#had a brief moment of confusion with this one

[sidequestobserver]

“What will you give, my dear?” The fae smiles, knowing she’s won. I need this deal.

I slump and turn away. My mind races through what I can sacrifice. My firstborn? I can’t give her Emma. She’s my daughter, my treasure. She just entered preschool. My name? I would forget who I am, and who knows what kind of damage that could do. No. No. I need to think of something else.

“Hurry darling, I can find someone else.”

“Give me a second,” I snarl. Come on Warren, think. What can you give. I smack my head with my hand. Think think think. My head hurts. Gosh I need a cigarette. I fumble in my pocket. Pull out a pack of Camels. Cancer sticks, my mum calls them. She’s not wrong. I stick one in my mouth, grab the plastic Bic lighter from my jeans. Sorry mum, I’m a lost cause, but I promise I don’t smoke around Emma.

I pause, cigarette unlit between my lips. Turn back to the fae, who is tapping her fingers idly on one cheek. I pull the cigarette out and study it. The thin white and brown cylinder rolls on my palm.

I’ve been a smoking cigarettes for a while. Tried them in high school, thought they looked cool. A few tries later I was gone. The corner store knows my face because I buy them there, have been buying them there, for years. I smoke with friends, smoke when I’m taking a break at work. They’re part of routine, part of life.

I look at the fae, who is looking at my face with a bored expression. I don’t know what she sees. I don’t know what is showing on my face, because I don’t know what I am feeling as I lift my hand and offer it to her.

“I will give you my addiction.” I whisper.

Her eyes flick to my palm. Back to my face. Back to my palm. I start to tremble. I grab my forearm with my other hand, lighter dropping on the ground. Steadying my open palm, my offering.

The fae’s smile returns, brighter and sharper than before. “Deal.”

And just like that she’s gone. The air before me is empty.

My hands are empty as well. So are my pockets. The cheap plastic lighter and pack of cigarettes erased, as if they’d never existed at all.

I wipe my hands on my jeans, check around to make sure the fae is gone. I rub my temple. My head hurts. I should drink some water, I think I’m dehydrated.

I grab a Gatorade from the fridge and a pack of mentos for Emma, then step up to the corner store register. The clerk rings me up. When it comes time to tell me the total, he hesitates. Waiting for me to say something.

I prompt him. “How much?”

“Will that be all?” he asks.

I look at him, a bit confused. “Yes.”

“Just Gatorade?”

“And the Mentos.”

“You sure?”

I stare at him. “Yes, I’m sure.”

The clerk wavers for a moment longer. His mouth opens and closes like a goldfish, wanting to ask something. I can’t think of what. Instead he says, “That’ll be $4.31.”

I pay. I walk out the door. Time to pick up Emma.

Jason stared as Warren exited the corner store. Five years he’s worked here, and Warren has come by at least once every week in those five years, usually more. Sometimes he bought Mentos, sometimes not. But he never left without buying a pack.

A finger tapping on the glass counter brought Jason’s attention to a customer at the register. He hadn’t noticed her come in. A woman dressed in a fancy dress, with ethereal beauty and a razor sharp smile. Many men would have stared. Jason didn’t. Jason was a professional. Professionals don’t stare at customers. He hadn’t stared when that guy wearing macaroni briefs and nothing else had came in for chips, he was not going to stare at the pretty lady.

“How may I help you?” Jason asked politely.

“A pack of Camel, please.”

In a deal with a fae, you must give up something you hold dear. Whether it be your name, your first born, or something else, it must be held dear. You, gave up your addiction. It worked.

[papayainsectorone]

No More Words.

summary: morning light exposes everything unsaid, you’re left to confront the truth: some moments change everything, even when they go unnoticed

content: aftermath, hangover, emotional vulnerability, unrequited love, unspoken feelings, heartbreak, argument, emotional damage, miscommunication, regret, internalized hurt, dissociation, dumb!asshole!Lando, post-hookup angst, bittersweet tension, quiet devastation

word count: 4,2k

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

walls are way too thin - series - a´s masterlist

might be confusing if read as standalone

You woke to the smell of sweat and liquor and something heavier—dense and unmistakable—sex, still clinging to the sheets, the air, your skin. It lingered like a ghost, woven into the fabric of the night before, thick and tangible and inescapable.

Your eyes opened slowly, lids heavy and reluctant, vision unfocused in the bleary half-light. The blinds were barely cracked, just enough for slats of morning sun to cut across the hardwood in pale gold streaks, dust suspended midair like smoke. Your head throbbed, not sharply, but in a dull, insistent rhythm that pulsed just behind your eyes. Your mouth tasted stale and dry, the hangover creeping in around the edges, muted by exhaustion.

And your body—god, your body.

Sore in a way that made you ache down to your bones, a dull, spreading tenderness that reminded you of every moment, every breathless gasp and rough drag of skin. There was an ache between your thighs, a soft burn across your hips where his fingers had gripped too tightly, a mark blooming against your neck you could already feel, even before you saw it. Every inch of you buzzed with aftershock.

Lando was still there, still wrapped around you like the night had never ended. Like he never was before.

It had always been one of the rules between you after all, no sleeping together.

Sure, there had been exceptions. Nights when exhaustion after sex stole the fight from you both, when the hotel room was too far or the world outside too cold. Nights when you’d stumbled back into each other’s arms after everything else had fallen away, tangled and breathless.

But those moments were fleeting, fragile, brief intersections before the morning pulled you apart again.

This wasn’t like that.

This was something else.

Closer.

More intimate.

Like he was holding on, not just to your body, but to the space you shared, to the quiet between the breaths and the softness of your skin under his.

And the ache it left behind—raw and new—cut deeper than any rule you’d ever broken.

One arm lay heavy across your waist, pinning you gently in place. The other was trapped beneath your ribs, elbow bent awkwardly but unmoving. His body was flush to yours, heat radiating from his bare chest and legs, the slow rise and fall of his breathing pressed steady into your spine. His face was tucked into the crook of your neck, lips barely brushing the curve of your shoulder, soft, warm, almost reverent.

He didn’t stir.

You didn’t either. Not at first.

You just lay there, still as the room, staring at the wall while the weight of everything slowly, silently flooded in. At first, it was just fragments—his mouth on yours, the sound of his voice when he said don’t stop, the way he had looked at you right before he—

You closed your eyes.

It wasn’t regret, not exactly. But it wasn’t peace either. It was too raw for that. Too soon.

You swallowed hard, throat dry and tight. The air around you was thick with the warmth of bodies, the silence heavy, almost sacred. Your skin still smelled like him. Like both of you. Like something that couldn’t be undone.

Your fingers twitched where they rested on the edge of the pillow, and for a second, you thought about turning over. About facing him. About seeing if his expression in the morning would match the way he’d held you through the night.

But you didn’t move.

Instead, you stared into the light filtering through the blinds, your breath shallow, your body wrapped in his, your mind caught somewhere between the ache of last night and the uncertainty of what came next.

And finally, quietly, inevitably, the truth caught up to you.

All of it.

The club. The bodies pressed too close, the sweat-slicked heat of strangers and strobes of light slicing through darkness. The bass had throbbed through your chest like a second heartbeat. His hands never left you—your hips, your back, your throat. The way you moved together wasn’t dancing so much as orbiting, like gravity had decided it only applied to the two of you.

The ride home was a blur, flashes of city lights streaking past the windows, his breath hot against your ear.

Your skin burned beneath his touch, thighs trembling, nerves frayed and exposed. You could still feel how his name had tumbled from your lips—again and again—a desperate mantra wrapped in gasps and need. The sound of his moans had filled your mouth, your chest, your bones. His hands had been everywhere. There was nowhere he hadn’t touched.

And then— Worse than all of it— After the high, the comedown, the collapse. The room spinning. Your chest rising and falling beneath the weight of everything that had just passed between you.

You’d said it.

I love you.

Just three words, barely spoken. Whispered to him when he lay right there in the crook of your neck, like a secret, like maybe if you buried it deep enough, it wouldn’t count. You hadn’t even known if he was still awake, his breathing had already started to slow, soft and rhythmic. But it didn’t matter. The words were out there now. Hung between you like smoke. Seeped into the pillow beside your cheek.

And now?

Now he was asleep. Dead to the world. Still tangled in the same sheets that smelled like sex and sweat and something you couldn’t name. His breath came slow and steady, his face peaceful, slack with sleep. Like nothing had shifted. Like the Earth hadn’t cracked open beneath you.

Your throat was dry. You didn’t dare move at first. Even your breathing felt too loud, like it might wake him or worse, draw attention to how wide awake you were. The space between your bodies still buzzed, heavy and close, but it didn’t feel safe anymore, it felt suffocating.

You peeled his arm from around your waist, inch by inch. He murmured something—a sound more than a word—and shifted, brow creasing briefly. His fingers grazed your hip in a reflexive echo of last night, then dropped limp to the mattress.

You held your breath.

When he didn’t move again, you sat up.

The world tilted. A wave of nausea rolled through you, sharp and immediate, and you had to squeeze your eyes shut against it. The headache was brutal now, bright and pulsing behind your forehead like a live wire. You brought a hand to your temple, the other braced against the mattress. The sheets beneath your palm were still warm.

The scent was unbearable. Not bad—just too much. Skin and sweat and his cologne and everything you’d given each other, tangled into the air like static. You could taste it in your mouth.

Your bare feet touched the floor and recoiled instantly. Cold. Jarring. A stark reminder that the real world had returned, and it didn’t care what you'd said in the dark.

Only then did you feel just how exposed you were.

Naked, except for the last traces of heat on your skin, your hair a matted snarl at your neck, your thighs sticky, still aching with the echo of him.

Don’t think. You told yourself. Don’t let it take shape.

You scanned the room, blinking through the haze. Your top dangled off the chair like an afterthought. Your panties had vanished somewhere in the wreckage of his jeans and t-shirt, half-buried under your bra.

Lando didn’t move.

Still sprawled out, sheet pushed low, one arm bent above his head, curls a mess against the pillow. His mouth was parted slightly, breath soft, brow still drawn in some dream you weren’t part of.

You stood.

The air kissed your skin with a chill that made you wince, but you didn’t look back. Couldn’t.

You picked up your clothes in silence, piece by piece. No ceremony. No thought. Just escape.

And then you opened the door.

It clicked shut behind you with a soft finality that sounded too much like goodbye.

The hallway felt like a different world—colder, quieter, removed from everything that had just happened. You padded across the apartment in bare feet, numb fingers brushing the walls for balance.

Your bedroom door closed behind you, and you finally let your back rest against it.

The silence was deafening.

Your legs gave out, sliding you to the floor.

What had you done?

Not just the sex. Not just the heat of it, the haze, the way you'd let it happen, wanted it to happen. But the words. The way they had slipped from your lips like a truth you'd buried too long. A truth he didn't ask for. A truth he didn’t even hear.

Or worse—heard and chose to ignore.

The truth you couldn´t even admit to yourself.

The shower was blistering when you stepped in, steam rising in thick clouds before the water even touched your skin. You didn’t flinch. You welcomed the heat, let it scald down your back, let it punish.

You stood there too long, unmoving, until the air turned dense and wet around you, until your skin was flushed pink and your breath caught in the fog. It wasn’t about getting clean. It was about erasing. About burning the night off your body, layer by layer. You scrubbed hard, mechanically, until your fingertips pruned and your shoulders ached. Shampoo stung your eyes, and you didn’t bother blinking it away. Maybe the sting would drown out everything else.

But no matter how hard you scrubbed, it clung.

The memory. The way his mouth had found yours like it belonged there. The way your name had slipped from his lips, rough and reverent, like he was confessing it. The way your body had responded without hesitation—eager, desperate, as if it had been waiting for him and only him.

Your hands found the wall, palms flat against the slick tile. You leaned forward until your forehead rested against the porcelain, cool and unmoving. The contrast of cold tile against hot skin made you shiver, but you didn’t pull away.

You didn’t cry. You weren’t even sure you could. There was no release, no breakdown. Just that quiet, heavy thing growing inside your chest. A numb ache that sat there, settled and unmoving. Something too big to name, too quiet to scream.

The water pounded on, a constant roar. When you finally reached out to turn it off, the silence that followed felt violent.

You stood dripping in the sudden hush, water tracing paths down your spine, over your ribs, between your legs. And still—you felt him. Like a shadow. Like an echo beneath your skin.

You dried off on autopilot, your towel clumsy in your hands. Your fingers trembled. You didn’t bother brushing your hair. You tugged on a pair of underwear, then an oversized shirt from the laundry pile, one you weren’t even sure was yours. No pants. No effort. Just enough to cover the skin he’d touched.

The kitchen was unforgiving in the daylight. Sunlight poured through the windows like a spotlight, all sharp angles and golden exposure. The kind of light that didn’t let you hide. It lit the countertops, the floor, the half-empty coffee mug you'd forgotten you’d poured. Everything was too loud in its stillness.

You perched on the edge of the island stool, knees pulled up to your chest, shirt swallowing your frame. A glass of water sweated beside you, untouched. You stared at it. Watched the condensation bead and slide down the glass like it was trying to escape.

The coffee had gone cold a long time ago.

Time didn’t move so much as it dragged its feet across the floor, slow and unkind. You thought about going back to bed. About pulling the covers over your head and pretending none of it had happened. You thought about going for a walk. About running until your lungs burned. About disappearing entirely—just for the day. Maybe the week. Maybe longer.

But you didn’t move.

You stayed.

Stuck in the in-between, limbs heavy and soul heavier. Waiting for something—anything—to make sense.

It was sometime past noon when the bedroom door creaked open.

You didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. Just sat there at the kitchen island, knees still pulled up to your chest, eyes fixed on the condensation sliding down the side of your still untouched glass.

Lando stumbled into the doorway like a man dragged back from battle. His hair was smashed flat on one side, wild on the other. His eyes were bloodshot, squinting hard against the daylight like it had personally offended him. He wore only a pair of black boxers and one sock, and scratched absently at his stomach as he shuffled forward.

“Fuck,” he groaned, shielding his face with one hand. “Why is it so bright?”

You didn’t say anything.

He blinked toward the kitchen, still disoriented, eyes barely registering shapes. Then they found yours.

A beat.

“Oh,” he said, voice rough and thick with sleep. “Hey. You’re up.”

You nodded once. A small, tight movement. Then you raised your glass and took a slow sip, more to steady your hands than to actually drink.

He shuffled past you like nothing was amiss. Pulled open the fridge, grabbed the orange juice, didn’t bother with a glass. He tilted it back and drank greedily, the plastic crackling in his grip. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at you again, eyes squinting just slightly.

Something flickered there. A pause. A faint crease in his brow. Like he was trying to read the room. Trying to figure out why your silence felt different.

“How bad was I?” he asked eventually, with a sheepish little laugh. “I don’t even remember getting home.”

That laugh—that casual, careless laugh—hit like a blow to the ribs.

You watched him.

His mouth curved. His eyes creased with the weight of the hangover, not guilt. No recognition. No apology. No memory.

He didn’t know.

You said nothing.

“God,” he muttered, rubbing both hands over his face. “What did I even say last night?”

That was when the last piece slid into place.

He didn’t remember the club. Didn’t remember the car ride. Didn’t remember the way he’d pulled you into his lap and kissed you like he needed it to breathe. Didn’t remember the way your bodies had moved together in your bed, desperate and tangled and real. Didn’t remember what it had meant to you.

Didn’t remember the words you’d said when it was over. The ones that had poured out of you in a moment too raw to stop. The ones you couldn’t take back.

“I love you.”

He didn’t remember any of it.

Your breath caught, but only for a second. You didn’t let it show. You smiled. Just barely.

“You just passed out,” you said, voice soft and steady, like it didn’t cost you anything to say it.

You didn’t look at him again. Didn’t give yourself the chance to see what wasn’t there in his eyes.

And he… just nodded. Took another sip of orange juice like the world hadn’t changed.

Lando leaned against the counter, eyes still a little unfocused. He looked at you, then gave a small, grateful smile.

“Thanks for getting me home last night,” he said quietly. “I honestly don’t remember a thing.”

You nodded, swallowing the knot in your throat. “You were pretty out of it.”

He chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, no kidding. I’m sorry if I was a mess.”

“You weren’t,” you said, voice low.

He stepped closer, hesitated for a moment, then reached out and gave you a quick hug—gentle, almost shy. “Really. Thanks. For everything.”

The hug was brief, but it left a strange weight in your chest. When he pulled away, his smile was easy and unaware, like nothing had shifted between you.

“Need anything? Water? Food?”

You shook your head, eyes fixed on the glass in your hands. “I’m okay.”

Lando glanced at you again, sensing something unspoken but choosing not to press. “Alright. I’m gonna try to fix some toast before I collapse again.”

You watched him for a moment, the way his eyes flicked over to you, the slight crease of his brow when he sensed something you weren’t saying. Your mind was racing—thoughts crashing in waves, memories and doubts and hopes all flooding your system at once, overwhelming and relentless.

He sat down heavily at the island, one hand clutching half a piece of toast, which he practically shoved in his mouth before you could get the words out.

“Lando,” you said softly.

He hummed around the toast, a crumb falling from his lips. “Hmm? Yeah?”

