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seiwas · 1 year

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₊˚⊹。so this is what it means to be in love | gojo satoru

wc: 8.9k

summary: gojo finds out what it really means to be in love.

contains: f!reader in mind, friends to lovers (prev. slowburn), suggestive scenes, might be mature/mildly explicit? (i only mention ‘butt’ once though…), ‘being in love’ as a journey, almost like a falls in love first (you) vs. falls in love harder (gojo), they fight, they swear, character death/s mentioned, shibuya onwards spoilers, lots and lots and lots of love

a/n: this is better read after the other parts in the collection but can work as a stand alone too!, there’s a jump between this and tell me about love (show me how) so gojo would have developed a lot in the relationship since then!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave <- you are here + (extended scene) too good to be mine -> 3.5a. this feeling inside of me—

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!)

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

He takes the hand you leave open just for him, and closes the space between your palms, reducing infinity.

Maybe he’s felt it all this time without knowing; after all, love looks a lot less profound as friends in your early 20’s.

But being in it—being in love? That’s uncharted territory.

Gojo’s been to a lot of places, has travelled back and forth from point-to-point endlessly. He’s survived battles, a war, near-death, and cursed spirits reincarnate; he’s got eyes—two bright blue and an extra four hidden, ones that see beyond human comprehension. Unearthing this simple truth shouldn’t shake him, shouldn’t even faze him. If anything, he should have seen it coming—

Except, he doesn’t.

It sneaks up on him, bit by bit, until he finds that being in love means getting to experience you all over again, just differently.

It starts with the little things.

Gojo has known you for so long (a decade and a few years more), but has only recently begun to notice everything: how your baby hairs stick out in the humidity of summer, the way you purse your lips in thought before finally deciding on a drink to order. You play with your fingernails subconsciously, out of habit, the soft taps on your nail beds an accompaniment of anxious conversations you’ve had since you were 23.

He knows you always blink twice before focusing on him, and it’s a mystery whether this is a recent development or something he’s just never noticed, but if you’re trying to enchant him by the flutter of your eyelashes, he wants to let you know that it’s working—except, he knows that you aren’t, because you’re just like that: a daydream without even trying.

These aren’t new things; he’s sure he’s probably encountered them all before, but lately they’ve evolved into cute things, and there’s no hiding the slight curve of his lips every time he spots them.

The sun is beaming brighter this summer, the ocean a faraway blur from the beach towel you set up under the shade. Going to the beach is never your go-to when you think of an extremely hot afternoon, but Yuuji’s been eyeing a weekend getaway since sorcerer work’s lessened significantly.

‘It’s a good effort,’ Gojo convinces you, ‘to get everyone together again.’

And it is—you see it now: Yuuji and Megumi preparing to fling Yuuta into the water while Nobara and Maki race along the shoreline. Toge stays close to Panda but he watches fondly, eyes crinkling every now and then, happy.

When you blink, the image of them softens—a captured memory in the heat haze.

The only older ones here are you and Gojo; Shoko’s always disliked the stickiness of sunblock on her skin, and Ijichi’s new position has made him constantly busy. Somewhere in the distance, you can maybe envision Nanami. He wouldn’t come if you or Gojo asked, but if it were Yuuji—

You rub at your eye, resting your chin on your hand as you will your tear ducts to please, don’t cry.

Yuuji's been smiling a lot more lately, an observation you note from the way his ears are perked up every time you look his way. It’ll never be the same as it used to be but it’s relieving to know that he can exist living as himself now. Just Yuuji.

You hug your knees tighter to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. Your place under the coconut tree provides ample enough shade but your back still burns from Gojo haphazardly slathering sunscreen on it after hearing an ice cream stand from miles away.

The mind is a weird place to be at times like this—split into bittersweet reminiscing and telling yourself to just take this moment and breathe, to live in it. You think about Megumi, and how you hurt for him, always will, for all that he’s lost despite every attempt to avoid it.

You should have been there for Tsumiki, you could have been there for both of them.

Your guilt never leaves you even on days that shine as vividly as this, but perhaps that’s the silver lining—that they’re still with you, always. You can carry pieces of them to these places, and scatter them to the wind, to the sand, to the sea, and maybe to the ice cream stand Gojo’s waiting in line of, surrounded entirely by kids. They all rise to half his size, but if you squint, you think the bounce in his step makes him blend right in.

A chuckle escapes you.

You could sort through your memories and land on one where he looks just like this—freakishly large limbs towering over a tiny, excited Tsumiki. Back then, an ice cream stop after school consisted of your pseudo-family of four, with Megumi on your hand and Tsumiki on his leg, both gripping tightly to combat a chilly 10°C.

Things are different now, evidently. Megumi’s outgrown it, and Tsumiki is no longer here. But Gojo has stayed the same, and it’s comforting to know that he will continue to be this Satoru, your Satoru, even when some things are gone.

You don’t realize you’ve spaced out until he waves the ice cream cone while walking towards you.

Gojo is a sight in trunks the color of his eyes, with seahorses and starfishes in an alternating pattern of peachy-pink against cerulean blue.

You could have sworn you asked for your own cone, but he plops down beside you holding only one. For the both of you. The side-eye you give him is almost criminal, if not deadly, but your lips twitch from the smile you’re hiding (terribly).

He raises an eyebrow and you break character, shaking your head while laughing.

“Did you eat the other one on the way here?” you tease, craning your neck to lick at the bottom scoop (vanilla-strawberry-vanilla, Gojo’s signature order).

Your tongue lands dangerously close to his fingers, and he feels it, but his eyes only land on you—your lips, how they part for your tongue to glide smoothly on his–both of your–dessert. You look every bit of an angel in the soft, pale hues of your bikini, but Gojo’s thoughts are anything but saintly.

He blushes furiously, the tips of his ears and nose bright red as he turns away from you quickly.

“I’m fulfilling your dream of sharing an ice cream cone with me.” he tilts his chin up, proud, smirking slightly. He jokes about it knowing full well that this is his dream come true, just by the look of you.

You stay quiet, rolling your eyes but never meanly, no. You only ever do it fondly—he knows, being on the receiving end of it one too many times.

The beach towel scrunches when you scoot closer, looping your arm around his as you both rest your elbows on your knees. Gojo holds the cone between you two, tipping it towards you when it’s your turn to lick.

He shouldn’t stare, shouldn’t hyperfixate, but it’s so cute how you get the tiniest bit of ice cream on the tip of your nose—as if it belongs there, soft and sweet just like the rest of you.

You look up to find Gojo gazing at you, eyes glimmering like sunlight on the ocean, and a tiny smile that only widens when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, scrunching your nose in an effort to stop yourself from grinning.

When Gojo looks at you this way, as if you are his favorite place rediscovered, your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage.

“What…” you drawl, your smile impossible to hide in the lilt of your voice.

Gojo thinks he can count every eyelash, every speck of sand dotting your face, and stil not be bored of you. He can’t stop beaming.

Is this what it means to be in love with you?

“Nothing.” he replies, almost giggling, a little bashful but with every inch of sincerity. You know that smile, the only one that holds every ounce of Satoru. Gojo smiles big and wide to everyone else, but this small one you know, is reserved just for you.

He leans in, lips coming closer to brush against the tip of your nose. Your eyes fall shut, instinctively, and the pink dot is wiped clean, a hint of strawberry dancing on his palate. He’s done this more times than he can count, has gotten this near to know that close will never be close enough, but you still jolt a bit—PDA has never been your thing.

When he pulls away, you continue to stare at each other, locked in a gaze until the ice cream begins to drip down his fingers and onto the beach towel. It misses his trunks by a hair and you both laugh at how he belatedly tries to escape it even though it’s already there.

It’s indescribable, this moment, seeing you in slow motion, laughing as bright as the sun—the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It takes every bit of him to look away so he can wipe his hands clean from the dripping dessert.

You hand him a packet of wipes and beckon him to sit in front of you after. Squeezed onto the palm of your hand is a copious amount of sunscreen you plan to slather all over him. A touch-up, if you will.

Gojo has sensitive skin, pale as bond paper and burns just as quickly. The high points of his face are already reddening, warm to the touch when you dab at them with sunscreen.

You’re so near, so close, sitting cross-legged in front of him with your knees touching his. The tip of your tongue sticks out just slightly as you focus on his skin.

Even though he knows, he still wonders what your lips would taste like, SPF chapstick and crumbly bits from the wafer cone. He wonders what your eyelashes would feel like, fluttering over his own.

The light casts a halo around you and he thinks it’s fitting for all that you do. You pamper him like this, slather love all over his chest and back, massage it in so it dissolves into him—and he feels it so deep that he tastes it.

How can your love be so sweet? He thinks, sighing as your fingers work sunscreen up his neck from his collarbone. You always apply his skincare like this: upwards, gently—‘no tugging, please!’—something about keeping his baby face even when he’s old.

“You should join them,” you mumble, rubbing more product onto the nape of his neck. You’re leaning over his shoulder, neck brushed against his cheek.

Gojo hums, watching everyone from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s had a day like this.

“But maybe after 30 minutes, so the sunblock doesn’t wash off. You’re already burning.” you note, coming back to sit.

Of course, he’s already burning. How can he not when the sun is right in front of him?

You join everyone for a game of beach volleyball in the sunset of the afternoon. You’re transported back to high school, the last time you did this—you and Satoru against Shoko and Suguru, with Haibara keeping score.

From the way Gojo’s eyes are glossed over, you can tell he’s thinking about it too, the memory having seared itself into your brains forever, it seems.

Being paired together should feel familiar—the same, but it doesn’t—isn’t, because Gojo can’t concentrate, sneaking glances to notice all the little things about you that he never used to. Your skin shines from the combination of sweat and sunscreen, and when you crash into him it’s both sticky and slippery. He should really ask for a time-out before you blind him completely.

You look unfairly good in your bikini, too good he can barely hear you calling for him; between the ocean and his blood rushing, any other sound is drowned out into nothing.

Maki and Yuuji absolutely demolish the both of you, reaching 15 first in the final set. Gojo blames the loss on you of course, even though he’s missed every pass you’ve sent his way and netted 60% of his spikes.

And maybe it technically is your fault—you and your (very distracting) little things. But it’s entirely on him that he’s fallen for it, fallen for you as much as this.

Gojo thinks of love differently when he sees a picture of himself and all it does is remind him of you.

There’s a photo tucked safely in his wallet (saved and set as his homescreen too). Shoko snorts when she walks in on him printing it, all six-foot-three of him hunched over the small inkjet printer in the faculty room.

“It’s all digital now, Satoru,” she scoffs, taking a puff on her cigarette.

Gojo doesn’t say anything even though he knows it’s true, too focused on watching the printer push out the two-by-three inch image he’s about to cut into.

Print photos aren’t as important anymore when cloud storage spaces are just as–if not more–accessible, but Gojo is admittedly sentimental despite every front he puts up to hide it.

He’s kept every single gift you’ve given him and camouflaged it as decoration in his office, and the family drawing 10-year-old Tsumiki made is still folded between the pages of a self-help book Yaga had given him when he first decided to teach.

When every moment is experienced so vividly, seen through a muddle of infinite energies, there are those he wishes could stay still—ones that take up space to remind him: ‘this is real, it happened, and here is proof that it did’.

He already has one of all of you, fresh-faced and barely pushing the peaks of youth at 16. A tangle of arms wrapped around each other—one of his gripping tightly on Suguru, and the other hanging loosely over you. Utahime is crouched in front, holding the hand you’ve placed on her shoulder while pulling Shoko into a semi-squish-semi-hug (because out of the four of you, Shoko is her favorite—completely valid; if given the choice, she’d be your favorite too). Nanami and Haibara stay close to Suguru, squatting low to balance the photo, and Haibara is smiling, the ever cheery grin Suguru loves to dote on, while Nanami is Nanami—sharp features and a serious gaze that you all know he’ll grow into someday, handsome with age.

For the longest time, Gojo has kept that photo hidden, locked away in the drawer of his bedside table as if keeping it there means the memory will stay guarded forever—untouched, unspoiled, unruined.

It would have stayed there if you didn’t stumble upon it while looking for his painkillers during another one of his skull-crushing migraines.

You approach him with the image hesitantly, eyes damp and glossy. Years have faded the colors ever so slightly, but the corners remain crisp from being stowed away neatly. You say sorry, that you shouldn’t have looked through his things, but you remember the moment it was taken so fondly: a visit to the Kyoto campus on a one-day break to train with other students.

Gojo has many theories about time and the multitude of spaces it takes—like how a person can exist at different points in time, disparate at each instance, and still take up the same big chunk of space. The opposite can be true too, that someone can live finitely (just once) and occupy spaces in every place you look: the face of a passerby down the road, a sign at the corner of the street, or even a photograph that immortalizes people you once knew.

He only shares when you ask, aware that he tends to be a bit of a nerd about it whenever it’s brought up, but you don't mind. You like listening to it all, no matter how insightful or confusing they are for you to make sense—a version of him not many get to witness. His explanations are comprehensible for the most part, except—

When Gojo tells you that he’s kept the image in his drawer, hidden, because exposing it to the space-time that exists now will erase every reminder that it ever happened, you hug him tightly.

Your sniffles are heard from the way his head is tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers gripping strands of his hair in empathy.

He considers your near-tears as a sign that the memory is long gone, decayed into the brittling tragedy of reality. But you smile, the corners of your lips bittersweet as you express disbelief that he’s kept it all this time.

You tell him delicately that some precious things are meant to be celebrated, put out to be remembered—to be experienced.

And it becomes clearer to him then, by the look in your eyes and remembrance soft-spoken, that what good is a photo unseen?

What good is a love unwitnessed?

When you gift him a frame a year after finding the photo, he hangs it by the wall next to his office door. The image is painful to look at, always has been (even when it was hidden in his drawer)—during Suguru’s defection, and death anniversaries especially.

The recent one for Nanami was heavy; the first time he’s ever been able to process grief fully.

Gojo can argue that it grows more difficult every time he catches a glimpse of it from his desk, but you have a way of honoring pain that doesn’t make it sting as bad—that turns it into a reminder of a love that was once there, of feelings that hurt as evidence that someone cared.

Now, he wants another photo printed, one of just the two of you. Not because it hurts, but because he wants this precious thing to be remembered and seen—for this love to be witnessed too.

It’s self-timered, snapped under the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The picture is far from perfect: your eyes bright and mouth open mid-fear of his phone falling off the bridge railing.

You may look a teensy bit funny, but Gojo will always find it cute. Anyone can see it, at how he looks at you in that moment—like you are every bit worthy of the distance travelled and seasons waited. He gazes at you fondly, eyes holding clear skies and pink lips curling into a small smile.

It’s cheesy, but if you ask him what he thinks about this year’s flowers, he’ll tell you none of them (not even any of them combined) could compare to you. The cherry blossoms could be gone and he’d still see them everywhere (in the softness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks, the radiance you emit when you are truly, solely content and happy).

He remembers that afternoon well: the spring breeze that jolts his phone sideways, his hand resting on your lower back, unseen in the image. There’s no real reason for visiting the blossoms on this day of all days, but Gojo doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’s counted down exactly to a year since you both had your first kiss.

It’s so silly, because he’s never thought of things like this before. He knows you probably don’t think much of it either considering that neither of you have made anything official yet since.

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly.

You have a drawer of his clothes for the nights he stays over (more often than not), and even though you go on these little trips that are so obviously dates, you both still just tell everyone you’re ‘hanging out’.

He’s not fooling anyone here, not when he looks at you then with the feeling of his chest expanding, stretching to accommodate the overflows of his affection since learning the ways to love you—tenderness caught in little pixels of eternity.

When Gojo goes through all 179 photos from that afternoon, he filters out the ones to delete and picks this one out especially—favorites and resizes it to fit his home screen and his wallet too.

There’s something about the look on his face that reminds him of every time he’s caught the same one on you.

He slides the photo into the little sleeve behind his credit card, catching himself smiling—this must be because of you, he thinks, and the bits and pieces of yourself that have somehow become part of him slowly, sneaking into him unknowingly.

If this is what it means to be in love, with you, then he’s fucked.

Don’t you know that he’s insatiable? These traces of you will only make him want the whole of you.

You find the photo while he rushes to the restaurant restroom. On ‘hang out’s like this, you insist on splitting the bill, but Gojo has always been stubborn and you’ve learned that you can never argue.

He hands you his wallet to pay with his card, and when you slide it out, the photo falls. It’s face down on the floor when you pick it up, fully expecting it to be a photocard of some idol you know Gojo follows.

But it isn’t, and your smile widens.

When Gojo comes back, you’re looking up at him affectionately, biting your lips as if to stop yourself from speaking—the same way he always does.

It’s funny because, slotted between your two fingers is the photo he’s kind of flustered you found, but he has no time to be embarrassed when he sees a little bit of himself in the way you’re staring at him right now.

“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.”

You quirk an eyebrow, looking up at Gojo from the pile of laundry you’ve begun folding on your bed. He emerges from the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel.

Over the past year, Gojo has spent his weekends off with you, sleeping over and traipsing around your room in his pajama set as if he’s lived here just as long as you.

You snort as you fold, amused that this is even a question to begin with. Yuuji’s always been known for being exceptionally dense, but you didn’t think it was this bad. Gojo was especially touchy with you during that beach trip, and you’re sure Megumi and Nobara have caught up to let him know by now, somehow.

“What made him ask?”

“I think he wants to take you away.” Gojo teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he throws the towel on the chair across your vanity.

You roll your eyes, still sweetly, indulging him, “Sure.”

It’s now a running joke that Gojo’s threatened about Yuuji stealing you; you’ve always had a soft spot for bright eyes and even brighter souls and Yuuji is as close to that as anyone can get.

It’s not like that though, it could never be; Yuuji is just like your Megumi—the two boys you want to protect and care for in hopes of treating them better than their lives have ever.

Gojo feels the same, you know, otherwise he wouldn’t have guided them as much as he has (despite his... questionable ways). Still, your hands have always been gentler, kinder—and though shorter, have always outstretched much farther than his.

You have a way of inching yourself into people’s lives that just fits. He’s experienced it first-hand, can’t even dare to imagine what his life would be like if you didn’t.

He walks across the room to you, bed dipping as he steadies a knee before draping his entire body over your shoulders.

Now that you think about it, it makes sense that Yuuji’s confused, because Gojo has always been extremely touchy to everyone, just never when the feelings mattered, with you. Kiss him once, though, and it snowballs into an avalanche of firsts. And what he’s about to do right now, he thinks, might just trigger another one to form all together.

“As if I’d let him.” he mumbles right by your ear, chin tucked by the crook of your neck. It tickles when he speaks, his nose poking at your cheeks.

“Who put you in charge?” you scoff jokingly, unfazed.

He moves away from you in disbelief, mouth open as he stares at you mindlessly folding.

To be fair, he can’t fault you. You aren’t technically official even though you have kind-of-been for a little over a year. There’s no particular reason, just that you haven’t talked about it—part because you wanted him to approach it whenever he was ready, and also, because it just never seemed like a priority.

You laugh as he stares at you, stunned into silence, the pout on his face borrowed from all the versions of yours.

There’s no point of contention because you’ve only ever loved Gojo since you were 17.

“Kidding,” you kiss his cheek as an apology.

“Don’t even joke about that.” he huffs, you’re starting to take after him a little too much.

“You’re mine.” he murmurs after, arms wrapped around your waist and legs stretched out wide to encase you.

He says it as if it is the simplest truth.

Your heartbeat quickens, too loud and pounding; this is the first time you’ve ever heard this from him, and a part of you thinks this is just another one of those flirty side-comments he makes on a whim.

“You tell him that?” you hope he can’t hear your voice shake as he nuzzles your neck, your fingers trembling on the pair of socks you have yet to roll.

He hums, hugging you tighter. He waits for you to finish folding before letting you lean against him, offering his fingers for you to fiddle with. They’re cold, long and slender, veiny just by a bit, and he always gives them to you like they’re yours, you like to think.

There’s an inhale, a breath of hesitation, before he exhales.

“Something like it.”

You don’t say anything, only nod, and it’s nerve-wracking. He’s so nervous even though he knows he doesn’t have to be because it’s just you. And there’s no need to doubt what you’re feeling. But—

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?”

