#clicking on the same item over and over again to hear it

[littlelamy]

a/n: the beginning is loosely based of S4 with rafe and sofia! I’m kinda obsessed with rafe being needy behind close doors 🥵I hope you guys enjoy!

you couldn’t stop replaying his words over and over again in your head. each syllable hit harder, cutting deeper than the last. always running her mouth? what. just a hookup, id never date a pogue.

you stood there, behind the slightly ajar door, heart pounding so loudly you were sure it could be heard. but rafe didn’t notice—he was too busy tearing you down with topper, speaking like you were nothing more than a nuisance in his life. he’d never know how those words would haunt you, how the trust you had in him shattered like glass.

your eyes burned with unshed tears, the sharp sting of betrayal settling into the pit of your stomach. but there was something else bubbling just beneath the surface—rage. not the hot, fiery kind that comes and goes. no, this was colder, more calculated. the type that stews, planning its revenge.

your fingers itched to grab your things and leave, but not without making sure he understood who held the power in this relationship. you weren’t going to walk away defeated, not when you could leave him begging for mercy.

so, instead of running, you turned, heart hardening with each step as you walked back into the room, your hands trembling slightly as you pulled out a suitcase from under the bed.

if he thought he could treat you like this, he was about to learn how wrong he was. you weren’t some weak girl who would let this slide. no, rafe was about to see a side of you he never had before.

the door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, you could hear his confused muttering. "yo, topper, i’ll catch you later."

rafe’s voice rang through the hallway, much closer now, but still carrying the same arrogant tone. you ignored him, hands moving swiftly as you tossed your clothes into the bag, each item thrown more aggressively than the last.

when rafe finally stepped into the room, his eyes immediately fell on you, and panic flickered in his expression. "what the hell are you doing?"

his voice wavered as he took in the scene—your half-packed bag, the angry flush on your cheeks, the tight set of your jaw.

"what does it look like?" you shot back, barely sparing him a glance as you continued packing.

he hesitated, taking a step closer to you, but the sight of your seething rage stopped him in his tracks. "hey, let’s just—let’s talk about this, okay?"

you laughed bitterly, slamming the suitcase shut before finally turning to face him. "oh, now you want to talk?" you snapped, the sharp edge in your voice slicing through the air between you. "funny, because earlier, it seemed like you had plenty to say."

his face paled as realization dawned on him. you watched as his lips parted, searching for words but finding none. for the first time in a long time, rafe cameron was speechless, guilt flooding his features.

"i didn’t—" he started, but you cut him off.

"save it," you hissed, stepping closer to him now, your eyes blazing. "i heard everything, rafe. every. single. word."

rafe’s breath hitched as the full weight of your words crashed down on him. his eyes widened in panic, and he took another shaky step toward you, reaching out as if to touch you, to ground himself in this spiraling nightmare. "i didn’t mean it, baby. i swear, i wasn’t thinking—i was just venting—"

"venting?" you scoffed, stepping back from his touch. "do i look like someone you just 'vent' about, rafe? am i just some girl you get to shit on when i’m not around?" your voice cracked slightly, the hurt bubbling beneath your fury slipping through the cracks.

rafe’s hands trembled as he dropped them to his sides, a strangled sound escaping his throat as he shook his head. "no, no—please, you know i didn’t mean any of that. i was just—" his voice broke, and you watched as his composure started to crumble, tears pooling in his eyes. "i was just talking, okay? i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it. you have to believe me."

but you weren’t about to let him off the hook that easily. your eyes darkened as you stepped even closer to him, your voice dropping to a dangerously low whisper. "if you’re really sorry, rafe, you’re going to have to prove it."

a flicker of hope sparked in his eyes, and he nodded eagerly, desperate to fix what he’d broken. "anything," he breathed, his voice shaky. "i’ll do anything."

you stared him down, watching as he swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with nervous anticipation. there was no trace of the cocky, confident rafe now. instead, he was a trembling mess, willing to do whatever it took to keep you from walking out that door.

you grabbed your phone from the dresser, starting the recording and letting the soft beep fill the silence. rafe’s eyes widened as he watched you, confusion and curiosity mixing with the fear in his gaze.

"get on your knees," you ordered, your voice firm, leaving no room for hesitation.

rafe blinked, momentarily stunned by the command, but the second your eyes met his, cold and unwavering, he obeyed. he dropped to his knees before you, looking up with wide, tear-filled eyes. the vulnerability radiating off him was palpable, his breath shaky as he knelt before you, completely at your mercy.

"you don’t get to speak," you warned, holding the phone steady as you circled him slowly, capturing his wide eyes, his trembling hands. "you only get to listen and do what i say."

he nodded quickly, his throat tight with emotion as he blinked away the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

you positioned yourself on the bed, spreading your legs slightly, and gestured for him to come closer. "you know what to do," you said, your tone soft but commanding.

without a moment’s hesitation, rafe shuffled forward on his knees, his eyes glued to your thighs as he leaned in, his lips pressing soft, tentative kisses along your skin. his breath was hot and shaky, the desperation in every touch making your pulse quicken.

"good boy," you murmured, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer, guiding his mouth exactly where you wanted it. "now, show me how sorry you are."

rafe wasted no time, his tongue flicking against you with a desperation that sent shivers down your spine. his hands gripped your thighs, holding on for dear life as he worked to prove himself, his movements frantic, eager to please.

your head tipped back slightly as a soft sigh escaped your lips, but you quickly regained control, focusing on the phone’s camera in your hand. you adjusted the angle, making sure you captured every second of rafe’s unraveling—his lips swollen and red from the effort, his face flushed, sweat beading on his forehead.

"look at you," you cooed softly, your free hand caressing his cheek. "you’re such a mess for me, aren’t you?"

rafe whimpered in response, the vibrations from his soft sobs sending waves of pleasure through you. his eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his face harder against you, the tears finally spilling over and streaming down his cheeks.

you could feel the shift in him—the way his body trembled beneath your touch, the way his breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps. he was breaking, right in front of you, and the sight sent a surge of power through your veins.

"don’t stop," you whispered, your fingers tugging on his hair as his pace quickened, his tongue working furiously. "not until i say so."

rafe let out a choked sob, his tears soaking into your skin as he continued, his movements growing sloppier, more desperate. you glanced down at him, the sight of his tear-streaked face and swollen lips sending a rush of heat through you.

"you’re mine," you whispered, your voice dripping with possession as you tilted his face up slightly, capturing the tear that rolled down his cheek with your thumb. "and you’ll never forget it."

rafe’s body shuddered at your words, a strangled moan escaping his lips as he clung to you, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. another tear slipped down his face, and you leaned down, your lips brushing against his cheek, kissing the tear away.

you recorded it all, making sure you caught the exact moment rafe broke for you, his body trembling beneath your touch as he whimpered your name.

"please," he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "i’m yours. i’ll never leave you. i love you. please…don’t leave me."

his words were slurred, thick with emotion, and you smiled softly, running your fingers through his hair in a soothing motion.

"good boy," you whispered, pressing one last kiss to his temple as his body finally collapsed against you, completely spent and vulnerable.

slowly, you stopped recording. rafe barely noticed, his head resting against your thigh, still trying to steady his breathing. his tear-streaked face was a picture of surrender.

you stood up, gently pushing him off you, and his body slumped against the mattress, too weak to even protest. you didn’t say a word as you picked up your phone, your fingers tapping with practiced precision.

rafe watched through bleary eyes, his chest still rising and falling with uneven breaths, the reality of the situation not quite sinking in yet.

the video—the raw, intimate recording of rafe at his most vulnerable—was right there, in your hand. the smirk playing at your lips deepened as you attached it to a group chat, the names of topper, kelce, and several other friends flashing across the screen. rafe’s inner circle, the same ones he was so eager to talk big around. they’d all see this.

and then, for the final touch. your fingers hovered over the keyboard for just a moment before typing: looks like the pogue got your boy.

the message was delivered, the little ‘sent’ confirmation making your heart race with satisfaction. the power was now entirely in your hands, and you relished the silence that followed, the calm before the inevitable storm.

rafe blinked, finally realizing what had happened as he noticed the shift in your demeanor. “w-what did you do?” his voice was small, trembling with fear as his eyes darted from your phone to your face, dread sinking in fast.

you leaned down, brushing a lock of hair out of his face with surprising gentleness, and a sweet peck on his lips. “just reminding you who really holds the power here, rafe,” you whispered softly, your voice laced with a wicked edge. “you thought you could talk shit about me behind my back? guess again.”

rafe’s eyes widened as he tried to sit up, his body weak and uncoordinated. “no, no, no—what did you send? please, baby, please!” he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation.

you straightened up, staring down at him, your smile never faltering. “i sent a little reminder to all your friends. they’ll see it soon enough.”

he scrambled to reach for his phone, but it was too late. his friends were already watching the video, seeing him like they’d never seen him before—broken, crying, at your feet, worshiping you. and with that message—looks like the pogue got your boy—they’d know he wasn’t the powerful rafe cameron anymore. not with you around.

rafe’s breath hitched, panic surging through his veins as his phone buzzed incessantly on the bedside table. “no,” he whimpered, tears spilling over again, pure terror flashing in his eyes as he looked up at you, utterly helpless, still with a needy gaze.

you bent down one last time, tilting his chin up so he could meet your gaze, your thumb gently brushing against his swollen lips. “next time you even think about talking behind my back,” you whispered, “remember this moment. because there’s more where that came from.”

with that, you walked away, leaving rafe alone in the room, his phone lighting up with messages from his friends, the weight of his humiliation crushing him.

you didn’t even glance back as the door clicked shut behind you, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

you owned him now. completely.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0

[yandere-sins]

You trying to run away from Caleb and him using his gravity manipulation Evol 😍😍

Omg, and it's not even just when you run away... You have such a good point, anon ♥

❥ Imagine finally outsmarting him and getting a chance to run. Caleb could simply put you down with a sweep of his hands, but instead, he makes your surroundings work against you. The gravel beneath your feet rolls back towards him, making you trip over yourself as you can't get away from the spot. Leaves and branches fall down on you/hitting you in the face and obscuring your sight, so you stumble, lose your direction, and run right back into his arms. He has them open for you, always. But his grip is iron-tight now that you showed him your desire to get away. Caleb can't have you try that again, you understand that, right?

❥ But, of course, after your second attempt, even he gets frustrated with you. It's child's play to slam you onto the ground, even if it hurts you. You didn't want to listen, so maybe the cuts and bruises will teach you. But you aren't the only one who learns because Caleb quickly realizes how devilishly fun it is to see you struggle. He just needs to soften his evol for a moment, so you think you can get up and run again before he breaks your spirits by applying the pressure of gravity again, bringing you down and dragging you towards him slowly. Your pain doesn't even concern him, not when he still sees you willing to fight him. You, never giving up, is like a drug that goes straight to his brain. He'll let you fight against the pull, lets you think you have a fair fighting chance as he taunts you with deliberate, slow steps in your direction, his shoes clicking menacingly on the floor. You're so cute—feisty and hopeful as you still are, and Caleb experiences the most sadistic pleasure to see your will bend and break, snap right into pieces as he grabs you by the neck and licks your bloody, swollen lips. He's like a kid licking his pancakes to keep his siblings from eating them, but the notion is the same: You're his.

❥ Caleb also uses it to disarm you in case you ever get your hands on something you really shouldn't. It's fun to see you struggle while you try to keep the weapon and yourself from being dragged towards him. And it almost drives him crazy to hear your surprised gasp when you accidentally let go of the object, and it almost does get close to hurting him. A second ago, you were all big and threatening, and suddenly, you feel bad for him, it's amusing. Next thing you know, you are on his lap, getting playfully chided for trying to get rid of him, and how you need to do better than that since you didn't even come close. If the weapon is reachable, you almost have a chance of getting to it again and trying to hurt him. Still, it's all just a game for him, and he might let himself get cut just so he can punish you properly while trying to deny how happy he is about playing with you.

❥ However, he draws the line at you trying to hurt yourself. See, it's all fun and game until your life is on the line. You are pulled into his arms with the weapon immediately slapped, ripped, or, if he has to, broken from your hand. The only one allowed to hurt you is Caleb, and he makes no laughing matter out of your attempt to blackmail him with your life. You don't know how much harm you can do to yourself while his actions are always calculated. Even when it seems like his slamming you to the floor is cruel, unless you give him a real reason (like hurting yourself), he won't actually mess you up. Caleb will even help you stabilize your wounds after he seriously hurt you, trying to disarm you, but it's all just to show you not to mess with him. Show you that his evol can do way more than throw you around and hurt your ego and will to fight. You don't get to argue with him on your security, not even for a second. Caleb simply won't entertain these kinds of threats, and it will make it harder for you to get close to dangerous items in the future. Also, he will be pouting and ignoring you for a while, you really hurt him with your actions. Maybe try apologizing. Please! :(

❥ Despite everything, Caleb does a few nice things with his evol. You might be forced to watch movies and cuddle with him, but he'll draw the blanket you like so much closer or fetch you your drink if it's out of reach. You won't have to leave the comfort he provides (albeit unwillingly). He also saved you from things falling on you by pulling them and (much preferred) you out of the way and into his hold. Sometimes, he catches food before it lands on your newly worn shirt. Yeah, he's that kind of nice (even though he likes to laugh at how upset you are when it does happen). The more you are on his good side, the more he'll do nice things for you, and his evol will be an exclusive power for you to use. He likes to tease you endlessly, and his psychotic behavior worries you sometimes, but you will learn that Caleb would do anything to keep you by his side, preferably happy and in love with him. Even if it means he'll become the weapon you can use to set the world on flames if only you play your cards right.

[aurorasgate]

mutual masturbation with caleb

caleb x fem!reader this is pure filth y'all and the first time i'm writing for this man who can't seem to get out of my brain🫠🩷

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI! masturbation obvi, post when he comes back, a tiny bit of voyeurisms but its not on purpose, praise kink, cute teasing and pet names, he'd kiss you if he weren't a little romantic for you but that doesn't stop him from cumming on you <3 its true love okay, i don't think anything else but please let me know if i missed something!

the key to your place sits in his palm, warm from his skin, guiding him like it’s tied to a tether thats other end could only possibly be with you. the person he wants to be with the most in the world. it’s small and light, especially in a hand as large as his, but it holds the weight of so much more.

hope. a promise and want all consuming and built over years together and what feels like even longer apart.

caleb knows you just got home, the pinging notification of your late arrival after work came on his phone the same minute he stepped off the train from skyhaven to linkon. he had decided to not let you know he’s coming by but didn’t waste a single moment hurrying to the store for ingredients to cook you something delicious and make his way to your apartment so he’s not late.

there’s something blooming in his chest as he slides the key into the lock without knocking, warm and familiar despite the thought that you might not be happy to see him sitting unwelcomingly at the bottom of his stomach and this being the first time he’s ever used the key you gave him.

you’ve been reaching out more, sounding happier because of him, asking when you’ll be together next, and he doesn’t want this distance between you any longer. he wants to see you, every breathing moment he wants you right next to him, and is looking forward to your surprised and smiling face upon his arrival.

your apartment is quieter, darker, than he expected when he opens the door and closes it with a soft click behind him. he knows you’re home and yet, the only thing to greet him is the blue lights of your kitchen appliances displaying the late hour. with quiet movements, he sets down the paper bag full of ingredients on the kitchen counter, leaves his keys next to it, and takes in your space; the items around him sitting in shadow that are all reminders of you, the sweet scent of you lingering in the air, the doors down the small hallway without light shining through them, except for your bedroom.

a low light filters through the bottom and slight crack in the not quite closed door, like only your nightstand lamp is on, and if he listens carefully, he can hear the muffled and small rustling sounds of movements. he doesn’t call out to you or say a word as he makes his way towards your bedroom. perhaps it’s out of habit, an old childhood one where he’d enjoy keeping quiet, hidden, until you were within arms reach and surprising you, giving you a bit of a jumpscare, so he could see your face contort with a cute pout once you realized it was him. or maybe it’s for other reasons, ones hard to put a name to when he hadn’t really let himself before but that are anything but foreign to him.

before he can decide what he’ll do, finally say something so you know he’s here or knock on the frame or just swing it open and ask accusingly, teasingly, what you’re doing, all of his movements and brain function come to a complete halt an inch away from the threshold of your bedroom when he hears you. 

lewd squelching sounds, rhythmic and fast, chasing after something, fills his ears and is accompanied rather than drowned out by the way you call his name in a way he’d only ever heard in his most sinful of dreams. 

“c - caleb~”

no - this couldn’t compare. it was so much better than he had been able to imagine and almost too good to be true. and when it comes again, more desperate, full of heat and wanting need, he’s reaching for the door before he can decide whether he actually should or not.

you don’t hear the opening of your door with your pleasure and thoughts of caleb getting the better of you. all you can focus on is the way your fingers don’t quite reach deep enough and the image of calebs hands, so much bigger, stronger, than your own, being able to touch and pleasure the depths of your warmth and find the perfect spot inside you over and over again. you don’t doubt he’d be wonderful at it.

it’s not the first time you’ve thought of him like this and it certainly won’t be the last. especially now that you swear he’s within arms reach in a way you thought you’d never have the chance to try for after.. well, you don’t want to think about that now. and you don’t. can’t possibly when you finally open your eyes and, through your hazy, lust filled vision, see him standing at the entrance of your bedroom.

your brain takes several moments to catch up, not quite sure if you were actually seeing him or just a mirage that you had conjured up more times than you’d like to count but when your eyes meet the lavender fields of his own, see them darkening into something more akin to most stunning of amethyst, and he says your name in a tone you had never heard from before, you know he’s there for real. having witnessed you touching yourself and no doubt having heard you calling out for him as you did.

there’s no notice of your displeasure at the loss of fullness between your legs when mortification is a living thing inside of you, washing over every nerve and inch of skin and has you sputtering out incoherent words as your hands tug at the shirt you had lifted just above your breasts and your legs shut with a clap of your thighs and the stickiness that had built up trying to get yourself off. “oh my fucking - caleb - i - when did - i’m - you - i just -” 

the step he takes closer to you, drawing your eyes from his handsome darkened features to the impressive bulge straining in his jeans, stops your words. you aren’t quite sure if your silence is better or worse than your string of explanations, questions, excuses, you couldn’t even form fully but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“you don’t have to stop on my account,” he finally says, his tone heady and teasing all at once. he thinks you look astonishingly stunning like this, the heat of your cheeks radiating through the entire room, your lips parted but no words coming out, your legs shyly pressed together and your peaked nipples showing through the thin fabric of your shirt that hardly covers you up. he keeps a painful distance between you despite it all and how badly he wants to touch you right now. he can’t overstep. can’t do anything that might make the progress you had made together thus far since reuniting come crumbling down at his feet. “i can leave if you-”

“no!” you’re quick to reply, your voice far more desperate than you would have preferred and you half expect caleb to comment on it but he only stares at you, like he might never let you leave this room, the tension between you building and building until you think you can’t take it anymore and force yourself to continue, to say what lays in your heart. “don’t go.. unless you want to. i - i’m sorry..”

he chuckles, soft and with no judgment. “you don’t have anything to be sorry for.” he’s more than honored to be the one you think of when touching yourself, would have loathed for it to be anyone but him. caleb starts to close the distance between you, slow and giving you the chance to change your mind but he hopes, prays, you don’t. for so long he’s dreamed of you like this. at the edge of your bed, he stands and watches his fingers running along the cotton of your sheets before they’re on the arch of your foot, traveling up to your ankle in a chaste movement that’s comforting and electrifying. “i don’t want to go.”

you feel far too shy, still so full of embarrassment and mortification he found you like this, to speak the words out loud that you want him, for him to touch you, be with you in a way you never had before, and are beyond thankful and breathless when he takes the lead and says the words himself.

calebs eyes meet yours, making it feel like your heart may leap right out of your chest with all the emotions behind his gaze that you could get lost in and the way his breaths fall heavy and hot in the space around. “let me help you.”

it’s not a question but you nod in acknowledgement anyway and try to swallow your shame. you never need to feel that way with him; not back then and not now. spreading your legs slowly, your arms cradled to your chest, his touch remains on your ankle but his eyes drop to watch your movements and your own are just as shameless, taking in the hardness of his cock and the way it seems to twitch in his jeans at the sight of you. 

