#sorry for taking a bit to get back to you

[yan-randomfandom]

I've been reading the fanart. You have a natural talent for creating a more distinctive personality for the Saja Boys from the bits and pieces they gave us in the movie!

Ever since that fanart where the Saja sneaked into the reader's room, I couldn't stop imagining what they would be like sleeping alone with her, as if every day of the week except the weekends they will take turns sleeping with the reader or something like that.

And again, I love your writing. I hope you like the idea. Have a nice day!!!

Saja Boys x GN!Reader

a/n; anon thank you so much heheh!!! this one isn't too accurate to your idea, but i love it and i hope it's still okay!

summary; physical touch with the boys and why they wanna go to your bedroom :))) (touch starved. written separately but they all live in the same housing)

warnings; stalking (watching you sleep), body curious, touching w no permission, nothing sexual tho!

— 🍃 [Monday]

Here's the thing, guys. The boys don't actually need sleep. They're demons. Sleep isn't something their bodies need—instead it's something they want. They are still aware and can feel through touch, which is exactly why they'd prefer to sleep with you.

You're warm, so alive, and they don't know it yet.

Surprisingly enough, Jinu is the first one to knock on your door.

"Jinu?" you drawl, voice laced with sleep. He stands awkwardly by the doorway, patiently waiting for you to process what's happening. Glancing idly at your sleepwear and dimlit room.

You yawn, widening the door. "What's up? Need something?" You pause, raising a lazy accusing finger. "Wait. You're not here to suck my blood, are you—?!"

"What? No!" Jinu gasps, almost offended. You sigh out of relief anyway.

"...We're not interested in physical bodies. Anyway, uh, sorry for waking you up. I just need to see how our socials are going," he explains as he steps into your room. "You can power your computer and go back to sleep."

As soon as you heard the word 'social', you were already turning it on. "'kay, buddy. You sure you don't need help, though? I know I taught you a bit but I understand it can get confusing—"

"No, no," Jinu huffs, denial flooding his form. "I can do it."

"You remember how to turn it off?"

"Yes. Don't worry."

Then you fall asleep next to him, your body slightly pressing against his. His eyes slowly drift away from the glow of the computer screen to your sleeping form. He stares for a moment.

Soft, warm. It reminds him of the past on how he couldn't sleep with his own fam—

Jinu pulls the computer plug off and teleports away.

—💐 [Tuesday]

Baby made you piggyback him. A lot. It was sort of your fault.

You saw the Saja Boys taking turns carrying him—it was a pretty funny ordeal. Then you jokingly offered to piggyback him to see what the hype was about.

He accepted it all too eagerly. As soon as his full weight falls on you, you're genuinely surprised at how light he is. It's probably equivalent to a box full of volleyballs.

"You're lighter than I thought," you say, adjusting your arms behind his legs.

Baby suddenly lets his head rest on yours. "Why are you so..." Warm. He buries himself into your shoulder, his arms tightening around you.

"Why am I so what?" you ask, turning your head, only achieving to tickle him more.

He doesn't let you go for the rest of the day.

And by extension, night.

You tried to complain at first. "Didn't we agree to—"

"Just this once, please?"

You folded.

He snuggles all comfortable within your arms, acting as the little spoon, greedily content in your warmth and breathing.

But then you wake up with his mouth on your skin. He wasn't biting, sucking, or anything. It was just.... there.

Still, though, you assumed the worst.

"I thought you said demons don't suck blood, Jinu!?!"

"We don't!!?!"

—🪷 [Wednesday]

Abby wanted you to touch his abs for some mysterious reason. Yapping about how "no one else will have this chance," or "you might not live long enough to feel it!" and "I actually haven't let anyone touch my artificial abs yet" — it was really weird, but you shrugged it off and agreed anyway.

Like hell yeah. Sure, why not?

So he unbuttons his shirt, all giddy, and watches as you reach for his skin.

You make contact with his abs. Caressing it gently, it feels normal in texture — but you suppose it's a little too cold. The fact didn't totally sound weird at the time.

Looking up, you flinch at Abby's expression. You thought he'd be smiling, like he was the whole time, but he looks so serious that it's actually concerning. He's not looking at you; his eyes were down and fixated on your hand.

You notice, pulling your hand away from him, and snapping your fingers. "You okay?"

He blinks. "Uh."

Later that night, Abby welcomes himself into your room.

He stares at you from the corner. From the center. From the edge of your bedframe. On your bed.

Sometimes, he'd gently let his hands roam over your exposed skin. Mostly your warm hands. And your warm face.

You wake up to find his face in front of you.

Screaming, you unintentionally kick him in the abs.

"Ow, my perfectly crafted abs!"

— 🪻 [Thursday]

Mystery almost lost it when you pat his head.

You did it voluntarily. It's a nice, comforting feeling as you pat his shoulder, his arm, and his cheek. He utterly melts under your casual touches without a single word.

He loves it. You leave him demanding for more. So, Mystery decides to linger around you like a guard dog. Who hopes to be spoiled, who wishes to be held.

But, then, night comes.

"You're not exactly allowed in my room," you say, only to pause when he straight up whimpers.

... You folded. With a sigh, you step away from the door and give him space to walk in.

He happily skips into your room, flopping face-first on your bed. You stare at him for a moment, thinking about how despite them not being human — they really love to rest.

You lie down, feeling Mystery move around under your blanket, closing your eyes when he finds himself comfortable against your chest.

Your chest rising and falling with every breath—Mystery simply can't help but feel envious.

— 🌺 [Friday]

Romance is confused.

There's a buzz between his band members — apparently, they visited your bedroom? Didn't they agree to avoid that specific place in this house?

He doesn't realize he's been staring blankly at nowhere. Reality hits him hard when something gentle touches his hair.

"Might wanna style your hair again, Rome," you chuckle, brushing his hair with your fingers. He shivers when your skin grazes his forehead. "You got the bed head. Though I guess you just snap your fingers and it'd be all okay."

You leave right after that, but Romance keeps staring at the last place he saw your figure, his fingers fidgeting with the hair you just touched.

Okay. He gets it now.

Next day, you woke up with him hovering over your head.

You suddenly grab his shoulders, push him back against your bed, breathing heavy from the shock. The bed sinks under both your weight.

Romance stares immensely up at you.

"You guys," you breath, "will be the death of me."

He smirks. "I can only imagine."

— krazy

[kissbabie]

your bodyguard has to punish you !

being sat in bodyguard!sae's lap while he looked at you blankly, yet with the slightest hint of annoyance and irritation in his eyes was not on your list for tonight. actually, your plan was to sneak out your window after your father denied you of going to a party, but sae had unfortunately caught you. you mentally cursed the man for being so smart, and knowing exactly what you were planning to do after you so innocently asked him to leave your room so you could change.

"your father already said no, and you do this?" sae said, raising one eyebrow at you. he was lightly caressing your waist with one hand, then slowly tracing over your thigh as you pouted, then using his other hand to give you a light smack on your ass. "you really don't get it, do you?"

"'m sorry, sae, won't happen again." you blinked at him, wiggling yourself in his lap as you whined like a spoiled brat. he exhaled hard through his nose and titled his head back, like he was deciding what he should do with you. he leans in, lips brushing your ear as he uses one hand to hold the back of your neck and pull you into him, whispering into your ear, "be a good girl and ride me, okay? and i won't tell your father what you tried to do."

at the mere mention of that, you were scrambling to take off your skirt, fumbling with the zipper of his pants. pushing your own panties aside, it was almost embarrassing to see how wet you had already gotten, your pussy leaking and your panties glistening, but you managed to push yourself down his cock. the stretch was incredible — your mouth parted as you let out a whine, feeling your walls clamp down on him. straddling him, you wrap your arms around his neck, giving a few light bounces on it.

but after a while, despite how hard you were trying, you were getting tired, your thighs became sore, and sae wasn't even helping. he looked almost bored, letting out a few groans here and there, but you desperately needed for him to just grab your waist and slam you up and down on his cock.

“go faster,” sae mutters, voice flat, almost bored. “i c-can’t,” you whimpered, hips stuttering. “sae, ‘m tired, my legs—“

a little slap landed on your ass. not too hard, just enough to make your breath hitch. his fingers spread warm against your skin afterward, palm rubbing the area there. “c’mon, i know you can do it.” he says, eyes narrowing as he stares at you.

so, with what little dignity you had left, you let out a whine and started moving yourself again. it was terrible, you were riding him so messily, your thighs shaking as you let out frustrated whimpers, trying to chase your release. but, sae, of course, still had a small punishment up his sleeve for you.

"don't cum." he warned, but his voice was a bit shaky as he closed his eyes, his hands finally resting on your waist as it sounded like he, himself, was close to cumming. you sobbed, pathetically trying to ask him for permission to cum, but all he gave you was a single look and you knew you should just save your breath. you collapsed onto his chest, mewling into his shoulder as he exhaled slowly, his hand sliding up your back to keep you steady. what you didn't expect, however, was him to thrust up into you — one that made you cum, right then and there.

the feeling was incredible, feeling your pleasure finally crash over you after what you had to endure. but, after coming down from your high, it was way too quiet, and you just realized what you had done. you squirmed in his lap, before sae sighed and pulled you off. he easily grabbed you and placed you carefully on your back onto your bed, crawling over you. he fondly caressed your cheek, swiping his thumb under your eye slowly.

"didn't i tell you not to cum, hm?" he says. he leaned down to you, his breath dangerously close to yours. "guess i'll have to teach you some manners then, you brat."

for this req

© 𝒌issbabie | don't copy, steal, or translate any of my work

[kiplex]

You hated parties. They were loud, overstimulating, and there were too many strangers. So when Gideon invited you and Caleb to a party he was having you were hesitant to say the least. You thought having your boyfriend there, your emotional support Caleb, you would be fine; especially once you had a little bit of alcohol in your system. But alas, the universe has a different plan for tonight.

You're three cups of something deep, probably some vodka and a splash of juice, and glued to the side of the wall which were vibrating with how loud the music was, the hum of people yelling over the music certainly wasn't helping. Caleb was god knows where, the second you guys got to the party Gideon whisked him away to go take shots with him and some of the guys they went to college with. Your finger drums a consistent beat against your red plastic cup, your eyes scan the room for any sign of him. Sure, you could go and talk to people, mingle a bit but… Something in your stomach lurches at the thought of doing that.

You take another small sip. You pull out your phone check to the time. “You're Colonel Xia's girlfriend right?" Someone shouts to your left. He looked about the same age as Caleb. “Ah! Yeah! Yeah I am." Your voice wobbles, slightly startled. “Man, he is one lucky guy. I was assigned to his fleet shortly after he took over." The man extends his hand offering his name, that you definitely don't catch. Instead you politely smile, shaking his hand and yelling your name back over the music.

He starts going on and on about fleet stuff, with the amount of liquor in your body you really can't make heads or tails of it, you just politely nod. He wasn't a bad guy or anything, you just clearly were uncomfortable and didn't want to be there. When you feel a hand wrap around your waist, you nearly jump ten feet in the air. “Woah woah! Pips, it's me." Caleb's voice is soft in your ear. Your whole body immediately relaxes into his touch. “Oh Colonel! Good to see you off duty." The man you're talking to acknowledges his superior. “Good to see you too, if you don't mind I'm gonna steal her away for a bit." Caleb smiles at the man. You are always in awe of how charming and charismatic Caleb is naturally. He makes it look effortless.

The man nods, and Caleb grabs your wrist taking you to a free spot farther down the wall. His body blocks your view of the crowd, his cologne flooding your senses calming your nervous system down exponentially. " You okay pretty girl?” He asks, his hands cupping your cheeks intentionally making you maintain eye contact with him. Regardless you down cast your eyes. " I'm fine.” You answer, not wanting to ruin this night for him.

He rarely gets time off, let alone gets to spend it with his friends. His eyebrows furrow. " No you aren't.” He sighs, pulling you against his chest before wrapping his arms around you. " Pips, I've known you, your whole life. I know when you're lying to me.” He kisses the top of your head. " Let me ask you again. Are you okay?” He repeats gently. You shake your head no into his chest. "Not really, it's loud and I'm a little tipsy and… I'm sorry Caleb." Your eyes gloss over slightly, tears threatening to spill over.

He pulls you back a bit so he can look at you. “Aw you sweet girl, don't apologize. You've never really been big on this stuff. I'm proud of you for even tagging along with me. Even Gideon was singing praises about you being here tonight… I mean I did shove him for talking about my girlfriend like that, but semantics.” You giggle slightly.

Caleb kisses your forehead. " Do you wanna get the hell out of here?" He asks, grinning at you. “Are you sure? I know you don't get to do this often…" You mumble. He smiles, shaking his head. “I already got to hang out with Gideon for a while, besides my girlfriend is clearly overstimulated and trying to be brave for me. That's my job Pips, how dare you steal my thunder." He squeezes you slightly. You lean up kissing him gently. “Let's go home." He grabs your hand again, leading you through the sea of people out the door. “Oh also, if I see you talking to another man at a party again I won't be so kind next time, I can promise you that. " You roll your eyes, a dumb smile on your face. If you're being honest, you wouldn't have it any other way.

You can find my master list here

[dollkuna]

the digest. clingy bf sukuna who can't stand when you go out without him :(

sukuna has a hard time taking no for an answer. so, when you told him your saturday date would have to be rescheduled, he wasn't exactly thrilled.

in fact, for the entire week leading up to it, he completely dismissed the idea, acting as if there was no universe in which you wouldn't be going out with him.

"are you wearing the black dress for dinner?" he’d asked, just a couple of days before, his voice a low rumble beside you. it was as if you hadn't already clearly laid out your actual plans. "you look nice in the black dress."