He has to be sure. This is a testament to you more than himself that he’s learned to ask instead of bulldozing you like he does with everyone else. Who else will he pick that up from but you?

There’s hesitation you hear that you think shouldn’t be there anymore; the fact that you’ve given so much of yourself to this man and he still thinks you’re unsure—

“‘Cause I’m yours.” he speaks, clearly, definitively, before you can even answer. And you know—you’ve known ever since that party years ago. A simple admittance: ‘I’m taken’.

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering.

Can he see? You’re meant for him only.

All you’ve ever wanted was to love him; everything else he’s done up until this point is already more than you could ever imagine. The labels can only do so much to capture the gravity of what you are to one another: years of history unpacked into a mishmash of feelings overlapping—it’s a lot.

You sit cross legged in front of him, your knees touching his. He’s biting his lips again, an anxious habit you want to kiss away.

Gojo has proven far too much of himself already that he’s serious with you—your kind-of-confession, that confrontation, and the days after, all the ways you’ve both learned to love each other.

You cup his cheeks.

A single word cannot possibly define what he is to you.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to be.” he adds on, blue eyes darting back and forth.

Gojo runs his mouth almost all the time and you’ve never heard him stutter once in his life. Except now.

He’s endearing like this—a version of him you are slowly discovering.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” you finally say, and it’s a relief.

He feels good, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pull you closer, hugging you tighter as you both smile.

He kisses you once, twice, maybe a million times all over, travelling across your eyelids, the center of your forehead, down to the corners of your mouth before landing a real one right on your lips.

Gojo always looks pretty but he looks prettiest like this, worry-free, with love in his eyes and nothing but pure happiness in the way he holds you.

He won’t tell you that Yuuji asked about your anniversary, not if you were together.

At least now he has an answer.

Gojo stares at you like he wants to say something, a thank you maybe, but he bites his lips instead. No words will ever amount to this feeling, he thinks, of his chest expanding and heart hammering. So he kisses you with all of it, trailing soft smacks of his lips down your neck, tickling. The tips of his hair are still wet from his shower, leaving droplets on your skin as he nips.

You laugh—sprinkled in love.

“S-stop!” you push him away, “Satoru,” giggling, “tickles!”

“We have to consummate it now.” he whispers, grabbing you by the waist to place you on his lap, squeezing your sides while nibbling at your neck playfully.

You roll your eyes at his antics, “It’s not–” you laugh out loud when he pinches your hips, “–marriage, Satoru.”

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks.

The image you’ve planted in his head is dangerous when he’s this drunk on love right now.

More decades, more years spent with you? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind making that come true.

It’s crazy how much things can change—for all his life, he’s ruled out the possibility of love ever taking root in his ribcage.

You’ve managed to make it feel so easy, so good, even when he was shit-terrified not knowing how to love you like he should.

Now, he thinks, how could he ever miss out on love this way? A love this good, with you?

For all of Gojo’s life, he’s never had to be anyone else—always the strongest, the only one. He’s never had to change anything about himself, because what’s there to improve when you’re already the best?

In a way, this is why it works with you. You’ve taken him as he is, all the good and ugly and never asked for anything more than what he can give.

But being this in love with you—it’s foreign. There are pieces within him shifting, all on their own without him knowing.

How he wants to be better, for you. To be good enough to deserve all of it, and give back more of it too.

Gojo doesn’t realize how much love has changed him until he feels it uprooting every insecurity he never even knew existed, pulling it all up to the surface.

When things are going great, it’s hard to imagine them ever going the other way.

“You don’t mean that.” you mumble, voice trembling.

Gojo stares at you, at your lips quivering and the fists clenched to your sides. There are tears collecting in pools by your eyes, and if there’s anything else he hates in this world, it’s seeing you cry.

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up?

“Please tell me you don’t mean that,” you take a step closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, “Satoru.” your voice cracks, begging.

It’s an out-of-body experience when Gojo registers that he’s fucked up, and he sees himself now, bird’s-eye-view, and thinks this is the worst thing he could do to you after all you’ve been through.

“I need some time to think,” he says, finally, the only words coming out of his mouth—but he can’t hear himself speaking.

He should have said sorry, taken it all back, he thinks, not make it worse by leaving.

He heads for the door, heart crunching under each footstep away from you.

Is this what being in love’s supposed to do? Break his heart while yours is bleeding?

You’re too good for Gojo, in every sense of the word—and he knows it.

You are far too kind, far too generous, far too patient with him. You give him more love than he deserves, definitely, and admittedly enough, with how he is, you have been settling for the bare minimum but that’s on him, not on you.

He had no right speaking to you the way he did, hurting you with accusations born from insecurities he’s never before had to deal with.

He knows it.

Who accuses you of ‘meddling’ as if everything out of you doesn’t come from the goodness of your heart? Of provoking you with ‘chasing the bare minimum’ as if he isn’t aware that that’s all he’s given you to work with?

Utahime was right in telling you to be careful with him, and he doesn’t blame her for it. He would have done the same.

He should have told you there was something brewing inside of him already—should have talked to you instead of bursting from all the things people have been saying lately.

Gojo hasn’t spoken to you in three days and the feeling this compares to is worse than anything else he’s ever had to face.

He knocks on your door at night, a little past dinner and too early for bedtime. They echo loudly within the walls of your apartment, and you drag yourself up despite your obvious look of heartbreak.

Gojo hears your footsteps and everything moves entirely too slowly; the lock, taking far too long to turn, the gap between the door and the door frame widening incrementally. Even your face comes into view as if in stop motion, frame-by-frame, gradually.

His hands are in his pockets, lips bitten to bleed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t breathing when he takes you in—puffy eyes and a sweater that belongs to him.

(Is it sick of him to say that he still finds you beautiful this way? Even when you look every bit the part of heartache?)

Gojo didn’t have a plan coming here, didn’t have a list of things to say, just the feeling that he needed to talk to you, see you, even just be around you today.

When your eyes meet, it’s quiet. You stare into him for one–two–three– (Can you tell that they’re watery? Can you see they’re puffed up too?) and then open the door wider to let him in. You head straight to the kitchen, never once looking back while dragging your feet.

He stands outside a few seconds more, waiting for you to take it back—but you don’t, so he walks in and closes the door.

He’s been in your apartment plenty of times before, has practically lived in it by how often he stays over. But this is the first time he’s felt wholly out of place, not knowing where to put himself, just standing in the space between your kitchen counter and the living room awkwardly.

You push a glass of water towards him and he can’t stop staring at it—at you, at your fingers that he wants nothing more now but to hold.

Even with all his faults, all his wrongs, you open your arms for him to walk into, allow him in as if he didn’t just hurt you.

And he wants to cry, at the fact that this place still feels like home, at how it’ll always feel that way wherever you go.

How are you still treating him so kindly? Still taking care of him? A glass of water is one too many for someone like him.

You turn away from him to pour yourself your own then he speaks—

“You should be angry with me.” Gojo says softly, but you hear it.

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright.

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he says, a little louder this time, more desperate, more pleading.

Why are you never angry at me? he wants to ask.

You turn around to face him, putting the pitcher down.

Under your kitchen lights, his eyes shine like sunlight on the ocean, waves lapping on the shore. You think it might be a trick of the light, but his lips tremble when he closes them, as if he can’t speak any more.

It’s just as you’ve said, there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it.

You always give Gojo the benefit of the doubt, and though he’s hurt you—though this might be the most painful thing he’s told you yet, you know that he’s been under immense pressure lately. Stressed beyond belief from negotiating with the government on policies for jujutsu society.

It’s not an excuse, you know, but Gojo always has his reasons. He'll tell you eventually, you believe that much.

You give him a sad smile, struggling to stop your tears from spilling. His fists are clenched too tightly, nails digging in hard enough to bleed. He hasn’t moved since coming in, so you push yourself off the kitchen sink towards him.

You take his hands first, unfurl each finger pressed upon his palm and rub gently. He cries quietly for a love so pure that only you would attempt to ease his hurt despite the pain he’s dealt you.

You tiptoe second, pulling the sleeves of your (his) sweater before reaching up to wipe his eyes—beautiful and blue just like you’ve always known, droplets of the ocean at your fingertips.

“Be mad,” he whispers, “please.” squeezing his eyes tightly.

It hurts more when you aren’t, he thinks.

His hand comes up to grip your wrist, bringing it down to cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his skin, soothing, loving, and that’s all it takes for him to pull you in. He hugs you tight, arms wrapped around you, clutching.

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

Gojo’s never cried this much before, head pressed to your neck as you rub circles along his back, shushing him softly. You start sniffling too, small at first until it turns into soft hiccups when you finally cry.

Your grip on him tightens.

“‘M sorry.” he mumbles, lips moving against your neck.

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.”

“Stop saying that when it’s not,” he presses against you, nuzzling your neck, “I hurt you.”

“Then don’t–” another hiccup, “–call yourself–” hic, “–bare minimum.” you cry harder.

Gojo knows your heart and the tears that leak out of your eyes; he knows they hold pain for more than just yourself but every single person in your life. You, crying now, is evidence of that truth—shedding tears for him not just because of him when he thinks he’s the bare minimum.

This must be what it means to be truly, deeply loved, he thinks, to have someone know what you mean without even having to speak it—to know your heart, and all the good and bad parts of it.

“I don’t think I’m good enough to you,” he admits, pulling himself away from you.

When he sees your face, wet, with your nose and eyes puffed up from crying, he decides that he hates it more than anything else. Makes it sick to his stomach, even.

He cradles your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears. A whole hand of his could cover your face entirely, but he always, without fail, holds you delicately.

“That’s not–” hic, “–true.” you gather your breathing, holding him by the wrists as he presses his forehead against yours. “Only I get to decide that. Not anyone, not you.”

You kiss his lips, a small peck before nudging his nose with yours. You soothe each other this way—in the quiet, swaying to your own tune.

“You’re good to me plenty, Satoru.” you whisper, once both of you have settled.

He opens his eyes to look at you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face, “I didn’t mean it.”

Whatever he told you that day, taking it all out on you.

“I know.” you mumble, nodding.

You always do.

Gojo has always loved you, in some type of way—as friends, colleagues, a-little-bit-more-but-less-than what you are today.

But how he feels right now? It’s kind of ridiculous, borderline out-of-hand, and it’s driving him insane.

It’s such a simple, ordinary thing for you to do: you rush up to him, phone in hand and scroll to some video you found online. You’re so excited, a bounce in your step as if he’s the first and only person you want to show this to. Your eyes shine bright with a megawatt smile to match, and you’re talking so, so fast, completely lit up like fireworks in the making.

He knows you think that he’s listening but, he couldn’t care less about it honestly. Sorry. Not when the words go in one ear and out the other, because all that registers is how adorable you are, giddy and everything.

He makes a joke—completely unrelated, but you find it so funny. Then you’re laughing, full on smacking his arm, doubled over, arms hugging your stomach, guffawing. Your feet are kicking the air as you sink deeper into your couch. Gojo’s standing in front of you, post-enactment of some impression he made, and he’s frozen in place but warm all over.

Seeing you laugh like this, smile like this, being so pretty when you’re happy, the pounding in his chest goes crazy.

This isn’t the first time he’s made you laugh; he does it all the time. You almost always roll your eyes and chuckle, sometimes giggle with your eyes squinting and laugh lines creasing. But it might be the first time it’s like this: with you so bright, more than the sun and every other star in the sky.

And he thinks, this is all he could ever want—to make you happy for the rest of his life.

There’s too much of this feeling inside of him, clawing at his throat, itching to get out. He’s filled with it, has been filled with it for so long that it’s starting to overflow and if he doesn’t say this now he might just—

“I’m so in love with you.”

Gojo breathes it out, as if finally releasing it after all this time. You don’t think he processes it because he just stands there, in the middle of your living room, staring at you.

Your laughter dies with maybe a little part of you too (in a good way).

He looks so sweet, so sincere, and you see his heart, so big, so honest and pure. You get flashbacks of every Satoru you have ever known, at 15, 17, 23, to now.

It’s not like either of you don’t know; it’s plain as day, how you feel about each other—and you would have been fine going on without ever having to hear him speak of love this way.

But hearing it now, it’s far better than anything you could have imagined.

You stare at him. He stares at you.

He’s shocked too.

You don’t want to embarrass him, especially if he didn’t mean to say it, so you chuckle, moving on to break the quiet.

“I can unhear it if you want,” you offer shyly, genuinely.

Gojo looks at you, confused, before a pout makes its way onto his face. You sit up on your couch, playing with your fingers as you look up at him.

Sure, he practically blurted it out, maybe in the heat of the moment, or something, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s realizing that the only thing he really wants from this—

“Though…” you continue, biting your lips, “I think I’m pretty in love with you too.”

The little laugh you make has him, completely.

The grin that breaks on his face is infectious. Gojo, who is normally so pale, is now pink all over—red by his ears and down his neck. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that can be found in yours too.

This moment right here feels like first loves—teens first saying ‘I love you’.

“You think?” he asks incredulously, joking, “So you’re not sure?” he walks closer to you.

You laugh, candy for his cravings, and take his hand to kiss each knuckle before guiding it to your cheek. He runs a thumb across your skin, affection on his fingertips. His index finger hooks itself under your chin, tilting it to rest on his stomach as you look up at him.

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently.

The best part about being in love?

He gets to be in it with you.

Gojo can’t sleep.

It’s not anything new—4 hours on average, maybe 6 on a good night. He doesn’t remember a time when sleep ever came easily.

Sleeping with you, beside you, has helped, but it’s never solved the problem. You’ve gotten him to a full 8 hours before, but never consecutively, and he’s starting to think that if you can’t do it, nothing ever will.

Your sleeping positions change every night, but they always come out as some variation of hugging. Gojo firmly believes that he might as well sleep alone if you aren’t touching.

Tonight, you’re spooning, arm slung over his waist and palm right on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. Your legs stay tangled together with soft puffs of air blowing at the back of his neck.

He opens his eyes and checks the clock by his bedside. 3:24 a.m.

He sighs deeply, carefully maneuvering his body to slip away from you. You used to wake up the first few times this happened, worried about an emergency or some kind of accident. Being a sorcerer trains you for things like that.

You’ve always known Gojo had bad sleep, just not the severity of it.

You don’t wake up to it as much as you used to, having grown accustomed to it after more nights together, but on the off-chance that you do, Gojo always kisses your forehead gently as if to tell you that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

You don’t wake up now, thankfully, so he grabs his phone and heads for the kitchen. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest tonight, far heavier than others he’s woken up from. He pours himself a glass of water before hopping on the kitchen counter, ready to sort through the bowl of candy sitting on the island.

The date today is October 31. Halloween. It’s been a few years since Shibuya but he still feels like he’s suffocating.

In the train station. In the box.

In front of Suguru—or Kenjaku, both, whatever.

He’s gone to therapy, just like you wanted, for the both of you, and grieving has been an interesting concept to wrap his head around since.

But no matter how much he trains his mind to deal with it, his body will always remember the feeling.

He snaps out of it when he hears your footsteps padding on the floorboards. Your figure emerges from the hallway, bed hair and eyes still sleepy, squinting.

“Satoru?” you rub at your eyes, his sleep shirt entirely too long as the sleeves extend past your fingertips. The extra fabric swings in the air. “You okay?” you whisper, approaching him.

Waking you up is the last thing he could ever want right now, but it’s hard when you’re also the only one he can talk about this with. When you know what it’s like to grieve everyone too.

He has every intention of brushing it off, of telling you to go to sleep, but one look at you—one look at him and it’s like you just know. He doesn’t even need to explain.

It isn’t hard to piece together, knowing what today is and seeing him choked up the way he is. You tell Gojo it’s your intuition, but he has a tell, and maybe you’re the only one who knows it.

His eyes—they’ve always given him away. There’s the Satoru you know, then a Satoru that’s far removed, gone away. You can spot it though, the moment it loses its sparkle, the moment it turns from blue to gray.

He feels a little selfish sharing this with you; he’s not the only one who’s lost people. You have too.

You stand in front of him and offer a sad smile, outstretching your arms as an invite, as if to tell him: you can stay here for as long as you’d like.

He moves into your space slowly, hopping off the kitchen island to slump against you.

He doesn’t hug you yet, not immediately, hands still shaky at the memory. You rub his back, hooking your chin on his shoulder as he bends down to rest his head by your cheek.

You take his hand delicately, bringing them to your lips so you can kiss every fingertip gently. When you finish, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, like a hushed secret.

And he wants to, but also, there isn’t anything else to say that you don’t know already. You were there the first few times he had therapy, and when he felt comfortable enough to go alone, he told you all about it anyway right after.

If there’s a secret to fighting the Gojo Satoru with guaranteed victory, they’d only have to get to you—he’d be gone, entirely. You know too much of him, own too many parts of him already.

He chuckles dryly, vibrating by your neck. A step back and he’s leaning against the counter, bringing you closer by the hip, thumb stroking. He tucks away strands of your hair behind your ear, flattening down the bird’s nest that it is from your sleep.

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, pretty.”

Gojo’s been more tender lately, especially in the night when his piercing eyes turn soft, gazing.

You pout, the same one since you were 16. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it, the way he calls you such sweet, honeyed things; you’ve only recently begun to call him ‘baby’ and that alone has been enough to make your head spin.

Still, he wouldn’t be your Satoru if he didn’t surprise you. With how he is now, it’s hard to imagine a time when this was all so difficult for him, when even the slightest bit of your hands touching was challenging.

It’s hard to imagine that both of you are here now, living in the same space, by the kitchen at night, with the contents of your hearts memorized—the sorrow, the pain, the joy, all the love, every single one.

He kisses your nose, and that’s comfort alone.

This is his reality now, with you, and it’s safe.

It’s good.

“Do you want to make waffles?” he hears you mumble, running your hands over his chest, soothing.

The clock reads 3:56 a.m. Early breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, could also be a midnight snack.

(But he knows what you’re doing).

You don’t tell him to try to go back to sleep, never forcing anything you know he can’t do. Instead, you offer yourself to stay up with him, keep him company. Whatever he needs.

(And he loves that about you).

Gojo will forever argue that you might have fallen first, but he’s definitely fallen harder.

He could map out every single location he’s laid his love on—your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, and your lips, the same ones he’s kissed and nipped, bitten until he gets his fill.

Your neck and chest—a canvas for his desires. He glides a finger across your collarbone before lightly tapping on it thrice.

There’s the little dip at the base of your spine, and your thighs—

Oh, he could get lost in them.

He knows.

He has. Many times.

There’s an animal inside of him that only answers to you.

When you kiss his neck and grip his back, soft moans by his ear—short and sweet. He’s a gone man, wholly devoted to you, and you only.

You breathe his name out, “Satoru,” raspily, and he sinks into you—everything, all that he has spilling in the depths of you.

How can he possibly contain all this love?

It’s scary how so much of him already belongs to you, all these years—how you’ve been carrying pieces of him, all versions of him throughout every birthday, every moment you’ve touched his life and have it irrevocably changed.

“Are you happy?” he mumbles by your ear, voice deep and lazy.

It’s the morning, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. Gojo hugs you from behind, arms caging you as he traces little hearts on your sides.

“Right now?” you whisper back, chuckling, “That’s not fair.”

He nips at your ear, a small bite, before you turn to face him.

He supposes you’re right, it isn’t fair to ask that now; both your bodies are sore, well-exhausted, and littered with conversations on love.

Gojo is pretty in the mornings just like he is all the time, his hair lending well to sunlight as much as it does to the moonlight. And his eyes—they shine a different shade during the day compared to the night.

You though, you’re an entirely different creature of your own: a goddess in bedsheets and pillows, wrapped in immaculate white.

You giggle when you face him, nose-to-nose, and he pulls you in tighter, grips you by the butt to slot you in right where you belong.

Are you happy with me?

