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the-isekai-ninja · 14 days

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»»--【Caught】--««

♔Pairing | Kakashi x Fem!Reader ♔Content | Breeding, Edging, Slight Humiliation, Oral (m+f!receiving), Body Worship, Overstimulation, Breeding, Masturbation, Cumplay, Creampie, Unprotected Sex, Cervix Mention, Slight Dacryphilia, Deepthroating, Pet names (Kakashi calls you Princess), Kakashi and reader take turns being the dominant one. 99% Kakashi POV except a few scenes, reader is a powerful ninja and Kakashi uses that to fuel his fantasies, Use of “you” to describe reader, no Y/N mention, Kakashi has a big dick and you choke on it, not beta read, seriously this is insanely filthy and has very little plot/non-sex scenes ♔Word Count | 11k (sorry i was ovulating) ♔Synopsis| Kakashi decides to have some fun on his day off. You decide to have the worst timing in the world to visit him. Things go terribly wrong for him from there. And then go terribly right.

Kakashi was not a pure man. Everyone knew that, himself included. The blood he spilled and his cruel nicknames a reminder of that. But this current state of impurity he was partaking in was really taking the cake.

Getting called a pervert for reading erotica fiction was one thing, but if people knew what he thought about behind closed doors he was pretty sure he'd be on the chopping block next to Jiraiya.

He sighs as he releases his hardened cock from his hand. His thighs twitching from the pressure he had just built up. Everything in his body was thrumming with desperation to release but Kakashi had been practicing enough today to prevent himself the satisfaction of cumming from this particularly taxing masturbation session. If he counted, it would have been the fourth time he had teased himself out of an orgasm today and the high he was feeling was euphoric.

He couldn't help himself, especially with you away on a lengthy mission. Over the few years he had gotten to know you through his genin team you had managed to worm your way into his heart, and he would rather die than let you know that. However, his long term crush on you had bubbled inside his chest while you were away and early this morning after confirming he had nothing to do today he had started to imagine how you would be underneath him. Railing into your warm heat as you babble his name with tears stinging your eyes from the intense pleasure.

He would kiss the tears away as he pounds harshly into you, reaching impossibly deep inside your cunt, hitting all the right places to make you a mess for him. He wanted to fuck you full of his cum so badly, your legs resting on his shoulders as he folds you in half to make sure his seed takes.

Kakashi's imagination drifts off to another fantasy to start himself up again, you sitting politely between his legs, panting like a dog in heat as you nuzzle against his inner thigh and paw at his cock. A pretty collar with your name bedazzled on it and his name engraved on the back. Just so everyone knew who you belonged to.

With the fantasy solidified in his head, Kakashi slowly slides his hands down his naked chest, teasing himself with gentle touches he would prefer to be giving you. His breath hitches slightly as one hand finally reaches his cock while the other rests comfortably on his inner thigh.

He moves slowly, up and down, smearing some of his pre-cum over his hyper sensitive cock to get himself slick enough for his next session. He imagines you rubbing your cheek against his dick, asking if you have permission to suck it for him. He takes the hand on his inner thigh and moves to cup his balls, teasing them as he fucks his other hand.

He hadn't known how great edging would feel but the thought of releasing all of his built up spend into your waiting mouth is too much for him. He's positive this will be the last time today, he's about to explode from pleasure. He swears he'll have to find time to do this again, god it feels good.

A sudden knock on his front door halts all thoughts. The pleasure he was indulging in suddenly feels dirty as he’s astutely aware of himself lying in his bed, all clothes off as he strokes himself to near completion. He’s sweaty and over stimulated and now an uneasy feeling of guilt starts to sit uncomfortably in his lower gut. Who could possibly be here? Gai was gone with you on your mission and everyone else wouldn't dare bother him on his one day off.

Unless….oh no.

He hurriedly puts on some clothes, sweatpants that do nothing to hide his throbbing erection and his mask and tank-top combo. He’s far too sensitive, the tight shirt rubbing against his chest a stark reminder of how horny he currently is.

He hears the knocking again along with an all too familiar voice that definitely should not be in Konoha right now.

He places his lower half behind the door and cracks it open very slightly to get a peak at his worst nightmare come true.

“Hey!”

No.

“Hey, you're back early.”

Why are you back early?

You stand behind the door, hands closed behind your back as you rock back and forth on the balls of your feet. You’re still in uniform, compression shorts hugging your thighs and slightly riding up. It's unreasonably attractive with how horny he is and his cock twitches against his sweats. He shifts to try and stop his dick from rubbing against the fabric but it only makes the situation worse. You look up to meet him in the eyes and you are far too excited to see him.

Kakashi knows he's unlucky but this situation is a new level of unfortunate embarrassment. Jacking off to someone only to have them suddenly appear at his door? If you two were dating this would be an entirely different story but right now you're looking up at him with a bright smile, completely oblivious to the filthy thoughts he had just been conjuring up about you. He feels guilty. And incredibly horny.

“Ya, the mission went off without a hitch, working with Gai and Yamato made things pretty easy. Those two are pretty talented when they aren't talking my ear off.”

Kakashi's eye twitches, just hearing Gai’s and Tenzo’s names come out of your mouth when he was so close to cumming makes some of his lust addled brain simmer a bit. The last thing he wants to do right now is picture those two with you. Alone. For an entire week. Probably sharing a bed, clothes thrown everywhere, cuddling for warmth…

He inhales loudly.

You tilt your head to the side as Kakashi remains silent, staring down at you with one eye. God you’re so cute…

“Kakashi, is everything okay? You look a little sweaty?” You take a step towards him to place a hand on his forehead but he flinches back. If you touch him at all he thinks he might explode. The last thing he needs is to cum in his pants in front of you. You might never speak to him again if he does.

Kakashi knows he's sweating profusely and the way his pants rub against his cock is not helping his worsening situation. He has to make you leave as soon as possible so he can get rid of his problem for good. He was never edging himself this long again.

Kakashi moves to close the door, “Sorry, I'm fine. I think I may just be a bit under the weather is all. You should g-”

You stick a foot between the door to stop him from closing it on you. “What? How did you get sick? Are you okay? Do you have food? Medicine? Is it from chakra exhaustion?”

Kakashi groans, the only sick he feels is love sick and he needs you gone so he can deal with it. He should have known you would be too concerned to let it go at that. You were too nice to him. His cock twitches.

He pushes back on the door slightly, “I'm fine, really, I think I just need to sleep it off.”

You pout at his insistence before pushing your way in. Kakashi is too horny to fully fight back so all he can do is muffle a moan as he shifts to hide his hard on.

“You're too hard on yourself Kakashi, it's okay to let others take care of you sometimes.”

What he wouldn't give for you to take care of him right now, but as he watches you make your way into his kitchen the last remnants of his sanity are screaming at him to get you out of his apartment.

“Uhh, ya sure. If you insist on taking care of me I'm just going to…go to bed…”

Smooth one Hatake. He hears you hum in response and he makes a dash for his bedroom and slams the door shut. He tears away at his shirt and mask before shoving a hand down his pants to relieve some of the built up tension. He moans a little too loudly as his hand squeezes his dick and he prays you didn't hear it.

He moves to his bed and ducks under the covers as quickly as possible. He grabs a tissue from the shelf above his bed and wraps it around the base of his cock as he strokes himself. He isn't sure how long he has until you enter his room but he needs to take care of this as fast as possible to save whatever little face he has left. He just prays you knock before you enter.

Tragically, the fear he has that you'll enter his room while he's jerking off, and his desperation to cum has the opposite effect and no matter how hot he feels or how tight the burning coil in his stomach gets he can't bring himself to find relief. He almost wants to cry from how embarrassing this entire thing is, he's a grown adult man who has killed people for goodness sake what is he doing?

He slows down his ministrations as he tries to come up with a solution. If he was a third party to this situation the answer would be obvious, but he's too horny and pent up to think straight and he needs whatever solution will work the fastest.

He realizes he may just have to tough it out until you leave. At least with his excuse of being sick, his red face, sweat, and heavy breathing will make sense. If he stays under the covers he won't have to worry about hiding his raging erection either.

Then he can hop in the shower and run it ice cold to cool himself off. Wait, the shower. Of course! You wouldn't dare to barge in on him while he's showering so surely-

There's a knock on his door. He groans loudly, the chance he had to make a dash for his bathroom long gone. You open the door slowly with a plate and bowl balanced in one hand. You glance down to the side and he watches your face flush. He mentally face palms as he realizes all of his clothes you saw him wearing are now thrown all over his bedroom floor. God he's so stupid when it comes to you.

Trying to ignore the fact you now know he's stark naked under the covers, he shifts a knee up to hide any chance of his erection showing under his covers and he gives a slight wave as he balances the blanket above his nose.

“Sorry, it was really hot so-”

You shake your head and let out a nervous laugh, “No-no it's okay! It's your home after all. Whatever makes you comfortable so you can feel better!” You give him an awkward smile that puts him on edge as you place the dishes on his desk.

He wonders if you can smell his arousal with how close you are. He had been at it for hours before you showed up, surely the sweat, pre-cum and lotion he was using is permeating the air around you. He was never letting himself live this moment down.

Imagine, the Copy Ninja, Kakashi of the Sharingan; world renowned, revered as one of the strongest ninja in Konoha; one of the best strategists alive. And here he was. Completely nude in his own bed while his crush stares awkwardly between him and his food as his throbbing hard on bounces against his stomach and thigh.

He feels himself getting dizzy from over stimulation and he needs you to leave fast. He lifts himself slightly off his bed to address you more properly. “Thank you for the food. You just got back and you're taking care of me. I don't deserve you-” He corrects himself. “Your kindness.”

He peaks up at you with one eye only to see you completely flushed red with your eyes wide open. Kakashi looks down quickly in fear that his blanket has revealed his true problem but no, the blanket fell down just to his stomach, the fabric bunching up enough to hide everything except his chest and-

Oh no.

He had peeled off his mask in his lust induced daze, and you had never been privy to see his face.

Was your reaction good? Kakashi had been told before that he was an attractive man, and the few times people had seen his face outside of friends only confirmed that fact. He wasn't stupid or humble enough to deny it. Did you find him attractive?

He chances looking up at you again to observe your reaction only to see you frozen in place. One hand slightly wavers as it points hesitantly towards his face. Your mouth is hung open, a strangled jumble of noises quietly emanating from it as your face becomes redder and redder.

He needs to get you out and now here you are, turned to stone at the sight of his face. If he had known how strong your reaction would have been he'd have yanked it down in front of you ages ago. He can’t help but feel extremely flattered, this was certainly the best reaction surrounding his face he had received to date.

With you not moving and your face beet red, he decides to take a chance, “You like what you see?”

Your mouth snaps shut and you hum out in embarrassment. You turn away with your eyes shut, “I- god- I don't-”

He smirks at your stuttering, maybe he could turn this around. He didn't hope that by the end of this he'd be balls deep inside you but he might be able to steer it in that direction for the future.

Still staring away from him you manage to stutter out a reply, “I was curious why you always wore that mask, but now I know. It's so people will leave you alone. You're absolutely gorgeous Kakashi.”

Or maybe the porn he read rotted his brain enough to think he ever had a chance to be as smooth as the male leads in his books; your response stopps him dead in his tracks. He had been called a lot of things in his life but gorgeous was not one of them. It stirs something deep within him and it’s not just his cock begging for your attention.

He tries to salvage the situation back into his favour but ultimately fails when nothing but the words “fuck me fuck me fuck me” keep chanting over in his head. God I’m a loser.

You manage to recover enough to drag his desk chair over to his bed and place the two dishes on top of it for him to reach easily. It's a simple sandwich and a bowl of soup. You huff as he eyes the meal, “I didn't have a lot of time so the soup is a little bland but it should still help. I eat it myself when I'm sick so no judgment okay?”

You aren't able to look him in the eyes. He watches as you make repeated attempts to take a peak at his face, whether to memorize it or just out of pure shock he isn't sure but he hopes it’s the former. Maybe you think of him when you’re alone at night and this could fuel your own fantasies. He holds out hope that that’s the case.

Kakashi carefully reaches over to ensure the blanket doesn’t move any further and grabs the sandwich. Maybe food will help calm him down enough until you leave. He goes to take a bite but he hears you gasp as soon as he opens his mouth.

He pauses, mouth still wide open, and glances up at you. One hand is covering your mouth while the other is clenching itself at your side. He lowers the sandwich down just enough for you to see his full face, “Something wrong?”

You shake your head quickly, denying that anything is wrong. Your silence and your beet red face say otherwise. Kakashi is almost worried you’re holding your breath.

He goes back to taking a bite only to hear you gasp again.

“Sorry!” You squeak out. He glances at you, both hands now covering your mouth. “I just…your canines are so…pronounced! Sharp!”

Kakashi observes your reaction. A net positive, he thinks.

“Mah, they were a pain as a child. Used to bite myself by accident. Got them from my paternal side.”

You look bewildered at how easily he brings up such a private thing about himself. He tries to convey through his expression that he would tell you everything if it means you'd reciprocate his feelings.

He finally manages to take a bite of the sandwich you prepared, acutely aware of your staring. He wants to melt into his bed. What had he done to deserve this. Admittedly he hadn't eaten in a while but that was because he had spent the better part of his day masturbating to thoughts of you. And now here you were forcing a sandwich and soup down his throat when he should have been shoving his throbbing cock down yours. Life was truly out to get him. Also he had to stop thinking about such crude things when you were barely a foot away from him. Maybe this was punishment.

You stand there awkwardly as he eats, starting up conversation about what you had done on your mission with Gai and Tenzo. It had been a weird group at first but Jonin were in short supply. Kakashi himself having been on a mission when you were first assigned to go. That's what he liked about you. You were an insanely talented ninja, your skill in ninjutsu almost matching his own. Many times you had been assigned solo missions, not having enough support to back you up. You always came back fine though.

Kakashi wonders what would have happened had he been assigned with you. The two of you had never been put on a mission together, your skills too closely matched to reasonably put you on the same team, needed more assisting others to make up the strength. Right now he reasons he needs you together more than ever. The sandwich isn’t helping like he hoped, and you being so close is making him want to toss it aside and pull you into bed with him.

Surely you would reciprocate, let him fuck you into oblivion, let him spill as much cum as he could inside of your fertile womb-

Kakashi inhales again, he really can't focus on anything but sex right now. He had always preferred books to the company of others but now that you were in his life it seemed the only thing he could think about was you in between the pages instead.

Maybe it was for the best you two had never been paired up, night one on a mission would have ended him right then and there.

He swallows the last mouthful of sandwich and puts the rest of it down half eaten. “Thank you for the food, I'll leave the rest for later, my stomach isn't sitting well with me.”

Understatement of the century, the bubbling of horniness and guilt in his stomach is making him want to vomit. Now to get you to leave.

You smile back at him, taking the plates and chair and putting them back at the desk, “Sure, it sucks you got sick. I was actually coming to see if you wanted to hang out and catch up but since you're feeling under the weather we'll have to postpone. I'm heading back on another mission with Gai and Yamato tomorrow so-”

Again!? What do Gai and Tenzo have that I don't?

“Huh? You know we can't team up Kakashi, you're needed elsewhere.”

Had he…said that out loud? God the pain in his crotch was getting to him.

“Ah. Sorry, it's just a shame we don't get put on missions together, we'd get so much done.” Kakashi smiles, doing his absolute best to save himself from his blunder.

Judging by the look in your eyes you aren't buying it. You move closer and sit on the edge of his bed. Kakashi's cock bobs against the covers as the bed dips, causing him to groan at the friction.

“Kakashi are you sure you're okay? You're sweating like crazy, your entire body is bright red, and your eye looks completely glazed over. Maybe we should take you to the hospital?” you suggest, hand slowly crawling to rub his leg in an attempt to soothe him.

If you had reached only a few centimetres over all of this could be solved. Instead, Kakashi inhales sharply at the contact, moving it away from your caressing and closing in on himself in an attempt to fight off the rapidly approaching orgasm.

You shoot up and over to him, a hand on his shoulder while the other goes to cup his cheek, trying to figure out what exactly is wrong with him. You blush as Kakashi nuzzles his face into your hand before both of his hands shot up to retrain your wrists and push you away from him.

“Please…please don't touch me like that.” Kakashi breathes out, panting heavily as his edging finally rears it's head and reminds him of how close he truly is to cumming.

You look at him, searching for any sign that would tell you why he was acting this way. You stand up and look around before you freeze, it appears something clicks in your head and he doesn’t want to know if you finally caught on. He just needs you to get out of here.

“Oh.”

He peers up at you, your eyes fixated on something above his bed. He turns to look at what you’re staring at only to be mortified by the prepubescent like scene. Lotion and tissue paper lay haphazardly behind him, Make Out Paradise propped open to one of the more graphic chapters.

Kakashi prays to anyone that might hear him to come and kill him.

“Ah, Kakashi…. I'm uh. I'm -”

You’re blushing like crazy, hands flying between your face and playing with the zipper on your flak vest. Your eyes are wide as you stare at the lotion, mind running a mile a minute as you process the last few minutes.

Kakashi knows there are only three reactions to a scene like this. One is absolute disgust, running away and cursing at him for being so gross. The second is you leaving as soon as possible, laughing it off and apologizing for interrupting, or three. You would get on your knees and suck him off right then and there. And considering you hadn't moved yet, maybe he could still swing to three.

He hopes being honest and straightforward will catch you off guard and won't give you a chance to hide any surfacing feelings.

He breaths out a defeated sigh, “I tried to push you away but…this is embarrassing. I just wasn't expecting anyone today.”

Your face is red and you breathing hitches. You’re biting your lip ever so slightly and you aren't hinting at any sign of leaving. You stare down at Kakashi with your eyebrows knit together, eyes glazed over and pupils blown wide open. Jackpot.

“If you don't leave soon I'm going to take it as a sign you want an invitation you know,” Kakashi purrs, hooded eyes gazing up at you. He reaches a hand out to tentatively take yours. You let out a strangled cry as your knees begin to buckle.

Kakashi moves and swings a leg out from under the blanket, now only covering his crotch and his other leg.

In your eyes, he looked like a god, and you would happily fall to your knees to worship his altar.

You gulp as you drink in the sight, thighs pressing together as confused arousal pools in your stomach.

Kakashi pulls you in closer to him, his free hand resting on your waist, “Forgive me if I'm being too forward, but I need you so badly.”

Your lips quiver, “Am I dreaming? I'm not still back on my mission having the craziest sex dream ever right now am I?”

Kakashi chuckles and pulls your hand down further to bring you closer to his face, “I sure hope you aren't, or this would be very embarrassing for me.”

Your lips meet his then, gentle and far too chaste for his liking. You’re too hesitant still, unsure if this was actually happening. He’s glad you feel this way, it makes leading you to where he needs you so much easier.

You place a hand down on his covered thigh and he groans, head falling down to calm himself. He breathes, “I'm going to be honest with you, any touch you leave on me might be my last. I am insanely pent up and am ready to explode at any moment. Whatever we're doing is going to need to be slow.”

Your pupils widen at the confession, all colour from your irises fading as desire and lust engulfs them. You fall to your knees dazed, your flak vest coming undone and thrown off to the side. His fantasy from earlier flashes through his head, the collar is missing but the hitai-ate around your neck will make do. He hooks a finger around the fabric and pulls it slowly towards him, forcing you to crawl until you're situated perfectly in between his legs.

Kakashi brings a hand to caress your chin before stroking his thumb against your lips to open them. You comply with his silent request and roll your tongue out around the digit as your mouth widens. He presses his thumb against the muscle and you wrap your mouth around it and suck gently, a quiet moan vibrating from your throat.

You reach a hand to meet his and slowly remove his thumb from your mouth, “You said you were pent up. How close are you?”

Kakashi almost came from you sucking his thumb off but he isn't about to tell you that. You don't seem to need a verbal answer though as you make your way to his crotch. Your teeth catching the fabric and tugging lightly to tease him. Your mouth meets his erection through the cloth and Kakashi lets out an embarrassingly loud moan and clenches his thighs around you in response.

You decide to be merciful and drag the blanket away from his pelvis. His throbbing, leaking dick greets you as it springs from its flimsy confines and smacks Kakashi's stomach. Red and shiny and desperately crying for your mouth. You lick your lips as your hands push back at Kakashi's thighs to spread him farther apart. Kakashi can’t believe what a sight you make; his cock blocking part of your face, eyes glazed over and tongue hanging out as you stare hungrily at his erection. Like a panting dog. You press your face against the base of his cock and inhale before wrapping your tongue around the base and his balls, sucking at the sensitive flesh.

Kakashi cries out at the contact, head thrown back as he struggles to hold himself up. God he had spent too long waiting for this. The pressure building up far too quickly in his crotch as you continue your assault. He reaches back to try and grab your hitai-ate again to pull you away but he should have been prepared for how cruel a woman you are as you resist it. In response, a hand comes to fondle his ball sack as another moves to stroke his shaft. Your head moves to kiss around his cock, inner thighs and crotch becoming covered with teasing licks and kisses.

Kakashi feels like he’s going insane, heavy breathing and toes curling as you gave him every bit of your attention. He reaches into your hair and tugs slightly to try and let you know he's close. Luckily you seem to understand as you lower your head back down to his cock. You take in as much as you can but he's far bigger than you expected, with the girth to match. Tears sting your eyes as you try to take him, and what you aren't able to, you continue to stroke with your hands.

You bob your head up and down slowly and allow your tongue to do most of the heavy lifting as his cock hits the back of your throat. You gag slightly but hold strong, you aren't about to let this moment be ruined by a weak gag reflex. Your tongue traces the veins along his shaft, licking and sucking as he twitches in your warm mouth.

Kakashi accidentally bucks his hips up against you when you hit a particularly sensitive spot and a light slap to his ass and you pausing your work tells him not to do that again.

You resume quickly after, one hand pushing down against his thigh to hold him in place and rubbing circles into it as the other assists your mouth in stroking Kakashi's cock.

His dick twitches harshly in your mouth and Kakashi let's out a strangled moan of your name as the only warning you get before his hands wrap into your hair and tugs you down to take as much of him as you can. His cock pulses against your tongue, once, twice, before it proceeds to shoot ropes of hot sticky cum directly down your throat.

You close your eyes in an attempt to not choke, swallowing his seed down as quickly as you can. Kakashi's moans come out in strangled gasps as copious amount of his cum spills into your mouth. You're taken aback by how much he's cumming and some of his spend leaks out from your mouth as you struggle to swallow it all fast enough.

You manage to break free of his grasp on your head and release his cock with a gasp as you continue to milk him with your hands. Ropes of the white substance shoot onto your face and down your shirt, coating you in Kakashi's warm cum. You open your mouth as it continues to shoot out and cover you, until he's reaching down and pulling your hand away, sensitivity in overload.

He falls onto his back as the last remnants of cum spurt out from his cock and you move to lick it clean. He's groaning out in response, babbling your name and begging for you to stop with tears in his eyes. You lick a long stripe up his shaft to finish cleaning him off before you sit back and take in your work.

Kakashi is an absolute mess, his hands flying up to his face to wipe away some of the sweat and tears to compose himself.

He wants to move to see your face but his body feels like jelly after finally finding release. He really needs to pay you back.

“You came a lot.” You muse, taking some of his spend and rubbing it between your thumb and finger before licking it into your mouth.

He breathes out, “Where did you learn to do that.”

You tap his thigh, “Don't change the subject. Were you edging yourself the entire day before I showed up?”

He gulps, hands covering his face from shame.

You crawl up between his legs, kissing his thighs and leaving a wet kiss along the tip of his over-sensitive cock before moving up and kissing up his happy trail and chest. He finally finds the strength to lift himself up slightly and takes in the sight of you, cum still covering your face and chest, some of it even in your hair. Fuck you look hot. He feels his cock twitch again. Perhaps he would be ready for part two sooner than he thought.

He smears a strip of cum on your cheek into your pliant mouth. You hum around the digit as you swallow the sticky spend. You were going to be the death of him.

He finally responds, “Perhaps. What's it to you.”

You lick your lips as a particularly large glob of cum falls from your hair and lands on his stomach. You move down and lick it up, swirling it on your tongue before swallowing it down. His cock springs to life at the obscene display. “Just want to know the best way to get this much for next time.” You coo, kissing his torso as you continue to pick up his seed and take it into your mouth.

He gulps, far too excited about the implication of a next time. You finish cleaning yourself up from his facial, a slight white stain on your otherwise clean sweater. He isn't sure if you'll be able to get it out by tomorrow, and the thought of Gai and Tenzo seeing his cum stain on your shirt arouses him far too much. The primal male urge to mark his territory swelling within him. Images of you with a swollen belly flash through his head and he can feel it hitting his libido like a ton of bricks.

“I'll give you as much off my cum as you please.” He mutters, hand caressing your cheek as you place kisses against his palm.

You smirk and reach down to grasp his cock in your hands, stroking mindlessly as you kiss his chest. You trace his abs with your tongue as Kakashi bucks his hips into your hand, still barely calmed down from round one and overly sensitive.

“Do you know how badly I've wanted to do this.” You murmur against his skin, “It's almost embarrassing how much I've thought about all the things I would do to you if you let me.”

Kakashi's eyes roll to the back of his head, he decides you're definitely trying to kill him, and if this is how he goes out it'll be a wonderful way to go. He just prays “Died From An Orgasm” isn't carved onto his gravestone.

