steve’s type, you have to make them chase you a little bit, give them a little thrill, before you finally give in. And you had already been doing that, for the longest time.

Always teasing him, but never giving in. Your hands always brushed past his bicep just enough to let him know you were interested, eyelashes always fluttered at him, teeth biting on your bottom lip as you checked him out.

The little game had been fun, but you never plucked up the courage to fully give in to him, Billy would’ve lost his shit. Besides, you knew his type, and you didn’t want to be one of his other trophies. And you didn’t have to be, you just had to use him to get yourself off, and piss Billy off. The second you walked into a room with him, you knew the party would be buzzing with the gossip.

You had the perfect excuse, the perfect excuse to finally divulge your fantasies, all the cheerleaders always blabbered about him, calling him an ass, but an ass who knew how to properly use his fingers and that dangerous mouth.

Exactly what you fucking need.

You had been pent up enough for the months you were with Billy.

This would be a little reward.

“All alone?” He was smug, he absolutely knew about the break-up and possibly saw Tina and Billy’s show, so he knew this was the perfect opportunity to have you in his palm. In a fucked up way, that made you want him more, the unspoken game grew more intense with that gaze of his, he had the same idea you did. The fucker was smooth.

You nod curtly, not wanting to just fall into his lap. No matter how good he looked in those Levi’s jeans that cupped his ass perfectly. Why was he so fucking interesting to you? Arms all toned, face adorned with tiny moles, he almost seemed mystical.

And oh god, his hair. That soft, perfectly layered chestnut brown locks, so effortlessly cool that you just wanted to run your hair through it, tugging at it the more his lips sucked on your clit.

God, the thought had your thighs pressing together uncomfortably.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be all alone at a party,” he pouted mockingly. “Where’s that boy toy of yours?” He tutted, hand dangerously planted on your back, ghosting over your hips.

That elicited a giggle out of you, “Didn’t you hear all the rumors, pretty boy?” You leaned further, hand extending to offer him a huff. His attention was somewhere else though, eyes widening the more he admired you in that dress, showing off your curves in all the right way, tits almost busting out of your chest.

God, he had been waiting for this moment, an opportunity to have you, the second he fucking met you. But Billy got to you first.

“We broke up.” That brought his attention back to you, a smirk played on his lips when he leaned into your hand, lips wrapping around the tip of the joint, he sucked on it but his dark amber eyes remained on you.

With an inhale, “Good.” He mumbled, “knew that dipshit couldn’t handle someone like you.”

“You need someone better take care of you…” he hummed, nose dipping closer to your features, “someone who knows how to handle all of this.” His hands were placed on your waist, traveling all over your body.

Your breath was quick to get caught in your throat, a whine leaving your lips with how forward he was being.

And shit, you understood the appeal, you always did, but this time, you were sure your hunger for him grew faster than you intended to. You were in his palm, and you were more than okay with it.

“Yeah?” You teased with a giggle, head falling on his shoulder, brain getting fuzzier.

“I can make you forget him.” He’s bold, and it has your thighs rubbing together.

“By the time I’m done with you, you won’t even remember his name, or how to walk.” He’s so close to your ear, breath fanning against your breath as you almost shudder, but you play it off.

“You’re all talk, Harrington.” You licked your glossy lips, head slightly tilted to the side, teasing him just enough.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know you’ve heard the rumors, and I know you want this as much as you do.” The cocky bastard licks his lips, and you want nothing more than to bite them.

“Oh, yeah?”

“The way you press your thighs together, that little whine you just did when I barely touched you… Tells me all I need to fuckin’ know.” He whispers, and you almost whine out when a sloppy kiss is planted on your neck, harsh and needy.

“You’ll be screamin’ and beggin’ for me, angel.”

Your brows raise in interest. “That a promise?”

“Uh-huh.” He gives you a boyish grin.

“You’re on, King Steve.”

It didn’t take the two of you long enough to find an empty bedroom, lips, and teeth clashing as soon as the door closed.

The wandering eyes of the party had followed you up until that point, so you knew as soon as the two of you left the room with your sexed-up looks, everyone would know.

And you would finally have a sweet release after months of Billy’s selfishness.

A win-win.

You let his curious hands wander around your body, quick to almost rip off your dress, he wants to savor this moment, wants the image of your body engraved in his mind, stuck into the back of it just so he can fish it out whenever he can.

But he’s impatient, he’s waited for this. Wanted you longer than ever, and finally, you’re putty at his hands, ready to take whatever he’s going to give—or at least that’s what he thinks— And he’s feeling greedy. His mouth is pressed onto yours, sucking on your tongue before he lowers you down on the bed, you giggle softly when you sink into it, and Steve has never felt like this before, the hunger in his eyes ignites a spark of pleasure within you, quick to dampen your thighs with need.

A shocked gasp escapes your lips once he unhooks your bra with his left hand. Oh, he’s good. “Pretty baby,” he murmurs before his mouth is latched onto your nipples. “Perfect fuckin’ tits,” He groans into your chest, hand toying with your lace panties, shaky breaths escape his lips as he earns more whines from you.

You look ethereal, with your mouth hung open, teeth biting on your glossed-up lips, head thrown back. Just like he knew you’d be.

The more he circles around your panties the more you feel that pent-up desire burning inside of you, all those orgasmless months with Billy, and Steve was going to elicit more with just a flick of his fingers than you ever had through the entire relationship.

Maybe that’s why he always called you a bitch.

“Steve,” your whines come out pathetically as he looks up at you, layered hair already disheveled and that goddamn smirk sitting on his pretty lips.

“Already beggin’, honey?” He mocks with a grin, tugging on your nipple, all teeth and no mercy. His tongue is making its way further down, soft, wet strokes tickle your body.

“Fuck off,” You spit at him, barely, words dying down your throat when he’s quick to rip away your lacy panties. His light honey eyes are so much darker now, head thrown back when he visually drinks in your glistening pussy.

You look so fucking perfect, thighs spread apart, him between them, mouth hung open and ready to take all of him. He makes a mental image of it, burning it to the back of his mind.

“C’mon sweetheart, let King Steve know what you want, what you really need.” His voice is smooth and coarse, fingertips circling around your clit harder the more you whine for him.

“Do you need my fingers, baby? My mouth?” You moan at that, audibly. It has him chuckling darkly once he realizes how depraved you really are, one touch from him and you’re already soaking his fingers, whining like a pretty little slut.

If he knew how much you’d be such a good girl for him, he would’ve done this much sooner. Would’ve ruined your pretty little pussy for anyone else, Billy would’ve had no chance over him.

“Has that asshole not been makin’ you cum?” It was more of a rhetorical question, but the way you shook your head with a pout, had him melting. He really had you and didn’t know how to take good care of you? What a fucking loser.

“Holy fuckin’ shit… not even with his mouth?” His eyes widened, he really didn’t think Billy would be that bad, everything was working to his advantage.

“He- uh- he never…” You stammered, getting uncharacteristically embarrassed because it was, truly embarrassing. All those months with him, and half the time you faked it. Selfish prick.

“Never? Oh, baby…” He coos with a dangerous smirk, lip all pouty and mocking, “No wonder you were so desperate for me. You really needed this, huh?” He almost gave a chuckle, caressing your pussy with his middle finger, getting you all ready.

“Jerk-” You want to curse out his cockiness, tell him you don’t need him. Keep him grounded, but the whines he’s pulling out of you are enough to make him grin like a Cheshire cat.

Your breath gets shakier when his finger easies into your walls. “Sshh, relax, baby.” He coos.

“I’ll make you feel so fuckin’ good, doll.” His fingers are slickly working their way in and out of you, filthy sounds mingling with your moans as his nose brushes over your clit, causing your hips to start rocking up to him.

“Had this pretty little thing, and didn’t even know how to take care of it, hmm? What a waste,” He hummed sweetly, index finger thrusting in and out of your sloppy walls.

“If I had known you’d be this fuckin’ soaked, I would’ve done this much sooner,” he taunts, fingers curling inside of you, enjoying the way you gasp out and buck your hips for more.

He dives in, pressing the flat of his tongue against your swollen lips, enjoying, fully tasting you. With a satisfied hum, he brings his eyes to meet yours, all fucked out, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, had this sweet pussy but never even tasted it… What a fuckin’ dumbass… I’ll give you what you deserve, baby…”

He’s going to explode soon, if he doesn’t make you cum and then fuck you senseless. He can feel his balls draw up more and more, each time you whine, each time you plead for his name as a whisper.

He flicks the tip meticulously, giving you attention everywhere and anywhere, just like he knew you’d like it. “You know, I usually would never do this on a first date,” He mocks, grinning all mouthy and you attempt to dive his mouth further into you, to shut his arrogant ass up, and that fucker resists, “But god, you’re an exception… just begging to be fucked, you deserve this honey, can’t be selfish with you.”

His licks are heavenly, sucking on your clit like a man possessed, and his name falls from your lips in such a filthy way that you don’t even care how pathetic you look anymore. You accept it, you let him take full control, trashing beneath him.

“You like that, angel?” His words are muffled into your cunt, the pad of his thumb still circling around your entrance while he sucks on your clit. Your head sinks further into the softness of the bed, eyes squeezed shut, breaking apart with just his tongue. He moans into your soppy walls, sending a shock wave of pleasure to ripple through you.

He doesn’t even need your words, the visual of you squirming underneath him is enough to have him all bricked up, you taste like the sweetest sin. Velvety walls so tight that it has him bucking his hips into the bed, desperate for some friction, he needs you. And he’s sure he never wanted someone this badly before.

“So fuckin’ special, aren’t you? Such a desperate baby…” You can feel his bulge against your thigh, sitting prettily and throbbing against his boxers. You always heard how big he was, but fuck, you finally get to feel it, and it’s glorious.

And he twitched in his boxers just from eating you out? God, he was fucking perfect.

He dips his head just enough to muffle out a few more words, “I wanna taste you fully, angel. Want you to soak my tongue.” He dives in before you can reply, eliciting dirtier moans from you, alternating between his fingers and his tongue.

He doesn’t care about anything else but you, he wants you panting for him, cumming all over his tongue while you scream his name.

Your thighs start to shake once he pushes two fingers inside of you, gentle but rough enough to have you squirming and bucking your hips more into him, you’re at his mercy, and he loves how tight you are. Just the thought of your tight cunt milking his cock dry has his eyes rolling.

“S-steve,” you breathe out roughly, enjoying how his tongue is licking up that sweet spot. “I know baby,” he taunts all cockily, admiring the way your thighs shake with need. You’re going to cum soon and that prick can feel it.

“N-need to cum, please,” your pleading is unintentional, you just need a desperate release, and he’s so fucking good.

“Cum for me, angel, be a good girl for me, yeah?” Your eyes squeeze shut at the praise, and he takes note of that, admiring the way you tighten around his tongue and fingers at the praise.

His fingers are quick, making you scream out his name louder and louder. “That’s it pretty girl… cum for me.” Arrogant fuck, you wish to say, but the way he laps up your juices has you whining like a little slut. And his smirk grows wider, a wet patch forming on his boxers with how hard he’s straining them, pathetically needing to be inside of you.

You tremble, trash, squirm beneath him, his touches and stripes of licks finally enough to have your stomach twisting, with final screams of “Steve!” and “F-fuck!” the coil inside of you snaps, orgasm overtaking you with such force that your eyes are glued shut.

A gush of sweetness trickles along Steve’s tastebuds, you taste so fucking good that it drives him even crazier, lapping up at your juices and not stopping until he’s sure you’ve collapsed under him.

He’s grinning like crazy, lips all glossy with your juices, and he looks so fucking pretty like this. It makes you want to return the favor.

So badly. And the need to know if the title Big Daddy Steve really suits him or not stirs your stomach, your core pooling with need. If it’s true, your mouth waters with the desire to have him, he looks delicious, and you know he’ll look much more yummy while he’s fucking your mouth, pretty praises leaving his pale rosy lips.

The avoidant part of you screams at you to not do this, but your core is begging for more.

Maybe, just maybe, you could return the favor but still toy with him, take control, and mess with his mind.

Enough to have him begging, pleading for more from you.

As if he can hear your dilemma, he drags you back in, wrapping his fist around your hair as he pulls you toward him and draws your bottom lip into his mouth, all teeth, sucking with an exaggerated hum, “Do you like the way you taste on my tongue?” He mutters against your ear, licking a stripe of your neck.

Jesus, fuck. Now, you had to return the favor.

“Tastes so sweet,” you giggle, you are going to suck him off, but you are going to lead the way now. A smirk gleams on your lips. Teasingly, your hands trace the edge of his boxers, enough to earn a rude whine from him as you squeeze him through the harsh fabric.

You’re quick to yank his shirt off of him without a warning, and he’s quick to flaunt his well-muscled, heaving chest.

Asshole.

With a strong flip, you manage to straddle him, taking him by surprise while you grin at him, and to say Steve is intrigued would be an understatement, his cock twitches at your brow raise. “What are you doing, baby?” He still manages to be so cool that your thighs ache.

“Returning the favor,” you shrug with a smirk, eliciting low grumbles from him when you lower yourself on his chest, leaving sloppy kisses, mouth tracing a trail that leads to his delicious v-line.

You lift the elastic away from his waist, freeing his throbbing tip, the red tip slaps against his abdomen, and your brows pinch together in astonishment admiring it.

Jesus fucking Christ, he was not all talk.

King Steve, indeed.

You had to hand it down to those gossipy cheerleaders, they had described him to a t, perfect girth, slightly bent to the left, and big, really fucking big, you probably needed to use your hands along with your glossed lips to take all of him in.

He chuckled at your expression, basking in the glory of your widened eyes, “Like what you see, angel?” Another taunt, but you ignore it with a smirk this time. Pooling saliva in your mouth, you spit on the angry tip, Steve hisses at the impact and watches with a low grumble once you wrap your palm around his shaft.

He reveled in how perfectly your soft manicured fingers looked around his delicate bubblegum pink tip, attending to his every need.

Your warm fingers are working their way around his cock, coating his length with your spit as you tugged at it gently, causing his eyes to nearly roll back in his head.

He tries his best to swallow his groans, but his hips desperately jerk up at your hand, desperately fucking it, rendering you speechless.

“You like that, baby?” Your tone was teasing, and if he didn’t feel like he was about to explode he would’ve gripped your hair and fucked your mouth with such roughness that all that you would be thinking about would be his huge cock, punishing you for being such a tease, but he was the one wrapped around your finger now, literally.

“S’big, Stevie,” you coyly batted your lashes at him, and a shuddered breath left your parted lips as you looked up at him between his thighs.

He almost wept at the sight, shit shit shit, you were all of his dreams wrapped into one, and he could barely speak. Your palm easily glided down his length, saliva working as a lubricant as you teased him further.

Your other palm was quick to cup his balls, massaging them and giving them a gentle tug, while your other hand still glided down his length, enjoying the way he struggled not to let out loud groans in your hold.

Without any other word, your head tilted down, quick to mouth the tip of his intense tip, it was almost hot to touch, waiting to be attended to, so needy. Just like him.

You swipe his tip, collecting his pearl of pre-cum gently. “Jesus f-fuck!” Pathetic coarse whines leave his parted lips, he lets you take control, eyes clenched tightly.

You give his tip more kitten licks, trying to get your throat ready for his lengthy cock. “Just like that, honey,” He praises with his head thrown back, he avoids looking into your eyes, knowing that the fucked out look on your face as your pouty lips wrapped around his cock would be enough to have him spill down your throat in seconds.

And it would be a bit embarrassing for Steve, to lose his reputation to you in a matter of seconds.

“More…” He demands, but you ignore it while you continue your teasing sweet flicks on his tip, feeling him twitch around your tongue. “Pretty girl,” He whines and jolts his pelvis for more, desperate and needy. Just where you want him.

“Mhmm?” You whine with your mouth full, it sends a rush of pleasure through him, “Suck it, baby,” he whines again, this time pained with need. Your greedy eyes smile up at him and he’s sure you have done something to him.

Because he never wanted to cum this bad before. He wants to wipe that smirk off your face while you gag on his cum, struggling to swallow all of it as it spills down your cheeks, glistening your breasts, ruining that gloss forever, and instead, you walk around with his semen all over your face and lips.

It pulls a twisted groan out of him, you make him feel so perverted and he can’t fucking help himself. You finally accept his pleas, and with one glorious tug, you finally wrap your lips around his cock, fully, getting teary-eyed each time you try to take more of his flesh.

Steve can’t help himself, his head is dipped down, and he immediately feels his balls ache at the visual of you, crystal tears staining your cheeks, and even then, that lewd look did not leave your eyes.

“F-fucking slut, just like that,” His groans are uncontrollable, hips bucking further into your mouth. You don’t let him yank you by your hair, just yet. You let your mouth adjust to him, sucking him deep and tight.

“Such a good girl, suckin’ my cock with all she has, mmpf.” His praise has your core clenching, damn him.

He admires your pouty lips fully wrapped around his flesh, sucking and hollowing your cheeks as you wail for him, “Shit, shit, baby, l-look so pretty with my cock down your throat, mmhmm…” He coos, words incoherent.

“Will look even prettier with my cum shooting down that throat, isn’t that right, angel?” You hummed in agreement, looking up at him with your dark, hooded gaze, an unintentional grin playing on your lips.

He mumbled a string of curses, praising you, worshipping you. You continued your stroke on his base harshly, working the head with your tongue, a new angle that had him go absolutely insane.

“Mmmhmm, need your cum, Stevie.” You mumbled, momentarily letting your hand do all the work before you dove back in, taking his stiff cock deep in your throat, he had been struggling before, but your words were his last straw.

Because it was exactly what he fucking wanted, owning your mouth, and fucking it with ease.

His palm turned into a fist the second he held your hair, yanking it down as he pushed you further down on his cock, enjoying the way it hit the back of your throat, you gagged around it, all teary and Steve’s head fell back in pure ecstasy. “Y-yes, yes, fuck!”

“Gonna cum, baby, mmmpf, god-” He panted, his cock twitching more and more you sucked on him.

“Gonna fuckin’ s-shit-” He shuddered, thighs shaking while your throat continued to squeeze the tip of his cock, and once you gave his balls some more attention, he knew he was a goner.

“Fuckin’ give i-it to you,” He barely let out when his eyes glued shut together, almost rolling to the back of his head when you gagged around his cock, with a glorious groan of “Fuuuuuck!” Steve came in your mouth, hips still bucking into your throat as a spurt of his warm load spilled down your throat, coating it nicely.

You only let go of his softened cock with a ‘pop!’ sound once you made sure you sucked him dry, swallowing all of it while Steve watched you with such a dazzled look that it almost made you want to do more with him. But, no. This had been enough.

You enjoyed his salty taste in your mouth and the way his fingers and mouth worked inside of you. And that was enough for you. For now.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” He grumbled a chuckle that had you grinning and winking at him. God, men really were easy. One blowjob and Steve was already looking at you like you were the most precious thing in his life.

You had to go easy on him, tell him that you weren’t going to let him fuck you.

Because you got what you wanted, an orgasm, and the reputation of fucking “King Steve”, everyone would be gossiping about the two of you by now, it was a matter of time before that douchebag found out.

He tried to pull you in for a kiss, but you were quick to dodge it, getting up from the softness of the bed with a groan while Steve curiously eyed you.

His brows were quick to pinch together, watching the way you easily slipped your tight dress on your body while you admired yourself in the mirror. Rubbing your lips together to fix your gloss, fingertips cleaning over the smeared mascara running down your cheeks.

“W-what are you doing?” He inquired, his face quick to fall down.

You shrugged nonchalantly, “I want to go dance,” brows then raised in excitement “Ooohh! Maybe I could get some more weed, have you seen Munson around?” You questioned, that lustful look still dancing in your eyes.

“Uhhh…” he stammered, still confused on what the fuck just happened. “Y-yeah I think-”

“Thank fuckin’ god!” You hummed with a giggle, rushing over to his side, sloppily planting a kiss on his cheek, all shiny and smeared with his juices.

You were halfway through the door when Steve’s protests stopped you. “Wait, wait, wait!” He straightened up, softened cock and all, his glistening chest was begging to be touched, but as you decided, not today.

“What the fuck? I thought-”

“What?” You asked cluelessly, brows raised.

“We were just getting started, angel,” He tried, but his voice wasn’t as arrogant or confident as it was before, and it took you so much to not let your lips twitch into a smirk.

One orgasm and he was already broken? Steve was fun to play with it.

Your giggle at him would’ve felt mocking if you didn’t do it so prettily, Steve just watched in awe.

The poor boy.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, would you?” You tilted your head with a pout. Oh, you were good, he had to give you that.

Because once he literally got a taste of you, he wasn’t going to stop.

His lips kissed his teeth, it was surely hypocritical of him to think this was unfair since that’s what he always did to other girls.

“But–”

“See you around, pretty boy,” you cooed, throwing a wink toward his way, and shutting the door with that. Leaving Steve all alone.

He had never felt this way before. The way his cock twitched just the thought of you again had his mind flooding, you used him, gave him the best fucking head of his life, and then left.

Maybe this game would’ve pissed him off if someone else did it to him, if it was any other girl he would’ve lost interest, thinking she was trying too fucking hard, but it was you.

And all it did was drive Steve crazier, and make the chase all the more fun, and Steve was nothing, if not persuasive.

#steve harrington x reader #king!steve x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington #king!steve harrington

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jamminvroomvroom · 2 months

Note

4k celebration

congrats on 4k love - your writing is absolutely worth all of the hype and even more!!! i adore your work and so look forward to even more people discovering it.

i was hoping to request a lewis fic?? i’m such a slut for a good enemies to lovers situation, so maybe along the lines of reader is a fair bit younger than lewis, but there’s been all of this tension btwn them and it all boils over one night (smuttyyyyy) 🥴

we made up.

LH x fem!rival reader - 4k celebration

in which you can never just bite your tongue

eeeeek i love this request! thank u sm anon for ur sweet words, ur so lovely i hope i’ve done this justice for you! writing for lewis terrified me so this might not be my best work but we move! more lewis requests to come, let me know what you think <3

songs to set the mood: stargirl interlude by the weekend & lana del rey

warnings: 18+!! minors go away!! smut, swearing, degradation, praise, dom!lewis, some switch!reader, implied age gap, slightly inexperienced reader, enemies to lovers, blink n you’ll miss it size kink

2.6k words

you hide admiration with a scowl, curling into yourself, as far away as you can get from him. the couch seems to get smaller and smaller with every overly intelligent, carefully thought out word he says. each sentence seems to be coated in a thick layer of i don’t give a fuck. you don’t know how he’s so good a toeing the line.

after six years in f1, you still couldn’t work out why you didn’t like lewis hamilton.

maybe it was his cool confidence, the way he never lacked composure, while you were called an unhinged, delusional woman by every incel on twitter for so much as breathing. maybe it was his sky high stack of trophies, championships, podiums, wins. you weren’t even halfway close to touching his records. maybe it was the way he was diabolically, inhumanly gorgeous, a truly breathtaking creature. you paled in every single way compared to lewis, so how could you even begin to like him?

it was silly, really, pathetic even, feeling such childish disdain just because he was better than you. he was older, more refined, iconic in every single way that you weren’t. perhaps you’d get there one day, but you simply weren’t there yet.

you’re sat beside him in the press conference, sharing the couch with him, alex, lando, charles and max. it wasn’t the worst combination in the world, but anytime you had to sit in front of a gaggle of hawk-eyed journos and a million cameras with lewis, something unfortunate usually happened. never by design, but you just weren’t very good at saving face in front of the mercedes driver.

“do you think the podium is a possibility this weekend?” someone from autosport whose name you can’t remember asks.

“i’m hoping so, just need to keep the mercs behind us again, but i don’t think that will be that hard.” you respond, without even a sliver of a filter. the material of the sofa shifts as lewis tenses up beside you, inhaling sharply at your blatant disrespect. somewhere beside you, lando sniggers, and max is rolling his eyes.

it was no secret that you didn’t have the softest spot in the world for sir lewis.

“that’s assuming your car makes it to the end of the race.” lewis clears his throat, speaking with confident conviction. you turn you head to glare at him, painfully unable to take what you give. alex slaps his hand over his mouth.

“at least my car isn’t so bad that i’d rather go and learn the alphabet down at ferrari.” you scoff. you avoid the eyes of your comms officer, because if looks could kill, you’d be six feet under already.

“i think we’ll leave it there.” tom clarkson suggests, and you stand from the panel and storm away on trembling legs with a terrible ache throbbing between them.

there’s something about the pettiness, the reasonless back and fourth you two always seem to partake in that leaves you in need of a cold shower.

turns out, you have to apologise.

you spend the better part of an hour being bollocked by your press team, who, for some reason, don’t find it particularly amusing that you’d somehow managed to insult the lewis hamilton, ferrari, and mercedes in the span of two sentences.

so, there you were, begrudgingly trailing towards lewis’s hotel room. it’s on the top floor, because of course it is, it’s him. he oozes expensive exclusively, naturally above the rest. you twist your rings nervously, increasingly terrified of being in a confined space alone with the gorgeous brit. your knuckles rap gently against the wood of his door, intentionally weakly. you pray he won’t hear you and that you can just disappear back into the elevator and into your room, to pathetically let you hands wander between your clenched thighs.

but god laughs, and the door swings open. lewis seems startled by your presence, just for a moment though, leaning cooly against the doorframe. his lips pull into a faint smile. two things alarm you. first of all, he’s shirtless, bare from the waist up, a plethora of delicious tattoos on display for you to feast your eyes on. secondly, and somehow even worse, he’s panting, clearly just back from a work out in the gym. he glistens with sweat, and your mind goes blank, apologetic words die on your tongue.

“something to say, angel, or are you just here to stare?” lewis teases, the words rolling off his tongue smoothly. you pray for the ground to gape open, swallow you hole, suck you into hot lava.

“well, i was gonna apologise but i don’t think you deserve it.” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest accusingly.

“didn’t think you knew how to apologise.” lewis grins sarcastically, mocking you.

“has anyone told you how arrogant you are?” you bite back, eyes narrowing.

“why don’t you come in here and i’ll show you just how arrogant i can be?” his voice has dropped a few octaves, seductive and low.

the proposition, the suggestion behind his words makes you fold immediately. you’d wondered for far too long about what he was like behind closed doors and under thick bedsheets, and if you had the chance at finding out, you’d be imbecilic not to take it.

you shove his muscled chest, pushing him back into his room. his hands find your waist, pulling harshly at the material of your loose t-shirt. he’s watching you intently, mesmerised by the angry flush on your cheeks tinging you pink. your eyes convey hunger, matching his, and you’re forcing him down to sit at the foot of his bed.

“why are you such an asshole?” you hiss, slotting your knees on either side of his so that you’re straddling him.

“probably the same reason you’re such a little bitch.” lewis growls, tugging you forward harshly on his lap. you feel his work out shorts ride up on his thighs, the material sensitive on your skin.

your pupils blow wide at his words, and you’re kissing him hard, teeth and tongues clashing messily. his lips are so soft, pillowy as they brush aggressively with your own and you lick wetly into his awaiting mouth. he’s addictive, minty, and you fall against his bare chest as he leans back into the mattress.

“i think you need to be taught some manners.” lewis grunts, flipping your bodies over like you’re nothing, and slotting against your body like a missing piece.

“i think the same could be said about you.” you breathe, sliding your hand under the waistband of his shorts. he chuckles quietly, the rumble reverberating through your own chest, cracking you open.

“try your best.” he whispers. your eyes roll back.

truth is, you’re not the most experienced person in the world. yes, you’re in your mid twenties, but a long term relationship with the worlds biggest loser and dedicating your life to a career in a boys club meant that you didn’t have the time to develop broadest set of skills. you didn’t have the luxury of letting loose in a nightclub with a stranger because if that information got into the wrong hands, you’d be slut-shamed off the face of the earth. so now, you found yourself a little bit lost under a literal sex god.

as if he can hear your thoughts, lewis pulls back.

“what’s the matter? do you want me to stop?” he’s softer than he ever has been with you, melting away in your hands, but you draw him back in, tightening your grip on the band of his shorts.

“no, no, i just…” the words die on your tongue. something in your eyes gives him all the information that he needs.

“do what feels right, good.” his nose brushes your jaw, kissing over it and you settle back into the moment.

“teach me a lesson.” you whisper, empowered in his hands, and he springs back into action, his demeanour slipping right back into what it had been.

“is that why you’re so bad in interviews? just want me to fuck some respect into you?” his lips tug amusedly when you nod rapidly up at him.

an experimental roll of his hips makes you keen, hand slipping into his braids and pulling hard. his eyes fall shut, lips parting to let out a soft groan, his eyebrows pinching from the rough pleasure. your fingers graze over the skin of his toned belly, finding sensitive skin that makes him shiver.

“you distracted, lew?” you taunt, with the only intention of riling him up.

his eyes snap open, hard and lacking any sort of warmth, and he tears your hands from where they rest on his firm body, swiftly pinning them above your head with one hand. he plants himself on one knee, balancing himself so that he can fiddle with the button of your shorts. he makes quick work of removing them, forcing the zipper down and skilfully manoeuvring them with just the one hand.

once they’re gone, along with the lace of your underwear, he forces your thighs apart, and slides his fingers along the seam of your cunt, slicking them up. you’re soaked and he momentarily falters, but he doesn’t let himself get too visibly affected.

“fuck, you’re so wet. been thinking about me, angel?” he teases mercilessly, as he rocks the first thick digit into you, twisting and curling until he finds the spot that makes you buck your hips.

“nothing to say now, hm?” lewis tuts, wetting his lips. the feeling of you squeezing so tight around just one of his fingers makes him choke out a moan. you can feel his hot breath fanning over your face, your eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of him filling you up.

“more.” you breathe, stuttering over just one word. he revels in how he’s managed to reduce you to this so quickly.

“you sure you can take it, angel? so fucking tight.”

“make me.” you plead, parting your strained thighs even wider for him.

he lets go of your hands, snaking down your body to get himself closer to where you’re dripping already.

“keep them there.” lewis orders, and you grip tightly onto the pillows to exercise restraint.

lewis presses his forearm over the plush of your belly, holding you down as he adds a second finger, watching in awe as it slips so effortlessly into your pussy. you’re mewling, fighting to buck your hips but the firm press of his muscled arm keeps you in place.

“so pretty for me, angel, soaking my fingers.” he notes, entranced at how responsive you are for him.

“want you inside of me, lew.” you whine, knuckles paper white where you’re fighting off the urge to reach down and touch him.

“wait.” he snarls, ramming his fingers even harder, grinding against the soft spot buried deep. “you’re gonna cum like this first.”

with that, he removes the barricade of his arm, bringing his spare hand to your clit, the pad of his thumb drawing calloused circles into the bud. you lose it, grinding down on his fingers like a woman possessed.

“that’s it, sweetie, fuck yourself for me.” lewis encourages, voice gravelly and low.

sparks shoot down your spine, nothing but white behind your eyelids as he lights you on fire. you can’t warn him, the words lost to the tense air of the room as you barrel towards your first release. he eases you through it, not letting up even a little bit, but it pays off when you can’t help but writhe against the cream of the bedspread.

“god.” you croak, flopping limp as he pulls out, crawling over you.

“learned your lesson?”

“not quite.” you flash an exhausted grin, abandoning your grasp on the pillows to slide them down his thick frame.

you trace the lion adorning his shoulder, the compass, each piece driving you further into utter delirium. your hands graze his waist, snaking around his abdomen until you reach the cross, tracing it until you reach words that keep him going.

still i rise the cursive reads, and he shivers as you rake your nails over it.

“fuck me.” you purr. your hands slide under his shorts once more, gripping at the curve of his ass. you push the material down over his thighs, and he happily kicks them away, his inked hands roughly spreading you even wider.

“desperate little thing, bet you go home after every race and fuck yourself silly wishing it was me, hm?” he adjusts himself between your legs, his thick cock nudging against you entrance, drenching himself in the mess he’d made.

you gasp out a moan as he slides deep, taking his sweet time. you can’t even comprehend his words, totally consumed by the brutally enticing stretch of him, your thighs shaking at the delectable intrusion. he hisses at the sensation of your tight warmth, his head falling to rest in the crook of your neck. lewis licks over the sensitive skin, trailing open mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth, gentle nips making you shudder on his cock.

“don’t leave a mark.” you choke, and lewis seems to get it, so he skims his teeth lower, sucking purple just over your heart.

you clamp down around him, allured by the tweak of pain, and it seems to spark something in him, his hips rolling into yours experimentally.

“you feel so fucking good.” lewis pants, his breath warm and wet on your neck.

“need you to move.” you plead, turning your head to capture his lips in an urgent kiss.

he pulls out, slamming back into you roughly, your tummy twisting with anticipation. lewis finds a rhythm that suits you both, hips hitting yours with every thrust, each one leaving you full and spent.

“gonna make sure you feel me for days.” he promises, yanking your legs over his hips. as he does, he hits deeper and you yelp, stars in your eyes. “when you sit in the car tomorrow, you’re gonna feel me and remember how to be a good fucking girl, not an attention seeking brat.”

you ramble his name, eyes flooding with tears of overstimulation, dumbfounded at how he seems to hit a new spot with every slide of his cock. he’s digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs, pulling your hips impossibly closer to his as he drives into you, as if he wants to become a part of you, moulded for an eternity. with the way your stomach knots, butterflies and adrenaline coursing through you, you’d comply; you’d let him do whatever he wanted to him anytime he wanted.

“‘m so close.” you whine, pulling on every part of him your hands can reach. a refreshed sense of determination builds in his eyes and he presses hard on your navel.

“so deep, can see it.” lewis slurs, eyes fixed on your belly.

those five words make you unravel, sending you hurtling over the edge. he can’t help but fuck you through it, hammering home while you spasm around him so tight that he struggles to move.

“fucking addicted to this pussy.” lewis groans, burying himself as deep as he can go.

you’re utterly enchanted as you watch him reach his release, gnawing at your bottom lip when his part in a moan, allowing gentle puffs of air to escape. his long eyelashes rest delicately over his cheeks as his eyes fall shut, your name spilling out of his mouth like a needy prayer.

you’re warm from the inside out, flushed and full when he settles, pressing his body weight into you completely.

two weeks later, you’re in japan, bored senseless in yet another press conference. lewis sits further down the couch, and you have to cross your legs every time he speaks. no one seems to notice, except him, of course.

when it’s your turn to speak, and you’re asked all about your little spat with sir lewis back in australia, you shrug, smirking.

“we made up.”

oof

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skzdarlings · 3 months

Text

lady-like ; skz ; chan x reader

original ask: requested by anonymous: ❛ i'd say you need someone to put you in your place. ❜ W CHAN I BEG OF YOU + original ask: requested by anonymous: “You want gentle? Wrong fucking address”+ Chan <3

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: enemies to lovers, established lovers. criminal!chan, masked!chan. dom!chan, sub!reader (background mentions of switching). choking, floor sex, rough sex, dirty talk. brief mention of some sexism in the workplace. word count: 2050 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy!

It is the middle of the night and you are patrolling the art gallery yourself. You do not trust your colleagues or the security team tonight. No one believes there is any way to track the SKZ gang but you have found an undoubted pattern. That motley band of thieves have struck this gallery more than once, making off with paintings and artifacts alike, but tonight you will catch them.

Tonight you will catch him.

Your thought conjures him like a devil. You turn a corner and a gloved hand escapes the shadows, covering your mouth. You are yanked backwards, right into his chest, your back to his front.

You feel a moment of satisfaction because ha, you were right. No one believed you but you knew SKZ would strike tonight.

Then you are furious because those rotten thugs are probably making off with a priceless artifact while their leader holds you hostage.

“Hey there,” Bang Chan says in that too-friendly drawl. “How’s my favourite girl tonight?”

You try biting his hand but the leather of his glove is quite thick. Probably on purpose. You have left more than one bite mark on him in past encounters.

“Ah-nah-nah,” he says, steadying you when you wriggle. “Stop that. We both know how this ends. Let’s play nice this time instead, yeah?”

You answer by stomping on his foot and throwing your head back. The smack surprises him and he stumbles, giving you an opportunity to turn and brace yourself in a more defensible stance. You face him, hands up, adrenaline thundering through your body.

Chan is wearing all black, including a beanie and mask. He removes the hat, revealing hair just as black, but keeps the mask while rubbing his jaw. The half-hidden face somehow makes the dark intensity of his eyes look even more severe.

You and Chan have a played a long game of cat-and-mouse. You are so used to his teasing that you almost forget he is dangerously competent man. A criminal. A criminal you despise. A criminal who is undoubtedly grinning at you under that mask, given the way his eyes crinkle with mirth. It should not make your heart race.

“Ouch,” he says. He takes a step towards you, inching out of the shadows. “You’ve been training. Impressive.”

“Not like I had a choice,” you snap. “Some no good criminal keeps attacking my art gallery.”

“Criminal, yeah,” Chan says. “But no good? Really?” He flicks a hand your way, not so much striking as testing your reflexes. You bat it successfully and his eyebrows lift, showing he is moderately impressed.