“have you ever touched someone like this caleb?” you don’t know why you ask. time and time again he’s told you he wouldn’t get a girlfriend, hasn’t had a girlfriend, and if the answer was yes - you could already feel the lick of jealousy traveling up your spine. 

his hand not on your leg reaches for your face, gentle and firm in the way he forces you to look at him with his grip on your chin. “what do you think?” he looks and sounds unbelievably serious, like he’s hurt you’d even ask and truthfully, he is. there has never been anyone but you and there never will be anyone but you in his eyes. cradled in his arms. in his bed. on his cock.

worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, he keeps his hold on your chin but you need to look anywhere but the violet eyes staring back at you. it’s too much and not enough. not nearly what you need but enough to swallow you whole. instead of replying, you spread your legs farther, focusing on his fingers still lingering on your ankle and how badly you want them to touch other places of you. “caleb..” is all you can bring yourself to reply but it’s answer enough for him.

his hands leave you in order to make quick work of his shoes before he’s crawling his way between your legs, fully clothed, completely hard, and having to remind himself to breathe rather than take you in every possible way he could right here and now. though he can’t say it’s helping when every lung full of air is laced with your scent and your arousal. but he hasn’t even ever kissed you before and regardless of how badly- so fucking badly - he wants you, you deserve something so much more than sharing your first kiss together like this. he simply won’t have it.

with your thighs resting on his, helping keep you spread open, he sits on his knees to reach your face and kiss your forehead, tender and lingering and full of love. your face is so warm under his lips and against your burning skin, he whispers with a smile, “go on pretty girl. i said i’d help.”

as he pulls his lips away, your hand still stained with your essence finds its way back between your legs. how much you’re truly enjoying having caleb here is evident in the wetness you find there, so much more than before when it had only been you and your imagination to get you through it. you gather your slick on the tips of your fingers with a swipe along your folds, starting from your little hole and moving up to your clit that you graze softly with your nail and let out a small sound in response. 

caleb doesn’t touch you, not yet, and instead watches through heavy lidded eyes at the way your fingers sink into your cunt, slow and tentative, the way you take them in and the jolt of pleasure that resounds through the rest of you at the pleasure of it; how your chest lifts slightly off the bed as you try to take in breaths through it, your legs trembling against his own in time with the wet sounds of your fingers going in and out and your other hand that reaches for him in a silent plea.  

but it’s for more than him to finally touch you and you know you’ll have to say it aloud for him to do it but he did say he’d help you and this would absolutely do the trick.  “will you.. will you touch yourself too?”

“yeah? you’d like that pipsqueak?”

“don’t call me that when we’re like this,” you chide, not nearly as serious as you wish you were but it’s just not something you can muster right now. not when you can’t even look up at him. a fact he knows all too well by the way he chuckles low in response. “please caleb.. want to see you feel good too.”

“seeing you like this makes me feel good,” he replies, dreamy and far away but it’s followed by the sound of his belt being undone and the zipper of his jeans. you can’t help but stare at his movements, watching as he pulls himself free of his boxers just enough to grasp the base of his cock and good god he’s big. you had assumed considering all of him is, that this would be no exception but seeing his cock and the way it looks in his hold is something else entirely. “do you always think about me when you’re touching yourself sweetheart?”

“always..” you admit, trying to match the rhythm of your fingers to the pace he begins to set for himself, and it’s absolutely the truth. even when you thought it might be wrong to think of him like this, you couldn’t help yourself or the way your brain and pussy always ran towards thoughts of him and him alone. “do you? think about me when you touch yourself, i mean..”

finally, after what feels like so long, he touches you, using his hand that can feel you without pain to press his thumb against the swollen bundle of nerves that’s your clit. you’re so unbelievably soft, he thinks, so perfect. how could ever think of anyone else? “every. single. time.” he punctuates each word with more and more pressure in the little swirls and attention he gives your clit, all the while gripping himself tighter.

the warmth of his hand joins yours as you both explore and touch between your legs. it’s hard to believe he’s never done this before when every single touch he gives you is so far beyond what you had ever been able to give yourself and you only think it��s more true when his long fingers glide down the back of your hand and one of them joins two of yours that fills your dripping cunt. he slides it in slow, as if taking in every millisecond of it for himself just as much as it for you, and lets his palm press against the back of your hand so every move you make it as one.

“ah! caleb!” you cry out at the welcomed stretch, so blissed out and hungry for more. your free hand grabs a hold of his arm that works himself in slow pumps, up and down the length of his cock, collecting the pearly beads of precum leaking from his slit.  you’re surprised to find it warm despite what you know lies beneath but you don’t let it stop you from your fingers digging into his skin, enough to hurt, make sure he feels it, feels you.

he groans at how tightly you hold onto him and the way you greedily accept his finger with your own, every sweet and full in and out mention of them making you more full than you’d ever been but somehow you don’t think it’s enough as his cock would be.  it takes no time at all for him to find and follow where you curl them into the perfect spot inside of you, making you see stars of purples and white. 

“you’re such a good girl..” he praises with the same low tone, completely intoxicated with your noises and the sounds that join them in a sweet and filthy melody of your dripping pussy and his aching cock. “you can take another, can’t you?”

nodding, you attempt to add an emphasis to how badly you want more by unlatching your hand from his arm and running your fingers along the head of his dick. it’s hard to steady your movements with the way your body sways with each thrust of fingers in and out of you, the pace caleb helps you set that rocks your body almost soothingly, but the feeling of you in anyway, no matter how, is enough to drive caleb wild. he doesn’t waste a moment sliding another one of his long and lithe fingers into you, taking full control of yours, pressing them against your velvety walls and setting a punishing pace that you will not be able to keep for long. 

“caleb - wait -”

“keep your legs spread,” he tells you when you attempt to voice how quickly your orgasm is coming to you and bring your legs together to help calm yourself down but like the good girl he knows you are, his good girl, they shakily open back up at his words.

“won’t last like this..” you try to tell him but you don’t know if the words actually leave your lips when the pressure below your belly won’t stop building at an alarming rate and is spurred on by how he looks between your legs. his eyes are hidden underneath the ends of soft locks but you know he’s looking at you, watching the way his fingers get lost in the soft silk of your pussy, and you’re utterly captivated by the way his arms flex underneath his shirt as he gets you both where you want to be and his hand wrapped around his cock, growing more and more erratic in its movements. it has you aching to have him inside of you. 

it’s not something you’ll get the change to voice, however. not when he looks into your eyes, presses his fingers knuckles deep and then deeper, forcing your own to go with his, and the words he speaks are more of a command than a request, with a lilt of the voice you heard him use when being the commander of the fleet, leaving no room or choice but for your body to obey. “cum for me beautiful.”

you do. breaking around his fingers like you never have on your own before. it’s overwhelming, enough to have tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, a pleasuring cry you had never made before slipping uncontrollably out of your lips in the form of his name, and your walls clenching and pulsing so hard around both of your fingers. through every rack of pleasure coursing through your body, caleb only adds to it, already knowing the perfect spot to keep hitting inside of you in order to let you ride out every last moment of your high and when you think maybe it’s over, it only gets prolonged when you hear the deep moan of your name caleb lets out above you and feel the warmth of his release on your vulva, how it coats you in his plentiful cum and drips from your cunt onto the sheets below you before he’s even finished.

you aren’t sure how long you stay like that, both of you fighting for breath and letting the last bits of your orgasms wash over you, but after some time when all that's left is the mess between your legs and the truth of what you’ve just done together still a warming hum in your limbs, caleb is careful, thoughtful, as he helps to guide your fingers out of your entrance, soothing you with a soft hum when the overstimulation of it makes you shutter. 

“feelin’ better?” he asks, the aftershock of pleasure still clinging to his vocal cords.

“mhm - much.” your own voice is not any better but you don’t care or worry. not when it feels so good, so right, to have him here with you, seeing you like this. despite your past embarrassment about it only minutes ago, which can’t hold a candle to this between you, it brings you back to how you ended up here in the first place. you’re certain he wasn’t here before and that you didn’t have plans, not that it’s a complaint though. “no offense caleb but what are you doing here?”

you see him smirk as he gets off of your bed, tucking his dick back into his pants with ease before looking at you as if you hung the moon and stars yourself, just for him. “making you dinner, of course.” he says it so matter of factly, like he wasn’t just knuckles deep inside you, as he leans over the edge of the bed to scoop you into his embrace, one strong arm at your back and one under your legs, uncaring of the mess dripping from your pussy. “after we get you cleaned up that is.”

[zph]

EXPLORING THE 5 SENSES WITH SCARAMOUCHE. gn!reader | fluff

synopsis. a glimpse into your relationship with scaramouche through the 5 senses (touch, smell, hearing, taste, sight). series of ficlets.

content. suggestive in some parts (i.e. vague descriptions of making out) but mostly sfw, incredible amount of fluff, non-sexual intimacy, sillies in love, kissing, established relationship + pre-relationship for the last section (i.e. taste), scara is painting your bare back, nahida & scara have a family dynamic, brief mention of eimiko and scara son hc, modern au. not proofread.

a/n. happy (very belated) valentines’ day! wanted to explore scara in the late stages of a relationship + pre-relationship; more playfulness & more comfortable with himself. each section isn’t the same length but that's okay. enjoy :)

word count. 4.3k

masterlist

What does SCARAMOUCHE loving you look like in each of the 5 senses?

He can count a few specific times:

—

i. Sight. | PICTURES

Scaramouche has been acting strangely this entire week.

After being recruited (forced) into a photography club by a few of his classmates and the new club member, Nahida (under the name of “discovering more enrichment activities!”), His behavior had since shown an almost subtle but unexpected shift in attitude:

Click!

Case in point: You look towards your boyfriend with a camera in hand, and a small smile etched on his face. It was meant to be a shopping date, just an excuse to wander outside and practically drag your boyfriend around to window shop for overly expensive items—some unreasonable, some even Scaramouche couldn’t help but tug your hand away to distance yourself from getting it. (“Why is that plushie $60?” “It is vintage.” “No, it is just hideous,” he scoffed.)

He was awfully distracted, it seemed, of you and whatever sights you came across. Sure, he was acting like his usual- ‘pretends to have no interest in it but secretly lets you drag him around because he likes being around you’-Scaramouche way, but his mind looked like it drifted sometimes, like he was there but a softer version took its place and persisted even as he tried to lull it away.

For instance, at one point, you smiled at him, holding up some ugly plush you found in the clearance aisle (“it’s you,” you had told him. “ha, in your dreams.”) and there it is. Scaramouche hadn’t needed to say anything. But you could tell. The moment his mind wandered off again, you simply let it.

Click! And he was back once more.

Conclusion? This camera was the main culprit to his new-found shift in demeanor.

So curiously, you wrap your arms around his waist, looking over his shoulder in an attempt to uncover what he has been hiding away. You blow into his ear, low and enough to get him to freeze. “So, what’s gotten your attention hm?”

Before your eyes could begin to make out the photo, he immediately tucked away the camera and right out of your view. “Posting on my story,” he gave you a look. The kind of look that told you tells of trouble only he could possibly think of. “What about it?”

You raise your eyebrow. Okay, now that was suspicious. “You hardly post on your account.”

“What? What is so wrong with that?” he gave you his best innocent stare, a head tilt, and a sweet smile along with it. “Here I thought you wanted me to post more.”

“Well, yeah you should post more,” you mutter, thinking back to times where people accused you on tagging a side account because your boyfriend’s feed looks like a damn bot than a person. “But! I’m just saying that you are acting really funny, you know,” you point to him; his face only widens in mischief.

“That’s too bad, I think I’m hilarious.”

“Right. Sure.” You chuckle before directing your focus on finding warmth in the fabric of his sweater. Comfy. “Whatever it is. At least take good pictures, yeah? Heard the photography club might set up a display somewhere in the city.”

“Who told you that?”

“Nahida,” you pinch his waist playfully at his bluff, already half-way melted into his shoulder. It is warm, you think. You mumble into his shoulder, “What was the theme about anyway?”

You don’t take notice of the cheeky look in his eye as he stares at your relaxed form or the way his hand reaches for the camera once more, flicking up and facing towards your face.

You hear a snicker.

Click!

You snap your head up. Huh? But before you could ask, you feel his body freeing away from your arms, his warmth along with it. Instinctively, you reach out towards him. “What are you..?“

Unfortunately, Scaramouche was already taking off, putting some distance between you as he ran along with the camera in hand, sticking out his tongue as he did so.

You shook your head in disbelief. “Hey, wait!”

And off he went, his back practically fading further away. You stood, a bit stunned, before laughing. He can be so cute sometimes.

And with a chuckle, you chased after him.

—

[Nahida🍀]

Nahida🍀: Picture-taking is more fun than I expected! Did you take any photos yet? (*^ω^*)

Scara👾: I did. But my model is being uncooperative right now

Nahida🍀: What does that even mean?? Could I see?

Scara👾: Do you really want to know?

Nahida🍀: Why are you acting so suspicious (*_*)

Scara👾: :p.

—

When Scaramouche feels around the wooden shelf, his outstretched arm searching around, he finds himself wiping off the dust of a particular box.

He reaches out to uncover the top, already filled with photographs—each a selection of nature, the exhibitions he has been on, Nahida and her unbridled curiosity for everything, and finally, ones of you.

If he was being frank, he didn’t hold much interest in photography—well, until now. Not until Nahida brought up how “it would do him good to save memories that he wanted to memorialize for his viewing pleasure!” Not until a camera was halfway shoved into his hands with the errand of: “Make sure to take as many pictures as you can! We are counting on you!” (Nahida’s words, not his).

He stared down at the camera. Memories, huh?

Sure, Scaramouche was no stranger to painful grievances of the past, ones where he had learned to confront, ones where he bore and accepted. And if he had to guess, these photos were essentially Nahida’s way of suggesting that he seek out and capture new memories to remember by. Not to overlook what has already been done, but to celebrate a future anew.

Hah, or maybe to do her bidding, he isn’t quite sure yet.

And the worst part? Truthfully, he didn’t hate the idea entirely; in fact, he was sure Nahida knew that clearly, especially with the way she so persistently tasked him with it in the first place.

So, he sighed, but nevertheless, obliged.

And soon enough, he started to toy with the camera and became accustomed to its settings.

Maybe he would take some on his morning walks, of the sunrise he is usually accompanied by, or of the birds that somehow make their home on his shoulder. Or if he was feeling more like a prick, maybe he would take an unexpected photo of his coworkers mid-action, clearly unprepared for the camera. The kind where they are halfway blinking, blurry, and their face contorted unsightly—you know, for his amusement, for his viewing pleasure. Definitely not because they decided once again to make him deal with a customer handing $100 for an $8 item at 8 am.

And yet, none of them prepared him for the first time he got a picture with you.

Click!

“Hold sit, why don’t you?”

It began with one photo, something mundane and candid. You were visiting his family home for the holidays; his mother had always pestered him to bring you over each year, and this time around, he agreed.

(“Can’t wait to see you and your partner! Btw, don’t be alarmed when Yae steals them for a few minutes☺️….”

“Are you threatening me?”)

You were lying down with your phone in hand—in his childhood bed, no less—laughing about some show you recently got hooked onto. Sprawled over and relaxing like you owned the place (and maybe you did), you looked like the peace he hadn’t realize he was greedy for. Sure, there wasn’t anything spectacular about his photography skills or the pose you were seated in, and yet, the more he stared at the picture, he couldn’t bring himself to part with it. Not yet, at least.

“So, do I look good?” Your head was tilted up, way too relaxed, way too domestic. For fucks sake, the fact that you were in his bed didn’t help either.

He couldn’t help but look away.

Warmth. It was the odd sense of warmth in his chest that made him hesitate. It was new. It was a welcome feeling. It was—Huh. He never thought photography could be so… frustratingly domestic.

“Can I see?”

“Absolutely not,” he held the photograph tightly.

So soon, more and more popped into this box. He had grown attached to it, more than he would like to admit.

You stretched over your desk, head pressed down on your laptop? Click. (You looked silly, sue him.)

Your face squished with his side-by-side? Click. (You told him it was a trend on TikTok and dragged him into it. It took a lot of convincing—in the form of kisses.)

You sitting right on the pavement at the side of the 7-11 store, munching on your late-night snacks because you told him you were craving food and slushies at 3:00 in the morning? Click.

(Bonus, he also got to take another picture where both of your tongues were purple. Ha, don’t ask how that happened.)

Surely, who could blame him for using this camera to its full potential? When this box is already filled with images, who could blame him when he is already running out of film the next day? Not Nahida, of course. In fact, she was his biggest supporter.

Digging out another picture from his pocket, he flips over the newest addition: You embracing his waist, head on his shoulder, looking as relaxed as you have ever been.

That stupid warmth erupts in his chest once more. It was the type of warmth that didn’t burn, the one where it didn’t spark painful memories; instead, it was sweet. It was persistent. And he also finds he doesn’t hate it.

And maybe this time, he wants to keep it a moment longer. He sets it as his wallpaper, just hidden away from public view, but not from his eyes.

At least there is something to look forward to whenever he is awake at god, who knows what time, missing your warmth.

—

private account @/zushi2938849484 posted!

[attach photo]

@/zushi2938849484: Caught this one. I’ll be honest, it is kind of cute when they try to be clingy. Just don’t tell them that, though.

@/nahidasgarden: So this is what you have been doing! 💖

@/nahidasgarden: Also, why am I the only follower here? ^_^;;;;

Reply from @/zushi2938849484: Because you are oomf

—

i. Smell. | COOKING.

Saturday. 8:34 am.

“You are so clingy today,” Scaramouche grumbles as he leans back into your arms. The comfort of his pjs cushions your weight as your head buries into his shoulder, almost melting into it. The sizzling of the pot lulls down a bit as you feel him reach to turn down the stove.

“Can you blame me?” With your nose pressed so close against the exposed skin, you can make out how he smelled of fresh laundry; the kind where it wasn’t too overbearing, something familiar. You missed this, you think.

No, you corrected: you missed him.

And you could tell, he missed you too. Especially because you could smell the barest hint of your body spray on his clothes. A sign of comfort for him (one that he doesn’t say out loud), but also a pride for you.

“…You smell different.” You begin, the edges of your lips rising.

“Are you saying I smell bad?”

“Well-“ You give him a look.

He quickly huffs, almost scooting out of your arms as he takes the majority of the warmth with him. “If you can’t handle it, I should just enjoy this dinner all by myself-“

“Wait—No, I’m kidding. It smells good.” You chuckle, tucking him closer and pressing one quick kiss on his jaw in apology. You could almost feel the subtle fond eye-roll he gives you. “Aaand of course, you smell nice. It is just…” You bury your face once more. “It smells suspiciously similar to mine.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” He retorts, rather nonchalantly, despite how much of his body language—advertising his gaze away from yours in the act, the slightest lift of eyebrow in smug satisfaction—says otherwise.

So what if he did? What will you even do about it? It tells you.

Nothing, you smiled. Nothing at all.

The sizzle of the pot protests in response to your banter, drawing his attention from you and back to the dinner you were supposed to have later tonight.

While the dinner itself was nothing too fancy or pungent, it was Scaramouche’s go-to comfort food. Scaramouche had an eye for things that were easy to make and felt like home. Sentimentality and all, you found it rather endearing.

You watch as he shifts, stirring the pot.

The aroma was inviting, much like the way you nearly ease yourself into his shoulder, surrounded by the comfort of food and his warmth. The latter nulls you to a near-perfect ease, mixed with the breath he huffs out at your clinginess.

Again, can he blame you?

“So, what are you making?”

A simple question.

One that you already knew the answer to. But you seldom mention it, not while you were already busy pressing your lips against his nape as you waited for his answer.

You hear a hitch.

“What are you..?” Then a breath of laughter. He shifts, carefully placing down the lid. “Guess.” He doesn’t move anywhere, but you can practically feel the snarkiness radiating off of him. “You have three tries.”

You hummed. Good, he was indulging you.

Your kisses got bolder as you shifted from along his nape, then slowly to the exposed part of his shoulder, as courtesy of his loose clothing practically hanging off of him. Your first guess: “Ice cream?”

“Are you acting dumb on purpose?” He scoffed, the sound a little too restrained. Maybe he would make some excuse about how your heat was pressing against him despite how hot the kitchen was. Overheating via body heat was a real concern. But you knew better—knew him better. “2 more tries.” He whispers.

Chuckling a simple “Sure,” you press on.

On the second try, your hand gently encloses around his, spoon still in his hand.

Watching his eyes flit down to your interwoven fingers wrapped in his, you can’t help but laugh at how his curiosity spreads across his expression. What are you doing? His gaze spoke.

He didn’t have to wonder for too long, however.

Not when you suddenly lifted his hand, bringing the spoon to his lower lip.

His eyes haven’t shifted from yours, not one bit, even while his lips slowly parted to make room for the spoon. Delight sparks your stomach as you watch his mouth seal around it, willingly and almost challengingly.

You stilled. This was a beautiful sight.

The morning looked right on him, bathed in the warm golden light. Sun-kissed practically. It highlighted many of his features: the curve of his nose scrunching just enough, the red eyeliner he dutifully wears, and the softness, tense softness that was his gaze. He wasn’t too fazed by your admiration; in fact, he was practically glowing in your attention.

“So, not sweet.” You grinned, pointing out the fact that his face would have scrunched in disgust had the food been anything too sweet. “Ramen?” You breathed in.

You are further reminded of the body spray that surrounds his body; it is practically coming off his wrist.

As if it were instinctive, your lips found their way to his hands, down to his wrist, confirming your suspicions: he sprayed this a few times. It was stronger here. A testimony to how much he wanted to be reminded of you.