You took a deep breath, your voice barely steady. “I think I’m gonna move out.”

His eyes widened, toast halfway in and now half falling from his mouth as he choked a little on the surprise. “What?” he croaked, blinking at you like he hadn’t quite understood.

You swallowed hard and tried again, meeting his gaze directly. “I said, I’m moving out. I think it’s time.”

He set the toast down, wiping crumbs from his lips, confusion knitting his brow deeper. “Time for what?”

Your heart thudded unevenly. You searched his face, the crease between his brows, the tension in his jaw, looking for some sign, anything that would soften what you were about to say next. “It hasn’t been the same for a while now,” you said quietly. “I’ve been staying too long this time.”

He blinked at you like he was still trying to catch up, the words settling slow and unwelcome behind his eyes.

“I don’t get it,” he said, straightening in his chair. “What are you even saying?”

You felt your fingernails dig into the curve of your palm beneath the table. The quiet between you stretched taut, too familiar.

“I just… it’s not home anymore,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Not really.”

Lando’s mouth opened, then closed again. He looked at you like you’d pulled the ground out from under him.

A beat passed.

And then he tilted his head, something colder flickering in his gaze. “Is this about Charlotte?”

You stiffened.

“No,” you said, too quickly. Too flatly.

His brow twitched, mouth pressing into a thin line as he leaned back in his chair. You could see it hit him—your answer, the finality of it—like it didn’t make sense, like the puzzle had missing pieces.

Frustration flared behind his eyes. He stood abruptly, pushing the chair back with a sharp scrape of wood against tile.

“Then what is it?” he snapped. “Because I don’t get it. You said we’re okay. We were out last night, laughing, drinking—like nothing was wrong. You’re my best friend.” His voice cracked slightly on the last words, as if they didn’t sit right in his mouth. “So tell me. What the fuck is this?”

You couldn’t quite speak.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. The lump in your throat swelled like it might choke you. Your eyes burned, tears starting to blur the edges of your vision. It all pressed in at once—his voice, the room, the weight of everything you hadn’t said.

“Lando…” you whispered, barely audible.

He threw his arms up. “What, huh?” His voice was sharper now, brittle around the edges. “I really don’t get it. Can you not just be happy for me? Isn’t that what we do for each other?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. The hurt was rising in him now, boiling into something meaner.

“Ah, no, I forgot,” he spat, pacing away from you and then back. “I don’t get to say stuff like this. I just have to stay silent, pretend I don’t care, while you go home from the club with fucking Charles.”

Your breath caught. You stared at him, but he didn’t even see you—he was somewhere else now, caught in the spiral of it, jaw clenched and hands flexing like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I mean—fuck!” he exploded. “I like her, okay? Charlotte. I actually like her. This might be something more and you’re just—” He faltered, words sharp and twisted, chest heaving.

“Fuck, I don’t even…” He looked at you then. Really looked at you. “When did you get so bitter?”

His words didn’t just land—they carved. Not a clean, sudden split, but a slow, ugly break that shattered something you hadn’t realized was still holding on. You sat there, frozen in the middle of the kitchen, while pieces of you slid silently to the floor like glass.

And he just stared back at you.

Jaw clenched. Eyes hard. No flinch. No apology. Just anger.

That—more than anything—set something off in you.

You pushed up from your seat, fury rising hot and fast in your chest as you crossed the room. Your steps were sharp, shoulders squared, every inch of you coiled like a wire about to snap. You stopped just in front of him—close enough to feel his breath, close enough to see the faint pulse jumping at his throat.

You stared at him, eyes burning, your own jaw tight.

And then… it faltered.

Because when you looked, really looked, you saw it. A flicker. Small. Flickering like a candle left too close to an open window. Regret. Realization. The slow, dawning horror of what he’d just said.

But it was too late now.

You’d never seen him like this before.

Not like this.

It didn’t feel like Lando. Not the boy who used to knock on your window at midnight just to bring you shitty gas station ice cream. Not the friend who instinctively moved to stand between you and the world on your worst days. Not the man who knew your favorite coffee order better than his own.

This wasn’t a friend. This wasn’t safety. This wasn’t love.

This felt like a punishment. A cruel, twisted consequence for falling in love with someone who never promised you anything, but still let you hope.

You felt your throat tighten, all your words turning to ash before they could form. You wanted to scream, or cry, or laugh in his face. You wanted to say something that would sting as much as his words had. But none of it came.

Only silence.

You stared at him like a stranger. And maybe that’s all he was now.

And he—he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, the edge of fear ghosting across his expression. Fear of what he’d done. Of what he was watching slip away.

His lips parted like he might say something, but you raised your hand, just slightly, palm open, quiet and final.

He froze.

You shook your head once. Small. Certain.

This wasn’t the man you’d loved. This wasn’t your best friend.

Your hand lingered in the air for a beat too long—steady, trembling slightly—but it said everything you couldn’t. And when you dropped it back to your side, something in Lando’s face seemed to fall with it.

He didn’t reach for you. Didn’t try to speak again. Just stood there, still rooted to the kitchen floor, like if he didn’t move, maybe none of this would be real.

But it was. It was so real.

You turned without another word.

Your feet moved before your mind caught up. You were down the hall, past the photos lining the wall, old ones, bright ones, the kind you used to stop and smile at. You didn’t glance at them now.

Your room was too quiet when you stepped inside.

You didn’t need much.

You grabbed your small overnight bag from the closet and filled it with a few essentials—clothes, your charger, your toothbrush. Mechanical, detached. The weight of your limbs didn’t match the speed of your thoughts. Everything felt underwater.

Your hands shook when you zipped it closed.

And when you turned back toward the door, he was there.

Standing in the frame like he didn’t know how to stand anymore. Like the fight had knocked the structure right out of him. His arms hung loose at his sides, knuckles red from clenching too hard, mouth parted like he still couldn’t believe you were really leaving.

“Are you really gonna just go?” he asked quietly. Not angry anymore. Not cruel. Just lost.

You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t trust yourself to.

You brushed past him gently. Not touching. Not lingering. Just… gone.

He called your name once. Just once. Soft and broken. Like it hurt to say.

But you didn’t turn around.

The front door opened with a creak that felt too loud. The late afternoon sun spilled in, golden and heavy across the floorboards. You stepped into it, out of the only home you’d ever really had with him.

The door clicked shut behind you.

tag list

@lifesass @mara1999 @norrisjpg @random-movie @widow-cevans @mxdi0 @pluviophile142 @itstaliascorner @graceln4 @leclercsluvs @isar8tsyyy @wetrainclouds @seonaw @msimpala--67 @isar8tsyyy @gvcnnnnnnnbvszxv9 @sparklepiastri @sailorinthesie @bell1a @spikershoyo @fer23022003 @vinylphwoar @wherethezoes-at @mbioooo0000 @v3nd3ttal3on @4-ln4 @belpsbelps @mckalala @hadids-world @chlmtfilms @lorena-mv33 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @queenkisskiss @ilovemeni @plotpal @koalalafications @cherryhazee

[sprytesukii]

18+ | sae’s a little jealous …… | cw. what it says on the tin, bloody!sae, making out, sae is a bit needy, established relationship, mostly fluffy

“shit, ow-“

you hiss sympathetically at the blood pouring out of your boyfriend’s nose as you - as gently as you can - pinch the bridge, willing the stream to stop.

“well, on the bright side, it’s probably not broken?”

sae scoffs, the sound nasally and pinched. “‘m g’na kill him.”

“no, you’re not. you know oliver didn’t mean to. he even offered to take you to the hospital,” you lean down and press a soft peck to sae’s lips, humming at the metallic taste of blood on your tongue.

your boyfriend softens marginally, long lashes fluttering closed for a brief moment.

“another.”

you grin, but oblige, kissing him again and lingering, darting your tongue out tease his lower lip.

“that’s enough for now tough guy. i gotta clean you up.” the tissues are in arm’s reach but large hands wrap around your hips and pull you closer, until you’re trapped between sae’s spread legs, his grip hard enough to bruise.

“sae…”

“it wasn’t an accident.” his expression is serious — brows furrowed, lips flat. you cock your head in confusion.

“what? you’re saying aiku shot the ball at your face on purpose?”

sae nods, so certain, but the firm movement reactivates the blood flow, sending it dripping over his lips and down his chin.

a sigh escapes you and you finally wiggle out of his grip to grab the tissues, tilting his head up to clean his face.

“it was on purpose,” he says after a quiet moment, muffled and grave. “it was on purpose ‘cause i did the same to him last week.”

you lean back to look sae in the eyes incredulously. he meets your gaze with ease, unapologetic.

now that he mentions it though, you did notice the traces of a healing bruise, yellowing beneath oliver’s eyes and over the bridge of his nose when he ran over to apologize to your boyfriend during practice today.

huh.

“and why would you do that?” you step back into the comforting heat of his legs, but you don’t resume clean up, instead threading your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

sae shrugs, drops eye contact with you for the first time since you started this conversation. it rankles, raises suspicion, and you dip your head to catch his gaze again.

“uh uh, what happened? don’t get quiet on me now.”

he heaves a sigh, all dramatic, and your curiosity grows.

“he was talking about you.”

that shocks you — you’ve never known sae to be overtly jealous. possessive, sure, but inflicting pain on someone - one of his teammates at that - just because he talked about you was unheard of in your relationship.

you blink, but don’t pull away, absentmindedly tugging at the pink locks in between your fingertips.

“what was he saying?” you ask, though you’re not entirely sure you want to know the answer. you like oliver well enough - or you did before this - but he’s always been a bit … well, crass.

horny. freaked out, if you will.

to both your relief and disappointment, sae shakes his head, unwilling to answer.

“doesn’t matter. just had to make sure he didn’t do it again.”

his hands find their way to your hips again, thumbs massaging your sides as he tugs you closer, apparently done with the conversation at hand.

“kiss me,” he demands, apparently uncaring of the tacky, drying blood on his upper lip.

lucky for him, you don’t care either.

you lean down and press your lips to his in a chaste but passionate exchange, but he doesn’t let you pull back like you intend. no, instead he deepens the kiss, sliding a hand up your back to rest at your neck and pulls you further in, brushing his tongue against yours.

a quiet noise of pleasure gets trapped in your chest and you find yourself clambering into his lap to get impossibly closer, nipping at his bottom lip and swallowing his gasp in response.

sae tilts his head to get more of you, but in doing so, he bumps his nose against yours, sending pain ricocheting up his skull. he pulls away with a curse, pinching his nose.

“fuck. i hate oliver.”

you giggle and go to stand, to obtain more tissues, but before you do, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth and lean in to whisper in his ear —

“you look hot covered in blood. my hero.”

©sprytesukii 2025 ; please do not copy, repost, or use my works to train ai <3

[bigdumbbambieyes]

Childhood best friends Harringrove losing their virginity to each other one sticky hot July night, the summer after their junior year. Whispered declarations of everlasting love as they lay tangled together in the sheets on Steve’s bed. Vowing to be each other’s one and only.

anon...you requested this back in September 2022 and it was at the very bottom of my drafts...I'm so sorry 😭 I'm not sure if you're still in the fandom or not but I finally finished your request!! light smut at the end!

-

He had expected it to be awkward. And, it kind of was, but he hadn’t expected it to feel like this - like what he’d been missing for so long as finally there, right where it was supposed to be.

Their lips had brushed for the first time at the age of 13 and 14, as a dare, at Tommy’s birthday party. And when Steve had pulled away, he saw this confused look in Billy’s blue eyes, his brows furrowed slightly. They’d been friends since the tender age of 6, when Steve had spotted a blond boy with curly hair standing alone at recess on the first day of kindergarten. They’d been inseparable ever since.

But once the girls and boys at the party had begun to giggle at them, they had laughed it off, Billy pushing at his shoulder like he always did, and Steve pushed that evening to the back of his mind, content to forget all about it.

Except, he couldn’t. Whenever he looked at Billy, his eyes went to his lips. Shaped so perfectly, pink like his mother’s azaleas, with a sharp cupid’s bow and plump bottom lip that drove Steve crazy. 

And as they grew, muscles filling out and limbs elongating, jaws becoming scratchy with stubble, Steve still found him beautiful. His eyes, so intense, even when they were staring off into the distance and disconnected from the moment. His hair, always curled and set to Billy’s specifications, smelled of hairspray and cigarettes and Steve loved it. The freckles that dotted Billy’s nose and cheeks made Steve’s knees weak, along with the ones on his shoulders - especially those ones. 

He spent so long admiring Billy and convincing himself that it was nothing, that he never noticed Billy doing it back. Looking when Steve wasn’t. Hooking up with girls that had brown hair and brown eyes. Grabbing Steve’s biceps during gym class and grinning at him knowingly, “You been lifting weights or something?” even though Billy knew they worked out together multiple times a week.

Perhaps it was just building up to this moment, at Steve’s 17th birthday party. His parents had fucked off to wherever they were that month and Billy had convinced him to throw a party, whispering in his ear all week at school.

“C’mon, dancing queen. You’re only seventeen once.”

‘Dancing queen’. As if Billy listened to ABBA. 

Obviously, he gave in. He told a few people, who told others, and those others told their friends, and now here Steve was, being helped upstairs to his room by Billy. A strong arm around his waist, both of them giggling drunkenly as they get into the room and Billy shoves him onto the bed with a grin.

“Sleep it off, Stevie,” he hummed, not even bothering to look away as Steve rolled onto his back and began to undress, always one to sleep in just his briefs when he was drunk.

“I’m—" a hiccup, “I’m gonna, okay? S’your fault for giving me so many shots...” He mumbled as he kicked off his jeans, feeling Billy help him when they got caught on his ankles. He managed to open his eyes - unsure of when he’d closed them - long enough to see Billy standing at the foot of his bed, a soft smile on the blond’s face. “You gonna sleep here?” He asked softly.

Billy had nodded, “Yeah. M’not tired, though.” There were still guests downstairs, after all. And Steve trusted his best friend to make sure everyone left or had a place to sleep before going to bed himself.

“‘Kay,” Steve whispered, “G’night.” 

“Night, Stevie.”

When Steve woke up the next morning, his brain feeling way too big for his skull, he found Billy next to him, asleep. And despite the hangover, Steve had sleepily blinked through the waves of nausea to admire Billy in the morning sun: messy hair, thick eyelashes casting a shadow fanning across his cheekbones, and his lips slightly parted with deep breaths. Clothes missing except his briefs, so comfortable and safe in Steve’s bed.

Steve’s heart had skipped a beat and he knew he was in love with Billy in that moment.

He’d always been a fool for love, but with Billy, it was different. It ran deep, something that felt like it was in his DNA, like he’d been made to love Billy Hargrove before he even knew it.

In the summer after their junior year, it all came to a head, when he kissed Billy in his backyard.

It was a hot July evening, and instead of melting in his room, Billy had shown up on Steve’s front door with a six pack of beer, a towel over his shoulder, and a familiar smile as he asked, “Wanna go for a dip?”

And who was Steve to deny him anything?

-

The sun is hot but at least the beer is cold, Steve thinks as he leans back on a recliner and sips at the lip of his can, watching Billy flop down in the recliner next to him, cracking his beer open with a happy hum. 

It’s easy, with Billy. They’re assholes to each other but it’s the way they work. Snide comments, mean smiles, soft looks, inside jokes. They talk and drink for the entire afternoon, finally taking a dip in the pool once their skin is hot to the touch, and even then they’re splashing each other because it’s a competition and Billy never backs down, keeps poking Steve until he gets a reaction.

Maybe that’s why Billy swims him into a corner, a smirk on his flushed face, water clinging to his eyelashes and soaked curls. Steve lets himself be cornered, a hand resting on the edge of the pool as he grins at his best friend, ready to splash the blond but Billy has this look in this eye then. Something a little intense, a little serious, and it makes Steve freeze. 

He sees the way Billy’s eyes flick down to his lips, for just a second, but it’s long enough that Steve notices. 

And, he freezes, for a moment. The tension is thick and Billy falters, that cocky expression slipping away to uncertainty for a moment, like he's realizing that he's made a mistake.

Steve hates it. Hates that Billy would think for even a second that he wouldn't want this.

So, he pushes off the wall a bit, until he's pressed up against his best friend and he's clumsily pressing his lips to Billy's for a second before pulling away, eyes wide.

Billy's eyes are equally as wide, his jaw dropping a little in surprise.

And because Steve is Steve, he breathes, "I'm sorry."

Which has Billy blinking in confusion, his brows furrowing for a moment before he huffs in exasperation and splashes Steve in the face again.

"What the fuck!" Steve coughs, feels the chlorine burning his nose and eyes as he wipes at them, and when he opens them Billy is climbing out of the pool, the wet muscles of his back flexing under the sun so perfectly that Steve is stunned into silence at the mere sight.

Billy stands and turns around, an expectant look on his pink face as he stares down at Steve, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He waits a moment before asking, rather impatiently, "Are you getting out or what?"

"Are you going to throw me back in when I do?" He asks cautiously, already swimming to the edge where Billy had just lifted himself out from.

"You're making me want to, the longer you stay in there," Billy mutters, watching Steve climb out of the pool and standing there just a few feet away.

They look at each other for another moment, unsure of what to do, because it's settling in that they kissed without a dare or an audience and it meant something.