"i am wearing the black dress, actually," you hummed back, flipping to the next page of your novel. he was snuggled beside you under the warm sheets, comfortable and completely oblivious. "not for dinner, though. for the party. the one i'm going to. like i said."

in response, you’d gotten an grunt, which you’d taken as acceptance, or at least acknowledgement. that's why it struck you as so utterly odd, how completely shell-shocked he looked on said saturday, watching you get ready for an event that clearly wasn't a date.

"ryo," you sighed, seeing the storm brewing in his golden eyes. "relax." no, you weren’t betraying him, as sukuna so dramatically put it; you were just heading to a friend’s birthday party. "i really can't not go. it's a birthday. it only happens, you know, once a year. we can absolutely go tomorrow."

he narrowed his brows at you, arms crossed over his chest like a petulant child. "relax? this is treason."

as you carefully put in your delicate earrings, you shot him a quick glance. "jesus, baby. i'll be back before you even know i'm gone."

for a brief second, a flicker of hope crossed sukuna's face. "and… i can't come?" your boyfriend looked absolutely adorable, pouting like that. you didn't dare point it out, though, not wanting to risk dampening his already fragile mood any further.

instead, you reached out and gently pinched his cheek, and he responded with a playful nip at your finger. "no, i'm sorry. it's really just a girls' thing."

"you won't even know i'm there," he insisted, his voice surprisingly earnest.

you couldn't help but laugh softly, tilting your head at him. "you're a 6'5, pink-haired man, dude. i think i'll know."

"don't call me that. and you don't love me," he muttered, turning his head away dramatically.

just then, your phone buzzed, and you knew without looking it was your friend. a quick honk from outside confirmed it – your ride was here, and you needed to leave. "don't be like that. you know i do."

"then stay." his voice was firm, unyielding.

"no."

"i knew it," he declared, a hint of self-pity in his tone.

"stop. okay, fine," you huffed, walking over to where he was still seated on the edge of the bed. you stepped between his legs, placing your hands on his broad shoulders. "i'll be back thirty minutes early."

his expression didn't change one bit. "stay."

"one hour early," you tried, chewing on your bottom lip, hoping to appeal to his logical side.

"stay."

throwing him a look, you squinted at sukuna. "do you even know how bargaining works?"

"stay." sukuna's poker face held as steady as ever, completely unbreakable.

you ran your fingers through his soft, spiky hair, a heavy, weary breath escaping you. "alright, fine. two hours early, and we can cuddle and watch movies after."

he paused, a tiny flicker in his eyes, like he was genuinely considering this new offer. then, he shook his head slowly. "stay."

your shoulders slumped, and you let out a long, theatrical groan. "you can pick the movie."

"deal." he'd won, and he knew it, a smug, triumphant look spreading across his face.

either way, you ended up coming home three hours early.

[mrsbarnesblog]

˖˚⊹ old habits

➤ summary: you call Rafe out when he acts disrespectfully

➤ w/c: 1.5k.

➤ warnings: themes of toxic masculinity, emotional confrontation

➤ a/n: really wanted to be a part of @zyafics campaign, and I hope that other writers will consider doing it too <3

masterlist

The thing between you and Rafe was still new and fresh—only a few times going out on dates, lingering touches, and way too many moments that were more than just friendly.

Since the first time you had met him, you thought that he had grown to be a better person. He tried to change some of his old habits to become more mature. And you truly saw that, and it was a reason why you even started to catch feelings. But there were still times when he struggled, when some of the traits of that old toxic Rafe were slipping through, either because it was too hard to control things that he had been taught from a young age or because he truly didn’t see himself being in the wrong. 

That day he invited you to the new cafe near the beach on the mainland, saying that it was the best one. For you, Rafe was a gentleman. He picked you up, helped you to get in and out of his truck, complimented your dress and your hair, and let you hold his upper arm when he was leading you to the entrance.

He opened the door for you, and the place was dimly lit with yellow tones and just radiated warmth. It was a little bit too loud with people sitting everywhere, but if the place was good, you didn’t mind that one bit. You looked back at Rafe, sharing a smile, until the young hostess stepped in front of you. 

“I’m so sorry, but as you may see, we’re full right now. You may sit here until one of the tables is free.” With a polite smile, she gestured to the side. “The waiting time will be around fifteen to twenty minutes, if that’s okay with you.” 

You nodded to her words without hesitation. “That’s totally fine.” 

But beside you, Rafe let out a small breath. Not quite a sigh, more like a scoff. He raised an eyebrow and looked the girl up and down with something colder in his expression than you would’ve preferred.

“You’re telling me you can’t fit two people in? It’s not even full in here.” She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, briefly looking at you to figure out how to react. Rafe’s voice wasn’t loud, but you knew how intimidating and cold he might be, especially to people who were not used to it.

“Rafe.” You said his name sharply, tugging his bicep once in hope that he would let it go. 

He glanced at you, then back at the hostess, not getting the problem that you seemed to have. “We’re literally standing here, dressed nicely, just asking for a table. I’m not trying to be a dick. I'm just saying, you could make it work if you actually wanted to.” You didn’t wait for her to respond. You took a step back, slowly removing your hand from his arm.

“I’ll be outside.” You said. No emotion in your voice, hands already folded across your chest. 

You sat at the bench outside, one leg thrown over another, looking at the ocean and debating just simply going back home. Rafe walked out a few minutes later, with hands buried in the pockets of his pants, looking at you like he genuinely could not understand your behavior. 

“Are you seriously mad at me?”

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.” You said calmly, not even sparing him a glance. 

“For what? I didn’t even say anything bad. She was the one who couldn’t do her job properly.”

Your head snapped towards him with eyebrows raised in surprise. “No.” You said sharply, taking him aback. “You were being an asshole because you didn’t get what you wanted. She was doing her job, Rafe.” 

His brows knit. “Jesus, I wasn’t an asshole—I was just calling her out.”

“Calling her out for what, Rafe? For not breaking policy? For not giving you special treatment?” He looked away, jaw clenching. His hand reached his head to rub over his buzzed hair in frustration, while you simply looked at him, seeing the conflict that he had. Part of him clearly knew you were being reasonable, that he might’ve stepped over the line, but the rest of him, the louder part, wanted to be right. Wanted to win.

“I’m not dating someone who thinks talking down to people makes him important.” You said firmly, your voice low and calm but hard to let him know how serious that situation was for you. “That’s not cute. That doesn’t make you look cooler or whatever. That’s not something I tolerate.”

Rafe exhaled hard through his nose, briefly throwing his head back in frustration. “You’re making it sound like I screamed at her or something. I was just—I don’t know—frustrated.”

“Yeah, and she was working. Probably scared of losing her job because of kooks who talk down to her every day. Probably already dealing with a bunch of other men who think that they are better than everyone and that other people owe them something.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

You stood up, stepping closer with your heels softly clicking against the wood. You squinted your eyes slightly, tilting your head to the side now that you were almost the same height. “Do what?”

“Make me out to be some kind of monster.”

“I’m not.” You shot back. “But if you don’t like how I make you sound by just talking about your actions, maybe ask yourself why instead of getting defensive.”

The silence that followed stretched long between you. You crossed your arms tighter, mostly to keep yourself from softening, because, God, you wanted to. Because part of you knew that he didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but still addressing the problem was important to prove to him that the said problem existed. 

You watched the gears turning behind his eyes, jaw tight, hands buried deep in his pockets. He looked off toward the ocean like maybe the answer was out there, like it could help him to understand how to break the default settings that were engraved in his brain. 

“I didn’t think it was that bad.” Rafe admitted finally, his voice quieter now, and you could hear the edge of hesitation. “I didn’t even notice I was doing it. That I was acting like…” He trailed off, and you knew what he meant. Like Ward.

“That’s the problem, Rafe.” You said softer now, but still steady. “You don’t even notice when you slip. I know that you’re trying to be better. I see it, but I also need you to acknowledge that sometimes you can still be mean, that sometimes you’re in the wrong. Otherwise we won’t work out.”

He looked at you then, as if hurt for a second, because for the part of him, it sounded like a threat or like a challenge that he didn’t want to accept.

“I don’t want to be that guy.” He said after a moment. “I’ve been trying. You know I have.”

“I know. That’s why I’m still standing here and not leaving.” You stepped closer, but you didn’t reach for him.

“But I’m not going to coach you through being a decent person every time you slip. You have to want it for yourself, not just to keep me happy, because I’m telling you right now, Rafe…” You met his eyes, staying your ground. “If that’s the man you choose to be, I will walk away. Even if I don’t want to.”

His throat bobbed in a nervous swallow, his eyes darted away, then back to yours, as if he was trying to measure if you were bluffing. And when a few seconds passed, when you looked at him steadily, waiting for an answer, he turned and walked back toward the café.

You watched him through the front windows when he hesitated near the hostess stand, tugging awkwardly at the expensive watch on his wrist, and then leaned in to speak to the girl. Her face was surprised at first, then softened as he continued to talk, before she nodded a few times, still slightly hesitant, and said something back to him. 

When Rafe returned back to you, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a little bit, though his jaw clenched when he rubbed the back of his neck and stopped in front of you like he wasn’t sure where to begin.

“I apologized. Told her I was out of line.”

You gave him a small nod. “Thank you.”

He shifted on his feet, nervous. “She said the table will be ready in ten.” You nodded again, waiting for him to continue. “You still wanna eat with me?” He asked, almost hesitant, like a boy who'd just been scolded.

“I do.” His lips stretched in a small smile, eyes glimmering with something like surprise and maybe a bit of shyness that you caught every once in a while. Rafe stepped closer, offering you his hand, and you playfully rolled your eyes, smiling back and interlacing your fingers. “Now I’m about to order the whole damn menu, Cameron. And it better be good.” 

[lexiputellas]

The Real Victory

You’re horny. Like, dangerously horny.

Alexia is on the pitch, locked into the Champions League match against Manchester City. She lost the last game, and you know how badly she wants this one. You should be focused too. Supportive. Cheering.

But you're six months pregnant and your entire body is buzzing.

And all you can think about is her.

Not the game. Not the score.

Just her

The way her thighs flex when she sprints, thick and powerful. The way her brow furrows when she’s concentrating, that sharp little frown. The way her hands settle on her hips when something doesn’t go her way, fuck.That posture alone sends a direct electric shock to your clit, like a livewire.

It’s unbearable.

You can’t hear the crowd. You barely notice the plays. It’s just her, her, her.

“Oh, that ref is shit. He should’ve called that a foul,” Alba mutters beside you, snapping you out of your haze.

“What?” you blink.

“The ref,” she says, nodding at the pitch.

“Oh. Right. Yeah,” you say, pretending to care. She’s already turned back to the game.

But you? You’re dying.

This feeling is consuming you, melting you from the inside out. You feel like you’re going to burst. Your hands are clenched in your lap, trying to behave, but your legs keep pressing together. You're sweating under your dress, soaked through your underwear, every shift in your seat making you want to whimper.

You can't take it anymore.

You grab your phone and open Alexia’s contact, fingers trembling as you type:

— if after 30 minutes of the game you don’t fuck me and give me at least 2 orgasms i will expose you to the internet. i’m not joking. i’m feral.

You hit send.

She won’t read it now, obviously. But when she gets back to the locker room, when she finally checks her phone, you want her to know what she did to you.

You type again:

— i’m a mess. i’m so wet it’s probably running through my dress and dripping onto the fucking seats. this is 100% your fault.

You stare at the screen, your heart pounding harder than the crowd’s chants.

Final whistle.

Barça wins.

The stadium erupts. People are screaming, waving flags. Fireworks. Hugs. Applause.

You don't care.

Finale. They’re going to the goddamn finale.

And all you want is her.

All you want is home

All you want is to be touched.

You turn to Alba. “Let’s go.”

She glances at you, a little surprised. “Already?”

“Help me up.”

She does, and you wobble a bit, pregnant belly leading the way. You make your way to the VIP lounge and ask for a bottle of water. Your heart is racing like you played 90 minutes.

“You having dinner with us?” you ask Alba casually, your brain screaming please say no please say no please say no—

“I don’t think so, actually. I promised Julia I’d have dinner with her tonight. Been a while.”

YES.

“Oh, okay,” you say, masking the desperate joy clawing at your throat. “I just thought—”

“I’m sorry!” she smiles. “We can have dinner later this week.”

You nod, but your mind is elsewhere. All you can think is: Where the fuck is Alexia?

Why is she not here yet? Is she still giving interviews? Talking to people? Laughing with teammates while you’re over here throbbing?

Then, finally, she walks through the doors.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Your entire body clenches. She looks so fucking good. Post-game glow, loose ponytail, jersey stuck to her skin, thighs still tense from running. She’s flushed. Confident. Unreal.

You bite your lip. Hard. Press your thighs together again.

You love her. You hate her. You want to murder her and climb her at the same time.

“Oi, bebé,” she murmurs, kissing your cheek, arms wrapping around you.

You give her a dry peck back, but your eyes are blazing. She hugs Alba next.

“Hey, you coming to dinner?”

“Oh, can’t. Was just waiting for you to show up. I’ve got plans.”

“Okay,” Alexia nods. Alba leaves.

“Dinner out or do you want to order in?” she asks, turning to you with that too-casual tone.

“Order,” you narrow your eyes. She was really about to take you to a restaurant like she didn’t just read those texts? Is she insane?

Then again, she is insane. She's mean. She's hot. She’s yours. So so yours.

“Okay, let’s go,” she says, grabbing your purse and holding out her hand.

You walk with her, past a few teammates. She says her goodbyes. Opens the car door for you. Puts her gear in the trunk. Starts the engine.

She’s humming along to the song on the radio. Calm. Collected.

You look at her. Really look.

What kind of monster leaves their pregnant, needy, drenched wife like this?

The way her fingers grip the wheel. The muscles in her forearms. The little furrow of concentration on her brow.

It’s criminal.

“What?” she says suddenly, catching your stare.

“You’re so mean,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

“What? How am I mean?”