He wonders, and you can read it—his eyes his greatest tell. You kiss him tenderly, lips moving gently against his. Then you smile, sincerely, before whispering—

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!) thank you notes: to @stellamancer for being there since the very start!! col wouldn’t even exist without you!! you’re every much part of the creation of this as i am :'), to @crysugu for being so ever supportive, cheering me on all the time!! and for loving col reader as much as i do!! and to you reading this and everyone else who has loved this collection so far!! of course!! a credit to all the writers whose works have inspired the way i view and write gojo: to @seravphs for teen dad!gojo and cruel summer influences, i draw so much of the way i understand these characters and their dynamics from you and your beautiful way of writing them and i hope my interpretation gives justice to that!!, to @augustinewrites for keeping up with the fushigojos, this series and the way you write them, with so much love, has always pushed for me to view gojo that way!! you’ve inspired so much of my understanding that gojo does believe in love and that when he falls in it, he falls in it hard!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #satoru #shotorus.writes #col #algorithm pls love me

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g0dlyunsub · 4 months

Text

on your own. | part two

part one | part two

you’re strapped to an explosive and left with three minutes to convince spencer to leave you.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

contents :: general cm themes, mentions/depictions of stalking, kidnapping, death, drug injections (dilaudid), explosives, angst angst angst so much angst

word count :: 3.3k

author’s note :: it's out!! reader is so mean to spencer in the beginning, but it's all an act, i promise :( please read part one if you haven’t already, and let me know what you think!

accompanying song :: as the world caves in by matt maltese

taglist :: @myuhh8, @pleasantwitchgarden, @babyspiderling, @kitty-kei, @delusional-4-fake-people, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @themindofmoe

can you hate someone for what they have done, but still love them for whom they had been? – jodi picoult, nineteen minutes

his voice instantly fills the deep chasm in your heart.

the woman you were – a soul eager to give and receive love – died a year ago. lynne davis replaced your smile with the expression of a self-loathing woman, fed you with humiliation instead of warmth, and made you forget the taste of human companionship. you watched yourself fall apart more and more with each passing day and you never grieved your own loss, for you didn’t have the time.

so when spencer finds you in your wrecked state, slick strands of hair sticking to your forehead and the cuts on your face begging for urgent attention with their swelling undertones of red, you instantly put your head down. hearing your name stings your skin with humiliation and trepidation.

you curse under your breath. your cap wasn’t on your head anymore, so there was no shadow under which you could hide your eyes. there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, nowhere to fake. you were like a deer caught in his headlights, or like a rabbit caught in his bear trap, the shame swallowing you whole. maybe this was all karma coming to bite you in the back, its teeth sinking into your flesh so you would go cold in front of the one you once loved so selflessly.

still looking at the rocky asphalt floor, you contemplate whether you should make a run for it. for some reason, being chased down to the ground sounds more welcoming than being chased down with his words. you already knew a confession wouldn’t make up for your treason. so you turn and walk with heavy steps, steps weighed down with fear.

but spencer wasn’t willing to sit in silence for eternity. he felt a burning sensation crawl through his skin. all these months he was mourning your loss with the regret of washing the same hands that touched you. he relived your absence every day like a haunting crime, cursing his photographic memory for detailing every inch of your face as he ripped through your flesh in his imagination. he was hungry for answers.

his wide strides follow yours as the splitting sounds of the asphalt crunching under his shoes echo in your eardrums. each step pulls at the strings of your heart like a violent demand. crunch. say you’re sorry. crunch. say you’re sorry. crunch. say you’re sorry.

“y/n, wait.”

you don’t stop. the air hits your tongue like bitter regret and sour ignorance.

“please!”

the desperation in his voice knocks the wind out of you. hesitantly, you turn around.

you know he can smell the blood on you, the dirt rubbed into your wounds, and the grime stuck to your sweat. you clench your fist. you’ve seen this ending in your dreams so many times, where he lashes out at you with his boiling rage, and you listen because that’s the only justice you deserve. but you didn’t expect it to come so soon.

“you… you’re okay,” he says with a feathery voice, and his softness feels unintentionally cruel. why is he talking to you like that?

and why is he looking at you like that? you don’t deserve to be looked at with his puppy eyes, glossy with concern for you.

why isn’t he yelling at you like a man seeking revenge, or glaring at you with monstrous rage?

your tone, by contrast, is icy and dark. “yeah, i… i am. you didn’t have to come looking for me.”

“your stalker. what happened to him?” he ignores your statement and his cavernous eyes dig deeper into your gaze.

so he knew. you suck in a breath slowly as you grit your teeth.

“he’s down. i got him in the leg.”

a minute into a conversation that’s overdue by a year, and you’re already lying. but you’re so preoccupied with the thoughts of getting out of this helpless situation, you don’t realize how you’re putting down your defense.

he narrows his eyes as he studies your face. you hate when he does this, because you don’t know the thoughts he’s stirring in his head.

after a second, he pipes up with a desperate roughness in his voice. “we need to get you to the hospital, i-i’ll let them know right now. let us help you.”

the urge to yell out no dances on your lips dangerously. you will not bring the others into this, especially not the rest of the bau. sensing the danger of his implication, you realize it’s now or never.

“there’s no need. i’m fine. i… really need to get going now.”

you wish to say goodbye, just this once, but the hesitation that’s latched onto you since last year isn’t so easy to get rid of.

he scoffs and you think you see his hazel eyes flash with a speck of red. “yeah, just go and leave me, it’s not like you’ve done this before, right?”

your toes curl and dig into the foam of your shoes. his stare bores straight into your soul.

he doesn't give you a chance to reply. “all of our lives were in your hands. you didn’t think we had the right to know?”

his question sweeps your breath away. you wish he never asked. emotion cascades over you like a crumbling rock, and you can practically hear his rage gnawing at whatever patience was left in his body.

“i just… i was never meant to make it this far,” you whisper quietly, so faintly you ponder for a brief moment if your voice is even audible. a penitent expression paints your face as you look away.

your response is the last straw.

spencer decides to wear you down to oblivion.

“you were never meant to make it this far? i didn’t leave my room for three weeks. for three weeks, y/n, i had to find a reason to stay alive!”

his icy tone impales your heart, and it’s a thousand times more painful than the needle your stalker pricked you with. but he doesn’t stop there.

“i’ll be honest with you because you can’t. i hated myself, y/n! did anything we ever talk about leave any impression on you? because the day you walked out of my life, just like my dad did, it really made me think that maybe everyone i loved was out to ruin me!” he throws fiery jabs with his words, each hitting harder than before.

with a crack in his voice, he adds, “i thought it was something i did that made you turn against me.”

a whimper threatens to leave your mouth.

a choking cry sounds as he spills more heart-wrenching words. “i couldn’t pinpoint what it was, so i… i injected myself again so i could feel something. so i could feel sorry. it’s nothing you would care about, though.” he wipes his nose with the back of his sleeve, his chest heaving with shuddering exhales.

you feel so stupid, so cruel, so god damned fucking stupid. his words tear your gut like it's a punching bag, knocking you down and throwing you around until you’re bruised to the bone. even the sun turns its warmth away from you, shunning you by making you face the shade. you stand like a lifeless doll, feeling your jaw clench as you bite down on the inside of your cheeks because the agony is too much to bear.

for a year, you had to withhold yourself from running back to the office, to collapse into spencer’s arms. now that you were face-to-face with him, you couldn’t even look him in the eye to say you missed him.

“you’re right. i’m sorry that i couldn’t care. i don’t trust you, reid.”

you shock yourself with the words that come out of your own mouth, and it feels like your body’s being controlled by someone else. the worst part, it’s not that he wouldn’t understand if you tried to explain. rather, it’s that you simply don’t have the time to explain. you couldn’t afford to toy with the idea of death when it was grabbing you right by the feet.

“you’re lying.” his quiet voice ruffles the hairs on your neck, and you can almost feel the ghost of his hands brush your face.

you certainly are. your shaking shoulders, your reddening cheeks, your watering eyes. your twitching lips, your sniffling nose, your sweating upper lip. the forced prolonged eye contact. after a year of not seeing each other, you wish he would’ve forgotten the behavioral markers that were your dead giveaway. but you couldn’t fool anyone with an eidetic memory.

with the outward shame crawling to your cheeks with a burning flame, your hands instinctively reach to touch the back of your neck. you stop when you feel a wire peeking from under your jacket collar.

shit.

“what is that?” spencer’s voice quavers with disturbed curiosity as he lowers his head to get a better view of your clothed neck.

you try to mask the wire by turning to the side ever so slightly, but spencer never fails to let a single detail slip past his attention. he’s already making steps towards you, and you take several of your own backwards, waving your hands.

“stop. don’t come any closer. don’t!” you yell, frantically shaking your head as you hold your arms up to try and bar him from coming any closer.

but he doesn’t listen.

he grabs both of your hands with one of his, overtaking your arms with such force you worry that he’s going to tear your limbs out, and unzips your jacket.

the last of your hope splinters like a glass vial.

a tear slides from your bottom eyelid, and you watch helplessly as it drops and trickles down along the vein of his arm. you hang your head low, afraid to look into his eyes.

but you’re forced to anyway, because the timer for the bomb on your chest activates with a beep, startling the both of you.

2:59.

“fuck. y/n, you…” the harshness of his voice scathes your already-wounded heart.

you shake your head, the darkness closing in as you fight to keep a steady breath.

“i need you to leave right now, spencer reid,” you beg with the words of a desperate plea.

“no,” he responds sternly, a glare splitting your walls with such anger you clamp your mouth shut.

he forces the jacket off of you and turns you around to get a better view of the electrical components. he reaches for his phone, but you grasp his arm before he can call for a bomb squad.

“don’t bother. we don’t have time.”

and your cover’s blown. the moment you say we, you know you’ve made a fatal blunder. if you really didn’t care, you would’ve let him dial the number.

he knows you care deep down, despite your abrasive words.

“four wires, red, white, blue, and yellow,” he begins, and you know your denouement is set in stone.

2:40.

“if we cut the wire or fuse connecting the trigger and the explosives then we’ll have a chance at disarming the bomb. we still need to account for the possibility of a secondary trigger or the existence of several detonators, as well as if there’s a trigger mechanism that monitors when they’re being cut.” you can’t tell if he’s trying to comfort you while he starts his inchoate examination or if he’s trying to comfort himself. maybe it’s both.

“spencer, i’m begging you, please. go,” you say as you try to move away again, but he backs you up against the brick wall of the alleyway. he grips you even tighter, nails digging into your skin. it hurts like scalding pain.

you’re dying for him to stop trying.

the kid inside of you cries a bitter symphony of hot, painful thoughts. you don’t want to die, not when you have decades ahead of you to redeem yourself. but you reason that you don’t deserve a good ending, and that spencer is the only one that should come out of this alive.

but then again, survivor’s guilt is a dastardly power.

2:15.

“spencer, please. it’s my last wish.”

he looks at you for a brief moment, locking his gaze with yours. he’s so close to you yet feels so far.

“l-look. i need you to let me concentrate,” spencer says shakingly, lightly tracing his fingers along the blasting cap. your breath hitches in the back of your throat, and you forget how to exhale.

1:59.

sweat trickles from your forehead, and you don’t dare move to wipe it. you hear his elevated breaths and watch as a concentrated expression overtakes his face.

you close your eyes.

you hear the bickering chirps of the birds in the distance, the sounds of construction as steel clashes against steel, and the faint laughter of women ringing out like freedom.

it’s a beautiful rhapsody to listen to when you’re dying in the subtlety.

1:30.

you open your eyes. in a stupor of fatigue, you decide to apologize.

“i’m so sorry, spence, i’m so sorry.”

it feels pathetic to say it now.

“i’m such a coward,” you cry, and you carry the blame with your fingers as you try to release his grip on your arm one last time.

1:15.

“d-don’t. say. that.” the tears are now streaking down spencer’s face, merging at his chin and dropping like raindrops to the floor.

“you need to leave,” you croak out, biting back a bitter sob as he tries to look at the device harnessed around your chest again.

“please,” you try once more.

“i’m never leaving you.” his hushed voice cracks and slaps against your eardrums like whiplash.

0:59.

“i never stopped trying to reach for you, y/n.” he breaks the brief silence like waves crashing against the coastline.

“you didn't say goodbye and a part of me thought you were coming back,” he continues, and you break down, the words gutting you like a brutal kick to your stomach. the waves relentlessly lap, rumbling deep in your shredded horizon.

“i… encountered your article in the news journal by chance,” he reveals, and your heart plummets even further.

of course. how naive of you. how could you forget that he was subscribed to every news journal, when you knew he read the news columns and the advertisements every day? you should've known you would fall straight into his hands.

“all of the linguistic features screamed that it was you. you… never moved up to new york.”

a hiccup leaves your chest between gasps.

“i confirmed it was you by asking garcia to cross-check every writers’ name and id in the database.” his knuckles are white, and the vapor from his breath fogs the silver metal of the device.

“i went to every managing editor’s residence to ask if they knew anything about you,” he huffs and you hear a click as the glass shard he’s using as a makeshift knife saws through something. you don’t look down.

0:20.

“i eventually came across the right person, because she gave me your email address. i sent you that email 48 days ago regarding your article, the hygiene hypothesis as an explanation for the increased rates of allergic disorders.”

“that– that was you?” a breathless whisper escapes your lips as disbelief tangles your thoughts.

you remember the email as clear as day. it was the only email that complimented your style of writing among the crowded stash of spam mails, and you starred it so you could look back at it any time. to think that spencer would never reach out to you online because he hated electronic correspondence made you completely overlook the option in the first place.

but did it matter? knowing this or knowing that couldn’t change your fate — and because you couldn’t even convince the man you abandoned a year ago to leave you, you were bringing him down with you.

0:10.

you sigh.

what a shameful ending, to seal your fate in the arms of someone who never deserved to share your pain. what a terrible ending, to have just three minutes to let the world know your time is up. and what a regrettable ending, because even after losing everything you ever had, your stalker’s still forcing you to reap what you sowed.

if it makes you feel better, spencer, i've lived with regret every day since i left you.

if it makes you feel better, spencer, maybe in an alternate universe you and i never met.

if it makes you feel better, spencer, you won’t ever see me again.

they’re all fragments of an apology left unsaid.

“why did you go through all of this… after everything?” you ask.

you don't expect an answer.

you let your hand fall to the ground because you don’t deserve to hold his.

0:03.

0:02.

0:01.

——

“because i needed to hear you say it to my face,” a shaking voice pulses from your right ear.

it sounds too real to assume that you’re in heaven.

you open your eyes. spencer’s eyes are already fixed onto yours, radiant under the sun's golden rays. they're almost blinding.

you look down at the timer.

it’s frozen at 0:01.

a quivering exhale leaves your mouth, and you let out a painfully scratchy sob. spencer’s hands lie pressed against the wall right above your shoulders, and his hot breath fans over your neck as he leans over you. his mop of hair lightly brushes against your skin, and goosebumps scale down your body as you catch your breath.

you then feel him tear the explosive vest away from your body, the sounds of velcro crisp against the still air.

you don’t even ask how he did it. he’s alive, you’re alive, and that’s the only thing that matters.

a million thoughts buzz in your head, and you don’t know what to say, so you just breathe out his name with panting breaths.

“you didn’t have a choice.” spencer gives you a sorrowful smile, and his words seem to absolve you of all of your mistakes.

with an angelic stare, he takes in the sight of you. every tear, every eyelash damp with your sweat, every crack in your dried lips.

“please don’t ever leave again, y/n. i don’t want to lose you.” he says beseechingly, his face peppered with glimmering tears. the sentence burns your tenderest flesh.

“i won’t, i promise,” you whisper hoarsely, and the two of you fall to the ground slowly, taking in each other’s hold for the first time in a long time.

as you hear the sirens sound in the distance, you let yourself succumb to spencer’s grasp and whisper a hundred thank you's against his chest.

how beautiful, the way your heart beats in unison with his as he murmurs words of abounding love and warmth, the way his arms press against your convulsing muscles to summon comfort, and the way you don’t even have to say a word for him to understand.

because in every universe, spencer will fight everything and everyone to extinguish death from your sight, even when you have nothing to return.

#spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #matthew gray gubler #dr spencer reid #bau!reader

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figsnpassionfruits · 28 days

Text

Show Me

a/n: wheewww this was super fun to write. this takes place after the events of DP&W so i hope it clears up the confusion. have fun reading <3 word count: 2.7k tags: worst!logan x fem!reader (can be read as gn!) warnings: angst, smut, not feeling loved enough, rough sex?, mentions of fighting, being addicted to a person basically dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive pictures are from pinterest

It had been days since you had last seen him. “Don’t worry ‘bout it” He would say, not wanting to merge his rugged life with the domestic one he had built with you. It was common for his episodes to play out like that. Logan would leave to god knows where, taking care of business, not that you would know what was meant by it, and return a few days later. He could call you, let you know that he was okay; but he never did.

Each and every time you would cuss at him, more mentally than physically. How dare he just leave and return whenever it pleases him? How dare he only have a relationship with you when it was convenient for him?

But you could not resist.

No matter how angry you were at him, all what mattered during his returns was that he was safe and that he came back to you. You wanted your rage to overweigh, you really did. But your heart had other plans.

Once the door unlocked you knew what would come. The same fight all over again.

You were in bed now, curled up into a ball under your shared blanket, his distinct smell still lingering on the fabric. Faced away from the door, you hoped he thought you were asleep. There was only so much energy one could withhold. Maybe yours was drained already. If you were lucky, he would just get into bed with you and hold you. Perhaps then you could pretend that everything was okay. That this was not sucking everything out of you.

Nevertheless, his heavy footsteps soothed you. Gosh, you really did not want them to. And sometimes, you really did not want to love him the way you did. Was he everything you wanted? Yes. Would he give you everything you wanted? Sure. But fuck, could he stick around for more than a single week before having to go again? No.

As he stepped into your room you instinctively shut your eyes. You could hear him stand still once he reached the doorway. A loud sigh escaped his mouth, and he walked off once again.

After a few moments you heard water splashing against natural stone.

Relieved that you had another few minutes to yourself, you turned onto your back, your eyes fixated on the ceiling as you became lost in your thoughts again. There you were in the bed of your boyfriend, waiting for him to join, having to act like he just completed a normal day at work. It was sickening. You knew this would be a part of it. Hell, you agreed to it. But now that you were in the situation you were not sure whether you could handle it anymore. If at least he would tell you; not hide his life from you; maybe you could deal with it differently.

Logan told you in the very beginning that he did not want you to know anything about the other side of him. You agreed to it. He told you he did not want you to ask him any questions. You agreed to it. He told you that everyone in his other universe got hurt because of him. He told you he did not want to make the same mistake. He told you that you would only be allowed into a fraction of his life. And you agreed to it.

Maybe you should not have.

He fully walked into your room now, the scent of his shampoo filling your nose as he carefully dropped his weight onto the mattress next to you.

You were back into your previous position now, curled up and facing away from him.

Once under the covers, Logan lifted your head gently and reached an arm under your neck, his other finding its way to rest over your midsection. He nuzzled his face into your hair, inhaling your smell.

He missed you. He really did. And you knew it. And that hurt even more.

Placing a hand on the side of your face, he tilted it up, delivering the softest kiss to your temple.

This was exactly what broke you every time. The softness Logan possessed was nothing you ever had expected from him when you first met. He simply did not seem the type. But after cracking him open, you could tell; this man was the softest lover.

Out of sudden he pulled you closer by your waist, your rear now fully curled into his front, fitting into him like a puzzle piece.

Not able to do any different, you leaned into his touch, wiggling your hips against his groin slightly.

He chuckled once and paid the attention of his lips to your neck this time, mumbling against the soft skin. “You awake, princess?”

You nod and hum slightly, shifting your frame so you could look at his face.

There it was.

The face you fell in love with.

You wanted to yell at him, hit him and tell him to leave. But you could not. Not when he was staring at you like you were the most precious thing he laid eyes on. Not when his eyes sparked that way in the dim light of your bedroom.

“You were gone for so long this time.” You whispered.

“I know.” He replied, kissing your forehead as a silent apology. “I’m here now.”

“Wish you would’ve let me know you were okay.”

“I know.”

This again. He was openly admitting to knowing that his actions hurt you. But his wording made clear that he was not going to change that.