"Do it again," Billy mutters suddenly, almost whispers.

And Steve doesn't need to be told twice.

He steps close, their chests nearly touching, leaning in to press another kiss to Billy's lips - when he feels a shove to his chest and he's indeed flailing backwards into the pool.

When he resurfaces, Billy's frowning down at him and all but hissing, "Why the fuck would you apologize?"

"I don't know!" Steve gasps with desperation, a hint of a whine in his voice as he swims back to the edge of the pool, pushing his wet hair back from his face and glaring up at Billy as he folds his arms over the edge of the tile, "I...I panicked, I guess."

"Yeah, no shit," Billy huffs, his mouth twitching, "C'mon. Get out."

Steve gives him a look, which makes the blond roll his eyes before taking a step back from the pool, a safe distance away from Steve as he climbs back out again.

And then Billy's charging at him again, and Steve tenses and squeezes his eyes shut, expecting to feel himself thrown back in the pool, but then there's only warm skin and strong arms around his shoulders, pressing him down into the earth, and then Billy's demanding mouth against his.

His mouth is wet, hot, sucking Steve's tongue inside with a soft sound. Steve's immediately wrapping his arms around Billy in return, pressing into his body, tilting his head as he lets Billy claim his mouth.

It's aggressive, a little rough, so Billy.

The blond pulls away, his lips so red now, his eyes so blue under heavy lids as he whispers in a tone Steve can't refuse, "Upstairs."

They track water inside, but no one's around to give them shit for it, and it's hard for Steve to care when Billy's pushing his shorts down, so beautifully naked and hard in Steve's bed.

He pushes his own shorts down and climbs onto his bed, crawling on top of Billy and letting his best friend pull him down, feeling a hand gripping the soft-firm muscle of his ass, encouraging him to rock his hips down.

"Billy," he breathes, slotting his thigh between the blond's, their lips meeting again in a kiss as they rock together, desperate and needing and wanting.

Billy moans into his mouth, the sound so low and rumbling, settling in Steve's chest where he never wants it to leave.

It's embarrassingly quick, their first time, with the sensation of their cocks sliding together so slick and hot, pushing each other over the edge with a gasp and hissed curse.

And under that gauze of bliss, where Steve feels like he's floating, he begins to talk.

"Want you forever," Steve murmurs, unable to stop the swell of affection in his chest as Billy begins to rock under him again, their bodies so intertwined he didn't know when he started and Billy ended.

"One and only," Billy whispers, his voice a little shaky, staring up at Steve with such raw vulnerability, "You."

"Don't want anyone but you, Billy," Steve smiles gently, leaning down and pressing sweet little kisses to Billy's warm cheek, again and again, and Billy accepts them without complaint.

In fact, he looks pleased, with his own soft smile and pinked cheeks.

He looks happy.

Glowing with it, maybe.

Steve wants to see him like this, forever.

"It's always been you, and always will be," he promises, gently bumping the tip of his nose against Billy's, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, "Gonna love you forever, whether you want it or not."

"I do, want it," Billy whispers, his voice cracking a little with emotion, his blue eyes so wet as he clings to Steve, "Promise?"

"I promise," Steve murmurs, kissing him again and again in his too-hot room, humming happily when Billy whispers his own promise against his lips.

[writingoddess1125]

Honeymoon Phase (Bonus)

Kofi Request

If you'd like to make request like this one NSFW (5$) or SFW (2$) . Press Here!

Little Bonus off of the Honeymoon Demon series

Will not be doing another of this series- I am out of ideas ;-;

Kurt Wagner x Female Reader

Warnings: SMUT and also Jealous sex so- Strap In darlings

Masterlist <<

<< Honeymoon Demon Series

For the last two months life could only be described as magical.

You and Kurt having been only surrounded by the soft damn near candy sweet affection of each others.

Even in the school the two of you would always be near by. Soft kisses exchanged, a gentle hug or even just locking eyes for brief moments.

Either way- It was just a reflection of your love for your husband and his love for you.

But it seems being so openly affectionate would of course cause others to notice..

"Dude every time I see them I swear they are always all over each other" Bobby snorted a laugh as he took a sip of his soda.

The small group was all seated in the staff lounge watching you and Kurt down the hall leaning against each other while talking about whatever. Rouge giving Bobby a annoyed look as Remy who only snorted a laugh.

"Leav' em alone. They are just happy"

"The honeymoon phase is just strong- Don't be jealous" Kitty chimed, However inside also was a bit sick of the constant lovey dovey stuff.

"No not jealous, Just a mixture of mildly nauseating and in awe at how they can be joined at the hip. Besides this just means they will be easier to mess with-" Morph mumbled, making Bobby glance to him.

"You think so?"

"Wanna bet?" Morph chimed back just as quick, Making Bobby smirk and sit up a bit more. Remy now sitting up as well with a grin.

"How much we talking?-"

"Mmm Why dont we do a pool? Ill start with a 20" Bobby said quickly going for his wallet.

"I don't know guys- they are just happy no harm in it" Kitty whined with a sigh, however glanced at you and Kurt again seeing the soft kiss the two of you exchanged and grimacing slightly.

"Come on it'll be fun"

"I'm not getting involved in yalls shit-" Rouge said quickly, Standing up from the table to not put herself in a guilty by association situation.

The rest of them however looked to each other- like a silent contract was being written.. Each taking out what cash they had on them like some sort of poker table.. before Kitty nodded and added a few bills in herself.

"First one to break him wins the pot"

"Deal"

It only really took till Noon for Kurt to start to break.

Kurt's tail swishing behind himself annoyed, a tick that his fell deeper then he expected as he watched Morph get close.. and Even Kitty giggling at every word you said..

He of course wouldn't say it out loud-

But it was really starting to piss him off...

He could tell you were confused by it all also, Brushing off the weird flirting by your friends-

The way you raised your eyebrow and dismissed them playfully, Even blatantly asking about what weird prank was it this time.

It wasn't your fault- He knew that, Nor did he blame you. However it did scratch this odd part of his brain in a very uncomfortable way at seeing you in this situation-

By the end of the day however, It seemed that more people were starting to join in. Ororo pitching on a 50$ when she hugged you happily in a flirty way, Remy throwing in an additional 80$ wrapping an arm around you which earned him a swift hit from Rouge...

But it seemed to be the final person who put in a 20$ bill that tipped the scale.

You shuffled through some of the papers that McCoy had given you, Humming to yourself a bit- Happy that the day was almost over and you could go home to your lovely husband.

"Oi- (Y/N)"

Logan had his arms crossed as he stared at you.

"Hey Logan? Uh what's up?"

"I got a question"

He rolled up from the wall and walked towards you. Red flags now shooting up as you got the very same feeling from earlier in the day from the others-

"Kurt- He's been treating you good right?"

"Of course I mean it's Kurt-"

"Well just tell me what he's lacking in bed and I'll show him how to improve. I also do offer lessons to you as well"

...

Your jaw absolutely dropped- a mix of confusion, being very weirded out and honestly not knowing where to even go from that!?

"W-What?-"

Annnnddd that's all it took for Logan to quite literally feel it-

It was like a rubber band snapping on his skin of Kurt's resolve breaking.

"Quite a few things in there that was incredibly wrong- However think I'll sum it No Thanks, I'm good"

You say quickly, already having a feeling there was a very targeted reason for this stunt. Which confirmed itself when you felt the familiar heavy hand land on your hip and a tail tighten around your middle like a tight belt.

"There you are Liebling. Ready to return home?"

Kurt says with a almost painfully wide smile that made your skin crawl slightly. Sort of reminding you of someone working in customer service..

"Oh, Hey baby.? Yeah has just getting ready to head out.. Logan just-"

"-Was Leaving"

Kurt filled in fast and sharp.

Which clearly surprised both Logan and yourself. The ladder of which smirking as he turned on his heel saying nothing else as he marched off. You however fixed on watching as Kurt's eyes followed Logan, similar to a cat watching another to make sure they didnt try anything.

Kurt glanced down at you calmly his lips pressed tightly together still before he turned it to you with a slightly forced smile.

It was uncomfortable in a odd way, since you knew that Kurt was clearly upset however wanted to avoid showing it to you- It was silent after that, Kurt taking the two of you home fast without a uttered word.

While uncomfortable at this point you where just happy to be home-

You toss down your bag on the couch, Still a bit confused by the chaos of the day- Already thinking of ways to mess with your friends back for this all, This had been annoying and honestly insulting. Rubbing your face in frustration.

"Hm.. Hey do you wanna cook tonight or pick something up? I don't think we pulled anything out the freezer"

You finally say with a heavy sigh. Turning to see Kurt is just standing here?

One hand pressed to the door as his tail was tapping the ground, Reminding you of someone tapping their nails on a surface annoyed.

Kurt hand slides to the lock of the door as he quickly locked the door which echoed through your home and made you jump slightly.

"Kurt?.."

He looked up to you as that same imp like smile you saw the first night of your honeymoon which made your face flush and body warm up instantly like he had already prepped you.

Or that you'd been trained..

He moved in close, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he pulled you close your back pressed against his chest as he began to pepper in kisses around your neck.

Soft whimpers leaving you as you felt this, He was almost surgical when he did this. Knowing how to hold you close, making sure you could feel his erection pressed against your ass.

You jump as you feel his tail dip past the hem of your clothes as you blush deeply.

"K-Kurt we are in the Livingroom an-"

Flushed at the realization of what was happening- The curtains half open and you needing to shower after such a long day. Thoughts going a mile a minute however it was swiftly cut off when he growled against your neck.

"It doesn't matter Schatz-"

He grumbled against your skin, Making your heart leap in surprise at the tone he used- It was new? Far darker and almost irritated? His lips still working over the sweet spots over your neck, going as far as to run his teeth over your pulse and even nipping at it.

Kurt begins to pull the both of you down, making you stumble as you landed on your hands and knees on the carpeted floor. Giving Kurt the perfect angle to pull your pants down to your knees with your underwear with them with his chest still flushed against your back to keep you trapped.

"All day.. They were on you-"

His tone clipped as you felt one hand wrap under your body, Ripping the front of your nice shirt open with ease and grasp at your breast- squeezing the soft flesh making you mewl pathetically.

"Touching..Hugging and saying dirty things to mein pretty wife"

His tail wrapped tightly around your waist as if to anchor you. His now remaining free hand dipping down between your legs circles over your clit. Soft moans breaking through you as you couldn't help to fall under his whim- Caged again him and floor.

"All to make me jealous~"

He hissed against your ear, Drawing his fingers away from between your legs- The sharp sound of his zipper seemed to be the soft warning before you felt him slowly push into you.

The stretch of him making your eyes roll and a airy moan leave you undone and pliable under his will, each inch that slowly moved within you breaking any form of sense from your head.

"And Gott did they-"

He snaps into you then, driving those last few inches into you as you gave a sharp moan in surprised pleasure.

"Scheiße"

He hissed as he rolled his hips back slowly like the tides drifting far back before a tsunami. The pull of his cock making you whine your fingers digging into the carpet below you as if it would ground you. Before feeling him so swiftly thrust into you making your head spin and jaw slack against the ground.

The carpeted floor rubbed against your knees and forearms with each thrust, the soft sting in a odd way driving you further into the abyss he was tossing you into-

Sur it hurt but.. you liked it?

Oh?

Ohh...

Surprising yourself at the new discovery as your husband was quick to snap his hips against yours making you moan loudly and have those thoughts tucked away to be delt with at a different time.

A silent scream seems to rip through you at the breaking feeling of both pleasure and pain- The burn of his fangs against the meat of your shoulder and the ungodly deep thrust into you.

"K-Kurt!~"

His thrusts were brutal, making is that you barely had time to understand everything that was happening. Just barely able to comprehend Kurt growling against your skin as his hips slammed into you harder, no doubt bruising the skin on the back of your thighs.

The way he could so effortlessly render you useless, how full he made you feel each time he thrusted into you. How your toes curled and fire shot through your system, Utterly broken by him as he hit that sweet spot inside of you each and every time-

A reminder that only HE could do this to you.

And you believed him too

Not a thought of shame on your face as you drooled against the carpet, A hiccupped moan break from you- eyes rolled as you felt that all too familiar crash of pleasure as you cum around his cock with a loud moan.

Now left gasping for air as Kurt did not let up, fucking you through your orgasm as his grip on you tightened- Savoring the sound that left you every time he thrusted into you.

It was only when you started feeling his hips start to falter against your own as you came out of your too blissed out state- a surprised squeak left you as he pulled back suddenly seemingly stopping himself from cumming inside of you completely?

But you barely had time to even register what he had just done before you where flipped on your back with a huff when you landed on your back a bit uncomfortably.

Dizzy from the speed of it all you only caught a flash of yellow eyes as they dipped between your legs in record time. Your back arching painfully at the sensation of him devouring you.

All you can really do is sob at this point, fingers gripping his hair desperately to pull him away from your over sensitive clit- Having barely a minute to settle from him pounding into you.

No moment to rest it seemed-

"K-Kurt Please!~"

You tried to scream but it was desperate and watery at best as several whimpering please fumbled from your lips- tears welling in your eyes as you tried to squirm your hips away by pure instinct from the painful pleasure, but his strong hands kept you in place.

"Too Much Too Much!!~"

Kurt only hummed as he fucked his tongue deeper into you, Driving for your cries even more as it took only for his lips to suck against your clit to make you cum once more a broken sob breaking through you.

It felt like you couldn't breath- Spots filling your vision as he sat up from between your legs. His hands still planted firmly on your hips as he stared you down.

Your mind fuzzy as you watch him lick a mixture of your cum and tinge of blood from the bite that still throbbed on your shoulder from his lips. It was involuntary but your whole body trembling at the sight alone.

Kurt clearly having caught this as in a moment the smell of sulfur hit your senses and you felt the plush bounce of the bed under you. Looking around quickly before landing back on your husband.

Meeting the gaze of Kurt as he stared down at you with a almost angry hunger towards you- one that was no doubt fueled by pure burning jealousy.

Before and all the times you'd felt his desire for you as nothing more then praise, A man in love with every part of you and wanted to experience you to the upmost degree to bring the both of you to bliss under loving hands.

This was different-

You felt more like prey about to be eaten alive...

No playing between his palms or grace to slowly tip you over the edge with love and praise.

This was to eat you alive and make sure there were no scraps to be left for anyone to dare even snip at. Nothing more then bleached bones left before him that he would also hoard-

Kurt is quick to grab your ankle and yank you towards him breaking a surprised noise from you- He was quick however to lean down, Capturing your lips against his own. Soft moans leaving you which he greedily swallowed.

You still too sensitive- already so close to your breaking point but knew this was just the start by the why he was pressed the tip of his cock in and out of you slowly before pressing painfully against your clit and repeating the process.

It was maddening

Pulling back softly with a broken moan as you squirmed from under him- On the edge of breaking and yet still wanting more.

"You know the rules.."

Kurt mumbled against your mouth, His eyes locking with your own tear filled ones. Truthfully you'd almost forgotten- you also suspected he had too till now.. The pencil thin chain that still anchored him in moments like this.

"P-Please more Kurt.. Please~"

You whimper, Unsure why you'd even said it with how much your cunt ached- But you knew you where just to greedy..

Always wanted everything he had to offer and give you.

His hands sliding down your body and landing on the back of your thighs, as he began to push them up closer to your chest.

"I-Im not as flexible Ku-"

He moved faster then your lips as he thrusted deeply into you, your legs being folded up as far as they could which made your legs burn- holding your imprisoned by his body in a mating press.

Sobs of bliss ripping through you as you grasp onto his shoulders desperately for some form of grounding as you could only feel the waves of pleasure being forced from you.

Kurt face twisted up in pure emotion- his eyes almost seemed to be glowing in the incredibly dark room. Rendering him all you could feel, smell and truthfully barely see.

You almost sound helpless from under him, a series of broken whines and moans that belonged more in a porn then your marital bed.

The sounds alone would have made you a blushing mess if you weren't distracted by the way his cock bullied its way into you which made you see stars-

It felt like a snap inside of you as you feel yourself cum as violently as he had fucked you. A scream breaking through you as you felt yourself shake from around his hold. Feeling him still thrusting into you as he neared his own high, a shuddered groan ripping through him as he pressed himself into the deepest part of you and came.

Kurt movements come to a standstill as he panted against your neck. Seemingly just reveling in the feeling of you wrapped around him and shaking from trying to come down of the high of your orgasm.

He peppered a few kisses on your cheeks and lips before slowly pulling out of you. A whimper leaving you as you felt your legs slide down his hips, The gentle tap of his tail sliding across your leg and calf as if to comfort you.

"Mein Liebling, you okay?"

His voice was soft, a bit breathy clearly having come back to whatever dimension he got thrown into you. But you managed a soft nod in acknowledgment, as he slid off the he'd leaving you there.

Laying there you felt like your limbs were nothing more then jelly, Not even strong enough to support yourself as you laid on your back, a small shiver leaving you as the cold air in the room seemed to finally settle on you.

Hearing shuffling around for a moment you feel a warm rag touch your skin as you feel the more familiar hands of your husband carefully start to clean you up. Soft mumbles of apologies coming from him as you felt the rag clean up what no doubt will be a sticky mess down the line.