“Hah, one last try.” This time, he shook his head. Chilled fingers reached your face as he slowly brought it up to his. Impatience in his movements. “Do you want a hint or something?”

The way both of your breaths now mingling in with each other spoke of many things, despite no words being out from your lips. It was sort of like a genie’s wish. You wouldn’t dare to waste this last and final moment.

And so, you wished. You wished with how your hands eagerly pull him closer, wished with how he smells like home, the scent urging you to say something.

“Yes.” Just as quickly as you spoke, you felt his lips pressed against yours.

Everything was enveloping around you; everything that makes up him was engulfing your senses. The shampoo that he insists on using (if you had to pinpoint it, it smells like nature? You weren’t too sure), the fresh scent of laundry (It reminded you that you were living with him. Successfully and contently emerged with his life, tasks like laundry included), and finally….

Finally, the smell of tea—his favorite. It was a classic move from him: to share something of himself with you. You remember how he offered it once when you were sick, muttering out about a kid he once babysat was in a similar condition and found a liking to this recipe. It drew a familiar warmth in your chest; the heat of the tea mixed in with his laughter.

You twisted your head up at him, pulling away and wiping the remaining bits of tea off your lips. You smile. “Shimi Chazuke.”

—

…

He exhaled, prying you off with a pointed look. “Could you,”

You immediately nod, like the love-sick fool you are.

He offered you a gesture to the tea, then leaned in as if he was going in for another kiss. Instead, he snickers as you open your eyes: “Get out of the kitchen? I need to cook.”

You laugh.

Well, how could you say no?

—

i Hearing. | PHONE CALLS

Ding!

Ding!

Ding-

[1:34 AM] You rub your eyes as you sneak a quick look at your phone. Who the hell is calling at this hour?

‘Kuni🤍’ bold on the screen brightens up your face.

Kuni🤍: Call me

Maybe you will make an exception for him.

You: Did something happen

Like clockwork and the sanity of a deep, lovesick partner, your finger immediately hit the call.

“Hello?”

You hear breathing from the other side, then a low rasp, wry in his tone. “Good morning Sleepy head.”

“Scara, it is 1 in the morning. Something up?” And you knew something was bothering him if he was awake at this hour.

There was a pause before shuffling emerged from your speaker: he was adjusting his chair.

“Finishing this thesis. Wanted someone to bother.”

His voice had an unmistakable thickness, evident in the exhaustion that had struck his body and made its way to his throat.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He sighs, the noise so soft that you had to crane your phone closer just to hear. You expected his typical lectures—ones ranging from the gossip of his coworkers’ drama, peer reviews of essays that he describes as ‘nonsensical’, and random history lessons—he sometimes liked to teach you quite a few of them too.

In fact, you became privy to many aspects of his life; a privilege from being in a relationship with him, you suppose. It surprised you how much he liked to talk, despite being no fan of chatty people or mindless conversations. It was endearing, to say the least.

So, it surprised you even more when none of that reached your ears. Instead, he mutters simply, not his usual snark:

“I didn’t see you today.” I missed you.

…

You had to do a double-take just to check if you heard that correctly. Yet there was no other comment besides the slight hitch in his voice, followed by the sound of computer keys clicking and more scuffling from the other side of the line.

“I missed you, too.” You finally admit, chuckling as if you were in on a secret between you two. “Sorry, I was kept busy the entire day. You alright?”

He doesn’t give you much of anything. Instead, you just hear more shuffling. “You weren’t there to bother me. The silence irritated me. Did you suddenly disappear or something?” He finally laughs, after a pause. “….Just tell me about your day. Anything. What kept your attention?”

You blinked, but you complied with his demand. After all, your boyfriend wasn’t one to admit it so openly, especially not at break of dawn either. That must’ve nagged at him all day, huh? Cute, you thought, if hearing your voice again would ease his irritation, how could you say no?

It was easy to fall into listing your schedule—anything about the errands you had today, your classes, mornings—anything you could list off the top of your head.

He responds to a few little laughs and scoffs here and there towards some of your commentary, but seldom cuts in, satisfied simply with listening. Slowly, the side comments die into mumbles, an effort to respond but not quite lucid enough to be comprehensible.

“You know, you should go to sleep.”

He mumbles. “No.” It was longer than usual, like his mind tried to catch up and convince itself it wasn’t tired.

But then you hear it. A soft puff erupts into the microphone.

“Scaramouche?” You wait a few more seconds to confirm your suspicions. Another puff.

He was sleeping.

“You really are adorable, you know.” You whisper. You couldn’t help the smile that spread on your lips. Did he really call you because he couldn’t sleep? You knew he liked his alone time, but it was nice to know at least he wanted you to accompany him in some sort of way. “Goodnight, Scara.”

—

The following day, another ding emerged from your phone; another notification from Scara:

Kuni🤍: Thank you

[Kuni🤍sent a photo]

You: Good morning, beautiful!

You: Dude, how did you even take a picture of me sleeping on call

Kuni🤍: :p

—

i. Touch. | SKIN TO SKIN

“Pftt, relax.”

“I’m trying to.“ The brush presses against your back, the soft edges leaving a cool chill over your skin. “But your brush-“ you shiver as he puts another coat of body paint. “-is cold.”

With the brush strokes along your spine, you feel his breath fanning along with the hum of his voice.

“A little cold can’t hurt, right? Don’t tell me that bothers you?” He knows exactly what he is doing, especially with the way his legs are slotted around your waist, laughing as if he doesn’t realize how much of an effect he has. “I’m almost done, hold on.”

You lay still, your arms folded under you as you steadied your breathing. “Once I do this to you, then you’ll see how damn cold it is,” it comes out more breathless than a sly retort. You hear the echoes of a poorly hidden snicker, his finger playfully tapping your shoulder.

“Sure. Maybe I should make this as slow as possible, just for you.” The smile in his voice becomes more evident as he mercilessly presses more of the brush.

“How incredibly nice, Scara.” You huff.

Now, the bristles run downwards—more deliberately this time, clearly relishing in the trust you hold for him and also teasing you in the process as you remain pliant under his touch.

“Didn’t you ask for this? I thought you would be more enthusiastic about me being up here.”

Clearly, you had meant to be more enthusiastic about this. You’ve seen it online on a forum somewhere: Intimacy in the form of body painting, along with someone whom you trust the most. It was a brilliant idea, you decided.

You remember bringing it up to him late at night, arms sprawled across his waist and his head resting on your shoulder. You shifted a little and inched your phone towards him.

He was cute, his eyes squinting at the screen, furrowing his brows as he tried to make out the picture. “Couple body painting?” he mutters, then, with the simple turn of his head, more interested in getting his sleep, he yawns out. “Do what you want.”

It didn’t take that long to convince him, you suppose. With a chuckle, you tucked him closer with a blanket, the latter of which takes it with a simple nudge in your direction. Cheers bloomed in your mind: First step of the mission! You got his approval! Or well, sort of.

The next day, you both went out for a store run.

See, store runs with him were a daily occurrence. Scaramouche was your perfect partner for groceries. In every run, he always kept a list, something with beautiful calligraphy inscribed in his notes on the margins, that told you how much you might need for the week: detergent, water, along with the indulgent snacks you both enjoyed.

With supplies stocked up in the cart and his attention fixed on the list he made, you made a quick detour to the art supply section.

You gripped a tube of neon, glow-in-the-dark body paint, mischievousness no doubt rolled off of you in waves. The thought that you were able to not only admire him but create art on his skin was pleasant.

So, when you finally got back to the cart, you were met with an eyebrow raise and a shake of his head.

“Where did you go?”

“To get these.”

He didn’t seem as invested in the idea as you were, more focused on finishing this shopping trip and finally relaxing at home.

But it didn’t take long before he was.

—

“You are having way too much fun with this, you know?”

In truth, you may have overestimated Scaramouche’s potential for teasing. Once he realizes how much power he has over you, it becomes clear: he was the one to take it and run with it tenfold.

“Of course, I am.” Quick to respond, he leans in more closely, the tickling of his nose against your skin.

The rest of the room was dimmed, and the lack of seeing what he was doing was catching up to you, more aware of what you felt instead. Once the sense of sight is gone, the rest of your senses are heightened dramatically. Every twitch he makes, every laugh that escapes him, you are anticipating his next move and trying to figure out what the hell he is thinking.

And unfortunately, with the quick hitch of his breath sending down shivers through your spine, the rest of your body jolts along with it. He snickers in response, his breath ever so present on your skin.

Fuck.

Then, just when you least expect it. You feel a touch of warmth pressing against your back—

His lips.

You feel how he trails down, chilled fingers pressing against your back while his lips warm up and swallow each laugh that vibrates along your body.

It was no doubt cheeky, and it was agonizingly long.

And you were indulging in every single bit of it.

“Now, stay still.” His lips curled up against your shoulder, letting go with a quick pop.

You huff lightly. “Of course, of course, your Highness.”

You will get him back for this. But for now, you were humming along as he took his fill of all your reactions, lingering and kneading; a canvas in his hands and art marking his affections.

Yeah, you will definitely get him back.

—

i. Taste. | VALENTINE’S DAY CHOCOLATE.

You think you have found your favorite taste.

Unhurriedly, you cradle the heart-shaped packaging to your lips, popping it into your mouth as you let the contents melt away. Chocolate spreads on your tongue, and the bitterness fills your taste buds.

You almost want to gasp at the shock, if it wasn’t for the way Scaramouche’s hand locks with yours, savoring your warmth just as you try to savor the treat. It was new, but it was not unwelcome.

You tug at his hand. It feels soft somehow, well taken care of. His slender fingers easily intertwine around yours, tightening slightly as you move along, almost guiding you closer.

And what was worse? It feels almost needy the way he inches impossibly closer. You feel his arms wrapping around your neck, tracing along your skin as if he were afraid you would let go.

You try to grip your senses, trying to remember what had happened before this.

—

The memory of your best friend sitting beside you, engulfed with bags hanging off his arms, notes littered around, chocolate-covered treats, and small plushies of all species, packed loosely with bows—All were forwarded lovingly to him from his peers.

You remember laughing at him, stealing one of his chocolate bars from the bags, and chewing along the sides.

“Too bad you don’t like sweets, these are really good,” you mumbled.

And you swore his eyes followed the movement. Pausing for a quick fleeting moment before a flash of mischief struck his face.

The last bits of his rant had already dissolved at the tip of his tongue. The absurd amount of confession letters, gifts of flowers at his workplace, and more importantly, the handbags given by classmates on his campus, now situated on your arms, turned from points of irritation to something else entirely.

“Come here.” He leaned in.

You remember him sticking his tongue out, the last of his irritation melting away. Then, as the sheets shriveled, he proceeded to quickly steal the bag of chocolate from your fingers.

“—Hey, wait!”

You recall laughing, you recall him laughing. Echoes of giggles are reflected in the way you chase after him, tugging at his shirt to snatch it rightfully back until you both are a heaping mess on the floor, legs tangled and breaths so close.

You remember having a good look at his appearance. The smudge of his eyeliner—the crimson that is usually lining his eyes now smeared just a bit and a similar red brightening his cheeks as he laughed—something only you were akin to—tugging at his lips.

At that moment, you couldn’t help but think that he was beautiful. Unfathomably so.

And a part of you wondered, dangerously: What would it be like to smudge the red on his lips?

You remember the slow, heavy breaths you took, hands pinned right against his head, and the slow realization that you might want just to kiss your long-time friend. You weren’t meant to be this close. Especially not in an uncompromising position like this.

Peering down at him, your brain dizzying as you met his eyes, staring up at you: the last fit of his laughter dying down as he also came to the same conclusion.

A snort escaped him.

“Hey,” you breathed.

And you couldn’t help but trace the way his lips looked. Red looked good on him; happiness, even if cheeky, looked good on him.

“What are you going to do now?” he whispers. There was a hint of uncertainty mixed with his usual sarcasm.

You remember stalling, weighing down the options to pass it off as a joke, something to keep as a memory as you mourn what could have been.

Or take your chances. The fact that he wasn’t pushing you off spoke more than you could imagine. Maybe, for a brief moment, he was anticipating the same, watching your move just as you have been doing to him.

You breathed out, hoping to give him a way out should you have read him wrong. “Look, if you are uncomfortable, you can just push me off-“

Red was the look that flashed when he looked away, clearly frustrated that you aren’t reading his mind or body language, cutting you off with a swift, “I never said that.”

“So…” You couldn’t help but lean closer, your resolve waning once his eyes captured yours, the same electricity igniting in his gaze, challenging you.

“What does it look like I want?” His gaze was pulling you down with him as his voice dropped to a whisper, vulnerable. Like the obvious choice is right in front of you, and yet, he waits, becoming more and more impatient with your hesitation.

You feel like melting.

The touches started slow, a blend of teasing that you were used to and other charted untouched territory as his hands lifted to meet your cheek, a new gentleness in his grip like a question waiting to be answered.

You nudge, closing the gap, answering tentatively.

The cards were long forgotten, the gifts were the least of your concerns—and yet, words were not enough to describe the feeling of your heart pounding against your chest.

Melting.

He tasted like familiarity: The shared mix of dark chocolate.

Though he claims to hate the sensation of sticky treats, the overt sweetness was too much on his gums; each time you pulled away, he chased after your lips once again. Like a rush forced upon him, now an addict chasing his fix. And he glares when you halt his pursuit, tugging him back to finally look at his appearance.

Bitterness was the taste he was familiar with.

But with the way his hair ruffled a mess, lips swollen, shirt disheveled, and eyes practically dripping with intensity, you couldn’t help but think that it left a sweet aftertaste after all. Nothing overbearing but enough to be memorable.

“…You taste like chocolate.” He breathed out.

Your chest swelled. He doesn’t seem to mind the flavor. Your finger nudged another chocolate against his lips, slowly returning to the warm press of his kiss as if starved once again. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Scaramouche.”

You found your favorite taste, and you would be a fool not to savor it. 

[sombrashe]

period pains

includes 𐙚˙⋆.˚ vi, viktor, sevika

content 𐙚˙⋆.˚ gender neutral reader, chubby reader, your period is putting you through the ringer

note 𐙚˙⋆.˚ i started my period and have been suffering and all i want is to be pampered

Vi inexplicably started her period at the same time.

The only time growing up near the fissures has been a blessing and it's when she can hear your curses from the bathroom. She simply sat still on the sofa, barely spotting. Her eyebrows furrow as she watches the door handle. Once it starts jiggling she jumps up and bundles a blanket into her arms. Acting casually she medium speed turns and feigns surprise at you being in front of her.

"Wow, peach. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

You frown and shake a box at her, two loose tampons shake around. You needed tampons.

"Say please."

"No. You used them for your fucking nosebleeds. I told you only light but you just had to stuff your nose with my supers. How do they even fit up there."

Her face instantaneously falls as she clears her throat. Yeah, she definitely meant to replace those. Apologizing she immediately starts making her way towards the front door. Giving you a wide berth, she maintains eye contact the entire way. Narrowing your eyes, you watch in silent wrath as she grabs her jacket off the hook. Hurrying out the front door she doesn't come back until she's stopped and gotten you more than you need. Kicking open the door, it bounces off the doorstop and closes with a click behind her.

"P, peach?"

She straightens her back and tries to wave the lingering fear at the base of her neck. She watches you come around the corner, your gaze somehow angrier. You were able to shower in the time it took for her to shop which left you bleeding and alone. Walking towards her, you tear your eyes away slowly before settling them on the mini haul she got for you. Opening the bags she explains why she chose each item.

"So first, I got those tampons. I bought myself two packs of that nose stuffing that that academy student created. The one who always got into fights. I don't know how he didn't get kicked out. Next, I got you something from Jericho. You haven't eaten today. I also went to that shop you're always going to. The one that you buy all the face masks from. Yeah, I stopped there and got you one of each flavor. Watermelon said it helps with hydration. I also chose this banana one, good for dull skin. Not that you have dull skin. I think your skin looks great, just a little acne. Wait."

Your eyebrows soften as you listen to her go on. Once she pulls out those masks your face softens completely and you take a tentative step to your left. She continues on. You simply listen to her speak about the twenty or so masks she bought, you stopped counting after strawberry. Reaching forward you grab two masks at random and hand her one of them.

"Thank you."

She smiles a slings an arm over your shoulder. Her smile is wide as she gives you a sloppy temple kiss. You huff and shoulder yourself against her, her laugh infectious.

Viktor was always working.

You storm out, your moisturized hands clutching another ruined pair of underwear. Kicking out your leg, you make contact with the door frame. The noise echoes down the hallway and your partner peaks around the corner. Getting up from his desk, he makes his way towards you. His speed slows as he assesses your anger.

"Can you make a machine that tears my ovaries from my body?"

Poor thing. He closes the space between you and gently takes the blood-soaked underwear from your hands and mumbles to himself. Moving around the dorm he mixes and matches things until he throws them onto the bathroom curtain to dry. You watch him once again move around the kitchen. Washing hands, peeling fruit, boiling water. All steps in his plan of taking care of you. You curl into the armchair taking up a corner of the room. It was worn by nights fallen asleep in it waiting for Viktor to come home. Pulling a fluffy blanket over your lap you get comfortable as you wait. He comes over a little while later holding a plate out for you. Mangos and strawberries litter the place and you happily take the plate from him. Next is a cup of hot tea that he gently sets to the side of you. Thanking him ever so sweetly, you start munching on the fruit as he goes to retrieve more items. A warm water bottle is positioned against your lower back and you blink lazily as heat overtakes the pain. While finishing off the last of your fruit, you get to work sipping on your tea. He offers to spend time with you in the living room, but you shake your head.

"I'm getting tired, anyways. You can go back to work."

Giving him a tired smile he leans down and presses a loving kiss to the top of your head. Squeezing his bicep softly, you let him go with a yawn before settling down to the sounds of pencil against paper.

Sevika was never around when you needed her.

Tears break over your waterline and drip down the fullness of your cheeks. Cramps rack your body in pain as you stay curled on the couch. She never came home last night, council meetings taking over most of her time. A low groan is ripped from your throat as a particularly tight feeling squeezes your abdomen. Hugging a pillow close to your chest, you bury your face into it and hope that the pain reliever takes over soon. Not soon enough you feel your limbs relax as the pain slowly lessens until it finally stops. The sudden relief has your mind stuttering and it takes mere seconds before you're lulled into sleep.

"Rabbit?"

The low drawl of your girlfriend's voice wakes you from your hazy sleep. Blinking, you raise your head and look around. Your eyes land on her and you waste no time in rising to your feet. Letting the blanket fall halfway on the floor you gather yourself into her arm.

"I started."

You're muffled against her chest, feeling comfortable between the raised flesh. She clicks her tongue and soothes her hand down your back.

"You took something? Did you eat?"

You nod into her chest, you had a sandwich and that was more than enough with pain taking over most of the space in your stomach. Now you stand there stomach growling, pain having left to make room for your appetite to come crawling back. Looking up she gives you a quick kiss on the forehead.

"Go lay down, I'll make you something."

You squeeze her waist before pulling away and padding back onto the couch. Curling up, you take some more pain medicine and watch from your warm nest as she gets to work making you something hearty. You can feel yourself start to doze off and before long you're being shaken awake. Blinking you take in the bowl in her hands. Steam wafts in the air and the smell of meat and cream fills your nose. With a watering mouth, you thank her and greedily take the bowl from her. Wasting no time you gulp down some of the broth despite the insane burn that overtakes the grooves of your mouth.

[pucksandpower]

Time to Kill

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: a locked supply closet door leaves you and Charles with some time to kill … and a few creative ways to do so

Warnings: 18+ content

You slip into the supply closet, giggling as Charles pulls you inside. The door clicks shut behind you and you find yourself enveloped in not-quite darkness.

“Shh!” Charles whispers, a smile in his voice. His hands come up to cup your face and you feel his lips on yours as he kisses you deeply. You melt against him, your hands sliding up his chest to loop around his neck.

He maneuvers you backwards until your back hits the shelves behind you. You gasp as various cleaning supplies and boxes tumble down around you. Charles laughs against your mouth.

“Oops,” he says.

You grin and kiss him again, not caring about the mess. His fingers tangle in your hair as the kiss grows more heated. You’ve only got a few minutes before he has to get back out for FP2, and you intend to make the most of it.

Charles’ hands leave your hair to travel down your body, caressing your curves. You trail kisses along his jaw as his fingertips slip under the hem of your shirt.

“I’ve been thinking about this all morning,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.

“Me too,” you confess, sliding your hands under his fireproofs to feel his muscles tense under your touch.

He claims your mouth again, backing you against the shelves once more. You dimly hear more items falling but you’re too lost in Charles to care. His kisses leave you breathless, heat pooling low in your belly.

You break the kiss only long enough to tug his shirt over his head. He grins and returns the favor, peeling your top off. His eyes gleam in the low light filtering under the door as he takes you in.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says reverently, brushing his knuckles down your cheek.

