#And something something the deeper u go there is darkness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nimueshell · 22 days ago

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↟ The Forest Took Me (C.K)

Summary: You came to Point Pleasant chasing legends, but when the Devil’s Hour fell silent in the Appalachian woods, you didn’t just find the Mothman….he found you.

Substance: fem!reader, mothman!choso, gojo x geto(?), shoko, choso longs for you, it’s mating season, oral fixation (f! receiving), choso has a BIG dick, cave sëx, cumplay, motorboating, dry humping, fingering, whimpering, crying literal tears (feat. Choso SOBBING), monster-fucking, overstimulation, creampies, fucking against a wall, mating, cervix kissing, tummy bulge, first time kissing, he wants you as his MATE, antenna play, slight flight séx, begging, rutting, stomach bulges, unprotected sêx.

Word Count: 12.8k

A/N: this took me so long to write so I'm hoping it doesn't flop, ik its long but that's how fics are supposed to be. I hope u enjoy, please follow, like, reblog if you want more content . I have other smut on my blog, plsss check it out :(

The rental van smelled faintly of stale fries, wet hoodies, and Gojo’s cologne–a scent you’d begged him to tone down since Ohio, but of course, he hadn’t. The rain-slicked roads leading into Point Pleasant were narrow and hemmed by bare trees, their twisted branches clawing at the misty sky like the town itself had something to hide. Perfect for a cryptid vlog. Horrible for your nerves.

Gojo, naturally, was loving it. He leaned over the back seat with his camera, grinning like a kid at Halloween.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the internet,” he announced, his voice pitched into a mock-dramatic echo. “Welcome to the world-famous home of the Mothman, Point Pleasant, West Virginia! Where the only thing scarier than the cryptid is probably the plumbing.”

Geto, driving like he regretted every life decision that led him here, rolled his eyes. “You sound like a Travel Channel reject.”

“Oh, shut up, you love it,” Gojo shot back, flipping the camera around to catch Geto’s unimpressed expression. “Smile for our ten subscribers, Suguru.”

Shoko, sprawled in the passenger seat with a vape she wasn’t supposed to be using in the rental, exhaled a curl of smoke and deadpanned, “Eight. You’re forgetting we lost two after your ghost-moaning ASMR stunt.”

You snorted from the back, attempting to keep your own camera steady as the van hit another pothole. “Yeah, pretty sure ‘unholy goat sex noises in the Eastern State Penitentiary’ wasn’t what they signed up for.”

Gojo clutched his chest in mock agony. “You wound me.”

Geto didn’t even glance at him, muttering, “Good. Maybe you’ll finally shut up.”

The banter eased the tension, but you couldn’t ignore the way the woods outside seemed to press closer the deeper you drove. The mist clung low, curling around the wheels like it wanted to follow.

You’d read all the stories–sightings since the sixties, couples chased by red eyes glowing in the dark, bridges collapsing after warnings. Every documentary treated it as a joke, but what about now? The air was heavy, charged, as if something was waiting.

Gojo swung the camera back toward you, catching you off guard. “And here we have our resident skeptic slash bait–”

“Fuck off,” you muttered, shoving the lens away with your palm. “If anything happens to me, I’m haunting your ass.”

“Promises, promises,” he sing-songed.

Shoko finally cracked a faint smile, flicking ash out the cracked window. “Better than me. If I go down, I’m just gonna watch you idiots trip over yourselves from beyond.”

“Cheerful as always,” Geto muttered.

The van rolled into the town proper, the streets lined with brick storefronts that looked straight out of the 1960s, faded murals of wings painted on the sides of buildings, and Mothman souvenirs glowing faintly through shop windows. A giant metallic statue stood in the square, silver wings gleaming even under the gray sky. Gojo nearly squealed as he shoved his camera against the glass.

“There he is, boys and girls!” he crowed. “The sexiest cryptid in Appalachia. Look at those pecs! Damn, moth daddy.”

Shoko didn’t even blink. “You need therapy.”

Geto muttered, “You need an exorcism.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself, and directed your own lens at the looming statue. It was ridiculous–over-muscled, bug-eyed, with wings like jagged blades–and yet, standing in front of it, a shiver ran down your spine. Something about those blank, exaggerated eyes felt less like a caricature and more like a warning.

“Alright,” Gojo announced, kicking his long legs dramatically into the aisle. “First stop: the TNT area. The bunkers. Where the OG sightings went down. Are you ready to get murdered on camera?”

“Only if you’re first,” you muttered.

“Rude.”

But as the van rolled past the statue, you could’ve sworn the air shifted–heavier, darker, as if something had just noticed you.

ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚

The town disappeared behind you in the mist as Shoko guided the van back onto the highway. The heater hummed faintly, fighting the damp chill that clung to the air. Outside, the Appalachian hills rose like black silhouettes against the storm‑heavy sky, their ridges blurred by fog that curled low over the pavement.

The kind of silence that surrounded the van felt older than the road itself, older than the town you'd just left–as if the mountains had seen too much and wanted to keep their secrets.

You sat in the front passenger seat, scrolling through your phone as the van hummed along the slick two‑lane stretch.

Every article you found on Point Pleasant’s infamous cryptid said the same thing:

Red eyes glowing in the dark, jagged wings stretching ten feet wide, sightings tied to tragedy. The Silver Bridge collapsed in ’67. Car crashes on Route 62. People claimed to have seen him in the treeline before something terrible occurred.

The more you read, the heavier your chest felt, as if the fog outside had seeped through the windows.

Gojo, of course, had no intention of letting the mood settle.

“Holy shit!” he shouted suddenly, slamming his phone against the window so hard Shoko hissed and swerved slightly.

"For fuck's sake, Gojo," she snapped, her voice flat but strained from exhaustion.

“There!” He zoomed in with his camera, his grin wicked. The headlights had caught a deer frozen on the side of the road, its eyes shining unnaturally bright in the beams. Gojo whispered in mock‑terror, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve spotted our first Appalachian skinwalker. Note the soulless eyes. Note the sinister stance. Definitely waiting to eat our faces.”

Geto sighed from the back, calm as always but with that edge in his tone that said he was two seconds from snapping. “You can’t say that out loud in Appalachia. People will take you seriously.”

Gojo gasped dramatically, turning the lens to catch Geto’s sharp profile. “Oh, listen to Mister Responsible. Suguru Geto, everyone–part‑time cryptid debunker, full‑time ruiner of fun.”

Geto didn’t even look up from the map app on his phone. He reached out casually, caught Gojo’s wrist mid-gesture, and held it firm against the seat.

“Hey,” Gojo chirped, though his grin widened like he was enjoying the restraint. “You can’t just grab me like that in front of the fans.”

“You were about to poke me in the eye with your phone,” Geto said evenly, tightening his grip when Gojo tried to squirm away.

Gojo smirked, lowering his camera to capture the scene, his long legs sprawled across the seat until his socked feet pressed against Geto’s thigh. “Get a load of him, folks. Broody. Gorgeous. Holding me down against my will. Honestly? Kind of hot.”

Without missing a beat, Geto murmured, “You’re lucky I don’t gag you.”

Gojo made a strangled laugh, eyes glittering. “Say that again, slower.”

From the driver’s seat, Shoko exhaled through her nose like she was contemplating pulling the wheel hard left into the Ohio River. “I swear to God, if you two start fucking back there, I’m leaving you in the woods.”

You snorted quietly, still scrolling through articles but unable to resist chiming in. “I’d help her hide the bodies.”

Gojo clutched his chest in mock agony, turning the camera on you now. “The betrayal. My beloved co‑star, ready to cast me aside. For shame.”

“Keep it up and you’ll be cryptid bait,” you muttered, flicking to a blurry photo of two glowing red dots above a treeline.

The van rattled around a bend, the fog thickening until the headlights could barely cut through. Occasionally, the trees parted to reveal wide valleys where faint farmhouse lights glimmered like dying stars in the mist. The Appalachians stretched endlessly, their ridges sharp and black against the low clouds. Every so often you swore the fog itself shifted, like something vast moved just beyond the range of the beams.

“Hey,” you said finally, your voice low. “It says the first reported sighting was a couple driving through the TNT area. Said Mothman flew right over their car.”

Shoko hummed faintly, unimpressed, her eyes half‑lidded but sharp as she kept the van steady. "If he chases us, I'll floor it and use Gojo as a distraction."

Gojo gasped again, throwing his head back like he’d been stabbed. “Unbelievable. My charm, my wit, my devastating good looks–and still you’d feed me to the Mothman.”

“Charm?” Shoko muttered. “Where?”

Geto sipped from his water bottle calmly, his hand resting casually on Gojo's thigh, as if daring him to continue running his mouth.

The fog parted briefly, revealing a rusted green sign in the headlights: Gallipolis–12 miles.

“Gallipolis?” you asked, tilting your phone down.

Geto nodded without looking up. “Closest decent motel. Right across the river from Point Pleasant. Thirty minutes, give or take.”

Gojo perked up, angling the camera at himself again. “Gallipolis. Sounds like a fancy STD. Tonight, folks, we’ll be braving the legendary Gallipolis Inn. Known for–” He leaned closer to Geto. “Suguru, quick, give me one fun fact.”

“Not you,” Geto said flatly.

Shoko let out a bark of dry laughter, gripping the wheel. “If I wasn’t so tired, I’d clap.”

Gojo pouted, then immediately brightened, turning the lens on Geto again. “Ladies and gentlemen, Suguru Geto: heartbreaker, Mothman denier, and the only reason I’m not already live‑streaming us ghost‑summoning in the TNT bunkers.”

Geto calmly slid his hand higher on Gojo’s thigh, his voice silky. “Say one more word about skinwalkers, and I’ll make you walk to Gallipolis barefoot.”

Gojo’s grin widened shamelessly. “Kinky.”

You groaned, sinking lower into your seat as the headlights reflected off the black glass of the Ohio River to your right. The water rippled faintly under the mist, stretching wide under the looming silhouettes of the hills. For a moment, you thought you saw something move against the fog above the river–vast, winged, and gone too quickly to be real.

You blinked hard, heart thudding, but when you looked again, there was only mist.

ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚

The Travelodge sat just off the highway, its faded blue sign glowing faintly against the fog that had only thickened since you’d left Point Pleasant. The parking lot was nearly empty, the glow of the sodium lamps struggling against the heavy mist curling low to the asphalt. The building itself was a long, two‑story stretch of weathered stucco and peeling paint, the kind of place that promised thin walls, scratchy sheets, and questionable plumbing.

Gojo was the first out of the van, stretching his long arms over his head like he’d just finished a marathon instead of a half‑hour drive.

“Ugh,” he groaned, yawning obnoxiously. “Finally. I thought we were going to die of boredom before Mothman got to us.”

“God, I wish,” Shoko muttered, dragging herself out of the driver’s seat, her hoodie hood tugged up against the drizzle starting to fall.

She slung her bag over one shoulder and shuffled toward the lobby doors with all the energy of someone being marched to their execution.

Geto stepped out behind Gojo, calmly adjusting the strap of his duffel bag as his gaze flickered across the lot. “Travelodge,” he said evenly. “Not exactly a four‑star.”

“Excuse you,” Gojo cut in, already peering suspiciously at the faded curtains in the first‑floor windows. “I’ve seen documentaries. Places like this are crawling with bedbugs and roaches. We’re all going to wake up covered in bites. It’ll be tragic. Horrifying. The worst clickbait thumbnail ever.”

Geto gave him a slow side‑eye, his lips twitching faintly in the kind of expression that wasn’t quite a smile. “That’s what you’re afraid of? Not cryptids? Not death? Not me smothering you in your sleep? Bugs.”

“Don’t mock me,” Gojo said primly, tugging his jacket closer like it would shield him from imaginary pests. “Roaches are basically nature’s jump scares.”

You caught yourself smirking despite the heaviness in your chest. “This from the guy who was ready to French-kiss a Mothman waffle.”

Gojo gasped dramatically, pressing a hand over his heart. “That was different. That waffle wanted me.”

Shoko groaned softly from the entrance. “I’m begging you all to shut up.”

The lobby was lit by harsh fluorescent lights that hummed faintly against the ceiling tiles. The woman behind the counter looked about one argument away from quitting, her eyes dull as she slid the keycards across the laminate desk without preamble. Shoko grabbed hers and yours in one hand, muttered a half‑hearted thanks, and shoved them at you.

“Room 211,” she said flatly, already turning toward the stairs.

“Sharing?” you asked, hefting your bag.

“Unless you want Gojo,” she said dryly, her tired eyes half‑lidded as she trudged toward the second floor.

You shuddered theatrically. “Pass.”

Behind you, Gojo whined, “Rude!” before Geto calmly hooked two fingers through the strap of his backpack and tugged him toward the other set of stairs.

“We’re in 210,” he said simply, ignoring Gojo’s loud protests about being treated like a dog.

The hallway upstairs smelled faintly of bleach and mildew, the kind of scent that tried very hard to convince you the place was clean without succeeding. The carpet was threadbare in patches, patterned in an outdated swirl of brown and gold that only made the shadows stretch darker in the flickering light.

You slid your keycard into the lock, the little green light blinking sluggishly before the door gave way. The room beyond was exactly what you’d expected: two double beds with stiff floral spreads, a dresser with a bolted‑down TV, and curtains that had seen better decades.

Shoko didn’t even hesitate–she tossed her bag onto the bed closest to the bathroom and collapsed face‑first onto the mattress without bothering to pull the comforter back.

“Shotgun coma,” she mumbled into the pillow.

You dropped your bag onto the other bed, shaking your head fondly as you flicked on the lamp by the nightstand. The yellow glow pushed the shadows back, but not enough. The window rattled faintly in its frame as the fog pressed against it, heavy and thick.

As you looked through the sheer curtains, you thought you saw something move at the far edge of the lot–tall, darker than the mist, possibly wings, or simply a trick of the light. Your chest tightened, your breath caught before you blinked, and it was gone.

You dragged the curtain shut quickly, forcing your shoulders to relax. It was just the fog, only your imagination.

Through the thin wall, you could already hear Gojo whining about the sheets.

“Ugh, Suguru, they’re crunchy. Crunchy! That’s how you know we’re sleeping in a bug nest.”

Geto’s voice was calm and patient in a way that suggested he’d reached nirvana. “Lay down and stop talking.”

“Lay down? On this?” Gojo huffed dramatically. “I’m going to wake up with a rash. You’ll have to take care of me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The muffled thump that followed could’ve been Geto shoving him into the mattress. You couldn’t help but smile faintly, even as unease curled in your stomach.

Shoko cracked one eye open from her bed, her voice muffled but dry. "Five bucks says Gojo is dead by morning, not from Mothman. From Geto.”

You smirked slightly as you took off your shoes and stretched out on your own bed. “Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him.”

The lamp flickered faintly, the hum of the heater loud in the silence that followed. Outside, the mist pressed harder against the window, the night thick and strange, as if the air was holding its breath.

And as you lay back, scrolling through one last article before trying to sleep, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching.

Not just the fog, not just the shadowy figure with glowing red eyes, waiting.

ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚

The motel was too quiet.

You woke in the dark with your skin clammy and your chest tight, your sheets tangled in a damp mess around your legs. The air was colder than when you’d fallen asleep, so cold it raised goosebumps along your arms. The cheap digital clock on the nightstand glared 3:04 a.m. in angry red numbers.

The Devil’s Hour.

You'd spent years joking about it on camera, huddled in graveyards or abandoned asylums, whispering about spirits and demons for attention. But lying here in Gallipolis, with the fog pressing so hard against the Travelodge window that it rattled faintly in its frame, nothing seemed funny.

Shoko was dead asleep in the other bed, one arm flung out from under the covers, her breathing deep and even. The faint smell of her vape clung to the air, grounding you for half a second before the silence pressed harder.

You pushed the covers back slowly, wincing at the scratch of the carpet under your bare feet. The heater rattled and wheezed, but the room still felt damp and chilled, as if the fog outside had seeped through the thin walls. You padded quietly to the bathroom, flicking on the light above the mirror.

The reflection that stared back looked pale and wired, your hair plastered damply to your forehead with sweat. You cupped cold water into your hands, splashing it over your face, watching it drip down your neck and soak into your collar.

Your knuckles gripped the sink hard enough to ache as you whispered, “Get a grip. It’s just a motel. Just nerves.”

The mirror behind you caught something–a flicker of movement in the room.

You froze, water still dripping from your chin. Slowly, your eyes shifted, tracking toward the bathroom doorway. The room beyond was dim, with only the faint glow of the cheap nightstand lamp against the wall. But near the window, just beyond the curtain’s edge, something moved.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you stepped back into the room. The curtain wasn’t fully shut, just a narrow sliver open to the outside fog.

You swore you saw a shadow shift behind it–tall, too tall for the frame, and broad. You wanted to tell yourself it was just the reflection of a tree, but the air in the room had changed. Heavy. Expectant.

You moved toward the window like someone else was controlling your feet, each step slower than the last. The curtain trembled faintly under your hand when you reached for it, your breath hitching painfully in your chest.

And then you peeled it back.

At first, it was only a shadow. But then the fog seemed to glow faintly red, and two burning eyes locked with yours through the glass.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

The figure outside towered over the window frame, half-shrouded in mist but undeniably there. Black, jagged wings twitched faintly, the edges like torn velvet catching the faint motel light. Antennae shifted and curled above his head, catching every tremor in the night air, quivering like they were sensing you.

And those eyes–glowing, impossible, red like embers in the fog–held you pinned in place.

Your hand shook against the curtain. Your throat tried to form a scream, but nothing came until you realized the eyes weren’t cruel.

They looked afraid.

The sound ripped out of you before you could stop it, sharp and raw, breaking the still motel air.

Shoko bolted upright instantly, hair sticking in every direction, her arm swinging wildly for the lamp. “What the–?”

You stumbled back from the window, pointing with a trembling hand. “He–he’s–”

The figure outside flinched, wings snapping wide with a sound that thudded in your chest. In a rush of black, he launched upward, the fog swirling violently around him.

For a brief moment, you thought you saw his face in the parking lot light–pale, sharp, almost human–before he vanished into the mist with a single powerful beat of wings.

The room fell silent except for your ragged breathing and Shoko cursing softly as she swung her legs out of bed. “What the actual fuck?”

Before you could answer, the room next door erupted. A door slammed, footsteps pounded, and then Gojo burst into your room holding a frying pan in one hand and his camera in the other, white hair sticking out wildly.

His shirt was so baggy that it slipped off one shoulder, his boxers were wrinkled and crooked, and his long legs were bare and clumsy as he almost tripped on the threshold.

“I HEARD SCREAMING–WHERE IS HE–DID WE GET HIM ON CAMERA–”

Geto followed, much calmer but no less disheveled. He rubbed absently at his stomach under his loose t‑shirt, his long hair messy and unbound, framing his face in tangled strands.

His sharp eyes swept the room once, catching the curtains as they swayed from your grip, before settling on you. You were shaking, your eyes wide, still trying to process what you’d seen.

But Shoko wasn’t looking at you.

Her gaze had dropped to the faint red bite marks along Geto’s neck. Then back to Gojo, with his camera, frying pan, flushed cheeks, and wet hair. Slowly, deliberately, she raised one unimpressed brow.

“How,” she asked flatly, her voice slicing through the tension, “did you two fuck so quietly?”

The silence shattered.

Gojo froze, frying pan still raised as a shield, before breaking into a wide, almost guilty grin. “It’s called skill, Shoko.”

Geto sighed softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re unbearable.”

Your breath stuttered as you gripped the back of the chair for balance. “I swear–I swear there was something–”

“You screamed like you saw the devil,” Shoko muttered, finally dragging her gaze from Geto’s neck to you. “And honestly? You might have.”

The words sent shivers down your spine.

Even as the room fell apart–Gojo waving his camera around, Geto attempting to pry the frying pan from his grasp, and Shoko lighting a cigarette she swore she didn't have–you couldn't shake the memory of those glowing red eyes.

They hadn’t been hunting you; they’d been watching, and when you’d screamed, they’d looked just as afraid out in the mist beyond the Travelodge; wings twitched again.

ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚

The fog had started to lift by the time you reached the trailhead, but the mountains still held tight to the morning mist like they were reluctant to give up their secrets.

The sky above was pale and low, veiled in thin clouds that bled light without warmth. Tall oaks and hickories lined the foot of the hills, their trunks damp and dark from the night’s rain, bark glistening faintly where beams of light broke through the trees.

You paused near a wooden sign marked “Moonshine Hollow Trail,” its letters faded with time, the edges of the board covered in lichen. The dirt path beyond wound through the forest like a vein, slick with wet leaves and roots that threatened to trip you.

Shoko adjusted her backpack with a grunt, pulling the straps tighter over her shoulders. “God, I hate morning.” She shoved her cigarette pack into her jacket pocket and looked up the trail like it had personally insulted her.

“We could’ve let you sleep in,” you offered, not looking away from the map in your hand.

“No. If I miss Mothman while you clowns scream into the woods, I’ll never forgive myself.”

Gojo approached from behind, a camera mounted on his chest harness and a boom mic wobbling slightly above his shoulder. His beanie was too big, slipping over one eye, and his hiking boots were still suspiciously clean. He twirled dramatically before striking a pose.

“Day two of the Cryptid Chronicles, baby. In the heart of the Appalachians, on the trail of the legendary, sexy, possibly hung, potentially emotionally available Mothman."

Geto, trailing behind with a pack that looked twice as heavy as anyone else’s, didn’t slow his step. “I will throw you off the ridge.”

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone,” Gojo replied cheerfully, turning to walk backwards up the trail. But not in a sad way. In an oh no, we never got to try polyamory kind of way.”

Shoko flipped him off without looking.

The trail narrowed as you hiked higher, weaving along the edge of a slope lined with mossy stones and thick brush. The air smelled of damp earth and wet bark, clean but sharp, and the only sounds were the soft squelch of boots in mud, the occasional birdcall, and Gojo narrating every five minutes like a knockoff Discovery Channel host.

"We are now approaching ground zero of the 1975 Mothman sightings," he said into his microphone, exaggeratedly low. "A local hunter reported seeing a winged figure perched in a tree, staring straight into his soul. In his words, ‘I ain’t never felt so judged by a bug before.’”

"You sound like if a podcast host and a cult leader had a child," you muttered, your gaze fixed on the map as the path curved around a tight bend.

He grinned. “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Geto grunted as he adjusted his pack. “Can we not get lost this time?”

“I have a map,” you said, holding it up like proof of your responsibility.

“That’s what you said last time,” Geto muttered, brushing a branch out of his way. “Then we ended up in someone’s goat field.”

“One time,” you said, stepping over a root. “And the goats were very welcoming.”

Gojo suddenly cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a sound that could only be described as a moaning screech. A bird startled from the trees above.

“Stop that,” Geto snapped.

“That’s my Mothman mating call,” Gojo said brightly, already doing it again. “I’m letting him know we’re open to communication. And possibly tongue stuff.”

Shoko turned slowly, eyes flat. "Do it one more time, and I will pour trail mix into your mouth until you choke."

Gojo shrugged. "You're just pressed that he might respond to me."

The trail leveled off slightly, leading to a clearing where the canopy parted enough to let light spill across the damp forest floor. The space was littered with old stumps, the remains of long-felled trees, and low stone foundations that had been partially buried by earth and moss.

“This used to be a mining site, right?” You inquired, checking the map again.

“Yeah,” Geto said, kneeling to open his pack. "Closed down in the 1960s because it was allegedly the site of the first red-eye sightings."

“I don’t see any eyes,” Gojo muttered, panning the camera slowly. “Just trees. And disappointment.”