“You're so wonderful Kakashi, everything about you. If this really is some dream I'm having I really hope I don't wake up any time soon.”

Kakashi snorts, “I'm sure Gai and Tenzo would be thrilled to find you were having a sex dream about me.”

You stop your ministrations to grimace at him. “If you bring up their names again while your dick is in my hand I'll show you what real edging looks like Hatake.”

Kakashi gulps, the look in your eyes tell him you're serious. Where did you even come from? Heaven?

You continue working him up, your lips kissing what felt like every inch of his chest and pelvis as your hands stroke his weeping cock. He’s panting heavily and the coil in his gut is tightening again. He needs to turn this around if he doesn't want to pass out on you.

He pushes himself up further until he’s properly sitting, your face tucking into his neck, sucking love bites into the tender flesh. You’re relentless in your pursuit to make him cum again and he needs you to stop. Now that he knows you’re more than willing he needs to fuck you until you’re so sore you’ll have to call off the mission tomorrow.

He reaches behind you to grasp your hitai-ate and yanks it back, this time with enough pressure around your neck to force you back with it. You pout at him in defiance when he lets go.

“Y-your turn.” He struggles out. It's far less sexy than he would like but the grip you have on his cock is messing with his head so he does what he can.

You give a small laugh at his stuttering, “You sure you’re up for it big boy? You look like you’re about to pass out.” That sparks a fire in Kakashi. Getting caught in such a vulnerable state, coming completely undone by you, and now your teasing pushes the last remaining bit of masculine pride Kakashi has in overdrive and he lifts himself fully off the bed and twists you around until you're flat under him.

The shock in your expression surges him on as he glides a hand along your sides. You shiver slightly at his actions before he toys with the hem of your shirt. He take a glance up at you for permission and the intense blush and knitted eyebrows tells him all he needs to know.

He snakes his hand under your shirt and caresses your skin as he makes his way up your chest. He palms at your breast as his other hand rests against your lower back, thumb gliding across your side, causing goosebumps to form across your skin from the tickling sensation.

Your eyes squeeze shut as his hand slips under your bra to play with your pebbling nipple. He kisses your neck before straddling your waist. Both hands leave their spots to tug your sweater up and over your head. You moan at the loss of warmth, now colder in only your bra and shorts. A few silvery scars mark your body and Kakashi can’t help but run his hands over them, reminding him once again that you contained an immense amount of power in your veins and here you were, so pliant and pleading for him. It was so easy to forget that you were both machines made for war when you’re both vulnerable like this. It makes him feel insanely human. He feels a hand touch his cheek and barely hears your voice breathe out, “Come back to me.” He meets your eyes before quickly diving down to kiss between your breasts in apology. His hands snaking around your back to remove your bra. Your hands thread into his hair as he drags the bra away and takes a nipple in his mouth, a hand kneading the other roughly. Your moans urge him on as he gently bites at your breast, leaving a light red ring along it to mark you. His hand kneading your breast snakes down to your pants and he fingers the edges of it. You buck your hips against him as a warning but he ignores it. He leaves feather light kisses along your breasts and carefully nips at your neck and shoulders before slowly sliding himself down.

Your breath is staggering, and your hands clasp against his upper arms in warning “Don't you dare…”

He chuckles against your skin, enjoying that you've caught on. He needs you to be as much of a crying mess as he almost was. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met,” Kakashi murmurs against your stomach, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I first saw you years ago.” He licks a small strip over your stomach to distract you from the hand crawling into your shorts. “You’re strong and thoughtful, kind and smart. You’re absolutely perfect.” He continues, his free hand drawing circles into your hip.

His hand slips under your panties and ghosts over your folds. Your legs twitch as he delicately traces over your heat. He pushes your shorts down just enough for him to suck and bite your lower hip, leaving a blossoming bruise in its wake for you to find later. Kakashi pushes his middle finger in and teases your entrance, collecting your wet arousal and spreading it throughout your cunt before it lands on your clit and rubs gentle circles against it. You moan at the contact and he shifts himself up to find a breast again, sucking and nipping at it while he toys with your clit. He adds his ring finger and teases it between the two fingers, the sensation of his hot breath sucking your nipple and his cold fingers against your cunt making you squirm in pleasure. Your hands fly down to try and push his hand away but his free hand collects your wrists and pulls them above your head, keeping you from being able to touch him further.

He moves to capture your lips in a heated kiss, tongue fully dominating the inside of your mouth and exploring it freely while his fingers move away from your clit and circle your entrance. Your breathing comes out in short gasps as he kisses you, middle finger pushing its way past your entrance. His thumb takes over at rubbing your clit while his finger explores your pussy, feeling every wall and thoroughly paying attention to how you shift and moan at every spot he presses against. Soon his ring finger joins in past your entrance. The two digits spreading apart occasionally like scissors as his fingers slowly drag in and out of your pussy, opening your hole up further to prep you. Your wetness slowly starts to drip out of you as Kakashi fucks you with his fingers, a white ring forming at the base of them. Your lungs are working overtime as Kakashi continues to massage the inside of your mouth with his tongue. Finally, he relents and releases you, only for you to cry out his name instead of catching your breath. “Shh, the neighbours will here you.” Kakashi presses a kiss to your burning red cheek, still pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt. You can barely form a sentence but with the way your nose scrunches up he can tell you want to retort. He’s a bit too pleased with himself knowing he’s finally turned the tables on you.

You start thrashing your hips and he takes it as a sign to remove his fingers from your heat and makes a show of licking your arousal off his fingers. Your hands flinch in his wrists and he releases them, watching as they instantly fly to your face to hide your embarrassment. “You taste so good, need some of it straight from the source.” He coos, trailing down to finally peel your shorts off fully. You weakly lift your hips to assist and you sigh when you’re finally relieved of the remainder of your clothing. Kakashi rubs his hands along your ass and thighs, relishing in the sight of having you naked in his bed. You’re chest is rising harshly as you catch your breath, flushed completely from his ministrations. You look absolutely gorgeous.

Kakashi dives down in between your thighs, giving a few light kisses and bites to your inner thighs before quickly moving to your cunt and gathering some of your spilling arousal on his tongue. You yelp at the new sensation and try to squirm away, but Kakashi grabs your hips and keeps you in place, tongue lapping at your entrance while his nose brushes against your clit. He delves his tongue inside you, occasionally mouthing over your pussy to lap at your juices. He’s positive he could get drunk off of this, his cock throbbing as you sob out encouragements.

Your hands find his hair, lightly pulling on the strands to warn him you’re close. He licks one final strip up your pussy before pulling away, teasing you of any sort of release. He needs you to be as ready as possible so he doesn’t finish first.

Kakashi hooks his arms around your legs and slides himself back up. He mimics what you did earlier and leaves a trail of kisses along your stomach and breasts while his hands caress your legs as he lifts them above your head and onto his shoulders.

You're sweating and flushed, while you've been bent practically in half for Kakashi to easily gain access to your cunt. His arms pin you in place as he presses his body against you, cock pressing flush against your entrance. He realizes then that he had forgotten to take your hitai-ate off. The reminder of who you two are the only article of clothing left between you.

It's such an indecent position. Two of Konoha's strongest shinobis engaged in such a filthy act, the world renowned Copy Ninja bending the strongest kunoichi of the leaf in a mating press like they're nothing more than livestock meant to breed. Maybe they are. The thought of you two ending up with a child makes Kakashi's mind swirl as his cock tip rubs up against your wet pussy.

Your belly would swell with his child and even if you denied him after, everyone would know it was his when the baby would come out with silver hair. His cock pulses at the thought, how many kids would you give him if he asked? One? Two? Five? His mind rushes through thoughts of you in a gorgeous wedding gown, a yukata of your own with his clan crest on it, little feet padding along the floors to welcome him home-

He looks in your eyes to steady himself, realization washing over him, “I don't have condoms.”

Your glazed over eyes seem to snap back to reality for half a second before you toss your head back in a half hearted chuckle, “I never thought taking birth control for my skin would come in handy like this.”

Kakashi's eyes widen slightly at the confession, he has truly hit the jackpot, “Are you sure? I just don't want us having to worry about any consequences later on.”

You rub his arms in an attempt to soothe him. “It'd be a little too late for that anyways with that leaking cock pressing against me already. You're fine Kakashi, just come in me.” Your voice cracks with want, “Please. Use me as you please, stop making me wait.”

You buck your hips slightly to rub against him to prove a point and it tosses him right back into the mood. He leans down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss before he's using one of his hands to glide his cock against your warm cunt to lube himself with your slick.

You moan into his mouth as his cock head repeatedly hits your clit. Kakashi takes this moment to plunge his tongue into your mouth again, your own tongue weakly battling his in a desperate attempt to fight back with what little self control you have left.

He's soon slick enough and he moves away from your glossy lips, a string of saliva connecting you two as he purposefully stares into your eyes. You swallow hard under Kakashi's intense gaze as he moves to slide his dick inside of you. He teases your folds a few times before he makes his way past your entrance, his large cock stretching you open. The stretch shoots an intense heat through your body and you loudly moan out Kakashi's name in response as you toss your head back.

Kakashi pauses and moves his hand to grab your chin, he pulls you back gently and pecks your lips, “Eyes on me, Princess.”

You whine at the pet name as you try to focus back on Kakashi. He slowly pushes further inside and your eyes water from how full he makes you feel. Your hands fly between his arms and his back in an attempt to ground yourself from the sensation.

Tears roll down your face at the pleasant sting of Kakashi's large cock stretching you wide and he bends down to kiss your tears. “You alright?” He murmurs against your cheek.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

“Good.” He kisses you one final time before he pushes further in, he groans at the feeling of your tight walls pushing down on his already over sensitive cock. He knows he has to go extremely slowly if he wants to last long enough to have you come first, but in the back of his head he decides if he can at least get you to come at the same time as him it'll be a victory.

He pulls back slowly, he really is too big and he worries if this is too much for you, but as if you can read his thoughts you breathe out his name, and he can practically feel the lust emanating from it.

You dig your nails into his flesh, crescent moons forming along his arm and back. Only his cock head remains inside you now, and your entrance squeezes him enough for him to toss his head back as he groans at your tight heat.

He composes himself, every last bit of sanity focused on not cumming first, “Are you ready?”

You cry out, “Please Kakashi!”

With your permission he slams into you at full speed. The intense rush causing you to gasp, and for Kakashi to bend over and brush his forehead against yours. He thrusts into you sharply, every angry vein along his cock brushing your walls deliciously as the tension builds up in his gut embarrassingly quickly.

You're babbling praises to him but he can barely hear as he focuses on fucking you properly and not cumming. He needs you to know only he can make you feel like this and words would never be enough. Now that he has you, he wants to make sure you’ll stay and what better way to prove that than to show you how good he can make you feel.

His balls slap against your ass as he thrusts inside you, his cock reaching impossibly deep and hitting your cervix in a mix of pain and pleasure you had never experienced before.

You claw at his back as you ride out the pain, gasps and moans spilling from your mouth as you beg him to go faster. “Please K-Kakashi, come inside me, please!” You beg, eyes rolling back and mouth unable to close. He wonders if you had been thinking about getting bred properly too, “Would you like that?” He takes a chance, “Fill you full of my cum, knock you up?” Your pussy squeezes his cock at the suggestion, confirming his question. He presses a kiss against the shell of your ear, “Better hope that birth control sticks, bet you would look so good with my child inside of you Princess. I’d take good care of you and our baby. I’d give you whatever you asked for.” You claw at his back in response, red lines dragging against his skin as you take in his dirty talk. “P-please Kakashi, I’ll give you as many as you want. M-make me a mom! Please! I’ll be good for you, please fill me full! Give me your baby Kakashi.” you sob out in response. Kakashi’s thrusts increase at your begging, god how had he gotten so lucky with you. Such an elite shinobi crying under him, begging him for his seed to take inside your womb as he pounds into you? You could have anyone you want in Konoha, strong ninja being far more popular than others for their potential to pass down their strength. And here you are, letting Kakashi get his dick wet in your cunt instead of choosing someone with far more likeability. He knows he’s insufferable at times and he never lets anyone know how he’s truly feeling, but maybe if it’s you he could be more honest.

He lifts his feet onto his toes and leans in to press further into you, cock slamming into your wet cunt and the sounds of skin slapping against skin permeating the air.

Both of you are tearing up from pleasure and Kakashi is positive he’s about to burst. He shoves a hand between your bodies and presses his thumb against your clit. He rubs it intensely, swirling the nerve feverishly to get you to come before him. You seize up against him, body tightening around his as the coil in your stomach starts to tighten. “I’m close…”you breathe out, barely a whisper Kakashi almost misses.

His thighs are burning from the position he’s in and his cock is throbbing painfully inside of you as he thrusts in and out of your pussy harshly. Your high pitched mewls are urging him on and he knows he isn’t going to last.

He’ll make it up to you, eat you out until you’ve cum on his tongue enough times that you forget how to count. His cock twitches and the coil finally snaps as he cums for the second time that day. Hot ropes of cum flood into your wrecked pussy and it sends you barrelling into your own orgasm. You cry out as Kakashi continues to paint your insides white, both of you riding out your highs, breaths mixed together. Kakashi moves to swallow your gasps, the shift causing both of you to let out high pitched moans. Kakashi is embarrassed at the sound that comes from his throat but you don’t seem to notice, eyes closed shut as your mouth moves against his while your cunt milks him of every drop of cum he can give.

It proves to be a lot, and the sticky cum starts to flood out from your pussy past his cock. He can barely move and he really doesn’t want to. The idea of any of his cum escaping you before it can take makes him hesitant but he quickly remembers he shouldn’t be daydreaming about breeding you senseless and starts to slide out of your spent cunt.

You whine in protest and clutch at his back to try and hold him in place but he chuckles and presses a wet kiss to your cheek, “Sorry Princess, we can’t stay locked like this all day.” “Why not,” you whine. You finally open your eyes to meet his and his heart almost gives out. They’re shiny from your tears and mixed with your deep blush you look like a painting. He wants to scoop you up and take you again right then and there but he’s already cum twice today and he’s pretty sure if he tries a third time there won’t be anything left of his dick.

He pulls your legs down from their position against his shoulders, rubbing your thighs and kissing them in case they burned like his did. You moan again at the gesture and he’s sure you’re sore. He watches some of his cum leak out of you and he scoops it up before it can hit his sheets and shoves it back inside of you. You cry at his actions and a sharp pain shoots through his groin and he stops, he shouldn't work himself up again so soon, it was starting to get painful. Instead he watches his cum pool out of your pussy, staining his sheets as it collects under your ass.

“Let me get something to clean you up.”

You grab at him weakly to pull him back into you, “Ugh you read too many romance books, I don't need to be cleaned up right away, you already came in me and its already all over your sheets. I need affection right now.”

He chuckles and pushes past your grabby hands, scooping you into his arms and leaning his body against yours, “Sorry, I'm still new at this.”

You would have rocketed out of bed at the confession had you not been sandwiched between Kakashi and the bed, “What? I refuse to believe this was your first time.”

Kakashi presses a few kisses to your face, unable to contain himself from how cute your expression is, “No, but it's been quite a number of years, and even then they weren't the most fulfilling experiences.”

You scrunch your face as he continues to pepper your face with feather light kisses, “So all of that was just….from Icha Icha?”

Kakashi hums out a yes as he moves to kiss your neck. He's going to take full advantage of your demand for affection, it means you wanted him more than a one night stand and he plans to give you everything.

“You can't just drop that on me, post mind-blowing orgasm. You mean I have to thank Jiraiya for how you are in bed?”

Kakashi pauses and looks up at you. It appears you and him were on two completely different wave lengths.

“Uh, if that's what you want?”

You press a thumb against his forehead to smooth the wrinkles that form in his confusion, “It was a joke baby, I'm trying to compliment you.”

The pet name goes straight through Kakashi into his dick. Down boy. He settles for stuffing his face in your neck.

You run your hands through his admittedly sweaty hair and laugh at his pouting.

“I liked that high pitch moan you let out back there,” so you did hear him, “I didn’t know you could make a sound like that.” He huffs into your neck and flips you over so you're now on top of him, arms wrapping around your lower back to keep you pressed against him, “Don’t go telling anyone I did that, that's only for your ears Princess.”

You lift yourself up and keep a hand on his chest, “That’s another thing. Where on earth did you get that nickname, it makes me crazy.”

He looks at you with wide eyes, “Do you not like it? I just thought-” “No!” You huff, lightly tapping his chest, “Crazy in a good way! I wanted to jump you so badly when you first said it, it’s dangerous!” Kakashi lets out a hearty laugh he didn’t know he had in him that takes you off guard. Before you can respond he’s pulling you back against him. You pout against his chest before giving a light laugh. He kisses the top of your head, “I’m sorry by the way.” You look up at him with a worried expression on your face, “Sorry for what?” He kisses your forehead, “Sorry I didn’t ask you out first. Kind of a horrible first date to have you make me a sandwich then fuck you in my bed.” You guffaw at his words, “Kakashi! Don’t- God why would you say that!” He smiles, and moves to massage the back of your neck, “Sorry, sorry. But when you come back from your mission, will you allow me to take you out properly? I have hundreds of date ideas and not all of them end up with you in my bed, promise.” You quirk an eye at him, “Do some of them end up with you in my bed?” “Maybe. Wouldn’t you like to find out though?” He glances down at you with hooded eyes and a smirk. You narrow your eyes at his playful banter, “I think I liked you better when you 3 hours into an edging session, you were much more compliant.” Kakashi barks out another laugh, you make it easy for him to do that it seems, “Mahh, you’ll get used to it. With that tongue of yours though I’m sure you could get me to bend over backwards for you. I still want to know where you learned to do that.”

You bury your face into his chest to hide your reddening face, “And I want to know how you discovered you had a breeding kink. Some things are better left a mystery don’t you think?” you retort.

Kakashi flushes, you’re 100% right. He isn’t ready to admit just yet that he discovered it after watching you interact with his genin about three years ago. That night had been a very shameful masturbation session.

“Fair enough.” You nuzzle your face against him but feel something poke into your neck. Your reach up to find your long forgotten hitai-ate still wrapped around you. “Oh my god we didn’t take this off?” Kakashi hooks a finger into the fabric, lifting an eyebrow, “You think it’ll tell everyone what it saw today?”

You smack his chest and bury your face into the crook of his neck, “You’re insufferable.” He buries his nose in your hair as he chuckles, “So is that a yes to the date?”

He can just make out a quiet yes muttered against his throat. He squeezes you tightly in response, placing a lingering kiss to to the top of your head.

“Ugh okay we need to get cleaned up the cum is drying and it’s making my legs uncomfortably sticky.” You shoot up and start to climb over Kakashi. He snorts and lightly smacks your ass as you pass over him. You yelp and shoot him a glare as you make your way towards his bathroom.

He starts to get up too, but he slowly realizes he’s been laying down for a good majority of the day and his tight muscles remind him now that he’s come down fully from his high. He trips over himself and quickly looks to see if you saw it. Your voice calls out from the bathroom, “Have a nice fall?” You were turning into a threat to his usual persona. He stumbles into the bathroom and wraps his arms around your torso as you wipe yourself down. He wants to suggest a shower but he knows himself too well and decides better of it lest he has to start expending chakra to keep himself awake enough for a third round. That would not be a fun trip to the hospital. You turn yourself around and wipe his face with a new cloth, he holds you close and hums as you gently clean him up too. He really should be the one doing this but he’s slowly realizing he likes being taken care of as much as he likes to take care of people so he lets you continue.

Soon enough he’s dragging you back into bed and planting more kisses across your skin. Late into the night he whispers promises of what you two will do when you come back from your mission.

As you doze off in his arms the only thing Kakashi can think of is how he really should do this more often.

-------------------------------------------

“I’M SO LATE.”

“I’m starting to rub off on you in more ways than one.” You throw a pillow at Kakashi’s head which he lets smack him in the face. He deserves it frankly. He watches you race around his room to gather your clothes in your attempt to still make it to your rendezvous point on time. He figures if you left now you would still be 5 minutes late, and the white stain on your shirt would be even more of a question for Gai and Tenzo. He gets up out of bed after what feels like an eternity after lounging in it all of yesterday and grabs one of his clean shirts from his dresser. He tosses it at you as you just discover the lewd stain on what would have been your only shirt. “It’ll be a little big, but it’s better than having those two poke their noses into your business.” he comments, grabbing your soiled shirt from your hands, “I’ll wash this one for you so it’s clean when you come back.” You give him a heartfelt stare, “Thank you Kakashi, I’d say I owe you one but it’s your fault it’s stained to begin with so we’ll just call it even.” He smiles and kisses your forehead, “You should go now, you might get there with enough time for them not to question anything if you run.” Your eyes widen and you dash out the door as you wrap your flak vest around yourself, shouting as leave, “I’ll see you when I come back! I’m expecting a fancy date you know!”

Kakashi gives a halfhearted wave, knowing fully well he’ll have to plan something grand for you. Maybe a bouquet of your favorite flower? A giant plushie? Chocolates? A fancy candlelit dinner? Jewellery? He muses at his options as he thumbs at the stained shirt you left behind. Ah, and definitely more of this.

He tosses the shirt into his bathroom to be picked up and washed later, he hums as he heads for the kitchen for breakfast and decides that he should just give you every option when you return. That’s really the only way he can show you how much he adores you after all.

------------------------------------------- “Did you sleep in by accident?” Yamato teases after you finally meet up with them. You had shown up 10 minutes late, out of breath and a little dishevelled but you're positive nothing else is out of place.

“Is that Kakashi’s shirt?” Gai asks.

You freeze. “No?”

Gai squints his eyes as he brings a hand up to his chin, “I could have sworn that looks like his shirt.”

Yamato leans in to get a good look at it, “It is a little big on you, your normal shirts fit you pretty decently, but this one goes down past your hips and bunches at your wrists.

You push him away, “Don’t look at my hips. It’s just a bigger shirt size than normal, I was so tired when we got home yesterday I didn’t do any laundry so I only had this one to wear.”

You hear sniffing beside you. You turn to see Gai far too close to your face, “It smells like Kakashi too.”

You smack Gai across his face as an intense blush blazes across yours, “Don’t sniff me you creep! Can we just get a move on, we don’t have all day!”

You rush away from both of them, mortified of the development. You realize in agony as you make your way past the village gates that if you had just worn the stained shirt the pair wouldn’t have even seen the stain as it would have been covered by your vest. Kakashi was going to pay when you got back.

#kakashi x reader #kakashi x y/n #kakashi x you #kakashi hatake #kakashi one shot #this is my first full fanfic in years so hopefully it isnt entirely terrible lol #mdni banner by cafekitsune :)#kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi hatake x you

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luvjunie · 1 year

Text

— Unforgettable ( 2 )

part one • part two • part three • part four

pairing: e-1610!miles x fem!reader

contains: plot progression, budding feelings, a little plot twist

summary: a bump in with a certain boy at the bodega threatens to ruin your previously perfect afternoon until he offers to fix it. you assumed things would end there, and then you ran into him again. wc: 2,479

a/n: this was done a while ago but i wasn’t satisfied so i kept revising it 😭

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You honestly thought that this would be like any other time, that this wouldn’t become anything more than a few imessage games, or some tedious snaps back and forth.

The same old story. A guy thinks you’re cute, gets your number, you guys talk for a little while and then eventually, they fade into the blur with the other failed advancements of your past.

You thought he would be like any other guy. A guy who texts you at odd hours of the night with only one thing on his mind. A guy who fills your head with the false hope of things progressing anywhere past those three, god-forsaken letters used to ask what you were up to.

But your first conversation lasted for multiple hours and you hadn’t even realized. It was like you’d skipped the stranger phase and become best friends in mere moments, like you’d known him for years and were simply catching up. You were so caught up in him until you’d looked up to check the time in the top left corner of your phone and read ‘12:02 AM’ , the small numbers leaving you lost as you thought back to where the time had run off to.

As the days went on and you found yourself glued to your phone more than usual, you realized he was was nothing like those other boys. So far from it you were reminded that ones who genuinely liked you for who you were instead of what you could offer them actually existed.

And everytime you visited that same corner store, whether it was to pick up a few quick groceries or dry goods upon your parent’s request, you secretly hoped you’d run into him, though it took you a little while to admit that fact to yourself. Your head always remained on a swivel in a place like Brooklyn, but more often than not you’d actually been on the lookout for a certain face. Doubtful as always, you tried to remind yourself that it was probably only you who felt this way.

To say you were surprised when bump-ins turned into questions about what the other was doing for the rest of the day would be an understatement. Suddenly the two of you had plans you hadn’t anticipated, the best kind of plans because they were spontaneous, exciting and spawned in the moment from the sudden realization that you wanted to remain in this person’s company. Then hangouts started getting more frequent, and glances towards the other started lasting longer, staying longer, and ending in an erupting fit of shy giggles and laughs to distract from the rapid beating of your hearts. Soon he started insisting you walked on the inside of the sidewalk and him closest to the street when the two of you were together, ‘just in case’. And your hands would brush against the other as the two of you walked, sometimes on accident, others on purpose. You couldn’t find a word to describe the way you felt when your fingers stopped jutting away at the slightest of contact with each other, but instead intertwined. Maybe ‘euphoric’ would do your fluttering heart enough justice.

