#Speed Commitment and Luck

[punkrockmixtapes]

Listen/purchase: Empty Nights by Empty Bones

[m1dn1ght-r0t]

Eyes Wrapped in Wool

Yandere! (ex) husband x amnesiac! fem reader

TW: manipulation, toxic/abusive behavior, mentions of (potential) forced imprisonment, coercion A/N: pretty sure amnesia doesn't work this way (i'm no medical professional) but pls suspend disbelief for the sake of the plot ahahah

Your husband never expected things to turn out this way. But by some stroke of luck—or perhaps divine intervention—you ended up bed-ridden in the ICU, suffering from multiple bone fractures and a terrible, oh-so-terrible, traumatic brain injury. Just last week you were talking his ear off about how you've had enough. How you were done with him controlling what you could wear or who you could see, his suffocating clinginess that devolved into explosive rages when you spent time focusing on work or with friends instead of with him, the negging, the snooping, the smashed plates... Jesus Christ. You just never knew when to shut the fuck up, did you? At some point he had stopped listening. Chalked off your dramatic tirade as nothing more than you acting up because of your period—merely white noise. How many times have you guys had this same broken record conversation? Yeah, he knew this marriage wasn't smooth-sailing. If it were, you'd be less opinionated, less bitchy, more pliant, more dutiful. But what relationship was ever perfect? So, he waited for you to run out of steam, as you inevitably do, before adding salt to the wound:

“You know baby, if you weren’t parading around in those slutty clothes of yours and acted your grown age for once, I wouldn’t be behaving that way.”

The scrunch of disbelief mixed with disgust on your face only spurred him to double down. “And maybe if you actually committed to this marriage like a devoted wife would, rather than prioritize your career and practically everyone over me—your husband, need I remind you—then we wouldn’t be having these issues. Ever considered that, hm?” He purposely dragged out his words, a patronizing lilt to his tone, in hopes of reminding that thick, dumb skull of yours that he always knew best.

It wasn't until you had thrusted the divorce papers in his face that he grew silent, the severity of the situation beginning to creep in. ...What? You couldn't actually be serious... right? This was just some lover's spat. A temporary blip that'd be smoothed over with a few intentionally placed saccharine words and hot make-up sex. Like always. So why the fucking theatrics? Are you really gonna be a bitch about this and d— When you slammed the front door shut with your packed bags in tow, leaving him to stew in your parting words—that you deserved better, so much better than him, and that if he didn't sign the papers, he'd be hearing from your lawyer—did the gravity of it all finally sink in. By the end of the week, your voicemail was battered by his countless furious messages. Are you done being a flighty little piece of shit, huh? What the fuck do you think you're doing? I swear to god, baby, I'm gonna drag your ass back here. And if I have to lock you in some basement and chain your hands and legs so you'd never think to leave me again, then so fucking be it. Divorce? Yeah right. Over my dead fucking body. Then came an unknown call. It was like whiplash, really, to first hear that you had been involved in a major car crash, and then, upon rushing to the hospital at neck-breaking speed— "I'm afraid she has retrograde amnesia", the doctor solemnly informed him. He could cry. Oh, he could fucking cry.

On the outside, anyone could see how distraught he was, his hands trembling as he processed the diagnosis, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Poor husband that he was, having almost lost his beloved wife in a freak accident, he now had to deal with the news that she didn't remember who he was. Inside, however, raged a war he couldn't reconcile: what was harder? Holding back the tears, or pretending those very tears were out of sadness rather than pure, unbridled joy? Because what this neatly packaged situation had presented him with was a do-over, a chance to mend the broken marriage teetering on the cusp of divorce. And like hell he's about to let you throw away a three-year connection like some ungrateful cunt when he loves you so, very much.

~

"Hey sweetheart, how are you feeling?"

As he walks up beside your hospital bed, he can't help but revel at how vulnerable you look. The slight furrow in your brows hinting at your confusion, the way you curl in on yourself as if to protect yourself from who is no doubt a complete stranger in your eyes, and your meek "Who are you?"—a far cry from the usual feisty, snarky attitude you used to dish out.

But perhaps most rewarding of all is the tentative gaze you offer him, eyes filled with a sort of curious glimmer, free from the hostility, disappointment, and hurt you'd flashed his way. You didn't look at him with hate. You simply want to know who he is.

Oh, aren't you precious? He'll gladly feed you his carefully spun narrative until you're full of nothing but adoring love for him—the embers of your thoughts about divorce and leaving him snuffed out for good.

"I know how confusing all of this must be for you. Take all the time you need. I'll be right here with you, as your husband, helping you fill the gaps, okay baby?" He delivers this with as much patience as he can muster, softening the edges of his words to avoid spooking you. But you're not soothed. If anything, you're more overwhelmed than ever. "M-my husband?" You echo, tasting the foreign word, sticky like warm toffee on your tongue.

"And...and my family? Where are they?" Your disorientation is a sight for sore eyes; how badly he wants to devour you right now. “Dead,” he intones, a script he’d been desperate to act out ever since you said your vows. The jarring news pulls a barely audible whimper from you, your eyes widening a fraction.

Shit. Too cold. Too careless.

His expression softens, the corners of his mouth tugging downward in a facsimile of sorrow as he injects a note of pity into his voice. “They died when you were very young, you see. I’m sorry.” He’s really not.

"What…? How could that be? So my p-parents, they're both—" Your breath hitches, tears welling at the corner of your eyes.

At that, he gently grabs your bandaged arm, wanting to comfort you. But when you flinch slightly, he has to resist the urge to snap at you—Oh, cry me a river. Who the fuck cares?? I'm right here, aren't I? I'm right here, damnnit, so look at me!

Instead, he tempers the resentment that's still fresh in his heart after the divorce stunt you'd pulled by reminding himself that he's supposed to be your kind and gentle partner.

So he settles for cradling your hand in both of his like it's fine china, grazing his lips over your fingertips. "But you have me, sweetheart. And I'm not going anywhere."

He half expects you to question his story—it wasn’t very convincing, even to his own ears—prepared to be barraged by your endless streams of “No, you’re wrong!”, “I don’t believe you!” or some other similar outburst.

But when all you do is gaze up at him with cinched brows, seeking reassurance, blinking at him so sweetly with your hand still snugly warmed in his, he pauses. That’s it? No suspicion, no skepticism, no outburst? Hah! He has to physically restrain himself from snorting because how fucking easy can this get?

Maybe the collision had completely scrambled your brains, rewired you to be more stupid, a little slower—exactly how he likes you.

"You trust me, right?"

And when he feels that subtle twitch of your fingers—what he gathers is your attempt at squeezing his hand back for confirmation—accompanied by the sight of your small, almost shy nod, he breaks out into a giddy smile at how utterly adorable you’re being.

Fuck, it’s hard not to already feel high off these micro-doses of innocence and receptiveness from you. Emboldened by your intoxicatingly sweet naivety, he dares to be a little greedier, creeping to perch on the edge of your bed, his hand now moving to cup your cheek.

“You have no idea how worried sick I was when I got the call. I thought you had…” He trails off, his implication clear. His face is mere inches from yours now, breaths as featherlight as his fingertips mapping every divot on your face.

“I love you.” He drags his thumb across your bottom lip, the act agonizingly slow. “So, so, so much.” Each whisper spills out heavier than the last, mirroring the increasing pressure of his thumb—your lip almost bruising from how hard he’s pinching them.

How long has it been? He can’t remember the last time he felt the warmth of your touch, your skin… eons too long without your pillowy lips pressed against his has left him completely starved.

“You can’t leave me…” A murmur too quiet to pick up. His gaze, now half-lidded, drifts downward in a drunken daze. “My wife. My good little wife. You love me too, right?”

Without warning, he leans in to close the minuscule gap.

And it’s all too fast and soon because you can feel the suffocating heat of his proximity, the chilling shared breath floating between the tight space. It’s all too much. So, in the last second, you hesitate, pulled from your stupor as you turn your head away.

But he’s not having it. Not when you’re already in the palm of his hand and he’s so fucking close. When he can already taste the opportunity to finally take out the trash and parasites leeching off you, to call up that godforsaken shithole you call a stable, steady-paying job and quit on your behalf, to have you all to himself—a blank slate to knock up with several kids and mold into the perfect little housewife he's always wanted you to be. God, he's already hard at the thought.

Grabbing your jaw firmly, he jerks your face back towards him, thumb roughly wedging between your lips and prying your mouth open.

“Baby.” The endearment spills out, sharp and cold, stripped of any warmth it might've once held.

His gentle veneer cracks ever so slightly, and for the briefest moment, you see something else. A flicker beneath the mask—raw, ugly, messy. It gnaws at the edges of your mind, dredging up something you can’t quite grasp. A memory?

“Gimme a small kiss, hmm?” Despite the smile on his face, there is no kindness to it. Just a twisted caricature warning you that you shouldn’t push further.

All of a sudden you feel like you can’t breathe, weighed down by the unsettling intensity of his stare. The man in front of you—the one claiming he's your husband and calling you “baby,” the one touching you—feels wrong. He’s a stranger, you remind yourself. An almost involuntary shiver runs down your spine, like your body remembers something your mind refuses to.

At this point, your husband has caught on to your rather obvious spiralling. He’s not an idiot—he can see your doubt giving way to panic. He contemplates smoothing things over by playing nice, but the selfish part of him ultimately wins.

He squeezes your jaw, nails biting into your skin.

“Kiss me.”

It isn’t a request this time.

[vinnyvamppp]

Commit To The Bit

Note: No one requested this, but this wonderful idea was bounced between @0bticeo and I, so thank them if you enjoy this as well. Now, let's see what we're working with...

Synopsis: You didn’t mean for it to happen like this. It was supposed to be a dare—something stupid to loosen Mark up after another brutal week of being the galaxy’s most reluctant savior. Just a strip tease. Just a joke. But Mark Grayson commits. To everything. Now, he's challengeing you to survive it.

Warnings: Smut, Mutual Pining, Oral (Male and Female recivieing), Mark Is a Messy Cummer, Fingering, Anal Play (F recieving), Position Changes, Dirty Talk, Light Power Play, Dom/Sub Dynamics, First Time, Switch!Reader, Switch!Mark Grayson, Strip Tease, Game Night Turned...

Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader

WC: ... 2.9k (I'M SORRY I GOT EXCITED)

You hadn’t expected to become part of Mark Grayson’s orbit.

You weren’t a Guardian. You didn’t wear a cape, have laser vision, or scream through the sky with sonic speed. You didn’t even have a power unless you counted being chronically online, emotionally intelligent, and just competent enough not to die during a superhuman incident—mostly from luck.

But Mark had saved your life one too many times—not out of obligation, but with this ridiculous, righteous fury in his eyes, like it personally offended him that you were ever in danger. And after the last near-apocalypse (there’d been three that year—you were starting to rank them like earthquakes), you became… tethered.

Not officially. Not in a superhero-has-a-sidekick kind of way. You were more like a ghost in his civilian life—always nearby, always grounding. The one who read him his Seance Dog comics when his hands were still red and rattled from battle, the one who stayed up all night patching his busted hoodie and pretending the sound of his knuckles cracking didn’t bother you.

He was fraying, and you saw it. Everyone saw it, but no one could tell him to stop. Not his mom. Not Eve. Not the Guardians. So you said, “If you won’t rest, you’re going to play.” He squinted. “Like, fetch?” You pause, lips curling excitedly. “Like games. Like dares. Like something dumb and reckless that doesn’t involve space warlords or mind-controlling aliens.” You meant it as a joke. Yet, two weeks later, you were at his place on a Friday night, watching Mark lose at an increasingly feral round of “Truth or Dare Jenga” that had been invented solely to get him to relax.

He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, hair soft and messy from where he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. He’s glowing. Not in a superhero way—in a boy-who’s-smiling-for-real way. That glow? That was rare.

There are wrappers everywhere. Empty soda cans. Heat radiates off of him in waves, because Mark Grayson runs hot, body temperature just a little too intense even at rest—like a sun flaring under skin.

“Alright,” you say, plucking a block from the Jenga tower. It slides out with a whisper. On the underside, scrawled in black marker: DARE: Lose a piece of clothing.

You grin. “Mark.” He narrows his eyes, shoulders slouching. “No way.”

“You lost, my dude.”

“I’m not taking my pants off.”

“No one said pants! Could be socks, could be your watch. Could be your hoodie.”

“Pfft. Lame.”

He leans back, too cocky and boyish. “What if I make it interesting?” You raise an eyebrow. “Interesting how?” Mark’s grin falters—just for a second, nervousness creeps in—and then he returns, crooked and reckless. “What if I… y’know.” He gestures vaguely. “Did a little striptease instead.” You stare in a stunned silence, mouth agape in what could only be described as an expression caught between a grin and disbelief. He stares back, then laughs too fast and far too loud. “I’m kidding.” “Are you?” You don’t know why you say it. Maybe it’s the soda-sugar buzz in your blood. Maybe it’s the way his cheeks flush, hot pink all the way to the tips of his ears. Or maybe —definitely— it’s the way your brain short-circuits when you imagine it. The slow reveal. That ridiculous, ripped body under all the nerdy-cute layers. You’ve seen him in action. Fighting, bleeding, and almost dying. But this? This would be intimate in a whole new way. He opens his mouth, maybe to deflect. Maybe to say “hell no.” But what comes out is, “Alright. Fine.” The lights are dim. Not dramatic—dim. Just lazy, golden, Friday-night-dim. A song buzzes from your speaker—some R&B tracks you’d been playing ironically earlier, and now it’s betraying you with slow, sensual bass. Mark stands and promptly freezes. “…Do I need a pole or something?” he mumbles. You cackle, leaning back against his bedframe. “Just your awkward ass and commitment.” He glares playfully, then closes his eyes for a second, like he’s mentally preparing for battle. The sweater comes off first—slow, theatrical, too much. It gets caught halfway over his head, and he swears—arms flailing as he almost knocks over the Jenga tower. You’re crying from laughter. Then he —somehow—recovers and hrugs out of the pullover like it owed him money. His t-shirt rides up as he moves, and you get a flash of abs. He notices your ever-drifting gaze and pauses.

Your lips curl into an absentminded smirk. Oh, he absolutely noticed.

Now he’s getting into it. A little hip roll and some wobbly attempt at body waves that makes you snort but also sends your brain into a blender. There’s a vein on his bicep that mocks you. His shirt rides up again, and he keeps it there. Teasing.

What the hell is happening? He peels it off—slower this time. Eyes locked on yours, breath shallow. Like, maybe this started as a joke, but now it’s something else. The tension is thick, and heavy like the altitudes changed.

You swallow thickly, “Are you…” Your voice cracks. “Are you actually good at this?” Mark drops the shirt and steps forward. Just once. Close enough that you have to tilt your head to meet his eyes. “I’m good at lots of things,” he says, low, quiet, like a quiet confession you’re certain you’ve heard in film many times over. Yet, it makes your blood run hot.

You break the tension with a joke. The moment stretches like heat-distorted glass—fragile, bending, on the verge of snapping. Mark stands above you, shirtless, flushed, breath light in his chest. His hands twitch at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them—touch you, maybe. Run them through his hair or hold on to something so he doesn’t fall. Because falling? That’s what this feels like.

You’re still sitting, half-curled on the floor with your knees up, looking at him. Really looking.

He isn’t chiseled perfection—not like those magazine-perfect, muscle-bound meatheads. He’s real. He’s boyish, golden brown skin glowing under the lamplight, jaw sharp when he clenches it like that. There’s a faint bruise across his ribs and a scattering of freckles over his shoulders that look like stars. You want to trace them like a constellation. He swallows hard. You do too, subconsciously mimicking.

“That’s your big striptease?” you say, voice wobbly with the high-wire tension. “You looked like a winded pelican trying to shimmy out of your shirt.”

Mark blinks before breaking into a disbelieving chortle. He doubles over a little, pressing a hand to his chest like it hurts to laugh that hard — and maybe it does. Maybe it’s the first real laugh he’s had in weeks. Maybe it’s too much to feel something this alive in a room that isn’t soaked in blood or guilt. “You’re such a dick,” he says through breathless chuckles. You grin. “But I’m right.” He rolls his eyes and drops beside you with a thump. His bare shoulder brushes yours. The skin-on-skin contact shoots straight down your spine like a live wire. Your body knows what your heart won’t say.

And Mark? He knows too. Because after the laughter fades, the silence left behind is thick. His smile lingers, but it’s softer now, much quieter. His thigh rests against yours, and he doesn’t move it. He shifts, just enough to look at you. And you know… You know without words that the game’s over, but something else has started.

“You really think I looked that bad?” he asks, mock hurt. “I think you surprised yourself more than me,” you reply, smiling to yourself. Mark tilts his head. His eyes—dark, warm, and wanting—scan your face. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His voice is lower now.

“I didn’t think I’d… get into it.”

There’s a pause. He looks down, hand flexing, resting against his knee. Its close to yours, nearly grazing. “You know what’s messed up?” he murmurs. “I wanted you to look away. I thought I did. But then you didn’t. And now…” Your breath catches. “… Now I can’t stop thinking about the way you looked at me.”

You say nothing; your hand simply finds his. Just fingertips at first—a brush and a question. He answers with stillness and a held breath. Not rejection, nor resistance, but rather waiting for what happens next.

It's not what he says; it's how he says it. Mark Grayson isn’t cool. Not like the heroes in the comics, not like Omni-Man pretended to be. He’s awkward and earnest. He fumbles through jokes and runs into danger headfirst and leaves pieces of himself behind every time. But right now? He’s sitting beside you shirtless, vulnerable, and so, so willing. And you can’t stop looking.

You reach out. Not dramatically, just like gravity’s doing it for you. Your fingers trace the curve of his shoulder and drag lightly down his chest. Over smooth skin, tight muscle. You feel him tense—just a flicker—but he doesn’t pull away. His chest rises too fast, still shallow, like his heart doesn't know when to settle.

He leans in, words a faint whisper. “I’m not gonna be able to walk this off, am I?” He says quietly, like it’s funny—but it isn’t. His voice wavers at the edges, threaded with something rougher, excited, and anxious. Lascivious. You hum, fingers dragging lower. “You were the one who committed to the bit.”

He huffs out a chuckle. “Yeah, and now I’m gonna commit a felony if you keep looking at me like that.” You glance up, his eyes already trained upon your face. Flickering between your mouth and your hand and back again. His lips are slightly parted, the flush creeping all the way down to his chest now. He's starving.

You drag your hand lower. His abs flex under your touch—instinct, almost defensive, like his body is reacting faster than his brain can control.

“Jesus,” he mutters. His eyes flutter shut for a second, then snap open.

“You’re not even doing anything.”

“Exactly.”

He makes a sound. It’s halfway between a groan and a laugh—embarrassed, aroused, and horrifically aware that he’s being undone with nothing but touch. But he doesn’t retreat. Instead, he leans toward you. Lips a breadth from yours. “I’m just saying,” he whispers, “if this ends in me blacking out from sheer thirst, I want it on record I was coerced.” “Oh?” you breathe.

“And what part of that was coercion?” His smile cracks crooked, and he gulps. “All of it. But I liked it.” Your hand drifts lower again, fingertips grazing just above his waistband. His abs contract hard, like they’re bracing for impact. Then, finally, finally, he moves. He reaches up, hand gentle on your jaw, and tilts your head just enough to look you full in the face. His thumb brushes the edge of your cheekbone, completely transfixed.

And the look in his eyes? It says everything. ‘I want you. I want this. I want to give in. But also—I want you to want it too.’ So you lean in, not for a kiss. Not yet.

Your lips brush his ear, and you whisper: “Finish the striptease, Grayson.”

You say it, and something breaks inside him. Mark sits frozen for half a second, like his brain has short-circuited. And then—slowly and deliberately—he pushes himself to his feet.

He’s shirtless already, but his joggers hang low on his hips, slung there like temptation incarnate. His body is a map of intention—broad chest still rising fast with every breath, flushed all the way down to the waistband. And when he hooks his thumbs into the sides, his eyes flick up to meet yours. Still awkward. Still him. But there’s heat behind that shy smirk now. Perhaps a promise.

“Didn’t realize the bit was that good,” he murmurs.

“You’re stalling.”

“I’m building suspense.”

He kicks off his socks with an undignified grunt—definitely not sexy—and you snort. The laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it, but it’s cut off fast when his fingers return to his waistband.

He doesn’t strip fast. He sinks into it. Rolls his hips just slightly, enough to tease. The joggers go low, and you swear you stop breathing. His thighs are carved like someone took Greek statue anatomy and gave it boyish charm. They’re strong and lean, and if you could, you’d trace the outlines with your tongue.

Underneath, he's wearing black boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination. The outline of him is thick, prominent, and barely contained. There’s a wet spot already forming where the fabric strains tight over his tip. And when his thumbs slip under the waistband of those, he actually hesitates. “Still time to back out,” he says, voice raspy, gaze flicking from your eyes to your mouth to the floor.

You shake your head. “Not a chance.” He exhales—shaky and disbelieving. Then drops them.

Mark stands there—bare and completely flushed. Every muscle in his body is tense, like he’s waiting for judgment.

You rise to your knees where you sit on the floor, eyes trailing over him, devouring. His cock is perfect—thick, flushed, curving slightly toward his belly, the tip already beading precum. He’s trimmed but not too neat. It's raw, real, and hard as hell.

You reach for him slowly. Fingers light over the base, then wrapping around him with a gentle squeeze that makes his hips jolt. He gasps. “Shit—okay.”

“I haven’t even started yet,” you say sweetly.

“Don’t—” His voice cracks. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

You do. You really do. You press a kiss to his hipbone, then another down the line of his thigh. Your tongue then traces a wet warmth between the divots of his femoral muscle, just until you slowly venture to his groin, his cock nudging your nose. His breath hitches. When you glance up, his eyes are molten—wide and starving.