Shoko sat on a log and dug out a protein bar. "I swear to God, I will eat this entire forest just to avoid hearing the word mothussy' again."

“I was gonna say ‘bugussy,’ actually.”

“Worse,” Geto muttered.

You tuned them out after that, your gaze drifting toward the far edge of the clearing. The trees thickened quickly past the site, rising in jagged clusters up the ridge. The shadows there felt deeper than they should, like the fog hadn’t fully lifted. Something about it gnawed at you.

You took a step toward the tree line, then another. Behind you, Shoko and Gojo were arguing over whether cryptids could legally vote, and Geto was too busy reorganizing supplies to notice you slipping ahead.

The ground softened under your boots as you stepped past the last ring of stumps. Moss grew thick over the stones here, and the trail disappeared into a slope of brush. You paused, ears straining.

There was silence, no rustle of leaves, no breeze, and the birds had ceased their singing.

That wasn’t right.

You slowly rotated your head, looking at the trees; it seemed as though the forest was holding its breath.

Then you heard it. Not a snap, not a growl–something gentle. The brushing of branches by wings.

Something moved above you.

You looked up just in time to see the shadow vanish between the trunks–massive and black, with edges too jagged to be a bird. The red glint of something watching flickered for a split second before disappearing. Your heart skipped a beat, and you took a slow step back, mouth dry behind you; the others continued to talk, unaware.

But something had found you.

The longer you stood at the edge of the clearing, the more wrong the silence felt. Your skin prickled, sweat cooling along the back of your neck even though the air had turned heavy and damp.

The birds that had been calling overhead a few minutes ago were gone, their songs cut short so abruptly that the absence of them rang louder than any sound could. You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching against the folded map in your hand as you took another small step toward the tree line, straining to hear anything that would make sense of the feeling gnawing in your chest.

Behind you, Gojo’s voice carried on easily, still filming as though the woods themselves were his audience.

“Daylight sighting potential is high, folks, because Mothman, like me, is probably not a morning person but can’t resist some hot action. Science.” Shoko muttered something that sounded like a threat involving duct tape, and Geto’s low, even tone cut in to redirect them, but their voices felt too far away.

You glanced back, just enough to see them still gathered around the packs in the clearing, and realized with a start that you had drifted several yards away without noticing.

Your boots sank softly into the moss as you took one more step closer to the trees. That was when you heard it. Not a snap of a branch or a scurry of a squirrel, but a soft, deliberate sweep of air, like wings brushing the treetops. It was too heavy for a bird and too precise for the random flutter of leaves. The sound seemed to vibrate low in your chest, almost like it was inside you instead of outside.

Your head tilted up before you could stop yourself, your eyes catching movement between the higher branches. The fog clung thick there, weaving between trunks, but you caught it–a vast, black shape slipping silently from one shadow to another.

The outline was jagged, the wings broad and angular, catching faint shafts of pale light before melting back into darkness. And then, for the briefest second, you saw them again. Two points of glowing red, as bright as embers in the darkness, stare directly at you.

Your breath hitched sharply. The map trembled in your grip. You blinked hard, and the shape vanished, swallowed back into the fog as if it had never been there.

“Hey!” Gojo's voice was suddenly too close, breaking the spell as he bounded up behind you, camera aimed directly at your face. "Did you find him yet?" Because I swear I just did the mating call of champions.” He launched into another warbling screech that made you flinch, his grin wide and unbothered.

You turned sharply to glare at him, your pulse still thundering. “Shut up, Gojo.”

That got Geto’s attention immediately. He straightened from where he’d been kneeling to adjust his pack and came over, his gaze narrowing as he studied your face. “What happened?” His tone was calm, but you could tell by the slight edge in his voice that he didn’t believe it was nothing.

Shoko dragged herself up from her log, brushing crumbs from her hands, her expression as flat as ever. “Don’t tell me you actually saw something.”

“I–” You swallowed hard, glancing back at the tree line. The shadows looked empty now, harmless even, but your skin still crawled. “I think I did.”

Gojo’s grin widened, his camera zooming dramatically on your face. “Ooooh. Spicy. Tell us, dear viewer, what did you see? Was he tall, dark, and handsome? Or more like a giant moth with daddy issues?”

Geto’s hand came up, pushing the camera down firmly, his sharp eyes not leaving yours. “Describe it.”

You hesitated, your throat tight, before you managed to murmur, “Wings. And… eyes.”

That got them quiet. Even Gojo, whose grin remained unwavering, shifted slightly, his focus sharper. Shoko exhaled through her nose, her expression unreadable as she muttered, “Fantastic. We’re about to get murdered by a bug with an ego.”

The silence pressed heavier again, as though the forest was leaning closer to hear.

You shivered, gripping the map tighter. “The birds stopped singing.”

Geto’s brow furrowed slightly at that, his hand dropping from Gojo’s camera. Shoko turned her head toward the trees, her shoulders tightening despite her casual stance.

Gojo, for once, didn’t crack a joke right away. He panned the camera toward the tree line, his voice lower as he said, “Guess the mating call worked.”

“Or pissed him off,” Shoko muttered.

You stared into the treeline, the shadows shifting in ways you didn’t want to believe were natural. Every instinct screamed at you to keep watching, because you were certain if you looked away, whatever was there would move closer.

ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚

By the time the second hour of hiking dragged on, your body felt wrung out. The trail snaked endlessly along the ridges, weaving through the trees in a narrow ribbon of mud and slick leaves. The Appalachian morning was beautiful in its own severe way: tall trunks wrapped in moss, ferns glistening with dew, and stretches of mountain laurel blooming faintly along the slopes.

But the beauty was layered with something heavier, something pressing close. The deeper you went, the more the forest seemed to close in, the silence between birdcalls growing longer.

Gojo was still talking, though his usual bravado had dulled with the steady climb. He narrated into his chest-mounted camera as if millions were watching, his voice rising in mock suspense. “Two hours in, no sightings yet, but the vibes are immaculate. If we don’t see him soon, I’ll start stripping to increase the bait factor.”

Shoko groaned without slowing, her backpack bobbing with each step. “You’d scare him off.”

Geto, steady as always, didn’t even turn his head. “That implies Mothman has taste.”

You smiled faintly but didn’t join in. The map in your hand had blurred with sweat, and when you slipped your phone from your pocket to check for signal, your stomach sank. No service. The little bars were gone, the screen as empty as the stretch of trail behind you.

You slowed, tilting the phone in your hand as if that would make a difference. The others’ voices grew fainter, their figures blending into the shadowed green ahead.

The forest around you shifted.

The birds went quiet all at once. The air thickened, heavy and damp, pressing close around your chest. You stilled, the hair on the back of your neck prickling as though unseen eyes had locked onto you.

Your boots scraped softly as you looked up–and froze.

Something massive stood in the path ahead, so close you almost collided with it.

Your breath caught, your body locking in place. He was taller than any man you’d ever seen, his frame towering, broad shoulders casting shadows even in the dim light. Black, jagged wings spread slightly behind him, their edges ragged like torn silk and twitching faintly as if tasting the air. Two black antennae curved delicately above his head, trembling in the stillness, and his eyes glowed deep red in the fog, twin embers burning straight through you.

You stumbled back a half step, your lips parting in a sharp inhale. The scream clawing up your throat faltered when the glow in his eyes flickered, softened, and dimmed into something human. His face came into focus through the mist–sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, lips slightly parted as though he was breathing you in. His short black hair was mussed and damp, framing his face in uneven strands. Dirt smudged along the hard lines of his jaw and the slope of his chest.

Your voice broke the silence in a whisper. “Oh my God.”

He didn’t move at first, just watched you with a stillness that felt ancient. Your gaze flicked lower, despite the trembling in your hands. The only thing covering him was a crude, rough piece of the fabric was tied low around his hips and hung unevenly, like a makeshift garment. The rest of his body was bare, with pale skin streaked with dirt and faint scratches, and long black nails glinting faintly as his hands flexed at his sides.

Your mouth went dry, your head tilting slightly without your permission as your eyes dragged back up his body. “Oh,” you breathed again, softer this time, your chest rising in shallow bursts. “My God.”

As if the words pulled him closer, he moved. Slowly, carefully, his hands lifted from his sides, long fingers trembling slightly as they reached for you. Instinct told you to back away, to call out for the others, but you couldn’t. Your body wouldn’t obey.

When his fingers brushed your cheek, your heart skipped painfully. His touch was surprisingly gentle, the long nails grazing lightly against your skin without cutting. His hand cupped your face completely, the roughness of dirt and calluses against your cheek a stark contrast to his careful movement.

Your breath shuddered out as he leaned closer, the faint heat of him surrounding you. The smell of earth and rain clung to him, heavy and raw, mixed with something that made your chest ache. His antennae twitched forward, brushing faintly above your hairline, and then he inhaled.

The sound that left him was low, guttural, almost a growl–but threaded with something softer, something dangerously close to a moan. The vibration of it seemed to hum through your bones, your body tensing and flushing all at once.

His forehead lowered just enough that his breath ghosted against your temple. You could feel the tremor in his hand as he held you, his thumb brushing faintly along your cheekbone, as though he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

Your voice trembled when you finally whispered, “What are you?”

His red eyes glowed faintly again in the dim light, locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. His lips parted as if he wanted to answer, but no sound came, only another low, breathless growl that broke halfway into something almost human.

The forest was silent, so quiet that your own heartbeat sounded too loud in your ears. His hand cupped your cheek as though it had always belonged there, long black nails grazing your skin without breaking it, dirt smudging faint streaks along your face where his touch lingered.

His antennae trembled faintly above his forehead as he leaned closer, his breath damp and warm against your skin, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, caught between terror and something far more dangerous.

When he inhaled deeply, the sound that left him was low, guttural, and almost animal. It vibrated through you, setting your chest alight with a heat you hadn’t expected. And then, without warning, his mouth pressed against the side of your face, lips hot and rough as his tongue dragged slowly up the line of your cheek.

Your breath caught sharply, your entire body jolting with the intimacy of it. Heat spread across your skin where he'd licked, your stomach flipping violently, and the only words you could manage were a broken whisper that you barely recognized as your own. “What the–”

His grip on you tightened as if the sound threatened to push him away, his other hand sliding to your hip, long nails grazing the fabric of your hiking pants. His wings shifted, folding close against his back with a whisper of sound, and his forehead pressed briefly to your temple as a low grunt rumbled in your ear.

The sound wasn’t threatening, not exactly–but it was heavy with need, an almost desperate cadence that left you frozen.

And then you felt it.

The rough press of his hips against yours, his weight pushing you back a half step into the damp moss of the trail. He was rutting against you in short, trembling motions, the crude sack around his hips shifting against the fabric of your clothes. Each push was accompanied by another low, breathless grunt, his body hot and unyielding as he held himself flush to you.

Your face burned, and your pulse was stuttering so quickly that you thought you'd collapse. The realization hit you hard and fast, knocking the air from your lungs. Mothman–the cryptid you’d spent the last two days joking about–was trying to mate with you.

You should have screamed, shoved him back, and run, but your body refused to cooperate. You stood trembling under his weight, your cheek damp from his tongue, your head tilting faintly toward his mouth as if drawn there by instinct. The forest pressed heavier around you, fog curling thicker through the branches, as though the world itself was closing in on this moment.

His breath shuddered against your ear as his hips ground harder, a soft, strangled sound breaking from his throat that sent heat rushing low in your stomach. Your fingers twitched against his chest before you even realized you’d lifted them, the heat of his skin shocking under the thin layer of dirt smeared across him.

The silence was broken by a voice as sharp as a blade.

“Hey! You good back there?”

Gojo’s call rang sharp across the trees, distant but growing closer.

The creature tensed instantly. His wings flared wide with a sudden snap of movement, their edges catching the dim light as he pulled back from you, red eyes locking onto yours with a sharpness that made your chest ache. For a split second, you thought he'd stay and speak, but then the fog swirled violently around him.

In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

The forest was empty again, the silence pressing heavier than before.

You staggered a step back, your chest heaving as if you’d been holding your breath for hours. Your cheek still burned where his tongue had dragged across your skin, your hips still aching faintly where his weight had pressed.

Your hand came up slowly, trembling as you touched the damp heat left behind on your face.

“Oh God,” you whispered, the words barely audible. “Oh my God.”

Branches snapped as Gojo’s voice rang closer, cheerful and oblivious. “Hey, slowpoke! You taking a nap back there, or did Moth Daddy finally sweep you off your feet?”

You swallowed hard, dragging your shaking hands down the front of your shirt as you turned toward the trail. The forest looked normal again, the birds still gone but the shadows empty, as though nothing had happened. And yet your body told you otherwise, every nerve still lit from the heat of him, every breath trembling with the memory of his weight.

For the first time since you’d arrived in Point Pleasant, you didn’t feel like you were hunting the Mothman.

You felt like he had chosen you.

ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚

The Travelodge lot was almost silent at three in the morning. The only sound came from the humming fluorescent sign out front and the faint buzz of insects crowding the orange glow of the lamps.

You padded across the damp pavement in your thin nightgown, the hem brushing against your thighs as you tugged your sweater tighter over your shoulders. The air was cool, fog curling in from the trees beyond the lot, and the silence of it set your skin prickling.

The vending machine at the far corner flickered with a half-dead light. You pressed the buttons for the soda you’d been craving all night, the old machine groaning and clunking without delivering anything. You muttered under your breath, pressing the button again, then again, slapping the side of the machine until finally a can rattled loose and dropped into the slot with a metallic clang.

The sound echoed far too loudly in the stillness.

You bent to grab it, the cold metal damp with condensation. As you straightened, that prickle ran down your spine again, so sharp this time that you froze mid-motion. The air behind you felt charged, thick, as though someone–no, something–stood so close you should have already felt their breath on your neck.

Your hand tightened on the soda can. Without turning, you snapped, “Whoever’s back there is getting this to the face.”

You spun around, cocked your arm, and came to a complete stop.

He stood just feet away, tall enough that his head nearly brushed the overhang above the vending machine. His black wings curved slightly around his frame, twitching faintly in the mist. The short black hair at his nape was mussed and damp as though he’d flown through fog, framing his pale face. His antennae bent forward toward you, trembling as if straining to catch every beat of your pulse. And his eyes, which flashed red before flickering to a deep, unnatural purple, locked on you with a hunger that turned your stomach inside out.

Your breath shuddered out, your body locking in place as his arms stretched toward you.

You stammered, “I–I don’t…” But your words cut off when his face lowered into the curve of your neck.

The sound he made against your skin wasn’t a growl this time. It was a low, vibrating purr, resonant and warm, the kind of sound that made your knees weaken. His mouth brushed against the sensitive skin at the base of your throat as he inhaled deeply, the faint scrape of his nails sliding around your waist to pull you flush against him. His hips pressed into yours, rutting slowly, deliberately, the crude fabric around his waist doing nothing to hide the heavy, hard length straining beneath it.

Your breath caught, your body trembling as heat flooded your chest and face. A shocked, nervous laugh broke from you, weak and breathless.

“Well,” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you tried to ground yourself, “I guess Gojo isn’t the one fucking Mothman after all.”

At that, his head tilted back slightly, his glowing eyes meeting yours. They glinted red, then flickered dark purple again, more human, his expression unreadable. His nails tightened slightly against your waist, and then, with no warning, his arms swept you fully into his chest.

You gasped, the soda can clattering to the pavement as the world lurched. His wings snapped wide, powerful enough to stir the mist around you into spirals as he bent his legs and launched upward.

The ground fell away in an instant. Your scream ripped out of you, raw and sharp, but his large hand came up to press your face into the heat of his chest, muffling the sound. The steady thud of his heart beat through your cheek as the cold night air whipped around you, the wind roaring, your stomach dropping with every powerful beat of his wings. You clung to him without meaning to, nails digging into the dirt-streaked skin of his chest as he carried you higher, deeper into the dark ridges of the Appalachians.

By the time he slowed, your throat was hoarse from the muffled cries, your body shaking from the cold and fear and adrenaline. He descended into a narrow crevice in the mountain, his wings folding as he ducked inside, and you found yourself being carried into a cave that smelled of damp stone and earth.

The space was larger than you expected, hollowed deep into the ridge. Water dripped faintly somewhere in the shadows, the sound echoing softly. The floor was layered with rough blankets and furs, human-made fabrics scavenged from God knows where, some torn, some stained. Old trinkets and items littered the edges of the cave: a cracked lantern, a child’s stuffed bear half-rotted with age, a tin plate, and an empty bottle. He set you gently on the pile of blankets as though you might break, his wings folding tight against his back as he crouched over you.

The heat of his body crowded the space, and even in the dim light you could see the crude fabric stretched taut over the massive shape pressing against it. Your eyes darted lower before you could stop yourself, and your chest went tight. He was enormous, straining against the sack with obscene weight, his erection heavy and obvious as his antennae twitched wildly above his head.

You licked your lips, your pulse racing as you tried to speak, your voice shaking. “I… I don’t even know if you understand me.”

His glowing eyes dropped to the hem of your nightgown, his nails sliding along the fabric as he tugged it higher over your thighs. Your breath stuttered, your body frozen as his gaze burned hotter, his antennae twitching so close you could feel the faint brush of them over your skin. Slowly, he lifted the thin material higher, his eyes dropping between your thighs with blunt, startling curiosity.

He pointed.

Your cheeks burned so hot you thought you might combust. You swallowed hard, your voice breaking into a whisper. “Yeah. That’s… that’s a vagina.”

For a moment, he stilled. Then he leaned closer, the heat of his breath ghosting over the bare skin of your inner thigh as his nails dragged the hem higher. His eyes glinted, red flaring in the dim light as his lips brushed against the soft skin above your knee. The sound that came from him then–low, hungry, a cross between a growl and a moan–vibrated so deeply in your bones that you thought your heart would stop.

And as his mouth pressed higher, leaving damp heat along your skin, you realized you weren’t afraid anymore. Not exactly. You were trembling, yes, but not with fear. The cave, the nest, the dark–all of it fell away under the press of his lips against your thighs, under the weight of the knowledge that Mothman hadn’t just taken you.

The cave was alive with the sound of your shallow breathing and the quiet, constant drip of water echoing somewhere deep inside. He had not spoken, not even attempted words, but his intent was carved in every twitch of his wings, every tremble of his antennae, and every press of heat radiating from his body. You sat back on the nest of furs and scavenged blankets, your nightgown clinging damply to your skin from the mist outside, your chest rising quickly as you watched him with wide, startled eyes.

He crouched between your legs, broad shoulders hunched, his wings twitching faintly in the dim light. His eyes glowed faint red as he bent lower, the rough fabric around his hips straining obscenely with his arousal. You felt his breath ghost hot against your thighs as he slid his long, dirt-smudged hands crawled up your legs, nails glinting dangerously as they curled to grip the soft flesh around your knees. The careful control in his touch made your pulse stumble–he could have shredded you open in a heartbeat, but instead he was trembling, careful, and reverent.

When his face disappeared under the thin hem of your nightgown, your breath hitched sharply. The brush of his antennae against your stomach made your skin erupt in goosebumps, and your thighs twitched involuntarily as his nose pressed to the damp heat between your legs. His inhale was long and heavy, dragging the scent of you deep into his lungs. The sound he let out then–a low, guttural growl that slid into a moan–made your head fall back against the stone wall behind you.

You swallowed, your voice breaking to a whisper. “You… you’re…” You couldn’t finish, too caught in the shiver that ran through you when his breath fanned over the wet fabric of your panties.

Your hands moved without thought, sliding down to press against the top of his head. Your fingers brushed through his short, damp hair and accidentally caught one of his antennae between them. The reaction was instant.

He moaned, sharp and needy, the sound vibrating directly against your clit through the soaked fabric. His whole body shuddered, one powerful leg kicking out against the stone floor as though you’d struck something deep in him. The noise pulled a desperate moan from your throat before you could stop it, your hips jerking against his face.

His mouth pressed harder, lips dragging against your clit through the wet fabric, as if the contact was compelled. You gasped, your fingers curling tighter around his antennae as heat flooded your chest and belly. He whimpered softly, rutting his face against you like he couldn’t get enough, the flutter of his wings sending a faint gust of air that chilled your sweat-slicked skin.

When his teeth closed around the edge of your panties, your eyes flew open. You felt the sharp scrape, terrifyingly close to dangerous, but then with startling control he bit down, the fabric tearing cleanly away. He pulled back with the ruined scraps dangling from his mouth before tossing them aside, his glowing eyes already fixed hungrily on the slick heat he’d uncovered.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your body arching involuntarily as the cool air hit your bare skin.

He didn’t wait. His mouth descended in one fluid, desperate motion, his tongue–far longer than you expected, hot and slick–dragging from the base of your slit up to your clit in one devastating stroke.

You cried out, your hips jerking, your fingers yanking hard at his antennae. The reaction was immediate. He moaned again, the sound raw and broken, the vibration pulsing straight into your cunt. His tongue pushed deeper, curling inside you with greedy, desperate strokes as his nose pressed against your clit. His antennae twitched wildly under your touch, and the more you As you tugged, his noises became louder, with whimpers breaking between growls as if he were unraveling in your hands.

The wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming, every lap of his tongue dragging slick arousal out of you, every flick of his nose against your clit drawing another shuddering gasp from your lips. You clutched him closer without meaning to, your thighs trembling as you pressed your heels into the furs beneath you.

He was shameless, licking deeper, harder, his tongue curling and stroking inside you like he was trying to taste every inch. Saliva and slick coated your thighs as he pulled back only to lap messily at your clit, his groan muffled against your cunt when you tugged sharply at both antennae. His hips shifted against the cave floor, rutting unconsciously, his crude covering doing nothing to hide the obscene size of him straining against it.

“God–oh my God,” you gasped, half-laughing, half-crying as pleasure twisted hot in your stomach. Your back arched as you tugged again, harder this time, and his entire body convulsed with the sound that tore out of him–a moan so broken it bordered on a sob.

His nails scraped against the stone as he dug his fingers into the furs beside your hips. You saw the panic in his glowing eyes then, a faint red flare as he looked down at his own hands, sharp claws trembling dangerously close to your thighs. He let out a frustrated whimper, his lips still pressed to your clit, before doing something unexpected even through the haze of pleasure: biting down on his own nails. Hard.

The sound of them snapping echoed faintly in the cave as he broke the sharp tips away, leaving his fingers blunt enough to touch you safely. His hand slid up immediately after, two long fingers pressing against your soaked folds as his tongue still worked your clit. You gasped again, clutching his head tighter, your body rocking helplessly against his mouth as he pushed a finger inside you.

The stretch was perfect, blunt, and hot, his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit as he moaned into you. Then the second finger pressed in, his whimper muffled by the slick heat of your cunt as he curled them deep inside, stroking with a desperation that made your thighs clamp around his head.

You could barely breathe, the orgasm building sharp and hot, your voice breaking as you moaned his name without even knowing it yet. His antennae twitched wildly under your grip, his tongue pressing harder, his fingers working faster as he whined against your clit like he couldn’t stand the idea of you not breaking apart for him.

Your stomach tightened all at once, and your orgasm slammed into you so hard that your back arched away from the furs. You cried out, trembling as waves of heat pulsed through you, your thighs locked around his head. He groaned against you, drinking in every sound, his tongue and fingers unrelenting as he pulled every drop of pleasure out of you, refusing to stop even as you gasped and shook.

When you finally collapsed back into the nest, your chest heaving, his face was still buried between your thighs, his mouth wet and messy against your cunt, his moans vibrating against you like he had no intention of letting you go.