You close the distance between you again, skin pressing to skin. Charles groans low in his throat as you trail open-mouthed kisses across his collarbone and down his chest. His hands grip your hips, pulling you impossibly closer.

You reach for the fastenings of his race suit, grinning wickedly up at him.

“I don’t think we have time for that, chérie,” he chuckles regretfully.

You pout playfully. “I guess you’ll just have to owe me later.”

“I guess I will.”

He claims your mouth again, intoxicating you with his kisses. You run your hands over the hard muscles of his back, nails grazing lightly. He shivers against you.

Slowly, reluctantly, you break apart, knowing your stolen moments together are at an end. You reach for your discarded shirts, handing Charles his.

“That was ...” You search for the right word.

“Incredible,” he supplies with a grin, kissing you softly.

You smile against his lips. “I was going to say smoking hot, but incredible works too.”

He laughs, drawing back to pull his shirt on. You start to do the same but pause with your shirt in hand, listening.

“Did you hear that?” You ask.

Charles stills, head cocked. “Hear what?”

You try the door handle. It doesn’t budge. Dread trickles down your spine.

“I think someone must have locked the door from the outside,” you say slowly.

Charles tries the handle too with the same result. He pounds a fist on the door. “Hey! We’re stuck in here!”

No response comes from the other side. Charles’ brow furrows worriedly.

You dig in your pocket for your phone to call for help, only to find it missing. “I must have dropped my phone on the way,” you realize.

Charles pats himself down too, shaking his head. “Mine’s still in the garage. No service in here anyway.”

You slump back against the shelves in dismay. Of all the times to get trapped somewhere, it has to be right between practice sessions. The team will be looking for him.

Charles pulls you into his arms. “It’s okay,” he soothes, though he looks concerned too. “Someone will come eventually.”

You nod, leaning your head on his shoulder. His solid warmth comforts you. At least you’re not alone.

“What do we do now?” You wonder aloud.

Charles’ eyes glint with mischief. “Well, we seem to have some time to kill ...”

You give him a coy smile. “I can think of a few ways to pass the time.”

His eyes darken, hands tightening on your hips. “Can you now?”

In response, you crush your mouth to his in a searing kiss. He responds instantly, kissing you back fervently. Your hands slip under his shirt once more, splaying across his bare chest and feeling his heart thunder under your touch.

Charles maneuvers you backwards until you hit the shelves again. You sweep your arm across the surface, sending supplies crashing to the floor so he can lift you up to sit on the now cleared ledge. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him flush against you.

He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat and you tip your head back to give him better access, sighing in pleasure. His hands glide up your sides, rucking your shirt up. You quickly strip it off and reach for his next, desperate to feel his skin on yours.

Once you’re both shirtless, he pauses to look at you, desire burning in his gaze. “So beautiful,” he rasps, making your cheeks flush happily.

He ducks his head to capture one of your breasts through the lacy fabric covering it, teasing you with his tongue. You gasp and arch into him. His other hand skims up your thigh, his touch igniting sparks everywhere.

Needing more, you reach behind you to unclasp your bra. Charles groans at the sight and lavishes them with attention until you’re squirming with need.

“Charles, please ...” you moan.

With a wicked grin, he hikes up your skirt and finally slips his hand between your legs, fingers stroking you through the thin fabric of your underwear. Your head falls back against the shelves with a thunk and your eyes slip closed.

“You’re so wet already, mon cœur,” he murmurs. His deft fingers slip beneath the panties to stroke your slick flesh. You cry out, clutching at his shoulders.

“Shh, we have to be quiet,” he reminds you with a chuckle. You bite your lip, trying to muffle your noises of pleasure.

When his fingers sink into your heat, you see stars. He knows just how to touch you, working you steadily towards a shattering climax. Your nails dig into his back and your legs tense around his hips.

“That’s it, let go for me,” he coaxes. With a few more skillful strokes, your orgasm crests over you and you shudder through wave after wave of bliss.

As you float back down, Charles kisses you deeply, letting you taste your pleasure on his lips.

“Incredible,” he smiles against your mouth.

You lean your forehead against his, catching your breath. “Your turn,” you say with a suggestive wiggle of your eyebrows.

He grins. “I thought we didn’t have time?”

You slide off the shelf to sink to your knees before Charles. Looking up at him through your lashes, you make quick work of the bottom half of his race suit.

“We’ll make time.”

You tug it down past his hips, freeing his erect length. He inhales sharply as you take him in your hand, stroking up and down experimentally.

“Putain,” he grits out, bracing his hands back against the shelves behind you.

You keep your eyes locked on his face as you lean in, swiping your tongue over the tip of him. His jaw clenches, muscles in his arms cording as he fights to stay still.

Emboldened, you take him fully in your mouth, reveling in his bit-off groan. You set a steady pace, lapping at him with your tongue. His hand comes up to tangle in your hair, not directing, just needing an anchor.

“So good, just like that,” he pants, eyes blazing down at you. You feel powerful like this, reducing him to incoherency with just your mouth.

You pick up the pace and his hips twitch involuntarily. You place your hands on them to keep him still, taking him as deep as you can. His thighs tremble under your touch.

“I’m close,” he warns breathlessly.

You double down on your efforts, eager to push him over the edge. His fingers tighten in your hair and moments later he spills into your mouth with a choked off cry. You swallow everything he gives you, keeping up your ministrations as he shudders through his high.

Finally you release him with a soft pop and he hauls you up for a searing kiss.

“You are incredible,” he tells you fervently when you separate. “That was ...”

“Incredible?” You supply cheekily.

He laughs. “I’m going to need some new adjectives for you.”

“I believe there are other ways to thoroughly demonstrate your appreciation for me,” you smirk cheekily.

He smiles, hands coming up to grip your hips. “I live to serve.”

You rush to rid Charles of his remaining clothes before sinking down onto him. You both moan at the exquisite sensation. Bracing your hands on his chest, you begin to move.

Charles’ eyes are glued to you, watching reverently as you ride him. His hands span your waist, guiding your movements.

“You feel like heaven,” he grits out.

You increase your pace, taking him deeper. His fingers dig into your hips as his own begin snapping up to meet yours. The closet is soon filled with the sounds of your panting breaths and the slap of skin on skin.

You feel your climax building again, coiling tight. Charles’ thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles in time with the rhythm of his thrusts. The dual stimulation sends you careening over the edge again with a sharp cry of his name. Your inner muscles clamping down triggers Charles’ own release. He plunges up into you erratically, your name a prayer on his lips as he spills inside you.

You collapse forward onto his chest, nuzzling into his neck. He holds you close, hands stroking your hair and back soothingly as you both catch your breath.

Finally he tilts your chin up to meet your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss. When you eventually pause for air, he keeps you close, feathering kisses along your jawline and down your neck. You tilt your head back, sighing in pleasure. His hands slide back under your breasts, tracing maddening patterns on the sensitive skin.

You’re completely lost in him when the door handle starts wiggling.

“Oh shit!” Charles scrambles for his underwear as you hop up, yanking on your skirt. You attempt to smooth down your thoroughly mussed hair.

The door swings open, revealing a broadly grinning Carlos Sainz. He looks between you and a sweaty, flushed Charles.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” Carlos asks with a laugh.

“We, uh, got locked in,” you stammer.

“By accident,” Charles adds quickly.

Carlos shakes his head, still chuckling. “You two are terrible at keeping your hands off each other. Might want to work on that before the race.”

You feel yourself blushing bright red. Charles clears his throat and avoids Carlos’ eyes.

“Right, well … thanks for letting us out, mate,” he mumbles.

Carlos smirks and claps Charles on the back. “No problem. Oh, and Charles? Your race suit is inside out.”

With that, he walks off down the hallway, laughing loudly.

Charles glances down and curses under his breath. You can’t help but dissolve into giggles too.

He shoots you a rueful grin. “Worth it.”

You smile and kiss him sweetly. “So worth it.”

[kaiijo]

FRIENDS TO LOVERS — [KNB]

characters: aomine daiki, midorima shintarou, hanamiya makoto content: gn! reader, reader has implied tieable hair in midorima’s, toxicity (it’s hanamiya, no one is surprised) notes: scenarios inspired by prompt list here

aomine daiki ✶

aomine yawns again as he reclines against your pillows, sitting up only to peer at you. you’re working on homework that’s due in a couple of days, headphones covering your ears. you promised that you’ll order in food and play super smash bros with him when you finished, but it’s nearing eight and you’re still hunched over a problem set.

aomine groans loudly, “are you even close to being done?”

you move one headphone cup off. “i would be closer if you didn’t interrupt me every ten minutes.”

“i didn’t ask to hang out just to sit around.”

you roll your eyes. “you can go if you want, daiki.”

he sits up fully now, moving to the edge of your bed. “why’re you even doing this? s’not due ‘til friday.”

“some of us want to be good students.” you slide your headphones back on and turn back to scribbling out complicated equations on paper.

a couple of minutes pass again and instead of asking you anything, aomine stands up and shuffles behind you, reaching around and snatching the paper from underneath you. “hey!” you protest, shooting up from your seat and tearing off your headphones. “give it back, daiki.”

“no, you said you’d be done, like, two hours ago.”

“i swear i’m almost done!” you make a lunge for it and aomine just holds it above his head, his long arm adding to his already-massive height.

“no.” he smirks at the way your eyes furrow and your cheeks puff out. your head tilts to the left, and he knows that you’re thinking. he’s sure you’re going to try and jump of it again, so as a show, he stretches up further, the hem of his shirt lifting slightly. he swears he catches your eyes flickering down and something in his body sings a song of triumph and satisfaction at the motion. he can’t say why.

what you do next though is nothing that he expects. you stand on your toes, rest your hands delicately on his shoulders, and gaze up at him through your lashes. he startles; there’s something so… heated about your expression, about those half-lidded eyes.

“daiki,” you say softly. it’s almost hypnotic, the way you say his name, and he’s watching you with one raised eyebrow. the tips of his ears feel like they’re on fire.

he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing as his arm lowers, heading for the dip of your waist. he only snaps out of it at your victorious cry. “ha!” you take advantage of his still half-dazed state and push him firmly out of your bedroom door, closing it. the lock clicks into place and he hears you call on the other side, “one more problem, daiki, i promise. be a dear and set up smash in the living room?”

he walks down your hall automatically, the fire-like feeling spreading to his neck.

midorima shintarou ✶

takao holds up a porcelain statue of a cat. “what about this?’

“takao, what about that screams ‘midorima shintarou?’”

takao shrugs. “i don’t know, maybe it’ll be december 25th’s lucky item. does oha asa put out horoscopes ahead of time?”

“no, that’s why he listens every morning when it airs,” you reply, setting down a teapot from a bigger set. you thank the tired-looking cashier, who just waves drowsily as you two exit the shop.

the two of you have been shopping all day for midorima’s christmas present, wandering all over japan and into various tchotchke stores to look. he’s a notoriously hard person to please, especially with gifts, and neither of you want a repeat of the ‘grey’s anatomy incident’ where four people got midorima the same book last holiday season when he announced his intention to go to medical school. nor do any of you want to get that look from him that struggles to look somewhat grateful while being very, very obviously displeased.

“we’ve been walking all day!” takao whines, clutching his stomach as it lets out an ungodly rumble. you check your watch; you two have been out for at least four hours. you point at a small diner boasting american food. “would you be okay with that?”

“i’d eat you right now if you’d let me.”

you snort, “hard pass. come on.”

the hostess sits you two at a booth and you shrug off your heavy winter coats. you pick up a menu and glance over it, but when you go to ask takao what he’ll be getting and if he wants to split a large order of assorted fries with you, you see he’s not looking at the menu.

you definitely do not like the way takao is eying you right now. “what?” you ask defensively, hands flying to the top of your head to try and pet down at hair you presume has been ruined by your excursion. “do i look bad or something?”

“is that shin-chan’s sweater?”

fuck. you had forgotten about pulling on one of the sweaters midorima left at your house the last time you studied together. it’s insanely soft — a mix of gray wool and cashmere — not to mention extremely cozy and warm. you tried to return it to midorima before but he just pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and huffed, “wear it until you get proper sweaters. no, sweatshirts don’t count.”

you internally groan. you don’t need takao on your ass again about whether or not you’re sure you and midorima aren’t dating or if you like him like that. honestly, the only reason you haven’t given him a certain yes or no is because… you don’t really know yourself.

you don’t have proper time to answer before the bell to the restaurant chimes and you see very recognizable green hair. of all the time and places he has to show up. (well, he did text you this morning that your zodiac sign was the least lucky and to wear a blue watch in order to improve your fortune; you should’ve found the watch.)

“oh! shin-chan!” takao waves him over, giving you a sly look. “we were just talking about—” takao’s stupid hawk-eyes zero in on midorima’s wrist as he tugs off his gloves. he looks way too please with himself as he asks, “shin-chan, is that their hair tie?”

hanamiya makoto ✶

hanamiya steps out of the locker room shower, cracking his knuckles as he makes his way to his locker to dry off and change. he rolls his shoulders, toweling off his hair as he changes back into his school uniform. yamazaki and hara are prattling away, snickering under their breaths about the injuries they inflicted: sprained ankle, a hairline fracture, a minor concussion.

hanamiya doesn’t even turn around as he growls, “can you two shut up?”

to just bug him more, hara pops his gum. loudly. “who pissed in your cereal, captain?”

furihara drones, “you were sloppier today. almost got fouled by the ref.”

hanamiya doesn’t reply, yanking the knot of his tie down furiously. “fuck off.”

hara lets out a low whistle and seto asks, “does this have to do with your little friend? they got a boyfriend, right?”

hanamiya lets out a long breath through his nose and he spins around to face his teammate. “for now,” he says, slamming his locker shut.

“you got a plan, captain?” asks yamazaki as he digs through his duffel bag.

“when do i not?”

———

you greet hanamiya’s mother with a thin smile when she opens the door. her face lights up when she sees you and she pulls you into a warm hug, telling you that hanamiya’s in his bedroom and that you could go right up.

you wonder if she can see the glossy film to your eyes or if she was polite enough not to comment on it.

hanamiya’s sitting at his desk, head propped up on his knuckle. he languidly flips through pages but you know he’s not really reading the material. he’ll get away with it too and get an a anyways, the bastard. he glances at you. “you look like shit.”

usually, you could banter with him. it’s why your friendship works; you have a thicker skin than most and you give just as good as you take, especially when it comes to hanamiya’s sneering, half-joking insults. normally, you would have replied with something like “still better than you,” but instead, your frayed nerves snap and you feels the hot tears start rolling down your cheeks.

hanamiya’s simpering expression sobers up and he sighs heavily, ushering you to sit on the bed. “why’re you crying?”

you sniffle and tell him that the guy you’ve been seeing from your literature class broke up with you. just out of the blue told you that you two wanted different things and you were going to colleges in different areas and that wouldn’t work and he was sorry and… that’s all you gleaned because his words were so rushed as he scurried off as fast as he could.

hanamiya’s brow furrows sympathetically and he draws you into a hug, saying, “i told you i didn’t like that guy. fuck him.”

you sink into his arms. “yeah,” you mutter, “fuck him.”

as you relax against him, hanamiya can’t help but smirk to himself in satisfaction. someone who runs off after a little confrontation doesn’t deserve anything from you.

[icedout-pacemaker]

Catching the eye of the pastor's wife. She pulls me to the side. [In some black churches, the pastor's wife is called the "first lady." It's as pretentious and haughty as it sounds.]

You need to start wearing longer dresses and longer skirts. You have a sinful body. The kind that makes people want to do things that don't align with the right path.

She takes my chin, lifting my gaze up to hers. I think she's scoldingly appraising me. But I swear she's looking down my dress.

The next time I come to church, I'm wearing a dress that completely covers me, including a cardigan. She calls me to her office. She tells me to take my cardigan off. I hand it to her, revealing the black a-line am dress that stops at my shins. She walks around me, checking before telling me it's not enough.

I don't understand. I bought this just for church.

It doesn't matter. I can still see your shape. Look here.

She's behind me, taking me by the arms. I gasp as she pulls my arms back, pushing my chest out. My breasts push against the fabric, perfectly outlined. She leans in, her cheek to mine, voice repulsed.

Look at your breasts. You can't see it but your ass is right up against the fabric as well. You look like a coy little slut. If you saw the way the deacons look at you when you sit up front, you'd have some decency and cover up.

In one movement, she releases my arms and unzips the back of my dress, jerking the fabric down. My arms are restrained downward by the folded down sleeves. My breasts sit in my black bra, slightly spilling over as she grabs the fabric, pulling me closer into her.

She cups my breasts, holding them up higher before letting them drop. She scoffs, jerking the front until it unclips, popping my breasts out in the open. I can feel her nails in my skin as she grips them, pulling me back and roughly kneading.

Isn't this what you wanted? To be used? Do you think it makes you special? You think you're the first doe eyed slut to come in here trying to flaunt her body?

I'm sorry, first lady.

I gasp as she spends me over her desk in one push, my tits cold against the polished oak. I shudder as the ends of my skirts, exposing my ass.

Little sluts like you walking in and trying to tempt people. You think you'll stray me? You're not the first and you won't be the last. Spread your fucking legs.

I obey without thinking, my cheek to the desk. Ahead of me is the wall where a portrait of the first lady and the pastor is, their smiles plastered and heavily airbrushed. I stare into the eyes of her half of the portrait as she rips my stockings, striking my ass with a remorseless slap

I hear her heels, clicking as she seems to be pulling something from the wall. Something hard slides up my slit, a soft wet sound omitting as she pushes it in a little, scoffing. I bite my lip, embarrassed.

Of course. You're all the same. And you'll get punished all the same.

This item is irregularly ridged, its end square rather than rounded. I wince, feeling her slide it, looking for the best angle. In the same instance I find the nerve to look back, my lips part in a shuddering cry of pain and pleasure as I watch her slowly push in the bottom end of a crucifix. Once she manages the insertion, she no longer hesitates. I feel the endlessly ridged piece of wood and gold pump in and out of my pussy. She looms over my body, chest to my back as her hand moves with purpose.

She's in my ear again, teeth gritted. She's one part satisfied and one part irritated with me. I cannot stop myself, only a muddled collection of whimpers and moans, dribbling out of my mouth like saliva.

I broke the other ones and I'll break you. I always do. You may even enjoy it. But you'll break. I can promise you that.

[back2bluesidex]

Best Fucking Friends - JHS & PJM (18+)

Part of my Milestone Drabble Request Game. Find the request here.

Pairing: Hoseok X fem!reader X Jimin

Theme: PWP, Smut, threesome (?) NSFW!!!

Wordcount: 2k+

Summary: Guess, your dumbass ex-boyfriend did the right thing for once by dumping you. Your best friends are more than happy to fuck you into oblivion.  

Warnings: Explicit sex, unprotected sex (it's a no no), throat fucking, tit play, oral (both party receiving), little bit of insecure reader, jimin is blonde (yeah, that's a warning). tell me if there's more.

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: enjoy the flith.

It’s almost pathetic how you are standing at your best friends’ door, wearing a thin tshirt and a pair of sweatpants, hair disheveled, sticking to every direction because of the tantrum you threw earlier.

Two bottles of soju and a dozen beer cans dangling from your arms resting inside two black polyethene. Heavy indeed, but you can manage.

You jab at the doorbell again, way too impatient to get inside your comforting nest, in their comforting embrace, but you don’t know what’s taking them so long. 

After almost 3 minutes of keeping you outside, Jimin finally opens the door and his eyebrows shoot to reach his hairline. 

“Y/N? hey?” he speaks through his plump lips but you are way too angry and frustrated to give into his ethereal beauty. 

“What the fuck took you so long? It’s been a lifetime since I started ringing the bell!” you spat at him, shoving him aside as you welcome yourself inside their apartment. 

“Ah! We thought our neighbor was here again to complain about our overflowing trash.” Jimin follows you inside as he takes a look at the items you are placing one by one on their coffee table. 

“I thought you had a date with your dumbass boyfriend today?” Jimin places carefully and you ignore his question. 

“Where is Hobi?” grabbing a beer can, you jump on their plush couch. God! You love this couch more than your own. 

“Taking a shower but that’s not important! You just ignored my question. Is everything alright or not, Y/N?” Jimin’s expression turns serious as he comes and sits down beside you. You ignore him again, taking a big and loud gulp from the beer can. 

The bathroom door clicks open and your other best friend walks out… wearing only a bathrobe. 

Your eyes fall on Hoseok and you almost choke on the beer. 

The loose neck of the bathrobe hangs low on his sharp collarbones, water drips down from his wet jet black hair and drops on his chest, and gradually gets soaked in the fluffy material of the robe. 

You shamelessly check him out even when you know Jimin's basically sitting beside you and can see you thirsting over his roommate slash best friend. And if you are not wrong, you probably see Jimin smirking a bit. 

“Y/N?” Hobi exclaims as soon as he notices you sitting on the couch, “didn’t you have a date?” 