And before you knew it, you’d wake up in the morning, not just expecting or hoping a text from him would be on your lock screen, but knowing it would be there. Knowing that when you’d respond to him, and tell him that you did sleep well and you hoped he had too, he’d respond back with those words you’d happily grown used to hearing from him and him only.

“I miss you.”

And that’s when you realized that Miles Morales was not just ‘any’ guy.

—

A month and a half.

You’d known this boy for all of a month and a half, and somehow you were already accompanying him to the front door of his parents’ apartment.

But honestly, it was neither of your faults. The both of you were hanging out, slushees in hand and the conversation lively and he didn’t want it to end. Neither of you did, so you kept finding more things to talk about.

He offered to walk you home once the two of you finished your slushees, and he knew he’d have to pass his building on the way but he couldn’t care less. Miles would walk across town if it meant he could be around you longer, and he just wanted to make sure you were home safe.

The two of you had barely passed the building when his mother, who was on the fire escape watering her plants spotted her son strolling with a girl she’d yet to meet, and she just couldn’t contain her excitement.

She yelled down to him that she was making dinner, and that he better bring ‘his cute little girlfriend’ up with him. That woman’s voice could carry quite the distance, so it was without a doubt in her mind that her son heard her once she witnessed how he stopped dead in his tracks. It caught you by surprise, but what confused you even more than the random woman shouting over your head was how willing you were to accept the label she’d just given you.

You blinked upwards, lips rolled inward and silence falling over the two of you for a beat until you spoke up.

“Was that—“

“My mom? Mm-hm.”

“Did she just call me your girlfriend?” You stifled a giggle.

He sighed and rubbed the side of his face, obviously embarrassed at his mother’s forwardness.

“I think so, yeah. I’m sorry about that, she’s—“

“No, no, it’s fine. Really.” You shrugged, then flashed him a smile, one he was glad to see. “At least she called me cute.”

—

Now, here you were, nervously chewing at the inside of your lip as you climbed the stairwell, glancing over at Miles every few seconds to see if he was as close to shitting his pants as you were. He was, hands shoved into his pockets and gaze set straight, as if he would trip and fall if he didn’t plan out exactly where to plant his feet on the steps.

Your original plan was to go home, change into some comfy clothes and crawl into your bed to watch Criminal Minds and indulge in the ridiculous crush you had on Spencer Reid, but now you’d somehow gotten wrapped into playing girlfriend to a boy you actually wouldn’t mind having as your boyfriend, at all.

You weren’t anywhere near ready to unpack that, so you broke through your thoughts with the one floating in the back of your mind.

“What if they don’t like me?” you blurted nervously.

“They will.” Miles sounded sure of his answer, his tone upped a positive pitch.

You hated how notorious men were for giving such vague and simple answers that often did nothing to ease your worries. What if he was just saying that?

“Well, do they usually like the… Uh,” You struggled to find the right term to describe the both of you. “Friends? Peers? You bring around?” You adjusted your crop top as much as you could, mentally cursing yourself for not choosing the crewneck you’d rudely swept past in your wardrobe earlier.

“Ehh…” He shot you a look you couldn’t quite read and turned his hand in a so-so motion, which only increased the intensity of your anxiety. “But you’re different, I can tell.”

“What does that even mean?” you exclaimed, ready to turn around and go back down the stairs. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can!” In the midst of a laugh, Miles grabbed your arm before you could make a break for it and gently brought you to a stop in front of his door. “They’re not gonna eat you, just be yourself.” He reassured you— warm, honey hued eyes catching yours in the way they did when you’d first met him. “I like you, so I know they will too, okay?”

Something in the way he was looking at you made you feel as if there was a longing within his words, something he wanted to tell you but didn’t know how to word, and you found it easy to believe him.

You glanced down at your hand that somehow had fallen into his and allowed yourself a breath. “Alright, I’m ready.”

—

After dinner had gone so well, you felt ridiculous for being nervous to meet his parents in the first place. They were probably the sweetest couple you’d ever met.

When they asked how the two of you met, you struggled to hold back your laughter at Miles’ facial expression as you informed them that you two didn’t go to the same school, and that you’d actually met him after he made you drop your lunch on the floor. Rio teased him for it, and dove into a multitude of instances where his clumsiness got the best of him, and eventually that conversation led you all down the rabbit hole of how her and Jeff met.

“I worked in this little coffee shop after class,” Rio smiled to herself as she recalled back to her young years. “And Miles’ father would come in everyday and order the same exact thing. A chocolate chip muffin—.”

“And a caffé americano with two splendas.” They stated at the same time, and Jeff’s brows raised when he looked over at his wife unbelievingly.

“Honey, how’d you remember that?”

“I remember everything.” Rio grinned proudly, and you swore you were kicking your feet under the table.

Miles had heard this recanted almost a million times and was nearly dying from boredom, while you on the other hand sat and listened intently, chin propped in your hands and your attention unwavering throughout the rest of their story. His parents were the spitting image of the kind of love you saw in those old shows and movies in the 90s, the kind of love you unfortunately never got to see between your own parents.

A kind of love so deep rooted and engrossed in the way they acted with each other that it gave you a glimpse of their younger selves; how in love they were back then reflecting onto now, even through their playful bickering and scolding when the other asked you too many questions about yourself.

“Your parents are the cutest.” You’d whispered to Miles, a laugh hidden behind your hand when Rio swatted Jeff with a kitchen towel.

“Please don’t encourage them.” He joked.

You offered to help Rio with the plates once you all had finished eating, but she insisted that you were a guest, and shooed you off with a big smile. Miles gritted a hushed complaint at her with wide eyes as he ushered you away but his mom couldn’t care less, she was just happy to finally see her son taking interest in someone again.

His room was nice, had a cozy, lived-in feel to it while still remaining tidy. It was colorful and resemblant of who’d you grown to know him as, and the walls were decorated with some graphic posters that you took notice of while he hurriedly tossed the pink teddy bear on his bed into his closet. Random papers pinned to the wall here and there gave you glimpses into the sketchbook you knew he had. Art was something he talked about so passionately whenever he got the chance, especially when the both of you would pass by some graffiti tags depending on where you walked.

“Your room definitely screams you.” you nodded.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

He made himself comfortable on his bed and you settled for the swivel chair beside his desk, and when your eyes scanned over the surface and caught sight of a red milk crate filled with what you assumed were vinyl records, your interest was quickly piqued. “No way, are these vinyls? How many do you have?” You gaped and leaned forward, ready to find out for yourself. “These are so cool!”

Your fingers gently combed through his impressive collection as he laid on his back, throwing a small ball he’d found on the floor up into the air above him, then catching it with his open hand when it came back down.

Miles couldn’t stop looking at you the entirety of dinner, and hadn’t realized he’d even been doing so until he looked down at his plate to see he was much farther behind than everyone else. He’d direct his eyes elsewhere only for them to fall back on how enamored you were with everything he held close to him, then his mind would follow suit and drift off into thoughts of how well you fit into his little bubble almost immediately, and how enamored he was with you. With how your nose would crinkle when you smiled or your eyes would light up as soon as you heard something that interested you, or how you’d made his mom laugh so hard that she snorted, something she hadn’t done in years.

The feeling you gave him was weird, the kind of weird that you welcomed after deeming it safe enough to stay. The kind of feeling that made his brain foggy and had him mulling over the right words to say and the right things to do in hopes you’d like him as much as he did you.

“My mom really likes you.” he informed suddenly, so deep in his thoughts that he’d completely tuned out what you said. It was a way for him to test the waters, to gauge your reaction through something he figured you knew by now, and just maybe you’d see past the terrible disguise he’d posed to timidly introduce his own feelings.

“Really?” you tried not to sound too excited when you looked back at him, hands gently pulling from the records to settle back in your lap.

His wrist flicked, propelling the ball into the air above him once more. “Of course she does,”

Your eyes mindlessly followed the ball when you asked. “How do you know?”

“Didn’t you see her face?” He laughed. “I promise once you leave, she won’t shut up about you.”

You grinned sheepishly, and went to tuck a stray braid behind your ear. “I couldn’t have made that good of an impression.”

“You had her approval as soon as you called her Mrs. Morales.”

Your head tilted in question, eyes panning to the ceiling in thought. “Isn’t that normal? Calling someone’s parent by their last name?”

A comfortable silence settled, just for a moment.

“You’d think so.” A smile curled Miles’ lips, the memory of when he’d introduced the first girl he’d ever liked to his parents flashing into his mind; his interest in tossing the ball paused momentarily as images from the past flooded his thoughts.

Wait… Why was he thinking about her?

taglist: @burymeinside @secret-ssociety @whatamidoing89 @urmotherswhor3 @valovesyou @inlovewithfictionalppl @edgyficuselastica @motherwanda @mybfmiles @dracohatesyou @axeoverblade @miumiulicious @sukisprettyface @decapitadedyoshi @gwennesy @simpnotapimp @kanvis @cleo-dearts @wonylvxz @asimpwhohatedlife @toneystank-3000

(some tags didn’t work, sorry!)

#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#across the spiderverse fanfiction #miles morales x reader #1610 miles morales x reader #1610 miles x reader #miles morales x black!reader #miles morales fanfiction #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x fem!reader #miles morales x you

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angelgoeslewd · 11 months

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nasty.

🔮 summary: aphelios, alune, ezreal, and kayn all have their favorite parts about getting down and dirty with you.

⚠️ warnings: 18+ content, Minors DNI!, explicit descriptions of sexual acts, GN!Reader

aphelios: noisy. he wants to hear you whimper. he wants to hear your moans. whatever broken sentences you manage to get out. the slap of his balls on your ass, the wet slurp of the slick between you two as he thrusts his cock into you. you having him fucking into you harder if you yell his name like his bandmates aren’t just down the hall. hearing your voice is what drives him. his senses may be dulled to due to side affects of the surgeries he’s had, but his hearing is sharp and practiced, it has to be, as an instrumentalist for a band hitting the charts every other week. any sort of noises you make during sex is overwhelmingly euphoric to him and can bring him to the edge in 5 seconds flat.

alune: the warmth of your sex on her hand. the way you press kisses into her arm as you fuck. your bruising grip on her thigh as you eat her out, paired with those sharp nips heightens her senses. it makes everything so wonderfully blissful, almost bathing her vision in white hot pleasure. alune is all about touch. there’s a lot she’s neglected and gave up in looking out for her twin brother, pleasurable touches being one of these. she’s always placing your hand somewhere on her body. her tits, her stomach, her thighs. she loves being touched by you. loves feeling every single nerve alight by your hand. loves exploring what feels good, what pleasurable pain you can bring to her.

ezreal: another one who loves noises, but rather than making it into a sort of artistic expression, ezreal likes it sloppy. he likes fucking you until you’re so dumb that you can’t even properly say his name. he presses into you so deep it’s like the circuits in your brain shut off and you’re basically just yammering incomplete words as he leans into your chest, fully sheathed inside of you. he doesn’t really care about being heard or even if someone walked in to tell the two of you to shut up, but definitely videotapes your cute little reaction. he’s definitely somewhat shameless in his sexual expression and definitely acts up in public.

kayn: oh, there’s so much i could say about this man. just like any scorpio, the man embodies the word sex. there’s not a thing about it that turns him off and if there’s one word i would use to describe kayn, it would be kinky. there’s nothing he won’t try, very little that he would say no too. in fact, he says he finds normal sex somewhat boring, and is always looking for something to peek his interest. but that’s not entirely true. for kayn, finding someone he loves having just plain sex with is interesting in itself, as he’s seen and experience so much. if he is willing to just have sex without any games or bells and whistles with you, he’s madly in love. he’s keeping you forever.

#angelic songs #heartsteel #heartsteel x reader #aphelios x reader #alune x reader #ezreal x reader #kayn x reader #🍩 of heartsteel #i wanted to do all of them but i still need to research yone and k’sante’s personalities more so have this :^]#also yes. im adding alune bc shes alive in this arc and ill be damned if i dont capitalize on her cute design #quote ‘alive’ unquote

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prime-adeptus · 1 year

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NOTHING IS LOST (YOU GIVE ME STRENGTH) – FUSHIGURO MEGUMI & READER

As minimal as this may seem, you wonder if he knows how much it means to you that he came. Your days have been lonely with you feeling increasingly out of touch with everything, but everything feels fine with Megumi by your side. Or, the one where you find your way back home.

TAGS.⠀gender-neutral reader; ambiguous relationship; childhood friends; aged-up au/canon divergence; brief smoking; angst & hurt/comfort; mental health issues, talks of death/suicide ideation, implied past suicide attempts; mild gore; near-death experiences; drifting apart and coming back together. hopeful/happy ending. SFW. 3,9k words

A/N.⠀my first work after so long and it's just a ventfic LOL sorry i have been looping phoebe bridgers and lorde for ages.

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3

For as long as you can remember, you’ve always felt things fervently.

One moment you’d feel euphoric, like you’re walking on air and nothing can get you down, but then everything crumbles and you’re left as nothing but an empty husk. It’s ironic how emptiness can feel so heavy, a constant weight on your shoulders, constant tugs at your heartstrings.

Despite all the things you hate about yourself, there’s still one part of you that you’ll always remember with pride: there is no limit to the unconditional love you can give to people. It’s taken some time for you to decide you want to live and love as much as you can.

But for some reasons you couldn’t fathom, these days, you feel as though your love is forced. Unnatural. Ingenuine. Like it’s just something you’ve gotten used to doing passively. Like you no longer believe, like you are living a lie.

In a way, maybe you are. The longer you are surrounded by your fellow Jujutsu sorcerers, the more aware you become of how rotten this world can get. Plagued with death, unhappiness and turmoil on every corner, and with humans repeating the same mistakes, you’ve begun to believe that this is all hopeless. You’re well aware that it’s quite a pessimistic view to hold, but in the world that you are in, you find that it keeps you grounded. A realist.

Or, as your beloved teacher Gojo Satoru would call you, a downer.

The sound of his voice referring to you as such makes you click your tongue in irritation. There’s not much you know about him, but the bitter part of you believes that he of all people should at least understand how you feel. You hold your position as a jujutsu sorcerer in high regard and with honour, but as time passes by, you’ve started to contemplate if it’s even worth it at all.

You wonder if people know that you weren’t always this way — as a child, you were bright-eyed and innocent, full of love for people and the world. Growing and going through life shattered it all, making you a husk of what you once were, and even now, you still don’t know who you’re supposed to be.

You lie and you cheat, tricking people into believing that you’re independent and fine on your own, but you are lonelier than words can describe.

And just what do you live for? You’ve survived time and time again by sheer instinct and reflex, but you still don’t know what your purpose is. You fight and you risk your life to keep other people safe at the cost of your wellbeing. Every day is a task to complete for the greater good, but what’s in store for you? You’ve grown distant from your parents — on your end, anyway; it’s difficult to read people — and your once close friends rarely contact you anymore. All you have are your peers, but you still feel so out of place among them.

The cigarette burns between your fingers as you stare off into space by the edge of the river. At the mere age of nineteen, you feel as though you’ve lived several lives, all of which have harrowed you to no end. Nicotine flows in your system as you take yet another drag, wondering if this is what your youth was meant to be. Years of saving the city in favour of feeling like you’re wanted, needed should’ve made you feel happy. Yet here you are, alone in the streets of Tokyo, all because there’s nothing waiting for you at home.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” a voice says from beside you. It’s deep and quiet, almost monotonous, but you’d recognise the hint of concern anywhere. Megumi slightly grimaces at the sight of you exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“I don’t.” With a scoff, you put out the cigarette in the ashtray and turn to face him instead. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

He frowns. It amuses you how it seems to have been a permanent expression etched on his face since you were kids. You don’t remember if you’ve ever seen him with a different look, but that’s on you, you suppose. You haven’t spent much time with him for a while now. Time ages you and your weariness distances you from those you wish to stay close to.

When he doesn’t reply, you speak up again, “I'm trying.”

“I know.” He glances at you. As blunt as he sounds, you know he means well; that’s just the way he is. He looks like he has more to say but he doesn’t, instead opting to hand you a packet of your favourite mints. Any other time you’d take it as an insult, but you find yourself getting sentimental over the fact that he still remembers what you like.

“Thanks,” you mumble, popping one into your mouth. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

The corner of his lips quirks downward for a split second. With a quiet sigh, he lightly flicks your forehead, not reacting at all to the indignant yelp you let out.

“Where’s your jacket?” he asks in a chiding tone, though there isn’t any venom in it. “You’ll get sick. I don’t want you sneezing on me.”

“You always take care of me, though,” you grumble without thinking, putting on the jacket that was previously tied around your waist. Another beat passes before you realise what you’ve blurted out. Were you being too familiar with him? You’re not sure if he still wants to be friends after all that isolation you’ve been doing. You part your lips to apologise, but he interrupts with a huff and a flick to your forehead again.

“Shut up.” The pink flush on the tips of his ears betrays the irked expression he wears. You’re not sure whether it’s because of the chilly air or if it’s because he’s blushing, but it brings a smile to your face nonetheless. “Let’s go back.”

You were only twelve when you started seeing Curses everywhere you went.

You’d never been the type to get scared too easily, but there was something about those creatures that unsettled you to the core. They seemed horrifically disfigured and hungry, ready to pounce at any moment, and you could only be brave for so long. You tried telling your mother and your friends only to be met with suspicious and concerned looks.

They thought you were crazy. You didn’t blame them for that. You never believed in the paranormal, so this sudden change must’ve been quite a shock. It wasn’t until two years later did you learn what they were and that you could exorcise them, somehow like they did in the horror movies. Your memory of your recruitment is hazy, but you did remember sitting with Megumi and Gojo in the car and asking the most questions you’ve ever asked in your lifetime. Your new teacher found it amusing; your classmate, however, did not.

Your mother didn’t seem to mind sending you to a boarding school. With an elaborate lie about your full scholarship told by Gojo, she’d beamed in joy and helped you pack your bags. She’d be too busy to actually notice your absence, but that didn’t stop her from sending a message to check in on you every once in a while. At some point, you stopped responding. Not because you were annoyed, but rather, you just didn’t have the energy to.

Ironically, for a school with quite a handful of staff and students, you never felt lonelier in your life. You stuck by Megumi’s side for the sole reason that he was the only one you felt comfortable enough to approach. You didn’t talk to him much, but he was good company and you came to consider him a friend. Eventually, he started approaching you as well, and you’d spend time together like regular friends would do. It felt nice to be able to be around someone and not have to explain yourself all the time.

In hindsight, you think it’s your fault that you’re so distant from everyone now. You don’t quite know when it all began—the depressing thoughts, the near-uncontrollable impulses, the lack of care for your safety and well-being. Every time your teachers or a peer brought it up, you’d simply dismiss it as just a ‘hormone thing’ which seemed enough to make them stop asking. Megumi didn’t believe a thing. He doesn’t have to tell you for you to know that.

But what else could you do? You’re alone, and it’s not like anyone can help with whatever the fuck is happening in your head. Your mother got you in touch with professionals to help with your troubles, and even if she doesn’t say it much, you know she’s always worried sick and thinks you should just come home. You’ve been able to keep yourself in check since then, but with the sadness now mostly gone, you now have to deal with the void in your chest that plagues you constantly.

The forest surrounding the dormitories is quiet save for the leaves rustling in the wind and the cicadas chirping their evening tune. You’re not sure how long it’s been since your last official mission. You haven’t been good at keeping track of the time for a while now. But at the very least, you know that it’s been too long.

There’s no doubt Gojo had something to do with it, you think bitterly. Otherwise, you’d be as busy as your peers right now. If there’s one thing you hate about this place, it’s the fact that no one here ever really gives you a proper reason. You feel trapped, ignored, and maybe if you were more carefree you’d look past it, but you’re not. If they didn’t believe in your abilities, you’d show them; you don’t think being the underdog is that bad, after all. Maybe they’ll finally recognise your prowess and respect you.

With your heart pounding hard against your chest, you grab your ootachi and flee, letting your instincts guide you to wherever feels the most dangerous, exciting. The more rational part of you tells you that you’re going to be in trouble if you don’t turn back now, but you find that you really couldn’t care less.

You need to feel alive. You need to feel afraid, to feel something, anything. While you don’t mind resting, you also didn’t overwork yourself to the bone just to remain stagnant. You didn’t spend weeks training with every weapon the school had to offer just to let them rust. You didn’t hone your cursed techniques only to not use them at all. So punishment and criticism be damned, you’re going to do what you want whether people like it or not.

You find yourself standing in front of a dingy abandoned shrine in the woods. Unease settles in the air as you slowly creep into the light of the moon. It’s dim, incredibly so, but you can’t afford to be afraid of the dark now —you have something to prove, and you’re not going to let yourself be intimidated by something so childish. There are blood splatters on the cobblestone steps, both fresh and dried, and your grip tightens on the handle of your sword. Your instinct to fight rears its head within your body, adrenaline and the humane need to survive rushing through your veins, but you breathe and try to rein it all in.

You have to think.

(It’s quite ironic how for someone who doesn’t give a single shit about their life, you always fight your hardest so you can live.)

You take another step. A twig snaps beneath the weight of your foot. The dried leaves crunch and rustle like someone (or rather, something) is sizing you up, keeping itself unseen to take you by surprise. Incomprehensible gargled sentences echo from within and the stench of death and decay grows stronger. Even when fear starts to wrap you in its cold embrace, you walk through the gate and into the dark shrine. Your blood runs cold and your breath gets caught in your throat, but you force yourself to face the task at hand.

You’re met with a grotesque mass of green; all of its endless bloodshot eyes leer at you as its tendrils slither in your direction. Misshapen hands protrude from those tendrils and reach for you, taunting you with the blood and entrails stuck to their skin and nails, telling you that you are next.

Not today.

An aura of black and purple coats your sword as you withdraw it from its sheath. It’s not the best space to utilise such a long sword—the shrine is somewhat cramped and is lacking in space for mobility, much less combat —but you grit your teeth and decide that you will adapt. Electricity crackles from your blade, and without any more hesitation, you charge. Its tendrils are faster than you had anticipated; they come close to wrapping themselves around your legs until your cursed energy latches on to them and forces them to disintegrate.

The curse glares at you in fury. You can practically hear your heartbeat as you slash through its tendrils, splattering the wooden floors with its steaming blood. A guttural growl leaves the curse and the air feels thicker; it’s getting hard to breathe and your vision is starting to fade.

Am I going to die here?

There’s a sharp pain in your gut. The sword slips out of your grasp and blood sputters out of your lips. When you look down, you realise that the curse has pierced through you.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it fucking hurts.

But you can’t die here. Not like this, not without a fight.

Shakily, weakly, you put your hands together, breathe, and with the last of your strength, you fire a powerful blast that hits the curse square in the centre, making it screech in pain. Vapour rises from its form as it melts into the ground and eventually dissipates. A relieved sigh leaves you, but then the world spins, your body hurts even more, and before you know it, everything goes dark.

You fall into nothing.

(Somewhere not too far from the shrine, apprehension crawls into Fushiguro Megumi’s system.

He doesn’t hesitate. He follows the curse residue and he runs.)

You wake with a dull ache between your ribs.

The first thing you see is never-ending walls of white. There’s a generic decorative painting on the wall along with an old clock that tells you it’s a quarter past noon. Blearily, you realise that you’re in the infirmary, and judging from the soreness that spreads through your body and into your limbs, you’re still alive.

Somehow, you’re not as happy about it as you should be.

You feel like you’ve been through hell and back. In a way, you did. You’re too tired to regret your poor decisions from who knows how long ago, and you’re not a stranger to deliberately ignoring whatever makes you feel like shit. So you do just that all while staring blankly at the wall in front of you, hoping that you’ll eventually fall asleep again and forget. Maybe even not wake up until the month ends.

(You’ve come to a realisation that you don’t want to die anymore; you just want to stop existing for a while, get yourself together then come back when you’re ready. Like pausing a game or a video being played, you don’t lose the progress, but you sure as hell forget what the hell happened earlier.)

The door slides open. You contemplate pretending to be unconscious again, but your ears pick up heavy footfalls on the tiled floor and you decide maybe you shouldn’t.

“Hey, Ieiri-sensei,” you croak out, weakly raising two of your fingers in a peace sign. “I’m alive and moving.”

She hums, amused as she makes her way over to your bedside. “Yes, you are. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit?”

“Good. You would’ve been dead if Fushiguro-kun hadn’t found you. Can you stand?”

She gently urges you off the bed, hoisting you up by the shoulders as you try to maintain balance after being bedridden for hours. Or days. Or even weeks. You’re not sure.

“You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

The concerning duration of your bedridden state goes completely ignored. All you can think about is the mention of Megumi.

You would’ve been dead if Fushiguro-kun hadn’t found you.

“What do you mean he found me?”

She smiles wryly. “That boy’s been worried about you. Ran off from Satoru as soon as he felt a ‘weird pressure.’ What were you fighting?”

You shrug and wince at how stiff you feel. God, you hate this. Your legs are shaky as she helps you walk out of the infirmary and on the familiar path back to the dormitories. The school is quiet, making you wonder where everyone’s gone for the day.

“Some curse thing. Had tentacles and slimy skin. It was gross.”