The cave was thick with the smell of damp stone, earth, and the raw musk of him, the air heavy with the sounds of your ragged breathing and his low, desperate noises. He hadn’t left you alone for a moment, his long fingers still trembling as they searched your body, tugging softly at your nightgown as if trying to memorize every part of you.

When his hands slid higher, slipping under the hem of your bra, your breath caught. His glowing red eyes flicked up to yours, wide and wild, his brows furrowing as he fumbled clumsily at the clasp. The long claws he’d left intact scraped lightly against the fabric, dangerous but careful, his frustration evident when it wouldn’t give.

You exhaled softly, almost a laugh, and reached down yourself. In one motion you pulled your nightgown over your head, your bra slipping free with it, baring yourself completely under the flickering glow of his eyes.

His breath stuttered, the heat of it rolling over your chest as his trembling hands cupped your breasts. He let out a sound between a whimper and a moan, his thumbs brushing across your nipples as if the sensation alone might undo him.

His antennae quivered wildly, his wings fluttering faintly against the stone as he leaned forward to mouth at the soft flesh, his tongue dragging hot and sloppy across your skin.

“Do you… do you have a name?” You whispered, your chest rising under the weight of his hands.

His eyes shot up to yours, still glowing faint red, the intensity in them almost painful. He froze for a moment, as if trying to parse the question. Then his lips parted, his breath shaky as his hand slid up to press against the side of your throat.

You pointed to yourself softly, still flushed from his touch. “I’m…” You spoke your name clearly, letting the sound fill the damp air. His lips moved around the syllables clumsily as he repeated it, his voice low and gravelly, the sound broken but real.

Your stomach flipped at the sound of it, his tongue wrapping around the letters with shaky reverence. You gave him a small, encouraging smile, tilting your head. “Now you. What is your name?”

He blinked, the glow in his eyes softening as he pointed slowly at himself. His lips shaped the word with difficulty, as if it had been a long time since he’d said it aloud. “Cho… so.”

You whispered it back, tasting it on your tongue. “Choso.”

The sound of it drew a low, vibrating noise from his chest, his grip on your hips tightening. You tilted your head faintly, a little smile tugging at your lips despite your trembling. “Not Mothman.”

The way his face shifted at the nickname startled you–the glow of his eyes sharpening with something dangerously close to disgust. He shook his head once, sharply, his expression almost wounded, as if the word betrayed something deeper in him.

“Not Mothman,” you repeated softly, brushing your fingers against the side of his face.

He let out a sound that was almost a sigh before lowering his head to bury his face between your breasts. The sudden, messy heat of his mouth dragging across your skin made you gasp, your laugh breaking through the sound as he motorboated you with a fervor so desperate it almost toppled you backward into the pile of furs.

His antennae twitched wildly against your chest, every brush of them sending sparks of heat through your skin.

“Choso,” you gasped, your fingers curling into his short black hair as he whined against your cleavage.

His hands slid lower, tugging the crude sack at his hips until it slipped free. The sight made your mouth fall open, your breath stuttering as your gaze dragged down. His chest was broad and chiseled, the lines of his muscles catching the dim light. His stomach tapered into sharp V-lines that drew your eyes downward, down to the thick patch of black hair framing the sheer size of him.

Jesus Christ.

Your body flushed hot all over. He was enormous–long, thick, and flushed an angry pink at the swollen head, with slick pre-cum already dripping down the length of him.

It slapped hard against his abs, brushing past his belly button with its weight as he whimpered, his hand curling around the base to massage himself. The wet sounds filled the cave as he jerked himself slowly, his head falling back as his chest rose and fell hard, his wings trembling faintly in rhythm.

Your breath hitched again as he leaned back over you, his free hand squeezing one of your breasts, his mouth latching onto your nipple. His tongue flicked hot against the sensitive peak as he stroked himself harder, his hips shifting with each rutting motion of his fist. You gasped, your hands gripping his head, your eyes half-lidded as the wet heat of his mouth spread sparks down your spine.

When he lifted your legs over his hips, your body arched reflexively, the swollen head of him dragging against your slick folds as he whined softly into your chest. His mouth was messy and desperate against your breasts, saliva shining in the low light as he nipped and sucked.

Then he leaned up, his glowing eyes flicking between your face and your lips, uncertain. He kissed you.

It was clumsy, hot, and too wet–his teeth catching awkwardly against your lip as his tongue pushed into your mouth. You laughed breathlessly against him, pulling back just enough to whisper, “You’re terrible at this.”

He let out a low, almost hurt whimper, your name breaking shakily from his mouth.

“Like this,” you murmured, guiding his face back to yours.

You kissed him slowly, showing him how to move, how to press his lips softer, and how to slide his tongue against yours in rhythm. He groaned deep in his chest when he caught on, pressing harder into you, his hand still working between your thighs. Your body shivered when his wings spread wide before folding around you both, cocooning you in the cave’s damp darkness.

The heat of his wings wrapped you in shadow as he shifted, the damp furs beneath you rustling with every tremor of his massive frame. His eyes glowed faintly purple now, more human than before, but the wild hunger in them hadn’t dulled. You felt him guide himself lower, the thick head of his cock dragging wetly through your folds, the sheer size of him pressing against you and making your chest heave.

Your breath caught when he nudged at your entrance, the stretch already overwhelming. He hesitated, his brows furrowed, his breath rough as he bent down to kiss you. The kiss was messy, desperate, his tongue sliding against yours as he pushed slowly inside.

The intrusion stole the air from your lungs. You gasped against his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body clenched around the obscene stretch. He whined, the sound broken and raw, his voice scraping low as he whispered, “Sorry…”

His hips pressed forward inch by inch, his cock splitting you open in a way that felt unbearable and intoxicating all at once. You moaned, the sound high and needy, your back arching as the stretch sent sparks shooting down your spine. His hands clutched at your ass, pulling you closer, desperate to bury himself deeper even as he trembled.

When he bottomed out, the blunt head of him pressed against your cervix, and your stomach tightened sharply. You looked down through the haze of pleasure and shock–there it was, a faint bulge rising against your lower belly, proof of how deep he was inside you. The sight made your head fall back with a gasp, your body arching involuntarily against him.

His wings spread wide, shuddering as if attempting to contain the sound that had escaped him. He buried his face against your neck, slobbering kisses and licks over the sensitive skin, his voice breaking into a chant of, “Please… please…” His cock twitched deep inside you, his hips rutting shallowly as though he couldn’t stand being still, every movement pulling another breathless moan from you.

“Mate,” he groaned against your skin, the word raw and desperate. “You… my mate.”

Your nails clawed down his back, leaving faint red streaks through the dirt as you pulled at him. His antennae brushed against your temples, and when you gripped them, he let out a guttural growl, his hips slamming harder into yours.

You arched off the nest, crying out as his hand slid down to your clit. The pad of his thumb rubbed circles over the sensitive nub, messy and unpracticed but devastating in its intensity. He held you up with one strong arm, his mouth hot against your ear as he whispered in a language you couldn’t understand. The words vibrated against your skin, low and rhythmic, broken by gasps and groans as his cock pulsed inside you.

Every thrust drove the bulge higher, your body squeezing around him as your own voice broke into helpless whimpers. His breath was hot and frantic, his antennae twitching wildly under your grip, his wings flaring with every deep grind of his hips.

Your nails dug into his back as his thrusts deepened, every motion dragging a shocked cry from your throat. The bulge in your stomach rose with every drive of his cock; your body stretched so full you thought you might shatter around him. Your voice broke as you gasped his name, desperate and raw.

“Choso–”

The sound of it on your lips ripped something loose in him. He groaned, deep and ragged, his teeth sinking into the tender curve of your shoulder, as if he needed to mark or claim you.

His hips stuttered, pulling out of you so suddenly you whined at the loss before he slammed back in, hard enough to make the nest beneath you creak and your breath explode in a sob. The heavy slap of his balls against your skin echoed through the damp cave, obscene and wet as his cock twitched violently inside you.

His wings curled around you, coiling close like a shield as he let out a high, broken cry–not just a moan, but a sob of need, his glowing eyes squeezed shut as tears streaked faintly down his dirt-smudged cheeks. He whimpered your name again, his voice so hoarse it broke your chest, and then with a trembling strength he pulled you up onto his lap, never letting his cock leave you.

He leaned back against the stone, his body shaking as he guided you to straddle him. His hands gripped your hips hard, holding you in place as you sank down onto him, the stretch searing all over again. You gasped, your hands braced against his chest as his lips found yours in another desperate kiss.

He was messy and unpracticed, his tongue clumsy against yours, but you kissed him back, teaching him through the feverish press of your mouth.

You rolled your hips down against him, and the groan that tore from his chest vibrated into your mouth. His tears dampened your cheek as his cock drove deep, twitching violently inside you as your walls clenched around him.

The heat building in your belly broke again, your second orgasm crashing over you hard enough to make you cry out against his lips. Your body convulsed, your nails raking down his shoulders as your cunt squeezed tight around his length.

He broke apart with you, his voice shattering as he came with a guttural cry. Hot, thick spurts of cum filled you in waves, pouring so deep inside you that you felt it spill when he ground deeper, desperate to stay buried in you. It leaked around him, sputtering out of you with every twitch of his cock, hot and endless, marking you in the deepest way possible.

But he didn’t stop. Even as you gasped through the aftershocks, trembling against his chest, his wings snapped wide. He rose, still clutching you, his cock buried, his hips rocking shallowly as he reached his full height. The wind from his wings filled the cave as he took you higher, still holding you on his lap as he thrust into you, desperate and broken, his forehead pressed to yours.

“Mate,” he sobbed, rutting into you even as he carried you upward, his wings trembling with every beat. “My mate.”

The cave walls were slick with condensation, the air heavy with the scent of sex and damp earth, and every sound of your body against his echoed faintly off the stone.

His wings flared wide before curling close as he pinned you to the wall, your back pressed hard against the cool rock while his hips slammed forward with relentless force. The weight of his cock repeatedly split you open, leaving you clawing at his arms and dragging red streaks down his dirt-smudged skin as he drove into you.

He gave you no room to breathe, no reprieve from the intensity of his need. His glowing eyes were wet with tears, his pupils blown wide as they rolled back with each thrust.

He bent low, his mouth closing greedily around your breasts, sucking and licking as though he couldn’t decide which to worship more, your cunt or the soft swell of your chest. His tongue dragged hot across your nipple, his teeth scraping lightly before he groaned your name, the sound broken and frantic against your skin.

“Mate,” he whined, his voice muffled as he sucked harder, his hips jerking roughly. His cock pulsed deep inside you, spilling more heat as he came again, the warmth spilling down your thighs before he thrust harder, rutting his seed deeper. His body shook with it, his breath ragged as though he was tearing himself apart just to stay inside you.

When he pulled back, you thought for a fleeting second he might relent–but instead his massive hands slid lower, hooking under your thighs as if you weighed nothing. He lifted you high against the wall, his wings twitching wildly with the strain as he draped your legs over his shoulders. The sudden shift had you gasping, your cunt exposed to him completely, your walls fluttering with overstimulation.

He didn’t wait. His mouth latched onto you again, his tongue pushing inside with greedy insistence. You cried out, your nails scrambling against the stone behind you as the wet heat of his tongue thrust deep, curling and stroking to keep his seed from spilling out.

He groaned into you, his nose pressed against your clit as his antennae twitched wildly against your trembling thighs. The vibration of his moans sent shockwaves through your body, blurring your vision and threatening to unravel.

“Choso,” you gasped, your head falling back against the wall. Your body shook violently as his tongue thrust deeper, his arms holding you steady like steel bands. He whimpered against you, the sound desperate, his glowing eyes fluttering shut as he devoured you like he’d die without the taste.

When you thought you couldn’t take any more, he pulled back only long enough to adjust you–his cock pressed hard and wet against your entrance again as he lifted you effortlessly from his mouth. He positioned himself with your legs still trembling over his shoulders, and with one powerful thrust, he buried himself back inside you to the hilt.

You sobbed, your body arching violently as his cock slammed home, the bulge in your stomach rising again as he drove deeper than before. His wings flared, his forehead pressing to your chest as he groaned your name over and over, the sound guttural and reverent.

The world narrowed to the feel of him–his cock filling you to the point of delirium, his mouth still hot against your breasts, his tears damp on your skin as he rutted with desperate abandon.

You felt yourself spiraling, the edges of your vision blurring, your voice breaking into gasps as he whispered low, incomprehensible words into your skin, his hips slamming harder until you were sure you’d pass out from the intensity.

The cave smelled of sweat and stone and the heavy sweetness of release, the air thick with the echo of your breathing and his desperate whimpers. Your body was wrecked, trembling where you lay sprawled across the damp nest of blankets, your thighs sticky with the mess of both your orgasms. You could barely keep your eyes open, your chest heaving as you watched him through the haze of exhaustion.

Choso kissed you softly, his mouth messy and trembling against yours, his tongue sliding over your lips as though he didn’t want to stop. His tears streaked down his dirt-smudged cheeks, dampening your skin as he bent lower, his antennae twitching weakly with every shuddered breath.

When he finally pulled back, his glowing eyes were dim with exhaustion and something like grief. He tugged a rough scrap of fabric–a potato sack salvaged from his nest–over your bare body, covering you clumsily but with reverence, as if ashamed to let the cold air touch your skin after what he had done. His hands lingered, smoothing it over your shoulders and chest, and then he crumpled forward, collapsing onto his knees beside you.

He buried his face against your stomach, his arms wrapping around your waist, his body shaking with quiet sobs. His voice was rough and broken, the words half-mumbled in a language you couldn’t fully understand, but the desperation in them was clear.

“Don’t… don’t want to take you back. Mate. Mine.”

You wanted to reach for him, to tell him something, anything, but your body was too spent. You lay slack beneath his trembling weight, your fingers barely twitching in his hair as your vision blurred into black.

When you opened your eyes again, the world was gray with the first hint of dawn. You were back outside, the damp air of the Appalachians curling cold against your skin. The motel came into focus in the distance, its faded sign glowing faintly against the fog.

Choso carried you in his arms, his massive frame hunched to shield you, his wings folded tight around you both. Your nightgown–or what was left of it–clung torn and damp to your body beneath the rough sack he had wrapped you in.

Bruises bloomed faint along your thighs and shoulders where his grip had held you, your hair tangled and messy, your lips swollen from his desperate kisses.

Ahead of you, voices cut through the fog.

“Where the hell is she?” Gojo’s voice was sharp with panic, uncharacteristically loud. “It’s been hours–Shoko, check again. Suguru–”

“Gojo, calm down,” Geto’s low voice rumbled, though it carried the same edge of unease.

Shoko muttered something under her breath, the glow of her cigarette sparking in the dim light as she scanned the lot. “If she wandered into the woods alone, she’s either dead or… worse.”

The sound of wings cut through their voices like a blade. They turned sharply, eyes widening as Choso stepped out of the mist, his massive form dark against the pale dawn. His glowing eyes flared once, the purple gleam sharp as he held you tighter to his chest.

Gojo froze, his camera raised instinctively, his wide eyes darting between you and the towering creature clutching you. He took a cautious step closer, his mouth open to say something, but Choso's low, guttural growl cut him off dead. The sound was primal, vibrating low in his chest, his antennae twitching wildly as he glared down at the white-haired man.

You shifted faintly in his arms, your body too heavy to stand on its own, your lips cracked but still curved into a faint, wry smile. Your voice was hoarse but clear enough as you rasped, “So… I found him.”

Their eyes snapped to you, disbelief etched into their faces.

You tilted your head faintly against Choso’s chest, your voice barely stronger than a whisper as you added, “Anyway… guess we’re mates.”

Gojo’s jaw dropped, his camera slipping in his grip as he blurted, voice echoing across the empty lot, “WHAT–”

All credits to @nimueshell. DO NOT plagiarize my works. If you want to support pls reblog/like/follow.

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gravegoer · 8 months ago

Text

I hear your call [P3] ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ

i actually got A LOT of asks saying i should do something with siren reader having legs ?!?! did u guys band together to make me do this... summary: sevika takes you out places you've never been and shows her gentleness also a bit of a song at the end (its so fun pls)

masterlist , 2.3k , kind of suggestive? , part 2

Eventually, you did fall asleep in Sevikas tub (really the inn's). I mean, how could you not? She somehow managed to fill it with the perfect temperature and dimmed the lights just for you, making sure you settled in perfectly.

You awoke to her flicking on the big light in the early morning, hissing at the intrusion. But your motions were halted when you looked up to see her form clad in tight shorts and an almost-all-the-way unbuttoned white shirt, the sleeves rolled up past her forearms.

It was rare to see her without her intricate straps, hat, and weapons strapped to her waist, so you definitely took in this sight while you still could.

"I need to get you back to the water. Can't stay in this tub forever," She spoke, settling her hands on her hips.

"Mmm, says who?" You closed your eyes and sank deeper into the water.

"Says my dabloons, can't afford to be stayin' another night."

You suddenly remember your previous kidnapping and Sevika's heroic work (that resulted in a lot of money being spent). You shot her an apologetic look before she laughed a hearty laugh and leaned on the sink.

"I'm joking. Just dont want you out of the sea longer than you need be. Heard it makes mer-people sick," She mumbled the last part.

"Where'd you hear that?" You cocked an eyebrow at her, who was now fixing her dark hair in the mirror.

"I read it—"

"Read it? Pirates can read?" Now it was your turn to laugh.

She got flustered and blubbered out a, "Supposing you even know what a book is."

You laughed at her statement and said, "Well, did you read I need not be in water at all?"

She shook her head, still groggy from her sleep, "Hell are you talking about?"

You tilted your head to your tail— or where it should have been.

What. The. Fuck.

Her eyes widened, and she stepped over to the tub, eyeing your knees sticking out of the water. "Where— where did it go."

You laughed before explaining how, after a while of being in regular water without salt, you were able to develop human legs. This only lasted until you made long‐term contact with salt water again.

To Sevika's shock, you stood up confidently and stumbled at the slipperiness of the tub, water making it hard to maneuver. She reached out to grab you as you yelped, grunting as she held you up, helping you out of the tub. Water dripped onto the floor, and she looked down to realize that it wasn't just legs that you had.

She grunted and looked away over your head, attempting to clear her thoughts. Her thick hand rested on your now non-scaled hip, and her metal one was placed carefully on her arm, trying to keep you as far as she could without dropping you.

"I haven't stood on legs in a while, sorry."

She nodded, "Yeah. I noticed," She commented sarcastically, "Need to get you clothed."

You felt little to no embarrassment about your unclothed state and hummed at her words, starting to walk to the door of the bathroom.

She sighed at your eagerness and kept a hand on your back as you walked, tightening her grip whenever you stumbled. Sitting you down on the bed, she pointed a finger at you as if ordering you to stay.

You obeyed and watched her shuffle through her previously worn clothes, assuming she had no other clothes. (What she is wearing right now is definitely her under clothes..) She grimaced and held up quite a large white poet shirt in your direction.

You shrugged, "That works."

She tossed it to you, and the scent of cigars and salt wafted from the shirt. You threw it on haphazardly, and it covered enough to look like a short dress. "I don't have any pants or shoes—"

She stopped mid sentence when she turned to look at you and cleared her throat, "We'll go to the markets."

You nodded, assuming the market was somewhere you could get clothes. She stepped over to you, multiple straps and belts in hand, "I'll make it look as put together as possible," she mumbled.

Her hands skillfully strapped belts around your torso, making the shirt appear as though it fit properly. She made sure it still hung low on your hips, covering the fact you lacked undergarments.

You weren't so open to the idea of going out into public when you were previously almost sold off. You feared the peoples faces and evil eyes, staring you down. The memories of the cold cage were resurfacing in your mind, but you were quickly pulled out of your thoughts by Sevika.

She now stood at the door to the hall, tilting her head questioningly. She had already gotten dressed and motioned for you to follow her, "C'mon, you can take ten steps."

You rolled your eyes and walked over to her, although like a newborn deer, you still managed. She had a hand on your lower back, supporting you down the hall and just about carrying you as you walked down the stairs.

She sensed your discomfort at the fact that you had no shoes, and the hard wood of the floor wasn't helping your inability to walk. She bent over and snatched up a pair of boots from beside a random man and tossed them into your arms.

"Hey, what the fuck?"

She turned back to glare at him, "Maybe put them on your fucking feet next time."

Her voice was horse and intimidating in the face of any man, lacking the gentleness she previously had with you.

He gritted his teeth and got up to spew his complaints to the keeper. You watched in disbelief before Sevika elbowed you gently in your back, "Lets go."

Before you could say anything else, she was pushing you out the door, boots still in your arms. "Put them on before we go further."

You eyed the rough concrete stairs that were your only option to sit on. Looking up at her, you smiled crookedly. She ran her hand down her face, realizing you didn't want your legs to make contact with the roughness. But without another word, she got on one knee, other thigh level with your knees so you could sit.

Her sword sheathe scraped the ground as she kneeled, leather boot thudding on the ground behind her. Not letting you protest she pulled you by the shirt down onto her leg, taking the boots out of your hands.

Your hands stayed in your lap as she pulled your legs out to cover your feet with the boots. Although she struggled a bit to put shoes on another person she still did so as soft as possible, feeling as if your legs were frail.

You kept your eyes on her face as she did so, eyeing the scar on her face and lip before she spoke, "It has to do for now. I'll get you out of them soon."

Although it was a struggle, you both made it to the market. Even though you had gotten more used to legs heavy boots, weighing down your feet and tiredness made your legs sore. But upon seeing the bright colors of the market, smelling the scent of fresh pastries and fruit, and hearing pleasing music you almost immediately perked up.

Sevika noticed your change in demeanor and smirked, "Never been here, huh?"

You nodded rapidly and almost ran to a stand that had bright and scarves with intricate patterns. The shop owner immediately started to talk you up. "This color would be so beautiful with your hair, miss." She wrapped a blue scarf around your shoulders.

Sevika walked up behind you as you looked at your reflection in the small mirror, turning this way and that. You hummed in satisfaction before starting to waltz away. Sevika grabbed you by the back of the scarf, "Nope, you gotta pay."

"Ummm.." You looked up at her with confusion.

"No money, no scarf," She took it from your shoulders and set it back on the stand, grinning.

You huffed and crossed your arms, looking around at other stalls. She grabbed your shoulder with one hand and moved your face with the other, pointing it into the direction of a far away stand. "Only the necessities."

She started in the direction, and you quickly grabbed onto her arm to trail after her. Approaching the stand with shelves that held shoes, Sevika held up a pair, as if asking if they were to your liking.

You grimaced at the style and started to look for yourself. Grabbing delicacy styled shoes, you showed them to Sevika. She smiled softly and shook her head at your choice but put down a few coins for the owner anyway.

She reluctantly would let you drag her to every stall you wanted to look at, putting up with your curiosity. She knew she wouldn't have patience like this for anyone else.

When you put on something pretty and looked to her for approval, she would give you a satisfied look. But still refused to buy you anything unnecessary.

Sevika eventually got you a long skirt that was flowy and hung almost to the ground. It almost mimicked your tail in its motions as you walked, she smiles at the reminder.

When you asked questions about the odd trinkets, she would pick them up and show you how it worked. A music box looked small and delicate in her hold, and the soft melody coming from within made you smile brightly.

You swayed a bit to the music, holding her hands up to your ear so you could hear it better. She couldn't do much but stare wide-eyed at the sight of you blissfully giggling at the music.

As you started off to another stall, she quickly dropped a few coins in front of the seller and shoved the music box in her pocket.

When it neared noon, she took you to eat at a food stand, handing you a few kabobs of different meats and veggies. You munched on them happily, sharp teeth tearing into the meat easily. (Noted.)