As if he could read your mind, Logan continued talking, his index finger moving lose strands of hair from your face. “It’s dangerous to reach out to you while I’m gone. Never know who is tracking anything, love. I told you this.” He kissed your temple again. His body language was screaming at you that he was sorry, but his words were just scrambling excuses and reminders to you. It was confusing. Were you supposed to be mad at him or forgive him? It always ended up being the same anyway. But it should not.

“I just miss you, Lo.”

Logan let out a sigh, his eyes now on the ceiling.

When no response came, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at him. “You could say that you missed me too.”

“I did.”

“Are you sure?”

His eyes now turned to yours. The tension of the eye contact sped up the beating of your heart. He must have noticed, due to the fact that he now had a hold of both of your hands with a single one of his, rubbing small circles on them in an attempt to calm you down. “Yes, I am sure.”

Another moment of silence passed again; the both of you just looking at each other.

“You have to change, Logan. I cannot keep living in this house alone for the majority of the time, asking myself whether you are coming home or not.”

“I know.”

“That’s it?”

Logan cocked a brow at your words, seemingly surprised at your snap.

“That’s all you’re gonna give me? ‘I know’?”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything, Logan, I just want to feel loved and not like just some side piece that you can conveniently return to whenever you’re done with a job!”

He did not expect you to raise your voice. Neither did you.

Logan kept a blank stare at you, not sure how to respond. He knew that you were right and he understood your feelings. That was the problem. It was not about convincing anyone about who had a point, it was more about a behaviour that he was struggling to change. Logan was in a constant turmoil with himself, having to weigh out how to protect the people he was close to as well as having to protect himself. He knew that you should not feel like an option; he knew that. But all those years of self-loathing did not teach him how to show it.

“Darlin’, I-“

Without letting him answer to your rant you leaped forward, engulfing him in a rough and fast kiss. Your hands immediately found their ways to the side of his face and his curls.

Logan copied your action, his lips slightly chapped as your kiss deepened more and more.

Allowing his tongue into your mouth, you moaned into him, pressing your front against his as your legs took over to straddle him. You could not control it. No matter how mad you were, all you wanted was him. Your kisses screamed out in desperation and the need to feel loved by him. It was not like Logan did not love you, but you would be lying if you said that having him gone all the time did not make you feel like it.

Logan set his hands on your ass, squeezing the flesh harshly as he pulled you even closer to him, making you hiss quietly. For a split second he pulled away, guiding your top over your head and throwing it to the side without taking his eyes off of you.

Leaning down into the next kiss, you gasped into his mouth. You leaned down to him, your already hot skin now clashing with the rough hair on his chest, causing you to feel a slight tickle.

“I missed you so much.” You repeated, whispering the words against his lips.

“I missed you too, love.” He replied, giving you a small peck after.

You cupped his face with your hands, rubbing your thumbs over his beard. “You can’t keep leaving me like this, Lo. I get so worried each time.”

Logan leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. “We’ll talk about this again, alright? Lemme take care of you now.”

In a split second he had you on your back, his forearms holding his weight in order to not crush you underneath him. He leaned down to deliver a rough yet short kiss to your lips once more before moving his mouth down to your neck, kissing that sweet spot that made you squirm before sucking on it just enough to make you moan.

“Missed those sounds.” He mumbled, his hands travelling down your stomach and your hips, tugging at the sole fabric that was covering you.

Lifting your hips up, you allowed him to take them off, your eyes not leaving his as he inched further down to the end of the bed, lining his mouth up at your inner thighs.

Usually you would giggle at him, asking him to not tease you. But today you needed this. You needed to feel cherished. Needed to feel loved.

Once his tongue made contact with you; all the anger and sadness washed away. In this moment you were just with him in your shared home, your shared room and your shared bed. It was just you two.

After moaning his name over and over again, his tongue flicking at your bundle of joy, you had allowed to relax and to release yourself, panting as your rode out your high. Logan was whispering and mumbling sweet praises to you, but you were too lost in this setting to pick up on any of them.

Not wanting you to detach, Logan leaned back up to you, his lips hungrily launching onto you again. You tasted yourself on him as you kissed back, your hands on the back of his neck pulling him to you, desperate to want him closer. You leaned yourself further up, your hands automatically moving to get a grip of his now exposed cock.

“Uh uh.” Logan snickered, holding your wrist with a hand of his. “Today’s all about you, mkay?”

“But, Lo-“

“No.” Logan interrupted you with a kiss. “Stop.” Giving you a second to process, he lifted his brows, giving you a look, silently begging you to accept.

You nodded in reply, biting your lip as he flashed you that smirk that you loved so much.

“Good girl.”

Out of a sudden Logan pulled on your ankles, his frame now propped on his knees. You watched him as he spat on his hand, using it to stroke his dick for a few times as he lined himself up at you.

Licking your own fingers while keeping your eyes on him, you moved your hand down to your folds, rubbing small circles on your wet skin.

With the familiar feeling of a lover, Logan entered you slow yet easily. He leaned his body down to you, a hand of his moving your hair out of your face while the other kept a hold on the inside of your knee, tilting it in a way to allow him better access.

“You okay?” He asked you, giving you a small kiss on your lips before starting to move his hips lazily.

“Yea.” You whisper out, tangling the fingers of your hand into his hair.

Smirking at your words, Logan now sped up slightly, his hips clashing against yours in a more rapid pace, now forcing moans to escape your lips. Logan leaned his forehead against yours, his grip now on your jaw. He did not intend to place his thumb right next to your mouth, yet you could not resist.

Turning your head to the touch, you took his calloused finger into your mouth, sucking on it while fighting your moans from his thrusts.

The sound of your wetness mixed with the slapping of skins filled the room as Logan picked up the speed once more, setting it to a more brutal one that you were usually used to with him.

You let go of his thumb with a ‘pop’, leaning your head back into the pillow, moaning out his name.

Using that to his advantage, he dove his head down, nibbling and biting on the skin of your neck, making you audibly gasp in between your bliss. “Fuck, Lo.”

“Tell me what you want.” He mumbled against your skin, not slowing down his thrusts while he demanded an answer.

“Want you to take me from behind.” You managed to blurt out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head once he sped up even more for just a tiny bit.

Out of nowhere he pulled out harshly, not even allowing you to whine at the loss of him before he flipped you over effortlessly onto your stomach. Getting on top of you, Logan pushed his cock right back into you, returning to that pace he had set right before he pulled out.

It was too much for your body to handle and it responded with gripping the covers underneath it as hard as you could, your knuckles’ colour turning to pale.

“Yea, you like it when I fuck you like this?” He mocked you, fisting a hand into your hair and pulling you up to him. “You’re the only one I can do this to, alright? Only you. I’m yours and you’re mine, understood?” He asked through his rough thrusts.

The possessiveness in his voice made you clench around him, your eyes shutting in pleasure as his words filled your ears. “I love you.” You moaned out, a hand of yours now gripping his wrist hardly.

He chuckled and slowed ddown his thrusts for a bit before replying to you. “I love you too, sweet thing.”

Logan knew all you needed was to be fucked well enough to feel loved again. Was it healthy? Probably not. But it was better than fighting. And you hated to admit it.

Delivering a small kiss to your forehead, you whined against Logan, the feeling of fullness and love overwhelming you.

“What’s wrong, love?” He asked, his hips slowly rocking against you.

“Need more.”

Logan smirked once more and sat up straight, his hands now on the sides of your lower back. You wanted him more and more. And he was going to give himself to you.

🍯

#xmen #marvel #x men #logan howlett #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett angst #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine smut #wolverine angst #worst logan #worst logan x reader #worst logan x you #worst logan smut

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backwardsbread · 6 months

Text

Hazbin Hotel Characters:

~First I love you~

Warnings‼️: use of pet names, a dash of angst for Adam and Lucifer (I’m sorry), swearing, GN!Reader, Lucifer doesn’t really say it but it’s still cute I think.

A/N:Okay I’m VERY into fluffy scenarios with these characters rn- MY HEART- thank you guys for all the love towards these and I hope you enjoy! This is sorta rushed because I’m TIRED and working on TOO MANY THINGS.;-;

~not proofread~

Vox:

I’ve mentioned this in previous headcannons with Vox, but dating someone was most definitely not part of his plan.

He views himself as this big bad overlord who would never go soft for anyone.

Dude thinks he’s too good for anybody, even Vel and Val sometimes. He’s very proud of his work and what he does and doesn’t like anyone getting in the way of that.

You’re only a slight exception.

Who he would literally do anything for

He tries to keep your guys’ relationship very much under wraps. He understands how dangerous of a person he is to be around.

Sharing your relationship to the public would basically be an open invitation for anyone who has beef with Vox,

Including a pesky radio demon

To target you.

So while he denies your guys’ relationship to anyone and everyone, it’s understood between the two of you what you guys truly have.

However, Velvette and Val are able to see right through Vox’s bullshit when he starts getting feelings for you. They see how he reacts to your messages, your affections, and your presence.

They know Vox has a soft spot for you, but since they like their heads attached to their bodies, they keep their mouths shut.

As his feelings for you grow, it became more and more obvious to anyone with common sense what was going on.

The man literally relaxes at the mention of you.

Unbeknownst to Vox, literally EVERYONE knows about your guys’ ‘secret’ relationship.

Vox doesn’t realize how easy he is to read. He’s an impulsive liar, and a good one at that, but his actions very much contradict the lies he spits.

He could literally be screaming at one of his employees for who knows what, and if you walk into the room, his eyes soften and his attention is on you.

He’s straightening out his posture, trying to look as if he wasn’t about to murder one of his employees.

(He would deal with them later)

Despite how obvious his and your feelings are towards one another, Vox still doesn’t make anything public, letting fans and overlords alike to speculate.

It was a poorly kept secret but one the two of you mutually agreed to keep.

You are in Hell afterall. Saying you were the TV faced overlords significant other was like sticking a paper on your back that says ‘Kick me’

Vox does his best to balance his life with you and his work life. Work was all he ever knew, so when you entered his afterlife, scheduling became a huge issue.

He would love to spend every moment by your side but he’s work too hard. His empire is too important to him.

So while the two of you didn’t go out too frequently on dates or outings,

(But trust me when you do, it is luxurious. He makes the limited time you spend together worth it.)

Vox was always making a way to communicate with you.

Whether that be via phone call or through text messages, he’s always making sure to make an effort to spend time with you. Even if it was just hearing your voice and seeing your words through a screen.

On your off days, he keeps you on an ongoing call in his TV room at all times. Unless you have something planned of course, then it’s back to the texting.

He would be in and out of his screen room frequently between meetings and whatever other things he had to do. The little lair of his was where he spent a lot of his time catching up on paperwork, checking up on the latest releases, and working through the insane amount of work emails he received.

All while talking to you. Whether it was ranting about his day or yours, or if it was talking about what your guys’ next date would be or even just enjoying each other's silent, distant, company.

That brought you to now; listening to your significant other rant about his overlord associates who had sprung a last minute meeting on him.

You listen to him shuffling around his office, grumbling as he put on his suit jacket.

He rambled on grumpily while you listened with an amused smile. He swore under his breath as he looked at his watch.

"Alright doll, I'll be back in about an hour."

"Boooo."

"I know, but once this bullshit is over, I just have paperwork so I'll be all yours, I’ll talk to you later."

"Alright, see you in a bit, I love you.”

“Mhm, Love you too.”

Vox hurries out of his media room without a second thought, zapping into a nearby security camera and appearing into the meeting room in a bolt of electricity.

He begrudgingly sat in his chair slumping into himself and mentally preparing for the chaos his coworkers were about to create.

As Velvette and Val went at each other throats, his mind drifted to the thought of you.

God, he would give anything to just be next to you instead on enduring this Hell within Hell.

He zoned out, thinking about how you were sitting on call in his office, waiting for his return. You were so loyal to him.

He thought about you, your company and your voice, the way you sounded when you said you loved him.

Realization hits him like a freight train, his screen glitching out a bit and his fans kicking into high gear as he replays the conversation the two of you had before his abrupt departure.

He kind of stays in stunned silence for a moment, in complete utter shock. Was he dreaming?? He said it back so casually! Too casually!

He whips out his phone, shooting you a quick text:

~“You said you loved me??????”

It takes a few seconds for you to respond, but it feels far too long for Vox.

~“Yeah? You said it back”

~“I didn’t realize I did.”

~“Oh. Did you not mean to?”

~“No!”

~“Fuck that came out wrong. Hold on.”

Vox went into panic mode, his screen glitching in and out. Velvette and Valentinos arguing becoming muted background noise.

He tried his best not to blue screen or shut down completely, taking a deep breath to regain composure before he texted you back.

~“I do. I love you too.”

And boy are you glad Vox can’t see your right now because you are sure he would be soaking in your embarrassment with that prideful grin on his face.

You knew you said it first and honestly it felt natural coming out.

But knowing Vox felt the same, hearing him saying it, or well, seeing him say it.

Seeing that he got over his own pride to just say it by himself meant a lot to you.

It made your chest feel warm with joy, your stomach fluttered with imaginary butterflies, and your face burned red from those words that somehow meant more coming from him.

But of course you couldn’t let him know how giddy he truly made you.

Please don’t boost his ego more-

So instead you respond with;

~“That’s pretty corny, flat screen.”

Your reaction to his admission completely catches Vox off guard. He finds himself smirking to himself, somehow feeling better with you not taking him too seriously.

He couldn’t even hear his coworkers screaming at him, wanting his input on the subject they were arguing about.

He just chuckles to himself, tucking his phone into his pocket. Giving fake hums and nods of acknowledgment. Replaying those three little words in his head over and over and over.

Adam:

Holy shit, this man is too up his own ass to realize how bad he’s got it for you.

Don’t get me wrong, the man’s stuck up. He’s selfish. But whatever you ask?

Yeah you’ve got it or it’s at least getting done by the end of the day.

He’s got it bad.

He usually denies your request at first. He’s ’above such things’.

But whatever request it may be, whether it be him stopping to get food or requesting a late night cuddle session. He’s a sucker for you.

And everyone knows it but he will deny it to no end. No way is he soft for you. Nu-uh.

Because of his status and massive ego, it stops him from acting how he wants to around you for a long time.

Like, he’d love to hold your hand, be with you 24/7 in the streets of heaven.

But deep down he’s super self conscious about getting into a relationship. Man lost not one, but TWO wives that’s were MADE for him.

You’re good at getting him to show his true colors though. Straightening him out when he’s pushed too far.

He definitely made a big show about asking you out as well. Mostly to make himself less nervous about doing it.

According to him ‘it’s an honor he’s even asking you’

Which lead to you giving him a death glare and ignoring his ask the rest of the day until he asked you genuinely.

(He then surprised you at the end of the day with chocolates, a romantic dinner, and a huge blanket fort, where you guys cuddled and watched movies until 2 am. Where he asks you again to be his partner properly this time, not letting his ego get the better of him.)

But that aside, you’re one of the few people who can see through Adam’s egotistical exterior.

I hc that he’s a big softie. So oh boy, when you utter these three little words to him, they gain so much more meaning.

I mean we already know the man loves praise. Hearing it from you is a whole different level of euphoria.

It was the morning of an extermination, and while you weren’t meant to know, Adam couldn’t keep anything from you. You ended up finding out about his yearly activities in killing sinners.

The two of you didn’t speak of it often. It’s not like Adam was supposed to speak on the matter anyways.

But when you heard about the exterminations now coming twice a year?

You couldn’t help but feel nervous for your significant other. Sure Adam was strong, but who knew what the hell spawn were capable of?

Adam had finished getting dressed, walking out of his room with his mask in hand.

He seemed like a giddy child, muttering excitedly how he ready he was. It was a way to get the adrenaline flowing and get him hyped for the big day.

Despite how gruesome it was, he did love his job and the praise he received for it.

You’re laying on the couch watching Adam, hearing only your heartbeat in your ears. You watch Adam put on his mask, looking towards you and giving a small wave.

“Alright babe! I’ll see ya later. Hey, you should order from that one kick ass pizza place tonight! Celebration dinner after I wipe out those fuckin’ hellspawn!”

You’re quick to blink out of your panicked daze, swinging your legs over the cushions and nearly tripping over yourself as you go over to him before he can get out the door.

You let out a breath, brushing off nonexistent dust off his pristine war outfit.

“Just.. don’t be stupid. Alright? Don’t go biting off more than you can chew.”

“Uhh. Babe. You do realize who you’re dating right?? I’m fucking Adam! The original-.”

“Original dick, first man, yes yes I know.”

He looked at you through his mask, his grin faltering at the edges when he saw your eyes drowning in worry that you hid behind a nervous smile.

You avoid his gaze, continuing to try and find things in his outfit to straighten out before he can leave.

If you’re lucky, you’ll find something bad enough causing him to have to stay home.

Where it was safe with you.

Adam puts a hand over your own, stopping you from brushing imaginary fuzz off the front of his shirt.

You meet his gaze, and despite his mask being on, you see a genuine soft smile. One of adoration and reassurance.

One that made you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in.

You press a quick kiss against his mask where a projection of his lips were.

He always hated when you did that. You depriving him of your real soft lips against his own.

Just ask him to take the mask off, he would do it if it meant he could kiss you.

Before he can complain, you gently squeeze his hand, letting out a whispered voice. Almost sounding too nervous- no, too scared- to speak.

“I love you.. please be careful..”

You go to let go of his hand so he can be on his merry way. But he’s quick to process your words.

He tightens his grip on your hand, pulling you in closer to him. A look of shock is evident on his face.

He squeezes your hand, pulling you against his chest. He moves his face, almost uncomfortably close, with his mask causing forced distance between you.

“Say that again.”

Now you were a little confused.

What did you even say again?

Did Adam suddenly get cold feet with the whole extermination?

He kept your body in a sort of pose that looked like you were going to start dancing.

His one hand in your own, holding tightly while his other arm wrapped around your torso, hand pressed against the small of your back to keep you close.

Your body pressed against his, it seemed he only wanted you closer, keeping a firm arm wrapped around your torso while you waited for you to repeat your words.

You look up at Adam, repeating your own words in your head. The realization of what you said and, what he wanted to hear again from you, made your face flush from light shades of pink to dark hues of red.

Adam has a smug grin on his face, keeping his tight grip on you. Refusing to let you go until you give him what he wants.

You see the look on his face and roll your eyes a bit while smiling. In a sudden rush of confidence, you kiss his mask again, wiping that smug smirk off his face.

“I love you.. be careful.”

You repeat, once again before Adam can complain about your teased kisses.

Part of Adam is glad you can’t see his face, which was burning red from your actions and words. You speaking sweetness enough to make him melt in your arms.

Those three little words that seemed so cliche before you uttered them.

He lets go of your hand so he can lift his mask off over his head. As soon as it’s off, he’s leaning in to kiss you. Just before his lips reach yours, whispering back a small:

“I love you too, babe.”

And just like that, he’s kissing you in the most soft and genuine way Adam can be. How he always was with you.

You didn’t know that would be the first and last time you would get to utter those words to your partner.

You didn’t know Adam wouldn’t be returning back to heaven after his expedition.

You didn’t know you’d only be able to hold his empty halo, whispering the lost words you never got to say to him.

Adam never planned to leave you alone questioning your faith.

You didn’t know, but at least Adam knew you loved him before it was too late.

Lucifer:

Another big sap despite his title.

Of ya know. The devil.

He met you a few months after Lillith left. So you saw him at rock bottom.

You met him at rock bottom. Wallowing in sorrows and self pity, waiting for his wife to return.

You never did pry at the king, one because he was your superior, and two because he was never in the right mind space to listen to you.

You offered an ear when he needed, an occasional shoulder to lean on when Lucifer had downed too many bottles.

You made sure the king stayed fed and physically stable. Forcing him out of bed on bad days.

(Well i wouldn’t say forcing. You’d sit beside him, rubbing his back while he lets gentle tears fall down his face. Whispering reassuring words and asking what he wants to eat so he would get up and get his desired meal you serve)

(It’s more of convincing and encouraging)

Lucifer had spent his eternity with Lillith. Having been with someone so long, he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

He was angry. He was grief stricken. He was confused. He was sad.

Her departure tore him and the family they had made apart.