“Well, that thing punctured you right there.” She gestures toward your chest. “Surprisingly it didn’t hit any vital organs, but you still lost a lot of blood. Did you exorcise it in the end?”

“I did.” A beat of silence passes. “Am I in trouble?”

“Yaga-sensei’s suspended you for a month. Oh, Fushiguro-kun. Just in time.” She helps you sit on a stone bench as Megumi approaches, his fingers furling and then relaxing by his sides. “They still need some support when they’re walking, but they’re healing quickly. They’ll be fine..”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I’m still in my thirties, silly.” She ruffles your hair affectionately. “Be careful, hm? Come see me if there’s anything else.”

As Ieiri-sensei takes her leave, Megumi sits down next to you on the bench. His brows furrow the same way they always do when he’s thinking of how to say something nicely. He opts for silence instead, eyeing you cautiously. It almost feels offensive, but it’s only then that you’re aware of the bandages that cover essentially your whole upper body, so you brush it off. If someone else were in your position, you’d be worried sick too.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this visibly upset (well, for someone like Megumi anyway) over anything, and knowing that it’s because of you strikes you with a pang of guilt. With your lips pursed, you avoid his demanding look and glance at your hands instead. The bruises have almost faded away by now. Ieiri-sensei must’ve worked herself to the bone to patch you up.

“I’m not happy, Megumi.” Your throat closes up and your nose burns as the tears start to form and fall. “I’ve been trying to force myself to feel something. It didn’t matter what it was. I just hate being like this all the time.”

It hurts to cry. It hurts trying not to. Your state of mind is in tatters and you’re desperately doing your best to hold yourself together, but the way he’s looking at you makes you drop your guard completely.

“I know I’m surrounded by people, but I still feel so alone.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything. That’s fine, you think. The last thing you’d want to do is pressure him to speak his mind. He takes every word into consideration and thinks a lot by default, and if he’s still the same boy you knew all those years ago, he’d prefer to let his actions speak for themselves.

“You didn’t have to come for me,” you murmur. “I’m sure you’ve got things to do.”

“No.” He pauses for a moment as if he’s trying to formulate what he wants to say into words that won’t feel like jabs. He huffs quietly. “I want to stay with you.”

Hearing him say those words practically has you melting on the spot, your heart fluttering as warmth rushes to your cheeks. You reach for his hand instinctively and with the slightest bit of hesitation, he responds by lacing your fingers together.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. You don’t know if it’s because you’re still exhausted or if it’s because you’re worried you’ll upset him somehow. Either way, it takes so much out of you just to talk anymore. “I’m trying.”

He squeezes your hand softly. “I know.”

“I say that to you a lot, don’t I?” you chuckle, leaning against his shoulder. I’m trying. You tell it to him every time you don’t have anything else to say, but it hardly feels true. Or maybe you’re just overly critical of everything you do, expecting yourself to reach certain heights before you consider yourself enough.

“You are trying,” Megumi says. “Even now.”

You smile weakly. “You think so?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” He lets go of your hand and your heart sinks, wondering if you’d done or said something wrong, but then he gently flicks your forehead the same way he always used to do when you were kids. “I found you bleeding out on the ground.”

“Pretty gnarly, wasn’t it?” you joke, laughing nervously. He shoots you a glare that shuts you up immediately.

“We were worried about you,” he continues, ignoring your interruption. “I was worried about you. I thought you were going to die.”

“Is this the part where I tell you that all jujutsu sorcerers die at some point?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry,” you say meekly, “I didn’t know I was that important to you.”

“We grew up together.” You feel a slight weight as he rests your head on top of yours with a sigh. “You’ve always been with me. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t there.”

It’s unusual for him to be this open about his feelings; he’s never been the overly sentimental type like you are, so to have him be this vulnerable with you makes you feel like you’re going to burst. The cool breeze passes by as you hesitantly take his hand again, and for the first time in so long, you find yourself genuinely smiling. He cares about you. He loves you, despite what that voice in your head tells you otherwise. It’ll take a while for you to change or get used to knowing these things, but for him, you’ll do everything you can. You’ll live — if not for yourself, then for him. And as slow and tedious as your path to recovery may be, both physically and mentally, you think that it’ll be worth the endeavour because you’re not alone.

You are loved.

You are loved by him, and for now, that is enough to quell every anxiety in the back of your mind.

You glance at him. “Wanna watch a movie later?”

Almost imperceptibly, he smiles back. “Sure.”

(You never end up finishing the movie.

Halfway through, exhaustion gets the better of you, and you fall into a deep sleep on the bean bag you borrowed from the recreation room. When you wake in the morning, you’re sore and aching all over, but the blanket draped over your frame and the arm around your waist makes you forget about it for a moment.

With a content smile, you curl closer.

He’s still the same Megumi you’ve always known.)

#all #bitchcraftinc #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk angst #megumi fushiguro x reader #tw: sui ideation #cw: body horror #? kind of. i describe a monster #cw: death #cw: smoking #yippiee

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concreteangel92 · 7 months

Text

Vampire Gloves

Noah Sebastian x female reader

18+

Warnings: vampire gloves, sensation play, oral (female receiving) dom/sub relationship. I’m pretty certain that’s it but let me know if I’ve missed anything.

A/N: I had a really nice interest in this so I’ve finally got it finished. Vampires gloves are a particular favourite of mine, honestly give them a try if you haven’t! I’ve never gone back haha 😂 the feeling is very hard to describe so I hope I’ve done it well and yeah, every time I see Noah wearing his glove, this is what goes through my mind 🥵 I’ll put a photo of what they look like underneath so you have a better idea before reading if you’re new to them. And as always, I really hope you enjoy!!

Masterlist

“Do they hurt?”

Noah pulled the vampire gloves on, flexing his hands to stretch out the leather.

“Only if I want them to. Now face down, ass up”

You complied with his orders, Noah watching you like you were the prey and him the predator.

“Now it may feel scratchy at first but you’ll get used to the feeling, I’ll start off gently and then we can work our way up. If you want to stop then just say your safe word”

“I will, I’ll be fine”

You then felt the small metal spikes on your left ankle and he ran his hand gently up the back of your leg, the feeling of the spikes was scratchy and made you shiver.

“How does that feel?”

“It tickles”

Noah hummed and then applied more pressure as he ran the glove over your thigh, this time a small gasp escaped your lips as the tickling sensation had become almost euphoric. The tacks dragged along your skin in the most beautiful way, no doubt leaving white lines across your flesh.

You’d never felt a sensation like it and you knew this was only the beginning.

Noah ran the glove across your left cheek and over to your right, you shut your eyes as you let the feeling wash over you. Noah then squeezed his hand so the spikes dug in slightly which made you gasp.

He then ran it down your right leg, a slightly lighter pressure but applied more on the way back up.

The feeling was incredible, your whole body felt alight and tingly, your breathing was becoming much faster, wetness was forming in between your legs and your thighs were starting to shake very gently due to his actions.

“How you feeling baby?”

“Amazing”

Noah ran a spiked finger over your centre very gently and you couldn’t stop the moan that fell out of your mouth.

“On your back for me”

You rolled over and saw Noah’s pupils blown wide, a clear sign he was loving this as much as you were.

Noah brought his hand up to your throat, again giving a gentle squeeze before trailing down to your breasts, you shut you eyes as he ran his fingers around, cupping them before running his finger over your nipple which made you jump due to how sharp it felt, sharp but most definitely enjoyable.

“Too much?”

Noah had a very small smirk on his lips.

“No”

“That’s my girl”

Noah ran his hands down your stomach and onto your inner thighs which caused your back to arch off the bed and a whine to escape, you wasn’t sure what you needed at this moment but you knew Noah would.

His hands ran up and down your inner thighs with a fair amount of pressure, the spikes digging in deliciously, your thighs once again started to shake and close in on each other which Noah wouldn’t allow and kept his other hand on one thigh to keep you spread for him.

Noah ran his fingers up your thighs and onto your pussy, carefully using two fingers up the sides of your folds. It was intoxicating, the sharpness of the spikes on your most sensitive area was bliss, he moved his finger to your clit and pushed down enough so you felt the tacks dig in.

“Fuck…Noah”

You were struggling to stay still, you needed more, the pain mixed with the euphoria that these gloves gave you was like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, every nerve in your body felt alive.

Noah then delivered a firm spank onto your pussy which made you cry out.

“Oh my god…..Noah please”

You were desperate now for more, all these sensations had brought your body to such a high that you didn’t know what to do with yourself anymore.

Noah lightly ran his hands over your thighs again.

“What do you need baby?”

“You, please, I need you”

“I’m all yours angel”

Noah settled himself in between your legs, still wearing the gloves and held your thighs apart, the tacks no doubt leaving red marks in your skin. He stared at you like you were a work of art, mouth watering at the sight.

He licked one firm strip up your centre and gave your clit a gentle kiss, still only teasing you, you felt the gloves work back and forth over the sides of your thighs and hips, the sensation only adding to what he was doing.

You raised your hips slightly, desperately trying to grind into him, Noah brought one hand up to your stomach to push down, and he then attached his mouth to your clit and sucked hard, he went down and groaned when he finally tasted you properly, the vibrations mixed with the gloves on your skin sent your head spinning.

Noah quickly removed one glove from his hand and not a second later he had one finger inserted inside you, starting a quick rhythm, the sound of your own wetness hitting your ears.

The vampire glove was being used still on your stomach and around your breasts, it wasn’t enough, it needed to be more.

“Ca…can you use the glove harder pl…please?”

Noah ran his hand down your tummy with such pressure that you felt the marks that would be left and you loved it, the pain mixed with the pleasure he was giving you was on another level, the marks stung, your core was on fire as Noah was now devouring you.

You could feel your orgasm approaching, your thighs closed in around his head while he used his tongue on your clit and he added another inked digit and quickened his pace.

The feeling of the glove dragging down your inner thigh hard is what finally sent you crashing over the edge, you cried out as Noah worked you through the aftershocks wracking your body, until you pushed his head away as it became too sensitive.

Noah gave you one last lick and a kiss before sitting up and removing the last glove, both discarded next to the bed. He crawled up beside you and held you close to him.

“Colour?”

“A thousand percent green!”

“Good because I’ve definitely left a few marks”

You sat up and glanced down at your body and saw red lines across your thighs and stomach, not enough they would scar but they would be a beautiful reminder for a few days.

“Thats ok, that’s the best feeling I think I’ve ever had!”

Noah smiled and kissed you softly.

“I’m glad”

You smiled and then giggled slightly

“Maybe next time you can try spanking me with them?”

Noah smirked “spanking is meant to be a punishment”

“Looks like I’ll have to disobey you very soon then!”

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens band #bad omens cult #noah sebastian davis #vampire gloves #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian x reader #dom noah #noah sebastian imagine #noah bad omens #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction

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thesupremeuziplushy · 1 year

Note

Could you do doll with a worker drone reader that voice often glitches like spamtons voice

Doll x WD!Reader with a glitchy voice

I like this one a lot! But I won't actually add stutter or glitchy effects into the text to make it a bit easier to read for dyslexic people. Also, I will use google translate for the Russian sentences and they will 100% not be correct!

Doll doesn't talk a whole lot, that one is for sure.

She prefers listening to other people talking and a weird habit of hers is to pay attention to how their voices sound like

Do they have accents? In what pitch do they talk? What feeling do their voices give, something calming, something exciting?

She appreciates the unique voices the most. People speaking in different languages or accents, dynamic voices that adapt easily to the mood, etc.

And then there's your voice, the most special of them all

You survived an unfortunate incident against the murder drones but not without scratches.

You'd often stutter, getting stuck on words that were once easy to say.

Your voice also had a gritty and glitchy texture which sounded far from pleasant.

The other workers try not to exclude you. They always try to involve you in their activities because they know it's not your fault your voice is like that.

And yet, they often can't listen to it for long, always cutting conversations short.

It hurt. A lot. People began to talk to you less and less until literally, nobody talked to you. Only a select amount of people felt enough pity for you to try.

Doll wasn't aware of any of that. She always thought you never talked because you were, like her, a listener. And thus, she never approached you for a conversation.

You walked around with a huge of paper stacked on top of each other, covering your vision. Cursing at yourself, you regret offering help to the teacher to carry all the worksheets into the faculty room. But then again, he's the only one that hasn't treated you any differently from the rest. No judgment but also no pity.

Doll's gaze was set on her friend Lizzy as she waved goodbye, not noticing you approach her. You bump into each other, sheets falling everywhere on the ground as you flail around, trying to gather each and every one of them.

"I'm sorry, I didn't pay attention..." You say quickly, avoiding Doll's gaze. She stared in awe, mouth hanging open before snapping back to reality, helping you.

"Все нормально. Я не был осторожен." (Everything is fine. I wasn't careful) Now it was your turn to open your mouth in awe. You never heard any worker drone speak any language other than English. Sure, some came with silly accents but they all stuck to the same language.

"You speak Russian?" You ask, perking up. She looks up at you, handing you the last worksheets, and smiles, nodding her head.

"Ваш голос в уникальном" (Your voice is unique). Your smile falters a little, thinking she's about to say something negative or pitiful afterward. But nothing came. Just her gentle smile and a curious glint in her eyes. "Меня зовут Кукла. Как тебя зовут?" (My name is Doll. What is your name?)

"O-Oh?" She's asking you a question? "My name is..."

Doll somehow always managed to find something to talk about around you. And to your surprise, she never interrupted you nor tried to find an excuse to leave. Quiet the opposite actually, she refused to leave you alone.

While creepy to some to you it felt euphoric. You rambled on and on about your favorite topics, hobbies, and interests and Doll would sometimes share some of her own.

You'd get to know each other a lot in a short period of time. Even though Doll doesn't talk as much you could always tell she was listening intensely to what you said.

It didn't take long for you to start dating. Being this obsessed with each other surely wasn't a normal friendship!

Doll recalls how her mother Yeva described love.

It's like an addicting feeling. Something you always want more of and yet feel empty without. It hypnotizes you and you feel like you can see all the colors brighter and happier than they are even if it blinds you. It's the wind that blows the clouds away and the lullaby's to calm you to sleep.

And in Doll's case, she can't get enough of your voice.

#md #murder drones #murder drones x reader #md x reader #doll x reader #md doll x reader

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rax-writes · 2 years

Text

Now close those eyes, and let me love you to death.

Xavier Thorpe x Reader

➼ could be considered a part two of this

warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), oral (m!receiving), bondage, overstimulation, edging, orgasm denial, dom!reader, dacryphilia if you squint

Of one thing you were entirely certain: as long as you would live, there would never be a prettier sight than the one before you at this very moment.

The love of your life, Xavier Thorpe, tied to his bed at the wrists with a Nevermore uniform necktie, stark naked. Sweat covered him from head-to-toe, his beautiful long hair sticking messily to his forehead, cheeks, and neck. His face was flushed, and ragged breaths fell from his pretty lips as he panted, chest heaving and covered with scratches and hickies. He looked both euphoric and miserable.

You loved it.

For the past hour or more, you'd been edging him. At first, he'd agreed to you tying him up because he thought you'd suck him off and then maybe ride him. But now, as he squirmed on the bed, half-mad and horny, part of him regretted agreeing to your little plan.

But the other part of him really, really fucking liked it.

The way you stood at the end of the bed, leaning idly on the footboard, staring at him with a look that could only be described as nefarious – god, it made his cock twitch. The lingerie you wore, coupled with the fact that you had him in absolute shambles, had clearly given you a power trip, and the confidence that came with it looked very sexy on you.

"You're so fucking beautiful, honey. Please, please, will you just – can you – fuck," Xavier rambled, thoughts incoherent as could be. His cock ached, and every little thing made him shiver as though he were hypothermic – which is why you trailed a single, sharp fingernail from the tip of his toe, up his leg, across his hip, up his chest, and to his jaw as you made your way over to him, leaving him twitching and shuddering.

"What is it you desire, my darling? Use your words. Tell me what you want from me."

Xavier groaned in frustration, genuinely not thinking himself capable of meeting such demands. He sucked in a ragged breath as he struggled to piece together a single sentence. The way your long, perfectly manicured nail traced mindless circles across his chest certainly wasn't helping.

"I want, ugh, fuck! I want you to– to get me off," Xavier managed to choke out, before sighing in relief that he managed to say something coherent. His tone turned whiny when you didn't respond nor move to accommodate his request, adding, "Wanna come, baby, please. Let me finish, please. I'll be so good to you. Come on, honey, please."

"You sound so lovely when you beg," you mused, smiling devilishly down at him. "So lovely, in fact, that I think I'll grant your wish. But, under one condition: you may only finish when I tell you to."

"Okay," he agreed immediately. "Yes, okay, I'll do whatever you say, baby, I promise."

"Good boy," you replied, patting his cheek condescendingly, and he groaned at the praise.

Xavier watches through half-lidded eyes as you resumed your position from earlier, and you relished in the way his eyes fluttered shut as you wrapped your hand around his cock. You pumped him a few times, before wrapping your mouth around him, using your hand to tend to the few inches you couldn't fit in your mouth.

The poor psychic was half-mad, watching you use your hand and mouth on him, especially considering how close he'd been for so long. Your piercing eyes watched him like a predator to prey, and you still somehow managed to look beautiful while sucking the life out of him. In the moment, Xavier wasn't the slightest bit aware of what sounds he was making, if any. But Ajax's half-concerned, half-amused "Good lord, man, what did she do to you last night? I wasn't sure if I should be happy for you or call 911" the next morning was a pretty good indication that he was far from silent.

"I'm – I'm gonna – oh god, fuck! Baby, please, can I?"

Although he didn't make much sense, you still got the message. He was asking permission to finish. You removed yourself from his cock for just long enough to answer.

"Yes, my love, you may come."

The sigh of relief Xavier let out was short-lived, as it almost instantly turned into screams of pleasure, curses, and your name, as he came down your throat without another moment's hesitation. Tears from the overstimulation flowed from the corners of his eyes while you swallowed his release, then sat up to better watch his reaction as you pumped him with your hand a few more times. His body jerked so violently that he practically folded in on himself.

"No, oh my fucking god, please – have mercy, sweetheart."

With a chuckle, you held your hands up in surrender, before untying his hands. He let them fall to his sides, arms weak and tired from pulling against the restraints so forcefully for so long. You watched as his breathing steadied, and after a few minutes, you held out a water bottle for him to take a few gulps from, then you sat it back on the nightstand. Then, you grabbed a blanket to cover him with, and when he opened his arms to you, you laid your head on his chest, covering you both up with the warm quilt.

"Was that too much? I know we discussed a safe word, and you did not use it, but I just wanted to be sure that it wasn't too much."

"No, baby, it was great. More than great, really," Xavier replied instantly. "You were… unhinged. And I mean that in the best possible way. I absolutely loved it."

You smiled, and he kissed your forehead, settled into the pillows, fixed the blanket a bit, and pulled you even closer.

"Now, shh, I'm gonna sleep for a week."

#again - if you get the reference in the title i love u #xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe imagine #my writing #wednesday #xavier thorpe x y/n #xavier thorpe fanfic #xavier thorpe fan fiction #xavier thorpe fic #xavier thorpe fan fic #xavier thorpe fanfiction

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tmblrcolouredpaper · 1 year

Text

As much as you enjoy closeness, sometimes it gets too much. However Hyunjin reminds you that you're safe so often that just his attention on you, calms your anxiousness.

His kisses felt so soft yet so intense. If he'd ever ask you to describe how he made you feel, you were sure that you couldn't. Many words may come to mind, but none of them, not even combined, would be able to help you express your true way of feeling.

'Morning.', his voice sounded raspy, and he kissed your lips, his hand resting on your cheek, everything happened so quietly.

'I love you.', you burst out breathlessly and felt like drowning in his eyes.

'Do you really want to make me feel all mushy first thing in the morning?', he asked, giggling and caressed your neck, diving into another kiss.

His lips were warm on yours, and when he pulled you closer by the waist until you felt his whole front on yours, you found yourself only wanting to feel his warmth forever. He slightly parted his lips more and let the tip of his tongue ghost over your lower lip, then pulled away to catch his breath, but his palms remained on your waist, keeping you pressed against him.

'Let's stay like this?', he asked shyly, eyes desperately begging you to agree.

'Yes, please.', you whispered and felt euphoric that he wanted to enjoy you as desperately as you wanted him. You let your hand wander up his arm, slowly over his shoulder, and back down his side until you let your palm rest on his bare waist.

His shirt was too loose and functioned rather as an accessory, exposing his skin with just a single move. As aware as you were about the shirt's disfunction, he seemingly wasn't. He gasped the second your palm touched his skin, eyes widened in surprise.

'Sorry.', you pouted and moved your hand away, wanted to tug it close to your body again, but Hyunjin was quicker. He hurried, taking your hand. His strong grip made it impossible for you to escape. Ironically, you kept forgetting his strength while he remained aware and occasionally used it for both your advantages and joy.

He placed your hand back on his waist and even pushed it up, further under his shirt. You felt his ripcage under the tender layer of muscles. His heartbeat was prominent against his bones, and a faint echo brimmed against your fingertips.

Once he was convinced that you would keep your hand where he wanted it, he let go and gently pushed some strands of your hair behind you and gave you a long kiss on your forhead. He was so close, you could smell him well, his warmth then spreading over your face.

It was so much that you started to feel dizzy. In one moment, there was nothing else you wanted but having him as close as possible. In the next, it was so much that you wanted everything to stop. You involintarily tensed up and didn't dare to move nor to breathe.

'Love, it's okay.', Hyunjin pulled back and pushed you onto your back. 'Breathe.', he reminded you, and with the clear ceiling in your vision, it was way easier to find your way back to control.

Hyunjin laid on his side facing you, but with far more distance than there was a few seconds ago. He patiently waited, and when your breathing steadied, you could finally move again, and you instantly burried your face in your hands, letting out a frustrated groan that made Hyunjin giggle light-heartedly.

You turned to face him and were immediately confronted with his loving gaze. He may be physically stronger and always upfront to overwhelm you in the best ways possible, but he held so much respect and love for you in his eyes thathis observing view reminded you that he was ready to step back when needed. He always welcomed you into a delicate moment with consideration of your wishes and need and boundaries.

'Sorry.', you mumbled and played with the fabric of the pillow below. You didn't have to apologize, but you felt truly sorry that you weren't able to comfortably fulfil his wish of staying close.

'Don't.', he patiently answered and tapped your hand with one finger.

You intertwined one finger with his and laughed at that silly way of introducing the wish for closeness. He huffed and quickly held your hand properly.

'Ready again?', he asked, and you enthusiastically nodded, always excited for him.

Hyunjin rolled on top of you, but instead of resting there right away, he pushed himself up with one arm, keeping his hand in yours on the other side. You nodded, and he slowly sank down on you, his full weight coming to press against you, pushing you further into the pillow, into the mattress.

'I love you.', he whispered, and those three words held all the promises and reminders that he constantly assured you of: 'You're important.', 'You're safe.', 'I'll take care of you always and however you need.', 'You're allowed to feel what you want to feel.', 'I desire you.', and your current favourite 'You are allowed to feel good.'.

'Good?', he asked, and you sighed out an exhausted but happy 'yes'.

#▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| 0:08 StrayKids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin fluff #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #straykids x reader #hyunjin x reader

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littleguyconnor · 1 month

Note

May I request something with Ted? It may be a bit too specific, so feel free to ignore this if it is!

I did read your fic, and man I would love to see Ted actually finding a partner after everything AM put him through. Even as a giant slug thing, with all but the tiniest shreds of his former self stripped away, someone still loves him, tries their best to understand and find a way to communicate with him, and still sees him as a person.

(I love for hurt/comfort lol, and DAMN does Ted need some comfort)

Absolutely, not too specific at all!! In fact I really loved this idea hehe

It took time, at first. Things always did.

For Ted time was the only thing he had for the majority of his life, or rather, his existence. The state he was in now, well, that could hardly be considered a life. Being this amorphous blob was AM’s way of giving him an ultimate punishment, making him experience even a fraction of the misery the computer dealt with for its entire existent non-existence. He’d been happy about that for a time. About making it angry enough to reduce him to this state. But now… there wasn’t much of anything left for him to feel.

Ted felt tired, but he’d been like that for so long it’d turned into a default way of being for him, not an emotion anymore.

Sometimes, if he was lucky, he’d grow tired physically. Moving took a lot of energy. Energy he didn’t have, at that.

Recently, though, something had changed.

You.

After its tantrum AM realized its mistake, destroying the only creatures it had for company on the entire planet, and grew panicked. Ted was essentially just a thing it threw around sometimes, but it wasn’t fun anymore because he couldn’t respond to the abuse. So AM created life.

Using leftover DNA from the survivors, the computer artificially grew you, in a sense, speeding up the aging process until you were an adult because it couldn’t deal with a child. It’d have likely killed you, although unintentional this time.

And like the garden of Eden, AM set you down in the world it had crafted and watched with renewed interest as you lived.

Ted knew of your existence, because the computer had bragged about its abilities and about creating you all by itself, but he avoided you purposely. He didn’t like you because he wouldn’t let himself. Things like getting attached and relearning love were concepts he couldn’t afford to have, now more than ever. AM would let him get a taste of kindness and friendship, enough to make him used to it, and then rip it all away again. Ted couldn’t bear it. He knew he wouldn’t.

But god, you just kept coming back.