You could only hum at the nice feeling, taking a few moments to even figure out the English language.

"Jealous much?"

Looking down to see Kurt face turn a bright purple as he continued his task. A airy chuckle leaving you at the sight.

"Ein wenig-" (A little)

--

Everyone was shocked to see Kurt walking in by himself the next morning. A cheerful smile on his lips as he whistled and sorted through the papers for his class as if everything was as right as rain-

A silent question going over the friend group as they all tried to gauge why you weren't there- However that seemed to be a mistake as the resident teleporter glanced at the..

"Aw hell-" Rouge mumbled as she shook her head. Seeing Kurt look right at them all and walk over with a almost pep in his step.

"Shit shit shit..." Bobby mumbles as Kurt stood right in front of them all, Ororo glancing away trying not to laugh into her juice as they all felt the stare down from their blue friend.

Kitty coughed a bit as she looked up at Kurt with a clear 'I'm trying not to laugh bit also mildly worried' smile.

"Morning Kurt. How are you this morning?"

"Sehr gut- And I imagine all of you are good after being so funny yesterday?"

He said a bit curly despite the smile on his lips. But a simmer of irritation still in them, especially when looking at each person individually.

"Um where is (Y/N)?" Bobby finally coughed out, Still trying to look everywhere but his friends eye.

"Resting, Wanting the day to relax-"

He said all to cheerfully, however his eyes looked over everyone with a fanged grin and a gleam in his eye. Even of there seemed to be a slight twitch when Logan walked around the corner with a smirk on his lips as he walked through the group.

"No more pranks- (Y/N) can't afford to miss any more day for being sore-"

...

Kitty face blushed red and Morph looked down quick even Bobby jaw dropping in shock, as the whole group in shell shock by their usually innocent friend blunt remark-

"We all agree, Ja?"

Everyone now red faced and couldn't look Kurt in the eyes.

However Kurt's gaze lingered on Logan for a good second, Despite his grin for the older man he could read it very well in Kurt's eyes and body language 'Do that shit again and we will fight-'

Logan nodded his head with a low chuckle and gave a slow clap-

"Got some balls Elf- Well done.."

Kurt huffed a bit through a gritted smile and turned away quick to head to his classroom. Bobby slowly holding up the wad of cash to Logan who took it silently.

[blissfullsvn]

bungee

summary. there are two things to know about han taesan. one, han taesan is hard to understand, and two, han taesan does not like you. it turns out that neither of these are particularly true.

pairing. han taesan x reader genre. fluff, college/university!au word count. 1.3k warning. brief mention of drinks being spiked (not from MCs) a/n. in love with the concept of taesan looking so cool but being the most idiotic specimen on earth but even i think he’s questionable here 🧍‍♀️ nonetheless, i hope you enjoy this as much as i did! reblogs are welcomed with open arms :D masterlist

taesan has always been a bit of an enigma.

he dresses like your typical emo skater boy, but is obsessed with chococat. he hates being called a cat, but has all kinds of cat-related accessories for his outfits. he looks like he would never be seen within a five-meter radius of any dessert, but always has five packs of pudding in his bag. 

but above all, what truly confuses you is how he treats you.

for starters, taesan doesn’t like you.

at the very least, he’s uncomfortable around you.

that’s a well-established fact. has been, ever since you started hanging out with jaehyun and naturally integrated with the rest of his group. taesan has always kept his distance with you, even after you’ve grown close enough with everyone else for them to show up at your door unannounced. whenever it comes to you, he’s always chosen to be at the sidelines, walk a few steps behind, pipe up with minimal responses.

but it’s not like you have anything against him for that. you know it’s impossible for everyone to get along, even if it’s within the same friend group—especially when you joined later than everyone else—and it’s not like taesan has ever said or done anything offensive to you; he just . . . tolerates you. 

as easily as your friends welcomed you with open arms, you simply accepted that that’s just how it’ll be between the two of you; floating in parallel orbits without ever reaching each other. and you’re okay with that.

. . . despite your tiny, little crush on him.

you don’t know when it started, but from some moment onwards, you frequently found your eyes drifting towards taesan. on monday, when the lecture is particularly boring; on wednesday, when the lecturer enters ten minutes late; on thursday, when his smile is especially blinding and there are strands of white fur on his black tee.

so, maybe your crush isn’t actually minuscule, and the chances of it being reciprocated are less than zero, but you can live with it. that’s just how taesan is with you.

but that’s also why it’s confusing when taesan does things that are so . . . uncharacteristic.

like when you’re having lunch at the cafeteria, and he casually picks up the banchan on his own tray to replenish yours. or when you let out a whisper that you’re cold, and he’s the first to remove his jacket to drape it over you. or when you once dug through your bag and pockets to find a hair tie before settling with a pen, and from then on you always see him with a hair tie on his wrist.

it’s even more confusing when you stare at him afterwards, equal parts flustered and fluttery, and all he does is look back at you in question, as if asking you “what's up?”, like what he did was nothing out of the ordinary; like it’s something he has no problem doing for you; like it’s something as normal as breathing.

and then, when you’re left to wonder what exactly it means, losing sleep and sanity, taesan would show up the next day, acting as usual—distant, aloof, withdrawn.

as much of a whiplash it is, you can’t say it’s particularly surprising. taesan, in all his enigmatic glory, has always been difficult to understand, to comprehend, to grasp.

but right now, you might be a step closer to figuring him out.

“don’t.” taesan’s hand is around your wrist, grip firm but gentle. he’s huffing a little, hair disheveled. it’s clear he had been running towards you, but you haven’t a single clue why. 

“what . . . are you doing?” you look at your wrist, the way his hand engulfs it entirely, and then to his eyes. his pupils are so deep and dark that you’re drawn in immediately, and it’s then that you realise: you and taesan have never looked at each other face-to-face, this close before.

instead of looking away, which is what you expected and what he would have done, he does something completely uncharacteristic, once again.

for the first time, taesan takes a step inside your orbit.

your breath hitches at the proximity, and you almost want to ask if jaehyun is around the corner, filming this as a poor idea of a prank. but it’s taesan who’s in front of you, and he would never agree to anything like that. especially not when he’s looking at you like . . . that.

it’s so intense that you have to look away, find a spot on the gravel to ground yourself. but that doesn’t last long, because you’re immediately pulled back to him when he speaks, just like a force to a satellite.

“don’t have dinner with him,” he says—commands.

under normal circumstances, you might have butterflies. be thrilled, even. because this implies that he had been thinking about you; that what you do does affect him.

but right now, what you feel is something closer to indignation. you’re all dolled up, ready to meet someone new and have some fun, and hopefully rid yourself of your chronic illness of pining. but then the reason for all this comes and demands like you owe him?

before you can chew him out, taesan speaks again, and all the words on the tip of your tongue immediately melt away.

“he’s a terrible person.” he clenches his jaw. “has a reputation for . . . tampering with people’s drinks.” his grip on you tightens. “and i overheard him offering to take someone else out tomorrow.

“so . . .” he softens, his fingers slackened against your skin, “don’t go out with him.”

“i. . . .” you open your mouth but shut it immediately. this was the last thing you expected him to say when he came up to you, so you’re not entirely sure how to reply. you decide to say the most appropriate thing first: “thank you for telling me.

“but . . .” you continue before he adds anything, “why?”

“why?” taesan repeats, reeling back in surprise. “what do you mean?”

“why . . . did you come all the way here?” you tilt your head in question. “your class just ended, didn’t it? that means you ran all the way from campus to my dorm to tell me this. which i’m super grateful for, of course!” you add quickly. “but i’m just . . . confused.” internally, you wonder when you’re ever not confused by him. “a phone call would have sufficed.”

taesan blinks, as if he hadn’t thought about that.

“oh.” he lets out. “that . . . wasn’t on my mind.” he scratches his nape. “i just wanted to see you.”

you freeze, your brain short-circuiting. it takes a while to recover, but even then, taesan is still looking at you like he hadn’t just spewed out your new sleep-deprivation material, like it’s truly something as normal as breathing for him.

“taesan.” you call out, and the way his thumb brushes your skin in response sends a jolt down your spine. “do you . . .” you pause, rethinking your wording, before deciding on a far safer option. “are we good?”

“huh?” he tilts his head, wondering if you’re making a joke. when he sees that you’re not, he answers definitively. “of course.”

you let out a shaky breath, unconsciously leaning towards him. so . . . you’re good. taesan doesn’t dislike you. that’s good enough—no, way better news than anything.

“okay.” you nod, and a strike of confidence hits you. emboldened by the newfound knowledge, you inch closer. “i’m all dressed up, but i just found out my date is an asshole. what should i do, taesan?”

“huh?” taesan looks flustered, and you revel in that information now that the smokescreen blocking your vision has disappeared. “you . . . can still go out?” his tone is hesitant and clumsy, but nothing short of endearing.

“right.” you nod. “so go out with me, taesan.”

taesan splutters. “w–what?”

“be my date instead, taesan.”

and for the first time, you know what his answer is going to be.

a/n. don’t you just love it when ppl discover communication

© blissfullsvn 2025. All Rights Reserved.

[sovlstr]

Quote anons experience on twitter: “My closest encounter with the mafia is when I went to a starkly empty pizza place in Rhode Island once, they seemed utterly confused that I wanted a pizza, it took 45 minutes to make, they gave it to me for free, and it was the best pizza l'd ever had.”

Turned it into a small snippet for the lovebirds ! Figured I should post at least one of the heaps of drabbles I have stored away for them🤍✌️(plus an unrendered piece I made of them a time ago. It’s unrelated to the piece below,

—————————

The afternoon was warm with the slow heat of early summer, a kind that made the cobblestones sweat and the glass shopfronts gleam like coins. Maria walked the city streets with her gloved hand tucked politely against her coat, soft curls pinned just so beneath her hat. She’d finished her errands early today- stopped by the grocer, the seamstress, even the little victory garden to simply say hello- and found herself struck by a sudden craving.

Pizza.

Not the doughy, sad kind her aunt would attempt to make on Sundays, but a real, genuine, thick- crusted cheesy, delicately Italian pie, fresh and spiced, like they said you could only get in the Italian Quarter. She thought of Red, likely lazing in his chair by now, cigar half- smoked, the faint stink of his cherry tobacco still clinging to his lapel as he snored with content. He’d eat anything greasy with gusto after a nice nap. And Papyrus… well, he could pretend to like “authentic cuisine” when it pleased him to be gracious, but it might serve him well to try.

A little surprise for the house.

Maria had only paused for a brief moment before she’d glanced up to find it there.

A narrow little storefront, tucked between a cobbler’s shop and an old watch repair, its sign reading “Luccio’s Ristorante” in faded red script across the glass. The window dusty, the corners smudged with time.

Inside, strangely still.

No clatter of dishes. No warm scent of baking bread. No quiet hum of conversation that marked a kitchen at work.

Empty. Odd for midday.

Then again… Tuesdays could be slow. She remembered her own slow Tuesdays, quiet and long, waiting for the evening rush that sometimes never came at the lease of a boring performance.

A faint bell chimed upon the woman’s entrance, the sound thin and small in the vast quiet of the room. Maria noted a quiet bunch of three men huddled in the far corner, casual simple suits and dark ties with their gazes set over cards. They didn’t look up. She was greeted by a large man in a crisp white apron, peering at her from behind the counter like she was a ghost.

“…Buongiorno?” she tried, giving a quiet smile. “Do you serve pizza here?”

A long silence. The man blinked at her blankly, wiping his hands on the apron as if waking from sleep. “Uh… pizza? You want pizza?”

The chalkboard above his head was blank. Not even a scribbled special. No prices. No menu. Not even a faint whiff of sauce in the air. She’d hesitated with a quiet stutter, before answering her reply at the waiting man stood in front of her.

“Yes. Ahm- a plain pie. For takeout.”

Another pause of silence. From deeper in the restaurant- where the few men sat hunched over a card table- a chair creaked. One of them letting out a low grunt, barely audible over the hum of the old ceiling fan.

The man at the counter didn’t move.

“Uh… si. Pizza. One moment.”

Maria awkwardly took her quiet position sat at the lone stool by the window, folding her gloved hands and pretending not to notice the way the cook muttered behind the counter in hurried but barely audible Italian. She could hardly make out what he spoke, even with knowing the language herself.

It took forty-five minutes.

When the box finally appeared, the man slid it across to her like handing off contraband, the woman just barely noticing the recognizable unease in his eyes. That notion had been making itself more and more apparent as of recent days.

“No charge,” He’d mutter simply.

“What? Oh, but I- “

“No charge.”

His eyes flicked nervously to the men at the table. “For you. Take.”

Maria blinked. Thanked him politely. Walked out into the warm street, slightly bewildered but still cradling the bulky brown box like a newfound treasure.

Maybe flattery was the only reason. Or maybe she’d just be naive enough to believe that odd excuse for the man’s gesture. Suppose it was an apology for taking so long. Giving them the benefit of the doubt, perhaps the suppliers were running late that week.

—————————

The scent reached him first.

Warm, rich dough curling in the air like the ghost of perfume- a hint of roasted garlic, sharp smoked cheese, and the softest whisper of basil lingering like a secret. It slid under the door, crept along the apartment’s wood floor, and all but wrapped itself around his senses as his skull tipped up, slow and curious, sniffing the air like some great hound.

That wasn’t the usual sauce.

It was… unfamiliar. Something made fresh. Pleasantly different from all Papyrus’s attempts. Though certainly not Maria’s.

Red glanced down at the cloth still in his hand, half- polished revolver gleaming under the low kitchen lamp. He’d been oiling the Colt out of habit- half- bored, half- attentive, the quiet of the apartment bringing a rare peace. Now the room smelled like little Italy’s best daydream. His lazy sprawl straightened by degrees. Nasal ridge twitching, brow lowering.

“…Sweetheart?” His voice rumbled low across the room as he folded a towel over the scattered pieces. “Whatcha got, doll?”

A rustle from the kitchen nook.

Red watched as a head of curls and chubby cheeks peeked out from the doorway as he entered, his little lady's sleeves rolled up to her elbow, cheek smudged faintly with something red.

Green eyes bright, warm but with tired delight. Behind her, laid like treasure on the counter, sat an enormous, blistering, golden- edged pizza in an ugly brown box- the kind without labels, speckled with dark grease stains blooming like ink.

“I went to that place down on 14th. The one by the old pier with the green awning? It was odd. Empty. Only some quiet men in suits waiting silently… they let me order anyway. Took forever, though they gave it to me for free after.”

Maria hummed quizzically, inspecting the pizza before slicing off another piece with a butter knife.

“Oh Red- it’s the best damn pizza I’ve ever had.”

The man watched Maria take a quick bite of the meal, cheese stretching like golden ribbon, and her sigh- a long, blissful breath of honest joy. His hand frozen over the counter. Blank socket staring. Blinked. Studied in silence. Then blinking again, slowly.

“The place by the pier?”

“Mmhmm.” She finished chewing happily. “No sign but the faded one in the window. Next to a watchmaker, I believe. Empty like a ghost town, but absolutely amazing.”

Red stilled his hand on the counter. Leaned forward, spine stiff as he spoke. His tone was soft, even lilted with a subtle amusement.

“…Sweetheart. That place ain’t a restaurant.”

A moment of silence passed before Maria turned to the larger skeleton, looking at him with now confused green eyes.

“What?”

She watched him drag his large hand down his face, half wheezing, half laughing under his breath.

“Oh, babe… babe. That ain’t been a restaurant since damn prohibition.”

He tipped his head toward the window like speaking of some distant ruin. “That’s Langstrom’s old washhouse. Money laundering. Ain’t no menu ‘cause there isn’t a menu. They don’t serve nobody. Place is just a front for cleaning cash and meeting outta sight. Nobody orders food ‘cause there ain’t any food.”

Maria seemed to freeze mid- bite. Slowly lowering the slice, black lashed eyes rounding like moons before she looked back at Red.

“…But they made me a pizza.”

Another rough laugh broke from him- throaty and benign. Red standing up straight, running a hand over his bare skull like this was the best thing he’d heard in years.

“Course they did. You walked in askin’ for the one thing they ain’t served in twenty fuckin’ years! Bet those boys in suits about shit themselves.”

Her hand shifted over her mouth after a thick swallow and following silence.

“…they gave it to me for free.”

She heard Red crack- his shoulders shaking, mouth wide with a fierce, helpless laugh tearing loose as he crossed the room and thunked the box with a bony finger like priceless treasure.

“Oh, babe…. What’re they gonna do, say no? They know who you are. Everyone in this work does, ‘nd Dons boys ain’t stupid. You walk in there alone, askin’ for somethin’ off the non- existent menu- hell, they probably thought you were sent.”

The words sank in after a moment's silence. Maria sat back slowly, stunned, the sad weight of the greasy slice drooping in her hand.

“Oh… I just wanted to surprise you.…”

Red leaned down behind her, arms curling slow and sure around her waist, pulling her back to his chest, that deep smoky purr warming her ear and curls.

“Sweetheart….” His voice drawled with a satisfied little hum. “You got no idea what kinda fear you just struck into them boys today.”

Maria felt her face warm with a huff, a smile creeping on her burning cheeks.