“You read the messages. And you chose to ignore me. You ignored your pregnant, unholy, unsatisfied wife”

“I didn’t ignore you,” she smirks. “I just wanted to see when you’d break.”

“When I’d— WHAT KIND OF MONSTER SAYS THAT? I hate you!” you yell, dramatic and breathless.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do! I hate you so much!”

She looks at you sideways, eyes dark and smug, and then slowly lets one hand slide off the wheel, straight to your thigh.

You gasp.

Her fingers press into your skin, spreading a little warmth, a little promise.

“You don’t hate me,” she says, low and certain.

And god help you, she’s right.

Her hand stays there hot, firm, steady on your thigh. Not moving. Just existing. Like a warning. Like a fucking claim.

And you're trembling.

“You don't hate me,” she says again, softer this time, almost teasing, like she already knows you're seconds from falling apart. “You’re just mad I made you wait.”

You twist toward her in your seat, glaring. “I wasn’t mad. I was dying. There’s a difference. You left me like that for ninety minutes. In public.”

“In a stadium,” she corrects, her thumb now rubbing slow, maddening circles over your skin. “While my team fought for the Champions League.”

“I fought for my life. ”

She laughs, actually laughs, and you nearly claw at her. “You think this is funny?”

“I think it’s adorable.”

“Adorable?” you nearly shriek. “I threatened you. I explicitly said two orgasms and you acted like I said two cappuccinos,”

“I saw that,” she says, grinning wider. “And the one after. The part about your dress. And the seats.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“And?” you snap, voice shaky.

She hums, dragging the tip of her fingernail up and down your thigh now. You shiver. “And I guess we’ll see if you were exaggerating.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I hope not.”

You make a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a growl. Your hands are fisted in your lap again, trying not to beg her in traffic.

The city blurs outside the window, but all you see is her profile, focused, gorgeous, unfazed. Your whole body is throbbing and she’s just…driving. Calmly. Like you’re not about to crawl into her lap.

You glance down at her hand on your leg. Her thumb is drifting closer to the inside of your thigh now. Dangerous territory. Too close. You spread your legs slightly without thinking.

She doesn’t say anything. Just flicks her eyes toward you with a slow smirk.

You clench your fists tighter.

“You’re a menace,” you mutter.

“You married me.”

“I was tricked.”

She chuckles again, completely in control, and your pulse is in your ears. She's wearing that smug, satisfied post-match look, jersey still sticking to her skin, and all you can think about is how much you need her on you, in you, now now now.

“Alexia,” you whisper, desperate.

She exhales through her nose, leans forward to turn down the music, then returns her hand to your thighs, this time higher, much higher.

“Shhh, bebé. Almost home.”

Your hips twitch toward her.

“No, not shhh. I’m going to die,” you say breathlessly. “You’re going to have to explain to the paramedics that you edged your pregnant wife into a cardiac event.”

She grins. “I’ll just say it was hormones.”

You whimper. Actually whimper.

“You’re evil.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she says, but her voice is lower now, quieter, slipping into that tone you know means trouble.

Then she turns onto your street.

Your breathing stutters.

You’re seconds away from sobbing, from tearing the fabric of your dress apart, from climbing her while the engine’s still on. She parks the car and the moment it clicks into place, you undo your seatbelt and twist to her.

She hasn’t even opened her door yet.

You lean toward her, breath warm, hands shaking.

“I swear to God,” you whisper, “if you make me wait one more second,”

But she’s already moving. Turning to you. Hand slipping behind your neck and pulling you in for a deep, hot kiss. It hits you like fireneedy, claiming, hungry. Her tongue sweeps over yours and her fingers dig into your skin and just like that, you’re gone.

Your moan gets swallowed in her mouth.

She reaches down, pulls the lever, and shoves the driver’s seat all the way back.

Your breath catches.

“Come here,” she says, low.

“What?”

“You heard me. Come here.”

You scramble over the center console, breathless, messy, belly in the way, everything awkward and unhinged. But she helps you, strong arms around you, guiding you to straddle her lap. Her hands slide under your thighs, lifting you so you’re not too heavy, easing you down until you're sitting right against her.

The moment you're seated, your soaked center pressed against the firm muscle of her thigh, your arms around her neck, she kisses you.

Hard.

Messy.

Open-mouthed and fucking relentless.

You moan into her, rocking instinctively, already rolling your hips against her. Her hands slip up under your dress, grabbing the back of your thighs, your ass, your hips, tugging you closer until you're gasping into her mouth.

“Ale, fuck, I’m gonna explode”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, lips wet, eyes glassy.

Her hand slides between your legs. Straight under your underwear.

And when she feels how wet you are?

Her jaw clenches.

“You’re soaked.”

“I told you,” you gasp.

“Sit up,” she orders, and you barely register what she’s doing before she slides her fingers inside: slow, deep, no warning.

Your whole body jerks.

“FUCK”

Her other hand grips your hip, grounding you, holding you in place.

“You gonna ride me like you threatened to?” she breathes into your neck. “Or do I have to make you beg for it?”

You’re already moving. Hips grinding down, your belly tight against her chest, your thighs trembling with the effort.

“God, yes, yes, please, Alexia”

“You’re so desperate,” she whispers. “So messy. You wanted to come in my car so bad? Do it.”

Her fingers are already soaked, dripping, knuckles buried in your cunt as you grind against her like you’ve forgotten how to breathe. She’s letting you do the work, just watching, controlling the rhythm with the slow flex of her hand.

“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” she mutters, voice low, forehead pressed to yours. “Dripping all over me. Can you feel how wet you are?“

Your jaw drops. You moan, raw, desperate and she doesn't give you space to recover.

Her fingers curl inside you, deep and mean, rubbing against that swollen, electric spot that sends sparks flying up your spine. Her palm drags hard over your clit. Again and again and again.

You fall apart.

Your back arches, your belly tight and shaking, and then your cunt clenches down so hard on her fingers it hurts. You don’t just moan, you wail, the sound tearing from your throat like a sob. Your head tips back, body locking, thighs trembling uncontrollably.

She’s right there, whispering filth into your skin.

“That's it. Give it to me, bebé. Let me feel it. Let me feel all of it.”

You try to breathe, but your lungs won’t work. Your whole body is twitching, seized by the orgasm, soaking her wrist, her palm, the fucking seat. You’re gushing, crying, shaking in her lap like your body’s been possessed.

She holds you there through it gripping your ass with one hand, still inside you with the other, riding it out until you're limp and clinging to her.

When you finally collapse forward, she’s panting against your ear, voice rough with praise.

“Good girl,” she whispers. “You came so hard for me. Fuck.”

Your whole body buzzes. You’re not sure if you’re still crying or just breathless, but her jersey is wet with sweat, and your thighs are shaking.

“That’s one,” she says, slowly pulling her fingers out, wet, slick, obscene. She lifts them to her mouth and licks them clean while you just stare, wrecked and speechless.

Then, with a grin that’s all teeth:

“You still owe me another.”

“And I haven’t even ripped your fucking dress yet.”

[papayaem]

The Paddock Baby

Dad!Oscar Piastri x Sick!Daughter!reader

Summary: In which Oscar Piastrias daughter is unwell in the paddock but Oscar still has to attend to media duties but it's okay because all she wants is her daddy

Warnings: Mentions of stomach bug, fever, clingy, fluff, use of the names 'darling' and 'sweetie'

Oscar's heart was racing—not because of the usual tension of qualifying, or the anticipation of race day—but because of the little bundle of energy in his arms, the one that wasn’t so energetic today.

Three-year-old you, his child, were clinging to him like a koala on a tree. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, and your tiny little hands were gripping the collar of his shirt as if it were the only thing holding you to this world.

Oscar couldn’t help but chuckle softly as he glanced down at you, noting how you looked pale and slightly flushed from whatever bug had decided to strike you in the middle of a race weekend. You were still adorable in your tiny Mclaren-themed onesie which Zak had bought and insisted you wear at least once this weekend, your golden curls slightly damp from a nap he’d tried to coax you into. But now, the fever had set in, and all you wanted was your dad.

"Hey, little champ," he murmured softly, adjusting your position in his arms as he walked through the crowded paddock. “Feeling better?”

You sniffled into his neck, not answering, only curling in tighter. He could feel the heat from your forehead press against his skin, making his heart ache a little more.

"I know, I know," he said, trying to reassure you, though his own nerves were starting to creep up on him. The interviews were next, and there was no way he could skip them. It was one of the busiest weekends of the season, and he had to be at his best for his team and his sponsors.

He smiled as a couple of photographers waved at him, but when they saw the little one in his arms, their expressions softened. It was well-known that Oscar was a family man, but seeing him carrying his child in the paddock, his typically composed demeanor now a bit more fragile with a sick little one in his arms, was a different sight.

"Sorry, mate, she’s a bit under the weather today," Oscar said to one of the photographers who gave him an understanding look. He felt an unspoken wave of support and respect as they backed off, giving him some space.

As Oscar made his way toward the interview area, he could hear the voice of his team’s PR manager, Sarah, calling to him from behind. "Oscar, we're on in five minutes. Is she alright? Should we reschedule?"

He shook his head, trying to mask his concern with a smile. "No, no, we’re good. I’ll manage."

You let out a soft whimper, and Oscar felt his heart tug. "It's okay, darling. Daddy's got you." He whispered it over and over like a mantra, feeling like he was walking a fine line between being the Formula 1 driver everyone expected him to be and the dad he knew he was.

When they reached the media area, Oscar had to pause for a moment, adjusting your position in his arms so you weren’t pressing too hard against his chest. You were so small—he could easily hold you in one arm, but with how sick you were, you weren’t just heavy in weight, but emotionally heavy too.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself. "Let’s get this over with.”

As he sat down for the interview, you rested your head against his shoulder, the soft whimpers still escaping your mouth as you tried to fight the drowsiness the fever brought on.

The first couple of questions were normal enough. The reporters asked about the weekend, the car, his thoughts on qualifying, but they kept glancing at you. It was clear the baby in his arms was taking more attention than the typical line of questioning.

"Looks like you’ve got some company today, Oscar," one of the reporters remarked, chuckling lightly. "Your daughter doesn’t look too well."

Oscar gave a half-smile, nodding. "Yeah, she’s not feeling great. Poor thing’s got a stomach bug. But she’s a trooper."

He adjusted you slightly as you let out a tiny whine, causing a few of the reporters to give each other concerned looks. One of them, a woman with a kind smile, spoke up. “Do you want to take a break? We can reschedule, Oscar. You don’t have to do this right now.”

Oscar paused, his eyes darting between the interviewer and his daughter, who had now settled into the crook of his arm.

He could feel his own worries surfacing. He loved racing, but you—his little one—came first. And this moment wasn’t just about him; it was about showing that balance between his career and his life as a dad.

"No," he said softly but firmly, "We’re almost done here, and I promised my team I’d be here. Besides, she seems to like being close to Daddy right now. I think we’ll be okay."

Another reporter asked a question, but Oscar was no longer entirely focused. His eyes were on you—your little face pressed against him, still hot with fever, but now calm in his embrace. His heart ached, but it also swelled with love. You were his world. You were the only constant in his life, even when racing seemed to take over everything.

He answered the next couple of questions with a professionalism that had taken years to perfect, but internally, his mind was a whirl of concern for you.

The cameras flashed, and one of the photographers caught a candid shot of Oscar gazing down at you, looking both tender and tired. It was a raw, unpolished moment. The kind of shot that would go viral.

As soon as the interview wrapped up, he stood and immediately took a deep breath of relief. Sarah, his PR manager, was waiting nearby. "You did great, Oscar. But seriously, let’s get her checked out. You can’t work with her like this."

Oscar nodded, already starting to walk toward the medical area. You were still in his arms, though now your eyes were closed, and your little breaths were more shallow, as if sleep was trying to claim you.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” he whispered. “Daddy’s got you. Just hang in there a little longer.”

After a short consultation with the paddock doctor, they confirmed it was just a mild stomach bug, and thankfully, there was nothing more serious to worry about. They gave Oscar some fluids for you and suggested he keep you hydrated.

By the time they left the medical area, Oscar felt a sense of relief wash over him. You were still drowsy, but at least you were no longer too hot to the touch. He cradled you against him as he walked back to the team’s garage.

"I think someone’s ready for a nap," Oscar murmured, brushing a lock of hair from your face. You shifted slightly in his arms, now clinging to him in your sleep, but the tension had left your little body.

Oscar’s phone buzzed with messages from his manager and sponsors, but for the first time all day, he felt the weight of it all slide off his shoulders. As he walked through the paddock, he realized something. His world wasn’t just here in the garage, or on the track, or under the spotlight—it was also right here, in his arms.

His daughter.

His little champion.

The team would have to wait for a bit. He had the most important thing in the world to focus on right now.

Please to not copy or Translate without permission x

[superhoeva]

john price loves to act like he can’t hear when you ask if you can come. bless you for asking but he’s a sucker for the way you try to clench and hold it for him when don’t get an answer.

he purposefully switches to an angle that has your nails raking down his back, and the man groans through a smirk. you’re begging now, crying jerking with tiny hics as your hole stretches early around him. blubbering out whining pleases and wondering if the sheets are as ruined as they feel.

john keeps fucking you. deep and relentless, and biting back the yes his cock wants him to utter. pushing the thought away, he pushes you into the mattress with the front of hip body and lets his hips continue an almost-cruel pace considering how close you’ve been. balls smacking noisily into the cream gathered at your slit.

you come with a wave of panting sorry’s and clenches eyes. the hands you have wrapped around his tremble, tensing with the rest of you.

and god, aren’t you a sight? damp and choking on those pretty noises dripped in only a little guilt. you’ve leaked out a good bit around him, your lips swollen a still pulsing warm at how his cock is still crammed inside you.

john kisses you with a grunt before pulling away and wiping one of your tears.