You made him feel normal again. Like he wasn’t a failure of a king, husband, and father. You made him feel okay about himself.

Slowly over the years, Lucifer was recovering. It was painfully slow, but you had patience. These things took time overall.

He would never truly be over his wife’s leaving, not really knowing the reason why she had gone, only blaming himself for it.

A part of his heart was torn out that day, but you worked to fill it with new hope.

Lucifer is completely blind to your doing for awhile. I mean he spent a couple years disassociated from everything.

You provided everything for him and he barely knew anything about you. What was your intent in the first place?

He did ask you this once, why you were helping him. Why you did what you did.

Your reason was simple but struck a chord with Lucifer.

You said he deserved to be loved.

Loved.

He had half the mind to burst out in tears right then and there

After that admission, Lucifer set a goal to become a sort of equal to you. To provide for you as you had for him.

The newfound determination to basically serve you got the king of hell up and moving again.

What the two of you had felt so domestic. Cooking and cleaning together, tending to the garden Lucifer had made with Lillith. He couldn’t bare to step foot in it after she left.

But when he saw you out there in the garden covered in dirt and mud, yanking pesky weeds from the ground.

He couldn’t help but go out there. He didn’t even know you had been tending to it.

Most life had died in the garden with Lucifer’s marriage. Painful and sad

It became a midday chore for you while Lucifer grieved indoors. You caught eye of the gardens beauty one day and thought to spruce it up a bit.

When Lucifer was on his feet again, he joined you in this chore. Trimming away dead branches, pulling weeds, picking fruit that had ripened enough.

While he could just use his angelic power to grow these things, nurturing the plants from the start and watching them thrive and bloom was something he enjoyed ever since creation started.

It was something so special to him. So pure and a reminder of home.

The two of you grew closer with this shared chore, it didn’t quite feel like a chore anymore. As it was something the two of you looked forward to now.

Lucifer could feel himself falling. It was what he was prone to doing. But he couldn’t bring himself to be that vulnerable again.

Everytime he had fallen it left him bruised and lost. And if he lost you, he didn’t know if anyone would come pick him up again.

He could only get so lucky so many times.

He was currently looking at an open space near the center of the extensive garden. Where several paths met up in the middle of the garden. Where large trees formed a sort of dome shape protecting anything beneath them.

Lucifer hummed to himself, sleeves pulled up to his elbows. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, spreading the dirt on his fingertips to his face.

He glanced at how much space there was in the center of the garden. He always thought the center was bland. Sure you could lay down and look up towards Hell’s blood skies, but after centuries of seeing nothing but red above him, the sight got boring.

Besides, his creativity was bubbling in him. Begging for something new.

With a point of his finger, golden hues shot out, a large fountain forming in the middle of the gardens. It wasn’t quite tall enough to reach the trees above, but it did challenge them.

The white cement water fountain had edges to sit comfortably, three tiers, with little ducks on the middle layer spitting out water into the pool below.

Gold accents decorated each layer of the fountain. The pool to hold the water having a ruby red color, making the water appear like blood when it sat at the bottom.

Lucifer walked around the fountain, looking over every detail of his work. Making sure it was pristine and perfect.

He enjoyed it for the smallest moment, leaning his hands against the base of the fountain, leaning in to look at his reflection.

He then grew frustrated, not able to enjoy his own creation. It wasn’t good enough, not if it was made from his hands.

He growled, slapping his hand through the water, causing it to splash out. He gripped the edge of the fountain, gritting his teeth.

“Goodness..”

Your voice made him quite frankly jump into the air, falling onto his butt. His head snapped in your directions.

Your eyes were blown wide while you stared at Lucifer’s newest creation. Hands gripping a basket of freshly picked produce from the garden.

The king sits up, stuttering over himself as you move closer to get a better look at the fountain.

“You made this?”

You ask quietly, gently running your fingertips against the designs of the sides of the fountain, feeling the smooth detailing.

“Yeah I know.. it’s uh.. it’s-..”

“It’s beautiful.”

Lucifer visibly tenses at your words, looking up at you with eyes wide in shock.

He was dumbfounded, he looked like a child sitting on the ground just staring at you like this.

You look down at him, seeing his eyes wide and his jaw practically hanging on the floor. You can’t help but chuckle, deciding to take a seat next to him.

You set the basket between the two of you. Picking up a peach from the basket.

“The produce is growing lovely this year.”

You compliment the gardens hard work. Lucifer blinks out of his daydream, looking at the basket between the two of you.

His heart swells with joy. A sense of accomplishment that his creation, something he made, you thought it was beautiful.

His eyes trail to you. The light peering through the branches above you casting perfect rays on your skin.

Your company felt like home. It felt warm and comforting.

And in this light, in the garden, you looked just like…

“I love y-..”

Lucifer starts to speak before his mind can stop him. When you meet his gaze, his voice catches in his throat.

His face flushes golden colors when he caught himself almost daring to say that to you.

He lets out a comedic laugh, awkward and loud.

“..youuurrr COMPANY! Hah! Wow what a nice day! Gee golly, can’t imagine it any other way haha!”

You stare at him for a moment. Of course you were use to Lucifer’s occasional awkwardness behavior, but often times you had to read between the lines to understand what he truly meant/wanted to say.

You kind of got at what he was trying to say, your heart starting to beat fast in your chest at the thought of it.

But it wasn’t the right time. You knew Lucifer wasn’t ready.

You offer her a small smile, handing the fruit to Lucifer. You reach a hand up to wipe the dirt off his chin.

“I love it too. Any day with you.”

Lucifer’s face flushed gold once again, shoulders relaxing. He instinctively leaned into your touch, looking up at the fountain.

Patience. So patient with him.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin vox #hazbin #vox #hazbin hotel x reader #vox x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader #hazbin adam x reader #hazbin adam #hazbin lucifer #hazbin x reader

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so0thsayer · 1 month

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random lost boys HCs !!! (x gn!reader)

I have to get these out of my system. They have been marinating for far too long man omg. Also, this is also my first post so................ lets pray i did this right🙏🙏 also i didnt really proof read lol

let me know if you wanna see more stuff like this :3

WARNINGS: mentions of scars, drugs, biting, scratching. slightly suggestive (nothing too crazy)

David: 𖦹 I'd kill for you.

𖦹 loves to leave marks and love bites anywhere he can sink his teeth. His favourite places to mark would probably be the back of your neck, between your shoulder blades and the inside of your thighs. He understands the importance of the marks not being visible to the public - so he likes to sink his fangs in places that most people cant see. BUT- he'd def leave hickeys in very obvious spots.

𖦹 Wants everyone to know you're his. Not afraid to get handsy in public if you let him.

𖦹 enjoys a good book every now and then, but only when your head is on his lap.

𖦹 typa guy to guide you around with his hand on the small of your back, or his arm around your waist/ shoulders 24/7.

𖦹 Your seat in the cave is right next to his

Paul: 𖦹 He’s very touchy, but times that by 1000 when he gets his lips wrapped around that stick of holy grass (yes i am a paul does drugs sometimes believer). He would want to feel the heat of your skin, even scratching at you sometimes just to have a piece of you under his nails.

𖦹 Not scared to show affection in public. He has no shame.

𖦹 CONSTANT flirting

𖦹 Has a collection of stolen goods. Even stuff that he would never use. If you show an interest in a trinket he has stolen, he'll give it to you whether you want it or not.

𖦹 music buff. loves sharing his takes on popular songs and artists. He likes to bring you to the boardwalk stage to listen to some live music, usually sitting on the outer skirts of the crowd.

𖦹 has a bunch of stupid pet/nicknames for you. (dollface, sugar, sweetness, etc.)

Marko: 𖦹 hovers over you a lot. Always getting up and going places with you without a question, even if you dont ask him to come. He just really enjoys your company, never shy of interesting conversations.

𖦹 This man's love language is playful teasing, dont try to tell me otherwise !!! Not even in a mean way- just always striving to make you laugh in his own way.

"You got something there" He points at your shirt. As you look down, he flicks your nose. "Gotcha." He chuckles.

𖦹 the best at cooking out of the four of them, often taking over the cook pot to make your favourite meals.

𖦹 he'd bark at someone if they tried to get with you LMAO

𖦹 one of his favourite ways to pass the time with you is hitting the up the boardwalk clothes stores. He loves picking out new clothes for you, letting you know how good you look in them. "Damn, babe."

𖦹 having you over his shoulder gives him a constant ego boost.

Dwayne: 𖦹 I'd die for you.

𖦹 definitely love marks, scars etc. idk, he just seems like the kinda guy who would. He loves the way they feel under his fingers as he caresses his lover’s skin. He reads the stories they tell like brail. And for stretch marks, he loves the way they glisten in the light as they fade, and he loves the way they make an indent, rather than a bump for once. Perhaps he'd also like leaving a few marks of his own, like a bite mark or two, but he also doesn’t want to hurt you at the same time.

𖦹 cuddling with this man would be incredible.

𖦹 loves it when you play with his beautiful hair :3 (has a hard time asking for you to tho- he feels a great warmth when you do it without him asking). honestly just loves being touched by you in general

𖦹 he isn’t so much a go out of his way to smother you kinda guy, but he will gladly hug you tightly if you hug him. His favourite ways to touch you are to wrap his arm around his waist, putting his arm over your shoulder while you’re sitting with each other and stroking your hair and skin while you lay your head on his lap. He just loves to feel your warmth on his cold finger tips.

𖦹 100000000x more affectionate in private dude

𖦹 the moment you ask him for something he’s on it. “Hey, could you get me-“ and he’s already handing it to you. He loves helping you in every way possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

hope you enjoyed my first post !! :3 I know it's kinda short but I couldnt really find anything else to add😭 i am stressed

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ja3hwa · 11 months

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♡ 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐔𝐬, 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐎𝐮𝐫𝐬 ♡

Day 31 : Trick Or Teat

【Synopsis】 : The dead of night, creatures hide. In the light of a fire, those same creatures can become more.

『Word count』 : 7.01k

-> Genre: Supernatural. Smut. Angst. Fluff.

Paring: Yungi x Reader | Seonghwa x Reader [Eventual ot8 x Reader]

[Warnings] : Self hatred. Abusive family. toxic family. Cult-like religon. Myths and supernatural concepts. The reader is giving off Genderfluid in some parts [not me projecting whoops]. hints of sexual abuse. Blood. Gore. Dark themes. Blood drinking. Kissing. Swearing. All the boys have a corruption kink cause why not. Fingering. Seonghw has a bit of a superiority complex. Details of torture and killing people. Unprotected sex. Yunho and Mingi are little shits. Eheh

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Surprise!! This is the very first chapter and introduction to my new mini series I'll be writing. I know a lot of you have been wanting Vampire Ateez ot8x reader for a while, and I've been trying to find a good story, and i finally got one, hehe. Also, I wanted to make this fic extra long as well to say thank you for 4k followers. I still want to do an event, but I'm taking a little break first, so I hope this is okay for now.

I LOVE YOU ALL ♡♡♡

Check out the mini series masterlist -> [Here]

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober List | Part Two

The Destiny Castle was filled with darkness and death. Guard dogs, the size of cows and strange beastly noises echoing in the forest surrounding. And warnings to anyone that enters the ground will never be seen again. Well, that's what the priest of your village says over time and time again. Blabbering about how god left the family that lived in the castle many centuries ago when they invited night-crawling creatures inside. Ones that drink blood and care little for the human race.

Vampires.

You sighed under your breath for the fifth or sixth time this evening as the sermon read on the large dusted book in front of him. Your hands were beginning to ache from having them clasped together for so long. Why were you even praying? It's not like you believe any of this bullshit. Yes, granted, some of it might sound true, and you had doubts on multiple occasions whether this man in the sky was, in fact, real or not. But did you really want to stick around and find out? When you die and you go to hell, so be it. You weren't scared of where you ended up. You were more scared of wasting your life away. Not finding the adventure you so desperately craved. But your picture-perfect parents with their picture-perfect kids shall have no such dreams. No such idea of living other than to tend to the market stall and be married to yet another picture-perfect family.

You felt your mother's god-awful stare as she clearly heard you sigh yet again. You hated her the most. Always finding new and improved ways to punish you for "your sins." Like rolling your eyes or talking back to a man. Or worse, not showing any signs of being a good future housewife so when she's finally ready to sell you off—oh I'm sorry, give you away—to some rich Christian suitor to be your husband. You could be the perfect version of yourself for her.

Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

You hated that fucking word. A loud bell chime caught your attention, signalling that Sept was finished with his blabberings for the evening. So you stood up straight, your annoyingly over-layered dress before turning on your heels to leave.

"Oh wait, Dove. Come here, please." Your mother's overfaked and sugary sweet tone rattled in your ears. The use of the nickname Dove also annoyed you. Dove, meaning white pure bird that is trapped in a golden cage. Everyone had called you that since you were born, most people in the village not even knowing your real name, only know this nickname.

Why, you may ask?

Simple, your mother hated your name. You were named after your father's mother, who she hated. But it was tradition to name your firstborn after the father's mother, so here you were. Not only were you a disappointment to your mother, but you also bore a name that resembles hatred. Lucky you.

"This is Lucas Wheeler. He's Mary and Robert's Eldest son." Your mother's voice buttered up the introduction, leaning in with an absolutely disturbingly fake smile that everyone seemed to fall for. You turned your lip slightly, making a poor attempt to smile, which your mother did not approve of. "Luca, darling, this is my daughter."

His grin was wide and overexaggerated. His tunic was buttoned all the way up to his Adams apple, looking as if it was constricting his airflow. And his hair was perfectly brushed back. He was the definition of a good pure religious boy. A book nerd. You couldn't hide your disgust as he licked his lips, eyeing you like some piece of flesh. You knew what he was hiding. That filthy lust that men seemed to only be forgiven for. He has probably dreamed about shoving his cock in every woman that passes him and he was definitely only thinking about his needs while staring at you. Not marriage, not husband duty. No, the sole idea of finally getting his little dick wet was driving him crazy. And it made you want to chuck your guts up all over his clean shoes.

"You seem to have such a um, polite daughter here, Christine. She seems shy?" Lucas's mother, Mary spoke up trying to take a look at you but you kept your face pointed to the ground. You didn’t want to be there and you weren't about to fake a smile for a family you did not need to know. you wanted nothing more than to slip away and become invisible like you always did in these types of situations. But turning twenty has now made you in the public eye. Twenty and without a husband was rare. Normally women in your village were betrothed at sixteen and married at eighteen. But you have managed to wheezle your way out of it from your parents being too worried about your younger sisters. But you’ll be twenty-one soon and your mother, Christine was becoming impatient.

“She is a shy one. Sweet too. Micheal and I have been trying to find the perfect man for her, but her shyness seems to not be a lucky charm.” Your mother battered, throwing a sweet chuckle making Lucas’s parents laugh.

“Well, how about you both come over? Bring all your kids, for dinner. I’m sure my Luca would love to get to know her.” Mary pinched Lucas’s cheek making him push away slightly.

“Yes. I’d love to know more about your daughter. I’m sure we will be able to entertain one another while you get dinner ready.” his dark words made your stomach turn and flip. Now you were definitely going to be sick.

“It’s settled then. We will see you at sundown.” Your mother bid goodbye tugging you away by your arm out of the church, not letting you go for a second. Knowing you’d just run off the first chance you got.

Night came quicker than you would have liked and no matter how hard to tried to slip away your mother made sure that one of your sisters was always with you, ready to shout if you tried to bail. What was this some type of house imprisonment? You didn’t want to go, that was more than clear. But your mother couldn’t care less and your father well it was ‘whatever mother says goes’. so you were alone in the more honest terms. Your brothers were too young to know any different, your sister who is only two years younger than you was a cutout of your mother. And your little sister was daddy's little girl. She didn’t care about anything but her daddy.

What a perfect family you seem to have. Everyone fitted in somewhere but you. You were the experiment. The first batch of cookies to come out of the oven that no one touches cause they were too burned or not fully cooked.

“Come on we are going to be late.” Your mother's voice rang through the house, your sister's eyes not leaving you. She had muttered something before heading for the door. You had told her you just needed to put on some garments before meeting her downstairs. She was hesitant for a moment thinking this was a plan to escape but you had said that there was no time now and what would be the point. Sensing your defeat she left you alone. Finally.

You pull on some pants under your dress, hating having to wear such feminine clothing. It wasn’t that you were against wearing dresses or lace or even frills. It was more that sometimes you wanted pants. Was that so bad? You sighed putting all the clothes your sister had pulled out for you to try on, on the end of your bed. That was later you’s problem. You noticed your book laying on your pillow making you swear under your breath. Tucking it back under the sheets you wonder if your sister saw it. You hopped not, if she saw what you wrote or worse what you drew, she’d be telling the church to burn you at the stake.

You ran down the stairs quickly, not wanting to waste any more time, hoping that if you go over and get this night over with you can come back home and hide away in your room, wishing you were anywhere other than with this family.

This night seemed okay as far as talking about our lord and saviour over supper was. Mary was busy finishing up the final dish, letting Lucas and your parents laugh over a blessed bottle of wine. They had sent you and Lucas away to, get to know one another and Lucas had to perfect idea to show you his barn. A place where ‘he could be himself’. God, everything he says annoys you. Climbing the old rusty ladder, you stand in an empty hay loft. Your gut felt strange, like your body was warning you of something but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Until you felt a hand grip your shoulder softly but tight enough to make you freeze.

His breath was so close, pooling on your neck. fingers were ghosting along your corset strings making tears build in your eyes. Even though he was a little boy in your mind. He was much bigger than you and he could easily take advantage of you if you didn’t play your cards right. So you had to act. “And what might we get up to here hmm…”

His chuckle sickened you. “Well, we have some time before mother calls. So I thought we get to know each other. Just like our families wanted.” he pulled away, making a grunting sound behind you. You turned slowly to see he was sitting on a blanket that had been laid out on some hay. Was this disgusting excuse of a man really thinking he could charm you into sleeping with him? God, his ego was bigger than you thought. You giggled, waltzing around the small room pretending to think but in truth, you were looking for an exit. You could go down the ladder but he’d probably grab you before getting that low. Maybe over the side onto the beams. He won't be able to get to you then. But then you’d be trapped until you eventually have to climb back over. And you know he’s the type to wait you out.

A window. Probably leads onto the roof. Not practical but if you recall you did see a bunch of hay bails just outside so if you jump you’d be able to land on them. And a broken ankle or wrist was better than….”Where is your mind wondering, baby? Do I scare you?”

Your head snaps back to him, giving him a small smile. “Oh, no…no…” You step closer, looking him deep in his eyes. “you don’t scare me…baby…” You stood right above his laying figure, his legs spread, enough for you to place a foot in between them. A grim smirk painted his unpleasant features. he went to sit up and you used this as your now or never, kicking him right in the balls without another thought. His groan was loud, knowing if it weren't for how far you were from the house. Everyone would have heard.

“You little bitch!” You ran for the window, crawling out as quickly as you could. The top of your dress got caught on a nail ripping the fabric. But you didn’t waste any time to cry about broken material, looking for the hay bails. It wasn’t as high of a jump as you thought, sliding down the straw, making some of it get caught in your dress. You could hear Lucas groaning in the distance as you started to run. Run fast and run far.

You needed to go home. Quickest route is through the forestry back towards the centre of the village before turning off from the church. Jump Mr Smith's fence and climb the vines into your room. Simple enough. But it's dark, a little too dark and all you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears and rabid footsteps in the distance. The forest was thick. Trees tightly snug together. You almost tripped several times over branches and roots. Your heart was racing now, panting as your mind was becoming hazy. Need to get home. Need to get home.

“Ohhhh Little Dove, where are you.” Lucas’s deep sinister voice echoed through the dark forest. He was too close, you needed to stop. Hide. Maybe he’d go past you or head back. “Come out, baby. We were just having some fun.”

Quiet. Be silent. don’t move. Not a mucsle.

He called your name this time your real one making you gulp. His voice was maybe two or three trees away from where you stood. A twig snaps and you feel tears in the corners of your eyes. He was so close it was like you could still feel his breath. “Come on princess...” His hand wrapped the tree you were standing against and everything stopped. You closed your eyes thinking for a moment, trying to play thousands of scenarios of how you could get away. But nothing would work. He caught you. He danced the bend, slipping right into your view. Before you could run his hand gripped your throat making you freeze. “Don’t worry baby. I don’t bite.”