“…I thought they looked nervous when I asked for pepperoni.”

He laughed again, soft now, wickedly amused by her hesitance as his large chin rested against her shoulder.

“Next time you wanna play Russian roulette with dinner… gimme a heads up. Coulda got you a free steak outta Langstrom’s safehouse.”

Her eyes only stared at the pizza box, dazed into a steady silence. She whispered her reply.

“…Should I not eat it?”

Another chuckle leaving him. She’d felt his shadow crossing her as he reached to grab a fat, heavy slice for himself. The cheese snapping with a string as he pulled it free.

“Babe, if the mob makes you a pizza… You eat the fuckin’ pizza.”

She watched her man take a massive bite of the food, sighing as she leaned against him. Grease dripping warm onto the cardboard with satisfaction written in every line of his smug, bone grin.

“…Still the best pizza I ever had.”

Red chewed. Swallowed. Stayed grinning.

“Nothin’ makes a man cook better than fear of death.”

And it really was the best damn pizza in Blackridge.

—————————

The call came in the quiet hour.

Red seated comfortably in the bedroom, waxing the leather of a pair of his older shoes, faint smell of oil and grease sitting softly in the apartment. The radio crackling faintly in the kitchen. Maria humming in the other room, folding laundry.

Then the phone rang. It wasn’t the house line- this call coming from the other one. The thin, black rotary Red kept solely for business.

Cheshire grin fading with the exhaustion of a man answering to his boss, Sans answered the receiver slow and careful, and his voice gruff with the evening.

“…Red here.”

A pause. Soft breath, the faint echo of city wind through high glass. Then-

“Evening, Red.”

Don Langstrom’s voice had always held a particular curl to it. Smooth as dark wine, velvet laid over quiet steel tempered by a graceful of aging. His timing only nearly as uncanny as Wings' own, Red would notice at times.

“Hope I’m not disturbing supper, friend.”

The monster's eyes flared faintly. Free hand curling loose around the newly cleaned gun kept on the table nearby.

“Not a problem, Don.” He kept his voice level, even if carefully tempered with a grinding annoyance. “What can I do for ya?”

A soft chuckle hummed down the line.

“Oh, nothing serious. No trouble. Just thought I’d call about your woman.”

The silence stretched on now. Red’s grip tensing on the flimsy small phone, between his shoulders stiffening and a raging dark thought crossing the monster's mind. A sweet little daydream, of just how painful Red could make this man’s death, if he didn’t choose the right words.

“…My woman?”

“Yes.” Langstrom sighed amusedly, like a father catching a bright child stealing chocolate.

“Little Miss Maria. Lovely voice. Very sweet. She sang for my birthday, did she not? I remember.”

Don spoke of the day as if Red didn’t so vividly recall its every moment. The way the old man’s beady eyes had ran across his dolls, the way Red’s fists had clenched across his body, stiff and silent to conceal his rage at the time. Even Papyrus had felt it, bless his help.

“Green eyes. Dark hair. Gentle. You’ve got good taste, Red. I quite enjoyed her last performance.”

I like your girl. Maria Giovanni. Red’s teeth set in. Awaiting the man’s verdict.

“She’s sweet, that one.” Langstrom’s smile was almost audible in the way he spoke. “Innocent. Walked right into my old washhouse this afternoon. You know… the old one.”

Red shut his eyes, grimace slow.

“Yeah. Heard about that.”

“She ordered off the menu that didn’t exist.” The Don’s chuckle darkened, trepidation marking his words. “Walked in soft as a lamb, asking my boys for pizza like she was at Tony’s on Ninth. Thought you should know.”

“I know.” Red’s words came out faster than he’d have liked. Edged and strung like a thin- wire blade.

“She ain’t mean nothin’ by it. Girl was hungry. Thought it was still open.”

“Oh, I know she didn’t mean anything by it. But you understand, don’t you, my friend… that I cannot have my private works mistaken for real restaurants.”

The unspoken threat glimmered like fine china in the dark.

“She didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” He would atone. “Didn’t even know what the place was.”

Lee replied without missing a beat. Ease laced in his singsong voice despite his apparent stoic demeanor across the line.

“But Red… you do. And you let her walk the streets alone. Into my house.”

Red felt his eyes flare before fading back to his hollow glow. Spare hand tapping the table with a hand to keep from digging it anywhere else that he could pretend was Don Leonardo’s wrinkly throat.

“She ain’t your concern.”

“Everything that happens in Blackridge is my concern.”

Langstrom’s voice quieted to a low and cold baritone.

“Especially when it involves my best monster enforcer… and his human pet.”

A pause.

I’ll fucking kill you so damn bad… The pretty threat only lingered in his head as Sans' teeth set into a grinding scowl. But he remained silent for the Don.

“I like you, Red. You keep your leash short. Do your job. But you and I both know what happens when civilians stick their noses too close to family business. Accidents happen. Misunderstandings. Regret.”

“Ain’t gonna happen. I take care of mine.”

“I’m sure you do.” Another soft laugh from the phone's end. “But see that you keep her, monster. We wouldn’t want another mishap. Aheh, not after she charmed my kitchen boys into giving her one of the few goddamn pies they’ve made in years.”

Red said nothing. He only felt his grip whiten, twitching the black little handle. Langstrom’s voice softened once more.

“No harm done. But you might tell her… next time she wants pizza, stick to Luigi’s, hm?”

A low, dangerous grin tugged at Red’s mouth.

“Next time… I’ll have her ask you for steak instead.”

Langstrom’s laughter echoed as smooth and rich down the line as humanly possible.

“Oh, you monster. Maybe I’ll even cook it myself.”

Sure pal. Only after I choke ya out the next chance I get.

A pause. Then lowering silence.

“Watch yourself, Red. My men watch too.”

Click.

The line went dead.

Red sat in silence for a moment longer, the warm pulsing hum of the room a growing contrast to the twitch and fray of his bones. Maria’s gentle voice drifting from the bedroom as she hummed some old tune from her parents' day. He gave a sigh, rolling his skull back, grinning sharp and tired.

“Doll… Ya got the whole city’s men sweatin’… and you just wanted a goddamn pizza.”

—————————

It would be a moments while before Sans felt the desire to address it to his lady. The city outside their window sighing with distant tires, quiet horns, the occasional far- off laughter of some soul drunk on summer wine. The hour late already, with the evening lamps dimmed and the air warm with a fading heat.

Maria stood in the little bathroom doorway, oiling her dark curls loose, green eyes lidded soft with sleep and her house robe trailing open at the collar. She’d find her Red sitting silent on the bed’s edge, rolling a new toothpick slow between his bared teeth, sockets shadowed in a steady silence.

Too silent.

“Dear? You alright?”

She earned a grunt in reply. Maria could sense the lack of a casual verdict this time. No following smirk, no quiet tease.

“Come ‘ere, doll.”

His voice was careful now. That rare tone- the real one he used, when it was a serious matter. One could make the air in the room shift its weight in silence.

It’s why Maria felt herself first hesitant.

So only in barren worry did she quietly pace across the bedroom to him, bare feet soft on the floor. Reds eyes met hers. Crimson lights glowing faintly in the dim room, wavering red like the flicker of a match. She felt his bony hand curling warm around her wrist as he drew her down closer, quiet and gentle until she stood just between his knees with his grip finding itself on her hip.

“We gotta talk, sweetheart.”

Maria looked down in silence.

“I figured as much. But about what, Red?”

Sans gave a grumbling sigh, an ever present smell of cherry tobacco and something dark, heavy as the city itself.

“The Don called me tonight.”

The words ran in her mind despite the stillness of her body. The Don. Not ‘a Don’. They knew no other Don to speak of. No other than the very explicit man Red worked for. A large hand giving her hip the faintest of a squeeze served to ground her mind back to the present.

“About you.”

Sans noted the particular twitch of her circular eyebrow. Lips frowning softly against her face. The way her heart began once more, following the pause of her breath as it hitched in her throat and she forgot it was still safe to breathe.

“About me.”

“Yeah. ‘Bout the little pizza stunt.”

Whether his words made her any more relieved or any more worried, Maria didn’t quite understand herself. Because he would’ve noticed. It hadn’t even crossed her mind any sooner that it may have been a genuine problem- one enough to notify the owner of its establishment. If he had civilians unknowingly entering his dealing zones.

“… I didn’t..”

“I know. He knows.” Red reached to pull her hand into his, squeezing slowly. His other hand brushing her waist, quietly sure with his lifted gaze.

“You’re clean. You didn’t do wrong. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you’re safe. But, sweetheart… You can’t do that again.”

Maria let him gently tug her onto his lap, cradling her against him with his skull pressed to her temple, his breath warm in her hair. Green eyes wide with worry and a burningly still stare into his own.

“Not alone. Not down there. Not near any of those places. The Don’s smilin’ now but that smile’s got teeth. You don’t poke the bear’s den twice. Not even on accident.”

Maria curled into him faint. A hand drifting to his chest, feeling the low hum of his magic under his ribs. Red’s tone flattened.

“He laughed about it. This time. Said you gave his boys the best scare they’ve had in years… But that’s ‘cause I’m his monster. And ‘cause he likes your singin’ voice. Next time, they ain’t gonna be so amused.”

“….They ain’t gentle men.“

The tension followed his words like a warning, one where she could feel the silence leer upon her shoulders. Eyes flicking down as if the feeling of being lectured had been almost forgotten in her mind. And perhaps it had. The woman being so accustomed to keeping careful and mature with how she handled herself, in a world where a single sliver of dependence could mean injury… even worse then. It almost felt impossible that she had even let this slip- up happen. A heavy sigh escaped her languid frame.

“I’ll be more careful, Red.”

“…That’s why you won’t go alone anymore. No more walks alone near the piers. No more empty joints. You want somethin’? You tell me. I keep you safe. I keep ya mine. You hear me, doll?”

Red leaned back to gaze at her slowly, his empty black socket reflecting the light brown of the room around the pair. His free hand traveled to the back of her neck, thumb brushing the stray baby hairs that marked where her hair began. Caressing the under of her ears as she sat in a contemplative silence.

“Langstrom made sure I heard it clear, sweetheart. He’ll have the city watchin’ now. Other families… listenin.”

A tired smile tugged at his jaws.

“Only you could do that.”

Silence passed before Maria gave a quiet breath. Resting her head against his chest, as if to think anymore were to wear the woman out.

“I won’t go alone again,” she’d promise solemnly. “Not without you. Or someone you trust to watch.”

Because Maria was well aware that Red paid a quiet handful of nameless men to keep watch over her- shadowing her steps any time she left the apartment, unseen but always there. A quiet insurance. A silent net. She pretended not to notice. And he pretended she didn’t know. But they both understood. She felt his jaw ease just faintly enough for his teeth to click.

“Good girl.” His voice dipped lower a with rare, honest care. “Don’t want nothin’ happenin’ to you. Not ‘cause I wasn’t watchin’.“

His hand slid to her cheek, gentle. A grin tugging at his Cheshire- toothed smile.

“And besides…” His thumb brushing the curve of her jaw. “Next time you want pizza… You come to me. I’ll steal you somethin’ better than mob pie.”

Her smile was small, faint enough as she brushed her nose against his own to sigh quietly.

“….Still the best damn pizza I ever had.”

His chuckle rumbled against her hair. A rare, light thing. She felt her own hum of a laugh slip free- soft, barely hidden in the new hush between them.

“….Fear makes good cooks.”

And as soon as it came had the warmth cooled, fading fast behind his sockets. His phalanges splaying firm across her clothed waist.

“Just stay close, doll. From now on.”

And Maria only nodded- silent, knowing- because she felt it now. The shift. from the city’s gaze creeping close at the windows and Red’s quiet heart burning beneath her palm in sync with her own. The weight of eyes watching.

A new crowd. New dealers. New brutes slipping into the lounge’s smoke and velvet.

A larger audience.

And they were watching her, too.

—————————

[hellsitegenetics]

Nothing built can last forever. And every legend no matter how great, fades with time. With each passing year, more and more details are lost until all that remains are myths...half truths. To put it simply, lies. And yet, in all the known Universe, between here and the Far Lands, the legend of the Order of the Stone endures, unabridged, as self-evident fact.

Indeed, it is only a troubled land that has need for heroes- and ours was so fortunate to have, so long ago, four heroes such as these: Gabriel the Warrior- before whose sword all combatants would tremble. Ellegaard the Redstone Engineer- whose machines would spark an era of invention. Magnus the Rogue- who would channel his destructive creativity for the benefit of all. Soren the Architect- builder of Worlds, and the leader of the Order of the Stone. These four friends together, would give so much to gain their rightful place as four heroes.

Their greatest quest would take them on a dangerous journey to fight a mysterious creature known as the Ender Dragon. In the end, the Order of the Stone emerged victorious and the dragon was defeated. The story complete, they slipped away into pages of legend.

String identified:

tg t ca at . A g att gat, a t t. t ac ag a, a ta a t t a tat a a t…a tt. T t t , . A t, a t , t a t a a, t g t t t , ag, a -t act.

, t a t a tat a - a a tat t a, g ag, c a t: Ga t a- a catat t. gaa t t g- ac a a a t. ag t g- ca tct catt t t a. t Actct- , a t a t t t. T tgt, g c t ga t gt ac a .

T gatt t ta t a ag t gt a t cat a t ag. t , t t t g ct a t ag a at. T t ct, t aa t ag g.

Closest match: Inachis io genome assembly, chromosome: 4 Common name: Peacock butterfly

[readwritealldayallnight]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who from the moment he laid eyes on you, has only ever referred to you as his wife

You, this sweet little thing, running through the halls on base one day when you turn a corner and nearly run headfirst into the Lieutenant, who’s walking alongside Soap

“Oh! Sorry about that, sir.” You told him, never slowing down in your hurried pace as you snuck around his large frame and continued down towards whatever you were evidently late for

The only reason his gaze had followed your retreating form, was that unlike everyone else, you had met his eyes when you spoke, even smiled warmly up at him

That one smile and he was done for

“Who was tha’?” The sergeant had questioned, seeing Ghost’s attention still fixated on you.

“Think that was my wife.”

“Yer what?!”

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who makes it a point to let everyone know that you are in fact his wife

Well, everyone apart from you apparently

He would certainly never abuse his position as a Lieutenant, but some new recruit had the audacity to whistle at you as you walked by? Well 100 laps around the base don’t exactly run themselves

Another soldier saved you a seat next to him in a briefing? He can enjoy scrubbing toilet seats for the next week in that case

Someone actually had the bollocks to ask you for your phone number? Perfect, he needed a volunteer for demonstrating hand to hand combat to the recruits, medics on standby of course

By the time he properly introduces himself to you for the first time, it’s understood by everyone else around that you are, for all intents and purposes, Mrs Riley

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who listens to you tell him your name in a voice that resembles music to his ears, hardly bothering to remember your last name, seeing as it’ll be changing soon enough anyway

“You can call me anythin’ you want, love.” His deep, gravelly voice had sent shivers down your spine, cheeky smirk widening beneath his mask. “So long as you call me, that is.”

By the end of your first date, (you were sitting alone in the dining hall and he wordlessly joined you what do you mean this isn’t a date) he’s wondering if you’ll insist on a ceremony or if he can sweep you away to the nearest courthouse and make this official, slipping a ring onto you finger and himself into you

You had laughed when he put his number into your phone and named himself ‘Husband’, certain that the man was only messing with you, some kind of hazing that you apparently weren’t aware Lieutenants played on the new communications hire, but it was only fair seeing as he’d saved your contact under ‘Wife’

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who is over the moon every time you play along, even if he knows you believe you’re only playing

“Ach, thanks Lt. Just what I needed.” Soap said, seeing Ghost’s approaching form enter the common room, holding a steaming cup of tea in each hand

“S’for my wife. Get your own.” The older man gruffly replied, sliding the mug onto the side table next to where you’re curled up on the couch, reading a book

“Aw, thank you honey.” You giggled, smiling up as him with an expression he thinks would taste even sweeter than honey if he were to run his tongue across your upturned lips

“Happy wife, happy life, sergeant.” Ghost shrugged, ignoring the other man’s pout, landing next to you and reaching an arm behind you across the back of the couch

“God, maybe I really should keep you.” You’d laughed, reaching a leg out to dig your socked toes into his muscled thigh, teasing him

Grasping your foot into his large, strong hands, he began massaging it, uncaring that you were only two of the many people in the common room, not when you looked at him like that, smiling together as though you truly were nothing more than a married couple

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who surprised you one day, insisting he needed your help with something crucial off base, and drove you to a local shopping outlet to look at none other than dresses

“Is there some sort of party happening?” You’d questioned, confused out of your mind

“Suppose you could consider it a party.” He’d answered, leading you through the many racks of dresses, you noticed were all, very conveniently, white

“Now while you’re lookin’ through dress sizes,” he’d added, taking your left hand in both of his. “You know your ring size? Got my own shoppin’ to do ‘round here.”

Series masterlist

[monstersholygrail]

A Second Wave

Shark Hybrid bf x fem!reader—soft sex, multiple orgasms, marking, two cocks, fingering, double penetration, praise, creampie, aftercare, and cum play

Imagine a Shark Hybrid bf having decided to take you as his mate. You're his first ever human mate. Sure, he's been with other merpeople in the past, just passing flings he couldn't really care about. It was you who caught his attention from the very first moment you two locked eyes. And it was you who drew him in with your sweet laughs and your sweeter smell.