“You’re a dirty thief,” you say, taking a swing of your own. Yours is much more deliberate, swinging at his head, but he dodges just as easily.

You scamper backwards, his booted steps following swiftly. You keep your hands up in defense. He is still smirking under that mask.

“Thief, yeah,” he continues to tease. “But dirty? Well… I suppose you’d know…”

Heat pulses under your skin.

This cat-and-mouse game has crossed many lines. You cannot even remember how it first happened. It feels like Bang Chan has always been in the shadows, stealing paintings and kisses alike. One moment you were snarking at the infuriating cat burglar, then your hands were in his hair and his mouth was on yours.

Sometimes he wins, distracting you or holding you, giving his team time to make off with something. Sometimes you win, trapping him or his men and only letting them go if they relinquish their prize. Weirdly, Chan seems to like it when you outsmart him. It quite literally puts him on his knees.

Flustered, your next swing is more emotional than strategic. He catches your arm and spins you again, trapping you against his body. You grunt and struggle in his arms.

“That’s not very polite, you know,” he says. “I thought you said you were a lady.”

Yes, you have made such an insistence in the past, reminding him you are a lady of class, an educated woman, an intelligent academic. He did not argue. He did pin you to the wall and choke you in that infuriatingly delicious way, the way that gets you coming all over his hand in a second. That’s it, he said, with a hand around your throat and another under your skirt. Tell me what a lady you are. Letting a criminal like me make you come. Tsk, what would your co-workers say?

You stamp the memory down because it is getting you hot. He is holding you differently than before, so you cannot swing your head back again. You writhe uselessly.

“I didn’t just say I was a lady,” you snap. “I am a lady. I am a respected professional, unlike you—”

“I’m respected and professional, thank you,” he says, his tone still bright like he is having fun.

It is fun. You hate to admit it, but it is. Before he started breaking into your galleries, every day was the same. Your life was such a monotony and you dread returning to it. There is a reason you never call the authorities on him. There would be no triumph in that demise. You would lament his absence and forever feel like business went unfinished.

You are satisfied when you can face this dangerous man and win, when you can push him on his back and put him in his place, when all that danger and power and skill surrenders to you and you alone. Because Bang Chan has a notorious reputation for a lot of things, but fraternizing with civilians is not one of them.

Except you.

Except right now.

“You know what I say, little miss lady?” he asks.

He gives you no time to answer. Your breath catches when he circles that gloved hand around your throat and squeezes. It softens every part of you immediately, like a kitten grabbed by the scruff, instinctively and animalistically submissive in the claws of something powerful.

You whimper, your knees going weak. You know you are wet. You know he knows.

He pulls you against him. You can feel every hard plane of his body, his bulky body armour, his weapons. You feel either a buckle or his bulge against your body, but either way it is irrevocably suggestive. When you wriggle, he squeezes your throat, and you go pliant again.

“I’d say,” he whispers, “you need someone to put you in your place.”

Oh, he has talked about your place many times before. It’s with me, he will insist, fucking you within an inch of your life, making you come again and again, putting you on your knees and bringing out all the hidden dark and dirty parts of yourself. Come on, he will say, we’re perfect for each other, yeah? You know it. Join my team. Come with me.

You do admit, he respects your keen eye and talent, and he acknowledges your expertise far more than the other people at your gallery. It took a year to even be allowed to do substantial tasks, relegated to fetching everyone’s coffee, getting spoken down to because you were a woman whose ambition was considered a nuisance.

That is not enough to resort to a criminal life. Surely?

But for a moment, you can imagine giving into the darkness permanently. Tonight, it is you that surrenders as he drags you both into the shadows and onto the floor. He takes off his jacket and lays it out, pushing you down face-first onto it. You take a dizzying gulp of air while his hands are occupied, removing his gloves, unbuckling his utility belt.

You wait for the moment he lifts your skirt. His breath catches when he realizes you are not wearing anything underneath.

You yelp because he smacks your ass. You look back at him with as much fury as you can muster in your haze of lust.

“A lady,” he says, grabbing your hips and tugging you back. “Sure.”

“I am,” you say, but your voice is rough, your breathing heavy just from his bare fingers gliding down your wet pussy, the evidence of your desire betraying your claims of propriety.

“Sure, baby girl,” he says, because he knows it annoys you even while it makes you clench. He can see the evidence of that too, swearing as he looks at you, making you feel even more exposed and flustered. “You’re made for me, you know that, sweetheart? Always feel so good on my dick. God.”

“You’re taking your time tonight,” you say dryly. “Getting sentimental? Turning into the slow and gentle type?”

He laughs. Then he grabs you by the neck, pinning you to the floor as he sidles up behind you. The head of his cock presses at your entrance, wet with anticipation.

“You want gentle?” he asks. He is inside you with one deep thrust. “Wrong fucking address.”

The truth is, even when rough, he is careful. Your face never leaves his jacket and he knows where to squeeze and hit and press properly. Bizarrely, ridiculously, you are safe in this criminal’s dangerous hands. The biggest threat they pose are just how skilled and deft they are, making you forget about all of those details as he manhandles you and fucks your worries away.

He wraps a hand around your throat and lifts you. He is still in his mask, still almost entirely clothed except his undone fly. Your skirt is up, your shirt in disarray, your chest and throat exposed to his hands. You can hear him panting into his mask, your own breath as wild until he steals it. You clench around him, making a weak, ragged sound as he chokes you and pounds into you.

“You’re not gonna come like this, are ya?” he taunts, because he knows your body well, can feel you are the on verge just from his angles and rhythm. “Tsk,” he says. “That’s not very lady-like.”

You would tell him to shut up, but you can only manage a weepy moan as he drives you over the edge of a mind-numbing orgasm. You feel drenched, dripping down your thighs, and he still doesn’t relent, pushing you back down and holding your hips as he drills through every sensitive nerve.

“Fuck,” you say, twisting your fingers around his jacket. Your knees will probably be bruised after this. No short skirts or everyone will know something happened. Would they guess you let the most notorious burglar in the country arch your back and fuck you on the floor? Probably not. You have always been a stickler for rules.

Until this. Until him.

“Chan,” you say, breathless, rasping. “Chan.”

“Fuck,” he says. Then the weight of him is on your back, his hips grinding into yours. His masked face brushes your ear and he speaks in a low voice, “Guess where I’m coming tonight, baby girl.”

Your walls are still fluttering with aftershocks, pulling him deeper at his words. It is not the first time, no. God only knows how long ago that conversation first happened, telling him it was safe, how much you wanted it. Letting him do things you never let anyone else do. Breaking all your rules for him.

“Fuck, Chan,” you say.

“Yeah, baby,” he rasps. “That’s who’s fucking you. No one fucks you like I do. God. You can take it. So good.”

You can feel when he comes, his chest vibrating with his groan, the warmth inside you. You slump in his arms, ravaged and sore and not the least bit sorry for it.

You should be. He won this round. You should be furious at him. You should be threatening him. Your usual rapport.

His mask comes off. You hear it hit the floor. Then he is grabbing your jaw and turning your face and kissing you deeply. He holds your throat, not threateningly but possessively. He is kissing you for so long, you almost forget who you are. Then you surface. You look at each other.

“Come with me,” he says.

The haze of lust has vanished. You should be thinking clearly. You fear, for the first time, you are.

You suppose he has stolen everything else, why not you too?

You put your hand in his.

#bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan smut #chan smut #bang chan x you #chan x you #skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz smut #stray kids smut #valentinesdaystories

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angelfrombeneth · 4 months

Text

7 MINUTES - T . NOTT

Mature Content Ahead

Theodore Nott x F!Reader

Summary: *REQUESTED* During a late night with your friends, after a chaotic slytherin party - you all wind down in the boys dorms. After a while, a game is played with a twist, Who knows what'll happen in that small wardrobe.

Warnings: SMUT, Switch!Theo, Switch!Reader, Oral both F & M!Receiving, Breathplay, Dacryphillia

A/N: This isn't proof read, I apologise. I've been really busy with deadlines so writing may not be as good. I'm writing a good two part smut that'll come out soon!

You and Theodore are friends, and have been for years. You both harbour a small crush on one another but neither of you two know about the others crush - and neither do your friends, except Pansy.

Pansy knows every single secret that passes through Hogwarts. She knows everything about everyone and basically has hundreds of secrets at her disposal. Times like these, makes you grateful you guys are friends and not enemies.

After an infamous Slytherin party, which was chaotic as always. You all retreated up to the boys dorm and into Mattheo, Theodore and Enzo's shared dorm - much to Mattheo's dismay.

Mattheo stumbled over to his bed, crashing face first into the pillows, letting out a loud groan.

"I told you not to drink so much" Pansy scoffed, throwing a pillow harshly at him as she grabbed your hand and pulled you over to Enzo, who was sat on his bed.

You sat, giggling as you snuggled between Pansy and Enzo. The pair cuddling you from both sides.

"Why is it that the gay ones get the most action" Draco scoffed in our direction. Sitting beside Blaise on Theo's bed as Theo sat pratically ontop of Mattheo.

"Don't be upset Draco, we get more action that you" Pansy snickered.

"Fuck off" Draco scoffs.

At that moment Daphne, Luna, Astoria, Cedric and Hermione join. Hermione was particularly nervous being in the Slytherin common room, especially the fact her two best friends are Slytherin mega haters.

You and Pansy had adopted Hermione into your 'girlie' group after you heard abt issues between her and Ron, she needed some girly guidance and you guys were there.

"Mione!" You cheered, as she smiled seeing you as she walked over you both exchanging a hug.

"Nice to know your excited to see me Y/N" Astoria scoffed. You and Astoria were good friends, with her being Daphne's younger sister she was worried about bonding with people - but you two were like glue always having the best jokes together.

"Shut up Tori" You laughed.

Everyone sat down in huddles and exchanged light conversation. Mattheo pulled out his bong which got everyone looking at him. It wasn't long before everyone sat in a circle and was passing it around and basking in the 'chill vibes'.

You were sat inbetween Enzo and Astoria, giggling away at something Enzo had said. You felt eyes on you, and looked up to see Theo's dark piercing gaze looming over you. He had been looking at you all night, you noticed it and he knew you knew. But you both were too pussy to even make a move.

He turned away, putting a cigarette in his mouth, covering the end as he lit it with his lighter before taking the cigarette between his fingers, leaning back and exhaling up in the air. His arms tensed as he held his weight his muscles slightly prominent. Theo was the definition of a sleeper build, you didn't know for sure but what you had seen from his arms you had a suspicion.

"Alright!" Pansy slapped her hands together. "I think we should play a game. How about, kiss or tell~" She sang. Everyone laughing at her, a few groans sounding around the room.

"Kiss or tell?" Hermionie questioned.

Daphne giggled at her as she sat back on Blaises lap, "Its where someone asks you kiss or tell, you choose and if it's kiss- we spin the bottle and whoever it lands on you kiss OR tell, you have to answer a truth question". Hermione nodded.

"Okay... I'll start Kiss or Tell.. Enzo" Pansy smiled to Enzo.

"Tell because I know you want some secrets" Enzo smirked.

"I always do, now.. Is it true you hooked up with Pucey and Wood in the same night" Everyone's head snapped to Enzo hearing the same rumour had been circulating Hogwarts for a few weeks.

"Yes and No? I did hook up with Pucey and Wood in the same night but it was also Fred Weasley too" He smirked. Everyone laughing at his response.

"You whore!" Draco laughed.

"I always knew you were sneaky" Mattheo looked at Enzo.

"Is that why I had to sleep on the fucking common room couch?" Theo scoffed.

Everyone laughed due to Theo's confession. The game went on a few more times, Draco choosing to kiss Blaise, Blaise admiring he blocked the toilet, Cedric and Enzo kissing, Pansy and Luna kissing, Hermione and Daphnne kissing, Enzo and You kissing which then brings you back to Enzo again.

"OK OK.. Astoria, Kiss or Tell?"

"Kiss duh!" She said as she pushed her hair back from her shoulders.

"Kiss... Mattheo" Enzo span the bottme, watching as it landed on Mattheo, he smirked. Only you, Pansy and Enzo knew of Astoria's mini crush on Mattheo.

You hid your mouth behind your hand as he grinned. Her eyes shooting daggers towards you and Enzo.

"Pucker up, sugar tits" Mattheo sighed as he watched Astoria get up from her spot.

"Shut up Mattheo" She groaned as she crouched before him, placing her hand on his shoulder as she kissed him.

Whopping sounded through the room as the pair kissed, after a few moment they pulled away- surprisingly both very red.

"Mattheo are you hard" Theo teased him, earning a massive smack over the head. "Ow! Fuck!"

You giggled slightly as Theo, rubbed the back of his head, looking up at you.

"Actually, I wanna change the rules because that was cruel!" She smirked as she rubbed her chin, staring directly at you. "Y/N" She cooed.

You stared at her blankly. "7 minutes" everyone sounded intruiged. "In the wardrobe with... Theodore" Astoria didn't know about your crush on Theo. Only Pansy but you froze when she said his name.

"Interesting pairing Tori" Blaise quirked.

"Very interesting actually, I didn't expect that" Cedric looked to Enzo, him nodding along.

You stood up, darting your eyes over to Pansy who had a devilish grin.

"While your both in there we will play Spin the bottle!" Astoria clasped her hands. You turned your head away from her and was faced with a chest. Theo's chest as he stood infront of you. You froze for a moment but he took your wrist and guided you over to the slightly walk in wardrobe. The pair of you pulled the door to the side as you stepped in, closing the door.

"Seven minutes!" Astoria yelled and that's the last thing you heard before shut.

"Why would she change the game" You scoffed, leaning against the wall.

"Very Astoria, flippy-floppy as always" He laughed. The small light in the room, lighting up his face slightly but it was still quiet dark. The pair of you leaning against opposite walls as you looked at eachother. Despite being on other sides it was a small wardrobe. His leg was pratically sandwiched between yours as you both cramped in here. Theo was like 6'1 and you were like 5'6 so the height difference was a bit.

"Its so cramped in here" You moved slightly, looming up to see Theo right above you. This was a very uncomftable situation and you were getting hot. "Its quite hot in here-" You awkwardly laughed as you fanned yourself.

Theo smirked down at you, noticing your very prominent cheeks. He had an ideas, he wanted to test- it was either now or never. He lifted his leg slightly between yours rubbing his thigh against your core as yiu squeaked. "Sorry, its quite tight-"

Your face reddened, your mind was plagued with dirty thoughts as you let out a shaky laugh. "Its ok-" You croaked.

"Fuck my life, your oblivious" Theo groaned as he placed a hand on your neck, crashing his lips against yours. You froze for a moment which caused Theo to pull away. Before he could say anything you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him back as your lips hit eachothers. This is all you wanted, was to kiss Theo.

Theo's free hand slid down your waist and around to your ass as he squeezed it slightly. You gasped at the motion which he took as an invitation to shove his tonguebin your mouth. The two of you were making out for what felt like forever before you both pulled away panting.

You stared at him, his face just millimeteres from yours. You can feel eachothers breath on one another. You saw his lips curl into a smirk as he pecked your lips once more before latching his mouth to your neck. It took you off guard and you let out a soft squeak as you leaned your head back. His lips were attacking your neck, nibbling and sucking but not enough to leave a prominent hickey which you were grateful. He moved further down towards your chest before stopping and looking up at you. You smiled down at him and he took that as permission as he reached round and unzipped your strapless dress, watching as it fell from your body revealing your extremely bare breasts.

"One piece of fabric covering these.. Fuck me" He smirked, kissing towards your breast before latching his mouth onto them, sucking the skin softly as he groped the other one with his hand. You let out soft shaky moans, gripping his hair tightly as you leaned your head back.

"Fuck- Teddy" you sighed, you could feel his smirk against your skin as he pulled away, dropping to his knees as he pushed you up against the folding door. It rustled for a moment but you were too invested in Theo. He bit and sucked at your thighs, definitely leaving marks here as he moved closer and closer to your core. His fingers hooking on the sides of your panties as he looked up at you.

"May I?" You nodded as he smiled, pulling tour panties down slowly as you quickly stepped out of them and he tucked them in his pocket. "Going to keep these, a little trophy"

Before you could protest his hand pushed your stomach as you leaned back against the door, your hands tangled in his hair as you peered down at him.

"Don't worry Bella, I'm a master" He smirked as he tapped your thigh for you to spread your legs before diving in head first.

You yelped, gripping at his hair as you leaned back, nibbling at your lip to hold your moans in. You gasped as you felt his tongue move inside of you, his nose rubbing against your clit as he ate you out.

You were entranced in heaven. Theo lifted one of your legs onto his shoulder to get a deeper angle, you really were in heaven. You tugged his hair as you let out soft moans, being careful not to be too loud.

"Fuck!" Your body betraying you as you slapped a hand over your mouth quickly as you grinded down on his face. Your eyes rolling in pleasure as he tongue moved lyrically against your folds. Like he was singing a song. The way he swirled and flicked had you nearly on the floor, if it wasn't for him and the door supporting you.

You gasped loudly as you whimpered out tugging his hair before throwing your head back and cumming all over his face. You panted heavily, your hand still over your mouth as you stood out of breath.

Theo pulled away, putting your leg down as he smirked, licking his lips as he stood up to look at you. "Taste perfect"

You gulped as you looked up at him.

"I love how you're still nervous, you're cute. Now taste yourself" He smiled as he kissed you softly once again. His hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer. You could feel his clothed boner rubbing against your stomach as you gulped.

"Mhm.. Cute" He smiled as he pulled away. Theo didn't expect anything from you which was a huge change. He wanted to pleasure you and that's that- but you wanted to pleasure him.

You took his wrist looking at his watch. 4 minutes. You flicked your hair back as you settled onto your knees. Theo looking down at your questionably as you tugged at his trousers.

"Oh- Bella you don't have to-"

"Shh, I want to" You smiled, yanking off his belt, dropping it to the floor as you unbuttoned his trousers, yanking them down.

His throbbing erection directly infront of you in his boxers. You took a deep breath before yanking down his boxers, as they dropped to his ankles. Watching as his dick sprung out. You stared up at him in disbelief due to the size. You hasn't been with anyone this big before.

"You think you can take it, Principessa" He smirked as he caressed your cheek.

"I can try" You chuckled, pumping him a few times before licking the tip softly. His bottle lip instantly retracting into his mouth as he bit the flesh. You worked on getting him excited, licking up his length and swirling your tongue around the tip as you listened to his gasps and sighs above.

After a small amount of teasing you took the first few inches into your mouth. Sucking softly as you used your hands to satisfy the rest. Soft moans left his mouth as his hand collected your hair and yanked it into a ponytail.

"Fuck- your so hot" He sighed.

You take a few more inches, bobbing your head up and down at this point as you gripped his thigh. After getting used to it you took him in whole. You gagged slightly at first but continued to swirl your tongue around his whole length as you moved your head up and down against it. Theo's soft whines leaving his lips as he leaned back, panting heavily.

"Fuck yes.. More" He whimpered out as he pleaded to you. You didn't know you needed to see a submissive Theodore till now.

You continued to work your magic, popping his dick out your mouth as you licked and sucked the side before deep throwing yet again. The moans and whines from him as he hit your throat were amazing. You snaked your free hand that wasn't gripping his thigh down between your legs and you rubbed your clit. Grinding down against it as you hummed, bobbing your head. He was making you feel good all over and it was driving you insane.

"Fuck- Y/N- I can't hold back.. Fuck im sorry" He yelped as he gasped, gripping your hair tightly as he began to fuck into your mouth. It didn't take you completely off guard as you prepared for it. Your eyes rolled slightly as he continuesly hit the back of your throat, light gags coming from you as you slid your finger past your folds and inside of you as you fucked yourself.

Theo's breathless moans and whines sounded the wardrobe as he growled as he fucked into your throat harshly. Tears streaming down your face as your hand gripped harder on his thigh.

"Yes, take it like the slut you are hmm.. your a slut for me right" You hummed loudly as you sobbed with his cock full in your mouth.

"Love it, when cry for me" He smirked, watching as tears fell down your face. His pace speeding up at the sight.

You needed to tap out it was too much for you, you pushed your finger inside you once more before you came all over it, quickly pulling you as you gripped his thighs tightly aa his pace sped. You gaged quite loudly as tears poured from your eyes. Theo pulled out quickly for a moment, jerking himself off harshly as he took your head in his hand. "Yiu ok- Fuck" He moaned as he panted, his dick twitching in his fist.

You coughed slightly, before wiping your mouth and eyes looking up at him nodding.

"Good girl- Ah.. fuck- stick out your tongue" He groaned, as he watched you stick your tongue out staring up at him. His thrusts his hand roughly over his dick as he let out a deep groan as his body jerked as he came on your face, but mostly in your mouth.

You swallowed it all, before licking your lips and wiping some off your cheek and sucking your finger. You stood up looking up at him and smiling as he smiled softly at you, with a fucked out expression.

He leaned against the wall panting heavily as his hand was over his eyes. "Fuck- I can't even see straight" He laughed. You giggled, taking his wrist checking the time and seeing 1 minute.

You pulled your dress back on, zipping it up as you pulled Theo's phone from his jeans, fixing your makeup in the minimal light.

"You got me fucked up" He laughed, pulling up his boxers and jeans and buckling his belt before wiping his face over and ruffling his hair.

"Good, and I'd happily do it again" You smirked, flattening your hair out as the two of you now look widely presentatable.

Just in the moment you heard a mumble before light pours into the wardrobe as the door is ripped open. You squinted adjusting to the light, everyone looking at the pair of you.

"What! I wanted to catch them fucking or something" Mattheo scoffed.

"Boring, I would've been so down for that" Astoria groaned.

"We just spoke, there's nothing else to do" You shrugged, walking back to the group. Pansy's eyes like daggers on you and Theo as she scanned you both. You'd nearly gotten away with it until you turned towards Daphne who was sat next to her to reply and she saw the dark bite mark on your thigh just under your dress.

"Gotcha" She smirked to you and you looked at her clueless. You sat back down in your seat opposite Theo as the two of you smiled to one another.

You'd be doing this again sometime soon...

#harrypotter fanfiction #slytherin boys #slytherin boys fanfiction #lorenzo zurzolo #slytherin fanfiction #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theo nott smut #theodore nott smut #angelfrombenethfics

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gigabyte-flare · 1 year

Text

Insatiable (Part 1)

Summary: You are a researcher for D.S.O. who is responsible for studying Leon Kennedy as Las Plagas overtakes him, maybe even finding a cure. He starts to take a liking to you, too much of a liking to you.

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: yandere plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Extreme violence and gore, biting, dubcon, forced breeding, gross las plagas-y things, death, mentions of un-aliving. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

A/N: Heavily inspired by this artwork by @chanif-art on Tumblr along with Project Scorpion by @tagzpite. Literally could not get this idea out of my head until I wrote it down. Definitely going to be another series. We're also going to pretend D.S.O. was founded way sooner than 2011 k byeeeeee

“I fought a war and I learned how to win, but how do you fight when the enemy’s within?”

You step out of an elevator led by two armed D.S.O. operatives in tactical gear deep underground at HQ, your white lab coat flowing gently as you walk forward. Grasped in your right hand is a voice recorder. You and the operatives go through a series of heavy steel doors leading you into the bowels of the underground facility.

Is all this really necessary? you think to yourself as you’re led deeper into the abyss.

Finally, you’re brought to a single cell enclosed with clear polycarbonate panels with steel reinforcements. In this cell was a man sitting in a chair that was bolted into the floor, his hands chained behind his back and his legs chained to the legs of the chair. This man is Agent Leon S. Kennedy. You approach one of the panels closest to the steel door keeping him in.

Switching the voice recorder on and bringing it to your mouth, you state your name before continuing, “The year is 2004. The subject is field agent Leon Scott Kennedy, currently 27 years old and exhibiting the late stages of Las Plagas infestation, his body is covered in dark, vein like marks. Subject is currently slumped over in the chair. He appears to be catatonic.”

Bringing the recorder away from your mouth, you motion to one of the operatives to guard the door. You input a passcode into a key panel next to the door. It lets out a hiss as it slowly swings open. As you step in, the door swings closed and locks.

You bring the recorder back to your mouth and continue, “Agent Kennedy?”

You watch as Leon slowly lifts his head, his face completely covered in the dark veins, his once blue eyes now have a slight red tinge to them, it makes your stomach twist in sorrow, he used to be such a handsome man.

“Subject appears to still have some cognitive ability left as he immediately recognized his name. We’re still trying to understand how he hasn’t broken down now that the alpha Plagas host, Osmund Saddler, has been destroyed--”

“I’m right here, you know,” Leon suddenly spoke, making you jump.

“Ag-Agent Kennedy!” you reply, eyes wide in shock that he’s able to speak.

“Please, just call me Leon, sweetheart.”

His dark gaze seemed to pierce straight into your very soul. You collect yourself, clearing your throat.

“How are you feeling, Leon?”

Leon looks down at himself, tugging gently at his restraints before looking back up at you, “all things considered, I actually feel pretty damn good.”

“That’s… good, I guess,” you reply, your nervousness clear in your voice.

You hadn’t prepared for this, every researcher that attempted to interact with him got absolutely nothing out of him, hence why they sent you down. You argued with them, not seeing the point but now you began to realize that the difference was they were all men, you were a woman.

“Awww… there’s no need to be so nervous, sweetheart, it’s just me, Leon Kennedy. I promise I don’t bite,” he says, a small smirk appearing on his lips, “hard.”

“Do you know where you are and why you’re here, Leon?”

He lets out a chuckle, “yeah, I’m in D.S.O.’s research facility because I’m turning into a monster.”

“That’s putting it rather bluntly, but yes, that’s correct.”

“About time they sent someone cute down here to visit me, the rest were much too dull. If I wasn’t chained up, I’d ask you out to dinner and a movie.”

You feel yourself blushing, “that’s… very kind of you Leon, however that won’t be happening anytime soon, I’m afraid.”

“That’s a shame, because I’d love to take you to bed and make you scream my name,” he growls, a sinister grin overtaking him.

Your heart is pounding out of your chest as your eyes widen at him. This wasn’t like Leon at all, the parasite was clearly twisting his thoughts. You panic, turning around to motion the operatives to open the door and let you out. As soon as you’re out of the cell, you briskly walk away from the cell as fast as you can, not once looking back. You could have swore you heard Leon’s laugh echo after you.

“I am not going back down there, are you insane?!”

“You’re the first person he has actually spoken to since he got back from Spain,” the lead researcher, Bryan said, setting your voice recorder down onto his desk.

“So? Your point? I’m not doing it and that’s final!”

“Look, this recording gives us valuable data on him, it’s clear that the Plagas inside him is mutating into a more dominant strain. It must know it’s the last one left,” Bryan said, pleading with you.

“So we’re just going to poke and prod him like he’s some guinea pig? Leon wouldn’t have wanted that! Are you sure there’s no way we can cure him?”

“If we attempt to remove the parasite now, it will kill him--”

“Then let’s put him out of his misery, this isn’t right!”

The silence between you was deafening. After a few minutes, Bryan finally spoke.

“Judging by this recording, the Plagas has one thing on its mind.”

“Which is…?”

Bryan looked up at you, letting out a heavy sigh, “reproduction.”

“All the more reason I shouldn’t be going back down there!”

“He’ll be restrained and you’ll have at least two operatives with you at all times, you’ll be safe,” Bryan leans forward on his desk, folding his hands together, “the data you collect from Agent Kennedy is invaluable in finding out how the parasite works, just… go down and talk to him. I know yesterday was unnerving but there is one thing he said that is true, he’s just Leon Kennedy. He’s in there somewhere, even if the Plagas is influencing him.”

You cross your arms, staring at the floor, letting out a frustrated sigh before looking back up at Bryan, “fine. But I want hazard pay.”

“Consider it done, here’s your recorder back,” Bryan says, sliding the recorder across the desk towards you.

You grab the recorder of the desk, turning on your heel to walk out of Bryan’s office.

“You are to report down there in an hour, you hear me?” Bryan calls after you just as you walk out the door.

You fight the urge to flip him off, thinking better of it. You walk down the hall into your office, getting your lab coat back on and sitting at your desk. You press play on the recorder, listening back on your interaction with Leon several times. There was one part where you repeated it several times, sending chills down your spine.

“That’s a shame, because I’d love to take you to bed and make you scream my name.”

How long had Leon been locked down here, chained to this chair? How many men in lab coats came and tried to talk to him? He knew he was a lost cause, why were they keeping him alive? How many times did he wish death would come and take him in his sleep?

But then you came, awakening something in him.

Your natural scent filled the cell completely, so many hours had gone by and he could still smell you and you smelled absolutely divine. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, the way your voice was so sweet yet filled with drive and intelligence. The way you blushed when he flirted with you. The way your heartbeat began to race at just the mere mention of taking you.

God you were so cute when you ran off, all flustered, he couldn’t help but laugh; he hadn’t felt alive like that in so long. His reminiscing was interrupted suddenly when he could hear footsteps coming down the hall. Lifting his head, he practically began to salivate when he saw you had returned.

You came back to me, baby, where you belong…

“The subject appears to be conscious and alert, he watched us as soon as we were in his line of sight,” you say as he watches you speak into the voice recorder.

With a hiss, the door opens and you step inside. Leon breathed in deep, taking in the smell of you, you smelled even better than you had yesterday. He feels his cock twitch in his pants in excitement. He watches as the door behind you closes and locks, just like it had yesterday, trapping you in here with him.

Curse these fucking chains…

“You’re more lively today, Leon, care to tell me why?” you ask, your voice flat and void of any emotion.

“How about you tell me why you smell so nice,” Leon replies, grinning at you, drool running from his mouth down his chin.

He watches you shift uncomfortably before you continue, “I’m not answering that.”

Leon scoffs, shaking his head, “then I’m not going to talk to you, sweetheart.”

You take a deep breath, “if I’m going to be honest, I don’t know why I smell so nice to you, Leon.”

His red eyes scan up and down your form, imagining it without all those needless clothes. Imagining himself pinning you to the floor and fucking you stupid. A strange, clicking sound came out of him from the back of his throat as he pulled aggressively on the chains holding him to the chair. He watches as the two men with guns outside become alert. Leon lets out a low growl as he glares at them.

You turn to face the men, signaling to them to stand down. He watches them both relax before you return your attention to him.

“The transformation appears to be progressing faster than expected,” you say into the recorder, “are you in any pain, Leon?”

Leon slowly shakes his head, “no, just unbelievably horny, doll.”

“We have reason to believe the subject is displaying an increased libido due to the fact that the parasite inside him knows it’s the last of its kind.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here, that’s awfully rude.”

“Fine,” you say, lowering the recorder away from your mouth, “what do you want to talk about, Leon?”

“You should ask those nice boys out there to take these chains off me,” Leon purrs, staring at you longingly.

“Absolutely not, Leon,” you reply, crossing your arms, “those chains are there for my safety as well as your own, at least until we can get the Plagas out of your body.” “I think I’m too far gone for that, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

You take a deep breath and exhale loudly, the sorrow clear in your eyes, “I am so sorry that this is what you have become, Leon.”

“I’m not,” Leon says as that sinister grin overtakes him again; he starts to chuckle.

“Leon,” you begin, stepping closer and kneeling down to be eye level with Leon, “I know the real you is in there, somewhere, you have to fight it.”

Your scent was almost enough to drive him crazy, you were delectable. He licks his lips, that clicking sound coming out from this throat again. His eyes are locked on you and he sees you glance down briefly before looking back into his eyes. He knew what you were looking at, you were looking at the noticeable bulge in his cargo pants.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?” Leon says, his body visibly trembling.

You don’t respond, you simply stare at him with that same sad look in your eyes. How could you not want him as much as he wanted you. His lips curl into a snarl.

“Let me FUCK YOU!” he growls, lunging forward, the bolts in the chair letting out a loud screech as they’re bent slightly.

You stumble back, falling backwards onto the floor as Leon continues to struggle violently. The two men with guns come rushing in, one of them grabbing you off the floor while the other shoots a tranquilizer dart into Leon’s thigh. Leon feels the effects almost instantly, his body becomes limp as he becomes sluggish, his mouth hanging agape as he watches you get led out of the room by the two men, the door shutting and locking behind them as you’re led away.

“Mine,” he whispers in his last moments of consciousness, “all mine.”

Part 2

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader smut #yandere!leon kennedy #plagas!leon kennedy #gigabyte writes #insatiable

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triptuckers · 5 months

Text

switching teams - percy jackson

Request: yes! "Hi there! Could I request an enemies to lovers! trope, where the reader is part of the ares halfgods." Pairing: Percy Jackson x ares!reader Summary: percy should know better than to try and fight an ares kid Warnings: a lot of swearing lol, fighting, mentions of blood & injuries Word count: 1.9K A/N: can't wait to see more of dior as clarisse in the show she's such a good actress. thanks for your request, enjoy!

ever since percy got to camp a couple of years ago he's had it out for you. you don't know why, but naturally you decided to respond with the same energy.

he wants to test the ares kid's patience? fine by you.

for some reason he's always arguing with you and you're all to happy to argue back. somehow he knew exactly which buttons to press, how to get on your nerves.

there's always tension between the two of you, which reaches a high during war games like capture the flag. this time is no different.

you're part of team red, following clarisse's lead. percy is on the blue team.

not that it matters, your team is unbeatable. you're proud of your cabin for coming up with the best strategies. you and clarisse always draw up new battle plans, surprising the blue team whenever they think they cracked your plan.

and today you're going to win again. you know it.

you've been walking through your part of the forest, getting rid of any kids of the blue team you run into.

after a while, you think they've all said to each other to avoid certain parts of the wood, given that you don't see anyone for a while.

then you hear talking in the distance. smiling, you grip your sword tighter and creep closer to them.

'let's move, c'mon, these are y/n's parts of the woods.' says one of the kids. you recognise him as someone from the hermes cabin.

'right about that.' you say, jumping over a fallen log and blocking their path.

all three kids widen their eyes and you quickly count their weapons and cabins. two from the hermes cabin and one from athena. a combined total of three swords and a spear. you'll need to take out the athena kid first, they might be able to analyse your fighting style if you're not fast enough.

'I told you!' says one of the hermes kids as you charge them.

you were right, you can tell by the way the athena kid's eyes follow your movements they're trying to analyse your moves. but you catch them off guard and give them a hard shove after kicking one of their legs to the ground.

you make quick work of the hermes kids just in time for your team to run past, carrying the blue flag. you grin at sherman when he runs past with the flag.

'you know what to do!' he says with a wink.

you nod and take off. you're the best sprinter and best swordsman of your cabin.

the plan was simple. once your team got the flag, they would run through your favorite parts of the woods. you would hear them, join them and then run ahead of them, getting rid of any blue team kids in your way and clearing the path for your team.

so that's exactly what you do.

you run to the river, getting rid of any blue team kids you see.

when you see the river in the distance you can't help but to feel a sense of pride. you won again.

but before you can reach the river, something hard knocks you on your back.

before you can get up, someone appears above you, pointing his sword at you and smiling. it's percy. this fucking kid.

you lash out with your sword but percy is quick to block your blow.

'got ya!' he says.

'no you don't.' you say.

he may be pointing a sword at you, but you're not defenceless. with one swift motion, you kick percy's legs, sending him to the ground.

you're quicker, rolling over and pinning his hands to his side. there's no room for him to kick you with his legs.

percy's fighting to get his sword but this time you're stronger. this time, you smile.

'you need to be quicker.' you say. 'and you need to understand we will always win capture the flag.'

'we can still win.' percy argues.

'no, you can't.' you say. 'you're the strongest swordsman on your team. and I've got you pinned to the ground.

'so you admit I'm a stronger swordsman than you!' says percy.

'I said on your team.' you say.

you look up when you hear people cheering in the distance. your team has reached the river, with the blue flag.

'looks like we win again.' you say.

percy looks annoyed. 'get off me, the game is over.'

'say please.'

'fuck off.'

'say please and I'll get up.'

percy rolls his eyes and sighs. 'please, y/n, will you get off me?'

'because you asked nicely.' you say, pushing up off the ground, making sure to accidentally put your weight on percy's legs.

without looking at him again, you take off to celebrate the win with your team.

the next time you're playing capture the flag is three weeks later. you're excited to keep your winning streak going.

just as you've finished putting on your armour and checking all of your weapons, you see percy putting on a chest plate with a red mark on it.

'hey!' you say, getting his attention. 'you're not on our team.'

'yes I am.' he says. 'I already talked it over with clarisse.

'no the fuck you didn't.' you say.

'y/n!'

you look over your shoulder and see clarisse looking at you. she's your best friend, you always train together and she's a great team captain. but this?

'he's on our team.' she says.

'why?'

'because you two are the best swordsmen at camp. it's the logical choice for capture the flag. work together.'

'I will not-'

'not up for discussion. he's on our team, deal with it.'

you turn to percy, walking up to him and giving him a look of pure malice. 'just because you're on our team does not mean I won't hesitate to fight you.' you say.

'no maiming. no killing. especially not your own team members. those are the rules.' says percy.