“Lie back,” you murmur.

He obeys without question. Collapses onto the bed, back to the headboard, legs splayed open and already trembling. There’s a small patch of scars along his side from some long-healed fight, and your hand ghosts over them before sliding back to his cock.

You stroke him slowly. Grip twisting, thumb teasing the slit until his thighs shake. Fingertips gliding down its veins, thumb caressing his frenulum before you take him into your mouth without warning.

Mark screams—chokes on a curse as his hand fists in the sheets. His hips lift without meaning to, and you press him back with a hand to his belly. He’s heavy on your tongue, warm, velvety skin stretched over thick hardness, the kind of weight that commands attention. Each inch you take fills your mouth with heat, the head of his cock slick with the salt-sweet tang of pre. 

“Fuck— oh my god,” he gasps. “You’re—how the hell are you this good?” You hum around him, mouth full, tongue dragging along the underside of his shaft. You go slow. Cruel. Letting spit drip from your lips as you work him, glancing up through your lashes to watch him fall apart. He’s panting now, one hand pressed to his forehead like he’s trying to hang on to reality.

“Oh my fucking god,” he groans. “Your mouth—your mouth is—you’re gonna kill me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you tease, pulling off with a soft pop. His cock twitches in your hand. “You haven’t even seen dramatic,” he pants. “Keep doing that and I’m gonna blow so hard I end up in orbit.”

You laugh, but it melts into a moan as he brushes your hair back, thumb dragging along your cheekbone, reverent.  “You’re unreal,” he whispers. “Seriously. Like… I used to imagine this, but I never thought—fuck.”

You go down again, this time deeper, bobbing your head with a slow, steady rhythm. Your hand strokes the base, twisting, teasing. Every time you swallow around him, his hips twitch, and his voice crumbles into wrecked little sounds. Just to hear more, you go deep—too deep—and your throat clenches around him; his body jolts. He jerks his hips back instinctively, one hand flying to your shoulder. “Shit, shit, I—fuck, are you okay?” he rasps, panic flashing in his eyes. But when you look up at him, spit-slick and needy, and go again? He groans, his head knocking back to the headboard. “Jesus Christ, don’t do that unless you’re trying to kill me.”

You are. You swirl your tongue around the tip and suck hard, his abs seize under your palm, sharp lines flexing in a desperate attempt to hold still. He doesn’t speak. Mark is too stubborn for that. But you feel it in the way his breath hitches, in the shudder that travels from his ribs to his thighs, in the stifled grunt he bites into the back of his wrist like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

His forearms are locked, veined, and trembling as he grips the sheets so tightly they threaten to tear. His legs shift restlessly, heels dragging across the mattress, trying to ground himself against pleasure that’s pulling him apart thread by thread. His whole body feels like it's teetering on a wire strung over fire—and your mouth is the heat below.

His scent fills your lungs, soap and sweat and something sharp with adrenaline. There’s heat radiating off his skin in waves, his inner thighs trembling beneath your palms. You swear you can feel his pulse against your lips, racing, thick, and desperate. He’s letting you do this. Letting you see him like this. And Mark Grayson? Doesn’t give that to just anyone.

His thighs tense under your hands, and god, you feel it—the moment he surrenders, like you’ve cracked the sun open and let it melt down your throat. And all you can think is yes—this, this, this—let me give until I can’t speak, until he forgets his own name in my mouth. You’d watch him cum again and again just to chase the aftershock it sends down your spine. Just as you’re relishing in his squirming, his hands slide lower. Long arms reach out, wrapping around you. One arm across your back, anchoring. The other? It drifts. Your hips are raised—knees bent, ass up, pressed against his thigh. His fingers ghost over the curve of you—light, just exploring.

Then he spreads you gently. Thumb dragging down… and lower.

When his fingers stroke between your legs, you groan, his hands parting through the fabric of your shorts and panties.

“Wet already?” He breathes. “I didn’t even get to return the favor yet.” His words were nearly a whine.

You try to say something smart—snarky. But all that comes out is a gasp when two of his fingers slip in. He’s good at it—scissoring slowly, curling just right. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit with a maddening rhythm. “You’re so tight, baby,” he murmurs. “How are you this perfect?” Then you feel it. His other hand slides lower. Down your back, calloused fingers traveling between the fat of your ass, and you know what he’s doing.

His voice drops—filthy and sweet, but dangerous. “Too much?” he whispers, fingertip circling gently, slick with spit. “Not even close.” He chuckles, channeling whatever confidence he might have left. “Good.” Because then he slips his thumb in—just barely—while still curling two fingers inside you deep. The pressure is blinding, intimate, and overwhelming.

Your moan cracks into a whimper, and he feels it—loves it. “Oh my god, look at you,” he groans. “You’re gonna make me fucking lose it.” You do. You ride his fingers like they’re the only thing keeping you tethered to earth, mouth hot around him as he starts to thrust gently into your lips, hips flexing—then you pull off with a pop, panting, eyes blown wide.

“Gonna come like this, Mark?” He grins, panting through trembling, weak breaths, “Only if I make you first.” His fingers go deeper. His thumb presses firmer, and you realize neither of you stands a chance.

He’s close and you know it. His cock twitches in your mouth, thighs tensing like coiled springs. He’s gasping now, mouth open, hips stuttering with each flick of your tongue, each twist of your wrist. “Fuck—I’m gonna—shit—I’m gonna come,” he gasps, voice cracking like a live wire.

But he doesn’t pull back. He grips the headboard with one hand, the other fisted in your hair, holding—not forcing, just anchoring. His body goes rigid, spine curving. “Oh—fuck, I—” His voice cracks in the middle of the moan as he comes hard, cock throbbing in your mouth. Hot, thick spurts spill onto your tongue, messy and uncontained. He curses again, hips twitching as the pleasure wrecks him, face flushed, jaw slack with disbelief, toes curling as his eyes are screwed shut.

You swallow as much as you can, some dripping down your chin, and the look he gives you? Absolutely ruined. “I—I didn’t mean to—shit, I couldn’t—” He pants, voice dazed. “Don’t worry,” you murmur, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “We’re not done.” Because while he’s still gasping, trying to catch his breath, your hips grind down into the bed, slick and aching. And he sees it, and being the stubborn man he is, snaps back into action.

He flips you before you can blink—grabs your thighs and pulls you onto the bed, mouth already between your legs before you can protest. Its ravenous. He slides down your body like it’s something sacred, nuzzling between your thighs with a soft groan like he’s relieved to be there. His big hands hook under your knees, pushing them wide until you’re spread open, dripping and flushed and glistening just for him.

“Oh my god,” he whispers—voice so raw with awe that it hurts. You nod, barely able to speak, but he’s not looking for words. He’s already licking his lips, fingers digging into your thighs as he lowers his face to you. The first lick is tentative. Experimental. A long, slow drag of his tongue from your opening to your clit, like he’s learning the map of you one swipe at a time. The groan he lets out after is devastating. Pure sugar coating tongue as he nudges that honey-woven pearl begging for his touch.

“You taste so good,” he mumbles into you, nose brushing your mound as he licks again, deeper, firmer this time, drinking from you like wine-filled gauntlet. “Jesus Christ, how are you real?”

His tongue works in messy circles—not perfectly skilled, not yet, but what he lacks in precision he makes up for with hunger. He eats you like he’s been fantasizing about this for months, and he has. You can feel the need in every flick, every groan, every desperate lap.

When his tongue finally finds your clit, your hips jerk. The sensation—hot, wet, pressure that’s just right—makes your back arch and a moan rip from your throat. Mark moans back, the vibration of it lighting you up like a fuse. “You like that?” he pants. “Tell me, baby. Tell me what you like.”

“Fuck, Mark—right there. Right there, just like that—” He nearly pauses, a muffled grunt settling in his throat, wrapping his arms under your thighs and dragging you closer until your pussy is pressed to his mouth. Held there, lips spread across his tongue.

You try to move, to buck up or pull away, but his grip is like iron. He keeps you right where he wants you, tongue flicking quick and firm over your clit while he moans like he’s the one being touched. “Fuck yes,” you gasp, one hand flying into his hair. “Just like that, holy shit—Mark, you’re so good, you’re so fucking good at this—”

He whimpers into your cunt like the praise feeds him. That smirk etching into your lips doesn’t miss him. “You gonna moan louder than me, Grayson? Or is this just you begging with your mouth full?” He breathes out a shaky moan into your cunt in response. His tongue dips lower again, licking into your entrance, then back up, sucking your clit between his lips, messy and hot and relentless.

You're grinding into his face now, shameless, and he takes it all. Lets you ride his mouth like he was made for it. He pants, chin soaked, lips swollen and smushed against your labia. “Come on, baby, I wanna feel it. Wanna taste all of it. Wanna make you scream.”

“Don’t stop now, don’t you dare fucking stop. I’m close—you look so pretty when you’re trying so hard.” Marks tongue gets sloppier, almost panting through the effort. He flattens his tongue and fucks you with it, then sucks your clit hard enough to send your mind reeling as you lurch forward, fingers bruising into your hips as he holds you down while you shatter. Your orgasm like fireworks against your nerves.

Every time he licks you, something coats his tongue that's so good it's obscene. That heady, sweet scent and everything he's ever fantasized about—has him rutting into the sheets without even thinking. Its humid, raw. His brain just shuts the fuck off the second your thighs tighten around his head.

You let out a guttural scream. His tongue works with a purpose, sloppy and greedy, groaning into your pussy like he’s starved. His fingers curl inside you again—those goddamn fingers, reaching that spot he’s already memorized. Calloused fingertips caressing the ridge of your walls, coated in cream with every drag.

Every twitch of your hips, every broken breath, wires into his nerves like lightning and he’s never needed anything more than the way you look when you’re about to come for him. He wants to drown in it, face buried, lungs empty, no god but the sound of you falling apart.

“You came for me,” he murmurs between licks. “Now I get to return the favor. Gonna make you fall apart, baby. Please. Gonna make you beg. It's gonna feel so good.”

He doesn’t stop until your thighs shake. Until your nails leave crescents in his shoulders. Until you come so hard around his fingers, your voice breaks in a sob of pleasure, your body curling in on itself like it can’t hold that kind of sensation. A slight, sheepish smirk etches into his lips as he watches you tremble and gasp. You scream his name, thighs shaking, hips trying to escape the overstimulation—but he follows, licking you through it, sloppily, like he can’t stop tasting you.

He’s utterly lost. You gently pull his hair, raising his head to look at you. His face is flushed—slick ridden, eyes barely in focus, brows knitted upwards, and his tongue slowly traces the line of lips. His hips twitch against the mattress.

“Mmm, this is so much better than that magazine under your bed. Remember that one? With the brunette riding—” He choked at your words, daze fading into embarrassment as you guided him onto his back. His eyes and hands follow every shift, fingers twitching just a little too eagerly.

“Round two?” you tease, breathless. But before he can answer, a creak from the hallway. You both freeze. “… Was that—?”

“My mom,” Mark mouths silently, wide-eyed. You grin wickedly. “Bet you can’t stay quiet.” His jaw drops. “Are you kidding me right now?!” But you’re already lowering yourself onto him, the stretch making you groan as you sink all the way down until your thighs rest against his. His cock fills you perfectly, and the second he’s fully inside, you feel him twitch.

His hands clamp to your hips. He groans, quiet, and choked off. You rock once, he whimpers. “Stay quiet, Grayson.” He glares at you like he wants to fight it. But he doesn’t. Instead, he buries his face in your shoulder and lets you ride him. Slow at first, then faster. Deeper. His hips stutter up into yours, hands tight on your ass, flexing under you like he wants to take control, but he doesn’t.

Not yet. Not until you lean down and whisper, “Come for me again.”

Then he flips you. Pins you down. And fucks you so deep and hard the mattress creaks, your legs locked around his waist. Every thrust is an apology and a worship. He stays quiet with effort—sweat on his brow, biting his lip bloody—until you come again, groaning into the pillow. And when he finishes with a muffled moan into your neck, full body shaking, he’s whispering your name like it’s a prayer. A/N: Was this long as hell? Yes. Do I regret writing it? No. Let me know your opinion and suggestions, because.... my toes were curling while writing this. I'm not joking. (This was also based on how I'd believe Mark would use the dirty talk he's seen in porn, LMFAO.)

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[astra-ravana]

Magick Oil Recipes

This is going to be another long post but here are various basic magick oil recipes based on various traditions, including hoodoo, witchcraft, ceremonial magick, and chaos magick. These oils can be used for anointing candles, tools, sigils, spells, and personal empowerment. Keep in mind these are simple recipes that reflect the necessary ingredients needed. So, do your own research, experiment, and create your own powerful recipes over time.

I do recognize some well known oils are not on my list and I plan to add more here in the future. If you have a request for an oil, just comment or DM me. 🖤

Prosperity & Money Oils💰

⛤Money Drawing Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Cinnamon (wealth & attraction)

• Bay leaf (success & prosperity)

• Basil (steady income)

• Patchouli (physical money)

• Carrier oil (olive, grapeseed, or almond)

Effects: Attracts money, business success, financial stability.

⛤Fast Luck Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Wintergreen (speed)

• Cinnamon (attraction)

• Five-finger grass (luck in all endeavors)

• Gold flakes (wealth energy)

• Carrier oil (jojoba or sunflower)

Effects: Brings rapid good fortune in gambling, business, and unexpected financial gains.

⛤Wealth & Abundance Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Frankincense (spiritual wealth)

• Myrrh (long-term prosperity)

• Bergamot (success in business)

• Bayberry (attracts material wealth)

• Carrier oil (avocado or coconut)

Effects: Ensures financial stability, long-term prosperity, and steady income.

⛤Business Success Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Bergamot (success in money matters)

• Cinnamon (financial attraction)

• Bay leaf (victory)

• Chamomile (prosperity)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed or jojoba)

Effects: Attracts customers, strengthens business growth, and enhances career opportunities.

⛤Road to Prosperity Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Abre Camino (removes financial blockages)

• Basil (wealth and abundance)

• Orange peel (good fortune)

• Ginger (fast action)

• Carrier oil (sunflower)

Effects: Clears obstacles to financial growth and opens doors for wealth opportunities.

⛤Money Magnet Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Lodestone chips (money attraction)

• Patchouli (physical cash manifestation)

• Vetiver (long-term financial stability)

• Frankincense (spiritual prosperity)

• Carrier oil (avocado or olive)

Effects: Strengthens money-drawing spells, attracts financial stability, and amplifies manifestation work.

Love & Attraction Oils🌹

⛤Love Drawing Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Rose petals (romantic love)

• Jasmine (sensual attraction)

• Vanilla (sweetening relationships)

• Patchouli (lust & passion)

• Carrier oil (sweet almond)

Effects: Attracts love, deepens romance, strengthens existing relationships.

⛤Come to Me Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Red rose (love)

• Catnip (draws lovers in)

• Cardamom (passionate encounters)

• Orange peel (joyful attraction)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed)

Effects: Draws a specific person to you in love or relationships.

⛤Passion & Lust Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Cinnamon (heat & desire)

• Ginger (sexual stimulation)

• Ylang-ylang (aphrodisiac)

• Hibiscus (erotic attraction)

• Carrier oil (sesame or coconut)

Effects: Ignites passion, strengthens sexual energy, increases attraction.

⛤Sweetening Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Honey (love and attraction)

• Vanilla bean (sensual sweetness)

• Lavender (peaceful romance)

• Orange blossom (happiness in love)

• Carrier oil (sweet almond)

Effects: Sweetens relationships, encourages loving communication, and softens tensions between partners.

⛤Commitment Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Rose petals (devotion and fidelity)

• Myrrh (sacred bonds)

• Chamomile (harmony in marriage)

• Jasmine (romantic attraction)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed or olive)

Effects: Strengthens commitment, encourages proposals, and deepens long-term love bonds.

⛤Irresistible Attraction Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Catnip (draws in lovers)

• Cinnamon (sexual energy)

• Hibiscus (lust and beauty)

• Ylang-Ylang (magnetic sensuality)

• Carrier oil (jojoba)

Effects: Enhances personal magnetism, boosts charm, and makes the wearer irresistible to others.

Protection & Banishing Oils🛡️

⛤Fiery Wall of Protection Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Dragon’s blood resin (spiritual shielding)

• Frankincense (purification)

• Black pepper (banishing)

• Rue (warding off evil)

• Carrier oil (olive or castor)

Effects: Creates a powerful barrier against negativity, psychic attacks, and curses.

⛤Banishing Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Wormwood (drives away spirits)

• Black pepper (protective force)

• Lemon peel (removes negativity)

• Cayenne pepper (fast action)

• Carrier oil (castor or olive)

Effects: Removes unwanted influences, spirits, and toxic energy.

⛤Uncrossing Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Hyssop (spiritual cleansing)

• Lemon verbena (purification)

• Eucalyptus (removes hexes)

• Camphor (clears stagnant energy)

• Carrier oil (coconut or mineral)

Effects: Breaks hexes, jinxes, and bad luck.

⛤Evil Eye Protection Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Rue (warding off negative energy)

• Black tourmaline chips (protection)

• Bay leaves (shielding)

• Frankincense (spiritual purification)

• Carrier oil (olive)

Effects: Protects against jealousy, gossip, and the evil eye.

⛤Reversal Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Black salt (repels negativity)

• Lemon (purification)

• Eucalyptus (removes curses)

• Agrimony (reverses hexes)

• Carrier oil (coconut)

Effects: Reverses curses, jinxes, and psychic attacks back to the sender.

⛤Guardian Spirit Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Angelica root (guardian energy)

• White sage (spiritual defense)

• Lavender (calm protective energy)

• Myrrh (ancestral guidance)

• Carrier oil (jojoba)

Effects: Invokes spirit guides, strengthens personal energy shields, and offers divine protection.

Power, Manifestation, & Influence Oils🙌

⛤Crown of Success Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Bay leaf (triumph)

• Frankincense (spiritual mastery)

• High John root (power & influence)

• Sandalwood (leadership)

• Carrier oil (jojoba or sunflower)

Effects: Increases success in career, academics, and personal achievements.

⛤Commanding Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Licorice root (domination)

• Calamus root (persuasion)

• Bay leaf (authority)

• Ginger (forcefulness)

• Carrier oil (olive or castor)

Effects: Enhances personal power, influences others, and asserts dominance.

⛤Road Opener Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Abre Camino (removes blockages)

• Lemon (clears obstacles)

• Orange peel (brings new opportunities)

• Ginger (adds momentum)

• Carrier oil (jojoba or sweet almond)

Effects: Removes obstacles, opens paths for success, clears stagnation.

⛤Mastery Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Frankincense (spiritual elevation)

• Myrrh (wisdom and insight)

• High John the Conqueror root (mastery and control)

• Bay leaf (success)

• Carrier oil (almond)

Effects: Enhances personal power, strengthens leadership abilities, and aids in mastering skills.

⛤Psychic Domination Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Calamus root (persuasion)

• Licorice root (control and authority)

• Clove (mental influence)

• Ginger (power boost)

• Carrier oil (olive)

Effects: Strengthens mental influence, persuasion, and domination over others.

⛤Success & Victory Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Bay laurel (winning energy)

• Bergamot (luck and success)

• Frankincense (high achievement)

• Dragon’s blood (empowerment)

• Carrier oil (sunflower)

Effects: Ensures success in competitions, exams, legal matters, and career goals.

Cleansing & Spiritual Oils🔮

⛤Florida Water Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Lemon (purification)

• Lavender (calming spiritual energy)

• Orange blossom (uplifting)

• Rosemary (clearing negativity)

• Carrier oil (alcohol base or sunflower)

Effects: Used for spiritual cleansing, aura clearing, and purification.

⛤Psychic Vision Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Mugwort (enhances visions)

• Star anise (clairvoyance)

• Lavender (calms the mind)

• Wormwood (opens third eye)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed or olive)

Effects: Enhances psychic abilities, intuition, and lucid dreaming.

⛤Spirit Communication Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Myrrh (spirit world connection)

• Dittany of Crete (manifestation of spirits)

• Mugwort (enhances mediumship)

• Sandalwood (deepens trance states)

• Carrier oil (jojoba or coconut)

Effects: Aids in contacting spirits, ancestors, and guides.

⛤Divine Blessing Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Frankincense (connection to divine beings)

• Lavender (spiritual peace)

• Rose (angelic guidance)

• White sage (cleansing)

• Carrier oil (coconut or jojoba)

Effects: Invokes celestial guidance, brings blessings, and strengthens spiritual connections.

⛤Lunar Empowerment Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Jasmine (moon magic)

• Mugwort (dream work and divination)

• Sandalwood (spiritual attunement)

• Silver flakes (moon energy)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed)

Effects: Enhances lunar magick, psychic abilities, and dream work.

⛤Elemental Balancing Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Fire: Cinnamon (passion)

• Water: Blue lotus (intuition)

• Earth: Patchouli (stability)

• Air: Lavender (mental clarity)

• Carrier oil (almond)

Effects: Balances elemental energies, aligns chakras, and stabilizes emotions.

⛤Black Cat Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Patchouli (attraction)

• Black Pepper (protection)

• Mugwort (psychic insight)

• Black cat hair(supernatural power)

• Carrier oil (almond or jojoba)

Effects: Used for protection, luck, supernatural guidance, and enhancing one’s personal power.

⛤Infernal Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Dragon’s blood (spirit manifestation)

• Cinnamon (energy amplification)

• Wormwood (spirit communication)

• Sulfur powder (demonic energy)

Effects: Enhances spirit work, opens pathways to demonic entities, and strengthens the connection during rituals or meditations.

⛤Spider Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Spider web (weaving fate)

• Mullein (spirit communication)

• Clove (psychic enhancement)

• Black walnut husk (transformation)

• Carrier oil (almond or olive)

Effects: Ideal for manifestation, divination, shadow work, and spiritual wisdom.