But he had no idea what it was like to have a human mate. He didn't know what you were used to or what you'd think about the very clear differences between him and human men. So as not to overwhelm you, when the time came for you to finally lay with him and bare your beautiful plump frame to his grateful eyes, he only revealed one of his dicks.

He watches you carefully, looking over your reaction closely. If you seemed confused then perhaps human men had two cocks as well and he'd release his second one. But no, you didn't look confused, only wildly excited with a faint glimmer of concern for if his hefty size would fit into your tight cunt.

A part of him is of course thrilled that you're laying beneath him practically drooling over his massive length, but another part of him is scared about how you'll react when he reveals his second cock to you that he's been told is even thicker than the first. Especially as it seems only one dick is normal for human males.

When he finally sinks into your warmth it's everything he's been imagining. Even with only one of his cocks inside of you it's the best sex he's ever had. The intimacy of the moment unmatched as his clawed hands trace over your curves.

You just feel so good and warm, he wants to give you all of him. He grabs handfuls of you, his hands sinking into your softness as he helps slam you down harder on his cock.

While he continues to lose himself your sweet cunt, he can't completely ignore that small nagging voice in the back of his head. A whispering voice telling him that he could give you even more, make your pleasure greater. All he had to do was let out his other cock. But his fear quickly silenced it and he just starts pounding into even harder, eager to make you feel good.

He knows he can't keep it a secret though. It wouldn't be fair to you or him. So a few days after that special night you two spent together, he sits you down, telling you he has something important to talk about. Not realizing that for humans that sentence can create a lot of anxiety.

You being the wonderful mate that you are asks him what's wrong. Being as before you he's never had a human mate, he has no idea how to put this. So he figures the best way is to just get it over with and blurt it out.

The silence stretches awkwardly after he does, neither of you knowing what to say.

"What?" You ask in your shock. He swallows down his nerves.

"I have another cock. One l've been hiding encase it was too much for you."

Again, the silence stretches. Shark Hybrid bf fears the worst, internally terrified that he's about to lose you. That you'll be scared or upset. That now that you know you may not want him.

"Can I see it?" Is what you finally say, shocking him. He whips his head around to look at you, jaw dropped.

His cocks twitch in his tail at your words and his Addams apple bobs but he nods in agreement, a spark of hopeful arousal shooting through him. It enough to have one of his cocks pop through the slit of his tail. A brief hesitation has him holding back for only a second before he looks into your eyes and sees only acceptance.

A long sigh of pleasure leaves him as he finally releases his second cock from his slit. His eyes never leave you as your own trail down his body and they widen once they reach his lengths. The second one indeed being thicker than the first. Both equally impressive in their length. Your bf waits with bated breath for you to say something- anything.

"H-how would they fit?" You whisper in awe, your hand tentatively reaching out to touch one.

Shark Hybrid bf groans, his head falling back as his cocks twitch at your slight touch. The second one was always more sensitive than the first. He takes a moment to catch his breath.

"There's many ways we could mate. But I could, uh, mmph, stretch you. Fit them both inside your pretty little hole. F-feel how wide you can stretch f'me."

You both moan at the image his words paint in your heads and before you know it you're slowing riding his first cock, his hips swiveling and mixing up your insides as he stretches you on his girth. You're a dripping mess, your arousal dribbling down his dick and making a mess of your joined hips. The anticipation fueling you just as much as his hard cock inside you is.

Shark Hybrid bf can feel how perfectly you're wrapped around him and he has to gather his strength to hold back his release. When your cunt flutters around him, clearly begging for more, his hand slips between your bodies, and his fingers gently push in, brushing against your walls and his cock at the same time causing you both to gasp.

He works on stretching you even wider, not willing to risk you getting hurt over this. Making sure everything is properly lubricated, leaving the two of you absolutely soaked. It was wet and filthy but so fucking hot. Each finger he adds in, pumping them in tandem with his length as your body relaxing further and further.

By the time you're finally ready for his second cock you're a fucked out mess, your head all spacey as you sag against your bfs chest. But the second you feel his second tip press against your entrance it's like you get a second wind, your mind and body coming to life.

Long pleasurable mewls echo off the walls as your bf slides his second cock deep inside you with the first. Your pussy almost unbearably full of him. For a moment you fear you'll burst in half, his sizes threatening to break you into two.

Almost as if sensing your worries your bf settles down inside of you, letting you adjust and calm down to. His hands caress your sides, massaging your fat with an unparalleled reverence.

He whispers soft words of praise in your hear, telling you how good you feel, how well you're taking him, and how you're the best mate he could've ever hoped for. And with his hands now free he doesn't hesitate to bring a couple of fingers up to rub soft circles into your clit, causing you to more easily relax against the intrusion.

You make the first move when you're ready, surprising your bf yet again as you start to ride his dicks. A low growl you've never heard from him before tears through his throat and his claws tighten on your waist. And before you know it you're bouncing on cocks at a frenzied pace, each glide pushes along your throbbing walls, making you crazy for him.

As much as he tries Shark Hybrid bf can't find it in himself to slow down. The stimulation of your perfect sopping pussy and the way his dicks rub together inside you send him spiraling, a feral need taking over him. He fucks into you with abandon, barreling you both into an unimaginable release.

And when you finally cum you swear for a moment you black out, the pleasure far too intense for your poor human body to handle. But your bf keeps fucking you through it, making you cum even harder till it's gushing out of you in a steady stream. The intensity of it all sends you clamping down on both his cocks and with a few more thrusts your bf cums right along with you.

You don't know what to expect when he finally does cum inside you but you didn't realize that double the cocks meant double the cum. His release doesn't seem to end as he shoots endless streams of cum deep inside you, stuffing you till you're overflowing with his release and your belly distends more and more.

When he carefully slips his lengths out of you, his cum spills out of you like a current. A satisfied grin rests on your bf's lips as he watches and his hand leaves your swollen sensitive clit to caress your stomach. After a moment he pushes on it gently and his grin grows wider as more and more spills out onto the ground beneath you, making an even bigger mess.

He swears to himself then and there that there is nothing better than having a pretty human mate like you.

[mahowaga]

it started innocently—really, it did.

you had no idea the chaos you were about to unleash when, that first time, you pulled your phone out at dinner to capture the gorgeous table spread.

you aren't some influencer, you don't have an aesthetic food page or anything. you just like saving the memories. you like looking back at the colors of the dishes, the way the warm lights catch the steam rising from a bowl of ramen, or the glistening sheen of freshly grilled corn. it makes you happy.

but nanami kento—who sits across from you at that table, handsome in his pressed white button-up and tie still a little too tight against his throat even though the workday has ended—mistakes your angle.

his gaze flicks up from his plate, catching you just as you are angling your phone. and for a brief moment, his face freezes.

then—composed, but stiff—he straightens his spine and fixes his tie.

you blink. "what... what are you doing?"

"you could've warned me if you were going to take a photo of me," he murmurs, eyes dropping to his food. "i must look ridiculous while eating."

the words catch you so off guard that you barely manage a confused laugh, and the words i wasn't taking a photo of you! i was taking a photo of the table, of the food don't come. instead, you stutter, "oh, well, i—"

kento nods, but his eyes don't meet yours. he simply spears a piece of potato and says, "of course."

you meant to correct him properly. you meant to explain. but watching the slight pink creep up the tips of his ears—the usually unflappable nanami kento, embarrassed at the thought of you taking his picture—you hesitate.

and then you just never said anything.

the next time it happens, it's sushi.

a fancy little place you pick because you know kento likes it—quiet, clean, no frills but top-tier quality. you're practically bouncing in your seat by the time the chef slides the first omakase platter in front of you, every piece glistening, delicate, artful.

you pull out your phone.

kento, mid-reach for his cup of tea, freezes again. just like last time.

then slowly—almost robotically—he sets the cup down, places his hands neatly on his lap, and gives you the most stilted half-smile you've ever seen.

you pause, staring at him. "kento—"

"it's alright," he says quickly. "i understand. people like documenting memories. i just. i just wasn't prepared. that's all."

you really should clear the misunderstanding right now.

but instead, a laugh bubbles out of you. "alright. then—hold still."

and you snap a photo. of him. not the food. him.

the photo is terrible—he's as stiff as a board, his jaw locked, and he looks like he's posing for a passport photo at gunpoint.

but it's cute. in the way kento always is, without ever meaning to be.

it becomes a thing after that. you don't even know how.

every time you take your phone out, kento will assume the position. stiff shoulders, straight spine, polite smile.

and every time, you can't bring yourself to tell him that no—really—you're just trying to take a photo of the food.

but by the fourth or fifth outing, something shifts.

kento starts asking, carefully neutral, "do you want me to sit differently? or is this alright?"

and that? that cracks something in you.

"no," you laugh, breathless. "you're perfect."

the words slip out before you can stop them.

kento blinks once, then twice. then he looks down quickly, ears flushing crimson. "i see."

after that, it's like he's resigned himself. if you pull your phone out, he waits. patient, polite, quietly ready.

so you start taking photos. of him. on purpose.

at the cafe, with the tiny cappuccino cup too delicate in his large hands—snap.

at the bakery, applying jam to the slice of freshly baked bread—snap.

at the park, sitting stiffly on the bench while you both have ice cream—snap.

"you're building a collection, aren't you?" kento asks one evening, watching you put your phone down with a barely-contained smile.

you start. "what?"

"photos. of me." his voice is flat, but his eyes—his eyes are soft, just the slightest glint of amusement there. "i'm assuming you have a folder by now."

you flush. "i—no—maybe."

kento lets out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair. "you could just ask, you know."

you blink. "ask?"

"if you want a picture," he says, clearing his throat. "i don't mind. but maybe then—maybe i could try not to look like a stiff idiot."

you laugh, loud and bright, and kento flinches like he's just startled a bird.

"you don't look like an idiot," you say, wiping your eyes. "you look like you. that's perfect to me."

kento stares at you for a long, quiet moment. and then—unexpected, a tiny miracle—he smiles. a real one. the kind that softens all the lines of his face, that crinkles his eyes just enough.

"that might be the nicest thing anyone's said to me," he murmurs.

you open your mouth, close it, then grin. "well, get used to it. you're stuck with me, nanami kento. my photo album's already proof."

kento gives a long-suffering sigh, but his hand—warm, steady—reaches out across the table, brushing yours.

"i suppose," he says, almost fond, "i can live with that."

seven months later, you've built a whole gallery. and when kento catches you looking through it one night—tired from work, tie loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up—he doesn't say a word.

he just kisses the top of your head, quietly, and murmurs, "just let me know next time, hm? i want to look good for you."

and that is how your silly little secret turns into the softest thing you've ever shared with him.

[suguful]

ᥫ᭡ — you have the suspicion that bakugo is on social media more than he lets on

╰➤ gender neutral , pre-relationship

you were surprised when bakugo first followed your instagram. the notification lit up your phone late one night, and the sight made your breath hitch. you tapped the banner on your homescreen, suspicion clouding your mind: did he really mean to follow you?

the screen opens up to his instagram, and you’re greeted by a barren wasteland of a feed. the profile picture remains unset, the bio is empty, and the account follows only a handful of people — the only real semblance of it being bakugo’s account is the few photos he’d been tagged in.

disappointed, you quickly realize there isn’t much to stalk on his profile. you scroll through the hundreds of followers he, for some reason, has, and wonder why he decided to follow you out of nowhere.

you wonder if the follow was a misclick.

locking your phone and placing it down on your bed, you briefly consider the katsuki bakugo in your life. your encounters through mutual friends are always rather brief, you think, and probably don’t leave much of an impression on someone like him. calling yourself his friend might be pushing it.

you pick up your phone once more, and stare at the follow back button. it’d been a solid few minutes, and he still hadn’t taken it back.

you tap the follow back button.

bakugo never ends up unfollowing you.

his posting habits undoubtedly remain nonexistent, and the odd interaction quickly falls to the back of your mind. it stays at the back of your mind, until you receive an unexpected notification much like you had a few weeks prior:

Katsuki Bakugo liked your post.

…huh?

you question out loud, confusion rooting itself into your expression almost identically to the way it had when he first followed you. your brows remain stubbornly furrowed, and you slide open your phone with a stutter in your chest — you hadn’t posted in a good few months.

the stray notification stares right back at you. it was practically glowing on your screen, demanding your attention and selfishly taking it all in. the post he liked is from last year, and you screenshot the picture with his like on it in disbelief.

was he scrolling through your posts? the thought makes your heart tug in your chest once more, and you feel a sear of warmth touch your face. the post is cute, you think, and you take a moment to analyze it. could he have been looking at it as hard as you are?

you ruminate the small details of the post. the coordinated outfit you’d chosen that day, the background complimenting your figure poised in the middle, the easy smile adorning your face. your heart continues to pound in your chest, and you glance down at the recent likes to make sure your eyes hadn’t deceived you.

bakugo’s like was gone.

your heart drops. for a second, you wonder if you’d imagined the like being there at all. you refresh the post, and briefly scroll through the likes once more — it really was gone.

the gears begin to turn in your brain. fingers move before thoughts could properly manifest, and the screenshot you’d taken in your stupor innocently presents the truth of the matter to you.

he must’ve unliked the post.

the image of bakugo realizing his mistake comes to mind. maybe he’d felt embarrassed. maybe he felt the same stutter in his chest, the same heat to his cheeks, and the same drop of his heart at his slip up. maybe he didn’t even care at all. despite the hazy context, you laugh at the unexpected silliness.

you go to bed pondering the question his weird actions leave unanswered — why exactly was this man, seemingly akin to a ghost on social media, on your profile to begin with?

the compliments you flood ashido’s comment section with are endless. her posts are always quick to garner mass attention, but your steadfast support remains unfaltering despite the plethora of comments she receives from others. her grin is infectious, unabashed and radiating energy comparable to the sun itself. you’d been sure to leave your own comments tinged with playfulness among the masses of others.

upon returning to your main homepage, the red dot indicating a new notification catches your eye. your thumb impulsively taps on it, revealing yet another anomaly adding on to the ever growing list you’ve been mentally taken note of for the past couple of weeks.

Katsuki Bakugo liked your comment

you shake your head in bewilderment, smiling down at the simple words. for someone with close to zero social media presence, bakugo sure is on instagram way more than you first assumed. coincidentally, he’d made a name for himself on your phone as well, forging a tentative place belonging to him both digitally and mentally in your space.

it was probably another mindless accident, you laugh to yourself. who would’ve pinned bakugo as the clumsy type when using his phone?

upon closer inspection, you realized that bakugo never liked ashido’s post itself. the single like remains on your comment, and your comment alone.

that’s weird. you shrug and wonder if he has these types of blunders with anyone else.

the update to your story is strategic. a candid photo angled just right, paired with a song you’d spent far too long tweaking to find the perfect fifteen seconds to accompany your picture.

the likes and story replies from your friends come rolling in, and you find yourself giddy throughout the day. you glow in the praises, holding each reply close to your heart as you like and reply to them. intermediate vibrations of your phone make it hard not to pick it up every few moments, the same light smile gracing your face each time.

your phone lights up once more, a telltale sign of the newest story reaction. the upturn of your lips fall by a millimeter at the newest banner on your lock screen, and your content smile is replaced by the rounding of your lips in a whisper of a gasp.

Katsuki Bakugo Reacted 👍 to your story.

this one must have been intentional. your fingers clench around your phone, and you feel an inexplicable warmth course through your head. with a sudden clammy feel to your hands and a distinct tug in your chest, you put your phone face down in your lap.

how bold.

you wrack your brain, thinking back to the array of peculiar interactions his account’s had with yours so far. this one proved to be the most jarring of them all — a direct reply. entering the realm of privacy, the notification speaks almost as a silent invitation. the message acknowledged your presence head on, and you feel oddly exposed at being perceived so blatantly.

the thumbs up is rather dry, but you guess it isn’t completely out of character. the reply sits on your phone for a good while, taking the backseat in your mind as you fumble to formulate answers.

what compelled him to reply? for once, you can’t shake the feeling that something truly might be off. his account must’ve been collecting dust, shaking off the cobwebs and spiders in your notification center rather than through his own postings or interactions with others. repeated faults only make it more difficult for you to defend him — bakugo really isn’t doing himself any favors.

finally opening his message, you settle on liking his reply before sending a quick smiley face.

bakugo leaves you on read. you wonder if he enjoys messing with you in his free time.

katsuki bakugo is lost.

settling into bed, katsuki’s thumb moves on its own as if accustomed to the nightly routine he unconsciously developed. he skips over the dumb reels on his explore page, the recent posts made by his friends he had little interest in viewing, and the five people who’ve been waiting on a text back from him for the past two months. instead, he heads straight for the search bar.

your username is already pre populated just below the search, and katsuki clicks it without a second thought. a fluttering feeling rises in his chest — one that he’d become well acquainted with over the past few months.

selfishly, katsuki finds himself growing greedier by the day. he’d become a frequent visitor of your instagram page before he knew it, pushing down the inexplicable pounding of his heart and rising heat to his cheeks at the way you never seemed to leave his mind.

cute. he studies the dips and curves of your face, committing each detail of the photo to memory. katsuki’s breath catches in his throat, and his eyes greedily take in your smile. his heart aches, jealous of his own eyes in their beholding of your beauty. yearning, he laments being restricted to the screen rather than having you right in front of him.

katsuki opens the comments, bracing himself for what he’d be forcing himself to bare witness to.