He couldn’t help it. He became utterly and hopelessly attached to you.

You were just so wonderful to him. So kind and understanding, so warm. You’d talk to him like he was still a human being, even ripping off one of the computer monitors from AM’s complex and making it into something he could communicate with. Even when it took him minutes to write only a few sentences, you were so patient with him. And you’d listen. You’d listen to every single thing he had to say, for hours, because god did he have a lot to talk about.

He’d never realized the value of communication until that point, of being able to express your thoughts. The feeling had been… indescribable. Euphoric, maybe, but even then he didn’t feel anything could accurately describe what he felt upon being able to just say hi. He found it almost funny, in a way. Before this, before AM, never, never had he been a talkative person. The fewer words he said the more likely his lies and charms would be believed. But now he couldn’t shut up. He had something to say about everything, even things as stupid and mundane as a slight change in temperature because it just felt so good to express it. Suddenly everything he said had meaning to it. Every word had value. Every sentence. He hated computers but god did he love keyboards. That was his outlet. His freedom. His ability to live again.

And you had given it to him.

You had given him everything.

But most importantly, you gave him love.

On especially bad days you’d hold and comfort him, telling him that everything would be okay, that he wasn’t alone anymore, that he was safe now. He believed everything you said because, to him, you were an angel. You loved him, and he knew because you had told him. You’d made it a point to tell him every day at least once, and soon, feeling loved became natural again. Right.

But you expressed your love physically, too, and he found your touch addicting. The first time you pet him he nearly lost his mind completely. Ted had leaned into your touch so hard he’d knocked you to the ground, and after ensuring you were alright, proceeded to crawl on top of your chest and didn’t move for hours. The idea of kind touch had become so foreign he’d almost forgotten it was possible at all.

Oh, but you. You hadn’t.

He was sure the earth was only around still to inhabit you. Nothing else mattered. His angel was the only good thing left in the entire universe. In this galaxy, and any other. Nothing would ever compare to your kindness. And so, for once, time was useful again. Meant something again.

Because he got to spend his forever time, with you.

#ihnmaims #i have no mouth and i must scream #ted ihnmaims #ihnmaims ted #great soft jelly thing #writing request

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tightjeansjavi · 1 year

Text

That Girl is a Problem

Part 1: “Sinful Colors”

(AU street racing! Joel x f! tattoo artist reader)

A/N: so this idea came to me because I rediscovered the song, ‘Problem’ by Natalia Kills. Suddenly I was like YES. Tatted up street racing Joel 😵‍💫 + tattoo artist female reader? Jesus Christ, my panties have been flung across the room. I’m blushing as I type this all out because this Joel is just on another level 🥵 get your engines revving laideaze.

~word count: 2.6k~

Summary: Joel Miller & Tommy Miller left their Texas homestead seeking new thrills. They find themselves working at an auto body shop on Hollywood Blvd. Joel meets you, a self taught tattoo artist working on the strip. You might be just the adrenaline rush that he was searching for. Or, his ultimate heartbreak.

Warnings: Early 1990’s Los Angeles violence/scandals. Drug use, drinking, smoking, mentions of tattooing and needles, street racing, infidelity, adrenaline junkies, Joel & reader have emotional baggage, reader is a badass, love triangle between reader, Joel, and readers boyfriend, flirting, teasing, banter, jealousy, rage, trauma, dark themes, domestic emotional/physical abuse from readers boyfriend, pining, unrequited feelings, excessive drinking/drug use, sustained injuries from street racing, bar fights, 2 character deaths, jealous! Joel, darkish! Joel, possessive! Joel, eventual smut, consent, eventual established relationship, no use of (y/n) readers nickname is Angel, (+18) minors dni!

That Girl is a Problem Playlist:

𝙄’𝙢 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡.

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙢𝙚...

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙢.

Los Angeles, California: Summer of 1993

When Joel Miller, and his brother Tommy Miller moved to the City of Angels, Los Angeles California, they had no idea what they were in store for. LA was a cultural shock compared to their homestead in Texas. They were looking to get in on the action, live life on the high side and they had come just to the right place.

It didn’t take long for the Miller boys to find work at a local mechanic shop on the Hollywood strip. Both brothers knew a thing or two about cars and motorcycles. Wasn’t the first time they had gotten down and dirty, and it wouldn’t be the last. Joel had discovered your tattoo shop on his lunch break. Hollywood had street vendors by the lot and he stopped in front of the bright red neon sign that read, Sinful Colors.

Joel wasn’t shy of his ink. He had gotten his first tattoo at the sharp age of 18 and from there, he became addicted to the buzzing sound of the machine, and quick jabs of the needle into his skin. It was a euphoric sensation. The only way he knew how to describe the feeling without sounding entirely masochistic, was that it was a good pain. A comforting pain that eased stress and tension. Maybe he enjoyed it too much. Who the hell was anyone to tell him that he was fucked up for feeling that way? Tattoos were fucking dope, as far as he was concerned.

Curiosity got the best out of him as he pushed open the door to your shop. He was greeted with the familiar buzz of the tattoo machine and the low tremble of Led Zeppelin’s, I Can’t Quit You Baby. There was the faint aroma of cigarette smoke, mixed in with burning incense wafting through the thick beaded curtain that separated the waiting area from the room where the clients and walk in’s would receive their new ink.

You had a cigarette perched between your lips as you were finishing up on a walk in that requested a tramp stamp to piss off her ex boyfriend. Although in your eyes, tramp stamps weren’t trampy at all. They were fucking hot as hell, considering you had one yourself. “You’re doing great, babe. You’re gonna love this one. As soon as your ex sees it, he’s gonna be foaming at the mouth.”

“As he fucking should be. Fuck him. He’s never gonna get his hands on my body again.” The client glanced over her shoulder at you, letting out a low hum from the sensation of the needle piercing her skin over, and over again. Once you were finished, you lightly doused a paper towel in rubbing alcohol before gently wiping the tattoo.

“Alright babe. You let me know how this looks, Kay? If you wanna change anything, don’t hesitate.” You had your walk-in gently sit up before you handed her a hand held mirror so she could check out her new ink. The tattoo was a gothic heart in red ink. The structured lines coming from the sides of the heart were like a crown of pointy thorns. The tattoo itself was delicate but possessed that edgy vibe that she was looking for.

“Holy fucking shit, Angel. You outdid yourself again! Oh my god, this is so fucking beautiful.”

It brought you undeniable joy to see someone happy with your art. You took immense pride in making sure that your clients and walk-ins got exactly what they were looking for. It was always fun when you got to throw in your own artistic flare in your work. “I’m so happy you love it babe. You know I would be more than happy to add you as one of my clients? You keep coming back for more..so I must be doing something right huh?” You said with a small grin.

“At this point, I’m just gonna keep throwing my money at you because girl, this is insane! Thank you so so so much!” She was already reaching into her hot pink wallet, pulling out a stack of cash for you.

“You mind if I take a picture of it real quick? I’ll give you a copy as well. Just like to keep a collection, y’know?” Your walk-in, Maddi nodded. You tapped your cigarette out in the nearby ashtray, far enough away from your supplies to stay within regulation code. You opened up your drawer pulling out your Polaroid camera as you got behind the bench. “Alright baby cakes, hold your shirt up for me just a little, just like that gorgeous.”

You snapped one picture, followed by another, gently shaking the photos as they developed. Once they were finished, you grabbed a fine tip sharpie and wrote the date, along with Maddi’s name, and handed her the second copy.

“Okay, this is so fucking hot. I’m hanging this picture up on my fridge. I don't care.”

You set your copy of the picture down before grabbing her a “goody bag.” Now remember, no harsh scented soaps, no swimming for at least 2-4 weeks. Please don’t let anyone cum on your back for at least a week either. I know how you are babe. Keep it moisturized, and a little bit of the stuff I gave you goes a long way.” You wheeled your stool over as you placed a light patch off the open wound. “You can take this off in a couple hours and gently wash it with water only.”

“Sooo no cum-shots on my back for at least a week? Got it!” Maddi said with a light giggle. “Oh, by the way, is Dylan still racing this weekend?”

“Yeah you’ll just have to stick with it on your tits or ass babe. Think you can handle that? He is racing this weekend. You and the girls gonna be there?”

“I do love a good ass shot. Hell yeah we’re gonna be there! We don’t miss that shit for the world babe.” She pulled her shirt down over the bandage gently before gathering up her things. Maddi always left you a hefty tip, which you appreciated greatly. You gave her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek before you counted up your money and placed it in the safe under your work area.

Maddi slipped past the beaded curtain to be met with the tall, handsome stranger in the waiting area. She shot the man a wink before she left through the front entrance.

You wiped down your work area, sanitizing everything for your next client before you stood up. You didn’t know anyone but yourself and maddi were in the shop till you slipped through the beaded curtain and were met with Joel Miller.

“Oh shit, sorry man. I didn’t hear anyone else come in. How long have you been standing there?” The first thing you took notice of was his height and the way the leather jacket he was wearing, seemed to bulge at the seams from his prominent broad muscles. You could see some ink peeking out along his wrists and the visible skin exposed beneath his t-shirt.

“Long enough to hear about cum shots.” He chuckled, Texas accent drawling smoothly past his lips.

“She’s a wild one, that’s for damn sure. You’re not from around here I take it? Based on the accent. Texas maybe?”

The first thing Joel noticed about you was your clothing attire. You weren’t afraid to show skin that was for damn sure. He took in the fact that you were wearing a short denim skirt with a tight little top that did little to cover your nipples. You wore fishnets paired with black heeled boots. You were hot, there was no denying that. You were also positively covered in tattoos. He noticed right away that your style was patchwork mixed in with American traditional. You even had a little red ink queen of hearts tattoo along the front of your ear. It easily could pass as a face tattoo. Besides your tattoos, you had a septum piercing and an array of earrings on the same ear that had the tattoo close to it.

“Based on that conversation, she does sound pretty wild. How’d you guess from my accent alone that I’m from Texas? Does it really stick out that much?” Joel asked, crossing his arms across his broad chest, stretching the leather fabric even more.

You knew he was checking you out. It was flattering to have attractive people unashamedly check you out. You knew you were hot. Something that both men, and women and everyone in between desired. You were well known in the LA nightlife. Your boyfriend Dylan hated it. He hated that you dressed a certain way, that you were naturally bubbly, alluring. You had a bit of a mouth to you but hey, momma didn’t raise no bitch. You were everyone’s dream girl, but a real damn problem.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer, handsome.” you grinned and mirrored his movements, crossing your arms over your chest with a raise of your brow. “Yeah, I don’t get many Texas men wandering in here. You stick out like a damn sore thumb man.”

Joel felt his mouth go dry at your suggestion. Was he really staring that damn hard at you? Fuck. He had only just met you, and you were already scrambling his brain. He cleared his throat as he stuck with his intimidating stance. “Can’t deny that I like what I see, huh Angel? Now, is that your real name darlin’, or like one of those fake stage names like the girls in Vegas use?”

“Between you and me, I like what I see as well. Oh, I’m sure you’d love to hear my real name, cowboy. We’re not on those personal terms unfortunately.” You said with a faux sigh of disappointment.

“Ahh, I see. You’re what men like to call a class A tease. Gotta hand it to ya darlin’ you got me hooked already.”

“Consider yourself unspecial, and most definitely unlucky.” You responded with a sickly sweet grin. “So, did you come in here to flirt me up or did you want to get something done? What was your name again? I don’t believe I caught it.”

Joel liked the fact that you could banter and hold your ground. He was unlucky indeed considering the fact that you already had the upper hand on him. “I don’t believe I introduced myself at all. I’m Joel.” He held his hand out for you to shake, a small grin plastered on his lips. “I was actually lookin’ to get somethin’ done. I’m only on my lunch break at the moment so I’d have to come back later unfortunately.”

“Joel? Never heard of a man with that name before. It’s different.” You shook his hand firmly. You could feel the ridges and veins in his hand against your soft skin. “What were you looking to get done? I can pencil you in for my next availability.”

“Well, now you’ve gone and boosted my ego up a notch darlin’. I was lookin’ to get both of my hands done. The knuckles and my fingers. I was thinking American traditional. Nothing really specific. Maybe a skull, snake or somethin’ along those lines.”

“Don’t let it go to your head too fast, cowboy. Knuckle tattoos are fucking sick. I love doing American traditional as well. Tell you what, I’ll sketch something up for you and then you can stop on by after your shift? Where do you work anyway?” You asked, already penciling his name down in your little notebook.

“Damn woman. You gotta take a man out to dinner first before you just start askin’ him personal questions like that.” He chuckled, shooting you a playful wink. “I work at S&M auto body just down the strip. My brother Tommy works there as well.”

“Fuck me. There’s two of you?” You said with a light giggle. Yeah, my boyfriend actually uses that place when he’s reckless with his car. Which is about every other fucking day I swear.”

Of course you had a boyfriend. Of fucking course a vixen, such as yourself was taken.

“Yeah but if I’m being honest, I’m the handsome one. Tommy is just eh. Although, believe it or not, he’s totally a bigger ladies man than I am. Dude can’t keep it in his fucking pants for more than a day, if that.”

“Wow, he sounds like the male version of my friend Maddi. The hot babe that was just in here. She’s out here breaking guys' hearts every other day of the week. I absolutely hype her up for it though. She’s getting it good all the time.”

“No shit? Well, sounds like they would be a perfect match for one another. Maybe we’ll have to make sure they meet or somethin’.”

“Oh, we? No. Sorry Joel. There will be no we but i’m sure they’ll end up meeting eventually. You and Tommy should come to the race Saturday night. Maddi will be there and they can meet and rip each other's clothes off and all that fun stuff.”

“What kind of race are we talkin’ here Angel?” Joel asked with curiosity laced in his tone.

“The only kind of racing that is actually entertaining to watch. Street racing babe. Happens every Friday and Saturday night, right here on the strip. Well, as long as the cops don’t come and bust up our party first.”

“Street racing? Can anyone sign up for it or is it like an invite only kinda deal? Are you gonna be there?”

“Anyone and everyone can sign up. You got a car or bike and you’re good to go. Entry fee is $50 and well..there’s not many rules either. That’s what really draws the crowds in. Just some down and dirty street racing. I’ll be there. I always am. My boyfriend holds the raining title in LA county.”

Joel fought the urge to roll his eyes at you mentioning this boyfriend of yours again. Dude sounded like a total tool and Joel didn’t even know his name, let alone what his stupid face looked like. “Well, Angel. Count me in. I’ll be there and I’ll bring Tommy. How do I sign up?”

“Alright, rookie. You got a taste for some action, huh? We’ve been looking for some new meat to join anyway.” You grabbed a clipboard from one of the drawers and handed it to him. “The $50 isn’t required till the race so just need your name, pretty boy.”

“Came all the way out here for some action darlin’. Any, and all kinds of it. Whatever I can get my hands on really. Your boyfriend might have some competition on his hands. We did somethin’ similar to this back in Texas. Only difference was, it was a bunch of hillbillies and their trucks in an abandoned cornfield. Same concept, I imagine.” He grabbed the clipboard from you, lightly brushing his fingers across your knuckles on purpose. He wasted no time signing his first and last name before handing you the clipboard back.

“We’ll see about all that, cowboy. My next client will be here in about 10. I’ll work on your sketch on my lunch break and then feel free to stop by anytime after 3 today.” You set the clipboard down along the table.

“Sounds like a date, Angel. Catch ya around hot stuff.” He winked before he turned on his heel and slipped past the front entrance door.

Dylan was positively gonna give you hell for this. Did you care? Not one fucking bit. Joel Miller was hot. He was handsome and sexy and you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t want to get a taste of what Texas had to offer. What your boyfriend didn’t know, wasn’t going to kill him.

Tag list: @chaotic-mystery @peterhollandkait @lovers-liability @korynnekorynne @loquaciousferret @cutesyscreenname @atinylittlepain @yazsos @kirsteng42 @777-wonders @last-girl @pedgeitopascalreads @pedrostories

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takeyourcyanide · 3 months

Text

Rationality; a Supposed Loss and Deterioration

AO3

Fandom: Soul Eater

Character(s): Franken Stein, Spirit Albarn

Word count: 2 408

Tags: Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Age Regression, Age Regression/De-Aging, It’s Not Paranoia If They’re Really Out To Get You, Triggers, Paranoia, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Short One Shot

Summary: Stein spends the entire day pacing after receiving a particular alert. Spirit comes home, and is not very happy with his agitated demeanor.

Notes: A mutual of mine once said that it seems that I use writing as defragmentation. That perfectly describes whatever this is, and another fic I might post. This is sort of an exploration, as well - a dissection to a degree. A lot of my fics are.

Multiple trains of thought raced within Stein’s skull, all being derailed once their tracks would abruptly break, sparks flying from where they’d be cut off by sometimes nothing and sometimes something. The same sound he’d heard in the morning was playing endlessly in his mind, the same feeling, that sensation which spread throughout his limbs, gnawing on his insides, remaining almost effervescent in the way that it’d bubble up and nearly cause his body to bust open.

His extremities twitched every once in a while, odd muscle spasms often occurring, as he paced back and forth and back and forth through the short corridor of his and Spirit’s small apartment for hours on end. Soon, he found that his calves would ache with each step that he took, the floor rubbing against the forming and formed callouses on his toes, even his lower back seemingly a little sore.

But he could not stop his vessel from moving, not until that sensation which left him ticking, his head often jerking to the side, his shoulders rolling and cracking, dissipated.

There were still some leftover tremors in his hands, which he found almost funny. The same individual who’d regularly involve himself in any form of danger for the sake of feeling alive and euphoric was the same individual who was shaking at a mere sound, at a message of sorts, at something he could not even name without becoming jittery and agitated.

Surely they were coming for him. Surely. They’d ask who that ‘they’ even was, and perhaps it was those included in that… broadcast. Perhaps it was anyone. But it must’ve been those included.

Stein was lucky not to have experienced whiplash with the amount of times he’d whipped his head around, up, and even down, to check for any sign of an approaching figure. He could feel their presences. They were inside of his apartment. And each time he’d arrive at the end of the hallway, near a source of light and near the kitchen, he’d freeze briefly to cautiously check for those figures, before turning around after hearing and feeling someone’s breath on his neck, only to be met with nothing, except for the occasional oddity. He was being teased, taunted. Mocked, even.

For a moment, he flapped his hands, he beat on his arms, he pulled at his hair, he ripped the skin off of his lips with his teeth.

There was nothing he could do about it. If he were to hurt or even murder someone, perhaps Spirit since he had been awfully conspicuous lately, he’d be deemed as criminally insane. Imagine if he were to tell the judge and jury just why he’d been so violent. He didn’t want to be stuck in a psychiatric institution for the rest of his life because he got a little too agitated one day. But what about those coming for him? Would it not be self-defense? Was Spirit involved as well? He wasn’t, was he?

He darted back down the hallway, no longer walking, but running from the presences. He stopped once he entered his bedroom, making sure to check everywhere for the same person that was… broadcasted loudly to him. Once he found nothing - though he still knew there was someone in his apartment waiting to get him, playing with their food before devouring him - he grabbed his stuffed, stitched-up rabbit swiftly, holding it by one of its long, floppy ears and bolting out of his room, shutting the door behind him.

He brought the plushie to his chest for a moment, his chin resting on its soft head, as he embraced the toy, hoping that maybe it could soothe some of that pent-up sensation coursing through his body. And while it did nothing to get rid of what seemed to be his anxiety and agitation, it did cause a pleasant warmth to spread in his heavy, pressured and dense-feeling chest, contrasting, yet blending in with the noise.

He trudged closer to the kitchen, closer to the blaring light, ignoring the pain in his feet and legs, and the aching in his knees and hips.

“Oh, hey, Stein.”

There was a figure. The figure of his weapon, standing in the kitchen, digging through the cabinets. He hadn’t heard him come in. What else hadn’t he heard? What if someone else came in - or, really, broke in - and he was much too lost in his own internal landscape to notice?

He whipped his head in every direction he possibly could, their oppressive presences replacing and becoming the air he breathed.

He silenced a whimper. He silenced a strained, somewhat frustrated, exhausted groan. His body was becoming gradually more cumbersome to move and maintain any semblance of control over.

How was he supposed to interact with the scythe like normal? He needed to. He could not, but he needed to. He wasn’t in the mood to be yelled at and chastised. Therefore, he needed to, though he knew he wouldn’t. He did not wish to interact with him at all.

“Stein? What are you doing? You pacing again? Why are you just standing there?” Spirit tilted his head in suspicion, walking up to Stein, apparently having given up on finding a snack. “You really need to go shopping. It’s your turn, you know. We have, like, nothing.”

“What time is it?”

“What?”

“What time is it?”

“God, I wish you’d stop mumbling for once. I have no clue what you’re saying-“

“What time is it?” He, even more agitated than before, repeated with an accidentally whiny emphasis. He was antsy, he could not help it. He hadn’t the energy to interact, not when he knew how annoyed Spirit would be, how far from calm he’d be - which would only continue to worsen his growing distress. Spirit always had to be mad about something. Why couldn’t he ever just shut his fugly mouth and leave him be?

“It’s seven o’clock.”

“What day is it?”

“It’s Sunday. I went on a date. Remember?”

‘Barely.’

He was much too focused on the prospect of hearing an alarm again to remember what year it was, much less what day it happened to be.

“You’re always on a date.”

Spirit scoffed as though it weren’t the truth. He was always so offended, always on the defensive.

“That’s not true!” He moved towards the living room, Stein curiously following him. He wanted to gauge the now sitting boy, to figure out precisely what he should be suspicious or not suspicious of him for. He should always be suspicious, and he always was. They were conspicuous. Did he sell his information to the one broadcasted? Surely not. Though he couldn’t help but question it. Perhaps he did. He did not want another broadcast.

“Can you turn off the emergency alerts on your phone?” He did not want to ever hear another one, though he certainly would at some point. Just voicing what they were was enough for him to shiver, the sensation worsening as it rolled down his spine.

“Ohh… You got one, too, then?” He kicked back on the sofa, his feet lying crossed on the coffee table. “Yeah.. it was kind of unnerving. Some guy’s wanted for a bunch of murders and kidnappings and shit, and apparently he was last seen somewhere, like, half an hour or so away from us. He’s on Lord Death’s list- I heard some first years ended up with the mission.”

That did not answer his question. And he did not want to talk about it.

That same painful sensation sent shocks throughout his chest, throughout his arms and legs. His forehead began to throb, leaving him to wonder if his brain was finally about to explode, the rims of his eyes a little sore. He clumsily, sloppily rubbed one of his eyes with his free hand, as he yawned, finding that he’d forgotten to wear his glasses for the entire day. No wonder his eyes hurt.

“Honestly, that rabbit just screams you,” he pointed at the stuffed toy in Stein’s hand. “With all of the stitches, and how mangled and disturbing it looks. It’s pretty cute, though. …Are you going to sit down? Do you wanna watch something?”

“Mm-mm,” he hummed in disagreement, beginning to rock himself on his feet, that antsy, restless feeling not leaving him. Noisy, noisy, noisy.

“Why are you being so pouty? It’s annoying.”

Pouty? What had he done wrong? And even if he was, how could he not be a little pouty? After a long day of chronic agitation and failing to repress regression episodes, was he not allowed to be a little pouty? After being quite literally woken up by one of the few things that is able to illicit something akin to a fear response from him, was he not permitted to be a little fussy? No, he was not. He was not some sort of baby, after all. Everyone gets unnerved by things sometimes. Get over it. Suck it up. Don’t be so pathetic.

But how was he being annoying? He wasn’t venting to him, he hadn’t told him anything. He wasn’t seeking his comfort, or any sort of assistance from him. He wasn’t pestering him for anything. What was he doing that was so terrible?

“And you’ve been even weirder than usual lately. I wish you’d at least respond to me. I don’t know what psychiatric thing is going on with the you, or what psychiatric thing you want me to believe is going on with you, but It’d be nice if you’d pretend to be normal or human for even just a little while.”

“He’s coming for me,” he muttered under his breath, little titters escaping him despite his increasing agitation, as his lips twitched to the side. Spirit had often told him that his face twitched when he��d speak, when they’d converse. He noticed a lot of facial twitching, and twitching in general. Involuntary spasms. He found it odd. He found everything about him odd.

“Who’s ‘he?’” He gazed at him, looked him up and down with an expression that made it obvious just how bizarre he thought he was. He stared at him as though he’d said the dumbest thing in the world. He appeared almost repulsed by him. “No one’s coming for you. You’re fucking ridiculous. You used to actually be somewhat logical. I seriously can’t even speak to you anymore- no one can,” he sighed, his eyes seemingly telling him he perceived himself as being above him, as being better, more logical. How insulting. “Whatever. Gone are the days of having a rational conversation with you.”