Ways to Use Magickal Oils

• Anoint Candles – Dress ritual candles to enhance spellwork.

• Wear on Skin – Apply to pulse points (if skin-safe) to absorb its energy.

• Anoint Tools & Talismans – Charge magical items.

• Add to Mojo Bags & Spell Jars – Boost potency of spellwork.

• Drop into Bathwater – For personal empowerment and ritual cleansing.

• Mark Doorways & Altars – To create an energetic boundary.

Baneful Oils

Additionally, here are the basic recipes for various baneful oils. Always use caution and consideration. These oils are meant for experienced practitioners who understand their consequences and ethical implications.

General Hexing & Cursing Oils☠️

⛧Black Arts Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Asafoetida (baneful energy)

• Sulfur (curse activation)

• Black pepper (powerful hexing)

• Graveyard dirt (spiritual influence)

• Carrier oil (castor or mineral)

Effects: Used for hexing, cursing, and dark workings.

⛧War Water Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Iron rust (conflict energy)

• Cayenne pepper (aggression)

• Black mustard seed (chaos)

• Spanish moss (binding)

• Carrier oil (swamp water infusion or vinegar base)

Effects: Used for enemy work, destruction magick, and revenge.

⛧Hot Foot Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Cayenne pepper (drives enemies away)

• Black pepper (banishing)

• Sulfur (removes unwanted people)

• Graveyard dirt (finality)

• Carrier oil (castor)

Effects: Forces someone to leave, drives away enemies, removes toxic individuals.

⛧Devil’s Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Sulfur (destruction)

• Black pepper (banishing)

• Graveyard dirt (spiritual energy manipulation)

• Asafoetida (intensifies dark workings)

• Carrier oil (castor)

Effects: Used in cursing, binding enemies, and increasing dark magick potency.

⛧Chaos Magick Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Uranium glass (radioactive power symbolism)

• Mugwort (visionary energy)

• Peppermint (mental stimulation)

• Dragon’s blood (amplification)

• Carrier oil (coconut or jojoba)

Effects: Strengthens chaos magick rituals, assists in reality shifting, and enhances experimental spellwork.

⛧Justice Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Devil’s claw root (punishment energy)

• Black mustard seed (confusion)

• Red pepper flakes (aggression)

• War water (conflict magic)

• Carrier oil (castor)

Effects: Ensures justice, punishes wrongdoers, and intensifies karmic spells.

⛧Black Hex Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Black mustard seed (confusion and discord)

• Asafoetida (banishment and curse amplification)

• Wormwood (spiritual torment)

• Black pepper (aggression and conflict)

• Carrier oil (castor)

Effects: Brings misfortune, causes confusion, and weakens an enemy’s defenses.

⛧Jinx Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Poppy seeds (mental fog and bad luck)

• Sulfur (destruction and decay)

• Vandal root (psychic disruption)

• Red chili flakes (suffering)

• Carrier oil (olive or grapeseed)

Effects: Weakens an enemy’s luck, creates obstacles, and disrupts personal and financial stability.

⛧Graveyard Curse Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Graveyard dirt (spirit assistance)

• Myrrh (ancestral energy)

• Hemlock (poisonous influence)

• Blackthorn/locust (cursing and dark magic)

• Carrier oil (castor or mineral oil)

Effects: Calls upon spirits of the dead to enact vengeance and haunt enemies.

Domination & Manipulation Oils✊

⛧Domination Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Licorice root (control and persuasion)

• Calamus root (mental dominance)

• Clove (commanding power)

• Dragon’s blood (intensification)

• Carrier oil (jojoba or sunflower)

Effects: Grants control over another’s thoughts, actions, and decisions.

⛧Bend Over Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Licorice root (submission)

• High John the Conqueror root (dominance)

• Tobacco (enslaving influence)

• Red pepper flakes (forceful action)

• Carrier oil (olive or mineral)

Effects: Forces someone to comply with your wishes, weakens their willpower, and makes them obedient.

⛧Puppet Master Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Poppy seed (mental control)

• Mugwort (influencing dreams and subconscious)

• Orris root (psychological persuasion)

• Solomon’s seal (binding)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed)

Effects: Manipulates people’s thoughts and decisions, making them act in your favor.

Revenge & Payback Oils💔

⛧Revenge Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Devil’s claw root (punishment energy)

• Red brick dust (protection and justified aggression)

• Black salt (banishing)

• Chili powder (intensified suffering)

• Carrier oil (castor or mineral)

Effects: Brings swift karmic retribution and inflicts suffering upon wrongdoers.

⛧Return to Sender Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Agrimony (reflects negativity)

• Devil’s shoestring (block enemy spells)

• Black tourmaline chips (spiritual protection)

• Eucalyptus (cleansing)

• Carrier oil (coconut)

Effects: Sends hexes, curses, and ill intentions back to the sender with triple force.

⛧Wrath of Spirits Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Blackthorn/Locust (spiritual attack)

• Wormwood (spirit summoning)

• Henbane (malevolent energy)

• Bloodroot (ancestral wrath)

• Carrier oil (olive)

Effects: Calls upon spirits to haunt and punish enemies with nightmares, paranoia, and bad luck.

Destruction & Chaos Oils💥

⛧Black Destruction Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Sulfur (corruption and destruction)

• Black dog hair (ill omens)

• War water (conflict magic)

• Rust (decay and ruin)

• Carrier oil (castor or mineral)

Effects: Destroys enemies’ prosperity, causes financial collapse, and weakens their social standing.

⛧Discord & Strife Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Black mustard seed (confusion and rivalry)

• Vinegar (sour relationships)

• Red pepper (arguments and discord)

• Dogwood bark (unraveling stability)

• Carrier oil (olive)

Effects: Causes arguments, breaks up relationships, and fuels chaos in personal and professional life.

⛧Separation Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Lemon peel (cutting ties)

• Black salt (banishment)

• Cayenne pepper (heated conflict)

• Rue (removes unwanted people)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed)

Effects: Breaks up relationships, friendships, or business partnerships.

Pain Infliction Oils🩹

⛧Pain & Suffering Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Thorns (piercing pain)

• Red pepper (burning affliction)

• Black salt (banishment and suffering)

• Stinging nettle (agony)

• Carrier oil (castor)

Effects: Causes physical and emotional distress, making the target feel constant hardship.

⛧Shadow Plague Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Graveyard/hospital dirt (illness energy)

• Poppy seeds (lethargy and confusion)

• Henbane (spiritual sickness)

• Asafoetida (rot and corruption)

• Carrier oil (mineral)

Effects: Weakens a target’s physical health, causing fatigue, minor ailments, and general discomfort.

⛧Blood Curse Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Dried animal blood (ancestral wrath)

• Rue (generational curse energy)

• Wormwood (spiritual decay)

• Mandrake root (dark energy infusion)

• Carrier oil (olive or mineral)

Effects: Places long-lasting and harsh curses, especially on family lines or descendants.

Binding & Entrapment Oils⛓️

⛧Shadow Binding Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Solomon’s seal root (binding power)

• Black ribbon (symbolic entrapment)

• Poppy seeds (mental stagnation)

• Mugwort (energetic suppression)

• Carrier oil (coconut or jojoba)

Effects: Restricts an enemy’s ability to move forward in life, keeping them stuck in bad situations.

⛧Eternal Chains Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Devil’s shoestring (binding and restriction)

• Ivy (trapping and immobilization)

• Licorice root (control)

• Hemlock (powerful suppression)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed)

Effects: Traps a target in their misfortune, preventing them from escaping a bad fate.

⛧Veil of Silence Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Slippery elm (stops gossip and lies)

• Mullein (silencing and stilling)

• Knotweed (energetic restriction)

• Solomon’s seal (sealing influence)

• Carrier oil (olive)

Effects: Silences enemies, stops gossip, and prevents harmful rumors from spreading.

How to Use Baneful Oils

• Anoint Black Candles – Used in hexing and cursing rituals.

• Dress Poppets/Dolls – Infuses energy into sympathetic magic.

• Mark Enemy Belongings – Secretly place on items to affect a target.

• Add to Cursed Spell Jars – Intensifies spells for long-term suffering.

• Use in Written Curses – Apply to paper sigils or petitions for enhanced power.

[ozzgin]

“Do you mean it in the sense that Reader goes through monster boyfriends and is quick to dump them for the next catch”

Yep. Just a vile reader who’s breaking hearts left and right. I think you’ll write it beautifully if you channel your evil side like when you play the sims! ☺️

-👘

Yandere! Monsters x Heartbreaker! Reader

You've always been a free spirit, unable to settle on a single partner. Even after being abruptly transported into a different dimension where you are the only human surrounded by monsters, this habit of yours has persisted. Except monsters, as you will see, are harder to discard than humans. They aren't as willing to accept rejection.

Content: female reader, reader is a player, monster smut

Ah, how troublesome. He won't stop calling. You lazily pick up the phone and look for the options to block the number, clicking your tongue in irritation. You'd specifically told him you're not interested in anything serious. "Who's calling?" The man shuffles under the sheets, still half-asleep. "No one." You respond curtly, glaring at the intruder. "It's morning already, by the way. When are you leaving?"

You slam the door shut before the overnight guest can bring up the classic "Will I see you again", and exhale theatrically in relief. Finally alone again. You look up and shake your fist menacingly, as if whichever entity governing this world is responsible for your bad luck. You've always been utterly indifferent towards committed relationships, and yet most fuck buddies end up head over heels for you, dragging themselves at your feet like pitiful beggars. Pathetic and a pain in the ass to deal with.

Well, someone must be up there, because your situation feels too much like a sassy answer to your complaint. You've just rushed out of your apartment a moment ago and last time you checked, the concierge office wasn't on a rocky hill covered in deep cracks erupting with lava, stretching out into the seemingly unending horizon. Where the hell are you? You turn on your heels, reaching for the door, only to find out - who would've expected? - that it's gone. Great. Your immediate explanation is that the guy you've mistakenly brought home last night must've slipped something in your drinks. All this for a sloppy, clumsy eating out.

The worry of being drugged vanishes quickly once the first creatures of the realm appear. Hard to believe anything on the market could cause such detailed hallucinations that can sniff and touch you: Some alligator-looking minions with eyes popping out of their backs slid out of a nearby crevice to investigate the newcomer. Ironically enough, they seem to be the ones shocked by your appearance. Once they've hesitantly assessed your presence, they scurry aside to discuss their findings. "What could it be?" You hear one mumble, completely baffled. For whatever reason you can understand their language, so you decide to speed up their detective work. "Ever heard of human?" You shout, with a hint of sarcasm in your voice. The beasts gasp in unison. "Nonsense! Straight out of a children's tale!"

Eventually, after a lot of confusion and pointed fingers, you manage to figure out your predicament. You've somehow landed in a world of monsters, where humans are more of a fictional, mythical existence. Thankfully they don't seem to consider your potential as food, though you're not sure if the sudden, massive ambush of creatures is any better. The alligator-like quadrupeds brought you to the nearest settlement and had to form a barrier to stop the curious beasts from almost trampling you in their frenzy to see "the human". You've garnered ridiculous amounts of attention, yet such reaction is to be expected; how often would an earthling wander into their world? It could very well be a lifetime singularity for many.

As the days pass and you become more accustomed to your fate, you begin to feel that familiar calling. It doesn't look like you'll be going home anytime soon and a lady has her needs. Additionally, whatever popularity you had back in the human world is a minuscule fraction of what you're currently experiencing here. In the eyes of the monsters, you're an exotic treat that cannot be refused. It shouldn't be too hard to find yourself a partner, or two. Or three. Who keeps count nowadays?

You remember stumbling upon a postcard print of "The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife" at some museum shop. You immediately picked up the thick cardboard, eyeing the artwork in amusement. A woman enveloped in the limbs of two octopuses and very obviously enjoying herself. Who even came up with the pairing, you wondered at the time. Whatever the artist was thinking, you can certainly see his point now. The first one to receive your indecent proposal was an eldritch creature of sorts, something straight out of Lovecraft's lucid dreams. Dark, long tendrils sprawling out of an amorphous core - which you assume is its head based on the bulging, glistening orbs hungrily staring at you. Your whole body is throbbing under the tight hold of the slippery tentacles, wrapping around you in masterful intricacy. You could see the result featured in a bondage magazine, though you don't...can't ponder much on it given the fact you're, well, stuffed with monstrous appendages. You doubt any genital variation back home could compare. The monster is even polite enough to occasionally wipe away the continuous stream of drool spilling out of your whining mouth. Towards the end you barely have a voice anymore, throat sore from the loud moans and merciless constriction. Your muscles contract all at once, overwhelmed by the sensations. Whatever sensitive areas you might have are presently aching under the needy fondling of the creature.

Mind-blowing. The memory is enough to have you wet and squirming with desire. Even more so when you consider the other varieties of monsters ready to fuck you senseless. Soon enough you're surveying the neighborhood for the ideal suitors and thankfully you don't have to worry about making wrong choices, as there's always a next target. Thus the following weeks fill you with a particular kind of nostalgia (among other things and fluids), reminding you of the bed-hopping in the human realm. From werewolves drowning out your whimpers with their desperate howling, to hooved legs of hybrids violently thrusting into you until you're a dripping mess. "Look at me" is what one of the beasts demanded in a low growl, turning you on with its ragged voice and clawed hand encircling your frail neck. Although you had to ask it where exactly to look, given it was covered entirely in eyes.

You yawn and stare at the ceiling, reminiscing about the depraved fuckfest you're currently recovering from. You might've overdone it with the last one. Alas, you came enough times to make up for it. Just as you turn around to readjust the ice pack, you hear a loud thud coming from the entrance. You (carefully) sit up and rub your eyes, trying to focus on the shadow figure approaching your bed. It's one of the lizard monsters, swiftly slithering across the wall and landing over you with an angered expression. "Where the fuck is that dog?" it inquires with a hiss. "What? Who're you talking about?" you mumble, wildly confused. "The one that dared to touch you."

Oh, not this crap again. You almost roll your eyes. "You never said anything about us being together." Is your annoyed reply. "What? I thought it'd be obvious you belong to me!" You're about to question the strange logic, but your couple's quarrel is interrupted by the sound of shattered glass. The many-eyed monster crawls its way in with fluid, uncanny movements, releasing a deafening screech once it notices the lizard in your bed. "Off! Get off my human now!" is what it finally manages to verbalize in its fury. Okay, it seems to be the common belief. To clear off any shred of doubt remaining, the ceiling gives in and crumbles like putty under the weight of an enormous tentacle. You scream and cover your face from the bits of rubble flying everywhere, but you're quickly sheltered by another thick appendage looping itself around you, against the wrathful protests of the lizard. You did not anticipate the eldritch creature could expand to this gargantuan size.

For the first time since arriving here, you feel homesick. At least back home you could get rid of your annoying admirers with the slide of a button. Is there a larger scale alternative for cosmic blasphemies? You shake your fist (up? down? you can't tell in the darkness of the tentacle shield) towards the entity once more. Damn it, you've learned your lesson. Several steps must’ve been skipped before reaching a pack of angry, possessive monsters fighting over your ownership.

[kookiestiddies]

1 | first sightings

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x female reader

Genre: Enemies With Potential | Fluff, Angst & Smut

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: swearing, mild injury, reader is grumpy, mentions of flashing (???), attempted humour, if you see any typos and grammatical errors no u didn’t

A/N: there'll be no fixed schedule for this bcs I have commitment issues rip so good luck to ya'll honestly. happy reading! feel free to lmk your thots :8) 👍🏼

°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

3 years ago...

Fuck my life! 

That’s what you think to yourself as you try to catch your breath; an impossible feat considering the fact that you’re lugging along 3 monstrous and overpriced textbooks. And not to mention the fact that you’re racing across campus because it’s only the first day of your college career and you happened to be late.

Sure, maybe it could be considered your fault because you hit the snooze button too many times over the course of an hour before your class actually started. Maybe you only further sealed your fate by taking too long in the shower. However, in your defence, it should be decreed a social injustice for classes starting earlier than 11 am to be acceptable. Rest and hygiene come first about all else, yup yup. 

You were so focused on reaching your destination that you missed to sound of the bell ringing overhead the campus coffee shop entrance on your side, signalling someone’s rushed exit.

So imagine your surprise when you find that your race to the class that’s 2 minutes away from starting is brought to a halt when you’re suddenly sent flying perpendicular to the direction you were going in by an unseen force only to land harshly on the lawn in front of the coffee shop. 

You see it all happening in slow motion: you’re rapidly reaching the ground but not before you jut out your arms to hopefully prevent your face from getting too intimate with the muddy ground. Your ultra-premium textbooks leave your grasp to land in- 

Oh NO! 

A puddle.

While you sit there in shock, barely processing what just happened, you hear someone swearing nearby from the direction of the coffee shop. You look up towards it to find a pair of doe eyes looking back at you. The owner of said doe eyes is crouching ahead of you; a boy.

Before you can take a good look and process him, he’s already up on his feet and quickly picks up a bag scattered haphazardly next to him. You snap out of trance and call out to him as he makes a move towards the main campus buildings. 

“HEY!”

He hesitantly stops and looks around at you. “What?!” 

What’s with his tone?! 

“What do you meant, What?! You knocked me down! My textbooks are ruined!” you say as you get up haggardly, brushing off the mud on your elbows.

“I’m sorry, but I’m already late for my class, I’ve got to go,” he replies quickly and starts scurrying away. 

“WHAT?!” you yell to his retreating back to no avail. Oh, now you’re mad. 

The boy’s hurriedly retreating figure comes to a sudden halt and turns around, speeding towards you with his hands in his pocket. 

That’s more like it. Get your ass over here and apolog-

“I’m sorry about your textbooks, hope this covers it!” he rushes out and shoves a wad of cash in your hands. He doesn’t wait for your response before he darts back towards the campus building. 

You’re too stunned. You are simply. Too. Stunned.

An angry pout forms on your face as you mull things over and count the cash that he generously thrusted to you. A whole 50 bucks. The sheer audacity of that stupid boy. 

What the heck were you supposed to do with 50 bucks?! Each textbook cost atleast 90 bucks!

You pick up your bag and your now wet, smudged and ruined mammoth of a textbook set with a groan and angrily huff your way towards class, which you are now officially late for.

Imagine meticulously planning out your first day at college from hour-to-hour, only to end up becoming the loser that shows up to class late with a set of muddy textbooks, ruined hair and shockingly dirty clothes.

Operation Have A Positively Impressionable First Day of College: FAILED.

You would continue your run to class if it weren’t for the fact that your knee was sore as a result of you getting to 2nd base with the grass which led to you limping the rest of the way. 

Maybe people are kind, maybe it was the fact that your anger and annoyance were monstrously visible to anyone passing by, but thank fuck, everyone moved away from you as you stormed your way to class. Thanks to your encounter with that fuckhead of a boy earlier, your mood is now at its lowest setting and you simply cannot tolerate anyone else for the rest of the day probably. You curse him under your breath the whole way.

It can’t possibly get any worse, right? Wrong.

When you finally make it to class, you were 4 minutes late and three significant things happened one after the other:

#1 You had to face the embarrassment of 200 pairs of eyes, plus the lecturer’s, witnessing your walk of shame as you cautiously entered the class like a gazelle amongst a pack of lions. 

2# All the seats towards the front were taken up so you had no choice but to find an empty seat towards the back of the class. 

3# By your luck, you realised too late that you were seated right in front of an annoyingly familiar face.

He tried to hide from you. 

You know this because he looked at you straight in the eyes, visibly panicked and lied his head on the table with his hoodie and arms shielding him, pretending to be asleep. 

Tch, pathetic!

Thankfully, the rest of the class went by as smoothly as can be, though you did feel the heat of someone staring at you at the back of your neck. You tried your best to ignore it by forcing all your attention toward the lecture. 

When the end of the class came around, you were quick to exit the class. 

Frankly speaking, you’ve had enough of today.

As you turn down the hallway, you bump into Nayeon, a friend you’d made during the freshmen orientation. 

While you were still deciding on whether you should project a more introverted or extroverted personality onto all the new people you’d be meeting in college, Nayeon made the choice for you by taking up your neighbouring seat and starting a conversation with you about the shitty AC in the hall. In less than an hour, you’d already gotten to know all about her eight exes and how two of them almost gave her STDs and one of them almost gave her a whole baby. You were still contemplating which one would have been worse.

“Y/n! Oh, thank god you’re here! Y/nieee, today has been such a nuisance and it’s barely 12 pm!” she cries while sliding her arm in yours as you both start walking in sync towards the college cafeteria.

Hah! 

“You know, Mercury must be in retrograde or something because my day has been awful so far as well,” you say with a downward tilt of your mouth. 

“Oh? Does that have anything to do with your whole ‘I’m 27 years old with no prospects’ cosplay thing you’ve got going on? Lovin’ the limp by the way. It really adds to the whole vibe” she retorts with a cackle. You can’t help but giggle along with her until you remember the reason for your haggard get up.

You haughtily recount your morning’s incident to her and heave up your textbooks, now reduced to a damp and muddy stack of papers.

“Ew, what was his problem?!” she asks and you giggle at her disgusted look. You’re both quiet as you reach the cafeteria and get some food on trays. “C’mon, the gang’s over there,” Nayeon says as she leads you to a table that seats her friends whom you had also briefly met during orientation. 

You take your seat and set your food on the table along with your ruined textbooks. Hoseok peeks a curious look at them, you notice, but he doesn’t say anything. But his curiosity is abundantly loud, so you answer it for him anyway.

“Some turdball knocked me over this morning on my way to class and they dropped right into a puddle,” you say with a pout. 

“Oh? Does that also explain the Mother Nature cosplay you’ve got going on right now?” he replies with a cheeky grin and reaches out to you to pluck out a piece of grass that you hadn’t realised was in your hair

Geez, this is so embarrassing.