BEAUTIFUL

love u

ugh 😍😍😍

#needthat

the sun kissed you before i got to 😫😫

the realization that no amount of bracing could have properly prepared him comes quick.

the fuck? katsuki sneers at his phone. as if any of those fuckers would ever get the chance to kiss you.

the abundant comments and likes under your post give way to a bubbling feeling of discontent. katsuki’s fingers itch all of a sudden, palms and fingertips clamming up in sweat at the unsettling pit forming in his stomach. it was as if his whole body were set aflame, warmth coursing through every fiber of his being. you seemed to have that kind of effect on him, he’d begrudgingly noticed, but this warmth was like no other he’d felt whilst consumed by persistent thoughts of you.

this warmth, with it’s complimentary stomach pit and tension in his head, was a bother. he continues to scroll, mind clouding in the nasty heat he struggled to put a name to.

katsuki’s phone is haphazardly dropped onto his pillow. his groan is loud, pained in deep rooted frustration. with all these people showering you in praises both flowery and vulgar, he thinks he might combust on the spot.

every comment seemed to be burned into his mind, clogging up his stream of thought just as they’d be clogging up your phone. all those losers got to say it all so easily — meanwhile, katsuki could barely muster up a thumbs up emoji without feeling his heart sieze and blood rush up to his cheeks. his jaw clenches, irritation creasing his brow and lips taking on a bitter twist.

katsuki grabs his phone once more. he’d been driving himself crazy — you’d been driving him crazy. he thinks of you, sweet and pretty and exactly the person he’d yearn to call his.

fuck this.

rays of light accompany your alarm that morning, soft and golden as it nudges you awake. the alarm blares at your side, and you feel for your phone on the surface next to you. blinking away the lasting remnants of your sleep, your fingers move to silence the sound. glazing over the screen, your bleary eyes are forced to pause. a new notification captures your attention. you rub your eyes once, and then again, squinting to make sure you’re seeing it right. your breath hitches.

another notification from bakugo’s account. your heart flips in your chest, warmth rivaling the tender sunlight filtering through the curtains. this time, bakugo graces you with a direct message. an intentional message.

You free this weekend?

[tanadrin]

And God said, "Behold! I have created the fourth primordial force: the weak interaction!"

And the angels all clapped and nodded politely, and there was a long silence; and finally Verchiel, the Angel of Grace, spoke up and asked, "Er, what exactly does it do, O Fashioner?"

And God said, "What do you mean, 'what does it do?' It's the fourth fundamental force of the universe."

And Verchiel said, "You mentioned that. Um. But it's just that the other three sort of have a brand, you know? Gravity helps build large-scale structures, acts over vast cosmic distances, shapes time and space. The strong force is secret, hidden, binding together quarks and all that. Electromagnetism, very cool stuff, somewhere in between. We're all big fans of the whole magnetic monopole double bluff, very clever. But, er. What does this 'weak interaction' do?"

And God said, "It mediates radioactive decay. Sort of."

And Verchiel said, "Radioactive decay? All radioactive decay?"

And God said, "No. Just some kinds."

And Zephaniel, the Chief of the Ishim spoke, and he said, "A whole independent force just to mediate some kinds of radioactive decay?"

And God said, "Well. Not totally independent. Technically it's related to electromagnetism."

And Zephaniel said, "Wait, it's not even a real force?"

And God said, "It's totally a real force. It's just that it's one aspect of a combined electromagnetic and weak force. An electro-weak force, if you will."

And Metatron, the Celestial Scribe, scratched his head at this, but said nothing.

And Cambiel, the Angel of Transformation, said, "Maybe you can walk us through it from the top."

And God Sighed an immense Sigh, and said, "All right, fine.

"So the way it works is that all of space and time is permeated by a field that has imaginary mass."

And Cambiel said, "Imaginary mass, O Generous Provider?"

And God said, "Yes, imaginary mass. It's tachyonic, d'you see?"

And Sarathiel, the Angel of Discipline, said, "Wait a minute, I thought we agreed nothing was going to travel faster than light? All that 'c' business and the whole Lorentz transformation thing. What's happening with that?"

And God said, "Let me finish. The field is tachyonic. The particles in the field all move slower than light."

And Sarathiel had to think about this for a second.

And God said, "The point is, a field with imaginary mass has a non-zero vacuum expectation value."

And this really gave Sarathiel trouble, since he had never been very good at math.

And God, seeing this, went back to explain. "Most fields, like the electromagnetic field, have no effect when they are at their lowest energy state. It's like they're not there at all. If you give a field imaginary mass, then it vanishes only when it's at a very high energy state, and at a low energy state, it has a nonzero value everywhere."

And Sarathiel nodded, but he was confused, because he didn't understand why God would create such a thing.

But Verchiel thought he saw where God was going with this, and he was amazed.

"Truly, you are cunning beyond measure, O Only One Certainly Sound and Genuine in Truth! Only now do I understand your design! For in order to make the universe homogenous and isotropic, it is necessary that all large-scale fluctuations in temperature and mass must be evened out early in the history of the cosmos; and therefore, you have designed a field which will rapidly expand space after the Big Bang, many orders of magnitude in brief moments, and then swiftly and spontaneously decay as it gives up the energy it began with, giving rise to radiation and particles of all kinds as it does, which will condense into the material universe! It is a wonder to behold."

And God said, "What? No. I mean I did, but this isn't the inflaton field I'm talking about. This is something else."

And Verchiel said, "Wait, it's not?"

And God said, "No, I'm going to use a different field to drive cosmic inflation. The properties of this field are totally different."

And now Verchiel was also confused, and lapsed into silence.

And God said, "Like I was saying, this field is a scalar field with imaginary mass, and it does spontaneously decay to a ground state with a non-zero value. But it's not the inflaton field. Instead it combines with the W1, W2, W3, and B bosons."

And Metatron began to flip back through the pages of the Heavenly Record trying to figure out where he'd lost the thread.

And Zephaniel said, "The what bosons?"

And God said, "The W1, W2, W3, and B bosons. I'm sure I mentioned them. You know, the massless bosons?"

And Zephaniel said, "I'm pretty sure we only talked about the W+, W-, and Z0 bosons. All of which you said were going to have mass, O Owner of All Sovereignty."

And God said, "Yes, but this is how they get them, you see. Once this field acquires a nonzero value everywhere, the massless bosons interact with it and get mass. Well, some of them do. They turn into the W+, W-, and Z0 boson. And the photon."

And Zephaniel said, "…and the photon, O Accepter of Invocation?"

And God said, "Well, I did say I was going to unify the electromagnetic force and the weak interaction, didn't I? This is how. Above the critical temperature--right now I'm thinking 10^15 K, but I'm open to feedback on that one--electromagnetism and the weak force act as a single unifying force. Below that temperature, the field gets a nonzero value, you get three massive bosons to mediate the weak interaction, and the photon pops out seperately."

And Zephaniel said, "That seems… a bit overly complicated, doesn't it, O Reinstater Who Brings Back All?"

And God said, "No, it's exactly what we need. Look, that way the W and Z bosons have something to do, but the weak interaction still only travels short distances. Gravity is still the star of the show on cosmic scales, as it were. But now quarks and leptons can swap their flavor!"

And Zephaniel said, rather weakly, "Their… flavor, O Source of Good?"

And God said, "It's this new quantum number I'm trying out, to give the three generations of matter more unique identities."

And Cambiel said, "Three generations of matter? Now I'm really confused."

And God said, "I'm sure I mentioned this. You've got the lightest quarks and leptons, and then two heavier versions of each that can decay into the lighter versions."

And Cambiel said, "What do they do? New kinds of chemistry, is it?"

And God said, "Well, no. Mostly they just decay in a couple microseconds. Or even faster."

And Zephaniel began to rub his temples, and Cambiel sniffed.

And Cambiel said, "This all seems a bit ad hoc to me. Not really the stuff of an elegant and obviously ordered Creation. Why not have four generations of matter? Why not a trillion?"

And God began to grow irritable, and said, "Well, that's not really up to you, now is it? We're going to have three generations of matter, and the electroweak force, and that's that!"

And Zephaniel said, "As long as we are unifying fundamental forces, perhaps we could somehow also unify the electroweak interaction with the strong interaction, or even gravity."

And God hesitated saying, "Well, I haven't decided about that yet. I'm not sure I want gravity to be quantized, you know? Seems to take some of the geometric elegance out of general relativity."

And now it was Zephaniel's turn to sigh, and he bowed his head. "As you wish, O Possessor of Authority of Decisions and Judgement."

[xoxojisu]

SECRET LANGUAGE!

synopsis: you and katsuki have a.. special way of communicating.

a/n: i genuinely do the whole 'not say anything js whine and groan until someone gets it' thing and sometimes ppl are confused but i feel like childhood friends + unofficial bf katsuki would just get it

"man, that was so tiring!" kirishima said, collapsing on a common area couch.

"all might sure worked us hard.." ochako added, exhaustion evident in her voice.

the rest of the class all nodded their heads in agreement, too exhausted to talk properly as they all slumped on the couches.

the room fell into a brief silence as everyone took a moment to relax and unwind after the grueling training. after a few minutes, the chatter started up again. they discussed the latest training exercises and something about all might and pro heroes and the possibility of starting a hero agency but honestly, you weren’t really listening. you were exhausted, too worn out to focus or engage properly with the conversation. you sat there silently, sort of just spacing out.

you were snapped out of your trance by a nudge to your shoulder. glancing up, it was katsuki looking down at you, a smidge of concern in his eyes.

"you ok?" he asked in a rare moment of quietness, his voice low and gravelly. "you've been out of it for a while now."

you took a second before you groaned, pushing your head into his shoulder, too tired for words. he made a ghost of a snicker at your antics, smiling down at you gently. (he denies denies denies tho)

"nnnnnghhh. mmmmmm!" you whined.

"i know, i know." he muttered.

"uuuurghhhhh, euuuuhm!"

"you wanna go back to your dorm and take a nap if it's that bad?"

"m. mmmmmmm! ...mmm?"

"hell no! i'm tired, too, and i'm not walkin' all the way to the damn convenience store."

you looked up at him, exhaustion and pleading in your eyes.

he looked back at you.

you kept on looking at him.

he kept on looking at you.

you shoved your head into his neck and nuzzled a bit, silently pleading with him.

finally, he sighed, getting up and rolling his eyes. you squealed in excitement, clapping your hands excitedly. he used one arm to swoop you up and trudged out of the common area with you, muttering about how were "such a damn pain" and "so fuckin' lazy." of course, he would never have it any other way, though. not that he'd ever admit that.

bonus:

unbeknownst to the two of you, as you were in your own little world, but mina had gotten a clip of the confusing but cute interaction, and sent it to the whole 1a groupchat.

kirishima: NO WAY

kaminari: BAKUGO?!?!?!?!?! BEFORE ME?!?!?! 🥲🥲🥲😫😫😫😫😫💔💔💔💔💔

todoroki: I'm confused. What is she saying? What just happened?

...

jirou: idk

momo: it's certainly a mystery

midoriya: kacchan and y/n have always talked like that! it's like a secret language!

sero: i think 'talking' requires back and forth conversation..

mina: WHO CARES? it's cute!

masterlist

[alexiroflife]

"in every life"

curse reincarnation, fluff

ryomen sukuna x reader

Synopsis: you, a former sorcerer and sukuna's wife, are killed in the heian era. sukuna does not believe in a life without you, so he takes it upon himself to bring you back a thousand years later

to sum it up: you are sukuna's life, and no matter how long he has to wait, he will bring you back to him by any means necessary

WC: 3,621

Warning(s): angst in the beginning, reader death (but you're revived), brief icky descriptions of a vessel's possession

-> ask | sukuna fic list

Sukuna remembers the exact moment you left him, soul fluttering almost gracefully from your eyes as your body fell limply into his four arms.

The moment replays in his mind as though it had only happened yesterday, or perhaps as recently as a few hours prior. Time has never been something the king of curses worried himself over, for his strength and existence exceeded such mortal constructs, but when his thoughts wander to you as frequently as air fills and deflates from his lungs, the very concept grows skewed and suddenly, time is a matter of great importance to him.

A king is nothing without his queen beside him, his rock, his partner, and that is what you are. That is what you were, but Sukuna refuses to address you in any form of past tense because your temporary withdrawal from the planet and from his side would never alter the fact that you are his, that you have been his, and that you will be his until the end of time. 

Sukuna has never been one for romantics, for connections that tie his free spirit down from the unfettered, terrifying rule that he leads, but when you entered his life, his opinions shifted and his ambitions changed, making room for you at his side upon his throne. 

The two of you had been married for years before you left him. Sukuna had never bothered to count, but now he finds himself mulling over the years’ contents in search of a piece of your memory that can stay with him until the time comes for you to return to his hand. 

When you were alive, Sukuna never fathomed you leaving his side. He almost feels he should punish you for so abruptly taking an absence from him without permission, castigating your spirit until he feels that the space you once occupied close to him emanates remnants of an apology, of guilt, of a promise to never do such a foolish thing ever again. 

When you were alive, you were a sight to behold, a perfect fit for the title of his wife. You were deserving of each and every privilege he bestowed upon you; of holding his face in your small, dainty hands, of pressing your lips to the textured plate of his face, of throwing your legs over his thighs as you settle onto his lap with a large, burly arm coming around you and securing you there for all of his servants and former concubines to see how high you sit amongst him and how low they remain beneath the two of you. 

You always said what you were thinking. While he ensured that everyone within and outside of his temple feared him, you were always unaffected by his intimidating presence. He remembers one instance in which you were lying beneath him, a mess of silk fabrics swarming your bare figure over your reserved place in his bed with your hair splayed out messily over the pillows and your eyes weighted with a foolish look of what he could only describe as enchantment and tender allegiance.

He feels the ghost of your fingers trace his jaw as he looks down at you quietly, dwarfing you in his mass. A smile touches your soft lips with a rosy hue swirling over your (s/c) skin. 

“Your eyes are quite beautiful.”

Your voice is a whisper of past enamorations through Sukuna’s ear as his brows arch in reminiscence. He remembers how he glared at you in confusion, face hard though he always allowed you to continue admiring him, to continue touching him without consequence. His eyes, which mirror the color of fresh, crimson blood as he has watched it gurgle from the mouths and limbs of his victims, staining the streets, his hands, and his monstrous legacy, are windows you believe to be… beautiful.

Your sentiments never failed to befuddle him. He never did understand why you associated such a ferocious beast with beliefs so light and pure. He is not beautiful, he had thought. He never desired to be beautiful. He is simply Ryoman Sukuna, enough of himself to be categorized in unique isolation, separate from your labels of aesthetic charm and peace. 

You’re silly. Silly with love and submission, he thinks, but he has never denied you of these admirations though he fails to agree. 

Besides, you are his wife. He would have allowed you to worship him in any way you pleased if you asked, and in truth, you hardly did ask. You knew what you were to Sukuna, how you and only you remained the only soft spot that the salmon haired demon withheld in his breast. You were beyond requesting approval to love him in the ways you saw fit, and Sukuna was pleased because you knew, in all spaces, that you were his and he was yours. 

Among all the trophies of battles won, of cities conquered, of titles obtained, you are Sukuna’s greatest prize. 

His love for you was always silent, long glances and grips of the waist, orders to slaughter on your behalf and the pat of his hand over his beefy thigh to beckon you over. His love was an unrestrained space for you to express your desires, to demand his attention, and his compliance with a veil of frustration poorly masking his easy willingness to give you anything you pleased. His love was long, sleepless nights, the marking of his territory by means of stinging bites and purple bruises over your smooth skin that no living being in his wake could mistake for anything but a reminder of your connection to him. 

His love was you incarnate, just a woman before hell’s greatest crown, but his love no less. His wife. His queen. His eternity.

Sukuna does not know why he mourned you when you died. He found himself reacting impulsively, in a short-lived panic when your blood spilled over his skin and your eyes lost the light that he’d been following through the tunnel of his rein for years. 

He knows death is a taboo concern only for mortals to fret over, but when you die, he feels as though he has died himself. Your life flashes before his eyes, your time with him, and this strange ache swarms his body and manifests as a ball in his throat as his ruby hues melt over you in alarm. 

He struggles to accept your parting. He’s viciously angry, a horrible wreck that his servants fear stepping too close into proximity as the time passes and your vacancy weighs itself over his temple and his body like a mountain. He had believed your death to be painful, but the period that follows, the period of waiting stings him like no pain he has endured before. 

A king needs his queen, and without you, no matter for how long, he feels empty. He rampages his heartache away, but it no longer holds the satisfaction it did when you were with him, watching from the sidelines and cheering him on. His estate feels colder somehow, the dent you’ve left in his bed losing its shape and the memory of you fading from others’ minds, but not from his. Never from his. 