His words were short... sinister, like he had achieved his ultimate goal of capturing his prey. Your eyes widened going to spit back a comment but your words caught in your throat as you saw a figure suddenly appear behind Lucas. Tall, dark. Red eyes glowing through the night. Everything happened so quickly, the beast grasped Lucas the same way he had you, pulling him back with fright. “But I do…”

The creature's fangs pierced the disgusting man's neck making him scream out a noise that would make your blood curdle. His grip dropped from you, trying to scratch and fight off the larger figure. You took this moment to run, not even caring if the creature was going to kill him or not. All you knew was you needed to run. But you couldn’t run home anymore. There’s blood on your hands literally, Lucas’s blood splattered on you. If this wasn’t a perfect situation the priest was looking for to burn you at the stake you don’t know what is. “Hey, this way.”

You physically jump hearing a high-pitched voice cooe at you through the wind. It was a hooded figure, and normally you would of not gone with a stranger but in this case it seemed fair. You followed the person who seemed to be always a few steps ahead of you at all times no matter how hard you tried to catch up. It was only then, when you stopped focusing on the person to look around you noticed they were leading you to the castle grounds. Where myth reads vampires inhabit. That must have been what got Lucas.

A blood sucking vampire.

You stopped in your tracks not knowing to go back or forward. It’s not like vampires scared you per se. It was just. You were human and they are beasts. They would certainly eat you before you could plead your case. But one of them saved you right? That’s what it was doing? Not just finding two humans and deciding to have a late-night snack right….

“Hey over here.” The figure called for you again but when you looked up everything suddenly went black.

Your head was ringing. Heartbeat thumping slowly in your ears. Black splotches clouded your vision as you tried to look around. You were in a room. A Billiard room, to be exact. You have never seen a room of such a size. The bottom of your house most definitely fitting in this room alone. The leather under your fingers felt expensive, seeing the brown with bubbled texture. It was lavish, elegant—

"Beautiful, isn't it." A smooth voice swayed your attention, having caught you admiring the fine fabrics of the furniture. Your eyes locked with deep crimson ones. He was like nothing you've ever seen before. He was stunning, tall, and broad. You had to gulp at the sheer beauty of the man. But you knew he wasn't just a man. From his eyes, you knew he was a beast, a night crawler.

"Are you going to respond? Or are you more of a staring type?" Another voice scared you slightly. Looking to your left, you see another man, but he was sitting on the couch next to you. His black undercut fitted his features perfectly. He kind of sounded like the hooded figure that was helping you get away before...

"Definitely the quiet, staring type." A cheeky tone to your right. He was leaning on the pool table, his Cheshire cat grin painting his features smugly.

So there's three of them that live here?

"Now now, Woo, San. She's probably just scared." A shorter but beefier male suddenly stood next to the first one that spoke. He wasn't even looking at you, mostly paying attention to the two he called Woo and San. You were now sitting straight up, moving your gaze from each of them. As they were all in their own worlds arguing about why you might not be talking.

"You're bleeding, Tiny?" A voice growled behind you, startling you. You turned to see two very big men standing behind the couch. "When did you cut yourself?" He dragged his two fingers through your wound, making you hiss, pulling away from him.

He put one of his fingers in his mouth, closing his eyes as if he were savouring the taste. Once he was done, he placed his other bloody finger in the male next to him, mouth. The other man groaned his eyes, glowing a harsher red as he stared you down. "You taste delicious, Sugar."

You went to stand, trying to get away from them, but your legs gave out, making you fall forward in front of the high-pitched boy who still sat on the other couch. "Be careful, Dollface. Don’t want ya gettin hurt."

"Okay, let's give her some space. Wooyoung, take San down to the kitchens and see if dinner is ready yet. Mingi and Yunho can go set the table." The one that stood at the door, the first man directed all the men with ease. They will followed without another word, heading for the door. "And for the love of Lillith, Jongho, can you please find your lover and Hongjoong. I think they were still cleaning up from..." He looked at you briefly. "Dealing with that disgusting human."

You knew he was talking about Lucas, and that meant this Lover boy or Hongjoong had been the one you saw ripping through Lucas's neck. They all left soon after, leaving you alone with the dominant man. You managed to sit back on the couch, but you wanted, needed to stand. So you tried your luck again, and your knees buckled, making you slip forward, but instead of making an impact with the ground, two large arms were wrapped around your waist. Your hands gripped the creature's biceps, feeling his muscles taught and tense. "You do need to be careful, Darling."

Unlike Lucas's or any man, you've ever met really. These creatures don't seem to set off any of your alarms. You didn’t know if that was a bad thing or not, but you chose to brush it off, ‘cause in the end, you had never felt such kindness from anyone in the village. You were out-casted, unloved. You might as well be the witch they all wanted you to be. The kind smile that painted his features made your heart skip. He was indeed handsome. You finally spoke up saying who you were and the man looked at you with surprise before laughing. “Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Seonghwa. It’s nice to meet you…”

Your name rolled off his tongue so beautifully. No one had ever used it to address you before. It was almost strange, foreign even. “Honestly you could call me anything. I was never called that name sadly.”

Seonghwa hummed in response, still holding tight on you. In truth, he knows much more about you than he leads on. When he and the others go on hunts he had found you a year ago. Ironically you were having your nineteenth birthday. On your own of course. He remembers the way you spoke to yourself, wishing yourself a happy birthday while you drew in your book. Your feet were in the cool water of the watering hole in the forestry just outside the village. You went there almost every second day. And so did he.

There was something about you that caught his eye. Caught all of the boy's eyes. You were special but none of them could put their finger on it. So of course when they found you running for your life from a disgusting man. They couldn’t stand by and let anything happen to their precious little human.

Dinner was quick as you just sat there and ate in silence. The others were loud though, making it seem almost normal. Like everything that was happening was something you all were used to already. Seonghwa had told you about all the boys and what all their names were. It took you a moment to put names to faces but once you got it. It was easy. Seonghwa never left your side. Making sure you were safe and comfortable. You appreciated it, understanding it must have been weird to have a human walking around. But you quickly learnt that all the maids and butlers were human. They got paid and some even lived on the estate.

Everything the village said about vampires and creatures in general was so wrong. And secretly you always wanted it to be wrong. So you were glad they weren't purely just bloodsucking beasts. But every now and then that face you saw popped into your head. You still didn’t know which one killed Lucas. And on top of it, this Hongjoong and Yeosang—Seonghwa had told you his name—were nowhere to be found.

“Okay well, sun will be up soon. Let’s get ready for bed.” Seonghwa again spoke up, dying down the chatter. It was like he took on a motherly role in the house. It was cute.

“Come Sugarcube. Yunho and I will show you to your room.” The one named Mingi flashed you a smile making you smile in response. Bidding Seonghwa goodnight or would It be morning now? Mental note to look out for a clock. The halls were lavish and carpeted, matching all the rooms you’ve seen thus far. Everything was perfect, vintage and beautiful. Yunho and Mingi had caught onto your mind wandering and had stopped for a moment, seeing how far you’d walk without them near you. You were very cute to them. Like a clueless bunny, with wide innocent eyes.

“Hey, Tiny. Your room is over here.” Yunho’s far voice snapped you out of your thoughts making you turn around to see both large men. Their arms crossed, with big grins. Your face was redder than a tomato in seconds making them both groan at how you waddle back quickly. Cute. Too cute. “This is where you’ll be saying. We’ll try and get some of your personal things tomorrow.”

“Yeah, Hongjoong had said something about grabbing some stuff while your family are out tomorrow.” Mingi rubbed the back of his neck as you slipped past both men to look into the huge spacious room. Only hours ago you were about to be married off to some pig and live on his farm until your death to now staying with not one but eight vampires.

And what was worse. You couldn’t go back. Not that you’d want to that is. But still, all your life you’ve known one thing and now… “You okay Tiny? Not the style you like? We have like ten other rooms if you want to-No it’s okay it’s just…” You cut Yunho off before taking a seat on the olive green and black silk sheets that lay on the large king bed.

“Did…Did Lucas die?” You don’t understand why you were asking about that pig but you needed to know. You needed to know would your parents found his mangled body and thought the beast that did that also killed you. Or would they think you did it? Yunho sat on his knees in front of you, placing his large hands on your thighs in a comforting manner. His smile was soft and his fingers grazing on your exposed skin was gentle.

“No. Yeosang left him alive. But he won't be wanting to live with the way he looks now.” You don’t know if Yunho’s words made you feel better or worse.

“Hongjoong helped him drag him back to that barn. His parents found him and they are looking for you at the moment.” Mingi revealed, knowing you’ll just keep asking questions so there was no reason to hide anything from you.

“Do my parents think I’m dead?” Deep down you knew they’d be happy either way. Dead, alive. Murderer or innocent. Your family would plead their sob story about the monster you were regardless of the truth.

“No…Lucas told them you ran. They think you were a part of it. Luring him out there for your vampire lover to have a meal.” Yunho felt disgusted with himself for repeating what Hongjoong had told them your parents said. But what else should they do?

“Vampire lover….hmm.” You smiled, starting to laugh. That’s what they probably thought you were sneaking off to at random hours of the day or night. Both of the men looked at one another with confusion, letting Mingi sit down next to you.

“Something funny with that Sugarcube?” Mingi’s voice was so deep, velvety. It made your core tingle and heart race. You looked up at him with tears in your eyes, but still giving him a smile.

“My mother has wanted nothing but to pin some devilish thing on me and now she gets it. Something that said I did not serve the lord. Argh…” Tears ran down your cheeks “Fuck the lord. Why should I have to care what an old man did for humanity?! I just wanted to paint. Find adventure. Not marry and be a baby maker for some lowlife pig.” All your pent-up anger. All your disappointment. Every single thing you wished to say to your mother was pouring out, in front of two vampires you had only met hours ago now. It felt like a weight being pushed off your chest and you were no longer drowning. Mingi’s hand rubbed circles on your lower back making you fall into his embrace, letting him hold you while Yunho straightened up so he could hold you as well. They were beasts that could drain you in seconds yet they held you like they’ve known you for years. They listened as if they cared. They spoke as if you were the most important person in the world. why?

“There, there baby. It’s okay. You’re free now. You can do anything you want.” Yunho’s voice was quiet almost barely above a whisper. But still still heard him. You pulled away letting them still hold you but you could wipe your face. You can do anything? No one has ever said that to you.

“Well...I guess since this my first time of freedom…” You had both the vampire's attention now with your words. “I want a bath. One with lots of bubbles.” You’ve never had such a thing in your life only settling for quick showers or sharing bathing pools with your siblings. Not something lavish. Mingi laughed a deep hearty laugh. As if you couldn't get any more cute, there you went.

“I think that’s a perfect idea Sugar. We’ll get one of the maids to fix one up for you. And…” He placed his hands on either shoulder pushing you towards Yunho. Your face inches from him. Mingi inspected the wound of your shoulder blade noticing it was already closing but blood was still pooling out of it slowly. “Get this wound cleaned up…”

His tongue licked a strip upwards, following the wound. You hiccuped feeling a slight sting from him. Yunho however distracted you by giving you a kiss. Your eyes were wide and confused. He… he was kissing you. His soft lips moved slowly against yours. His tongue dipped around your bottom lip, testing the waters. Perfectly distracting you from Mingi cleaning your cut with his mouth. Your blood tasted unlike anything he had ever tasted before.

“You taste amazing… fuck.” Mingi mumbled against you while Yunho’s tongue slipped into your mouth as you groaned. Your mind was spinning like crazy, your hand finding place on Yunho biceps, digging your nails in his cold flesh.

“Y…Yuyu..” You tried to speak, finally making both men pull away, leaving you to gasp for air.

“Sorry tiny. Your lips were just too kissable not to.” Yunho chuckled licking his lips of the saliva you left behind on them. Your heart was pounding, feeling such excitement but also a tinge of fear…

“Tha… that was my first kiss..” You felt embarrassed to say so but you felt compelled to tell them. Which made both of them growl. Mingi’s fingers wrapped in your tattered dress hem while Yunho rubbed his hand over his face.

“Fuck. I was your first kiss baby?” Yunho felt so proud of himself.

“Damn Yunho the others aren't gonna be happy when they find out,” Mingi spoke as if you were no longer there.

“Wait why would the others care?” You suddenly felt small, seeing hunger in both their eyes. You had no idea what these men were planning, nor what they all wanted from you. It frightened you. But not as much as it excited you.

The bath was filled with bubbles, vanilla scent soap and soft music from a vinyl. You could have stayed in there for hours but when one of the maids came in to help you dress your wound you knew it was time to get out. The nice maid named Minnie had brought you some sleepwear, soft silk sleep shorts and a singlet. You have never felt such soft fabric before always getting hand-me-downs or second/third hand clothing.

“You look cute.” A gentle voice echoed from the door of your room. You hummed, blush burning your cheeks. Turning you see Seonghwa leaning against the door frame, bottom lip between his teeth as he eyed you, not even trying to hide that he was checking you out.

“Thanks…” You played with your fingers, standing there awkwardly as you watched Seonghwa close the door, slowly moving towards you. Like he was stalking you. No doubt Yunho and Mingi had run off bragging what they had done when you were busy bathing. God, if this was going to become a new normal you were going to develop a headache from your head spinning.

“I wanted to check on you.” For every step he took, you took one back, like a little dance until your back was firmly against the wall and his body almost flushed against you. “I heard Min and Yun had some fun with you.”

“I-..Yunho kissed me…Mingi he uh…” You felt so flustered, fanatically looking around the room feeling embarrassed about spilling what you had done even though you knew the two giants would have told everyone by now. He put his fingers on your chin, running his thumb along your bottom lip, pulling on it slightly.

“I was kinda hoping to be the first to taste you. But then again, none of the boys tend to listen.” His eyes were hooded, looking at you with such hunger. He could feel your heart race against the pad of his thumb. He can hear your blood pumping quicker than normal. And your eyes never left his. His face inched closer, and then some. Seeing just how close he could get to you before you’d pull away but you didn’t, not even flinch. “Have you done anything like this before?”

You shook your head no slightly. “Have you ever touched yourself, Bunny?” his question made your face become redder. This was filthy, dirty, something you were supposed to be sworn away. And man did defying god feel intoxicating. You whispered no, making him close his eyes with a sigh for a moment. So innocent, so cute… So his to taint. “Do you want me to touch you, Bunny?”

“Yes…” You whisper… He tucked a piece of damp hair behind your ear making you shiver as his fingers grazed your skin. His cold tips slide along your cheek, down to your neck, before pushing gently on your man artery feeling your hot blood pump under his digits.

“I could drain you dry right now. Or fuck you full? Maybe both? Hmm?” His lips brushed against yours but not enough to seal his lips on yours. No, he wanted you to do it, he needed you to do the first move. So he knows you do in fact want it. And you gave him exactly what he wanted, leaning up to lock your lips to his. His one hand cupped your face to deepen the kiss while his other, snaked down to play with the hem of your shorts. Your legs spread instinctively, giving him access to do whatever he pleases. His wet tongue danced with you making you feel all kinds of filthy.

You had almost gotten a man killed, ran away from home. Most likely been shunned for life from your village and on top of that kissed two men that both happened to be undead creatures you only just met, while another drank from one of your open wounds. If was indeed sins, you might as well be sent down to Lillith herself on a golden platter.

“Come on Bunny, let’s get you comfortable.” He pulled away picking you up by your thighs before walking over to your bed and laying you down on the plump mattress. His lips trail down your cheeks, then your jaw until he stops at your neck for a moment rubbing his nose along your jugular. “God I can smell your blood through your soft skin.” he sighs, drawing his fangs out.

“H-Hwa p-please…” You bucked your hips against his hardening length, spreading your legs further so he could get closer if that was possible. He chuckled, darkly. Fang pressing just hard enough to pierce your skin a little bit so a few drops of blood would spill out. He licked your blood up, trying not to get any on the bed sheets. Your whimpers were music to his ears, and your taste was heavenly. Now he’s wondering how else you taste in other places. “Fuuckk.”

The feeling of his fangs and the was his fingers play with your short made your head cloudy. His hand slipped into your shorts cupping your core making you suddenly aware what was happening. His mouth finally left your neck, kissing down the exposed parts of your chest. He was worshiping every part of your body sending your skin on fire. “Such a pretty bunny. I can feel heat pooling out of you. Do you find my devilish charms that intoxicating bunny?”

You squirmed, needed more. His index finger slide along your slit making your mouth open into an ‘o’ shape. Your eyes shut tightly, finally feeling some kind of relief that you were searching for. The pleasure was new, and strange, making you feel like you were in a whole another world. Seonghwa kept whispering sweet nothings to you as he slowly pushes a finger inside your drenched cunt. It was steady at first until he found a rhythm, inching yet another finger inside making your brows knot together. His name fell from your lips on repeat like some kind of broken vinyl, he knew he could get you close to your high without much effort given you have never felt such a feeling before. And with only a few more moments you were clenching around his digits, coming underdone while he stared at you intensely, watching every one of your features move and contort in the pure ecstasy he was gifting you. “Did that feel good baby? I can make you feel even better, all you got to do is say yes.”

“Yes, please Seonghwa. Please. Make me feel like that again. I wanna feel good.” You don’t know why your mouth started spilling such filth but you couldn’t care, not when you were so close to feeling a pleasure you have only wondered about in those lewd novels Miss Smith had down the path. She had let you borrow one and it had changed your life forever. Seonghwa got to work, pulling your shirt off above your head and tugging down the rest until it slipped off your ankles in one swoop of his wrists. You were completely bare for him. He could see all the sun-kissed spots. All the scars, and beauty marks. He could see the bruises of a handprint on your collarbone and other smaller ones littering your legs and arms.

Pathetic human. Digusting pig.

Fuck, does he wish that Yeosang and Hongjoong hadn’t kept him alive now. But then again giving him a swift death would have been too merciful. No, Seonghwa would want to keep Lucas in a cell, locked away for weeks. No food, barely any water. Watching him starve. Watch him beg for death. But Seonghwa would never give it to him. Lucas would welter away in the dungeon, cold, scared, and alone. Just as you felt when you were being chased by him. Just as you felt when he had put his hands on you. Seonghwa would make him pay.

“H-Hwa…” You sat on your elbows having seen the vampire's mind wander. Was he okay? Was he second-guessing his actions? Seonghwa was quick to disregard any of your fears as he shed himself off his shirt, before sliding off the bed to pull his pants down. They dropped to the floor with an audible ‘oof’. You didn't mean for your eyes to immediately gaze down at his fully grown erection but its angry red tip had caught your attention. Seonghwa didn’t mind one bit though, he admired your body in the meantime, letting you get a good look at him while he did the same to you. “That can’t fit inside me….”

Seonghwa laughed, physically laughed at your abrupt statement. “Oh don’t worry. It will.” he yanked one of your legs making you gasp. He stood tall at the end of your bed, letting you wrap your legs around his waist. He rubbed the tip of his cock along your slit, gathering up some of your cum to use as lubricant. The whole time his eyes never left yours. He wanted to see the pleasure pooling in your eyes when he entered you inch by inch. And as you bit your bottom lip, you tried your damned hardest to keep your gaze open. “That’s it, baby. Breath…”

The stretch was painful, to say the least. Even though Seonghwa had used his fingers on you, it still wasn’t enough to fully prep you for his girth. He rubbed circles in your hips, trying to settle the pain as much as he could, noticing your fingers had entangled in the silk sheets, with your knuckles turning lightly white.

“Ffuckk, hngmm Seong.” you mumbled, finally feeling him enter you fully, his groin flush against you. He stayed still for a moment, letting you catch your breath but man was it hard. The way you clamped around him, sucked him in for more. It made him want nothing more than to pound the living shit out of you. But patience. He needed patience. And luckily out of all the boys, he owned the most patience.