“Uh-huh, totally. It’s avant-garde baby.” you retort which sends the table in a fit of giggles, including Hoseok, whose laughter rings louder than the rest. 

“Also, what’s up with you guys and cosplays? Nayeon made a comment earlier too,” you bring up. Somehow, it causes Jimin to spiral into a choking fit and the rest of the group starts knowingly laughing. 

“Oh, you’re gonna LOVE this!” Chae bellows towards you. 

She’s interrupted by Jimin who whines “Chae, for the love of God, can you please shut up about that? It’s literally not even funny anymore!” 

“Oh yes it fucking is! Go on,” Nayeon urges Chae on.

“It’s an inside joke right. When we were in high school, he took part in a random Joker & Harley Quinn cosplay competition with one of our other friends. This idiot here was Harley and he flashed the whole audience with his ass hanging out from under his skirt the whole time!” 

The whole table hollers with laughter, except for a violently blushing Jimin. In between your giggles, you ask Jimin “Did you guys win though?” The table erupts in another round of laughter as Jimin mutter an angry “No.”

“Oh my god, there’s even a video! Nayeon, where’s that video Jungkook took?” Hoseok yells. 

“STOP!” Jimin yells but it’s too late. 

In lighting speed, Nayeon whips out her phone and shows you what truly is Jimin’s ass hanging out from under a skirt as he prances about the stage in true Harley Quinn fashion. There’s another handsome boy next to him dressed in a Joker costume. “That’s our friend, Taehyung, by the way,” Chae adds. 

“Jesus fuck, do you have that video on standby or something? You pulled it out so fast,” Jimin whines at Nayeon. “I have it saved as my live wallpaper babe,” Nayeon replies and sends a flying kiss towards Jimin which earns her a swear thrown at her face in return.

“Hey, where’s Jungkook? His class should have ended by now, right?” Hoseok asks Chae.  

“Hmm yeah, he was in the same class as Y/n actually. Did you see him?” Chae turns to you. Your attention is still focused on the phone in Nayeon’s hand as you reply, “Sorry, I was a little preoccupied to notice. Besides-,” you lift your head to look at her.

“-I don’t even know what he looks like,” you say with a smile.

“Look out for someone who looks like me, duh. I may be cooler than him, but we’re still twins,” Chae teases.

“Well, speak of the devil, here he comes,” Hoseok says and shifts his attention to look over your shoulder. 

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late. I had to sort something out with my lecturer,” an eerily familiar voice says behind you. 

No. 

Fucking. 

Way. 

You don’t want to turn around.

“We gotta head out soon for the . By the way, say hi to Y/n, she’s watching your video of Tae and Jimin at the comic fest,” Hoseok says with a bright smile. 

“Huh? Hmm, kinda weird that you came over just to watch Jimin hyung’s ass reshaping the world’s seat,” the new guy acknowledges you and you feel him approaching from behind. 

“You’re all horrible,” Jimin says.

The table erupts in a fit of giggles and you suddenly feel a warm hand on your shoulder. 

Fuck.

You have to turn around now. 

You’re turning around.

“Hi, I’m Jung-” he stops halfway and his eyes widen as he realises who you are. 

You fake a wide smile and say “Hi Jungkook. I think we’ve met before,” you say harshly and look at him straight in the eyes. You’re pouring every bit of spite you have crawling around your body into this look. And it seems to pay off with how Jungkook gulps loudly and looks at you with doe eyes.

The whole table has turned to witness your interaction now.

“Oh, so you have? Small world huh,” Chae chirps.

What a small world indeed.

Your moments away from blowing a fuse and cussing him out in front of your friends who are watching your interaction, when the unthinkable happens, too fast to be stopped.

Jungkook immediately gets down on his knees in front of you, brings his palms together and shrieks out, “I’M SORRY!”

(∩｀-´)⊃━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

[puck-luck]

among the sheets | jack hughes

SEQUEL TO BETWEEN THE TILES

warnings: unprotected p in v, jealous and possessive jack, dirty talk, creampie, lots of kissing (lfg), trickery, light breeding kink (shh), mentions of masturbation (m & f), fingering, light biting, praise, ignoring the apparent repercussions of taking Plan B (cappy says that it’s bad for your body and to be real? i’ve never taken Plan B so idfk and idfc about the repercussions) pairing: frat!president jack hughes x reader summary: “Frat! Jack getting jealous watching reader get paired with another guy in their shared class together for an assignment 🤭”, “ok but reader talking to another guy in jacks frat bc she’s like whatever ur gonna act like nothing happened so will i and he gets PISSED and finally breaks telling her that he can’t stop thinking about her” wc: 6916

Three weeks. Six classes. Two Mondays, two Wednesdays, and two Fridays. One entire Thanksgiving break. That’s how long it’s been since you and Jack hooked up at his party in the beginning of November. 

December comes with a new goal for you: that you’re not going to let Jack Hughes get into your head. After all, he’s just a frat guy. It’s typical for frat boys to get what they want– laid– and then ghost their hookup. You’ve seen it happen to your roommates and close friends in years past, who always seem to fall for the frat guy that can’t commit. He’ll string them along for a fuck, convincing them that he likes them, just so that they’ll come back for more. 

Your girlfriends never stay the night, never receive aftercare, and sometimes don’t even get to come. Yet– the boy is always allowed to stay the night at her place. And he always pulls her back in, even when he’s fucking other girls and lying about it. Your mind automatically goes to Jack’s frat brother, Cole, who was the puppeteer of a miserable situationship with your close friend a few years back.

You’ve learned, just through talking with Jack during class, that he and Cole are still close friends. Cole’s his VP of Brotherhood. You don’t share the fact that you know the girl who cried over Cole every week for the better part of sophomore year. 

No, that information you keep to yourself. Although, to you, Jack’s friendship with Cole is proof that Jack is doing the same thing to you. If he asked, you probably would fuck him again. After all, he’s been nothing but kind to you since that party. But, at the same time, he’s been kind– not flirty. 

The distinction between the two is clear. Heading into finals, you’re going to keep your head down and do your work. You’ll study, you’ll prep for the second-to-last set of finals you’ll ever take, and you will not allow Jack to distract you. He’s just some guy.

You’re a little nervous heading into your first class back from break. Today, your teacher is announcing the pairs for your final project. In this class, there’s an optional written exam. Instead, there’s the required project, where you have to research and present about one of the topics that was covered this semester. With your luck, you’re expecting that your teacher will pair you and Jack together. That way, you won’t be able to avoid him. It’ll be a nightmare.

Like always, you arrive to class before Jack does. Like always, you take out your computer and your textbook, rereading your most recent notes to make sure you’re up to speed on what you’ll talk about in class today. Like always, Jack drops into the seat next to you just before the bell rings, and like always, he peers over your shoulder to look at your computer screen, snooping.

“I see you haven’t changed over break,” Jack says, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping that we’d come back and I’d get to watch you shop for a dress for formal instead of having to look at your notes all the time.”

“I’m not going to any formal,” you reply. “I’m not in a sorority.”

Jack clicks his tongue like he’s just remembering, about to retort when your professor starts class. You shush Jack, then turn your attention to your prof. 

She tells the class that today you’ll be meeting with your assigned partner and choosing a topic for your presentation. Everyone will have to move around in the classroom to do so, which is a relief– unless Jack ends up being your partner, he’ll have to leave your side. You won’t be burdened with the weight of having a man who’s seen your face when you come right beside you.

She begins to read from the list on her computer and you get lucky– Jack isn’t your partner. Instead, you get Braden Schneider, who sits across from you in the classroom, close to the back. He tucks himself into a corner every class and you’ve seen him at office hours once or twice. When you’re partnered up, he gives you a little wave and a smile.

Jack is stuck with another boy from the class, a boy named John (you think) with whom he seems to get along. 

Once the class splits into pairs, Jack raises his hand to bid you goodbye and goes to join John across the way. Braden comes and takes his seat. You don’t know Braden well, but he’s passionate about doing a presentation about the topic that you know best, so you click almost immediately. You leave class feeling confident that you will get a good grade on this final, so good that it might bump you up from a B+ to an A-... or even an A, if you can speak as well in front of the class as you can research.

You and Braden leave class together, trying to decide when it’s best to meet up outside of class and start working on your presentation. As you walk down the hall, Braden tells you that he can’t meet up on Friday because he’s going to his girlfriend’s formal– you can’t seem to escape the topic of greek life. You decide to grab coffee on Sunday morning. Outside the building, Braden leaves you with another wave and a confirmation of “It’s a date!”

Then, Jack finds you.

“How was Schneider?” He asks, eying your classmate’s retreating figure. 

“He’s good. We’re getting coffee on Sunday. I think our project will go well. How’s… John?” You reply, fixing the backpack straps on your shoulders before setting off towards the parking lot where you parked today. This class with Jack is the last of the day, so you’re ready to head home. He walks back the same way, since the parking lot is about a block closer to campus than the frat houses.

“Johnny,” Jack corrects. Then, he shrugs. “He’s fine. Why are you getting coffee with Schneider?”

You almost burst out laughing. “For the project?” You explain, like it’s obvious. “We have to talk about it.”

“Why can’t you just go to the library? Or you could work on it during class time,” Jack says. 

Now, it’s your turn to shrug. “We want to get it done and he says he works best in a more relaxed environment.”

“Of course he does,” Jack scoffs. “Those fucking Nups. They never take anything seriously.”

“‘Nups?’” You repeat. “What the fuck is a ‘Nup?’”

“Nu Upsilon Rho,” Jack says. “Our rival frat. He’s one of the brothers.”

“So… because he’s in this frat that you don’t like… you think he’s not going to take the project seriously,” you deadpan. “Do you even know him?”

“I just think he’s going to ditch you with all the work because he’s busy,” Jack says with another shrug. He fixes his baseball cap, turning it so it’s backwards atop his head. 

“Well, I have faith in him. We’ve got a plan and he seems pretty into our topic, so I think everything will be fine.” You frown at Jack, narrowing your eyes at him. “Thanks for the concern.”

“Are you angry with me, or something?” Jack asks. “You seem mad.”

“I think you’re really overstepping,” you tell him. “My project isn’t your business. We’re not partners.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“Why don’t you worry about yourself?” You’ve reached your parking lot, so this is the part where you turn left and Jack continues going straight. You cross your arms over your chest and he stops in front of you, turning to face you. You’re crowded on the left side of the sidewalk. Other students walk past you, sometimes looking at you to express their distaste at the obstacle blocking their way. 

Jack looks at you for a minute, holding eye contact without saying anything. He looks confused at your retort, a slight frown tugging at his lips. 

Those are the same lips that kissed your earlobe, your cheek, your neck. Behind them is the same tongue that licked into your mouth and slid against yours. 

You’re flushing a bit now. It takes a lot of concentration to tear yourself away from him, to look down at his feet. He’s wearing those white AF1s that he always wears, creased and gross after years of wear and tear, and that’s enough to bring you back to yourself. 

“We’re throwing a party on the last day of classes,” Jack says. “It’s, like, a final hoo-rah before finals. The theme is Ugly Christmas Sweaters. I’ll put you on the list, if you want to come.”

“Maybe,” you say. You probably won’t go. The last time you went to one of Jack’s parties, you ended up losing your head after one drink and fucking him in the downstairs bathroom where everyone could hear, just because he asked you to.

“Okay. It’ll start at nine. You can come early, too. I’ll be at the house all day.” If Jack is bothered by your uncertain answer, he doesn’t let it show. He bids you goodbye and turns away, heading towards the house. 

You watch him walk away, then you don’t think about him again until class on Wednesday. Wednesday begins exam review. Your optional exam is scheduled on the first day of finals week, in just ten days. You’ll only have two classes to summarize everything you learned this semester, since Monday and Wednesday are reserved for presentations, so it’s imperative that you pay attention. You have to pay attention in case your final project falls apart and goes completely south, the way that it seems Jack believes it will. You want to ace this final exam if you have to take it.

You barely speak with him throughout exam review on Wednesday, nor on Friday. You head to the library to work on other papers and exam reviews after your classes instead of going home, just so you don’t have to walk back with him.

If Jack’s not going to bring up the fact that you fucked, then neither are you. If he’s going to be a dick about the project, and the fact that you’re paired with one of his rival frat’s brothers, then you’re just going to ignore him.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t try to bother you during class, because he does. He’s insatiable like that. It’s impossible for him to go a class period without talking or without poking you and pouting for attention. You’re just the bigger person.

Jack’s presentation is on Monday and it goes fine. He and his partner are relatively monotone and they don’t seem to care much about their topic, so you’d say that they earned a solid C on the presentation part of the project. Hopefully their research and write-up is better and can lift their grade up to a B. You give him a high five after it’s done, just to congratulate him on completing the assignment, and he slumps in his seat. 

Your presentation is on Wednesday. You and Braden met for coffee on Sunday, like you said. He told you a bit about his girlfriend’s formal on Friday, then you got down to work. You both pulled through with your end of the research, so organizing your presentation was easy. You were in and out of the coffee shop in less than two hours, feeling fully confident that you’d be able to present well and receive an A.

On Wednesday, everything goes off without a hitch. Your professor looks impressed, scribbling only a few notes on her sheet of paper. You try not to look at Jack, lest he distract you, but he’s staring at you the whole time. He gives you a tight smile after the presentation is over and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

After class, Braden comes over and gives you a hug. You’d gotten his number before your coffee date, but he assures you that he’d love to study together in the future. You’ll have a class together next semester, anyway– the same one you’ll have with Jack, since you’re all in your last semester before graduation and everyone always ends up in the same course. 

Jack walks with you to the parking lot on Wednesday, heading home in the same direction, but his hands are shoved in his pockets and his expression is oddly blank. When you reach your normal parting point, Jack stops.

“Are you coming to the Ugly Sweater party?” He asks. 

“It’s on Friday, right?” You ask, still beaming after your successful presentation. “I don’t have any plans, I don’t think.”

“Do you have an ugly sweater?” Jack asks.

“I think I can find one.”

“I have two. You can borrow one of mine.” Jack kicks a rock to the side of the sidewalk, out of the way. “Do you want to come to the house and grab it? I know coming to frat parties early, like… isn’t fun for most people. I’ll kind of be busy before, too, so. You coming to the house now to grab it would be better. If you have nothing else to do.”

His words are jilted and awkward. You’re just as aware as he is that the last time you came to the house, you came all over his cock and he shot off inside of you. You know Jack’s thinking about that because the tips of his ears have gone red and he can’t meet your eyes.

You’d rather face the frat house now, in the light of day, than go back on a Friday night when there is a huge crowd and you can barely hear Jack.

“Yeah,” you tell him. Your answer surprises Jack, but it makes him smile. 

“Okay,” he says, trying to bite back the big grin. “C’mon.”

Together, you bypass the parking lot where your car sits. You walk together to the row of frat houses down the block. Jack swipes into the house with his student ID, holding the door open for you.

You kind of think he expects you to keep walking, but you’ve never been to his room before. You’ve only been in the dancing room– which looks like shit in the light of day, on a Wednesday afternoon– the kitchen, and that bathroom down the hall. 

Jack waves at a brother who is sitting in the living room to the right of the foyer, then guides you upstairs with a hand at the small of your back. His touch is featherlight, his fingertips pressing against the back of your sweater, bunching up the fabric. 

You make it to the top of the stairs, turning towards the left. There are more doors on that side of the hall, so you expect Jack’s room is down there. There are two doors on the right.

Jack climbs the final stairs and hooks a finger through the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you gently towards the right. “My room’s over here,” he mumbles, reaching for one of the doorhandles. “The other one is the shared bathroom for the guys. If you need the bathroom during the party, you can go in this one instead of waiting downstairs again.”

You nod, not sure how to reply. You’re not sure if you can face that bathroom without wanting to repeat your encounter with Jack. 

It’s even harder seeing his bed– unmade, messy, and looking comfortable. The sheets are wrinkled and thrown around haphazardly, his pillows flat and squished like he was hugging them in his sleep.

“Sorry for the mess,” Jack offers. “I didn’t think…”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I don’t mind. My room isn’t much better.”

That’s a lie. You have a laundry basket for your dirty clothes and Jack seems to drop them in a pile in the corner. He’s got books out, whereas yours are stacked neatly on your desk. The truthful part is that you don’t mind– you didn’t expect a clean room in a frat house.

You take a seat on the edge of his bed, clasping your hands in your lap and bouncing a bit on the mattress when you sink into it. He digs through his closet, moving hangers and pulling boxes out of cubbies to try and find the ugly sweater that you’re going to borrow.

You spot a can of Zyn on his bedside table, which makes you laugh to yourself. You’re looking around the room for more when your phone dings.

You dig it out of your pocket, checking your messages. It’s Braden, who has sent you a picture of a coffee and a donut– and his girlfriend in the background– from the same coffee shop where you met up on Sunday. His message reads: “Thanks for the recommendation! Ordered your fav to celebrate our awesome presentation today. Jos says she’ll get the butter cream next time for sure :)”

“Who’s that?” Jack asks, already facing you when you look up with a truly ugly Christmas sweater in his hands.

“Braden.”

Jack’s face clouds over. His hands drop to his sides, the sweater drooping in his right. “You’re done with the project, though.”

“So what?”

“Why are you still talking to him?”

“We get along,” you explain with a shrug. “He’s nice.”

“He’s a Nup,” Jack says again, deadpanning.

You scoff and shake your head. “Jack, just because he’s in another frat than you doesn’t mean he’s not nice. I’m friends with him just like how I’m friends with you.”

“But we were friends first,” Jack complains.

“Does that mean that I’m only allowed to be friends with you?” You ask, teasing him slightly. The idea is absurd and you need to know if Jack really means what he’s implying. “Heaven forbid I have to tell my roommate that we’re not allowed to be friends anymore because the President of Pike doesn’t allow me to talk to anyone other than him.”

“That’s not fair, you know I don’t mean that,” Jack says. 

“Jack, honey,” you begin, an air of patronization lacing the pet name. “You’re overstepping again. Let me see that sweater.” You hold a hand out, making a grabbing motion at the lump of fabric in his hand.

“You can’t just look at it,” Jack says with a pout. “You have to try it on to get the full effect. That’s what my mom always says.”

A short silence hangs in the air as you both realize what he said. It’s not like you can pull this sweater over the sweater you’re wearing– you’ll be sweltering and it won’t fit right.

Jack looks so caught on the spot that you can’t help but burst into giggles.

“Jack,” you laugh. “Are you trying to get me to take my clothes off?”

“Well, you’d put a new sweater on immediately after,” Jack says, trying to make up for his blunder. His ears are burning again, eyes darting around the room awkwardly. “I’ll even turn around.”

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” you say, shrugging him off. You start to pull your sweater over your head, revealing the bra you’d thrown on this morning because it was on the top of the pile in your drawer. You weren’t expecting anyone to see it.

“I mean, technically, I haven’t seen it,” Jack jumps in. “You kept your shirt on when I fucked you.”

It’s so jarring when he says it so bluntly. You’d both been avoiding the mention of your… encounter… for weeks.

“Well, now you’ve seen it, so you’ve collected the full package,” you concede, pulling the ugly sweater over your head and standing to look at yourself in the mirror in the corner of his room. 

It’s ugly. That’s for sure. There’s fake tinsel, there’s a stupid Christmas saying on the front, and there’s probably a Santa hat or reindeer headband to match.

Jack comes up behind you, smiling at you in the mirror. “Do you like it?”

“It’s an ugly Christmas sweater,” You reply. “You weren’t lying when you said that.”

Jack seems to forget that the mirror shows his expression, because he bites his lip and eyes you. “Looks good on you.”

You laugh, pulling the sweater back over your head, leaving you in your bra. You go to move past Jack, approaching the bed where your old sweater lies. “I think you just like to see a girl in your clothes, J. You seem to have a possessive streak.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jack refutes. 

You fix him with a look, glancing over your shoulder and seeing him with his arms crossed over his chest. “Jack, you don’t want me to be friends with a boy in another frat. I think you seem to believe that I’m Pike property because you fucked me once in the bathroom.”

Jack’s eyes go wide.

“Not that we’ve talked about it, because we probably should,” you point out. “We’re friends and we’ve fucked, then you acted like it never happened.”

“So did you,” Jack says, defending himself.

“I did because you did,” you tell him with a shrug. “I thought you’d bring it up during class or one of our walks. I don’t know. Maybe that was stupid of me.”

“I just didn’t think you wanted me to bring it up,” Jack says. “I thought you’d want it to be a one and done. I mean, I–” He pauses, wincing a little bit. “I came inside you. We didn’t talk about that. I didn’t know if you’d… be mad at me. So I… didn’t… talk to you?”

“I’m not mad at you for coming inside me,” you reply, shaking your head at him. “I don’t mind that. I took a Plan B afterward and everything’s fine. My period is supposed to come sometime this week. Plus, I–”

You cut yourself off, snapping your mouth shut. Jack’s not someone who you’d share your kinks with under a normal circumstance. He’s not your best friend, he’s not someone you gossip with, he’s not someone who you’re fucking regularly. It happened once, halfway in public, and that doesn’t mean he’s entitled to information about you. He doesn’t need to know that you felt feral over the way he came inside of you, with that low groan that has been replaying in your head every time you pull out your trusty vibrator and take care of yourself.

Jack cocks his head to the side. He raises an eyebrow. “You what?” He queries, expecting an answer. When you don’t answer, he takes a step forward and asks again. “You… what?”

“I’m not saying it,” you announce. 

Jack smirks. “That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Hmm, let’s think,” he teases, tapping his chin with his finger, pretending to think. “You didn’t mind when I came inside you, so I think you might… like that?”

You pull your sweater over your head, covering yourself up again. You seal your mouth shut and look at Jack, who takes another step forward, his smile only growing.

“You… want it,” Jack surmises. 