That’s it! You come to your best friends for some solace but all they have to talk about.. Is your date!

“Why the fuck do you guys have to talk about him? He dumped me! Do you guys hear what I am saying? He fucking dumped me!!” you scream at the top of your lungs. Your eyes turn blurry and before you close them you see Hoseok running to you. 

Within a moment, you find yourself being sandwiched between two warm bodies, one slightly wet and another way too soft. 

Before you know, you start crying, “that fucker said he doesn’t feel the same way for me anymore! He said he found someone else and thinks that she is the soulmate he was looking for! That nutjob!” 

Jimin rubs on your back saying, “it’s his loss, completely his loss.”

“I thought we could be something. I thought- he loves me! Fuck! I am a fool! Why would anyone fall for a cold, short-tempered, not-so-attractive 27 year old like me?” you shout again, voice already hoarse. 

“Stop talking nonsense.” Hoseok rolls you into a sharp rebuke, “since when you are so low on your confidence? Did you forget how many guys you had warped around your fingers back in our uni days? Nothing has changed since then. You are still very much attractive and you still have at least two guys all whipped for you.” 

Two guys? Wait! He isn’t referring to him and Jimin, is he?   

“Which two? Show me?” you reply, trying to sit straight on the couch. 

“Us” the hushed word comes out of Jimin’s lips. You whip your head to meet his eyes.

“What? What do you-” 

“You know what we mean, Y/N.” Hoseok says softly. You again turn your head to take the man in. your eyes bore into his darker ones and you realize your usual jolly Hobi is very much serious now. 

“Since when? And both of you? Wait! Don’t tell me you guys have fought over me or something?” Both of them break into laughter at this. 

“Not at all, darling. We aren’t highschool kids. We are grown up men and we know the pleasure of sharing.” Jimin speaks in a very sultry tone and that’s when you finally take a good look at the blonde man. 

Jimin has this gender-neutral charm that can rock anyone off their shoes. You will be lying if you say you are completely immune to those beautiful eyes, smooth blonde hair, perfect set of white teeth, that round juicy booty and especially those plump lips of his. Only you know how many times you imagined the taste of those pink muscles. 

However, that’s it. 

You didn’t think of taking your thoughts any further, especially when you have a big fat crush on your other best friend. 

You have always been on your knees for Hoseok since your university days. But you have always admitted the fact that he is way too good for you. So, you tkept your feelings bottled successfully. 

You might not be a giddy mess around him anymore but doesn't that mean you don’t feel weak for the man, especially when he is sitting right beside you, wearing nothing but a bathrobe and practically confessing that he has a crush on you too?

What the fuck? 

“Sharing? You guys wanna share me? h-how?” you shutter, being completely aware of what you are asking.

Hoseok looks at Jimin and gives him a knowing lopsided smile. 

“You wanna see how? Answer in yes or no.” Hoseok’s aura changes in a heartbeat and the sentence comes out less like a statement and more like an order. 

“Y-yes.” You shutter again.

“Good girl” Jimin whispers right behind your ear, “then you will do as we say, right?” 

“Yes” this time your voice comes out breathy. You already feel heat on your core even though the men haven’t even touched you yet. 

“You trust us, right?” Hoseok voices softly, as he tucks a stary strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Yeah.” another lone word slips past your lips. 

“Let us take the charge then. And tell us to stop whenever you feel like. Okay?” Hoseok’s eyes flood with warmth and darkness at the same time and you don’t know how it is even possible. So you just nod in agreement. 

“Strip.” Jimin says firmly and your eyes go wide.

“W-what?” you ask for confirmation.

“You heard me.” He states. You have never seen Jimin this serious for the entire 8 years of knowing him. You take a look at Hoseok, who seems to be waiting for you to comply with Jimin’s order. 

So you do.

Standing up on your feet, you slip out of your tshirt first, then your pants, then your bra and lastly your underwear. Just when you are about to throw your underwear away, Jimin extends his hand towards you, clearly asking for the article. 

You place it on his palms, embarrassed of the tiny wet patch caused by your impromptu arousal. 

“Bunny, huh?” Jimin chuckles at the cartoon bunny printed on the front side of your panty. He caresses the material for a moment and then takes it to his nose and inhales sharply. You start leaking due to his actions. 

You are way too busy with Jimin that you don’t see Hoseok ravishing your naked form with his eyes. He is very impatient. Finally after 8 years he is about to get the chance to taste you but you are too busy to observe Jimin’s antics. So he tugs at your hand and gains your attention. 

“Lay down, angel, let me have a taste.” Hoseok’s voice dips down a few octaves lower causing a shiver to run down your spine. 

Jimin takes the hold of your upper body and leans it down on the backrest of the couch. Hoseok moves on his feet, sits down on his knees right between your legs. 

Parting your legs gently, he hums in satisfaction, “umm.. Wet already.” 

The way Hoseok eyes your cunt, makes you gush out more arousal. The slick drips down your core causing Hoseok’s mouth to water. 

On the other hand, Jimin starts placing small, wet kisses on your jawline. Even though his position is a bit awkward, that doesn’t seem to bother him. 

His kisses travel down to the south and reach to your cleavage. But before you could react to that you feel a wet muscle testing your slicked slit. You look down to find Hoseok staring straight at you while lapping up your juices rapidly from your cunt. 

Jimin has also started licking at your perked nipples, flicking and biting those to his heart’s content. 

Fuck! It’s too much. Having your tits and cunt eaten out at the same time? A pleasure you never thought you would experience, that too, by your very own best friends. 

Hoseok takes your clit into his mouth while stretching your wet heated hole with two of his fingers right when Jimin digs his fingers into one of your tit and bites your other nipple harshly. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck” you moan out a string of curses. Heads on the cloud, you feel euphoric. What in the world did you do in your past life to deserve this pleasure?

You start clenching around Hoseok’s fingers as he keeps on abusing your clit with his practiced tongue. He knows you are close.. You know it too.  

“Are you gonna cum, angel?” Hoseok whispers. His mouth and nose glistens with your arousal. You nod. 

A harsh slap lands on your wet tit. “Use your words, bunny.” Jimin commands. 

“Yes. yes gonna cum- ah! Fuck!” Hoseok cuts you off mid sentence by twisting his fingers and pressing down on your g-spot. 

And you cum unannounced, on Hoseok’s tongue. He sucks up every last bit of it.

“Look at her, hyung. She drenched you.” Jimin’s tone is sultry, lust drips from it. 

Hoseok chuckles darkly, “think of how much she would cum on our dicks, Jimin-ah!” 

You know they are teasing you and you would fight them usually but right now you are defenseless, in your post orgasm glory and you want them to keep going. 

“Fuck me please.” you murmur, pulling yourself out of your fucked up state, “fuck my cunt and mouth at the same time, please. Please!” you beg. 

They look at each other for a brief moment, coming to terms, Jimin says, “You sure you can take it?” 

“Yes! Yes I can.” your breath gets heavier with the anticipation of their cocks inside you one by one. 

You take one of both of their hands and place those on either of your tits. 

“Fuck me.. Please.” you beg, yet again. 

“Fuck, Y/N. you will be the end of us.” Hoseok bites his lips,as he squeezes your supple flesh, he continues, “On your fours, ass up, right now.”

You oblige. 

Jimin walks behind you and you know, he will be the one to fuck you first. Hoseok stands right in front of your face. He slips out of his bathrobe. His cock stands tall and proud. You start salivating at his sight. 

Talk about length and girth, he got it all. 

Craning your neck you take a look at Jimin. He, too, is naked now. And his cock is literally the most beautiful one you have ever seen. 

Hoseok places his hand on your chin, tilting your head back at him, he mutters, “are you ready, angel?”  

You reply saying yes. 

“Open both of your holes wide of us then.” he commands, you comply. 

Soon your throat and cunt fill with a pair of dicks belonging to you two hot best friends. And you can’t be happier. 

Guess, your dumbass ex-boyfriend did the right thing for once by dumping you. Your best friends are more than happy to fuck you into oblivion.   

[pretzel-box]

Tags: Comedy, Some Fluff, Streamer AU, GN!reader x Human! Sebastian

Words: 1,9k

"Pressured_Solace has started a stream. Click here to watch."

The blue notification button caught your eye as it popped up on your desktop, the usual alert signaling that your favorite streamer was live. A thumbnail of the game he was about to play accompanied the message, and without hesitation, you clicked to join the stream.

“Jellycatfished joined the stream!”

“Is that the real one??”

“Bet it's another faker looking for donations.”

A grin spread across your face as you slid your headphones over your ears, adjusting them for comfort as you leaned back in your gaming chair. Solace hadn’t noticed your arrival yet, too focused on setting up the stream and chatting casually with the early viewers. Hearing his deep, familiar voice through your headphones sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, filling you with a warm, giddy excitement. Pressured_Solace was your absolute favorite streamer—witty, thoughtful, and with a voice that could melt butter. Like you, he streamed without a face cam, leaving his appearance up to the imagination of his audience, which only added to his charm.

“I think… yeah, I’m all set. Everything’s good,” he mumbled into his microphone. You could hear the sounds of items shuffling around and the clatter of coffee mugs on a wooden desk in the background. Then he leaned closer to the mic, his voice dropping to a playful tone. “Test, test, 1-2, 1-2. Can everybody hear me?”

The chat lit up with eager replies—greetings, questions, and a flood of emotes scrolling by at high speed. The sound of his chuckle was like music to your ears as he tried to keep up with the barrage of messages. You could feel his excitement; it was the same rush of emotions and adrenaline that coursed through your body when you streamed.

“Alright, just a heads-up,” he continued, his tone teasing. “I got a new microphone, and I haven’t fine-tuned all the settings yet. So if you hear anything other than my voice… well, that’s just proof I’m not a robot.”

His joke made you laugh out loud, and without a second thought, you hit the like button to show your support. This was classic Solace, always with that sassy vibe and the funny comments right up his sleeve.

You moved your cursor again, hovering over the donation button as you carefully selected the amount, leaning forward with excitement as you typed a message to accompany it. Money wasn’t an issue for you—you had sponsorships, collaborations, and a well-paying side job as a secretary at a company called Urbanshade. So you took the liberty of spoiling yourself a little by supporting your beloved streamer.

“Jellycatfished has donated $1000. ‘You're telling me you are not an AI that will take over the world, Solace??’”

The automatic voice read out your donation, and Solace burst into laughter, probably shaking his head in amusement. “Welcome back, beloved Jelly. How many times do I have to tell you not to donate so much, silly?” His words were playful, but there was a certain softness in his tone, a hint of affection that made your heart flutter. Knowing that your favorite streamer had noticed you always brought a smile to your face. “But seriously, thank you, Jelly, for the donation,” he said warmly. “I appreciate your support—although I’m starting to think you’re secretly trying to buy my loyalty.”

You laughed, quickly typing back into the chat, “Maybe I am! How else would I get the attention of the coolest streamer online?” A quick moment of embarrassment filled you as you suddenly regretted your message, was it too cringe? Too much?

Solace chuckled again into the microphone, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “You don’t need to buy my attention, Jelly. You’ve always had it.”

The chat exploded with a flurry of reactions, hearts, and playful comments. You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, even though you knew he couldn’t see you. This was the magic of streaming—the hidden identities, the mystery, the fun banter. It was your little escape from reality, and you loved every second of it.

Just then, a notification popped up on the screen.

“Pressured_Solace has invited Jellycatfished to a private match!”

It was an invitation to a combat pvp game that grew popular in the past few days, blowing up on social media. It became one of your favorite things to stream, and Solace knew that.

Your heart skipped a beat as you glimpsed at the sudden invitation. A private match? With him? You quickly accepted the invitation, feeling a rush of adrenaline and excitement. As the game loaded, Solace spoke again, his voice filled with that familiar teasing tone. “Alright, Jelly, let’s see if you’re as good in-game as you are at throwing money around.”

You laughed, feeling a surge of competitive spirit. It wasn’t the first time you played with him and surely not the last. “Bring it on, Solace. I’ve been practicing.” This was the last message you typed before the loading screen disappeared.

The game started, and the playful banter between the two of you continued over the ingame voice chat, filled with laughter, friendly taunts, and unexpected plot twists. The chat was loving it, spamming comments like “OMG, this is the collab we didn’t know we needed!” and “Ship them already!”

As the game loaded into the next round of the PvP arena, the tension between you and Pressured_Solace crackled like electricity. The map was a sprawling labyrinth of narrow corridors and open spaces, perfect for ambushes and quick escapes. You took a deep breath, fingers flexing over the keyboard, ready to bring your A-game. The chat, that was open on your second screen, was buzzing with excitement, filled with a mixture of support and playful taunts.

"Let’s go, Jelly! Show Solace who's boss!"

“Team Jellycatfished for the win!"

“Pressured_Solace may be good, but Jelly's got that magic touch!”

You couldn’t help but smile at the encouragement flooding in. The support from your fans always gave you that extra boost of confidence, especially when it came to facing off against someone as skilled as Solace. You knew he was good—really good. But you weren’t about to let that intimidate you.

“Alright, Jelly,” Solace’s voice came through your headphones, smooth and teasing. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

“Oh, I plan to do more than keep up,” you shot back, your voice light and playful. “I’m coming for you, Solace. How about a bet?”

“A bet?” He chuckles. “Sure.”

You started to smirk as an idea came to your mind. “If I win, I get to wish something from you.” It took a moment for Solace to reply, he was definitely teasing you by pretending to think. “Fine, but if I win, you're the one that has to fulfill a wish.”

“Deal.”

The match began, and you immediately took off, sprinting down a side corridor to grab some resources. You knew the map well enough to anticipate the power-ups and health packs that would spawn in certain locations. If you could get to them first, you might stand a chance.

But Solace was a step ahead. As you rounded a corner, you were met with a hail of bullets, forcing you to duck behind a crate. You could hear Solace chuckling through the mic.

“Nice try, Jelly, but you’re gonna have to be faster than that,” he taunted, his confidence evident.

Your heart raced as you peeked out from behind the crate, firing off a few rounds in his direction. He dodged easily, taking cover behind a wall. The chat was going wild, cheering you on, urging you to give it your all.

“Come on, Jelly! You got this!”

“Don’t let him intimidate you!”

“Use the power of the Jellycatfished!”

You grinned, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You quickly reloaded and made a break for it, dashing toward the nearest cover. You had to stay on the move—staying in one place too long would make you an easy target. Solace’s aim was deadly accurate, and you needed to keep him guessing.

But every time you thought you had a plan, he was already two steps ahead. He moved through the map like he was born there, seamlessly transitioning from offense to defense. You managed to get a few hits in, but he was quick to recover, always staying just out of reach.

“Having fun yet, Jelly?” he asked, his tone light but focused.

“More fun than you can handle,” you retorted, launching a surprise attack from above, dropping down from a higher platform. Your ambush caught him off guard, and you managed to land a few solid hits before he rolled away, retaliating with a well-placed grenade that forced you back.

The chat erupted with excitement.

“YES! Go, Jelly, go!”

“That was epic!”

“Don’t let up, Jellycatfished!”

Despite the cheers, you could feel the pressure mounting. Solace was clearly better, his skill evident in every move he made. He was precise, calm, and knew exactly how to control the flow of the game. You, on the other hand, were running on adrenaline and instinct, trying to keep up with his calculated strategies.

And then he made his move. In a swift, decisive maneuver, he cornered you in a dead-end alley, cutting off your escape routes. You fired desperately, but his shots were faster, more accurate. Before you knew it, your health bar was dwindling down to nothing.

“Looks like this is the end, Jelly,” Solace said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Any last words?”

You grinned, a surge of determination flooding through you. “Yeah… don’t underestimate me.”

With a final burst of energy, you lunged forward, launching one last, desperate attack. It was reckless, but you had nothing to lose. You managed to land a few more hits before Solace finished you off with a well-placed headshot.

“Defeated! Pressured_Solace wins the match!”

The screen flashed the results, and the chat exploded with a mix of cheers and playful groans.

“GG, Jelly! You put up a good fight!”

“Solace is just too good!”

“Rematch! Rematch!”

“That was intense!”

Breathless, you leaned back in your chair, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not bad, Solace. Not bad at all.”

“Not bad? I’d say that was a pretty solid victory,” he replied, his tone teasing. “But you did put up a good fight, Jelly. I’m impressed.”

You laughed, feeling a warm flush of pride despite the loss. “I’ll get you next time, Solace. Mark my words.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said with a grin you could practically hear through the screen. “I always enjoy a challenge from you.”

The chat continued to buzz with excitement, fans from both sides celebrating the epic showdown. Even though you didn’t win, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. You may have lost the match, but you had fun, and more importantly, you had earned Solace’s respect. And that, in itself, felt like a win.

As the stream continued, you and Solace bantered back and forth, the playful rivalry only fueling the chat's excitement. It was moments like these that reminded you why you loved streaming so much—the thrill of the game, the support of the community, and the chance to connect with someone like Pressured_Solace, even if you didn’t know him outside of this virtual world.

But there was always tomorrow, and another game to be played. And who knows? Maybe next time, the outcome would be different.

A message plopped up at last, Solace texted you privately over the streaming platform.

“Alright Jellykitten.” He obviously joked by giving you such a silly nickname. “Time for my wish, prepare for your doom!”

“What is it, Solace?”

“Share your discord tag with me.”

[tinyshyteacup]

Can I possibly get Chibs smut like first time together after months of just kissing and slow burn even though both of you wanted to rush bc you both felt it😍😍😍😫😫

Probably a little softer then your request but I was feeling it. (Also wayyy longer then I intended)

TW: smut, tobacco depictions, soft chibs, p in v. 18+ MDNI

• Nightfall •

Chibs moves with the silence of a man used to danger. Soft-footed across the dorm floor, every motion careful. This Lockdown had been a joke, and you'd spent the day on your feet, helpful as you were, putting everyone before yourself.

Chibs, despite his tough exterior has always been careful with you, gentlemanly, you'd kissed, held each other, but never explored beyond that.

You hear the low clink of his rings as he gathers your sweater first, folding it loosely over the back of the chair.

His rough hands lift your tank top, your jeans, each item drawn up off the floor and out of the way with a kind of reverence.

There’s no leer to it. No smirk.

Just a soft focus behind his eyes—like he’s cataloguing every thread, every impression you’ve left behind in his space.

"You leave a wee trail everywhere ye go, don't ye..." he murmurs almost inaudibly under his breath, the hint of a fond smile in his tone, though you’re not meant to hear it.

His kutte comes off with a whisper of worn leather, hung on the same hook near the door.

Then his boots.

His belt.

His shirt unbuttons, one clasp at a time.

A slow ritual, like shedding the weight of the world with each piece.

The click of his lighter breaks the silence—small, brief, familiar. The ember glows warm orange against the low light as he steps near the cracked-open window, letting out the first slow exhale.

He leans against the sill, arms crossed, one hand loosely holding the cigarette between two fingers.

The smoke curls around him like a ghost, clinging to his hair, his collarbone, the soft shadow carved beneath his jaw.

"Still can’t wrap me head ‘round you bein’ here..." he mutters softly to himself, thick Scottish rasp coated in smoke and weariness.

"Look at what ye've bloody done… makin’ a home out o’ this mess."

He turns on instinct—maybe to stub it out, maybe just to check that you’re truly asleep.

But he freezes when he catches your eyes on him. Your voice is barely audible, soft and warm in the low dark.

"I can't sleep."

There’s no startle in him. No mask sliding back down. He just holds your gaze for a long second through the smoke, then lifts the cigarette slowly to his lips again.

"Aye," he breathes around the smoke, tapping ash into a tray. "Me neither."

He finishes it slowly, no rush. Not now. Not with you watching him like that. When the stub is pressed out and the tray is pushed aside, he moves toward the bed again—bare chest catching in the dim light, every scar, every piece of ink a chapter written into his skin.

He doesn’t speak as he pulls back the covers, slipping in behind you, one arm drawing you in automatically. His hand skims over your waist, then stills there.

"Ye wan' talk about it, love?" His voice is low, warm against the back of your neck, his accent thick and rasping.

When you shake your head no, just nudging closer, he presses a kiss just below your ear.

"Alright, then."

You both settle. His breath deepens. Yours matches.

Your fingers curl around his hand where it rests across your middle, holding him there like a lifeline. And he lets you.

He doesn't try to fix your thoughts or chase away the ache that keeps you awake. He just stays. Anchors you with his body, his heat, the steady beat of his heart against your back.

You wrinkle your nose a little, burying your face into the curve of the pillow before letting the words out in a mumble against the fabric.

"You smell all smoky."

For a beat, there’s silence, just your fingers idly tracing the lines of ink on his arm.

Then that low, husky chuckle rumbles up from his chest, warm and unguarded. His breath fans across your temple as he leans his head into your shoulder.

"Aye, well," he murmurs, smile tugging crookedly at the corner of his mouth.

"that’s what happens when y’drag an old bastard in from the window, love."