“Can I move Darling?” His words were a stutter, laying with groans and sighs. You nodded your head before responding with a quick and quiet ‘please’ letting him draw his cock until only the tip was inside you then smashing back in, knocking the wind out of you. You could no longer hold yourself up, falling onto your back. Seonghwa watched as your breasts bounced in time with his thrusts and how your thighs were clamped snugly around him. You felt amazing, looked eternal. And you were finally his.

He dreamed about what your cunt might feel like wrapped around his cock. Or how might your blood taste when you are in the middle of being fucked. Firty thoughts had always seemed to riddle his mind whenever he saw you and now he could finally get the answers. But one thing is for sure. He has no idea how he is possibly going to share you with the others. When he is going to be craving you permanently.

-♥︎

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loveinhawkins · 2 years

Text

Eddie is writing new song lyrics. Dustin discovers them on a random Saturday when they’re having pizza at Steve’s; Eddie asks Dustin to get one of his old campaign notes, and Dustin reaches for the wrong journal.

“Oh, not that one,” Eddie says with a shrug, but his eyes go a little thoughtful at the sight of it in Dustin’s hands. For some reason he pauses, and then he says, “You can still read it if you want, man.”

And Dustin stares at him, certain it’s a trick, because Eddie is notorious for ensuring that any potential Hellfire spoilers are kept under lock and key. But then he opens the book and reads.

And he gets it.

The lyrics are clever, because they hide under metaphor, apocalyptic imagery and all that stuff, but it clicks when Dustin gets to a verse about a tune echoing through a mall, ‘and it’s a song you know, you’ve known it all your life,’ and he’s suddenly thrown back to when he explained how Steve worked out the location of the Russian code, and Eddie was taking it all in, eyes as round as pennies.

Dustin sets down the notebook and says, “It’s about us.” It’s not a question.

Eddie nods. “Yeah.”

“You make it sound a lot more poetic than it actually was,” Dustin says.

But Eddie doesn’t tease back, just gives a contemplative little smile and says, “Really? I don’t think so.”

And that’s as far as they get in talking about it, because Eddie suddenly glances away, and his smile changes ever so slightly, gets softer around the edges. He turns back to Dustin and mouths, Look.

Dustin does. Steve has fallen asleep, curled up in the corner of the couch. His head is just barely resting in his hand, nodding forwards precariously every so often.

Dustin hears Eddie give an almost silent tsk, which is funny; he must have picked it up from Steve. He quietly goes over and moves Steve with a gentle touch until Steve’s head is resting comfortably against the cushions.

Steve murmurs wordlessly, eyes closed, then settles back into sleep.

Eddie catches Dustin’s eye; he mimes, Shh with a wink.

And something in the back of Dustin’s mind falls into place. …Huh.

There are days when Eddie has the journal and days when he doesn’t—he cycles through notebooks constantly, most of them having been started with a specific purpose before devolving into chaotic scribbles for anything and everything.

But this one stays consistent.

And whenever he does have the journal, he lets Dustin open it to any random page and read for as long as he likes.

It doesn’t exactly take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that a verse waxing lyrical about a protective soldier finally laying down his armour and resting is about… someone in particular.

And that makes Dustin wonder whether ‘and it’s a song you know, you’ve known it all your life’ isn’t just about a mechanical horse playing Daisy, Daisy. In fact, maybe it’s not about that at all.

He doesn’t mention anything, just says that Eddie’s writing is good when he hands the journal back over. It’s hardly a major compliment, except every time, Eddie says, “Thanks,” in an almost uncertain tone Dustin’s never heard before, like just hearing that’s really touched him.

And then one day Eddie loses the journal. Dustin doesn’t realise what’s wrong at first, just knows that Eddie is agitated, rooting around in the back of the van when Dustin sidles in for a ride home after school.

Dustin sees movement outside, and he looks up to see one of the substitute teachers who’s always got a stick up her ass standing at the school entrance. She’s holding Eddie’s journal.

“Uh, Eddie?”

“What?” Eddie snaps. Then he follows where Dustin is looking. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ.”

But he doesn’t let any of his irritation show when he hops out of the van and heads for the teacher.

Dustin knows Eddie talks a good game when it comes to sticking it to authority, all I’ll flip him the bird and so on, but there’s none of that arrogance now. Dustin can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can read the body language, the teacher’s tight-lipped smile, the way Eddie has crossed an arm over his chest self-defensively; he looks suddenly very young and unsure of himself.

The confrontation ends with the teacher handing Eddie the journal—more shoving it at him, really. Eddie gives her a curt nod before he heads back to the van, slamming the door shut as he gets inside.

He throws the journal in the back, and Dustin, who has carelessly destroyed countless textbooks, somehow finds himself saying, “Watch it, dude! You’ll rip it.”

Eddie doesn’t reply. He reverses out the parking lot and makes a turning for Dustin’s house, grinding his teeth.

The silence goes on until it’s unbearable, and Dustin tentatively asks, “What did she want?”

Eddie laughs, a nasty, thoroughly unconvincing sound. “Oh, ya know. Just returning lost property. Good fucking Samaritan.”

When he gets home, Dustin finds a note from his mom, that she’s over at his aunt’s and there’s some leftover pasta in the fridge. Dustin checks, and there’s easily enough for two.

He runs outside thankfully before Eddie has gone.

“You can’t expect me to be left in the kitchen unsupervised,” Dustin says. “I might burn it down.”

Eddie snorts. “From sticking pasta in the microwave?” Then he seems to hear himself and adds, “Yeah, somehow wouldn’t put it past you, Henderson.”

So they end up eating lasagne straight out of the dish together, playfully battling for the last slice like their forks are swords.

“What did she really want?” Dustin asks eventually. He can’t help but notice that Eddie had brought the journal in with him, keeps tapping his finger on the cover uneasily.

Eddie sighs, rubs a hand down his face. He nods down at the journal. “I’d left it in a classroom that some middle schoolers use for Drama Club. Apparently there’s some concerns about the appropriateness of—”

“That’s bullshit!” Dustin says. “Why would she even—”

“Dustin,” Eddie says very quietly. He closes his eyes. “You know why.”

And Dustin does. That’s why he’s so damn angry.

Because some of the lyrics (not all, but some), are love songs. And a good number of those are unambiguously from the point of view of a boy, speaking to another boy.

Eddie sighs again, presses a thumb into the inner corner of one eye. It looks like he’s warding off a headache. Dustin knows that he isn’t.

He could say I don’t care that you’re gay, but that doesn’t sound quite right; it isn’t about not caring, it’s about…

“You know I like you, right?” Dustin says.

Eddie gives a choked little laugh. He drops his hand, opens his eyes and says, with a faint smile, “No shit? I guessed you wouldn’t share lasagne with your mortal enemy.”

“True,” Dustin concedes. He presses on. “But I meant, like…” He bats Eddie’s hand away from the journal so he can tap it instead. “Like this. It’s all a part of you, and you’re really cool, so that means—like, it’s all cool. It makes you, you. You know?”

For a long moment, Eddie just stares at him. “You said you so many times, I don’t think it’s a word anymore,” he says, but he’s blinking a lot, and Dustin sees his lips quiver. “Um. Thanks.”

He still sounds sad which absolutely will not stand. Dustin gives him a few seconds of reprieve, before he launches at him with a karate style chopping motion.

Eddie chuckles. “You little shit!”

And they tussle until, breathlessly laughing, they’re both stretched out on the couch on their backs, side-by-side.

“You should let Steve read some,” Dustin suggests.

Eddie’s laughter trails off. “Mm,” he says, non-committal.

“I mean it!” Dustin recalls a verse he’d read only a couple of days ago, one that wasn’t dressed up in symbolism.

And you want to tell him you’re enough just like this darling, you always have been

“I don’t know,” Eddie says. “So far that stuff’s had an audience of one, and I think he might be a bit,” Eddie gestures with his thumb and forefinger, “biased. Being family and all.”

Dustin smiles, feels a proud little glow in his chest. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’ve seen Steve hiding love poetry books. Like he underlines that shit. It’s embarrassing.”

Eddie cackles. “Well. Some of my shit’s embarrassing so…”

Dustin claps his shoulder gravely. “I mean, I wasn’t gonna be the one to say it.”

Eddie pushes him nearly right off the couch; he pulls him back before he can fall. “Oh, fuck you.”

They’re quiet for a bit, and then Dustin suggests a movie, and when he’s putting the VHS in, he catches Eddie watching him with shiny eyes.

“Hey,” Eddie says. He smiles. “I love you.”

And God, it’s so much better hearing those words like this, with Eddie in front of him, safe and whole.

And Dustin doesn’t need to rush his reply this time. He picks up the journal and passes it to Eddie, careful of the binding.

“I love you, too,” he says, and the proud glow in his chest feels even stronger. “Now get writing, Shakespeare.”

#dustin henderson #dustin henderson fic #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #eddie munson #eddie and dustin #steve x eddie #steve harrington #steddie with dustin’s pov #pre steddie #implied steddie

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monsterfuker3000 · 1 year

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Call Me ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡☏♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Jesus God, this took an embarrassingly long time. Not sure it’s my best work, most of this was written while I was stoned out of my mind, and when that happens I think with my pussy and not my brain, but I can guarantee this shit filthy. It’s not edited because I’m high again.

Warnings: NSFW, DUBCON, Ghostface!Dazai, fem!reader, p in v, intercourse, unprotected sex, (don’t do that,) creampie (don’t do that either,) uhh sub!reader, dom!dazai, there’s uhhh there’s knives, blood, brief mention of a cut, fake kidnapping, drugging(?) established relationship and use of traffic light system but when I say dubcon I mean dubcon. Look me in my eyeballs. Dubcon. Uhhh restraints? Idk it’s just a little bit depraved so don’t read it if you don’t want depraved. There’s aftercare though bc I’m allergic to not ending my fics on a soft note. Characterization in this is questionable at best. I love you mwah.

To @texas-bitch-yee @genshinsbiggestsimp @cupidszvlvr @dxzxii @vqmpwclf sorry this took so long 👉🏻👈🏻

WC: 4k words of Osamu Dazai lecherously taking you and you being lecherously taken ❤️

Leaves crunched under your feet as you ran, the cool fall air burning in your lungs. The ankle you’d twisted a few minutes previous was screaming at you, but only one thing was going through your mind.

Do.

Not.

Stop.

You knew he wasn’t far behind you, he never had been. Deep down, through all your attempts to lose the man you knew was trailing you, you knew damn well he was never more than a few minutes away. If you stopped now, he’d catch you for sure, and he had every intention of using that knife you’d seen glinting in his hand when he dumped you on the ground in this forest in the middle of nowhere and told you to run for your life.

You stumbled down a small hill, nearly losing your footing but staying upright by some miracle. You paused for just a moment to steady yourself, your heart rate spiking when you heard a branch snap in the distance. Whether it was the man you’d received a phone call from earlier in the night or some woodland creature, you weren’t sticking around to find out, and you took off again.

You’d been at home just an hour previous, curled up on the sofa of your living room as you waited for Dazai to come home. Your phone rang next to you; expecting your boyfriend, you answered without checking the caller ID, not seeing that it read ‘UNKNOWN CALLER’ at the top of the screen.

“Hello?” You chirped, expecting the gentle voice of your boyfriend Osamu on the other end.

“Do you want to play a game?” came the reply, the voice gravelly and unfamiliar. You frowned and checked the caller ID, just now seeing it wasn’t anyone in your contacts. Your blood ran cold for just a moment before you realized exactly what was going on, and you laughed.

“Osamu,” you giggled, “that’s the wrong movie, silly!” The person on the end seemed to falter for just a moment before gathering themselves and resuming conversation.

“Well, if you know so much about movies, belladonna, then tell me, what’s your favorite scary movie?”

“Scream,” you replied simply. “And, Osamu, you’re giving yourself away calling me belladonna like that,” you laughed. He grumbled something inaudible on the other end before you hung up, knowing this was all part of the game.

This had all been in the works for a couple of weeks now, beginning the night you’d popped the original Scream into the DVD player on a movie night with Osamu. He’d had his arm around you, so it wasn’t difficult for him to feel the way you tensed up a bit when the killer came on screen, nor was it hard for him to see the way your cheeks would turn pink when you heard his voice. An idea began forming in Dazai’s head, something dangerous that he knew both of you would like. He leaned in towards you, lips nearly brushing your ear as he whispered softly.

“My, my, belladonna, you seem to like what you see, hm?” he teased. Your cheeks reddened even more as you shrank in on yourself, declining to answer the question. “Well,” he continued, “what if I did something like that to you?”

You froze, then turned around to look at him, your eyes wide and unbelieving.

“Really?” you cautioned. He nodded, that signature smirk on his face telling you he was thinking devious thoughts.

“Really, sweet girl. Take you out to the woods where we can be all alone, let you go and hunt you down.” You shivered at his words, panties slicking up just at the thought. The two of you paused the movie and discussed in detail what expectations and boundaries you would have for each other, which is how you knew exactly what was happening when you received that call.

After you hung up the phone, it only took about five seconds for the phone to start ringing again, UNKNOWN CALLER scrolling across the screen a second time. You answered with a smile on your face, ready to mouth off again, but the voice on the other end beat you to it.

“You hang up on me again, I’ll gut you like a fish!”

You froze once again, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end. You knew this was a line ripped directly from the movie, but the way it was said sent shivers down your spine. The voice on the other end was rough, sharp, nothing like the Osamu you knew. For the first time tonight, you felt a stab of cold, genuine fear. The voice continued.

“Now, belladonna, I’m somewhere in your house. Do you want to guess where?” he urged. Your eyes darted around the room, trying to gauge whether Dazai could hide behind anything in front of you. But you’d hear him, right? That meant he had to be somewhere else in the house, somewhere he could call you from and you wouldn’t hear him.

“Tick-tock, sweet girl,” the voice on the phone purred. “I’ll give you just one guess. If you get it right, I’ll let you go. If you get it wrong, however,” he laughed darkly, “well, belladonna, you should start running.”

Your heart rate quickened, your palms slicking with sweat. Where the hell could he be?

“You have until the count of three, sweet girl.”

The kitchen? No, too open.

“One.”

The bathroom? No, you’d just been in there a few minutes previous and it was empty.

“Two.”

The dining room? No, you’d hear him from there. Ah! You knew where he must be.

“Three.”

“The bedroom!” you cried, just as the final number left his mouth. Then, silence.

“Tsk-tsk, oh, belladonna,” he sighed. “I thought you’d be better at this. How disappointing.”

Your hands shook, your blood like ice in your veins. You knew you had to run, but where? You guessed wrong, you had no clue where he was. You were going to have to take your chances.

You dropped your phone and started running toward the front door, immediately regretting not holding on to it, but knowing that it wouldn’t help you anyway. Focused more on getting out than staying undetected, you ran clumsily out of the living room into the hallway leading to your front door, your socked feet slipping on the hardwood. The front door was only twenty feet away. Fifteen. Ten. Five. You reached the doorknob, fighting with your other hand to unlock the deadbolt. Then, out of the corner of your eye, a flash of black and white, a rag thrown over your nose and mouth, wet with a faintly sweet smelling substance, and then darkness.

You awoke on the ground in a dark, unfamiliar clearing surrounded by thick forest, your hands taped behind your back. The only light afforded to you was from the full moon and the headlights of the dark SUV you assume you arrived in.

A man stood in front of you, slender and tall, dressed all in black and holding a large hunting knife at his side that glinted in the moonlight. His face was concealed by the traditional Ghostface Halloween mask. How original. How perfect.

You noticed that he’d been kind enough to change you out of your pajamas and into thick pants and heavy boots. A genuinely kind gesture, one that reminded you that you could truly trust the man in front of you. You held on to this feeling, knowing this would be the only mercy afforded to you tonight.

The man knelt in front of you, lifting the corner of his mask to reveal that he was, in fact, the one and only Dazai Osamu. His expression was soft, almost concerned.

“Hey, give me a color, angel,” he urged.

You took a deep breath. “Green,” you answered. Dazai’s mouth curled into a smile, one that once again sent shivers down your spine, and he winked at you. He readjusted the mask, completely covering his face again, and stood.

“Little bunny,” he purred. “Whatever are you doing in the woods all alone, hm? He knelt once again as he lifted his knife to press the blade to your face, softly enough that it didn’t break skin, but hard enough so that you could feel just how sharp it really was.

“Do you know what happens to little bunnies all alone in the woods, sweet girl?” You shook your head, not trusting your voice. “Sometimes they encounter wolves.”

You could hear the smile in his voice, it twisted your stomach but shot straight to your core all the same. He used his other hand to pop the button and lower the zipper on your pants, sliding his hand into your panties to press two fingers to your pussy, gathering the slick there. He sighed deeply, shuddering at the feeling of just how wet this was all making you.

“Oh, little bunny, you look so scared but you feel so wet,” he moaned, withdrawing his fingers to slide them into your own mouth. You took the hint and began to lick them clean, moaning at the taste of your own slick. He was kind enough to button your pants back up before flipping you over onto your stomach, caging you in with his arms. He cut through the tape binding your hands, just barely nicking your arm in the process making you gasp. He bent down to whisper in your ear again.

“It’s time to run, little bunny.”

He lifted himself off of you enough for you to scramble out from under him onto your feet, elbowing him in the process. He held his side, hissing in pain. “That hurt, bunny. I’m going to give you a thirty second head start. You better run for your life,” he growled. You weren’t sticking around to find out how serious he was, so you turned tail and ran into the darkness.

Which is what landed you here, stumbling through the forest on a twisted ankle, covered in scrapes and cuts from running through branches you didn’t see until it was much too late.

You stumbled into another clearing, your heart racing. You let yourself feel a bit of relief before you noticed the SUV in the clearing with you. The same SUV you arrived in, and the same clearing you’ve been running from. Dazai had herded you in a circle.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, knowing he couldn’t be far behind you. You scanned the tree line all around you, finally spotting the glint of metal to your right. You gasped, finding yourself unable to scream, and whipped around in the other direction, trying to get away as fast as you could, but the heavy footfalls behind you came closer all the same.

Two arms shot out from behind you, one on each side to wrap around your body. He broke your fall a bit, but wrestled you to the ground all the same, pinning you flat on your back with his arms once again caging you in and a strong thigh pressing between your own.

You finally found your voice, screaming in fear as you tried to worm your way out from under him. You worked an arm free and swung it at him in an attempt to get him off of you, but you only succeeded in knocking off his mask. The face underneath was almost as scary as the mask itself, Dazai’s eyes sharp and his cruel smile much too wide.

He pulled a short length of rope from his pocket, recapturing your arm and tying your wrists together in front of you. You opened your mouth to scream once again but he clapped a large, gloved hand over your mouth before you could even make a sound.

“Little bunny,” he taunted. “Looks like I caught you, hm?” He brought his other hand to his belt where he’d tucked his knife, pulling it free and raising it to your face. He pressed it to your cheek, making a shallow cut there, barely enough to break the skin, sighing at the tiny trickle of blood gathering there before removing the knife as you whimpered beneath his hand.

“I’ll do that again if you don’t keep quiet, bunny,” he warned. “I’m gonna take my hand off of your mouth. Are you going to scream, or can you keep quiet?” He took your fervent nodding to mean that you agreed to keep quiet, and he removed his hand.

Instead of saying anything, you immediately spat in his face, causing him to rear back on his knees for just a moment to wipe it away.

“You’re really starting to get on my nerves, bunny,” he said, flicking the wetness away from his hand. “I think it’s time you learn a lesson.”

He moved again, quick as lightning, to use his knife to cut a sizable slit out of your pants, waistband to crotch, before ripping them in half the rest of the way to hang loosely below your knees. He ripped your panties off of your body in one clean motion, and you flinched when the cool night air met your soaked pussy.

You thought he might cut you again, whining in confusion when he flipped the knife into the air, catching it by the blade. That confusion ended quickly when you felt him press the blunt handle to your pussy. You struggled uselessly against your bindings, but between the rope around your hands and the man never letting go of one of your legs, you weren’t getting away.

“Ah-ah, bunny,” Dazai teased. “Spitting on me wasn’t very nice, you know. I think you know that you deserve to be punished.” His voice was low in his throat, jarring compared to the usual gentle whispers he afforded you when he fucked you.