“almost did real good for me, bub. but did i say you could do that? did you hear me give you permission to squirt on my cock? ‘cause i didn’t…”

“‘m sorry.”

your voice is just about sweet enough to make john melt. he kisses you with a swipe of his tongue before grabbing your face with one of his hands. the squeeze is tender but keeps you as he from squirming when he starts another thrust—tight and reaching.

“i know, sweet thing felt nice, too, didn’t it? yeah?” he coos over your spilling moans, the grip on your face helping you nod along with him. “good, ‘cause we’re gonna try again… ‘n keep trying ‘til ya learn to fuckin’ listen to me for once, hm?”

blinking through your tears, you nod again. legs quaking as he pummels right against your spot. with curled toes and locked legs, you take it. take him as john pounds you to oblivion. desperate to see how many times he can make you break the rules. how hard he can make your hole squirt out his favorite drink.

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[batsandbirdbrains]

Ok Dick biting Hal as a kid has got to be one of my favorite headcanons of all time. Like atp it IS canon to me. But now I’m imagining Dick biting all the members of the JL at least once because they’ve done something that’s either pissed him off, or pissed Bruce off. Hal is obviously bitten first and everyone thinks he’s exaggerating or being a big baby about how much it hurts. Then Clark gets bitten because Bruce got hurt on a JL mission where Clark was supposed to be watching his back. And to be fair, Dick growled at him before he bit, which was far more warning than Hal had received. When Dick sinks his teeth - some of which are still baby teeth - into Clark’s meaty, Kryptonian arm, it shouldn’t hurt. But somehow Clark is tearing up as he lets out a pained howl. It takes both Aquaman and the Flash to remove Dick. Clark doesn’t use that arm for two days, wincing every time he jostles it. How and why Dick bites the others is up for interpretation. Eventually, once all of them have been bitten, they call a meeting about it. Not to get him to stop or anything, just to figure out why it hurts so fucking much. They’re all throwing out various theories when someone says “No seriously, what hell does that kid put into his bites?” when Dick emerges from the shadows and says, deadpan, “Vengeance.” before cackling evilly and disappearing. They all shudder before deciding to never piss him off or talk about his biting ever again.

Also now I’m kind of imagining Dick and Slade fighting for the first time when Dick is just a little gremlin and Slade is like “pffft as if this fourth grader could beat me” only to panic when said fourth grader sinks his teeth into him so hard that he still has the scar years later.

I'm imagining Bruce seeing how Dick's go-to attack is to bite people, and he immediately makes a specialized mouth guard for him. It perfectly molds to his teeth, but it's extra sharp and leaves a different imprint than Dick's actual bite. Mostly so no one can compare dental records or anything to the scars that Dick will no doubt leave on many, many people. It has to be updated regularly when Dick is still young because of him losing his baby teeth.

The first time Dick bites Superman is because he brought Batman back to the Batcave in terrible shape. They'd been on a mission together, it was supposed to be quick, easy, no big deal. And now Dr. Leslie and Alfred are working on him in the Batcave medbay, and Dick just turns to Superman with tears and rage in his eyes. And he launches himself at him and attacks.

Clark yelps as soon as he realizes ouch, he can feel that! What the hell!

"Dick! Dick, let go!"

"You promised you'd bring him back home safe!" Dick cries, but his words are muffled, his teeth still sinking into Clark's arm. "He got hurt!"

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Clark says quickly. "But he's going to be fine, Dickie, it's mostly just a broken arm and a concussion!"

Dick is growling and hanging off Clark's arm, until Alfred comes out and announces that Bruce is ready to for visitors. Dick unlatches quickly, then scampers over to Alfred, still sniffling. As soon as he catches sight of Bruce, he starts whining and crying and cuddles next to him on the bed.

Clark never makes fun of Hal for the ankle guards again. Dick really does have crazy sharp teeth. Clark's arm is bruised for days around the puncture marks, and he's left with a scar on his arm in the shape of Dick's mouth.

A few months later, Dick has started hanging out with Garth a lot. They become pals. Very good friends. Best friends, almost.

And Garth hangs out with him one day and looks so glum and down in the dumps and says how Aquaman was mean to him during training, but it's okay, it was Garth's own fault. That doesn't sit well with Dick. No one makes his friends upset and gets away with it.

The next time Dick accompanies Bruce to the Watchtower, Dick locks in on Aquaman and chomps right on his arm. Like eating a fish stick. Aquaman yelps and tries to pry him off, asking him what happened and what's wrong and why the hell is Robin biting him?

"Don't be mean to my friends!" is all Dick says before he stomps off to go back to Batman's side. Before he reaches Batman fully, he turns and locks eyes with Aquaman, making that creepy I've got my eye on you gesture. It sends a shiver down Aquaman's spine.

He bites pretty much every other JL member for various reasons between the ages of 8-11. When they eventually call a meeting for it, Batman just stares at all of them with an unimpressed look.

"Perhaps you should try not upsetting him," Batman tells them, then turns on his heel and leaves. Dick, who'd been hiding under Batman's cape, grins at all of them and sends a taunting little wave before the cape covers him up again.

Dick first encounters Deathstroke at the ripe age of nine. During said encounter, Dick is terrified. Deathstroke is talking about wanting to make Dick his apprentice, how he's going to steal him from right under the Bat's nose, and Dick panics.

And he resorts to biting the exposed skin he sees when Deathstroke tries to nab him by his cape.

He damn near bites Deathstroke's hand clean off at the wrist. It startles Slade so bad that he shouts, throws Dick off to the side, and is distracted just long enough for Dick to run away and get back to the Batmobile.

Dick is panting and a little freaked out as he relays the story to Bruce from the safety of the Batmobile as Bruce drives them home. Bruce reaches over and pats Dick's head, his own heart beating so hard in his chest.

"Good job, chum," Bruce says softly. "Use every weapon you have. Always."

Dick nods his head, wrapping his cape tight around him.

[moonstruckme]

First time request! I'd love a poly Jily fic based on the prompt "blood swirling down a shower drain." Maybe the reader just got back from a mission that went wrong and is kinda out of it, trying to wash everything off. James and Lily find them and refuse to let them deal with it alone, just soft, quiet comfort, lots of gentle touches, and reassuring words.🥹 Thanks!!

Thank you for requesting! This turned out so much angstier than I intended. I really don't know what happened but...I'm sorry? Or for the people who are always asking for angst I don't deliver, you're welcome I think? I don't know it just happened I wasn't on the decision-making panel

cw: blood (lots of blood), reader is a bit in shock, nonsexual nudity, death (of a minor canon character, not someone we really know and love), set in canon so there's death eaters/the order/etc., quite angsty (for me at least) but there is comfort I promise

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

James and Lily are cuddling when you come home. Well, they’re sort of just holding each other and trying to pass it off as cuddling. Any one of you going out on an assignment for the Order always makes nervous wrecks of the two left behind, but Lily and James doing their best to distract themselves, a film on the television and each trying not to look like they’re glancing out the window every minute. 

The crack of apparition outside puts an abrupt end to the facade. 

They’re both up in an instant, but Lily puts a hand to James’ chest when he goes for the door. “Wait,” she says. She leaves a spot of blood on his shirt from where she’s picked the skin by her nail down to nothing. 

James’ heart revolts, but he listens. They both listen, until they hear the two-three-two knock that means it’s you. 

Lily manages to move faster than him. She has both the muggle and magical locking mechanisms undone in an instant, opening the door to you. 

To you, absolutely drenched in red. 

It’s in your hair; it stains your clothes; it cakes your face and your neck and your hands. There’s hardly an inch of you left clean. James can’t comprehend it. Was there…was there an explosion of some sort? Did you get splattered by something? He feels sick. 

“Is that blood?” Lily’s voice is admirably steady. 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

James really feels sick. 

“Are you hurt?” She reaches for you, bringing you inside. You move like your body weighs a thousand pounds. 

“No, I’m—it’s old. I’m fine. Remus fixed it.” 

“Good old Moony,” James croaks. It’s meant to be a joke, but truly, he’d love to fly to Remus and Sirius’ flat right now to give his friend the hug of his life. If only there weren’t things for James to take care of here first. 

“What happened, sweetheart?” Lily asks, running a gentle hand up your arm. Blood flakes under her touch. 

“They were waiting for us.” Your voice is low, like it’s the sort of truth that becomes worse once said aloud. Your eyes look bigger and brighter in the midst of all the mess. James wants desperately to hug you, and yet—shamefully—he’s afraid of touching you; like despite what you say, he might find you less whole than you were when you left a few hours ago. “It was just supposed to be Dolohov there, but there were a lot of them. They knew we were coming.” 

“They did this to you?” 

“It…I…” Your gaze moves from Lily, to James, back to Lily again. You look exhausted, haunted, but worried beneath that. A moment later, James understands why. “It was Severus.” 

Lily reacts as though you’ve hit her. Her expression looks like a heart cracked open, but she doesn’t let go of your arm. 

“He used this spell,” you tell her, seeming sorry to do it, “that opens cuts all over the other person’s body. Remus was able to figure a counter-curse before I bled out. I don’t think Severus was aiming for me…” 

Even looking at your face, James is unsure of whether you mean that. The odds that Snape would try to hurt you seem equally as likely to him as those that he wouldn’t. You may only be trying to protect Lily. She looks so devastated, James wants to wrap you both up and never let you go again. 

Something Lily and James have always had in common is how they love. They may not always show it in the same ways, but once they’ve chosen someone, that’s it; they’ll live and die for them. They give away their whole hearts. James has just been luckier in who he’s chosen to give his to. His first love—outside of his family, of course—was Sirius. Lily’s was Snape. 

But, as much as James loves Lily, if Snape showed up on your doorstep right now James thinks he would kill him. 

“I’m sorry,” Lily says to you, her eyes shining. 

“It’s okay.” You extricate yourself gently from her grasp. “I’m going to shower.” 

“Sweetheart…” James reaches for you, but you ghost past his hands, only mumbling again, “It’s okay.” 

Nothing’s okay. Lily’s looking after you like her heart’s been cracked open. From the sound of it, you actually were cracked open for a while. There’s a fracture between the three of you that James doesn’t know how to fix. But certainly he’s going to try. 

“Come on.” He takes Lily’s hand, encouraging her down the hall with him. When she comes, he wraps an arm around her shoulders to kiss her hair. “It’s alright. Come on, lovely.” 

The shower is already running when they open the bathroom door. James shuts it behind them before starting to strip, and Lily’s questioning look only lasts a moment before she’s doing the same. He sets his glasses on the counter. 

“Hi,” he says, pulling the shower curtain open enough to pop his head in. You look surprised, which is a surprise in itself; you must really be lost in your own head not to have heard them enter. “Room for two more in here?” 

There is, of course, room—as if James would ever let you get a place without a shower big enough for three—but still he’s relieved when you nod. He steps the rest of the way in, making room for Lily to squeeze in behind him. You seem to have scrubbed your face clean and now are letting the water do the work on the rest of you. Blood swirls down the shower drain. 

James steps closer, giving you long seconds to back away, to let your face reveal hesitation or denial, before he kisses you. Slowly. Warmly. You soften like butter in the sun, arms coming around him as his do you. 

“Didn’t get to do that properly when you got home,” James murmurs after your lips part. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. 

He fights to keep his lips from twitching at the now-familiar dazed quality to your tone. It is taking every ounce of his concentration to not think too hard about the two stunning women he’s sharing a shower with right now. 

Since Lily is no longer up to being the asker of questions, James gives it a whirl. “Do you want to tell us any more about what happened tonight?” 

Your eyes go weary and somber. He sees your throat bob as if around something painful. “We, um. We lost Edgar.” 

Lily makes a wounded sound. “Bones?” 

James has already drawn you into a hug. You nod against his chest, choking out a weak, “Yeah.” 

“Was it…”

“It was Lestrange,” you answer before Lily has to finish asking. Not Snape. She breathes out. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says, joining your hug. Water runs in rivulets down the three of you, transferring from one body to the other, off James’ nose and Lily’s hair and your chin, pooling in all the places you’re pressed together. James fights an ache in his own throat. You’d all known Edgar, but only you watched him die. This is a grief he and Lily can only share in parts of. 

There’s lots more kisses and murmuring before you get to the business of washing. James runs you over with a soapy cloth while Lily shampoos your hair, the both of them making sure no inch of you goes unseen to. Remus has done a good job; there are no scars where Snape’s curse tore you open. As the blood clears away, James can’t tell where it originated from at all. 

He tells you how happy they are to have you home. You smile at his exaggerated jokes about separation anxiety and squeeze his hand when he presses a thumb into the corner of it, chuffed with himself. Lily apologizes again for Snape, and you both promise her she’s not responsible for him until it seems almost like she believes it. James is kicked out of the shower in disgrace after mistaking your body wash for conditioner. He warms towels in the dryer while Lily works the tangles out of your hair with her fingers. 

When you go to bed, you’re still as exhausted as you were when you came home. You move like your body weighs a thousand pounds, and there’s a haunted look about your eyes, and you don’t seem up to saying much. But you curl up with James’ chest to your back and Lily’s leg draped across your own, and you’re loved, and that counts for something.

[shouyuus]

sfw; human!jinu au

right but human!au jinu who's kind of a bastard when you first meet him because he was abandoned as a kid or something and is viciously insecure so he tries to keep his distance just to make sure he can never get hurt like that again, because so long as he keeps people at arm's length then they won't have the power to hurt him. uses his looks to fool around a bit in college, is pretty good at sports, so probably on the basketball team, builds up this reputation for being kind of a fuckboy jock, but you could've sworn you've seen him sitting by himself in the library, tucked into the corner table, humming to himself, so quietly that he probably doesn't think anyone can hear.

who meets your eyes sometimes in the dining commons and you can see the facade flicker, just for a moment.