He turns you in his arms with slow certainty, careful not to jostle you, one hand slipping beneath your shoulder and coaxing you to face him. Your legs shift beneath the covers, tangling softly with his, one of his thighs pressing to yours, anchoring.

His eyes crinkle at the corners when he looks at you—tired but bright, like you’ve flicked a switch inside him.

It starts so quietly that it could’ve been mistaken for nothing more than a breath.

One moment, you're teasing him—soft voice muffled by the dimness and his chest so close—and the next, he's looking at you like he’s never been kissed before in his life. Like this might be the first one that matters.

There’s no rush in him, no heat chasing the moment too fast. Just a long pause. A slight lean in. The barest flick of his gaze to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if asking for something without saying a word.

Then he kisses you.

Not hungrily.

Tenderly.

The kind of kiss that makes you forget your name, not because it steals your breath, but because it gives it back.

His lips move slowly over yours—his stubble brushes your skin, a rough whisper against your softness—but there’s no force, no pressure. Just a quiet pull.

You taste the faint bite of smoke on him, warm and earthy, but even that fades beneath the press of something more.

As the kiss deepens—as his tounge whispers across your lip, a request for entrance—his hand shifts behind your neck, anchoring you to him.

Not in control.

But like he’s afraid the world might wake up and take you away if he lets go.

You don’t realize he’s moving you until you feel the change in pressure beneath you.

The pillows beneath your head are soft, worn from years of use, the faint scent of his cologne clinging to the sheets. Somehow, in the space of a few lingering kisses and the hush between them, he’s gently rolled you beneath him.

But there’s no weight. No pressing need. His body hovers over yours, forearms braced on either side of your shoulders, the line of his thigh resting between your legs, protective, not pushing.

"Didn’t even notice, did ye?" he murmurs against your lips, voice roughened by smoke and the Scotch lilt of his amusement. His accent curls around the words like they’re only for you.

"Slippery bastard, me." You feel more than see his wolfish grin, as he tilts his head and tugs your bottom lip with his teeth.

His fingers drift down, resting at the edge of the button-up shirt you’re wearing—his shirt, too big on your frame, hem brushing your thighs. The sight makes his breath catch, just slightly.

"Jesus Christ..." he mutters under his breath, eyes searching your face as if checking you’re alright with each slow move.

Then, delicately—tenderly—he lifts the first button, slipping it free. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t undress you like a prize to be claimed. He does it like a man peeling away the world to reach you.

He pauses with the shirt hanging open, brushing his knuckles lightly along your collarbone. Not taking, not assuming. Just… being.

"Ye alright?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid to break the spell.

When you answer yes, he doesn’t move fast.

His other hand rests against your ribs under the covers, thumb tracing slow arcs over the skin below your breast, grounding you both in the moment.

“Fuckin’ unreal, ye are.” he murmurs, kissing along your collarbone, voice husky, lilting with that rich Glaswegian lilt.

His hand moves across you— mapping you like you’re a story he wants to learn line by line. The pad of his thumb traces over the gentle curve of your hip, along the slope of your waist, settling at the dip of your thigh.

His fingers still for just a breath. His eyes search yours, quietly scanning—checking that you’re still there, still willing, still you.

His voice is a rasp, barely more than a breath.

"Tell me to stop, lass, an’ I will. But if ye don’t… I swear to God, I’ll be nothin’ but gentle with ye."

And you know he means it.

Not because he says it—but because every moment leading up to this one has proved it.

The laughter. The chase. The quiet way he stood behind you in the clubhouse when things get tense. The cigarette at the window when he thought you were asleep.

Your hands move hesitantly, barely brushing his chest as you explore the warmth of him through tentative touches. The muscles there are solid beneath your fingers—etched from years of battle and burden—but you handle him like he’s fragile.

Like you’re the one who needs to be gentle with him.

Chibs doesn’t move at first. He just watches you, half-shadowed in the low light, expression unreadable—but his breath stutters softly, and that’s answer enough.

"You alright, lass?" he asks quietly, voice thick with his accent, the words low like gravel over velvet. His hand shifts to your hip, grounding you, but he doesn't stop your touch. "Ye don’t have to…"

You shake your head, slowly. “I want to.”

Your answer is barely a whisper, and he swallows hard at the honesty in it. The lines around his eyes deepen as he watches you, waiting to see what you’ll do next.

When your fingertips rise to his face, brushing the edge of his Glasglow smile, he freezes—not tense, but still, like an animal unsure if it’s being hunted or healed.

Your touch is so light it could be mistaken for air, and yet it carries the weight of things no one’s ever dared give him before.

He inhales through his nose, eyes fluttering shut for just a second.

"Ye know what they are, aye?" he asks, voice low and rough, not challenging—just honest.

“Evidence, Filip.”

His lips part slightly, a small furrow of confusion in his brow, like he’s going to say something, maybe a protest, but nothing comes out.

"Evidence that you won, Scotsman" you clarify in a whisper.

He lets out a shaky exhale and leans into your touch.

Chibs moves slow—not because he’s unsure, but because he wants you to feel every second. His weight eases over you, protective rather than pressing. His skin is warm, the scent of smoke still faint on him, but it’s overpowered by something softer—soap, warmth, safety.

He pulls you closer, until his leg slips between yours, the maneuver parting your thighs beneath him.

The pad of his thumb moves in soft teasing circles around your sensitive bud, as he gently aligns his body with yours, the way his hand traces the edge of you knee is so unlike the gruffness he has with his brothers, his breath catches when your knee brushes his hip—but he doesn’t rush.

He shifts and palms himself, a slow delibrate stroke, before notching himself at your entrance.

Cool brown eyes flick to yours and back, before he presses himself forward into your heat.

The slow stretch spreads warm, outward like spilled mulled wine, a slow stain of surrender as Chibs sinks into you.

“Christ, ye ruin me, ye do.” he breathes into your skin.

You slide your arms around his neck, and your fingers brush the hair at his nape—coarse and soft all at once, salt and pepper strands curling slightly beneath your touch.

Your body arched around the intrusion, Chibs leans his forehead to yours, breathing you in like he needs you more than air.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face with a calloused palm and kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the soft place beneath your ear.

The room is quiet save for the low hum of the night outside the dorm walls. No engines. No shouting. Just the soft sound of his lips brushing against yours, and the warmth of skin meeting skin.

You're cocooned and consumed by him in every fragile cell, in every pulse of movement, as he rocks into you in a steady rhythmic roll.

You can feel the heat of him, the way he slides across the spongey spot within you in languid grazes.

Your bodies move like waves, with the same tenderness the break has as it maps its way onto the sand—time seems to slow as his thrusts continue slower, deeper.

Not demanding. Not dominant. There would be time for that, he would make sure, but now here with you, your breath hitching with at apex of each movement, it was like a prayer whispered instead of a promise made aloud.

There’s no hunger in Chibs when he loves you like this—His hands are careful, mapping you like a man reading scripture, fingers moving with reverence. He traces the curve of your waist, the slope of your thigh, like it’s a privilege, not a right.

He keeps checking in, even without words—watching your eyes, pausing when your breath hitches, brushing your hair back so gently it makes your chest ache.

When things grow closer, more breathless, he doesn’t break that tenderness. Every sigh from you makes him slow down, not speed up. Every sound you make earns a kiss, a murmur, a whispered.

Until the crash of your orgasm washes over you like the creeping of the tide, slowly and yet all at once.

Chibs stutters above you as he spills into you, the room is warm, thick with your combined breathing as you come down from your high.

The faint smell of cigarettes, soap and skin, lingers.

You let out a faint whine as he gently withdraws himself from your core.

"Its alright, Love" he murmurs, accent thicker now with affection, his lips ghosting the top of your head. "I got ye."

You lie curled against Chibs’ side, one leg draped loosely over his, Your eyes flutter open only as he shifts slightly, reaching toward the bedside table where his cigarettes lie.

The click of the lighter breaks the quiet, followed by the soft crackle of tobacco catching fire.

He takes a drag, exhales slowly through his nose, then turns his head to glance at you.

His fingers trace lazy patterns on your back, up and down your spine with near weightless affection.

"Ye all right, love?" he asks in a murmur, his voice still a little rough from earlier. There's a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better look at you.

You nod, eyes half-lidded, cheeks warm, limbs pleasantly heavy.

Satiated. Boneless. The word flits across your thoughts, sleep trying to pull you under.

"Christ, yer so bloody soft," he mutters affectionately, brushing his thumb along your back. "Could lie here forever."

He tilts his head back and exhales a slow stream of smoke, the scent curling lazily in the air between you.

You’re just starting to drift when—

CRASH.

The door swings open.

"Hey Chibs, have you seen—OH—OH GOD—OH SHIT—SWEET JESUS—NOPE."

Juice freezes like he’s just walked into oncoming traffic.

There’s a full second of silence, where all anyone does is blink.

You, clutching the blanket instinctively to your chest.

Chibs, exhaling a slow breath through his nose, cigarette held just off to the side.

Juice, wide-eyed, frozen in the doorway with a folder in one hand and utter panic blooming across his face.

"I—I didn’t know—I mean, I wasn’t tryna—like, I wasn’t gonna—" he blurts, already backpedaling verbally but somehow still standing there like a baby deer in leather.

"Shut tae bloody door, Juicy," Chibs says evenly, not raising his voice. Not yet.

Juice flails.

"No, right, right! Totally—door! Got it! I mean, you should lock it next time, man, or maybe put up a sock or something—oh God, you’re not even wearing—is that her shirt?!—shitshitshit—"

You duck your head, cheeks flushing, heart thudding for an entirely new reason.

Chibs sits up slightly, the blanket shifting over his waist. His jaw clenches, cigarette dangling from his lips now, his tone growing colder.

"Juice."

"Yeah?"

"D’ye want tae die tonight?"

Juice stares.

"No."

"Then shut the fuckin’ door and disappear before I put my boot so far up yer arse, ye’ll be coughin’ out shoelaces ‘til Christmas."

"Right!" Juice squawks, spinning on his heel. The door slams behind him.

Silence returns like a drawn curtain.

You stare at the ceiling for a second, pulse still racing.

Then Chibs lets out a sharp, exasperated laugh and mutters around his cigarette.

"Jesus Christ, that boy’s got the subtlety of a fuckin’ grenade in a china shop."

He flicks ash into the tray by the bedside, stubs the cigarette out with two fingers, and settles back in beside you, pulling you against his side again like nothing happened.

You rest your cheek against his shoulder. He's still warm.

"Ye a’right?" he asks softly, voice lower now, gentler. His fingers trace the curve of your spine again like he’s grounding you, bringing your heartbeat back down.

You nod slowly. "That was… a lot."

He chuckles again. "Aye. Jus’ pretend he got dropped on his head one too many times as a baby. Helps it all make sense."

Then he presses a kiss to your hair.

"Back to where we were, aye?" he says, tucking the blanket up over your bare shoulders, "Safe. Quiet. Just us."

You close your eyes.

[m1d-45]

room 11-13

summary: albedo is weird. no, not just weird- disgustingly strange.

word count: ~2.5k

-> warnings: implied stalking [him -> you] ; he is a weird creep!! brief + non described mentioned nudity (of reader, within a drawing)

-> gn reader (you/yours) in a modern au !

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

your roommate was… interesting, to say the least. not that you really had many expectations—unlike apparently everyone else, you didn’t come to university with a plethora of friends packed in your bag. you had no names to list on your housing contract, no familiar faces to look forward to when you came home, just you, a handful of cardboard boxes and a lingering sense that you’d forgotten something.

there was nothing you could pin about him. nothing in specific, no one catalyst you could point to. sure, you don’t see him often, but that isn’t inherently a bad thing. there’s nothing wrong with not going out much, there’s nothing wrong with being a quiet person when you’re living with a stranger. the common room is clean, the sink is (relatively) empty, and none of your things in the fridge have been eaten. he really, by all standards, should be a perfectly fine roommate, but…

albedo was a quiet man. you first met him when you moved in, delicately pouring exact amounts of water into a small tins over the sink without a single sound or stray droplet. he looked up, you exchanged names, and that was that. the rest of your day was spent unpacking in your room, barely hearing the click of his door closing.

you never quite asked what he was doing that first day, but you could put two and two together. he had a habit of leaving pencils or erasers or other supplies on the coffee table, and you often ran into him when he came out of his room to fetch them. you’re not quite sure how you never see him in the living room when you never told him your schedule, but… well, whatever. it didn’t take a genius to know that the guy with charcoal smears across his hands was an artist. and, if you’d somehow missed those, you sometimes ran into half-used palette in the fridge, beads of paint in a myriad of colors sealed neatly in plastic containers, changing every time you checked.

you weren’t sure why they were always there, as you’d definitely seen one when he was in the dorm, but… well, it’s not really your business, is it? maybe he’s busy, maybe he doesn’t want to paint, maybe he’s taking a nap, who cares. you grab what you need and go back to your room; there’s more important things to worry about than a stranger’s hobbies. honestly, you shouldn’t spend so much time thinking about him. you could hardly claim to know someone you never saw.

well, except when you did see him.

you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge as you came back from your chemistry lab, not minding the usual palette of paint beside it. also as usual, you heard his door open as he remembered some random item, not minding the sound of his footsteps as you receded into your own room-

“wait! ah- please…”

you forgotten what his voice sounded like. it’s mostly out of shock, not recognition, that you turn around, seeing him lingering in the entrance to his half of the dorm. his hair is loose around his shoulders, catching the light from the window and glowing gold. his apron is stained with a rainbow of paint, matching the perpetual lines across his hands, and he seems a bit too nervous to be talking with someone he’s been living with for a few months now.

“…i couldn’t make it to the lab today,” he starts, words measured and not at all like his original call, practiced instead of panicked. “could i borrow your notes?”

…you’re in the same chemistry class? you’d never noticed. then again, you’re not sure you could pick him out of a crowd—it’s not like you two were exactly close… but giving him your data was honestly a non-issue. normally you wouldn’t think twice about it, except if he was in your lab section then he should know the rules about missing them.

“you’re going to have to retake the lab anyway, aren’t you? my report won’t help you at all.”

he blinks, like he’d forgotten that fact, and you half hope that’ll be the end of it. you still have your own work to get to, after all.

“still… it would give me something to reference, so when i do it i’ll know if my results are reasonable.” his brows are drawn, genuinely worried, crystal blue carrying a surprising amount of emotion despite the careful cadence of his words. “i’d greatly appreciate your assistance on this matter… i don’t have a reliable way to contact anyone else in the class.”

it only takes you a few moments to weigh the pros and cons. at worst, your partner can back you up if he tries to steal your work. at best, nothing happens and you’ve earned a bit of goodwill.

you shrug, taking off your bag and setting it on the counter, unzipping the main pocket and digging for your lab manual. you find it and flip to today’s lab, mentally wondering what an artist would think of the irritated scribbles down the side of the page. whatever the case, you hold it out toward the hallway he was before, only to find him barely a foot away. he’s stood over your shoulder, letting your manual bump into his chest without a flinch, without an ounce of the worry from before.

without an ounce of anything at all, really. his face is flat, empty, just staring down at the words in front of him without seeming to read them at all.

“…sorry,” you start, “i didn’t hear you-”

“don’t be sorry.” with a blink, he’s back, taking the manual with a gentle smile. “thank you for your help. i’ll return it by tonight.”

“…yeah, take your time.”

you’re not going to question what or why whatever happened did. it’s.. just easier if you don’t. you grab your bag and go to your room, focused on anything else.

you don’t find it in the common area, on the coffee table or by the sink or in any reasonable area. he doesn’t knock on your door to return it. no, instead, you trip over it the next day as you leave your room, squinting in the dark to see it laying on the carpet, a note taped to the front.

yeah, you’re not reading that. not now, at least. you’re certain albedo is a nice guy, if socially awkward, but… you can give him the benefit of the doubt later. you shove the note in a drawer and forget about it, going to class. if you just ignore it, you won’t have to deal with it.

it must not have been anything important, because he doesn’t ever bring it up again. it’s almost as if nothing happened. there’s a new pencil on the common room whenever you walk by, he ducks his head and smiles sheepishly when grabbing it, and nothing is new. you try to look for him in the lab, if only to be courteous, but never find him. it’s not a big class… but whatever, you’re not too familiar with his face anyway. after a week or two, you stop trying.

it’s wishful thinking, really.

you have to do a double take when opening the fridge one day, the paint on the palette looking, from the corner of your eye, like a human hand. it’s just skin-toned paints, delicately mixed into a color that somewhat looks like yours.. by the looks of it, he must have fussed with the tint for a while. normally there’s only small bubbles of paint, but this is excessively fine refinement.. he must just be a perfectionist.

you can’t leave your room without running into him. not just like before, with brief intersections as he grabs what he’s forgotten, but actual interactions. he sits on the couch, drawing in a small notebook, asking you about your classes like he’s not supposed to be in his own classes. sure, he could be taking some online, but it’s like he never leaves the dorm.

he asks as usual, one day, what class you’re going to. when you finally gather your courage and ask why he himself isn’t going to the lab, he startles, like he’d forgotten he was attending. there were plenty of reasons why he wasn’t going—maybe he was in a different section of the class, or he had a car and had reduced travel time, or quite literally anything other than silence. but he sat there, staring at you like you were the one who had mixed up your schedule, with the same painfully empty look as before.

you left soon after that.

if asked to describe albedo in three words or less, you’d fumble for a few moments before landing on “fine, but weird.” if asked to do so with any other level of detail, you’d probably end up saying the exact same thing.

and that’s fine. you didn’t really expect to become best friends with your roommate. but for archons’ sake, he’s just so… uncanny.

you’ve never seen any other food in the fridge but yours. you cannot remember ever seeing or hearing him leave or enter the dorm, or ever remember not seeing some sign of him being there. his door was perpetually closed, the faint sound of scratching coming from behind it, and he’d just… freeze at random. like he recedes into himself, leaving a hollow husk until he returns, eyes left as flat disks set into an unfeeling face. there’s nothing inherently wrong with not showing many expressions, but whatever he’s got going on is far more concerning than that.

so really, who could blame you for being curious? his sketchbook is just there, laying open on the table, only partially masked by the small bag of supplies next to it. the door to the bathroom is closed, you really shouldn’t be invading his privacy like this, but it’s not like he even bothered to close it.

still, it’s wrong.

still, having something solid to point to could really help if you ever need to make a complaint to an RA.

oh archons, this is such a bad idea.

before you can convince yourself not to, you walk over and sit in his usual place on the couch, picking up his sketchbook and gritting your teeth through the fact that there’s no way this is morally justified.

the current spread is plain. it’s entirely in pencil, repeated iterations of different kinds of jewelry. rings, with ornate spirals and diamonds along the sides, leading into a gem of many different cuts. some simple stud earrings, some hoops, a necklace draped around a half-drawn bust, the chain sketched to look like blooming flowers strung together. there’s some notes in another script, but other than that, it’s entirely normal. there’s nothing weird about a guy that draws bracelets in his spare time. but your mind itches to find a justification, searching for proof, and you’re already in too deep. despite your better judgement, you turn the page, doing your best not to drop it when you do.

it’s you.

you, at least six times on two pages alone. smiling, waving, fixing your hair, by the seven you feel faintly sick, fingers digging into the pages as you try to rationalize what you’re seeing.

it could just be a one off. maybe you have a particularly interesting face to draw? except the next page is the same, and so is the next, and you flip through them all with the edge of your thumb and it’s all you.

all of it. every single page that has ink on it has your face. from the very front to the very back, with only a page or two of white left, and it’s clear that the jewelry was an intentional decoy. there’s a spread dedicated to just your hands, one to various outfits he’s seen you in, one- archons, one in various stages of undress, barely granting you the dignity of keeping them from the waist up. the worst part, really, is how accurate they are, clear proof of just how much time he’s spent staring at you.

you recognize his voice now, quiet and measured as he calls your name. that could just be your heart in your ears, though.

he has that same blank expression again, standing in the doorway, looking between you and the book. you’re certain he can see the paled fingertips of your grip on the cover. “do… do you not like them?”

“…what?”

he settles back into himself, sad, shoulders slumping and eyes downturned. “they’re just practices, i promise. the actual painting looks much better…”

bile threatens the back of your throat. “the painting?”

“yes, the painting. the one i mentioned in my note…”

…the note. his note. the one you didn’t read. the one he gave you after a grand total of one significant interactions, before which you all but considered him a ghost. and he decided that making a painting of you was a normal thing to do?