She definitely took you to try her favorites because all you eat is probably fish. She takes in the sight of you sighing at the flavors and shoving more into your mouth.

You guys bond over food..

It was now nearing night, the sun set far in to the west. The small amount of darkness was illuminated by candles and lanterns scattered around the area. You could see women gossiping together over some tea and bread, men slinging one another around in joke, kids chasing each other with small creatures. This was one of which a sight you'd never seen.

You gawked, never having viewed humanity in this way, only seeing people that inhabited the seas you could have never guessed how average civilians behaved. The night now no longer seemed so fierce, holding no malice like the previous night.

Sevika approached you to put a hand on your shoulder. She was proud to show you things you had never experienced. She would show you as much of the land as you wanted if you just asked.

Pulling you away from the crowd, she led you to a cliff that overlooked the ocean. Your position closely mimicking the day you met her, Sevika sat on a rock with you beside her. Her metal hand rested on your hip comfortably. You talked about your adventures of the day, the things you liked, and the people you met.

"Thank you for this, I never thought I'd be happy to reside on land."

She grunted in response and pulled a small box from her pocket, a music box. You gasped and took it from between her fingers, shocked she had really gotten it for you.

You winded the small handle before releasing it to hear the familiar melody, bringing back your memories of the day. Looking up to see Sevika, her expression was so loving and gentle, a face you've never seen on her before. Her eyes were illuminated by the dim sunset, emphasizing her contentment.

You smiled before you parted your lips, and betwixt came a song,

link to it (i highly reccomend, it sets the mood)

"Upon one summer's morning, I carefully did stray

Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay

Conversing with a young lass who seem'd to be in pain

Saying, "William, when you go, I fear you'll ne'er return again"

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold"

She listened blissfully, taking in the fact that your songs had no effect on her. Your beautiful voice hummed in her ears, and she looked into the sea, engraving this memory into her mind.

She could see her ship from where you sat, the wind blowing into the sail softly, yanking on the rope that tied it to the dock. Yes, she was going to take you anywhere you wanted to go. This much was set in stone.

After this, she dragged you to the ship with her crew and invited you to join her, obviously you said yes.

She's very happy to have someone to accompany her on her journeys. She isnt so bitter and lonely now thats for sure

And yes, you still get to swim in the water. A lot of the crew doesn't know your siren side, so Sevika tosses you into the water at night, letting the glimmer of your scales lead her ship.

During the day, you will follow alongside the ship, making sure none of the crew can see you, but Sevika does.

Sometimes, she gets distracted by you and goes off route a bit.

I like to think she can't really swim, so you try to teach her whenever you get a chance, and she always ends up clinging to you as you tease her.

She shows you mountains, forests, architecture, (bars), etc. And you love every moment of it.

Also, she replaced the mermaid on the front of her ship with a mermaid carved to look like you. And no, she didn't pay for it to be done. She did it herself.

Whilst she stood on a ladder she watched you frolic in the waves, making sure to carve every curve and detail she found beautiful.

Although, there wasn't one part of you she didn't find beautiful.

the end felt a bit rushed but im bad at endings, i might do some other side fics for this but thank you for the support on this fic! also i thought it was funny how @lovinglywriting sent me an ask about something sooo similar to what i was writing while i was mid fic lol and @slut4sevika send in a sweet ask tysm <33

taglist: @thequeenreaders @hangezoes-wife @thesecondhandwoman @lez-zuha @haboinga

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laceandlipstick · 4 months ago

Text

hunt me down | d.w

dean winchester x f!reader

MDNI

masterlist

word count: 5.8k

summary: one bed, one reckless night, and nothing between you and dean would ever be the same again.

warnings: one bed trope, rough p in v, oral f!receiving, dirty talk (dean’s silly like that), slight restraint (if you squint), let me know if i missed any!

a/n: this was a passion project for my bsf @sudsnribbons hope u enjoy my love

The first time you met Dean Winchester, he nearly shot you.

In fairness, you had just tackled him to the ground inside a crumbling barn, both of you hunting the same vampire without realizing it. Your heart hammered as you lay sprawled across his chest, pinned down by his broad hands, the glint of a silver blade flashing dangerously close to your throat.

Then he smiled — all crooked grin and cocky confidence — and the heat that surged through you had nothing to do with adrenaline.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice a low roll of thunder. “Otherwise you’d be leaking all over this floor.”

You shoved off him with a muttered curse, cheeks burning hotter than the midday sun.

Dean just laughed, brushing dust from his jacket, the rich rumble vibrating straight down your spine.

You should have left it at that. You should have walked away and never thought twice about him.

But of course, that wasn’t how your story with Dean Winchester was going to go.

⸻

Two weeks later, you’re riding shotgun in his ’67 Impala, salt-and-burn job behind you, night bleeding dark and heavy across the open highway.

The radio hums something low and bluesy, and Dean’s fingers tap absently against the wheel. Every now and then, his green eyes flick toward you — quick, assessing glances that make your skin prickle with awareness.

You stare out the window, pretending not to notice. Pretending the air between you isn’t electric.

It’s a losing battle.

“So,” he says finally, voice lazy but laced with something sharper. “You ever gonna stop playing shy and tell me what your deal is?”

“My deal?” you echo, keeping your tone light.

Dean smirks. “Yeah. You’re a hell of a hunter. Quick, smart… sexy as hell. Yet somehow, you’re still flying solo. Why’s that?”

You snort, shifting in your seat. “Maybe I like my own company.”

Dean’s gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate. “Honey, if I were your company, you’d never be lonely again.”

The words settle in your gut like a lit match dropped in gasoline.

You swallow hard, willing your pulse to steady, but it’s useless. Dean Winchester is an inferno in denim and leather, and you’re standing way too close to the flames.

“Careful, Winchester,” you murmur, finally daring to meet his eyes. “You might not be able to handle me.”

Dean grins, slow and devastating. “Oh, sweetheart,” he drawls. “I can handle you just fine. Question is… can you handle me?”

You tear your gaze away before you do something stupid — like pull the car over and find out exactly what he means.

Instead, you settle deeper into the seat, pretending to relax, pretending you don’t feel his eyes burning into you like a brand.

The silence that follows is filled with unspoken promises.

⸻

The next motel you hit is a run-down little place off the main highway. Neon lights flicker overhead, buzzing like hornets in the humid night air. Dean cuts the engine, and for a second, neither of you move.

Finally, he tosses you a smirk. “One room left,” he says. “Manager said it’s got two beds. Hope you don’t snore.”

You arch a brow. “Hope you don’t talk in your sleep.”

Dean chuckles, low and rough. “Oh, sweetheart. You’ll be wishin’ I was asleep.”

The words hang there between you, daring, suggestive. You push open the door before you can embarrass yourself by blushing again.

Inside, the room smells faintly of stale smoke and cheap cleaner. One bed is pushed up against the wall, the other closer to the window. You drop your bag on the nearest mattress, trying to act casual, but Dean is too close behind you, his presence a solid, burning thing at your back.

You hear the soft rustle of his jacket hitting the chair, the creak of the bedframe as he sits down.

“You gonna hog all the hot water, too?” he asks, voice all lazy amusement.

You shrug out of your jacket, feeling his gaze scrape over your shoulders, down your back. Every nerve ending lights up like a live wire.

“Guess you’ll have to be fast,” you toss over your shoulder, heading for the bathroom.

Dean’s chuckle follows you like a touch.

And when you close the door, you lean against it for a second, breathing hard, feeling heat flood your cheeks.

This was going to be torture. Sweet, unbearable torture.

You shower quickly, but not quick enough to escape the images playing in your mind — Dean, sprawled out on that bed, long legs stretched, green eyes half-lidded with heat. Dean, close enough to touch. Close enough to taste.

You curse under your breath, toweling off fast.

When you step out in your sleep shorts and a loose T-shirt, Dean is stretched across the bed nearest the window, boots kicked off, TV remote in hand. His shirt is rumpled, his belt undone but still looped through his jeans. The sight of that loose belt — the suggestion of it — sends a molten rush straight through you.

Dean glances up, and for a moment, he says nothing. His gaze skims over your bare legs, the curve of your hips, the shadow of your collarbone beneath your T-shirt.

You shift your weight, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of bare skin.

“You clean up nice,” he murmurs, voice rougher than before.

You clear your throat. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Dean smirks, slow and sinful. “Sweetheart, the ideas I have… you couldn’t handle ’em.”

Your stomach flips. You yank back the covers on your bed, climbing in quickly, tugging the blanket up to your chest like armor.

Dean chuckles again, turning his attention back to the TV. But you can feel him still watching you, feel the weight of his gaze like hands trailing over your body.

You pretend to sleep. You pretend not to notice the way Dean shifts, getting more comfortable, the way the low rumble of his breathing fills the room.

You pretend you don’t imagine crawling across the short space between the beds and letting all that cocky bravado melt away under your touch.

Sleep is impossible.

⸻

You don’t know how long you lay there, staring at the stained ceiling, listening to Dean breathe.

At some point, the TV clicks off.

Dean shifts, the bedsprings groaning under his weight. You squeeze your eyes shut, pretending to be asleep, but you can feel him watching you again — like a tangible thing, heavy and hot in the darkness.

“You awake?” His voice is a low whisper, rough and full of something dangerous.

You don’t answer. Can’t.

Dean exhales, a soft curse under his breath. The mattress creaks again as he stands. You hear the soft pad of his boots hitting the floor, the rustle of denim sliding down legs. You swallow hard, biting your lip to keep from making a sound.

When you dare to crack one eye open, Dean is climbing into bed — your bed.

You stiffen instinctively, heart hammering.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, voice barely audible.

Dean smirks in the dark. You can see the white flash of his teeth. “Window’s drafty. Cold as hell over there.”

You narrow your eyes. “There’s another bed.”

Dean shifts closer under the covers, his bare arm brushing yours. His skin is warm — almost too warm — and you can smell the clean, woodsy scent of his soap still clinging to him.

“I’ll behave,” he murmurs. “Scout’s honor.”

You snort softly. “Were you ever a Boy Scout?”

“Nope.” His grin widens. “But I look damn good in uniform.”

You turn away, facing the wall, but it doesn’t help.

Dean’s heat seeps into your side, his breath stirring the fine hairs at the back of your neck.

Minutes pass.

Long, slow, torturous minutes.

You shift, pulling the blanket higher. Dean shifts with you, the mattress dipping. His thigh brushes yours — not an accident.

You freeze, barely breathing.

Dean’s voice is a low rumble against your ear. “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“You think you’re the only one suffering?” you whisper, before you can stop yourself.

Silence falls between you — heavy, loaded.

Then Dean laughs, low and dangerous.

It’s the kind of sound that promises very, very bad things.

Good things.

You don’t move when his hand drifts across the small space between you, fingers ghosting the curve of your hip over the blanket. A featherlight touch — asking, not taking.

Your body lights up like a struck match.

“You want me to stop,” Dean murmurs, his lips so close to your ear that you can feel them move, “say so.”

You bite your lip, fists clenching the sheets. Your whole body screams for him to touch you harder, deeper — to take — but something stubborn in you holds the line.

Not yet.

Instead, you whisper, “You’re gonna regret starting this, Winchester.”

Dean’s hand stills.

His breath is ragged against your neck.

“Baby,” he growls, so low it’s almost a snarl, “I’m already too far gone.”

You dare to glance back at him, just a little — enough to see the way his jaw is tight with restraint, how his green eyes are dark and burning.

One move.

One move, and you could have him.

But you don’t.

You turn back toward the wall, every nerve in your body straining.

Dean swears softly. His hand retreats, but not before dragging slowly — deliberately — over your waist, your hip, your thigh.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trembling.

Neither of you sleep that night.

⸻

The morning light creeps in through the thin curtains, pale and dusty.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep — if you even did — but when you blink your eyes open, the first thing you notice is that Dean is still there.

Still close.

Too close.

His arm is slung heavy across your waist, his bare chest pressed along your back. You can feel the slow, steady thud of his heart against your spine — the heat of his skin, the solid, unmistakable weight of him.

And something else, too.

Something thick and hard, nudging insistently against the curve of your ass.

You freeze. Your pulse skyrockets.

Dean shifts behind you, groaning low in his throat, like he’s trying to get closer even in sleep. His hips roll, just a little, and the thick press of him drags along your backside, hot and heavy.

You bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

“Dean,” you whisper, but it comes out broken, needy.

He stirs — awake now.

You feel the exact moment his body goes tense. His breath catches, a soft, strangled sound against your neck.

“Fuck,” he mutters hoarsely. His hand flexes on your waist, like he’s torn between pulling you closer and pushing himself away.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice rough with sleep and hunger. “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

Instead, you push back — just a fraction of an inch — enough to feel the full, hard length of him against you.

Dean swears viciously.

“You’re playing with fire,” he growls.

You tilt your hips, teasing him. “Maybe I like it.”

That’s it.

That’s all it takes.

Dean flips you onto your back in a single, fluid motion, caging you beneath him. His hands are planted on either side of your head, muscles flexed, every line of his body taut with restraint.

His face hovers over yours, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath. His green eyes blaze down at you — hungry, desperate, feral.

“You have no idea,” he snarls, “how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

And then he kisses you — hard, bruising, devastating.

It’s not soft, not sweet. It’s claiming.

Dean kisses like he’s starving, like he needs you to breathe, and you open for him willingly, moaning low in your throat as his tongue sweeps into your mouth, hot and demanding.

You fist your hands in his hair, dragging him closer, tasting the hunger in every rough pull of his lips, every desperate scrape of teeth.

Dean breaks the kiss with a gasp, forehead dropping to yours.

“Fuck,” he pants. “Tell me you want this.”

You meet his eyes — blown wide with lust, desperate and raw — and there’s no hesitation, no fear.

“I want you,” you whisper. “I want all of you.”

Dean growls low in his chest, deep and primal.

“You’re gonna get it, sweetheart,” he promises darkly. “Every goddamn inch.”

He peels your T-shirt up over your head in one swift motion, groaning when he sees you — bare, flushed, wanting. His calloused hands skate over your skin, reverent and rough all at once, mapping every curve, every shiver.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mutters, like he’s talking to himself. Like he can’t believe you’re real.

You tug at his own shirt, desperate to feel him, to get your hands on that broad, strong body you’ve imagined a hundred times over.

Dean strips it off, baring a chest dusted with light hair, muscles flexing under golden skin.

He’s a force above you, a living furnace, and when he ducks his head to kiss down your throat, your collarbone, your breasts — you arch up, gasping, fingers clawing at his back.

His mouth is hot and wet, teeth scraping lightly, teasingly, until you’re squirming under him, whimpering his name.

“Dean—”

He shushes you with another searing kiss, grinding his hips down, letting you feel exactly how hard he is for you. Exactly how badly he needs you.

You moan into his mouth, rolling your hips up to meet his, desperate for more friction, more everything.

Dean curses again, voice wrecked.

“Need to taste you,” he growls against your skin. “Need to hear you fall apart for me.”

You don’t have time to answer before he’s sliding down your body, nipping, licking, worshipping every inch of skin he uncovers.

When his mouth finds the apex of your thighs — bare, aching, ready — you cry out, threading your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer.

Dean groans like a man tasting salvation.

And then he devours you.

Dean’s mouth is sin, pure and devastating.

He licks a long, slow stripe through your folds, groaning deep in his chest like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. His tongue works you open — slow at first, deliberate — every flick, every swirl designed to unravel you molecule by molecule.

You’re already a mess, gasping, writhing under him, clutching at the sheets.

Dean chuckles against your core, the vibrations making you whimper.

“Goddamn,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “You’re fuckin’ perfect. Sweetest thing I ever had.”

You moan brokenly, hips bucking up into his face.

Dean moans and pins your hips down, forcing you to take everything he gives.

He slides two fingers inside you, thick and perfect, curling just right, and at the same time his tongue circles your clit, hot and relentless.

The pleasure is too much.

Too sharp. Too perfect.

You shatter — screaming his name, coming hard against his mouth, against his fingers — your body jerking helplessly, every muscle locking tight before falling boneless into the mattress.

Dean doesn’t stop.

He keeps licking you through it, drinking you down like he’s starving, savoring every tremble, every moan.

Only when you’re gasping, too sensitive, does he finally pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a cocky, filthy grin splitting his face.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful when you fall apart,” he rasps.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Dean’s crawling back up your body, grabbing your thighs, spreading them wide around his hips.

You feel him — hot, hard, heavy — pressing against your entrance, still clothed in nothing but throbbing need.

“Condom?” he pants, forehead pressed to yours.

“Bag,” you manage, voice shaking.

Dean fumbles in your duffel at the foot of the bed, cursing under his breath when he finds it. He rips the foil packet open with his teeth, slicks himself quickly, and then he’s back between your thighs, pushing your legs up, lining himself up with you.

His eyes lock with yours — wild, hungry, burning.

“You sure, sweetheart?” he growls. “Last chance.”

You wrap your legs around his hips, dragging him closer. “Dean,” you whisper. “I need you. Now.”

He swears — low, broken — and then he’s pushing in, the thick head of his cock stretching you, making you cry out.

“Fuck,” Dean groans, burying himself slowly, inch by devastating inch. “So goddamn tight. So perfect.”

You clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into muscle as he bottoms out, hips flush against yours.

You’ve never felt so full, so claimed.

Dean drops his forehead to your shoulder, trembling with the effort not to move.

“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he mutters. “Feelin’ you around me — fuck — like you were made for me.”

He draws back, almost all the way out, then slams back in, hard and deep.

You cry out, head tipping back.

Dean finds a rhythm — deep, punishing thrusts that leave you gasping, clinging to him, desperate for more.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he pants, thrusting harder. “Take it. Take all of me.”

You meet him stroke for stroke, the slap of skin on skin obscene in the quiet room.

Dean growls, grabbing your thigh and hiking it higher, angling you so he can drive even deeper.

You see stars. You can’t even think.

His hand finds your throat — not squeezing, just holding, possessive — and the shock of it makes you clench around him, wringing a raw moan from his lips.

“You like that, baby?” he snarls, fucking into you harder. “You like me takin’ you like this?”

“Yes,” you sob. “Dean, please —”

He covers your mouth with his, swallowing your cries, his thrusts rough and wild now, desperate.

“I’m not gonna last,” he groans against your lips. “Too good. So fuckin’ good.”

His fingers find your clit again, rubbing quick, brutal circles, sending you hurtling toward the edge.

“Come for me,” he commands, voice dark and filthy. “Come on my cock.”

You fall apart again — shattering, screaming his name, every muscle clenching, your body spasming around him.

Dean follows with a growl, driving deep, grinding his hips against yours as he spills inside you, his whole body trembling with the force of it.

For a long, breathless moment, neither of you moves.

You just cling to each other, panting, wrecked.

Dean buries his face in your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses there, his body still shuddering slightly.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs against your skin. “You hear me? Mine.”

You smile, dazed and sated, threading your fingers through his sweat-damp hair.

“Yours,” you whisper back.

Dean stays inside you for a minute, still pressed tight against you, catching his breath. His weight is heavy — comforting — and you cling to him, fingers sliding up and down the slick muscles of his back.

Neither of you says anything.

No words needed.

Finally, Dean groans softly and shifts, pulling out with a low grunt that makes your cheeks heat all over again.

He ties off the condom quickly, tossing it toward the trash without even looking.

You expect him to roll away, maybe pass out like most guys would.

But Dean surprises you.

Instead, he reaches for you, tugging you against his chest, wrapping you up tight in his arms. One big, warm hand cradles the back of your head. The other strokes slow, soothing lines up and down your spine.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs against your temple, voice low and wrecked but gentle now.

You nod, still a little dazed.

Dean chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through your whole body.

“Fucked you good, didn’t I?” he teases, but there’s something raw and vulnerable underneath the cockiness — like he needs to hear you say it. Like he needs to know he didn’t break you, only made you his.

You smile, sleepy and sore and ridiculously happy.

“The best,” you whisper. “No contest.”

Dean pulls back just enough to look at you, his green eyes warm, soft, utterly wrecked with affection.

He brushes a few sweaty strands of hair from your forehead with surprising tenderness.

“Yeah?” he says, grinning that stupid, boyish grin that melts you faster than the sex ever could. “Guess that means you’re stuck with me now.”

You laugh, burying your face in his chest. His skin smells like sex and sweat and soap, like everything you never knew you needed.

“I think I can live with that,” you murmur.

Dean kisses your hair, slow and lingering.

“You better,” he says, voice low and rough. “Because I’m not lettin’ you go. Not after this. Not ever.”

You fall asleep like that — tangled up with him, your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady and strong under your ear.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Wrapped up in Dean Winchester’s arms.

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venerosith · 3 months ago

Text

Y᥆ᥙr ᥎ᥱᥒᥙ᥉ ᥲᥒd ᥡ᥆ᥙr fᥲ᥉hι᥆ᥒ ˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

This is the first time I'm making a post focusing on venusian aspects, and I really want to seek deeper in this. Said that, here are some observations that I made of how your Venus can connect to the way you dress and express yourself through fashion

Venus ♀ in ♈︎ Aries: You like a vibrant, bitchy, bold but sensual style. You want people to be hypnotized, you like when your style is seen. You like to provoke, to be sensual, to be deep and intense in your style, dark colors or those that highlight you are preferred

e.g., Lady Gaga, Rihanna, Mariah Carey

Venus ♀ in ♓︎ Pisces: Chaotic, dreamy.. These people like to express their style in many ways, specially through makeup, which is their biggest highlight. To their clothes, a vivid but mystique pallette is preferred (girly pop if u ask me)

e.g., Karol G, Emma Watson, Emma Roberts

Venus ♀ in ♉︎ Taurus: Romantic, sensual, pure elegance. These people are sofisticated, huge Venus energy, which means a soft taste for clothes and a more refined fashion. Usually, power is demonstrated by their clothes, or a simple but classy way of styling is preferred. (No one can top them)

e.g., Lana Del Rey, Princess Diana, Ariana Grande

Venus ♀ in ♋︎ Cancer: Deep, profound and sensual. Omg this is one of the hottest Venus placements in my opinion, 'cuz like OMFGGG, why r yall people so damn hot?? So, BIG sex appeal, they have a magnetic style but it's deep, in a way that u can sense their energy. Usually, softer but shiny pallettes are used (they go hard with blue too!) with more comfy and light fabrics. Also, they have similarities with scorpio venus but they have a huge difference on their vibe (explanation on scorpio venus!)

e.g., Sabrina Carpenter, Angelina Jolie, Zendaya

Venus ♀ in ♒︎ Aquarius: Technologic, eccentric and alternative. The bold queens ig, they make their own trend, really natural and inspiring. I don't think that there's any preferred color or accessories, maybe something more metallic and shiny, a y2k vibe with popping colors or sum. They really make it their own way so it's hard to dictate yk

e.g., Taylor Swift, Harry Styles, Paris Hilton

Venus ♀ in ♏︎ Scorpio: The edgy queens ig, you really give this darker/sensual vibe. People with venus in scorpio are pretty daring, they have this huge sex appeal. Darker colors specially red, black and blue are preferred, rubies and sapphires really suits them too. Overall, it's a heavy look, and it's raw yk, arguably one of my favorite venus signs along with cancer (they are similar, but scorpio is definitely heavier, darker and sexier, while cancer is softer and even light-looking in this aspect)

e.g., Anne Hathaway, Leonardo DiCaprio, Avril Lavigne

.𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ ࣭ ⭑ Thᥱ ᥱᥒd!’

And remember cuties, those are only tendencies and probabilities! Not everything is 100% accurate!!