"the library's closing soon."

he jolts awake, jerking up, wincing as his cheek unsticks itself from a page in his music theory textbook. he blinks up at you for a solid three seconds before he gathers himself enough for words --

"-- shit, sorry uh --" he grabs at his papers and books, trying to shove them into his bag even as you drop into the seat next to him, cocking your head as you watch.

"that was a joke," you say, completely straight-faced, "you know that the library doesn't actually close, right?"

jinu freezes; the tips of his ears are a vivid, burning red.

a tiny grin twitches at the corner of your lips.

he turns back to face you, a frown dug deep between his brows.

"and who're you again?"

you reach into your bag and tug out a stack of papers and a red pen. he eyes it with mild curiosity.

"i'm the ta for that music theory class you've been 'auditing' for nearly an entire semester," you answer, jerking your chin towards the textbook still peaking out of his bag.

the heat works it's way into his cheeks till he's red down to the roots of his hair. he clears his throat, grasps for something to say but he comes up empty. so he settles for frowning a bit harder and crossing his arms, staring as you start to mark up the papers.

"you've got a good voice y'know." you don't look up.

jinu jumps so hard his knee bangs into the table. he hisses with pain, curling into the chair as you glance up.

"ow -- fuck!"

you blink at him as he sighs, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly.

"you should just take the class if you want to that badly."

"whatever."

"i mean, i could kick you out," you muse, dropping your eyes back to the papers, "technically, you're not allowed to 'audit' a class for more than the first month but since i'm the one who takes attendance..." you trail off.

jinu scoffs, "right. cool. so what is it? what'dya want? front row seats to the big game next week? abby's number? a date with me?" he smirks.

you cock an eyebrow, "i... think i'll pass... on all the above, thanks. why're you so cagey about taking a music theory class, anyway?"

jinu stares at you for a moment before shrugging, "'s just not... on brand for... someone like me, y'know?"

your eyebrows ascend the planes of your forehead as you deadpan at him. he withers slightly, scratching at the back of his head, tugging on the strings of his hoodie, his eyes flickering across the table like a frantic dragonfly, uncertain of the waters below.

"on... brand?" you prompt.

at this, jinu sighs, slumping back in his seat and casting his eyes towards the ceiling.

"it's just -- the team'd probably -- i dunno -- make fun of me or something if they found out --"

you frown, "who cares about that?"

jinu flicks his eyes at you, "i do -- they're kinda my friends."

"doesn't really sound like friends if you can't even take a music class without them judging you."

jinu rolls his eyes, "yeah well... they're the only friends i've got so."

you resume your grading, "not the only friends."

jinu huffs out a breath, "really? and who else --" but he cuts off as soon as you glance up to meet his eyes.

you watch as his cheeks mottle with color and he chews on his bottom lip. after another churning, thickening silence, he asks --

"why're you doing this?"

you sigh, putting down your pen.

"like i said, you've got a nice voice. and you seem to really like the class. i just think that you'd do well in it, that's all."

"that's... really all?"

you nod. a soft, disbelieving smile ghosts across his lips. it looks strange on him, like his muscles don't quite remember what it's like to do such a thing without an ulterior motive.

his eyes flicker from the papers to your face. the little smile tugs into a much more practiced grin, his eyebrows quirking into his signature smolder.

"so. you gonna gimme the pop quiz questions for class tomorrow morning?"

you rap him on the forehead with your red pen.

"don't push it."

jinu laughs, the sound deep and charming.

"c'mooooon. i thought we were friends, hm?" his smile is devious and wide and altogether way too roguish.

you bite down the heat slowly working it's way up your neck and recompose yourself as you go back to your grading.

"but i could be convinced into helping you study for it. because that's what friends are supposed to do."

jinu's smile flickers for a second before it settles into something a bit softer, a bit sadder, and he nods.

"yeah... yeah, i think i can live with that."

[aliwritex]

oscar thoughts 18+

notes: everyone and their mom did this but i did it too so here you go.

“Hey, just checking if you’re okay” you walked out into the balcony.

Oscar was sat on the wooden chair, completely covered in sweat, hair messy and fluffy and his white top clinging to his damp skin. He nodded, tired.

“I got you more water, very cold. Here” you handed it to him and he smiled when your hand ruffled his hair. “You’re really sweaty”

“Yeah, I hate bikes now.” he said, out of breath from downing the glass of water. “Thank you”

You took the glass from his hand, standing right in front of him as he peeled off his shirt. You couldn’t help but mumble a little ‘whore’ under your breath as you turned to leave — but Oscar caught it.

He reached for your free wrist and tugged you back. “What did you say?” he teased, clearly amused by your words.

“Called you a whore” you told him, no hesitation.

“Right. I’m a whore for doing my job?”

He pulled you over his lap, settling the empty glass down on the floor. You smirked when he tugged you closer.

“Yep!” one of your hands met his hair, rushing the damp waves away as the other rested on his bare pale chest. “Looking all hot and sweaty and shit”

His hand was already cradling your face as he spoke “Sorry for looking hot and sweaty and shit”

That’s all he said before pulling you down into a kiss. And, God, you couldn’t help it. You rushed into it, feeling Oscar’s soft chuckle against your mouth when your eager tongue pressed to his lips. His hands rested on your hips as you moved to straddle him. You let both of your hands meet his hair pushing the strands back.

You could feel him growing against your ass, just as desperate as you. Could you blame him though? You had just come back from a cafe date with your friends, wearing a little floral sundress that draped perfectly over your body. He let his hands wander under the flowy material — over your ass and up to your waist. It made you squirm on his lap.

You tried a few grinds against him and his mouth fell open, his mouth finally pulling away from yours when his head fell back.

“Baby” he whined under you, watching the way your body moved.

“Just take off those stupid shorts” you told him, getting off his lap.

Oscar didn’t even stand up, just squirmed out of his tight lycra shorts, letting them fall to his ankles. You watched as he pulled himself out of his boxers, his hand immediately wrapping around his own length. There was an almost desperate expression on his face as he watched you reach under your dress to pull off your panties, his fist moving up and down around his cock.

But his expression quickly changed to relief and bliss when you hovered over his bare legs this time. He bit his lips to hold back a smile, looking up while his hands met your hips.

“What is it, huh?” you teased and he just shook his head “No?” you took his face in your hands placing a quick kiss to his lips, still giving him a questioning look.

“You’re just really pretty” he spoke against the thumb that brushed his lips.

“Yeah?” he nodded, making you smile “You’re really pretty, too”

You kissed him again, lowering yourself on his cock. His eyes closed, his lips parting slightly as his head fell back. You smiled at his face, still red and flushed from his exercise, overwhelmed by the feeling of your warm cunt.

You had to take initiative, Oscar was too blissed out. But as soon as your hips started moving his hands were moving up your body. Under your dress, his long fingers reaching your ribs and the skin right under your boobs. His touch was warm, slow but desperate.

Gentle moans left his mouth “Fuck, baby. Too good.”

You looked back down at him, his mouth had found your chest but you tugged him away by the hair — a groan leaving his throat as you did.

“Unbelievable” you whispered “you’re already falling apart.” You chuckled against his cheek “hold on for me, yeah?”

He just nodded and kissed you, taking one of his hands from your chest down between your bodies. Your clit met his fingers with every grind of your hip. Your mouth fell open at the new stimulation, complementing the way his cock was filling you perfectly. His mouth met your chest again, this time pulling you dress down, to take your nipple.

A particularly louder moan left your lips at the way his tongue was working the sensitive spot and Oscar had to remind you — “We have neighbors”

You rolled your eyes, speeding up your hips and setting a rhythm that took you both to the edge. He could barely concentrate on working his fingers as your cunt tightened around him but just the pressure and your own movements were enough.

“Baby, fuck, fuck fuck. Gonna come, sorry. Fuck” he groaned into your chest burying his face between your boobs.

You hugged his head closer, holding on to him as you felt him come undone inside you — his cock pumping you full. You kept grinding and Oscar kept moaning, already out of breath as you used him. Your high came right after, clenching around his cock as your nails dug into his shoulder.

Your bodies relaxed instantly, Oscar fell back against the chair and you let your head rest on top of his, both of you smiling dumbly.

“We should get in, not sure I’m comfortable being naked outside” he chuckled.

[sinsxo]

excuse me. —blue lock

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro.

synopsis. you were checking yourself out in the mirror, completely unaware that they were also waiting to use it.

note. idk guys i’m in a writing slump

cw. drabble, lighthearted fic.

wc. 0.7k words, not proofread.

context:

the fitting room at this clothing store was ridiculously far away, a long walk from the section with good clothes.

isagi yoichi ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

he spots the mirror from across the aisle and beelines for it, hoodie in hand, ready to see if the color suits him. but then, you’re already there.

you were checking yourself out, not even a single piece of clothing in hand. turning side to side. tugging your own shirt up slightly to see how it falls on your waist. he stops dead in his tracks like he just walked into a crime scene.

“oh, sorry. you go ahead!” he said, way too politely.

you glance at him through the mirror.

“it’s okay, you can use it.”

“no! it’s fine! take your time! you were here first!” he says, way too fast.

you pull him by the arm to the mirror.

“it’s big enough for us both,” you say, resuming your inspection like nothing happened.

he panics for half a second, but then holds up the hoodie to see how it fits on him. he looked unsure and awkward.

“that looks good!” you said, giving him a thumbs up. “the design suits you.”

“really? i’ll get this one then,” he smiles. “thank you!”

he leaves with the hoodie and a brain permanently engraved with the moment your hand touched his arm.

itoshi rin ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

you’re trying to figure out a million ways to style the piece of clothing you’re holding, too concentrated to notice anything else.

rin is already standing behind you. has been for like a full minute.

he’s holding a jacket, one hand in his pocket, and staring directly into the mirror like he’s trying to set it on fire. it’s not intentional. he just looks naturally pissed off at all times.

you finally catch his eyes through the mirror, and got a little surprised.

“...do you wanna use it?”

“not in a rush.”

“you’ve been standing there for a while. we can share.”

“it’s fine.” he said, politely gesturing for you to continue.

you move to the side, making space for him, but he doesn’t move.

“...you can use it now,” you say, maybe a little bit intimidated by his stare.

he exhales. “thank you.”

then steps forward exactly half an inch. still unintentionally glaring. still scowling. still terrifying. you eventually leave him there in front of the mirror like a mirror demon.

itoshi sae ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

you’re holding a pair of jeans up to your legs, trying to imagine the fit, when he appears beside you. not behind you. not waiting politely. just there.

he’s holding up a puffer jacket, already looking into the mirror like you don’t exist.

you pause. blink.

“…hello?” you say, eyebrow raised.

you knew it was a public mirror, but an “excuse me” would’ve been appreciated.

“you’re not using the top half,” he says casually.

“…what?”

he gestures lazily. “you’re looking at your pants. i’m looking at the jacket. we can share.”

you don’t even know how to argue with that level of entitlement.

you stare at him.

“...right. obviously.”

you both looked at your reflections for a while.

“those don’t look that good,” he says, nodding at the jeans.

“neither does that jacket,” you reply.

he huffs a dry response, “okay.”

you go back to comparing colours and he was right, it didn’t look that good. he frowns at the jacket again. it really didn’t look good either.

“do these mirrors make everyone look weird, or just me?” he mutters.

you shrug. “probably just you.”

he turns, finally catching your eye in the mirror.

“you done?” you ask.

“no.”

after a moment of silence, you both walked away at the same time. it’s not friendly. it’s not hostile. it’s something in between, and way more interesting than it should’ve been.

nagi seishiro ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

he’s behind you. not quietly. he’s leaning against a nearby rack, yawning loudly like he’s seconds away from falling asleep.

he’s holding a hoodie by the hanger, looking like he wandered into the store by accident.

you’re too focused on checking your reflection to notice. until…

“wonder how long this’ll take…” he mumbles.

you turn. he’s looking straight at you. or past you. hard to tell with half-lidded eyes.

“oh— were you waiting?”

“…mm. maybe.”

“you can use it.”

he yawns again. “nah. too far. i’ll just ask. does this look good?”

he holds up the hoodie, barely even lifting his arm.

you stare. “...it’s fine.”

“cool.” he tosses it over his shoulder like that’s all the confirmation he needs.

he doesn’t even try it on.

did he come here to shop or nap?

you’ll never know.

© all written works are created and owned by @sinsxo. do not plagiarise, modify, repost or translate any of my content on other platforms under any circumstances.

all images, aside from the dividers, do not belong to me. credit belongs to their original creators on pinterest & xhs.

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: when his cat counterpart is hogging your attention.

COMMENTS: are they jealous of the kitty? are they chill? whatever they are, it's ridiculous (affectionate)

TAGLIST: @as1iiiwhaa @astralsocfactory

Jin will not hesitate to push the cat to the side and take his rightful spot on your lap. His cat is just as sassy as him though, and will more likely than not just stretch all over him . Jin may get annoyed at your soft coos, but if you direct some attention to him he might be satisfied. In a way, you’re still paying attention to him anyway...

Tohma often finds himself in a stare down with the cat version of himself. It’s not like he’s against sharing, so long as it’s not with another man, but there’s still some tension in the room. Whether you notice it or not, it would be in your best interest to give your partner a kiss so the cat in your lap doesn’t get too bold and start hogging all your attention.

Luca rather likes his cat counterpart, actually. He entrusts the cat to protect you if he isn’t there to save you, which can lead to some rather hairy situations. Luca Cat will still jump to conclusions! (And jump on people’s faces to scratch them up.) Maybe you should get him a leash...

Kaito is pouting. He’d feel bad if he shooed the cat away, since it’s technically him and he knows all too well what being shoved aside is like. But he wants your attention too, is that so bad? You should notice how quiet he’s being and take that as a sign to rub his head, too. He may be a human but he’s still weak to head pats!