“…it makes sense you forgot it. i can’t imagine i’ve ever come close to properly capturing your beauty… it doesn't matter the medium, i never seem to get it right...”

he crosses his arms, picking idly at his lips with one hand, like he’s discussing a particularly annoying problem on his homework and not the fact that he has drawings of you topless. after a few moments of mumbling, he shakes his head. “i’ll do better. i promise i will. one day i'll draw something that finds even a fraction of your perfection.”

you don’t care. all you want is to get out of here, to lock your doors and try not to call the cops while he’s in earshot. “it’s fine, albedo”

the lie is a poison that seems to sting him upon arrival, a ripple of shock crossing his impassive expression. “it's not fine, not at all. how can i call myself an artist if i fail to impress my muse? please, give me time, i promise i can do better-”

“it’s fine,” you repeat, setting the sketchbook down and realizing with another stab of disgust that he’s written your name on the front cover. you stand, hands buzzing with the echo of what you’ve witnessed, not caring for the crestfallen look on his face. “…you’re a talented artist,” you grit out.

and you’re going to be sick.

[sushis-wild-imagination]

Seventeen and first dates (all members)

More like this on Seventeen Masterlist <3 Requests are open! Genre: FLUFF

→ Choi Seungcheol

“You do look like a fish” he says.

You and cheol were walking around in an aquarium as your first official date. You both have been really close friends for a while before you decided to finally give into your feelings and see where it goes with each other.

You couldn’t be happier, cheol really was the best thing that happened to you, even friendship wise. The sweetest boy.

“Look, that looks exactly like you” he points to ansilly looking fish through the glass.

You put you lips out and pout like a fish.

“Close your eyes; you look exactly like this fish behind you,”

You giggle at that, you’ve never been told you look like a fish and that made you laugh,

“let me take a picture” he says.

You stand at the glass, with your lips out and eyes closed. After two clicks you feel someone in front of you and a pair of lips, pecking yours.

“Hey!” You were fully red. It was your first kiss with him. It was playful and so sweet. Nothing like you imagined but a 100 times cuter, innocent.

“Sue me! I stole a kiss” he says running away from you while you chase him.

“Come back here”

→Yoon Jeonghan

“You can’t eat anything if you don’t catch anything!,” jeonghan tells you while you stand at this pool like area for fishes.

You and Jeonghan confessed quite mutually to each other that you liked each other. All your friends could see it, how you would kick your feet at his messages and how he would giggle at yours. You weren’t just friends.

“You’ll let your girlfriend starve?” You ask acting offended.

He pauses for a second and scans you top to bottom.

“Yes”

You playfully smack him while the fish catching turns into a competition about who catches more fish. At the end of the night you had 6 fishes you caught, and you couldn't possibly eat 6 fishes so you gave some away to the kids who couldn’t catch any.

“If this is how we were going to catch fish, I would’ve taken you fishing instead”

“I am somewhat of a master fisherman myself”

You giggle at the reference.

→ Hong Joshua

You’ve liked joshua ever since he transfered to you school in high school. He was your bench mate and it wasn’t a long time before you fell for his charm, he was a handsome boy with such a kind heart. You still had an umbrella he gave you to use.

You met him again at a reunion after years and the group of friends planned to go to an amusement park that weekend at the reunion.

Seeing him again, after years set you off with some feelings, all unresolved.

You reached the amusement park as a group but little did you know it was a set up and suddenly you and Joshua were left alone.

You ended up touring the entire park, you realised he was the same crazy shua you knew and liked. Everything he did made you laugh.

“Here!” He says and hands you a bracelet he won shooting at balloons.

“A souvenir from our first date” he adds.

You look up at him in surprise.

“First date?”

“Unless you don’t want it to be”

“No, of course, I like that”

“Good”

‘Our first date’ rang in your head the rest of the day.

→ Moon Junhui

This was the first time you had gone over to your boyfriend, Jun's apartment. He liked decorating his apartment and interior design, his apartment was full of decorative items, you went through them all. it was fascinating how much you realise of a person just by seeing how they decorate their spaces.

Jun had called you over for a home cooked meal that he was so confident about. He was so excited to make you this Malapot that he knows he makes the best. He wanted to almost show off to you and impress you with his food.

You were excited for the food too, just listening to him talk about it made you drool when you made the plan.

"Ah it's ruined" you hear jun's voice from the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" you walk over.

"Somethings wrong, it's not tasting the way it's supposed to" he says dejected. You go over and he gives you a spoonful of broth from the pot. It was quite flavourful.

"It's good Jun, what's wrong?" you ask again.

"It's good, not great, I can do so much better" he was very disappointed. He just wanted you to enjoy his food and like his food.

"I'll eat anything you make junnie" you say hugging his side while his eyes never leave the pot in front of him.

You force him to look at you.

"There's always a next time, I'm not going anywhere"

He finally smiles.

→ Kwon Hoshi

You were cycling with your boyfriend of 1 week, hoshi. You met at a fashion show and immediately clicked. You fell for his goofy personality and felt this urge to protect him from the world.

He asked you out first and you happily agreed. Both of you had some feelings some flirtatious text messages happening between the two of you.

But today you could taste blood, he was cycling way too hard and you couldn’t catch up.

He was a little ahead of you while you volunteered to crash in the grass to relax, you would’ve died if you went on for a little longer.

You were panting while the tiger came back to you to check if you are okay.

“Cycling is too hard” you say between laboured breaths.

“You have no stamina” he smirks suggesting something completely different.

It was your chance to chase him down for that comment.

“We’ll see” you blush but also respond sassily chasing him in the grass.

→ Jeon Wonwoo

Jeon Wonwoo, your next door neighbour that had taken a liking to you, has made it routine to pick you up from office everyday, so you could go back home together.

You were still unsure about dating him and he gave you all the time in the world to come to a decision.

You wanted to surprise him today, by agreeing to date him. You had spent a lot of time together and he was a sweet guy. You were just scared of something, past relationships weren’t exactly a flower path. He understood that.

You came out of your office building, to see wonwoo, hopefully your soon to be boyfriend, waiting at his bike.

“Did you wait for too long?”

He smiles. “I’ll wait forever, if its for you”

Maybe you don’t have to wait anymore.

You take a deep breath and take his hands in yours.

“Listen, I had to talk to you about something”

His body language changes and he’s almost nervous. You fidget with his thumb, very embarrassed and shy.

“Whats wrong?” He asks getting concerned at how you couldn’t make eye contact with him.

“I gave us a thought”

He visibly freezes. Like he’s preparing himself for anything thats to come.

“I like you Wonwoo, I know I’ve been scared but Im ready to get through that”

There is a glowing smile on his face. “I’ll treat you so well, I promise” his hand pats your hair. It makes you feel safe and reassured.

“So girlfriend?” He asks putting your helmet on you and buckling up for you.

Him calling you girlfriend sets your chest on fire.

“Yes, boyfriend” you squeak out, not used to this.

“Let me take you to the moon, our first date”

“I’ll go anywhere with you” you say softly, getting on his bike.

→ Lee Jihoon

Jihoon was a schoolmate first, your co worker second, he recommended you at the company you work at now. You became close with him being the only person you knew. Soon, this closeness turned into romantic feelings. You couldn’t get him out of your head.

You asked him out, you straight up told him, you like him and what he thinks about it. It was the first time you had seen him speechless. He took a minute to collect himself before he said “sure” and you started dating. Although his demeanour may seem as if he doesn’t care but you know he likes you too. There has been multiple times jihoon has gone out of his way to help you blend into your work and otherwise.

“Our first dinner in the studio” he said and it made you smile. You like when he says ‘ours’

“You never let me eat in the studio, how cone today you called me here”

His face turns red before he answers. “I thought it’ll be rude to have your girlfriend eat out while I work in the studio”

It was your turn to turn red. You mutter “cute” under your breath.

The power suddenly shuts down and the whole room goes pitch black. Jihoon steps out to see if its just his studio.

“I think something wrong with the generator on this wing” he says sitting next to you on the couch while you gobble up the food you brought for the both of you.

You hear him sigh and carefully lay his hesd on your shoulder.

“Are you tired?”

He shakes his head cuddling closer, you never took him for a cuddler but its like a cat, if a cat CHOOSES you to cuddle, you shouldn’t move. Thats exactly what you did.

You turn on the light on your phone and set it on the coffee table next to your food.

“Torch light dinner”

You hear him chuckle at that while you offer him some food almost feeding him.

You hoped the light never came back and this stayed like this forever.

→ Seo Myungho

You ran an art workshop where you met Minghao for the first time. You didn’t know what he did and who he was until you saw your pictures plastered all over the internet one day.

He was the first to say he likes you. You liked him too, he brought perspective to your life and you loved that about him.

You and him were at a library having a relaxed date but the thing is you suggested going to a library when you didn’t even read.

You look over at hao, sitting by the window completely immersed in his book, he looked gorgeous. You pick out a comic to read from the shelf. You were a bad reader, even comics bored you after a while. But since Hao liked reading you thought you can enjoy it too. You sat next to him on the couch he was at.

You flipped through the pages and almost got bored instantly.

“Trouble reading?” You hear a whisper next to you.

You look up, not being able to manage this front you put on to impress him.

This was the second time he caught you looking bored.

“I’ll be honest, I’ve never been a reader”

“Everyone’s a reader, you just haven’t found the right book yet”

He’s so wise and calm, he brings stability to your chaos. He suggested a book you might like and he was right, you were immediately hooked to the premise and discovered that you like the thriller genre that doesn’t let you put your book down.

→ Kim Mingyu

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

You shake your head no. Kim Mingyu was a random guy you bumped into at a coffee shop you frequented at. You madecthe first move and dared to ask his number.

Turns out he was the sweetest guy you had spoken to in 4 years. He really reset your brain and suddenly you just wanted to do everything in your power to see where things go. You felt an instant connection you didn’t want to let go of and regret later. You decided you’d go for it.

Kim mingyu comes back to your car, you and him decide to watch a screening of cars 2 in a drive in theatre. You have never been to one and he was excited to show you.

As soon as he opens his package of food, the air is filled with the smell of burrito. It makes you hungry as soon as it hits your nose. But you already told him you didn’t want any, and asking for even a bite felt criminal.

But you were subconsciously staring at his food.

“You’re staring y:n” he calls you out.

You immediately snap out of it and look away, muttering a quick sorry under your breath.

You see him dig into his package and pull out another burrito wrap.

“This is for you” he hands you a wrap.

“No, Im really fine” you defend yourself again, but you were so so hungry.

“I know what ‘im fine’ means y/n, it means you’ll get hungry when you watch me eat” he says smiling like the big puppy he is.

You can’t help but give in, you take a wrap from him smiling sheepishly. He really was the best.

“You eat so well, it could make anyone hungry” you say cutely while he gobbled up his burrito in literally 2 bites. It was insane to watch this man eat.

He pats your head softly.

“HEY! Burrito hands!” You squeal while he laughs.

→ Lee Dokyeom

You and Dokyeom were cycling in the park. It was one of your first dates. You had met him at a coffee shop,ordering something you also liked so he offered to pay for yours too.

Here you were on another date with the goofball. The original plan was to bicycle around the park and get some lunch at a picnic spot.

But, as with dokyeom, he fell off his bike showing off some ‘cool’ moves to you. Although he made you laugh but the fall looked bad. You ended up getting him some ice from the store to press on his wrist.

“This is very normal”

“What do you mean?”

"I was a very… curious kid, i’d put my feet out on the road as a car would pass, just to see how it feels” you laugh out loud at that. “That’s hilarious”

“At least this is making you hold my hand” he says looking down at your hands pressing his with ice while your other hand hold his wrist in place.

This realisation makes your ears go red.

→ Boo Seungkwan

“I can’t believe it” seungkwan exclaims.

You met seungkwan as a trainee and you had become fast friends. But life happened and you decided not to be a trainee anymore. You ended up going for artist management and becoming a manager.

Life had plans of its own when they assigned you to seungkwan and your friendship rekindled. This time the friendship took a step further and you started to love spending time with him laughing with him.

One fine day in the car you blurted out that you liked him while driving him to a solo schedule. To your surprise he reciprocated these feelings. You were the happiest girl that day.

“What what happened?” You ask. You and seungkwan had come hiking to a mountain close to his place.

“My pants tore”

You laugh out loud. “What a memorable first date” you continue laughing while he scurries to cover himself with his bag and a towel he had brought in his little backpack.

“What a story, ‘kids, your dad hiked so hard, his pants tore on our first date’” you laugh thinking about the anecdote you have now you can use. Its a funny story.

“You want to have kids with me?” He asks stopping what he did and looks up at you

You freeze at what had just come out of your mouth. You did not mean it like that but now that you think about it definitely sounded like you wanted to have his babies.

“Um..”

“Thats cute” he says and a sense of relief washes over you as you try to come up with something else to catch the subject STAT.

→ Choi Vernon

Vernon wanted to watch this scary movie and you liked him so much you just wanted to be with him. But you forgot how scary scary movies can become.

Half way through the movie you were flinching and just uncomfortable in your seat, it really felt like someone was going to grab your feet from under the seat.

Seeing you this uncomfortable, vernon casually decided to put his arm around you and cover your eyes for you while you covered your ears with both your hands to protect yourself from jumpscares.

This position automatically made you lean into him a little and it made you feel a million types of a ways. He smelled good was the only consistent thought.

“Are you okay?” He asks leaning into your ears and whispering.

It sent a shiver down your spine. You nod without being able to push out any words. You liked being this close to him. ‘The things you do to me Choi Vernon’ you think to yourself.

You could watch a thousand horror movies if this is how you watch it.

→ Lee Chan

“Its burnt!” He exclaimed looking at the marshmellow you decided to toast for yourself.

“Thats the flavour!” You defend. You liked slightly burnt marshmallows.

You and chan are childhood friends that ended up falling for each other. Your way of showing love was through constant banter.

One such banter, Chan ended up confessing his feelings for you and you found it so cute.

You move away to get some crackers for the marshmallows. As you come back you hear a scream.

“Whats wrong whats wrong?” You panic and rush to him. You see Chan holding his fingers out and hissing in pain.

You immediately take his hand to inspect.

You see that it was a little red, he probably burnt himself. You see him think for a second. He is going to say something funny, you knew that look on his face, trying to cook up a joke.

“I burnt myself so you’ll like me” he said dramatically looking into your eyes.

The lamest joke ever made you laugh so hard, only because it was Chan who said it.

[jaysswlvrr]

cherry red dom!jay x naughty!reader

request>> hey.. its your favourite fan. can you pleasee(!) write about y/n when she teases jay all day and hes had enough so he spanks her and uses a vibrator to overstimulate her or smth. idk I just love your work so much. please make it really kinky and shit. (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) love you.

authors note: ty for asking how i was dear, I'm alright, don't worry about me.

(∩^o^)⊃━☆

"fucking whore" he cursed spanking your ass once again. "don't remember telling you to lay down, get on your knees y/n". you whine silently, raising your legs up so your ass is right beneath his face.

you had been like this for hours. bent over his lap as he spanked you. it wasn't his fault you went around touching his friend's neck at the bar. no one told you to, but you just love testing jay's patience.

the noise of your ass against his hand stops again.

"you lost your count baby, start again" he teases. he landed another smack on your ass. "o-one" you stuttered due to the pleasuring pain. another one "two-" and it went on and on.

"fifteen!" you cried out, body jolting with the pain. "c'mon baby, just five more". you shook your head in protest, knowing it wasn't going to end well. "s' too much- jay m' sorry!" you apologise, he chuckled, leaning to the side to see your teary face.

"thats not good enough baby if you want me to stop" he teases once again. you repeat out a chant of quiet 'fucks' as he starts soothing the red marks.

"jay" he hums in response, rubbing the fabric of your lacey panties. "m' sorry, so so sorry jongiee, I wont do it again- I promise!". he waits a little. "wont do what baby?" your eyes tighten together. "won't talk to- jungown like that- never again!"

he chuckles and lifts you up. putting you in the same position you were on his bed. he fixes the only material you have left on your body: your pretty pink panties.

your head sinks in his mattress, sobbing as the previous pain is now unbearable. you don't even have time to realise that jay has stood up from the edge of his bed and opened his draw. he pulls out two items: handcuffs and a vibrator.

you think its all over, and he would let it slide once again like he always did. but he didn't. he warned you the last time you tried to whine him up, but you still went on.

he grabs your wrists together. you wonder what he was doing when he dragged your hands near the edge of his headboard. well until you hear a certain 'click'. you look up in worry, letting out a whiny huff as you realise what he is doing.

he had locked your hands together. you try to yank your hands away but the restrainers don't budge. he chuckles as you struggle, "you didn't think it was over right baby?" you don't respond, sinking your head once again into his bed. his scent filled your head, clouding any other thoughts you had.

he is so addictive, you could never think about you leaving him. everything about him is amazing. even how his jaw clenches and his eyes narrow when you start teasing him. he pats your back gently "now be a good girl and stay still for me".

before you know it, he stuffed a bunny-like shape vibrator into your cunt. you lift your head up, turning around to look at your boyfriend. he has his teeth between his lips, watching your cunt suck in the vibrator.

you clench at the sight, which he obviously notices, and he looks up to you. "you like this right? your clenching so hard". he smirks at you, slightly touching the slik that had been running down your inner thigh since.

"no cumming until i tell you to ok princess?" you nod your head eagerly. he turns the vibrator on, and hearing you moan he goes towards your face for a closer look.

you still have your eyes tightly shut, and tears streaking down your cheeks are leaving a salty taste on your lips. he smirked at your condition, aware that he could have you in whichever way he desired, whether it was all pretty or all sobby and sweaty.

he switches it off again, and gives you another one of his sly smirks. "how come you can only be good when I punish you?" you turn your face away slightly, embarrassed at all the praises he was giving you.

"look at me y/n" he growls, you slowly turn your head towards him. "poor baby is crying" you can't even understand what he is saying, your head clouded with other thoughts until you feel the vibrator buzz to life. your whole body jolts from the sudden sensation.

he chuckles as your face changes expressions once again. he coos from behind you, you try to close your legs but he holds them apart. "you don't want me to show jungwon just how much of a good girl you are for me, right?" you shake your head, eyes rolling back as he speeds up the toy.

"your my pretty girlfriend alright" he reminds you, which has you nodding your head. he tuts in disapproval "c'mon baby use your words", you sink your head back into his pillow, adding more salty tears to the wet material.

"yes, jay- im your-fuck pretty girlfriend"

"that's it baby" he would purr. he sped up the vibrator, watching your whole body twitch.

it was all too much and you felt an unrecognised knot in your belly, unlike any other one. "jay please" he chuckles, stroking the hair off your face.

"hold it a bit longer baby" but the knot was becoming an urge to let go and you couldn't hold back anymore.

he starts talking again, but you just don't have the mind to listen. and before you know it, you let the knot go. tears running down your face again as you knew you disobeyed him.

"fuck y/n, you squirted everywhere", you yank once again at the handcuffs, whining as the toy is still on.

"hmm" he thinks, wiping the tears off your face. "ill let you off this time". he said, caressing your cherry red ass.

he would let you slide once again, and probably the next time.

[yandereunsolved]

Macabre Monster - ,, yandere pre and post death Kyle Spencer

cw(s): yandere themes, mentions of suicide (Kyle), Madison's sexual assault mentioned, Kyle's boundaries being crossed (not by reader), Kyle's trauma (non-descriptive)

✧ Both you and Kyle attended the same campus. That is where it all started. You both attended the same party. Kyle was slightly intoxicated when he met you. You were standing in the corner awkwardly with the distinctly red solo cup. You both got to talking, and something just clicked. You made your way to a backroom in the absolutely trashed frat house and just talked. You practically spilled out your guts on each other. Kyle told you everything—how his father died at a young age, how he had to take up the role of'man  of the house', all of the trauma sounding to him and his mother. After that day, there was just a connection with you. Call it a sort of codependent need for intimacy. He never had someone healthy to just hang around. He needed that; he craved it with his very being. So what's so wrong with letting that little bud of codependency flower into an entire garden of obsession?

✧ From that day forward, the two of you were practically inseparable. He got your number and texted you all the time. He invited you out to places. He gave you a bunch of gifts and trinkets. He drank and danced with you. He even did a really bad rendition of “Is This Love” by Whitesnake. You guys may have kissed once, twice, or three times, but you just seemed fine not putting a label on it. You still flirted with people and went out on dates. Kyle still partied with his frat brothers and went with the flow.

✧ As the months passed and your friendship grew, strange things started happening. Certain items of yours went missing. You'd get drunk, forget to take off your make-up, and wake up with it completely off and your entire skincare routine done. Your messy dorm became neat and tidy. Sometimes you'd even feel someone playing with your hair or massaging you in your sleep. You thought that they were all just tricks of your mind. 

✧ One thing that definitely was not a trick of your mind was when you read Kyle's mind for the first time. 'They're so slammin'. You blinked in surprise and kind of gave him a weird look. He continued on with the conversation, but more weird things kept popping into your head. 'I wanna kiss them.' 'I wonder if they got my gift.' 'I should probably sort their clothing again.' 'I'm so lucky to have them in my life. They are a total catch.' It disturbed you. That was the day you learned you had magical abilities. You were shipped off to Miss Robichaux's Academy.