You hope your poker face is good, because he’s mighty perceptive. You would absolutely rather have a man come inside of you than in a condom. But, once again, it’s not something you were planning on telling Jack after just one fuck.

“You might be just as possessive as me,” Jack teases. He’s close enough to touch you now, so he does. He places a hand on your shoulder, his thumb smoothing against your exposed clavicle. He pushes the fabric of your sweater off your shoulder a bit, displacing it. The knitted fabric is stretchy, so it moves easily. He leans closer. “You like when I come inside of you because, well, I’m yours that way, aren’t I?”

With his hand on you and his body so close, he doesn’t miss the way you stiffen up.

Yes, you think. That’s exactly it. You hadn’t been able to place your finger on exactly why before now– Jack seems to have opened your eyes. Yes, you like it when a man is so desperate and overwhelmed by the feeling of you that he has to fill you up. He’s yours. He might be marking you up in a way that claims you, but his come is a sign that he’s yours.

“And I like it,” Jack continues. “Because you’re mine.”

A shiver actually runs down your spine.

And then Jack kisses you.

It’s sensual. It makes your brain melt. He’s gentle with it, his tongue caressing your lips until you open up for him. With one hand, he cradles your cheek. His other hand slides along your waist, underneath the bottom of your sweater. It feels like he’s branding your skin with his touch– or maybe all of the ‘possessive streak’ talk is warping your brain. 

“Why did you put your shirt back on?” Jack murmurs when he pulls away. 

He’s genuinely asking, which makes you laugh and pull him in again. Your laughter has him smiling, which makes it hard to kiss him properly. It devolves into a series of sweet pecks, interrupted by a breath of laughter or a wide grin before your lips meet again.

“No, really,” Jack says between kisses. “Why’d you put your shirt back on? I didn’t get a good look.”

“You are such a goof,” you reply, touching his hip. “Obviously I didn’t know we’d be kissing by the end of this conversation.”

“I think we should do more than kiss,” Jack says.

Again, a bout of laughter escapes you. He is so blatant and honest about what he wants. It’s such a male trait– you can’t imagine being so brash.

“You don’t think so?” Jack asks.

“You’re just so– I don’t know,” you say, feeling flustered. He’s still touching you, his hands are  greedy, roaming along your middle.

“Is it– too much?” Jack asks, matching your tone. His face contorts with concern. “If you don’t want to go again, we don’t have to. I would… fuck, I want to fuck you again.”

The sincerity of his voice surprises you. You know that he’s a man and men are often fueled by their desire to have sex with a partner, but Jack’s words blossom in your stomach like a flower opening on the first warm day of spring.

“You do?” You ask, coyly goading him into saying more. 

“Baby, I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” Jack reveals, groaning a little bit with want. “I can’t use the downstairs bathroom anymore and all the guys think it’s hilarious.”

“So is that why you didn’t want me talking to Braden?” You ask. “Because you’re jealous, seeing me have fun with another guy, meanwhile you can’t stop thinking about how my pussy felt around your cock?”

The dirty words make Jack keen in the back of his throat, tugging insistently at the hem of your sweater. 

You start to remove it, slowly, teasing him. As you watch his pupils dilate, fixing on your newly revealed skin, you continue to talk: “Have you been fucking your fist a lot, Jack? While you think about me?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice merely a whisper.

“Good boy,” you praise lowly, trying to make your voice as seductive and innocent as possible without feeling like a fool. “I’ve been fucking myself to the thought of you, too.” 

Your shirt comes off, dropping to the ground, but Jack’s eyes find your face.

He bites his lip, his eyes dancing along your features. “Fingers?” He asks.

You shake your head. “Been using a toy.”

Jack’s blue eyes are starting to look black, shadowed and heady with lust. They’re devoid of emotion– except for one: want.

“Good?” He asks.

Again, you shake your head. “Not as good as the real thing.” You bring your hands to his pants, popping the button on his jeans slowly, to build suspense or even give him a chance to kiss you again. He’s standing still, staring at you with those dark eyes, so you drag the zipper of his pants down and reach in, palming his length over his underwear. 

Jack’s eyes stay on you as you touch him, the blue of his eyes matching the navy of the midnight sky. 

You stroke him until you’re certain he can’t grow any harder. Then, you push his t-shirt up to reveal his stomach, somehow soft and toned at the same time. You scratch along his abdomen, lifting the fabric. His mouth curves up at the edges when you’re finally able to pull the shirt off of him, leaving his hair disheveled. It’s cute like this, you decide.

The air between you is tense, his gaze weighing on you. You kiss him again, just because you can, and you use the distraction to push at his jeans until they’re falling to the ground. His lips are wet against yours. He must have licked them while he was staring, while you stroked him.

One of his hands works on your jeans, but you’re much more concerned with the hand that’s petting over the clasp of your bra. He’s able to unfasten it quickly. Once your bra is loose, he acts quickly. He brings his hand to your front and pulls at the band of the delicate piece. He drops to a knee, leaving your lips behind, but kissing over your stomach as he tugs at your jeans. They’re tight around your hips, so it takes him a second to get them off, but his fervor and determination aides him.

Once he’s got you in your underwear, completely braless, he rises. He covers your skin in wet, messy kisses as he comes back up. He captures one nipple between his teeth, then moves to the other and sucks. His hands are flush against your ass, squeezing your skin and keeping you close. 

“Fuck, Jack,” you moan, threading your fingers through his hair and breathing in languorous spurts. 

“Wanna take my time with you,” he murmurs. “But I’ve been waiting for this for weeks. I can’t wait any longer.”

“So fuck me,” you tell him. “I want you to. I want you to fuck me now.”

Jack smiles against your skin, licking over your nipple one more time before he comes back to his height. “Music to my ears, babe.” He places a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth, helping you step backwards until you’re against the bed. “Lay down. Let me touch you.”

You obey, climbing onto the messy bed and making yourself comfortable among his pillows. Jack joins you, climbing up your body and planting another kiss on your lips. He takes a pillow from beside your head and brings it under your hips, tapping your sides so that you lift up for him. 

“Good girl,” he mumbles. 

His words are quiet, but they still give you a burst of pride. 

He’s already moving to pull your panties down, biting his lip in concentration. His eyes are fixed on the point between your legs, even though his face is level with yours. His hair is falling into your space, tickling your forehead. You take a moment to take him in. Your eyes are wide and unblinking as you stare at him. You know Jack’s attractive, because you look at him all the time and you like looking at him, but in this moment, he’s a work of art. You might have stopped breathing.

You gasp when he touches you. His fingertips are blunt and careful as they sweep through your wet folds. 

The gasp takes Jack by surprise, his eyes flickering to your face, and he smiles when he meets you there. “Are you always this wet when we’re together?” He asks. “I’m imagining you in class, absolutely soaked even though I haven’t touched you.”

“Fuck off,” you laugh, bringing a hand to his hair again and smoothing it back. 

“That’s a no?”

“Definitely a no,” you say. “I’m not just wet because you’re around, Jack. It doesn’t work like that. This is because you’re a good kisser. And, well, because you sucked on my nipples.”

Jack brightens. “And I’ll do it again, too.”

You grip his hair before he can dip down and make good on his vow. “Slow down there, cowboy,” you say. 

Jack laughs at that, kissing your lips instead of finding your nipple. He swipes a finger against your clit, making you gasp again, into his mouth this time. 

“Mm,” Jack hums patronizingly. “Does it feel good?”

He fills you with his middle finger and thumbs at your clit, working the digits in tandem to make you whimper.

“Listen to yourself,” he says. “All that noise for me?”

“Fuck me,” you plead. “Please, Jack. I need you to fuck me.”

“You need it?” Jack teases, sliding his ring finger inside of you, joining the other. 

“Don’t be a dick,” you whine. 

“God, and I thought it was embarrassing how bad I want you,” he simpers. “But, you make a good point. We both want it. Let’s not wait.”

He removes his hand from between your legs, the empty feeling foreign and dissatisfying. He shucks off the final bit of clothing remaining between the two of you, throwing the underwear over his shoulder comically. It’s not sexy, but he’s so charming and goofy that you swoon anyway.

Jack fists his cock, stroking himself. He aligns himself with your entrance, teasing your folds and bumping your clit with the head of his cock. He smiles to himself, gaze meeting yours before he speaks. He quirks an eyebrow, coming lower to kiss you again because he just can’t help himself. “Let’s fill you up, hm? Just like you like.”

“Just like you like,” you parrot back.

He murmurs a quiet agreeance as he pushes into you. He goes slow, sinking into you in a direct contrast with how he fucked you last time. “Still so tight,” Jack acknowledges. “You feel just as good as last time.”

You hold his shoulder, one hand twisting into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

He dips down to smear a kiss against your jugular, mouthing at the area where your pulse races. Jack starts to roll his hips, feeling you out. Even though it was the whole point, you realize suddenly that he’s bare inside of you. It’s like the piece of information was delayed and that you didn’t understand it until you felt him, felt the way his cock was weeping inside of you.

“Jack,” you moan, pulling him closer. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back. You don’t let up, not until his pelvis is flush with yours and his stomach is practically touching your own. You need him to be close– you’re drunk on the feeling of having him inside of you, bare and leaking.

“I know,” he soothes, rocking into you. He kisses you again, his tongue lathering your lips and petting whatever area he can touch– teeth, tongue, the roof of your mouth… it’s messy, but driven completely by his desire, and you love it.

Your whines and whimpers, musings about how well he fills you, and your trembling touches fuel him. 

He fucks you deeply, making sure his cock brushes against your cervix with each thrust. You lose the ability to kiss him when he taps your sweet spot, keening in a way that has him grinning. You clench down involuntarily, which makes him choke a bit on his own breath and stutter his movements. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that, this is going to end a lot faster than I want it to,” Jack tells you, grimacing through another thrust. He snaps his hips, showing no signs of stopping even though he seems determined to last. 

“I want you to come,” you goad, practically begging. “Please, Jack, fill me up. Need you to come in my pussy, I need it.”

Jack makes a choked moan in the back of his throat, his head dipping to bury itself in your neck. He nibbles your neck, keeping his teeth in place to quiet himself as he quickens his pace. His breath is like music in your ears, panting and turning high pitched when you squeeze him again. “Baby, shit,” he moans, dropping to his elbows, bracketing your head. 

You grind up against him, your hips lifting off the bed and the pillow completely. 

He rearranges his position, shifting his weight to one arm so that he can reach down and rub circles over your clit with his dominant hand. His fingers, the ones next to your head, toy with your hair. He thrusts as hard as he can, his thick cock pistoning into your heat and making your stomach turn over from the pleasure. 

The pressure on your clit sends sparks through your body. You can feel the pleasure in your clenched fingertips, the burning tips of your ears, and in your curled toes. He’s everywhere, and his cum is seconds from marking you.

“Be mine,” you plead. You mean to say, ‘fill me up, put your cum inside me until it spills out of me, come apart like your cum belongs to me,’ but what you hear is different. You hear yourself ask him for more than just a fuck– you hear a slogan from a chalky Valentine’s heart, begging for a romantic connection.

He’s a frat boy. He won’t acknowledge this, he won’t understand what you mean. He’ll take it the wrong way and he’ll never talk to you again, even if you show up to the party on Friday. He’ll say hello, then look over you to find the next girl–

“I’m yours,” Jack replies, breathless. “All yours.”

The relief that comes with his reply washes over you. You cry out, unable to stop yourself from clenching down on his member and succumbing to the pleasure that had been building up inside of you.

You let your release take hold of you, throwing your head back and baring your neck to Jack. He takes advantage of the newly revealed skin, sucking on the skin below your jaw. His nose presses against the side of your face, his breath wet against your skin. 

“Good, baby, so good,” Jack praises as he fucks you through your release. “Y’feel so perfect around me, gonna give you what you want, just another minute…”

His hips work in a frenzy, snapping into you with lewd noises that mix with the noises falling from both of your lips. It only takes a few more thrusts before Jack is shuddering in your arms, his lips coming to smudge a messy, passionate kiss against yours. He spills inside of you, filling you with his hot, intoxicating cum until there’s none remaining in his cock.

His hips slow when he’s done, his blinks becoming longer and slower as he regains his breath. He watches himself thrust into you a final few times, his mouth open slightly and eyes trained on the spot like he’s in a trance. 

You snap your fingers by his face, drawing his attention. “My eyes are up here, pretty boy.”

Jack bursts into a fit of giggles, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and peppering you with kisses. He uses the leverage, and the wide expanse of his bed, to roll over so that you’re laying on top of him. He touches your hips, your ass, the smooth plane of your back, all the way up to your shoulderblades before wrapping an arm around your waist and keeping you there. 

He kisses you silly, cradling your cheek with one hand. Occasionally, he allows you to pull away, but you never go far. He’ll play with the strands of your hair, gazing at you with a satisfied, smug smirk on his lips. 

“It’s a date party,” Jack says eventually.

“What is?” You ask, your nose scrunching in confusion. 

“The ugly sweater party. It’s a date party. I was conning you into being my date.”

You barely stifle a laugh. “You’re a fucking freak.”

“Hey,” Jack complains, pouting. “Not all of us can just say shit like ‘be mine’ in the middle of sex.”

You pat his chest, clicking your tongue at him to reprimand him for mocking your words. “Says the boy who tried to trick me into being his date for a frat function.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Jack shrugs, pulling you in for another kiss.

It’s slow, like the first one. Your lips move together until you’ve both run out of air. Jack returns to your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“Gonna get you a Plan B in the morning,” he says. His tone sounds like he’s wondering, still thinking about it, although you know that he’s stating a fact and formulating a plan. “But I think, if we want to keep doing this, we’re going to have to figure something out about birth control.”

Normally, you wouldn’t allow a man to tell you what to do with your body. Today, though, you concede. He’s right. The world isn’t ready for a little Jack, and you don’t want him to stop coming inside of you, so you make a mental note to call your doctor tomorrow.

Still, you can’t resist the chance to make a joke.

“Maybe we’ll get you a vasectomy instead,” you tease, touching his bottom lip with your index finger. “They’re reversible, you know.”

note: i couldn't resist posting this, since i finished it before i expected to. I LOVE YOU FRAT JACK! (am willing to skip the plan b but only if you're also down)

[writtendaydreamm]

Three Nights Ago

Summary: Langdon has had enough of the silent treatment and confronts Y/n about it

Author’s Note: Based on this submission. I don’t think I’ve really written much angst, but I tried my best lol. Working on a part two, hopefully a resolution between them, but we’ll see! Let me know your thoughts!

Y/n hadn’t spoken to Langdon since that night.

At first, he thought maybe she just needed some space, some time to think. Then she came in to work this morning without so much as a glance in his direction, and he knew it was more than that.

She was purposefully avoiding him.

He could only assume it was because of what he said.

Part of him regretted saying it. After all, if it ain’t broke don’t fix it, right? And what he and Y/n had wasn’t broke at all. Quite the opposite. The no-labels, friends-with-benefits, situationship they had going on worked for them. He couldn’t complain. Things were good the way they were.

And still, the thought that things could be better than just good constantly lingered in the back of his mind. It would be a lie to say he didn’t want more. He’d wanted more for a while. Out of fear he’d fuck things up, he never voiced those thoughts out loud, keeping them strcitly to himself.

At least up until that night, that is.

Utterly content, limbs tangled with hers under the sheets, drunk off the feeling of finishing inside of her slick warmth, the thought slipped past his lips before he had a chance to stop himself.

“We should give this another shot.”

It’s not like they were far off from being a couple as it was. He still had a copy of a key to her place, she still had one to his. A half-used bottle of that expensive shampoo she used sat in his bathroom cabinet. A few bottles of his favorite beer were stocked in the back of her fridge.

They’d been doing this dance on-and-off for years now. Never able to call it quits but never able to commit to making it work either. The first time they tried, they had jumped in too passionately, too hastily, too early on in their careers. Like a meteor, they burnt out and crashed at a devastating speed. Then she had met someone else. And then so had he. Needless to say, neither of those exploits lasted very long — none of them ever did. Anyone they tried to see or sleep with was only ever a fleeting moment of sobriety from their all-consuming addiction to one another.

Things were different now though. They were older. More mature. Nearly done with residency. It could work this time. He really believed that.

Of course, she didn’t give him a clear answer that night. Not that he expected one right then. It was a loaded suggestion. He knew that.

He did expect them to talk about it at some point though. It wasn’t his intention to open that door, but it was open now and he needed to know if she was going to walk through it with him or close it in his face.

Three days have passed. Not only had they not discussed that particular topic again, but they hadn’t discussed anything at all since then.

Leaving his texts on read. Not returning his calls. She’d even gone as far as trading shifts with one of the mid-shift residents the last two days all to avoid being around him.

It was worse than outright rejection and he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. Tempted to show up to her apartment last night and confront her, he talked himself out of it. It wouldn’t have done anything more than push her further away from him. And that was the last thing he wanted.

Two hours into their shift now and she’s still somehow managed to keep her distance from him. Standing as far as possible from him during rounds. Spending more time in the waiting room doing triage with interns than she’s done in the last couple of years. The closest they’d come to an actual interaction was brushing shoulders as she zoomed past him helping push a gurney into Trauma bay 2.

He figured he’d have to wait till their shift ended to confront her, but luck was on his side today. They both stopped at the nurses station at the same time. They couldn’t have been further apart, standing at opposite ends, but it was better than nothing. He stared at her shamelessly hoping she’d look up and acknowledge him in some way, give him something other than this undeserved cold shoulder. Y/n remained unphased however, typing away on the keyboard in front of her as if he wasn't actively burning a hole through her head with the heat of his stare.

Never one to shy away from telling him like it was, this was unlike her. If she didn’t want things to change that’s all she had to say. While it was true he wanted more, he’d rather things stay as they were than lose her. As inconsistent as their relationship was, she had remained one of the only consistencies in his life. He needed her. She was his crutch. Even just a few days without seeing her, hearing her, feeling her, left him totally crippled.

Watching her walk away from the nurses station, he took his chance. It was unfair to corner her while they were both supposed to be working but he couldn't let this go on any longer.

—

Feeling someone come up behind her, Y/n didn’t have to turn around to know exactly who it was. Maybe it was his cologne, or the familiar sound of his footsteps, or just his presence that she was so attune to. Whatever it was, she knew it was Langdon.

With a heavy sigh, she allowed him to drag her by the arm into an empty examination room. She could have fought his hold if she really tried. Run off and delay the inevitable for another day. Maybe even two if Collins was willing to switch days off with her. But it wouldn’t do much. She couldn’t avoid him forever. They worked in the same hospital, in the same department, on the same shift. It was surprising to have dodged him at all these past few days.

She had every intention to have a conversation with him about that night…eventually. Once she finally knew what she was going to say to him.

However, in the three days she bought herself to think it over, the only things she had put together was the fact that the right words would never come to her, and that even if they did it wouldn’t make a difference. This conversation was going to be hard and painful no matter how she worded it.

If it were up to her alone, she wasn’t sure when she’d gather the nerve to finally speak to him. In a way, Y/n was relieved he was forcing her to rip the band aid off and tell him what’s been on her chest these last three days. This was a conversation they needed to have sooner rather than later and she had put it off for too long as it was.

With the door locked shut, and the curtain pulled close, there was no escaping for either of them now. No turning back.

Standing on either end they were only just a few feet away from each other, but it felt like they were an ocean apart. This was the first time they’d been in the same room since that night. The familiar comfort and intimacy they shared in his dimly lit apartment then was quite the contrast to the awkward tension between them now under the unsettling fluorescent lights.

Silence filled the small, sterile gray examination room, drowning them. They sized each other up, waiting to see who would break and gasp for air first.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Langdon said finally. It wasn’t clear from his tone whether he was asking or telling her this. It was clear however that this had been weighing on him heavily these past few days. She could hear the strain in his voice, see the burden behind his eyes.

It killed her to see him hurt this way and all because of her. For a second she debated sparing his feelings. She could say she traded shifts because of a last minute appointment, or a family emergency that came up. Say she was just too busy and never got to reply to his messages. But he knew her too well and would know she was lying.

Besides, she wouldn’t want him to lie to her. If she wanted his honesty, then she would need to be honest as well.

“You’re right. I have been avoiding you,” she said, owning up to her odd behavior.

He didn’t know what the right thing to say next was, but he did know he was willing to say and do whatever he needed to make things right between them again.

“I know it’s about the other night. And before you say anything, just forget I brought it up. Okay? Things between us are good the way they are, we don’t need change what we’re doing or try-”

The sound of her laugh cut him off. It was a dry, humorless laugh but a laugh nonetheless. Langdon narrowed his eyes at her in confusion and disbelief. Here she was laughing in his face while he was being vulnerable and open about his feelings.

“Glad you find this funny, Y/n.”

“It’s not funny, it’s just — I mean you really thought that’s why I haven’t been speaking to you? Because you said we should get back together? No, Frank,” she shook her head. Her expression stiffened like stone, bracing herself before she continued, “I found your pills.”

She watched his reaction carefully, checking for his ticks and tells. But his poker face was impressive. If he was feeling any sort of pressure it wasn’t showing. He feigned ignorance so well she would’ve bought it had she not seen with her own two eyes the plastic bag of pills stuffed lazily between a pile of shirts in his drawer.

“What are you talking about? What pills?” he asked, brows furrowed convincingly.

“Your bag of benzos. Or the hospital’s benzos I should say. Right? Cause that’s where you stole them from?”

That pulled the rug straight from under him. His face fell instantly and his heart followed falling what felt like a hundred feet down to the pit of his stomach. There was nowhere else to turn, no other way out of this than to deflect and deny.

“Woah — stole? Benzos? Really, Y/n. Are you actually accusing me of what I think you are?”

“Of diverting drugs? Yes, that’s exactly what I’m accusing you of.”