Alan eyes the cat mournfully, but won’t move it. Honestly it’s best if you just snuggle with both of them at once, because Alan isn’t going to disturb you and neither is Alan Cat. Besides, double the Alan, double the extreme body warmth—maybe you should do this in front of a fan!

Sho Cat knows he needs to stay out of the kitchen, but he wants to be in it anyway. It’s a bit sad that you can’t take pity on the poor cat, so you compromise by giving him a bunch of attention outside. Sho gets a bit grumpy about it, but he knows you’ll make it up to him (one way or another.)

Leo and his cat will have a face off for your attention on a regular basis. It’s up to you to compromise between the two, because they’re too stubborn to do it on their own. Also, cuddling them both at the same time won’t work because they’re gonna get all snippy with each other...I am so sorry for your predicament.

Haru will try his best to bond with the cat, but he always makes his way back to you. Haru is devastated that his cat likes you more, but ultimately he can’t blame the little guy. If he could, he’d nap on your lap forever too! Ultimately, the two get along pretty well, so there’s no need for either of them to get jealous over it.

Towa and Towa Cat can go one of two ways. Either they have a stand off for your attention with thunder and lightning booming outside, or they’re both snuggling you. If it’s the second one, you’re being crushed with their whole body weights and likely overheating from how warm they both are! Good luck either way (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

Ren and Ren Cat are so chill. Like genuinely, just put a screen in front of either of them so they’ll be so engrossed. Ren Cat doesn’t see a problem with sitting himself right on your lap, but Ren’s shifty eyes tell you he does. That’s his spot, after all. You know Ren won’t say anything though, so it's up to you to compromise!

Taiga is more likely than not just going to move Taiga Cat. It doesn’t matter how long he’s been sleeping on your lap, sharing is caring and it’s Taiga’s turn now! Don’t bet on them having a peaceful resolution to this unless both Taiga’s are in a good mood and willing to share. Hell, maybe Taiga Cat will cuddle with Taiga himself!

Romeo and Romeo Cat are both divas who do not want to compete for your attention. Get used to multitasking! One hand will be stroking Romeo Cat’s beautiful mane, while the other holds your boyfriend’s hand as he barks orders to the poor General Students. They can make it work, but Romeo can’t wait to have you to himself again.

Ritsu is rather impressed with Ritsu Cat’s ability to steal your attention away from him during work hours. He politely asks the cat to focus, which snaps Ritsu Cat out of his head scritch trance. Both of them are quite serious actually, but Ritsu is a bit miffed that you chose to sit next to his cat version and not him...

Subaru honestly does not mind that you’re spending a bunch of time with his cat counterpart. If anything, he’s one of the least jealous ones. (After all, it’s still him, kind of. He has no need to view that as competition.) Be prepared to have a cute tea time session with him and his cat, even though neither of them will touch you.

Haku and Haku Cat are menaces when together. It’s almost as though they’re locked in a playful competition for your attention, and won’t give up until you’re an embarrassed mess on the floor. Haku kisses your cheek? Haku Cat is giving you a few licks. Haku takes your hand? Haku Cat settles on your thighs. Haku wraps an arm around your waist? Haku Cat climbs onto your shoulders. It’s never ending.

Zenji and Zenji Cat are the most energetic duo you’ve ever seen. Both float around your head and yap. Zenji will hold conversations with his cat counterpart and even go so far as to play the biwa while Zenji Cat sings. It’s a fun time, being around those two. They’re very wholesome!

Edward doesn’t mind that much. He can share. The most likely scenario to come out of Edward Cat hogging all of your attention is Edward himself teasing you just to watch you squirm. He knows all your possible ticklish spots, gently brushing over them in a way that makes you jostle the poor kitty in your lap. (Edward Cat does not wake up.)

Rui and Rui Cat are complicated. Chances are Rui Cat has dove under some furniture—and since you are familiar with his curse, you understand why. Despite your attempts to coax him out, Rui Cat will not budge. Rui watches you and sighs ruefully—it’s sweet that you’re still worried about him being lonely, even as a cat.

Lyca doesn’t know how to feel. You’re supposed to smell like him so other people know not to mess with you, but now that this cat has taken residence on your lap, you smell like...cat. Lyca grumbles something under his breath before taking the spot beside you, getting as close to you as humanly possible. Don’t mind him! It’s simply necessary.

Yuri doesn’t let his cat counterpart close to the lab, much to the cat’s chagrin. You hold all the power here, though! If you give Yuri Cat enough attention, he’ll stay away from the experiments in favor of you. Just be prepared for a jealous Yuri (who will not admit he’s jealous) when he sees how much attention he missed out on!

Jiro Cat spends a lot of time sleeping. You’re likely fawning over how cute his lil face is when Jiro stumbles upon you. He will agree—I mean, animals like cats have been domesticated and have therefore developed traits such as a shorter muzzle, extended juvenile behavior, smaller brains, and—oh, you probably don’t want a lecture about Domestication Syndrome, do you?

[dearmisshoney]

when stone hungers

synopsis. taking the gardening gig at the malfoy manor turns out to be more than just pulling weeds and trimming bushes. the old security guard warned you about the haunted statues, but you’ve brushed his counsels as mere stories to boost the popularity of the tourist attraction. what happens when you’re trapped in the intricate maze of the manor, hunted down by a lust-filled cursed statue?

pairing. cursed statue! draco malfoy x reader

content/mdni. DUB-CON. fem!reader, gardener!reader, cursed statue!draco, victorian man!draco, repressed!draco, kinda soft!draco, dom!draco, possessive!draco, weeping angels!au type of statue, maze chase, a bit of horror (?), monster-fucking (you fuck his human form tho), blindfold usage, oral (m and f receiving), public/maze sex, dirt/pavement fucking, doggy style, slight size kink, teasing, allusion to humiliation (m receiving), overstimulation (f receiving), praise, dirty talk (bad attempt at victorian speech), name-calling (darling, good girl, my sweet, my gardener), raw sex, thoatpie, creampie, tons of plot (5k is just plot and build-up)

word count. 7k

a/n. have you ever wanted to fuck a statue? I GOT YOU! smut and a dash of horror? I GOT YOU x2. first draco fic! my lovely @draco-malfoys-lovergirl, sorry for taking so long! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

“so the side garden and the maze, right?”

“yes, miss.” the old man confirmed immediately, nodding his head in agreement as well. “please start with the garden, as our guests will see that first.”

indeed, when the malfoy manor will be open to visitors, fully converted into a tourist attraction, the side garden will reach their eyes first. the maze, positioned at the back of the manor, somewhere more reserved, will only be explored — if ever — together with a tour guide.

“the maze is terribly overgrown, but do not stress yourself too much. there’s a small chance for it to be open to the public.” he mused, pursing his lips towards the end in an attempt to stifle a laugh. “kids will definitely get lost in it.”

“i understand. then i will make my way to the garden and work my magic.” you gave the old man a crooked smile before bowing slightly, signaling your departure.

“good luck with that!” he smiled back at you, his gesture flying to his eyes and making them turn into two curved lines. “and, miss. be careful with the statues!”

a small chuckle escaped your lips, but you brushed it away with a sway of your hand. “i am sure the haunted statues will let a master do her work in peace.”

bowing your head towards the man one last time, you bid him goodbye. picking up your wheelbarrow — full with your gardening equipment, you headed to the side garden to assess the situation.

the job advertisement did not lie.

the garden, long abandoned, was in terrible shape. the flower bushes were overgrown, yet somehow still blooming despite the obvious lack of care. weeds were sprouting everywhere, enveloping and capturing the legs of the few benches.

some vines even latched themselves over the statue in the middle, crawling over the stepping stone and curving all over the name plaque. the shoes of the statue were surprisingly clean, but that might be because of the birds attacking it and picking at its feet.

birds were definitely attracted by this statue, as the shoulders and even the hat were covered in white stains of poo.

“here is young master…”

your gloved hands, already equipped for ripping weeds and other unwelcomed plants, rested on the plaque, caressing over the wild vines and, then, ripping them away from the surface.

the polished stone of the plaque was finally breathing, hit by the warm sun after being drowned in leaves and lianas for god knows how long.

“… draco malfoy.”

the inscription was now clear to your eyes and you muttered the name with such familiarity, like you’ve known the young man for ages.

but you didn’t, really.

you had to look up at the statue to register to whom such a name belonged. squinting your eyes, you raised your gaze from below your hat’s brim and pierced his own.

it was quite the tall statue, the young man keeping a straight and unwavering posture. he was of noble lineage, that was quite clear from his expensive victorian attire — the coat draped over his shoulders, although sprinkled with bird poop, was fabulously sculpted. his fingers, clad in big rings which would’ve definitely bought a house in today’s time, were perched on his sturdy fingers. every detail of his hands was visible to the naked eye thanks to their position, placed one over the other on the handle of a cane.

and his eyes… so soulless, yet so full of wonders. the colours were not captured into the cold muddy stone, yet his gaze was drawing you in, hypnotizing you and calling you to explore their depths.

there was no depth, as the sculptor couldn’t possibly imitate the intricacies of the human eye. yet, his eyes made your feet move closer to his, made you step on the stone platform and stop before him. his eyes made you crane your neck upwards to meet his face once more.

his eyes made your gloved hand touch his face and caress that freezing, lifeless stone.

“you must’ve been very popular with the girls, master draco.”

your tone was not full of jest or mockery. you were sincere. if you, a modern woman, found his statue attractive, surely ladies in the victorian era were swooned by his alive version.

“were your eyes piercing green?” you mumbled to yourself, contemplating on his eye color as you carefully danced across his cheek with your fingers. “or maybe a deep chocolate brown?”

the stone could not answer back to such questions.

“or a nice electric shade of blue?”

you were now close to him. too close.

your nose bumped into his stone one and, in that moment, you realized how crazy you must look from the outside. you retracted your hand immediately and jumped down from the stepping stone, putting some distance between you and the statue.

“gosh, maybe i am the haunted one.” you say out loud as you smack your own head, trying to bring you back to reality and do the job you were actually hired to do.

picking up the weeds you’ve removed from his plaque, you throw that into one of your giant garbage bags. fastening the gardening apron tighter around your hips, you drop into the front pockets your shears and your little trowel and began rehabilitating the garden.

all under the statue’s fixed gaze.

•••

“and the last one.” you finished counting the garbage bags as you throw the last one into your wheelbarrow. it drops nicely next to the other three bags you’ve previously placed, deflating atop of the pile like a mushed cherry.

your tools were nicely spread across one of the benches there, your apron now empty and easier to carry around.

making your way to the statue, you plop yourself down on the platform, butt seated right next to the plaque. you extended your left hand to the side of the stone, fishing for your water bottle, as you admire the work you’ve done.

the garden was looking so much better than before and, with a bit of aftercare, you’re sure it will be blooming beautifully for the opening ceremony. for now, the nicely trimmed bushes, the uprooted and cleaned-up weeds, and the shoveled soil will do.

“good work, girl!” you congratulated yourself as you opened the bottle, unscrewing the cap with one hand and bringing it to your thirsty mouth. dipping your head backwards, ready to savoir the by-now lukewarm water, you hit something rigid with the back of your head.

“ugh– ouch…” you instantly jumped forward, raising from your make-shift seat and turning to inspect the obstacle.

the statue.

you could’ve sworn you were not that close to the statue, as the edge of the platform was still some inches away from the body. and you were right, the distance between the margin and the sculpted shoes was big enough, but you seem to have missed the extended arm of the statue.

his right hand was looming forward, as if young master malfoy was placing his palm against the head of his trusty subordinates.

“thank god it didn’t shatter.”

you were grateful the stone was not damaged by your sturdy head. technically, it was impossible for it to break from a mere strike; practically, the statue was so old, even such a movement could ruin it. you came closer, carefully analyzing the hand, grasping it in your own naked one and feeling around the stone.

it seemed fine. unharmed.

“i might as well clean the poo off of you, no?” you sigh, knowing you’d have to sacrifice your last gulps of water to wash away the dried-up spurts of excrements from the statue.

but you did, going up again on the platform and splashing the stains with your water bottle. thankfully, the bird poo appeared to not be as hardened as expected, flowing down together with the liquid and leaving behind clean stone.

“there, there, young master.”

some poo was adorning his top hat, but your stature did not allow you to reach them. and you find that the hard way, as water actually splashed lower, over draco’s face and away from his hat.

“ooops, my bad.”

you were speaking to the statue like it was a real human being, apologizing for drenching his face in water and even frantically searching for your cloth to dry it.

“we can’t have this beautiful smile drown, hm?” humming, you dabbed up all the water, revealing his upturned lip corners to you.

“all good! and handsome as ever.”

and with that you departed from the statue a second time that day, eagerly packing up your tools and dropping them next to the garbage bags. your water bottle joined them too, a clear reminder of your unclenched thirst.

“bye, bye, draco! hope you like your rejuvenated garden.”

with a brief goodbye and a childish giggle, you pushed your wheelbarrow on the exit path of the side garden, ending your first day as the rehabilitation gardener of the malfoy manor.

•••

“young master malfoy, we meet again.”

you almost laughed when you came back the next day and saw another statue of draco. you’ve finished with the side garden yesterday, a place which was built with draco malfoy in mind — or so the old man told you.

so why was a similar statue in the maze?

perched upon a similar platform, with a similar plaque, was a similar man.

it was definitely draco, you could recognize his facial features by now. his outfit was the same as the one from the side garden — the expensive coat, the top hat, the dress pants. even the cane was present in this sculpture.

the pose was different.

for once, the cane was no longer positioned in front of his body. it rested nicely alongside his frame, supported by his left hand. his right hand was bent and kept over his chest, holding between his ring-clad fingers his hat. his head was no longer sheltered, and you could now see how nicely his hair framed his features.

“the old guy said your eyes were bluish, even grey in certain moments of the day.”

you were now accustomed to stepping on the platform and forcing yourself into the statue’s personal space. you shamelessly cupped his face, like you were ready to rotate it downwards towards you, but it was stone — statues don’t move. so you had to rotate your own to meet his straightforward gaze.