Stein immediately walked away. What was even the point in trying to argue with him, or explain his side of things when he’d only be looked down upon, when he’d only be told he was being ridiculous and apparently faking some sort of issue? What was he even faking? What incentive would he have to fake anything? Attention? But being strange in the eyes of others did not typically bring anything good. He didn’t think he was acting all that different than usual. But any time he was even more “off,” or was having an even worse day than is typical in terms of the noise, he was often accused of apparently exaggerating or lying. But what the fuck was he lying about? He hadn’t told him anything? Was he lying about them coming for him? Was it because he’d giggle when he’d tell him that? But he didn’t mean to. His laughing didn’t mean was happy or faking. It just happened. It happened a lot when he’d get agitated and anxious. It could happen in his brief moments of euphoria, but he wasn’t euphoric. Why couldn’t Spirit understand that his body did things against his will? He didn’t feel like laughing. He didn’t know why he did. It was paradoxical, sure, but it just happened. If anything, giggling meant he wasn’t feeling too well a lot of the time. Not always, of course. But sometimes. Sometimes his happened at random, when he wasn’t feeling particularly any way. Sometimes it was a result of something negative, and other times it was a result of something positive, though that was fairly rare.

He opened his bedroom door, peaking into his room and checking for anything about to jump him. He checked behind the door, shutting it and locking it. And he crawled into bed, his comforter over his knees, as he held his rabbit tightly to his chest, rocking himself back and forth in an effort to calm himself.

He did not want to pathetically cry, he was not the type to cry, he never experienced the urge to cry. He hadn’t cried in God knows how long, so why now? Was it because of those idiotic regression episodes? But even when he was physically small, he did not weep. He wanted to be rational.

He nibbled on his lips, he nibbled on the fingertips coming to rest unconsciously against his lips.

He was supposed to be the logical one. He was supposed to be rational. Was he not logical anymore? Where was he? He was lost. He was supposed to be the smart one. He was supposed to be intelligent. He was supposed to be rational.

But they were coming for him. But he was supposed to be calm and rational. He typically was, was he not? He was grounded, down to earth. Where has he gone? Perhaps he’d finally lost himself to the madness. But he wasn’t supposed to irrational.

He knew this would happen, didn’t he? But he was being rational. Someone coming for him was the truth.

Where was he? Where was everything? Where had everything gone? He was finally gone, most certainly in the eyes of others. They’d made it clear how insane they thought he was for a variety of reasons- whether it be his violence or.. this.

He was supposed to rational. There was nothing left. But he was rational. This was rational. What did he mean by ‘gone are the days of having a rational conversation with you’? What did anyone mean by anything? Why did he have to interact with those who did not want him around? And where was he?

But they’re here. That is the truth. He was not. That, too, is the truth. There was a weight on his chest. And he wanted to brutalize Spirit.

#soul eater #takeyourcyanide #franken stein #stein #stein soul eater #dr stein #spirit albarn #spirit soul eater #soul eater fanfic #soul eater fanfiction #my fanfic

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moodymisty · 11 months

Text

So I had these sitting around for a bit and didn't have any use for them, so i just decided to clean it a bit and then post it. So here, two snippets of a nailsremoved!AU to be balm on the wound of the inevitable tragedy that is Angron. Apologies about any incohesiveness due to it's rough nature. I'm trying to get more confidence in my own writing and posting more of the ideas that I don't spend 80 years on.

Relationships: Angron/Fem!Reader (an AU of my 'stolen historitor' saga)

Warnings: None really apart from typical 40k talk and Angron's general existence

Snippet 1

The only word you can use to possibly describe it, is euphoric.

Never in a million years, in all of your hopes and prayers and desperate pleas, did you ever think it would even be possible. Even he hadn't; Though as with much of his life, he'd accepted his inevitable fate with the same despondent anger as with much else.

You shouldn't be awake, but you can't help but watch him for a moment.

Angron sleeps sitting. Perhaps its a remnant of his time in the gladiator pits. That would make the most logical sense to you, watching as his chin presses against his collarbone. He has one leg bent and one straight out, his left elbow resting on the bent one. He's prepared to fight, even in his sleep. Even his chainaxes are still within reach. You know if you even shifted towards them, they'd be in his hands within the blink of an eye.

But it's still odd to you, not seeing them. The nails were such a poignant, overt part of Angron's silhouette, that their removal has been an adjustment. It feels like a part of him is missing; In an odd sort of way.

You accidentally shift, and he opens his eyes. You smile at him.

He grunts. You snuffle closer to him and lay against his side, content to stay there for the time being. He doesn't remove you, so you assume it's fine.

You’re happy, but it’s bittersweet.

You know that while Angron no longer feels the full punishment of the nails against every other emotion but rage, that portions of the nails that couldn’t be removed; The pieces that replaced parts of his brain will always give him pain. To say that he is cured is laughable as like some sort of sick curse, he can have no relief in his life. A more accurate description would be that they neutered the Butcher’s Nails to give Angron some breathing room.

"Does it still hurt?"

You say softly, feeling his massive hand flop on your hip.

While there is no longer any nails for you to soothe, he does still feel as if your company gives him relief. Perhaps that's just another human emotion he's only just now been able to taste.

“No.”

You don’t know if he says it because it’s true, or he merely mistakes the neutering of pain as full relief it would make sense, given how long he’s lived with the nails; The pain becoming part of him and even its slight removal could feel like it was gone.

He could also just be lying. Though perhaps it would be more accurate to say refusing to show weakness. Someone like him won't simply admit that pain is affecting him. He'll never show his stomach to anyone, now matter how close you may be to him.

He stares at you. Hard. It’s always impossible to tell what he’s thinking until he inevitably says it.

“You worry too much.”

Your lips purse, and Angron grips your face not too hard, but hard enough to make your cheeks empty of air.

"I'm not the only one. I'm just the only one who admits it." The gladiator makes a disgruntled, irritated face and looks away.

Snippet 2

What an odd moment in time, Sanguinius thinks.

To imagine that out of all of his brothers, the one hailing from Nuceria would be the one to change so drastically. And to think they'd almost thought him lost.

Such is the nature of life, he guesses. For things to change so quickly. Even in their long lives it doesn't seem to slow down in the slightest.

Sanguinius looks across the massive room, watching the World Eater's Primarch interact with the only human he's given time of day. A question must've been asked, as they look up to him with a curiosity and Angron glances down to give an amused scoff.

It's barely there, but he sees it. It's just barely noticeable in the slightly softened look in his eyes. But the angel is keen, and catches it. He speaks up to either of the men in his presence, to neither in particular.

"I've never seen that man crack even the smallest smile. And it's been, what, three hundred years?"

Sanguinius' wings are fluffed, comfortable in the presence of two of his closest brothers. They've even seen Konrad smile; Though context proves to be a valuable marker in regards to him in particular. Magnus crosses his arms and looks towards Horus, not having heard him when the two of them exchanged an amused chuckle at Sanguinus' observation. Odd, for the Warmaster. Normally whenever he's in the Angel's company on Terra, it's hard to keep a laugh off of his lips.

"Have you, brother?"

Horus looks towards his brothers with a soft, charming smirk, one that fades ever so slightly as he looks to Angron. He thinks back, trying to remember a moment where the man hailing from Nuceria had ever shown anything but rage boiling just beneath the surface.

He lets out a soft chuckle when he comes up completely empty, and shakes his head.

"No, I don't think I have."

With all three in agreement Sanguinus makes some sort of lighthearted jest to Magnus at Angron's expense, looking away from the Warmaster for a moment. He doesn't let his perfect veneer drop, as he sees the old gladiator speak words not audible to him at you.

Horus watches for a moment longer, and then walks away.

#not putting it in all the main tags because it's just a blurb #angron x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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filthforfriends · 11 months

Text

Chapter 10: Little

Author's Note

Word count: 8.4k (whoops)

Read the rest on my Masterlist!

This would be easier if Damiano was’t saying all the right things all at once. A minute in between, or even a warning, would make the turn in conversation more bearable.

“There was a point, a couple months in, where I would have traded a lobe of my poor liver for you to be all clingy and needy in Little headspace. I miss being your Dom so fucking much, so fucking much.” He’s putting such emphasis into his words that it slightly strains his voice. “With your anxiety, having your Dom basically disappear…and we’d spent years building the dynamic into something that was both pleasurable and therapeutic. All that trust and I…the head fuck, I can’t imagine. I don’t want you to think that it wasn’t the most special thing in the world to me.” The sobs are coming so fast that you can’t inhale in between and end up literally choking on your own misery. It's the way a toddler with no self-regulation skills cried.

“I know, at points, I’ve done power play with other partners.” He’s wincing as he speaks, which is totally unnecessary. You just didn’t get the inclination to submit to anyone else.

“But I’ve just been stuck on the thought that you might have felt replaceable.” You shake your head and try to gather the air to speak. Instead of just embracing, an hand snakes under your blouse provides pressure through calming, even strokes along your back

“Felt impor – ortan –ant,” you manage, face tucked snuggly against his neck. Damiano sighs in relief.

“Good. Thank god.”

“Knew I mattered.” Although all the syllables come out right, the next phrase is such a struggle that it's almost indiscernible. “Knew…loved, not – not a…burden.” It was the way your well-intentioned, but often unequipped parents made you feel: like more than they signed up for. It's hard to articulate negatively about a good childhood. They bought roses for your middle school graduation, but you’d rather sit on the bathroom floor with the flu alone than endure your frantic mother or patronizing father. How could a kid they very much intended to have be emotionally over-demanding? Must be something wrong with the kid.

Except nothing made you feel more right than Dami kneeling on the side of a bubble bath, contentedly washing you with a baby-pink washcloth. He used lavender scented soap and smiled adoringly at how quickly you became non-verbal.

“Feel floaty, little one?” he’d coo, asking if you’d entered headspace just from this intimate act of service. No pain. No sex. The dynamic had reached a point where just his presence and intention was enough since Damiano, himself, was completely tranquil. It created a euphoric energy exchange, always nurturing. He enjoyed it, you blossomed, but that all came to a grinding halt as soon as the trust wore thin.

“Selfishly, I miss feeling in control, too. I tried to sublimate, but I couldn’t wait for the scenes to me over. It felt manufactured with new partners and just…wrong. Gross, even. Fuck, why am I saying this?” he groans. “I just wanted something to click so badly and it didn’t.

“S’okay.”

“I know this is asking for a lot. Really, I shouldn’t be asking for anything at all, considering living together is more than I realistically hoped for. You know what? I’m gonna shut up.” You shake your head, drying your wet face on the cotton of Dam’s shirt, only for it to be full of tears again. “Okay, I wish that — I want there to be a way that I earn your trust again, dynamic wise. I miss my little girl.”

That one physically hurts, like a side cramp from running after drinking too much water. The stabbing pain emanates deep into your torso because “yeaning” doesn’t begin to describe your emotions. You literally ached to be curled up in Dami’s lap while he hit his weed vape during The Little Mermaid. Of course, half an hour in, he was humming the melodies into your ear. Sometimes he even did voices or rocked back and forth to the beat of the songs, the soft pajamas he’s dressed you in pleasantly brushing your skin.

“I miss holding you and feeling the pure joy at convincing me to watch one of those Disney movies that are intolerable except for the music. You try to hide how excited you get and I try to act like I wasn’t gonna say yes to anything you picked.”

“Damia…” You ball your hands into fists, fingernails biting into the soft flesh. It's a bad habit, but an effective one. The little bit of pain keeps you present when you’d like to fawn. This wasn’t the place: rehab facility, in a previously sterile, closet–size room. The couple times you’d accidentally slipped into subspace semi-publicly had been scary. If you were meeting him on tour, Damiano was extremely intentional about creating a controlled environment, and if he didn’t feel confident, you wouldn't play.

Perhaps, without realizing it, the hand under your shirt is stoking at the same pace as an even breath. When one body was upset, the other subconsciously moved to calm it. All you needed was to breathe in time with his hand against your back, and allow yourself to fall into submission. Every cell in your being had been screaming for this, waiting months for Dami’s reassuring touch, but you couldn’t allow yourself to enjoy it. Hell, you shouldn't be allowing it whatsoever because based on recent history you’d end up hurt. Worse still, you’d feel helpless, which was an emotion you’d clawed your way out of with cut up hands and bleeding fingernails.

“I need to stand up,” you decide, clambering off his lap. It takes Dami by surprise and he hangs onto your wrists while you struggle to get your feet right. He can tell something is awry.

“Okay, you're standing. What now?” he asks in his gentlest voice. Speak. Fucking speak. Maybe you could go home and fall back into memory, pretend it wasn’t a temporary fix that would ultimately deepen the wound.

“Look at me.” You can’t stop your face from turning, so you squeeze your eyes closed and feel a rush of tears. “Look at me.” You pout your lip and shake your head, whimpering in distress. The lip pout was a dead giveaway, so you bite it instead and taste blood. The palms of your hands hurt, your lip hurt, your heart hurt. How was a person supposed to contain this much hurt and be unaffected?

“When we split you didn’t have another dom. How long did it take you to find one, y/n?” He caught on too easily. Your left leg begins shaking, quivering at the knee like it's about to give out. Your body tries to contain nervous energy. It’s too much. The sobs are so frequent you struggle to breath, coughing on snot.

“Did some piece of shit hurt you, piccola mia? What did they do wrong?” You choke on your own spit at the tone of his voice, covered in goosebumps. Damiano probably didn’t realize how dominant he sounded. His little girl making a mistake within a new dynamic wasn’t even a possibility to him. Had to be the dom’s fault because you were perfection.

“When you’re ready we can redo the scene and it’ll go exactly how you want. I’ll be so careful to replace that bad memory with a good one. Hmm?” You shake your head. There had been no bad substitute dom, because there’d been no other dom at all.

“Open your eyes,” he commands, tightening the grip on your wrists. Dami sits forward and pulls you between his spread legs. You stare at your left shoe. One of Princess’s hairs was on the bland, gray carpet, nearly camouflaged.

“I haven't submitted to anyone,” you whisper so quietly that not even crying can distort the words.

“Look at me.” It's another command, more forceful. His grip on your wrists aches, just enough to draw attention. Keeping the kicked puppy expression off of your face became impossible ten minutes ago, so when Dami looks, he sees. He’s absolutely devastated, then kicking himself for not putting two and two together.

“You’re going to be Little for a while. Sit on my lap.” Now that the decisions made, you’re so awash in relief that your oxygenation gets even more fucked up.

“Can’t breathe.” He makes the decision physically, too, and pulls you down to him. You go completely pliant, so sitting on his lap becomes laying on his chest. Dami turns both your bodies to fit semi-comfortably along the tiny bed. You peel off your shirt to reveal just a sports bra, worn to keep the boobage under control. Now all that matters was his warm hands on your bare skin. The shirt falls to the floor and Princess sniffs it out of curiosity.

“Let me change into a tank top,” he murmurs. It's a sign of respect, since he’d go shiftless any other time. “Loosen your grip. I’m just getting something from my dresser, you're okay, topolina.” Subconsciously, you’d wrapped your arms around Dami and established a vice hold, so he’d have to pry your arms apart to get away. It was a desperate move.

“Sorry.”

“You’re not allowed to apologize unless I ask, surely you remember that.”

“I remember,” you slip into Little Voice and watch Damiano’s from out under your lashes. It’d be so much quicker to get out of bed, but instead he props himself on his left elbow and reaches to open the drawer with his right hand. As a result you get to stay on his chest and listen to his heartbeat through the cotton.

Every movement is done together. Sitting up with a firm arm around your waist is done together. You even help him pull off the baggy t-shirt and unnecessarily smooth over the straps of his tank top. He’s gained muscle fast. Already you can see the difference in Damiano’s biceps and shoulders. It’d still be nice to see a healthy layer of body fat. Right now he’s a bit sinewy.

“They have a gym here.”

“You noticed,” he beams. Rather than answer his gaze, you stare at where your thighs touch and feel yourself get wet.

“Mm, you forget that I can feel what you’re thinking when you’re on my lap, michetta.” Why in god’s name did you wear cheap trousers and thin underwear? Even your ear’s burn with embarrassment.

“Awe, now did I say you were allowed to blush that pretty?” He takes the hair tie from your wrist and pulls your hair back, so he can see your face from all angels. “Does this feel nice?” Dami fingers combs your locks, stropping whenever there's a tangle until the full ponytail is clutched in his first. Then he pulls from the base of your skull. You're too braindead to provide resistance. Rather than pull your hair, Damiano ends up tilting your whole head back. You freeze, afraid it's your mistake.

Initially, all Dami does is breathe, and you can feel the air hitting your stretched neck. He just sits there, with your head craned back, enjoying the view of all your exposed skin, like a predator before butchering its meal. Just allowing this stance is an act of submission by you. His eyes fall to the notch at the base of your neck, across your clavicles, along the flat expanse of your breast bone, and landing on the line of your cleavage.

“Notice your breathing.” For the first time in several minutes, your awareness turns inward, away from your dominant. Was the pattern of your inhale-exhale normal? No. But was it panicked? Also no. You were panting, aroused by the knowledge of Dami’s eyes on your neck. It was a ridiculous reaction.

“‘S better.”

“Mhm.” The hand around your middle slowly rises to your throat. Damiano simply sets the bottom knuckles against your trachea, not applying any force, intricately observing your reaction. Then he folds the entirety of his warm palm around your neck, keeping tension with your hair. Finally he wraps his fingers around the column of your neck, leaving you in rapture. At any moment, he’ll apply force, restricting blood flow and subsequently flooding you in endorphins when his grip releases. Dami’s thumb tenderly rubs behind your ear lobe, the gentle sensation a precursor to some brutality that never comes.

“You are okay.” Using both hands, Damiano brings your head upright. As soon as he lets go you feel the weight of the world and yearn for his guiding touch.

“Signore?” you say his chosen Honorific in confusion. His careful hands are back, tucking your face securely between his shoulder and neck. One resumes the delicious tension with your hair and the other cups your cheek as he lays back down.

“So good at keeping your eyes closed, piccola. Remember I had to train you to do that? Now, you give in without me even asking. Such a perfect pet.” He kisses your forehead and rubs your bare back while administering the occasional validation. “Curled up just right, topolina. You are my sweetest little girl when you’re snuggly.” Just when you’re prepared to swan dive into subspace for the foreseeable future, Dami jostles your shoulder. “I need you to stay verbal.” You groan in protest, feeling disoriented as you search for words. They’re unreachable objects, floating around in your submissive mental fog.

“Ssh, shh. I didn’t want you to startle. That's my fault and I’m sorry,” he coos, stroking your hair with gentle pressure that coaxes you to lay down. “Take a deep breath. Mhm, that's just how I asked, piccola mia. You’re doing a really good job.”

“Brain off,” you groan. Damiano chuckles, but keeps his hand at the same pace. He’s good at that. As a dominant partner, his physicality often had a hypnotic quality.

“I’m sorry that I have to keep you at the surface. I wish it was different, that I could be a better Dom.”

“You…good Dom.”

“Three whole words? I’m impressed. I’ve seen you go non-verbal for so long I wondered if you’d talk the next morning.”

“Mm…nice.”

“Yeah, I bet that sounds nice right now. Maybe we’ll do that when I get home. This can be non-sexual for a while.” The bastard properly yanks your hair for the first time as punctuation, just enough for a violent full-body shiver and a little sting at the nape of the neck. It was your favorite.

“Fuck you.” Simultaneously, you stretch like Princess in the sun, coiling yourself tighter around Dami. “Fuck you and the way you smell.” Your nose was nudging against the back of his head, where all the sweat collected.

“I’m one day past needing a shower. Sorry, I know you only like that when you’re ovulating and feral.” And right now. He smelled grubby in a way you wanted to taste too. Would he notice if you licked him? With inhibitions compromised, you lick the nape of his neck, feeling the short hairs at the top with your tongue. Damiano startles and pulls away, shocked.

“Did you just lick me?” It's such a harsh reaction that you immediately regret it. Now that the cuddles have stopped, you feel uneasy with self consciousness. What kind of invasive, tone deaf pervert does what you just did? And here you’d lectured about boundaries.

Damiano’s face dissolves from shock into pity into regret. He cups your cheek, thumb brushing back and forth. Were you crying again? You couldn’t feel your face, or anywhere else on your body. He hasn’t given you permission to apologize. Even so, the words are almost bursting forth.

“You surprised me,” he explains slowly, speaking like you’re a confused child. It’s healing, to be talked down to, but not demeaned, in a world where your senses are in a constant state of being assaulted by information.

“Good surprise. I shouldn’t have jumped. I’m sorry, pet.” It was the second time he’s said ‘I’m sorry,’ while you weren’t allowed. “It’s been so long since I had the privilege of our dynamic and…” Dami looks out the window again, and sighs in thought. He pulls you close again and rolls over so he’s resting on top this time. With his familiar weight pushing you into the mattress, not wrapping your legs around his hips becomes a very conscious choice.

“You are uninhibited by shame in the expression of your submission.” A single finger on your chin brings your eyes to his and Damiano’s gaze is the only thing necessary to own your attention. “So strictly platonic might not work for us, because I will never put limits on your sexual expression.” The moment is so intense that you mentally beg for Dami to release it, but he grasps it with an iron-clad fist, willfully. “So things are going to be partially experimental, at your discretion, because hard boundaries are not comfortable for you. They are not where you thrive.”

You’re nodding along in wide-eyed agreement, dreading when this moment ends and you have to have an entire thought on your own. Dami is holding himself very still, rather than relaxing against you as is normal. It's undoubtedly because he’s hard. Wanting to feel that validation you begin to raise your knees, intending to wrap your legs over his hips and bring him close enough to eliminate any secrets. With a firm hand on your thigh, he stops the gesture, legs returning to the bed.

“Breathe,” he reminds, caressing your ribcage.

“I wanna apologize,” you whimper, embarrassed at your own horny behavior.

“No. Breathe into my hand.” Each inhale, you focus on the sensation of Dami’s skin against yours and his weight on your left side. “I will not allow you to apologize for organically acting out your desires. I am here to regulate your behavior. I don’t expect you to do it.” Damiano’s face begins to blur as you slip deeper into submission and try to claw your way towards the surface.

He resituates your bodies to lay facing each other. One hand is cupping your ribcage, the other rests at the base of your neck. The immediate adrenaline rush makes you more cognizant. Curious about all the movement, Princess hops on the bed, meowing a complaint that there is not enough room to lay between your torsos.

“I'm busy, babygirl,” he tells her. She meows again and turns her head away, as if she understands.

“Okay, brain turning on.”

“Just keep breathing. That’s all you have to do and you’re listening so well.” He rubs circles on your chest and in response your nipples get hard, even though the bra’s padding. “I love it when you touch me like this,” he muses. Gathering all your focus, you slip a hand under Dami’s tanktop and lay it on his sternum.

“Piccola mia, look at me.” He only has to ask once. “You are okay. I know this was just the beginning of what you needed.” Instead of crying as a response to everything, you access that little well of calm inside you, and find that there's steadiness to be had. “If we were to do a scene, you might not feel safe here, or you might feel uneasy afterwards. Also you need to drive home.”

“I understand.” You strain to kiss Dami’s nose.

“Breathe. You are okay.”

“I am okay,” you repeat back, automatically.

“You are okay.”

“I am okay.” You finally consider the words and nod in understanding. “I’m okay. I’m not actively trying to keep it together anymore. Holy shit, I actually feel alright,” you exclaim in surprise. He hums in agreement, and pulls you onto his chest. Being constantly reminded to breathe steadily has manually calmed your nervous system down. Your body physically knew that it wasn’t in a state of distress anymore, panic gone.

“Fiveish minute warning,” Damiano announces, like a nanny at a playground.

“No,” you grumble, getting a more secure grip and nuzzling.

“When you feel like you’re gonna turn into a sinkhole from all the pressure life is applying, find this feeling again. It’ll still be there. You don’t have to use it or owe it to anybody. Just have some peace and know I believe in your capabilities unconditionally.”

“I believe in you unconditionally.” Dami scoffs and pats the mattress.

“This bed we’re laying on, is in a rehab facility that I didn’t even get myself into. My brilliant, persuasive girlfriend tricked the entire Italian healthcare system and babysat me on the way here.”

“Technically I committed a crime, so don’t put me too high on a pedestal.” He frowns with just the right side of his mouth, eyes darting back and forth on the textured ceiling. “Hey…” You fold both hands on his chest to prop up your chin.

“Hey.”

“You’re missing the point.” He cocks an eyebrow. “We’re laying in a bed in a rehab facility that I tricked my way into together.” This earns a full smile and a suggestive lip bite. It's humanizing to view Dami from an angle that gives him a double chin, as he gazes down in adoration.

“That is a good point.” His eyes scan your face, repeatedly darting down to your lips. It is a very intimate position.

“Okay, so this is a question, not a statement.”

“Mhm.”

“Are you trying to get me to kiss you right now? Because I can’t tell.” You blush and break eye contact, laying a cheek to the cotton of Dami’s tank top. “Ah, fuck me. That’s a no. Fuck.”

“Not yet,” you whisper, tracing the lines of a cat tattoo on the inside of his bicep.

“I’m not trying to pressure you.”

“I know. It doesn’t come off that way.”

“Good because I don’t…I’m really happy with where we’re at and I don’t want to do anything to damage it.”

“You’re not, Damia and I don’t wanna…freak out and get snot all over you.”

“Are you kidding? That’s the first normal reaction you’ve had to all this. I’m relieved. Anger and tears are reactions I can understand.”

“I’ll be sure to yell at you next time.”

“You say that as a joke but it’d be nice to get it out of the way.” That comment rubs you the wrong way and you sit up.

“Do you think I’m just harboring secret rage, waiting for a moment where I can cause optimal damage to unleash it?”

“Wha – no. No, I don’t think that.”

“I haven’t held back on our phone calls or when we split up. I walked out of the hospital and I blocked all ways for you to contact me.”