Although, if u feel like you should start dressing like your Venus sign then do it! Dressing like our Venus sign can bring attention and even a better confidence! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

That's it!! If this post blows up then I'll be doing a part 2 with the other signs. Byee (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

#astro placements #astro community #astroblr #astro observations #astro notes #astrology #venus #venus aspects #fashion #aquarius #scorpio #aries #pisces #cancer #taurus

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arkaiveofurown · 3 months ago

Note

hello! can u make a law x reader where reader seduce law then it leads to 🥵 bonus if it’s in ship deck 🥵🥵

After Hours

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Reader

He’s spent too long hiding behind cold glances and sharper words, but the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching says everything. Tonight, you’re going to give him something he can’t ignore.

Word Count: ~2,000

tags: nsfw, smut, semi-public sex

my masterlist here ♡

——

a/n: thank you for this 🥵 request hope u like it <3

——

The Polar Tang rocked gently beneath your bare feet, the deck quiet in the late hour. Everyone else was asleep. Everyone but you. And him.

You spotted Law at the edge, staring into the sea, hoodie up, hands in his pockets, the moonlight catching on the silver studs in his ears. Always distant. Always composed. Always acting like you weren’t driving him fucking crazy.

Not tonight.

You walked up behind him, slow and quiet. “Captain.”

His shoulders tensed but he didn’t turn. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

You stepped closer, enough that your chest grazed his back. “Couldn’t.”

He turned then, sharply. His gaze landed on your face—then dropped lower, then snapped back to your eyes. “Go back to bed,” he muttered, voice lower than usual.

“Why do you always avoid me?” you asked, stepping forward, matching his sharp gaze. “You want me. I know you do.”

His jaw ticked. “You don’t know shit.”

You didn’t blink. Just reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it up, slow and deliberate, until it slipped off your arms and dropped to the deck like dead weight.

You stood there bare, the moonlight brushing over your skin. Law froze.

“What the hell are you doing?” he said tightly, his voice strained, eyes locked on your chest but not daring to lower fully. “Put your clothes back on.”

You didn’t move. Instead, you brought your hands to your breasts, cupping them, squeezing softly—just enough to make yourself moan under your breath. You rubbed your thumbs over your nipples, deliberately slow, and his gaze dropped against his will.

“Take me,” you whispered, voice thick. “I’m all yours.”

Law’s breath caught. His fists clenched at his sides. “You’re—don’t do this.”

“Why?” you murmured, still massaging your chest, nipples tightening in the cold night air. “Afraid you’ll break that perfect little wall of control?”

His eyes snapped to yours, hard and burning—but flustered. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He took one step forward, then halted like he was physically restraining himself.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re insane.”

“No,” you said, soft and certain. “I’m done pretending. I know you want this. I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “I never meant for you to see that.”

“You don’t hide it as well as you think.”

You stepped closer again, close enough that your bare chest brushed his hoodie, nipples dragging along the rough fabric. He flinched like it burned him.

“I’ve been patient,” you breathed, tilting your head up, lips barely a breath from his. “But I’m done waiting.”

You watched his eyes flutter shut, just for a second, before he opened them again—stormy gray and dark with something deeper now. “If I touch you…” His voice dropped, low and cracked. “I won’t stop.”

“Then don’t.”

His control shattered.

He surged forward, mouth crashing into yours, all heat and teeth and desperation. His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging in, dragging you flush against him like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space.

“You don’t get it,” he growled into your mouth between bruising kisses. “I’ve wanted this. Fuck—I’ve wanted you for so long.”

You gasped as his mouth trailed down your throat, biting at the soft skin over your collarbone. “Then stop holding back.”

“You make it impossible to think straight,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to glance down at your chest. His eyes flickered as he cupped one breast, thumb circling your nipple. “God, you’re perfect…”

You whimpered, back arching into his touch. “Then do something about it.”

He groaned, bending his head to take your nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. You cried out, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging as his teeth scraped gently across the peak. His other hand slid behind your back, holding you firm as he lavished attention on your breasts—licking, biting, teasing until your knees started to buckle.

“You like that?” he asked roughly, voice gravel over your skin. “You like being touched like this out in the open?”

“Fuck—yes.”

He dropped to his knees, hands gripping your thighs. “Then let me taste you.”

You were already trembling, breath shallow, heart pounding in your ears as he leaned in, mouth brushing your core through your shorts. He looked up at you, smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re soaked through,” he muttered. “All from this?”

Your only response was a needy moan.

Law chuckled, low and dark. “Guess I’m not the only one losing my mind.”

He dragged your shorts down slowly, eyes locked on the wet spot in your panties before pulling those down too. Cold air kissed your slick folds and Law groaned deep in his throat.

“Beautiful…” he murmured.

Then his mouth was on you—hot, slow, deliberate. His tongue parted you, lapping at your clit in steady strokes that had you moaning, hands gripping the railing behind you. You rolled your hips into him, chasing more, and he growled in response, holding you tighter, devouring you like he’d been starving.

“Law—please—”

He didn’t stop. His tongue circled, flicked, sucked until you were panting, gasping, one leg hooked over his shoulder as you ground against his face.

When your climax hit, you cried out, the sound swallowed by the sea and the stars. He didn’t stop until you were twitching and pulling away, breath ragged.

He stood, licking his lips, eyes dark.

“You’re gonna suck me off now,” he said roughly, voice still thick with need. “Then I’m going to fuck you so hard against this railing you forget your own damn name.”

You shivered.

“Get on your knees.”

The command cut through the thick, salty air like a blade. Law stood over you, hoodie still half-on, chest heaving, the taste of you still fresh on his tongue.

You dropped to your knees without hesitation.

He watched, his tongue swiping the inside of his cheek as you looked up at him, eyes dark and mouth parted. “Fuck, you’re dangerous.”

You smirked, hands already moving to his belt. “Not gonna run now, are you, Captain?”

He grunted, eyes narrowing as you tugged his jeans down enough for his cock to spring free, hard and flushed, the head already slick with precum. Your breath caught, mouth watering instantly.

“You’ve been hiding this from me all this time?” you whispered, wrapping one hand around his thick shaft. “Shit, Law…”

He hissed as your fingers slid up and down the length, slow and teasing. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“Oh, I’m finishing it,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the swollen head. He twitched in your grip, abs tightening.

You licked a slow stripe from base to tip, never breaking eye contact.

“Fuck—” His hand shot to the back of your head, not pushing, just holding. “That mouth’s been tempting me since the day we met.”

You hummed around his tip, sucking it in between your lips inch by inch, the salty taste of him hitting your tongue. He was big—thick enough that your jaw ached already—but you wanted all of him. You hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, spit coating your lips as your hand worked what you couldn’t reach.

“Goddamn,” he growled, head tipping back. “That’s it—just like that.”

You bobbed your head, tongue swirling around him on every stroke, hand stroking the slick base in rhythm. Every moan he gave you was a reward. Every twitch of his cock, every curse muttered through clenched teeth—it all pushed you further.

“Shit—you want to be my slut that bad, huh?” he gritted out, fingers tightening in your hair. “On your knees for your captain?”

You moaned around him, sucking harder in response, eyes watering as you took him deeper until your throat clenched around him.

“Fuck—don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop—”

You didn’t. You took him in again, choking slightly, spit dripping from your lips as you pulled back with a loud, wet pop. Then you wrapped your lips around him again, sloppier now, your hand pumping at the base as you jerked your wrist faster.

Law was falling apart above you.

His hips jerked forward once, then again. He tried to hold back, but instinct won out. “Shit, I—fuck, I can’t—”

He started thrusting shallowly into your mouth, careful at first, but quickly unraveling with every slick sound and every gag you gave him.

“You want it?” he growled. “You want me to fuck your throat?”

You nodded, moaning your yes around him.

“Then take it.”

He snapped his hips forward, not brutal but firm, the tip hitting the back of your throat again and again as you gagged around him, tears slipping down your cheeks. He fucked into your mouth with tight, controlled thrusts, his breath ragged, his other hand gripping the railing behind you for balance.

“Fuck, you look so good like this… drooling on my cock like it’s the only thing you need.”

Your cunt throbbed at his words. You pressed your thighs together, whimpering around him, spit running down your chin.

“You gonna let me finish in your mouth?” he panted. “Swallow every drop?”

You blinked up at him, eyes pleading.

He groaned loud and sharp. “Fuck—yes, just like that—!”

His cock twitched on your tongue, and with a loud curse, he came, thick ropes of cum spilling into your mouth as he gasped, head tipped back. You swallowed, slowly, one mouthful at a time, letting some of it drip out messily just to hear the broken sound he made when he saw it.

You pulled back with a final lick, lips red and swollen, breathing hard. He looked down at you, completely wrecked.

“You’re fucking insane,” he said hoarsely.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “You’re welcome.”

Law didn’t even wait. He hauled you up to your feet with both hands, shoving you roughly against the cold metal railing.

“Now I’m gonna ruin you,” he muttered against your neck. “Bend over.”

You obey immediately, bending over the cold railing, hands gripping the metal as your back arches, ass pressed out for him. The moonlight casts a silver glow on your skin, but you barely notice—the heat pooling low in your belly drowns out everything else.

Law’s eyes darken, pupils wide and hungry as he positions himself behind you. His hands grip your hips firmly, fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver with delicious sting.

He lines himself up, the thick head of his cock brushing your slick folds, teasing your entrance. You gasp at the cold touch, hips lifting instinctively to meet him.

“Ready?” His voice is rough, low, and full of promise.

You nod breathlessly. “Fuck me, Law. Hard.”

With a grunt, he pushes inside, slow at first, filling you completely with that hard stretch that’s just the perfect mix of pain and pleasure. Your breath catches, nails digging into the railing as he holds you steady.

“Damn, you’re tight,” he mutters, voice thick with lust.

He starts to pull back slowly, then drives forward with a hard, punishing thrust that sends a shudder through your core. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the night air, wet and raw.

You moan loudly, arching your back further, hips grinding into his with every thrust. “Fuck, Law—harder!”

His grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging in deeper as he slams into you with brutal intensity, each movement rougher than the last. Your cunt squeezes him like a vice, hot and welcoming, every stroke hitting just right.

“You want to be my slut, don’t you?” Law growls, voice low and menacing.

“Yes! I’m yours—use me.”

He groans, pulling you even closer, his cock hitting deep inside, brushing that perfect spot that makes your toes curl. You cry out, pleasure and pain mixing in a heady rush.

Law’s hands roam your body—one trailing up your side, slipping beneath your breasts, squeezing hard, thumbs circling your nipples until they’re taut and aching.

“Feel that? You like when I touch you like this?”

You nod, breathless, lips parted, moaning his name over and over.

He laughs, a dark, rough sound. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Law’s hips piston mercilessly, cock pounding into your slick heat, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

“You want the crew to hear you?” he snarls, voice dropping lower. “Want them to know who you belong to?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes!” you scream, grabbing the railing tight as your orgasm crashes over you, muscles clenching around him, squeezing him tight.

Law grits his teeth, groaning deep in your ear. “Come for me, slut. Make me come.”

His hips stutter, every thrust shaking, and then he spills inside you, hot and messy. Your walls clamp down on him, drawing out his release as he collapses against your back, breathing heavy.

But Law isn’t done.

He pulls out slowly, slick and glistening, then grabs you by the waist and hauls you upright.

“Flip over,” he orders, voice rough with need.

You turn, pressing your back against the railing. Law’s hands cup your face, lips crashing down on yours with a fierce hunger that leaves you breathless.

His hands slide down your body, gripping your thighs and lifting you easily before setting you down on the railing, legs spread wide.

He lines up again, cock twitching with need. “You’re so wet for me,” he growls, pushing inside with a slow, deliberate thrust.

You cry out, clutching the railing as he starts fucking you with brutal, wild rhythm, hips slamming into yours, every movement harder than before.

“You like being fucked in the open?” he snarls, voice low and dirty. “You want the whole crew to hear you scream my name?”

“Fuck yes!” you gasp, head falling back. “I want everyone to know I’m yours.”

Law’s hands dig into your hips, holding you steady as he drives harder, faster, the pounding relentless and fierce.

Your body trembles, catching fire again as another orgasm builds, hot and wild, racing through you like lightning.

“Come for me again,” Law demands, voice strained. “Make me feel it—make me lose it.”

You scream his name, riding out the waves as you shatter around him, muscles clenching tight.

Law groans, voice breaking, and buries himself deeper, his second orgasm ripping through him, hot and heavy.

He collapses against you, breath ragged, chest heaving.

“Fuck,” he pants, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re mine.”

You grin, fingers tangling in his hair. “Always.”

#one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #trafalgaw law x reader #one piece x you #law x reader #law x y/n #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar water d. law #law smut #trafalgar law x oc #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece smut #one piece fanfic #smut #heart pirates

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thirteenheavens · 4 months ago

Note

could u do just the tip with cheol ?

Just the tip,Please?||Choi Seungcheol

Notes: I think this has got to be one of my fav tip member version

Seungcheol woke up in the middle of the night, feeling a familiar heat building between his legs. He groaned, trying to ignore it and go back to sleep, but his body had other plans.He looked over at you, your sleeping form beside him. You looked so peaceful, and he didn't want to disturb you, but the urge was becoming too strong to ignore.

"Y/N," he whispered, gently shaking your shoulder. "Wake up." You stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent. Seungcheol shook you a little harder, his voice taking on a desperate tone.

"Please, baby," he pleaded. "I need you." You slowly opened your eyes, rubbing the sleep from them. "What's wrong?" you asked groggily.

Seungcheol's face was flushed, and he was practically panting with need. "I woke up really horny," he admitted, his voice low and husky. "And I tried to take care of it myself, but it's not enough." You looked at him, amused but also slightly annoyed. "And you woke me up for that?" you teased.

Seungcheol pouted, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer. "Please," he begged again, his lips trailing down your neck. "Just the tip. I promise I'll make it worth your while." You sighed, knowing that you weren't going to be able to fall back asleep anytime soon. "Fine," you said, giving in. "But just the tip, and then you have to let me sleep."

Seungcheol's face lit up with excitement, and he immediately started to undress you. "Thank you," he said, his hands roaming all over your body. "You're the best." Seungcheol gently pushed you onto your back, hovering over you as he kissed and nibbled at your skin. He slowly pulled down your pants, his eyes dark with lust.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his fingers tracing the curves of your body. "I can't believe I get to have you like this." He positioned himself between your legs, rubbing the tip of his cock against your entrance. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice strained. You nodded, too tired to do much else. Seungcheol slowly pushed the tip of his cock inside you, groaning at the feeling.

"Oh god," he moaned, his head falling forward. "You feel so good, even like this." He began to thrust gently, careful not to go too deep and disturb you too much. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he used you to get himself off. As Seungcheol continued to thrust, you couldn't help but feel a wave of pleasure wash over you. Despite being tired, your body responded to his touch, craving more.

He noticed the way you were reacting and smirked. "You like this, don't you?" he teased, his pace quickening slightly. "Even though you're so tired, you can't help but enjoy it." Seungcheol was struggling to keep his word, the feeling of being inside you even just a little bit driving him wild. He wanted to bury himself deeper, to feel all of you wrapped around him, but he knew he had to restrain himself.

"Fuck," he growled, his grip on your hips tightening. "You're making it so hard for me." You looked up at him, a mix of amusement and desire in your eyes. "You're the one who asked for just the tip," you reminded him. "You said you could handle it."

Seungcheol gritted his teeth, trying to focus on keeping his promise. "I know, I know," he panted. "But you feel so good, baby. I just want to be inside you all the way." You could tell that Seungcheol was at his limit, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. He was breathing heavily, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

"Please," he begged again, his voice cracking. "Please let me go deeper. I need it." You pretended to consider it for a moment, knowing that you were in control of the situation. "Fine," you said finally. "You can go deeper, but only if you promise to make me cum."

Seungcheol's eyes snapped open, a look of pure desperation on his face. "I promise," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'll make you cum so hard, you won't even remember why you were tired in the first place." He slowly pushed himself deeper inside you, inch by inch, until he was fully buried in your tight heat. He let out a loud moan, his head falling back in ecstasy.

"You're so tight," he groaned, starting to thrust in earnest now. "I'm not going to last long like this." He leaned down to capture your lips in a heated kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he picked up the pace. His hands roamed all over your body, caressing and squeezing every inch of you.

"Please," he gasped out between thrusts. "Touch me. I need your hands on me." You reached up to grab his arms, your fingers digging into his skin as he continued to pound into you. "Like this?" you teased, a sly smile on your face. Seungcheol's moans grew louder and more desperate, his body responding to your touch. "Yes, just like that," he panted, his hips moving faster and harder. "You're driving me crazy."

He leaned down to bury his face in your neck, biting and sucking on the sensitive skin as he lost himself in the pleasure. You could feel him getting closer to the edge, his movements becoming more erratic and frantic. He was muttering a string of incoherent words, his body tensing up as he fought to hold back his orgasm.

"I'm gonna cum," he warned, his voice barely above a whisper. "Where do you want it?" You thought for a moment, deciding to have a little fun with him. "Inside," you whispered back, knowing how much he loved to fill you up. Seungcheol's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't hesitate. He thrust into you a few more times before finally spilling himself deep inside you with a loud groan.

"Oh god," he moaned, collapsing on top of you as he rode out his orgasm. You smiled up at him, running your fingers through his sweaty hair. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," you said, feeling a sense of satisfaction knowing that you had given him what he wanted. Seungcheol chuckled, rolling off of you and pulling you into his arms. "You're incredible," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Even when you're tired, you still know how to drive me wild."

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moriwood · 5 months ago

Text

Good Top Bad Top — s.jy + p.js

top!park jongseong + top!sim jaeyun x btm!male reader smut (pretty much pwp) 2.6k words

Worn thin by a grueling school project, you and Jake crash at Jay’s place, innocently drifting off to sleep. The stillness of the night soon warps, jolting you awake as Jay defiles you. Suddenly thrust into a threesome, you struggle between Jay’s brutality and Jake’s tenderness.

includes: uhhhhhhhhm just filthy sex between u n two college dudes, the plot’s just for foreplay like irl porn aFKOPZKDF warning: somnophilia, !!NONCON!! (technically dubcon, it just shows up really late after the sex)

You feel suspended in nothingness, drifting in and out of a state of being awake and asleep. The air conditioner blasts through the stillness of Jay’s room, yet your skin prickles with an unnatural heat. Something breathes against you, soft and featherlight, tickling your nape to a rippling shiver down your spine. Then a heavier sensation follows, a weight pressing down across your chest.

Your back feels hot, pinned against something firm and slick—a cock, you realize with a terrifying clarity—grinding lazily against you, a warm and sticky trail sloppily leaving its stains at the small of your back.

“Ah,” a faint sound escapes you, shaky and unintended, as a hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts. Fingers hungrily roam your skin, brushing the length of your hardening dick before settling on the tip, teasing it with a slow and deliberate swipe of your leaking precum.

“Fuck,” Jay grunts, cutting through the haze. “You wake up too fast.”

You blink your eyes open to darkness, only a faint glow coming from the lampshade on Jay’s nightstand. Textbooks and legal pads sit in uneven stacks beside empty energy drinks and coffee cans, remnants of an exhausting school project just a few hours ago. You twist your head, panic rising in your chest, and you desperately move to push away the fingers squeezing your cock, but Jay’s grip is unyielding. An arm snakes around your neck, a muscled vise tightening just enough to make your breath hitch, while a leg slides over your waist, pinning you to the mattress. You’re trapped, Jay’s breath hot and minty with vape residue against your ear, growling words you can’t decipher.

“Jay,” you gasp, “what the fuck!?”

“Sorry,” he mutters, voice dripping with insincerity, “can’t hold it anymore.”

He drags your shorts down, fabric catching on your thighs, teasingly scraping your skin before sliding free, your cock twitching in the cool air. His lips find your neck, a possessive bite breaking the surface with a faint sting that could only be followed by bruise later on. He lingers, sucking hard, then nips at your jaw, before tracing a wet lick behind your ear. “Fuck,” he mutters against your skin, ragged, “you’re so perfect. So unblemished. Gonna look so good fucked raw. You want that, huh?”

You thrash against him, but Jay’s just too immovable—taller, broader, frame honed by arrogance and strength. His hands roam your body with greed, nails scratching your flesh. Every attempt to break free tightens his grip, fingers digging deeper, your skin blooming purple under his touch as your breaths come shallow.

“Don’t squirm too much,” Jay warns, thick with menace. “Jake might wake up.” He pauses, thigh shifting to press harder. “Or maybe you want that? Want him to see me split your tight ass open? Maybe he’ll want a go too,” he grunts, his hard-on rutting against your bare ass and smearing precum across your behind.

You shake your head in disbelief, the thought of Jake getting tangled in this depravity a nightmare you can’t imagine. Your blurry eyes dart across the room, searching for Jake’s shadow on a spare mattress, chest rising and falling steadily, oblivious. In this supposed overnight project session, he is the innocent third, a potential lifeline you can’t quite reach.

“Stop fighting,” Jay snaps, patience fraying. He aggressively shifts his weight, slamming you face-down into the bed. Your stomach presses into the mattress, satin sheets scraping against your skin; your erection throbs painfully with every slight movement. “You waltz in here,” he grunts, “ass begging for it in these slutty little shorts, and think I’ll just lie here beside you with my dick in my hand?”

The rumors have been lingering around you for months: Jay begging your professor to pair you for this group project, him brushing against you in the halls, a knowing smirk daring you to deny him. You had dismissed it as gossip, chalked it up to his notorious reputation. Jay always got what he wanted, consequences be damned. The sound of a bottle cap pops and the wet, sloppy noise of Jay slicking something follows, dripping onto the sheets beneath you.

“Please,” you say, having a good guess of what’s coming next. “Jay, don’t.” Your hands clutch the sheets, knuckles whitening.

“Shut up,” he snarls, and a hand comes down hard on your ass. The pain flares, sharp and immediate, making you bite your lip to stifle a scream, the metallic taste of blood spilling as it splits. But he doesn’t stop, another hit lands. Then another. Then another, each one slower and heavier as your vision blurs with tears. “Sluts like you,” he growls, “get fucked raw. Sluts like you need your pretty little holes ruined.”

Jay’s hands find your hips and he yanks you back, ass up, cock dangling humiliatingly in the cold. You feel his cock tease your hole, circling it, taunting and degrading. “Here it comes,” he coldly laughs, and then he moves, slowly at first. He stretches you in an agonizing pace, pausing to let you feel the burn, the intrusion, before slamming in hard.

It’s massive, filling you beyond any preparation, pain searing as he buries himself balls-deep in brutal thrusts. You choke on a scream, sound lodged in your throat, held back by the sheer surprise.

His cock pulses as your walls clench involuntarily. “So fucking tight,” he groans, savoring how your body adjusts to him. “Sucking me right in. Virgin, huh? Shit, you’re mine now.”

Jay thrusts deep and slow at first, bed frame creaking softly. But he picks up speed in no time, practically slamming against the wall. The slow heat bubbles beneath the pain, your cock leaking a shameful puddle onto the mattress, some pleasure sputtering in the agony despite you fighting against it. “Look at you taking it like a whore, been dreaming of this for so long.”

Fuck Jay. His vape-stink breath, his liquor-soaked arrogance, and his invincible throne. Tell anyone about this and they’d doubt you, or he’d ruin you worse. But Jake is here, you repeat to yourself. Jake, who chose to join your pair as your class was odd-numbered. Jake who’s like a golden retriever, always smiling, always energetic, time always spent on studying and nothing else. One of the very few who could stand against Jay.

Yet, to quote some, sometimes the tame ones suppress worse demons.