“they might have been gray, but not this lifeless gray, surely.”

you thumb at the warm stone, heated by the radiant sun, tricking your mind into thinking that the man before you was somehow real. but it wasn’t. this was all just your imagination reconstructing the young lord with the bits and pieces you found around.

“and he said you had blond hair.”

your hand moved to the nape of his neck, but there were no strands of hair which you could’ve touched. the stone carvings of his haircut were stuck to his scalp, another reminder of his inanimate state.

“oh, your hat has poo on it.” the hat, which was not on his head like in the previous statue, caught your attention.

the edge had a familiar shit stain on it, and it made you wonder if birds had preferred spots to strike.

“let me get that before i start my work.”

with a bit of water and a tiny cloth, you rubbed away the stubborn stain and made the hat match his clean attire. “no stains for you, draco.” you finally reported like he was your boss, raising your gaze one last time as if the stone could offer its approval.

the statue remained unmoving and expressionless, but his downward gaze was fixated on his top hat. as if young master draco watched over your work and took in your efforts.

that was good enough for you, so you’ve moved away from the statue and straight back to your gardening duties.

as you’ve began shaping the hedges of the maze, you’ve completely skipped over the vine-covered plaque at the feet of the statue.

indeed, you now knew the name of the young master, so there was no curiosity left in you. but if you’ve just taken a peek at it you’d have realized that something was not adding up.

beneath the lianas, another name was carved into stone: lucius malfoy.

was the name wrongly placed? or… was it the statue?

•••

“no way it’s already this late?!” as you elevate your head from underneath the hedge, with weeds plucked in both hands, you are hit with a darkening sky and a rising moon.

“shit.” you dropped the plants in your open garbage bag and instantly pulled at the edge of your gardening gloves, turning them inside out so your skin remains clean.

“keys, keys, keys, where are the damn keys?” you start frantically searching your pockets for the keys to the main gate of the place, praying and hoping you have them on you.

the security guy at the entrance surely locked up the place an hour ago, now peacefully snoring in his little hut. security cameras are not yet installed so he won’t know you were locked in until the very morning.

your pockets were empty.

“no, no, no, this is unreal. maybe i dropped them somewhere around here?” you ducked and searched around the dirt on your hands and knees, trying to sniff out the keys like some trained dog.

but they were not around here.

“the statue maybe?” you had left most of your equipment there, as the center of the maze allowed you enough space to store them... and a sitting spot.

you hurried your steps towards the statue, turning lefts and then rights to reach it. you’ve memorized this part of the maze with how many trips you’ve made back and forth. and lo’ and behold, you did reach the center of the maze in record time, the statue of draco malfoy greeting you with his usual expressionless face.

“draco, dear, have you seen some keys?” you asked the statue like it will respond, so nerve-wrecked by the situation that you don’t even take into account the absurdity of the question.

of course, the statue did not answer, holding the cane in his right hand and the hat with his left, close to his torso, just like before.

the last ray of sun, paling with the arrival of the night, did help you one last time, glimmering the metal part of the keys at draco’s feet. you rushed to them relieved, thanking the universe for not abandoning you in these godforsaken times.

“gotcha.” clutching the keys, you pull them towards you with excitement. only to realize that a good chunk of them was stuck beneath the stone shoes of the statue.

stuck beneath the stone shoes of the statue?

“what the actual fuck?”

and you pulled again, this time with more force, tightening your fingers around the metal object and putting all your force into freeing them. all that to no avail.

“what are they doing there to begin with? is this some sort of sick prank?”

you kneeled down, legs bent and digging into the cracked pavement, as you grounded yourself to channel more power into your grip. you tried again, tugging at the keys underneath the stone foot with every muscle of your body.

nothing.

“shit.” you sprang up from your kneeling position, abandoning the keys at once to find some kind of tool to help you get them out. “maybe a crowbar? there should be one here, no?”

turning your back completely and strutting down one of the four pathways, you mentally go through all your tools to decide which one might act as a jack. maybe your big shovel can help you raise the statue someh–

your body slowed in its tracks when your ears registered footsteps behind you.

thank god, the security guy realized you were still inside and came to get you. his footsteps resonated louder and louder, a strong indicator the person was approaching you.

what was his name again? david?

“david, sir, i am so gla­–” and you stopped completely, readying yourself to turn around and face the man.

that did not happen, as strong, manly arms slide along your body, trapping you in a harsh lock. one hand dipped along your waist, nestling nicely across your lower abdomen, while the other snaked up to your jaw, forcing you to keep your gaze forward.

you tried to turn your head around and see the man behind you, but your face was gripped tightly by ring-clad fingers, digging into your cheeks and leaving marks into your skin.

“don’t move, darling.”

“w–who are you? let me go!”

you struggled against his arms, elbowing the body behind you in an attempt to escape. but he was unwavering and rigid, like stone.

“you know me, darling.” he whispered mysteriously against the shell of your ear, warm breath fanning across the side of your neck as he was closing in.

“what the fu–” ck is wrong with you? that’s what you were about to say, but the clattering of a foreign object onto the pavement made you stop and gaze down.

a cane.

a very familiar cane dropped down onto the pavement, clicking twice before going silent against the stone. a very familiar cane which was no longer of stone, but of a dark wood.

there was only one man who possessed such an object…

“d­–draco?”

“bravo.” draco breathed the praise as his lips were zeroing into your skin, careful pecks falling onto your neck soon after.

“b–but you’re stone! you are not real.” you try to use reason to understand the situation, but the not-so-innocent touches of his made your brain uncooperative. your lips, smashed into one another by his fingers, barely allowed a whimper to escape as draco’s kisses arrived at the base of your neck.

“–oh, but i am quite real, my sweet.”

his voice unfolded against your skin, low and silken, steeped in something archaic, something belonging to a century long buried. the tone of his speech carried the tidy rhythm of nobility, but there was a lazy, indulgent pitch to it now — like a predator who had finally cornered his prey.

his hand moved slowly — possessively — from your stomach to the edge of your hipbone, resting there as if to lay claim. his fingers, still clad in cold rings that clinked faintly against your apron, brushed the skin where your shorts had shifted.

you shivered under the contrast of cool metal and warm breath.

“this– this isn’t possible…” you muttered, even as you twitch into him, instinct fighting every logical thread unraveling in your mind.

“really?” draco’s lips curled into a smile against your skin, teeth grazing lightly across the tender curve where your neck met your shoulder.

his voice, sultry and low, rumbled like thunder muffled under layers of velvet. you could feel the press of his body now — warm, firm, unmistakably human.

nothing like the freezing statue you had pressed your palms against yesterday.

“i’ve been watching you…” he murmured, dragging his lips down the arch of your throat, his hand on your hips squeezing tighter, possessive. “these couple of days.”

his words left a trail of heat far worse than the sun ever could.

“i knew you were trouble the moment your little hands touched my face… so soft, so curious.” his hand now moved over the lower straps of your apron, thumb toying with the fabric and slowly tugging it loose.

his voice dropped further, molasses-thick with old aristocratic charm. “do you know what it does to a man, to be frozen in time, starved, only to be worshipped like that?”

“i–i didn’t know—” you stammered, but he silenced you with a soft tut.

“oh, you wound me.” his voice wrapped around you like ivy, his darkened tone churning that coil in your tummy.

his teeth grazed your collarbone once more, and his hand dipped underneath the loose apron, down past your navel, fingers ghosting over the waistband of your shorts. his touch sent jolts through you, as unreal as the whole moment.

“you kept me clean. touched me like i was a god. spoke to me like i was a man. which do you want me to be now, hm?”

you gasped when his hand dipped beneath, fingers unerring, arrogant. you could barely keep upright, held up only by the hold of his arms and the way he crowded your body against his own rigid one.

“i– you are not real.” you shook your head in disbelief, still refusing to accept that the statue was alive. and, above all, full of desire for you.

you could feel his hands, warm and calloused, and his cool rings tease the skin beneath your waistband, palming your lower abdomen and feeling around for your undergarments. you could feel his lips still glued to your skin, now leaving open-mouthed kisses along your throat.

you could feel his clothed cock digging into your ass, the stiffness of it a reminder of his previous stone-being.

“must you deny the truth?” he growled behind you, his wandering hand stopping to scratch at your skin in frustration. “i am of flesh, just like you are.”

“then show me! let me see you.” you too exhaled in frustration, demanding to be turned around and shown his true, alive form. you tossed and turned in his grasp again, forcing your hands on his own and trying to pry them away from you.

“that i cannot do, darling.” his hands only became more rigid around you, muscles flaring beneath his coat and stilling your revolt.

“shall your eyes lay on me, i turn to stone.”

and there it was, the core of his curse. as long as your eyes are on him, he will remain a stone statue, frozen in time in the position he last occupied. with your eyes averted from his frame — just like the situation now — he was alive and capable of every human thing.

“l–lies…”

“check for yourself, my sweet.” he surrendered, sighing into your neck before jutting your head to the side, enough to glance back at the stone platform on which he previously stood. for good measure, draco did step to the side as well, shielding his form from your own wondering eyes.

your orbs were graced with the familiar view of the maze’s center, with the stepping stone and the four pathways it fostered. but there was no statue to welcome you. the pedestal was empty, like a sculpture was never there to begin with.

your keys were still there, but no longer obstructed by a foot. they shine less than before, now with the sun completely gone from the sky.

“b–but how?”

the reveal felt heavy on your shoulders, making your knees buckle under the weight of the cruel truth. you kept blinking and blinking, wishing the scenery would change and draco the statue would appear back on the platform.

but that didn’t happen.

“i walked.” draco answered your rhetorical question, humming against your skin in an attempt to soothe your anxieties.

“first from the garden–”

oh. this pedestal wasn’t his to begin with.

“–to this platform. then, i just stepped down when i saw you were leaving.”

his last words were dripping with something dark, possessive, venomous. “why leave me, darling?” draco gripped your jaw tighter, keeping it in place, as he saw your face sliding towards him.

wishing to see him. wishing to paralyze him.

“i thought hiding your keys was a splendid idea.” he mumbled more to himself than to you, analyzing his failure of a plan. “i should have claimed you from the start.”

“you are not real.” you whispered again, trembling now. but it wasn’t from fear alone. his words, so dangerous and possessive, made your insides combust with arousal.

draco chuckled darkly against your skin. “still in denial?” he said. “even when i am touching you. holding you. wanting you.”

his hand slid lower, right on top of your panties, and you felt the pads of his fingers ghost against the slick heat between your thighs. you jerked instinctively, a moan catching in your throat, and he grinned against your neck — you could feel it, the pride blooming in that twisted, noble heart.

“l–let me see you.”

“can’t do, my sw–”

“let me see you turn to stone, then i will believe you.”

draco stiffened. you could feel the tremor that ran through his body. not out of anger, but of reluctant fear.

"you wish to see me… undone?" his breath faltered for a moment. “to gaze upon me and strip me of my human form?”

you nodded as best as you could, hoping he would comply to your request.

“i need… proof.” you whispered. “i need to know you’re not a dream i’ve conjured.”

he went quiet. too quiet.

then — half-heartedly, with the weight of a century behind his breath — he spoke, voice barely a rasp. “then have it.”

draco’s arms fell away from you slowly, dragging against your skin like tamed serpents. his body slipped away from your own, away from your warmth, and the moment he did... cold rushed back in.

you turned.

the first thing you saw was the flash of his eyes — steel-gray, like a storm you’d only seen in paintings. like the sea itself had been frozen mid-tempest.

then, stone.

it happened in a blink.

his eyes — once alive, calculating, devouring you — were now glazed with eternal silence. his lips, once curled with hunger and twisted flirtation, were now unmoving. perfect. cold.

his hand was reaching out to you still. but it was rigid now.

draco malfoy stood before you, just as he had the first day you saw him. carved in grace, haunted in stillness.

the only sign he’d ever moved was the position of his body: arms half-raised, chest slightly arched forward, like he was trying to reach you. like he was begging you not to leave him after your little test.

you stumbled back, almost falling on your butt against the pavement.

the truth of it — of him — finally slamming into your chest like a blow.

the statue was alive. and he wanted you.

“no.” you breathed, horror wrapping around your lungs, making your breaths heavy with fear. “no, no, no…”

you backed away, but the statue — draco — stood watchful, haunting. you could feel his presence even now, humming under the skin of stone. waiting.

and if you dared to blink–

you didn’t wait to find out.

with a gasp stuck in your throat and adrenaline lashing through your veins, you ran.

you ran back into the maze, cutting corners, clipping hedges, ignoring the way untamed branches clawed at your arms. you ran like he could follow — and maybe, just maybe, he would, the moment your eyes left him long enough.

because now you knew: he was never just stone.

your legs moved before your thoughts could catch them. every twist and turn of the maze felt unfamiliar now, foreign, menacing. the very same hedges you’d lovingly pruned now loomed like walls.

like a prison.

a shiver crawled down your spine, even before you heard the snap of twigs behind you.

he was following you as your eyes were no longer on him.

you turned sharply down a narrow corridor of green. left, right, right again. you had to get out. had to get to the entrance. but the hedges all looked the same. you could barely see where your feet landed as dusk drowned the world in navy blue.

then — a whisper.

“running from me, darling?”

your heart was pierced by a spear of fear, making your legs loose balance and divert you from the path. you turned the left corner with urgency, hoping to at least lose draco in the maze.

his voice was near. too near.

luck was not on your side. as you bolted again, crashing through a thicket of untrimmed ivy, you emerged into a clearing.

and a terrifying dead end.

he stepped out from the neighboring hedge, moving with the careful grace of a man who had learned to treasure each moment of motion. like someone who’d spent too long unable to move at all.

his haunting voice hit you before his frame did, bouncing around the greenery and shooting straight into your core.