“I know, I just feel like I deserve…more. More punishment.”

“That sounds like some shit you need to figure out with a therapist, not put on me.” Damn, subbyness gone.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ugh!” You splay out on his chest once more, missing the simplicity of the previous moment.

“I ruined it.”

“You can’t be constantly debilitated by self-loathing because staying sober and putting our relationship back together isn’t gonna work with that weight. I don’t resent you the way you’re bracing for.”

“Why?” he presses.

“Because you are not the person I broke up with! Become that person again, and you will feel the wrath of a thousand hell demons. But this person –” you poke the middle of his chest with your pointer finger. “I fell in love with at 18 and continue to love. I know you didn’t act maliciously, or as your true self. Anger is just…so simple. Too simple.” He softens and traces his fingertips up and down your spine. “I will be an absolute prison warden about drug testing though.”

“Good, that’ll make me feel better. And I’m glad that you’re acknowledging the hurt I caused, even if it wasn’t my intent. Intent doesn’t heal the wounds.”

“Well, except…“knowing you didn’t mean to hurt someone takes away a lot of the betrayal, so it does matter.” You shift and sign in contentment. God, he really smelled unreasonably delicious. “Plus I’m a big girl, I can work through my emotions.” His fingertips massage your scalp in a way that damn near makes your eyes roll back. Instead, you shiver while he gathers your hair in a fist.

“My turn.”

“Huh?” Damiano flips you on your back again, but instead of keeping his head level, he lowers his face to your chest. You still don’t understand what's going on until his tongue licks between your cleavage, up to your collar bones. From there he kisses along your neck with tongue, pulling your hair to make the area more accessible to his mouth.

“Hnngg mm, Damia. Ahh, okay.” His tongue runs along the shell of your ear, making every body hair stand on end from the stimulation. “Huuuh, fuck. Not fair. Mm-mmm, not…not fair.” His chuckle is ridiculously sexy and he takes his time pulling away. “Not fair.” Damiano wears a self-satisfied smile, knowing he’s bested you, in addition to turning you on. Perhaps two orgasams before visiting wasn’t enough, because you actually consider lunging forward and kissing him hard. Maybe that's what he wants, to bait you into action without implicating himself. It's a challenge that he doesn’t mean to pose. Regardless, you take it.

“Princess?” You make a couple high-pitched trills and she jumps on your chest. Dami is surprised to have the focus pivoted away from him. Ever the attention whore, Princess rubs her cheek against his before settling down.

“Do you think she misses me?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Cause clearly, you miss me.” Sitting up, you brush the cat hair off your shirt and pull it on. Damiano makes a wounded noise in protest.

“Looks like you’ll have to lick something else now,” you quip. By that you mean an arm or the fabric of your top, not the lightning fast comeback Dami delivers.

“I would lick something else. Now, if you’d like. Happily.” He gestures to his bed and your cunt burns, despite cunnilingus not even being an option.

“You’re funny.”

“I couldn’t be more serious.”

“Pretty sure intercourse is against the rules. Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

“I’m pretty sure that's what they think we’re doing right now,” he grins. Horrified, you yank the door open while Dami cackles. Luckily, he manages to catch Princess before she makes a run for it. Her short leash hangs on the bedpost closest to you. In a whisper, he repeats an earlier phrase while reaching for it.

“Did I say you were allowed to blush that pretty?” For a moment you’re speechless and sweaty. He sets Princess down and holds out the leash. Your mind is too preoccupied to realize that he’s offering it to you. Dami smirks as he steps out into the hallway. You try to think of some little gesture or a phrase that will do to him what he’s done to you. Everything that comes to mind is either not good enough, or too public. You’re fumbling and he loves to watch you lust for him.

“You want to have some gelato outside?”

“If you promise to be civil.” He wiggles his eyebrows in a way that does not suggest compliance. You decide to be crude rather than clever, pinching his ass right before he steps into the hallway. Damiano yelps and jumps half a foot in the air, as does Princess.

“Oops.” You skirt around him before he gets the chance to return the favor, skipping towards the stairs. The building was grand, with a high, intricately carved ceiling. Behind you, Dami was speed walking, Princess struggling to keep up. He ends up having to stop and scoop her off the floor, by which time you’re waiting at the end of the hall with a devilish smile. Maybe you were destined to play games of chase like this, until you trusted things enough to be caught.

His eyes scan the surroundings twice before growling, “c’mere.” You shake your head and hop down the steps as soon as he nears touching distance. It's not like Dami could grope you in the common areas where everyone gathered between meals and therapies, but this space was empty. You look over your shoulder, undecided if you’ll let him catch you, and he can see that indecision. Suddenly, it feels like a not so innocent game of prey and predator. Your focus oscillates between Dami and your feet walking backwards down the steps.

“Y/n, behind you!” You freeze and see a frail woman who could be anywhere from 40-70 years old with an amused expression. She was climbing up the stairs, minding her business, like a normal person.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. Uh…sorry,” you cringe. First you flatten yourself against the railing, then realize she might need the railing. Already the woman has silently moved to the opposite side of the staircase. Dami’s nose is scrunched up in embarrassment, too.

“Lovely cat,” she murmurs so quietly only Dami realizes she's spoken.

“Oh, thank you!” His normal voice booms through the foyer in comparison. Damiano glances at Princess, as if noticing her for the first time, then sets her down. She meows just before her splayed paws hit carpet and looks up in apparent disappointment.

“Come on, Miss Sassy Pants.” Once he’s in lock step, you lean over and whisper, “do you know that lady?”

“Mm-mm, she’s new.” His tightly controlled expressions indicate the obvious, that notoriety is a taboo subject in the facility.

“Have people given you any trouble?”

“Thank god, no. The other patients have been in their own worlds for a while. Plus, no internet access, remember? Lord knows what they’re saying about me.”

“Really nice, genuine, complimentary things,” you deadpan.

“Oh, really? That's a relief.” The paparazzi were publishing every sallow picture after a night out they could get their hands on, and even better if there was a model in the frame. Alot of the pictures were with women he’d never slept with, and while simply hung-over, not high. Of course that didn't matter. The more they had to recycle material, the more preposterous the claims got.

“Last week they said you’ve been away managing a secret sex cult, not in rehab.” He scoffs as you walk towards the kitchen.

“Could be worse, I guess. Or less interesting.”

“Yeah…until the claims that it was mostly 16-year-olds started up.” Damiano stops in his tracks with an expression like he’s drunk sour milk. “But it got disproved in like a day! Fans started leaving horrendous reviews on the tabloid sites. Some of them were actually really funny…” You trial off, because Damiano is visibly seething. “Hey, literally no one believed it, Dam.”

“But the fact that they even thought it was acceptable to publish that, with absolutely no evidence, like it was news makes me sick. We always consciously avoided the groupie narrative and now…” He throws his hands up in frustration.

“Pop culture doesn’t differentiate between a womanizer and a predator because it's normalized that sex be coerced. That's on society, not you.”

“Maybe I’ll say something to that effect as part of my great rebranding. God it's just…” he stares at the carpet and scowls, mulling it over. “I don’t want to be angry, right now, while you’re visiting, this just really, really pisses me off.” After personally giving dubious and questionable consent in his mid-teens, the subject was a sore spot for Dami. He was very intentional about never doing that to someone else.

“Maybe you can sue them for character deformation? Use the publicity to bolster releasing an In Nome Del Padre type single?”

“Now there's an idea,” he allows a sliver of a smile.

“It would sure suck if paparazzi started harassing the journalist who wrote the article after seeing them in court.”

“Now that would be a great tragedy.”

“Perhaps there would even be a support group, for the fellow grievers.”

“I think that’s called a party.”

“I’ll bring the balloons if you bring the cake?”

“Deal,” he finally grins. “Christ,I can’t even…” Damiano shakes his head and sighs heavily. “Maybe I don’t miss the internet.”

“Porn.”

“Good point…But mostly I miss my camera roll.” You try not to turn red.

“Certain pictures on your phone make me very nervous.”

“They are very safe.” According to many technological precautions you didn’t understand, Damiano’s camera roll was highly secure. But more so you trusted that, as a Dom, he’d never let images of you being Little be viewed by anyone. Yes you were happily non-monogamous, but as dominant, Damiano fucking lived for the fact that he didn’t share your submission. The polyamory was completely separate from your personal daddy/sub dynamic.

What he got off on most of all wasn’t the nudes, or necessarily kink, but pictures he’d carefully orchestrated of you having sex together. After getting consent, he’d set up the phone camera with a random timer. Not knowing when the picture was going to be taken meant you couldn’t pose. Rather than his usual rhythm, Dami gave you as much stimulation as possible right out the gate, so you’d forget the camera by the time he found a slow groove. Then he’d rev the sex back up with tantric work, toys, dirty talk, and considerate angles.

The result were images of you sweaty, flushed, gasping, half cognizant, and blissed out. Either captured at a moment of tension, or the release right after. They were not pretty. If you were kissing it could be downright ugly. Damiano always looked just as fucked out, but he wore it like a sex god. Sometimes, the full body shots of you on top felt beautiful, but he never preferred those. Dami loved the gaping mouth, furrowed brow face you made when rubbing your clit against him the exact right way. He’d excitedly point out the crescent-shaped nail marks on his chest you left when dragging your slick pussy along his pubic bone for the sake of orgasmic friction. In real life, or in the pictures.

“You didn’t delete them?” Dami stops in his tracks, face revealing that he hadn’t thought about this until now.

“Should I have?” he says slowly.

“I guess not. I didn’t set up a contingency, so it wasn’t violating anything. I just thought since we were – are, that you wouldn’t want…I mean you had access to all – wait did you take pictures with other people?” Exchanging and creating sexual images with other partners wasn’t even a conversation because of the fame. Now your voice comes out wounded and accusatory at the thought of him sharing this practice during your time apart.

“Not…” He guides you towards the empty kitchen to finish the conversation, as you wear an expression of shock. Intimate photography had only existed between you two out of necessity, not because you forbade it with other partners. It wasn’t until he mentioned it that you realized this closed practice had created territorialism. You’d fallen right into the trap of monogamy – of wanting exclusive rights to Damiano’s sexual autonomy – at the first opportunity possible. The hum of the refrigerator and Dami’s hand on your mid-back bring you to the present. Princess is meowing persistently, probably because this is where her food is stored.

“You know what, it's almost dinner time. I’ll just feed her now so she’ll stop bothering us.”

“If it's almost dinner then I should go. Our time is up. I –”

“Y/n.” He holds you by the shoulders with intimidatingly intense eye contact. “I was not using sex in a healthy way. I was using it like drugs, okay? It was mostly inebriated and mediocre. Yes, I did photograph it on the rare occasion I was sober-ish and gave a fuck, but those photos never made it onto my phone. Pictures preserve memories. There was nothing about that time I wanted to remember, especially how I acted.” He crouches down to pet Princess, self-soothing, and you hop up on the counter for something to do. Dami pulls a little metal dish from under the fridge and her meows only intensify.

“I know, I know. It's happening. I’m getting your fancy dinner, babygirl.” He pulls open the door and the cool air hits your skin. “So I’ve been thinking about how our relationship is at a point where it's gonna evolve a lot.”

“Agreed.” Dami grabs ground, raw meat and a couple of plastic pump bottles out of the refrigerator.

“So even if we were to take a couple hours and hash our relationship all the way out,” he uses a measuring cup to transfer the meat to the bowl, “a week from now it might be…a totally different um, thing.”

“Right, and what’s that stuff?”

“Beef?” Damiano looks over his shoulder while washing his hands and raises an eyebrow.

“No, the bottles.”

“Oh! It’s fish oil, plus vitamins and supplements for her coat, her bones, her eyesight.”

“Princess, the immortal, spoiled feline.”

“That's the idea, yeah.” She circles Dami’s legs, meowing incessantly, until he sets her bowl down.

“But, I agree about how fast our relationship will be evolving. I guess, ideally we’d sit down each time it felt like something had shifted, but that sounds…”

“Like a lot?”

“Exhausting. Doing the full negotiation while you’re still in the early days of recovery sounds emotionally overwhelming to be honest. And I’d like to say, ‘can’t we just agree to love each other with dignity and reverence,’ but that seems naive.” Damiano thinks for a few seconds, putting things back in the fridge.

“I’m,” he gestures with his hands “sort of doing a reset towards my – well, our fundamental principles. Because I really wasn’t conducting myself in a way I was proud of for several months there. And I want to talk about it.” He takes the gelato container from the refrigerator and retrieves a spoon. “Or rather I’m willing to talk about it” Dami grumbles while fighting with the lid. He finally manages to remove it, revealing the creamy, light green color.

“Okay, this is gonna sound so cheesy, but I couldn’t eat gelato while we were broken up.” Using some grip strength, he digs the first spoonful out.

“Oh my gosh, Damia.” It’d been so long since you’d last felt butterflies. (Which you’d never outright attribute partially to him speaking in the past tense). Technically you were still broken up, but it didn’t feel like it. This was some uncomfortable in between, a limbo. However, Damiano didn’t call you broken up to his band mates, even though that label had definitely been put on your relationship in a mutual decision.

“What's that face?” he passes you a spoonful. The handle is warm from his grip.

“You didn’t tell anyone we were broken up, did you?” He can see from your smile that you aren’t upset, which just makes him bashful. It's a rare occurrence to see Damiano David bashful. “Hah! You’re adorable.” He stares at his shoes while you enjoy the first taste of gelato. “Mister megastardom is blushing.”

“No, I’m not blushing. Shut up,” he grins. “And I may have, possibly…um, avoided using that particular label as much as possible. So yeah, I have said it, but I’ve also avoided it, to be honest. Vic has gotten good at hiding the visible pity in her expression, but Thomas especially has a ways to go.” You pry a spoonful out of the container and feed it to Dami. He stands between your legs, hands resting just above your knees.

“I propose that we are officially not broken up.”

“So then we are…”

“Not broken up.”

“Okay…” His tone is unsure, but he allows one of those precious smiles that reveal his gums and offers another up more gelato. “So are we friends?” As it melts in your mouth, you contemplate the requirements for friendship. It became too painful to continue relationships with a couple of my friends who were super into the club scene and bordering on substance abuse. But Dami was sober.

“Or no? Needing to allocate all my focus to staying sober and repairing my mistakes may not make me a very good friend.” He’s self aware and gracious which makes the decision harder. You scoop the gelato with so much gusto that it nearly ends on the floor.

“But consciousness about substance misuse and commitment to repairing relationships are really vital to my friendships right now.” You raise another spoonful to his lips. This time it takes Damiano a second to accept it. “So I don’t know, but it's really important that I do know.”

“Hey.” In a comforting gesture, Dami slides his hands up your thighs and leans in to make more meaningful eye contact. “I don’t want to exhaust you with this, sweetheart. I –” his self-awareness kicks in and he takes a step back, hands purposefully occupying themselves with the spoon and container. “We are roommates and you’ve already told me, in detail, your boundaries on that.”

“On your sobriety! There aren’t supposed to be hard rules in relationships!” You're exasperated and Damiano isn’t offended. Instead, he taps your lip with the spoon as a reminder to open your mouth.

“We are intentionally repairing our bond to work towards a relationship.” You nod and take a deep breath, feeling calmer. The gelato is beginning to melt, runny around the edges. If it overflows the container will never get un-sticky.

“You should put that in the freezer.” He sighs and stops meeting your eyes. The top of the container is stiff. Damiano carelessly tosses the shared spoon into the sink and the metallic sound is so loud that it makes you jump. He spins around right away with an anxious expression.

“Sorry, sorry! That wasn’t intentional, I’m just not used to having a metal sink. It’s basically always filled with water for doing dishes. I wasn’t tryna be intimidating or some bullshit. I’m sorry. I –” whispering to himself, Dami says “what the fuck is wrong with you” He clips Princess back onto her leash and loops it over the knob on a cupboard.

“That wasn’t me trying to change the subject, Damia. I got yelled at so many times for letting the gelato melt that it's like a Pavlovian response.”

“Okay.” He relaxes his shoulders, resuming his previous stance.

“Okay,” you repeat with a small smile.

“We know how to do right by each other and we’re on the same page. You’ve updated your boundaries. As far as I know, mine are the same. I’m sure shit will come up, but we’re good at communicating.” Unexpectedly, serenity washes over you at once again reaching cohesion. It was a familiar sensation with Dami, to be grounded in the presence of each other. He takes a deep breath in as well.

“Nesting partners. It’s a label I’ve learned, but I know you’re not big into terminology.”

“No, tell me what it means.”

“It's the companion you live with. Not necessarily your primary.”

“Sounds like something from a documentary about birds.”

“It does,” you laugh. “Anyways, if you wanted a word for us, that’d be it.”

“Are you asking me to be your nesting partner?” Subconsciously, he leans forward out of excitement, hands sliding halfway up your thighs.

“And you’re willing to have David Attenborough narrate your every shit for National Geographic broadcasting?”

“Totally.” You suppress the urge to kiss Dami and instead pointedly look down at his hands, now creeping towards your hips.

“Well, then…”

“Shit, sorry. Sorry.” He stands upright, tries to put his hands in his pockets, then realizes these pants don’t actually have pockets. “I wasn’t trying to make a move or – I mean, I wasn’t thinking about it. I’m just really used to touching you.” Cue heartbeat skip.

“Trust me, I get it. Like when –”

The moment is interrupted by movement just outside of the kitchen. You push Damiano back by a hand in the center of his chest so things weren’t so intimate.

“Ah, there you are! Hiding from me!”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Dami defends, in a way you recognize as bluffing. A staff member, this time dressed in slacks and a wrinkled, blue button-up, walks into the kitchen. He’s amused, not frustrated, which is a small mercy. Maybe Dami doesn’t realize how close your bodies are, maybe he likes it, but you can’t get off the counter without running into him.

“Sorry, I’ll go.” You push him back again, and this time he finally heeds your request.

“Don’t worry about it. It's just behavioral therapy,” he murmurs, as you adjust your trousers self-consciously.

“Sounds pretty fucking important for an addict.”

“I would have to agree with y/n. I’m Dr. Rossi. I haven’t spoken with you personally, but I’ve heard so much about you from everyone.” He clasps his hands and looks at Dami expectantly.

“Right, so they’ll have my purse and stuff at the front desk. So I’ll just –”

“How late am I?”

“13 minutes,” he replies, looking at his expensive watch with a flourish.

“Eh, damage is done. Let me walk you out.” Dr. Rossi nods curtly, gesturing at you to go forth first. Ignoring this, Dami takes his time grabbing Princess’ leash in one hand and yours in the other.

“What do you mean ‘damage done?’”.

“They write me up if I’m more than 5 minutes late. Then there’s a worse penalty at 10 minutes. At 20 it doesn’t count and I get billed for a missed session. Plus they scowl at me for a couple days.”

“Damia,” you groan. He shrugs and nods hello to someone else walking a snow white cat on a neon green leash.

“That's Yeti. He’s a dog inside a feline’s body, plays fetch.”

“Okay, well thats fucking adorable, but you’re not gonna distract me from blowing off your therapist.” He sighs heavily as you reach the doors.

“It's one appointment. Everything here is scheduled. I get the purpose, but I feel claustrophobic. You make me feel the opposite of that. Plus, even with visitor privileges, I’m only guaranteed one half hour slot every two weeks.”

“Oh, your parents.”

“Uh, no. My mom can adequately berate me over the phone. I just fucking miss you and your energy.”

“But your dad…”

“She has him by the balls.” Damiano tries to shove his hands in his pockets again and looks at the floor. Sensing his stress, Princess sits on his shoe and gazes upwards. Only one of them feels like a caged animal and ironically it's not the one on the leash.

“Maybe I can talk to them?” He shakes his head, looking off to the side now instead of meeting your eyes. It was such an obvious tell.

“I don’t want you to spend your time doing that. In a way, I was the golden boy until this. I don’t know how she’s gonna react and I don’t want your feelings hurt on my account.” You momentarily consider proposing speaking to Damiano’s father, then realize that might feel like a betrayal to Andrea.

“It’s just a matter of time?”

“Yeah,” he agrees softly, pursing his lips.

“She’ll change her mind once you’ve been sober for a while,” you reassure, not knowing if it's true. He finally meets your gaze, cocking his head to the side, seeing straight through your empty platitude. Lost for words, you hug Dami, careful not to step on Princess’ paws. She seems content at the sight of her parents embracing. Or maybe you’re just deflecting your own emotions.

Three months ago you’d have called bullshit at anyone claiming Damiano would be setting a sobriety record, that being wrapped in his arms would feel so right and organic. You savor his smell and relax with an exhale as his hug tightens. For some reason the intrusive thoughts always bubbled up at greetings and farewells. The day's emotion, however positive, would probably result in nightmares tonight.

“I’m alive. I’m okay. I’m in love with you,” he murmurs, as if reading your mind.

“Ditto.”

“You don’t need to be okay.” Finally, amidst all the terror around Dami’s health, you ask yourself the question. Am I okay? Nightmares, severe and occasionally uncontrollable anxiety, mental stress from lacking a dom, general stress because of Damiano. A job that was supposed to be fulfilling, but made you too feel like a polar bear in a gray, plastic enclosure.

“What is it,” he murmurs.

“Shit, I don’t know if I’m okay,” you choke. The wave of emotion is so unexpected that it feels like getting jumped.

“I’m going to take care of you. It's a relief to have the opportunity to take care of you.” The inner peace from earlier is harder to access than you like. Maybe you’d have to ration it.

“I’m gonna leave before I turn into a mess again,” you speak into the fabric of his tank top. Princess cocks her head to the side, and you miss her persistent little presence with a pang in your gut. You pull away and squat down to bid her farewell, stroking between her ears.

“I’ll see you soon, Sassy Pants.” As you straighten up, it's obvious Damiano is deeply conflicted. “I don’t want to let you leave like this. I want to make it all better.”

“It is better. It’s not perfect.” You stroke his face, then his hair. It’s at awkward length, spiking up at random angles. This touch prompts Dami to rub his head self-consciously.

“It looks like shit.”

“It looks fine. You look good.” That, at least, earns a smile. It’s a better note to end on, so you decide to make your exit. Nervously slipping out was certainly easier than a ceremonious goodbye like this.

“I’m gonna go before you get a missed appointment fee.”

“Fuck the fee,” he responds ardently. You can feel the mood swing coming, but the volatility of his emotions makes them hard to read. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Damia,” you whine, heart clenching.

“Sorry, that was unnecessary. Drive safe.” He bows his head to avoid your eyes. Wanting to make the leaving a little sweeter, you peck his cheek.

“Bye Princess.” Less than a month and you won’t have to fight the urge to look back, because you’ll be walking out together. No more Orpheus and Eurydice. This is what ultimately sustains you as the heavy maple door falls shut. The sky – clear when you entered the building – is now plagued with clouds.

Notes: Whew! The longest chapter yet and we sure covered a lot of ground with these two. Cutting it pretty close posting this late in the day, but I made it. I got distracted by giving my taglist a makeover and quite probably making it worse. Oh well.

- XOXO, Eden

Get on my taglist! (hard edition)

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#cw: addiction #cw: power dynamics #maneskin #måneskin #damiano david #må #damiano #damiano maneskin #maneskin damiano #damiano david x reader #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david imagine #damiano david x y/n #damiano david x you #damiano david smut #damiano david fic

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prettyiwa · 2 years

Text

DO NOT MENTION MY WORKS ON TIKTOK.

(previous) | (next) Relationship: Drummer!Levi Ackerman x Bassist!F!Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ Content Tags: Band!AU, Modern!AU, Fucking Your Ex, Unhealthy Relationship, Unhealthy Coping, Infidelity, Shameless Smut, Slight Exhibitionism, Public Sex, Oral Sex (M!Receiving), Face Fucking, Degradation Kink (Levi calls reader "slut"), Impact Play (Face Slapping), Slight SadoMasochism, Use of an Anal Plug, Choking, Hair-Pulling*, Creampie, Unprotected Sex, Mentions of Addiction, Allusions to Addiction, Heavy on the RCHP Mentions~ Summary: You used to be his girl and he'd remind you of that fact every chance he got. Then came an offer too good to pass up, even with all the strings attached. Now you're left without your band, without him. But hell, you can remedy that first part, right? And what's a little not hate sex between exes? Word Count: 5820

A/N: Changed it a bit but most of it remains the same. Apologies, tall readers, but we’re Levi’s height here. (I also imagine him a few inches taller here if it helps)

Levi hates this entire fucking thing. He hates being under Zeke’s thumb—what should have been a great opportunity for the band is now Zeke micromanaging them, manipulating what the music will sound like in the studio. He hates that it was Eld who played that night—not that he didn’t like Eld, but he wasn’t you. He hates that he’s here in this dirty ass club with this brunette who won’t leave him alone while Eyebrows and Quiet Blondie whisk you away.

He hates—

He hates that this is the result of his choice and he hates that he’s realizing just how much it’s affecting him now after he’s seen you.

Did Zeke do this on purpose? Did he know that you’d be here tonight? Is that why he sent Levi? He wouldn’t be surprised. It's very much in Zeke’s character to pull such a shitty move, especially as Levi is open about his dislike of the blonde.

He tries to live without regrets, without second-guessing his choices, but, shit, if signing that contract with Zeke wasn’t something he’s starting to regret.