'I don't care.' you say. 'don't get in my way.'

you hear percy mumble 'fucking ares kids' as you walk away to get into position before the game starts.

as soon as the starting signal sounds, you head to your favorite spot in the woods. there were always some blue kids who thought they could get lucky, but they always run into you.

you're waiting there, your eyes on the path, when you suddenly hear footsteps behind you.

you're just in time to turn around and block the other person's blow.

'you!' you say as you recognise the eyes looking into yours.

'me.' says percy.

'I'm on your fucking team you idiot!'

'I recall you saying it didn't matter.'

'piss off!'

'no.'

percy takes on a fighting stance. he better be fucking kidding. he wants to fight? fine. you can give him that.

'I want to teach you how to become better.' he says.

'at what?'

'sword fighting.'

that's it. it's one thing to attack you from behind. another to tell you he wants to teach you how to be better.

percy knows it's bad fucking luck to claim he's better at fighting than an ares kid. but you've got a tell, and it will get you killed some day.

'you have a tell. let me teach you how to avoid it.'

the nerve he has.

with two quick strides you're in front of him, bringing your sword down on him with all of your strength.

percy blocks it, but his arms are straining underneath the weight of your blow. you really are good.

he swings his sword to your left side but you jump aside and aim the next blow at his legs. he jumps over your sword and kicks you out of the way.

you spin around and attempt to drive your sword through the exposed part of his arm. percy gets out of the way, but only barely.

'you're using your father's strength to guide you.' he says, grunting in between blows of your swords hitting each other.

you don't respond, choosing to save your strength and focus on trying to hit him.

'you're faster than me. you could win.' he says.

fuck him. you are going to win. how dare he question you like this? how dare he question your fighting skills?

you take a step forward, ready to end this fight. but percy kicks your leg out of the way and pushes you, sending you backward.

'you step before you strike.' says percy. 'with your right foot.'

what the fuck?

'I have to give it to you, it took me a while to realise it.'

'been watching me, have you?'

you start to circle him, looking for an opening to strike.

'yes. now start avoiding the step before you strike.'

'I don't need a poseidon kid to teach me how to fight. you're doing this to distract me.'

'is it so hard to believe I actually want to help you? clarisse is right, we'd make a good team. you're almost as good as I am.'

'I can never be a team with someone who insults me to my face.'

'right. never claim to be a better fighter than an ares kid. noted.'

you race forward and strike percy, hoping he doesn't expect it.

he does. he easily blocks your attack.

you're furious. no one is better than you. certainly not percy.

you let your rage take over, going in for another attack, subconsciously taking one step before striking. percy kicks your foot.

you're breathing heavily. he wants to teach you? fine. you keep your footing in place as you strike, catching him off guard.

percy is too surprised and is too late to block your blow. you slice through his upper arm. it's not a very deep cut but it still bleeds. you smile as you see the blood start to slowly trickle down his arm.

you strike again, but only nearly hitting him. you can teach him as well. for instance, his weak point is his legs. you sweep them out from under him. percy falls to the ground as you point your sword to him.

'you're beaten.' you say.

'and you listened to me.' he says.

you hate to admit it, but he did have a point. once you focused on not taking a step before striking, you were able to beat him.

you reach out with your other hand.

percy is eyeing your hand suspiciously.

'I'm pulling you up.' you say. 'the fight is over. I won. I'm not striking an unarmed, beaten opponent.'

percy takes your hand and allows you to pull him to his feet.

'thought you didn't like me.' he says.

'I never said that. you annoy me. but ares kids respect good fighters. you're a good swordsman. and you were right. I have a tell.' you say.

'did you just admit to liking me?' says percy, smiling.

'I also said you're annoying.'

'but you like me.'

'doesn't make you less annoying. now come on, we have a flag to capture.'

the two of you take off to rejoin your team. during the fight, something had changed between the two of you. if percy could point out a flaw you didn't know you had, you're curious to see what else he knows about you that you don't know about yourself.

maybe it's a good thing he convinced clarisse to let him join your team.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit/Max

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viennakarma · 29 days

Text

My dearest friend and enemy (2)

PART 2 | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You and Fernando always dreamed of the day you'd get into Formula 1. Unfortunately, the competition, the pride and the stubborness, get in the way of a beautiful friendship.

Word count: 7.1k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, coming of age, ups and downs of a friendship, brocedes coded, very very angsty, cursing, anger, fights, overuse of flavio briatore as a plot device, lots of low blows, sprinkles of romance, kissing, making out, happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Someone requested this, with this very detailed request, and it has consumed my every thought for the past week or two. I had to tweak some things from the request here and there, hope it's ok. It's heavily inspired by brocedes. (There is a lot of info that is wrong or inaccurate, I did this on purpose to fit my narrative, if you catch them, please ignore)

I was wondering doing a bonus part about Fernando POV throughout everything (to show he was ALSO miserable), but I don't know if i have the time and energy for it. Let me know if you guys would be interested in it and I'll do it in headcanons/topics.

I'm sorry if it feels rushed, this was taking way too long and I just wanted to follow my heart. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

Find me on Twitter!

PART 1 | FERNANDO'S HEADCANONS

You were moping and crying in the living room when the phone started ringing. Looking at the little screen that showed the number that was calling, you knew it was Fernando. You had memorized his number at some point in your lifetime. Your parents weren’t home, so you hesitated. You took so long that his call went to voicemail.

“I know you’re there,” he said, voice sounding tired, low and inpatient, “please pick up the-”

You pulled the phone cable, unplugging the call and silencing him. Wiping your tears, you stared at the unplugged phone on the little side table for what felt like hours, until your parents returned from work, when you got up to plug the phone back and pretend like you didn’t spend the whole day mourning a friendship you always thought would last forever.

After two days ignoring all calls, even Flavio’s, you decided that you’d shield yourself from now on, and you wouldn’t give Fernando any more ammo to hurt you. You met with Flavio at the next race, face heavy with makeup to cover up the sleepless nights you had gone through. You put your bag down and stared at Flavio across the table.

“Good morning. Let’s go back to work,” you said, gently pulling the stack of papers from his grasp. He called your name in that tone, of someone wanting a heart to heart.

“We should talk about the f-” He started but you cut him off.

“No, I don’t want to talk about that,” you said.

“I talked to Fernando and he-”

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it. He’s dead to me.” You repeated slowly, finally looking up at him. Flavio must’ve seen something in your eyes because he let the topic go.

You didn’t see Fernando for two more days, and when the weekend officially started, you avoided him like the plague. Even when you two were in the same place with other drivers, you’d ignore his existence for the most part. Whenever you were in a little circle chatting with other drivers and he arrived, you’d leave immediately. Press conference, you convinced Jenson to switch places with you so you could be as far from Fernando as possible. Even with team debriefs, with Flavio trying to make you talk to Fernando, you refused.

The rest of the season was insane, during team meetings and debriefs you were cold and barely talked to him. He didn’t try to talk to you either, and the silent distance only grew.

You were head to head in a race, you were P2 and Fernando P3 right behind you.

“Switch with Fernando,” your engineer said on the radio.

“He won’t fucking pass me,” you said into the radio, holding your position and pace. He was less than a second behind, and you refused to let him pass.

“I repeat, let him pass,” That was Flavio.

“If he manages to overtake me, he can go.”

He didn’t. You knew you had more pace, but still he insisted, and through the mirrors, you could see him closing in behind you. He tried to overtake but you pushed the car fast, and when he couldn’t anymore, he turned into you, touching his front right tyre to your rear left tyre. You were too fast. The mere touch of his tyre bursted yours. You couldn’t even get angry as you lost control of the car in a millisecond, the speed making your car fly into the air as it hit the gravel. With your car overturning a few times in the air, you watched your sight going ground, sky, ground, sky, ground, sky.

Then you blacked out.

When you woke up, you were on a stretcher being placed carefully inside the ambulance, you tried to get up, dizzy and someone handed you a bag where you threw up inside.

You had an insane headache as they took you to the medical center. Apparently, everything else was alright as you checked your own body for any injuries or problems. The doctor checked you but still made you through a round of tests and injected saline solution diluted with pain medicine in an IV drip. They also decided you’d stay overnight to make sure nothing was wrong.

Your dad, who was watching from the garage, was the first to find you in the medical center, visibly worried and crying. He hugged you for a whole minute, before taking a step back and touching your face to make sure you were really alright.

“I’m ok, Papá. Just passed out when the car was spinning in the air,” You smiled softly, wanting to dissipate his worry.

“When you didn’t answer the radio-” He choked back tears.

“It’s ok, I’m ok now.”

“What are you feeling, darling?” He pressed, holding your hands to look for injuries in your arms.

“I’m all in one piece, Papá. Just a little sore, but that’s normal whenever a racing driver crashes,” you let him know, and he nodded.

“Let me just call your mother. She was so worried she wanted to get into the first flight here,” He told you.

“Tell her I’m alright and I love her,” you whispered and he nodded, going outside.

You sighed as you were left alone, trying to find a comfortable position where you didn’t have to move too much, since your whole body felt like it had been run over by a truck. The door opened and you thought it was Flavio, but you were faced with Fernando, still sweaty and in his overalls. He looked disheveled, but he was full of worry, even his eyes looked a little misty as he stood there a few meters from you.

But you couldn’t look past the anger when the memory of him diving into your car came back. He had gambled with your life, out of pettiness, out of envy, he couldn’t pass you, so he decided the next best thing was to take you out, not even caring about the danger he was putting you through.

“Leave.” You said, with gritted teeth.

“Please,” he begged with his voice softer than you had heard for almost a year, “let me just-”

“Leave! You could’ve gotten me killed, Fernando. Get out!” You said, louder. “Do you have any idea that you could have ruined my life in a moment of anger?! That you could have gotten me seriously injured or worse?! I would have never done that to you!” You pressed your index finger to the nurse button repeatedly, and a few seconds later, a nurse came in, “Ma’am can you escort him out please?”

You could see in his eyes that he was hurt by your words, but in that moment, all you felt was blind rage, for what he did the last time you spoke and because he crashed into you on purpose. You didn’t want to hear any excuses now that he realized he put your life in danger just because his ego couldn’t take a hit.

The next day, after you were discharged, you traveled for a meeting with Flavio at Renault’s headquarters. He met you alone in the meeting room, talking to you about the accident, and after making sure you were physically fine, he went off.

“What you did yesterday was reckless and you went against express orders from the team and from me. This is not happening again, or you will be risking your seat at Renault,” He said, his voice never leaving room for debate, you swallowed and nodded, “When the team orders you to do something, you do. No questioning, and no going against it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fernando was really worried about you yes-”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” You cut Flavio off.

“You two are best friends, it’s really sad to see you lose all that because of Formula 1” Flavio said, gently.

“He put my life at risk, Flavio. This is not something a friend would do,” you stood up, walking away but you stopped by the door, “Kinda curious how motorsports, the very thing that brought us together, is the same that tore us apart.”

Then you went to meet the engineers for the next race strategies.

That night as you laid down at home, you thought that you’d never compete with Fernando solely because he was Flavio’s favorite. If it ever came to Flavio to decide whether you would win or Fernando would win, he’d always pick Fernando. You could’ve been fighting for the championship this year, he had promised you, instead you were being used as a step in Fernando’s path of glory, when you could be fairly racing him for the championship. You’d always come second to him there. That was also the moment you stopped seeing Flavio as a friend, and confined him back to a position of Team Principal.

You reread the Sauber proposal that came to you that year to start racing for them the next season, tempted to just go and make your name somewhere else. Somewhere where you’d be put first.

But deep down, a sense of indebtedness had rooted into your heart ever since the day Fernando told you the truth. You had to pay Flavio back for his trust and for his money, and the only way you thought you could do it was by becoming world champion under his team.

There was still a little kid inside you, a little kid who aspired to prove Fernando wrong, to become a champion and prove to yourself you’re more than him. More than who he wanted you to be, more than a loser.

You turned down the offer from Sauber.

The rest of the season you went almost robotically. You still gave your all every race, but your mood would always damper when you had to follow team orders.

“Ask if me and Fernando can switch, I’m faster!” You said on the radio. You kept driving, Fernando a little less than two seconds in front of you, but you were getting closer and would catch up to him in two laps.

“Negative, protect his position.”

“There’s a McLaren right behind me! They’ll pass us both!”

“Negative, team orders.”

You swallowed and held your position, trying to maintain your P2 and Fernando P1. But when the McLaren got close to you, they managed to pass you after a brief battle, going for Fernando a couple of laps later.

Later, you stood on the podium, looking ahead knowing that P3 could’ve been a P1 if they had let you fight for it. You didn’t look at Fernando on the other side of the podium, you just stood there, eyes watery. You pretended to take part throwing champagne for a few seconds, forcing a smile knowing that it would look bad not to.

The post race interviews were torture, and you wanted to go home and vent to your parents.

“How has it been to manage your friendship with Fernando outside the track?” A reporter asked, and your smile disappeared from your face.

“We were never really friends,” you shrugged, annoyed, you added “Are there any questions about racing instead of my personal life?” The reporter was silent, visibly taken aback by your responses, you had rarely been hostile toward a journalist before, you knew he would have a field day with just those replies, especially when your PR manager gave you a hard stare, “No? Thank you, see you around.”

You finished P2 in the race Fernando became champion for the second time. When you got out of the car, you watched as Flavio and Fernando hugged, jumping from the ground and celebrating. The number one and your team principal. After the podium ceremony, you didn’t bother to stay to spray champagne, just leaving and going straight out.

You got a couple more proposals from other teams, and you were tempted, until Flavio told you Fernando was leaving for McLaren the next year and offered you an extension. You took it under the condition to become the number one driver now that Fernando was out of the picture.

A part of you mourned the death of the dream, the one you had at fourteen to become teammates with your best friend. So many things had happened in between everything, now you would miss it. Only the good, not the bad and ugly. You wish you could go back in time, redo everything, and never allow yourself to lose your best friend on the way.

The next year you ended up striking an unexpected friendship with Jenson Button, Nico Rosberg and eventually the two rookies Lewis and Sebastian, who had been very vocal about being fans of yours.

You didn’t go back to talking with Fernando. You didn’t try and he didn’t either. It felt like the bridges were too far burned to recover.

One day as you walked out of the garage, you saw Fernando with a girl on the opposite side. She was clinging to his side, whispering. You knew he had his fair share of fun with grid girls but he never invited them to watch the race from his garage. You wondered if he was dating again, after a couple of years being nothing more than a player. You also wonder why it made a pang of pain flare through your chest.

You don’t linger too much. He had no reason to tell you. You weren’t even friends anymore.

You moved on, as much as you could. And eventually, you met Kaka, or Ricardo, as you preferred calling him. He was a footballer, a big name in the sport, playing for a big team in Italy. You actually met him at a gala party, the both of you being silly introverts, bumping into each other when trying to find a way out. You two ended up talking for hours on the balcony, watching the city lights.

He reminded you of Nano before Formula 1.

And you actually wanted to smash your own head against the handrail as you thought that.

After exchanging numbers and calling a couple of times, you managed to convince Ricardo to come to a Grand Prix. His presence was calm, funny without being mean, and so gentle. It was actually the calm between the storm your life and job was.

You were pacing around outside the motorhomes to try and see if he had arrived yet, since the last you had talked to him was when he was on his way. While waiting, your eyes found Fernando’s on the opposite side in front of McLaren, he was sitting down with his girlfriend telling him something. You stared at him for a whole minute, and for a brief moment, the anger left his eyes for something softer, something like-

“Hi, minha linda!” Ricardo showed up out of nowhere, and he hugged you so tight he actually swiped you off your feet.

Once the surprise passed, you hugged him back, your fingers finding their way through his hair. And he laughed, spinning you before putting you down. You talked for a bit, your face lit up as he told you about his day.

Your eyes unconsciously turned to Fernando, because you could feel that he had been staring at you for as long as Ricardo was there. His face was back to anger.

“You want me to give you the grand tour?” You offered, just so you could escape the weight of Fernando’s glare.

You took Ricardo by the hand and showed him all around, even introducing him to part of your team. After that race when you placed third, Ricardo invited you to a date, the first official one. After a couple of months and a few kisses, he asked you to be his girlfriend. You only hesitated for a second before smiling and squealing a yes.

Being the main driver of your team allowed you to live an entirely different season as a racer. You didn’t want to be arrogant, but you had it in the bag. You had the best car, the best engines, and just the perfect amount of boldness. Add insane strategies, and you were unstoppable.

Despite Fernando being your close rival on track, he was way too busy beefing with Lewis, his surprisingly great rookie teammate.

During summer break that year, you were on a trip to Brazil with Ricardo, but still, the night of July 29th, you got up at two a.m., slowly went to the fridge, where you got an ice cream pint. With a spoon, you sat on the handrail in the balcony, and watched the waves breaking on the beach a few meters away.

It was weird keeping the ice cream tradition alone, but you supposed it was even weirder not keeping the tradition. Staring at the stars, you wondered if Fernando had any ice cream to celebrate his birthday that day.

“Hi,” you heard Ricardo behind you, his hands sneaking around your middle and he hugged you from behind, laying his head against your shoulder, “everything ok?”

“Yeah, just wanted a little treat,” you mumbled, closing the lid on the ice cream, because a selfish part of you didn’t want to share the tradition with anyone other than Fernando. It was silly and stupid, and still… you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You put the ice cream back in the freezer and smiled at Ricardo as he pulled you into his arms and carried you back to bed.

You came back from summer break with a renewed sense of focus. Deep down you knew that was your season. Your season to become world champion, and nothing was going to get in the way of that. As you won the first two races after summer, you became first in the standings, this sense of purpose being the one thing motivating you every weekend to give your best.

It was Interlagos that year when you needed only a podium to become World Champion, pretty much the same as Fernando two years before. The race was tough, and it felt like Fernando was out to get you, especially in a moment right in the middle of the race, when you were behind him in P3 and he tried to brake test you again, but this time you were quick to react, avoiding his rear and using his own dirty trick against him, turning sharply to overtake him from outer side, moving past him fast enough to gain some precious couple of seconds.

After that, you managed to smoothly overtake the P1 with a carefully planned pit stop that allowed you to come out first. Later on, you saw a crash, nothing too bad, but you found out it was Fernando and Webber.

“Are they ok?” You asked via radio to your engineer.

“Yes, they are already back on the pitlane.”

You sighed and focused back to your race, keeping your P1 safe, and going smoothly to take the checkered flag.

“Congratulations, Y/N! You’re a Formula One World Champion!”

You felt the tears coming down and dampening your balaclava, as you took one last lap to parc ferme, waving at the crowd that went insane.

It was like a huge weight was lifted from your chest. Because you were now world champion. You were there, and you deserved to be there, among the best. You didn’t need to prove yourself anymore, and you had finally paid Flavio back.

You jumped out of the car straight into your team, jumping with them, and Flavio ran up to you, pulling you into a tight hug. Jenson also found you and hugged you firmly, patting your back and Nico also hugged you, both of them were on the podium with you.

As you looked down from the podium, with a watery, emotional smile, you saw your dad crying like a baby and clapping his hands. Unconsciously, your eyes looked for Fernando, silly hoping it mattered something to him, that at least in the name of your former friendship, he would be there, but he was nowhere to be seen, and you felt like that was another nail in the coffin of your friendship.

Deciding to forget it, you drank champagne straight from the bottle, laughing as both Nico and Jenson paired up to drown you in champagne, looking happy for you.

After talking to your mom on the phone, you stood up, taking your bag and going out to look for your dad. You didn’t make it very far, as you came out in the hallway, you found Fernando, leaning against the wall. You paused, looking up to him while your heartbeat went up.

“I’m happy for you,” he whispered. And you wanted to believe it really badly, but thinking about him brake testing you during the race, trying to take you out, made you roll your eyes at him.

“Sure, you are,” you said sarcastically. He shook his head and clicked his tongue, like he was disappointed you didn’t believe him, “my debt is over now.”

“What?” He frowned, confused.

“I just paid Flavio for his investment,” you explained, “I’m not just here because you asked him to support me, I’m a damn great driver. I’m here because I deserve it, not because you took me out of pity.”

Fernando stared at you completely shocked at your words, something painful stabbing at his chest. He never thought you’d think like that over disgusting words he said in a moment of anger. Words that never meant anything to him, that he didn’t even believe in himself. The hurt in your eyes was the same from the day he said the words, when you cried looking into his eyes and telling him he was dead to you.

You walked past him and away. He wanted to shout that he never meant those words, that you were so much more, so much better. But you just left. Fernando followed you outside, trying to catch you and explain himself, maybe fix things between you, making peace.

But as he got outside, he paused, seeing you jumping in your boyfriend’s arms, laughing at something he whispered to you. Fernando swallowed, closing his fist and jealousy burned through his limbs, with such force that it felt like a fever.

Right after the Brazilian Grand Prix, Ferrari got in touch with you, offering a two year contract to become teammates with Kimi Raikkonen and drive for what was one of, if not the most classic team in Formula 1. After negotiations, it was a no brainer. You didn’t owe Renault anything any more. And that’s what propelled you to meet with Flavio that winter break in a cafeteria in Monaco. When you had called, he said he wanted to talk to you about something, which was convenient.

After pleasantries and small talk, you were ready to start, but Flavio cut you off without noticing.

“I have to tell you something,” he started, carefully, “Fernando is coming back to Renault next year.”

You froze for a second, not wanting to think too much about the implications of that. The fact that Flavio was willing to force you and Fernando to be teammates again even after the catastrophic ending you had before. Sighing, you covered your face for a second.

“I know you have reservations, but I’ve talked with Fernando and he’s willing to-”

“I’m going to Ferrari.”

And Flavio understood, after talking for a while. He knew Ferrari was most drivers' ultimate dream, and you weren’t immune to that either. Unfortunately for you, Fernando released the news he was going back to Renault a week before Ferrari announced you, and the media had a field day with that, tabloids and media outlets doing numbers of articles about you avoiding being teammates with Fernando again, since he was coming back and you were conveniently leaving almost at the same time.

Your races with Fernando kept being dangerous, one always trying to one up the other, dangerous moves and overtakes, close calls of crashing into each other, and more and more jabs publicly. The attacks at each other never stopped, and the media seemed to enjoy it, feeding into it ever so often.

One occasion, you were going for a win, and the only thing between you and that damn P1 was Fernando Alonso. So you kept your P2, biding your time as you tried to close the gap, leaving your chance at overtaking for the last few laps. When a fast turn came, you advanced, overtaking him, Fernando tried to defend his position, but you were getting the lead, and both of you were in high speed. Someone had to back out, otherwise you two would crash. But you were feeding off of anger and hurt, and you didn’t back down well into the turn, but suddenly, Fernando slowed down, giving up defending. You took the P1 and after a few laps, the checkered flag. You knew on the podium that Fernando was seething, his face didn’t hide that. Later, at an interview, someone brought up the dirty move.

“So, a very dangerous move at turn 2 during lap 47, no?” The reporter asked, trying to get a reaction out of you.

“I thought it was a pretty common battle, no?” You said, a condescending tone imitating him.

“Well, it could’ve caused you both to crash.”

“I took a risk, either I would pass and win, or we would both crash and DNF. Alonso was wise and went for the safest option.” I gave the reporter a fake smile.

You knew that answer would piss Fernando off, and a part of you knew he deserved it. Sometimes you acted on pure rage and pettiness, feral and way more aggressive against Fernando on track than you really needed to be. But he just pissed you off. Walking around with his model girlfriend, his attacks at your racing abilities, his pretty eyes that always seemed to find yours at the most inconvenient times.

Then, the race weekend would end, and everything that was left was shame. Your burning shame every time your mom’s eyes shone when she asked about Fernando, hoping you two would have made peace. You, looking away from her face every time you told her you knew nothing about Alonso because you didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes.

Later that year, after your two year anniversary with Ricardo, you accidentally found a ring box in his suitcase. A proposal ring, a beautiful big diamond ring, probably worth a small fortune. And you tried to feel happy about it, but you could only find dread in your heart. Despite loving Ricardo, you knew you didn’t love him as much as you could. And certainly not as much as she loved you. You didn’t love him as much as you loved-

Closing your eyes, you also closed your heart, and after that just like the coward you were, you broke up with Ricardo the kindest way you could. He was confused, because your relationship was tranquil, without many problems. It broke your heart to break his heart, but you couldn’t lead him on, you knew Ricardo was husband material, and the earlier you let him go, the earlier he would find his true happiness.

Ultimately, you decided to only pursue love after your Formula One career. Having a bit of fun here and there, and a couple of casual relationships even with other drivers, but nothing serious or public. When you found out Fernando was single again, a flicker of hope sparked in your chest, but when you saw him go back to his playboy ways… It died down.

Sometimes you would dream of a different life, of one you never lost your best friend… or even better, one that you never had to suppress the love you felt for him. And sometimes it felt too much, like all this love was just filling up your hollow heart, filling up until it overflowed, until you felt like you were drowning in it, because there was nowhere for this love to go. And you wondered, what do I do with this love, there's no one to give it to, there's no recipient to put it. So you would just ground your teeth and bear it, holding onto anger because that much love, that much longing did nothing but cause you pain.

Every time someone mentioned him outside race weeks, you felt ashamed.

Despite being in a top team like Ferrari, you’d only get a few wins, and some podiums here and there, so it wasn’t like you didn’t achieve anything. But you were a woman so it was obviously not enough, and the media started questioning your career and your place in Formula One.

After two years of you driving for Ferrari, Domenicalli, your team principal, sat you down to let you know Fernando Alonso would be joining the team the next year, and you bit the inside of your cheek, considering just retiring. The criticism was getting to you, and the perspective of living hell with Fernando as your teammate was a broken heart all over again.

When an opportunity arose to drive for Red Bull Racing, with a two year contract, you didn’t think twice before accepting. It would be your chance to turn the tide in your career.

It sent the motorsport world into a frenzy when your new team announced you and a week later Ferrari announced Fernando as their future driver. The same narrative of you running away from him was passed ahead. And of course, it got to the paddock. Most drivers that were close to you actually congratulated you, but of course, nothing was ever good for Fernando. And despite not fully talking to him, he was always willing to throw a mean comment at you any given day.

“And people said you’re washed” Fernando said right after the news broke, the second to last race of that season, his voice dripping with venom. You knew it was a backhanded compliment, he always did that when he wanted to get a rise out of you. He smirked, waiting for your feral clapback, as you always had one on the tip of your tongue.

But when he looked back at you, your face was stony, and you were looking ahead with your chin raised. You didn’t even look at Fernando, nor answered his taunting. You pretended he wasn’t there but he noticed your eyes were misty.

That had been a low blow, even for him. He didn’t know shit about your feelings regarding your career, but he knew exactly how the world had been treating it, and it made you burn with shame that he could add insult to injury this easily. You wondered why he would say something like that if, just like you, it had been years since the last time he was champion of the world. Two years pushing yourself to the maximum so you could achieve your second championship.

Fernando had been your best friend for so long, he knew exactly what buttons to push when he wanted to hurt you.

When someone else arrived, greeting you, you cleared your throat briefly before answering and plastering a smile that never reached your eyes.

“Are you running away from me?” Fernando cornered you later that same day.

“What?” You paused.

“I went back to Renault and you left, now I’m going to Ferrari and you’re leaving,” he shrugged. You scoffed.

“I’m not sure if you know, but my life doesn’t revolve around you, Fernando.”

“Well, that’s a weird coincidence, don’t you think?”

“What do you want? Why are you here?”

Fernando paused for a second, his eyes searching yours, he looked vulnerable, open like he hadn’t been in so long. He looked every bit your best friend from years before.

“I miss you, I-” He started, then cleared his throat.

“I miss the old you,” You swallowed a whole bunch of your pride just to be able to say those words.

“Things are different now…” Fernando started, his eyes full of hoping, of longing, “We could- maybe we could-”

“Fernando, we’re too far gone, what we said- what we did…” You muttered, feeling a lump in your throat, “how do one come back from that?”

“We could restart. Try again-”

“You lost me forever that day, Fernando.” You muttered, the tears holding on to your eyelashes. You didn’t need to specify the day, he knew, he had seen in your eyes the moment he lost you, “I spent so long hearing your voice in my head, telling me I wasn’t good enough, I shouldn’t be here, and I- I hated you that day. And I had to hold onto this hate, because the alternative was overwhelming sadness.”

There was a numbing silence for a couple of minutes, as you stared down at your own feet, trying to stop all the feelings you spent years carefully locking away from breaking free. So much had happened, you believed you and Fernando were too far to recover now.

“I’m a woman here, the first and only woman in so long, and the whole world was against me. You have no idea how it felt that my best friend, the person I trusted the most, was also against me,” You shook your head, feeling the tears drop.

“I’m sorry, Nena… I’ve never- I’ve never meant any of that.” He muttered, and you didn’t look at him to see if he was being genuine. You had formed walls around your heart to protect yourself from heartbreak, and you now had a hard time believing him.

“There are some things… that are not meant to be.” You didn’t look back at Fernando after you said that, choosing to walk away with this broken heart feeling ever present.

It was hard to keep going everyday. You had always faced backlash for being a woman in Formula 1, and you were used to it. But the media took a turn over the next few years. When you didn’t win more championships, when years passed and you were still there, along with other champions and future champions. They started to call you old, washed, telling you to retire and placing bets on when you’d lose your seat. It was baffling because it had been six years since your championship, but it had been seven years since Fernando’s, but still, you were the only one whose spot was questioned all the time. It was unfair, and whenever they came up to you talking about it, you’d ask them if they’d ask the same to older drivers or other champions. They would leave you alone for a week and then come back stronger, ready to throw your whole career under the bus.

Finally, you got another chance at the championship in 2013, after an unbelievable start of the season with five consecutive wins. That had put you first in the standings for the championship, and from there on, your team molded the season around you. Smooth sailing through the season, you became world champion in Suzuka, way too far ahead in the championship to anyone be able to catch up to you.

When you stood on the podium that night, you cried happy tears. You had once again proved wrong years of demerit from the world. As you looked down to search for your family, your eyes found Fernando right beside them, a proud, emotional look on his face as he kept a hand over his heart, listening to your national anthem.

He nodded at you with a small smile, and a part of you healed a little bit.

You enjoyed a couple of days of pure bliss after becoming world champion. Parties, celebrations and trips, they were all you did for the next few weeks.

When the FIA Prize Giving ceremony came, you had another bombshell to drop at the world. You were the most stunning you ever felt that year when you arrived at the ceremony, in a beautiful dark blue dress with little crystals all over the bodice, a beautiful hairstyle and even more beautiful makeup. Never in your entire career in Formula 1, you had felt so fulfilled, so happy.

Hearing your name being called as the winner, the number one, was different this time, and had much more weight, and it made your heart burst with happiness. As you walked up the stairs to the stage, receiving your trophy, you stopped by the mic.

“Thank you so much. I’d like to thank my family for supporting me from the beginning, my team for making the perfect season, and the perfect car for me to be able to achieve this. I’d like to thank all my teammates that, in one way or another, taught me some valuable lessons as a racer. Thanks to Flavio for taking a chance on my career when probably no one else would.” You said, with a smile. You took a good look around, all the people in this sport who made Formula 1 the most important category of motorsport, all your peers, all the teams. “I’m announcing my retirement from Formula 1, as of right now.”

There was a wave of shock and loud gasps in the whole room, flashes and flashes bulbing harder than before, journalists scrambling to take notes… But you kept smiling, hand firm around your trophy as you let the news settle down before speaking again.

“In 2007 I wanted to pay Flavio back for giving me the opportunity to be here today. That debt was paid that same year. After that year I wanted to win for myself, to write my name in the history books, and my dream is now realized. I feel like I should move on and make space for new upcoming talents.” Your eyes were wet with unshed tears, but you smiled, the first genuine smile in a few years.

Fernando felt his heart drop at your words. Things weren’t supposed to go like this, you two should be best friends, drive together, retire together. Go down in history together.

“I’m grateful for everything this sport provided me, the adventures, traveling around the world, the people I met and the people I lost,” there was a calm pause, and Fernando wondered if you were talking about him too, “Now it’s time to go and achieve new dreams. Thank you very much.”

You turned around and walked away under the applause.

Later, after the ceremony was done, you were getting ready to leave when Fernando came to find you. He was dressed in a beautiful suit, looking like a million dollar man.

“Nena…”

It made you pause. It had been a while since he called you like that with that specific tone.

“What? Came here to gloat?” You couldn’t help but be defensive, worried.

“What?”

“I knew you’d be one of the happiest when I retired.”

“No, I would not-”

“You would, Fernando. You did. Many times you said I was done, that my prime was over, that I should retire…”

“I never thought you’d easily give up!” He shouted at you, “Like you did in 2006, not competing against me.”

“That’s because they didn’t let me compete! Do you think I couldn’t have competed with you back in ‘06? I could, but every time, they would tell me to back off, to let you pass, to not fight you, to not overtake you-” You threw at his face, because you wouldn’t stand there and let him look down on you like that. You refused to back down now that you were finally free. “Pat threatened my seat if disobeyed team orders.”

“What?! Why did you never tell me that?” Fernando looked shocked. His fighting stance was completely gone now.

“You were going to be World Champion again. I would never take that from you,” You whispered, voice failing.

“Nena…” He said, like he wanted to drop everything. “Please, don’t leave. If Red Bull don’t want you, you can find another spot with another team, we can think of something.”

“Fernando, I’m not leaving because the team doesn't want me. In fact, they offered me a 3 year extension.”

“That’s not how it was supposed to go, remember? We planned that-” His voice was kinder than it had been to you in many years, “We would go down in history together. Win together, retire together.”

“When push comes to shove, only one wins… We learned that the hard way.” I say, with a sad smile, “Life doesn’t always go as planned. And I got everything I could ever want from Formula 1. Now it’s time for new stuff.”

“What new stuff?”

“I want to have a family, Fernando. People don’t stick around long for this lifestyle, you know that-” You shook your head.

With one last look at Fernando, your eyes watered, and you walked away.

Sitting on the porch, you looked up at the sky, thinking of what’s next for you. It had been months since you announced your retirement from Formula 1. The new season had already begun. It was your birthday, a refreshing new one.

You heard steps coming closer and your heartbeat sped up as you saw Fernando walking up to you. He sat down by your side, holding a pint of ice cream and two spoons. He handed one to you and in silence, you started eating ice cream.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said after a few minutes of silence.

“Was it hard to find me?” You asked, with a tentative smile.

“It only took me my whole life to find you again…” He said, wistfully, his eyes shining under moonlight and you didn’t know if those were unshed tears or not, “my best friend, my nena, my girl…”

“I’ve always been here. Right here.” You said, eyes watering. You weren’t sure you could explain what that here meant, but somehow you knew he would understand.

Fernando took your hand, gently placing it on his chest, right above his heart.

“Right here,” he whispered, pressing his hand above yours, over his beating heart, “you were always here.”

Then, he kissed you. For the first time in more than a decade, for what felt like the first time for both of you. As his other hand pulled you closer, the kiss deepened, like a prayer and a promise. Both of you knew there was a lot of resentment to navigate through, and a lot of feelings you’d both have to unravel and understand. But there was one thing that was always there, through hate, anger and hurt… And it was love, unshaken, steadfast love.

As you broke apart, Fernando pulled you into him, hugging you tight for a few minutes, before pulling away to hold your face with both hands, his eyes looking into yours with so much devotion it melted everything away.

“We will be alright.”

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#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 #f1 #fernando alonso #formula one #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader #brocedes #formula 1 fic #formula one fanfiction

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primofate · 2 years

Text

Hot/Cute things they do [Genshin Impact Male Characters] Headcanons

Characters: Aether, Albedo, Alahaitham, Ayato, Bennett, Chongyun, Dainsleif, Diluc, Gorou, Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Kazuha, Razor, Scaramouche, Tartaglia, Thoma, Tighnari, Venti, Xiao, Xingqiu, Zhongli, gn!reader

Note: Long time no post!! I got some of my energy back but phew it’s such a struggle with all the hormones haha. I get energy on and off, it’s literally like a switch sometimes. One second I feel like doing something and the next it’s like all I wanna do is stay in bed.

Warnings: a bit of crack elements in some, Not proofread, if there’s any pronoun slips please tell me :) suggestive elements in some, added our new Sumeru friends that I’m comfortable writing for into the long list of lovable male characters. I’m loving Sumeru so far, specially the music.

Personal Favourites: Diluc, Alhaitham, Tighnari

Aether

Putting his hand out for you to hold. All the time.

His hand is always there for you no matter where you go.

Just a stroll? He offers it to you with a pleasant smile. “Let’s go,”

When there’s a big step or just a big gap between stones or steps while the two of you are out adventuring, he’ll have it stretched out towards you.

“Hold my hand, I don’t want you to fall,”

Sometimes will subconsciously and automatically grab your hand when he thinks you need it.

“Watch out for that puddle,”

Even in quiet moments when the two of you are sat around the campfire, he loves to have his hand atop yours, swirling patterns atop it, making circles, tracing your knuckles.

It’s a kind of reassurance for him, and you always feel like you can rely on him and have him to hold on to.