“Don’t be ridiculous-”

“Frank, spare me. Please. I ran an audit,” she said, stopping him before he could continue to dismiss what she already knew to be true.

Langdon’s demeanor changed completely at the mention of the audit. His composure faltered, the innocent, ignorant act dropped. He stood before her now guarded and defensive.

With a heavy-heart, Y/n released the last sliver of hope she held onto that this was all just some big misunderstanding. It was obvious now, written all across his face, that this was exactly what it seemed, what she feared.

When she found those pills she wanted so badly to find a logical explanation. There had to be. She thought and thought of every possible reason he would have those pills. As hard as she thought, only one thing came to mind — drug diversion.

Walking into work the morning after, it hung over her head like a dark cloud and the pills she hid in her bag weighed like a ton of bricks. If what she suspected turned out to be true, she risked the safety of their patients and the future of her own career if she didn’t do her due diligence. The guilt of running a medication dispensing report behind Langdon’s back was severely outweighed by the need to ease her own conscience. Upon examining the report, she hoped to find her worries dispelled. But rather than the dark cloud lifting up and away, it poured down on her instead in a heavy rain that washed away any possibility of Langdon’s innocence.

The discrepancies were undeniable. He prescribed and “wasted” more painkillers than any other doctor in their department. That, paired with the pills she found all but confirmed it.

Arms crossed, Langdon doubled down, refusing to admit to it. “That audit doesn’t prove anything.”

“I think Robby would beg to differ.”

All the color drained from his face hearing her bring up their attending. “Please tell me you haven’t told him about this bullshit?”

“No, not yet.”

Though she should’ve. When she found that bag of pills in his drawer that night, the right thing to do would’ve been to take them straight to Robby the very next day. Instead, against the feeling of her gut turning in on itself, screaming at her that something was wrong, she gave Langdon the benefit of the doubt. The pills were yet to see the light of day again, still tucked in the bottom of her purse since that night. Rather than blindside him, she felt it was only fair she spoke with him first, to give him a chance to explain himself before taking any serious action.

Thank God, he thought. As long as this stays between them and doesn't leave the room, things will be fine. He’ll be fine.

“I’m telling you, whatever you think is going on, is not what it looks like. Okay? It’s me, you know me, you know who I am,” he pleaded, lowering himself to her eye level.

“I’m not so sure I do,” she admitted woefully, searching his eyes looking for the Langdon she knew, the Langdon she loved. But the man before her wasn’t him.

Her Langdon was not a thief and definitely not an addict. Sure, he was a bit of an adrenaline junkie always seeking a rush. Jumping out of planes, bungee jumping, hang gliding — risk taking behavior wasn’t out of character. But she could never have imagined he was capable of this level of self destruction. That he would risk throwing away everything he’s worked so hard for.

The words hit him like a slap to the face. “How can you say that?”

“Because I know, Langdon. The pills I took from your apartment? I haven’t had them traced back to who distributed them yet because I really don’t want to see your name there. But I know it will be,” she cried out.

Among all the words she said, took from your apartment, repeated in his head. It had just dawned on him now — she’s had the pills this whole time. He had been looking everywhere for them. Retracing his steps, turning his apartment inside out, searching through every nook and cranny of his car, clearing out his locker. He’d been on edge these past couple days wondering where they went. If they fell into the wrong hands he was fucked. At least now he knew where they were. The relief that brought was only momentary though as irritation quickly took its place. He ran his hands through his hair trying to keep a lid on it.

“What are you doing going through my stuff in the first place?” he practically sneered at her.

Unbelievable, she thought snorting at his audacity. The nerve he had to turn things on her and make her out to be the bad guy for finding the pills in his drawer as if him having those pills in the first place wasn’t the more pressing matter here.

“I wasn’t going through your stuff asshole,” she spat back snidely. Not like it would’ve taken much to find those stupid pills anyway. She had been looking for that worn out blue t-shirt of his she loved sleeping in and there they were, practically begging to be seen.

“Where are they?” he demanded.

“Why? Are you trying to get your fix?”

“Oh, fuck off. I’m not a drug addict, Y/n,” he snapped, her comment really hitting a nerve.

“Is that right?” she scoffed mockingly. “So then please explain to me why the fuck you have a plastic baggie of prescription pain killers hiding in your drawer?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he said, voice rising in his frustration.

“You’re right, you don’t,” she agreed, much to his surprise. “But you do have to explain yourself to Robby once I bring him what I found.”

With nothing left to say, she brushed past him making her way to the door. Before she could turn the handle, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her from behind. Langdon held her tightly, dragging her back and away from the door. She used all her strength, fighting against his hold. But he was too strong for her.

“Get your hands off me. Let go,” Y/n cried out. “You’re being an asshole, Frank. Let go of me.”

Mindful the walls weren’t soundproof, Langdon released her but ensured to block the door with his body. Hoping to reason with her, to explain himself, and talk her out of telling Robby, he approached her. It wasn’t intended to be aggressive, or intimidating, but he must’ve been too worked up to realize he was coming across that way.

After one step towards her, Y/n immediately backed away from him, eyeing him warningly like she was afraid of him or what he might do next.

It was like a dagger to the gut seeing the way she recoiled from him like he was some sort of threat when just days ago she was begging for his touch. He stepped back dejectedly, giving her the space to feel comfortable. With a deep breath to calm himself, he explained earnestly the pills were simply a means to an end.

“I’m just weaning myself off, okay?”

“And how long have you been weaning yourself off, Frank?” y/n challenged.

He was quiet. If he answered it would give away how far off the deep end he’d fallen. But she didn’t need to hear him say anything to figure that out for herself. His hesitancy and agitation, the way he averted her gaze, his shifty body language, was all the answer she needed. He hadn’t just fallen off the deep end, he was sinking to the bottom of it.

How had no one noticed? How had she not noticed? There had to have been signs. Then again maybe the signs were there and she was just blinded by her bias, by her feelings for him, by her trust in him.

She wouldn’t allow that bias to affect her now. Not that he was making it easy for her. His usually vibrant blue eyes were dulled by despair as he looked into hers begging her to believe and trust him now.

“You need help,” she urged softly, taking a tentative step closer to him.

It was Langdon who backed away from her now. He didn’t need any help. He was handling this his way. Like he said, he was just using whatever was left of his patients’ medications that would’ve been dumped anyway to tide him over as he worked through the withdrawals. He knew what he was doing. He knew these drugs and how they worked.

“I have this under control,” he maintained. “I’m not some tweaker off the street.”

“Are you really so far up your own ass you can’t see that you have a problem.”

“I don’t have a problem,” he insisted tensely, through gritted teeth.

Too stubborn for his own good, she cared about him too much to let him sink any further. She already failed him once missing the signs. There was no way she’d turn a blind eye now.

He’d probably hate her for what she was about to say next. But he left her no choice.

“If you don’t tell Robby by the end of the day, I will.”

Frozen in his spot, his mind raced with the implications of what she’d just said.

The ultimatum was the final nail on the coffin of their conversation. Whether he had more to say or not, she wasn’t sticking around for it. Brushing past him quickly, afraid he might try to stop her from leaving again, she managed to get on the other side of the door.

The sound of the door shutting pulled him out of his thoughts. Turning over his shoulder, he caught her eye through the door’s glass panel as she too spared one last glance back at him.

The last time their eyes locked so intensely had been that night. The night he suggested they give their relationship another shot. The night she found those pills. The night that would turn out to be the catalyst, setting off a series of events that would change his life as he knew it.

She turned away first having seen something in his eyes she’d never seen before, at least not directed toward her — contempt.

Standing in the room alone, the walls closing in on him, her last words ringing in his ears, he slammed his fists against the counter.

Fuck.

[matchpointfaist]

tw;; violence, mentions of death/murder, brief mentions of suicide, the hunger games is a tw in itself i fear. please be nice i was very brave w this!

art donaldson had been kind, once. in his distant memory, he’d been happy, unaware, naive. it didn’t last. nothing ever does in the districts, no matter how rich 2 may have been.

before he even knew who he really was, the training started. long days were spent in a padded room, surrounded by trainers and mentors and past victors, all hammering the same thing into his mind; don’t lose.

the days were followed by even longer nights, nightmares full of the footage of past games he’d been forced to watch on a loop, preparing him for what was to come. by 16, he was more machine than man. he had friends at the academy, of course, but no one he’d get too close to be able to kill when the time came. relationships were measured in vulnerability, and that wasn’t a commodity art had to spare.

the plan was simple- if his name wasn’t called at the reaping, he would volunteer. he’d spent his entire life preparing for the games, to either prove himself or die the coward that his mentor always accused him of being. better him than some poor, unsuspecting kid, he figured.

the process had been easy, too easy, and soon enough art was on the first train to the capitol, for all his primping and interviewing and displaying before he was sent to the arena. he knew, distantly, that this was just as important as the game itself. win over the capitol, win yourself a spot at the top, a chance at security when he came home.

it was all going according to his plan. all until they announced the catch in this years games; twice as many tributes, twice as many winners. he told himself it didn’t matter, he was under no obligation to help his fellow district 2 tributes, after all. as far as he was concerned, it was still every man for himself. survival of the fittest, the entire point of the games. twice as many people he’d have to kill, sure, but he could handle it. or die trying, as the little voice in his head loved to remind him.

he’d met you in the first round of interviews. one of four tributes from district 4, just another career he’d have to take out. and god, you were good. you worked all the right angles, playing up to your strengths through every interview, every prying question answered with the poise of someone who must have done this before. you’d be trouble, he knew. even when the evening was over and his mentor told him you were just some girl, he knew.

you had the same faraway look in your eyes that could be constantly found in his own, like you were already living in the future, safe in a time where you’d already won. the week before the games, when the capitol so courteously let you all train, he’d seen glimpses. you were fast, dangerously so, agile with a blade in a way that he’d never quite mastered. he was fast enough, sure, but you moved with assurance that could never be taught.

he didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to his parents before getting shipped of to the arena. just a pat on the back from his mentor and some cheap inspirational speeches from the capitol's various television personalities. a quick 'good luck' before he was sent away to become forever changed, regardless of the outcome.

it all went so fast after that. getting dropped in the center of the arena, the flash speed of killings just after the games begun, the deadly fight for supplies. he didn't even remember the first tribute he killed, he realized long after. he took someone's life and couldn't be bothered to commit their face to memory. the first, then four more soon after, and by the end of the first night he was in the lead with a staggering eleven tributes, dead by his hand.

the only thing he was sure of, killing all those people, was that you weren't one of them. he looked for you constantly, right at first, glimpses of stranger's faces between fights and screams, checking to see if you were one of the fallen with each canon sound. at the end of the first night, the score flashed across the arena's makeshift sky; art on top, you just behind.

he was immediately filled with irritation, frustration, that some girl from four would be anywhere near him. he found the anger replaced soon after by something like relief. maybe he hadn't wanted anything to happen to you, maybe he'd hoped you'd end up beside him on the victor's carriage.

the second day was long, tedious, hours spent creeping through lush trees in search of any tributes hiding. the canon sounded as he made his way through a grove of trees, one of the boys from seven's portrait flashing through the sky. you were up one.

it went on for days. you'd have the upper hand, then art, back and forth on a loop. he never encountered you himself, though, always one step ahead or behind, always out of line with whatever your plan seemed to be. by the end of the week, there were only seven tributes left. art himself, you, the last girl from 12, a boy and girl from 1, a boy from 8 and girl from 10. he tried to hunt them down, scoured what felt like every inch of the arena to no avail, until he finally went with his last resort plan.

he was headed for the center of the arena when he heard it; a sharp, piercing scream. he chased after the sound, more curious than anything, until he finally found the source. you were pinned to the ground, the district 1 tributes above you. the boy had you pinned, the girl watching in what seemed to be amusement as he taunted you, a blade pressed to your throat just hard enough for a tiny trail of blood to drip down your skin.

he didn't even contemplate his actions, something so unlike himself, before the blade of his axe was sunk into the boy's back, thrown from his spot behind the shadow of trees. the girl gasped, turning with wild eyes for the source of the blade, but before art could reach for his weapon you'd thrown the body off of you and tackled the girl, pushing her facedown into the mud as you reached for your weapon.

he watched in something like an awestruck horror as you slit her throat, dropping her back down to the ground as you stood, eyes on him like a cautioned animal. "i'm not gonna hurt you," he said, despite everything he'd ever been taught until this moment, "you can drop the knife," "no chance," you scoffed, taking one step back. he had the fleeting thought that if you wanted him dead, you'd have done it already, taken things into your own hands while he watched you like some kind of lovestruck idiot.

"if i wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead," the lie came surprisingly easy, "i think we could help each other," "help each other?" you repeated it like it was the most ridiculous idea he could've come up with, "why would you think i'd need help from you?" "i'm sure you don't," god, this was not going well, "but we might as well secure our spots as the victors, don't you think? we're down to three other tributes. we could split up, take them out quicker," "yeah, or i could just handle it myself and kill you, too. i don't need another victor,"

"that's not how it works," god, you were infuriating, "let's just call ourselves allies, okay? truce?" you took a step closer, and he couldn't decide if he was afraid or entranced, "fine, ally," it sounded difficult for you to say, "but if you so much as even look at me wrong, you're dead," "i believe you," he nodded, and he supposed he truly did. you didn't seem like the type to let anyone have the upper hand, especially not here. "i have a camp set up near the tree line. you can come with me,"

you showed him your setup, the small bonfire you'd arranged and a tent sent by your sponsor. it was nicer than what he'd had going, just shacking up in a tree, and he guessed it was safer, too, especially with both of you there. "we can sleep in shifts," your tone was all business, like you'd been trained for this just as much as he had, "do you need to go first?" "no, no, you can go ahead," he shook his head, just grateful for an eventual chance at actual rest, "i'll wait out here, make sure nothing comes this way," "you can come inside if it starts to rain," it sounded, once again, like the niceties pained you, "night,"

you disappeared into the tent, leaving him to sit in his own thoughts, busying himself by sorting through your combined supplies and combing through details of the tributes that remained. 8, 10, and 12 weren't exactly trained districts, he knew, and it wouldn't take much of a fight once you finally found them. they'd run out of food soon enough, come searching and stumble on your camp. he was sure of it.

eventually, the rain started, and he hesitated before unzipping the tent, climbing just enough inside to keep out of the storm. he made the mistake of glancing towards you, all the breath knocked from his lungs as he looked over your sleeping face, every ounce of tension and apprehension drained. you were peaceful, he thought, your cheeks flushed with warmth and your lips parted. he had to force his eyes away, embarrassed of the way something so simple had made him feel. this is the fucking hunger games, he reminded himself, not the time to be stupid.

you woke up after a while, immediately returning to your typical state, grabbing a knife and telling him he could get some sleep. he settled into the makeshift pillow, thoughts occupied by how you had just been there, how you were breathing the same air. he heard someone humming outside the tent as he dozed off, distantly aware that it had to have been you.

you were outside poking at a small fire when he woke hours later, the embers casting an orange glow over your face. "sleep okay?" you asked, glancing up at him. he just nodded, voice hoarse from sleep still, and settled down beside you on the damp ground. "8's dead," you told him, tracing a line in the dirt. "what?" you sounded so nonchalant, he almost thought he misheard you, "did you- or was it someone else?"

"someone else. probably 10, if i had to assume," you shrugged, "down to two, though, if 10 doesn't get to 12 before we do. i'd like to be done by morning," "you're confident," he mumbled, watching you from the corner of his eye, "do you want to go after them? or let them come to us?" "probably just stay here, at this point. we'll hear them coming, at least, and less chance of us getting separated," the thought alone was enough to set him on edge, "yeah, good idea," he nodded, "so what's district four like?"

the two of you stayed that way for hours, idle conversation about your own lives, comparing training stories and tricks you'd learned. you were more like him than he realized, the same sharp lines and realistic thinking. it was like looking into a distorted mirror. where he was raised to be a machine, to forever live this way, you'd only been raised to win, then to live a normal, functional life.

he'd given little to no thought to after, while that seemed to be the only thing getting you through. "when i win this, i'm gonna go home," you told him, the darkness making you look vulnerable, somehow, "i'm not staying in that victor's village. i'm gonna go back to four," you told him about the beaches, about how your family would go out every afternoon and walk along the shore. he couldn't imagine anything more beautiful, more free. he desperately hoped that it would become reality for you. "i'll probably go wherever they put me," he shrugged, "haven't given it much thought,"

you looked at him then, face all serious, "this is your life, art. don't ever let them take that from you," your hand was on his arm, clutching it like that would make him hear you more, "they might have you trapped now, but keep on with that attitude and they'll have you trapped forever," it was staggering, hearing you say such things about the capitol. no one spoke freely that way, no one spoke out or encouraged even the smallest acts of rebellion. it filled him with a strange sort of ache, a yearning for something he hadn't known he wanted. maybe he could run along the beach with you, he thought distantly, maybe he could have a real life.

the sound of another canon pulled him from his thoughts, the girl from 12's face flashing through the night. "oh my god," you laughed, a startling, awakening sound, "i told you! there's just one now!" and then your arms were around him, hugging him like you weren't waiting for the last tribute to come try and kill one of you, like you weren't stranded in a makeshift paradise that existed only for torture. he let himself lean into the fantasy, into you, for just one blissful moment, his arms wrapping around you as tight as he'd allow himself. "we'll be out of here soon," he mumbled, unsure who exactly he was reassuring, "promise,

when it was time for his sleep shift, you'd followed him into the tent, perched at the end of the sleeping bag quietly. "tell me more about home?" he asked, already half asleep. you'd smiled, quick and subtle, but enough for him to catch it. then you'd continued on and on, about the water and the people you missed and the rain that broke through the scorching summers. he listened until he couldn't anymore, and when he fell asleep, he dreamed of it.

he woke with a start, mouth dry, ears ringing, to find you missing. panic crept into his veins, his heart racing as he tore of the blankets, trying to reassure himself that you were just tending to the fire outside. "art!" the scream tore through the night, and he was out of the tent in an instant, eyes searching rapidly for any trace of you.

you were holding your own, but looked horrified as the tribute from 10 fought you, nearly backing you into a nearby tree as he swung again and again with his knife, too close for art's comfort. "stay away from her!" it came out with such force he startled even himself as he rushed towards the two of you with no real plan other than to get the boy off of you. the tribute turned, reaching for art, and in that split second your knife was in his chest, a gasp leaving him as you twisted with a sick, tearing sound. "are you okay?" he didn't care that you'd just won, couldn't focus on anything other than the bruise blooming along your cheekbone, or the tear in your coat, "jesus, i didn't even hear-"

you threw yourself at him, your arms around his shoulders, pressed flush against him as you trembled, "we did it," you exhaled, voice shaky and sharp, "thank you," "what are allies for?" he half joked, one arm coming to wrap around your waist, the other cradling your head, "please tell me you're okay," "i'm fine," you pulled back to wipe your eyes, "asshole came at me while i wasn't looking, elbowed me in the face. i promise i'm okay,"

the final canon cracked through the air as he traced his fingers over the bruise, surveying the damage, and the two of you paused to take one final look around the arena, the place where everything had changed. the next few moments were a blur, peacekeepeers escorting you to choppers and lifting you out, back to the capitol. art's hand never left yours, holding you as close as he could manage through it all, until you were forced to separate by capitol staff and dragged to your own bedrooms to get cleaned up. you may have won the games, but it was far from over, he knew.

he didn't see you again for hours, and had to constantly remind himself that you were safe, you were out. he was tense all over as the stylists did their work, pampering him until you could never tell he'd spent days on end doing things he'd never forget. he was rushed out to the victor's parade entrance, where he'd overheard you'd be meeting him, anticipation adding to his already racing thoughts.

when you finally came, he nearly turned away, ashamed of the way he was thinking about you in the moment. you were a wash of color, a dress as blue as the oceans back in your district clinging to your figure, pale flowers woven through your intricately put together hairstyle, a dusting of silver on your eyelids. you were so beautiful, the picture of resilience and life, of everything he wasn't. art's outfit was a stark contrast of your own, an all black suit with smudges of gold under his eyes, void of any excitement or lavishness.

"hated being away from you," the statement passed between the two of you like a secret, your voice soft, "who knew three days could make someone so attached?" "well we did survive together," his hand settled on your low back as he helped you into the victor's carriage, "i was worried the entire time," you slipped your hand over his along the railing as the parade started, smiling brightly and waving like a true professional, like you were made for this. he caught on after a bit, remembering his role and playing it well, but his free hand stayed with yours the entire time.

two long, painful days later, all the post-game interviews were done, all the press was appeased, you were truly free, or at least as much as you could be. you'd come to art's room that night, knocking lightly, and he'd panicked before discovering it was only you. "i just wanted to see you," you said softly, hovering by the door, "i shouldn't stay, but i needed to thank you. you saved my life," he pat the bed beside him, desperate to keep you a little longer, "there's no one i'd rather have won with," he smiled slightly, and he found that he truly did mean that. you may have been the only person he'd ever had these feelings for.