Jay grabs your hair in a fist, yanking your head back as his other hand delivers a sharp slap to your face. He grimly laughs as he continues pounding, tilting your head to the man stirring across the room.

Jake’s movements are sluggish as he blinks awake. His face scrunches in the dim light, confusion evident before he understands the scene before him—your ass up, Jay owning you with his fucking, air thick with sweat and sex. His eyes widen, a flicker of shock crossing his face, and he sits up, rubbing his eyes with the heel of hand as if to wake from a dream. But his hand hovers near his crotch, hesitating.

“Just gonna watch or you joining?” Jay taunts. He smacks your ass again, slamming your head back to the pillow beneath your face, muffling your cries. “C’mon, Jake,” he adds, “don’t be a pussy now. You knew this was coming.”

You hear footsteps, then a sinking weight on Jay’s bed. “Man,” Jake whispers, “I… I didn’t think it’d be like this. You sure he’s okay with it?”

Your stomach twists as the sinking realiztion dawns—Jake’s in on it? You try your hardest to keep your eyes open, desperate to understand the situation. “Jake,” you rasp, voice raw, eyes on level with Jake’s growing bulge, a wet spot darkening the front. “Please.” You don’t even know anymore if it’s a call for help or an invitation.

Jake’s hands decide to cradle your face and your eyes meet his, and for a moment he freezes, expression softening. “Shit, okay,” he mutters. “Take it off for me?” he asks, almost pleading, a sick contrast to Jay snarling behind you as he continues to fuck you relentlessly.

Your hands tremble, thighs quaking, but you reach for Jake’s sweatpants, fingers fumbling. Jake pulls your hands to his waist, a smile on his face as he helps you tug it down. His cock springs free—hairless, veins bulging faintly, shorter but thicker than Jay’s, precum beading at the tip. You inhale as you take it in your mouth, the salty taste hitting as it slides past your lips. A hand settles in your hair, combing it gently amidst the chaos.

“Good boy,” Jake murmurs as you jerk the base of his dick with your hand, drool spilling down your chin. “Wanna fuck your throat,” he says, voice sickeningly sweet. “Can I?” His eyes search yours, a last flicker of doubt lingering, but you’re too far gone to refuse, nodding slowly as Jake tightens his grip on your head.

You gag as his cock reaches the back of your throat, spit beginning to bubble at the corners of your mouth. He pauses, thumb wiping your tears so tenderly. “You’re doing so well, babe,” he soothes, as he pushes past with a slow and steady thrust. “You’re so good at this,” he heaves, hips rocking to an even rhythm that offsets Jay’s pace.

“What a fucking softie,” Jay mocks, spitting on your back and smearing it. “You love it like that, slut?” he sneers. “Say you love it, you fucking slut.”

You choke on the words, muffled by the cock lodged in your throat. “I love it,” you think you screamed, but the sound is barely heard against the moaning and groaning, the filthy squelch of you being defiled.

“Don’t listen to him,” Jake murmurs, a twisted comfort as he slides even deeper down your throat. “You’re doing this for me, yeah? My good boy.”

Jay’s brutality breaks you, yet Jake’s gentleness keeps you bound. He pauses, pulls out, but leaves his cock hanging on your tongue. He brushes a strand of hair fom your face. “You don’t hate me, do you?” he asks, waiting for an answer as you catch your breath.

“I don’t know,” you slur, only for Jay to roughly thrust forward, jolting you back into sucking Jake’s cock.

“Gonna cum, gonna fill this hole up,” Jay growls, he leans over you, chest slick with sweat against your back. His thrusts turn erratic, each one a deeper plunge. “Take it all, you slut,” he snarls, slamming in one last time to unload with a guttural groan. Thick spurts flood your ass as he grinds through it, the excess dripping down your thighs in a shameful trickle. Your body betrays you, shuddering as your cock spurts in tandem with him.

Jay pulls out, cum and lube oozing from your hole. He smacks it one last time. “Fucking mine,” he pants, collapsing beside you with a triumphant smirk.

Jake nudges Jay aside. “My turn,” he says, rolling you onto your back with a careful motion. He spreads your legs, fingers brushing your cum-filled hole as he positions himself. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, holding your gaze as he slides in. There is no resistance to be found, your body and soul already spent. “Relax,” he soothes, leaning down to kiss you on the forehead as he begins to rock into you unhurriedly.

“Jake,” you whimper. His lips graze yours, a rare intimacy that pulls your presence back in.

“I’ve got you, I’m not like Jay,” he whispers. His lips trail down your neck with soft pecks, as if trying to heal the bruises Jay left. “I know you didn’t want it this rough, but you’re so tough, taking us both like this.”

Jake leans back, hands sliding across your torso, smearing sweat and cum along the way. He ends on your cock, playing with the cum on the tip with his thumb as you squirm in oversensitivity, trying to wake it up from its limp state.

“You don’t hate me, right?” he repeats the question, manipulative eyes pleading.

“I trusted—” you start, voice cracking, but he thrusts deeper, a purposeful push to cut you off.

“I’m here to soften the blow,” he insists, tone firm as he holds your eyes. “I’m different, babe. Tell me you feel it,” he says, languidly stroking your cock to his pace.

“I… feel it,” you mutter, broken and reluctant, feeling yourself approaching another forced climax.

Jay watches from beside you, propped on an elbow, grinning as he strokes himself. “Fucked him stupid,” he laughs, “got him so hooked.” He reaches over, pinching and twisting your nipple until you gasp.

“Shut up,” you rasp, but Jake’s hand turns your face to him.

“Ignore him,” he says. “I’m better, aren’t I? Tell me.” Jake’s gentle voice doesn’t make sense in this situation. Your cock being abused, your hole dripping with cum, his cock owning you with a sweet rhythm as he chases his release—is Jake really any better?

“Please,” he adds, voice faltering, “tell me you don’t hate me for this.”

“I don’t,” you whisper.

“You’ve been such a good boy,” he groans, stroking you harder. “Gonna cum, gonna fill you up too.”

With a shuddering cry, he slams into you, his cum mixing with Jay’s, leaking out and pooling beneath you. Your body arches, a pathetic spurt of cum dribbling from you as you collapse, the room falling into a heavy, exhausted silence. The lamp flickers off, your breathing slowing down back to normal. Before you totally drift off to sleep once again, you feel a kiss to your temple.

—

It wasn’t a dream. Your ass stings with each move you make, the sheets beneath you are tangled and staff, crusted with dried cum and sweat. Despite the bruises and scratches, your body is clean, just the ache of the night prior remaining. You’re still in Jay’s bed, naked body now pressed close to Jake, arm draped over your waist, breath hot against your neck. Jay has moved to the spare mattress, sprawled on his back, one arm flung over his face as he snores.

Jake wakes up first, a sleepy smile spreading across his face as he squints at you. “Morning, cutie,” he murmurs, voice husky.

Jay stirs next, rolling onto his side. “Fuck,” he grumbles, “too early for this shit.” His eyes find you, smirking as he takes in your disheveled and marked body. “Look at you fucked out. Too hot.”

You ease yourself up to sit against the headboard, wincing as pain shoots through your back. Jake notices, a hand reaching out to your wrist. “Take it easy, yeah?”

“I’m good,” you yawn as you stretch your arms overhead, a few bones cracking. “Almost forgot it, you know? That whole threesome thing you pitched. Figured you were too tired to bother after all the stress.” A faint smirk tugs at your lips as you glance between them.

Jay chuckles, standing with a stretch as well, bare torso flexing under the sunlight. “Well, you said you wanted to make the project fun,” he says, “said you wanted to be surprised.” He steps closer to the bed, grinning. “Breakfast? I’m starving.”

Jake pulls you closer, resting his head on your lap. He squints up at Jay and teases, “Yeah, you cook something up while we cuddle here.”

Jay snorts, “How about you clean up the mess? We’re gonna have to burn these sheets.”

“Sorry,” Jake murmurs, tracing the scratches on your thighs. “We were too rough.”

“It’s okay,” you say, patting Jake’s head. “Your puppy eyes won me then and now.”

“You’re gonna make me vomit, I swear,” Jay groans, rolling his eyes as heads for the door. “Pancakes sound good?”

You nod, leaning your head against the headboard lazily. “Greasy and sticky sweet please.”

“Like us last night, yeah?”

“Ugh, gross.”

author’s note: belated april fools y’all ;3

— moriwood.

#enhypen x male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #sim jaeyun x male reader #park jongseong x male reader #smut #jake x male reader #jay x male reader #kpop smut #mori fics

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sexlapis · 5 months ago

Note

Your Cecil works are AMAZING I was wondering if you’re possibly taking reqs? 🥹💕 I can’t help but wonder what his reaction would be if he’s listening in or spying on a new hero or individual he’s unfamiliar with maybe doesn’t quite trust them yet and he just so happens to catch a private moment where they call out his name.

℘ private moments

₊⊹ cecil stedman x gn!hero!reader

ns4w. no gender/pronouns mentioned. a tiny bit dark. EXTREME INVASION OF PRIVACY. voyeurism. pillow humping. male masturbation. begging. unintentional mutual masturbation. cecil being a paranoid pervert.

⤷ you like cecil more than you let on.

wc: 2.2k

a/n: thank u! and i’m just going to assume that by “private moments” you mean reader is jerking their shit…please correct me if i’m wrong…anyways. nonnie i’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. i may have gotten a little bit carried away ^_^

masterlist

Cecil isn’t sure what to make of you.

Sure, you’re a competent hero. Smart, talented, courageous, strong. Not viltrumite strong, but strong enough to be considered in the run up for the new Guardians. That’s something.

You’re a sort of enigma to him. Outside of what he has digged up on your past and upbringing, the information he has on you is limited and your general personality does nothing to help that fact. With the few conversations he’s had with you, you’ve been quiet. Closed off. Aloof. Shy. Saying just enough to keep a tête-à-tête flowing but not enough to reveal anything deeper or private about yourself.

The thing is, what you don’t reveal in words, you reveal with your actions.

He’s the director of the Global Defence Agency. When you’ve held a position like this for over twenty years you tend to pick up on little behaviours and ticks that other people would gloss over.

Like how your eyes would always flicker around the room when in discussion with him, not once meeting his blue ones. How you steal glances at him when you think he and nobody else is looking. How you’d hurriedly fix your hair and brush off imaginary dust from your clothes when he appeared in front of you. How the rise and falls of your chest would quicken when he was in any sort of physical proximity to you.

Tiny things like that, invisible to others, were clear as day to him.

At first, Cecil was convinced that you simply did not like him.

This wasn’t new or even unusual. He’s the boss. He makes the rules. He’s tough on his employees and the heroes. In his position, such traits were essential for success. So, of course they wouldn’t like him. Of course you wouldn’t like him.

But something in the back of his mind kept telling him that this assumption was wrong. That he’s missing something. That you’re hiding something.

It’s not a surprise that he doesn’t trust you right away from these behaviours alone. It’s suspicious. You’re suspicious. Even if you’re accepted by the other heroes, to him you’re suspicious.

And after everything that has happened, Cecil won’t allow himself to be folded again.

He just prays that those cameras he told his men to install in your apartment pick up something good.

It all comes to light after a mission well done.

Cecil’s kept tabs on you.

And all in all, you don’t seem like a threat. You live a normal, average life. Running day to day errands, going to cafés to try new pastries, going to the gym, hanging out with your friends (of which he has also investigated), hell, even volunteering on your free days.

He doesn’t know if you’re actually safe or he just wants to believe that you are.

But with all the proof in front of him, you are no threat. That doesn't mean he’ll take his chances.

Wolves in sheep’s clothing are more common than one thinks.

Of course, the camera feed is for his eyes and his alone. He doesn’t want any of the creeps who he’s heard say, quite frankly, downright deviant things about you. Though, those cameras were admittedly overkill - his people who were tailing you and recording your every move was more than enough. But as he said, he’ll never risk it again.

Today was a good day.

The threat is taken down in record time, mostly thanks to you, a fact that Cecil makes sure to throw in your face.

Your reaction is a small, embarrassed smile, a glance down at your feet and the claim that, “it was just good teamwork”.

How humble. So damn perfect all the time.

It’s just him in the main monitor room now, watching you getting ready for bed, all the other workers having left hours ago to enjoy an actual life. He hasn’t had one of those in a long time.

Cecil sighs. He peels off his suit jacket.

You’re going through your night routine now; a shower, brushing your teeth, washing your face, what he thinks is yoga.

Active outside of superhero duties too. Other heroes could learn from you.

After watching you for a few weeks, he’s come to find this routine of yours therapeutic. Comforting almost. With all the uncertainty, the debilitating stress, the constant threat of danger pointing arrows at his head, the swirling paranoia and distrust that curls around his heart like poisonous vines, you remain stable in his chaotic life - a promise that some things never change.

He likes that.

Cecil looks away when you unwrap your towel from your body and dress into your pyjamas. It’s silly since he's already violated your privacy in ways that would get the average person thrown in jail, but he looks away anyway. He’s already done something terrible. He can be good, even if it’s just a small amount.

It takes no time for you to switch off the lights and curl up into your bed, snuggling underneath your sheets. At times like this, Cecil misses sleep.

For a while you scroll on your phone. Cecil rests on his back, lying his face on his palm as he observes you. God, the way people are just able to scroll on a small device for so long amazes him sometimes.

You spend a grand total of an hour and half doing that. Heroes these days.

He watches as you place your phone on your bedside table and stare up at the ceiling.

You get like that occasionally, Cecil’s noticed. At times, you’ll just be lost in your own mind, your daydreams, looking up to the sky and imagining all types of things. You speak to yourself too. A creep of guilt bloats up in his stomach. How can someone like him feel guilty about something as trivial as this? There are acts he’s committed far worse than this. Unspeakable acts. Things that he couldn’t even admit to a demon from hell.

But spying on some new, baby-hero is what makes him feel like shit. Great.

Cecil drags his hand down his face. A small throbbing ebbs in between his eyes.

Then he hears something from your bedroom feed. A moan.

He sits up immediately.

Are you hurt? Injured from the mission? You listen but he doesn’t think it’s beyond you to not seek medical treatment out of pride. Especially considering how you act around him.

Cecil looks up at the monitor.

You’re not in pain. Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually.

When he was watching you just minutes ago, you were under the covers and seemingly getting ready to go to sleep.

Now? You’re not sleeping in the slightest.

Instead, your night pants have been thrown on your bedroom floor and you’re straddling one of your pillows, rolling your hips languidly.

…What?

What?

Yes, he’s put cameras all over your living space. Yes, he’s had people follow you wherever you go. Yes, he knows you have a life and you have your needs like everybody else in the world, hero or not. But this? Cecil’s never seen you do…this in all the weeks he’s been keeping an eye on you.

As if he didn’t feel bad for violating your privacy already. This goes far beyond digging for information about you, far beyond what is necessary.

This is just pure perversion.

So why can’t he stop watching? Why are his eyes glued to the way you grind your hips into the pillow? Why can’t he look away from the shirt trapped in between your teeth and the nimble fingers that play with your nipples?

He should stop.

Your gasps crescendo. One hand leaves your chest to grip onto your bedsheets. It seems like you’re close.

He should stop.

Cecil snaps out of his trance.

What is he doing? Spying - no, perving - on a hero, a new hero at that, one who is under his authority and guidance, one who looks up to him for help and stability in this job. What he’s doing is disgusting, it’s vile. If anyone were to find out about his actions, he would never be viewed the same way again, his reputation in fluttering tatters.

And yet.

“Cecil.”

That one sigh that flows from your mouth is a good enough encouragement for Cecil to throw away any sense he had left.

Is that why you’ve been acting the way you have? Those looks, glances, those lip bites - you’re attracted to him?

Now, Cecil isn’t blind. You’re beautiful, truly. You’re kind, sweet, eager and your almost skintight suit leaves little to the imagination - don’t look at him like that, he’s heard other people say the same things he has and worse.

To think those feelings are reciprocated? To an extent, at least? Shock doesn’t even begin to describe it. Cecil’s nothing special to look at. Even worse to know. He thought those days were behind him - times of people being attracted to him, wanting to be with him.

He stands corrected.

“Ah, fuck it.” He grunts out as he undoes the buckle of his belt.

Not like he has anything to lose.

He tugs his slacks and boxers down just enough to get his erect cock out. The show you’ve put on had already made him taut and aching in his pants.

He spits in his palm and lets out a staggered moan when his hand meets his warm, hard dick. It’s been a while. He doesn’t usually get a chance to do this often.

Cecil’s gaze flickers to the screen again.

There you are, still riding away - now both hands are on the mattress to stable yourself for leverage as you hump your own pillow.

Heat prickles in Cecil’s lower stomach.

It’s so…primal. Savage. The desperation and desire of your movements are so unlike you, so unlike how you present yourself to the rest of the world.

For a moment, he wonders how your hero friends would react if they knew you wanted to fuck the boss they all hated so much.

He winds his hand up and down his cock and gulps. Damn, this feels good. He forgot what he’s been missing out on.

Cecil can’t bring himself to look away from you for a second. If he thought you were beautiful in your suit and casual clothes, you’re stunning now, wearing only a night shirt and shorts as you fuck yourself to completion. Cecil doesn’t even think you’re wearing any underwear. His eyes roll back into his head at the thought.

He’s not lasting long.

“Cecil, please…”

Begging, too? You want him dead. He wishes you were like this with him in person and not so damn reserved.

He grumbles and speeds up his hand, trying to match the pace you’re going at - a fast, untamed one, borderline wild and animalistic.

“Cecil, please. Please, please, I wanna cum…”

Is this why you’re so shy around him? So tense and astute? You’re such a good, little hero. His hero. It’s no wonder that you act the way you do. You just need someone to help you let off some steam, you just need someone to take the edge off for you, someone who knows how to. You need him to take care of you.

All you had to do was ask.

Cecil’s hand is a blur over his cock. You’re obscene. Squeaks can be heard over the feed, squeaks and creaks from your bed, whining under the ferocity of your movements. God, you really need this.

“Cecil…Cecil, ‘m so close.”

“Fuck, yes.” Cecil loses himself in your pleading, your cries, your moans, your whimpers - they’re his redemption. “Fuck, yes. Cum for me. Go on, let go. Fuck, you deserve it.”

Like you can hear him, feel him, you do let go. Your hips stutter, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as you find release on the pillow, rotating your hips through what appears to be an oppressive, shattering high. Small breaths escape you as it makes its way through your trembling body, battering you down to the bone.

And then you moan out his name, a soft, satisfied thing, your expression one of complete and utter bliss and that alone sends him over the edge.

He jerks himself quickly with more want than he wants to admit. Cecil’s hips follow his hands for a second. He grunts, thumbs his tip and cums. He groans, gripping the underside of his seat as he does, baring his teeth. His voice echoes through the room but he doesn’t care, not when you’re still faintly moaning his name as you fall from your heaven. His cum oozes out of him, squeezed out by his hand and seeps shamelessly onto the floor.

Yeah, he’ll clean that later.

“Fuck.”

His legs tremble. He looks at the mess in his hands and on the floor. Then back at you again.

You’re lying on your bed, out of breath, sweaty and content. Cecil wishes he was next to you, wishes he could wipe you down and clean you up, talk you through it and calm you over.

Maybe one day.

For now, he switches off the monitor. He stares at the black screen. Stares at himself

“Shit.” He curses, resting back into this chair. “I’m so fucked.”

a/n: i need him pregnant

#divider by @/uzmacchiato #cecil.📫#cecil stedman x reader #cecil stedman x you #cecil stedman x y/n #cecil stedman smut #cecil x reader #cecil x you #cecil x y/n #cecil smut

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tacticalprincess · 1 year ago

Note

Hear me out…könig knew you were a sloppy eater so he could only imagine what it felt like when u gave head

this screams older boyfriend!könig with an inexperienced girlfriend <3 most men would be turned off by the way your food tends to end up in odd places of your face, the remnants of your meal dripping from your chin or stuck in your hair, but könig finds it adorable, just cups a large hand under your mouth when you chew and wipes any mess away with his thick thumb with no complaints. the longer he observes you, the less he can stop his mind from wandering, filthy imagination kickstarting while he watches you lick into an ice cream cone with all the vigor and sweet enthusiasm as a puppy with a treat. it doesn’t help that you tend to keen and moan when you eat something especially yummy, makes him wonder how you’d react to the taste of his meaty cock. fantasies about all that eager and sloppiness being put to better use has him filling rapidly in his pants whenever you eat around him, oblivious to the way his gaze has turned dark and the sudden tension in his muscles. he feels slightly bad for sexualizing something so innocent, but he is only a man after all.

when he finally gets you on your knees, it’s like you fulfill every suspicion he’s had, every fantasy comes to life and doubles. from the way you drool over the thick outline of his boner through his boxers, nuzzling your face into the damp fabric and inhaling the musk of him, more excited than he’s ever seen you, as if this might be your best meal yet. pink tongue suckling on the dent of his leaking tip like a little kitten, trying to milk him dry before he’s even out of his pants. so fucking cute.

the sight of you all bright-eyed and willing when he finally pulls himself out almost has him cumming prematurely, and he has to squeeze the base of his cock to hold himself back. as expected, you’re impatient from the start, wrapping your lips around his thick, spongy head and attempting to swallow him to the root all too soon. he has to quell the urge to laugh— or buck wildly into your tight fucking mouth as when you sputter and choke around him. he helps you ease into it despite your pouting, holding your head back so you’re forced to just lick messily around his pulsing shaft at first, an iridescent mix of your drool and his precum dripping from your swollen lips. slowly feeds his heavy dick into your mouth and lets you sit with the weight of it resting on your tongue, suckling experimentally and moaning in intrigue at the salty, fleshy taste. it’s toe curling and dizzying for könig, who has to grip onto your hair to stop his knees from giving out from the stimulation, especially when you take him deeper and he feels your warm throat constrict around him. there’s no skill or coordination to your movements, just greedily sucking him down, and it’s the best he’s ever felt. he’s breathless but unsurprised when you eagerly swallow the majority of his cum, but sparse droplets paint around your lips and your chin, mingling grossly with the sheen of your saliva, a matching gloss that coats his length when you pull off.

“there you go, fuck, häschen, enjoy your treat.” he groans out, hand carding through your hair lovingly, the words barely heard through your flurry of excitement. “my greedy, messy girl. tastes good, ja?”

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triplingdogsdare · 22 days ago

Text

limerence | chapter one | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x reader x chef luca

angst. angst. angst. w/ a love triangle. | chapter two | chapter three

You've been in a relationship with Carmy for years, but before there was Carmy, there was Luca. Well, sort of. There was sort of Luca. You were never actually really together, but still. Luca's moving back to Chicago, and Carmy's burning out. Will your relationship survive, or will old flames be reignited? Well, let's find out.

a/n: hey thanks for reading, i've had this saved for MONTHS and i just thought i should start posting in installments, thank u so much in general for the response to my fics im so excited ive had most of these saved for a while now, ur all so kind and it means everything. There will eventually be a sydney x oc insert, i repeat, this story WILL contain an oc. fic playlist

The restaurant industry isn’t for the weak.

Long hours.

Typically thankless.

High rates of alcoholism, high rates of chronic anger, high blood pressure.

He always came home smelling like smoke, which he had sworn he had quit.

He swore a lot of things.

Swore he’d come home on time, swore you’d do something this week on his day off, swore that you’d spend more time together at all, swore that he’d at least talk to you…nothing.

You knew you had to leave maybe about a year ago. But you stayed regardless. How come? You couldn’t be certain. Maybe it was because you liked his family, or because you liked the people he worked with. Maybe it was because of how good everything was when you had first started seeing each other, when you first met he made you feel as if you had hung the stars in the sky yourself…these days he doesn’t look at you much at all.