You looked like sin tonight, dancing, singing, playing like you used to—no, not quite. You were playing better, nearly carrying the entire performance. The drummer was good. Regardless of what you may say, the two of you played well with one another.

Shit, he missed having you play bass with him. Listening to you provide the bassline, watching you play—it’s pure sex. There’s no other way to describe it than utterly sexual. You keep time with him, unlike any other bassist he’s ever played with, instinctively knowing how he’s going to move. And your harmony is unparalleled, easily transforming around whatever kick pattern he gives, whatever percussion he’s throwing your way. He’ll follow whatever accents you give the piece, wherever you lead him, he’ll lock-in. Together you’re one instrument providing harmony and rhythm.

When the two of you play together, it’s transcendental, invigorating, indescribable. And he misses it. He didn’t realize just how much until he saw you play tonight.

Nor did he realize quite how much he missed you. You were his girl. He couldn’t claim any part of you, save for your orgasms tonight. Those were his, and his alone. You waited for him, knowing that he’d come, that he couldn’t get enough. Knowing what your music does to him.

You taunted him, teased him, riled him up, reminded him what it was to feel intoxicated, reminded him what it was to be drunk off of you.

He wants to hate you, wants to hate what you reduce him to, but he can’t. He can’t when you feel so fucking euphoric when around him, when the sounds you make are his most beautiful composition, his most beautiful song.

And the thought of you leaving with them makes him sick. Makes him want to find you and remind you that you’re his. Except that you’re not his girl. He lost the right to call you that, even if it was that which made you orgasm so hard you couldn’t stand on your own anymore.

You’re the addiction he wishes he never gave up.

The guitarist won’t stop pestering him, and, unfortunately, Zeke told him that he had to come back with a prospective bassist. She said she played and was a decent enough guitarist. Maybe if she tanks, Zeke will send someone else out. Doubtful, considering the importance of a unified bassist and drummer, but Levi knows that he’s not going to find someone more compatible for him than you.

As a pair of musicians. Nothing more.

So he takes her offered number, dodges her unwanted kiss, and gets the fuck out of the shitty club.

Four Weeks Later

She’s a fine bassist. Nothing special. Doesn’t lead at all, doesn’t do anything more than follow. Disappointing, but Zeke loves it.

Oluo and Gunther hate her and he can’t blame them. Petra came too close to slapping her when she nearly found herself in Oluo’s lap, trying to make Levi jealous. It’s his own damn fault.

It was like the floodgates opened after that night with you. A year and he was fine. He was fine not fucking. It no longer carried the same meaning—music. He didn’t feel that urge to combine the two, to indulge, and then he had to go to that club that fucking night, had to see you, had to hear you.

One stupid relapse and he was doomed.

So he fucked her once. Left right after. Showered in scalding water to try to wash it away.

That was two weeks ago.

He’s about to burst.

He wants to find you. He can’t find you. He wants to remind you that you’re his girl. You’re not his girl. He wants to tell Zeke to fuck off. He gave up everything for this opportunity.

He needs a distraction. Something to tear his mind away from you. Away from this shitty reality. The guys are surprised when he agrees to go out to Utopia District Lounge.

To make matters worse Amy takes it upon herself to invite Zeke. And they don’t find out that you’re the performer for the evening until you arrive with the two blondes and they’re already two shots in.

His eyes are transfixed on you as you set up, as another brunette with glasses comes and helps you, chattering excitedly at you. Amy keeps pouting and whining that he’s not paying attention to her when it’s impossible for him to pay attention to anything but you.

He’s curious to see how you’re going to pull this off—a performance with just your bass and your voice? It’s possible, but if the blondies are here, then he can only assume that they have a plan of some sort.

Eyebrows looks at the door as Zeke walks through, missing you altogether as the latter scans the bar for the band. Levi can’t help but watch as Eyebrows walks over to you, as his hand touches your lower back and he leans in to whisper something, the wink you give Eyebrows. He can’t help but watch as your gaze meets Levi's and you give him a cocky smirk, eyes flickering to Zeke joining them in the booth.

“It’s good to see my band here, together!” Zeke announces, flagging down a waitress. “Such a rare treat for you all to be able to relax, isn’t it?”

Oluo and Gunther pick up the conversation, wanting to avoid Levi punching Zeke, allowing him to focus on you entirely.

You greet the patrons of the bar, introducing yourself as a solo artist in need of a drummer who can keep up—a not-so-subtle dig at him—and that you’ll be improvising the set for the night, but that you’d like them all to come out of the night feeling some sort of way.

And, shit, if you don’t deliver. It starts out slow, lyrics angsty, voice sultry. The songs centering around sex in one way or another, associating sex with drugs, with addiction, but if that doesn’t describe the thrumming of his heart right now, aching for you, to join you, to fuck you. It’s hard to be sober when his drug is standing before him, looking at him like that.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, I have one more song for the night. It’s one that I’ve been perfecting for several years now, so I hope you’ll all like it. In fact, the person it’s about is in this bar right now,” you announce with a wicked smile. “I call it ‘My Ex is a Fucking Asshole.’ Say ‘Hi,’ Zeke.”

Your words take him by surprise, previously unaware of the identity of the "Ex" belonging to your song. Now that he knows, everything clicks into place—Zeke's terms before signing the contract, your potent reaction to the choice he made, your allergy to Marleyan Music Group. Now that he knows, he hates this entire situation even more.

And even though you’re playing with nothing but rage fueling you, he’s certain he’s never seen you look so ethereal, so dangerous, so exhilarating. Fuck if it doesn’t go straight to his dick, fuck if he doesn’t need to indulge.

You finish, glowing like you always do after a show, worrying your teeth between your lips because all that adrenaline, all that blood that’s pumping is going straight to your cunt and you need a release just as much as he. He knows how you operate, knows your singularities, knows what goes through your mind. After all, you were his girl.

And even though your eyes meet his, even though the electricity is there, the pull, you don’t approach. Not with your ex at the table. Does Levi count as an ex, or was he just a long-term fix?

Instead, your eyes find the blondes, looking at you like you’re the golden goose. Hell. With a voice like that and the mastery of your instrument, you may as well be. He can’t help but watch you leave while he’s vibrating with need, desperate to be buried inside you. But he can’t. So he makes a decision that he definitely comes to regret.

She tells him, too. “Just so you know—when I let a guy fuck me twice, it means I’m serious and we’re starting a relationship.”

He waves it away, needing release more than anything. It’s after that he realizes how idiotic he was. How, if he wants out, he’ll have to leave the band or get her to leave. He’ll have to risk his contract, including the non-compete clause. Everything that he had done, everything he had sacrificed—

“Fuck.”

Six Weeks Later

He’s miserable. Truly. Stuck in a relationship with someone he’s come to realize he hates. She talks too much, doesn’t clean up after herself, drinks nearly every day, and is too damn needy. Not to mention she’s not musically compatible with him at all.

And he runs into you more frequently now that you have a label—the label he wished he had gotten but was too poor for the move at the time. They’re playing it smart, advertising you like you’re a soloist, making you desirable to play with, to perform with. So you’re everywhere.

But it isn’t until six weeks after that fuck up that he snaps. You had just performed with one of the more prominent bands in the city sounding like sex, sounding like sin. He had to watch as the lead vocalist draped his arms around you, touched you like you were his, playing one of the songs that you had performed back at the bar.

He seeks you out in the back, overcome with the urge to mark you, to fill you up, to fuck you raw. Playing like this always made you an insatiable little shit, desperate to continue the high, to continue the music. He knows because you were his girl. He knows because listening to you play made him want the same damn thing.

You’re squeezed between the vocalist and the guitarist, arms wrapped around either of their waists, smiling with that post-show elation. As though you could sense him, you turn, making eye contact with him, licking your lips with a distinct rapaciousness playing in your expression. He approaches, unable to stop himself, unsure if he even wants to stop himself.

The air gets hotter, thicker the closer he gets, attention drawn to him when the band realizes you’re not paying attention to them, but to him, and the room seems to shrink until it’s just you two. You release yourself from the band, stepping forward to meet him, eyes raking his form as you near.

He wants to take you, kiss you, show everyone here how you respond to him, but before he can make a move, you walk past him as you had before. He has no choice but to follow, just as before. You live for this, making him follow, making him chase you for release—he was the one to walk away, after all. You’re not his girl. Shit, if he doesn’t want to make you his girl again.

Amy’s face flashes in his mind as he catches up to you, grabs your wrist, yanks you into a closet. He should feel bad, guilty, even if he doesn’t like her. But the way you whine as he pins your arms above your head against the back of the door sends shivers up his spine that wipe out all coherent thought.

The sound of the crowd and the ambient music reverberates in the small room as you grind against his thigh between your legs, whimpering and squirming with need. When his lips crash against yours, it feels like an inevitability, a certainty, a fatality. You feel like velvet against his skin, taste saccharine against his lips, sound euphonious to his ears. He makes quick work of the buttons on your pants, pulling them down, expecting to find lace or spandex or silk or something, but finding nothing.

“You like?” you croon at his sharp intake of breath. “Was hoping to get a good fucking tonight.”

The whimper that comes out of your mouth as he drags his fingers against your sopping folds fills him with an undeniable buzz that spreads across the entirety of his being. “Such a fucking slut.”

“What’s that say about—” your taunt is cut off by a discordant cry as he flicks your swollen clit, as he starts to massage it, setting you on course to that delicious fucking high that you’re so desperate for.

“What was that? I can’t quite hear you,” he whispers, leaning in so his mouth ghosts over yours.

“Shut the fuck up and fill me up already,” you utter between broken moans, still insolent, still a fucking brat. He removes his hand from your clit, bringing a pout to your perfect fucking lips, bringing a daring look to your lust-blown eyes.

It’s an impulse, an automatic response after years of fucking you, of knowing you, of—

His open palm stings a bit as your head snaps to the side and he thinks he’s gone too far—you’re not his girl anymore, and you have no tolerance for face-slapping otherwise—but an exhilarated smile forms and you peek at him from the corner of your eye as your chest heaves.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” you sneer. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

He lets go of your wrists and you immediately begin tugging on his pants, unbuttoning, unzipping, undressing, trying your damnedest to ignore the way he pinches, pulls, and bites. He springs free and you drop to your knees, looking up at him like you’re about to devour him and fuck if he doesn’t want you to.

You stick out your tongue, licking a stripe from his base to his tip, drawing out a shudder from him, causing his mind to go blank. And when you swirl your tongue around his head—the groan that comes out of him is loud and he’s certain the people on the other side of the door would hear him, but it doesn’t matter because all that he can focus on is the way your mouth is swallowing him, taking him to the hilt, the way his fingers bury themselves in your hair, controlling your pace.

And that look in your eyes, refusing to leave his—concupiscent, lascivious, absolutely pornographic. He’d let you kill him, here, now, if he could have this image, this sensation permanently branded in his memory. How pliant you are as he guides you to his pleasure, how pleading your eyes are to be stuffed with him, how intoxicating are your nails as they dig into the hard muscle of his ass.

His pleasure is building, mounting, but he doesn’t want to coat your throat with his cum—yes he does, but not right now—so he pulls you back with an unceremonious pop! Your gaze turns bitter for a moment before false docility washes over your features. You give his cock a peck before shifting, bringing your mouth to his hip, sucking at the sensitive flesh, certain to leave a mark. He can’t even bring himself to give a damn, not even when your teeth sink in, deep enough, hard enough that a forensics team could pull your dental records off his body.

He pulls you up by your hair, bringing you to your feet. He turns you around, slams you against the door, relishing in the breathy moan that escapes you, in the way you perk your ass for him, pulling your cheeks apart, showing the shiny plug nestled in your tight asshole. He taps the base, the surprisingly cool metal, and watches as you jolt, desperate for stimulation.

“You ready, you fucking tease?”

“Please, just fucking fill me already,” you beg, face pressed against the door. If anyone’s on the other side, they’re sure to hear, but as it is, it’s just you two—the world has boiled down to you two. Nothing else matters but the music that floats between you two, the music that you two create as you both seek passage to Elysium.

He nudges your opening with his cock, throbbing, begging to be inside you. You squirm against him and he tightens his grip around the back of your neck.

“Be a good girl and stay still,” he orders before entering you in a single snap of his hips, groaning at the snug fit as your plug presses against him through the tight walls of your cunt. You meet him as he slams his hips forward, as the closet fills with the joint sounds of your gasps, your moans, as you two create a song so beautiful that it’ll be stuck in his head until next time.

Because there's gotta be a next time. How could there not when your pussy takes him so well, when your body responds to him the way it does like it was made just for him?

“Look at you,” he growls, pleasure rolling through him with each thrust, each twitch. “Such a good fucking slut for me. So—fucking—tight!”

The signs are there—the tensing of your muscles, the light fluttering of your walls, the quickening of your breathing—and he wants to feel you, feel the intensity of your orgasm just like the last time. He slips his hand between your legs, fingers rubbing your clit in the way he knows you love. It rolls off his tongue far too easily, a habit, a recognition of what you once were, what he hopes you would be.

“Cum for me. I want to feel my girl cum on my cock.”

Your orgasm is like a tidal wave—a massive surge that takes everything with it, leaving no survivors. The guttural scream that leaves you and the clenching of your pussy around him sparks his own, exploding all at once, making him see stars, grabbing onto you as tightly as you’re holding onto him. A deep satisfaction washes over him, feeling the release of tension he’s been holding onto for far too long. Tremors still wrack through your body and he finds himself uniquely jealous of the lasting pleasure you feel, the magnitude of your high compared to his.

But it’s the least he could do for his girl.

Even if you’re not his girl.

“Agh, fuck, I missed that,” you mutter, low and what he can only assume was meant for your ears alone. You tap his thigh lightly, communicating your desire for him to pull out. He groans as he complies, as his dick rubs against the plug one last time. As he tucks himself back into his pants, he notices the cum that trails from your swollen lips.

You shrug out of your jacket, handing it to him, before ridding yourself of your tank top and use it as a makeshift towel to clean yourself up. He watches as you ball it up and throw it to the back of the closet, leaving yourself in your black lace bra.

“That was fun,” you wink, extending your arm to ask for your jacket. “Till next time, handsome.”

You open the closet door, stepping out before his hand closes around your wrist. He doesn’t like the look in your eye as you turn back to regard him. He doesn’t like the lack of warmth, the attempt at indifference. He doesn’t like the harsh reminder that you’re not his girl.

“Next time?” he questions the promise in your tone, the certainty. He simply needs to know when.

You lean in, smile sickly sweet, unnervingly cold, until your mouth is level with his ear. Your voice is silky smooth and dripping with poison. “You and I both know that your girlfriend’s cunt just doesn’t cut it. We’re both addicts, Levi, and I’m tired of being clean.”

Two Weeks Later

The next time is a benefit concert, one that you’re both playing at, albeit at different stages at different times. The band manages to catch your first performance and you’re covering “Orion” like you were born to, like your entire purpose is to remind everyone of the power that bassists hold. It’s transcendent to watch as you perform, as you throw yourself into the music, the rhythm.

They catch Zeke watching with a hungry expression in the back, cataloging the way you make it look almost effortless and sound even better. Finishing strong, you look out to the crowd, glowing from playing, from their adulation. You ask them for another song to cover, watching the counter tick up, up, up as donations pour in. Someone requests “Coffee Shop” and your excitement turns palpable, loving the opportunity to play RHCP.

“Well, it’s not like she didn’t get better with time. Remember all of those times you and she would warm up with the Red Hot Chili Peppers? Look at us now,” Oluo remarks snidely, throwing a glance at Amy to Levi’s right. “What I wouldn’t give to play with her again.”

The last comment is loud enough for Amy to hear. She elbows Levi in the ribs before pouting that he stepped away from her. “Hey! Aren’t you supposed to defend me?”

Levi leaves before he has to deal with any more of her whining, thoroughly missing a decent fucking bassist who makes going into the studio worthwhile. After an hour of checking out the different stages, the different acts, he makes his way to the back of the stage they’ll be performing in later, only to find you, perched at the barstool, flirting with the bartender.

“What are you doing back here?” Levi asks, much harsher than intended.

“I’m playing with the headliners,” you shrug. “Erwin and Mike rep them.”

After the final encore, you emerge, sweaty and jubilant. The musicians from the day intermingle with one another, making it easy for them to get separated, lost in the sea of bodies, making it easy for him to find you and drag you to the bathroom.

The time after that was after a show in a park. You went down on him behind the bleachers like a couple of high school kids and were nearly caught like high school kids.

Then a show at the ballroom of a hotel—in the restroom, on the empty balcony, almost in the elevator, in a room that your label had gotten you in case you were too exhausted to take the train home.

A jazz club that had tiered balconies, perfect for private stripteases and overstimulation.

At a casino—which was the first time he had actually sought you out—he fucked you so hard that you forgot your name for a minute.

Again.

And again.

A symphony of moans, whines, whimpers, exhales, all permanently ingrained in his mind. Enough that he doesn’t fuck Amy anymore. Not when he can get his fix elsewhere. Not when he has the real thing.

She pouts, cries, complains, and he would say that it affects her performance but it doesn’t. She wasn’t good enough to begin with for it to affect her performance. He doesn’t find enjoyment in making music with the band anymore, not with Zeke hovering over them. It’s almost like he has a keen focus on Levi and the band, like they’re his only clients, like he doesn’t run one of the largest labels in the country.

He’s taken to playing alone as he used to when he met you.

He misses when music was something he looked forward to making, not just a means to an end. It’s getting to the point that Gunther is talking about leaving, too, taking the hit with the non-compete clause. It helps, of course, that Gunther can lean on his mother and grandmother for support. And Oluo has his mother’s restaurant.

And Levi? Levi has nothing but a record label that’s suffocating him, a woman he doesn’t want, and a woman he doesn’t have. He had moved here, hoping he could turn his passion into a career, one fruitful and rewarding. Before their deaths, he had promised Isabel and Furlan that he would do what he could to make it, to play and share his music with hundreds, thousands, millions.

Maybe he chose this particular rehearsal hall because it’s the one you frequent. Maybe he had chosen it because it was the cheapest in the area—but he doesn’t even live in this area. Maybe he just wanted to see you.

And see you he does, through the glass window of the door of his practice room as you pass with your bass. It’s such a weird thing, the way his heart hammers in his chest at the barest glimpse of you. He was fine—

For a year, he was fine. Except that he wasn’t.

Just as he decides not to pursue, the door is yanked open and you step in with your case. Your hair is tussled, breathing a little erratic, brows drawn together in confusion.

“Since—what—The fuck are you doing here? You don’t practice here,” you yammer, confusion seeping through your voice.

“I can practice wherever I want. I paid for this room, after all.”

His answer only seems to fluster you more, while you shake your head. “You—”

“Are you going to join me or can I get back to my practice?” he drawls. He had stopped playing, lost in thought, but he needs you to make up your damn mind. As does he.

Your eyebrows shoot up at his proposition, at the prospect of playing with him again before they relax and a contemplative smile forms.

“You sure?”

“Tch. I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

“Okay,” you lilt. “You mind if we do some warm-ups?” You immediately start setting up, establishing your pedals in the space where you’ll be playing, moving like you’ve never been happier, the skirt of your dress swaying as you move back and forth.

“Anything in particular?”

“Mmm, no. Just throw me a beat,” you call, connecting the last of the cables to the amp.

“It’s good to hear that,” he mutters, having missed a competent bassist who doesn’t need explicit direction.

“‘S that so? Well, you guys are using someone who used to believe that playing bass guitar and playing guitar are the same.”

“How long ago did she believe that?”

“Hmm… Two years ago? If I remember correctly. You good? Or do you want me to start?”

He picks up “Naked in the Rain” and you flow into it easily, effortlessly, like it hasn’t almost been two years since the two of you played together. The smile that is plastered to your face is radiant in its own right, unadulterated joy, and fuck if he’s not feeling a little bit of it, too. It morphs into “Blackeyed Blonde” at your direction and it’s a rush for his bassist to take charge again, for the two of you to play off of each other.

You lock eyes with him as you move to the beat, to the harmony you’re providing to his outline, and it’s unquestionably sexual as the energy in the room shifts. It’s always been like this. This is what it should be.

You wipe sweat away from your forehead as the two of you come down from the warm-ups before tossing him an extra water bottle.

“You, ah, you have something you need to practice? Or just here to jam?” you ask as you open the bottle. He’s mesmerized by the way your throat moves as you drink the water, catching himself before you have a chance to notice.

“Today is unstructured. Do you have a song you need to practice? You’ve been writing more than you used to.”

“Yeah, well, got some shit I gotta work out,” you grumble. “You mind if I practice this one song? I have the drum tabs with me if you wanna take a look. Or we can see if you pick it up?”

A challenge.

But you’re his bassist and he knows you like the back of his hand, knows your music like it calls out to his soul.

“What do you think, brat?”

You wink and click your tongue against your teeth as you smile, keeping the offered pages in your case. The two of you have done this countless times just to see if you could. This is an old habit, an old game, one he’ll happily participate in.

Starting, he picks up the rhythm you’re giving him but waits to see how it evolves. It’s unexpected when you start to sing—you could, but you never used to. Now it’s a part of your package, but it’s still unexpected in this session that almost felt like things used to be.

The raw emotion in your voice is devastating, powerful as your eyes screw shut in concentration, engulfed in the music. He starts playing along, generally uncomplicated, and your face relaxes for just a moment before it twists into a mournful expression. Your lyrics are powerful, evocative, talking about him, about how you want to love him in wonderfully calamitous ways, leaving him bleeding and broken as when he left you.

He can’t bear it. He can’t bear watching you anymore, watching the emotions dance across your face—the pain, the betrayal, the longing. He can’t bear to watch anymore because it’s mirrored within him.

When he finishes before you do, he’s lucky that you’re so invested in the song that you don’t hear as his drumsticks are discarded, as his seat is pushed back, as he steps closer. Before you have a chance to open your eyes again, he’s cupping your face and pulling you to him in a fervent kiss, desperate to wash the pain away—yours or his, he’s not entirely sure. It doesn’t matter.

You pull back, pupils wide with desire, hands secure around your instrument.

“Here?” you ask, eyebrows knitting together, though you’re already preparing to remove your bass guitar.

“You were the one just singing about wanting to fuck me,” he points out.

“Those were the lyrics, jackass,” you mutter, gently placing your instrument in its case.

“Were they any less true?”

“No.”

A whispered admission. A whispered confession.

You turn, an indecipherable emotion behind your eyes as you step forward, as you extend your arm, your hand, wrap it around his throat. He gives you a growl in response as you push him back towards the wall, capturing his lips in a heated kiss, all teeth and tongue. Your grip around his throat loosens, remaining there only as a symbol of your power over him. His hands bunch the skirt of your dress, lifting it up so he can grab the supple flesh of your ass.

Your lips chart a path down his jawline, sucking a bruise just beneath his ear as your fingers carefully undo each button of his shirt. As much as he wants to mark you, claim you, remind you that you’re his, you must want to do the same. Once his shirt is open, you trail your lips down to his chest, nibbling on his collarbone and sending an intoxicating mixture of pain and pleasure through him.

He pushes you away so he can start loosening his belt only for you to swat his hands away and do it yourself. There is no foreplay this time, no teasing, nothing beyond base desire, base need. As you tug his pants and boxers down, his own fingers loop around the bands of your underwear, shoving them down.

His hands dig into your hips as he tries to turn you around, but you pull him off of you, instead pushing him to the ground and stepping out of your lingerie. You climb on top of him, positioning him against your dripping folds before sinking down on him, punctuating your breathing with a throaty moan.

The pace you set is brutal, unrelenting, full of words that go unsaid, unexchanged. Your fingers card through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. His grip on your hips is certain to leave bruises as he rocks you against him, seeking that high for you both.

But this isn’t like the other times—this isn’t about the high, the addiction. This feeling that’s simmering beneath the surface isn’t addiction, though it could easily be confused as such. He wants you. He wants you in ways he was too stupid to admit nearly two years ago.

Your breathing becomes erratic as you near your end, as you press your forehead to his in an unusually tender expression that nearly crushes his heart.

It’s a cry, a plea, the breaking of your heart—

“Say it, please, say it, please, please, please.”

“You’re my girl,” he grunts, caressing your body as you shriek and shudder through your release. “Mine.”

He made the wrong choice back then. He knows that now, and he hates that it’s taken him this long to figure it out.

Once you’ve regained control of your faculties, he grabs your chin with a tenderness that’s been missing from these encounters, these indulgences. Your eyes are wary, afraid, achingly hopeful as he brings your mouth to his for a sensuous kiss, a delicate promise to you, to himself.

He doesn’t like living with regrets.

You break away, eyes taking in as much of him as you can before maintaining his gaze.

“You’re my girl,” he reiterates.

“No,” you whimper, voice cracking. “I was your girl.”

“I want—”

“No.” It comes out more forceful and he wonders if it’s for him or for yourself. “I hate you. I hate you for leaving. I hate that I can’t stay away from you. I hate that I can’t hate you. I want to be your girl, but you made a choice, Levi.”

You flinch as he tries to wipe away the tears that have started to fall.

“I’m going to make another,” he promises, fingers gentle on your face, careful in how he comforts you. “You’re still my girl.”

fic page (including link to the playlist) | Attack on Titan Masterlist

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