“found you.” it was velvet-laced steel, refined and dangerous, still soaked in that archaic drawl that made your knees tremble.

you backed up until your spine hit the hedge behind you and you curled into yourself, bending your arms in front of you to make a make-shift shield. that only aided him, your eyes now blocked by your self-made barrier.

draco advanced slowly — not like a man chasing, but like one collecting what was already his.

“you can’t escape me.”

your arms did little to protect you as you feel his body heat on yours, his breath fanning over the exposed skin. and when you remembered his weakness — your eyes — and tried to break away your shield, he immediately plopped his hat over the top-half of your face, covering them completely.

“nuh, nuh, we can’t have that again, can we?”

draco’s long fingers ghosted over your temples, adjusting the brim of the top hat so it sloped lower over your face, further obscuring your eyes. it was his own — victorian, dark velvet — worn during centuries of stillness. it smelled like him: old parchment, mossy rain, secrets pressed into stone.

but it wasn’t enough.

“no peeking.” he said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice now; closer, lower, dripping with victorious delight. “i’ve just got you back.”

you felt the rough tug of fabric being untied; your gardening cloth, pulled from your belt loop. a moment later, it joined the hat, knotted securely around your eyes in practiced, possessive movements.

like a blindfold.

“there. now you may believe me with your body, if not your sight.”

you gasped as his lips found your collarbone again, this time, hungrier. he kissed like he had waited decades to know the taste of flesh, wetting your exposed skin with spit and need.

"touch me more." he murmured, voice crumbling into gravel and satin. “like you did before. every meeting, hands on my face, on my hands… do you have any idea what that did to me, darling?”

you didn’t get the chance to answer.

draco pushed you back gently, letting you feel the hedge at your spine, the dirt soft beneath your knees as he guided you down. he knelt too, with a reverence that belonged to old traditions.

“i have dreamt of this...” he confessed, the edge of his coat brushing your thighs. “when night fell and the world turned its eyes away… i imagined you like this. on your knees. kneeling for your master.”

your fingers trembled as they reached out — found him. warm, alive, impossibly real beneath your palms. your careful touch was redirected by his own hands to his pants, encouraged to explore. to find the hard outline of his cock straining behind the buttons, itching to be freed.

and when you expectantly prodded against his crotch, the protruding bulge left you rubbing your thighs together in anticipation.

“you feel it?” he said softly, breath hitching as you cupped him fully in your palms. “flesh. not stone. and all for you.”

with careful hands, you undid the buttons. thankfully, the victorian attire had an easy-to-open mechanism. his cock sprang free in seconds, hot and heavy against your palm. it twitched when you wrapped your warm fingers around him, a bead of precum sliding along down to your digits.

“good girl.” he purred, one hand tangling in your hair, the other bracing against the hedge behind your head. his hat was long forgotten on the pavement, falling on your way down to this kneeling position.

but the hat was no longer a concern, as your sturdy cloth was blocking your eyes just right.

“taste me. take what you’ve longed for.”

there was no point in denying the want surging inside you, the dryness of your mouth which was only curable by draco’s messy cock. so you opened your mouth and pressed the head to your tongue, slow and teasing, admiring the weight it had.

he hissed sharply through his teeth, head lolling back from the feeling.

“ah—fuck.” draco rarely cursed, but it rolled off his tongue naturally. “so warm. so perfect.”

you swirled your tongue around the head, tasting salt and something ancient beneath the surface — like stone kissed by summer storms. draco’s hips bucked immediately, the feeling of your wet muscle making him groan loudly, but he quickly regained composure.

always the aristocrat. even undone.

“steady, darling…” he muttered, breath ragged. “we’ve… all the time in the world.”

his fingers tightened in your hair as you bobbed lower, taking more of him into your mouth. you could feel the tremble in his thighs, the tightness in his heavy balls, the way centuries of restraint tried not to shatter in your grip.

“beautiful.” his voice cracked. “you were always meant to kneel before me.”

the maze around you was silent, save for the sloshing sounds of your mouth and draco’s barely contained moans — quiet, strangled, like he still couldn’t believe he was free to make them.

you hollowed your cheeks, sucked harder.

“oh—” he choked, head thudding gently forward against the hedge. “yes. just like that. my sweet little gardener. worship me.”

and you did. breathing through your nose, you lowered your head fully onto his cock, making draco hit the back of your throat oh so unceremoniously.

your broken chokes, your drooling lips, your twitching hands, they all contributed to the sensation, making draco grip your scalp harsher and tug at the roots of your hair.

“you are bloody divine.”

he cursed again, one last string of aristocratic filth, and came in your mouth with a gasp like the cracking of old stone — loud, desperate, reverent. you swallowed it all, never once opening your eyes beneath the cloth, savouring the creaminess of his release.

like stone, you stayed still, nose-deep into his navel, welcoming his hefty spurts of cum into your hungry mouth. his legs were trembling, his hips were jutting back and forth with extasy. but alas, draco stilled shortly after, breathless yet aroused beyond compare.

when he pulled out moments later, his touch was gentle on your face as his fingers instructed you to open your mouth. to let him see his seed completely swallowed.

“my good girl.”

but your reward was far from over.

draco leaned down, pressed a kiss to your covered temple — a gentleness so jarring after the feral way he’d just used your mouth. and then you felt it; how his cock twitched again, not even finished with you.

not even close.

“turn for me.” he murmured, lifting your chin with two fingers. “face down, arse up. there’s more i must claim.”

you obeyed without further complaints, breath caught in your throat as your body moved. the hedge behind you scraped your shoulder as you shifted, the cloth over your eyes still snug. your knees found the hard dirt again, but this time, your chest lowered too, forearms braced beneath you as you arched your back and presented yourself to him.

you heard him groan behind you — truly groan.

deep, rough, primal.

“look at you.” he breathed. “so obedient. you’ve no idea what that does to me.”

he knelt behind you, one hand smoothing down your spine like a sculptor reacquainting himself with his abandoned statue. you gasped when his other hand slipped to your waistband, pulling your bottoms down to your knees in one go.

and then, with considerate care, right between your thighs — two long, aristocratic fingers dipping into your slick folds, already drenched with arousal and need.

“so wet.” he murmured, voice thick with disbelief. “all this for me?”

you could only whimper in response, hips grinding back into his hand, asking for more.

draco slipped a finger inside — just one — curling it expertly, teasing the gummy spot that made you see stars behind the blindfold. then another joined, his knuckles gliding with ease as he fingered you open, slow and rhythmic, relishing every soaked sound your cunt made.

“draco– please–”

he leaned forward, hot breath brushing your ear. “i know what you need, dear.”

yet the fingers left you. you nearly cried from the loss, pushing your hips back in an attempt to reconnect with his digits. but they were replaced immediately by the blunt, aching head of his cock, nudging your entrance. you arched further, offering yourself like a prize.

and draco took you like he’d earned it.

with one smooth thrust, he sheltered himself inside, forcing a plethora of moans from the both of you. his grip on your hips turned bruising, holding you steady as he bottomed out, hips flush to your ass, balls close to your clit, cock buried deep where only he belonged.

“fuck.” he hissed, bending over your back as his hips began to move. “so tight. so bloody warm. you were made for this. made for me.”

the pace he set was punishing — precise and powerful, years of immobility fueling each thrust. you clawed into the soil, gasping, whining and whimpering, the stretch of him making your body quake with need.

he held your hips like a man anchoring himself to reality, to you. his cock drove deeper with each thrust, the sound of skin slapping and wetness growing louder, filthier. then he reached down and found your clit, rubbed in merciless circles, as he plowed into you harder from behind.

“say it.” he growled, voice ragged. “say you’re mine.”

you choked on a moan. “yours– draco. i’m yours–!”

“yes, yes, you are.” he thrust harder. “mine to fuck. mine to deflower in the dirt if i so wish. mine to keep.”

soon, your orgasm hit like lightning — white-hot, rolling through your limbs and stealing your breath away. you came around his cock with a cry, pussy clenching so tight it drew a broken, gasping moan from him.

draco wasn’t far behind. he slammed into you once, twice, trice — then spilled another load deep inside, heat flooding you, his cum thick and scorching against your velvety walls. his hands trembled on your body, his breath heavy with relief and admiration.

“mine forever.”

when he pulled out, slow and attentive, your cunt ached from the loss, pulsing to be filled again and again. his fingers trailed your thighs, rubbing around your entrance and smearing the mess he’d made of you. spreading the sticky mixture of your bodies around in utter admiration.

“you bewitched me.” he spoke from behind you, accusing you of witchcraft like he wasn’t the one cursed to be half-statue.

be it jest or fact, you had no moment to respond as his mouth, hot and wet, latched onto your puffy cunt.

“w–wait, draco.” but he didn’t listen, clutching your hips again and forcing you to stay still as he lapped up your release.

he moaned low against your cunt, the sound guttural— unrefined — like a man slipping the leash after centuries of stillness. his tongue moved like he was painting scripture onto your folds, worshipping, devouring, humming with dark delight.

“oh, fuck— draco.” you gasped, unable to do anything but rut your hips back against his face, face collapsed over the dirtied pavement. he growled in approval, fingers digging into your thighs, spreading you wider, eating you deeper.

his tongue lapped up every drop of your combined slick, every pulse of arousal still leaking from your quivering pussy. he didn’t miss a thing. not a tremble. not a twitch.

and if you tried to squirm away, overstimulated, crying with need, he dragged you right back, nose buried between your cheeks and taunting complaints on his lips.

“no.” he muttered darkly. “you don’t run from this. not when i’ve waited centuries to taste you.”

his voice was muffled by your flesh, filthy and fervent. the sharpness of his accent cracked around the vowels like he was losing himself, becoming undone in the most deliciously undignified way.

then he lifted his face from your core just enough to speak clearly.

“you've ruined me.” he said, breathless. “made me fuck like a peasant on the dirt. like i’ve never known silk or propriety. i’m humiliating myself for your cunt, and i don’t even care.”

you let out a helpless sound, somewhere between a sob and a moan, his confession making your cunt drool more on his tongue.

he licked another stripe through your folds, groaning like it hurt. “do you understand what that means, darling? aristocracy runs in my veins.”

briefly tonguing your leaking entrance, he then continued. “but all it took was a gardener with gentle hands and sweet words to make me rut into the grass like i’d forgotten my title.”

draco dragged your hips higher, adjusted your knees against the soil like he was aligning art — then sucked your clit into his mouth and moaned as he did.

you screamed.

your thighs quivered like leaves in a powerful wind. your hands clawed at the hedge in front of you. and still he feasted.

draco malfoy, the statue who had once stood cold and untouchable, now on his knees, face buried in your dripping cunt, completely captivated by the taste of you.

and all you could do was sob his name into the dusk, voice wrecked, as your second orgasm crashed over you. he didn’t stop until your legs collapsed and your body went boneless in the dirt; his lips shiny, chin slick, and expression wickedly dazed.

then, finally, with all the self-satisfaction of a man who had just claimed divinity, he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“take accountability, my darling.”

©dearmisshoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @theodoresvalentine, @cafechichay, @lov3notts, @nottslove

[sugawhaaa]

Han Jisung Drabble

•.•.•Morning after•.•.•

Warnings:: SMUT

Pairing:: jisung x fem!reader

Genre:: morning after, fluff, mentions rough sex,

A/N:: I'm back from the grave...✨️ anyway this is a bit of a teaser thing for a fanfic I'm writing for Han, this is kind of like part 2 of the fantic I haven't even posted yet 😭

Skz masterlist:: 🧡

When you first came to everything felt kinda fuzzy. You and Han had been dating for a while now and you'd slept in his bed many times so waking up beside him wasn't anything new. However, waking up next to him, naked, covered in hickeys and bruises was new.

Han was still balled up in blankets, sleeping away. He had a few marks on his neck as well. His cheeks were puffed out as he slept, his breathing heavier than average. Something about the way he looked right now was so endearing. However when you sat up all that endearment seemed to dwindled.

It seemed as though every bone and muscle in your body ached from his behavior last night. Jisung got a little jealous and possessive of you and when you showed that you were into it, he went to town. Your jaw ached and the corners of your mouth were undoubtedly red fron friction, your hips and upper thighs were stiff and potentially bruised. Your head throbbed, probably because you were dehydrated and perhaps because Han was pulling on your hair half the night.

You manage to drag yourself out of bed and put on some clothes, baggy mismatched clothes, half of which belonged to Jisung. As you head to the door you glance back and Han, noticing the redness of his back. Upon closer inspection, you realized it was scratch marks, scratches from your nails... seems like the both of you have lots of marks to prove your fun last night.

After leaving his room you're greeted by a few of the members sitting at the dinner table eating what they call breakfast. At first, none of them seem to notice anything odd about you until you sit down. Dark circles under your eyes, frizzy hair, and marks all over your neck and upper chest. Lee know smirks to himself before taking a sip of coffee.

"Have a long night?" Felix tilts his head, trying to be a good sport about this but deep down he finds it humorous.

"That's one way to put it," you groan before resting your head on the table, arms supporting your head. With your head down you suddenly feel a hand slide up to your head and fluff your hair. When you pick your head up you see Jisung, a tired smile on his lips. He wears a grey hoodie and black sweatpants, a typical Jisung morning outfit. He leans down to talk to you on a quieter level.

"How you feeling this morning? Was it too much?" A guilty smile spreads across his face and it's somehow endearing.

"A little stiff...very stiff," you rub your hip bone and Han blushes before giving you a hug. The members ignore the two of you having your little moment and leave you be.

"I'm sorry," he chuckles but his words are sincere. You put a hand over his.

"It's okay, it was amazing," you peck his cheek. Changbin then claps his hands together.

"Okay let's get today rolling," he smiles awkwardly before drawing everyone's attention. Jisung steals one last glance at you before giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead.