#BUT FAR LESS ENTERTAINING IT'S TRUE

[exbeaut]

ok yes loving daisy jones so far bc i did just re read the book today so i’m back in it but my one qualm so far is that daisy is not unhinged like?? i don’t mind what minor plot/story changes they have made so far in fact i like it bc the book is completely told by multiple unreliable narrators that’s the whole point esp with the “plot twist” billy’s version (and daisys to less of an extent but still close to it bc she cared about camilla so she wouldn’t want to hurt julia) of things can’t be believed at all lmaooo so i don’t mind the changes i feel it’s a good way to frame it more real or whatever but my issue is why is Daisy so like put together??? she was insane and off her shit from age fourteen but so far three eps in she’s so ?? composed?? even in daisys unreliable pov of the book she knows she was an addict and a disaster and billy too on the first tour but in the show it’s so toned down maybe for viewer rating sakes? like maybe they can’t show heroin on prime shows idk lmaooo

[mittenhater]

sorry, my yapping about reality tv switch has been activated and now i have to talk about baddies

[samuraisharkie]

I’ve seen it coming years away, but it still always manages to make me bleed a little bit more when I am reminded I AM being left behind, watching everyone I know go on ahead of me because why the hell would they hold themselves back like that? I wouldn’t want them to, but it still hurts to be reminded that I’m still stuck here for the foreseeable future, that there will be no collaboration, it’s up to me and kitty and only us. I’m still in the same place I was when I graduated high school. I don’t see a way out yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever have enough money on my own. It’s depressing being reminded of it all. I’m not ready and I should be. I’ve wasted so much time, how am I going to catch up and not feel decades behind my peers? I don’t hate myself or my body (I can’t afford to do that again) but a lot of times I wish there was something different about me that made it so I had the same ease/difficulty doing things that others did, that I could form habits like most people can, that I wasn’t so exhausted mentally and physically all the time. It’s mortifying to be left behind. I’m happy for them, and I hate that it’s soured by my own problems and tinged with selfish resentment that it’s just me and my twin against the world.

[creature-wizard]

Is the spiritual person a conspiracy theorist? A list of red flags

They talk about a shadowy group of people supposedly manipulating everything behind the scenes. They might refer to them by terms such as globalists, bankers, international bankers, secret rulers of the world, the elite, the cabal, Kabbalists, Talmudists, satanists, satanic pedophiles, pedophiles, generational satanists, satanic bloodlines, the Illuminati, the Babylonian Brotherhood, lizard people, Reptilians, Orions, regressives, regressive entities, Khazarians, Marxists, cultural Marxists, or leftists. Sometimes, very rarely, they'll just come right out and say "Jews."

They claim that the conspiracy has been working to conceal historical and spiritual truths from humanity.

They claim that the conspiracy uses stuff like food, entertainment, and medicine to control the masses. For example, "additives in food suppress our psychic abilities" or "Hollywood films contain subliminal messages" or "COVID vaccines were actually created to alter your DNA to make you more docile."

Also, claims that the conspiracy controls people via spiritual or technological implants, 5G, or alter programming, with or without explicit mention of Project Monarch (a conspiracy theory promoted by far right cranks such as Mark Philips and Fritz Springmeier, who used hypnosis to respectively convince Cathy O'Brien and Cisco Wheeler that they'd been put under mind control by a global satanic conspiracy).

They claim that this conspiracy is controlling the media, has fingers in every institution they disagree with, and is generally behind everything they disagree with. (EG, the conspiracy created the Catholic Church; that other New Ager they disagree with is actually controlled opposition, etc.)

They claim that the conspiracy is trying to keep people in fear.

They claim that the conspiracy harvests something from people. Blood and adrenochrome are common ones. Loosh is somewhat less common. Expect to see something else pop up eventually.

They claim that the conspiracy practices genetic engineering; EG, creating animal/human hybrids, using vaccines to genetically sever people's connection to God, etc.

They claim that true spiritual wisdom can be traced back to places like Atlantis, Lemuria, or Mu.

They claim that world governments have secretly been in contact with extraterrestrials for years.

They appeal to known frauds and cranks, including but not limited to Erich Von Daniken, Zechariah Sitchin, David Icke, David Wilcock, Graham Hancock, Jaime Maussan, Bob Lazar, Steven Greer, Richard C. Hoagland, Fritz Springmeier, and Drunvalo Melchizedek.

Appeals to forged documents, including but not limited to the alleged diary of Admiral Richard Byrd, The Emerald Tablets of Thoth the Atlantean, and The Urantia Book.

Appeals to channeled information, such as that provided by Edgar Cayce, Carla Rueckert, or George Van Tassel.

"But all of this has to come from somewhere, doesn't it?"

Oh, it all comes from somewhere, all right, but the where isn't what most people imagine.

A lot of the stuff above is just a modern spin on the content of The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion, a Russian hoax created to justify violence against Russian Jews. The Protocols itself was plagiarized from a political satire and incorporated a lot of the post-French Revolution conspiracy theories about Freemasons and Jews being behind the French Revolution. I wrote a summary of the conspiracy tropes found in The Protocols over here.

The stuff about Satanic sacrifices and the consumption of blood, adrenochrome, loosh, or whatever are simply just variations on blood libel, an antisemitic conspiracy theory that claims Jews practice ritual cannibalism. Blood libel can be traced back to ancient Greece. (With the Greek version, I really can't help but notice the similarity to modern urban legends of gangsters kidnapping random people for initiation rituals.)

Many of these tropes can also be linked back to the early modern witch hunts. It was believed that witches sacrificed babies to Satan, practiced cannibalism, and put people under mind control by way of diabolical magic. It was also believed that some witches didn't even know they were witches; they'd go off to attend the Devil's Sabbath at night and come back in the morning without remembering a thing. In the late 20th century, this witch hunter's canard would be reinvented as the alter programming conspiracy theory when media such as the 1973 book Sibyl and its 1976 television adaptation put DID (note: the woman who inspired Sibyl did not have DID) into the public consciousness. For a more complete list of witch panic and blood libel tropes, I wrote a list over here.

Lemuria was a hypothetical landmass proposed to explain the presence of lemur fossils in Madagascar and India while being absent in continental Africa and the rest of Asia, because if lemurs evolved naturally, they wouldn't be in two separate places with no connection to each other. The discovery that India and Madagascar were once connected not only made the hypothesis obsolete, it precludes the existence of Lemuria.

The whole notion of Mu began with a horrendous mistranslation of the Troano manuscript. A man named Augustus Le Plongeon would link the mistranslation with the story of Atlantis, and use it to claim that Atlantis actually existed in the Americas. (For Plongeon, Mu and Atlantis were one and the same.) And then other people (like James Churchward) got their hands on the whole Mu thing, and put their own spins on it, and the rest is history.

Le Plongeon's ideas influence modern Atlantis mythology today; EG, the idea that it was in the Americas. Another guy who helped shape the modern Atlantis myth was Ignatius L. Donnelly, an American politician. Dude claimed that Atlanteans spread their oh-so-superior culture far and wide. He also claimed that Atlantis was the home of the Aryan people, because of course he did.

The idea that all of the world's wisdom can be traced back to Thoth/Hermes goes back to Hermeticism, a product of Greco-Egyptian syncretism. Hermeticism produced a fascinating body of mythology and an interesting way to consider the divine and its role in shaping human history, but that doesn't mean it was right. And the Emerald Tablets of Thoth the Atlantean is a modern text that has fuck-all to do with ancient Hermeticism and more to do with HP Lovecraft.

This idea that the conspiracy uses pharmaceutical drugs and vaccines for evil also has roots in Nazi Germany. The Nazi government, wanting to reserve real medicine for their soldiers, told the general populace that said medicine was the product of evil Jewish science and prescribed alternative healing modalities instead. (Said alternative healing modalities did not particularly work.) It also echoes the old conspiracy theories about Jews spreading the Black Death by poisoning wells.

The idea that the conspiracy uses genetic manipulation to create subhuman beings or sever humanity from the divine is a permutation of the Nazi conspiracy theory that Jews are trying to destroy the white race through race mixing. The idea of evil reptilian DNA goes back to the ancient serpent seed doctrine, which is indeed old, but no less pure hateful nonsense for it.

"But there's got to be somebody up to something rotten out there!"

Oh sure. But these people aren't skulking around in the shadows. They're acting pretty openly.

The Heritage Foundation has been working to push this country into Christofascism since the early 1970's. They're the ones responsible for the rise of the Moral Majority and the election of Ronald Reagan. They're also the ones behind Project 2025, which intends to bring us deeper into Christofascism. (Among many other horrible things, they intend to outlaw trans people as "pornographic.")

The Seven Mountains Mandate is another movement pushing for Christofascism. They intend to seize the "seven spheres" of society, which include education, religion, family, business, government/military, arts/entertainment, and media.

There's also the ghoulish American Evangelicals who support Israel because they think that current events are going to bring about the Second Coming of Jesus and cement the formation of a global Christofascist empire. Don't let their apparent support of Jews fool you - they believe that the good Jews will become Christians and the bad ones will go to hell.

All of these people are working toward monstrously horrific goals, but none of them are part of an ancient megaconspiracy. In fact, these are the kinds of people pushing the myth of the ancient megaconspiracy. From the witch hunts to Nazi Germany to the American Evangelical movement, if history has taught us anything, the people pushing the conspiracy theories are always the bad guys.

[temis-de-leon]

Dateables realizing their feelings for reader

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon, and Simeon (x reader, separately)

Main Masterlist

Part 2 , Part 3 , Demon Brothers version

Romance Anon: Could I request headcanons for Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon, and Simeon realising his feelings for gn reader?

A/N: I think the reason why this one took so long is that I already described part of their crush in Part 2 (originally Part 1), so this feels just like an "extra". I don't really like it and it feels very OOC and incomplete, but it's the best I could do <3

.

Diavolo

He has always been thankful for his ability to read emotions. It helps him distinguish between those who try to take advantage of his positive nature and other, more honest, people willing to open their minds to his ideas, even if they disagree. 

This gift tends to leave him drowning in isolation as if he were observing a party he wasn’t invited through a window. Would he rather live amongst lies and blissful ignorance? Would he prefer not knowing when someone has intentions of hurting him?

Those are drastic thoughts, he knows, but they roam his mind nonetheless. 

Diavolo is painfully aware of the main root of his recent ruminations; not a traitor amidst his court or a threat from far away, but, instead, something more heartbreaking: his new human friend. 

The moment his daydreamings begin to include you more and more, the dread of realization stops his heart. He’s never fallen in love, let alone with a human. What is he supposed to do?

The possibility of letting you go so both could find a better fit crosses his mind, but his unwillingness to lose you doesn’t let him entertain the idea. 

Would you fall for him as well? You, the one who treats him like a friend and not a loyal servant? The one who, after seeing the leathery wings behind his back and the ornate horns above his head, still pushes him to become what he could be? To reach what he yearns to achieve?

He’ll have you if you allow it, and he’ll wish for it if you don’t.

Barbatos

He'd like to have more time to evaluate how strong his feelings for you are, but, ironically, there's no such thing for him.

Your smile stays in his mind while he runs errands and the melody of your laugh follows him in silent moments. He writes your name instead of food while listing groceries and your voice stands out the most when everyone is reunited.

Attraction; the birth of affection.

He thinks (hopes?) those aren't stable enough to evolve into something more frightening, but how wrong he is.

In reality, Barbatos is as jealous as Mammon, but his resentment towards said demon doesn't appear until the brothers start to argue about you when you aren't around.

Is it true? Is Mammon "your first"?

Although composed as ever, there's no denying his change of heart. He feels frustrated, but not at you, and the sourness fills his mouth no matter what he eats.

When the misunderstanding is clarified, after another one of Mammon's fits and Satan's exasperation in retaliation, the sense of relief leaves him dizzy.

It is serious then, isn't it? Nothing he can escape unless wanting heartbreak.

Forcing and rushing your reciprocation is not something he feels comfortable with; what would be worth if it weren't natural?

He's willing to wait, being the patient demon he is, and while his longing grows with each passing day, enjoying the journey feels just as exciting.

Solomon

The human sorcerer falling for the other human exchange student?

It's a slow process and he doesn't notice the change until it's too late. One moment you're just acquaintances and the next he can't do anything without thinking about you.

He has a book you might like, why not go to Purgatory Hall for a quick visit?

Are you okay? Do you feel lonely? He knows the brothers can be a handful sometimes, so don't worry and talk to him whenever you need to.

He supposes it makes sense, but that doesn't make it less disheartening.

How cliche of him to develop feelings for the only person in the Devildom he will outlive.

The memories of past long-lost lovers haunt him as he ponders the idea of giving you a chance. He knows loving you would feel wonderful, but do you even like him back? Is the risk worth a chance?

Will it compensate for the pain that your eventual passing would bring?

As time passes and the potential of your powers arises, Solomon decides that he'd rather try and lose than not try at all.

Who knows? Maybe fate will trick you both and let him have you for the rest of eternity.

Simeon

From all the things Simeon thought he would learn while living in the Devildom, experiencing love was not one of them.

The feeling per se isn't foreign to him, he knows it in many forms, but what he finds in you doesn't resemble anything he's ever seen or felt before.

It fills his heart until it's bursting at the seams and, yet, he still wants more.

He daydreams a lot, captivated by your image to the point of losing awareness of his surroundings. He blushes and humms, doodling and making romantic interests for his stories according to everything he sees in you, both the good and the bad side.

Simeon has a positive mental attitude around his growing infatuation towards you, since, while the possibility of not being reciprocated is there, he knows your friendship goes beyond that.

Perhaps that is why you settled so easily in his heart: the roots of platonic love wouldn't go to rott if being rejected were the case.

This is new and exciting for him, an unknown path he's willing to explore regardless of the results.

.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010  @ollieoven

[fangswbenefits]

The Arrangement (3) - Inconvenience

Chapter summary: It is poetic irony that sharing a prison cell with Astarion is what eventually gets the two of you attempting to have a much needed conversation...

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Poison sucking. Blood. Angst.

Word count: 3.5k

Previous chapter . Series Masterlist . Ao3

"You're bleeding."

"I know."

"It's distracting."

"Then look away."

He scoffed. "I can smell it."

It really wasn't a desirable occurrence to end up in one of Baldur's Gate's prisons. The last time you had the displeasure of descending into one was to liberate Gortash's victims from the Iron Throne Prison.

You had rarely been on the side that needed rescuing.

But fate worked in strange ways and had you thrown into a cold and rusty cell, trying to figure out how you ended up in this situation to begin with.

The torches scattered along the pillars of stone outside the cell provided little to no sufficient light, and it only added to the looming sense of dread.

Ripping a scrap of cloth from your clothing, you wrapped it firmly around the bleeding slash across your wrist.

Astarion sat across from you, eyeing your every move with a faint smile on his lips.

"You could have just run away, you know," you began, bringing your knees up to your chin with a sigh. "You are immune to Sleep spells."

He scoffed again with an eye-roll. "Please. I allowed myself to get caught. Gods know you could use the help."

The throb in your head intensified and you winced as discomfort tore through your body, as his words hit you.

"What help? We're both trapped inside," you ground out in annoyance.

He lifted a finger. "That, my dear, is merely an inconvenience. I am quite sure I'd be able to lockpick our way out of this."

The damp-scented mattress underneath you squeaked as you leaned against the ragged wall. "Using what? Your fangs?"

Astarion clicked his tongue. "Creative, but no. I just need to find anything to help me get through that lock." He rose to his feet and moved to inspect the sturdy door with attentive eyes.

As promising as it sounded, you knew deep down that it wouldn't be an easy feat. The guards had stripped both of you down to only your shirts and trousers, and removed anything deemed too creative.

Besides, this whole ordeal had to be a misunderstanding of sorts. It would be wise to, at least, get some enlightenment.

"Maybe we should just wait for Wyll."

He turned to you, a touch of disbelief crossing his face. "His guards put us here, in case you need a reminder."

"We did nothing wrong," you said, clutching on to reason. "We are not criminals. It's all a misunderstanding, I'm sure."

Whether it was a case of you trying to believe your own words, or because there was truth to them, remained to be seen.

As a sorcerer, it would be rather easy to blast through the cell door and be done with it, but you would only entertain that option as a last resort.

"Well, I suppose it could be worse," he said in resignation, curious fingers still prodding the lock. "At least, they didn't shove us in a cell with windows."

The lack of any opening to the outside had made it hard for you to keep track of time, but given the silence and snores from the inhabitants in the adjacent cells, you reckoned the sun had yet to rise.

Astarion would be safe from its scorching rays, for the time being.

You felt something trickling down your wrist, and upon closer inspection, you realised the cloth around it was soaked with your blood.

Odd.

Astarion was still very much entertained with the hinges and structure of the cell door to take notice of your finding.

You quickly brought another rag torn from your cloak and wrapped even tighter over the existing one, applying as much pressure as you could withstand through the pain.

Very odd.

He was now squatting down, taking a closer look at the lock, fingers tugging and rattling the device.

A true rogue at heart.

"Or, I could be sharing this cell with someone far less entertaining – like Gale," he continued. "I'd just beg the guards for a stake to rid myself of my misery."

He finished off with a dramatic laugh, but you found yourself scowling deeply.

"Can you give Gale some credit where it's due? He's helping you out."

His narrowed crimson eyes met yours. "By 'helping' you mean what, exactly? Cooking abhorrent meals and reading books that would put a screeching babe to sleep? Hardly helpful, darling."

You decided to fully ignore his taunt as patience slipped from your tired mind.

"He's going to Waterdeep in a fortnight to speak with someone willing to help out with the Wish spell," you informed as calmly as possible. "I was on my way to tell you that a couple of hours ago before… well, this happened."

His features eased and he rose to his full height, his undivided attention on you.

"Truly? That sounds promising, I suppose," he said, folding his arms. "And here I thought you were simply longing for my company. My apologies, darling."

He wasn't entirely wrong, but you would never let him know.

Suddenly, the sound of metal shrieking echoed throughout the room, and a jab of pain drummed steadily in your head.

"Wake up, you loiter-sacks!" One of the guards yelled.

Pandemonium ensued.

A wave of groggy protests were heard all around. The insults and taunts came immediately after, and your eyes widened at the vulgarity of all of it, while Astarion held the most amused smile you had ever seen on him in a long while.

He truly thrived in all things chaotic.

Another voice was heard. "Shut it, will ya?! Or no food!"

It effectively subsided most of the protests, though an occasional whispered 'fucker!' slipped through the mouths of some prisoners.

Squeaking wheels of a cart came to a halt just outside your cell, and you bolted out of the mattresses, gripping the vertical metal bars.

"Can you please call for Wyll. We need to talk to him."

The grumpy man frowned. "Am just delivering food, sweetheart. Now, have yours and get back."

He shoved a bowl of what looked like powdered wood shavings. The smell was positively nauseating , and your stomach twist and turn in revulsion.

You placed your meal on the floor, not daring to take a single bite.

A laugh burst from him before he attempted doing the same to Astarion, who visibly shuddered as he dodged the man's hand.

"Ugh. I'll pass."

He snorted, grinning maliciously. "Food strikes ain't going to get you out o' here, pretty boy."

Astarion's face twisted into an outraged look, but before he could voice out a snarky remark, the same man as before was heard.

"That one's the vampire spawn."

The guard came into view, and the atmosphere in the prison cell shifted considerably. Silence took over, only broken by some vague whispers.

"Give him pig's blood."

A few gasps erupted. 

"I prefer fresh blood, thank you very much," Astarion scoffed, visibly offended. "I am not feeding on scraps."

"Astarion…" you warned him lowly, not wanting things to spiral out of control.

The delivery man shrugged to the guard and pushed the food cart out of the way so he could attend to the other prisoners.

Another guard joined in, removing his helmet to take a closer look.

"Then you'll have nothing. You are in no position to make demands, spawn."

Astarion tensed by your side but merely pressed his lips as a reply. 

"Thought so," the guard chuckled.

You gripped the bars tighter, earning their attention. "Tell us what we are charged with, then."

They both exchanged looks and the first one bared his teeth. "Playing dumb, are we?"

"We didn't do anything that would warrant an arrest!" You nearly yelled in frustration. "Call for Wyll, please!"

The older man leaned in with a snarl. "The Grand Duke is absent. He might return later today."

Your heart dropped.

"Might?"

He nodded in indifference. "His duties don't bend to the will of his friends."

"We didn't do anything wrong," you said in a shaky retort, pressing your forehead against the bars. "We didn't…"

"Look, not to sound ungrateful given our luxurious abode," Astarion interjected light-heartedly, gripping your shoulders to have you take a few steps away from them. "But you do know who we are, don't you?"

"We do, and you are not above the law."

"And which law did we break, if you don't mind clarifying, of course."

The older guard was clearly running out of patience. "Killing a civilian."

Your eyes shot up immediately, and your mouth dropped in shock.

Astarion spoke before you could, his voice bearing confusion. "What? We didn't kill anyone." 

"We found the body in the alleyway."

You gripped the bars again. "No! I used a Sleep spell – and he wasn't a civilian! He attacked me!"

He was now dangerously close to your face. "Listen here, princess. You are both in a sticky situation, and I advise you to watch your words."

Astarion pushed you back with his arm once again. "Lay a finger on her, and you might just turn into a vampire meal."

Tension increased tenfold all of a sudden, and you could only glare at Astarion who remained unmoved and determined to hold his menacing gaze.

"Maybe you'd prefer an overground cell, hm?" The guard spat in amusement. "Having the sun to keep you company. I'm certain we'd be sweeping your ashes from the floor before midday."

An intense wave of anger burst through you, and you reached through the bars, nearly gripping one of them. "Fuck you!"

They both laughed hysterically at your failed attempt.

One of them reached for a pouch and threw a vial at you. "A healing potion. Drink it, princess. You're bleeding out."

"Unless you are to be his vampire meal."

The other guard cleared his throat. "Oh, and be on your best behaviour, and don't even think of escaping. This place is riddled with traps."

"And we have our own mages," the other glared at you.

They laughed obnoxiously loud again before turning on their feet and walking out.

You glanced at the vial in your hand, its crimson content undulating faintly.

Blood kept on seeping through the makeshift bandages around your wrist. The blood flow hadn't decreased, and a couple of droplets were dripping on the floor.

"Drink it," Astarion urged you, pulling his eyes away from the sanguine mess.

You could tell he was extremely tense all of a sudden, slowly pacing away from where you stood.

The compulsion to drink blood could be blinding at times, and you couldn't blame him for wanting to keep a distance given the current circumstances.

You quickly popped the lid off the container and downed the sweetened liquid, immediately feeling a rush of warmth coursing through your body with each pump of your heart.

Unwrapping the soaked pieces of cloth, you noticed the slash had barely healed at all, and that the blood kept pouring out.

Astarion had definitely noticed your confusion, gripping your forearm.

"Poison," he finally said upon inspecting the wound.

You stared at him wide-eyed, as the realisation hit you hard.

They had poisoned you?

"No wonder the flow didn't decrease with the potion."

Panic spread quickly. "Why would they poison me?"

"It was most likely unintentional," he concluded, smearing his thumb across the layer of blood near your wound. "They must have coated their weapons with it and slashed you by mistake."

"We need to call them for an antidote."

He shook his head. "I doubt they have one at hand – one that actually works. These idiots aren't well-versed in poisons to begin with."

Unlike him.

"What now?"

His eyes met yours. "Do you trust me?"

You stiffened, alarm bells going off in your head. He would never ask this unless… "You're about to do something questionable, aren't you?"

"Questionable, but potentially life-saving. How do you fancy your odds?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "What do you have in mind?"

"I will suck the poison out."

Instinctively, you tried to yank your arm from his grip. "No."

He simply glared at you. "This is your best option, darling."

You eased slightly, knowing fully well he was far more experienced in poisons than you were, and between 'bleeding out to death' and 'trusting your vampire friend who also happens to know a lot about this subject', you were far more inclined to pick the latter.

But then…

"What about you? It can be dangerous."

He chuckled in amusement. "I'm undead. Besides, I won't swallow this blood. I am vehemently against wasting yours, but exceptions must be made."

"Just… be careful."

He nodded, and you watched in awe as he brought your wrist to his lips, enclosing them around the wound. As he started off with gentle suckles, you saw the first droplets of blood dribble down from the corner of his mouth.

His touch was cold as ice, and you felt his fangs lightly press against your skin, but not hard enough to break the barrier. After all, your open wound – even if not that deep or wide – was enough to draw blood.

Somewhere along the line, his eyes fluttered shut as he held you in place, and your heart skipped a few beats.

Oddly intimate.

He parted from you not long after, all bloodied, and spitting the remainder of the warm liquid on the floor. 

"What a terrible way to taint your blood," he said with a wince. "It tasted… rotten."

He then grabbed a hold of your cloak – or what was left of it – and wiped his lips and chin clean.

"Just horrid."

Under different circumstances, you would have reprimanded him for it, but it was a fair exchange.

The flow of blood had already begun to waver, and you heaved a sigh of relief.

"Are you well?"

He nodded dismissively with a shudder. "The things I do for you, honestly."

Surprisingly, that did bring a faint smile to your lips.

Even if only for a fleeting moment, you were reminded of the many perils you had faced alongside each other.

He had your back, and you had his. 

No matter what.

However, It still felt grim that it took an erroneous arrest and being shoved into a prison cell to catch a glimpse of the trusting bond you once shared.

One that wasn't built on a mere transaction.

He silently eyed you for a moment, with an expression that was hard to decipher.

Then, he cleared his throat and walked over to his own mattress, placing his cloak along the length of it as a way to keep the damp at bay, before taking a seat.

Classic Astarion.

"Do you reckon I can now blame Gale for us ending up in this situation?"

You arched an eyebrow, wrapping yet another piece of cloth over your closing wound. "If anything, I should be blaming you, no? We're all doing this for you."

He shrugged with a side-smile. "Fair enough."

"I didn't kill that man… I don't get it…"

"I know you didn't, but it's not me you need to convince."

You sat down in defeat, rubbing your temple. "None of this makes sense…"

"No point in dwelling on it now," he said with a click of his tongue, inspecting his nails. "Get some rest."

You blinked. "I cannot rest in a place like this."

His eyes lifted briefly. "Darling, we've had worse."

"... and better." You mumbled.

"I'll give you the 'better' once we get out of here, then. Happy now?"

You winced at his words.

"Why do you do this?" You asked, unable to contain yourself.

He dropped his hand to the side, brows furrowed. "Do what?"

"This! This constant push and pull," you said, feeling the impulsiveness take control. "I try to have a proper conversation with you, and you just… push me away."

Astarion scoffed dramatically. "This is hardly the time or the place to be having this conversation."

"I tried to have you come stay with us… even when you're feeling more… vulnerable… you never let me in," you said in exasperation, words stinging in your throat. "You just…"

The words died in your mouth at the look he gave you.

It wasn't a look of anger or annoyance or outrage.

Just… nothing.

Like he wasn't even listening to you.

"Astarion?"

As if you had just snapped him out of his thoughts, he shook his head briefly, but didn't look in your direction.

"Go get some rest."

Had you pushed too far? He didn't sound upset, but then again, he was a master in deception whenever the situation called for it.

"Astarion…"

He was gazing out of the cell door, as if something far more interesting was worthy of his attention.

"I wasn't the one who pushed you away."

You sat up straighter, heart hammering fast against your ribcag. "Then who?"

"You did."

"What?"

He turned his head to you this time. "Don't pin this on me. You had all of me, and you chose to walk away."

A growing feeling of discomfort began to rise within you, competing with the confusion that had taken root.

And then…

Moonrise Towers.

That night.

"You didn't need a lover."

He sneered. "What about what I wanted?"

"Astarion, you–"

He immediately cut you off. "Don't. I wanted to be with you. I yearned for you like I never did for anyone else, and you chose the easy way out."

You were at a loss for words.

The conversation with Gale the day before immediately came to mind.

"Easy way out? You actually think I didn't have feelings for you back then?"

"Gods, then you should have fought for me – with me!"

He was being unreasonable. The pain of rejection had certainly seeped deeply into him, and it was now resurfacing brutally.

"And I did that! By giving you time and space. Besides, we had more pressing matters back then that required our undivided attention."

He looked back at you coolly. "How many nights did we spend thinking it would be our last?"

That caught you off guard.

"How many nights did you cry yourself to sleep, not knowing if we'd live to see another day?"

You fell silent, unsure of what to say.

"Yet you preferred having that emptiness and despair for company instead of being with me," he went on, his words were as knives that cut through you ruthlessly. "So do not lecture me about pushing others away, when you so clearly excel at that."

It took you a moment to find your voice again amidst the concoction of emotions that swirled in your head.

His accusations were unfounded. You knew this. But realising that that was how he really felt about the entire situation made you feel sadness beyond comparison.

That he mistook your altruism for selfishness. 

"I did what was best for you… and for us."

You wouldn't cry. 

You couldn't cry.

"And was that what you wanted?"

"What you needed mattered more than what I wanted. That's how much I cared for you," you said, voice wavering. "And I still do. Even through all your deception and lies and manipulation… you still came first."

That seemed to have taken him by surprise, and his face softened.

"You constantly mistake what you want with what you need, not even caring about the possible consequences," you went on with newfound vigour.

He scowled yet again. "I constantly cast aside what I want in favour of others."

You scoffed in disbelief. "You're not the epitome of selflessness you think you are, Astarion."

"What I want still matters!"

"If you'd done what you wanted, you would have sacrificed the souls of seven thousand spawn!" You exploded in a fit of rage. 

You were met with silence.

Deafening silence.

"You would have become the Vampire Ascendant and lost yourself in the process."

After glaring at you for a while, he then had the nerve to laugh. "Maybe that would have been the better option."

A sudden wave of nausea settled in the pit of your stomach. "You don't mean that."

"Stop speaking for me," he said through gritted teeth, words dripping with poison. "I had enough of it for two hundred years under his command – stop it!"

Your mouth had dropped open, and you were left speechless.

"Oi! Lovebirds, quit the chit-chat." One of the nearby guards rattled on the metal bars with a mace. "I'm afraid marriage counselling is postponed until further notice."

The other prisoners laughed and whistled teasingly as he walked away. 

Decided you were done with this conversation, you leaned back and rolled down to your side, facing the wall and fighting back the tears that had begun to roll down your cheeks.

You just couldn't stand looking at him.

Or even being near him.

You could only hope that Wyll would come back sooner rather than later, so you could finally get away from Astarion.

For good.

Disclaimer: sucking the poison from one's wound (in case of a snake bite, for example) has been discredited many decades ago. It's not really effective, and can do more harm than good, especially to the person doing the sucking. But for the purposes of this story, it works because fiction and magic and all that! Let's suspend our disbelief for a moment 😌

I don't keep taglists, so please consider adding this story to your alerts on Ao3 🩷

Next chapter: Solution

Series Masterlist . Masterlist

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!simon x f!reader / part 8

previous part

tw: alcohol use, angst, mentions of death

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

Waking up the next morning was the biggest slap in the face. It singed your skin with a burning sting, leaving you disoriented and lost. It was as if the brutal force of realization had hit you so hard, it knocked any form of thought right out of your mind except for pain. Irrepressible pain that caused you to feel numb.

Simon had left. All of your worried texts proved futile. What once showed as blue was now a sickening green that glared back at you. Your number was blocked, your messages unable to go through, and you were left an even shattered version than before. You were glass shards left to lay on the floor, you were a broken wind chime that could no longer provide a charming ambience.

You were broken and useless, tossed to the side like a damaged piece of scrap.

Simon had lived up to his name, and disappeared like a ghost. Drifting off into shadows of darkness, seeping into them and becoming one, never to be seen again.

You were hurt. Scratch that, that was a nice way of putting it – you were devastated. The walls you had so graciously taken down for him were now jagged pieces of debris with no mortar to glue them back together one by one. They were unrepairable, crumbling far too much to be saved.

Everything you ever learned about Simon felt like a lie, because that’s what he did – he lied. The glass was too foggy to tell the difference between what was a lie, and what wasn’t. If there were any parts of Simon that were truthful, you didn’t believe it. There was no grace of god to be there to lend a guiding hand to point you in the right direction. All you had was your gut, telling you deranged criticisms.

He lied to you, this was all a game, and you fell for it.

You should’ve known, really. A man like Simon was not one to love and be loved, not when he had an apparition named Ghost to steer him away from any attachment. After all, spirits could not grow devoted to a mere mortal woman who had nothing left to offer. You were stupid to think otherwise.

Graves was a bad enough person. He hurt you, tormented you, claimed you in order to assure your life was a living hell, with or without him. Now, the smallest part of you didn’t think he could be as cruel as Simon at this moment. It was a brainless thought, one you knew was far from true.

Simon never hurt you, nor did he treat you as bad as Graves.

But at least Graves didn’t have the gall to abandon you like an unwanted dog on the street.

Your mind was ping-ponging back and forth between truth and deception. You didn’t know what was real. It hazed over you, muting out every bit of you that was left inside and replacing it with nothing but cracked foundation.

Nothing was real. Nothing was worth it.

You didn’t leave the house for the entirety of the day, nor the next. You stayed in the confinement of your own home, feeling like a caged animal with no way out. You were slowly decaying away, losing the truest part of yourself, no longer able to see her in the reflection. She stared back at you with a ghostly image, whispering about how disappointed she was in you, how hateful she felt towards you.

She whispered about Simon, burdening you with reminders of what could’ve been if you were simply a little less broken. Bringing him up just to dig the knife in more, twisting it under your skin and basking in the bloodshed.

You were spiraling, just like you always did, because it was all you were good for. Simon was another excuse to crumble back into a deeply rooted self hatred. He was just a chess piece, a single card in a stack of dozens, while you picked it up and returned to your old game of reckless entertainment.

Day fourteen came before you know it. And you spent it completely by yourself, pondering why you ever made a deal with the devil in the first place.

It was easy to fall back into old habits when there was nothing there to offer recovery. Relapsing was what you did best, even when Simon was around, and you’d be damned if you didn’t do it again with him gone. It was a part of you, this endless cycle of self abuse, and it wasn’t going anywhere. It was simply on a temporary pause, now returning with more fiery persistence than before.

Alcohol was the only home you ever knew. It warmed you to the bone, engulfing you in a buzzing fervor. It welcomed you back with open arms, holding on to you with no intent of letting go. You were its lovely hostage, and you had grown Stockholm Syndrome.

Weeks passed by of tireless nights filled with the bitter taste that burned in your throat on repeat. Weeks were spent holed up in your apartment, nursing the only friend you had. This time around, you weren’t picky. You took whatever you could get, uncaring of the repercussions

And even in those weeks, Simon never left your mind. It was like a punishment for being good enough to fuck, but not good enough to stick around. It tortured your mind to the point of insanity.

The more alcohol you had, the more the memory of him became cloudy. It was exactly why you drowned yourself in it. You didn’t want to picture Simon’s face. Didn’t want to picture the way his eyes lit up when he saw you, or the way his smile was a bit crooked and off center. You didn’t want to picture him, and the future you grew too eager for, one that consisted of the two of you. Two puzzle pieces fitting together, only to be wretched apart and pressed down in separate corners.

You were completely losing yourself. All over a man who had broken you.

The cycle repeats. And repeats. You let it repeat, until hopefully one day, the alcohol would prove to be enough to give you the death you so greedily wanted.

It wasn’t until nearly four weeks in utter disarray that the cycle began to morph, railing off of the tracks that you worked so hard to have control over.

Deep into your daily routine of excessive drinking and wallowing in your own self-pity, the door knocked. You nearly missed it, brushing it off as your imagination. You didn’t have visitors, and the only one who cared to take that spot until leaving you was Simon.

Glancing around your apartment, you visibly winced at the disheveled sight of it. Bottles were thrown around carelessly, littering the kitchen counters and living room floor, where you were currently residing with a nameless show playing on the television. Hell had flown through your apartment, and it was your fault it had gotten this way again.

Old habits die hard. And you were always its unfortunate victim when those habits needed a host to leech on to once more.

Clambering up from where you sat on the floor, you somehow made your way to the door by the grace of god. It was late, and if you read right from the clock on the stove, it was past midnight. Anybody could be outside – a killer, an intruder, a thief. It was a mix between not caring about dying, and having enough logical sense to know nobody dangerous would knock first, that had you opening the door.

An unfamiliar man stood tall in the frame, bushy facial hair, sunken eyes that barely held a spark, almost as broad and stiff as Simon. But it wasn’t Simon, and this man was a mere stranger.

“Jesus,” the man muttered under his breath at the state of you. You frowned, feeling small and weak in comparison. After a moment, he cleared his throat, speaking again. “Need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

“I don’t even know who you are,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes.

“M’a friend of Simon’s,” he explained woefully. The sound of Simon’s name coming from somebody else’s lips and not yours had your heart clenching with a dull ache. It sent ice cold chills running through your veins. “The name’s John Price.”

You stared at him with a look of disdain. You never heard Simon mention him before. The more you thought about it, you never heard Simon mention anybody. He was an enigma that you fell into too easily without even knowing a lick of who he was outside of your temporary protector.

“If you’re looking for him, I don’t know where he is,” you replied dryly, gripping a hand on the door and beginning to close it. Before the hinge could click into place, John’s boot stopped it, wedging itself between the door and its frame. He gave you a tight smile, one that had you tensing.

“I know where he is, dove. I said that I need to talk to you.”

The two of you became trapped in a staredown, one that you were too exhausted to fight to be the champion of. Begrudgingly, you opened the door wide enough to allow him to slip in, shutting it behind him. You watched as he took in your apartment, surely judging the whirlwind of it. He wasn’t exactly the type to hide away his distaste, if his mockingly amused expression was any type of indication.

“What do you want?” you asked him, disregarding your own mess and instead focusing on him. He turned to look at you, flashing you another smile. It seemed trusting enough, kind even, but by this time, you knew better.

“Came to offer you a deal, of sorts,” he vocalized. “Might I sit?”

You glanced over at the living room, shame bubbling in you at the sight of the bottle you’d been indulging in before he came around. “Sure.”

You trailed behind him when he took his seat on the couch, letting out an exaggerated sigh, leaning back into it. His display of comfort made you feel uneasy. You made no effort to join him, opting to stand in the middle of the room.

“You were rather close with Simon, weren’t you?” he asked, causing you to scoff to yourself.

“Sure. What’s that got to do with anything?” you asked grimly.

Price hummed to himself, tapping his fingers against his knee. It caused a faint, muted sound of rough, calloused fingertips to chafe against the material of his pants. “Figured so. Allow me to ask you somethin’. You know of Simon’s occupation, right?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Silly me, that’s how you met, isn’t it?” He chuckled to himself. You weren’t sure what was so amusing. “Well, here’s the thing – his performance has been a bit… hindered as of late. I have a strong inkling that it’s because of you.”

The air in the room was tense, nearly suffocating you. Price had such a soft aura that was hiding menacing intentions. You could see through it.

“I need a favor from you, doll.”

“And that is?” you asked carefully.

He smiled at you, cocking his head. “I need you to reject him. Tell him you’re better off, that you don’t need him, whatever you can say to make him get his head back in the fuckin’ game. This job of ours isn’t a joke, you see. I can’t have him slackin’ off. That’s how he’ll end up caught and thrown in jail. Once it reaches that point, I can’t help him out of it. That’s why I need you to help me before that happens.”

Your eyes widened in bewilderment at the sheer nerve of Price. Asking you to tell Simon off, to lie and say you were happy without him? Fuck, the proof was in the pudding – you weren’t, and you could almost guarantee that Simon would know you were lying from one single word. Sure, you were mad at him – pissed – but you also wanted no part in this game Price was playing.

The more you sat on it, the more it became twisted. You were thrown in a tangled web of deception and betrayal, stuck to it like glue, fighting for your way out.

But how much of it was betrayal? How much of it was trickery?

Price’s words echoed in your mind on repeat. They formed together, creating a clear picture.

Price had been the one to have Simon toss you out. He was the reason for your harrowing spiral. He was why Simon had left you, treating you as if you didn’t exist. Just a pawn in his game, and you were too stupid to realize it all sooner.

“You did this?” you snapped. Price raised an eyebrow at you, but said nothing. “You… you’re the reason for all of this, and now you’re asking me for help to lie to him? Are you insane?”

His expression twitched into a flash of annoyance before returning back to a mask. Alarms rang in your head. “I’m doin’ this for Simon. You’re a little bird he fell into when he shouldn’t have, and now I’m tryin’ to fix it before it’s too late.”

“Bullshit. You’re doing this to save your own ass.”

“I’d highly advise watchin’ yourself, doll,” Price muttered in warning, eyes narrowed and expression darkened. “You don’t know anythin’ about what we do. Don’t know how dangerous it is for you to be involved with Simon, and for Simon to be involved with you. I’m savin’ Simon’s ass from fuckin’ up one too many times.”

The atmosphere was even thicker than before. It was hard to breathe. It made you queasy, as if poisoned with a heavy gas that may just kill you if you inhaled it for too long.

Price and you stared at one another, both stubborn and pulled taut. His anger simmered to a low boil once the two of you took that silence to gather your thoughts, but it didn’t entirely vanish. You could still see a flicker of a flame in his eyes.

He was dangerous. Not somebody you wanted to get tangled up in, but you had no choice. You were too deep into this webbed mess, and it was only a matter of time before it came to bite back at you.

“What’s wrong with him?” you finally asked, voice quiet and solemn. You crossed your arms over your chest, turning your gaze away from him so you didn’t have to see his display of weak sympathy and mock judgment.

“He fell in love with you, that’s what’s wrong,” Price bit back, sneering. “Now he’s weak. Can’t do his job correctly, got his head in the fuckin’ clouds, snaps at everybody who tries to talk to him. He’s riskin’ himself, riskin’ us, and I can’t afford losin’ a brother over some girl.”

Price’s words were bitter and cruel. It only irritated you, pricking at your skin until it drove you mad. All calmness that had festered in your brief silence washed away, replaced with the old flame of your anger.

“Losing him?” You laughed bitterly, throwing your head back in disbelief. “Sounds to me like it’s your fault and not mine. Have you ever thought that maybe you’re the reason he’s all fucked up?”

Price stood from where he sat on the couch. There were no longer kind features adorning his face. It was replaced with twisted anger, morphing into something unrecognizable. When he stepped closer to you until you were nearly nose to nose, it was like looking into the eyes of a feral wolf, ready to tear you apart at any given second.

“Wise words comin’ from an alcoholic,” he muttered lowly. It was a hard pill to swallow. “I was tryin’ to be nice, doll. I was givin’ you an option. A choice. You’re just as fucked up as Simon. The difference is that you’re goin’ down a path nobody can save you from. I can save Simon.”

The words slapped you harsh in the face. It was brutal and cruel, and he showed no remorse for the damage he was doing. This was a man who got what he wanted, hurting everybody in the process so long as he achieved it. His goal was to save Simon from his impending doom, and he was willing to take you down to make it happen.

“If you really cared about Simon, you would’ve never let him get to this state in the first place,” you retorted back just as cruelly. “It’s not my fault, and I’m not going to sit here and let you blame me for it. Take a look in the mirror and you’ll get your answer on why he’s being this way.”

Silence. Aching, deafening silence. It tinged the air with a sour smell. The two of you were making no moves of backing down, and it was simply a recipe for disaster.

You didn’t know why you were defending Simon. After what he did, he didn’t deserve your care. He didn’t deserve to have you bandage over his name from the countless wounds he’d inflicted on it by leaving you behind after taking all of you in this very apartment.

However, with a missing puzzle piece being added to the pile, that being Price, you couldn’t help but offer your support from afar. It was clear he had no hand in this game. He was a pawn, just as much as you.

“I’m not helping you toy with his feelings,” you whispered. This time, you sounded defeated rather than angry. Broken, sad, dejected. “He doesn’t deserve that.”

Price sucked in a sharp breath, stepping away but keeping his gaze pointed to you. He said nothing for the first few moments, eyes flickering over the worn out lines on your face. Empty eyes, ones that were surely full of life at some point in your life. Perhaps even lit up with Simon around.

He had taken that away from you, and it was only then he was realizing how cruel he was being. All of it, for the sake of protecting his own, of protecting Simon. He was so consumed by the thought of keeping Simon out of trouble, that he only sought to create more for you. A civilian, one who simply got wrapped up in the wrong crowd.

No outsider had ever cared for Simon like Price, Gaz, and Soap did. They were all each other had, bound together by an unfortunate calling. Nobody was allowed in, or out.

Then you came along, and Ghost had quickly become Simon again.

“You’re not goin’ to make this easy for me, are you?” Price sighed, shoulders deflating, releasing its built up tension.

“No. I’m not,” you agreed grimly.

“Stubborn one, you are,” he hummed, and dare you say it, he sounded amused. “Can see why Simon likes you.”

You glanced up at him, noting the faintest of smiles on his face. It was barely visible, a ghost on his lips, but even through your hazed exhaustion, you could see it.

“Tell you what,” he began, crossing his arms to match your stance. “I’ll talk to him. See what I can do. M’not promisin’ anythin’. This isn’t the type of life I want you wrapped up in, but I can see that you’re only goin’ to wallow here until you drop dead. I don’t want that blood on my hands.”

“What are you saying?” you asked suspiciously.

“I’m sayin’, that I’ll try to see if it could work. Again, m’not promisin’ you anythin’, doll. But if you’re the reason Simon can get his head out of his ass and stop doin’ sloppy work, then I’ll see what I can do.”

It was no guarantee, but Price was trying. One moment, he was begging you to hurt Simon to the point he’d never think of crawling back to you. Now, the story had changed, and he was making a peace offering.

You weren’t sure whether or not to trust him. You shouldn’t. It was a bad idea.

But the thought of seeing Simon again, to mend the broken bond you had formed, caused you to agree.

Simon was fucked. He’d drowned himself in a world of pure guilt ever since he’d blocked your number and called it quits. He was miserable, more than he’d ever been.

He didn’t feel guilt. In fact, he wasn’t supposed to feel anything at all. He was Ghost, after all, and ghosts didn’t feel. Yet with you, the narrative had switched. It was as if the gates of heaven had opened up, offering him a chance at redemption. He felt everything all at once – love, care, affection, longing, heartache.

Everything felt right with you. It was like he had finally found his home, only to have it torn away from the grasp of his hands. No matter how much he tried holding on to it, it proved a fruitless effort. It was gone before he even resided.

Simon’s mind became a jumbled mess. He returned to the empty shell he was before when nothing mattered and he only saw the world through a red-colored lens. It was straining, it was harsh. It hurt to wake up everyday and see a colorless world waiting for him.

His shattered, frail mind affected everything he’d ever known. Work became a chore. He was messy, careless, and the darkest part of him wished he would be caught so he could force himself into punishment for hurting an angel sent from above that was placed in his life to nurture him.

It was what he deserved. Simon was a man who fell in love, and Ghost was the devil that reminded him that he was undeserving. Unworthy.

You deserved better than him. You deserved the world, and Simon was the one who would take from it with greedy hands caked in the blood of God’s creations.

Everyday burned with an itch to see you, to send you a text. He missed you, but he hated himself more. It stopped him from reaching out, caused him to pull back on the reins and pace himself. Nothing could scratch the burning itch except for the brutal reminder that you deserved better.

The weeks were hell without you. He’d grown agitated at everything around him, going as far as to snap at Gaz and Johnny when they attempted to console him, to snap at Price out of unfiltered rage at what he made him do. He was too far gone, and the only foundation he had left was beginning to crumble, all because of him.

Damn Price for taking you away, and damn you for making him fall in love.

Simon didn’t know how much more he could take. It was eating away at him, like a parasite feeding off of its host, draining him of all soul. Even now, as he sat in his own apartment, hidden on his balcony and smoking all of his worries away with hopes of succumbing to the nasty tar that threatened to rise in his throat every time, he was decaying. Withering away, like a fragile flower.

The night was dark. The stars didn’t shine as brightly as they did on your balcony. The air didn’t feel as pure without you to share it with him. The smoke didn’t wisp up into silly, little shapes, and instead, tainted the air with polluted illness.

It was positively suffocating.

As Simon nursed the cigarette to the very end, stubbing it out with his boot and carelessly leaving it littered with the rest of them on his balcony, he heard the faint knock on his door. He silently prayed it was death, here to take him away and rid him of his pain for good.

It wasn’t death, but it was damn near close.

“Price,” he grumbled at the sight of the older man. It was too late for him to make an appearance, so he wasn’t sure why he did. Maybe Price had truly given up on him and was here to offer mercy.

Price didn’t care for greetings, stepping past Simon and into his apartment. Simon followed after him with his gaze, mentally preparing himself for another lecture. It was bound to happen at this point, seeing as Price was fed up.

Simon knew he was putting their lives on the line by being reckless. He just didn’t have it in him to care.

Closing the door behind him, Simon kept his distance, not uttering a word until Price spoke first. The man in question lingered around his apartment, seeming to stall with time, too choked up for words.

“You need somethin’, sir?” Simon finally asked. Price lifted his eyes to look at Simon. For a moment, they were unreadable. Masking away his thoughts, tucking them far in the back of his mind.

Price let out a deep exhale through his nostrils. He stood there in silence for what felt like eternity. Simon could see the gears shifting in his mind, working overtime.

“Go and get your bird back, Simon,” Price sighed, but to Simon, it sounded like church bells ringing on a Sunday morning, beckoning him home.

so many of y'all thought the last part was the end, but i'm not that cruel ;( i promise

[specialgradefckr]

Heatwave: Day 1

tw: explicit content, 5k+ words, reader/sukuna. female!reader, beta!reader, alpha!sukuna, true form!sukuna. oral (male/female receiving), PIV, size difference, sukuna has a knot, sukuna is lowkey a masochist, some anal (not the reader's ass).

Prompt: Betas serving as royal sex concubines without fear of pregnancy.

It wasn’t as bad as one might expect, being Ryomen Sukuna’s concubine.

Oh, he was terrifying, certainly. Death wasn’t uncommon in the household, though rarer than some might think.

Sukuna traveled often, sampling both the lands and the people within them, returning to the estate only when it pleased him to do so.

Everyone in the estate knew their master’s expectations and the consequences for not meeting them. Only the rare missteps resulted in punishments, though they were indeed brutal.

On some occasion, the lord’s aide would bring half-dead curses - or corpses of enemy sorcerers - to a separate building on the estate for some strange and nefarious purpose.

It made no difference to you. The estate was clean and well-maintained, the servants attentive, and the stocks never ran low.

You were living the perfect life.

No one denied you anything. You could summon merchants, make the odd trip into town, and entertain yourself however you wished, provided you fulfilled your responsibilities as a concubine.

You were a nobody before you came to the estate.

You’re still a nobody, but everyone here is a nobody in Ryomen Sukuna’s eyes.

Your lifespans are determined by how useful you were to him at any given moment.

And he had an unexpected use for a common whore like you.

It was probably more surprising that you were a beta, and not an omega – infinitely more desirable for an alpha like the lord, one would assume.

You’d never presumed to pry before, but it’s easy to speculate, after having known him long enough.

He’s a powerful man, utterly indifferent to societal standards or norms. His desire and satisfaction were above all other things, just as he was above everyone weaker than him. And everyone was weaker than him.

It was hard to imagine him at the mercy of an omega’s potent pheromones, longing for the comfort of his partner’s nest, pining for the love of his mate, or driven madly to lust by the scent of a rut.

Or perhaps he indulged plenty, but so much fervor could only end in bloodlust on his part. Any omega summoned to his chambers to serve his pleasure never returned.

You do fare luckier in that respect. He may not have been gentle lover, but as long as you’d served him he’d left you with no more than bruises and bite marks.

And he could hurt you, destroy you, utterly disfigure you in permanent and terrifying ways… with just a casual glancing blow.

Sukuna is present on this night, though, and it appears he’s summoned you.

His aide, Uruame, is far closer to him than any of his concubines, and by now you know the sound of their footsteps slowing as they near your door.

They smile at you as you open the door for them, bowing before your eyes meet theirs.

Uruame is not fond of any of their lord’s concubines, as a rule. Being a beta themselves, it’s unlikely they understand Sukuna’s needs as an alpha any better than you do.

But what they can understand is that you respect their lord immensely. A sorcerer yourself, you know enough to appreciate the scale of his power, and you had never made any secret of your admiration.

Unlike many other concubines brought in, you had very little arrogance to show for your beauty and bedroom skills. Uruame probably does appreciate that.

You’re a beta from a brothel, so you have no delusions of self-importance, but Sukuna, and by extension Uruame, couldn’t care less where you came from.

You know their purpose as soon as they arrive; they don’t need to engage in any inane conversation or instructions.

As soon as Sukuna had returned, you’d readied and dressed yourself in case he were to summon you. It happens more often than not whenever he’s back at the estate.

You suspect you’re the only one he summons during his rut.

His omega concubines are… single-use. Your fellow betas are few in number, and he’s no more forgiving with his concubines than he is his other servants.

You follow Uraume to his room. You can’t tell if he’s in a rut or not, but your suspicion is confirmed as Uruame gives a short nod, then strides off.

Sukuna doesn’t like being seen during his rut. Many have learned the hard way.

“Well? What are you waiting for, an invitation?” His voice is as gruff as ever. Low, heady, a delicious groan that sends shivers down your form.

He didn’t ask to be answered, of course. The only appropriate response to Sukuna’s question is action.

Quickly you slide the door open and shut it behind yourself as you fall into a low bow. You don’t meet his eyes without permission.

“Get up.” Your cue to sit up, to not bother with any further formalities. His rut must be well underway. “Come over already.”

You don’t waste any more time. He sounds impatient, and he probably is, but any less deference could see your head separated from your body. It’s especially important not to touch him first, to let him touch you.

Sukuna loathes being touched without permission.

It’s not something you have to worry about, though. As soon as you’re within reach, one of his hands bears down onto your shoulder; to him, it’s as good as an explicit instruction.

You never subject Sukuna to the indignity of having to voice his desires.

Perhaps that’s why he likes you so – there’s a flash of something pure alpha, an intense delight in his eyes as you kneel and attend to him in prefect obedience and submission.

Falling to your knees at his feet, wasting not even a second, you work to free his painful erection from the confines of his clothes.

Practiced hands accomplish it easily, and you’re rewarded with a large hand that strokes through your hair, brushing it back out of your face and holding it there.

His erection springs forward, as impatient as he is. His knot is already swollen up.

It’s red and flushed, pink to match his hair, heavy and thick like all the rest of his limbs.

Even an omega would blanch at taking such a monster. You are well-trained.

It’s enough just to lick at it, some cursory strokes to wet the shaft with his precum, to touch your lips to his heated flesh. Searing, really.

Wide, open-mouthed kisses dragged along him until his cock is coated well enough with spit and his own pre.

Without any further hesitation you open your mouth wide and take him all the way down to the knot, lips thinning where his cock swells and throbs.

The head is already lodged in your throat, and you swallow as you take it down, pressing your lips in. A moan tells you he’s already growing sensitive.

It wouldn’t feel very good for him to knot in your throat – he’s never bothered with it before – but there’s always a flash of satisfaction in his eyes.

Sukuna doesn’t want to knot your throat, but it pleases him to think that he could. That you are willing and ready to take it, if he wished.

“Good little beta." The mouth on his abdomen seems to grin at you, wide and dripping saliva.

A fire ignites in your belly at the praise, face heating up, your own mouth opening wide.

No matter what you are, Sukuna is an alpha through and through, and the desire to please surges as his hand presses you forward.

As a concubine or a common harlot, you’d always been good at your job.

Sorcery had delivered you from the streets and into Sukuna’s estate, and diligence, determination, had kept you alive throughout it all.

Others died around you. Weak. You would do whatever it took to survive, however ugly it may be.

Taking cock down your throat isn’t even close to the most degrading thing you’ve done, and at least there’s only one man now for you to serve.

He’s not even a bad lay. Either a suppressed instinct to please his mate as an alpha or some fortuitous chemistry has always ensured he brings you to release whenever you fuck.

The unmarred half of his face is undeniably handsome, and after all you’d seen, you’re utterly indifferent to the deformity. It’s just there. A part of him like any other – the other arms, the other mouth.

You’re sure you yourself have flaws in his eyes, but if he truly did not want you, you’d never have been allowed in his chambers to begin with. Sukuna is a man with absolutely no interest in pretenses. He takes what he wants, when he wants it, always.

Sometimes, you think that you and Sukuna aren’t all that different after all.

An alpha who was malformed, cast out by society, recognized only in disgust or fear.

And you, sold by a father eager to make any money he could off a pretty beta daughter.

You were unfit to be an alpha’s bride, but perfectly suited to be every alpha’s whore.

If you wanted happiness, you had to seize it, even if it meant choking the life out of someone else.

Both of you were worth only as much as you could curse others. Sukuna’s worth is greater than yours, but in his shadow everyone is equally worthless, and in his gaze – at least for this moment – you are worthy of him.

The fingers in your hair tighten; a hiss, “Take it!” and you suckle diligently as you bob backwards, diving forward straight away to take him to the root again.

Inhuman though he may be, his cock is much the same as any other alpha’s, if a bit larger.

Hot, smooth skin, veins that pulse and bulge inside your mouth. A salty taste you’d grown accustomed to, a stretch in your mouth and your jaw that you ameliorated by focusing on hollowing your cheeks, dragging your tongue along it.

Betas can’t purr, not like omegas or alphas can, but you approximate it with a hum, a gentle sigh through your nose and fluttering, lowered lashes.

A low exhalation. Controlled. “There she is…” The hand in your hair goes to stroke possessively over your cheek. “My little beta. All for me.”

His eyes dilate in lust – you always meet his gaze while you do this, for as long as you’re able, you know he likes this – and you know before you feel the touch of his hand on your jaw to begin drawing back.

His hand barely ghosts you before you move, leaving trails of saliva strung between your lips and his shining cock while you gaze up at him.

Another theatric he enjoys. His tongue darts out from his lips, grasping and stroking himself, hand coated in a sweet-smelling oil you recognize.

His other arms reach to grasp you by the shoulder, pulling you up to stand and burying your face in his neck wordlessly.

They wrap around you, pulling you into him as he steps back to sit on the bed where you follow.

It surprises you every time, just how much your body comes alive at his touch.

Heart racing as if it can jump through your skin and into the hands that trace your throat, your collarbone, down your chest, dragging the slip of a robe you’d worn down with it.

Sukuna likes undressing you, alpha that he is.

Like you’re a sacred treasure to be unveiled only by his hands. You always wear something easy to take off, and nothing else.

His touch is your leave to respond in kind; he’s fully bared, now, all tattooed skin and corded muscle.

A warrior’s form, conveying power and strength in every divot and valley. Your heart races as you lay your hands on him.

Maybe it’s the thrill of it.

Sukuna is utterly untouchable. The greatest sorcerers of your time had died failing to scratch the smooth, unbroken skin he offers to you so freely.

As a concubine, you don’t get much contact. Less still, since no one would dare lay a hand on a consort Sukuna summons so often to his side.

Normally that suited you just fine, but sometimes with him you feel like a dog straining on a leash.

Desperate for him to reach out, to feel him on you. Lust and adrenaline coursing through you the instant he makes contact.

Even as a beta, this close, it’s impossible not to smell him; he’s pulled you to his throat on instinct.

His scent glands are right there, and you don’t hesitate to lick at them, letting your breath ghost over the hot, spit-slicked skin. Dragging your teeth along the swollen flesh.

That’s one of the things he likes best. He knows you’re a beta. You have no fangs, you couldn’t mark him if you wanted to. Not with anything but curses.

But still, it is a pleasure. The salt on your tongue, the flesh that yields beneath your teeth, even without breaking, as the alpha’s aroma fills your senses.

Sukuna is spiced; harsh, in some ways, like cinnamon, but warm like a pleasant woodsmoke, like the heat of oil burning in a lamp. Just this side of decadent – opulent, almost, and still primal and raw.

It doesn’t affect you like you imagine it would an alpha or omega. But it’s nice. He smells nice.

You don’t hesitate to nip at his lips when he presses them to yours.

Perhaps one of the reasons Sukuna hates being touched without permission is because he also doesn’t care to be touched gently.

If he weren’t in rut, you would have dragged your teeth over his cock while it was in your mouth, but he’s not able to savor such services in his current state.

They’re red, so red, all his four eyes staring into you. Burning in want. In want of you.

“Fierce little thing.” You can taste his grin, you’re close enough. “See how fierce you’ll be when you’re full of me. My beta. Mine.”

“Yours,” You agree breathily, and lean back in to catch his mouth with your own.

His lips are one place you’re able to make him bleed, dragging the bottom lip beneath your teeth and pinching it, then darting your tongue in to taste.

Sukuna hums at the taste of metal in his mouth, sucks your tongue between his lips to press and purse and suckle on at his leisure. Brilliant red eyes half-lidded in lust.

Your hands get to work, one of them cupping his jaw and then his hair, brushing it back in a way that makes him preen now that he’s in rut and can’t suppress it.

Alphas love getting petted, and Sukuna loves the scrape of fingernails over his scalp, a tight tug against his hair; it all sends his knot pulsing against you.

“Here. Your mouth had a taste, let’s see how your cunt likes it.” His arms lift you up just enough to sit over his well-muscled legs.

Your thighs spread while his cock falls forward, between your thighs.

Sukuna holds you there, just far enough, letting it rub against you with little tugs to your hips. Desire sparking like flint where his length rubs against you. Fuck.

Oh, you want him. Ache for him. It pulls low in your core, to lean into him, to feel his arms holding you in place, to feel him all against you.

You wrap your arms around him in return, clawing at his shoulders as the mouth on his stomach tongues between your legs. It’s exquisite and agonizing all at once. Slick and dragging against you, heavy and broad.

He’s already purring at the taste of you. Hands clenching in desire over the roundness of your hip.

You want him. You want him.

You can have him, take him, touch, touch, touch. Dig your teeth into the firm muscle against his neck to feel his purr grow louder under your teeth.

Your curse technique flickers at your fingertips, dancing over the open canvas of his back.

Inhaling sharply, you think you hear him swear, and then, “Yes.” He laughs breathily, “More. Put more into it. That can’t be all you’ve got.”

It isn’t. The sound of him is everywhere now, vibrations that shake you all the way to your core.

The mouth on his belly still laps at your folds. It drools on your folds like you’re a meal he cannot wait to savor.

Sukuna is already running hot. It’s too easy when he’s like this, all heated, blood pumping heavy through every part of him.

Just beneath the surface you feel it; searing, boiling, heat jumping up to meet your touch. Like liquid fire underneath his skin, you’d heard it described. Exhilarating, Sukuna had called it.

A talent half-learned by accident in the steamy, lurid, filthy recesses of the brothel you’d worked at. A dark place filled with malice and jealousy, reeking of curses in every corner. One day you’d awoken with a strength that sung in your veins, screamed to be used.

You had learned to vanquish shadows with a flick of your wrist, the creatures bursting from the inside.

Once, on a lark, you’d tried it on a client who struggled to maintain his hardness. It had been remarkably effective, pooling blood in his cock, and with a little work you were able to reproduce it in other ways.

It had all been success from there. Climbing the ranks, scoring pleasure into the flesh of those who paid you well enough.

Oh, it was painful, too, but what pleasure in life came without a little pain? If you wanted something, you had to be willing to sacrifice for it.

A founding principle of jujutsu. It’s no wonder Sukuna so delights in battle, either against sorcerers or in his own bed; when you heat his blood in his veins it sends his knot pulsing, throbbing, twitching in excitement as pre drips out.

With him holding you so close you can feel his purring throughout your whole body.

A rare pleasure, a prize you win with vicious effort, cursed energy surging in your hands as you rake your nails over the glorious, muscled expanse of his back.

“Open,” Sukuna commands.

It’s a tone that never fails that make you tremble in anticipation. Your cunt is already dripping with it.

The part of your legs widen, and you lean back to look down at where he’s settled against you.

He’s so large. Always so large. The knot swelling already.

You’re clenching already, quivering, like you’re the one in heat and not he in his rut.

God, you want him to fuck you already.

One massive hand reaches down, stroking over his cock, wet with your saliva, his precum, and the oil substitute for an omega’s slick.

It nudges at your cunt and you let out a short whimper that sends him snarling, thick fingers digging sweet bruises into your hips.

“Always so sweet for me,” His lips ghost over your temple as he stares down, “Delectable. Strong little thing, you can take it.”

The head of his cock slots against your entrance. Fuck, it’s hot, burning, searing, you’re so fucking ready, your cunt is weeping and you feel like keening for it, “Please. Alpha, please.”

You can almost see it in his eyes, red and feral with need. Omega, my omega, my mate – all the things you’ve heard from alphas before.

Clingy, possessive, biting at you, rutting into you like they can breed you. All the filthy things whose beds you’d warmed in the past.

They all pale in comparison to the King of Curses. Hot and throbbing and silken against your entrance, the deep grunt of effort that you feel when he lines himself up and drives himself in.

The very sensation knocks the wind out of you.

Sukuna slides in easily but it’s tight, so tight, always. You feel him feel it, too, all those muscles growing taut before you as he sinks into you.

Your arms tremble before they remember what to do; grasping carelessly at his shoulders, clawing for purchase as the whines claw their way up your throat. They’re shoved back down by the deep moan you make when he reaches the end of your passage.

“F-fuck,” it’s good, it’s so good, it hurts so good and there’s nothing you can do but sit there and take it. Just as he told you to.

It’s always a bit painful, but there’s a pleasure in it, too, the piercing delight of being so thoroughly fucked into. You swear you feel yourself dripping out where he enters you, and you moan again at the feeling of him dragging himself out.

A low noise, a chuckle; like every sound Sukuna makes, you feel it just as much as you hear it.

“Do it again.” He demands, and you would never make the alpha wait.

You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

He pushes into you again and your moans crack, because he slides through easier this time but it’s just so big, so fucking huge you feel your walls trying to flex, envelop him, desperate to find any give at all, but there’s just no give.

It’s like having solid steel lodged inside you, burning hot and smooth against your core.

“Good beta.” Sukuna effortlessly lifts you up by the hips, dragging you off his cock and savoring how you whine at its loss, “My good little beta. Squeezing me so tight.”

He drops you down, down, back onto him. Cock thrusting up into you, cleaving your cunt apart, hitting a spot that makes you wail. Sukuna laughs, and you can feel his cock twitching.

“Need my cock, do you, little beta?” The rut is at its height now, pulling him in, smearing possession all over his face, his evil grin. “Even if it breaks you apart?”

All you can do is nod while you pant. He pulls you up and down by the waist, fucking you on his cock like a tool for his pleasure –

And Sukuna has never failed to use a tool to its fullest extent. “Fuck, fuck – fuck, alpha, please – please, please – ”

His own laughter is broken up by heavy breaths. One of his huge hands grasps you by the scruff of your neck, and you try to go obediently limp but your whole body jerks with the unrestrained force of his fucking into you.

Tight and unforgiving, baring your throat for him to dive into. An alpha in the midst of his rut. His teeth graze over your neck, licking where scent glands would normally be.

“Please,” Your breath catches in your throat at Sukuna’s kiss, all teeth and feral smiles pressed into your skin.

He stays like that for a moment, knot pulsing desperately just outside of your cunt.

Grinding into you like he thinks he can fit it in – you both know it can’t, you simply don’t have the anatomical space of an omega. But it feels good.

So good. It rubs, hot and throbbing against your clit, and fuck if you don’t nearly cum from it right there, tightness in your core heavy and ready to burst.

“Sukuna,” You say his name in a broken moan.

Teeth in your jugular. Hot tongue over your throat.

Hands gripping your sides. Moving you up and down like a puppet.

Cock pressing and pressing into you, relentless. Pleasure lapping at your insides as his cock rocks into you, begging to be let in.

A thumb on your clit, rubbing circles. “Cum, beta. Cum for your alpha – hngh – cum now – ”

Pleasure bursts through you, as if brought to life by his words. White hot and overflowing, every part of your body floating on air.

It’s like you’re a feather in his hands. Airy lightness fills you and even the stretch between your legs feels pleasant, a welcome intrusion, cunt blissfully numb.

Sukuna fucks you through it all the while, breathless, determined, on the brink himself as he chases the friction of you squeezing the life out of him.

You twitch in his grasp, aftershocks trembling through. He holds you upright easily, letting your head fall forward while he drags you up and down, mindlessly brushing his burning knot against your entrance.

It’s several moments before you catch yourself; it makes no difference to Sukuna. Your climax brought him closer, but not there, not just yet.

It’s with the giddy sort of warmth your afterglow brings that you lazily grope the space next to the bed.

You find the vial of oil he’d used earlier, and easily unscrew the top and spread it across your fingers with a single hand.

Sukuna had stared a moment the first time he saw you do that. So you have a sorcerer’s dexterity after all, he’d said, and it was the compliment you’d treasured most to date.

This time, his eyes don’t leave your body. All four of them, red and fiery and burning into you. Your chest. Your face.

They linger where your bodies are joined, at the stretch of your cunt taking him, the hole that has no more to give him but squeezes him anyways.

You can tell by his ragged breaths he needs more stimulation, heavy in rut and knotted tight as he is. That’s fine. You’ve done this before.

Slicked fingers find his waist, and then lower, to his ass. He parts his knees further, as if for more leverage to thrust fruitlessly against you, and you take the opportunity to squeeze one well-muscled cheek with your dripping hand.

The sharp inhale – you’re sure he’d hate to hear it called a gasp – “Beta!” –  tells you you’re free to go ahead.

So you do, digging your fingertips into his ass, into a hole too well-oiled to not have been prepared beforehand.

A rumble swells, in his chest, his throat, pressing hard against you along with his cock, nudging his knot further against your entrance.

You tease along the rim and then drive into it. He hisses as it burns, knot throbbing against you, massive hands squeezing bruises and then caressing them as soon as they bloom.  

It’s delicious, the way it clenches at your fingertips, tight and furled up, but you slip in easily with his preparation and your oiled fingers.

Darting into the yielding warmth of his insides, a pleasure that has him seizing against you, all muscle and magnificent form trained on your touch.

Your cunt clenches at the thought, the power you have in this moment; it squeezes the cock spearing you and sends tremors through his form.

“Clever girl,” He rumbles as you drag along his insides, “Clever fingers,” another heavy thrust, fingers twitching, “More,” thrust, shudder, “More!”

With a heated urgency your fingers curl, feeling, pressing around in a way that has Sukuna panting, teething at your shoulder, kneading hands against your hips while you search for just the right spot.

His knot presses insistently against your entrance, where there’s no space for you to receive it, but it catches on your oversensitive clit enough to make you gasp and whine.

Sukuna grins, mouth wide open, drooling like the feral, satisfied monster he was.

“Beta…” he hums, and it feels like he’s saying your name, as close to a loving coo as a creature like him can make.

And then, then, you find it, as you have so many times before. A high, keening noise Sukuna would be otherwise unwilling to part with, drawn out from him in the height of his rut.

You press into a bundle of flesh through his insides. A spot that sends him rutting wildly against you, unconcerned with his knot or anything besides fucking and feeling more of that pressure into him.

It’s almost all you can do to keep it coming, your other arm flailing desperately to reach around him for any kind of purchase while he thrusts your mind away.

Pleasure finds you again but this is liquid flames instead of white hot.

It pours out from you, spilling everywhere, the feeling of his release spurting inside you.

Full, full, fuller, so full you swear you’re bursting, it feels so fucking good. Flowing out over his cock, against your cunt, where his hurried thrusts squeezes it into a lewd, sopping met against your clit.

This one brings tears to your eyes. The sound of it, wet and squelching, utterly lewd, like you can feel the tremors of pleasure that have you milking him for cum that cannot impregnate you.

His hands are all that ground you, points on your body where his touch had ceased to be painful, to be anything but a feeling of him against you, the warm and powerful alpha who’d taken you to his bed, monster or not.

Sukuna groans and pants his heart out, still fucking into you while your eyes are glassy and all movement has left your body.

Your clever little hand fallen to the side as its purpose was fulfilled, his knot finally unraveling into the delicious joy of breeding you.

Ahh. He can admit the look in his eyes when he looks at you is fondness, to some degree. His perfect little beta. Wicked fingers and the smartest mouth he’d ever seen. Always so good for him.

He lays himself down alongside you on the bed, still buried deep in you, cum leaking slowly away.

The mess never bothered him, not in the torrid, heated moments of bodies entwined. He’d bathe with you later.

So warm. Always warm and welcoming him, your cunt is the most exquisite hole he’s ever known, but it’s the rest of you that makes it worth his time. Every time.

There’s something about it that sends a frenzy through him.

A hurried urge, like a desire to run or jump or lash out, but instead it makes him want to wrap his entire self around you and laugh in wicked delight.

It feels like fire on the battlefield, blood on his tongue, power coursing through every pore, seas ready to part at his command. It feels like strength, but he’s not even holding you very tightly.

He takes a deep breath, face pressed to your hair; beta. A faint, pure, neutral scent, so unmistakable in its cause. It elicits no particular reaction, stirs no great curiosity or lust.

But you do. It’s easy, natural, to wrap all four arms around you and squeeze. Your perfect figure yielding in his grasp, compressing beneath him, legs folding as he swings one over yours.

A purr rumbles deep in his chest as the sensation envelops him.

Touching, holding, entwined. You, completely full of him, made docile with his cum and his knot, surrendering to his embrace. All his. All for him.

Your boneless, weak figure in his arms, the little sigh of bliss you let out… it’s a feeling that’s only come to him in the midst of battle, curses coursing, glorious, in every direction.

A thrill of triumph that enervates, lightens every one of his limbs and sets him with a feeling of utter satisfaction.

Sukuna is purring in earnest now, and he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed by it.

Why suppress his instincts for the beta that so perfectly warms his bed? Why restrain himself in any way, when you’re wholly incapable of binding him, of bearing pups or marking him, and serve him with such delectable vigor?

An arm, so much smaller than his, slowly slips itself over his waist. You’re barely conscious, pretty face all flushed from your climax, unable to even open your eyes.

But your head drifts towards his chest even while asleep, where the vibrations are the strongest. Tucked under his neck, nestled in him and his scent.

An alpha’s purr is usually a sign of contentment, but it’s supposed to be soothing to omegas. As far as he knows, it doesn’t have any particular effect on betas.

Sukuna supposes it’s probably just you.

It’s so easy to reduce you to want, to unrestrained lust, pure and devoted entirely to him. Why should he need an omega when he has this at his beck and call?

You can’t be bred, of course – that was the whole point of using a beta. But sometimes he does wonder.

What you would look like if you were with child. Breasts heavy with milk, the mild scent of a beta humming with the life nurtured within.

You’re strong. You’d produce fine offspring. Your curse technique is interesting in its own right – igniting a person’s own cursed energy from beneath their skin. Not remarkable in effectiveness, but wholly unique in its operation.

Would it stop his ruts, to see you pregnant for some time? You’re the only one he spends them with, so seeing you pregnant might just delay them, without the influence of an omega’s hormones. 

Would he grow more aggressive as you neared delivery? Would his instincts command him to slay your spawn so he could fill you with his own?

Uruame is a beta, and has the necessary parts. He could breed you without all the tiresome mechanics of a bond between alpha and omega; place his two favorite subjects together and watch as his loyal subject bred his most treasured concubine for him. 

Watching you take in the seed of someone other than him… but Uruame is a beta, and belongs to him as much as you do. If he scented them as well, perhaps? They always had very little scent of their own.

Heat stirs within him at the thought. It’s too early to tell if it’s anger at the idea or arousal, especially in the state he’s in.

You make a little noise, and all four eyes shoot down to look over your form, all sweat and heat and dripping cum.

He shifts to move some of his weight off of you, sliding onto his back and settling your head on his chest so you can drift to sleep to the sound of his purring.

After all, his rut is just beginning. Sukuna can spare you some rest…

For an hour or so.

[idkyetxoxo]

Gwayne Hightower - Redemption

Summary - A spirited princess enchants the fallen knight, Ser Gwayne with her charm challenging him to seek redemption in the most tantalizing way. Their flirtatious banter ignites a heated encounter, driving him to extraordinary lengths in his quest for atonement.

Pairing - Gwayne Hightower x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2205

Masterlist for Gwayne • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

Far and wide, it was known throughout the realm that of the two Targaryen princesses, I was the more mischievous. My reputation preceded me, a blend of spirited antics and a loose tongue that often set the court abuzz.

"I believe I shall perish if I am not more thoroughly entertained," I declared dramatically as Alicent, Rhaenyra, and I sat together, watching the tourney unfold before us.

"You always need some sort of spectacle, don't you?" Rhaenyra said, feigning exasperation. I responded by sticking my tongue out at her, which made her smile.

"What can I say? I simply must be entertained at all times," I replied, my eyes wandering over the arena in search of any new and interesting faces.

"Who is our uncle about to joust?" I asked curiosity piqued as a confident knight rode around on his horse, preparing for the match.

"My brother Gwayne," Alicent answered.

I leaned forward, my interest now fully engaged. Gwayne removed his face shield and glanced in our direction. As expected, his stature matched his looks, he was indeed a strikingly handsome knight.

"Oh my," I murmured, my voice low and tinged with intrigue.

Alicent's eyebrows shot up in surprise, while Rhaenyra playfully swatted my leg. I leaned back in my seat, lifting my arms in a gesture of mock surrender, but not before sending the now-curious knight a flirtatious wink and a teasing bite of my lip.

As the joust began, the clashing of lances and the thunder of hooves filled the air. Gwayne rode with impressive skill, but his opponent, my uncle was formidable. With a particularly forceful strike, Gwayne was unseated, falling to the ground in a flurry of dust and metal.

"Better luck next time," I whispered to myself, a smirk playing on my lips. 

The match might have ended, but my interest in the knight was far from waning.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

Later that evening, as the festivities continued, I wandered through the castle's winding corridors, seeking a reprieve from the crowded halls. 

I was lost in thought when, as if guided by fate, I turned a corner and nearly collided with Gwayne himself. He had changed out of his armour into more casual attire, but his presence was no less striking.

"Ah, the mighty knight who fell so spectacularly today," I teased, my voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Gwayne raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. "And here I thought I might escape unnoticed."

"Escape? From me? Impossible," I replied, leaning against the cool stone wall of the corridor, crossing my arms with a dramatic flourish. "Tell me, how does it feel to be bested in front of the entire realm?"

He chuckled, the sound rich and deep, taking a deliberate step closer. "I admit, it was a blow to my pride but I suppose it makes for a more interesting story, doesn't it?"

"Indeed," I replied, matching his step forward. "Though, I must say, you took it rather well. Most men would be sulking in their chambers."

"Ah, but I am not most men," he said, his eyes locking with mine. "And you, Princess, are not most women."

"True enough," I said, tilting my head slightly as I studied his face. "But tell me, Ser Gwayne, how do you plan to redeem yourself after such a loss?"

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear as he spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "Perhaps you will find out at the next tourney. Or perhaps I shall redeem myself in other ways."

"Intriguing," I said, my eyes narrowing playfully as I considered his words. "I look forward to seeing what you come up with."

"Do you now?" he asked, his smirk widening. "I didn't take you for one to wait passively for entertainment."

"Who says I am?" I countered, stepping even closer until there was barely a breath between us. "Sometimes, the best entertainment is in watching someone strive to impress."

"Is that so?" His voice was low, almost a purr. "And have I managed to impress you yet, Princess?"

"You've managed to pique my interest," I admitted, letting my gaze linger on his lips before meeting his eyes again. "Which is more than most can say."

"Well then," he said, his hand lightly brushing against my arm, sending a shiver down my spine. "I shall consider that a victory in its own right."

"You do have a way with words, Ser Gwayne," I remarked, my tone as light as the banter we exchanged, but charged with an undercurrent of something more.

"And you, Princess, have a way of making a man forget his losses," he replied, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Careful, Ser Gwayne," I said, my voice softening to a whisper, "flattery will get you everywhere with me."

"Then I shall continue to flatter," he said, his smile almost predatory, yet warm and inviting. "For I find that I enjoy seeing you smile."

"Good," I replied, stepping back but not before letting my fingers trail down his arm. "Keep it up, and who knows? You might just redeem yourself sooner than you think."

The tension between us was evident, and as I turned to walk away, Gwayne reached out and gently caught my wrist. I turned back to face him, a playful glint in my eye.

"Not so fast," he murmured, his voice husky and laden with intent.

"Impatient, are we?" I teased, stepping closer until our bodies were nearly touching. "What are you going to do about it?"

Without another word, he closed the distance, capturing my lips in a heated kiss. His hands slid around my waist, pulling me against him as my fingers tangled in his hair. 

The corridor around us seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of us in our bubble of desire.

Breaking the kiss, I looked up at him, breathless. I took his hand and led him through the castle's labyrinthine halls. My heart pounded with anticipation, and I could feel his gaze on me, burning with intensity.

We reached my chambers, and I pushed the door open, pulling him inside. Once the door was closed, I turned to face him, a mischievous smile playing on my lips. 

Slowly, I began to undo the laces of my dress, my eyes never leaving his.

"You're going to have to earn your redemption, Ser Gwayne," I said, my voice a sultry whisper.

He took a step closer, his eyes darkening with desire. "And how do you suggest I do that, Princess?"

"Watch and learn," I replied, letting my dress slip from my shoulders and pool at my feet. I walked towards him, each step deliberate and teasing, until I was close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

Gwayne's breath hitched as I reached up to trace a finger along his jawline, my touch light and teasing. "Are you ready to impress me?" I asked, my voice a soft purr.

"More than ready," he replied, his voice rough with desire.

With a smile, I leaned in to kiss him again, this time slower, savouring the moment. His hands roamed over my body, exploring every curve and dip, as I guided him towards the bed. Our kiss deepened, becoming more passionate as we gave in to the irresistible pull between us.

His clothes were pulled off in a frenzy of passion, leaving us both naked and exposed to the cool air of my chambers. There was a brief, electric pause as we took in each other's forms, desire evident in our eyes. 

With a commanding presence, Gwayne pushed me down onto the bed, and I let him take charge, intrigued by how exactly he planned to impress me.

His hands, rough from years of wielding a sword, caressed my legs, lifting them into the air. His eyes, darkened with lust, held mine as he began to pepper soft, tantalizing kisses along my inner thighs. Each touch sent waves of heat coursing through my body, and I couldn't help but arch my back, a soft moan escaping my lips.

"You're already off to a good start," I murmured, my voice breathless.

Gwayne chuckled, the sound deep and husky, as his kisses inched closer to where I most wanted them. His mouth moved with slow, deliberate precision, his lips warm and moist against my skin. He traced the sensitive skin with the tip of his tongue, leaving a trail of burning sensation in its wake. 

The anticipation was intoxicating, and I felt my body responding to his every touch.

"Patience, Princess," he whispered against my skin, his breath warm and tantalizing. "I want to savour this."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I tangled my fingers in his hair, urging him closer. He obliged, his lips finally finding their mark. His tongue flicked softly against my most sensitive spot, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. 

He alternated between gentle, teasing licks and firmer, more insistent strokes, his lips sealing around me to create a delicious suction. His movements were skilful, his tongue and lips working in harmony to drive me to the edge of madness.

"Oh," I gasped, my voice trembling with pleasure.

He paused briefly, looking up at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Not bad for a fallen knight, hmm?"

"Not bad at all," I managed to reply, my breath hitching as he resumed his ministrations. "But let's see if you can truly impress me."

His grin widened, and he redoubled his efforts. His hands roamed over my thighs, squeezing and massaging the soft flesh as his mouth continued its assault. His tongue moved with a maddening rhythm, swirling and flicking in a way that left me breathless. 

The sensation was overwhelming, a symphony of pleasure that left me trembling beneath him. 

Just when I thought I couldn't take any more, he slowed his pace, drawing out my pleasure and prolonging the exquisite torment.

I writhed beneath him, my hands gripping the sheets as I surrendered to the waves of ecstasy crashing over me. He didn't relent, his mouth and hands continuing their assault until I was teetering on the edge of release. His fingers joined in, slipping inside me with a deftness that sent shivers through my entire body.

"Gwayne," I cried out, my voice a desperate plea.

He looked up, his eyes locking with mine, and in that moment, he gave me exactly what I needed. The world seemed to shatter around me as I was consumed by a powerful climax, my body arching off the bed as I called out his name.

As the waves of pleasure began to ebb, Gwayne shifted his focus, his lips capturing mine in a passionate, commanding kiss. I could taste my pleasure on his lips, and it only fueled my desire further. 

Drawing him closer, my hands roamed over his muscular back, feeling the tension and strength beneath my fingertips.

He aligned himself at my entrance, his eyes locked with mine as he gradually pressed inside. The sensation was exquisite, a slow, delicious stretch that filled me. I gasped and wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

Gwayne moved with a steady, deliberate rhythm, each thrust deep and measured. His touch was methodical, aimed at drawing out my pleasure. His hands roamed my hips and thighs, while his lips lavished attention on my neck and breasts, his kisses and nibbles making me shiver with delight.

"Gods, you feel incredible," he murmured against my skin, his voice thick with desire.

I could only moan in response, my fingers gripping his shoulders as I met his thrusts. Our bodies moved in seamless harmony, the friction and heat between us building steadily. When he shifted his angle slightly, the head of his shaft brushed against a sensitive spot deep inside me, sending jolts of pleasure through my core.

I cried out, my nails scraping down his back as I clung to him, overwhelmed by the sensations.

"Right there," I gasped, my voice trembling. "Don't stop."

Gwayne responded to my plea, his movements growing more intense and urgent. His gaze remained fixed on mine, driving me higher and higher. The pressure inside me built to a crescendo, the promise of release just beyond my grasp.

"Cum for me, Princess," he whispered, his voice a rough command.

I unravelled beneath him, my body trembling violently as the force of my orgasm overtook me. Gwayne's thrusts continued unabated, extending my pleasure and drawing out every lingering wave of ecstasy. He maintained a steady rhythm, even as my muscles tightened around him, pulling him in with each wave of release.

As my climax subsided, he quickened his pace, his own need apparent in the way his body tensed and his breath came in ragged bursts. I could feel him approaching the edge, his control slipping as he sought his own release.

With a groan, he plunged deep one final time, his body convulsing as he reached his peak. I held him close, feeling the warmth of his release fill me as our bodies remained entwined in the aftermath.

For a moment, we lay there, tangled together, our breaths mingling as we came down from the heights of our pleasure. Gwayne's hand brushed my hair from my face, his touch gentle and tender.

"You, Princess, are truly remarkable," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration.

I smiled, a sense of satisfaction washing over me. "And you, Ser Gwayne, have more than redeemed yourself."

A/n - Who knew saving face was such a literal term in medieval jousting x

Gwayne tag list - @deniixlovezelda

[augustinewrites]

alhaitham almost walks right past you in the hall, too engrossed in whatever he’s reading. it takes you gently grasping his wrist for him to look up, expression brightening briefly before diving right back into his papers. 

“is everything okay?” you ask when you notice the knot that’s formed between his brows. “i’ve hardly seen you all day.”

“i’m fine,” he tells you, which lets you know that he’s certainly stressed about something. he sighs, returning the correspondence to the envelope tucked underneath his arm. “i just don’t understand why dehya won’t accept the akademiya’s job offer.”

in his capacity as the acting grand sage, he’s been trying to get her in the akademiya’s employ for weeks, but the mercenary’s been as tough to wear down as the wall of samiel itself. “ah. still having trouble recruiting her?”

“i’ve already offered a generous salary, benefits, a signing bonus, even a housing stipend. she’d practically be working side by side with the general mahamatra.”

“well, working with the matra means she’d have to spend a great deal of time in sumeru city,” you point out. “that’s probably something she doesn’t prefer.”

“why not?” he asks (because while your man is smart beyond belief, he can be a little dense sometimes). “we have everything here.”

“that’s true, but we’re also quite far from aaru village,” you say slowly, hoping he picks up on what you’re implying. 

“i appreciate the geography lesson, but that doesn’t help me figure out how to hire–”

“i was trying to be obscure,” you press, drawing a breath. “because being in sumeru full-time means that she’ll have to spend time away from candace.” 

he stares at you blankly, waiting for you to elaborate.

“haitham–” you say, pressing your hands together and glancing around quickly to confirm no one is within earshot. “dehya and candace are knocking boots.” 

he seems taken aback by what you’ve just whispered, pausing in his stride to process it. “wait, what?”

“it’s an old expression from mondstadt that means–”

“i’m familiar with the expression. i’m just asking why you’re so positive that they are having… relations.”

“because i just know. they have crazy chemistry. nilou sees it too.”

“do either of you have evidence?”

you hesitate. “no…”

“then you’re not positive. you’re only speculating.” 

“i’m not speculating,” you insist with a pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “i just know–”

“oh, like you just knew that kaveh was only going to stay with me for less than a month?”

“that’s different,” you argue. so what if kaveh’s been staying at alhaitham’s for more than six months? that was due to various, independent factors that had nothing to do with you. “but the way they are around each other–”

“gossip is an unreliable source of information,” he says flatly. alhaitham, as a rule, did not deign to entertain gossip. it was a premise built upon the unsteady grounds of conjecture, and he could not care less to waste his time surmising about other people’s personal lives. 

“but–”

“therefore, your advice is redundant.”

you take the files from under his arm, reaching up and smacking him on the back of the head with them. “my advice is always relevant. you can trust me on this.” 

alhaitham adjusts his headphones with a sigh, a pained but contemplative look on his face. He knows you’re right, and he knows that he’s hit a wall with this proposal. “fine. i will utilize your…advice, to adjust my proposal.” 

“that’s what i like to hear.”

the two of you continue walking in silence, yours smug and his pensive. then, after a moment, 

“you realize you just hit the acting grand sage, right?”

“oh please, you don’t scare me.” you meet his amused stare with open defiance, getting up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, and finally his lips. “and when dehya accepts this job proposal, i can think of a few ways you can repay me.” 

_____

“you want to offer me what?”

“you heard me,” alhaitham shrugs, leaning back in his plush desk chair. “the akademiya is willing to offer you compensation of up to ten thousand gold for any and all travel between sumeru city and aaru village.”

alhaitham may be in charge of the entire nation at the moment, but he doesn’t quite feel like it when dehya is in the room. she leans forward, resting her elbows atop the highly important documents on his desk as she stares at him. “why would you do that?” 

“so you can stay in contact with your loved ones.” 

the mercenary scoffs at that. “alhaitham, come on. i know you’ve done your research. i don’t have any family in aaru village.”

moment of truth.

“i was actually referring to…significant others.”

dehya’s brows raise in surprise.

_____

when he returns that night, the first thing alhaitham does when he joins you in bed is take the patient files from your hands and place them on the nightstand.

you frown, reaching for them. “i wasn’t done with those.”

he doesn’t argue with you, instead climbing on top of you and caging you against the bed, a knee pushed between your legs. he merely chuckles when you push at his chest, cause you’re not really trying.

he simply chases after you, and any fight you had to get back to your work dissipates when he presses his lips to yours.

“oh…” you sigh, quickly looping your arms around him to drag him closer, patting your lips to let him deepen the kiss. you gasp when he moves down to press kisses to your shoulder, slowly trailing more up your neck, your jaw, the shell of your ear.  

“dehya must have accepted the offer then,” you breathe, your eyes beginning to flutter shut.

“part time only,” he murmurs. “but she signed on.”

you hook your leg around his waist, grinning “oh, so i was…what’s the word?” 

he nips at your ear in reprimand, only making you laugh as he mutters, you were right, under his breath. 

“oh, don’t pout, baby,” you tease, hands roaming the well sculpted planes of his chest. “let’s just—"

“if you say ‘knock boots,’ i’m going to leave you here and sleep on the couch.”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Platonic Yandere Queen Step Sister

She wasn’t always a queen 

Like every queen before she was a princess

But before she was a princess she was a count from a low-class duchy

Her mother had found your father

Old, ill, and enticed by the countess willing to entertain him

The countess herself wasn’t awful

She was civil, for the most part the only problem with her was her daughter

“And this is your new sister—Harley! Say hello!”

“Hmph just because your Dad’s the King doesn’t mean I have to like you!”

“Harley!”

Harley was a menace

Snooty and rude

Every time she spoke to you it was like liquid acid spraying specifically at you

She was typically spoiled but she never mistreated the servants 

She was decent to your father 

But to you, it was like she hated your guts from the very beginning

“I’m glad I spilled all that cranberry juice on you! The little outfit you were wearing before matched your ugliness a bit too well.”

“That was a gift from my late mother!”

“Hm figures.”

Of course in turn you hate her too

And you don’t bother hiding it from your father when he weakly asks you to hang out with her

“Did you hear what she said to me? I honestly couldn’t care less if that horse she spooked stomped her flat.”

“(Y/n)! Hold your tongue, she’s your new sister.”

“She might be your daughter but that thing is not my sister.”

He doesn’t seem convinced as he continues putting you together with her in hopes it will strengthen your bond

It does not

And it will never be as your father succumbs to his illness

Naturally, you prepare to take on the throne despite your young age

But alas nothing goes the way it should since she’s been forced into your life

“As the former partner of the King, I gladly will take up the role until our child is ready.”

It’s infuriating as the advisor reads a part in his newly written will about this

How he ordained that his second wife have you in her care and the kingdom in her control

And of course decency dwindles as she becomes drunk on the social power

Fueling her gremlin of a daughter

“Mother’s forbidden you from leaving your room. So I figured I’d give you some of my company! You're welcome.”

“Go jump out the window.”

“How dare–MOM!”

It just gets worse and worse

You do think for a moment things will get better as The substitute Queen keels over her wine at a banquet

Thanking the heavens for whoever poisoned her, you’re prepared to take the throne

“I am so sorry (Y/n) but the council has ruled that for your safety as the kingdom’s only true heir, it’d be dangerous to let you take the throne. So we’ll give the role of Queen to Harley.”

It takes you everything not to stab the brat as she puffs her chest and flips her hair

“Won’t you congratulate me on my coronation!”

It’s agony that ripples under your skin as you have no choice but to flee the castle grounds to escape her stabbing presence and that only works for a day at most

With her mother no longer ruling she isn’t forced to take etiquette lessons away from you

Now she can demand your attendance for any minor meeting

“I don’t think we should mobilize our militia on that border. It’s far too much of an overreaction.”

“What about the villages that have been burned there? The people who need medical attention?”

“Hush (Y/n) I didn’t say you could talk in this meeting.”

It's all so frustrating feeling trapped

But you’re not the only one 

Harley is incredibly frustrated because of what keeps her trapped

And that’s her inability to say anything that she truly means

Especially with manners of the heart

Underneath layers of cruel insults, stifling rules, and personal jabs 

Is a step-sister who adores your very being but is stuck with her thorny exterior

She is forced to stick her nose up and sneer at you when you look her direction

When she’ll say “You look like death with the new family brooch. You might do better to just leave it off.”

What she means “I think you look even more gorgeous than usual with the family brooch, don’t ever take it off.”

If she wasn’t as backward demented as she was it probably wouldn’t be so hard to try being nice

To switch her compliments to insults for just a day to give you a kind compliment

But she hates actually making it so that

Naturally, this is why she killed her mother

She’d gotten in the way of her free time with you 

On top of looking down on you which she absolutely hates the most

Granted she’s certain you hate her with how much time she spends attempting to bring you down expressing her affection the only way she can

Sometimes she’s tempted to put it in writing 

just explain her condition so that she can jump into your arms as you connect the dots

But every time she’d written something out, she couldn’t help but confess how obsessed she was with you 

How happy she was that her whole job now was protecting you

She wasn’t exactly fond of the kingdom other than it being an inheritance for you

She hopes you’ll forgive her as she’ll  prioritize you and your safety above all else

No one but your father’s trusted advisor may see past her biting personality

Convinced with the council that it’s best to have her temporarily rule

If only until they get to the bottom of both the King and the Queen’s deaths

Should any council member question her or her motives 

she’d be quick to shut that down

She can’t have these old nobles get in the way of her dominion over you

“I hope you enjoy the joys of being accused of fraud. It’ll be nice to look back on your time when on the council when you’re rotting in jail.”

She has no mercy for anyone but you

[mimble-sparklepudding]

OC Questions on the Seven Forms of Love.

A little list of OC questions based on the seven types of love identified in Ancient Greek thought. Obviously this is a highly simplified presentation of some quite complex philosophical concepts from Classical History, intended more for the purposes of entertainment than education. I also left out Mania, which is arguably an eighth type of love (Obsessive), because I'm keeping it mostly positive in these tricky times!

Eros – Romantic, Passionate Love.

Is your OC romantic in the traditional sense? Do they enjoy giving or receiving gifts of flowers or confectionary? Or are there other courtship traditions from their culture of origin that are important to them?

How important is sex to them in a relationship? Do they see it as something essential to their happiness? Would they be able to remain in a monogamous relationship with someone they loved without sex?

How do they feel about public displays of romantic affection? Does it make them uncomfortable? How do they feel if a romantic partner kisses them in public?

Do they believe in love at first sight? Have they ever developed a crush or romantic (or erotic) fixation upon a stranger based on their appearance alone?

How closely is their opinion of their own beauty (or lack thereof) linked to their confidence? Do they see themselves as more or less worthy of love or sex based on how attractive they feel?

Philia – Affectionate, Platonic Love.

Does your OC have a Best Friend? If they do then how long have they known each other and how did they meet? If they don't then do they have a close group of friends they love equally? Or are they more of a loner?

Does your OC find it easy to make friends? Or are there barriers to them doing so? If so then are these due to issues of inclination, communication, or something else entirely?

What qualities does your OC most value in a friend? Loyalty? Shared sense of humour? Or something else?

Is your OC able to build close friendships with people very different from themselves? Perhaps in terms of culture, age or personality?

What is their most fervent wish for their best friend(s)? How far would they go to make it happen?

Storge – Unconditional, Familial Love.

Did your OC's parents love them unconditionally? If so then has this helped them feel confident as an adult? If not then how has this affected them? What were the conditions their family attached to their relationship?

Does your OC have children? If so then how fiercely do they love them? If they have more than one then do they love them all equally? If they do not have children then is this part of their future plans?

How far does parental approval (imagined or expressed) impact upon their current sense of self-worth? What might they sacrifice or attempt to achieve in order to ensure the approval of their parents?

Does your OC have any siblings? If so then did their parents have a favourite growing up? Has their relationship with their sibling changed in adulthood? If they don't have any siblings then do they perhaps feel they have missed out on an important relationship? Do they have any especially close friends who go some way towards filling that role?

Is your OC able to love without necessarily needing or expecting reciprocation or reward? Or are all their relationships to some extent transactional? Have they ever loved another person unconditionally, whether a child or another adult?

Agape – Selfless, Universal Love.

Does your OC wish to make the world a better place? How far do they see that as being their responsibility? What lengths would they go to in order to help achieve this?

Does your OC feel a spiritual connection to the world around them? Do they have a particular love for nature or living things?

To what extent does your OC believe in the value (or even existence) of true altruism? Do they see an unselfish concern for the welfare of others as being naïve or foolish? Or as a moral quality to which people should aspire?

Does your OC have a religious faith which emphasises the importance of a love for all people? If so then do they try to follow these teachings authentically? Or do they just pay lip-service to them? If not then do they follow a more martial or mercantile faith? Or none at all?

Does your OC find it easy to empathise with their enemies? Or do they see it as important to dehumanise them in order to combat them with sufficient determination?

Ludus – Playful, Flirtatious Love.

Does your OC have any particular favourite chat up lines? If not for themselves then perhaps ones they have suggested to a friend? How effective do these tend to be?

Is your OC particularly skilled at flirting? Have they had to practice this or does it just happen naturally?

How does your OC feel about one night stands? Have they ever enjoyed a night of passionate romance with a stranger? Is this something they are quite keen on recreationally? Or only something they might engage in under specific circumstances (such as the eve of a battle or after a difficult breakup)?

Who was your OC's first crush? How do they feel about it now?

What seduction techniques are most likely to be effective when it comes to your OC? Are there some things guaranteed to get them going? Or are they immune to such things?

Pragma – Committed, Long-Lasting Love.

Is your OC in a committed long-term relationship (or relationships)? If so then what has contributed to this relationship lasting so well? If they are not in such a relationship, then is this something that saddens them or which they regret?

What is the biggest challenge that your OC has had to overcome in a long-term relationship or friendship? What helped them get through this?

Are your OC's parents still together? To what degree do they look to their own parents as a model for their own ideal relationship?

After the initial fires of passion cool to some degree, what would keep your OC engaged in a relationship? Shared goals? Similar values? Or contented companionship?

What importance or value does your OC attach to marriage? Do they believe that it is important to make a public statement of commitment to another person (or persons)? Or are they more concerned about inheritance rights and security for their family? Or do they not see marriage as a necessary signifier of commitment and loyalty?

Philautia – Self Love.

Does your OC have a healthy sense of their own worth and value? Or do they see themselves as failing to live up to their original potential? Perhaps they are convinced of their own sinful or inadequate nature?

Does your OC believe that it is important to love themselves in the first instance? Perhaps in order to be able to give and receive love authentically? Or because they believe first and foremost in "looking after number one"?

Does your OC judge themselves by the same standards as they apply to others? Or are they sometimes hypocritical in condemning others for faults they also possess? Or perhaps they find it easier to forgive others for things that they cannot abide in themselves?

Which of your OC's qualities makes them the most proud? Do they think more people should be like them in this regard? Or do they quite like being rare in possessing it?

Has your OC always had the same opinion of themselves or has this changed over time? Have they learned to love themselves - perhaps with the help of others - as their journey progressed? Or have the consequences of their actions only served to erode their sense of self-worth?

[lovemeafterhrs]

go-go dancer!

i’m your go-go dancer, credit card romancer!

megumi fushiguro x next door neighbor! reader

author’s note: this the longest fic i’ve written in years LMAO.. been deliberating this concept since september

word count: 10.7k

MDNI! all characters are 18+

major inspo: midnight answer by @/hellokittyheat on AO3, go-go dancer and lolita (demo 4) by LDR.

warnings: megumi is sooo sexually frustrated, masturbation, oral (m + f receiving), unprotected sex, double creampie. reader has nipple piercings

listen along:

when megumi fushiguro moved out of gojo’s house at age twenty-one, he did not expect that he’d wind up in this kind of situation. 

he felt like a pervert, wishing that his new neighbor had something darker than sheer curtains. he hadn’t even met you yet, and he’d already seen far more of your body than he should. still, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight from the first floor next door. it was like you were teasing him, constantly running around the house in nothing but a lace bra and panties. 

he watched curiously as you threw clothes across the room, obviously irritated as you picked out your outfit. you tutted in annoyance at the lack of options, before finally settling on yet another tiny black skirt. 

you considered it to be drab, uninspired even. megumi however, was raising a brow at the tiny scrap of fabric you were shimmying over your hips. he stood in front of his window, clearly entertained as he watched you bend over in front of the mirror. 

you shrugged your shoulders, content with the way it flattered your ass, at least. 

unaware that you had an audience, you rushed to throw on a low-cut top and find your shoes before you ended up being late. 

if you had known, you probably would’ve risked missing your shift just to see the priceless look on your hot neighbor’s face. 

the front door of your apartment slammed shut as you made your way to the car. he could hear every shuffle of your slippers against the pavement, and he couldn’t help but wonder where you disappeared to every friday and saturday night in such a hurry. 

perhaps he’d ask you, someday. 

if he ever got the guts to talk to you in the first place. 

the first time you introduced yourself to him, he had started to question his own judgment when it came to what he knew about you. you were so kind, and more reserved than he expected. your crimson lips lifted into a gentle smile as you spoke your name, asking for his shortly after. the soft, melancholic melody of your voice met his ears, and it sent a jolt of electricity through his spine. 

it was a far cry from anything he could've expected from peeping through your window. he felt guilty for assuming anything of you, especially when you greeted him with a smile and a plate of warm cookies. 

nobara and yuji thought it was the funniest shit they’d ever seen, watching his cheeks burn with shame as he closed the front door with baked goods in hand. 

it hadn’t helped that you were wearing a low-cut tank top and the tiniest shorts he’d ever seen. he’d spent most of his adolescence relatively sheltered, and he’d never paid the women in his life much mind. 

that all changed a few days later when you practically pulled his face into your cleavage, spinning him around in a crushing hug after he pulled your cat out of a tree.

you had become a consistent presence in his life since you first introduced himself to him, and he now found himself regretting taking those cookies out of your hands on that fateful day. a gentle breeze of vanilla wafted through his nostrils in the gentle spring wind as you spun him around in circles enthusiastically. 

something had changed, he just didn’t know what. you were less withdrawn than before, almost like you had grown comfortable in his presence within a few days. his assumption was mostly true, save for one piece of information. 

you had started to like seeing the blush dusting over his cheeks whenever you spoke to him. you liked it a little too much, it seemed. any intention you had to keep to yourself went quickly out the window when you realized you wanted to know as much as you could about him. 

you couldn’t help but try to get him to open up to you, or look at you for just a moment. 

so as of late, you had been playing it up just a little. you could’ve sworn he saw the hearts dancing around in your irises every time his dark eyes met yours. 

him coming to your rescue in a time of need was just the icing on the cake of the situation. 

you were so grateful for his help, so thankful that he’d been there to save the day. your tone was syrupy sweet as you showered him with gratitude, pressing his arm between your breasts as you led him towards his front door. 

he’d fallen into your trap, he just didn’t know it yet. 

“god. she’s really laying it on thick, isn’t she?” nobara and yuji chuckled amongst themselves. yuji shrugged his shoulders, before picking up your purring calico. 

“can’t help that megumi’s oblivious.” was his reply, followed by another less-than-subtle jab to his friend. “that boy couldn’t take a hint if it saved his life.” 

“that’s a fucking understatement.” nobara mumbled under her breath, waving to the pair as they approached the doorstep. “do you think she’s in over her head?”

“dunno.” he whispered back, scratching gently into your cat’s soft fur. 

they watched you thank him profusely with stars shining in your eyes. meanwhile, megumi was trying really hard to keep his eyes from falling to your tits. 

the entire situation resulted in an onslaught of teasing and laughing as soon as they crossed the threshold of his apartment. 

“your face is red.” his peach-haired friend mocked, plopping himself down on megumi’s sofa. 

“thanks for pointing that out, dickhead.” he frowned, causing nobara to burst into another fit of laughter. 

for a man who was known for being oblivious, even he knew what he was falling into. he didn’t really want it to end, either. however, he was worried about the potential escalation if he didn’t keep himself in check. 

perhaps you were just fucking with him, and it would come to an end when you got bored. there wasn’t any way in hell that you were being serious, right? 

he hoped that this moment would be the worst of it, but he’d soon be proven wrong. 

as spring turned to summer, he started to regret moving out in the first place. it was excruciating to watch you sunbathing in the grass, wearing nothing but a tiny red bikini. you had to be doing this on purpose, he realized. he just didn’t have any proof, and it was driving him insane. 

“megumi!” you called out innocently, beckoning him towards you with sunscreen in hand. fuck. he was so screwed. “i need your help!” 

he let out an audible groan as he crossed into your yard, already knowing what you were going to ask him to do. 

“can you get my back?” your question caused megumi to flush all over, and he nodded after a moment of hesitation. of course he’d be willing to help his friend, even if he thought you were doing this purely to drive him to the brink of insanity.  

you rolled over onto your stomach, your ass on display for him as he tried to keep himself focused. the dark haired man squeezed the tube of sunscreen, warming it up with his hands before his fingers began to move over your back with unnecessary caution. 

you let out a small gasp when his hands pressed into your lower back, rubbing the lotion into your soft skin. he could feel your breathing pick up as his hands traveled up your spine. calloused fingers pressed into the knots woven into your shoulders, then gently passed over your shoulder blades. 

he was trying to be respectful, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from darting downward. he had to keep tearing his eyes away, and he sighed in relief when he finally accomplished your request. 

he rose to his feet, trying his best to keep his thoughts innocent as you offered a sweet and honest “thank you!” 

he watched you relax into the plush towel laid out across the grass, and nearly stumbled over the ledge of the concrete on his way back to his front door. he turned himself back around, focusing too closely on the ground to keep himself from tripping. 

he didn’t know how much more of this he could take. 

he had been avoiding treading outside after that moment, petrified that you’d appear next to him to taunt him with more of your innocent teasing. 

he couldn’t bear to look at you, overwhelmed with guilt from every time had imagined your cute little smile while he had his dick in his hand. things had gotten too out of hand too quickly, and he didn’t know how to deal with the feeling of attraction to you blooming deep within his gut. 

the next time he caught sight of you, it was approaching three a.m. on a saturday morning. he looked over the railing of the porch, watching your car pull into the parking space across the street. he raised an eyebrow when you got out of the car, not missing the clicking of your platform heels against the pavement. he’d seen you in a lot of revealing outfits, but this time was.. different. he spotted the subtle shine of glitter all over your skin and nearly started drooling when you stopped in front of the door to take off your shoes. 

you leaned down to remove the buckles and he watched in horror as your skirt crawled up the back of your thighs. the seam of the fabric barely covered the swell of your ass, leaving him at a loss for words.

once again, it felt like you were teasing him to death without even trying. 

he wondered where you had been for the last few hours, as he hadn’t seen you leave. you looked tired, but not intoxicated in any way. 

peculiar. 

still, he didn’t pay it much mind as he walked back inside his apartment. megumi looked up at the clock, and let out a groan as he read the time. 

so much for getting up early tomorrow. he frowned, kicking off his slippers as he crawled into bed. 

he went to bed that night dreaming about you bent over in front of him, skirt pulled up over your hips with his hands fisted into your hair.

his beauty sleep was interrupted by the sound of a lawn mower revving next door, and he let out a groan as he pulled his pillow around his ears. 

of course. he sighed, scrunching his nose in annoyance as he stared up at the clock. 

after a few moments of grumbling, he finally pulled himself out of the comfort of his plush bedding. a loud yawn reverberated off the walls of the hallway as he shuffled his way to the kitchen. 

he glared out the window as he filled up the coffee pot with water, only at that moment realizing that the loud noises from the mower had ceased. 

megumi grimaced when he saw you chatting with his sister on your front lawn. she must have dropped by to see him, and couldn’t keep herself from saying hi to his cute neighbor. she’d undoubtedly tease him for it later, and he closed the curtains with a frown. 

around ten minutes later, he heard a knock on his front door. when he opened it, tsumiki’s face was stretched into a large shit-eating grin. 

“i met your neighbor.” were the first words out of his sister’s mouth, not a ‘hi’ or ‘how are you?’ he let out a big sigh as she continued. “she’s cute. really cute.”

“i know what you’re trying to do, and the answer is no.” 

“seriously? you haven’t had a girlfriend in what, ever? and you're telling me you’re not even going to try?” her questioning earned her a frown, followed by a scoff. 

“that’s none of your business, tsumiki.” 

his eyes widened when his sister looked out the window, and a smirk appeared on her face. it was obvious she’d taken notice of the way that his window lined right up with yours. 

“hmm.” was all she replied with, and she took a seat on the couch. “how’s gojo?” she asked, changing the subject that she knew megumi wouldn’t budge on. 

“he’s fine. reeling with separation anxiety, but he’s fine.” satoru had a horrible case of empty nest syndrome, wondering what he did wrong for his adult, adopted children to leave him alone in his gigantic apartment. “you should go see him, he misses you.” 

“absolutely not. he’ll try to convince me to move back in with him. he needs a distraction or something.” tsumiki groaned at the idea, even though she had the utmost respect for the man who had taken them both in. 

instead, she traveled to the kitchen to heat the meal she’d brought for her brother. 

the duo sat in silence, snacking on leftovers as the tv drawled on in front of them. it was nice to have his sister there, even if she spent most of their time together probing him with uncomfortable questions. 

a few hours later, the eldest had left him alone in his apartment once again. 

he rose to his feet and made his way to the kitchen, looking over at the mountain of dishes piled into the sink. he turned on the faucet and took a moment to mull over his sister’s questions from earlier. dishware clinked against the metal of the sink as he contemplated her words. 

he supposed she had a point. what was he waiting for? he’d never given anyone the time of day, let alone had them consuming his thoughts when they weren’t around. you had a particular knack for making him nervous, and he didn’t know how to kick his habit of becoming a stuttering mess around you. 

the thought of you alone sent a blush over his cheeks. his large hands reached to turn off the running water. he took a few steps closer to the dining room table, and his eyes darted towards the open window. 

he couldn’t keep his curiosity at bay and slowly pulled open his curtains to see what was happening across the way. 

you were sitting on the countertop, phone pressed to your ear as you swung your bare legs back and forth. you were having quite an animated conversation, he could tell. he watched you roll your eyes, contemplating words that he couldn’t hear. 

you paused for a moment and hopped off the counter to open the fridge. he sucked in a breath when you leaned forward, giving him a perfect view of your ass. 

“holy shit,” he muttered, putting his hands over his eyes before pulling his blinds closed. 

he was in over his head, and he didn’t know how to deal with your growing presence in his mind. it was almost like his brain was his own personal prison, trapped in a cell and forced to watch an endless reel of the precarious situations you’d put him in. 

the next few days were absolute torture, and the summer heat had made his already building frustration so much worse. you spent hours of the day in the bright sunshine, working up a sweat as you tended to the lawn. your choice of attire made him drool from his seat at the kitchen table. against his better judgment, he got more comfortable in his chair as you leaned down to pull weeds from the garden. 

he wasn’t the only person who was stopped in their tracks when you bent over. across the street, an older gentleman was being pulled by his dog as he stood mesmerized by the sight. 

you looked over your shoulder, catching sight of his dark hair through the window. you snickered to yourself, arching your back as you dug further into the dirt with your hands.

he was playing right into your hands. 

you wiped a bead of sweat off your brow, rising to your feet a few moments later. you made sure to lean in megumi’s direction as you reached for the bag of lawn debris, making him regret sitting down in the first place.  

the next day, he had the misfortune of going out to grab the mail. he hadn’t made it very far before he caught sight of you, causing him to flush.

large sunglasses framed your face as you pruned the shrubs in front of your door, and you gave megumi a small wave when you spotted him on his porch. 

“good morning!” you chirped, a large pair of trimmers in hand as you pulled your glasses up to look at him. it wasn’t anywhere near morning, but you could tell that he had just woken up. his hair was still messy from hours of rubbing against the pillow, and you gave him a little smile as you admired his sleepy features. 

“morning.” he choked out in reply. he tried to keep his eyes off you as he wandered to the mailbox, but he was failing in every sense of the word. 

“any plans tonight?” you called out to him with a grin as you watched him attempt to sneak back into the house. 

“going out with some friends. do you have plans?” he didn’t know if he wanted to know the answer to his question, but he proceeded to ask it anyway. he shamefully had your weekend routine damn near memorized, but had yet to figure out where you went after her car door slammed shut. 

“nope, just working. i’ll see you later?” that caused him to raise an eyebrow, followed by a couple lazy nods of the head. 

he was too busy contemplating your words to think of a reply. he didn’t really have the chance to, either. he looked at the time, groaning to himself as he walked back inside. 

it was already pushing three in the afternoon by the time he managed to pull himself out of bed to grab the mail in the first place. 

he was going out in an hour, and the apartment was trashed. his stomach grumbled angrily, and he let out a sigh as he walked towards the fridge. a frown fell over his features as he stared at the bottle of chili sauce accompanied by nobara’s forgotten wine. he found himself fortunate enough to find some chicken in the freezer, but the lack of vegetables was proving to be rather disappointing. 

great. he grumbled to himself as he closed the fridge with a slam. the cabinet didn’t have much either, save for a couple packets of noodles. he really needed to go grocery shopping, but hated the grocery store more than anything in the entire world. 

so instead, he reached for a pan and went to work browning the chicken. he was thankful that tsumiki had brought a collection of seasonings for him after his first week living alone. at least he had something to offset the taste of freezer-burnt poultry. 

after a while of glaring at the pan, he was finally getting somewhere. he reached for a pot, and filled it with water. unfortunately, he’d filled it up just a tad too much. he groaned at the puddle on the floor, and dropped the pot on the burner with a defeated look on his face.

a towel was thrown onto the ground with a huff, and he grimaced at the feeling of cold water hitting the plush fabric of his socks. he was soaking wet from the collar of his shirt down, and he still had the puddle to attend to.  

the chicken wasn’t anywhere near done, and now he had to change to top it all off. he turned down the stove a bit, and shuffled to his room in an attempt to find something to wear to the club later that night. 

when he returned to the pan about twenty minutes later in a new set of clothes, the chicken was still nowhere close to being golden brown. with a roll of the eyes, he abandoned his post for a moment to turn on the television. 

even then, it wasn’t very entertaining for him. a few minutes passed, before his curiosity got the better of him. he could hear the slow rhythm of the song that he knew was your favorite from across the way, and couldn’t keep himself from walking towards the window.  the curtains were pulled aside to reveal you dancing along to the music booming through your apartment. 

your hips swayed in tandem with the music, and he watched curiously as you stretched your arms up. he watched you bend down to touch your toes, and he watched your body relax as you stretched out your sore muscles. 

it had appeared he had gotten too distracted by your preparations before your shift, as he had completely forgotten about his dinner still cooking on the other side of the room. 

his eyes darted toward the stove when the smell of something burning wafted through his nostrils, and he ran towards the pan in an attempt to save his dinner. 

thankfully the chicken was only partially charred, and he pulled it away from the heat just in the nick of time. he let out a sigh of relief, which was interrupted by yet another distraction from outside. 

“fushiguro! you better have your fucking pants on!” his head snapped towards the door at the loud booming of his friend’s voice, and the door swung open dramatically to reveal a grinning yuji. 

“you’re early.” megumi commented, voice flat as he switched the burner the pot was on. the shorter man took a step closer to the counter, and his grin widened when he spotted the food cooking on the stove.

“looks like i made it just in time.” he chuckled, before moving towards the small table across from the kitchen. “is something burning?”

“not anymore,” was the only reply yuji got. 

the noodles didn’t take very long, and soon the pair were sitting across from each other with a hot meal in front of them. 

they fell into a comfortable silence that didn’t end up lasting very long. 

not when yuji was always too observant for his own good. the tv drawled on behind them, though it was almost impossible to watch it even if they wanted to. the glare from the window had blocked out almost the entire picture.

it was one of megumi’s pet peeves, and that was what caused yuji to finally break the silence megumi had been previously enjoying. 

“huh.” the tone in yuji’s voice was curious, and his friend’s head snapped up to find him staring out the window. “your blinds are open.” 

“what?” megumi looked confused, even though he shouldn’t be. his blinds were usually closed, especially on sunny days like this one. it was a small detail to pick up on, but he didn’t want his friend to put the rest of the pieces of the puzzle together. he took a sip of his broth, eyeing yuji down as he awaited his response. 

“nothing.” the reply megumi got was halfhearted, barely hiding a snicker as yuji finished off his bowl of noodles. 

his closest companion had taken a good thing and thoroughly ruined it. the silence was now incredibly discomforting to be in, even for just a minute. megumi hurried to scarf down the rest of his meal, before rising from his seat. 

“nobara’s gonna kick our asses if we’re late.” was his excuse for suddenly rising to his feet, not that his friend was dangerously close to figuring out that he’d been watching you through his window for months. there’s no way it could be that reason. 

“chill, i gotta fix my hair first.” yuji grinned, noticing how desperate megumi was to change the subject. “nobara’s not even gonna be ready by the time we get there.” 

“i don’t understand why you couldn’t do that at home.” the taller man huffed, taking a peek out the window the moment he heard footsteps heading toward the bathroom. 

yuji had promised tonight would be fun. megumi hated clubs, but he had been convinced to go out just once. it seemed that his next-door neighbor was heading out for the night as well, if the tiny dress you were wearing was anything to go by. 

an odd choice of attire to be wearing to work, if he’d say so himself. still, he didn’t think about it too hard as he threw on a black sweater and got ready to leave. 

“i don’t understand why we have to go to nobara’s so early. the club doesn’t even open until like eight.” yuji grumbled, reaching for megumi’s phone charger as he settled into the passenger seat. 

“she said we have to go to the mall first. something about needing an outfit.”

“fuck, and you said yes? we’re gonna get stuck there for the next four hours.” another loud groan met his ears as he pulled out of his apartment complex. 

and they were, indeed, stuck at the mall for nearly four hours. megumi’s car was stuffed to the brim with shopping bags by the time they were done, and they still weren’t even ready to head out for the night. 

a quick pit stop to kugisaki’s was entirely necessary, as protested by the woman herself. the trio shuffled boxes and bags to her apartment, grumbling the entire time as they braved the treacherous walk up the stairs. 

yuji supposed it was only fair to start the party there. he was already raiding her liquor cabinet before he proposed the idea to the rest of his team. 

the words left his lips with a smirk, and he waved around the bottle of cheap booze in his hand to emphasize his point. the same smirk fell over nobara’s features, and she nodded enthusiastically as she reached for two shot glasses. 

megumi found himself wishing he could participate, cursing himself for saying he’d be the designated driver. his mind was plagued with thoughts of you, and a drink would’ve probably been able to help him forget that. 

still, he let the pair have their fun. a small chuckle left his lips as he watched them grimace at the burn of the liquor. nobara gave him a goofy smile, followed by a thumbs up as she ran to her bedroom to change her clothes.

finally, at about eight forty-five, the trio made their way to megumi’s black buick. the sun had already set far into the sky, and megumi let out another sigh as he turned on the engine. 

the car ride down to the bar was filled with loud singing from yuji and irritated grumbles from nobara as she hurried to change the radio station. they struggled to find parking, resulting in them walking through residential streets to get to their destination. he hadn’t expected it to be so busy, but they found themselves weaving through crowds of people to even find a table. 

the music was far too loud for his liking, and pinks and purples shined through his vision as he finally looked up toward the bar. something had caught the attention of countless patrons, who were tripping over each other with credit cards in hand. 

upon closer inspection, he began to understand what everyone was fussing over. the first thing he saw was your tattoo, which he recognized immediately. as his gaze traveled up your long legs, he couldn’t hide the shock written over his features. 

he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

in a moment, it felt like you were the only dancer scattered across the stage. 

he sat, frozen in his seat as he watched the men around him foam at the mouth as they scrambled to order shot after shot. hundreds of people filled the room, but his eyes kept falling back on you. dozens of strangers were ogling your figure, watching your tits bounce with every sway of your hips. 

you seemed to be enjoying the attention, basking in the fluorescent lights as you continued to move in rhythmatic circles. you kept moving along to the beat of the music, a sultry smile on your lips as suits and ties bowed at your feet. you had a bottle in hand, heels clicking against the wood of the bar as you danced around glasses with ease. 

the expensive tequila in your hand was merely a prop, but it didn’t keep the patrons around him from ordering round after round in an attempt to impress you. a manicured hand came up to fondle one of your breasts teasingly in rhythm with the words of the song playing. 

his jaw dropped when the light reflected against the metal of your nipple piercings, clearly visible through the thin fabric of your dress. he fought the urge to put his head in his hands, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him. 

you were obviously a lot more interesting than he originally thought you were.  

“oh, that’s your neighbor.” nobara confirmed his suspicions, a smirk on her face as she watched you drop your ass down to the floor. “you should go see if she’ll give you a private dance or something.” 

“nobara!” that caught his attention, and his head whipped around to grimace at her. 

“what? i’m just saying. it’s obvious you have a thing for her.” ever the instigator, the red-haired woman was not going to back down. yuji nodded along with his friend’s words, and he looked at the pair disappointed. 

megumi didn't move an inch for your entire set, utterly mystified as he watched you dance around the bar. it felt almost as though the stage was meant just for you, pedestaled above the wide varieties of expensive liquor. 

he only snapped to reality when he watched you leave the stage, and he caught your head of hair turning out the back door. yuji hit his shoulder rather abruptly, encouraging him to do the one thing he didn’t want to do. 

he took a deep breath and followed you outside. he turned the corner into the nearby alleyway and found you hiding between couples pressed against the side of the building. he took a few steps closer, recognizing the outfit he’d watched you leave the house in. 

he realized how little he knew about you when he watched you light up a cigarette, leaning against the wall with a long exhale. you looked over at him then, dark eyeshadow framing your eyes as they flashed with recognition. your cheeks turned pink, and you bit your lip with a roll of your eyes. 

your cover was blown. there was no point in keeping up the innocent act now.

it wasn’t often that you told people about your weekend plans, and that was for good reason. you just hoped he wouldn’t act like many other people have before.  

“hey, megumi.” you started casually, flicking ash onto the concrete. 

“hey. wasn’t expecting to see you here,” was his reply. megumi wasn’t a man of many words anyway, but you had shocked him into almost complete silence. he was struggling to get every other syllable out of his mouth, but he couldn’t deny how curious he was about you. 

“ha, i get that a lot. are you having fun?” you looked almost completely unphased, besides the light dusting of rose dusting your cheeks. 

“you could say that. you look good.” his words caused your dark lips to curl into a small smirk. 

“thank you, you’re not so bad yourself.” you replied to him in a breathy tone. now, you were definitely doing it on purpose. you just couldn’t help yourself when he looked so handsome with blushing cheeks. 

“you think so?” he was looking a little sheepish, barely able to keep his thoughts innocent with you flirting so blatantly. 

“i know so.” your reply sent a flush to his poor, overwhelmed face. he watched you lean down, effortlessly putting out the cigarette on the bottom of your heel as you turned to walk back into the club. 

“enjoy the show.” you mused, brushing his shoulder lightly as you passed him. 

and he did enjoy every moment, relishing every sway of your hips until yuji was begging him to take them home. he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol the entire night, but he felt more dizzy walking out of the doors of the club than he did after drinking half a bottle of cheap liquor. 

nobara was too buzzed to notice the longing in megumi’s eyes as they walked back to the car, but yuji wasn’t. he held back a laugh as he wobbled his way down the sidewalk next to his usually stoic friend. 

traffic wasn’t terrible, thank god. nobara didn’t have enough energy left to fight about music choices, allowing yuji to blast whatever garbage he wanted as they drove down the highway. 

after a quick detour to nobara’s apartment complex, he finally managed to trudge his way towards the warmth of his bed. unfortunately for him, every parking spot around the block was taken. he groaned, pulling into the only available space and turning off his car with a huff. 

he was almost in the clear.

the only thing that stood in his way was a treacherous walk to his front door. 

with yuji only two doors down, it made getting home in one piece a whole lot easier. that however, would not keep yuji from prodding him for information, just like his sister would. they were so similar sometimes that it scared him. he knew the look in his friend’s eyes before the words even left his mouth. 

“you’re into her.” megumi was hit with boundless accusations as they walked through the damp grass, starting with that one. 

“no, i’m not.” he countered, choosing denial as his tactic for the situation. 

“yes, you are. you’ve got a major resting bitch face, and i didn’t see it once. you were staring at her like a doofus the entire night.” now that he was pointing it out, megumi supposed it was true. he’d been less angry recently, more sexually frustrated than anything else.  

“that doesn’t mean shit, yuji.” he bit back, not trying to have this conversation ever. he wasn’t looking to admit anything close to liking you, choosing to ignore the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about you even now. 

“really? so you’re telling me you don’t enjoy the fact that she’s always around, shoving her cleavage in your face?” yuji had yet another point. this one earned a rather large scowl. 

“that was one time.” 

“i bet if you asked nicely, she’d do it again.” his friend smirked as he reached his doorstep, and the angry expression made its way back to megumi’s features. 

“shut up.” he mumbled, throwing yuji the middle finger as he turned away to head home. 

it was already far too late for his liking, and he retreated to the warmth of his bedroom within moments of opening the front door. he needed to clear his mind of any and all obstacles that would prevent a good night’s sleep, including the movement of your tits that was now burnt into his memory. 

his head hit the pillow, hoping he’d get a shred of sleep before someone managed to ruin it.  

the clock read just after three a.m. by the time he reached for his phone, as he had been tossing and turning in bed for the last three hours. he rose to his feet, scanning the mess he had left in his room before heading to the club. 

he wondered if his friend was still awake. maybe he’d be willing to help him clean up the gigantic mess he left earlier. 

much to his surprise, yuji responded to his text rather quickly. but that still left one glaringly large problem. 

megumi frowned, piling his clothes into a basket as he made his way to the complex’s shared laundry room. he was so frustrated that nothing was helping, and he couldn’t forget about the metal pierced through his neighbor’s tits. he groaned, turning the corner when he heard the loud rumbling of the washing machine. 

he wondered who was up so late on a saturday doing laundry, but he supposed that he couldn’t judge. he nearly fell over when he saw who was sitting on top of the spinning machine. 

he had to be dreaming.

your eyes were pressed closed, soft gasps leaving your mouth as the laundry rumbled underneath you. a dirty novel was long disregarded next to you, and he wondered what you were thinking about. you let out a low whine as you shifted your hips, lips swollen from biting them in an attempt to keep quiet. 

you were having a hard time keeping your balance over the rumbling machine, struggling to keep your moans hushed as you barrelled closer and closer to release. he watched your hands travel underneath your shorts, reaching for your neglected clit.  

he nearly jumped out of his skin when his basket made contact with the wall, and your eyes shot open at the sound. you stared at him, equally horrified and aroused as he stood cemented in the doorway. 

the pair shared a moment of excruciating silence. your lips parted to speak, but the words died in your throat as you took in his shocked expression. 

before you could address the situation, megumi started to feel his pants getting a little tight. he turned on his heel abruptly, cheeks burning as he shuffled his way back to the apartment. 

the phone in his pocket chimed, and he typed out a rushed response to yuji as he swung his front door open. he couldn’t have his best friend seeing him in such an embarrassing state. 

he had tried to forget your lewd expression, but he couldn’t get the tent in his pants to go down no matter how much he tried. 

guilt burned at his insides as he freed himself from the confines of his pants. his length slapped against his torso, practically begging for some attention. 

he didn’t know how to handle what he had just witnessed. carnal need had started to crawl it’s way up into his chest, and his eyes fluttered closed as he tried to get comfortable on his bed. 

megumi hissed as his hand pressed against the head of his dick, which was already hot to the touch and oozing from the tip. he imagined your tongue running across his shaft, plush lips wrapping around him. he began to rock his hips with the movement of his hand, daydreaming about fucking into your warm mouth. he’d fallen victim to his desire, letting small gasps leave his lips with every stroke of his hips. 

he let out a low growl as he heard a knock on the door, interrupting the movement of his hand. he pulled his sweats back up over his hips, still sporting a gigantic erection as he swung the door open. 

“yuji i told you that you need to fuck off for like twenty minutes, i swear to god-“  his words came to an abrupt halt as he realized who was at the door, and you smirked as your eyes scanned him up and down. 

“hey, neighbor. are you going to invite me inside?” you asked, taking notice of the rather blatant tent in his pants. 

“uh… i guess. i’m kind of in the middle of something-” he flushed, trying to save some semblance of decency. his dick throbbed as you leaned towards him, giving him a full view of your cleavage. 

“i can tell.” he cursed inwardly at your words, trying to ignore the gigantic smirk across your face. “do you need some help?” 

“w-what?” he choked out, the tips of his ears burning. he wasn’t expecting you to be so forward.

“there’s no need to be coy, megumi. i’ve seen you watching me through your window.” you snickered and leaned against the doorframe. 

you’ve got to be fucking kidding. he let out a groan. of course you’d seen him, now you were never going to let him live it down. 

“what were you thinking about?” you continued, watching him deflate in front of you. your curiosity had gotten the better of you, and you took a step closer to him as he struggled to get out his reply. 

“nothing.” 

“doesn’t look like nothing.” you countered, raising a brow as you looked him up and down once again. “were you thinking about me?”

“no.” he grumbled, closing his eyes in frustration. he was trying to keep his eyes off of you, but you were making it damn near impossible. the entire situation was your fault, and now you were at his door making it even worse. 

“are you sure about that?” 

he was convinced you were just teasing him. you couldn’t possibly be serious, could you? 

“you’re doing this on purpose.” he choked out, still not looking at you. he was trying to ignore the loud thumping of his heart in his chest with every word that came from your mouth. 

“doing what on purpose?” your question was sweet and sugary, laced in feigned innocence as you continued. his eyes opened, offering you a glare that didn’t appear too genuine. 

“i’m just trying to help.” you took a step closer to him, and he faltered for a moment. 

“you’re serious?” he asked, and his cheeks burned as he looked down at you. 

“why wouldn’t i be?” was your retort, and he let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding in. 

“what are you waiting for, then?” 

you raised a brow at his response, curious as to where the sudden determination had come from. the nervous look on his features gave you pause for a moment, and you supposed you should probably take it easy on him. 

“you’re quite confident all of a sudden, aren’t you?” you mused, lips inching towards his. “i wonder if you’ll be able to keep up.”

he didn’t bother to give you a response, only a huff of annoyance as he brought you in for a harsh kiss. one arm wrapped around his neck and the other trailed down to palm him through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. you felt him let out a hiss against your lips at the feeling of your fingers wrapping around his length. 

his tongue explored your mouth as you pulled him towards the couch, and you pushed him down lightly as you leaned over him with a smirk. he let out a groan when you sat down on his lap, and you let out a laugh as you brought his lips back to yours. 

the thin fabric of your shorts rubbed against his hard length as you pulled him closer, and you could feel his breathing pick up pace underneath you. your hips slowly began to grind against his, and your efforts earned you a sharp exhale between his kisses.  

his lips didn’t leave yours until he was out of breath. he huffed against your lips as your hands began to wander underneath the soft fabric of his sweater. 

you pulled away to look at the mess you made of him, content with the dazed look painted across his face. his eyes were too focused on your tits spilling out of your shirt to notice that you were pulling his up and over his head. the black sweater was thrown to the floor in haste, and you brought a kiss to each of his flushed cheeks. 

“you’re so cute.” you mumbled dreamily, almost too quiet for him to hear. he offered you a crinkle of his nose in return for your teasing. 

“am not.” the protest was emphasized by a raise of the brow, and he pulled the neckline of your tank-top down to free your breasts. he let out a groan at the sight, bringing one hand up to squeeze the soft flesh in front of him. 

“sure. whatever you say..” you rolled your eyes at his behavior, letting him fondle your chest curiously. long and delicate fingers began to squeeze and grope at your skin. 

an idea crossed your mind as his hands rubbed against the barbells adorning your nipples. your lips met the skin of his neck, and he shivered at the feeling of your tongue swiping over the soft flesh. soft kisses began to travel lower and lower, causing his eyes to widen. 

his hands left your skin when he felt you pulling away, not expecting for you to drop to your knees in front of him. another soft kiss was pressed to his happy trail as you looked up at him with a teasing smile. a shock of electricity shot through his spine when he felt you pulling down the elastic of his sweatpants. 

his dick sprang free in front of your face, and you took a moment to marvel at the sight in front of you. while average in size, his girth was rather impressive. you could feel yourself salivating as one of your fingers ran along the tip. you brought that same finger to your lips, humming appreciatively at the sight before wrapping your hand around the base. 

if you weren’t so absorbed in your own little world, you would’ve seen the shocked expression spreading over megumi’s flushed features. he felt your hand pass from base to tip a couple times, and he let out a groan. that caught your attention, and you met his stormy blue irises with a pout on your lips. 

“you okay up there, ‘gumi?” you teased, running your hand up and down his shaft gently as your warm breath fanned against his skin. 

“sorry i’ve just.. never done this before.” he replied quietly, trying to level his breathing as he averted his eyes from you. 

“that’s okay, just let me know if it’s too much.” your tone was gentle and kind, much like the first time you two met. his eyes met yours again, confusion written all over his features. 

“what do you- oh…” he gasped out, and a shiver ran down his spine as he felt your lips wrapping around the tip of his dick. he was trying not to keel over, knuckles turning white from his harsh grip on the side of the couch. obscene slurping noises filled his ears, and he looked down to find your eyes staring right back at him. 

he had to avert his eyes to keep himself from cumming right then and there, but his eyes kept falling back to you no matter how much he tried. 

you wanted him to see it all, feel it all. 

he didn’t know if he’d be able to last if you kept it up. a hand fell over his eyes in an attempt to keep himself from looking, but one lick of your tongue along the underside of his dick was enough to have him peeking through his fingers. 

you look so cute with your mouth full, he mused. it was embarrassing how quickly he was coming undone in the wetness of your mouth, and he was trying not to let out a whine as you swallowed down more of his shaft. 

something deep inside of him told him not to let it end here, and he gently tapped your cheeks with a loud and whiny huff. you released your lips with a pop, saliva dripping from your lips as you pulled away. 

“everything okay?” you asked, concern lacing your features as you held onto his thighs. 

“yeah.. just need..” a loud groan reverberated off the walls of his living room as you bit down on the skin of his thigh. 

“just need.. what?” you teased, batting your big doe eyes up at him from your position on the floor. “tell me what you want, ‘gumi.” 

“i want you. i need you.” he replied breathlessly, pulling you in for a sloppy, desperate kiss. he grabbed your hips harshly so he could pull you back onto the couch. 

you could feel his toned chest against yours as he leaned over you. he swallowed hard, contemplating his next words. 

“show me how to make you cum.” the words were more akin to a demand than a plea, but you couldn’t deny his curiosity. his hands reached for your shorts, pulling them to your ankles with ease. “wanna hear you scream.” 

your eyes widened, and you gave him a nod as you reached for one of his hands. you led his fingers down to your panties at an excruciatingly slow pace, and his hand left yours to take matters into his own hands. he pulled them off with a huff, staring into your eyes as he tested the waters. 

he raised a brow at you, reaching to pull your thighs apart as he sat between them. “you’re just teasing me now.” he grumbled at your antics, taking note of your actions from earlier as he leaned down to run his tongue along your slick folds. he lapped up your juices eagerly, passing over your clit repeatedly as he explored between your legs. 

he got more comfortable between your thighs, palming the flesh of your ass tightly and spreading your legs further apart. a soft moan left your lips when his tongue settled on your clit. he urged forward, desperate to have you whining and begging in his hold. 

a tempo was found with relative ease, and he grinned into the flesh of your thighs as you bucked your hips against him. 

a soft hum left his lips in approval when he heard you gasping underneath him. he supposed he had to be doing something right, considering how you were reacting to every swipe of his wet tongue. 

he continued his ministrations, now more confident in his ability to please you. a long finger prodded at your entrance curiously, feeling you dripping with desire from just a few minutes underneath him. 

gasps quickly turned into moans as one of his long digits sank into your plush walls. the sound made him look up to find you flushed from the neck up. 

he wanted to see just how far he could take it. 

his middle finger joined his index, and he developed a slow rhythm that had you shaking within minutes. every positive response was only inticicing him further, and his eyes glazed over in determination as the pads of his fingers passed over your g-spot. 

you had to admit, he was a quick learner. 

the moment that he heard the first pitched “fuck.” leave your mouth, he became determined to hear it again and again. 

he grinned against your clit as he felt your muscles clenching around his fingers. loud moans met his ears as he picked up the pace. he had you seeing stars far too quickly, and he had no intention of letting up until you were begging him to stop. 

the kitten licks to your cunt had become harsh sucking motions, and his tongue swirled around your clit with a certain precision that had your toes curling and your legs shaking. 

you let out a broken cry as you came on his fingers, but he still hadn’t stopped the motion of his tongue. he drank up every whine that left your mouth as you shook with overstimulation. 

he was just teasing you now, relishing in the way your thighs clenched around his head as you gasped and writhed under him. you supposed it was his revenge for the months of teasing, and you found yourself relenting as you pulled his lips away from your abused clit. 

“what? too much for you?” he smirked, and you lowered your eyes at him as you pushed him back against the couch. 

“not even close.” as soon as he heard the tone of your reply, he knew he was in for trouble. his eyes widened as you pulled yourself into his lap, straddling his hips as you leaned in to bring your lips to his. he groaned into the kiss as he felt his length rubbing against the soft skin of your stomach. 

your lips left his for only a moment to test his resolve even further.

“have you had enough yet?” you teased, causing him to wrap his hands around your hips. your lips pulled into a smirk as you pulled yourself up and wrapped one hand around his dick. 

he let out a groan when he felt the tip rubbing against your wet folds, which turned into a whine when his dick made contract with your entrance. shaky fingers dug into the flesh of your ass as you eased down on his length. 

“holy fuck.” he gasped out, earning a smirk from you. he felt you wiggle your hips against him, and he could feel every muscle in his body crying out for release as he finally bottomed out inside of you. 

“what? too much for you?” you found yourself parroting his response from earlier. something darkened in his eyes the moment that the words left your mouth. 

his grip on your ass tightened, and you watched the muscles in his arms strain as he pulled your hips up. you wrapped your hands around his neck as he pushed you back down. a shaky gasp left your mouth as you started to rock your hips in tandem with the movement of his hands. 

manicured nails scraped against the skin of his shoulders with every stroke of his hips. your hands fell to his chest, pushing back against him in an effort to rut yourself in time with his movements. he pressed forward, capturing your lips with his in the midst of your passionate embrace. his kisses began to travel down to your neck, turning into bites over the course of a few minutes. his breath caught in his throat when he felt your walls squeezing him, and he couldn’t help but try to elicit more reactions from you.

you let out a sharp gasp when he started sucking on your skin, leaving bruises growing in his wake. he pulled away a few moments later, taking in every small detail of your blushing face.

your lips were swollen once again, matching the same shade from earlier. this time, he was the reason you were struggling to keep yourself quiet. he couldn’t get enough of it. 

it was growing impossible for him to keep himself composed with your tits bouncing in his face every time you moved your hips. in an effort to keep the moans from spilling from his mouth, his lips wrapped around one of your perky nipples as he rocked against you. his tongue lapped against the metal piercing, shortly followed by a gentle bite. 

his efforts earned him a pitched moan, and he felt the muscles in your thighs twitching as he held onto them tightly. the couch creaked with every harsh thrust, mixing with the moans that were reverberating off the walls of the apartment. he was sure he’d get a noise complaint in the mail the next day, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

he paused when he felt your hips falter, raising a brow as he watched you struggle to keep up with the movement of his hips. 

“and you were worried that i wouldn’t be able to keep up.” it was almost like megumi was gloating, but you couldn’t be too mad at him. after all, you loved the way his dick was hitting deep inside of you. the movement of his hips came to a halt, causing you to let out a whine as the head of his dick brushed against your g-spot. 

“shut up and fuck me, megumi.” you croaked out, lowering your eyes at him in an effort to get him to do something, anything.  

in an instant, his strong arms were pulling you from his lap. your mouth opened to protest, but the words never got the chance to leave your mouth. all it took was your back hitting the cushion of the couch to hush any complaints from you.  

he smirked at your silence, hiking one of your legs over the side of the couch and holding onto the other by the crook of the knee. he spread you apart once again, and slid himself back inside of you with a long sigh. the new position made your eyes resemble saucers, and you let out a cry as he started moving his hips again. every thrust pressed hard against your g-spot, and you were seeing stars behind your eyelids every time your eyes fell shut. 

“look at me.” he demanded, grabbing onto your chin and pulling it up towards him. your eyes snapped open, meeting his azure ones. he felt you clench again, causing his smirk to turn into a cheshire grin as he picked up the pace of his hips. 

every thrust was hitting so deep inside of you, and you could hear the harsh sound of skin slapping reverberating off the walls. you were so close to the edge – barely holding on as he continued to push himself into the dripping wetness between your legs. 

the muscles in his arm strained once again, and he pushed your knee up further towards your head. his grip on the inside of your knee tightened, signaling that he was just as close to release as you were. his free hand found its way to your clit, and you let out another loud whine.  

that was ultimately your undoing, and all sense of decency went out the window as you scratched into the skin of his back. you brought him in for a harsh kiss, and he let out a loud groan against your lips as you tightened around him. 

you came so hard that you felt dizzy, still holding onto the kiss for a moment longer. the feeling of your insides constricting on him made it almost impossible for him to pull out, and he was so distracted that the thought didn’t even cross his mind. 

well, not until after you felt thick ropes of his cum filling you with warmth. 

“fuck.” you both said at the same time, eyes wide as you shared a moment of realization. you both silently came to the conclusion that it would be a problem for tomorrow, and he pressed a kiss to your cheek as he finally slowed the movement of his hips. 

his grip on your thighs loosened for a moment, and he looked down on you softly. he took a minute to catch his breath, eyes darting over the growing bruises all over your skin. 

“c’mon, the couch is uncomfortable.” he grumbled, lifting you up by the thighs and taking you to his bedroom. you let out a giggle as he carried you towards the bed, and your head hit the pillow with a soft plop. a smile came over your features as you pulled him down with you. his body pressed against yours for a moment, before he moved to settle behind you. 

large, veiny hands made their way around your midsection. he held you close, pressing his back to yours and running soft kisses along your shoulder. you melted into his touch, offering him a pleased hum as you settled into the mattress. 

you looked back at him adoringly, gaze softening even further as his hair tickled your forehead. kisses turned to bites once again, and you let out a small laugh when you felt his hard length pressing against you. 

“sorry.” he grumbled, and you looked at him curiously. you turned around to face him with a soft grin plastered over your cheeks. 

“don’t be sorry. i just think it’s cute.” you replied, pressing a kiss to his temple as you pulled him closer. 

“not cute.” he corrected, and you rolled your eyes. you pulled one of your legs over his hips, giving him a knowing look. he felt his dick rubbing up against your entrance, still dripping with his cum. 

you offered him a gentle kiss as you slid your folds against the tip, before slowly pressing him inside. 

“fuck. i don’t think i’ll ever get tired of that.” he gasped out, holding onto your hips as you slowly began to rock against him. you offered him a shaky laugh in reply to his hushed words. 

the bed began to creak underneath you, and his hips started moving along with yours. it wasn’t long before the bed frame was smacking against the wall, guaranteeing a complaint from the neighbors the next day. 

he didn’t have much concern for it in the moment, too occupied with the way that you were pulsing around him. his large, veiny hands found purchase fondling your tits, squeezing and rubbing the supple flesh with his calloused fingers. 

you weren’t going to last very long if he kept it up like this. especially with one of his hands leaving your tits to run across your clit. 

“fuck, you feel so good.” his deep, gravely admission met your ears as his head fell against your shoulder. 

you squeezed around him again, basking in the meticulous rhythm of his hips. that caused him to bite down on your shoulder as a warning. 

“can’t be doing that.” he huffed against your skin. an unexpected groan left his lips when he felt you clenching him again. “fuck, i’m gonna—” 

one particularly harsh thrust had you coming undone right along with him, and you let out another pitched whine as his fingers continued to circle around your clit. 

you rode out your high together, before his movements finally came to a halt. 

you felt him relaxing into your chest with his face pressed between your breasts. finally worn out and more than content, megumi felt his heartbeat slowing as the smell of your perfume wafted through his nostrils. his eyes began to flutter closed, comforted by the warmth of your skin. 

you were exhausted, but you couldn’t keep the smile off your features as you wrapped your arms around him. your eyes fell shut, listening to the slow drum of his heart as if it was a lullaby meant just for you. 

megumi let out a loud yawn, and opened his eyes. to his disappointment, the space on the bed next to him was empty. he could still smell your perfume wafting through the air. 

a small frown settled over his features as his feet met the cold floor of the hallway, but he froze in his tracks when he saw you making coffee in the kitchen. 

“what’s with the frown? did you think i left without saying goodbye?” you smirked, looking him up and down as you leaned against the kitchen counter. 

you made a fucking mess of him, you could tell. his head of normally messy hair was sticking up in all kinds of places, and it was the worst case of bed-head you’d ever seen. your lips pulled into a smile as your gaze fell down to his neck, admiring the love bites scattered across his clavicle. 

he took a step closer to you, rolling his eyes as he offered his reply. “i was hoping you didn’t. i wasn’t done with you yet.” 

“oh, yeah? can’t get enough?” you snickered and pulled him closer to you. he puffed out his cheeks at your playful words. his cheeks were still flushed, and you loved how responsive he was to your teasing. 

you were enjoying the sight in front of you when the front door opened, revealing a very smug yuji. 

“i fucking knew it!” he yelled, pointing a finger at his friend in an accusatory manner. the taller man frowned, shutting the door in his face before turning back to you with a sheepish smile.

[usedpidemo]

Shangri-la (Oh My Girl Yooa)

Thank you for the commission! I hope it's to your liking.

—————

“What the?”

What welcomes you inside the bedroom takes you by complete surprise. It’s the kind that leaves you with more questions than answers. She had been very vague about the whole ordeal, skittering around the details. she was completely straightforward about one thing: to get fucked. That’s the main selling point.

Her inviting tone, her sultry expression, her lust—it’s still freshly imprinted on your mind from an hour ago. You’ve heard those words—their many variations—a handful of times, but hers is by far the most enticing and the sweetest sounding:

“Wanna have sex with me tonight?”

—————

Admittedly, it was never on your bucket list to attend a concert, let alone a group who sings primarily in foreign. It was supposed to be just a kind gesture for a roommate.

He’s your resident nerdy K-pop fan, the kind that gets bullied in real life and on the internet. He’s the full package; posters on the bedroom wall, a book full of photocards, and a shelf of albums and lightsticks which he considers as his sacred temple. You were never meant to go beyond a toe’s dip into this unhealthy obsession he’s engrossed himself in; completing his homework was enough exposure. 

If there was one takeaway from your observations, it was quite obvious: the girls are really hot. And that’s all that you needed to convince yourself to go. 

Besides, you were his roommate—and his only friend. Out of the kindness of your heart, you have an obligation to be there for him, at least until you graduate.

For the most part, the show was entertaining. Again, the girls were pretty attractive, and they were dressed in outfits that flaunted their bodies exceptionally well. Your friend’s relentless screaming accustomed you to the crowd’s energy, which was no joke. Even in a small, intimate venue, there were several moments where you felt that the place might collapse off the audience’s deafening shouts alone. At least you came prepared with noise canceling earplugs.

It’s not a huge surprise when he suddenly vanishes after the show. He’s been in and out of sight the whole time; getting freebies, merch shopping, taking numerous bathroom breaks, to the point where he just straight up forgets he left his phone with you before running off again. 

To make things worse, it’s the dying moments of the night, when everyone in the VIP section, the two of you included, gets to greet the members for only a brief passing moment. He’d been acting like his entire life has been building to this moment, completely neglecting the fact you were his ride home. 

Of course you’re not entirely sure about who’s who in this group. Six equally pretty girls, all wearing the exact same shirt and short skirt combination, down to the colors, with equally warm smiles. You didn’t have enough time to familiarize yourself with each of their names; the internet in the area has been failing you for hours. The staff was strict with phones the closer you approached them. It didn’t help that everyone screamed through their introductions, too.

Unsurprisingly, nothing substantial came of your interaction. A series of repetitive, awkward bows and near-silent whispers of “hello.” You’ve been putting off Duolingo for months, and it showed. It should have been a forgettable affair, considering the hundreds of people they’re greeting just from tonight’s queue alone. It’s not like you particularly stand out from the rest of the crowd; a casual shirt and jeans combo that’s indistinguishable from the dozens in attendance, and you don’t have anything on you that screams ‘overly dedicated fan.’

So when you’re pulled aside by the same staff closely watching the queue during the meet and greet, asked to head backstage as part of some secret lucky draw, you’re not surprised. There’s an age-old superstition that states that you’re more likely to meet celebrities the less you’re familiar with them. It rings true, and you have first hand proof.

You’re led to this singular door in what’s basically an unused narrow hallway. The kind that criminals use to trap their victims. Definitely safe. The staff member instructs you to head in before leaving you there alone. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Instead of your friend, you find one of the members you just met, waiting on the other side. You have so many questions, but she she gives you another to entertain:

“You wanna have sex with me tonight?”

Much to her amusement ,you’re taken aback. At first, you’d think she was pulling some kind of prank. By the way she smiles and laughs, it’s a reaction all too familiar to her, like this is some kind of cliche. It’s not a surprise to hear those words from any girl, knowing your experiences at college parties and bars, but from a traveling singer? Simply put, it’s quite ridiculous.

“You’re joking right?” you say, hand close to the door you just entered, ready to make a beeline for it. You glance around the enclosed, compact space, searching for any possible hidden cameras recording the scene.

She shakes her head, taking a step forward. “Not at all. You should consider yourself lucky.”

“Do you do this all the time?” you ask, her reply not easing you in the slightest. Your hand inches a little closer to the door. It’s not like she’s going to hurt you; if anything, her thin figure’s probably what should worry her if you dare to even breathe heavily on her, let alone touch. 

“Yeah. Every stop. You look really cute,” she says, reaching her hand out to you. “And you look like you can give me a good time tonight.”

There’s something flattering about her words, coming from an idol singer, complimenting you that hits a chord harder than other girls. Her sincere tone, doll-like eyes twinkling, and expressive lips certainly help. It’s alluring—devastating—to a casual like you; how much more to someone who worships her. 

Then, here comes the killing blow:

“So, what’s it going to be?” She kisses you on the chin, wrapping her arms around your neck. It’s not suffocating, not in the slightest, but you might as well be entangled by them. Her eyes, sharp and fiery, are daring you to say otherwise to her seemingly coarse question. 

Leaning your head against her shoulder, her scent and soft skin prove to be intoxicating. You can’t get enough. That hand you’ve been pressing on the door is no longer there; it’s coiled around her back, taking inventory of her slim waist and arched back, then teasing at the fabric of her shirt. Even if she wasn’t the girl you just watched perform on stage, she’s too gorgeous to turn down. And it isn’t like you’ll find your friend, anyway. Perhaps this is your way of getting back at him for being insufferable all throughout.

“Here?” you ask, whispering in her ear, playing with fire. 

She holds you by the cheek, tilting an eyebrow. Shaking her head, she drags her tongue on the ridge of your ear. “Somewhere nicer.”

—————

It’s only you and her in the backseat of one of their vans, windows tinted and the front closed off that it’s safe to assume that the driver can’t hear you—perfectly convenient. He probably doesn’t know you’re even there. 

It’s inside the car that you finally become familiar with each other. YooA, or as she’d prefer you to call her, Shiah, and you have this light bulb moment where you put it all together. You bring up this collection of photocards in your friend’s book holder; you recognize her face on some of the cards. She laughs. Heartily. Her face lights up, honored at the thought, and it’s a sincere look. Other artists would simply wave it off and move on, but she appears intrigued by the effort to obsess over her.

She calls it a bias, and you call it an obsession. In the other’s eyes, you’re both strange. To you, it’s unhealthy and strange; to her, it’s part of the appeal, part of the culture.

So it’s all the more surprising when you admit you’re simply there because of him, that you would have looked the other way otherwise. And in response, she has this warm, wholesome smile; she doesn’t appear offended by your candidness. You don’t know a thing about them, other than they’re delicious eye candy.

“So this is your first foray into K-pop? I hope it was a good one,” she says, flashing you a cute pout. “That means a lot for all of us.”

Yeah, you nod, your eyes wandering down her slim body, draped in darkness, only brought to the light by passing street lamps. You notice how slender and lanky she is. It doesn’t change the appeal; she’s unreal. “I should go more often if that’s the case.”

Shiah chuckles. “You didn’t pay, then. I bet you’re getting more than what he bargained for.”

To which you nod, barely holding in a particularly uncharacteristic grin. She catches it. An opportunity to twist the knife.

It’s a casual affair when you reach the hotel. There’s a surprising lack of fanfare upon your arrival. You assume idols have as much popularity as any other celebrity, but you’re both left alone—and without security, walking past the front desk without a care or a question. Tension gradually builds as you climb floor after floor, until you step out that elevator and into her room, away from prying eyes. 

What welcomes you inside Shiah’s bedroom catches you off-guard.

“What the?”

The person sitting at the center of the bed turns to your direction, shouts out your name. You can recognize that voice anywhere.

“Hey! There you are!”

You immediately turn to Shiah, who replies gleefully, “Of course I knew. Your friend told me everything. He wanted me to invite you along.”

Forget that your friend orchestrated the whole ordeal. It’s the fact that he wants you to join him in a threesome. You expected him to be greedy with the rare opportunity to have a beautiful idol all to himself, but instead, he’s somehow still involving you in the action. There’s a lot to take in, and you don’t exactly know where to start.

“Is this even allowed?” you ask, unsure of your place in this room. You’re slowly soaking up the scenery; none of it makes any sense. Scattered on the bedroom floor is Your friend’s shirt and his bag, freebies and personal belongings alike,, while Shiah casually saunters around the mattress, gradually removing pieces of jewelry from herself and placing them on the nightstand.

“Of course, dude!” says your friend. His energy hasn’t waned in the slightest. You’re amazed his voice hasn’t changed at all, let alone his ability to speak. He had been screaming beside you for the entirety of the show, you’d probably go deaf because of him if not for your earplugs. “I wouldn’t have asked her if she wasn’t allowed to, or if she didn’t feel it.”

“He’s right,” adds Shiah, unbuttoning her jeans. Looking at her again, she grabs your attention with the casual stripping of her pants, pooled around her ankles, leaving only pale colored panties that leave nothing to the imagination. “Plus, I haven’t tried having a threesome before, and tonight seemed like a good idea to try that.”

Surely, you’ve heard weird things before, but none were as out of pocket as this.

“C’mere dude,” says your friend, gesturing to you to take the spot beside him on the bed. “We’re going to fuck an idol tonight. And not just any idol, my freaking bias!”

Your eyes continue to linger on her. Shiah, now undoing her top, candidly tossing them aside. The one time you regret not having your phone on hand to capture without obstruction. Her tits are bite-sized handfuls, nipples firm and on full display, and her figure is so paper thin, you’ll break her when you hold her by her ridiculous proportions. The only thing missing is some fragile warning label plastered on her skin as a reminder to handle her with care.

This is the most awkward you’ve been with your friend since you first met, when he first moved into your dorm. Seated on the mattress, you’re anxious of what’s about to happen. You worry she won’t be able to handle you two; he worries that he won’t be able to ruin her to the fullest extent. 

She meets you at the center in nothing but panties. She scans you both from head to toe, and notices your contrasting expressions. Facing you, she says, “Hey. I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t confident about the idea. If you don’t make me unable to walk after tonight, I’m gonna be quite disappointed. So chin up.”

Reassuring of a tone it may sound, it doesn’t ease your worry even a little. It doesn’t discourage her either; it’s part of the challenge.

She drops to her knees, and that’s when you come around on the idea. Her fingers make work of your pants; yours first, then your friend’s. With eagerness written on her face, your hard cocks hang between her tiny face. Pausing, undecided, she takes a moment to think which one to satisfy. The way she eyes both yours, then your friend’s—you can tell how hungry she is: how she wants them shoved inside her mouth, down her throat, taking all that delicious load. If she could fit both at once, she certainly would.

“Which one should I take first, boys?” she asks, innocuous sounding, her doll-like eyes pleading up with a playful pout. Knowing full well she already has this whole thing already planned out. You and your friend swallow hard, telepathically aligned, thinking of the same idea, based on the rather silent response.

Shiah has your eyes fluttering, hands already gripped to the edge of the bed, lips letting out a string of delightful moans. It sounds like relief, agony, and ecstasy all at once. She’s leaving soft kisses on your tip, her tongue running circling around your length, and her fingers slowly pumping at your base. All your doubts and hesitations, gone in an instant. The very few glimpses you catch of her, her eyes speak to you, staring, telling you to take it all in.

She feels so good, handles you deftly, as if she’s already acquainted with your cock, even though it’s the first time. Pushing all the sensitive, perfect spots and getting you into a steady rhythm. 

“See? I told you it was gonna be—fine—fuck—” 

Your friend folds just as quickly as you do, if not faster. His words, instantly reduced to echoed grunts, groans, and curses, his hand palming Shiah’s scalp. She’s focused, taking turns with each cock, kissing and teasing you both with the prospect of shoving it down her needy, thirsty throat. One hand on your dick and the other on his, stroking you at near-synchronized tempo, then vice versa. You wonder exactly why she’s even hesitant and nervous about taking two at once when she’s clearly a natural at satisfying cocks. 

She’s well aware that she has only one mouth to fulfill her craving for cock. There’s a look of regret every time she stops sucking one cock in place of the other. It’s almost as if she’s failing, even though the pleasure-ridden expressions on your faces say otherwise. “I hope this is good enough,” she frowns, taking a moment to plant another direct kiss on each cockhead. “I wish I could fit you both in my mouth, but I—”

“Shhh.” Your friend interjects, tugging harshly at Shiah’s dark locks, then rubbing his hand around her forehead. “You’re doing so fucking well, so much better than we hoped—”

Suddenly, he finds himself slowly crumbling. Precum coating around her dainty fingers, while he loses grip on his consciousness, lying flat on the bed. If there’s anything you’ve learned in the very short time you’ve had Shiah on her knees, it’s that she’s particularly gentle. You can feel she’s not going to ruin you instantly and that she’s nowhere close to crushing your cock, unlike some of the girls you’ve known in the past. 

This is all new to your friend, after all. It shouldn’t be surprising.

Still, she continues to pleasure you both, taking a moment to slip his erection inside her throat, slurping and swallowing his cock whole. Her eyes instantly slam shut, mumbling a songful hum, finally soaking in the taste after intentionally restraining herself from her lust. Turning to your side, your friend clearly can’t take her; his mouth agape, his chest heaving, breathing heavily, his eyes widely staring at the ceiling in a useless effort to distract himself. In his mind, she’s relentless, overwhelming, cruel.

Her eyes slide in your direction, brows furrowed, apologetic. You shake your head, smile lightly, perfectly understanding of the situation. It’s not that she’s ignoring you; her other hand’s pressing on the base of your cock, down to the underside, pressing on your balls. She’s already left her mark on you even though she’s doing the bare minimum. The layer of precum on her fingers is clear proof. That should be more than enough. 

And when you find your friend completely unresponsive, breathing through his mouth, you tilt your head at an angle and make this poor sleeping impression—something he hasn’t had in over 24 hours. It’s the command that causes Shiah to slip his cock from her mouth with a silent pop, his dick throbbing with her spit dripping from the tip. Her focus turns over to you; her eyes meeting yours, her hands pressing on each knee, and your fingers brushing loose strands of hair aside to see her pretty face, flushed but flawless. It’s now just down to you two. 

She gives your head a playful swirl, and you lift your brows in approval, subtly biting at the lip to show her you like it. Her eyes lock in, scanning through each subdued wince, waiting for the go ahead.

It’s the slightest head motion that nearly ends you. You’re uncertain if you even said yes or no.

Shiah looks so much better with your cock in her mouth than anyone else’s. She knows, too. You pause to take the sight in—your length buried deep in her mouth, occasionally poking her throat, her cheeks hollow, her eyes looking wide at you with a fiery glint, begging you to take her, use her, ruin her. You’re perfectly positioned to work her; your hand is palming the back of her head, giving her this assertive stare that appears demeaning, but you can tell she prefers to be seen that way. It would be criminal to have her on her knees and not have your way with her.

And you do just that.

You hold her still, using the little increments of strength to motion her into a bobbing motion. She surrenders herself into your control, moving her head back and forth with the grip of your hand. Like the swing of a pendulum, you watch your base disappear and appear between her lips. You’re nowhere close to burying yourself entirely in her mouth, but she feels so incredible, so intoxicating, she may as well be deepthroating you.

It’s not the firmness of her luscious lips kissing your cock nor her lewd expressions that shake you, but her suction. She hums this wistful note while sucking your cock—a song of satisfaction. In contrast to the steady rhythm you’re attempting to impose, she drags your length along her tongue, forcing you into this playful tug-of-war whenever you draw your cock back, directing where your cum should land. She envisions it: the notion of your hot load collected on her cheeks. Her fingers point where she wants them, using her pleading eyes and brows to entice you. 

And you’re not going to deny her request. She’s too charming and expressive to turn down. Even more so when your cock is lodged between her lips. 

You utter this particularly incomprehensible mix of a groan and a grumble while your throbbing cock unloads the warm cum she desires. Without wasting a single drop, she takes it all, puffing her cheeks with your seed while carefully pulling your cock out her mouth. Your hand is no longer resting on her head but rather around her shoulder and collarbones. She plays with the load in her mouth, gargling, swishing, before swallowing it all. Afterward, she sticks out her silky tongue, face completely flustered, showing you the aftermath: leftovers of your cum painting her mouth.

“God, Yoo—I mean, Shiah—” you breathe, lightly falling back on the bed as your legs go numb. Your flaccid cock isn’t enough to show how much she’s drained you in one fell swoop. “How are you so—”

“I told you I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t so confident about it,” she remarks, rising to her feet before pushing you down on the sheets, straddling herself on your lap. Her energy remains steadfast. It’s infectious. Winking and pouting, she adds, “Now fuck me till I can’t walk.”

You’re completely sold on the idea, but you can’t do it alone.

Pushing Shiah off you, you shake your friend back into consciousness. You’re holding her by the shoulders, giving her lips a quick kiss. A soft gesture telling her to be a tad patient. Her eyes clue you in; she’s dying to be fucked, to be used, to be ruined. Your friend looks around, feeling hazy, completely unaware of what transpired, even though it’s only been less than 10 minutes. 

“What’d I miss?” he asks, still trying to make sense of things. The last thing he remembers is Shiah on her knees. Now he sees you and his bias in each other’s embrace. Surprisingly, he’s not fazed in the slightest. The bed’s tremors—rumblings—are good enough indicators.

You’re unable to completely look him in the eye, and you don’t know what to answer, so she does it for you: “Your friend blew a nice load inside my mouth. We were just about to have round two. Join us.”

To her amusement, the reply has you staring at her utterly gobsmacked. It’s not the fact that she’s telling it straight, with zero sugarcoating, but her candid, conversational delivery and deadpan expression, as if they’re close friends catching up on lost time. He doesn’t seem bothered, nor does he ask any further questions. Knowing him, he’d be disappointed if you didn’t. 

Really, what’s there to question when given an opportunity to fuck an idol without any conditions or red tape. He’s not making the most of the moment as you have, and the hurried jump off the bed to take position behind her indicates he’s not going to waste any more time. You’re scared you might get into a confrontation over how you’ll take her.

“Say the word and I’ll move aside,” you tell him, calmly. 

“Let me have her tight ass,” is the reply, straightforward. Chalk it up to tension, but there’s a hint of harshness in his voice, as though some bitterness is leaking. He subtly pulls her away from your side, prompting you to let him take full control. 

You aren’t surprised at where he ends up taking her. The bed is the comfiest option, but in his mind, the safest and the most cliche. A shower to ease the tension and stress in the muscles—that’s a good one too, on top of having her possibly pressed against the panels and the idea of soaping her tits while fucking her in the wet. This luxurious suite, which feels like walking from the one end of a parking lot to the other on weary legs, has a handful of mirrors to watch her get railed on. None are as captivating and inviting as the biggest one—the large glass windows that overlook the city, lit up by lights from nearby skylines and the illumination from the living room. 

He presses her tiny frame against the window, then on air, giving her tiny butt a firm slap. Followed by another. Something about Shiah with her back arched, yelping with each spank, arouses him. Her too. She whines, biting on her lip, hands trying to latch to anything. There’s plenty to claim—from her bite-sized chest, to her slinky waist, to her soiled panties. Something he slips down to her ankles. 

In the moment, your friend doesn’t acknowledge you. He’s all up in her hair, licking the shell of ear, a set of clenched digits digging into her warmth. Her eyes fluttering, she whines, pressing a hand around his waist, mumbling, begging, “Fuck me, please, fuck me.”

You can tell she’s apologetic, wants to be punished and manhandled like a naughty girl. Your friend has this glare in his eyes—a look of hunger. His fingers pump away at her core, without care for pace or comfort, just the satisfaction of hearing her cries and the need for her to cum. Bumping her against the window, he’s kissing her, claiming her as his own. Red marks form everywhere on her neck, collarbones, and back. Her entire body. All his. 

You let him. You watch. Not out of guilt, not out of arousal. It’s his moment.

He looks over his shoulder and finds you just watching. “C’mere,” he growls between muted groans, tone low. It should be awkward (it is) but all that tension disappeared the moment she got on her knees. Approaching the twosome in such a strange fashion, he continues to finger Shiah, shifting her away from the window, binding her from behind by one hand. He’s suppressing his tongue, teasing his cockhead against the entrance of her pussy, barely able to restrain himself. 

When you’re in front of her again, you’re greeted by a hot mess. Her juices are dripping down her thighs, pooling around her feet. His coated fingers line around her warmth, around her tight hole. His lust is on full display, cussing out a storm about how incredibly wet and tight she is while she prepares herself to get fucked into oblivion. It’s not the first time you’ve heard him say these things; he talks a loud talk about how he’d fuck his biases in explicit detail, writes particularly concerning essays about the positions they’d be railed in, how they would cum, and how many times he would make them cum. 

At the end of the day, it was none of your business.

And ultimately, he might have been onto something.

You let out this loud unsuppressed moan burying yourself inside her tight cunt. She’s suffocating, overwhelmingly tight—the kind of heat that can make you cum almost immediately. You’re still recovering from your first orgasm, putting you on the backfoot. Still, her walls are too inviting not to get hard again. Meanwhile, your friend, who’s been eager to fuck Shiah’s ass for the longest time, is in no rush. His cock is barely entering her tight hole, slowly easing himself inside her with deep breaths. He’s grabbing a handful of her flesh, openly moaning and grunting taking her.

“F-fuck, Yoo—” he mutters, grabbing at her petite cheeks with an ironclad grip. Pulling her closer to his body so his cock can split her in half. He’s growing greedy—and desperate.

Everything you’re doing to Shiah can be seen in the window’s reflection: you pounding into her tight cunt, your friend’s cock spearing her from behind, her body practically sandwiched between your twosome. The combined weight is more than capable of crushing her slim frame, her skin like tire marks on both your chests. Neither of you move with an understanding of working as a team, and it shows; your collective strokes are unsteady, erratic, chaotic.

This isn’t good for your back—at all. Shiah’s bent forward in part to your friend’s slow, deep thrusts into her delicious ass, rippling with each stroke. She’s clutching to your shoulders for support, screaming from the absolute depths of her lungs getting doubled up. The uncomfortable position is mostly clouded by the overwhelming sensation of your cocks tag teaming on her two sensitive holes. You’re leaning, steadily falling back. That inescapable warmth—that intoxicating heat—keeps you coming back for more, friction be damned.

God, Shiah’s pussy is so fucking perfect.

And that’s what you end up muttering. In an endless choir of ecstasy-charged moans, profanities, and wet sloppy slaps of skin against skin, you throw those words out to the wind. So good, so tight—those doubts you had entering the room, now just thoughts from yesterday. She’s everything you want in a satisfying fuck; your hands intertwined with her waist, rocking her frame with every plunge, savoring each entry into that needy womb.

It’s no surprise then that she cums so soon.

It’s been slowly building to this moment. The signs were there all along; the blink and you’ll miss it patch on her jeans, the phallic object in her purse, the wet puddle forming on her panties, the not so subtle gestures she’s giving fans between performances—she’s been desperate to cum on a cock and her wish can finally be granted. 

In dramatic fashion, she’s all over you. Clinging to you like her lifeline, showing you how you’ve ruined her. Body trembling, legs quaking—the ripples send shockwaves through your body, also in the process of falling apart. Throwing out her hips, a new layer of juices coat both cocks, dripping to the floor. You’re there to break her fall, but you have nothing to stop yours. 

Passing through deaf ears, her screams revert to soft pleas. “Cum, cum in me—please—fuck—” she whines in bursts, riding out her climax in waves, waiting for you two to join her over the edge. You’re preoccupied with the raging fire in your loins, restraining your urge to release your seed inside her needy cunt prematurely. At this point, you’re almost done, holding onto the last of your resolve not to spurt right then and there. The layer of her slick coating your cock doesn’t do you any favors, either.

Propping her body straight, your thrusts remain relentless. Steadied pace, at your own will, rocking her senseless—that’s how you want to finish inside her. You want to keep her in that position: cupping her tiny chest, wrapping an arm on the neck, resting a hand on your light shoulder. Shiah’s body is the perfect plaything.

All of that is too good to be true.

“Cumming, gonna cum—” you mutter, rather ashamedly, though you’re holding up better than anyone ever expected, especially after already orgasming once. You press her to your friend, almost a flat out shove. The line couldn’t be any thinner. “Shit—”

Your legs are on the cusp of crumbling, but at least they’re generous enough to let you savor this moment. Spilling your pent up need, you fuck that remaining cum into her. It’s fulfilling, euphoric. All the proof is down there, dripping between her legs and on your cock. The sight of her splayed, wrecked hole, oozing with seed, tempting you to stick a thumb around her slick core. She squirms at your sensitive touches, still needy and in want.

Only after the orgasm does your vision clear again. It’s an amusing scene; your friend is still pounding into Shiah’s tight ass at a feverish pace. Last one in, last one out—at least you think, that’s how the saying goes, until he lets out this guttural groan, indicating he’s reached his own climax too. If not for the setting, it’s an accomplishment worth cheering, the kind that’s worth a celebration of a life milestone. Cocks buried to the hilt, the sight of her holes spilling seed never grows old. 

At least you both can agree on one thing: staying inside the welcoming warmth that is Shiah’s heat. Neither of you want to leave, even when you regain mobility in your legs.

You’ve got the rest of the night to ruin her, leave her room hobbling or crawling on her feet. Your friend has a bucket list of positions to fuck her in, so it’s the least of your worries. Besides, both of them know you have no intention of leaving. And in the middle of this non-existent conundrum, while your friend is leaving soft kisses all over her back as a victory lap, she takes a moment to glance at you both. Noticing the similarity of smiles on your faces and your supportive nature towards your friend, she’s reminded of something she shares with her members, apart from the fact they’re getting railed at this very moment:

True friendship.

—————

(A/N: Expect a bit more crowdedness aka more-somes over the next few fics. I also haven't written an Oh My Girl member since Arin in over a year, so that's one off the list! This one took a while, had a whole other story involving roadtrips and hitchhiking, which I ultimately scrapped. Thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can ask for a commission :D)

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

"...We're two sides of the same coin, aren't we?"

The whispered confession falls clumsily out of Pure Vanilla's mouth, almost dragged out, bitterly sweet and strange on his tongue. The words are addressed to his own stained candy glass visage, spilling tendrils of bright blue light across the Solarium of Unity despite the almost suffocating darkness invading the rest of the space.

He knows this isn't really the Solarium of Unity, and he knows he isn't just speaking to a window. The lurking shadows, thick like molasses and blinking every once in a while, give that away. Even if it didn't, there is a haziness here that exists only in dreams, and a lack of the deep tiredness that has been plaguing him as of late.

"Oh, are you finally ready to admit that?" Sure enough, Shadow Milk Cookie's voice comes from all sides, far too cheerful. The candy glass melts and warps before him, the blues darkening until Shadow Milk stands in his place, far more detailed than the artisan silhouette he replaced. His grin is mocking as he looks down at Pure Vanilla, who cannot help but feel uncomfortable at the sight of their appearances blurring together like that, even though he had been expecting something along those lines. "Too bad though – you can't admit something that's wrong!"

"Huh?" It catches Pure Vanilla by surprise. It had been difficult emotionally, but logically straightforward to admit they were two sides of the same coin. He couldn't imagine how that could be wrong, and acting upon an old habit from his student days, he finds himself frantically unravelling that conclusion in his head again to figure out the issue.

Shadow Milk doesn't give him the chance, tutting as he shakes his head in mock disappointment. "You must have a brain in there, can't you use it?" He laments theatrically, contorting himself into an odd shape against the edge of the window pane. Then, again barreling on before Pure Vanilla can reply, "Look, think of it like this. To say we're two sides of the same coin means that we have similarities, even if we are otherwise opposites. That is true to an extent, but it makes our differences sound way more clear cut than they actually are. It may be easier for you to believe, but we aren't really opposites. That would imply I am not whole, and I can assure you, Soul Jam aside, I am just as I always was!"

Ah, so it's a matter of wording. Pure Vanilla isn't sure why he is entertaining this - no, it's because he doesn't want to give Shadow Milk the satisfaction of turning away from the truth. Even now, Shadow Milk's eyes squint cheekily at him, daring him to try and end the conversation.

"Then... we are made of the same components in a different composition." Pure Vanilla tries, a little frustrated with his own hesitance, but it is difficult to tell how Shadow Milk wants him to answer when he isn't making it blatantly obvious.

"So close!" Shadow Milk sighs dramatically as he snaps his head to the side so sharply it makes Pure Vanilla wince, imagining the cracks that would cause on any other Cookie. "But you're relying on technicalities. It's much simpler than that."

It dawns on Pure Vanilla, then, exactly what Shadow Milk is aiming for, the realisation making his insides crawl. He doesn't have to say it, not really, but he isn't sure what Shadow Milk will do if he doesn't, and he unfortunately doesn't have the ability to wake himself up on command.

So he takes a deep breath, fidgeting with his staff as he says, even less than a whisper yet twice as loud. "We're... We're the same. Is that what you wanted me to say?"

"Ding-ding-ding!" Shadow Milk trills, suddenly reaching through the candy glass to grip the window frame and lurching forward across the threshold, leaving a mess of shattered glass behind his head like a halo. It startles Pure Vanilla, who instinctively shifts his foot back, only to be instantly locked in place as the reaching shadows soldify around his legs, its eyes winking up at him playfully. His grip on his staff tightens, willing it to shed its light, the beginnings of panic stirring within him at the restraint. The staff does, but the shadows seem to eat the light without a problem.

Pure Vanilla is so distracted by the shadows that he doesn't notice Shadow Milk's hands until they grab his face. His heart jumps in alarm, and his eyes dart up to find half of Shadow Milk leaning down out of the window, far too close. He is grinning at him, wide and self-satisfied, and his hands are cold and harsh. "See, I knew you had a working brain! Yes, the right answer is that we are one and the same."

He pinches and pulls at his cheeks, and Pure Vanilla tries to cringe away, tries to manuver his staff between them. It doesn't work, if only because hands emerge from the darkness to anchor his staff too.

"But that isn't true." Pure Vanilla mumbles when he isn't able to wiggle his way out and Shadow Milk still shows no signs of stopping, hoping the argument will make him lose interest in his face. "I admit that there are similarities between us, but we aren't really the same."

Shadow Milk pauses, his grip tightening until it borders on pain, and for a moment, Pure Vanilla thinks he may have miscalculated.

But then Shadow Milk snickers to himself, releasing his face entirely and pulling back, his hands resting lightly over Pure Vanilla's shoulders. The brush of weight keeps Pure Vanilla from relaxing, but it is a bit of added distance, at least.

"Aren't we? Well, you are the biggest liar, so I should have expected you would lie to yourself too." Shadow Milk hums, almost sounding delighted at this turn in conversation. It unnerves Pure Vanilla, because he had assumed his disagreement would annoy him.

Instead, Shadow Milk smirks, his many eyes glinting gleefully at him. "Listen carefully, Vani, because here's the truth." He says, his voice dipping into a wicked purr that seems to shudder through Pure Vanilla's whole body. "All the things you hate that I have done, you have the capability of doing too. After all, you've already used people for your own gain, haven't you?" Shadow Milk leans closer with a condescending lilt to his words, shifting his hands so he can wrap his arms loosely over his shoulders, and Pure Vanilla freezes under the touch. "Oh, I know you think it was necessary, but you still sent those naive, tiny Cookies off to carry out your errands for you, regardless of the dangers. That's only a few steps behind what I've done, you know, making people dance to my tune. The only difference between us is severity and time."

The words sink heavily to Pure Vanilla's stomach, not quite true but not quite not true, and he feels a little lightheaded, fingers twitching against his staff. Maybe it's because of that, or maybe it's because of his discomfort from the close proximity, but he finds himself distracted by the way Shadow Milk is talking. He carries his usual air of showmanship, but it is nowhere near as exaggerated as during his brief takeover of the Faerie Kingdom. With his insistence of specificity, his mention of technicalities, his structured method of explaining things, he almost sounds like a–

"We are the same," Shadow Milk repeats, tilting his head to the side, the glow of his eyes burning holes through Pure Vanilla, "and one day, you'll end up just like me."

A scholar.

That makes sense – at some point, his virtue had been Knowledge, and nobody seeks it out as fervently as a scholar – but it still feels like a surprise. Pure Vanilla had always known that Shadow Milk was different, once, but only in the sense that the fact existed in the back of his mind.

"No rebuttal, hmm? Are you ready to accept that?" Shadow Milk asks smugly, slightly impatient with Pure Vanilla's lack of response, but mostly watching him expectantly, as if waiting for a bomb to go off.

Pure Vanilla has never thought about what Shadow Milk might have been like, before he became like this. There was no reason to even consider it. But now, he can't help but wonder, because while he cannot imagine this chaotic, brutal Beast, this great unknown evil, as anything else – Shadow Milk still carries echoes from a past life that he doesn't seem to notice enough to hide with his lies.

"...If we are the same," Pure Vanilla finally scrapes his thoughts together enough to reply, carefully, "then doesn't that make the opposite possible too? That, one day, you will become like me and return to the light?"

Shadow Milk blinks once, his face falling blank. He blinks again, all of his eyes in quick succession.

And then he throws his head back and laughs, the movement jostling Pure Vanilla in the process with his arms still firmly around his shoulders. It sounds unhinged, ricocheting across the room, but it is openly amused. It makes Pure Vanilla antsy, especially with how it rings in his ears like an explosion from their closeness.

He wonders if Shadow Milk's laugh was different, before everything. It must have been. He wonders what it sounded like, and immediately realises that he's being ridiculous. The realisation that a before exists seems to have opened the floodgates in his mind, and now thoughts of hypotheticals can't help flitting in.

"You say such silly, silly things." Shadow Milk bites out offhandedly as his laughter winds down, the lingering remnants still dancing on his tongue. Without warning, he pulls Pure Vanilla even closer, the darkness that had been keeping him in place swirling and shoving him forward. Pure Vanilla gasps, the sound catching in his throat, and one of his hands fly off his staff to reach for something to steady himself on. It finds an edge of shattered candy glass, flinching back and falling down to scrabble against its smooth, intact surface.

Shadow Milk is giggling at him and Pure Vanilla is mortified, horribly so. They are far, far too close, Shadow Milk's face taking up the near entirety of his vision and their upper bodies almost pressed together. It feels claustrophobic, which should be impossible in such a wide, open space.

Shadow Milk makes matters worse by pressing their foreheads together, the gesture weirdly tender and doing nothing to make Pure Vanilla any calmer. His bright blue eyes look directly through him, dissecting him piece by piece.

"Why don't you cut down the Silver Tree and find out?" Shadow Milk coos, his voice overlapping with the Light of Truth's in a deeply unsettling way. His presence is overwhelming.

Pure Vanilla's eyes flicker downwards to escape his piercing gaze, and finds their chests so close that their Soul Jams are overlapping. Overlapping, and not touching, because Shadow Milk's Soul Jam seems to fizzle out of existence where the other makes contact with it, as if it were an illusion. Behind it is an empty space, black as the abyss. With the way they are lined up now, it is obvious that Pure Vanilla's Soul Jam would fit perfectly into the crevice with a little turning. He knew that already, but it still feels strange to see it.

Pure Vanilla sighs, a long, thin, shuddering sound. "...You didn't truly believe that would work, did you?"

In the edge of his vision, Shadow Milk smiles tauntingly, all teeth, but he doesn't say a word.

And Pure Vanilla wakes up, off kilter, exhausted and oddly cold.

[next]

[scarltzwitch]

BETWEEN CLAWS AND CHALLENGES — LOGAN HOWLETT.

PAIRING: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: Logan meets a young woman during a cage fight. Despite his reluctance to hit her, she challenges him to a fight.

The underground fight club was buzzing with excitement. Lights flickered over the steel cage, and the atmosphere was charged with adrenaline. Cheers and shouts filled the air as Logan Howlett, known as Wolverine, prepared for the next fight.

Logan stooned in his corner, his andamantium claws gleaming under the lights. His opponent, a burly fighter with an aggressive style was stretching and getting ready for the match. The crowd wass wild with anticipation.

A figure caught his eyes in the crowd. A young woman watched from a corner. Her presence was commanding, with an air of strenght that radiated from her. She possessed extraordinary strength and agility, her movements a blend of grace and power, honed by intense training.

The young brunette approached the cage. Its was her first time challenging someone as formidable as Logan, but her determination was clear. She wanted to test her recent discoveries about her own powers and see just how far she could go.

The fight began with a intensity that took everyone with surprise. Logan, though hesitant to hit a woman, couldn't help but be impressed by her skill and strength. She dodged with agility and countered his attacks with notable force.

Meanwhile, the burly fighter in the corner of The cage couldn't contain his curiosity.

“Who is this intruder daring to challenge Logan?”

The young woman met his gaze unflinchingly. “I’m someone who’s been waiting for the right moment to prove herself. You’re just another step on my path.”

Logan, with a mix of surprise and respect, turned to her.

“So you came here to challenge me? I have to admit, this is not something I expected.”

“Then,” she replied with a defiant smile, “get ready for a challenge. I’m not here just to entertain you, but to prove I have what it takes.”

Logan nodded, intrigued by her attitude. “I wouldn’t expect less. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The fight continued with both fighters showcasing their skills to the fullest. Logan threw powerful and quick strikes, but the young woman moved with fluid grace, absorbing and countering each attack with impressive skill.

During a brief pause, Logan approached her with a look of admiration. “I’ve never seen someone so determined in the ring. Where did you get that drive?”

She panted slightly, but her gaze remained steady. “I came here with a purpose. Not just to fight, but to challenge my own limits. Sometimes, you only learn when faced with a true test.”

Logan smiled, nodding. “You’ve got guts. And you’ve managed to keep me on edge.”

She returned his smile, her face reflecting the satisfaction of the fight. “Thanks. This was a real challenge.”

Logan watched her for a moment, feeling the adrenaline still coursing through him. “So, what’s next?”

She stepped closer with a playful glint in her eyes. “I’d invite you for a beer, but only if you can keep up. What do you say?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Something like that,” she replied with a mischievous grin and smiling.

“It’s not a fight, but it won’t be easy to keep up with me.”

Logan look at her with a mix of respect and curiosity.

“I accept the challenge. Let’s see if you can keep up outside the ring.”

They left the fight club together, leaving the cage behind, with a new connection beginning to form between them.

@ipreferreadingtocope

It might not be the best one-shot, but I made my small effort. Apologies for any errors it might have. But I hope you enjoy it.

— Lily. 💜