"i wanted to tell you before someone else did," you looked hesitant, "they agreed to let me go home, so i really won't be joining you in the village. i'll have a house there, i think, just a formality. but i'll be on the train home tomorrow morning," a horrible wave of conflicting emotions settled over him. he was unbearably happy that you'd return to your own district, have some sense of normalcy, but he couldn't ignore the ache at the thought of being away from you after all you'd been through together. "that's great," he hoped it sounded sincere, "really, i know how badly you wanted to go home,"

"i'll see you after the reaping next year," you smiled despite the tears he found forming in your eyes, "we'll be mentors together," "right, of course," he nodded, clearing his throat. "i meant it, when i said thank you," you laid your hand over top his, "i couldn't have survived that without you, art," "you were doing pretty well yourself," a small smile crossed his lips, "but you're welcome. thank you, too. i'm sure i couldn't have made it through the last couple nights without your camp," i was losing my mind out there, he wanted to tell you, you kept me sane.

he rested his palm against your cheek, just over the partially healed bruise, "i had the time of my life winning the games with you," he'd hoped it would come out like a joke, but his voice cracked halfway through, his eyes watering, "please take care of yourself," "you can come visit," you looked hopeful, vulnerable, "you'd love it there," "i know i would," he stroked the skin of your jaw lightly, "i'll come when i can, i promise," "isn't it odd, to go from strangers to-" you stopped, a tear slipping, "to whatever this is, killing together, to strangers again?" "oh, we won't ever be strangers," he gave you a small laugh, wiping your eyes, "you'll always know me,"

your hand moved up, resting on his bicep, and the two of you sat in silence, only your quiet breathing echoing inside the room. "you're more than just a tribute," you whispered, "don't forget that, okay? promise me," it caught him off guard, the breath catching in his throat at the sincerity in your voice, "you showed me that," he finally managed, "what you said about not letting them control me, it stuck," "good," there was a ghost of a smile on your lips, "you're so brave, art. do you know that?"

he let his eyes close, your words warming his chest, "it's just the way i was raised," "you're more than that," your hand worked its way up to his shoulders, then his jaw, resting there lightly, "you're a human being with a soul and a will and a life," a quiet, desperate sort of noise left his throat as he tried to hold back tears, "stop talkin like you're never gonna see me again," "i'm just telling you what everyone else should have been this whole time," you murmured, and he felt something inside him snap at the softness in your tone. he pulled you into his lap, his hands trembling as he rested them on your waist before taking your own to place them on his shoulders, "you make me feel alive," he said quietly, hoping to make you understand the depth of it, "like i'm real," "you are real," your breath was fanning over his lips, "real as anything else,"

you kissed him, finally, and it felt like he was waking up, like he'd been blind and finally saw a sunrise, like everything in him was on fire. his hands wound in your hair, kissing you back feverishly deep, pulling you close and aching for more within seconds. you kissed him like you could pry him open and pour your own soul's goodness into him, like you could heal all his wounds if you just tried. he was gasping into your mouth, his hands grabbing anywhere he could, desperate for more but terrified to push it too far.

you led his hands to the hem of your shirt, pulling back to catch your breath, "i want this," you panted softly, "you can do what you want," that set him off, and both of your clothes were off in a pile minutes later, his lips brushing over your throat as you scratched at his scalp. "never felt like this before," he mumbled into your skin, trailing lower as he spoke, "thank you," "don't have to thank me," you said softly, pulling him back up to kiss him again, rolling off his lap to lay back on the bed, pulling him over you. he was helpless to your commands, desperate to do whatever you wanted. his hands trembled as he slid off your underwear, his own soon after, never pulling away from your lips.

he gripped your thigh as he slid inside you, your choked moan muffled by his mouth, small noises passing between you. "oh, god," your back arched, head falling against the pillow as his hands settled on your hips, holding you tightly as if you might slip away. "you're so beautiful," he whispered, afraid that if he gotten any louder he'd be unable to hold back his moans, "you look like an angel," he thought of the first time he saw you in training, the way you moved like a swan in water, so similar to the way you laid beneath him now. your legs wrapped around him, pulling him down closer so you could kiss him again, whimpering against his lips.

he was gentle with you, taking his time to draw out the moments he had with you, fleeting as they may have been. his head settled in the crook of your shoulder, kissing any spare inch of skin as he fucked you, hands trembling. your cheeks were damp, and for a brief moment he was horrified that he'd hurt you. "i'm okay," you whispered, kissing his jaw, "just a lot," he knew what you meant, this all consuming warp of emotions in his chest, the desperation clawing at his throat.

he intertwined his fingers in yours as his pace quickened slightly, the sound of soft moans and skin against skin filling the room. your free hand rested on his shoulders, nails scratching against him slightly, just enough to pull a groan from his swollen lips. his free hand went between your thighs, gentle even as he pressed against your clit, a surprised gasp leaving your throat, "oh, art, just like that," he was chasing your pleasure with fervor, hips rocking faster as you clenched around him, cheeks flushed and eyes rolled back. he committed it to memory, let the image burn into his mind as you came undone beneath him, muffling your sounds with your hand. he followed soon after, pulling out of you as he released onto your thigh, panting softly.

he took his time cleaning you up after, returning from the bathroom with a warm towel to wipe you down, humming quietly. "you really are beautiful," he said softly, pressing a kiss to your hipbone after he finished, "like a piece of art," you trailed your fingers over his, smiling hazily, "you're like one of the statues from before," you yawned, "like one of those greek men," he smiled at that, kissing your knuckles, "i don't know about all that, angel," "i do," you sounded so sure, he didn't bother to argue further.

he frowned when you sat up, stretching and reaching for your clothes. "you're going?" "my train leaves first thing in the morning," you reminded him, fastening your pants, "i have to be in my room when the peacekeepers come," "right, of course," he nodded, chest aching once again, "i can walk you," "you shouldn't," you shook your head, leaning down to kiss him again, smiling against his lips, "goodnight, art,"

"goodbye," he said softly, and you shook your head quickly, frowning, "not goodbye, just goodnight. i'll see you soon, right? you'll come visit?" "yeah, i will," he nodded, watching you head for the door, thinking of the space you'd carved out in his mind with a jolt, "goodnight, then. please be safe," "you know where to find me," you waved with two fingers, "i'll write you if i don't hear from you soon," and then you were gone, and he felt sick, revolted by the thought of moving into some big empty house in victor's village while yours sat empty next door.

he had the distant thought that he may have been falling in love with you. then, he turned out the lamp and went to sleep. machines didn't love, and you had not changed him forever. you were just a girl, he told himself. but when he slept, he dreamt of seeing you again, of your sunkissed cheeks and salt sprayed hair running along the beach of your hometown. he'd see you soon, after all.

[respectthepetty]

Pit Babe 2 Colors - Ep. 3

I'm watching the second season of Pit Babe on mute with no subtitles and double-speed just like I did the first season, yet I had no clue this was Charles in the Chocolate Factory because I have no idea what the actor actually looks like without glasses. He Clark Kent-ed me!

And so did this one! I know he played in Long Beans, but I hadn't noticed he was in this show ince he doesn't have glasses! Has he been here the whole time? He is in blue, so he should be good, pero . . . I trust no one this season.

Except Christopher! I trust him completely. He has sass, and he is Waymond with amnesia, so how could I not trust him?

But, truly, from an aesthetic perspective, everyone was serving sass this episode. Or as the French say, "le cunt," because Jeffery is saying something, and the looks he is getting in response are fantastic. My always-handsome-and-gorgeous Alan looks dumbfounded, Charles is looking at his buddy like even he can't go along on this clown journey, and Peter looks like he wants to fight him in a Texas Chicken parking lot.

Then Southwest Airlines is off somewhere in this scene wearing PURPLE, but Vegas' Hedgehog is wearing this little number with white, denim, and a huge ass HEART ON HIS CHEST like he is in a competition at the gay rodeo, and even he looks like he is ready to slap Jeffrey.

But I trust whatever Jeffrey is telling them because he is the ONLY one to be consistently in blue this season with his bosom buddy Charles, so regardless of what he told the squad, I'm going to defend this Blue Boy in the making.

WHAT THE FUCK, JEFFREY! I was just rooting for you! Why are you wearing green?! It's not a bad color; it's just not blue! Are you pregnant? Is that why you are wearing green? Is it like a gender reveal, but for Omegaverse? Red is for an Alpha, Blue is for Beta, and Green is for the Holy Spirit Omega? Alan will make a great dad. He has already raised a team of racers.

Unlike this shitty father! Anthony, why are you alive?! Playing with dead animals is a little to heavy-handed, sir. We get it! You've been bringing dead things back to life (like yourself, Waymond, and Dean???). But why did you let Kentana go? He killed you? Unless you wanted him to be free because that's part of your plan . . .

Because although Whiny Winifred is committed to Team Evil, he is no Kentana. Anthony, you crazy bitch, what's the angle here?

Because I, once again, do not think William is a threat since he brought a sunflower to Barbie which symbolizes friendship, happiness, and loyalty, and he ate the oranges, which bring luck and a sense of sharing.

BUT WHY THE FUCK DID HE JUST MOVE SO QUICKLY?!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Charles, we know that you are strategically placed in between William and Barbara to show that you are the true barrier between them, but WILLIAM JUST MOVED VERY FUCKING FAST AND IS THAT HIS POWER?! I thought he was blocking or amplifying other people's powers, but is this bitch the true Sonic the Hedgehog here?!

Now these two are standing in the dark when they could just move over a foot and be IN THE LIGHT! Why must we exist in such dark places this season? Do none of you want to be happy?!

*Kentana's dark ass has entered the chat* Well, I guess that's a "no" then considering Kentana showed up at Peter's place and they didn't make out about it. Waymond is "dead" and Peter still won't let Kentana on second base. The tragedy!

And, of course, Team Evil, with its red lights, is experimenting on people and killing them in the process. Unless, that is part of the process, so Anthony can bring them back to life?

WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU WEARING RED, ALAN?! YOUR MAN IS PREGNANT! YOU CANNOT GO TO THE DARK SIDE!

I won't panic just yet because Black Brooder Barbie is in black boxers and Blue Boy Charles is in blue boxer, and there is some light in their black bathroom, so not all hope is lost. Alan could just be upset about something else not at all related to Team Evil.

Because Jeffrey is still blue, and Dean is . . . also blue and not evil, so . . . uh, WHY WAS ALAN WEARING RED?!

And why won't Peter just make out with Kentana so that barrier between them can go away?! He killed your shitty father. He deserves some under-the-shirt action!

Thank goodness Southwest Airlines made it out of the purple sweatshirt only to wear a blue cardigan and a shirt with RED TEXT ON IT! I officially hate this episode. Too much red, no Kimberly, and no kisses. Why must I suffer?

Even Vegas' Hedgehog, in white, seems perturbed. What is his deal? Why is he so light? Is he an angel coming to save everyone? Or is he devoid of color because he lost his way? Tell me your secrets, you beautiful bitch!

Now Alan is wearing green, Jeffrey is wearing brown, and dark cloud Dean is feeding Jeffery! WHAT IS HAPPENING?! Did Jeffrey tell people he was pregnant and Alan didn't take it well, so now Dean is like, "you need to eat for the baby" so he is making sure he eats? On God, I'm about to unblock this tag because between this and William moving fast, I'm freaking out!

AND WHOSE RED CAR IS THAT?! ALAN, WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING, BRO?!

KIMBERLY, SAVE US WITH YOUR BLUE LIGHTING! Peter, move out from between them. You cannot be the barrier that gets in the way of their love. You had your chance to go to third base with Kentana, but you fumbled, so now let Kentana get his reward for stabbing y'alls shitty father. Let my Black Brooder be kissed by a man, and let that man be my Pink Power Ranger!

Okay, without the glasses I know this is Charles because he is blue (color), but I also know something is going wrong because he is blue (sad). I learn quick!

So now that Peter has gotten his ex a new beau, it's time for him to make his move on Waymond Christopher. Christopher is wearing black now instead of white, so I think he is feeling whatever Peter is dropping off, and I don't mean the food.

Vegas' Hedgehog is wearing blue again! I wanna trust him so badly. I don't want him to be bad. I want to trust these two idiots, but Waymond 2.0 is going to kiss a man before these two make out, and I just don't know what secrets they have that are holding them back from making out with each other! Don't be Kentana and Peter. Don't aim for first base when you could have a home run!

William, and his little gay scooter, will make out with a man before them! AND IT WILL BE WITH CHARLES BECAUSE HE IS LOVE WITH HIM (look at the way he is staring him down as he scoots along).

WILLIAM, WHAT DID YOU DO TO CHARLES?! WHY DID HE GLITCH?! WHY DID HE CRASH? WILLIAM, THIS ISN'T HOW YOU GET A MAN'S ATTENTION!!!!!!

WHAT IS FUCKING HAPPENING?!

[starryjiung]

of pleasure and pain

day 16 of piwontober

shower sex / fingering with yoon keeho

NSFW - 18+ MDNI

wc: 1.6k

tags: superhero au, villain!keeho, hero!reader, scars, blood, wounds, weapons, mentions of murder/killing people, fingering, shower sex, pet names, praise, degradation, reader uses she/her pronouns and has a clitoris and vagina, keeho refers to reader as girl

a/n: omg my smut debut look at me go! here is my little thanks to section, because I have to mention @enbyjjunie who has been helping motivate me, brainstorm with me, and beta read!! of course a huge thank you to @sxfterhearts and @kisseobie for managing this whole event, and bringing all of us together. and to all the other amazing writers who are part of the project, I am so excited to be publishing my fic alongside yours ♡

Blood stained the white shower tiles, mixing with the soap bubbles to create intricate shapes as it swirled down the drain. The water rinsed everything off, every bit of blood, sweat, and grime that could be found on your bodies. If anything stuck in the corners, it wasn’t your problem, since this was Keeho’s bathroom. His white tiles, his cleaning headache. Not that you paid it much mind in the moment, with your back up against the cool glass of his shower doors, Keeho’s hands and mouth all over you.

“Fuck, careful where you place your hands,” he mumbled in your ear, shrugging your hand off his shoulder. You glanced over to see a fairly new bruise blossoming right where you had grabbed him, and couldn’t help the smirk that overtook your features.

“Got you good today, didn’t I?” you asked, the amusement short lived as you immediately felt a sharp stabbing pain on your hip in retaliation.

Keeho had pressed down on a fresh slashing wound from your fight earlier, making you yelp and instantly grab onto his arms for support, as your legs wobbled under you. Even though you had ended the night on a high, Keeho having to retreat from the city beaten and bruised, it was not like you had made it out completely unscathed. Keeho was an expert at wielding his signature twin poignard daggers, the many cuts on your body being evidence of this.

“I like it better when you shut up.”

“Someone’s a sore loser,” you mumbled, slowly trailing off as he leaned back into your space, caging you in between his arms against the now steamy glass door. He looked down at you with sharp eyes, and you noticed another bruise forming on his left cheekbone, no doubt the result of you hitting him with the blunt end of your glaive.

You and Keeho were the perfect match, two sides of the same coin in every way possible. The first time you had gone head to head, both of you had been left in awe of the other’s abilities. Not that any of you would ever admit it. Keeho’s teleportation powers and your super speed balanced each other out so well, one was never more than half a step ahead of the other. This resulted in fights purely being decided on combat skills and luck, as you wounded each other at a speed too high for the onlookers to perceive.

You turned your head slightly, pressing your lips firmly to his pretty bruise, making sure he both felt the warmth of the kiss, and was reminded of the earlier impact with your weapon. Your kisses softened as you trailed down the side of his face, your hands leaving his toned upper arms to explore the expanse of his naked upper body.

“I could have killed you today, you really should be nicer to me,” you said in between open mouthed kisses at his jawline.

“Oh yes, imagine those headlines. “Darling hero of Metro City commits murder on open street!” You can never kill me sweetheart, there would be an outrage,” he replied, eyes closed as you worked down his neck. “And your heart is too soft to do it.”

You decided to ignore his statement, not wanting to agree with him, and instead grabbed his hips to push up against. As soon as your front came in contact with his hard cock, Keeho let out a low groan, one you could feel vibrating in his throat as you had your face buried right in the crook of his neck. Not a second later, Keeho’s arms were back around you, holding you close in order to maintain the friction between your bodies.

As you were grinding against each other, you felt a shiver down your spine, the water on your body slowly drying and giving way to the cold air coming in from below. Before you even had time to adjust, Keeho was already pulling you back under the hot stream coming from the showerhead.

Standing even closer together now, in order for both of you to enjoy the warm water, Keeho rested his forehead against your temple, his face only a breath away as his hands travelled down the sides of your body. His hair was dripping down onto his collarbones, where you saw a paper-thin scar, long healed, but no doubt your doing. Most of the scars littering your body were left by him as well, reminders of every fight, every battle, every night spent together afterwards.

“How come you have never killed me?” you thought out loud.

You felt Keeho’s hands stop, just for half a second, before continuing to glide over your skin, his right pointer finger tracing a newly healed gash along your outer thigh, the skin raised and still pink. His doing.

“I mean, you’ve had the chance several times,” you continued, not satisfied with his silence.

For a few seconds, the sound of water hitting skin and tile was the only thing you could hear in the bathroom. Then you felt Keeho smile against your cheek.

“Yeah well, keeping you alive is way more fun, means I get to do this.”

His hand quickly moved from your leg to in between your bodies, his finger finding your clit and beginning to rub small circles without a moment’s hesitation. You immediately grabbed onto his shoulders for stability, all thoughts of the forming bruise there gone for now. A choked moan got stuck in your throat, which made Keeho giggle.

“Look at you, already struggling to stand and I have barely touched you,” he said, lips right next to your ear as his hand kept moving at the pace he knew you liked. “Wonder what the good people of Metro City would think of their precious hero, if they knew she was whimpering like a slut in my shower.”

“Oh fuck you,” you managed to gasp out, throwing your head back to rest against the wet tile behind you. This got a proper laugh out of Keeho, who now had a much better view of your upper body, taking full advantage of your new position.

“Later, maybe. For now I want you to beg for my fingers, can you do that, angel?” he asked.

You did not want to give him the satisfaction of begging, but the way he was rubbing circles on your clit also felt too good to object. Just then, his fingertips went further down, teasing at your entrance and making you inhale sharply.

You were dripping wet, more than one could expect you to be after such a short amount of time with Keeho’s hands on you. But just as he was to blame for most of the scars on your body, Keeho had also become responsible for the vast majority of your orgasms. He knew exactly what to do to have you moaning and begging for him, and in that moment you felt every ounce of pride and composure leave your body. You knew the pleasure he would reward you with was worth so much more.

“Please-” you started your sentence, cutting yourself off with a high pitched whine as Keeho’s fingers moved back up to your clit.

“Sorry could you repeat that sweetheart? I can’t hear you over all that pathetic whimpering,” he said, tilting his head slightly with an amused smile, as he watched you lose yourself to the feeling of his hands on you.

“Please! Please please I want you fingers inside me so bad Keeho, fuck, please,” you cried out, the grip you had on his shoulders becoming so tight, it would surely leave marks for the day after. None of you paid it any mind, however, used to much more permanent reminders of each other.

“That’s my good girl.”

Keeho slipped a single finger inside your wetness, quickly realising that you were turned on enough for him to add a second one immediately. The feeling of him inside of you, slowly stretching your walls, was enough to have you moaning uncontrollably. When he started curling his fingers up towards himself, you could feel how close you were already.

“You’re taking my fingers so well, being so obedient for me. Everyone else sees you fight, but only I know how good you are at giving in to me,” he said, eyes focused on where his fingers were pumping in and out of you.

You could do little more than nod, your breaths coming out as a mix of whines and sharp exhales. Both of you knew you were not going to last much longer.

“I want to feel you cum around my fingers, angel. Cum for me.”

He had barely finished the sentence, before you cried out, your orgasm hitting you as soon as he gave permission. Keeho could feel you clenching around him, coming undone as he continued to curl his fingers inside you. He had seen your face in complete ecstacy like this more times than he could count, and yet he craved it like a drug. The knowledge that he could have this effect on you too, the cuts on your body telling a story so different from the pleasure painting your features in that moment.

As you came down from the high, Keeho slowly removed his fingers again, letting the water rinse away your wetness, just as it had cleaned you off your blood.

Pulling yourself closer to him again, you leaned your face on his shoulder as your breathing returned to normal. Small crescent shaped indentations were left in the reddening bruise, and you found yourself leaving small pecks on each one, as Keeho brought his arms around you under the water.

How were you ever supposed to kill each other, when being alive together felt so good.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Epic the musical Songs (as of wisdom saga): in 10 words or less.

1. "The Horse And The Infant" 7/10 When committing war crimes suddenly gets difficult

2. "Just A Man" 9/10 A song about baby murder

3. "Full Speed Ahead" 5/10 introducing all the people who will be problems

4. "Open Arms" 6/10, Death flag but catchy

5. "Warrior Of The Mind" 8/10 Athena telling Odysseus stop being stupid

6. "Polyphemus" 5/10 Cyclops tries to protect property from Nobody

7. "Survive" 8/10 Cyclops kills Nobody’s friend.

8. "Remember Them" 9/10 When Odysseus made his only mistake.

9. "My Goodbye" 9/10, Odysseus loses another friend

10. "Storm" 5/10 When karma strikes fast

11. "Luck Runs Out" 7/10 Crew doubts captain after 1 mistake.

12. "Keep Your Friends Close" 7/10 Captain doubts crew after insubordination.

13. "Ruthlessness" 10/10 Poseidon roasts Odysseus while being a hypocrite.

14. "Puppeteer" 5/10 Local woman turns men into pigs

15. "Wouldn't You Like" 7/10 Hermes being Odysseus best friend

16. "Done For" 8/10 Odysseus uses his sword on Circe

17. "There Are Other Ways" 5/10 Odysseus doesn’t use his “Sword” on Circe.

18. "The Underworld" 8/10 Odysseus feels his sins crawling on his back

19. "No Longer You" 8/10 Spoilers the song.

20. "Monster" 10/10 Odysseus decides humanity is overrated

21. "Suffering" 6/10 Odysseus uwu’s a Siren

22. "Different Beast" 9/10 Odysseus and friends make sashimi

23. "Scylla" 8/10 Local monster meets another monster

24. "Mutiny" 8/10 Eurylochus is a hypocrite for 5 minutes

25. "Thunder Bringer" 10/10 Zeus Flexes on mortals

26. "Legendary" 7/10 Prince wishes for father to return with the milk

27. "Little Wolf" 5/10. Resident prick beats up Prince.