When he’s talking to someone in town, or wherever the two of you may be and he realizes that he doesn’t have your hand in his, his hand will linger, stretching out even while he’s talking, hovering towards your general direction until you notice and take hold of it.

It might seem clingy, but really he just likes feeling how perfectly the two of you fit together.

Albedo

Being a good brother

Despite his job, he’s actually good with kids. We all know it’s because he’s had experience with taking care of Klee from time to time.

It hits you harder when you watch from afar, how he kneels down to get to Klee’s eye level, takes out a hanky and wipes off some soot from the little girl’s cheek. “If you’re not careful you’ll get your whole dress and Dodoco dirty, Klee. Would you want that?”

He has a way to convince the little girl without being harsh nor threatening, just stating facts as he always does and looks out for her diligently.

When the little girl is tired and all rubby-eyes after a long day of running around Albedo picks her up easily in his arms and walks back to Mondstadt with the little bundle of red comfortably resting on his shoulder. “Did you have fun today, Klee?” he would whisper.

When Klee is upset, he knows just what to say to her. “I understand you’re upset, Klee. That’s alright. Would you like to visit your favourite store later, after you’ve calmed down?”

And finally when little Klee wonders out loud where you are, Albedo flashes the small girl a small secret smile. “Y/N? They’ll be here soon. They might even have a treat for you,”

It occurs to you that the scene is very domestic. Like having your own child with Albedo.

Alhaitham

Wiping his sweat off with his shirt after a workout/training

Alhaitham is an excellent fighter, it’s the result of regular training, sparring and workouts.

Where he spars is up to his mood. The adventurer’s guild training grounds or out in the forest, either way he gives it his 100% as if he’s really face to face with an enemy.

By the end of it he’s sweaty and slightly panting, his sword stuck on the ground and his hand balancing on the hilt.

You sometimes walk in when he’s in the middle of it and his fluid movements are quite mesmerizing, not to mention his tight fit outfit gives you a clear view of how his arms flex.

Sometimes you walk in when he’s just done, when he pulls his shirt up, giving you a view of his chiseled muscles as he wipes the sweat on his forehead and face.

You’re there to hand him some water and he has no idea at all of the show he’s giving. He smiles the slightest bit, hand grabbing the bottle of water “Thank you, love,”

He refrains from kissing you because he knows he’s sweaty, but would you mind at all really?

Even the way he opens the bottle of water, tips his head back, droplets of sweat beading his forehead glistening, and downs it in one go is something to marvel at.

Ayato

Taking his coat off to give it to you

Under the white elegant coat he wears is a pale blue yukata that matches the colour of his hair.

It first happened while the two of you were enjoying the porch of the Kamisato Estate. There’s an elegant tea set between the two of you, when a strong breeze brushes past.

It’s nothing to him, he’s used to the elements, but at the corner of his eye he sees you bristle a little. He moves the tea set over and sits next to you, sliding his coat off and placing it around your shoulders instead.

You were a little startled, but when you look up at him he doesn’t say anything but wears a handsome smile on his face.

He sits next to you from then on and its become a habit of his.

It’s almost automatic now. There was once where he was out on business in winter and a strong wind grazes by, he’s talking to one of the commissioners and he takes his coat off, turning towards you to warm you up, only to realize that you weren’t with him today.

He recovers quite quickly, a split second of surprise and he manages to chuckle at himself at the silly gesture, plays it off by draping his coat on his arm and continuing with his business.

He comes home that night with his coat still off, and knows that when he comes back you’ll probably only be in a yukata (He’s figured out that you sometimes dress less in winter, just to get his coat, but he doesn’t say anything about it)

“There you are, dove. It’s cold today, you should consider wearing more on nights like these,” while wrapping his coat around your shoulders.

but you never do and he doesn’t really complain. His coat smells just like him. In truth he likes seeing you in it too.

Bennett

When he shows his reliable side + his signature thumbs up with bright smile

Despite his bad luck following him around he has his victorious moments.

It’s those rare moments of his confidence boosting that makes you look at him all starry eyed and in awe.

“I got your back Y/N!” The first time he says it is when you fail to dodge an incoming attack from a mitachurl, but Bennett slides in just in time with his pyro flamed sword, burst of flames causing the mitachurl to recoil.

You could only see his back at that moment, and you don’t ever remember seeing him as so strong and reliable.

He turns back to you with a flash of bright smile and a thumbs up, as if he hadn’t done anything special at all and urges the two of you to keep adventuring. “That’s taken care of, let’s keep going!”

Chongyun

kicks ass with his claymore but is still shy about it

Is actually a good fighter, but always downplays himself saying that there’s much he needs to learn and train for before becoming good enough.

But the way he carries his claymore and slays with it, you know that he already packs a punch and is just too modest.

He’s also very unassuming, he looks like he’s harmless but the first time you see him handle his weapon, burst of cryo claymores impaled into the ground and leaving the ground frozen...and he does it so effortlessly too, you were a little surprised.

He brushes it off too easily, doesn’t think he did anything noteworthy so when you compliment him on his fighting skills there’s a tint of red on his cheeks. “Huh? Oh, that? I-It’s nothing... I’ve been practicing it for a long time...”

but he fights off monsters effortlessly, sometimes you don’t even need to lift a finger, or maybe that’s just his way of protecting you and keeping you safe?

Dainsleif

Picks your hand up and places it on his cheek + kissing your hand with intense eye contact

When he meets up with you his standard greeting is to place a kiss at the back of your hand, all the while keeping eye contact with you. His gaze is almost stern, but it’s also melting and delves deep into your soul. He doesn’t say anything to greet you, aside from kissing your hand, but he stays close to your side throughout the day you spend together.

By the end of it, when the moon is high up in the sky and the two of you have to part ways, it always happens that you’re in a rather secluded and more private part of the forest or atop a hill where no one can see the two of you.

Perhaps he makes it like that so he can be a little selfish and have a bit more of you, though he only wishes for a quick kiss and then, as always, he takes your hand, lays it on his cheek, sighs and closes his eyes. As if he doesn’t want to be apart and it breaks him to see you go.

“...Your warmth...brings me a different kind of peace. One that I cannot find elsewhere...”

and then, just like his hello, he kisses the back of your hand goodbye, leveling his gaze on you, capturing your eyes while you get lost in his “Until next time, Y/N,”

Diluc

Rolling his sleeves up and tying his hair

It’s not like you’ve never seen his arms before, he goes to sleep in a shirt, so his arms are exposed to you all night long.

But there’s something different about it as he gets ready early in the morning. Dressed in his usual attire but with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows because it’s easier to lift his arms up to tie his hair that way.

Because both his hands are occupied trying to gather up his long red hair he keeps the hair band in his mouth. The subtle movements of his arm and muscles as he smooths out, gathers his hair, bunches it up doesn’t escape your eyes.

Finally he takes the hair band from his mouth and wounds it around his hair. Most days he wears it in its usual state, but its a treat for your eyes when he decides to put it up into a ponytail, there’s something just extra handsome about it.

Then, he pulls his sleeve down and is ready to go but not before giving you a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll be back soon, Y/N.”

You’d never get tired of his morning routine, and he doesn’t even realize that you watch him do his before starting yours.

Gorou

Carrying/Lifting heavy things

He’s smaller in stature but you’re always reminded that he’s a capable general when he carries boxes and crates without any trouble.

But it’s a lot nicer when he carries seemingly heavy things for you, or at least something that he sees as “too heavy” he knows you can handle it but for some reason he always insists to carry “heavy” things for you.

“Do you need help with that? I’ll take it off your hands,” when you’ve just gotten done shopping for vegetables and fruits or any type of grocery.

When heavy lifting is involved he doesn’t let you do it, or at least gives you the easy things to do. “I can get this, you can have that one over there,” points at a small box while he swiftly takes care of the bulkier heavier ones.

When you tell him you’re really thankful for his help and when you compliment him on being strong he gets a little flustered. “Oh, ahaha, you think so? It’s no big deal, we do this all the time in camp,”

Heizou

The little smirk he does

The cunning detective is sharp, witty and has a way with words. He knows how to wind people up, including you. He’s a bit of a flirt but sometimes he doesn’t even do it on purpose and it still riles you up.

One of the ways he does this is when he assertively turns your head towards him with his hand. He brushes the side of your mouth with his thumb and gives you that playful smirk. “Bit of a messy eater, aren’t we?”

Or when he confidently states that he can take care of any mystery, crossing his arms and shooting a smug-ish smirk “There’s no such thing as a mystery to me,”

But mostly when he snakes an arm around your waist while walking through town with you. This one, he does on purpose. The first time he did it, he says “Just don’t want you getting lost lovely,” until it became a habit and he doesn’t need an excuse anymore, just a grin and a quick squeeze to your waist.

Itto

Flexing his muscles

Itto never does this on purpose. He dubs himself as a great fighter but never really takes into account the fact that he’s bulky and is openly showing his toned midriff.

It was hard to take your eyes off his “outfit” the first time you started hanging out with him.

He’s rather silly, and so whenever he’s hyped up he gets into victory poses that twists his pecs just the right ways. Example, when he wins any onikabuto fight, he pumps his hand up a certain way and it draws your eyes towards him.

Another thing he subconsciously does is to puff his chest out. He’s constantly boasting about something, maybe winning a ramen contest, or winning snacks from kids. “Pfft yeah! They were no match for me!” He tells the story proudly, but so does his chest and muscles.

When he shows of his strength, he’s really only showing off his strength, not his muscles. So whenever he offers you a piggy back ride--basically a free pass for you to wrap your arms around his strong shoulders and to feel his chiseled back--he does it enthusiastically. “Hey Y/N! Betcha I can get you to Chinjuu Forest in less than a minute! Come on, hop on!”

It’s just fun for him, but he’s also happy he can basically lug you around anywhere.

Kaeya

Whispering in your ear

Does it matter what he’s saying? Sometimes yes, sometimes no.

But his husky greeting of “Hello there snowflake,” versus his tempting and commanding whisper of “Give me a kiss,” both send shivers down your spine.

He does it quite often, he knows what effect it has on you and probably does it to tease you.

From the random strolls around Mondstadt, his hand around you and resting on your hip, him dipping in a little closer to say “You look wonderful today,” breath hot at the shell of your ear.

All the way to the tavern nights where he sits next to you and he’s nearly glued to your side, tempting you with a tickle of his voice in your ear, hand on one of your knees “Spend the night with me?”

And finally even as you cuddle in bed into the night, his arms around your back and you tethered in his arms, buried in his chest. He brushes strands of hair away from your ear to lean in and whisper “Stay with me forever Y/N,”

Kazuha

“Secretly” looking at you with a gentle gaze

He likes to think he’s discreet about it but every one of Beidou’s crew has caught him looking at you all dreamy eyed.

You’ve caught him a few times too, and at first you thought he was just spacing out, but then you figured out--and you were somewhat embarrassed as well--that he was just looking at you in awe.

It somewhat hits differently when you realize that someone is looking at you that way. Like you can’t believe the adoration in his eyes is for you, as if a treasure that was hidden away for centuries.

“Hm?” he said when you first caught him spacing out on you. “Oh, just...admiring the delightful view,” You thought he really was talking about the view at first.

But then he started to do it more often, and you would catch him not hiding it at all. You’d turn to him to ask him something, and he would have his eyes relaxed, glazed over with love. His fingers would graze your cheek gently and he would sigh softly with a smile.

You’d ask him what’s wrong and he would say “Nothing’s wrong at all. Everything’s absolutely perfect, my love,”

He’d end up kissing you softly on the lips, before snapping out of it and letting you ask him about your original query.

Razor

Wraps your arms around him

Because he communicates more with his actions than words, if he wants something but doesn’t quite know how to say it he usually just acts on it.

Tugging your sleeve when he wants something, walking in front of you when he senses danger, wraps himself around you when he’s protective...Those are some of the things he does but doesn’t say much about. You had just picked up on those habits of his over the years.

Recently he had become more assertive, and he now stands face to face with you and takes both of your arms just to wrap it around himself. He used to blush over it, now it’s just a signal that he wants to be hugged.

A similar thing would be him resting his head on your shoulder and grabbing your hand to lay it atop his head. He loves it when you pat his head or comb your hands through his hair.

Scaramouche

Running his fingers through his hair when annoyed

The signature scowl and snarl is something that usually scares off people but to you who knows him more than just surface level, you strangely have grown accustomed to it.

His anger is rarely directed at you anyway. Most times it’s directed at something that’s happened to you.

“What happened to your knee? What do you mean you tripped and fell? Who was escorting you?!” and you being the neutral person you are, don’t really want anyone to get in trouble so you refuse to answer, just telling him it was an accident.

And it’s times like these where he does that thing where he cards through his hair with his hand in frustration, tsking and glaring at you while he does it. “I swear if it happens again...”

Sometimes he does it REALLY out of anger, but not towards you. Rather his subordinates get the brunt of it.

“Some of you are beyond stupid,” In extreme exasperation, you watch as he tips his head back a little and presses his fingers on his head, slowly pushing his fingers through his hair as if giving himself a head massage, all the while with an annoyed expression on his face.

Then he explodes with fury on his subordinate. After he’s calmed down, he’ll turn to you and notice the faintest of smiles on your face. “...What’s so funny?” he’d think that his outburst would have scared you instead.

Tartaglia

Pulling his gloves on/off with his teeth

You have no idea why he does it. Probably something that he got used to, but sometimes he does it cause he says it’s just easier that way, like when his hands are wet, apparently.

You’ve seen him do it a couple of times, the first time was when he got drenched in the rain and he was taking his gloves off. He comes strolling into the house still dripping wet and so he stayed by the front door and starts discarding his wet clothes, starting from his gloves.

He lifts his hand up to his mouth, his teeth hook onto the tip of his finger, dragging the black leather off as his hand pull away.

Sometimes when he’s busy putting ON his gloves with both hands he keeps the other glove in between his teeth. You warn him it’s unhygienic but you still like watching him do that though.

Something about the way he does it draws your attention to his long fingers and the fact that he can even utilize his mouth.

It makes the feel of his bare hands on your cheeks all the more special and warm. “I’m home Y/N,” It’s a totally different feeling from his gloved hands.

Thoma

Leans in towards you when you speak

Because he wants to catch every single word that you say, because your words are important to him.

He innocently leans forward, even bending a little if he needs to, catching your back with his hand, specially if its crowded and the environment is too loud.

“Sure, we can do that,” he’ll say when he hears your suggestion.

He keeps close to you through the crowd, all the while almost wrapping an arm around your shoulder just to keep the conversation the two of you have going.

You can practically smell his scent from how close he is.

Sometimes even when it’s quiet, he doesn’t catch what you say because you’ve said it too softly, or he’s just preoccupied in his own mind. “Sorry love, say that again?”

He’ll turn towards you and his entire body is listening to you, head tilted towards your direction the slightest bit. Then he chuckles when he hears your message, but only moves forward the tiniest bit more to press his lips on your forehead. “I love you too, Y/N,”

Tighnari

Beckoning and calling you over

Exploring the forest is his calling, and documenting every little things takes time. Perhaps that’s why he loves having you around, because you’re a great help to his research, but in general, he finds that he just likes your presence, research or not.

“Y/N, over here,” Tighnari has always had a leader streak in him. He knows what he wants, what he needs to do and knows what to say. He commands others without hesitation and though he sometimes takes that tone towards you, he also respects your opinions.

He calls you over with an upward wave of his hand, sometimes only with a flick of his fingers. He’ll point something out to you and discuss with you about it.

“Y/N, look at this,” your name on his lips is like a constant. A fixed thing that’ll never disappear. It’s the first thing he says when he finds something interesting. He tilts his head over to the “thing” while looking at you, another way that he calls you over.

In the privacy of his and your quarters, as he finishes studying and turns off his desk light, he opens his arms and merely says your name, “Y/N,” he doesn’t have to ask you to come, your name is enough for you to move towards him and he gathers you into a hug. “Let’s go to sleep,” he’ll suggest, and you’ll agree.

Sometimes, even in his sleep, and you happen to wake up. You’ll see his ear twitch at your slight movement, and he’ll mumble your name, his arm subconsciously tightening around your waist. “Don’t go anywhere without me, Y/N,”

Venti

Playing with your hair

He likes it when you play with his hair, so he got the idea from you and started doing it to yours as well.

If you have long hair, he has the habit of curling a strand of it around his finger and watching it furl and unfurl. It looks boring, but he can do that for hours.

He also likes to take strands of it and kisses it while looking at you, he’s trying to get a reaction from you.

If you have short hair he merely likes to run his hand through it, specially when you’re in a hug, his hand crawls up and presses into your scalp oh so comfortingly. “Like that, my dandelion?”

He gets very pleased with himself when he feels you melt into his arms when he gives you that semi-scalp massage.

When he’s feeling mischievous he likes to give your hair a slight tug, just to get your attention, specially if you’re busy with something else or someone else.

It’s his ‘pay attention to me’ sign.

Xiao

Alertness - Always has an arm ready to shoot out in front of you

Rather than alert you always thought that he was just too nervous and jittery for his own good. He’s always ready to jump at anyone who looks like a threat to him and you.

It has, of course, saved you a couple of times but more often than not he’s actually just being overprotective. You let him do it if he’s comfortable with it but you remind him to ease up from time to time, specially if you’re just strolling along Liyue Harbor.

There are countless of times where he’s wedged himself in between you and someone he deemed as a threat, more often than not the “threat” was not really a threat at all, but during the times when they were he gets extremely irked. “Don’t come any closer,” and he’ll put a hand up to block you away from them.

One time there was also an incident wherein the two of you were walking back to Wangshu Inn and he sensed something in the air. He stops you, stands in front of you while keeping you as close as possible just as an arrow flies past the two of you. He was livid.

The other times were instances wherein you nearly trip, but since he’s always paying attention you never really fall. He catches you just in time, but never tells you off for being clumsy. It’s like he’s accepted it as his job already.

“...I suppose keeping you out of harm’s way isn’t a task...It’s merely something I’d like to do,”

Xingqiu

Easily laying on your lap and being comfortable

Once upon a time the two of you would read books an arm’s length away from each other. It’s one of those moments where the two of you hang out yet do different things. It’s the presence of the other that matters.

When the two of you became closer you would notice that you’re now shoulder to shoulder and you don’t know when exactly it started but he had moved on to settling his head on your lap while reading.

He reads while resting on your lap and thinks nothing of it, but he does consider it an extreme privilege and considers it very comfortable, more comfortable than any pillow, he said.

Then he started to doze off on your lap. You caught signs of it when his book started to droop and as the minutes passed he had somehow placed the book on his stomach and was now sleeping on your lap instead.

Now he just uses you as a pillow when he wants a nap, and doesn’t even ask.

Zhongli

Placing his hand on your lower back (I’ve definitely written about this before)

Not one to really show off public affection, but he still likes the occasional touch here and there.

He’s the type to lead you away or lead you to something by placing his hand on the small of your back. It’s not hesitant nor uncertain, his hand is firmly placed there and he knows exactly where he’s guiding or taking you.

It’s how people in Liyue know that the two of you have a close relationship. At first they weren’t sure, because the two of you don’t really talk about it, but the moment he places his hand on your lower back, it lights a bulb in the townspeople’s minds.

Sometimes they’ll catch him doing that, and also looking down at you as the two of you converse, there’s a different light in his eyes as he talks to you while leading you away. Like he really enjoys your company and your thoughts.

Without words his hand says a lot of different things. “Let’s head home then, darling,” “I’m right here with you, dear,” “Come with me, love,”

The subtlety of it is sweet, but it’s also protective in certain situations, such as when a merchant is overexcited in selling you something and borderline pushy. Zhongli will be next to you, hand on your back and smiling pleasantly at the merchant.

“They’re not quite interested in your wares, xiansheng (mister). We’ll take our leave now,”

And you’ll silently thank him for helping you out.

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yawnderu · 3 months

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Simon's eyes crinkle the moment he sees your sleeping figure, curled up on the foot of his bed with your tail protectively tucked into your body, tiny snores leaving your body as you snooze away, likely on your nth nap of the day.

With the same stealth Ghost uses in the enemy backlines, Simon moves closer to you, letting the anticipation build up inside him as he watches your soft features, a calm expression finally on your pretty face— yet the mischievous urge to ruin it took over.

His rough, calloused hand goes down to your tummy, instantly startling you awake, your eyes narrowing the moment they meet his. What used to be a calm expression is now a sour one, nose and brow scrunched up in pure annoyance at being woken up.

Your expression doesn't stop Simon's hand from trying to play with your tummy, trying to rile you up— and it instantly works, your murder mittens grasping his hand tightly as you give his hand warning love bites, switching positions only to be able to bunny kick his arm and toned stomach with your back paws.

“Ow, fuck—” Simon is quick to play along, trying to move his hand away only for your paws to hold it tighter, the playful jabs to his stomach feeling like nothing other than a massage for a man his size. He can't help the amused smirk pulling at his lips, letting you do your thing and knowing that you'll soon stop and calm down, but enjoying the moment while it lasted.

“I was napping.” You complain, scrunching your nose at him the moment you decide to finally let go of his hand, though your fluffy footpaws are resting on his chest, pushing him away whenever he tries to walk closer to you.

“'N you're awake now. You'll live.” He teases, unable to hide the mirth in his voice at the little yawns escaping your lips. His large hands grip your ankles, pulling your legs apart before he folds your body, holding your knees close to your chest while looking down at you with a small smirk.

“Who's in charge here, love?” His expression turns cockier by the second when you try to squirm away only to be pinned down by his body weight, your calves resting on his strong shoulders.

“I am.” Your confident reply only eggs him on, wanting to push your buttons just to see that bratty face some more. You're always so assertive, only making him want to get more reactions out of you.

“That right?” Your tail is flicking in annoyance, cat ears flattened against your head as you nod, poking your tongue out at him, yet not trying to get out of his hold. Simon is too heavy.

“Kiss me or I'll tickle you.” He threatens playfully, his brown eyes crinkling when he sees you try to suppress a smirk, masking it with a loud meow of protest despite obeying seconds later. You steal a peck from him— too rough and fast, yet the small kiss is a victory in Simon's book nonetheless.

“That's a good girl.” Simon's lips crashed against yours before you could quip. He broke away from the kiss only to allow you to get into a more comfortable position, your legs wrapped around his waist as your paw rests on the back of his head, pulling him in for another steamy kiss.

“You sure you wanna do that?” He asks with a raised eyebrow, not even bothering to hide the smirk pulling at the corners of his lips as he sees you fully focused on kneading the only soft part of his body— his balls. Your nails aren't digging deep at all, barely even passing the thick fabric of his jeans as you nibble on his shirt, nodding your head.

He leans back on the pillow, relaxing and taking in the pleasant sensation of your kneading— only to be smacked in the head with your paw multiple times not even seconds later once you realize he's getting hard from it.

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nsharks · 5 months

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part fourteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Blue holds her arm out, stopping you from taking another step.

"Sh. I see one."

Up ahead, a squirrel stills on a tree, beady eyes unblinking. In a matter of seconds, Blue throws her knife and pins it to the bark through the stomach.

"Nice," you comment. "You got it on the first try this time."

In your hand is the other squirrel she killed for you. Ghost started working on your bow yesterday. He didn't say anything to you about it, but you spotted him sitting on the porch chiseling away at a hunk of oak. Until he's finished, you've struck another deal: helping Blue skin the rabbits in exchange for her killing squirrels with you. She's better at killing them with a knife than you are.

"This is good practice for me." She wriggles the knife out and hands you the kill. "Poor guy didn't see it coming."

"Probably better that way."

She slips the knife back to her ankle. "Do you need more? Or is two enough."

"Two is enough. I saw these flowers by the trench that I think are edible."

"You can eat flowers?" She makes a face. The two of you begin heading back toward the camp. You didn't go off too far with her. Ghost said she wasn't allowed to go past the pond without him. Truthfully, you were surprised he let her go with you at all.

"Yeah. Pink Sorrel. They taste lemony, and I'll add the leaves, too. Like a salad."

"Yum," she says sarcastically. "Did Paul teach you that?"

You nod. "He knew a lot about plants."

"Are you sure he didn't like you?"

"Blue," you almost groan. "You've asked me this twice now."

"Well, you seemed to have spent a lot of time with him, and he taught you a lot of things."

"You can spend time with someone and learn things from them without... liking them."

"I wouldn't know," she shrugs, waving her hand around. "There are no boys here for me to spend time with besides Ghost."

"Paul didn't like me in that way," you reaffirm. "Besides, he's dead."

There is a lingering pause as a cloud rolls over the sun, turning everything dim before it passes. The weather these past few days has been fluctuating like true spring. Cold showers in the morning, intense sunlight by noon, and clouds that come and go. The cabbages Blue planted have sprouted fat, juicy leaves. You've mentally scolded yourself for not including seeds in your deal with Ghost.

"So when are you and Ghost going to start training or whatever?" Blue speaks up, switching subjects.

"Training?" you repeat.

"He told me you wanted to learn some things." She glances at you. "Look, let me just warn you, he can be a real hard ass. One time, he made me climb up and down a tree twenty times without stopping. And another time, he made me throw knives over and over until I hit the exact same spot on the tree again."

Right. Somehow, that last request you made of him has slipped your mind. You did ask him to teach you how to better defend yourself against other people.

It's been over a week now, and the two of you still haven't talked much except for the necessities. Honestly, it's probably best that way. Maintaining a clinical relationship with him should keep the peace and maybe even earn more of his trust. You're growing confident that he doesn't see you as much of a threat anymore. Last night, you ran into him again after waking up from another dream, and all he did was walk past you, step outside for a cigarette, and then go back to his room. He didn't seem suspicious of you being up at all.

That said, the reminder of the 'training' he's supposed to give you makes your teeth snag onto your lip.

When you don't respond, Blue adds, "What exactly do you want him to show you? I hate to say it, but I don't think he'll give you one of his guns."

"No," you shake your head. "I don't want that. It's not Greys that I'm as worried about. As long I've got distance, I can use my bow for them. It's more about... other people. They get close. Too close."

"Well, you can always bite their nose off," she gives a bump to your shoulder.

You cringe. "I'd rather not have to do that again."

She pauses, looking at her boots. "What did it taste like?"

"Fucking awful. Probably the grossest thing I've ever experienced."

She looks up. "If you were a Grey, you would've loved it."

"Well, I'm human still, and I much prefer these guys." You wag the dead squirrels in front of her face and she laughs. If you could replace all her tears with that sound, you would.

"You still haven't answered my question," Blue tilts her head. "When are you getting started? Because I have some training in mind for you, too."

You arch a brow but don't question it. "Um. I don't know. Ghost hasn't said anything to me about it, and he's busy working on my bow right now."

"Why don't you ask him, then?" She shoots you a knowing smirk. "Are you scared of him, Twix?"

"No," you say all too quickly. "No... I'm not. I just don't know how to talk to him. He's not exactly approachable."

"Just do what I do. I say whatever I want to him. Except when he's pissed, then—" she freezes for a moment and lays a hand on your shoulder. "—it's better to shut up and listen. Believe me."

You speak under your breath. "Noted."

It's another dream that night which pushes you to actually confront him. The loud voices sharpen into images— a bloodied knife at your throat, a toothy smile, carved body parts. You wake up and grab your neck, expecting to feel severed tissue. Instead, you feel damp skin. Something bubbles up your throat and fills your mouth. Squirrel and Pink Sorrel. The taste makes you shudder, but you swallow your dinner back down. The dark, quiet living room mocks you.

The morning after that, you find him on the porch. It's not raining, but the air pricks the back of your neck with dew. You've already bathed and woven your hair into braids, which is growing longer by the day and bordering on an inconvenience.

Ghost tilts his head the second a wood plank creaks beneath your footsteps, tearing his gaze away from the assortment of carving knives in his lap. You've caught him in the moment before he's started to work on your bow again.

He is wearing that balaclava that makes him look more man than ghost, along with a black hoodie and faded, brown jacket. The whites of his eyes are visible, slowly sliding up to yours. You fully realize he isn't going to greet you with a hello, and standing there in an uncomfortable silence doesn't interest you, so you bite the bullet.

"I want to start that other thing I asked you for."

He seems to know what you're referring to. "Right now?"

Your nails dig into your palms, realizing that you should've waited for a time when he wasn't preoccupied. Though, he's hardly ever not doing something.

Blue was right. Something about him has you subconciously on the defensive; it's something you want to get over if this living arrangement is going to be long-term, which you'd prefer it to be. It was about two months ago now that he nearly killed you, and since then, he has kept you alive ten times over. Maybe you should focus on that: on the hand that pulled you up, on the warm jacket over your shoulders, on the bow he is making.

"Whenever you have the chance. But— now, if we could."

Ghost lowers his eyebrows and seems to think it over. "Now is fine. Your bow will have to wait a bit, then."

"That's okay," you speak as you exhale. "I don't mind."

It's at that moment Blue pushes through the front door and you almost startle. "Can I come with you guys?"

Ghost folds his knives up and responds in a firm tone. "No. You have work to finish up."

"But my leg is hurting," she retorts lightly. "I'd rather sit and watch you guys."

"Your leg was just fine yesterday when you were hunting and climbing trees."

"That was yesterday. Today, it hurts." She bites her lip and shrugs.

"How convinient." He gives her a dry look.

"So is that a yes?"

"It's a no."

With a groan, she goes back inside.

Ghost escorts you out of the gate and towards a small clearing nestled within a circle of trees. As you follow behind him, you find your eyes straying to his broad back and for a moment, you wonder if maybe you've changed your mind— or maybe you want to tell him to wait until Blue can come join.

But you remind yourself that survival is a proactive game; you can't laze around and keep getting sick from the memories. You need to shut them away into that box you've made, and in the meantime, get stronger.

"Here is good," he says, stopping.

It's been awhile since you've done anything like this. There were plenty of times Paul 'trained' you. He used to make you shoot at the trees until your back muscles were practically immobile. As an ex forest ranger, he wasn't much of a fighter. His advice was always this: "Don't let anyone or anything get close enough to where you have to fight them."

Clearly, his advice can only go so far.

In the five years you were at your old camp, you managed to keeps things at a distance for the most part. A few Greys had snuck up on you, resulting in thrashing and wrestling around to avoid bites. But there were only one or two times that you had to engage in close combat with a human. The few other survivors you encountered were usually punished by Paul's rifle or your arrows.

You shed your jacket and hang it on a branch, left in just Ghost's shirt and your jeans. "So, um, what should I start with? Running laps?"

"You want to learn how to defend yourself, not run a marathon."

"Right." You nod and rub at the gooseflesh that sprouts on your arm. You turn to face him. "I was joking."

Ghost ignores your comment with a pensive expression, staring you down across the short distance. You put on a blank face and meet his eyes expectantly.

The silence stretches for a second longer than what would be deemed normal. Is this just how he is, then? Or is it only with you? You're about to say something to put an end to it when he suddenly crosses his arms over his chest.

"You were a nurse." It should come out like a question, but it's more of a statement. His voice nearly makes you jump.

You can't help it; you look away. "Um. I... wasn't, actually."

Why is he bringing this up? Never once has he asked anything about you. In fact, you sometimes toy with the thought that he might have forgotten your real name by now.

"Figured," he says.

You frown, flashing him a confused look. "What? Why?"

"You're a bit too young to have been a nurse five years ago."

You think back to the moment he found you with an inward wince. "So you knew I wasn't telling the truth?"

"It didn't matter if you were or not."

That's right. I don't need a nurse, he said.

"It wasn't a total lie," you clarify, dropping your arms at your sides. "I was in nursing school."

He rubs his chin. "You should understand the body, then— its weak points."

Your fingers flex before they gesture to your face. "The nose and eyes are obvious ones. But... but if someone grabs me from behind like," you forcefully inhale, "Like you did, then I won't be able to reach them."

He gives a short nod, then looms closer. You will your boots to remain planted in the damp soil despite the overwhelming proximity and intimidating mass of him. You blink up as he points a gloved finger to the hinge of his jaw. "There's this, too. Pretty easy to dislocate." His fingers move to side of his corded neck. "And here. The throat is weak and vital."

"I still wouldn't be able to reach those," you point out.

"You have more than just your arms, Twix."

"So my head, then?"

"That's one way." He moves a step back and you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding. "Why don't you show me what you'd do— give it a try."

The suggestion should be expected given what you're asking of him— of course he would have to touch you at somepoint. Yet, it makes you stiffen. He motions his hand for you to turn around and with great hesitance, you comply, until you hear the crunch of twigs beneath his boots as he closes in behind you. You stare straight ahead at a tree and focus on breathing.

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

His flat tone makes your eyes twitch in irritation and you are glad he can't see them. "Yeah. I know."

Just as he did all that time ago, his burly arms wrap around you, though not as firm and threatening. Your feet don't hang and you're not skin and bones this time, but once again, you are imprisoned against a hard chest. Your lungs pick up their pace and an artery in your neck jolts.

"Just show me what you'd do," he says slowly, warm breath fanning across the top of your hair. "Don't worry about hurting me."

You wriggle against him, but even without issuing all his strength, it's useless. You stomp on his foot, figuring that toes are pretty vulnerable, but his thick boot hurts your sole more than you could possibly have hurt him. Your eyes begin to sting. You suddenly find yourself panting in frustration. Before you can even think about trying to use your head, full-blown panic unfurls in your chest.

"Let go," you say under your breath. He must not hear you. Your voice turns to a snarled hiss. "Fucking let go of me."

His hold immediately loosens and you stagger forward, creating much-needed distance. Heavy breaths scratch up your throat. You wipe the back of your hand over your forehead and close your eyes for a moment, seeing blood and burnt skin against the backs of your lids. When you reopen them, Ghost is staring at you. The humiliation sets in as a red flush on your cheeks.

"Sorry," you shake your head and stare up at the clouded sky. "Just— maybe we should go back." Your arms hug around your stomach to keep its contents contained. "We can start this another day."

Throwing up in front of him again is low on the list of things you'd enjoy doing. He's already seen you near-death— no need to add a mental breakdown to your repertoire. Your lips press tightly together as you head to the tree for your jacket, but his gruff voice pauses your fingers against the embroidered flag on its sleeve.

"This isn't going to work if you don't tell me what is bothering you."

Your hand drops. "What?"

"What happened when you went to get the ammo, Twix?" he presses.

"I..."

To tell him would be to pry open that box you've made and let him peek inside. He has never even asked a single question about you until today, so you press onto the lid, tight, and turn to face him with pleading eyes. "I don't want to talk about it with you, Ghost. Don't make me."

In response, he lifts up his hands in resignation. "Alright." He lowers them. "Why don't you at least tell me how you handled it?"

"Why?"

He taps a finger to his masked temple. "So I can understand how you think. How you keep surviving all this shit."

The wave of nausea settles as you form your response. "I... I burned him. He cleaned the bite on my arm with some alcohol. I distracted him a little and then smashed the bottle on his head. I had my lighter, so I used it."

Slowly, he nods, as if your words are not all that surprising to him. "And how about at the base when I left you?"

"There was that Grey," you remind him. "I bit the guy's nose and pushed him into it. If it hadn't been there, Blue and I would be dead. You see? I survived because I was lucky. I hardly know what I'm doing."

Ghost argues. "You survived because you saw opportunities and took them. You were smart about it."

"And what about when there are no opportunities? I will just panic like I did now." The tightness in your chest turns into something that has you roughly grabbing the jacket and sheathing your bare arms. "Let's just go back now.”

This time, he doesn't protest. The silence that clouds the short walk back is expected on his part, and purposeful on yours.

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost #cod #simon ghost riley x reader #fanfiction

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jnkgrnde · 4 months

Text

— confessions, confessions, clarisse la rue, pjo

summary — in which, ever since you’ve arrived at camp, clarisse has seen you as her number one enemy. who would’ve known she’d make it so much more complicated than what it is.

pairings — clarisse la rue x black!fem!reader (daughter of athena)

content included — clarisse being flirty, clarisse using nicknames, eventual making out, uhh thats ab it

gods, you hated her.

her and her gorgeous face and pretty smile and soft hair. you hated her. hated her beautiful laugh and fierce eyes and her winning attitude.

and she hated you just as much.

you and your pretty laugh and your soft skin and the way you always have a plan. how you managed to up her whenever she had something smart to say.

she hated it.

it was capture the flag day. this year, chiron had switched some people from different teams; you had moved to the red team. clarisse’s team. you dragged your feet over to the team as she was explaining the plan.

“finally decided to join us, angel?” she used the nickname mockingly, but it still made your heart speed up a bit. you rolled your eyes, walking over and standing in the circle. clarisse let her eyes linger on you before continuing to talk.

she finished explaining the plan, and surprisingly enough, you were going to be with her a majority of the time. the conch sounded, signaling the start of the game.

“y/n, c’mere.” you jogged over to her. “is there a reason why we’re not with everyone else?” she just smirked. “just need you to keep guard, princess.” you scoffed at this. “so i couldn’t have had a better job?”

“what, you don’t like being around me?” she mocked. “you always have something to say, la rue. why would i?” truth be told, you did like being around her. not that you’d ever admit it, but she gave you a fuzzy feeling inside. “could’ve helped you, y’know, win the game if you’d just put me near the flag.” you tried to reason.

“hm, no. think you’d be better guarding with me.” clarisse teased. “well you know you’re capable by yourself, so-“ clarisse placed her hand over your mouth to shush you, putting her finger to her lips. she squatted behind some bushes, you following her.

there went some members of the blue team, luke nowhere to be seen. you knew he usually went with chris to play offense for the team. you and clarisse watched the team, studying their positions. “you got a magic weapon, right? the one that makes you invisible?” she asked you. “‘course i do.” “need you to use that. make a distraction.” you brought out your enchanted dagger, willing it to make you invisible.

you snuck around, stepping on some branches to try and get their attention. heads snapped towards your direction. “who’s there?” clarisse stepped around slowly, watching them. she let out a battle cry, going in to fight them. it was 3 against 1, but for clarisse it was nothing.

while she was dealing with them, you snuck around to get the flag. once you got it, you ran as fast as you could back to base. “HEY!” you heard yelling, but you kept running. clarisse watched you with a smile before realizing what she was doing and screwed her face back up.

before one of the campers could run after you, she tackled them to the ground. the others ran after you while clarisse screamed at you to run.

you ran as fast as your legs could carry you, jumping over tree branches and stumps. you could hear the running behind you, so you came up with a plan last second. you turned a random way, near some thick bushes before continuing to run. you didn’t think about anything but making it back to your post.

finally, the sight of your teams area came into view. the first person who spotted you was one of clarisse’s brothers. “she’s got the flag!” he yelled out. you reached the rock, short of breath, chest hurting, but you made it.

the conch blew, signaling that the game was over, and your team erupted into cheer. clarisse came out of the woods, a grin on her face. she cheered with her teammates before coming over to you. “good job, princess.”

your face burned from the nickname. you mumbled out a thank you while clarisse snickered beside you.

she was having fun with this.

“spar with me.”

“what?”

clarisse came over to where you were sitting in the dining pavilion, reading a book. “you heard me. i need a sparring partner.” she told you. “why me?” “so i can feel the glory of beating you, pretty girl.”

gods, when was she going to stop with these nicknames?

you raised an eyebrow. “and you’re sure none of your other siblings wanted to spar?” clarisse just shrugged. “don’t know. didn’t care to ask them. just spar with me.” you mulled over your options before sighing dramatically.

“fine. just go easy, la rue.” “can’t promise that, angel.” she grinned.

coming to terms with the fact you probably liked clarisse la rue out of all people was something you absolutely refused to do. not only was she cocky, but she had this overwhelming urge to want to beat you and everyone else in everything just because she can.

but another part of you couldn’t help but acknowledge how caring she could be towards specific people. like her younger siblings, who she was around quite often to help them train and get better. how she cared for her siblings in general, how she always checked up on her friends. it made your heart yearn for her in ways you didn’t expect.

what also made you yearn for her was the nicknames and the way she looked at you, but that’s a story for a different time.

you two made it to the sparring range. “we can use two weapons right? or are you strict about sparring too?” you asked her. “and what’s that supposed to mean?” she questioned. you shrugged. “just figured since you’re the daughter of the war god and all, you’d wanna have a specific way.”

clarisse rolled her eyes and couldn’t help but chuckle at the statement. that’s what she liked about you — you always had something to say, a comeback for her every time she got something smart out. it’s also why she ‘hated’ you so much, because you always had to one-up her.

“no specific way, princess. just try to pin me to the ground.” she told you. you hummed, pulling your dagger from your belt loop. you two decided to not go with any armor, seeing as this was just a quick match. “you ready, la rue, or do you still wanna spend time with your spear?” you mocked. “don’t bite off more than you can chew, pretty girl.”

you walked around eachother in circles for a few seconds before you willed your dagger to make you disappear. clarisse knew that was going to happen, though. she was calculated like that. what you didn’t know was that she was very attentive, which meant she could see and almost hear the dirt as you moved.

“not good at sneaking around over here, pretty girl.” she murmured. she sped up her movements before attempting to tackle you to the ground. she did tackle you, but you put up a fight. this went on until you finally managed to pin her to the ground. you became visible, a triumphant grin on your face.

“got you, la rue.” you pointed out, but she didn’t say anything back. in fact, her face was starting to turn a shade of red. she looked at you with uncertainty, like she was restraining herself from doing something. you realized the position you were in, and you tried getting up as you mumbled out a sorry, but clarisse planted one hand on your waist.

“where are you going, smart girl?” she asked. you looked into her eyes, your heart feeling like it was about to beat out of your chest. you swallowed harshly. her hand crept up to your shirt, gripping the cloth. she slowly brought you down to her. “what are you doing, la rue?”

clarisse ignored you, instead choosing to bring you down to her lips. it was shocking, slow at first, until it turned frantic between the both of you. unsaid confessions and yearning were expressed through your lips. you both came up for air when it became too much. she let out a breathy laugh while you started to smile.

“how long have you been wanting to do that, la rue?”

#clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x fem!reader #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue #clarisse x reader #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson fic #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians

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ofjunemoment · 1 year

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let me teach you how to smash | park jisung

In the list of sports, ranked from most to least sexy, badminton would be found at the very bottom if not ranked last. But why is it that when Jisung plays the with a feathered shuttle your heart flutters?

OR: Jisung helps you improve your badminton skills.

pairing — badminton player!jisung x fem!reader

genre — sports!au, university!au, (one sided) enemies to friends to lovers, slight slow burn

wc — 22k (😀 huh)

content — university/sports class setting, humour, fluff, the tiniest bit of angst, idols mentioned, very heavy on the dialogue/backstory at one point sorry babies <3, smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

smut tags — making out, fingering, switch!jisung and reader (there's no strong dynamic tbh), protected sex, pet names (jisung gets called a good boy), lmk if I missed anything!

a/n — YAYYY i can finally share this with u guys!! i have been cooking this for some time and im actually so excited to release it!! I'm a badminton enthusiast so I went a bit ham on the descriptions and back story sorry (not rlly),, I hope this is a good readdd I read through it so much to fix it up and now Im a bit sick of it oops BUT its a story I've been wanting to write so here you go <3 enjoy!

sfw version here!

You enjoy sports.

You liked dancing sometimes — which is certainly a type of sport — and you dabbled with different sports at one point in school, but you don’t actively go out of your way to do any intense exercise. It can be sweaty and painful and maybe it’s a little like hitting the gym, but in most sports you need sportsmanship, and why would you be kind to the person who not only won but is rubbing it in your face?

You once yelled at Taeyong for kicking the ball in the wrong goal when your group of friends went out of their way to play makeshift soccer to bring back memories. You yelled, at precious Taeyong, who flinches at the sight of a fly

Okay, so you tolerate sports.

But in an effort to have your resume look pretty after finishing your degree, your friend Juda had shed light on this one program that has you do a bunch of extracurricular activities and in turn, you’ll gain extra credit. Seamless and effortless, you didn’t need to pay anything towards the program as most of the work was volunteering; like reading to kids or helping clean up lecture rooms now and then. What Juda failed to mention was the other extracurricular required of you, which was to go to a sporting class set up by the university.

Sporting classes; two hours a week minimum.

They were kind enough to provide you with options, but it still wasn't easy to choose whether you wanted two whole hours of HIIT fitness or football, which caused you to almost give up on the whole thing. Until you saw the word ‘badminton’ printed in the faintest ink, almost as if it was a mistake.

So here you are, in the campus’ sports equipment shop with Chenle, looking through what seems like badminton rackets.

“Do you think this is good?” You pick up a racket that has a mix of matte white and mint around the frame, with the string sporting the shade black, testing the weight in your hand.

“That’s a tennis racket stupid.” He goes to ruffle your hair but instead gets his hand slapped away and a frown etched on his face as you scoff at him. “I knew that,” You scowl.

“Well then don’t be an asshole about it, asshole.”

“I wasn’t being—” Both of you jump at a sudden sound that pitched in between your shoulders, as your hand flies to your chest in shock while Chenle’s eyebrow hitch up.

“Sorry?” It was Chenle who said that to the person who snuck up behind you two, his arms crossing defensively and landing on his left chest, as he positions himself subtly a little closer to you, almost as if he’s instinctively shielding him.

“Ah, sorry for surprising you; I just came to ask if you guys needed help with anything?” It was when the employee raised her ID card that was hanging on a white lanyard around her neck that Chenle’s defence began to soften as you brought your hand down, replacing the confused look on your faces with one of realisation.

“Ahh, uhm, I was wondering if you could recommend a badminton racket, nothing too fancy, maybe something to last a good two years.”

“Two years?” Chenle was the one that turned to you with a look of disbelief. The employee merely smiled and gestured her hands towards the very other side of the store and quickly turned to guide you.

“Hold on, you’re doing this stupid thing for two years? Half of your courses years? You’re just gonna voluntarily stress yourself with even more work?”

“ . . . Yes? I don’t know what to tell you, that’s my main intention. That’s why I joined this program. You’ve asked me multiple times like I’m going to miraculously change my mind and thank you for it like you’re a rich person, giving me, a homeless person, a piece of bread and then barely look at me as you record the whole thing for your livestream.” You huff while going to lie down on your back on the floor around your newly bought badminton equipment; a set of badminton rackets and some cylinder packets full of shuttlecocks, the feather ones because the plastic ones suck ass, the employee had smiled at you.

You sit up just as quickly as a dull pain shoots up your back. The motherfucking shuttlecocks.

“That’s one way to make up an analogy,” Chenle’s eyes land on the shuttlecock you had freshly crushed, now looking all squashed and disoriented. Poor thing didn’t even last a minute.

“What’s she moping about this time?” Juda’s voice echoed from the door as she places the tote bag she had brought down next to the shoe shelf.

“I’m not moping; I never mope. What do I even look like when I mope?”

“She’s just crying about the fact that she has to do this thing program for another two years.” His words elicit a shout and the gradual flinging of a nearby couch pillow from you. Chenle’s neck cracked as the pillow hit his head downwards.

“Did I kill him yet,” You voiced your disinterest, sitting up on your elbows briefly to analyse Chenle’s face before giving up and laying back down. Chenle stayed in that position for a while before getting up in a fury, ready to avenge you. Juda stopped him with a kick to his leg.

“Such disrespectful words, is it hard to show some courtesy around here?” You huff and go to lie down once more, not before feeling around the surface for any stray shuttlecock.

“When it comes to you, yes,” Juda throws Chenle a Yakult, and she flings you one straight at your stomach. You attempt not to flinch.

“Here’s to either two more years of moping about this stupid badminton class every week, or two months of hardcore whining from both of you until you break and drop out.” Juda raises her Yakult bottle and clinks it with yours — that’s still on your stomach — and against Chenle’s who was drinking out of it the moment she did so, spilling what little there was of it on his face. Chenle recovers and yells out offensively, causing Juda to squeal as she stands up and goes behind the couch, using it as her shield.

You inhale and try to tune them out.

Chenle smiles as you giggle at him, the loud music of EDM mixed with Kidz bop playing in the background as the sound of metal basketball hoop clanging echoes just enough for it to have a rhythm. He looks determined to beat the high score of this stupid basketball game, as Juda and you take turns watching him play the game and criticising his moves, even when none of you know much about basketball as he does. It’s been a few weeks since the start of the semester and hence, the beginning of your program. The kids you read to are either sleepy or disinterested as you start early in the morning, and the cleaning of lecture rooms is bearable at most times.

So things are going great at this point.

That was until Chenle called out to you: “How’s badminton going?” and, you’re not gonna lie, that did dampen your mood just by a bit, but you give your best attempt at masking it and smiling through; you didn’t want them to pick up on the fact that it’s been one lesson and you’re already sick and tired of it (or, at least sick and tired of one certain person). But Juda’s just too smart and catches on too easily with anything that you and Chenle try to brush under the rug. She raises one eyebrow at you before retorting: “What, are you whinging about it already?”

“Am not!”

“Then what is it?” Juda says at the same time that Chenle swears, a little too loud for a kids arcade, but it’s around 8 PM and the only kids that are here probably do some sort of drug or something if they have parents who allow them to be out this late.

“Nothing, okay? The coach is great and the other people who are there are fine too, and I actually learnt a lot —”

“But?” Juda’s lips are pink as she wraps them around a straw poking out from her slushie cup. You lean back in retaliation, back pressed against the basketball machine as you try to find a leeway.

“. . . But.”

You’re late. And you can’t even use the excuse that you woke up late because it’s seven p.m. and you’ve scoffed down your early dinner two hours ago. You simply decided to just procrastinate to the next level in an attempt to gauge if you truly want to continue with this program or not. But now here you are, on a bus that’s severely delayed due to the evening traffic and running frantically to make it to class on time.

Minkyung is a 50-year-old dad who coaches this class; he was also at the office where you had submitted your form for the program, and was over the moon that you had decided to try out his class, hence asking you questions about your knowledge of badminton, and went on this spiel when you had made the mistake of being truthful.

He now looks at you with a kind and wrinkly smile as your shoes squeak against the floor, one hand to your rib in an attempt to not show how much out of breath you were. “Don’t worry,” his voice was quiet enough for you to register only. “You arrived on time, I just finished the information briefing that you heard from me some time ago.” His smile was tight-lipped but genuine. Trying to even out your breathing, you set down your equipment and quickly join the rest in a circle. A clap echoes throughout the quiet hall as the coach drops his hands and clears his throat while letting out a puff of air, his eyes grazing by everyone’s heads in what you assume to be his way of counting the participants of the class.

“Glad to have everyone here today, I hope with this class you guys would not only learn about badminton but also be able to learn about its sportsmanship and benefits,” His eyes dart around the rather small circle. You expected the hall to be filled with as many students as that one Zumba class you were forced to attend in high school, but it was a rather tame class.

The coach hums, thinking about something deeply as the other students shuffle around, shifting their weight from side to side in the silence engulfing the court. He looked up and clapped again softer this time. “I’ve decided to treat you like my children’s class.” He concluded, “I want you guys to introduce yourself to each other. Now don’t be shy; everyone's new in this class. Maybe you can find a friend in this class to learn better and more quicker. Okay, let’s start with you.” He pointed towards a guy that was to his left, who looked back at him with wide eyes. He looked around and smiled sheepishly yet brightly. “My name’s Haechan, and uh, I’m 22?” He finished it off with bound lips as he refers to the person after him to begin.

And as you all finish introducing yourselves to each other, with a girl named Minji being last, the introductory circle ends, meaning the coach can now start the stretching and warm-up exercises. But he hasn’t.

“Uh, coach, are we gonna—?” Minji stopped halfway as the coach whips his head to look at the gigantic clock on the wall next to the hall’s equally huge entrance. You crane your head curiously towards the direction of his vision, straining both your ears and vision to see what he was looking for, as everyone around you catches on and seems to do the same. It isn’t long after till the squeaking of shoes against the rubber ground echoes throughout; soon enough, the coach screams ‘fourteen minutes!’ as another person steps into the hall, wide eyes darting around everyone as he swallows in an attempt to simmer down his erratic breathing. As the guy's breathing evens out enough for him to probably mutter an apology, your breathing picks up.

“First day and you’ve already fallen for someone? Very on brand for you,”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” You scramble to hit Chenle with his golden pokemon card folder he brought to the arcade. Juda calmly stops you using her right hand, as her left hand picks up her drink to take another sip from.

“She didn’t even finish her story, Chenle. Go on,” Juda set her slushy down as her grip loosens from around your wrist, signalling to continue the story.

“Thank you, Juda, for you’re my favourite of them all—”

“Are you gonna finish your story?” Her grip tightened.

“A-as I was saying,”

You like to analyse people to some extent, thinking about how body language is cool and how it can depict everyone's different life, contrasting drastically from one another yet sometimes being so similar even with all of our different circumstances. This is why you tried analysing everyone in your class of busy people attempting to hit the shuttlecock in a streak longer than ten, as your eye flitting around the court and landing on your next target, the new guy, simply because that’s in your nature.

(“In your nature? Or was it just the mysterious guy that came into the class so suddenly, panting and out of bre—“

“Shut up? Anyway,” )

“Ah Jisung, this is the latest you’ve been,” The coach nodded innocently towards the guy, as if he hadn’t scared the piss out of all of you when he shouted.

He’s a bit stiff with his walk, and his shoulders seem to harden like a board when his eyes scan around the class and its participants. With wide eyes, he looks like a lost puppy with the way he looks back at the coach in some sort of silent confirmation of something. It’s probably his first time having a general class with coach Minkyung, you realise as you see Jisung bow sheepishly to his teacher.

“Sorry,” his voice was hushed, rumbling as he talked. His eyes scanned briefly once again across the now sparked class doing forehand and backhand practices that the teacher has instructed them to do. You locked eye contact with him from afar and quickly looked away, ears feeling a little bit hotter than it was a second before.

Soojin leans in towards you and Ryujin a bit and whispers, “Do you think he’s new? Like . . . All of us?”

You and Ryujin glance at each other for a quick second, before you smile profusely as Ryujin places her hands on the pole that holds the badminton net, her racket clenched fist supporting her chin as she ponders. “Not at all.” She says rather flatly, a cheeky smile following up after. Solely looking at him doesn’t give you any insights on his level of badminton playing, which is weird, because till now he could pick up on some people's skills; you’ve so far guessed correctly with a few of the participants (including yourself, you think you’re an average player in this class) so you feel a bit stumped.

He stands stiff as he talks to the coach, keeping his gaze stern on his coach. He seems to be wearing normal trackies and only has a very slim back for his racket.

“He’s obviously a beginner, his bag is so thin compared to Coach and even Haechan, he also doesn’t look like a long-time player” Jaemin pipes in.

“Who are you to say? You said you’ve been playing for how long and you’re still this bad?” Soojin smiles as she dodges Jaemin’s hand by a fraction. But Ryujin isn’t having any of it as she breathes in with her teeth clenched, hissing out a sound of suspicion.

“Coach seems to know him, which makes me think he’s either been here before, or he’s just the coach's nepotism offspring.”

“Okay!” The coach claps his hand, forcing everyone to act like they were practising. “Gather around; we’re gonna do a basic skills test for this lesson, then I’m gonna split you up into groups and we’ll get to work with the people with the same skills. Cool?” He throws two thumbs up as everyone stays silent, with one of the two people nodding. You watch as he sees the coach's enthusiasm die down a little.

“Cool?” The coach had yelled now, startling everyone else in the second round of heart attacks; everyone else yell back this time, the word ‘cool’ echoing around the grand sports court. You notice that everyone’s responded to the coach's request except for Jisung.

“Oh girl . . .” Juda now has her manicured hand placed on your sulked shoulder of realisation.

“I know, I’m so sorry, Juda.” You look into the distance of the arcade, feigning sorrow; or maybe it’s not much of a feign.

“The fuck,” Chenle turns to see both of you huddled in what looks like a cry fest. “Did someone fucking die?”

“Watch your tongue,” An old woman wearing a neon orange vest belonging to the arcade staff points at Chenle, who bows down as he murmurs ‘sorry’, with you two trying your best not to laugh, following and bowing your heads down too when the seething woman’s eyes meet your figures.

“How dare you anger the poor lady, her blood pressure is probably already high enough,” Juda picks at Chenle, who is now quietly trying to slip in the token to play another round.

“I wouldn’t have if you guys didn’t just suddenly go emo for no reason. What the f—” Chenle’s eyes waver back and see the woman’s eyes (Are they naturally red? Or is it the arcade lighting?) glaring back at him once more. “Frick. What the frick happened.”

“Oh Chenle, we must mourn for her. She’s fallen for another mysterious guy who barely has any personality.”

“Oh my god,”

“Oh my fucking god, what—”

“Fuck,” Jisung sighed when he missed the shuttlecock by just a hair's width. Everyone was standing in a line-like formation, at the tip of their toes against the line that made the distinction between the playing court and outside. Jisung and the coach were having a match, the first test that the coach had implemented to determine who goes into what group according to their skills, and when no one volunteered, Jisung silently centred himself on the court as the coach's face broke out into a glow.

Although his face was adorned with wrinkles even when still, and his skin did seem to look just a smidge pruney all the time — the I’m growing old look he had on his face was impossible to miss — the coach’s never looked sharper and younger than he does now, zipping through his side of the court like a bees race. Jisung on the other hand, seems to have a calm demeanour, quietly and tranquilly stepping forward and back, delivering lobs and clears, limbs outstretched to effortlessly hit the shuttlecock back even if it seems that his position doesn’t allow such moves.

In the cold of Autumn, the stiffness of everyone's bodies was just the tiniest bit evident after a round of stretching, but two right in front of you look as if they’re playing in the heat of the summer, arms and legs effortlessly moving around the court. You try not to look too intently into the thin glisten of sweat forming on Jisung's neck.

Soojin raises her hand without taking her eyes off of the two people playing intensively in front of her, as Jaemin reaches in his pockets to place ten thousand won into her open palm, not letting his gaze wander away from the game either. “Thank you for your service.”

“I can’t believe he’s that good, I should’ve known from his cocky demeanour.” Haechan sighs, his fist resting against his cheek, hoisted up by his other hand. Everyone looks in his direction.

“You would think that it takes one to know one,” Minji almost barely whispers as she looks away from him by her side, looking back at the game with everyone else following.

“Ah, fine. You won.” Coach drops his racket down from its first stage position, going towards the net with an open palm. Jisung barely takes a step forward before he’s lifting his hand too, shaking hands over the net as everyone claps behind them.

“Okay then, who’s next?”

You spend half the lesson just like that, with everyone playing against the coach followed by him then instructing everyone to get into the key badminton positions. You suspect that this is the core of learning badminton as the coach guides you from the way you hold your racket to the way your feet are positioned, but all you’re really thinking about right now is how badly you just want to go home.

“Okay!” The coach claps, as people gather around him in a semi-breathless state, just from being told to carry out a few sets of actions that badminton has. You don’t know why badminton necessarily needs ladder crossovers, but you barely get to give out a sigh before your eyes catch on Jisung’s seemingly calm composure. He’s done so much and maybe even a round extra, but he’s barely breaking a sweat.

Why does he look so good? Show off.

“Believe it or not, we’re done already! I now have an understanding of what level each one of you is in and will put you into groups.” You keep trying to wipe at your face to keep the sweat away, but an even coat of sweat is now settled on your hand after wiping it many times, so it only feels like you’re spreading it evenly.

All while mysterious Jisung barely lifts his shoulder to have the cloth of his shirt wipe away the bead at his temple.

How utterly gross of him. You wonder if he’s single.

“So I will see you all next week and give your level, thanks for joining!” And everyone disperses, spreading around the hall to get to their bags and start packing. You are standing above your bag, packing it and taking your bottle out to take a sip when you see Minji and Soojin whisper shouting, which defeats the whole point of whispering in the first place.

“How much do you wanna guess that he eats and sleeps here?” Soojin is practically bouncing in her place, taking multiple obvious glances at Jisung’s figure, who’s seemingly roaming around in his bag instead of packing it like everyone else, his racket placed neatly on top of his bag instead of inside.

“Nothing, because at this point it almost seems like a fact.” And with that, you shoulder your bag and head for the door, too tired to function.

“And you have no muscle aches? Impressive.” Juda pipes, her eyes glued to the road as she drives them back home.

“Oh no, I do. I just plastered a few KT tapes.” You say from your position in the passenger seat, elbow resting against the rolled-down window with your hand against your forehead, getting a nice breather from the wind outside. Chenle who’s sitting in the middle reaches his hand forward and pulls your sleeve up from behind to reveal your arm and shoulder lined up with tapes of blue and green.

“A few huh,” Juda smiles and Chenle retorts, as you tch at them both.

“I didn’t want to risk it, okay?” You say, yanking the cloth back down and slapping at Chenle’s hand, facing forward once again with your hands crossed defensively and gaze set outside again. The car lights up in the yellow of the street lights, as Juda drives through the night.

“So when’s your next class?”

“And group A has . . . Jisung. Just Jisung”

“No, bad dog. Stop taking your anger out on Chenle’s biceps,” Juda attempted half-assedly to swat at your hands while her eyes were still glued to her phone, as you retell what happens with your next class.

“It hurts, Juda. Make her stop!”

You were furious. Group C? You knew you were better than that, having played almost every other sport growing up, even if occasionally, you’d gotta be good at badminton. Why is Jisung the only one in group A? Yes, fine, maybe he plays well, but it also means that you’ve been ranked down a group just because he was too perfect. Why does he attend the class if he’s already so good?

Subconsciously, you try to convince yourself to not take this whole grouping thing quite literally, as the coach had said that they’re not ranked or anything; but how can you not take it personally when the people you thought you were on par with were in group B. It takes all of your willpower for your scowl to not be displayed, but you soon find that you don’t have to try too hard as the coach assigns you all to your positions.

“Lighter on the feet,” Coach ordered, the squeak of shoe soles rubbing against the floor echoing throughout the sports hall. You, Soojin, Jaemin and Minji go through what the coach calls fundamental steps; right foot northeast with a forehand flick, right foot northwest with a backhand flick. It helps with the basics of the game, which everyone forgets, but you don’t think half an hour of the same steps helps with remembering either.

While group B, which consists of Haechan and Ryujin, go through the same phases with some extra steps added to strengthen their posture while playing. It’s not that you think your play better than the people in your group or group B, but mainly your irrational annoyance stems from the fact that you’re position in the class is gonna be recorded into your progress report, and you know for a fact that if Jisung wouldn’t be participating this dead class, you would be in group B. Yes, it’s still the last group out of two, but you can say that you’re merely ranked second. Instead, you’re last out of three.

As the steps turn repetitive, you let your eyes wander around mindlessly, your feet carrying you throughout as your hands attempt to do the actions in a somewhat muscle memory process. Your gaze eventually settles on Jisung, whose back is facing you as he smacks the shuttlecock against the wall, which bounces back only for him to smack at it again, repeating this one-man game he seems to have made up for himself. You glare lasers into his back, thinking about how maybe you’re not into this whole mysterious demeanour as you thought you were, seeing him just making up his own moves as the coach merely bounces back between the two of your groups, only checking in on Jisung after a few rounds of lecturing your moves and correcting your mistakes.

Three consecutive claps echo around the tall indoor court, as everyone drops their rackets at their bags and gather around the coach in a circle, somewhat holding some sort of formation with Ryujin to his right and Jisung to his left, and with you positioned almost opposite of him. “Good job everyone, now it’s time to cool down, exactly how we warmed up,” Clueless, most of you follow the coach’s steps while he urges each person to take turns counting, counting up to eight in a clockwise direction. Your eyes can’t stop fleeting to Jisung, the star of every badminton night, as your petty envy prevents you from minding your own business. Throughout the whole night, you’ve seen him take only warming up and cooling down somewhat seriously, as he crosses his arms and holds up a good posture, compared to the rest of the class who simply just slump over, wanting the session to end and finally catch a break.

One final clap and you’re all free to go. And you don’t waste a second, grabbing all your essentials and bag and quickly darting for the door, ready to go home and wash up and just not support your whole body weight on your feet. As you bid everyone goodbye and bow your head lightly to the coach, you watch as Jisung strides up to the coach in a meek manner, as his eyes fall on your retreating figure just slightly before softly calling out the coach's name.

It’s nine p.m. on the dot when you step out of the court and breathe in the cold air.

Juda’s on the couch when you step into the apartment, toeing off your sports shoes as you rest your badminton bag against the shoe shelf, at hand for your next trip to your class.

With a mouth full of chips, Juda barely takes her eyes off the screen before asking “How was class?”

“Same old,” You shrug.

“Same old? You’ve only been twice. How in tune are you with the coach for it to—” Your groan stops her teasing, as she smirks at your tired form squatting against the floor, hands clutching at the door and your hair in frustration.

“Could you have at least let me get home first before frying my brain?” Your hand falls to your face, and that’s when you feel the residue of your sweat from earlier, having turned into oil. The urge to shower now tenfold, you attempt to raise yourself and pass out in the shower.

“I’m gonna wash up now, and probably go to sleep,” You mutter just loud enough for Juda to hear, to which she hums while you retrieve a towel.

“Oh wait, before you go,” She calls just as you inch towards your room, “Do you know where my umbrella went? I’m going to campus tomorrow and I think it’s gonna rain again. I tried calling you but I don’t think it went through,”

“Oh yeah, It’s by the door.” You recall taking the umbrella to class today, as the forecast has been filled with rain symbols with the Autumn weather. Digging in your bag, you push past your essentials in order to find your phone which Juda’s called. “That’s weird, my phone is not here.”

“Did you take it with you today?” Juda mumbles as she munches on a few more chips, rubbing her fingers against her pants after every serving.

“I’m sure I did,” You ponder out loud, as you remove your hands from your bag in favour of patting at your pants and jacket resting on the clothing hanger, in case you somehow shoved it in your pockets without knowing.

“Did you forget it?” As soon as the words leave your roommate's mouth, you are met with a vivid picture of your phone, abandoned on the bench in the badminton court you left in a hurry. You sigh, placing your towel on the bathroom counter briefly before grabbing your house keys while putting your shoes on.

“I’ll be back Juda,”

“Good luck,” She waves.

You’re beyond tired, and a little frustrated at yourself for being impatient and forgetting your phone. You can’t risk losing such a thing, hence you’re glad that the lights were still on when you arrived at the building, giving a wave to the receptionist.

Stepping onto the court, you immediately zero in on your phone which is perched on the bench, the black shade of the screen a contrast against the silver metal bar. But a squeak of a sole against the floor earns a squeal out of your mid-march, as you clutch your shirt next to your heart and turn towards the perpetrator.

“Oh my god,” Jisung’s gaze is what you’re met with as you let out a sigh of relief, the man in question only turning around as you mutter under your breath.

“Sorry,” That’s the first time you’ve heard his voice all day, and there’s something about the tone of his voice that calms your heart down just a bit.

“What are you still doing here?” Your curiosity gets the best of you, your forgotten phone laying there, continuing to be overlooked as you question the presence of your classmate.

His eyes squint ever so slightly at your question, as his eyes ghost over you, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “I’m practising,”

Practising? After two hours of badminton class, he didn’t seem like he did much then, but he’s still staying back to practice. You hum in slight adulation, rocking back and forth on your feet as he turns back around and runs through steps you’re unfamiliar with. As you inch towards your phone, you think more about his prominent presence in the court; is he too shy in class? Or maybe he gets private classes from the coach?

But as you scan your eyes around the court, you’re met with a near-empty court, as the only thing in sight is his bottle and slim bag. You’re not sure exactly what you’re waiting for as you hold onto your phone, fidgeting on your spot as your eyes follow Jisung’s swift movements. He seems more tired now than he ever was in the two classes you’ve shared with him, as his shoulders ride up more with an attempt of regaining stability with his breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’ve loitered around, but it must be a long amount of time for Jisung to look at you with disdain and shock.

“. . . Why are you still here?” He seems more reserved — something you didn’t know could happen — as he asks you this question, holding his racket subconsciously closer to his body. Your eyes widen at the prospect of being caught, as you shake your hands vehemently, stumbling back a bit.

“Sorry, I wasn’t—” You didn’t know how you were going to explain yourself, but one glance at the door of the court is all you need.

Bowing your head as quickly as you can in a lieu of a goodbye, Jisung could barely apprehend what you did before you’re bolting out of the badminton court.

A week later, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to face Jisung with your awkward encounter, and it is evident that the incident has been plaguing your mind as you stand at the door of the sports centre, both hands gripping the strap do your bag.

“What if he thinks I’m a weirdo for just standing there and stalking him?” Your wandering mind does nothing to help ease the situation, as more arbitrary scenarios flow after one another. Maybe he told the coach how much of a creep you are and now when you step in, you’ll be banned from class.

“Oh dear god,” You let your head fall forwards, trying to tip over the thought out of your head. Closing your eyes, you try to think of the things you can do once the class is over when a tap on your shoulder brings you out of your reverie. You turn to look behind your shoulder, fearing that it's someone robbing you or worse— Jisung; only to see coach Son, smiling at you with a hint of worry laced on his forehead.

Your shoulders sag with relief. “Hi coach,” you wince internally at your response, voice coming out high-pitched as you clench your grip on your bag.

“Let's go in and start some warm-ups, yeah?” And as you follow the coach to the class, you make sure to subtly hide behind him in case you catch s glimpse of Jisung anywhere, not wanting to run into him. As you quietly peek your head over his right shoulder once and his left shoulder next, you feel like a secret agent sneaking up on your target. A clearing of someone's throat snaps you out of your act, as your shoulders bunch up and in shock and you quickly turn, only to be met with the feared man of the night.

It seems like he’s been trying to go up to the coach and maybe say hi, but your lurking figure both stopped and perplexed him, not knowing why you were just peeking your head around like a mole rat.

“Sorry,” You mumble slightly, eyes wide as you back away towards the closest wall, wanting to blend into it and live with the bricks. Maybe you’ll face less embarrassment that way but knowing you, anything is possible.

“It’s okay,” His voice is as unassuming as always, eyes looking anywhere but you now that he’s caught your attention. You think his shyness is quite cute, but not for long as you think back to being scared of him from last week to being jealous of him, also from last week. That’s a lot of emotion for you to process.

He pulls up his hands, now shaped into a fist and looks past you, but you know he’s talking to you when he mutters, “Fighting,” before fully facing away and walking past you as if the mortification of his action has caught up to him. You barely contain your shocked expression behind your hand.

“Good job today guys, now we all have a basic grasp of the initial steps and our skills when it comes to badminton.” You brace your hands on your knees, just having done a set of wall squats as a way to build stamina, or so you’ve been told. You thought that maybe a month into these classes and you would’ve had some sort of energy stashed away in you when attending class, but it’s week five and you’re fighting for your life three seconds into a plank.

“Now I don’t wanna treat this class academically, but for those of you who truly care, there will be an assessment in the midst of this course to reevaluate your standing and see if you can advance from your group! But other than that, remember that this class can be solely for fun reasons too . . .” The rest of coach's words were white noise to your ears. Reevaluation? Does that mean that you can advance? That you’ll have a shot?

“Are you okay?” Soojin leans in toward you, whispering while pointing to what you assume would be the shock on your face. You turn to her, drawing a thumbs up to reassure her. And before you know it class is done and you’re pulled to do a series of cool-down moves. You eagerly follow through, now somehow charged with motivation to stay back and go over your moves a few times. You figure that the least you can do to move up a rank is to spend an extra hour going over your moves, even when you sometimes think about the significance of them.

You tread up to the coach and ask in your kindest voice if it was possible for you to stay back. “Of course, are you gonna go through the steps again?” He questions as he shifts his bag from one hand to another. You give a nod and wave goodbye, watching as everyone litters out of the court.

Well, almost everyone.

You can feel, more than anything, Jisung’s gaze piercing your figure through the hood of his jumper, while you give your best attempt at stretching. You’re not sure really what stretches best help with reducing the ache in your muscles the day after, but you figure the endeavour of reaching your toes should do.

Even after a few minutes of trying to appear mellow, Jisung’s presence alone makes you feel on edge as if you’ve stolen his territory. But you figure that nothing will change and that all you can really do right now is, well, practice.

The squeak of your shoes echoes every now and then, followed by a whip sound of the racket you’re flinging in the air. If you do this quickly enough, surely your skills will improve, right? From what your coach Son demonstrated earlier, you realised that as he would start off the steps slowly for your group to get a hang of, he was able to transition the speed to his liking, doing each step quickly and efficiently.

“Okay, should be easy,” You’re careful not to speak too loud in the almost quiet hall, giving yourself words of encouragement. Hand braced in the first position, then in the second, then a slight step back, and then your hand straight and quickly bend.

You finish the routine with its final step of hitting the imaginary shuttle as fast and as straight as your hand can go with such speed. With one round done, you brace yourself in the initial position to do it again. One, two, three and four.

You only get to pump out four, maybe five rounds of this pattern before a clearing of someone's throat scares the daylights out of you. With a barely contained shout, you’d forgotten — however briefly — that you weren’t alone. You’re looking at Jisung, who seems shocked at accidentally shaking you up so much, before he says something to you.

“What?” Even with the stillness of the court, the man’s words were barely comprehensible, as yours echoed slightly throughout the court.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Oh, so the first comment he ever mutters to you are words of criticism. You furrow your brows, head tilting slightly out of habit as you encourage him to go on.

“When you’re recoiling from hitting the shuttle, your racket still faces forward instead of down,” He explains, but none of it makes sense to you and it must be evident in your face, with Jisung looking slightly frustrated that the words did not register in your head.

“If you keep your racket facing forward, the ball isn’t going to go down but head straight, which allows your opponent to retaliate better.” He continues, and you somewhat understand where he’s getting at, but he’s not really helping you at all. All he did was point out your mistake, which makes you feel that he’s just trying to show off his knowledge.

“Well, what should I do then?” You can’t help but seem a bit agitated, as you slump your shoulders and let the racket settle by your ankles, your hold on the handle tightening ever so slightly.

“Hit it face down,” He raises his arm and demonstrated the step to you, causing the head of his hoodie to fall, shining the light of the court on his face. You’re briefly stuck looking at his face instead of his step, but were reeled back in when he makes eye contact. You clear your throat as he goes through the step again, which you think were exactly the steps you were doing a second ago.

“But, how was I any different?” You say as you mimic his steps, bracing yourself in the positions without much thinking, and hitting the imaginary shuttle right as when he does.

“No- see, you did it again,” He steps a bit closer as he gestures to the racket in your hand. “You’re hitting it straight on. You’re supposed to go down.” You sigh as he says this, feeling a bit irked that a mere student is trying to tell you what to do. He is in the top rank, so maybe he has a point.

Attempting to set your implicit annoyance aside, you intently look at his hand and the way he moves his wrist at the end of the step, trying your best to imprint this into your head. He looks a bit flustered with how much your gaze is focused on him, but still goes on two more times before nodding his head at you, encouraging you to try once more.

You look at the position of your hand this time instead of him, going through the initial steps and tweaking your wrist to face more downwards this time than your last few attempts, before your eyes quickly flit towards Jisung, looking for some sort of confirmation with your try. The subdued purse of his lips assures your suspicion, which is that you’re doing it right this time round.

“Good, did you kinda find out what you were doing wrong?” The words come out on reflex, and you don’t think twice this time about him being in the same class as you and yet trying to coach your steps, as you ponder on his question.

“I mean, I found out I was doing something wrong when you pointed it out, but I’m not quite sure what you meant when you said I was hitting it straight on.”

“Wow, you were really into him weren’t you?”

“Shut up Chenle, I was into the badminton technicality.”

Jisung steps forward a little bit and is about to say something before he hesitates. You look at him sceptically, waiting to see what he was gonna say before he shakes his head and seemingly snaps himself out of it. “Can you go back to the third position?” He asks of you, which you raise your hand and assume the position. Your racket and arm are raised pointed straight to the ceiling, while he positions his fisted hand in front of you. Your questioning look doesn’t go unnoticed, as a slight smile appears on Jisungs face before he nods at you, saying, “Okay, now gently go down like you would and stop at my hand.”

You do as you’re told, with Jisung’s eyes settled on your concentrated face following his orders, as the face of your racket meets his fist, the white of his knuckles colouring for a bit.

“See, you’re hitting the front of my knuckles, but that will send the shuttle forward.” He demonstrates by pulling his fist back, “That will give the other player a better opportunity of retaliating.” He then readjusts your racket by the throat, having the net hit the top of his fist. “This gives you a better chance.”

“But like, how am I giving them a better shot?”

You’re not sure what was funny or amusing about your question, but it seems that there must be something there for Jisung to sport a cute small smile, as he picks his racket back up and moves to one of the set-up nets, and funnily enough, you find yourself following him subconsciously. He picks up a shuttlecock on his way to the net and positions himself, as you stand at his side.

“See, let’s say the shuttle is coming at you this way,” He holds the shuttle with one hand as if the opposing player had shot it at him over the net. “If I hit it the way you had— actually, why don’t you try receiving the ball.” And so you shuffle over, standing opposite of his ready stance with your arms crossed, intrigued.

“I’ll throw the shuttle back to you and try seeing if you can hit it back.” You realise that this is the most you’ve heard him speak in the past five weeks that you’ve attended the class together. You bring your hand up and stand in the ready position you remember coach telling you about when initiating a game, and Jisung takes that as a sign that you’re ready and hits the shuttle at a moderate speed. You hit the ball back with ease, as it goes over back to Jisung’s side, who catches it with his other hand. You let out a long ‘ahh’ sound of understanding, hand clutched at your side.

“You’re right, that was hell easy,” You brood aloud, but not before asking one of your other endless questions. “But then, how would the other way be any different?”

From the looks of it, Jisung seems over the moon that you asked such a question, holding back a smile by biting on his lips lightly and quipping his head to the side. He holds up the shuttle and looks at you, gauging to see if you’re ready to receive the ball once again. As you regain your ready position, you see the ball suspended in the air briefly before Jisung hits it at the ‘better’ angle, which is seemingly from the head of it, but before you can process anything else a zip sounds past you and the ball has landed behind you.

Your gasp resonates through the hall as you look behind you to where the shuttle has landed, with a hand coming to your mouth as you look at Jisung. The latter contains his smug smile behind his own hand, as you point at the ball and look back and forth. “What did you just do?”

“Ah, that’s a technique that's called smash.” You falter slightly.

“That’s a weird fucking name I’m not gonna lie,” You glance at the ball once more with a look of disgust, before shaking yourself out of it. “Oh my god, that was so cool.”

You didn’t think that you would be getting a one-on-one lesson when you decided to stay behind today, but you’re quite surprised with how he was able to spot such a little detail so quickly. And that gives you an idea.

“Jisung,” You call his name for the first time since you met him five weeks ago, which surprises the said man, as you see his eyes startle and a few strands of his hair jerk. “Do you stay after class every week?”

He’s a bit quiet for some time, processing your question thoroughly. He nods his head briefly, but not before a bit of hesitation.

“Is it . . . Can you help me improve?” You’re a bit shy now that you voice your question out loud, but you’re determined to move up at least one rank and land second place; or even just have a good academic score, even in badminton.

Seeing the blank face that Jisung is now sporting, you think about the unfair offer you’ve just made to him. Why would he spend his extra time after class to teach you, his potential competitor, without getting anything out of it? You’re not sure what you can offer him, maybe some sort of payment? But before you can ponder even more, you catch a slight nod of his head from the corner of your eye.

“Is that . . . a yes?” You lock eye contact, as he nods his head once more but with more vigour and confirmation.

“Why?” It’s your turn to look at him with confusion.

“Are you asking me?” He points to himself, as he slightly tilts his head as if he was going to look as if you were talking to someone else. You shake your head quickly once he asks the question, raising even more questions.

“Actually, no. I take back what I said. You said yes, right? You can’t change your mind. Or, I mean you can but like I would be pretty bummed about it because you already said yes but I’d respect your choice.” You take a deep breath in once you finish, looking at him and clasping your hands together a bit too harshly.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll help you with what you need.” Relief washes over you and you can’t help but smile in thanks.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing too.” Jisung hums for you to continue, as he goes towards his bag and retrieves his bottle to take a sip.

“Can you teach me how to smash?” And maybe you should’ve waited for him to be done with that bottle first.

You think you’re quite good at being subtle and on the low, no matter how much Juda and Chenle counter that argument. You can be sneaky if you put your mind to it, and it's been proven many times in high school when you would sneak your favourite snack during the middle of the class without your strict teacher finding out.

So you’re not sure where you went wrong when you held out a snack bar in Jisungs direction, only for the whole court to look at you weirdly. You merely strutted up to him with maximum placidity and poked out the bar from your hand into his torso, looking away and hoping he would get the memo and take from you as with a mutter of something that sounds really close to the word ‘thanks’.

But it’s been a solid fifteen seconds and not only is the bar still in your hand, but everyone in the class has slowed down their activities in favour of looking at you two. Even coach’s staring as if he’s trying to solve a very complex puzzle.

“Is this . . . for me?” Jisung’s voice comes out as a rumble, not knowing if he should whisper or talk normally, sounding out something in between instead.

Of course this is for you, idiot. Why am I holding it in your direction??

You ignore his question and shake the bar in your hand with a bit more intensity, hoping that he would finally get the memo. It isn’t until ten more seconds pass that you lose all hope and turn to him, grabbing his hand and placing your gratitude in his open palm, closing his fist around the energy snack.

You stomp your way to start your warm-ups before Jisung could say anything.

“When you aim your hand, you’re not really looking at the shuttle,” Jisung starts after a few rounds of one-on-one games you’ve started after class. “Your eyes are just hovering around it for a few seconds before you look around and put yourself in position. You’re supposed to go in position without looking, it should be intuitive.” You huff at his explanation, dropping your hands by your sides.

“How do I ‘look’ at it more, then?” You’re grateful that Jisung is helping you, but it’s just the tiniest bit unnerving for him to recognise your every move and be able to point out your mishaps. He moves back from the net, creating a decent amount of space in his playing circle. He starts throwing the shuttle up with his badminton racket, the distance from the shuttle and its net growing with each hit.

“Practising this move helps,” He says as he works through what you remember the coach demonstrating the first few classes. As the shuttlecock goes higher and higher with each impact, your eyes catch on the silver of skin poking out as Jisung lifts his hand to meet the shuttle, his shirt rising for a few seconds every time.

“I think it would be better if you looked at the shuttle?” His words catch you off guard, as you look up and meet his gaze already settled on your, eyes gleaming as he pokes at his cheek with his tongue.

“Shut up,” You look away, flustered that you got caught, before attempting the moves, refusing to look back at him.

The condensation of the electrolyte drink is addled with the dampness of your hand, as you make your way to class the week after. You see Ryujin talking to the coach as you enter, and Jisung at his bag, seeming to ruffle through it in order to retrieve something. You strut your way up quietly, not wanting to attract any awkward attention by giving gratitude in the form of a drink to your unofficial instructor. As you open your mouth to call Jisungs name, the tall man turns around and gives you the faintest hint of a smile, before his eyes land on your hand.

“Hi, here.” You spout, as you extend your hand straight towards him, some of the condensation dropping on the floor and finding solace in the gaps of your fingers. His hands feel dry and warm as it brushes against yours, retrieving the drink from your grasp.

“You didn’t have to. Thank you; for last time too,” Your cheeks heat up at his words as you avert your gaze away, opting to look at the playing net instead. “Don’t mention it,” Your damp hand wrings against the dry one behind your back, as you slowly let your gaze wander back to Jisung, who’s now looking at the blue bottle in his hand.

“Did you know,” He twists the drink in his hand and looks at what you think is the nutrition information. “Electrolyte doesn’t actually help when you exercise.” Your expression sullens as he continues to look at the drink you gave him. “Your body loses more water than electrolytes when you exercise, and so there is no use consuming more electrolytes. Water helps way more in comparison,” The scowl on your face makes Jisung stop in his tracks as he looks up after finishing his bite-sized lecture.

“Well, if you’re so ungrateful—” You reach your hand out to snatch the bottle from him but are stopped short as his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you. “No!” He exclaims and a chuckle slips past as your struggle to get the drink, reaching out your other hand before he captures that too, now both of your wrists trapped in his hand. Your eyes widen, with your wrist bound and fighting up a struggle, all impaired with Jisung’s hand wrapped. Before your mind can wander to what other scenarios can result in him bounding up your hands, he continues; “I’m very grateful. You don’t have to give me these things just because I give you a few tips after class.”

You pause your struggle, letting your hands be weighed down. “Well, I don’t think I’ve been helping you at all. Sometimes I even set you back, so it’s the least I can do.” You say truthfully. You do sometimes feel like a burden when Jisung gives you a tip and you don’t adapt immediately, sometimes it takes you maybe two after-class lessons until you can successfully cast back the shuttle over the net with a short distance. The only way you could think about paying him back was through these pick-me-up snacks.

“Okay, how about this,” You miss the warmth and pressure of his hand against your wrist as soon as he lets go to put the drink down behind him and straightens back up, looking away as he slowly grows flustered with what he’s about to say next. “Treat me to ice cream maybe?”

You smile at his antics, happy to have been told how you could repay him. “Deal,” He visibly deflates with relief as you zealously agree, putting your bag down next to his as you both start to unpack.

You shuffle to the bathroom as soon as practice is over, giving Jisung a quick point towards the direction you’re going to ease his worries about you running away. Once inside, you’re met with the cool breeze and a mirror that reflects your spent figure. Oh god, how were you gonna go out like this? Is this what you looked like this entire time? Shuffling to the sink, you shoulder your bag back as you lean over the sink and lightly dab at your face with some water, before cleaning yourself up and dabbing the paper towel against your face.

You don’t know why you were so nervous to do this; it’s truly just some ice cream with your temporary and unofficial coach. But you truly wanted him to see your gratitude, and soon enough you’re thinking if ice cream isn’t enough, and budgeting how you can come up with enough money for an all-you-can-eat buffet at this time of the night. But before you could even add up the numbers on your fingers - it was a two in one hand and three in another, not quite sure what they meant - the sound of the door opening echoes in the bathroom, jumping you out of your reverie.

Turning around, you just catch Minji stepping in, looking taken aback at your shocked expression, as if you weren’t expecting anyone to enter this public bathroom. “You okay?” She calls after you, and you can only hope that the smile on your face is convincing enough.

“Yup! Just . . . tired,” You cringe a bit at the overused excuse, but your shoulders slump when she just smiles back at you.

“It’s okay, maybe your date with Jisung would cheer you up?” You feel something lodge in your throat, coughing out in surprise.

“No!” You retort, hands coming out from behind you as if to stop all ideas from forming. “We’re- It’s not like that. He’s just-” Minji looks at you with amusement, as she shifts her weight and crosses her arms, urging you to continue. The mind blank you’re sporting is not at all helping with a way to express what you truly are doing with Jisung, and so you try: “I just owe him something for smashing his racket.” And that was the best you could do.

Minji’s smile falls, as her arms drop at her sides. “You . . . smashed his racket?”

You don’t know why her voice was laced with such concern, but you figure that you have to finish what you started. “Yeah, to pieces actually. Sometimes the adrenaline truly gets to you, right?” You chuckle a bit, trying to find a gap in the conversation where you can squeeze back out of the bathroom.

“Well, I’ll see you next week,” You clench the strap of your bag and exit the bathroom, ready to dart out of the place. As you turn a sharp right, you are immediately met with a sheet of white, which suspiciously looks like the colour of the shirt Jisung was wearing today. Hands are placed at your shoulder and you’re quickly set back half a step from the wall, or at least enough to recognise that it wasn’t a wall, but rather Jisung’s tall figure.

“Sorry,” you mutter, eyes flicking from his own to the arms stretching to your shoulders, catching a few veins adorning his forearm. A clear of his throat has you looking entirely away, as you grab at his wrist and start tugging towards the exit.

The white lights of the LED sign of the ice cream place illuminate most of the dark street, with most businesses having closed earlier in the day save for a few convenience stores littered with tired college students like yourselves. You eye the shop and its extravagant decor, sceptical about being brought to such a high-end ice cream shop.

“You know, when you said ice cream, I thought you had wanted me to buy you some popsicles from some convenience store. Not someplace about exorbitant ice cream with fifty years of craft in making,” You nudge your elbow a bit to Jisung’s side, to which he responds by twisting his head in your direction.

He splutters, “Oh, I’m so sorry I forgot that, you know you were gonna pay,” You notice his hands move as he speaks, something you’ve picked up from when you would talk to him or notice him talking to coach; it’s as if his words are spelt with his hands first and then brought out through his lips, now adorning a pout as he tries explaining himself.

“. . . I thought we were just, going out.” Your eyebrows raise a bit in surprise at his words. Going out? As in, going out on a date?

You wonder if your thought bubble is something he can see, as he quickly puts out his hands again, shaking them vehemently. “Not on a date! It’s just, I didn’t know what-”

“Jisung, it’s okay. I was just messing with you,” You decide to put him out of his misery, reassuring him before continuing, “I’ve never been here but I’ve been meaning to try it out, so I’m glad you suggested this place. Let me treat you to something good,” And without thinking, you link your arm through his and push through the door, the cool of the interior washing over both of you. The shop was mostly white, with white tiles placed as half-walls as well as the flooring, the only hint of colour being the green of a few plants and of course the various ice creams. The employee, who seems to be the only person in the shop, straightens up ever so slightly at the sight of the two of you entering, before slumping back down when you head towards the self-serve ice cream booths. Picking up two cups, you hand one to Jisung who’s at your right, before you pick up the scooper from a mini bucket of water, waving it around your choices.

“Tell me which flavour you want me to pick out for you,” You eye the various flavours of ice creams, seeing if you can find your favourite. You look at Jisung to see if he’s doing the same, only to see his eye zeroed in on one bucket which is contrastingly fuller than the different flavours around it.

“Mint chocolate ice cream?” Your question has JIsung nodding his head as he looks at you sheepishly. “I can’t believe you would choose the most controversial ice cream. You’re so original.” You tease, to which Jisung nudges you in retaliation.

“It’s a good flavour, if people stop comparing the mint and the chocolate and instead choose to see how much they complement each other, we would be one step closer to world peace.”

“That’s a bold claim, what’s your source?” Jisung grabs the scoop out of your hands with mock aggressiveness, opting to scoop his serving of the mint chocolate ice cream. “Your references? Where is your citation—” He cuts you off by placing his hand on your mouth after taking a scoop of his ice cream, as his chest meets your arm.

He shushes you, “Just get your ice cream, yeah? I’ll go get my toppings,” He nods and lets go of your mouth, missing the way your cheeks heat up from his proximity and touch on your face. You bring the back of your hand to your face, prying the heat to go away as you shake your head and pick the scooper back up, reaching for your favourite flavour of ice cream.

Meeting Jisung at the counter, you place your cup of ice cream next to his on the weigh and fish through your bag as you wait for the person behind the counter to calculate your total. However, as soon as you probed your wallet out of your bag, the sound of a completed transaction peals out, making you turn your head up just to see Jisung putting his wallet back into his sweatpants.

“It was supposed to be my treat,” You insist, looking towards Jisung’s direction to generate some sort of guilt for his action. Instead, the man avoids your gaze, picks up two spoons, and places them in your cups, grabbing yours when he spots you not budging from the corner of his eye and turning to head for the door. You grab at his sleeve to force out his reasoning but are slowly pulled with him as he heads out, quickly turning around and bidding goodbye to the staff before he opens the door.

“Well, maybe you can pay next time,” At the mention of another time of you and Jisung hanging out, your initial sorrow washes over by a wave of giddiness.

“Then give me your number,” You propose, fishing your phone out. “So I can see when you’re next free and make it up to you,” With wide eyes, Jisung’s hands hesitate as they reach out for your phone; before either of you can second-guess yourselves, he takes the phone and smiles shyly, typing in his details. Handing the phone back to you, you take a look at his contact before pocketing your phone as Jisung starts to speak.

You scoop a spoon of your ice cream into your mouth to hide your smile, but from a light chuckle that emits from your left side, you don’t think your efforts amounted to much.

You stretch your arm to reach the end of your leg, warming up your body before the mass class warmup, more so to have something to do instead of staring at Jisung who’s also here early and is also doing his own unique sets of warm-ups.

Nothing about badminton is sexy; there’s nothing sexy about moving your wrist just in time to deliver some sort of groundbreaking delivery with the shuttlecock. Even the word shuttlecock grosses you out, as you suppress the urge to shiver at this very moment.

So you’re not sure why the act of playing badminton with the wall is such an attractive sight to you; as Jisung grunts every now and then, seemingly surprised and unprepared by his own backhand delivery against the wall, which makes him take quick steps back and forth and side to side to meet each hit. His quick movements allow for his loose clothing today to move around freely, exposing toned skin every now and then. It takes a lot of your willpower to have you not to drool right then and there, as if you were back in high school once more.

One hit, in particular, bounced off high and far from the wall, the sound of the shuttlecock smacking against the wall echoing louder as it heads for Jisung’s left side, a direction that you’re situated in although with a safe amount of distance. The tall player retaliates by turning his body a whole hundred-and-eighty degree, facing away from the wall and essentially towards you as he tries to continue his streak of hits. Briefly, you see his eyes look at you and back at the shuttles descend, but his focus on the said thing falters when he looks at you again, realising that you’ve been watching him play.

The shame of being caught should’ve arrived by now, as your shoulders stiffen with being onslaught by Jisung’s intense gaze. But before the chagrin could fully settle in, Jisung has completely passed the point of positioning his racket, causing the shuttle to fall and bounce off of his head and onto his feet. Gently clasping your hand at your mouth, you stop your giggles at the warning glare that Jisung sends to you; although his flushed cheeks aren’t making it any better.

“Say something and see what happens,” He points at you with the tip of his racket. You remove your hand and open your mouth, curious to see where this goes.

“Are you really gonna say something?” He steps closer to your figure, which is now sitting cross-legged on the ground with both hands placed on top of one another in front of you. He drops his racket on the ground, as if it doesn’t cost a limb, and instead places his hands right above his knees, looming over your figure. You can’t help it this time when your gaze follows towards the gap in the collar of his shirt, showing the sharp cut of his collarbone peeking through. It’s when your gaze is caught on his chain necklace dangling from his neck that the sound of a basketball bouncing echoes closer, as both of you look towards the direction it’s coming from. Not long after, a boy no older than ten shuffles in with his shoes squeaking against the floor, looking shocked at the fact that the two of you are here.

The ball lightly hits Jisung’s calf, who simply picks it up and passes it back to the boy who’s seemingly frozen in place. As soon as the ball arrives at his own feet, he quickly picks it up and dashes out of the place.

“Do you wanna bet to see who can reach past their toes?” Your question snaps Jisung out of his thought. The boy chuckles and sits down to your right, stretching out his legs and shaking them out as a form of warm-up.

“You’re so on,”

Your hands are clasped behind your back as you strut up to Jisung, who’s at his bag, taking out his needed items. With a tap on his shoulder, he turns to face you, giving you a smile as a greeting before scanning you.

“What are you doing this time?” You gasp in mock offence.

“This time? I haven’t even done anything yet?”

“But you’re going to,” He points his fingers at your hidden hands. “You’re either gonna scare me or pull the lamest prank ever known to date.” Your smile drops and a scowl replaces it instead.

When Jisung fully turns to face you, you smile once more and lean your shoulders in. “I actually brought you something to thank you. Again.” You shift the item from your left to your right hand, feeling nervous and embarrassed for saying it all out loud. “Because of you, I can hit a backhand serve and not smack myself.” The boy stands taller with your gratitude, a blush sporting on his face as his eyes look anywhere but at you. You must look like high schoolers confessing to one another with the way you’re both flustered and shy, which isn’t a thought you’re fully opposed to.

He nods his head, still avoiding looking directly at you, as he reaches his hands out, ready to receive what you’ve brought for him. You giggle slightly as he shuts his eyes and shakes his hands in anticipation, “Since you said electrolyte drinks don’t really help, and you like your proteins after class, I thought of a better third option and brought you,” You reach your hands out and place the gift on his palms, urging him to open his eyes.

Cold and dripping with condensation, the plastic water bottle perched on his hands seem small as his hands close around them to keep from falling. His eyes fall as he looks dimly at the bottle in his hands, and you look away briefly to keep from laughing straight in his face.

“Now I know what that kid felt like when he got gifted an avocado for Christmas.”

“Wait,” Chenle plops down next to Juda as he says this, but is quickly shoved to the other end of the couch with a complaint ‘It’s too hot for you to stick your gross body next to me’.

“What’s his deal then?”

“What?” You turn to look at Juda first as if to check that you’re the only one confused. The furrow of the girls’ eyebrows proves the fact that you aren’t alone, as you both look at Chenle with visible empty thought bubbles surrounding you.

“Well, he’s a badminton prodigy according to you. Seems to have surprased all the basics and is just a step away from being a professional.” The initial shove and retort from Juda barely set him off, as he goes back to his original position and maybe squeezes himself even more to her side and pulls a spoon out, digging into her tub of ice cream.

“Why is he still coming to class if he’s qualified enough to teach you?” Unfortunately, for once Chenle does have a point. You’ve thought about this a few times at the beginning of the semester when you were a little more than irritated by the fact that he joined the class and made you rank down a notch; ever since he agreed to lend you a hand, you’re sometimes even happy when you see him come in.

“He has a point sadly,” Juda waves her spoon towards Chenle’s direction. “If he’s as good as you say he is, why bother coming to class?”

“Maybe you should ask him that on your next date,” The boy wiggles his eyebrows at you, squealing out a laugh when you pull your fist back in a threatening manner.

“Maybe I will,” you blurt out, attempting an aggressive tone. Before you could let anyone, even yourself, comprehend what you said, you pressed play on the tv and snuggled up to Juda’s arm on her right, with Chenle leaching off of her to her left.

“The things I put up with,” She huffs as she stabs her spoon into her ice cream tub, feeding you diligently.

[WEDNESDAY; 10:37 PM]

you: you

jwisung: ?

jwisung: what happened to hello

jwisung: ‘how was your day’

jwisung: wheres ur decorum

you: shut up you dont even know what that means

jwisung: :(

you: >.<

you: are you free this saturday at 9

jwisung: you mean

jwisung: the saturday 9pm where we just finish our badminton class?

jwisung: idk i gotta check my schedule to see if i have a badminton class around that time

jwisung: omg wait are you gonna spoil me

you: 😐

you: yes but not anymore

you: bye

jwisung: WAIR

jwisung: pleahse im soreu

you: not forgiven <3

you: i know this place that actually has good mint choc ice cream

you: not too minty not too chocolatey

jwisung: you rmbrd that i like mintchoc?

you: dont do this to me

jwisung: okay i wont 😁

you: good boy

jwisung: …

you: ?

you: oh!

jwisung: no

you: ill remember this too 😋

Your bag is bigger this time when you go to class, having packed an extra set of clothes and a towel to have a quick rinse after class before your not-date with Jisung. Arriving just in time for the warm-up session, you’re met with gloomy faces left and right. Plopping your bag down next to Soojin’s, you whisper when you ask, “Why does everyone look like they’ve been kicked?”

She looks up to you with a pout adorning her features. “Coach declared today a ‘cardio’ day. Something about wanting to boost our stamina or whatever the fuck.” She sighs as she shoves her stuff back into her bag, sadly shuffling across the court to do her designated warmups. You grimace as you follow, hoping your travel-size soap is enough.

Turns out Coach’s definition of cardio was way more intense than what you remember your gym friends raving about, as you put your hands on your knees to keep yourself from collapsing. A whistle from the coach signals a shift in your rep, making you change stations and do the next cycle of workout.

“Coach, how much longer are we gonna do this—”

“Until I start sweating, Jaemin. Now keep up!” Coach demands, which is absurd, because he isn’t doing anything but watching you do push-up planks and try not to collapse.

“Okay, stop,” He blows the whistle once more and you fall to your hands and knees, with everyone else modelling a variation of your position. Haechan’s high-pitched groan startles you, but not as much as the coach’s yelling that follows after.

“Don’t sit down guys! Sitting down after exercise is terrible for your stamina,”

“This sounds like some facebook myth my mom would tell me,” Ryujin pants as she shoves her fringe out of her face.

Coach smiles as he claps this time around. “You guys were great today, well done! As a gift, you can only do the stretching cool-down activities and I’ll finish class earlier today,” At that, the class erupts in out-of-breath cheers and barely lasting claps.

You look to find Jisung, just to see how he’s holding up after this exercise round from hell, and you find yourself more than relieved to see him affected for once. Halfway through class, he’s opted to take off his hoodie, which left him in a white shirt and navy sweatpants, with sleeves bunched up to show his biceps and their carvings. The sight of him adorned with sweat and panting sends a twist to your stomach, and you’re quickly reminded that you’re supposed to go out with him after this.

Shuffling to your bag as quickly as you can with the ache pulsing through your legs, you’re about to head for the courts' public showers when you’re met with Jisung’s figure.

“You can’t leave that easily, I have to try that ice cream,” He murmurs with a crooked smile. You smack at his shoulder.

“I wasn’t gonna leave, I wanted to take a quick rinse before we go out. That cardio really did a number on me,” Jisung falls a bit quiet at your words, as you visibly see him suddenly deep in thought. Before you get to question it, he beats you to it by straightening up and looking directly at you with an idea in mind.

“Why don’t you come to mine?” You blanch at his words but aren’t allowed to react more than that as he continues. “I live really close, and you can just use the shower before heading out. You have your stuff with you and I need a rinse too.” He points at your bag behind you, making you flush and subconsciously move to cover up your efforts. His idea doesn’t seem too bad, and you think this could be another excuse for you to make up to him. Let’s go out one more time because I used up all your hot water. Couldn’t think of a better idea.

With a nod and a smile, you’re quickly guided out of the building shoulder to shoulder.

Jisung’s apartment really wasn’t far at all, as you arrive at the complex within a five-minute walk from the sports grounds. Living in a two-bedroom apartment with his roommate, who Jisungs said to have gone home this winter season, the place looks relatively clean with the effort of one person living in the area. He directs you to his room, where you place your bags and pick up your clothes before he points towards the bathroom.

“You can use my shampoo and soap, they’re both in some type of white bottle. Don’t use the blue ones because they’re my roommates’ and he has a sixth sense when it comes to these things,” You salute him and shuffle to the bathroom, trying your best to be as quick as possible to not leave him waiting and to not actually use up all his hot water. The bathroom was just slightly messy, with towels stacked on one another in a haphazard manner and shaving bottle caps abandoned and soap remnants staining the sink, you feel warm with the idea of getting to see this side of Jisung. A university student trying his best, not some badminton prodigy.

Rinsing your body one last time, you close the water tap and open the glass door of the shower, reaching out your hand blindly to retrieve your towel. After a few seconds of mindlessly flinging your arm and only coming back with a bang of your knuckle against the metal towel holder, you don’t really recall pulling out the towel from your bag, much less hanging it anywhere near the bathroom.

“Oh my god, why today?” The cold of the world outside the shower cubicle washes shivers over you as you open the door wide enough to fit your head around, scanning to see if there’s any alternative you can use instead. All you’re met with is bundles of toilet paper rolls stacked on top of one another and used toilet paper rolls dumped into a basket haphazardly. Your panic settles a bit quicker as your mind blanks from solutions, but not before a knock is heard through the door with your name being called.

“Yes?” You hide the waver in your voice as best as you can, closing the glass door just a bit more.

“Is everything okay?” Jisung’s voice rumbles through the door. Your hand flies to your body, suddenly feeling exposed with the reminder of Jisung’s presence. Slipping back into the shower, you raise your voice as much as you can to be heard through the door; “Yup! Everything’s fine. Just . . .” It’s just I’m dripping and naked in your house and the only remedy is a towel, which I don’t have.

“I noticed you forgot your towel,” The muffle of his voice cuts you out of your trance, “I can give it to you— I mean of course I won’t look! I can just— maybe I’ll stick my hand in?” You laugh slightly at the fact that he’s just as flustered as you, before replying with an agreement.

As he opens the door with the smallest gap to fit the towel and then his wrist, the cold air of the outside reminds you again of your stark nakedness, one hand going across your chest as you reach your other to grab at the towel. With a skim of your wet fingers against his warm and dry ones, you retrieve your towel with a shy thanks, as Jisung quickly goes to close the door.

While getting ready as quickly as you could in the bathroom, your mind was filled with thoughts of how you were supposed to face Jisung after that whole incident. You couldn’t think if it was better to joke about it and get it over with or forget about it and have to come back one day for some form of closure. You hoped there was no need for closure.

But before your overthinking could get to you, Jisung regarded you like he would any other day when you stepped out of his bathroom — with a shy look and awkward hands — and you immediately relax, shoulders slumping as you go up to him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Jisung’s eyes flit towards it, but not for long before he opens the door and lets you lead the way.

The trip to the ice cream store was a short one, requiring only a train ride to the han rivers’ skirts where the shop is situated. The store itself was busy with people sitting all around snacking on its offerings, but once you get your respective ice creams and head out back towards the river, it’s a bit quieter; a breeze slips past you as you wrap an arm around yourself. With spring in the air, the trees’ full bloom flowers scatter around the pavement and are imprinted by the soles of your hoses as you walk by.

Finding a bench by the tree, the two of settle down on it, as you turn and face Jisung in anticipation of his first try.

“It’s really good, trust me. And it’s like a bit thicker with its mint rather than the chocolate bits which is a bit hard to do when you eat mint chocolate ice cream because it’s always the chocolate that's richer and you get si—” a spoonful of your ice cream is stuffed into your mouth, spluttering you to a stop as you glare at Jisung whos laughing at your expression.

“I had to shut you up one way,” You fist your hand at him in faux aggression, pulling out your spoon and placing it back into your cup.

“Just eat it quickly before it melts,” You exclaim with a hurried expression, feet bouncing up at down in anticipation. Jisung glances at you while he picks up his spoon, prodding at his ice cream before he picks up a spoonful of his ice cream, slowly bringing it to his mouth as he looks at your expression. He only laughs and detours his spoon once, bringing the spoon back up to his lips when the expression on your face shifts to a deadpan.

The pink of his lip contrasts with the mint colour of the ice cream dripping slightly from the spoon, as he finally fits the ice cream in and gives it a taste. Looking at his eyes with suspense, Jisung’s default expression of scepticism is what you see first, before it shifts into surprise, into confusion, and finally into the same expression as a kid getting candy. The glint in his eyes shines bright in the dim lighting that you’re in, as Jisung points to the ice cream while he continues consuming the ice cream.

“It’s good,”

“Of course it’s good. I wouldn’t bring you to try good mint chocolate if it wasn’t actually good mint chocolate,” You stifle a giggle when Jisung throws you a glower.

“You know what I mean,” At his positive reaction, you comfortably dug into your own ice cream, a comfortable silence blanketing you two with background noises of cyclers whizzing by and people talking in the distance.

“You’re doing really well,” Jisung starts with his eyes darted away, suddenly shy to look at you as he says, “In badminton, I mean. Your overhead shots are cleaner than mine.” Eyes still averted, he elbows you lightly with his compliment. You preen at his praise, leaning forward subconsciously to him with a thank you.

“It’s all thanks to you. If you weren’t as good as you are I wouldn’t even know that there are two methods of serving the shuttle.”

Jisung’s laugh sounds less humorous, “Yeah, it must’ve been weird seeing me play alone during class,” There's a heavy pause as you visibly detect the boy sort through his next words. “I didn’t think you guys were . . . fond of me. When we first started,” You feel your stomach go white, colours flush from your face from his words. Did he know? Were you that blatant? You feel bad, remembering how isolated the boy was at that time as everyone distanced themselves since learning his level of expertise. You weren’t any better, the bitter feeling you harboured when you got ranked into the third group now coming back to you after three months of attending practice.

At the glum expression on your face, Jisung quickly goes to wave his hand. “Ah, it was— it wasn’t your fault or anything. I secluded myself too, so of course it would’ve been hard to talk as comfortably.” He rests his hand on yours that’s pressed against the bench, comforting you as if you’re the one whos been wronged, and not the other way around. Frowning at his consolation, you don’t know what comes over you as you flip your hand around, making your palm face his as you clasp his hands in yours.

You avoid looking at his expression as you make your bold move, looking at the river as you start. “If it makes you feel better, Jaemin always talks about how jealous he is of you whenever you do a smash,” Gathering the courage, you squeeze his fingers as you look at him, another question popping up in your head.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to, of course, but—” You cut yourself short when Jisung nods his head at you, looking at you with a calm demeanour.

“Why do you still come to class if you’re already so good? I mean, I swear you’re at national levels at least,” Jisung snorts at your words, growing shy from your praise.

“I’m being serious, don’t laugh!” Even as you say your words with furrowed eyebrows, your efforts barely last as you smile at his bashful posture. Puffing his cheeks, he ponders a bit on how to answer your question; you’re about to tell him to just forget it, not wanting him to answer something so personal, when he straightens his posture and stares ahead with a determined expression.

“The first time I played badminton was at a family gathering for new years, and I might’ve been four or maybe five when my dad put a racket in my hand and swung my arm around to hit at the throws my cousins would send my way. Then when I got older and was forced to play actual sports in school, the only thing that I was willing to play was badminton. I didn’t try hard in the beginning and was there because I heard that the teacher conducting it didn’t really care,” You snort at the picture of young Jisung barely lifting his hand to play, or letting the shuttle zoom right past him while flinching away entirely.

“But when the interschool competitions came around and I was ranked in the last group to play, I had won by pure luck,” He rubs his hands up and down his pants as he reminisces, shoulder rubbing against your subconsciously. “And then everyone started cheering me on because apparently, my accidental win had helped us accelerate to the next round. It made me feel good that I was the cause of such a thing, so I tried a bit harder the next time. Then I asked the higher ranking kids to help me with my serving, and then my mom to admit me to a badminton class, and I ranked up from F to D, and then to B and then A. My class started to admit me to local competitions outside of school hours, and then it had become such a big part of my life that I was determined to get to a national scale.”

“Did you?” Your voice was quiet when you spoke, ending with a bit of a rasp from its lack of use. You were on the edge of your seat if your position meant anything, arms wrapped around your knees, thighs pressed to your chest, making the waistband of your shorts dig a bit higher. Jisung’s smile is a sentimental one, reminiscent of a win resulting from years of effort.

“I was fifteen when I was cast by a racket sports centre, which focused on training people ranging from kids to young adults to get to national competitions and even more. I was over the moon and became one of those kids you barely see in class and when you do, they’re just sleeping through the subject. My first competition was scheduled three months after my admission, which was unheard of; even kids who have been learning at the place for two years would struggle to pass the first rounds for the entry.” Your eyes move along Jisung’s hand, as he comically explains his words through the movement of his fingers, expanding and collapsing joints onto one another.

“I didn’t win the first one, but I won the second, and the third, and built a streak - although short, just four months into training. In the beginning, it was all so exhilarating, the thrill of winning the title of first place with all these people who were just as gifted, if not even more. And so I would win because I was capable, I didn’t win because I was it was expected of me.”

“But,” You murmur as Jisung halts, bringing his hand down as his fingers fiddle with the texture of the bench.

“But,” His excitement has burnt down to a sort of nostalgia, and you reach your hand down and clasp your hand over his again, before he looks down and turns his hand, palm facing yours as he links your fingers together. “But then, when I was seventeen, I had passed the initial rounds for the national Olympic competition. It was big news; our centre hadn’t had someone do that in decades, and that was when the pressure was tangible.

“My parents would schedule my day down to the minutes, and my coach made my diet strict, telling me what exactly I should eat each day until the competition. I loved the order and agenda that was set for me; I didn’t have to think what’s next? I just had to keep doing what I was good at. But then came the first round of the match, and the people were ruthless. No one was there to watch two teenagers play badminton, but instead fight for their lives. I didn’t think much about it until my third round that day when the kid I was playing against deliberately tried to hit the ball to my face.”

You couldn’t help it, your laugh had spilt out before you could even think of stopping it, but Jisung’s squeeze against your hand assured you that it was fine, as he chuckled with you.

“Who the fuck practices hitting the ball at someone's face?” Your voice was pitched higher with exasperation. “Do you reckon he had a cardboard cutout of you to practice on? I doubt someone can do the calculations of face-hitting range that quickly under pressure.” Jisung contemplates your idea teasingly, tilting his head and measuring random angels with his free hand. Seeing that, the weight of your hand held against his now weighs tenfold, as the butterfly in your stomach flutters with the subconscious squeeze of his fingers. You bump at his shoulder as you squeeze yourself closer, bringing your linked hands to rest against your stomach, wanting to hold him closer.

“It was definitely weird, but it didn’t set me off my rhythm, I just thought that it was a way to rile people up. But my coach was the one irritated, and when the boy had almost hit my eye, that was when my coach started to interfere,” You can only imagine the noise surrounding seventeen-year-old Jisung, his coach stepping forward to halt the game and talking to the referee to take some sort of action, pointing accusing fingers at the opponent and their mentors.

“The place that we were competing at was big, bigger than what I was used to back then, and there were a lot of people and so it was noisy; but the noise that my coach and the kid were making was something else. When my coach came back to me, all riled up, I couldn’t do much but take in his energy. I remember being very tense, thinking that I should just step my ground a bit more next time ‘round so they wouldn’t think of doing something like aiming the shuttle at my face.

“I think it was either the fifth? Or the sixth round, when I was in the zone of playing ‘professionally’ rather than doing what I was already good at. I would do overhead deliveries and front-hand serves even though I’d rather do a simple back-hand. Then there was an opening for a smash, it was a weak point for the guy— and I was over the moon with the opportunity. I’d only done the smash successfully maybe enough to count off of my fingers, but I knew that if I timed it right I would get it,” Dread fills your stomach at the direction that Jisung is going, You’re sure if you clench your fingers any harder there would be an imprint left of the poor boy's hand, but Jisung either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care.

Jisung’s chuckle drifts lightly in the air, “I was too enthusiastic, and I bunched up all my energy into hitting the ball that I’d missed the perfect time and instead had delivered a simple overhead. It would’ve been okay otherwise, I mean, I was able to deliver something instead of losing a measly point, but before I could recover, the shuttle had travelled to the back end of the court, and in my attempt of getting it, I’d tripped and landed pretty badly,” While telling the story, Jisung’s free hand had been wandering over his clothed knee, fingers fiddling with the fabric and one another. Bunching up the fabric at the end of his pant, he pushes up the lax fabric up and over his knee, where a pink and slightly faded surgical scar paints the inner side of his knee. Your hand clasps over your mouth once met with the scar, and your heart fills with admiration as you see him trace his healed gash with sentimentality. Bringing your linked hands to rest on your knee, you prop your cheek against it while looking at him, sparkling eyes encouraging him to continue.

“I couldn’t play anymore after that, not with the same vigour I had before. Suddenly I had to go back to class regularly and didn’t have to do any sort of reps just so I don’t fall behind on my weekly plan. My schedule had more free time than anything, and so I had enough time to get to thinking; what if I hadn’t misstepped? Would I have won? But I knew that all of that thinking wouldn’t do me any good. So when I was watching the Olympics months later, I remember seeing the camera pan onto the coaches, and how happy they were to see their student playing. I missed the joy of playing for the thrill and adrenaline of moving around, and so I thought, why not become a coach?” Understanding fills you as you realise why Jisung is going through all this effort of attending a class that he’s exponentially overqualified for. His cheeks go red as he realises your gaze settling over his figure, now looking away from you and onto the still water.

You can’t help it, you find it simply so endearing that he’s set his time into achieving something to allow people to have fun with badminton. Feeling overwhelmed with affection from his story and words and actions, you lean over and place a peck on to his cheek.

The contact was brief, as your lips barely took in the smoothness of his skin before you’re coming back with a start. “Oh my god, Jisung. That’s so cute, you’re generous and you’re going out of your way to do such good things, and you didn't deserve to go through that at such a young age—” Your words were smushed together as you barely reach the end of your sentence, the cause being Jisung’s big hands gently attacking your cheeks at once. His wide eyes stare straight at yours as his colder hands warm against the puff of your cheeks; and you are seconds away from voicing your confusion before you see his gaze settling on your pouted lips, glistening and redder from the ice cream.

You couldn’t even smile teasingly at him, as his hands refrain you from doing so. The nervous adrenaline running in your vein might be another reason too, but you don’t get to ponder on that for long before you see Jisung’s tilted head leaning closer, hooded eyes glancing at your eyes before focusing back on your lips, wanting to imprint it’s cute pouted shape.

The warmth of his lips lands on your cold ones, sending a wave of warmth to wash over you. You can feel his desire through the pressure of his lips against you, his soft lips fitting over yours lovingly. You mourn the loss as soon as Jisung pulls back, but not for long before he presses another close-mouthed kiss, this time with his hand tilting your head the other way, fingers slipping and cupping your jaw gently. Your stomach warms as you feel the fervour within Jisung, from the tip of his cold fingers on your heated cheeks to the push of his body towards you, wanting to get closer with each passing second.

When he pulls back, his eyes are clouded with the haze of your kiss and a bit of timidity. Your giggle bubbles between you, causing him to smile along with you, his shyness catching up. Not wanting his hand to stray far as they fall from your face, you clasp at his palm and lace your fingers, pulling down to get his face closer to yours, placing a peck at his nose first, scrunched from being bashful, and then one on his lips. And another, and another, then it’s him who’s leaning in and slotting his lips against yours, and you’re pulling your linked hands behind your back and let go, opting to slot your hand behind his neck.

After two, three, and four more kisses to the cheek, forehead and lips, you tuck your head into the junction of his shoulder and neck, feeling shy from doing all of this in public. Jisung’s laugh is sweet to your ears, hands rubbing up and down your back before brushing at the ends of your hair.

“Give a warning next time round, will you?” You tease as you pull back, hand falling on his forearms, eyes looking everywhere but at his.

“Sorry, you just looked too cute. I felt this sudden urge to either bite you or kiss you,”

You pull back even more, hands coming up to shield yourself in mock reservation. “I don’t know if I should be thankful you chose the second option or fear for when the first option will happen,”

Jisung hums, “Maybe both?”

Your pinkies are linked as you walk along the river, basking in each other's presence as you talk, shoulders brushing every now and then. It’s when you’re both childishly debating about who had fallen first when Jisung suddenly points his finger at you accusingly.

“Is that why you forgot your towel?” His question comes out more genuine than anything, as he tilts his head quickly in thought. With a light gasp, you smack at his shoulder before your arm falls back and crosses on your shoulders, scandalised. “I didn’t!”

“Was that how you were gonna seduce me? By forgetting your towel and having me bring it to you? What was next, you wanted me to lotion your legs for you too?” You can tell he’s teasing this time around, as his tongue pokes at his cheek ever so slightly to withhold the grin that was blooming across his features.

You point your finger at him, catching on. “You probably distracted me with your whole ‘which bottle of shampoo’ debacle just to make me forget it.” Poking at his chest with eyes squinted in suspicion, “You wanted to see me naked on the first date? That’s not very decorum of you.”

Jisung scoffs and rolls his eyes at your accusation, shoulders squaring to better defend himself. “I don’t need to go through all of that just to get to you,” He throws you a quick glance from the corner of his eye, a rush of giddiness washing over him with the look of your flustered expression.

“You’re right,” This time, you’re looking at his lips as you say this, catching Jisung off-guard with your compliance. Moving closer, you rest your hands on his arms, pushing yourself up and closer to his body, chests brushing. Your voice, barely above a whisper, brushes against his ear, “It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get to me, baby.”

You know the smile on your face is menacing if Jisung’s gaze on you is anything to go by, partly annoyed and part timid. Ghosting one of your hands down his arm, you slip your fingers in between his and give them a squeeze, giggling as you swing your arm back a forth a bit like a school couple.

Jisung’s next sentence takes a bit of effort to say if his demeanour is anything to go by. With his gaze settled on your intertwined hands and a slightly open mouth— as if to say something, you give his hand another gentle squeeze to encourage him.

The gleam in his eyes looks more assured as he straightens his posture and looks directly into your eyes, giving your hand a squeeze back. “Do you wanna go back to mine?”

Leaning in, you give another peck on his cheek, his scent pleasantly wafting through your nose. “I’d love to,”

You can feel the tension grow with the sound of the door closing and sounding its locking chime, toeing off your shoes as you look up at Jisung. He reaches out a hand towards you once you straighten up, pulling you close and guiding you towards the door of his bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, Jisung’s room is clean but still spotted with signs of use, with his desk having papers and laptop wires strewn around while a plethora of empty hangers are placed at the foot of his closet. As he sits on the bed, with his hand still holding yours, he tugs you forward, his free hand going to your thigh, clasping above your knee.

His eyes glisten as he looks up at you, “This okay?” his touch ghosts on you as he asks this. You nod your head, wanting him to touch you, needing him to touch you more. His fingers grow bolder and heavier in weight, as his hand clasps at the back of your thigh, bending your leg and resting it next to his thigh. Understanding his movements, you follow suit, settling yourself on his thighs with your linked hands resting on his stomach. He leans in and presses a soft kiss against you, easing in with feathery light touches. The slot of your mouths against each other starts a small fire in your stomach, as you push yourself onto him more, needing him to know that you crave more.

He sighs against your lips as you settle down more, the pressure not far from where he wants it the most. He kisses you feverishly, the smack of your lips growing louder with each plant of his lips. His touches grow heavier as his fingers go from grazing against your knees to tracing lines up your thighs, barely a touch away from settling under the seem of your skirt. Knitting your fingers in his hair, his hand flies to your love handles, squeezing them in an attempt to ground himself. A sigh leaves his lips when you separate just the slightest bit, taking a breather as you kiss the corner of his lips, hands falling from the ends of his hair down to his collarbones and at the bottom of his shirt. Your spread your fingers on the skin of his stomach, nails skimming ever so slightly making Jisung’s breath hitch, his stomach tensing under your touch, eyes still closed as he takes in your touch, his stomach knotting from finally being able to do this with you.

With his grip already tight on your waist, he maneuvers you off his lap and sits you on his bed, crawling between your legs, making you open them and welcome him in as you lie down on his bed. He kisses you again, his hands now staking claim everywhere he can, pushing your shirt up to your ribs, fingers grazing against your bud form under your bra before he brings his hands down and kneads at your thighs.

“Jisung,” You sigh when he swipes his tongue against your lips. He takes your tongue in his mouth, humming against it at your call, its vibration sending hot waves down your body. His touches on your body take you higher, but you need more.

And so you say just as much, “More, give me more.”

“Fuck,” He sighs against your lip, “Yeah? Okay, I’ll give you more, anything for you,” Pressing one last peck against your lip, you see his body slide down your figure, his fingers going to unhook your bra as you arch your back. He groans at the sight of your breasts free from your bra. “I love your tits, so much,” His hands are big against you, but they fit perfectly against the cup of your breasts, squeezing them together as he smothers himself against your cleavage. He licks a stripe of each bud, before focusing on your left one with his mouth, tongue lapping around the swell as he sucks, opting to circle his fingers on your other tit before pinching it harshly, making you keen against him.

You rake your fingers in his hair, petting him. “Such a good boy, you make me feel so good,” Your words make him whine against your breast, making his hip stutter against the mattress, for some sort of friction. He releases one hand from cupping your breasts, opting to use one hand while his now free hand dances its way down your torso, unzipping your skirt and taking it off, before meeting the seam of your panties. With his pointer finger, he hovers a line ever so slightly on your slit, eyes wide as he glances at the pleasure breaking out on your face and the wetness of your underwear spreading.

He keeps his touch light, drawing circles on your clit through the fabric of your underwear, frustrating you. You huff when he uses the point of his fingers and presses the slightest amount into your hole, the fabric refraining you from feeling his direct touch. You pull at his hair that’s winded through your fingers, urging him on; he moans at the pull, getting the memo once he looks up at your face with an eye squeezed closed from pain or pleasure. Or both.

He licks at your entrance briefly through your panties, the heat and wetness making you moan, before his fingers finally fit themselves into the seam, sliding them down your legs. You feel more than see his gaze on your core, hooded eyes watching it squeeze around nothing as his fingers tease around it. He comes back up to you and presses his lips against yours, lips slotting together briefly before you feel his thumb rub against your sensitive nub, his middle finger prodding at your hole, eyes watching your face as he pushes the pad of his finger against you. You keen when his finger fills you, as he pushes his finger back and forth, his thumb following by pressing into your clit and pulling away rhythmically. He brings his head against your neck, licking a stripe against you before his teeth catch on your skin, lips wrapping themselves around you straight after, sucking into you before parting and finding another part of your skin to taint. He quickens his pace with his one finger, but it’s not enough, you can barely get enough of him.

Hugging his head that’s still tucked at your neck, you scratch at his scalp soothingly before pulling at strands of his hair. “Jisung,” You pant, “Another one, fill me up, please,”

“You want more?” He bites at your jaw lightly, before he pecks your lips lovingly, as if he isn’t trying to have you come undone with his fingers alone. You nod your head, “Please, I’ve been good, haven’t I?” You beg as your cup the side of his face, your eyes looking at his blown-out pupils, probably no different than yours.

Jisung gronas at your words. “You’ve been so good, such a good girl.” He pulls his finger out so just the tip of it hangs onto your gaping hole, before he joins in another finger, two fingers now filling you. You whimper out a thank you, hands clutching at his shoulders as he picks up the pace, hand now slapping against your cunt, fingers curling inside your sopping pussy. Your body feels like it’s floating and coiling into itself all at once, with Jisung’s unrelenting fingers contrasting his gentle pecks and scrape of teeth against your skin. Every few thrusts and squeeze against his fingers have his hips grind down, sometimes grazing against your leg, making you feel his hard-on.

You bring your hand down from his shoulder, curling it at the bottom of his shirt before tugging at it, mumbling the word off. He pulls back slightly and pulls his shirt off with his free hand while you help with getting it over his head. You scratch your nails against the lines of his stomach, eliciting a hiss out of his before you palm at the outline of his cock through his sweatpants. “You listen so well, don't you? Always doing your best,” You pant out, testing the waters as you tuck the tips of your finger under his waistband. His moan comes out higher in pitch with your words, hips jutting forward and into your touch.

“Good for you,” he breathes against your cheek, eyes squeezed shut at the brush of your fingers against his clothed cock, muttering another fuck under his breath, rutting into your palm for more.

You’re losing your patience, as Jisung speeds up his hand even more, the pleasure bordering with pain from his pace and harsher bites Jisung plants on you, too far gone with pleasuring you to be mindful of his strength.

You can feel your orgasm reaching, breath hitching and your stomachs coil tightening further and further. You wrap your hand around Jisung’s wrist, slowing him down slowly before prodding them out of you. You whine at the emptiness briefly but are soothed when Jisung plants wet kisses against your collarbone. You push yourself up onto your shoulders, making Jisung shuffle back slightly in order to not lose touch with you, Reaching over, you dig through your bag and pull out a condom, shaking it between your bodies to bring Jisung’s attention to it.

The sound of the plastic wrapper catches his gaze, “You’re gonna let me put it in?” He grabs the packet from your hand before gently pushing you back down. He kisses you again, seeming to not get enough, as he pushes his pants and boxers down in one go, his tip smacking against the soft lines of his stomach and leaving a glisten. The rip of the packet sounds before he rolls it on, and you shift closer when you feel the tip of his cock lined up with your pussy.

The sheets ruffle around you as Jisung comes down and places a kiss on your cheek before looking into your eyes. “Ready?” He asks, and with a nod of your head, you feel him slowly ease himself into you. The stretch feels amazing, as you both moan into each other mouths, your hands squeezing and wandering everywhere around Jisung’s shoulders, back, torso.

Jisung sighs, “Fuck,” His grip on your waist tightens, the pressure turning you on even more, squeezing around his cock. “You feel so good, so tight,”

“Fuck, Jisung,” You groan out as he quickens his pace, the sound of his hips slapping against your skin picking up. “Fuck, you’re doing so well. Stretching me out so good,” Jisung throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut at the pulse of your pussy around his member. He looks back down, wanting to see the join of your bodies, pulling out till his tip, before ramming himself back in, losing himself to the blissful feeling.

The knot in your stomach tightens. “Jisung, I’m close—” You’re cut off by your own moan as Jisung starts rubbing at your clit again, building a rhythm to his thrusts into you.

“Yeah? Fuck, let go baby,” He grunts as he bends down, his cock twitching inside of you as he kisses your lips before tucking his head back into your neck, lapping at your skin as he keeps up his speed with his fingers on your clit and his thrusts inside you. Your body curls up as your orgasm crashes into you, hands hugging at Jisung’s shoulders tighter as your thighs squeeze around his hips, keeping him in your pulsing core. Panting, you release your grip from his hip, bringing your leg down and patting Jisung’s head, wanting to kiss him again.

As he pulls away from you, you lean up and plant a kiss on his lips, chest bursting with the affection you feel while coming down. Jisung pulls his cock out from you, going slow as to not overwhelm you. He pulls off his condom, not having cum yet as his cock smacks against his stomach, the precum from the tip joining the light sheen of sweat covering his body. He fists his hand around his cock, tugging and pumping himself to a finish. You’re too spent to give him a helping hand, but you decide you haven’t spent your mouth enough.

“Pretty boy, you’re doing so well,” He hunches over your body at your words. “Looks so good fisting your own cock like that,”

“Fuck,” He groans, “If you keep going I’m gonna—”

“Cum baby, make a mess on me,” You run your hand up his thigh, before pulling up and grabbing at his hair and combing through the strands. His moan comes out high pitched as his hips stutter into his fist, before a spurt of come shoots out and lands on your stomach. He twists his fist around the head of his cock as he milks it out, before heaving a sigh and slumping down, placing a kiss on your shoulder before he lies by your side, cupping his body into yours. You continue running your hand in his hair as he settles on your shoulder, his cheek poking out which makes you poke at it. A giggle is shared as the giddiness of you two being together in the moment settles in, and when you go to place a kiss at his forehead, you’re reminded of the wetness of sweat all over your body and the slowly drying cum on your stomach.

“Oh, let me go get something,” He gets up and goes to his bathroom, coming back with a few paper towels and a wet cloth. Rubbing down your spent body, he pats you dry with the paper towel before putting them away and plopping down next to you, wrapping his arm around you and tucking himself close.

“I didn’t know you were the cuddly type,” You say as you hug at his shoulders, hands rubbing up and down as a faux massage.

“Well, I mean, I can let go?” Jisung’s nervous front grows again, as he goes to put some distance between the two of you. But before he could get far, you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulder as you hook your leg around his, stopping him from pulling away.

“I never said it was bad; I like this girlfriend bonus.” Jisung’s hair bounces as he pops his head up to look at you.

“Girlfriend bonus? Does that mean you’re my girlfriend now?”

“Only if you agree to my boyfriend bonuses,” You shrug. He laughs as he places his head back on your shoulder. “What are these so-called ‘boyfriend bonuses’ of yours?” You tap at your chin mockingly as you think.

“You can fuck my boobs next time?” You shrug again. His head whips up faster this time ‘round.

“Are you serious? Don’t joke about it, because if you are I won’t be—” You smack your hands on his cheeks, squeezing his lips into a pout. His shoulders slump at your attempt of shutting him up, eyebrows drooping as he gazes at you, making you laugh at his expression as you squish his cheeks repeatedly.

“Okay, good job guys, take a water break.” Coach Son claps, as everyone shuffles to their bags and grab at their bottles. Jisung’s elbow brushes against yours as he grabs his bottle from his bag next to yours, taking a few light sips before he places it down, looking at you with his cheeks full of water. It takes all his might to not spit the water out as you elbow him back and raise your fingers tauntingly, moving closer as if you’re about to tickle him.

Before you can successfully begin your quest, Coach lets out a sound as to gather you guys back ‘round, clapping his hands twice before waving you guys in.

“Since we’re coming to the end of the semester and you guys have proved to work really hard, I’m gonna conduct one last test to see how much your levels have changed since the beginning of the semester!”

“Oh my god,” You whisper out to Jisung as your hand cups your mouth, wide eyes looking at his as his eyebrows raise in surprise. This could finally be the moment that you can prove yourself, advancing onto a higher level to have an overall better ranking.

“Who wants to go first?” Jaemin steps up and raises his hand, confidently wanting to prove his skills.

He plays a round with the coach, showing signs of trying his best and knowing how to play, but his reaction speed comes a bit too late as he misses the shuttles by a step. Sometimes two. Sometimes he mixes up his left from his right, but that’s just occasionally. Minji and Ryujin play a round each, and show good improvement throughout the semester.

“You should go next,” Jisung leans into as he whispers, both of your gazes settled on the coach and Ryujin going back and forth with clears being delivered. Your blood rushes quicker at the thought of playing an official round, thinking of all the mistakes you can make that would cost you.

Sensing your nerves, Jisung places his hand on yours, grabbing it before giving the palm of your hand soothing rubs. “To help with the nerves,” He says when you look at your joint hands questioningly.

“Alright, next player?” Giving your hand a light squeeze, Jisung lets go and ushers you forward onto the court, as you raise your hand slightly, grabbing at your racket once Coach nods you in.

Arranging yourself, you pick up the shuttle left at your side and get into your serve position. You hit the shuttle and serve, commencing the game. You are able to reciprocate most of coach’s deliveries, stepping left and right when needed and angling your racket to optimise your own delivery, but it’s when you’re halfway through the game with Coach Son’s and your score being eleven and ten respectively, coach starts playing with a more advanced method. The drops become more frequent, catching you off guard as you have to run from the back to the front of the court in order to make it to the shuttle, as well as the clears going in different angles making you almost trip a few times as you attempt to make it to them.

Jisung has his fist at his mouth as he watches you from the side, with everyone else in awe at how quickly you’re moving compared to the last time they played officially.

“How did she get so good?” Haechan questions with his hand pressed on his racket. The whole class shifts their head from left to right at the sidelines as they watch you battling it out with their coach, the shuttle relentlessly being delivered with neither of you wanting to lose touch of it.

“It’s the perks she gets for having an almost professional-level badminton player of a boyfriend.” Ryujin’s smile is devoid of any callousness, patting at Jisung’s shoulder as she says this. Jisung can feel his cheeks grow red as he splutters into his sleeve, hiding his flustered expression as the rest of them shout out their reactions.

“All credit goes to her, she’s just a diligent student.”

“I can be diligent too,” Jaemin bats his lashes as he leans in from Jisung’s other side, but flinches and clutches at his shoulder when Soojin smacks him.

Back on the court, you’re starting to lose your breath when Coach delivers another serve to the back of the court, shuttle going straight as you attempt to create enough distance to successfully hit back. As he does a clear delivery, you position yourself at the back fo the court in order to meet his hit, before quickly centring yourself, preparing for his next move. From a steady pattern of his serves growing in your head, you were more than ready to reciprocate his short hit of the shuttle near the net, as you step forward and hit back.

Usually, you would’ve stumbled to hit the shuttle back at maximum velocity, sending it flying up and giving Coach more than enough time to think of his next move. But from your extra hours of playing with Jisung, you’re picked up the knack of delivering a short end with another short end, making the shuttle travel only the slightest bit over the net and plummeting down into the court. Coach Son is caught off guard when you do this, but his reflexes from years of practise kicks in, and before he could process his actions, he delivers a lob, sending the shuttle high in the air. Jisung gasps from the sidelines, making everyone alert.

He calls out your name, “Smash! Do a smash!”

With your eye settled on the descending shuttle, you think back to the one class you had with Jisung.

“You hit a clear when the shuttle can meet your hand at twelve o’clock. You have to wait for it to drop to the same level that you’re hand would be at a ten o’clock position to be able to deliver a smash; but remember that you have to keep going with your delivery until your hand reaches six o’clock.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You’re still not sure what he meant, but with the fall of the shuttle, you’re not really at the privilege of recalling things for a long amount of time.

Positioning your hand at the first base, you wait for the shuttle to be at least a few inches from your head before you reach out, smacking at the shuttle and aiming at the bottom of the court. Coach, who was ready for you to hit the shuttle to the back of the court like you usually do, was not ready for the shuttle which was arriving at a quick pace. In a blink, the shuttle lands just past his ankles, and you’ve officially scored a point.

“Jisung!” You scream once the shuttle lands, looking at your boyfriend who was staring intently at your match. A look of victory glows across his face as his mouth drops in disbelief, eyebrows raised and fists clenched, over the moon at what you had just accomplished.

“I smashed! I did it! I smashed so hard oh my god, I think my arms gonna fall off,” The game is far from done for you to be celebrating like this, but you’re without care when the rest of the class cheers for you, Minji running up to you to give you a hug. You both start jumping with giddy while the rest join in, all while the coach looks at your huddled bunch with a smile on his face.

“This is Juda and this one is Chenle.”

“Why’d you talk about me as if I was a dog?”

“Because you are,” Juda shrugs before she plucks out a Yakult bottle from the packet in her hand, swingin it above Chenle’s face. “Who wants a treat? You do! Who’s a good boy?”

“Nice to . . . meet you guys too?” Jisung’s wave hangs mid air as he looks at Chenle slowly shift from a expressionless face to enthusiastically nodding his head up and down, wanting the drink.

“What did I tell you? You’ll fit just right in with us,” You link your arm through Jisung’s elbow, pulling him into your shared house with Juda before sitting him down on the couch. Juda and Chenle follow after, with the latter having his own bottle open and already emptied halfway. Juda offers Jisung yakult bottle, and goes to pick up the remote, going through the movies to put something on. You quickly grab a few snacks from the kitchen and come back, settling yourself right next to Jisung, leaving no space between the both of you.

“Wait,” Chenle turns to look at you from his positon on the ground, grimacing a bit at the sight of you two cuddled up, before continuing. “What happened with the new ranking then?” Your smile is shy when you look at him and Juda looking back at you expectantly.

“I got into group B.”

“YES!” Chenle whoops, grabbing Juda and shaking her by the shoulders. “No more whining and complaining and whinging about the class!” You chuckle as you cheer alongside him, with Jisung looking at your interactions with raised eyebrows.

Laughing, you tuck yourself into his side, linking your arms again as you rest your head on his shoulder. With Juda and Chenle bickering about settling on what movie to watch, you press a quick kiss on his cheek in appreciation.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” You smile at him, to which he grins shyly at. “Even though I lost, the smash pulled me through. Your smashing abilities were so flawless that even I, a young duckling was able to smash through,”

“Okay, thank you for the compliment but maybe don’t say how good my smashing abilities are—”

“You just smash so hard and so well—”

“Please—”

“Jisung the smash master!”

if you liked this, dont be afraid to tell me !

#park jisung x reader #jisung x reader #nct jisung #park jisung smut #park jisung fluff #nct dream smut #nct jisung fluff #nct jisung x reader #nct jisung smut

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yxami · 4 months

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RAAAAH my first request omg

ethans reaction to reader cheering him on one of his games and even wearing his spare jersey that he "forgot" (oh so conveniently) at their place the last time they hung out

- 🐰

Hope u enjoy!! Sorry for the wait

description: yandere jock x gn reader, somewhat of an established relationship, more like a undisclosed “we fuck each other but can’t get with anyone else” type of thing, fluff with yandere jock, he isn’t really yandere yet other than jealousy issues, I had to google football things 24/7

(I’ll also include this ask since I got so many Ethan asks that are pretty similar or able to combine in one story)

Even from afar you could still see how Ethan basked in the attention, the support of his many fans, and the harsh football lighting. You wondered if he was any different from when you first met him.

Yeah he softened up, a lot actually, but did that mean he’d stay loyal to you? He could’ve gone with anyone, it was a little odd for him to go after the person he’d tease and torment for fun.

It could’ve been for a different reason of fun, something quite deeper than that, a sort of emotion you wouldn’t be able to predict that he felt. Love.

Love for you? That’s ridiculous, this was just a friends with benefits type of thing, right? You internally groaned at being lost in thought over him. Just enjoy the game, you came here to watch him, not worry about whether he likes you or not.

Even proudly wearing his freshly washed jersey for the occasion, you could notice a few jealous and envious glares at the familiar number that many would dote over it. 2 was your lucky number, ironic that it was his jersey number.

He coincidentally left it at your place a few times, but you had always given it back much to his hidden dismay. And today, you were finally wearing it, it made his heart jump when he first saw you.

“Aaand Ethan Cortez making a run for the end zone, will he get a touch down?? It looks like number 10 is sneaking up on him as we speak!!” The speaker boomed dialogue about the game, quickly allowing the game to resume without it until an important event would unfold.

His lungs pounded with demand for air, something that he ignored until he was inches from the zone, desperate to impress you he made an effort he wouldn’t usually go as far to do when he’s this tired.

He managed to slip out an enemies grab right before he made the last winning touchdown. He slammed the football down, almost hitting himself in the process but it flung right next to him instead.

Ethan was crowded by his teammates in the matter of seconds, as quick as they could come they started hollering about how good he was, almost ready to carry him up and run around the field with him on top.

After he dabbed up what seemed to be all of his teammates he looked around. Where were you? Now that his eyes weren’t focused on you for as many seconds as possible, he couldn’t find you. He had forgotten where you were sat.

Until you popped up behind him, slinging your arms around his neck when he turned around, his expression was switched in the matter of seconds when he saw you.

“You won! I’m so happy” You relished in being carried by him with one arm around your back except for when you noticed people were staring so you laughed and told him to put you down. You didn’t want to receive anymore stares that you were already getting in the hallways for being so close to him.

“What? You shying down on me?” He curls his arm around your waist, bringing you up, and with a tilt of the head kissed your cheek. “I think I deserve a few more moments after I tried so hard for you” He pouted, sly behavior now dying down to a puppy like one.

“Alright, how about we go to the concession stand?” You compromised, looking at the bright decorated area, with pictures of what they sold. You were craving a drink and some snacks after watching the game for such a long period of time.

He nods, setting you down back on the soft grass, letting you escape from the embarrassment of people judging, even though it would still continue even afterwards. As the two of you make it to the stand, he remembers something, he had forgotten his water bottle on the bench, the one you had given him.

“I gotta go grab something, do you mind waiting for a quick second” He frowns in a displeased manner, surprised that he left it there, he hoped nobody would try snatching it just because he was drinking from it throughout the game. He knew he had some irregular fans.

You shake your head, getting a kiss on your forehead from him before he jogs off to go get it.

While you waited you looked at the menu placed above the stand, you stood a bit away as to not disturb the small line. You felt an arm tap your shoulder, you turned to the source just to realize it wasn’t Ethan but a different guy.

Looked like some other gym lover judging by his muscles that were more defined with his plain black t shirt.

“Hey, sorry to bother, but I thought you were really cute and I wanted to ask for your number” He smiled, a toothy grin popping out, he was cute, you’d admit that, but you were sort of taken?

“Oh, I’m sorry I’m umm.. sort of with someone? It’s kinda complicated” You attempted to elaborate but it just came out as jumbled words in your mind so you closed your mouth after.

“Complicated? So you’re not officially seeing someone?” He pushed his lips in a way that extenuated his curious look, eyebrows raising slightly.

“Well, not officially but.. I can’t really date anyone in the moment because of it” You hoped that was a good enough explanation that would make him lose hope and walk off. You knew that Ethan was definitely not the patient type of person when it came to other guys.

“So not with someone though? Surely you won’t mind having my number?” He seems relentless, and it didn’t seem annoying at first but now it did, why couldn’t he just accept that you couldn’t?

“I would” Ethan appears, now towering over you and the guy. “If you gotta push for a number that means it’s a no, you’re not that dumb are you?” His scoff only furthers his annoyed demeanor, crossing his arms and eyebrow perking on whether this guy would try something.

“I don’t think I was asking you was I? It’s not your fucking business anyways” The stranger laughs, sizing him up and down. You knew this was going to end terribly so you say Ethan’s name a couple of times, wanting him to notice the worry on your face and just leave with you before this escalated but he just ignored you.

He would never ignore you on normal circumstances, but right now this guy was pissing him off and he couldn’t help but deal with him before he listened you.

“And if I make it my business? What’re you going to do? I want you to do something about it” He laughs, daring him to try something when he clearly had the advantage, skills and fighting wise.

“No, I’m serious. throw a punch, see what happens” He speaks up again, clearly amused for what this guy might attempt to do.

A few moments of silence goes by, just a small chuckle from the strange guy who approached you before he swung on Ethan‘s face but being blocked by his forearm.

A quick fist fight is ensued, Ethan knocks his opponent right off his feet, he managed to land a punch on his face before he beat the guys face in. The crowd that immediately formed around gasped and recorded, suprised laughter ensuing throughout.

The fight or should you say beating ended quickly after, Ethan ended up getting pulled off by two of his teammates, the two being his best friends.

After that, you didn’t see him or that guy, you were worried that he got in trouble and it might’ve made him look bad because he immediately won and it could’ve looked like an unprovoked attack.

You texted him a few times but soon realized he probably didn’t have his phone or it was silenced, maybe already getting a scolding from the principal and his parents. You really hoped he would be alright but you couldn’t help but be angry at him for not listening to you when you practically begged him not to fight.

Once he finally turned up you made sure to let him know you were mad.

“Cmon, please look at me, I’m sorry..!” He begs, now shifted on his knees as he presses his lower half against your legs hanging off the side of the bed. “I know you told me to not do it but I was upset and.. and all worked up cuz’ of the game and winnin’”

He had hardly any bruises on his face, just a bruised lip formed into a pout and a faint one on his cheek so you knew the other guy had it worse.

“You should’ve listened to me, but I’m not that mad, I was just worried about you” You softly sigh, patting his head as he still continued to hug your legs, looking pathetic on purpose so you’d take pity on him.

“Really? I’m so happy, I’m sorry I’ll listen to you next time I swear” He rambles, almost knocking you down as he stood up to hug you, heavy but comforting, you let him lay on you for a more few moments. He definitely learned his lesson.

#yxami’s yam #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #male yandere #yandere imagines #pls request #yandere scenarios #gn reader #soft yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x darling #yandere soft #yandere jock #yandere jock oc #ethanmyoc

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messylustt · 11 months

Note

Hey gorgeous!! Would you write a lil sum sum for Miguel with a black cat reader variant in his universe? Some kind of enemies to lovers shiz with lots of banter where they’ve been banging for some time. So like one night he portals/sneaks in to her house whilst she’s cleaning or having a self-care night. She’s only wearing some sexy undergarments and a silky robe that’s slipping off. She gets scared and tries to cover up her body quickly but he’s like “nothing I’ve never seen before” all smug. They’re getting real hot & steamy when she tells him they should stop with the sex & everything—bc feelings are blooming—which only riles him up. His response is only “I’ll say when this is over” as he proceeds with some real good rough sex. He’s obsessed (in a soft dark typa way) and falling for her, he’s never letting go 😤

Idk how but the inspo for this ask came from seeing this artwork:

https://twitter.com/ducnguyen21/status/1670802971649556487?s=46&t=-JmyrJtYpHLGIcZz7R-FXg

HE’S TOO DANG HOT 🥵🤤 I want him to pound me on the kitchen counter 🤩

honey honey honeyyyy— AHHH

BLACK CAT WITH BENEFITS ( nsfw ) — miguel o’hara + reader: you try to end your fwb relationship with miguel, you having caught feelings. but you didn’t expect miguel to react so…possessively.

marks smut. forced proximity. enemies to lovers. possessive!miguel. soft dark!miguel. i don’t know like anything about black cat so i apologise if i get stuff wrong. wc 2.1k.

it had been say...a few months, you think, since you and miguel's relationship switched. it started out as unwilling work partners...

"her?" miguel questions jess, who's standing arms crossed.

"yes, her. she's an incredible fighter. just what we need to catch this anomaly."

"she's not even our variant." miguel gruffly stated. he had always had a bias against 'black cat's'. he thought they were doing the jobs of spider-people. so, upon hearing the news that jess's new recruit was a black cat he wasn't particularly thrilled.

when you first met, miguel's expression was set in a scowl. he didn't take your offered hand in a handshake, leaving you to retract it and set your own assumptions for this moody man. your assumptions proved right with every conversation.

"you missed." miguel stated almost pettily, as you both tracked down an anomaly. your jaw clicks in annoyance as you bite back. "and you definitely didn't aim at the wrong mirage."

miguel's lips curve up in a snarl as you fluidly pass him, keeping a close eye out for the anomaly, as your claws scrape down the wall.

when miguel reached your side again he was grabbing your hand, and inspecting your claws. you snatch them back. "aren't you supposed to be the one who's always on task?"

miguel scoffs. "just wanted to make sure your claws were pathetically small...they are."

"i'm afraid that word only works for you, miguel." you hiss back, creeping by the wall.

"what? small?" miguel inquires, the same bite still in his tone. "i didn't think you were that blind."

"no." you bluntly state. "pathetic."

then slowly the term 'work partners' turned into heros who...talk? banter? throw insults? whatever it was the conversations had increased, as you both found yourselves on a lot more missions together. you'd both hate to say it but you worked well, similar minds, similar ways of attack.

"down that alley." you whisper, legs stretching in your black suit. miguel slowly stalked towards the anomaly, staying silent as his claws grew out. you jumped to the higher building, moving to block the monsters path at the end. you swing down, body flexing as you land effortlessly in the anomalies way, making it jump.

and as it turns to run in the opposite direction, miguel is stood, knocking him out with an easy hand. "i thought it'd put up more of a fight." you say walking closer to the passed out anomaly and miguel. "with these spikes you'd think so." he replies.

you chuckle, and miguel all but freezes. because a strange heat rose up his neck at hearing the effortless almost seductive sound. you didn't mean for it to be seductive, which makes miguel even more confused as to why he's interpreting it that way.

little things like this drew miguel closer to you. because you as well started to notice just how good he was with capturing dangerous anomalies. how fast and easy he could tear someone's throat out.

and all that gradual tension finally came to play when you both ended up stuck in a room...alone.

miguel bangs at the metal door. "calm down." you sigh, laying back on the rickety bed. you'd been stuck in here for a good half hour. "the door isn't gonna magically open if you keep banging your fist on it."

"and what are you doing?" miguel turns, as you slightly sit up.

"we've called in backup. i'm sure jess and that will find us eventually." you try some form of consolation, because his loud banging was making your ears hurt.

"uh huh...and what about the anomaly?" miguel has stepped closer, as you fluidly stand, also moving forward.

"again. we've called back up. they'll catch him." you say, flexing your wrist back and forth. it was tick you have when you’re slightly antsy. and being stuck in a room with barely anything to do helped produce that.

"you sound confident." miguel states, his gaze shifting to your moving wrist.

"why don't you? they're your people aren't they?" you ask, but then miguel's hand is reaching out to grab your wrist. at the close proximity it's an easy action. you shift your gaze to miguel.

"and now you can be included in that, can't you?" miguel asks, keeping his hand wrapped tight around your wrist.

you tilt your head a fraction eyeing him as he continues. "you can be included under 'my people'."

you don't know why your heart sped up at that as your skin prickles with the feel of him close. "i'm honoured..." you lean closer to him, making his eyes dart across your face. "...but I think I'll pass." your breath slightly teases his lips, as Miguel's grip tightens around your wrist.

"is that so?" miguel's tone has dropped, coming out a little breathier.

"mhm." you hum, the tension now incredibly thick. and you begin to feel yourself move back. because Miguel is edging closer. and you continue to move until your back hits against the end bed frame, makin it arch right into him.

now you two were close, breathing the same air. "then how about getting rid of the 'people' part of that?" miguel slowly asks.

his lips are close, as his hold on your wrist slips to a hold on your hips. "and be what? yours?" you tease this out, lips barely brushing his.

and that's when miguel loses all and any composure, smashing his lips against your own, making your head knock back. his hands are swift and eager now as he pulls away your suit, at a surprisingly quick effort. his mouth barely leaving yours.

and that's when your 'heroes who talk' relationship turned into so much more, that had you both sneaking away, obscene noises only shared with each other. it became an arrangement. a relief.

;;

so, when miguel climbed through your window, it matched a normal routine the two of you had. it had always (for the most part) been at your universe. it seperated fun from work a little easier.

but you still jump in shock upon seeing miguel in your hallway. you quickly wrap your sheer dressing gown around yourself, not really covering the lingerie set you had underneath. you had planned a self care night for yourself. to pamper yourself with sexy clothes after just having had a long bath. you weren't expecting Miguel to come tonight.

he's now moved closer, noticing the way you're trying to hide yourself. "it's just me." he moves to kiss you, eagerly searching your mouth with his tongue. you slightly lean away. "i wasn't expecting you..." your words a spoken lightly, but there's a weight to them. because over the course of this arrangement, you had begun to develop feelings. and that's one thing that should never happen when you make an arrangement like this. just a bit of a fun. no strings.

miguel notices the slight distance you've created, emotionally. his brows furrow. "catch you at a bad time?" he leans back in, managing to slip his hand to the back of your neck, as his other slides to pull your gown off, his lips capturing yours a little more heatedly. it was a relief. it always had been. but now it made your heart ache.

but miguel had always been swift in getting you how he wanted. you, now, in only your lingerie, his shirt gone, as his kisses pushed you back into your room. you were kissing back, loving the feel of his mouth against yours. but then his hands began to wander lower down your body, and you knew you had to stop this. "wait, miguel." you break the kiss.

he slightly leans away, his hands still on you though, keeping you close. "you alright?" you could see the hooded look in his red eyes as he spoke, his thumb now moving in soothing circles on your bare hip bone.

"i..." you drift off, because in all honesty you didn't really want to do this. but you knew that it was better for the both of you if you made the decision. "i don't think we should do this anymore..."

it's silent for a moment, and you don't meet his gaze. "what do you mean?" miguel is still so close, and you need the air to actually push through with this. so, you manage to step away, finding your sheer gown on the floor for some modesty.

as you wrap it around yourself miguel is grabbing your arm, spinning you back to him. you finally meet his gaze, and see so many different emotions swirling together. "what do you mean?" his tone has dropped now and you gulp.

"i mean we shouldn't do this anymore. the kissing, the touching...all of it." tou say and you can hear your heart pounding in your ears.

miguel is staring at you, entirely focused to the point that you feel as though you're sweating. "no...no you don't mean that."

you hold your hand out because he had begun to move closer again. "i do, miguel. i'm sorry, it's better this way. it was fun while it lasted. It was."

but miguel bypasses your hand, pulling you back against his body, as he shakes his head. "no, you can't decide that. you aren't deciding that."

"miguel i've already decided."

"is it something i did?" miguel doesn't care if he sounds desperate now. you weren't just gonna leave him. not you. it wasn't going to happen.

"miguel—"

"i'll fix it..." his lips have moved to your cheek now, placing them everywhere he can. "...tell me what it is and I'll fix it."

your body is buzzing again with his kisses. "no, miguel...it's nothing you can fix. it's my problem."

"what?" his lips are hovering over your own now, giving them pecks between words. "what's your problem? i told you I can—“

"you can't fix it, miguel." you step away from him, your chest heaving hard. you were so close to just giving in, but you knew your heart would hate you after.

then miguel's expression darkens. "have you found someone? Is that it?" his distaste for the idea is obvious in his tone.

you shake your head, but miguel's mind is whirring with different possibilities. his own jealous attitude forcing the thought of a 'different guy' to the front of his mind. "do you like someone?"

"i..." you take a breath. you wouldn't be lying if you said yes, and it might get Miguel to leave. "yes. I do like someone."

but his reaction wasn't the one you expected. it was a casual arrangement between the two of you. you thought that if one of you ended up liking someone else, wanting to be with them, you'd stop. but miguel never had this mindset. no. the moment he had touched you, he knew he didn't want to let go. so, yes maybe he did use the word casual and went along with this arrangement, because he didn't think you'd leave him.

but here you are, saying to 'stop this'. miguel now with an iron grip grabs and moves you towards the bed, forcing you to fall atop of it. you weren't leaving. "you don't decide when this is over. i do." he's pulling away your sheer gown with force as he swiftly leans down to kiss you, this kiss oozing with possessiveness. "and I'm saying it's never ending." he darkly whispers, easily pulling your bra and panties away in two swift motions.

you gasp a moan as the air hits your throbbing pussy. miguel is pulling your legs apart, as he moves atop of you, his fingers slipping to rub your clit. "see...you don't want to leave me...you're dripping for me."

he then thrust two fingers inside you, his claws finding your g-spot, making your back arch. "yeah...look at you..." his mouth as moved to your neck, kissing and nipping at your neck. "only I can make you like this...make you feel like this." he thrusts higher up into you, making a high pitch noise spill from your lips.

"and those pretty little sounds are meant for me. only me. you have to know that by now." miguel mutters out, his cock aching as his tongue licks against your rapidly beating pulse.

then he's pulling away, far too eager to have you clenching around his cock, and knowing that he's the one inside you. he forces your legs to widen more, and with your flexibility it works, as he pushes the head of his cock inside of you.

"miguel..." your breathing hitches. no matter how many times he fucks you, his cock doesn't get any easier to slip in. so, you nearly scream when he completely bottoms out inside you, making you instantly clench around him at the stretch.

"mierda—" miguel mutters, beginning to move his hips into you, the movement rough and permanent. he moves back to caging you in as his lips find yours, your whimpers and groans getting lost in his mouth.

"you're not gonna leave." he whispers to you, having moved his head to the crook of your neck. "you aren't ever gonna leave me...no, te vas a quedar conmigo, debajo de mí...in whatever way i want."

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 3 months

Text

I Hate How Much I Want You | Frankie Morales x Reader | Enemies to Lovers Part 2

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact.

Specific warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Food mention, weed and cigarettes mention/smoking, Frankie grovels, heavy petting, oral (F receiving), unprotected PiV (reader is on BC and trust around STI’s implied), Softdom!Reader, Switch Frankie, Use of “zorra(slut)” and general filthy mouth from Frankie, Florida Humidity.

Let me know if I missed anything!

[AO3 Link]

Thank you @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for beta-ing this real quick. Thank you for the encouragement from @merz-8 @noxturnalpascal @covetyou @strang3lov3 @beefrobeefcal @medellintangerine and @speckledemerald for all your horny support <;3

Word count: 6k

Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

You did it, you texted him back embarrassingly quickly. Slick fingers fumbling with your phone to pause your porn as his message came through. You had been seconds away from coming. You can’t believe he still wants to help after you ejected him so forcefully him from your home. You send him a text, just about managing with one hand as you continue to toy with your clit. Francisco Morales is not about to cock block your hard-earned orgasm.

You: Fine, I’m free all day.

You’re about to swipe back to your porn when you see him starting to type away immediately. You bite your lip, your spine tingles as you slowly build yourself back up to your peak.

Frankie: I’ll pick up the parts and some lunch, see you at 12.

You don’t respond, nor do you resume the video. Instead, you opt to think about Frankie as you increase the pressure on your clit. The way his muscles flexed under the dark tank top he wore, his salt and pepper waves that curl slightly at the ends. You imagine what it’d be like to have him pressed against your back, bending you over the counter as he fucked you from behind. You ache to feel his scruff scrape along your jaw as he whispers filth in your ear.

You’re coming hard in seconds, Frankie’s name on your lips as you feel your slick drip down the curve of your ass. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you tilt your head back, stretching out in post-orgasmic bliss. You eventually get up, making sure to pee and clean up before settling back down under your sheets.

You’ve never been so excited to see Frankie before, in fact, you often dread it.

It seems that there really is a first time for everything.

~*~

Frankie sits in his truck, parked down the street from your house. The clock on his dash reads 11:47.

He’s early.

Just like you, he’s way too excited to be back here. His fingertips itch as he tries to decide if he should just bite the bullet and leave his truck now. It wouldn’t be seen as over-eager, surely? He’s just making good on a promise to a friend.

Except you’re not his friend, he has made that pretty clear over the last few months. Anxiety churns in his stomach as he wishes he’d brought something to smoke with him. Even a cigarette would suffice. Instead, he’s chewing his lip, torn up over you and the way you looked so desperately hurt last night. He removes his ball cap with one hand before running his fingers through his damp waves, the Florida humidity doing a number on his hair.

He looks over to the plastic bag from the DIY store and his spare toolkit. He sighs as he sees not one, not two, but the three different faucets he had picked out for you. He tries to reason it that he’s just giving you options because it’s the nice thing to do. Really, he just wanted to please you, make amends for his shitty behaviour. Then he looks at the takeout bag in his lap and his stomach growls.

“Fuck it.”

He sighs to himself as he replaces his hat before grabbing the bag of faucets and his toolkit as he heads out of the cab.

He ignores the clock on the dash that reminds him it’s only 11:50.

~*~

The knock at your door startles you, before you grumble internally once again over the fact Frankie is spurning your perfectly good doorbell. But your annoyance is quickly muted by the smugness that comes with a sudden realisation.

He’s early.

You almost dance on the spot with morbid amusement at the fact that Frankie is already here. You don’t bother lingering this time, practically sprinting to the door to gloat. You pull the door open in one smooth motion and your witty remark dies on your lips.

It’s unfair how good he looks. There’s you, in your jean shorts and tank top, suffering from the extreme humidity. Your skin is sticky, your brow is beading with sweat, and you shift uncomfortably as you feel the wet heat pool in your core.

Then, there’s Frankie, a light sheen to his skin as his toolkit hangs off his shoulder, his hair sticks to his forehead and neck. His thick thighs fill his cargo shorts as his belly swells a little over his white tank top. No over-shirt today so you have an unhindered, front row seat to the way his tan skin flexes over his strong arms. Not to mention his neck, thick and freckled. Fuck, you need to stop staring.

His face is flushed, cheeks rosy as he looks you over. There’s a darkness to his gaze that makes you shiver. Clearly neither of you are being subtle.

“So, the sink?” You squeak, your voice embarrassingly high-pitched as you turn away, your heart is hammering in your chest as you try and calm down.

“Sure, I got you a few different options to choose from,” Frankie explains as he trails behind you.

You can feel him, the heat rolling off him is palpable as he shadows your every move.

“You could have just gotten me the one, I’m not fussy,” you say without thinking as you lean against the counter next to the sink, you look up to see Frankie looking a little crest-fallen and you course correct, “But thank you, that was kind.”

“My pleasure,” Frankie says as he sets down the various bags on the kitchen table, “Don’t have to stick around, I promise not to fuck it up.”

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” you say with a shrug as you notice the takeout bag, it’s from your favourite burger place.

He remembered?

Frankie says nothing more as he resumes his place on the floor from last night. He gets to work, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrates. His hat rests next to him on the floor. It’s almost domestic, him fixing your sink as you watch.

You feel a twinge of remorse in your chest as you see the way he can’t keep your gaze. His eyes flit to you every few minutes, as if he can feel you staring. You head to the fridge and grab a pitcher of iced tea, grabbing two glasses from the cabinets. You set down one of the glasses next to Frankie’s cap on the floor.

“I’m real sorry about things went yesterday-,” Frankie starts just as you pipe up.

“About last night-,” you say but you both freeze, eyes locking across the small kitchen, and you can’t help but mirror the smirk that spreads across Frankie’s plush lips.

“Go on, you first,” you insist as you take a deliberate sip of your iced tea.

“I just want you to know I am sorry you heard that shit I said to Will and Alyssa,” Frankie says with a sigh as he rocks up onto his feet, “, I was in a real bad place.”

“That’s not a real apology, Morales,” you say with a smile, appreciating his honesty if nothing else, “Go on.”

“Right,” he nods as he rifles through the plastic bag with the faucets, “First up, which one?”

You cross the short distance and admire the three different options. All options are fairly modern looking, but you linger for a while, selfishly getting closer to Frankie as you pretend to contemplate the options seriously. In reality you don’t care, you just want a working sink. You also just want to be in Frankie’s orbit.

“I like this one,” you say softly, your voice a little husky. You place your hand on the plastic packaging lightly, fingertips lingering as you look up into Frankie’s dark eyes.

“Yeah, that was my first choice too,” he says as he picks up the package, his fingertips brush yours and you don’t pull away, letting the callouses on his hands scrape against the back of your hand. You see the way his neck tenses as you fawn up at him.

“Who knew you had good taste?” You tease as you step away.

“Full of surprises, me,” Frankie says with a low chuckle as he clears his throat.

“On that note,” you say with a coy smile as you lean back against the counter, “You were grovelling?”

There’s a brief flash of emotion on Frankie’s face as he picks up his hat, securing it on his head as he grabs his glass of iced tea. His jaw ticks to the side as he takes a long gulp of the sweet drink.

“Right,” he says as he sets the glass down, turning back to the faucet as he disconnects the old one, “I was an ass,” he says with a sigh as his thick fingers make easy work with the tools and various intricacies of the faucet, “I can’t take it back, but I do want to say I’m sorry, for how I made you feel, and for the things I said.”

“I appreciate that, thank you,” you say with a nod, “I didn’t mean to ambush you like that last night either, I’m sorry too, you were doing me a solid.”

“Don’t mention it,” Frankie says with a huff, “I had it coming.”

“Maybe,” you concede with a smile, “But I don’t think I was completely fair, you’ve had your own share of shit to deal with.”

“My addiction, and my recovery, are my burdens. No-one else’s,” Frankie says with a stern look on his face. You hate how the shift in his tone makes you squirm; you know he’s not telling you off, but it doesn’t feel any less authoritative.

“Understood,” you nod as you gesture vaguely with your hand, urging him to continue.

“But I don’t do well with change,” he says as he continues working, looking away from you, “And Santi brought you into the group without so much as a heads up. I got defensive, I fell into an ugly pattern of behaviours. I’m sorry.”

“That’s very big of you, thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he says with a shrug as he stretches with a groan, “Looks like it’s good to go.”

You hover at his elbow as he tests the tap, the water flows freely and stops abruptly when Frankie flicks it off. The sound of running water halts and you’re left with your hip brushing Frankie’s thigh.

“I really appreciate you doing this, Frankie,” you say, nudging his side with your elbow as you look up to see his eyes already locked on you. He’s leaning his one arm on the counter as he towers over you, and you can’t help but clench your thighs.

“Like I said,” he mumbles as he turns his body towards you. His tongue glides across his lower lip and you can’t ignore the charged energy between you now, “Just helping out a friend.”

“It’s not just about the sink, Frankie,” you say as you tentatively brush your fingertips over his hand.

“Oh? What else is this about?” He asks and there’s a light dancing behind his eyes, a smugness that tells you he already knows but he wants you to say it.

“There’s another reason why I’ve been keeping my distance,” you admit softly as you inch closer to him.

“That right?” Frankie breathes, his voice shaky as he threads his fingers through yours. You can’t believe it, the shift in your dynamic is giving you whiplash.

“Despite everything, Morales,” you say as you bring your other hand up to rest on his sternum. The contact sends heat rippling through your body as Frankie hums deep in his chest, “I think you’re a good guy, and really fucking hot.”

“Yeah?” He rumbles, his free hand coming up to trail up your bicep the contact makes you shiver as you try to stifle a whine, “You think I’m hot?”

“I’m not saying it again,” you say with a little bite to your tone, “But I had to keep my distance, I didn’t want to get hurt.”

“I understand,” Frankie says with a subtle nod, his fingertips skimming your collarbone now, your cunt clenches in anticipation, “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well, you did,” you say as you slide your hand up to cup his jaw, “But you can make it up to me, if you want?”

“Yeah?” Frankie rasps as he leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.

“I want you to tell me what you want, Francisco,” you say softly as your fingertips move to the back of his head, threading through the damp hair there as you tug lightly, “If you want me so bad, I want you to beg.”

Frankie’s jaw falls slack as a strangled groan bubbles forth from the back of his throat. His half-hard cock stirs in his shorts as you close the gap between you both, pressing yourself against him. Your nipples harden as you feel the way his body shudders under your touch.

“I want to fuck you,” Frankie’s voice is a hushed rasp as he ghosts his fingertips along the angle of your jaw, “I want to make you scream,” he continues as the calloused pad of his thumb brushes against your lips, “I want to please you, querida.”

“Yeah?” You purse your lips against Frankie’s thumb, your lips tingling at the promise his touch brings, “You think you deserve to have me, Francisco? Do you think you can make good on your promises?”

“I will, or I’ll die trying,” his other hand tugs on your own, pulling you against him as he flattens his palm against the small of your back, “Let me try, please.”

You slowly open your mouth, tongue teasing against his thumb as you wrap your lips around the thick digit. A soft moan escapes you as you suck slowly, purposefully, as you maintain eye contact with Frankie. His eyes are glassy as he whines, brow furrowed as you release his thumb with a lewd pop.

“Bedroom, now.”

You order as you push back from Frankie, the sudden action jarring enough that you slip his grasp. A determined growl rumbles from behind you as you stride towards the stairs. You don’t bother looking back over your shoulder, you can hear his heavy footsteps gaining on you and there’s a primal thrill to it. You pick up the pace, practically jogging to your open bedroom door as adrenaline and arousal scorch through your veins.

You’re almost over the threshold when you feel the press of his palms on your waist as he pulls you back against him. You don’t have time to proffer a witty remark before Frankie’s mouth is on your throat. The rough scratch of his facial hair along the slope of your shoulder has you squirming as he nudges your head to the side with his strong nose.

“Going to make you feel so good,” Frankie says with a growl before sucking gently against the column of your neck. His one hand trails down your front and you gasp as he cups your sex through your shorts. His thick fingers tease at the denim where it covers your aching cunt; fingertips swirling over your clothed core, and you can’t help the desperate little sounds you make as pleasure rocks through you.

“Frankie, please.”

You yelp as his teeth nip at the shell of your ear and your panties cling to your cunt, you’re dripping for him.

“Call me Francisco, please,” he huffs into your ear as he walks you forward, “Sounds so good when you say my name.”

“Yeah? You like it when I beg you to fuck me, Francisco?” You ask as your knees hit the edge of the bed, but you stop yourself from falling forward just yet. You know that’s what Frankie wants, but you’re not about to give over control just yet. You feel him straining against you, not wanting to manhandle you aggressively it seems, but you can feel the need in the way his cock presses against your ass.

“I do,” he whispers in your ear, “Let me show you how sorry I am, querida.”

“Show me, Francisco, let’s see if you can make me scream your name,” you lean back as you speak, pressing your cheek against his.

His lips brush against yours as he angles his head down to you, it’s like being struck by lightning. You gasp as he kisses you, almost tenderly, before you let go completely. You kiss him back, pulling his lower lip between your teeth. You’re rewarded with a sharp intake of breath as his lips part for you. You lick into his mouth teasingly, asking for permission and he slots his mouth over yours in response.

His tongue slides into your mouth, dancing with your own as he tastes you. His groans rumbling through you as he delves deeper past your lips, mapping you out, claiming you. You’re pliable beneath his large hands as you feel him bending you at the hip. The hand cupping your sex increases the pressure. The heel of his palm grinds against your clothed clit as his fingertips knead at where your shorts are beginning to soak through.

“On your front,” Frankie growls as he places a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You do as he says, flopping forward onto the bed as gracefully as you can with his large hand still working at you through your shorts. It’s been a while since you last let someone take relative control in the bedroom. Often, you’re used to dictating the pace, your partners needing gentle encouragement – or sometimes a very firm hand – to ensure you got what you need from sex. But this is different, Frankie is different.

There’s a pause as Frankie removes his hand from your cunt, and you’re about to turn over and ask what the hold up is, when his hot palms spread you out. His fingers digging into the backs of your knees as he opens you up.

“Frankie, what are you-?”

You practically choke on your words as you feel him press his face into the apex of your thighs. He buries himself against the damp crotch of your shorts and inhales as he grinds his nose against your core.

“Fuck,” he hisses as you feel him mouth against your covered cunt, his hands travel up the backs of your thighs as he holds you open for him. You squirm at the depravity of his thick fingers pinning you down, his face pressed hard against such a sensitive spot. Being fully clothed only makes you wetter, like there’s something even more profane about the action while your shorts cling tight to your desperate pussy.

“Frankie please,” you whine, and you can’t stop yourself, you didn’t think you’d be begging so quickly, so easily for someone you were ready to kick to the curb only yesterday.

“What do you want?” Frankie asks as his fingertips slip under the hem of your shorts, trailing over the swell of your ass.

“I want your mouth on my cunt, take my shorts off,” you huff into the sheets as you feel the heat burn over your cheekbones.

“Yes ma’am,” Frankie growls as he places a kiss to your inner thigh before his hands are on your hips, “Turn over for me.”

You carefully rotate your body, mindful not to kick Frankie in the face in your eagerness. You lie back and you clench around nothing at the way Frankie is looking at you. His eyes are glassy and blown out with desire, his face is pink in places where the denim of your shorts has irritated his skin. You lower your gaze to see the painfully obvious bulge in his shorts and you swallow around the lump in your throat.

He’s big.

“So pretty like this,” he says absently as he rakes his eyes over your body. You’re still fully clothed but you’ve never felt so bare in your life.

“Frankie-,” you’re about to beg again when he makes a face at you as he hisses between his teeth.

“Please, call me Francisco, I really like it when you do,” there’s a hint of a challenge in his voice and you nod slowly as you stare him down.

“Please, Francisco,” you say as you bring both hands up to grope your tits over your tank top, “Show me how good you are with that dirty mouth of yours,” you spread your legs wide for him as you speak, and the way Frankie’s nostrils flare makes you squirm.

Frankie settles himself down between your thighs as he throws his cap off to the side. It hits the floor with a soft thud, but you aren’t focusing on the hat anymore. Frankie’s calloused hands trail up from your knees, scraping deliciously against the soft skin of your inner thighs. He dips his fingertips under the denim once more and you feel him shudder as they brush the outline of your lace panties.

“Don’t tell me you wore something nice for me?” He asks as he smirks up at you, his cheek resting on your right thigh as he waits for your response.

“No, Francisco, I wanted to wear lacey panties in the middle of summer in Florida, I like the way wet lace chafes just right.”

You’re taunting him and the way his cheek dimples, you know he’s loving it as much as you are.

“Poor baby,” he hums softly as he brings one hand up to pop the button of your shorts open, “Let me help you out. Let’s get rid of those wet panties, yeah?”

You don’t answer, the condescending tone of his voice makes your head fuzzy. You’re so used to being the one doing all the talking, it’s a blissful role reversal for you. You watch as Frankie slowly pulls on the zipper before you lift your ass for him to tug the oppressively tight fabric down. You keen upwards as you feel the humid air hit your slick panties.

“Fu-uck,” Frankie rasps as he drops your shorts to the side of the bed, his eyes firmly fixed on the slick, glistening lace just inches from his face, “I’d ask if this was all for me,” he says as he lowers his mouth to your lace-covered sex, “But I think we both know it is.”

You don’t have time to make a snide comment, nor do you think you could with how blissed out you are. Frankie’s lips latch onto your clothed clit and you cry out as his hot tongue swirls slow, lazy circles over the already drenched fabric.

“Francisco,” you cry out as he pressures your clit just right, you see stars behind your eyelids. You’re embarrassingly close already.

“So sensitive,” he hums as he teases a finger up and down the thin strip of lace covering your core, “So wet.”

You’re about to beg again when you feel the drag of his rough fingertips slide under the seam of your panties. You arch up, your head falling back against the sheets as you once again feel the warm air hit your slick cunt. You hiss a little as the fabric that clings to you peels away with a sharp pinch.

“S’okay, I got you,” Frankie whispers as he rolls your panties off your feet, you force your eyes open, looking down just as he swipes his tongue through your folds. It’s slow, deliberate, and makes your toes curl as the hot drag culminates with his plush lips kissing your clit. The press of his mouth on your most sensitive spot punches a strangled moan from your chest.

“Fuck yes,” you whimper, “Fuck yes, Francisco.”

He doesn’t answer verbally, instead he teases your clit in soft, barely-there flicks of his tongue as he sucks your sensitive bud into his mouth. The pleasure shoots through you as you writhe under him. He shifts slightly, draping your calves over his broad shoulders as he presses his whole face against your cunt.

“So fucking sweet,” he snarls as you feel him shake his head back and forth, lapping at your clit as he moves.

“Fra-,” you stutter, unable to form his full name, pleasure driving every conscious thought from your mind as you build to your peak.

“Go on, come for me,” he goads you as he holds you down with one of his strong arms. You feel the weight of it pin you down as you try and buck your hips. Your spine tingles with every flick of his tongue, every groan that vibrates through your clit.

“I’m-,” you cry out, loud and throaty as you clench around nothing, your gasping pleas filling the room as you come hard. You whine and scream as Frankie keeps going as your body is rocked with overstimulation.

“So pretty when you come querida,” he says softly as he eases off, peppering your slick folds and clit with gentle, teasing kisses, “Can you give me another?”

“Francisco,” you gasp as you feel two thick fingers tease at your entrance, “Want your dick, please.”

“So eager,” he chuckles softly as he eases the tips of his fingers inside you, teasing little pulses right at your entrance that have you arching your back as you whine in frustrated overstimulation, “Where is the fire from earlier? I thought you were in control querida?”

“Fuck you,” you hiss but there’s no bite in it, you know he’s right. You love that he’s right. It’s the kind of fuck you’ve been wanting for years, the kind where you can just let go, let him take what he needs from you while simultaneously giving you more than you’ve ever dreamed of.

“Like I said,” he smirks up at you as you struggle to keep your eyes open, “Come for me again and I will.”

“Stop teasing me and fuck me with your fingers, Morales,” you snap, wresting for some control of the situation.

“There she is, my little zorra,” Frankie hums in triumph as he eases his thick fingers inside you. You want to ask him what that means but you’re blinded by the way he sinks all the way down to the knuckle in one swift motion.

You moan at the way he doesn’t let you adjust, your slick walls already accommodating them with minimal effort. He curls them up as he drags them slowly in and out of you, pushing and pulling at that sensitive spot that makes your whole body twitch. Every time he hits it, he smirks, gauging your reaction as he works you right back to the blinding peak.

“God! Your pussy feels so good, squeezing my fingers so tight,” Frankie babbles, as if to himself before flicking the blunt tip of his tongue against your clit, “Come for me.”

You clamp down hard on his fingers as his verbal command sends you reeling. Your mouth is dry as you cry out soundlessly. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as he fucks you through your orgasm. The languid pace careful, controlled, as he works you through it.

“There you go,” he says softly, his lips brushing against the inside of your thigh as he slowly eases out of you, “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

You want to say something, anything, but all you can do is gulp in deep breaths as you try and ground yourself. You stare up at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity before you feel the soothing touch of Frankie’s fingers tracing patterns on your thigh.

“Back in the room?” He asks you with a smirk as he lies there, his cheek pressed against your knee as he simply watches you.

“Yeah,” you nod with earnest, “That was just fucking amazing,” you chuckle, and you’re rewarded with a deep rumble of satisfaction from Frankie’s chest.

“Good,” he says airily as he nuzzles his nose against your sensitive skin, “Want to keep going?”

“Fuck yes,” you huff through your nose as you prop yourself up on your elbows, “Just needed to catch my breath.”

“You got condoms?” Frankie asks and you’re suddenly sobered at the request. You’re so caught up in the moment you didn’t even think about using one.

“I do,” you say but you raise an eyebrow at him, “Do you trust me, Francisco?”

“Yes,” he says with a questioning look on his face as he palms his cock through his shorts, “Why?”

“I’m on the pill,” you say as you retreat backwards up the bed, “C’mere,” you say with a curl of your index finger and Frankie moves without hesitation, still fully clothed as you spread your legs for him.

“You been checked recently, Francisco?” You ask as he kneels between your legs, leaning back on his calves as he looks at you with a wry expression on his lips.

“A few months ago, all clear,” he says cautiously as he runs his one hand through his slick hair, “Why, you want me to take you raw?”

You stifle a groan at the harsh language, you’re regaining control over the dynamic slowly. No way are you breaking stride now.

“No, Francisco,” you purr as you manoeuvre up onto your knees, meeting his gaze as you toy with the hem of his tank top, “I want to ride you raw.”

Frankie’s mouth drops open as you push up the edge of his tank top, forcing it up to his armpits as you lock and suck at the swell of his belly. He pulls it up and over his head as he watches you with wide eyes.

He’s sweaty and musky on your tongue as you follow the light curls of his happy trail. You press your nose against his belly as you unbutton his shorts. You whine at the sight of his grey boxer briefs, and the way the fabric darkens over the head of his cock.

“Look at you,” you coo as you palm his length, “Francisco, you’ve been holding out on me,” you say with a smirk as you look up into his lust-blown eyes. He stammers as you cup his balls through his briefs and press a kiss to the tip of his clothed dick. You know he won’t last long, but you can’t help but tease him a little.

“Strip for me,” you whisper against the side of his shaft as you squeeze his balls gently. He groans softly before you pull away, already stripping your tank top and bra as you watch him do as he’s told. His eyes are glassy, it’s as if a switch has flipped in his brain. The realisation hits you immediately.

Frankie likes this. He likes being told what to do.

He pulls his briefs down in one swift motion, letting his thick cock spring free and slapping wetly against his abdomen as he hurriedly pushes his briefs and shorts past his knees. He resumes his position on the bed, kneeling as he rests on his laurels. You salivate at the sight of him, his foreskin straining against the head of his cock.

“Good boy,” you breathe, stomach churning delightfully as you see the way Frankie pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, “Legs out,” you gesture for him to straighten his legs and he obeys almost comically fast.

You crawl forward, hands sliding up over his shoulders. Immediately his hands fall to your hips, steadying you as you hover over his lap. It’s surely far too intimate – fucking like this – especially considering how you were at each other’s throats only yesterday. But there’s something about it all that just feels right. You press your forehead against Frankie’s, closing your eyes as his tip notches at your core.

“Oh fuck,” you hiss as you sink down onto his cock, your slick walls clamp down around the intrusion as you split yourself open with his dick. You whine as you reach the base, you’re so full, so snug around his cock.

“Fu-uck,” Frankie echoes as he curls his arms around you pinning you against him, keeping you so impossibly close. You drop your head to rest in the crook of Frankie’s neck. Your lips latching onto his slick skin as you clench hard around him.

“I’m going to move,” you whisper against Frankie’s neck, “Let me use you, Frankie, want to fuck myself on your cock.”

“Please,” he whispers, as you nip along his jaw, “Use me.”

You whimper as you begin to roll your hips forward, lifting up as you savour every inch of his cock raking through you. You catch yourself just before he slips out of you, lingering for a moment, then pushing yourself back down. You cry out at the abrupt stretch as discomfort cedes to pleasure. Frankie’s grip tightens on your waist as you repeat the action again and again.

Each time more and more pleasure rocks through you as you use Frankie’s cock. You know he’s close, his brow is furrowed, and his breaths come in ragged gasps. You’re griding his cock inside you as you lean down to whisper in his ear.

“Fuck me, Francisco,” you say, “Make me scream.”

He groans at the sudden permission to fuck you, body curling around you as he pitches you backwards. He stays buried deep as you’re pushed down into the pillows, your thighs pressed against your chest as Frankie gets you how he wants you.

“Fuck. I’ve wanted this for so long,” Frankie snarls in your ear as he starts to move, his pace picking up rapidly.

“Me too,” you moan as he nudges your g-spot over and over again. You’re whining at every snap of his hips as pleasure arcs through you. Your fingertips dig into his back muscles as you cling to him. He snaps his hips harder and harder until you can’t hold on any longer.

“Francisco!” you cry out as you come hard around his length, your slick walls clamping down hard as you feel him stutter beneath you. He fucks down into you a few more times before he lets out a tight groan as he empties himself inside you. His hips still, your chests pressed together as you grin at one another.

You lie there for a few moments as you both try and catch your breath. Neither of you can stop smiling as you feel Frankie ease his soft cock out of you.

“We need to clean up and we both need to pee,” you say lazily as you roll onto your side. Frankie flops down next to you, a soft oof escaping his lips as he hits the mattress.

“We do,” he agrees as he brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheekbone, “You, ok?”

“Yeah, I’m good, more than good,” you babble as Frankie smiles at you, cheek dimpling delightfully.

“Good,” he says with a soft nod.

There’s so much hanging in the air between you. More than you can worry about right now.

“Let’s get a shower and replace the burgers you brought,” you say as you force yourself up, heading to the bathroom.

“It’s not my fault they’re inedible now,” Frankie grumbles playfully and you smile at him over your shoulder.

“Whatever,” you stick your tongue out at him as you turn on the shower, “Come on, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“Alright, but I’m not the one telling Santi about us,” Frankie growls as he catches up to you, wrapping his arms around you as he nuzzles against the back of your head, “I’ll never live it down.”

“Fine,” you agree with a smirk playing across your lips, “That means you have to tell the Millers.”

The statement hangs heavy in the air before Frankie curses under his breath. He realises too late his mistake and you just smile, leaning back into your former arch-nemesis’ arms, wondering how you got here; and what here even is. But you are sure of one thing.

Now you’ve had a taste of Frankie Morales, you’re never letting him go.

Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

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