Sukuna knows that he will see you again. In any era, no matter how much farther into the future, he will find you once more, bring you back to his embrace, and dust off the crown that he has reserved for your pretty head alone. 

He holds onto a piece of you, storing it safely, awaiting the time to revive you even within his own cursed slumber after having sealed himself for a millenia, severing parts of him and scattering it over the country.

You, however, remain stowed safely in one place. A place he will remember to return to when he reawakens in rebirthed flesh.

Now, a millenia following your untimely death, Sukuna stares emptily at the woman before him, curling and tossing around with bound wrists and ankles at his feet.

She’s crying, screams of horror rising into the starry sky as Sukuna’s eyes glint menacingly beneath the moonlight. He watches her carefully, curling his lips. He looks at this pest, this fragile, forgettable mortal woman and sees everything that you are not. For a moment, he hesitates, his fingers clutching over the ancient parchment wrapped object he holds protectively within his grasp at his side. 

His brows draw together in frustration induced by your vessel. He knows he picked wisely, however, he can not deny the hesitation that captures his mind when he contemplates whether this vessel will do your worth justice. Whether it will truly bring you back the way he plans for you to be. 

He holds up the object in his hand, your energy emitting from behind the paper and through his veins, easing into his blackened soul. You are practically calling to him, holding his hand, murmuring into his ear that it will be okay. 

Sukuna is reminded then and there solely by the spirit of you that nothing in this world could even begin to dwindle the brilliance in which you shine, that even within the body of a bird or a squirrel, your essence would burst through. You will reincarnate wholly as how you left him, and as nothing less. 

With a heavy exhale through his nose, Sukuna unravels the object, tossing the parchment to the ground, and takes a step forward to approach the young woman squirming in the grass before him. He walks over her, feet planted on either side of her figure, and bends down. Her eyes go white with terror as snot and tears dribbles over her nose and down her cheek. Sukuna looks into her coldly, grasping a hand over her face and digging his black nails into her jaw. 

She shudders an agonizing, shrill screech that is soon muffled by the manner in which Sukuna squeezes her cheeks inward and forcefully pries her mouth open. 

With a steely, disconnected glare, Sukuna takes the object imbued with your cursed energy, your ring finger. He pulls your wedding band from the decrepit digit and pushes it to the woman’s lips. Her eyes go wide as she chokes over her jaw’s lack of mobility, and the taste of something foreign and timeworn on her tongue. Her stuttered, whimpering gasps release and she gargles once Sukuna pushes the object down her throat. He slaps his hand back over her mouth as it slides down her throat and she twitches uncontrollably, eyes cracking with red veins. 

The king of curses holds her still as her body flops wildly, her chest lurching forward and limbs flying about. Her body can not handle the intrusion of a thousand year old sorcerer’s influence, so it fails. Her eyes roll into her skull and her fingers twitch once her limbs have stilled in the grass. A symphony of crickets chirping lifts into Sukuna’s ears as the woman beneath him goes completely silent, dead, still.

He waits. After a millennia of existence confined to cursed flesh, after years of the cold left in your wake nipped at his skin, after battling bodies for dominance over a vessel, he waits just a few seconds more for you.

After it seems as though he has lost you for a second time, the body’s eyes flicker. Sukuna stills above you, pupils shrunken in anticipation.

Movement shifts beneath him. A chest rises, and breathing begins steadily through it. The color of this vessel’s skin shifts, transitioning slowly, milking into the hue of gentle (s/c) that Sukuna once caressed with his rough fingers. Color flushes through pale cheeks, and irises of (e/c) roll back from the skull and stare widely ahead, directly into Sukuna’s gaze. Finally, your voice comes, a gentle hum of confusion and discomfort as you regain your lost senses.

Sukuna’s heart skips as the familiar warmth of your body emanates from beneath him again, and his hand is slowly sliding from your parted lips. He feels as though he’s just run a marathon despite his inability to wind himself. He breathes out heavily, gradually, and silence envelopes the two of you in the darkness of the late night. 

While Sukuna had planned this from the very moment you went dead in his hands, he feels somehow starstruck by you. You look as beautiful as you were centuries in the past, skin smooth, brows curled, lips soft as though you had not been gone from his life for more than a brief second. You have returned to him as he had thoughtfully calculated, and yet, he can not fathom the fact that you are here at long last, mere centimeters away, manifested into truth by his graze of your chin. 

The muscles in your brows pull together in disbelief, glimmering eyes shining over as you take in the sight before you. The last thing you felt was a blade slicing into your heart and ripping down through your body, the last vision of Sukuna racing to throw you into him as your opponent met his end with the selective mutilation of his internal organs at your husband’s hard, feral, red glance.

You blink hurriedly, shooting a hand out to your husband’s bicep. “...Ryo?” you whisper in a trembling voice, knowing him by gaze and presence and touch alone. 

The said demon’s brows angle and his body lurches forward with a sharp exhale upon hearing your voice utter his name outside of the confines of his mind’s nostalgia and imagination. He is overcome by the return of you to him, eyes fiery with longing for his once lost love and shoulders aching as the weight that had been crushing down finally releases. The sensation of your fingers curling over his arm sends chills down his spine, for time has never altered Sukuna’s course of existence, but time tells in the way he physically shivers when your loving contact revives on his skin after having been stripped of him for what feels like eternity.

Tears pool in your eyes and your shaky hands raise to smooth over his face, exploring his marked skin and familiarizing yourself with the structure of the being you fell in love with many lifetimes ago. Sukuna’s brow flinches as you feel over his face, and his own palm cradles over your cheek, dwarfing your head in the fashion it always used to as the back of his fingers skim over your heated flesh. 

“Ryomen,” you say his name again, voice crumbling and your shoulders jerking in awe.

He trips down into you, hands clutching over your head as you guide his face down with his hasty movements. Your name tumbles hoarsely from his rumbling voice, against your lips, and slotting into your mind in a haze as his lips meet yours urgently. 

You cry gently into him, lips parting and pushing back in as he kisses you fervently, savoring you, burrowing you into his body’s memory to recover the time he has spent deprived of you. Your hands fly over his neck, down his back, detailing the ridges and the muscles rippling beneath the fabric of his shirt that you know so well. He presses himself down into you, pulling you in closer by your head, flushing your chests together to intertwine your souls once more. Heady grunts and growls heave into your mouth between frenzied, stunned, satisfied kisses, and each time a tear of yours catches into the liplock, Sukuna is pulling it into his lips, saltiness swirling through the sweet release of his misery. 

He’s missed you. So very much, he’s missed you. He doesn’t know how he has managed to go so long without you now that you are here again, now that he is holding you again, kissing you again. 

“My king,” you whimper when you get a chance to break away, foreheads bumping as Sukuna shushes you gently.

“Do not fret, peach,” he soothes you, lips brushing yours as his now loving gaze spills into your own. “You are alright.”

Despite Sukuna’s ruthlessness and his wild murderous expeditions, as well as his blood-curdling tone that further accentuates the weight of his threats when thrown into the direction of others, Sukuna melts into calmness for you, his low voice mellow and meditative, enraptured in the peace that you bring him. You know all sides of your dear husband, and yet this is the rawest side of him that you know, that he treats you with. 

“What happened?” you whisper as his hands run over you, catching your tears and tracing the curves of your flesh. “Where are we?”

“In the garden,” he answers you easily, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. 

“At… at home?” 

He hums in affirmation, leaning back just a bit to stare into you. The pairs of your eyes shine as they absorb the image of one another, still and sincere. Grass tickles your ears and your arms, and you look down, realizing that you are lying in a patch of greenery. You slowly tilt your head to the side, and Sukuna keeps his gaze glued to you like you will disappear before him. Your eyes capture the stems of daffodils and lavender that sprout around your head, pointing into the night sky and swaying gently in the warm breeze. You recognize the plants as the ones you had always taken to tending by the creek behind Sukuna’s temple, which he had the servants fashion as a suitable garden for you to indulge in. 

You do not recall being here last. You recall dying. You recall your world going dark.

You turn back to meet his heavy eyes. “What did you do?”

He is silent for a moment, taking his time to study you before answering as though the question is the simplest one he has ever been asked. “I have brought my queen back to me. As I have always sworn to do if we were ever separated.”

“...How long have we been separated?”

“It does not matter.”

“How long was I away from you, Ryo? How long did I leave you for?”

“It does not matter,” he reiterates gently yet ever so firmly. “Do not think of it.”

“Please-” you frown, eyes shining over again. “I hadn’t- I didn’t mean to leave you. I don’t know how I even let it happen… I can’t imagine what that must have gone through…”

Ryomen catches the guilt in your gorgeous eyes and he is quick to gather you up in his arms. He pulls you up slowly, keeping your eyes locked as you allow him to lift you from the ground with his arms wound tightly over your waist. Your hands go to Sukuna’s shoulders as he kneels over you, keeping you steady and upright, face to face, nose to nose, eye to eye. 

“I refuse to allow the first thing you do in reincarnated life to be reminding me of what life was like without you,,” he says. “I do not wish to revisit it. It does not matter,” he repeats for a third time. 

You tilt your head with the tug of your lips downward sadly, threading your hands through his pink locks and holding onto the nape of his neck. The moonlight milks over you regally, as though the stars have aligned for this very moment, to illuminate you both in the universe’s joyous eye. You swallow hard. “Am I a curse?”

“You are my wife. I will not tolerate you labeling yourself as anything different..”

You inhale deeply, bringing your forehead back to him and closing your eyes. His arms pull you in tight, rhythmic breaths easing you into this reality complacent, affectionately, lovingly. 

“I’m sorry I left you, my love,” you murmur.

Now that he’s heard you apologize, seen your remorse sparked by something out of your control, he doesn’t fare well with it. 

You are not a plague to him, a burden, and telling him that you are sorry in his mind now insinuates such. Even after leaving him, after stealing away his warmth, after haunting his slumber and his consciousness for eons, he does not fault you. He would never fault the woman he chose to keep by his side in wellness and in death. 

He does not accept your apology. You have done nothing but love him, yet Sukuna is the one who should have protected you. 

He runs a hand over the back of your head, down your hair, and exudes his message of impenetrable love to you through his embrace and sweltering red eyes. “All I ask of you is that you stay. In this era and the next. Stay by my side as you are meant to be.”

You nod eagerly against him. “I will,” you whisper. “I will, I promise.”

Sukuna reaches down at his side for the ring he had set down. With one hand to your back, he pulls your wedding band forward and presents it to your twinkling eye. You gasp. 

“You still have it,” you sigh.

“In what world would I not?” 

You bring your hand down, spreading your fingers, and you watch as the kind of curses slips the rusted treasure over your finger, fitting it perfectly into place with the renewal of your marriage and the reunion of your hearts.

You admire the way it looks upon your hand happily, and Sukuna drags you back into his lips, pecking you tenderly before moving back in with his hands firm to you. You shift further up so that his arms can completely take you in, heads bumping as your lips swim together in commemoration of a rebirth into a new life.

[simpforboys]

more frat!perv!manipulator!rafe who is still obsessed w topper’s dumb gf

warnings: groping, manipulating, ditsy/dumb/innocent!reader, handjob, praise, cheating, kissing, brief thigh humping

thank you for 6,000 friends <33

series masterlist

It shouldn’t have surprised Rafe, really. Topper is your boyfriend, after all.

But when Rafe walked in on you sitting on Topper’s lap, giggling at some compilation of cats doing funny things, it irritated Rafe more than anything.

“Hi, Rafey.” You greet him warmly, your pretty eyes flicking up to see his cold blue ones.

“Hey, sweetness.” Rafe murmurs, although he doesn’t look at you like he typically does. He just hated being around you and Topper together, when you were so affectionate, knowing that you were with his best friend and not him.

“How was class, man?” Topper asks, his hand absentmindedly running up and down your crossed legs. You were only wearing some leggings and a crop top, a more casual afternoon.

“S’fine.” Rafe grunts, taking off his snapback and running a hand through his hair.

He moved over to his twin xl and hopped up on it, his back against the pillow as he propped himself up on an elbow and started scrolling on his phone, trying desperately to block out you sitting on Topper’s lap.

“You don’t wanna watch cat videos with us, Rae?” You ask, turning to look at the tall man who is lying with his thighs spread out a bit.

“‘m good,” he replies shortly.

You frown, but before you could even think about going back to watching the cute kitties, Topper was patting your thigh.

“I gotta go do somethin’, babe. I’ll be back in like twenty minutes.”

You hum, getting off your boyfriend’s lap as he stood up. You gave Topper a small peck, watching as he grabbed his wallet and keys, before uttering a “goodbye” to you and Rafe.

You turned, looking at Rafe. His eyes were already on you, a slight snarl on his lips.

“Are you okay, Rafey?” You ask, moving to the side of his lifted bed.

Rafe stares at you for a minute, not saying anything, the throbbing his cock is feeling against his jeans too distracting.

You poked his meaty thigh, feeling upset for your friend that he was feeling so down.

“Y’know what could make me feel better, sweet girl?” He hummed, a twisted idea forming in his mind as he turned his phone off and set it down on the bed.

“Hm?”

“A kiss.” He says bluntly, blue eyes fixated on the sight of your tummy poking out from the hem of the crop top and waistband of the leggings.

You just smile, leaning over to peck his cheek. You weren’t a stranger to giving Rafe kisses on the cheek or forehead, or him doing the same.

He grabbed your wrist before you could pull away, though. “Not there, baby.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

He had to internally roll his eyes. That stupid pout and look of confusion only made his cock harder.

Stupid girl.

“A real kiss, sweetness.”

You pondered it, lips still in a small pout. Your insides twisted, a weird feeling in your heart and tummy.

“I dunno, Rafe…”

“C’mon, pretty girl. S’jus’ me, yeah? Y’know only you can make me feel better.” He convinced, trying to resist the urge to just push his lips onto yours.

You went silent for a moment, just staring at him, looking unsure.

“We’re not doin’ anythin’ wrong, Y/n. You’re jus’ tryna cheer me up, ain’t that right?”

You let out a small huff, but nod. You did wanna cheer up Rafe, it killed you whenever he got so upset.

You leaned over the bed, his big hand moving to your thigh to help pull you up until you were almost hovering over the side of his body.

He kept his hand on your thigh, squeezing it a bit, feeling precum leak from his aching tip as he licked his own lips.

You both leaned in, him a bit too eagerly, you a bit too cautiously.

Your lips collided, and Rafe immediately took control and dominance. He hums into it, his left hand moving to the back of your neck, so you can’t pull away.

You had to put your hand on his thigh to keep yourself upright, which in response, he let out a small moan into the kiss.

His kisses were different than Topper’s. Topper was controlled, slow, sweet, gentle.

Rafe was desperate, dominant, rough, lustful.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, trying not to bust in his underwear when your tongue slid against his. He could still sense your hesitation, and it annoyed the hell out of him.

His right palm left your thigh, lifting your crop top up a bit as it shamelessly groped your tit through your bra. He felt you huff through your nose against his, and he couldn’t help but buck his hips up a bit.

“Mhm— you okay?”

You pull away, feeling him buck. You panted a bit, your lips swollen, as you looked down at his waistline.

“‘m jus’ feelin’ so needy, sweetness. Can ya help me?” He asks, giving you those puppy dog eyes.

The blue irises were just a weakness — no matter who had them.

“Um…” You hesitated, face warm. But then he took your palm and placed it on his clothed bulge, letting you feel how hard he is.

Before you could fully comprehend what was happening, Rafe was already unbuttoning the jeans, the words Lucky You embroidered. He pushed them down just enough, along with his navy blue boxer briefs, for his raging hard-on to stand out.

A small noise left you, one that caused more precum to leak from the dark pink mushroom tip.

“Ya trust me, yeah?” He hums, caressing your cheek.

You hesitantly nodded, eyes locked onto the big dick. Topper’s wasn’t this big… it was like the ones you see in porn.

He had to hide the devilish smirk on his lips as he spit on his own hand and guided it down to his throbbing shaft. “Gimme your hand, sweetness.”

Your hand shook as you held it out for him, a heat pooling in your tummy when your palm and fingers wrapped around him.

“Now move it up ‘n down… jus’ like that…”

He coos, throwing his head back a little as you began to hesitantly, and curiously, stroke his cock.

His big hand went back up to grope your tit, feeling the soft flesh as you continued to jerk him off, thinking you were just helping him.

You may be Topper’s girlfriend, but Rafe knew you were his dumb helper.

“S’good, pretty girl… makin’ Rafey feel good…”

He’s already trying desperately not to cum, but the way you were stuck staring at his erection, like it baffled your innocent brain was quickly sending him to the edge.

“I-is this right, Rafey?” You choke out.

“Mhmm… it feels right, ain’t it?” He groans, pulling you in for another sloppy kiss.

He starts to thrust up into your hand, soft moans and whimpers leaving him.

But what really sent him over the edge was when he saw you start to grind your clothed cunt on his thigh, completely oblivious to your own needs, distracted on helping him.

“F-fuck… keep goin’ baby, don’t stop—“

He grunts, panting as his warm seed spills all over your hand. Rafe’s head is still thrown back against his pillow, those pretty blue eyes half lidded as he stared at your face.

“You’re a good girl, baby… such a good girl f’me.”

He murmurs, pulling you forward to press a tender kiss to your forehead.