28. "We'll Be Fine" 5/10 Goddess realizes she’s been a jerk.

29. "Love In Paradise" 10/10 Odysseus is going through it!

30. "God Games" 7/10 Athena forgets that Zeus is a petty bitch.

[pit-stop-princess]

Turn Eight & Sushi

Kimi Antonelli x Female OC

this is an excerpt from an f1 fic i am currently writing

Summary: “Didn’t mean to hit you. Thought I could make the pass.” “You thought wrong.”

Warnings: Crash, bruises, picture of bruises, mentions of death, joking about death

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Only three laps left in qualifying, and the battle for the top ten was brutal. The skies were steel grey, threatening rain but holding steady, and the crowd buzzed in anticipation as the commentators narrated every move like a thriller.

"Harley currently P7, but she’s got Antonelli right behind her, he’s purpled Sector 1."

“Harley, Antonelli’s closing in. Watch turn eight,” Mia’s voice came through the radio, tight with urgency.

Harley gritted her teeth and shifted slightly in her seat, fingers firm on the steering wheel. “Yeah, no kidding.”

He’d been hounding her for three laps now. She knew his style. Bold, fast, impatient. But this was qualifying, not a race. There was no room for error.

She entered the high-speed Turn 8, where commitment was everything. Through her mirrors, Antonelli loomed, too close, closing fast.

"Don’t even think about it, Antonelli."

But he did. He darted to the inside line.

Harley felt it before she saw it. The split-second misjudgment, the late move on cold tires. Contact. A sickening crunch of carbon fiber.

“Shit!”

Her car jerked violently sideways. Tires screamed. The world spun: barriers, asphalt, sky.

“Harley?! Talk to me!” Mia’s voice cracked in her ears.

There was no controlling it now. Her front wing was gone, rear suspension snapped. The car skated helplessly off track, metal grinding as it carved into the gravel trap. And then-

CRUNCH!

Impact.

The front right side crumpled into the tech-pro barrier. A brutal slam.

Everything stilled. The engine died. All she could hear was her own heartbeat, pounding like a war drum in the hollow silence.

“Harley? Harley, respond!” Mia again, more desperate.

Only heavy breathing came through.

On the world feed, cameras cut to Antonelli, who’d slowed to a crawl, his white-knuckled grip still locked on the wheel. His helmet turned toward the wreckage. His engineer’s voice came over the comms.

“Kimi, return to the pits.”

He didn’t move.

“Is she-” his voice broke. “Is she okay?”

A long beat.

Then, “She just said the barrier hits like a wimp. Gave the cameras a double thumbs up.”

Antonelli closed his eyes and exhaled, his chest sagging with relief.

++

Back on track, the marshals worked fast. Harley blinked through her visor, now fogged up from adrenaline and sweat. Her chest ached from the harness, ribs tight, head ringing.

Too many voices yelled in her ears. She hated that. “I’m good… I’m okay,” she said finally, though her voice was hoarse.

The medical team arrived. The cockpit was torn open. A marshal extended a hand. Harley took it and pulled herself out slowly. Unsteady, but upright.

She turned to the cheering stands and lifted both thumbs high.

The crowd erupted.

++

Later, in the paddock, her phone exploded. Clips of the crash had already gone viral. Commentary reels, TikToks, frame-by-frame breakdowns, even a fan animation. Hashtags like #HarleyUnbreakable and #WimpBarrier were trending.

liked by user1, miatheengineer, & others

harleycarterspeeds

Me: 1 - Barriers: 0. Better luck next time Antonelli 😮‍💨

view comments

miatheengineer glad you're okay queen

⤷ harleycarterspeeds ikr? thanks for making sure i'm safe 👍

olliebearman Glad you're okay mate!

kimi.antonelli thank god you're alright

❤️ liked by author

++

Antonelli found her later outside the team garage. He still had his race suit on, helmet under one arm. No cameras, no crowd, just them.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low.

Harley looked at him, eyes sharp but tired. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

He looked like he hadn’t breathed since the crash. “Didn’t mean to hit you. Thought I could make the pass.”

“You thought wrong.” She said it with a smirk, but there was a small huff behind it.

“…Glad you’re okay,” he said after a pause.

She tilted her head, teasing. “Me too. Would suck to kick the bucket at qualifying."

He blinked. “Fair.”

“And sushi.”

He frowned. “Sushi?”

“You hit me at Qualifying. In Japan. You’re buying. And in Japan, dinner means sushi.”

Antonelli laughed under his breath. “I’ll pick the place.”

“You better. I nearly died.”

++

liked by miatheengineer, maxverstappen1, & others

harleycarterspeeds

no hard feelings @/kimi.antonelli got us sushi! i had to teach him how to hold chopsticks lol 🥢

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kimi.antonelli I'm Italian

⤷ harleycarterspeeds I fail to see how this has to do with the fact you didn't know how to hold chopsticks

⤷ kimi.antonelli WE DONT USE CHOPSTICKS

user.one AHHH queen I love your nails!

miatheengineer don't get back to late, you need to heal.

⤷ harleycarterspeeds yes ma'am 🫡

user97 is this a date??

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[woso-dreamzzz]

Barcelona

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first day at Barcelona

Your first day at Barcelona starts a week after Momma and Morsa give you Prins. He's an absolute sweetheart and you coo softly at him after getting back from your morning run.

You're trying to get yourself into a routine so a morning run was what you settled on - even though you weren't really a morning person.

Prins' tail wags happily as you unclip his leash and he runs off to lap at his water bowl.

You check your phone as you go to grab your training bag.

There's a few texts from Tia Tana and Alexia, both wishing you good luck on your first day that you shoot off thank yous to before you crouch down to run a hand through Prins' fur.

"I'll be home soon," You promise him," Don't tear apart my stuff."

He yips at you and you take that as agreement, slipping out the front door.

You live close to the training ground and take a deep breath. You've already signed your contract and done the media commitments so this is your first day actually training with the team.

You stand outside the changing room and take a deep breath to calm your nerves, clenching your fist to steel yourself as you head inside.

There's blur in front of you and suddenly you feel like you're being crushed. You recognise this feeling though and hug back, resting your head in her neck.

"I've missed you," Natalia says, pulling back to cup your face.

You feel your cheeks go red and hope she doesn't notice. "I missed you too," Is what you say back.

She pulls you in for another hug, kisses raining down on your head inbetween a desperate slur of English and Spanish.

Natalia keeps chattering away to you as you change. You think her eyes linger a little bit when you've got your top off but you don't want to give yourself hope so you try to ignore it.

Natalia's just a touchy person. Whatever feelings you have for her shouldn't be projected onto what she may feel for you.

Her hand grips yours as she pulls you out onto the pitch, making brief introductions to everyone for you.

"I don't know how you expect me to get to know everyone if you keep dragging me away," You laugh.

"I want to keep you all to myself for a little bit longer," She says, her eyes boring into yours like there's something else she wants to say," Is that so wrong?"

You shake your head, lacing your fingers with hers. "No. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Good." Natalia steps further into your space until you're close enough to feel her breath on your lips.

It takes you back to your first kiss with her, when the Spain team had made the journey all the way over to Denmark again and you took her to a little café after the match. You had a nice afternoon snack and then walked with her to the park where you confessed you had never kissed someone before. She had pressed her lips to yours in that instant.

Because she was a good friend and good friends helped their friends when they're feeling nervous.

Your heart had sped up in that moment just like it was speeding up now.

"I'm selfish," Natalia continues," I like having you all to myself. The others can have you next week. This week you're mine."

You smile at her shyly as her own grin widens and she tugs you over to where the manager is gathering everyone around.

Barcelona training is a bit more intense than Arsenal training but you're still running off your World Cup fitness so you adapt pretty quickly. Your Momma said once that you're good like that, that you can adapt to anything and blend in with a group like a little chameleon.

Admittedly, she said that to you when you were a lot younger but you're happy to keep the comparison even now.

There's only a few breaks in the pace of training and, every time, Natalia comes back into your orbit. She's always touching you in some way but her preferred position is standing behind you, arms wrapped around your waist and chin hooked around your shoulder.

Having her so close makes goosebumps rise on your body and your heart thumps so hard that you're a little bit scared she's going to hear it.

You write it all off as her being Spanish though, even as soft little kisses are pressed to your neck. They're a bit ticklish and you flinch away.

"Stop it! I'm sensitive!"

"Oh?" Natalia quirks a brow, smiling like a wolf," You're sensitive, are you? That's nice to know."

Like usual whenever Natalia's around, your face burns red and you distract yourself by chugging half of your water in one go. But, despite your embarrassment, you lean back into her body, allowing her to support most of your weight as you both sway slightly as you wait around for the gym equipment to be set up.

"Hey," Natalia says softly, directly in your ear like you're the only two out on the pitch," Do you want to go to dinner tonight? There's this nice place near my apartment."

"What did I do to deserve dinner?"

"Survived your first day?" Natalia teases," Pulled of an incredible save against a goal that should have been mine?"

You laugh. "I'm wise to your tricks. You're not putting one past me."

"Oh, come on! Not even a little one?"

"No chance."

"Fine. But, really, dinner?"

"I would," You say," But Prins-"

"Bring him with. I'd love to meet him in person. Come on, what have I got to say to get you to agree?"

"Fine," You say," Dinner with you and Prins. Send me the address."

"I'll pick you up," Natalia replies with a wink," Can't have such a pretty girl walking around alone."

That moment, along with many others, get captured by the media team documenting your first day.

When Magda wakes up the next morning, it's to notifications from the Barcelona Instagram page and she scrolls through it to see if you're featured.

She doesn't know if it's anger or relief that bubbles up in when she sees your face in the pictures but it's definitely anger when she spots Natalia holding you tight against her body.

Your head is tilted back on the other's girl shoulder and you're beaming up at her as one of her hands is under your arm, holding your shoulder and pressing you back against her while the other is splayed out on your hip.

You're both smiling.

She flicks to the next picture and the next, each of them showing you and Natalia in various positions, curled around each other like you're the only two people there.

"Hmm," Pernille says as she rolls over and begins to wake up," Magda? What is it? Has something happened?"

"Is Natalia sleeping with our daughter?

"Huh? What?"

"Is Natalia planning on sleeping with our daughter? I mean, look!" She shoves the phone into Pernille's face.

"I won't lie but she's probably thought about it before. You know what Natalia's like. She's smitten."

"Smitten?" Magda scoffs," That's what you're going with?!"

"I could say patient as well," Pernille replies," I don't know many girls who would pine over someone for so long." She sits up and properly looks at the photos. "Although, I don't think she'll have to wait much longer. Princesse is smitten too."

[gothamite-rambler]

StephCass Pact: If in two years Cass and Stephanie are still single or unfulfilled in their dating lives, they’re going to start dating since they don't want to rush into that type of commitment.

Author's Note: This is a future AO3 fic, and currently, I’m seeing Stephanie as bi and Cass as a lesbian. I’d love to hear your thoughts! And to those who aren’t fans of StephCass, feel free to scroll past this post.

Stephanie: I have an announcement to make, everyone! In two years, if Cass and I aren’t in relationships, we’re going to give dating a try.

Damian: You... might want to push that timeline up; I’ve seen your taste in men.

Jason (snort laughing): He means Tim.

Tim (looking up from his tea cup): Huh? What? I said sorry! How long are you going to hold that against me?

Damian: Forever. Stephanie, I will say Cass is better than Drake. Cass is better than a lot of the people you've dated.

Stephanie (bonking Damian on the head lightly): I’m going to let that slide, you little gremlin. Cass is pretty amazing, isn't she?

Stephanie grinned, a dreamy look in her eyes and her hands on her hips. The others exchanged surprised glances but quickly rallied to support her discovering her sexual preferences and wanted to wait to date Cass instead of rushing into it.

Stephanie: I already got approval from Barbara; she took Cass out for lunch. With them gone, I wanted to tell you guys! She said it might be a sooner, but she’s not ready yet. Neither am I. So in the meantime, I'm… taking up knitting, video games, and speed dating. I kissed my first girl a few months back, I loved it.

Kate: I was the same way with my second girlfriend in army. Being in the army sucked at times, but Tiffany made it easier. She used to keep my bed warm—

Jason (raising his voice): Damian is in the room.

Kate (effortlessly changing the subject): While we studied the Torah.

Jason: Nice save. Stephanie, did you just come out as gay to us?

Stephanie unzipped her jacket, revealing her bisexual striped T-shirt. A striped dinosaur adorned the front, sporting the colors of the bisexual flag.

Stephanie (eager): Not gay, but bi and I did! Your girl likes men and women!

Jason (chill): Hm, cool.

Kate clapped like she was watching golf.

Damian: Your coming-out moment was better than Drake’s too.

Tim (reading the shirt): Damian, I’m going to hit you later. What does that shirt say? "Why not both?" with a dinosaur on it. You would wear that during your coming-out moment.

Stephanie: You know me well, and my coming-out was better than yours.

Damian laughed, earning a playful slap on the head from Tim.

Tim: I'm happy for you either way.

Stephanie: Thanks. Yes, yes, I am bisexual. Dating hasn’t gotten any easier, but I’ve been enjoying meeting different women. I definitely have a stronger leaning toward women over men.

Kate: Don't blame you there. Not that I'm saying dating women is better, but I'm thinking it.

Stephanie: Kate, shush. You guys are being super supportive and I needed that since... I have to tell my mom. Do you LGBTQ+ folks have any suggestions?

Tim laughed while sipping his tea, shaking his head. He had to use a pie analogy when telling Bruce.

Kate: You're asking the wrong woman. Good luck!

Stephanie tapped her chin thoughtfully just as her mom and Bruce entered the living room, having overheard much of the conversation. Crystal Brown cleared her throat, surprised by the announcement.

Stephanie (spinning around, caught off guard): Ma, what are you doing here?

Crystal: The rat bastard owed me money.

Bruce: I have a name, and it was fifty dollars for gas.

Crystal: Rat bastard—I said it correctly. Silence. Now… Stephanie, are you telling the truth? Are you a wee lesbian?

Stephanie: It’s more than that. I… you see… Ma… It took a lot of soul-searching and being around both genders.

Stephanie took a deep breath, keeping some distance from her mom. Crystal's expression stayed neutral as she waited.

Stephanie: I’m bi. Not a lesbian, and this isn’t a phase; it’s who I am. I understand you’re a born-again Catholic, and I’ve supported that, especially since the church helped you get better. But I hope you don’t disown me. You're the only parent I have and I love you. I know this is new for you, but I’m still the same person.

Crystal tapped her chin, deep in thought. Kate straightened up, waiting for her mother’s reaction. Tim leaned forward, ready to intervene if necessary. Kate even grabbed a book, poised to toss it if the response was negative.

Crystal smiled softly and opened her arms wide.

Crystal: Come here, baby girl.

Stephanie (being pulled into a hug): Is this like a goodbye hug?

Crystal: No darlin' I would never. Jesus taught us to love each other, and while I’m new to this LGBT and Q stuff, what I do understand is that I love ya. You figured out who ya are and told me.

Crystal pulled away and gently cupped her daughter’s cheeks.

Crystal: You have made me so proud. The fact you’ve found out who ya are means you’re doing better than me, your father, or the rat bastard.

Stephanie smiled, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. She hugged her mother again, and Crystal patted her on the back.

Jason (while reading): That’s nice, and Bruce got insulted too. Good day.

Bruce shrugged, annoyed at being insulted without having spoken. Kate dropped the book, placing a hand on her chest.

Kate: Whew, I thought I was going to have to kick her ass.

Crystal: There’s no need for that. I had a friend back in Ireland who was a wee lesbian. Nobody believed that roommate lie. Plus, I’m going to love my Stephy no matter what. The Lord brought us back together, and I want to make her happy. Will grandbabies be in the mix?

Stephanie: I actually don’t mind having kids someday, so yeah, when I’m ready.

Crystal: The Lord is good then.

Stephanie: He or she sure is. I love you, Ma.

Crystal: I love you too, baby girl… even when you test my patience like you did with that wise joke about the Lord.

Crystal and Stephanie laughed, hugging once more. The rest of the Batfamily found the heartwarming mother-daughter conversation touching, but Bruce was still trying to figure out ways to set Cass up with any other woman.

Kate (sniffling): Oh my God, this is so sweet! Times have changed when a Irish Catholic mother accepts her bisexual daughter.

Jason: Are you crying?

Kate (wiping her eyes): I can’t help it! I got hit with all the feels when she didn’t disown her.

Crystal (her arm over Stephanie’s shoulder): I would never disown my flesh and blood. The Lord gave me to her, and I’m not giving her back. If I did, though, I wouldn’t blame ya for poppin' me in the mouth. Speakin' of judgmental pricks, are you ever going to tell that Protestant bastard I conceived ya with?

Stephanie: I’m working on a plan at the moment… it’s going to be good.

Crystal: Tell me how it goes. I can yell at him afterward.

Kate (clasping her hands together): This is so beautiful: acceptance and vengeance! Bruce, how are you handling this?

Kate snickered while covering her mouth. Bruce didn’t respond immediately, but realizing Crystal would be mad whether he spoke or stayed silent, he decided to voice his thoughts.

Bruce: Stephanie isn’t dating my daughter. It’s not happening. It’s good she finally realized her sexuality. Yay, acceptance, but they will not be together!

Tim (interrupting Jason): Bruce, how dare you ruin this Romeo and Juliet relationship?

Jason laughed, nodding.

Stephanie (placing a hand on her chest, dramatically): That really hurts my feelings, Bruce. Ma, I guess I’m not good enough for Cass. Oh, woe is me?

Crystal (angrily, with a tight smile): Stay here, sweetie. I gotta yell at the rat bastard!

Crystal marched over to Bruce and began to yell at him in her thick Irish accent. Kate and Jason watched the argument unfold like it was a televised event, while Damian continued drawing. Stephanie clapped eagerly, already feeling closer to her future girlfriend.

Damian (whispering): If it means anything, I’m not against you two getting together.

Stephanie (whispering): Thanks, kid. That actually means a lot to me.

To be continued and thanks for reading!

StephCass Masterlist

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

Hi!! I absolutely LOVE your writing, you do such an amazing job!! I was wondering, if you have the time and are taking requests, could you do how each character cuddles with MC? Can be platonic or romantic, and I was wondering if you could also add professors. Thank you so much, I hope it's not to much to ask!! Have a great day/night!!❤️

A/N: romantic cuddling for the friends, platonic cuddle/hugs for the professors :3

HLC CUDDLE HEADCANNONS

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: This boy is a snake. Full body wrapped around MC like a python. He won't let go easily, either. But he's warm and gives many kisses, so the entrapment is worth it.

OMINIS GAUNT: Physical touch has rarely led to good things in his life so MC will need to be patient with him. Once their relationship is to the point that he feels safe with them, he cuddles with his hands constantly mapping their body. He will have every part of them committed to memory.

ANNE SALLOW: She likes laying on top of them with her face on their chest. She finds their heartbeat soothing. She also likes hearing it speed up when she's feeling cheeky.

IMELDA REYES: Physical touch isn't one of her love languages, so she doesn't go out of her way to cuddle them. She doesn't reject it, She finds MC's affection cute, but she'll be reading or messing with her wand while she lays there with MC attached.

NATSAI ONAI: She is the big spoon. She must protecc. She whispers all sorts of sweet nothing's while she's holding them and gives little neck kisses.

GARRETH WEASLEY: Cuddling him is dangerous because MC never knows what he'll do. This goof can't help but make MC laugh. He loves hearing it. He'll boop their nose, lick their face, even tickle them for a reaction.

LEANDER PREWETT: Long boi with long limbs. MC is tangled in him with little hope of getting away. He has quite the wingspan, so even if MC is on the other side of the bed, he can just casually reach over and yoink them to his side.

AMIT THAKKAR: Hope MC likes his voice, cause he's a talker. MC is his captive audience and he will go on and on and ON about just about anything. Mostly astronomical topics, but he goes off on tangents.

EVERETT CLOPTON: He's the little spoon. Doesn't matter how tall MC is compared to him. They could be the longest mfer or just a little backpack, he loves them either way. He feels held.

POPPY SWEETING: Smol. Turns into a ball like a little hedgehog. Might get lost in the cushions or blankets, so hold tight. Also a bit of a squirmer, sometimes struggles to get comfortable. She'll settle down eventually.

~~~~

ELEAZAR FIG: Dad. Hugs. Like, sit on the couch under his arm, dad hugs. Warm and comforting and loving. MC will likely fall asleep.

MATILDA WEASLEY: She's not too much of a hugger, but she won't deny one if MC asks. They'll be short but comforting.

CHIYO KOGAWA: She's not much of a hugger but if MC really needs one, she'll oblige. Might be a bit awkward, but she means well.

AESOP SHARP: MC will have to be strategic. First, gain his trust. That's the hard part. Second, catch him in a good mood. Third, MC must ask ONLY when no one else is around. His affection is very private. Fourth, (optional step) liquid luck.

ABRAHAM RONEN: Favorite Uncle vibes. Playful bear hugs that crush ribs and pick MC up off their feet. Best hugs for when MC needs a laugh.

MIRABEL GARLICK: Very much a hugger. MC can hold her as long as they need to. Let all their worries and stress melt away in her genuine embrace.

MUDIWA ONAI: She gives the best Mom hugs MC could ever experience. She'll go so far as to hug MC in her lap and rock them like a child, even if MC is tall.

BAI HOWIN: If MC needs affection, she suggests they seek out mooncalves or puffskiens.

DINAH HECAT: She is more affectionate than she lets on. If MC is stressed and needs a hug, she offers one without prompting.

CUTHBERT BINNS: He's a ghost. Move along.

SATYAVATI SHAH: She's not an affectionate person. MC will get more warmth from a glacier.

PHINEAS NIGELLUS BLACK: If MC knows what's good for them, they won't touch him. Ever.