✧ You didn't see him for a long time. It felt like a long time. It was really only three and a half weeks. For those three and a half weeks, Kyle was a mess. He turned your dorm upside down, but most of your belongings were gone. He had a panic attack and sat on the floor of your room and bawled his eyes out. He frantically texted you only to get a 'unable to send text' message over and over and over again, no matter how many times he tried. He tried over a hundred. He passed out in your room and missed his classes that day. He gathered what was left of your things and hoarded them in his room. He asked about you, and they said absolutely nothing. They wouldn't tell him anything. He was on the verge of offing himself. 

✧ That was until he saw you at the party. You had grown a bit in your abilities. You were still barely able to keep everyone's thoughts out of your head, but Nan helped you a bit. You had gone to the party with Madison and Zoe. You hadn't expected to be scooped up by Kyle and dragged into the back of the house. He kind of just pulled you into a hug and sobbed. You weren't sure how long it was. The one time you wanted to read his thoughts, you couldn't. Your ears were too busy hearing all of your blood rushing, as well as his and everybody else's in the house. 

✧ The rest of it was almost a blur. You both discovered Madison being assaulted. She must have had her drink spiked. All of the frat brothers were 'taking their turn with her'. No, not Kyle. Not your Kyle. He stepped in and chased them off. The next thing you knew, you were standing with Zoe, and the frat bus was driving off. Madison flipped it over with her abilities, and suddenly your entire world was crashing down. Neither of them went towards the bus. You did. You ran towards it and collapsed on the ground. You could feel only two people breathing. Neither of them matched Kyle's breath.

✧ The next week, you were so closed off and depressed that Madison graced you with the ability to get your little 'boyfriend', as she had dubbed him, back. You were morally against it, but Zoe argued that it was the right thing to do. All three of you completed the ritual. While you weren't exactly thrilled with practically selling your soul to the devil, you were strangledly excited to see your closest friend again. 

✧ When it seemingly didn't work, Madison left without both you and Zoe. Zoe hid behind you when Kyle came to life and attacked the security guard. No matter what you tried to do, he wouldn't let go of you. He only aimlessly grunted and kept his hands securely around you. He held you desperately, animalistically. It was like it was the only thing he remembered how to do. Which is strange because you only cuddled with Kyle—well,  a lot, actually, now that you think about it. 

✧ You had to stay with Misty when you tried to drop him off to get healed. He had an entire breakdown and nearly destroyed her shack because you tried to leave him. You told Zoe to just brush off your disappearance by saying that you were visiting a relative in town. If anybody had a problem with it, they could kiss your ass for all you cared. You had Kyle back. His health is all that matters to you.

✧ You managed to slip back to the academy while both were asleep. You managed to use a sleeping spell you had learned to cure your insomnia. Only you made it much stronger, so neither would be aware of your absence until you had already left. You weren't aware of Zoe's plans to bring Kyle back to his mother— If you can call her that. You also weren't aware of how distraught he was when he woke up, and you weren't in his arms. Neither Misty, nor Zoe, nor the person who birthed him could calm him down. He was worriedly grunting the entire time. He paced and searched around every corner of whatever he could touch to find you. He looked like a lost puppy, walking in circles in search of his owner.  

✧ Post-death Kyle has an oral fixation. He's like a toddler. Anything that can fit in his mouth will go in it. That includes you. He likes gently nibbling or just licking your skin. It gives him a sense of comfort and security. It also lights up that part of his mind that reminds him of when he gave you hickeys once. The first time Fraken Kyle accidentally gave you one, he was both pleased and freaked out. After you assured him that you were okay, he kept doing it. You have to teach him not to give you hickeys and small bruises. He doesn't listen. As long as it isn't hurting you physically, he'll continue to do it. Not because his mind is muddled, but because he's just that possessive over you. It's a way to mark you as his. The more primitive part of his brain needs that; it needs you to be his. 

✧ He has a multitude of issues with his body and the way it is. He often cowers away from you when he is naked and does his best to cover himself up. His fingers awkwardly trace the scars and the tattoos. He tries to tear his flesh off because he hates it so much. It isn't his body, quite literally. Frat boy Kyle never did anything like that. You even think that sometimes he flaunted his body to you on purpose. No, now you have to be the one to gently coax him out of his shell. With each kiss and loving word, another one of those mental wounds is being stitched up and healed. 

✧ All of those issues became especially clear when you rushed to Kyle's previous home. Zoe had already gotten there before you. You both found what was left of his mother on the carpet. It made you furious to think of what would have caused Kyle to have a reaction like this. He came into his old room whining like a starved animal. He was sobbing and could only utter two words over and over again. 'No leave, no leave, no leave.' Zoe was horrified at the scene of Kyle's dead family member. She went to go cook you all something, and you were just stuck with Kyle. Not that you minded. You almost felt a little possessive of him now—overprotective. He's still himself, and yet he's different now.  

✧ He refused to wash off the blood without you. Post-death Kyle always does that. You think it's because he believes you protect him from the mental scars that his mother gave him. It's partly that, but it's also partly something else. There are still parts of this brain that work and are able to scheme. He just wants to feel your body close to his. He just wants to take care of you. Just like before the accident. He doesn't consciously understand why he is doing this. He just knows that it has to be this way. It's like there are two different Kyle's pulling at his new version of him: the yandere one and the traumatized inner child of his.

✧ He pulls you in a lot of directions. He does it harshly if you don't want to go with him. He'll just haul you around as well. You are standing one moment, and the next you are being bridled by Kyle down the street. You both left Zoe, and you couldn't convince him to go back, much less get out of his vice grip. For an undead man, he sure gained a lot of strength. 

✧ He brought you both to an abandoned arcade, which the both of you would hide in sometimes. The owners couldn't pay rent, so they closed up shop. They left everything there, so people often broke in to steal parts from the machines and fool around. He vaguely remembered the place. His mind cannot remember exactly memories and reasons but feelings. This place felt good, and his old house felt bad. So he took you here, and now he feels perfect.

✧ His speech is basically nothing in the beginning. As time goes on, he develops a greater ability to communicate his words. That's why you often end up reading his mind instead. It's like wading through the swamp that Misty lived in. His mind has three different tracks: feelings, broken thoughts, and future actions. All three clash with each other because they are in various stages of regaining normalcy. He thinks in broken sentences, and sometimes it feels like he knows that you are able to read his mind. With things he seemingly doesn't want you to know, he whispers them within his mind. They get lost in translation. It's like that fog in his mind is purposely keeping you away from certain actions, thoughts, or feelings he has.

✧ His mood is dependent on your mood. You first learned this when you brought him back to the academy. You locked both him and yourself in your room. You couldn't hold back the tears, and you broke down. You were just so fucking sick of everything. Sick of this house. Sick of the other witches. Sick of your powers. You just wanted the Kyle you knew back. They just went and revived him—he wanted to be an engineer. Now he's a Frakenstines monster built back with the parts of his shitty frat brothers. You guys didn't even label what you had.

✧ You were so busy crying that you didn't realize Kyle was sobbing as well. He had curled up next to you and just started crying. When you stopped, he slowly quieted down. He brought you into an awkward cuddle on the dusty floor of your room. You almost wanted to laugh. Kyle was always like that. If you were crying, he'd pick you up in a hug and start humming something from Toto or Nirvana. He'd make really bad jokes and show you silly faces. It almost mirrored now. Kyle was trying to do something to a silly face. It looked more like he was gonna start growling at you. It made you chuckle a bit. Even now, he could make you feel better.

✧ That was only one way in which he mimicked your moods—mimicks you. He's much more prone to outbursts when you are angry or frustrated. If you slam your palms on the table out of irritation, he'll do the same. Only he'll accidentally break the table. That's happened more times than you'd care to admit. The coven is going to need a separate fund to just pay for the stuff Kyle breaks. 

✧ Your habits and routine are what also help him regain some of his independence. He watches you with a keen eye. He imitates most everything you do. Of course, his actions are clumsy, and sometimes he breaks things, but he still tries his best. Frat Kyle would do that as well to tease you. He'd tease you out of bad habits such as biting your nails or forgetting to drink water. He nearly shoved a water bottle down your throat during your study hall when you casually confessed to him that you hadn't drank anything all day.

✧ That's the thing about people, right? They always surprise you. Zoe knocked you out and dragged Kyle down to the greenhouse to chain him up. She did. Madison returned. It's like death means nothing to these people. All of those memories with Kyle are yours. He remembers those feelings he had for you. Which is why it's so hard for you to be around him. He's just someone who needs someone. That someone just happened to be you.

✧ It's a good thing that little miss 'I'm going to save him' didn't kill him down there. He probably would have killed her if she really tried. He escaped and ran up to your room. He refused to move from your body until you woke up. You were the one put in charge of caring for him. Well, nobody else really could. You are the only one who is able to untangle his mind. You could still see Kyle in there. You saw almost every part of him. Everybody around him just took, took, took. You're the only one he'd let take from him anymore.

✧ He developed a habit of touching your temples whenever he wanted to really, really tell you something or communicate. It was kind of cute. He looks up at you with those doe eyes and just concentrates really hard on thinking correctly. When you respond, he lights up and bounces on the balls of his feet. It was cute until it wasn't. Sometimes the thoughts you heard from him kept you up at night.

'Kill everyone... for... you. You mine. Like before. Remember?'

'Steal stuff of yours. Keep it. Home. You.'

'Massage you like before. When sleeping. Adorable— adorable sleeper.'

'Scars. Scars like mine. Hurt you. Scars like mine. All get scars like mine.'

'Party together. Two. Us. Booze. Ex-boy dead. Me. Did it. So party. Us. Two. Only.'

✧ You didn't truly understand why he would think those things or act this way. You did understand it a little the day Zoe and Madison tried to make him a glorified sex doll. At that point, not even glorified. You knew all the things Kyle had been through. You constantly have heard his mind. When Madison started touching him like that the earth trembled beneath you, quite literally. The entire state shook. You may or may not have accidentally absorbed some of Kyle's emotions. So when Madison did that you just about wanted to tear her head off. Kyle gave you a scared, confused look.

'Good feeling? Bad feeling? Help, please.'

She was lucky to have been revived from the dead once. You were itching to put her back under. That scared you, but it also made you feel safe. Kyle always stood up for you when people made you uncomfortable. You never really had the chance to do it for him because he wouldn't let you. When you absorbed his feelings you really felt him. It was intoxicating. It's safe to say Kyle put his fingers on your temple and asked you a lot of questions about that encounter.

✧ Kyle asks a lot of questions. It's part of you teaching him how to remember himself. Some of those things are best left not remembered. Some of the questions are appropriate and some of them are not. You still remember him asking if you two ever did it. He asks a lot of questions about all of the witch and magic stuff. It is what he was most curious about before he died. After all, you just disappeared on him. He almost killed himself because of that. He ended up dead anyway. The irony is lost on him, but not on you.

'Magic? You?'

"I can read minds, remember? That's how we communicate. I've also learned that people's emotions affect me. I can make people feel things— or use their energy to make things happen."

'Like—'

He had a breakdown after that. He remembered you being taken from him. He would never let that happen again. Never.

✧ He's territorial, in case you couldn't tell. He isn't exactly the master of subtly. He grunts and smacks anyone in the house that gets too close to him, except you. He holds everything he loves close to him, including you. He has a bad habit of murdering people you interact with. You'd tried to explain it to him, but he adamantly refused to stop. You aren't naive about what all of this means for you. He isn't exactly in the condition to keep his darkest secrets away from you, mostly. Still, your abilities connect you with his emotions. You can't entirely control it. So you need to be around him just as much as he needs to be around you. You do your best to get him to stop killing people. You truly do. It's just that doe-eyed expression he gives you that makes you give into him every single time. 

✧ The tablet you gifted him is the thing he is second-most territorial about. He always keeps it with him. He watches it when it's on the charger. You gave him a protective covering for it and a bag so he could carry it around. It's like his safety item. You have a bunch of games on there to help him learn. You also downloaded things that he liked before his death. You have an entire album of just you and him on that thing. Every time he sees you, he wants to take a new picture of you to put in the album. It makes him remember a little bit more.

✧ He traces the outline of your figure in every photo. You've caught him kissing his tablet with a picture of you on it more times than you'd like to admit. He always gives you this kind of blank but dopey smile afterwards. His pupils are always dilated around you, so it kind of makes him look like he's high. You don't know if the pupil thing is because of his resurrection, something with your magic, or if he is just that obsessed with you. He is just that obsessed with you.

✧ He also decorated the bag you got him with cloth markers. It was an exercise you did to help him with his fine motor skills. It was relaxing until he drew himself with both of you holding hands while everything was on fire around you. That was what you understood of the drawing anyway. You still let him keep it on there. He doesn't let anyone else touch the bag. Nan tried to touch it once, and he nearly bit her fingers off.

✧ You have to teach him to be gentle with others. He's gentle around you, but with anyone else, he has a very high chance of breaking one of their bones. You start off with animals first. They are less confrontational than humans and are genuinely easier to get alone with. Only he snaps the dog's neck and most every other animal you try to introduce to him. He only stops when he sees you getting upset. His mind immediately filled with shame in those moments. 'No. You plus me. No animals. Sorry. Love you.'

✧ He has a tendency to watch you at night. Just like he secretly did before all of this happened. He crawls into your bed and plays with the strands of your hair. He wraps himself around you tightly. Most of the time, he is the big spoon. He just likes placing his head over yours. He is obsessed with listening to your breathing and the beating of your heart. It reminds him that you are still with him.

✧ He 100% kills any witch hunter within any radius of you. If he hears anything with the word 'witch hunter', he is off searching for that person. Part of him doesn't want to murder, but the other part of him is more than eager to get rid of the person who wanted the coven harmed. He still mostly protects you, but after awhile, he learns to grow a bit more protective of the people you actually like in the coven. He doesn't want to see you in any distress. So protecting those close to you counts. In a dangerous situation he will still save you first. Even though you are more than able to handle yourself, Kyle still does it for you.

✧ Madison still absolutely cannot stand your relationship and close proximity to Kyle. She believes that it should be her who loves him. During the test of concilium, she tried to make Kyle kill you. You sensed something in his brain shut off at that point. That scared inner child was angry, and so was his violently obsessive side. It's like his need for you outweighed any other thought Madison could put in his mind. He didn't kill her then. He waited until she failed. Then he stalked into her room, and well, they never found her body. On some level, everyone knows it was Kyle, but it's left unsaid. That's just one of the many secrets of Kyle's that you will keep with you to the grave.

✧ You may not have completed all of the seven wonders, but you did become one of the new witches on the Witch Council. With Cordelia's blessing and a yandere, semi-functioning Kyle, you both set out across the world to find witches and bring them to safety within the academy's doors. The question remains: will he allow you to do so? Or is his docile behavior just a ruse to hide you away and make you permanently his?

[vixensbrainrotts]

Same old, same old — Sanzu Haruchiyo

Content: Angst to fluff

Tropes: bonten! Sanzu

Warnings: drugs and their aftermath, needles, cursing, (slight) description of wounds, crying, yelling

Summary: Can you really handle this again? Should you really handle this again?

Vixen's two cents: I have strayed from my typical hyper fluff for this one and I dont know how to feel about it, please let me know. I thought shortly about making this super angsty (I had a different ending in mind) so lmk if you'd like to see the 'bad' ending to this too! Im still looking for moots so please message me, I promise im not so scary. Also, REQUESTS ARE OPEN if you have any ideas for me! now enjoy...

When Sanzu comes into your shared high-top flat, he‘s loud. He stumbles over his own feet, curses loudly when his Jacket won’t come off his arms, and runs into the door that stands half-open to the kitchen- livingroom. You’re sitting at the kitchen island when he comes to you, and something about his entrance and the way his pace is erratic and a tad too fast to seem relaxed makes you a little wary. Something is off, you can feel it radiating off of him.

„Hey, you alright?“ you ask innocently enough, trying to look into his eyes but he won’t return your gaze. Instead he just reaches down into the lining of his suit and pulls out a slim packet, slamming it onto the marble in front of you before going past you. „I don’t want to talk about it.“ he hisses as he heads towards the master bedroom.

You‘re confused, and you try to call out after him but he doesn’t respond, so instead you shift your eyes to the item Sanzu had placed before you. It’s a small, dark grey opaque plastic baggy, and it seems to whisper to you in intrigue. You reach for it, carefully peeling back one layer of the tight wraps.

What greets you inside isnt shocking, but disappointing.

Three small syringes, all slim, and notably empty, glint in the lighting, sharp tips sparkling with a metallic, glitter like shine. You sharply inhale, covering the tips with the plastic again to hide them from view. Clutching the packet tightly you stand to rush after Sanzu, who you assume is now in the bedroom.

„Haru?“ you hate the way your voice breaks. You’re supposed to be the strong one, the one who can handle these types of situations. „Haru!“ you call out to him again when you see him disappear into the bathroom, lock clicking when the door falls shut behind him. You lay your hand on the door to the bathroom with the hand thats holding the packet, and the noise the syringes make when they clink against the door makes you cringe. „Open the door baby, please. I promise im not mad at you or anything but please just open the door!” You cry out to him, softly rapping against the door with your hand.

In response you hear him yell “Go away”, and his voice is hoarse- he’s crying - he’s ashamed. Sighing, you cradle your head in your hands, thinking that maybe you can talk him out of it, but you hear the tap of the tub start running- probably to drown you out. “Haru baby we can talk about this, please turn off the water and open the door.” You try to reach him again but it’s useless.

“Go away y/n!” He roars and you can hear him start to strip, clothes being pulled and thrown into the floor. “I’m not leaving you alone Haru! Not when you’re like this!” You pound on the door this time, expressing your urgency to him clearly. On the other side of the door the haste ends, a sniffle reaching your ears over the noise of the running water.

“And I can let you see me like this!” His voice is smaller, weaker than you have ever heard him, and it breaks you. “I’ve seen you at worse baby, and you and I both know it’s better if you’d let me in.”

There are a few paces of relative silence, only the rush of water marking the passing of time. Then you hear another wet sniffle and a sigh, and you hear him slowly coming towards the door, and you step back a little.

Your grip tightens around the packet still in your hands when you hear the lock click open, and you swore you felt yourself go lightheaded for a second out of relief when the door finally opened.

Sanzu reveals himself, and he looks like a mess and a half. Eyes red, from crying and the drugs alike, hair falling and jutting out in messy strands from where it sat in the short pony, shirtless, and as you let your eyes drift down his exposed skin, you saw the hitches. His elbows were bloody and bruised from the injections, and tiny little veins raked the surfaces nearby.

His dress shirt lay bundled up in a forgotten heap on the floor not too far from the bathtub. The water was still running and it was annoying you. With a sigh you reached your empty hand up to him, cursing yourself when he flinched back a little.

You looked at his eyes, but he wouldn't return the gaze. Disappointed, you took the step forward on your own, laying your hand on his chest and pushing him into the bathroom, allowing yourself entry. Your hand traced down his arm, and when it reached his hand, you held it tightly, turning to face him when you walked past him, and puling him along further into the room.

You tugged him to the closed toilet seat, half-forcing him to sit before you, and he let you, slumping down onto the porcelain weakly. You turned shortly, wanting to go and turn off the still-open faucet, but a weak grip held you back.

Turning to look at Sanzu, you heard him mumble something, but the noise was shrouded by the running water. "What was that, love?"

"Dont let go." his voice was frail as he croaked it weakly, and your heart broke a little.

Sighing, you leaned your body towards the tub, reaching the tap and shutting it off, careful not to accidentally let his hand slip from yours. Once done, you straightened yourself and faced him again, walking over to stand between his legs.

"Baby?" he said, eyes only half open, "are you-" his voice got caught in his throat, but you knew what he wanted to ask.

are you mad at me?

are you disappointed?

are you leaving me?

are you out of your mind for staying with me after I've gone to rehab twice and relapsed again, and again, and again?

are you sending me back to rehab?

A million questions lie unanswered between the two of you, and you choose to leave it that way as you guide his hand to rest on your waist, laying your own hands on his shoulders. You look into his tired eyes for a moment before pulling him forward to rest his head on your stomach.

Tracing his back and shoulders, you trail your hands up the back of his neck, scratching the nape a little before traveling up to the ponytail, pulling the holder out of his hair, and letting it fall open. You rake your hands through the sweaty strands, not caring about the grease.

You lean down to press a kiss against his head, hands now holding his jaw and you turn him to face you. "Im here for you, ok? I dont care what happens, I have your back. Always." you press another kiss to his forehead. "Through thick and thin, through good and bad." You kiss his jaw. "I love you baby, and nothing is going to stop me from loving you, not even yourself." Your fingers trace his cheekbones and lay your forehead on his, letting your eyes close.

"Allow me to love you all the way, please. Don't try and run when things get hard like this again, it's not good for either of us." you whisper, and you feel his breath hitch against your face.

His fingers curl around your waist, and you let him breath into you, and when you hear a weak whimper you straighten yourself again, pulling him into you again, letting him cry as you hold his head.

Looking at the wall you count the tiles. Blankly you hold your lovers head and think.

things will get better. things are better.