Maybe it was because you couldn’t handle seeing him all alone with everything he was always going through.

You heard the door unlock from the couch and then it opening, stirring you from your light sleep which you had accidentally fallen into while watching some show on Netflix waiting up for Carmy to come home, the “Are you still watching?” prompt had long disappeared, replaced with a dark, empty screen.

You could hear him step inside, but you felt a little awkward tonight for reasons which you weren’t entirely certain of, opting to keep your head down and hidden behind the couch, you hear Carmen drop his keys and other belongings at the door before approaching the bedroom.

About halfway into the doorframe of the bedroom, you got up from the couch and started towards him,

“Carm…”

Carmen startles every-so-slightly, then turning towards you,

“Jesus Christ…You trying to give me a heart attack?”

You give him a genuine and apologetic look, “I’m sorry…”

He runs a hand through his hair, he looks exhausted.

“Fuck…” sliding his hand down his face, he turns his whole body back towards you,

“Where were you?”

You look at him perplexed,

“Where-...Where was I?”

“Yea, I mean, shit, did you just materialize out of thin air?”

“No.”

“Yea, so, where were you?”

“The couch.”

“The couch?”

“Yea, I,” you shift your feet, that self-conscious feeling which you had first felt when you heard him coming in returning to you, “I guess I fell asleep or something…” you mumbled, trailing off, looking down at the floor.

“Ah, shit,” Carmen puts his hand over his head, a silent facepalm, “I forgot, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Carm.”

“Really?”

“Yea, it’s okay.”

He nods at you, seemingly satisfied with the end of the interaction, but something in you hopes for more.

You wait for it. Some sort of follow up to it, maybe a deeper apology. But he just walks past you, into the bedroom, pulling off his shirt and letting it fall into the laundry basket by the door of the room. You say nothing more, following him a minute later, brushing your teeth in the dim light of the bathroom, looking up at the middle light over the sink which Carmen had promised to change after the lightbulb had gone out weeks before.

He’s already asleep by the time you crawl into bed.

You lay down beside him, staring at the ceiling for a while, and you’re not entirely sure why, but you begin to cry.

When you woke up the next morning, Carmen was gone, turning and looking over at the clock it read a big bright red 7:30AM, you rolled back over and pulled the sheets over your head, grabbing your phone from off the bedside table and clicking it open in the process.

You opened the calendar app, reading off the events of the day,

Meeting at 1pm, dinner at 7pm…

You couldn’t help but flip back to the day beforehand, looking at the screen, you could feel your heart shatter a little, the screen read,

All day- Anniversary,

at the very top of the day.

You knew he hadn’t forgotten, not completely, opening your text chain from yesterday a brief and to the point, ‘happy anniversary babe, love you, see you tn x,’ staring back at you, sent at 5:12PM the day before.

He wasn’t lying, he had seen you last night, just not as early as you had initially planned.

Last week standing in the kitchen, him on the couch just across the way, you called over,

“Hey- Carm?”

Looking up from his phone he called back, “What’s up?”

“So, like, next week…”

“Next week?”

“Yea, so like, for next week, our anni-”

“Oh shit, yea, sorry, our anniversary next week,”

“Yea, what do you want to do?”

“I mean- I dunno, babe, whatever you want to do.”

“You sure?”

“Yea,”

“Do you want to maybe just,” you think for a moment, knowing he was incredibly busy with work and everything, you reconsider what you had initially been thinking of suggesting and opt for something more simplistic instead…less demanding, “How about we just…stay in?”

“Really?”

“Yea, really, when you come home from work-” you pause for a moment thinking again, “maybe you can pick something up and we can watch a movie or something like that?”

“Yea, okay, sounds good,” he pauses, thinking for a moment, before looking you in the eye, “If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Okay, sounds good,” he looks back down at his phone, eyes moving side to side, reading, before furiously texting someone back.

“Sounds good…” you mutter to yourself, going back to spreading some jelly on a piece of bread.

So yea, he hadn’t forgotten, per say, he had just…he was just too late.

You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t miss him.

Him in general.

Him in the beginning of the relationship.

When you had first gotten together, everything seemed really good, like you were unstoppable together, like you could do anything. And you did…sort of, he got what he wanted, and so did you, in a way.

You did have to move over to where Carmen was located pretty abruptly, and you got swept up in the rush of it all and everything that opening a restaurant entailed, but it’s not like you uprooted your entire life for him, no. You had your own things, and he had his, and it was good, it is good.

When you had first met, it was when he was still working at noma.

You had gone to Denmark to visit your friend, Luca, who you had known from an exchange program which you had done in undergraduate school, it was during that time that you had met Luca and immediately hit it off with him.

It was also there in Denmark, during one of your many visits during your third year of law school, where you had decided to attend a small party with him,

“Are you sure you want to go to this thing- I mean, we really don’t have to, it’ll probably be kind of fucking, you know, kind of boring anyways. It’ll just be mainly people from work and…Yea, I’m just saying, you really don’t have to go if you don’t want to. Just say the word and we both get to get out of it.”

You laughed at him, appreciating how much he cared for you (or how much he really wanted to get out of going to this party, it could’ve been either one).

“No- Luca- stop it. I really do.”

“Do what?”

“Want to go!”

“Fuck- really?”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

“I don’t know if I can fully agree with that…”

“Oh, I get it,” you recoil in mock offense, “You just don’t want to have to introduce me to your friends-”

“What? No that’s not-”

“-You’re embarrassed!”

“No-”

“You’re embarrassed of me! Ashamed!”

Luca shot you an annoyed expression before smiling at you.

“Fuck you.”

You grin back at him, “Fuck you too,” you tossed him the keys to his apartment, “Now let’s go! Let’s get to this party thing- I don’t want to be the last person there, gotta make a good first impression.”

“Okay sure- but you don’t want to be like, the first person there.”

“I’ll just make you walk in first.”

Frowning at you, “Oh so you just have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Obviously.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of you, looking at each other just in front of the door, neither of you moving to reach for the handle, just looking at each other in comfortable silence, expectantly, like something was going to happen.

“...Are you sure you want to go?” Luca broke the silence, making you laugh again.

“Oh my god, Luca, yes, do you?”

“Well obviously fucking not.”

“Well too bad, I do.”

“Fuck you.”

And that’s how you and Luca ended up going to the party that night.

He wasn’t entirely wrong.

It was a little lame, there weren’t a lot of people there, but there were just enough to make it more crowded than you were comfortable with. You stood towards the corner of a room which you presumed to be a living room area of sorts, it was an open floor plan type of place with a spacious kitchen and a nice dining room which were all sort of part of the same area, a table with scattered plates of food and a large variety of drinks sat just to your left. Luca stood uncomfortably behind you.

“Who are these people?” you asked, looking behind you to Luca.

“Mostly people from noma- and then the friends of the people at noma, I told you- No, warned you, it would be lame, and you didn’t listen.”

“Yea, well-”

“Luca.”

You heard a voice in front of you, turning your head back forwards, this was when you first officially laid eyes on Carmen.

He was shorter than Luca with longer curly hair and, much like Luca, quite the collection of tattoos scattered about his arms and hands.

You immediately liked him.

“Carmen.”

“I thought you weren’t gonna come?”

“Well- Call it a change of heart.”

“I see, well, glad you’re here.”

“Yea.”

“And who is this?” Carmen asked, motioning to you, face stoic in a way that made you nervous.

“Why don’t you ask them yourself?”

Carmen turned his gaze to you, making the hardest eye contact that you had ever experienced in your life.

“And who are you?”

You could feel your face heat up.

“I’m (y/n).”

“Carmen,” he said, sticking his hand out for you to shake, you took it, awkwardly intertwining hands and shaking them twice before letting go and retracting your hand, wiping it on your leg, suddenly very self-conscious about whether there might be sweat on them or not.

“Yea, I- I know.”

“You know?”

“Yea.”

He lifted a skeptical eyebrow at you, crossing his arms over his chest, “How?”

You twisted the hem of your shirt, looking down at it, “How what?”

“How did you know my name?”

You looked back up to meet his eyes, “Um- Luca like, just said it.”

“Oh,” a noticeable red flush made its way across the bridge of his nose to his cheeks, “I’m sorry,” he shook his head, “I’m all fucked up tonight, a lot to drink.”

“That’s okay,” you said, “I’m also a forgetful drunk.”

“Is that right?”

“Yea.”

“Speaking of drunk- can I get you a drink?”

You looked back towards Luca, who you now realized had been silent for a while, “Do you want one Luca?”

He looked at Carmen, and then you, back at Carmen, and then returning his gaze to you again-

“Nah, that’s okay,” he crossed his arms and leaned his back against the wall, “I think I’m gonna stay here and keep being all brooding and mysterious and sexy.”

You laughed in response,

“Sexy?”

“What- You don’t think I am?”

“I-” Carmen cleared his throat in front of you, not in a rude way, just sort of quietly and awkwardly, nervously shifting his feet, you turned back towards him.

“Yes- sorry, Carm, uh- drinks?”

He gave you a small smile, “Yea.”

You followed him over to the other side of the room, towards a sliding glass door which you presumed led to a back patio of some sort, you shot one last glance at Luca who motioned to you with his hand to ‘go on,’ while he wiggled his eyebrows at you once, twice, and then took out his phone, leaning back against the wall, and you turned back to Carmen.

“Oh- fuck,” you said, stepping out of the door and onto a back patio.

“Hm?” Carmen hummed in response, reaching down to what appeared to be some type of cooler and fishing his hand around in it.

“The air- it’s so much better outside.”

Carmen gave you a small snort, looking up at you, “Beer? Seltzer? Questionable wine cooler?”

“Alcohol.”

“They’re all alcohol, dear,”

Dear, you remembered how much that had made you blush, how badly it had tripped you up in that moment.

You didn’t have a mirror, or any other reflective surface on you for that matter, but you already knew that you turned red as a beet, immediately regretting saying anything as you repeated the word before you could give a second thought to it-

“Dear?” You echoed back to him, blinking.

“Yes?”

“What?”

“I thought you were asking me somethin’,”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you were calling me dear,”

“What- no, I mean, I would, but I was just repeating what you said, because it- It caught me off guard,” you looked down, taking a beer from his hand as he passed you one and cracked open one for himself, “I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”

“What- dear?”

“Yea, dear…And also babe, honey, darling, or anything else for that matter.”

He gave you a shocked look, taking a swig of his drink before turning to you again.

“What- so you’ve never been flirted with or something?”

“What, flirt-Oh my god, dude, are you flirting with me?”

“Ouch, dude.”

“Sorry.”

“Yea, dude, I’m flirting with you.”

Later that night he asked you to go back to his place, and you did, Luca giving you the go-ahead and making sure you were safe, promising to come pick you up the next day to take you back to his place.

You ended up spending a lot of time with Carmen during that trip, Luca always promising to you that it was “totally okay,” and that there was “always next time,” to do one thing or another together, and something about how if this was truly someone who might be the one that he felt it was entirely necessary for you to pursue that. You were incredibly grateful for his leniency and understanding, Luca was truly always a great friend.

After your meeting you ended up spending a lot of time texting, calling, and visiting each other back and forth, racking up what could only be described as record breaking numbers of miles on your respective credit card rewards programs as you flew to one another multiple times over the course of just a month sometimes.

You truly felt like if love was real, that this was surely it.

This being said, you definitely have been wrong before.

But he made you feel so…alive, alive in ways which you had never felt before, the whole thing was too exciting and too intoxicating to stop.

So when Carm had asked you to move in with him, uprooting your life completely from where you had lived previously to come to Chicago, you did.

When he asked for help setting up the restaurant and for patience while it happened, of course you were happy to help and happy to wait.

You were always happy to wait.

Or at least that’s what you allowed him to believe.

You aren’t a clueless person. Things had been falling apart, or at least aren’t quite what they used to be. But it’s not as if things were all falling apart at once. They almost never do.

There were still good days. Really good days, even. There were still those mornings where you’d wake up to a coffee cup from the shop on the corner of your block, on the bedside table, a heart haphazardly scribbled on the side of it in black sharpie. Even if he had left before saying goodbye. Even if it had gone cold. There were still times in the middle of the night when you were both awake, restless, unable to sleep, next to one another staring at the ceiling and he’d lean closer to you and mumble something like, “You’re the only thing keeping me sane in this world, you’re all that makes sense to me.”

But more often than not, you felt more like a ghost than a person. Like you were just something that was lingering in the apartment longer than it ever should have been.

You liked to leave notes on his things with little post-its, his shoe, his keys, his jacket pocket; bad jokes, a doodle of your cat, a reminder that you loved him. So much.

Sometime he’d text back,

‘thnx babe’

But other times you’d catch them in the trash, or under a table. Crumpled. Stained with oil. Looking like he had never even read them.

The worst part was, you didn’t know which one hurt more.

One night, his shift seemed to bleed from late night into early morning, he came home and found you still awake. Sitting on the couch, blanket pulled up to your chin, face dimly lit by your laptop which was resting on your thighs.

He sat down next to you, quiet, exhausted, his leg touching yours, he leaned his head on your shoulder.

Smoke.

You smelt it on him.

You decided not to say anything.

“Hi Carmy,” you said quietly, you shut your laptop and placed it on the ground in front of you.

“Hey,” he responded back to you, quiet, reserved, exhausted.

“How was your day?”

“It was…” it’s like you can hear the gears in his head, turning, uncertain if he should let you in or not, “It was busy.”

You nod into his hair in response and he puts his head in your lap, you both sat in silence like that for a while, until you noticed the sun peaking through the blinds,

“Can we go to bed?” Carm whispers it softly into your lap.

“Yes Carm, we can go to bed.”

You wake up the next morning with a start, it was later in the day, and the room was scattered with clear remnants of Carmen having had done the same. A dresser drawer half opened with one of his many white t-shirts sticking out, boxers on the floor next to the hamper just missing it, the door to the bedroom still slightly ajar, you rub your eyes and open your phone.

The time is 12:30PM, it’s Saturday. Opening your notifications, you find a text:

Sent at 10:16AM

LUCA

You smile at the screen, clicking the text message open it reads,

‘hey so ik u prob already know but im moving to chicago this week, was wondering if u wanted to help me move in? (dinner will be provided)’

You think on it for a moment before texting back.

‘when u need me by?’

‘today too soon?’

‘not at all’

He texted you his new address, close enough to walk over in no more than twenty minutes, you shower, get ready, throw on your coat, a pair of shoes, and you’re out the door.

When you get to his place, Luca’s already outside, seemingly waiting for you. He’s sitting on the steps up to his front door, leaning back, a peaceful expression on his face, a pair of headphones cover his ears,

“Luca!” you call out to him still a few houses down, but you feel your stomach flip at the sight of him, and pick up your pace, despite the headphones Luca still seems to have heard you through whatever he was listening to because he quickly looks your way, flips them from his head to drape around his neck and calls out back to you.

“(y/n)!” He gets up from his steps, moving towards you, meeting you in the middle, you embrace, and then pulling away-

“I feel like it’s been forever,” you say,

“Yea, right?” he responds before narrowing his eyes at you and playfully adding, “-And whose fault is that?”

You roll your eyes, looking down to your shoes.

“Me,” you mumble under your breath.

“Sorry what was that again- didn’t quite hear you?”

You look back at him, smiling.

“Me! You asshole, me, it’s my fault.”

“That’s what I thought,” he shoots you a smile, “You ready to unpack some boxes, or what?”

“Born ready.”

You both step inside to his place, you immediately clock how good it smells in there, like vanilla and baking bread, a touch of smoke, the type that rose out of a pan, not a cigarette. Luca helps you with your jacket as you pull it off, he hangs it up on a stray hook on the wall by the door, and you start to take off your shoes.

“You know,” he starts while moving over to a pile of boxes in the center of the room, the entryway opening up into a living room, kitchen, dining room area, another open floor plan similar to his last place in Denmark, and the house that that party was at, the place it had all started, “I’m a little surprised you didn’t text me first.”

You finish taking your shoes off, moving towards him and the pile of boxes.

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno, I mean, I mean nothing bad by it or anything, I just thought you might text me first when you heard I was moving here.”

You looked at him, perplexed.

“I’m sorry Luca, I’m not really sure what you mean.”

“Oh,” he raises a brow at you while picking up a lamp out of a box marked ‘FRAGILE’ across the top in big red lettering, “You mean Carmen didn’t tell you I was coming here?”

You blinked at him, couldn’t say anything for a moment, shocked.

“No?”

“No?” he blinks back at you, “Really?”

“Yea.”

Luca and you just stand there looking at each other for a moment before he breaks the silence, shrugging.

“That’s weird.”

You nod slowly, still unmoving, while Luca moves to put the lamp down on a small table in the living room area right next to a vase balanced on a small stack of books, dessert-based books, by the looks of it. Luca then moves back to the pile of boxes, starting to unwrap something else wrapped up in bubble wrap,

“That’s…weird.” you echo back at him quietly.

Luca looks up at you, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards, pitiful gaze on his face which you can tell he’s trying to hide while he says:

“I mean, maybe he just forgot.”

“Yea, maybe,” you respond, but the words feel sour in your mouth, you can’t help but wonder, ‘how does someone just forget about something like this?’

You think it, but you don’t say it.

You crouch down beside Luca, grabbing at the edges of a taped up box in an attempt to open it, just to have something to do with your hands.

“It’s not like we haven’t been talking,” you add quickly and maybe just a bit too defensively,

Luca made a soft noise in response, not an agreement or disagreement, just a confirmation that he had heard you.

You keep pulling at the edges of the box, and picking at the edges of the packing tape, you just can’t seem to be able to get it off, you run a hand over your face, starting to get very frustrated with this box which is seemingly refusing to open up.

Luca stands over you, reaching over your shoulder, prying the box open with ease, revealing even more books,

“Thanks,” you mumble, picking up a few, and turning to shelve them on a bookcase in the living room, before turning to him playfully, “I loosened it for you.”

“Yea,” he smiles at you, “Sure, you can tell yourself that.”

“I will,” you quip back, you drag the box over the floor over to the shelf, reaching down to pick up another small stack and turning to line them up on the shelves.

You can feel him watching you as you move.

Luca clears his throat.

“Hey (y/n),”

“Mhm?” you respond, not turning around to meet his eye.

“I don’t mean to pry but like-,” Luca was never one to be awkward but suddenly it felt like he was, “Are you okay?”

You paused, book halfway onto the shelf, accidentally pausing just long enough for it to be suspicious, and just long enough to make it feel worse.

“Yea, of course, I mean-” you motion around the room, “I’m helping you move in, it’s a good day!”

You smile at him for extra measure before returning to your unpacking activities.

“Are you sure?” Luca raises a meaningful eyebrow at you.

“Sure about what?”

“I mean,” he started before pausing, and then starting again, “You don’t have to lie to me.”

You freeze with your hand still on the spine of a book.

“I’m not.”

Luca says nothing in response to you, he just sits back on his heels in front of a box, forearms resting on his thighs, watching you like he’s trying to give you space to tell the truth if you decide that you want to.

You clear your throat, “So, what’s the job?”

“Hm?”

“Like, what brought you here?”

“Oh yea,” he leans back from a box, “My sister lives here…And Marcus and Carm said they could use a hand with the new menu…” he hesitates before continuing on, “And it just all aligned…it ended up feeling like the right time to leave, I was stagnating.”

You nodded in response, running a finger along the shelf.

He carefully adds, “I was also just feeling…really tired of having to watch people I love fall apart from far away, and not being able to do a single fucking thing about it.”

By the look on his face, you can tell that it landed heavier than he had meant for it to.

You didn’t respond to him, instead, you made your way back over to the boxes, kneeled beside him, and began opening another box.

“Tell me where this one goes?”

Luca watches you as you reach for a pair of scissors which he had fished out of another box while you were shelving the books, thank God.

“Bedroom.”

A few hours later you had both decided you were done for the day, with the living room unpacked, most of the kitchen, and having had just finished the bedroom, you both slid down, sitting at the foot of his bed next to one another, his hands on his knees, your legs splayed out straight in front of you, you let out a long exacerbated breath.

“Dinner?”

You look to him, and then pick up your phone from beside you, quickly clicking on the homescreen just in case Carm might've texted you anything, nothing.

“Sounds good,” you say, smiling lightly.

“Fantastic, tell me the shittiest takeout place in this city,” Luca joked, standing up, grinning, stretching his hands above his head, the bottom hem of his shirt lifting slightly in the process revealing the ‘Calvin Klein’ band of his boxers around his waist, you averted your gaze quickly.

“Shittiest, huh? You’re really testing me here.”

He pulled out his phone, clicking open a text chain, he scrolls upwards, finally landing on what looked to be a long list-like message from someone,

“Well- It looks like there’s a place called The Golden Duck, and apparently it’s the most MSG riddled food in the city.”

“Oh well, that means it’s delicious.”

“Exactly.”

He ordered for both of you on his phone, tossed it onto his bed, and then himself, his top half on the bed with him staring at the ceiling from his mattress, while his legs hanging off the side,

“So, what’s it been like?”

“What’s what been like?” You turn towards Luca, sitting up on your knees, resting your forearms on the bed and resting your head on them, you and Luca looking directly at one another, his head turned to you from his laying down position, you looking at him from your position at the very end of the mattress,

“What was it like, and how has it been like moving here? I mean, starting over.”

You hesitated for a moment.

“I mean, I guess it’s kinda weird. Like it’s all familiar, I know how to get around without Google Maps, and I know where everything in my place-, sorry, me and Carm’s- our place, is…Like, it’s all familiar, but at the same time, to be honest? Nothing feels completely right yet.”

He grins at you, “You do know you moved here like three years ago, right?”

You roll your eyes at him, “Shutup, you asked, now do you want to hear my answer or not?”

“By all means.”

You continue.

“I’m just, it’s like I’m still waiting for something to like, click. I feel like I’m just holding my breath, waiting for it.”

Luca nodded slowly at you.

“Yea I can get that, it can feel like being kinda, trapped between two worlds. Like, me, personally, I thought Chicago might feel like home when I got back, because you know, I’ve been here before, my sister is here, but it’s more like a pause than anything.”

You looked away, and then back, noticing how the street lights coming in from the window fell across his face in a way that made it extravagantly clear that he was incredibly handsome, like the type of handsome that snuck up and pounced on you, you looked away again, pretending not to have noticed, worried he might be able to read your mind or something.

“Yeah.”

There was a silence, comfortable and charged all at once, until Luca finally broke it, peering at his phone.

“Oh shit- it’s here.”

You watch as Luca gets up from the bed, stretching his back out and rubbing the back of his neck, heading for the door. You follow him down the hall, both of you barefoot, you could feel the hardwood cool under the soles of your feet.

He opens the door, trading a few words with the delivery guy, making him laugh and smile in only a few lines. Luca had always had that type of affect on people, you had always envied him for this ability. He had a kind of voice that made you trust him immediately without even really knowing why. He slips the guy two ten dollar bills, (and as if he wasn’t already extremely likable, he was a damn good tipper too), and then he shuts the door and you trail behind him, watching him unpack food onto the kitchen counter. Styrofoam containers, paper boxes, plastic utensils and two pairs of wooden chopsticks wrapped in red paper, two sweating cans of soda.

“God, it smells like regret,” you say peeking over his shoulder.

“Best kind of dinner, five dollar noodles, what could go wrong?” he responds, “Tonight, we feast like royalty.”

He motions to the barstools at the counter, telling you to sit down, you do.

The food is exactly what was on paper. Five dollar noodles. Objectively questionable, but also, somehow something which you would order again and again. It was perfect.

Halfway through eating, Luca turns to you, a bit more serious than before.

“Hey,” he starts, “Not to be weird or anything, but thanks, like seriously, for helping me out…For showing up. It means a lot.”

You sip your soda, meeting his eyes over the top of the can, bringing it down from your mouth.

“Oh my god, Luca, of course, literally anytime,” you say while placing the can down on the counter, “That’s what friends are for.”

He nods, his smile shifting slightly, a look you don’t quite recognize flashing in his eyes, not sad, not amused, something like disbelief. Something you hadn’t seen in a while.

“I still owe you though- Tonight’s dinner doesn’t count.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, your chopsticks dangling in between your fingers.

“What, you want an invoice for manual labor or something?”

“No,” he grins at you, “I mean, I wanna cook something for you. Like actually, once I get my whole kitchen all set up and in order, like…I need someone to try some stuff I’m been trying to make for a new menu, and I think it could be fun to have you be like…You know, the test taster or something.”

“Ah, I see,” you say, “So you just want more free unpaid labor?”

“Exactly.”

“Mover, interior designer-”

“Well, I would hardly call you that-”

“Taste tester…What’s next? Electrician? Plumber?”

“Well, actually, now that you mention it, I do have a lightbulb that needs changing and I do need help figuring out how to use the weird portal thing my landlord has to pay the electric bil-”

“Woah, I’m gonna stop you right there,”

“What?”

“That’s one thing I don’t know how to do?”

“What do you mean? You don’t know how to pay an electric bill?”

“No, I do, I mean, even if it’s a new weird portal system thing I could definitely figure it out, it’s just, that’s kind of…That’s kind of Carm’s one thing, you know?”

“His one thing? No, I don’t know. What do you mean?”

“You know, it’s like his…chore?”

“His chore?”

“Yea, like I do stuff, he does stuff, he makes sure the electric bill gets in on time.”

Luca stares at you, an eyebrow raised, a frown on his face.

“Okay…”

“What? It’s not like I can’t, I don’t-”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant.”

“So, what do you mean?”

“I mean like…,” he looks up, thinking before speaking again, “No offense but like, what do you mean his ‘one thing’ like, surely, he does more…things?”

“Oh no- He like, he definitely does, like…He just has a lot on his plate, and he does a lot for everything outside the apartment, you know what I mean?”

“Yea, I guess, I mean, I get what you’re saying but like…”

“Like what?”

“Like no offense to anyone, I truly mean that, but aren’t you like a lawyer or something (y/n)?”

“Well I- Yes, I mean, I am, but I’m like, I’m okay.”

Luca raises an eyebrow at you,

“I am!” you protest, “I’m good!”

“(y/n), aren’t you like a public defender and a pro bono immigration lawyer?”

“...yes…”

“And that’s his one job?”

“Listen,” you say defensively before softening your tone, “It’s more complicated than it sounds okay? There’s a lot of dimensions to it that you just don’t get.”

“Okay, heard,” he says, putting his hands up in surrender, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything.” “No, no, you didn’t…It’s okay.”

“Okay.”

A long moment passes between you before you speak again,

“So this taste testing thing…Are you gonna like, feed me weird zest foam or like a spinach goo or something?”

“Well first of all, I’m offended,” he laughs, and goes on, “And second off, what the fuck is a ‘zest foam’ or a ‘spinach goo’?”

“I don’t know! I’m just wondering.”

“I’m gonna feed you carbohydrates and love, don’t insult me.”

You try to not let your expression betray how that statement makes you feel.

Luca stretches over you, grabbing your empty container.

“Alright, you’ve helped, you’ve eaten, and now I’m kicking you out.”

You grin at him, getting off of your stool, “You wish.”

You’re both walking towards the door when he says your name, softly, and you turn around to face him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

His eyes flick upwards to look at you, and you find yourself hesitating yet again, not quite sure how you wanted to respond or if you even knew how to, then nod.

“I will be.”

He looks at you, perhaps a second longer than he should have, and you’re quite certain that he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. He just reaches past you, opening the door.

“Text me when you get home?” he asks, not quite meeting your eye.

“Yeah. I will.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

With that you stepped outside into the night, and you didn’t look back until about halfway down the block when something in you told you that you should, and when you do he’s still standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching you go, until you reach the very end of the street and you turn around to see his door just closing.

When you get home the time is 10:15PM. The apartment is still, quiet. You shut the door behind you and start toward the hallway, only to pause when you notice movement on the couch; Carmen, half-asleep, or maybe lost in thought. You hadn’t seen him at first, hadn’t really expected to see him. He usually got home much later than this, and the sight of him catches you off guard.

You take a step towards him and he shifts, turning his head slightly.

“You’re back,” he says, his voice is gravely and strained from work.

“Yea,” you respond, a pause stretches out between the two of you, so long that you start to feel awkward about standing, “I didn’t think you’d be home,” you added.

“I left early,” he stops for a moment and then continues on, “Wasn’t feeling very good.”

You nod in response, although he wasn’t looking at you to see it. He runs a hand over his face and he sits up a little straighter. You can see the crease from the couch cushion pressed into his cheek, he must’ve been laying there for a while.

“Where were you?” he asks, and it’s soft, you can tell that he’s trying to sound like he doesn’t care, like he doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable and doesn’t want to be accusatory, like he was thinking of you. You sit down next to him.

“I was helping Luca, with his move.”

He nods, quietly repeating what you had just said to himself under his breath, processing it. He must’ve just woken up, he drags his hand slowly down his face like he’s trying to shake off the sleep. Another minute passes, like he was waiting for his brain to boot up, and then,

“That’s good,” he said, “That you helped him.”

Your knee is brushing against his, and you feel tethered to him for the first time in a while, like it was proof that you lived here with someone else and that you weren’t living completely separate lives.

“Carm,” you start, looking at him and then down at his hand, you brush it with yours before continuing, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says it like he’s brushing it off, like it’s nothing, you know he’s lying, “Like I said, I just…M’not feeling great, I think I’m just…Tired…” he trails off, and you’re both quiet, he puts his arm around you, and you put your head on his shoulder.

“Me too,” you respond and you don’t mean for the next words you say to slip out but they do before you can stop them, “Did you know that Luca was moving here?”

You can feel Carmen go rigid for a moment, his shoulder tensing and then relaxing again.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “I did.”

“Carm,” you start softly, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know, I guess I forgot. I’m sorry I didn’t think it really would matter all that much I guess, it just slipped my mind.”

“Didn’t think-,” you pick your head off his shoulder turning to face him, “Didn’t think it would matter? Carm, he’s my friend…He’s my like, best friend, and he’s your friend and-Why didn’t you think this would matter?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just exhausted, I forgot,” his voice raises a little, defensive, “Jesus, I’m sorry.”

You both fall quiet again, your head finds your way to his shoulder for a third time, and the air feels thin. Fragile. Not angry, just delicate.

Carmen is the one to break the silence again, and it comes out quietly, like he’s trying not to startle you when he speaks.

“I didn’t think it’d be a big deal,” he says, “Didn’t think you two still talked like that, I guess.”

You lift your head. Not accusatory, but confused, “Like what?”

Carmen shrugs, looking at you, his jaw is tight, and his eyes flick away before you can read them.

You think about following up your question with something else, feeling awkward in the silence filling the room, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I wasn’t trying to hide anything,” he says his voice flat, “If that’s what you think.”

“Carm, I didn’t think you were.”

He nods, but it’s unconvincing, like he doesn’t really believe you, and something in his facial expression tells you that if you were him, you wouldn’t have either.

You try again.

“It’s not really about Luca.”

He still doesn’t look at you, his shoulder shifts ever so slightly, “Okay.”

“It just would’ve been nice to know.”

He exhales, it’s short and tired, “Yeah.”

There’s something heavy in the air, but you couldn’t name it, it seemed he couldn’t either.

“I’ll tell you next time,” he pauses thinking to himself, the side of his mouth quirking upwards a bit, “Y’know, if there’s ever a next time.”

It makes you giggle a little, and Carmen smiles at it, at you.

You nod in response, and you believe him.

The smile fades slowly from his face, but the softness in it never leaves.

You’re not really sure what to say, a part of you wants to say everything. Everything that you had been feeling, everything that you think he’s been feeling…The other part of you wants you to shutup.

You can’t think of a way that you could even verbalize everything that you’d been feeling without making it feel worse, for either or both of you. Without risking him withdrawing. You want to tell him simply that you’ve just missed him, that it feels like he’s been far away for a really long time…even when he’s here. That sometimes you go whole days without touching or even speaking, that you notice it, ‘Do you notice it too?’ you thought about asking him, but you didn’t. You didn’t want to have to think about whose fault it might be.

You don’t say another word.

Instead, you press your knee in a little closer to his, and he puts his hand on yours in the small space between you on the couch. His palm is rough, warm, and familiar.

“You wanna go to bed?” he asks, and it sounds like more of a peace offering than a genuine question. His way of calling it for the night.

“Yeah,” you say.

Neither of you moves right away.

Eventually you stand up together at the same time, the lights stay on behind you as you walk down the hallway together, to the bathroom brushing your teeth in silence, and then crawling into bed together.

You sling yourself over him in the bed, and he holds you in return.

But you couldn’t help but wish that you had said more, that he had. That something more had occurred.

You drift off to sleep together that night.

When you awake the next morning you realize it’s a Monday, and that you have no court hearings today on Zoom or otherwise, no clients, no meetings, that today you don’t have any work which is directly demanding, this makes you smile. When you look to your left you realize that Carmen’s arm is still around you, and that above all, he’s still here.

You begin to poke Carmen, willing him awake, and he starts to stir.

“Carm…Carm…Carm…” you half-whisper his name as you continue to poke at him.

“Huh?” Carmen opens one eye, looking right at you, “What?”

“Are you like, late or something?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Monday. Closed Mondays.”

“And there’s nothing to be done at the restaurant?”

“I don’t think anyone thought it was a very good idea for me to go back in today, I was uh,” he pauses, yawning, rubbing his eyes, “I got pretty sick last night.”

“Ah, well, I’m sorry…Are you feeling better this morning?”

“Yea,” Carm responds, turning to look up at the ceiling, taking his arm out from under you and stretching both his arms above his head, “Yea, I think I am.”

“That’s good.”

“Yea, yea. And you? Do you have anything today? Any lawyer-ing?”

“No, can’t say that I do.”

“That’s good, I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

“Yea, I think it’s safe to say we’re both pretty burnt out.” Your heart skipped a beat, it was so small, but, this was the closest he had come to opening up to you at all recently. It felt good.

You roll over onto your back to stare at the ceiling with him, your fingertips brushing his.

“Burnt out,” you echo back to him, “Yea, that’s one way to put it,” letting out a light laugh as you said it.

Carmen doesn’t respond back to you right away, but his fingers curl tightly around yours, and for a few moments you just lie there together, the sun peaking through the window blinds casting warmth in little strips over the bed. Eventually you sit up, pushing the sheets off of your legs.

“I’m making coffee,” you say, “You want eggs or something?”

“I feel like I should be the one asking you if you want eggs or something.”

“Okay, so ask me then,” you say giggling at the exchange, how long had it been since you had last talked like this? You couldn’t remember, you just knew that you missed it.

“Do you want eggs or something?”

You tap your point finger on your bottom lip, looking up, pretending to think.

“Pancakes,” you both say it in unison.

Your eyes light up as you look at him.

“How’d you know?”

Carmen’s lips twitch into a small smile, the kind that doesn’t reach your eyes, but it’s genuine,

“Because pancakes are the only things that make life bearable.”

You laugh softly and Carmen goes on,

“-And I made pancakes for you that first morning we spent together.”

That makes you pause, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

“That was a long time ago,” you say softly.

He shrugs, sitting up in the bed, playful but exhausted.

“Feels like yesterday.”

You grin as you watch him work. You love seeing him like this. Not stressed, pulling his hair out, in some fancy restaurant, calling out orders, but in his element. Calm, at work, just doing something that he loves without it demanding anything back from him.

He moves with ease around the kitchen, flipping pancakes with a certain suaveness to him that made him look incredibly cool, in your opinion.

“Wow, Carm, you’re really showing off right now, huh?”

“At what? Flipping pancakes?”

“Mhm, it’s hot.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, grinning, “Well, I’m glad you like it because it’s basically the only thing I can do.”

You shake your head at him,

“Nuh-uh, I saw you make eggs a few weeks ago.”

“Well- yes and that.”

“And,” you go on, “You made me a mean grilled cheese the other week. You’re really good.”

He grins at you, still looking down, focusing on the pancake flipping.

“Yea well..I’m glad you think so, because if I wasn’t, I’d be committing some serious fraud.”

It makes you both laugh, and for once things feel normal. Like they’re stable, like there were no problems at all.

The moment lingers, and the air smells sweet and a bit like melted butter, you rest your chin on your palm, continuing to watch him, wondering how much longer things could go on like this.

“I’ve got court this week,” you say after a moment, keeping your tone light,

Carmen glances over at you, “Like court-court?”

“Zoom court,” you clarify for him, “But yes, big one. Wednesday morning. I’ve been preparing for like weeks, honestly, just kinda excited for it to be over.”

He nods, thoughtful, and he flips the last pancake onto a stack. “Anything I can do?”

“Just- don’t be too rowdy in here,” you joke, “No big house parties.”

Carmen laughs through his nose, “Heard counselor, no noise. I’ll cancel the huge blow out I had planned, but it is a shame, I’ll need to reach out to all 300 people now to tell them not to come.”

He picks up two plates, swinging around to your side of the counter, kissing you on the head in the process, he places them down with exaggerated flourish. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“I’m joking of course, I’ll probably be at the restaurant at that point.”

“Right,” you say nodding and looking down at your small stack, “What, no parsley garnish?”

“Jesus,” he mutters again, pulling out the stool to sit beside you, but he’s smiling and there’s a light blush playing along his cheeks.

And for that moment. Things felt alright.

That night the two of you sat curled up on the couch next to one another, laundry piled around you. Carmen was flipping through a sketchbook, thinking about new dishes, reviewing old ones, you were typing away on your laptop, writing up some papers. Your eyes drifted upwards to stare at the pile of Carmen’s t-shirts.

“Weren’t we doing something?”

“Hm?” Carmen responds, pencil in his mouth,

“Weren’t we like folding the laundry?”

“Oh-oh yea,” Carmen puts his sketchbook on the table, sticks the pencil behind his ear, “How did we even get sidetracked?”

“To be honest with you, I don’t remember.”

He shrugs at you, “Restaurant brain.”

You nod in response, you want to laugh at his joke, but honestly you had heard it as an excuse so many times at this point that you don’t think you could find it funny if you tried, but you keep a neutral smile on your face, careful not to tune Carmen into this in fear of making him feel too bad. Motioning to the pile of t-shirts in front of you-

“Jeez Carm, how many white shirts do you have?”

He starts to answer you, but gets cut off by a light buzzing noise as the lights flickered off for a moment and then back on. Carmen draws his gaze back to you from the ceiling.

“Old wiring,” he gives you a half shrug, “Old building, it used to do it a lot more before you moved in…I think the apartment likes you better or something.”

He gives you a smile as he begins to tackle folding a pile of laundry.

By Tuesday morning, the apartment smelled like Dawn dish soap and a light smell of garlic leftover from last night’s dinner. Carmen was in the kitchen, washing dishes, some light music could be heard coming out of his headphones, knowing him he probably had them turned up all the way.

There was something very comforting about this, very ordinary, but in the best way.

Still a little tired, you sit down at the counter, startling Carmen for a moment, before he shoots you a small smile, and hands you a cup of coffee, which you sip gratefully.

“Morning,” he says, flipping one headphone half off his ear, he looked as if he had been up for a while, hair messy and slightly damp from a shower, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, suds scattered about his forearms.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you say motioning towards the sink and then the stack of clean dishes piled neatly on the rack.

“I wanted to,” he says it simply, like there was nothing else in the world that would have made more sense to him than this, “I figured that especially with your hearing tomorrow, you just really shouldn’t have to worry about shit like the dishes.”

“Thank you,” you smile at him warmly, “Wait- what about the restaurant, are you-”

“Chill, I’m going in a few hours, they’ll live without me for a bit.”

“Oh, okay.”

After finishing the dishes, Carmen sits down on the couch, his phone in one hand, computer on the table, and a giant stack of mail splayed out next to it. You watch him quietly from over your laptop screen, as he pulls out a crumpled envelope, flipping it open, he holds up a bill, squinting at the details.

He glances over to his phone screen in his other hand, quickly clicking on something, checking something, online, letting out a faint sigh.

“Water bill’s all good now too,” you hear him mutter to himself from across the room, he stuffs a bunch of papers back into a larger envelope and then sets it down, the stove timer going off.

You glance back down at your laptop, the quiet hum of the apartment and muted drone of the world outside filling the air, the weight on your chest feels like it’s been lifted, even if just a little. Carmen’s calm and suddenly steady presence, the way he was handling things without it being too complicated, it was all very grounding.

He reaches over towards you and flicks on the small kitchen lamp, the warm glow lighting up his face, and you look up again, catching him watching you with a faint smile, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. Like he feels it too.

“I got it,” he says to you, meeting your eyes, “Everything.”

You nod, your words caught somewhere between relief and gratitude.

The timer behind him goes off and he jumps, and he heads back to the oven.

There’s no tension, no unfinished business hanging in the air. Just a quiet, steady, pulse of the two of you moving through life together.

It was a good two days, but deep down, you knew you couldn’t trust it.

After all, two good days didn’t erase a year of being overlooked.

Carmen had long since left for work when you heard your text tone go off, pulling your eyes away from the array of documents that you had scattered across your table, you picked up your phone and opened up your messages.

LUCA

‘hey i just got all my kitchen shit in and i took a trip to some expensive ass market, u down to come over tmrw night?’

You smile at the text fondly, responding back.

‘i’ll be there,’ you type out before playfully adding, ‘better be good,’ and pressing send.

You get another message back almost immediately.

‘or else?’

‘don’t be a smartass’

‘heard’

You laughed to yourself, starting to return back to your work but then your phone goes off again.

‘r u doing ok btw’

It makes you pause.

‘im’ You start to type out a response but if you were honest with yourself, you weren’t sure how you were, you settle on-

‘im doing alright def scared tho’

‘scared?’

‘big case tmrw’

‘how big we talkin’

‘like huge very high stakes’

‘how huge’

‘omg stfu’

‘srry’ A pause before another text message from him came through,

‘ur the best lawyer out there u cant lose’

You clicked your phone off, grinning.

Wednesday morning started out unkind. When you woke up, Carmen was already gone, but that wasn’t the unfortunate part. The unfortunate part came after you had finished getting ready, put on your ‘courtroom’ suit, and walked into the kitchen, only to immediately feel a wet squish through your socks. You bent your knee and lifted your foot up to look at the bottom.

“Ew,” you said softly to yourself, your eyes dropping to a small sticky puddle on the floor. Carmen must’ve spilled coffee and had forgotten to clean it up before leaving. It was such a small thing, but maybe that was the point. A small thing, and yet it was still there. A small mess, lingering anyway.

Peeling off your socks, you grabbed paper towels to clean up the spill. Then you noticed it, sitting on the kitchen counter, the same envelope from the day before. Smudged with greasy fingerprints, probably from where Carmen had absentmindedly set down a plate or a pan at some point before picking it up again.

You remembered him mentioning the water bill being all sorted or something to that effect the day before, but you now realized that he hadn't actually sent it. Not yet.

It was all too familiar. This quiet letting down.

You sighed softly but resolved to handle it yourself after your meeting, you really couldn’t afford to have your mind on anything else right now.

Just as you were settling into your morning routine, with thirty minutes left before your Zoom court hearing, you were sitting at the counter flipping through your client’s files, getting your arguments in order, then your phone buzzed against the marble surface of the kitchen counter. Glancing down, you were met with a message from Luca-

‘look outside’

Curious, you opened the door to your apartment. There, waiting on your doorstep, was a neatly packed breakfast, a croissant, somehow still warm, a small container of fruit, and a note stuck on top of it in Luca’s familiar handwriting:

Good luck today. And tell Carmen that Luca says to do more than just the electric bill.

You chuckled softly to yourself, the small gesture easing some of the tension building inside of your chest. For a moment, the day felt a little less daunting. But then your smile faltered, the hard truth of it all settling in: In one week, Luca had shown up for you more than Carmen had in a whole year.

You tuck the note into your backpocket, your mind haunted by thoughts of comparison that you hadn’t meant to have but couldn’t quite shake. Luca. Carmen. You tried not to go there.

You flipped your phone over in your hand, checking the clock on it. Almost time. You took a long, deep breath, closing the door behind you, and headed back inside to set up your laptop for the hearing.

Your phone vibrates on the desk, clicking it open you see a message from your client where you had been secretly hoping to see a message from Carmen, you shoot them a text back, reassuring them that today was going to be just fine, also reassuring yourself in the process.

You line your papers up. Your notes. All of the necessary documents to defend your client today. You feel your stomach flip as you try to hype yourself up, rehearsing your opening statement just under your breath.

The Zoom opens, the screen lighting up. The familiar ping of incoming Zoom participants. The screen begins to fill with familiar faces, colleagues, the judge, your client’s name blinking in the corner as they join the call.

You double-check your notes again, just once more in your head.

The apartment is still and quiet.

You’re mid-sentence and about half-way through the hearing when it happens.

No flicker of the screen, no warning, just frozen. Completely still.

Everyone’s face vanishes in a blink.

The little red “No internet,” icon flashes up in the corner of your computer screen, and your stomach drops so fast that it knocks the air out of you.

It must be a mistake. You wait one second, two…Nothing.

You stand up in an instant, you can hear your heart pounding in your chest, you rush toward the router like that actually ever does anything.

The router is dark, and that’s when you realize that everything was dark. No lights.

The lamp beside it, off.

You paused and listened, expecting to hear the humming of the fridge, but instead, silence.

The power was out. Entirely.

You spin back towards your desk, already pulling your phone out of your pocket, opening your settings, you try to open up a hotspot.

Nothing.

You toggle it on and off again, still nothing.

“No Service.”

The apartment’s oddly thick concrete walls had always been an issue.

You had once joked with Carmy that it was built like a bunker, that you’d be safe in an apocalypse. It was insulated as fuck, and nearly impossible to get a signal through.

Suddenly, this was all a lot less funny to you.

You held your phone up towards the window, still nothing. You lowered your phone slowly, your hands were shaking so hard you thought you might drop it, you could hear blood rushing in your ears.

No Wi-Fi.

No service.

No power.

Staring out the window blankly, unsure of what to do, trying to grapple with how unfortunate the timing of this power-outage was, that’s when you noticed it.

Across the street.

The bodega’s neon “OPEN” sign, still glowing.

The laundromat that was two doors down from it, lights on, machines still spinning.

Even the traffic light at the corner was ticking normally, green to yellow to red, and back to green.

You press your head against the window, waiting for an explanation to just appear, but it doesn’t. It just confirms what you already know, but don’t want to admit.

The power isn’t out.

Not in the city.

Not on the block.

Not even in your apartment building.

Just here. Just in your unit.

It clicks.

Carmen hadn’t paid the electric bill.

Not because he couldn’t. But because he hadn’t thought.

Because he hadn’t remembered to.

And it wasn’t just the power.

It was your work. Your case. Your client. Your trust.

Your mouth went completely dry, your tongue sticking to your teeth, you’re not just standing in the dark…You had been left in it.

You don’t really remember changing out of your clothes and into new ones, or grabbing your keys, or opening up your phone to turn on the ‘do not disturb’ mode.

But the next thing you know, you’re standing outside of Luca’s door.

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