You shook your head, hard enough to make yourself dizzy. “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I promise I’ll behave- fuck!” Your pleading was cut off when Dazai pushed the knife handle into you in one clean thrust.

You cried out at the intrusion, fighting it instinctively even though it hurt in such a delicious way. Tears collected on your lashes as you tried to keep from showing him you actually liked this, but unfortunately Dazai knew your every tiny expression like the back of his hand.

“Oh, belladonna, you like it when I fuck you with my knife, don’t you?” He purred. You shook your head again with a whine, not trusting yourself with words at the moment. “Yes, I think you do, pretty. Come on, tell me you like the filthy things I’m doing to you. Tell me you love it.”

You cried out again, tears finally spilling from your eyes as you admitted, “love it, love it, love it,” chanting it like a mantra with every thrust of the handle.

He bent down towards you again to whisper against your ear. “I know, belladonna, I can hear how much you love it,” he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. Whether he meant your cries or the filthy, wet sounds he was drawing from your pussy, you didn’t know.

His words pushed you over the edge of a cliff you weren’t even fully aware you were standing on as you came on the handle, slicking it up along with your thighs and Dazai’s hand.

“Oh, what a good little bunny,” he praised, an edge of malice in his words. “Such a good girl, cumming on my knife like the dirty little thing you are,” he continued, pulling the handle out of you and admiring the way it now glistened with your slick in the moonlight. He stabbed it into the ground next to your head, confident he’d made you pliable enough to not struggle as he flipped you over onto your stomach, prone with your legs together between his own. You tried to push yourself up on your forearms, but a large hand square in the middle of your back kept you from even getting your hands under you with any efficiency.

“What are you-“ your question was cut off when he slid that same hand up to the back of your head, quick as anything to press your face into the mossy forest floor, muffling any protests.

“Shh, no talking, bunny,” he soothed. You whined, the sound still muffled by moss. He laughed, the motion driving his hips lightly into your ass where you felt his cock straining against his pants, and you were so tightly wound that such a small action made your hips buck just a fraction of an inch.

Dazai noticed your reaction, of course, driving his clothed hips into yours much harder this time, taking his hand off the back of your head and allowing you to cry out.

“Fuck, please!” you cried, not sure what you were even begging for, pushing your upper body up onto your still bound forearms, high enough to twist your head around and allow Dazai to see the tears still rolling down your face. His cock twitched in his pants at the sight, and he rolled his hips into yours again.

You whined again and his patience began to wear thin; you heard the clank of a belt and the rustling of fabric behind you and you jumped, squirming uselessly beneath him until you felt the head of his cock brushing against your ass and you froze again.

“Wait, wait!” you cried, hands scrabbling on the ground beneath you. He chuckled deep in his throat and used his legs to push yours even closer together, tipping your hips up to line his cock up to your entrance. He pushed it between your thighs, gathering the slick dripping down your legs before pushing it into your waiting pussy with a sigh, ignoring your pleas all the while.

He worked himself in, inch by torturous inch, the gentle way he reached up to pet your hair contrasting with the harsh way he drove his hips into you as you cried.

Halfway in, your eyes flew open, the stretch becoming too much.

“Wait! Not gonna fit, ‘s too big!” you slurred, fighting a bit harder to get away, still to no avail. “Too tight like this,” you whined. Dazai tangled his fingers into your hair, yanking you back so he could speak directly into your ear, his warm breath tickling your neck.

“Little bunny, you think it isn’t going to fit? You always take my cock so well, and now that this pretty little pussy is drooling down your legs, you think I can’t fit it in? You’ve never been this wet before, belladonna,” he murmured. “I’ll fucking make it fit.”

He snapped his hips into yours doubly hard now, sheathing himself completely with just a handful more thrusts that pulled a genuine wail from your throat, your mind screaming at you that the cock drilling into you was tearing you in half.

His pace was breakneck, his hips colliding with yours so hard they were driving you inch by inch across the forest floor, matting your tangled hair with leaves. You shifted your hips a bit, keeping him from hitting quite so deep. He didn’t take kindly to this, letting out a growl and letting go of your hair to reach out and yank the knife out of the ground next to you, holding it up to your neck and nicking the skin there, whether by accident or on purpose you weren’t sure. You whined as you felt a thin trickle of blood run down your throat.

“Keep those fucking hips where I put them,” Dazai growled. You whined at him to please, fuck, just slow down! and he finally relented, dropping the knife and switching instead to rolling his hips against yours, driving the tip of his cock directly into your g-spot and pressing his balls to your clit with each thrust.

The sharp pain slowly began to give way to pleasure as your cries gave way to moans, each sensation so overwhelming it caused your legs to shake. Dazai took hold of your hair once again, this time much gentler, the action causing a stir in your belly and already bringing you close to cumming.

“Fuck yes, little bunny. You like this, don’t you?” he teased. “You like it when I fuck you nasty,” he continued, punctuating his sentence with a particularly slow roll of his hips that drew a high-pitched cry from you, tears still rolling down your face. “You gonna cum, sweet girl?” he urged. “You gonna cum from me taking you from behind, on the ground like a fucking animal?” he urged.

Your eyes rolled back, your breath catching in your throat as your hips stuttered beneath him; Dazai knew you were close, you just needed one more little push.

“You want me to fill you up, bunny? Fuck yeah, I felt you squeeze me just now, of course you do. ‘M gonna fill that soaked little cunt up so full of my cum, leave it to leak out of you since you’re such a filthy girl.”

His final sentence and a well-timed thrust pushed you over the edge and you came hard, whole body shaking as you gushed around him. You soaked his legs as well as your own, the rest of your cum pattering on the leaves below you as you cried out his name.

He fucked you through your orgasm, the relentless clenching of your pussy bringing him closer to his own. Your arms finally gave out on you, your head dropping to the ground softly, but Dazai was kind enough to turn it to the side for you so that you could breathe.

“‘M close, belladonna,” he whispered.

“Osamu,” you whined, quickly becoming overstimulated, “I’m tired.”

“Shh, sweet girl, it’s okay. I’ll take care of you,” he soothed, placing an almost shockingly sweet kiss on your cheek, a sharp contrast from the way he’d just been treating you. His hips began to stutter, sloppy and almost clumsy, before you felt him shake above you, spilling his load into you as deep as he could get it.

Dazai shuddered as he came, his arms very nearly giving out, but he wasn’t through yet. He pulled out suddenly, the sudden friction on your already sore pussy making you’ll help. He clumsily pulled his phone out of his back pocket, readjusting to take a photo of his cum already spilling from your pussy, then another, a selfie with his fist tangled in your hair, yanking your head up next to his as he smiled at your completely fucked-out expression. Satisfied, he rolled away from you before he collapsed to avoid crushing you. Flipping onto his back, he pulled his jeans back up where they belonged before gathering you in his arms, resting your head on his chest and wiping away at your tears with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Such a good girl for me, honey,” he whispered, squeezing you tight. “Anything hurt?”

“A-ankle. . .” you whimpered, deciding the twisted appendage was your most immediate problem after your completely abused pussy.

He clicked his tongue teasingly, assuring you he had an ice pack in the car, along with a blanket. He stood, gathering you up in his arms before starting toward the car. The passenger door had been left open, so he placed you onto the seat, wrapping you in a blanket before wetting a rag from a water bottle, wiping away at the blood on your face and neck as you began to drift off.

“‘Samu?” you asked

“Yes, belladonna?”

“I love you,” you slurred. He laughed softly.

“I love you too.”

WEEEEEHOOOOO do u feel it? Cumming in the air tonight?

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mesherew · 3 months

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(wip) the inquisitor's twin sister brainworm is going strong so here's an early draft of Jaira, dnd oc turning da:v Rook ?

I can't decide whether keeping the hair short or long 🤔 nor her faction, my heart swings between Shadow Dragons, Lords of Fortune and Crows

I'm still waiting (i think) for the official launch to design the armor and add potential tattoos/scars but I'm not sure she'll have a vallaslin since she left the clan early

some random trivia under the cut - will probably add more later

Jaira is Suma's twin sister, they are 34 by the beginning of da:v

ran away from the Lavellan clan when she was a teen and never looked back (was craving freedom and refused to stick to the traditions - she resented her sister for wanting to become the First and follow the rules)

dropped her clan name long ago

her symbol is a magpie

used to earn money from tarot readings (were they accurate? you'll never know)

had a fling with a Trevelyan heir (Mora from my alternate da:i run) but got dumped because she wasn't nobility :(((

both sisters will pretend they don't know each other if they ever cross paths in da:v but everybody would be like... why do you two look IDENTICAL

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #da4 #datv #da:v #dragon age rook #lavellan #my art #mesherew #jaira lavellan #jaira de riva

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peachdues · 10 months

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anyways have some Levi angst from my upcoming secret pregnancy fic Coalescence

But Levi’s threat did not appear to ruffle Zeke in the slightest. “It must be difficult for you,” he said offhandedly. “All this time spent in service to an organization that’s synonymous with a death sentence —“

“I wasn’t under the impression you gave a particular shit.” Levi interrupted, bored. “Given your commitment to slaughtering us all.”

Zeke waived his bound hands dismissively. “Whatever our differences, Captain, I can appreciate the toll constant fighting and war can wage on a man.” He took a swig of too-thin coffee. “I’d say we’re more similar than you might realize, wouldn’t you?”

“The day I have anything in common with you is the day I stick one of my blades through my skull.”

With that, Levi rose and turned away, eager to put space between himself and the insufferable sack of horse shit he was forced to drag along with the rest of the Corps.

“No need to be so dramatic, Captain,” the blonde groaned. “After all, what would poor Y/N do, if you left her to deal with the trials of birth and child rearing all by herself?”

Levi froze mid-step, his heart skipping several beats.

“I can’t imagine how difficult it must be, leaving your pregnant girl every few days for hell knows how long,” Zeke shrugged. “Never knowing whether you’ll get to go back at all.”

Levi’s fists were clenched tight enough that his nails broke through the skin of his palms, his shoulders rigid as he worked to control his breathing. With his back turned away from deadly Beast titan, the Captain could not see the breezy smile which graced his lips, Zeke relishing his obvious stiffness.

“But do you know what I think the worst thing would be?” He continued, pulling a beaten, battered book from the lining of his jacket, idly flipping through its dog-eared and water stained pages. “I imagine it would be the constant worry of something horrible happening — not to me, but to her.”

Zeke shook his head, mournfully. “Or, god forbid, her and the child.”

Levi pivoted slowly on his heel back towards the blonde where he sat, pretending to read the very book he’d complained to Levi of having already read too many times just days before.

“What.” His voice was flat and harder than stone.

Zeke didn’t bother to lift his eyes from the pages of his novel. “Pregnant women are so vulnerable, you know. Not much they can do to protect themselves from harm that may come their way — even when they’ve trained under the brutal Scout regimen.”

“It must be torture for you to know that something could happen to her, and you would be unable to stop it,” Zeke finally looked up to behold the cold violence in Levi’s eyes. “To be utterly out of control.”

An poisonous smile unfurled across his lips. “I guess that’s why you’ve had her staying back at your old headquarters, no?”

#attack on titan #levi ackerman #aot fic #attack on titan fic #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #captain levi x reader #levi smut #levi x reader #levi aot #snk levi #snk fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #aot x reader #aot au

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elysian-chaos · 2 months

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i didn't know what it felt like to have my heart stolen - suguru getō

summary: you just like being cuddled up in suguru's arms

word count: 1.2k

contents: suguru get x gn!reader, established relationship, could be read as no curses au (college au) but if you don't want to read it like that it's probably canon divergent (in the sense that suguru doesn't defect), this is just pining, straight up pining, fluff, reader somewhat pines over gojo, satoru pines over geto in reader's memory, potential for satosugu x reader, petnames loads of 'em (included but not limited to: pretty, baby, lovie, my love), reader mentions a memory about a magician to themself and i did actually see it on tv once and was traumatised, reader is whipped (whipped is too less of a word) devoted to suguru, soft sugu

author's notes: i have not written in four years please be nice to me, i beg. this thing has no semblance of a plot, the idea came to me before an exam when i was delirious from climbing ten stories worth of stairs (don't ask) other than that, thank you @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat and @cowboyhatetcetc for reading this for me, you are my life savers. also @literaila because if it weren't for you and your suguru obsession, angel, i never would have gotten into jjk so this is for you. oh also, forgot to mention, banner made by yours truly (it took me an hour to make T.T)

𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟

“sugu?”

your voice, however soft and quiet, had broken the undisturbed silence of suguru’s dorm room.

the two of you had been laying on his bed, smushed together on the narrow mattress with his upper arm under your neck while his hand stroked through your hair. you were laying on your back, looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars you and satoru had pasted on his ceiling on a dare. the stars were glowing softly, pale green with not nearly enough luminosity to light up the room but the pattern of the false constellations was clear.

suguru hummed in reply, signalling his attention as he turned his head slightly in your direction, waiting for you to continue.

“it’s a stupid question.”

“you know i don’t mind baby,” his hand stopped at the edge of your jaw, brushing the skin softly with his thumb, “what’s your pretty little head thought up of now, hm?”

your body moves along the mattress, turning to him to grace your eyes with the sight that is suguru’s profile. suguru is a picture of beauty; silky smooth hair tied in a ponytail spread over the pillow his head lays on, eyes half open while the long, dark lashes on the corner of them stick together. soft light filtering in from the dark blinds in his room light up the highs of his face along with the little baby hair and flyaways, giving him a fuzzy glow. an angel just for your eyes.

you lift up your hand, almost cautiously circling the gauge plug in his earlobe, “does stretching out your piercings hurt?”

your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper but suguru hears you loud and clear as if you are talking loudly like you do when you’re with your friends; goofing out with gojo and haibara or gossiping with shoko and nanami, howling with laughter as the three of you would discuss the latest piece of gossip that had come your way.

“it’s called ear gauging, pretty,” he offers, “and yeah, somewhat. it’s more uncomfortable than painful for me but that depends person to person.”

and it hits you again. why you love geto. how sweet he is, just endlessly kind. there’s never a hint of malice in his tone (except when he talks of the higher ups but all of you speak of them with varying amounts of discontentment). always so happy to help, not even a hint of condescension while he offers it; whether it be correcting satoru about a topic he is brashly ignorant or explaining a new concept to one of the juniors. your boyfriend is almost a saint, an angel incarnated as human, you are sure of it.

nevertheless you hide your thoughts in exchange for the way your eyes widen because the thought of you gauging your piercings, that are currently occupied with dainty dangling pearl earrings, sends shivers of dread up your spine. it sounds painful and to hear him say it isn’t seems unrealistic to you.

so you question his statement, “it really doesn’t hurt?”

“just a little, lovie. do you remember when you told me about the time you bought a pair of earrings and the post was thicker than your original ones and it made your piercings sore?” he continues once you nod in confirmation, “well it’s sort of like that. you just need to be very very careful because it can hurt a lot if you do it wrong.”

your lips part slightly, forming a soft ‘o’ shape as a whispered exhale tumbles out from between them, causing him to nod slightly and let out a quiet “yep” in response to your reaction.

you bounce back from the silence which takes over as you digest the new information with another quick question, “will you ever wear those ring gauge thingies? i think they’re called tunnel gauges? i’ve never seen you wear any even though you have so many of them.”

the picture of tunnel gauges forming in your brain pulls you into a memory from your childhood. you recall a pleasant evening from the eyes of your seven or eight year old self, watching tv with both your parents; a show about a magician whose name you have long forgotten. through the hazey, nostalgic filter of your mind you remember the magician linking together the ears of two people with tunnel gauges as if they were pieces of chain and he a metal worker before walking away from the scene. the memory makes you wonder if that was the reason you never even considered gauging your ears but you brush it off in favour of looking up at suguru as you wait for his answer.

he lets out a little huff of a chuckle, wording the answer in his head before speaking, “i don’t really think they’re my style, honestly. i discussed them with satoru once—bad choice, i know. the next day he bought enough of them to make a small mountain. i kept a few but i made him return the rest.”

“enough to make a small mountain?”

“it’s an exaggeration, pretty,” he rolls his eyes at you, nothing but fondness on his face as he watches you echo his words with wide eyes, unbelieving of the quantity of jewelry that was bought for him.

you fix your eyes at him with a half-hearted but pointed stare, “i know that. it is still a lot. maybe not in gojo terms, but for normal people? i can only imagine.”

the anxiousness in your brain had made you analyse and overanalyse satoru in the early days of knowing him. you could not for the life of you figure out the seemingly bubbly, white haired boy. he had been so very reserved when it came to you but a stark contrast with the rest of your little group and even closer with suguru. as it had turned out, growing up as he had, he had built up sky high walls when interacting with new people but he seemed to melt around the people he cared about; often expressing his love in the form of uber expensive gifts because he didn’t know the right words or perhaps the right feelings. you had been on the receiving end of such gifts over the course of your friendship; always so anxious and hesitant to accept them but not wanting to hurt his feelings but you had grown since then, a lot less anxious and skittish and fawnlike, so had he. he had learnt to express his emotions in words instead of gifts (not that the gifts had stopped, they were just more... personal now than before) and it wasn’t uncommon to hear the blue-eyed boy murmur declarations of love in soft moments albeit hesitantly.

“anyone up there?”

suguru’s words pulled you out of your thoughts with a jolt, his lips hovering over your forehead as he looked down at you through his lashes. “yeah, i’m fine,” the words escape you with a sharp exhale, neck jerking once as you snap back into the real world.

“do you just wanna stay like this for a while?” he questions softly (and the words pop up in your head again ‘endlessly sweet, endlessly kind’). you nod in response and he kisses your forehead after he whispers, “whatever you want, my love.” leaning his neck to plant a soft kiss to your lips and then just below where your hairline starts.

the stars are still glowing a pale green and you wish on the shooting star stuck to his ceiling for more moments like the one you are in, etching the feeling of his embrace in your mind for the rest of your life.

𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟

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miiyas · 8 days

Note

Hi Atlas! Hope you are doing good. Can you please do a atsumu x reader fluff where reader is from karasuno who comes to cheer for the team in nationals. Sorry if this is vague i don't know how to put this. I love your fics thank you!

LUCKY NUMBER SEVEN

atsumu was lucky to be getting your number and to be wearing your favorite number on his jersey

fluff, wc: 1.1k, gn reader, really rushed ending, lovesick tsumu, pre-ts, not proof read

atsumu miya wasn’t one to bother looking at the opponents side of the bleachers. he didn’t care if their school banner was fancy, he never cared if the girls up there were shouting his name. when he’s on the court, he’s on the court.

so he caught himself off guard when he heard your pretty little voice shouting throughout the gym and by then, he just had to have a glimpse. and by god, was he glad he did. with your little twirls and jumps of excitement, atsumu had a sudden, unexpected hint of lingering jealousy that karasuno, some stupid, stupid underground team with some freak first years, had you to cheer them on.

you were pretty, he has to admit. he wonders where you got that karasuno boys volleyball zip up jacket and imagined how black and gold would look on you.

his school track suit, not karasunos.

as the court line up faces the large crowd and band on their side of the court, atsumu nudges osamu slightly, mouth slightly agape as he pants for air.

“oh my god,” osamu grumbles under his breath, already expecting what his twin was going to say. he’s already noticed his brothers wandering eyes, too tired to deal with his bull. “if this is about the one up at karasunos bleachers, i don’ wanna hear it.”

“wha ?! i didn’t even say nothin’ yet !”

“i know what yer gon’a say, ‘n i don’t care.” atsumu scoffs at this, more irritated than he already was. as he bows and thanks the cheer team in front of him, the only few things on his mind was on how his back ached with sweat sticking his shirt onto his skin, how he could really go for a icy gatorade, and how desperately he needed your number. hell, even a simple conversation would be enough for him.

the team disperses and go their separate ways in the arena, getting food or watching other games throughout the extended court. there was a strange craving for something spicy that lingered on atsumus tongue. despite knowing how badly his stomach would hurt after, he goes on his hunt, pushing through the crowd of people.

there isn’t anything particular that catches his eye and he takes note of the small onigiri stall, debating whether he should get a kimchi onigiri for himself (and maybe for ‘samu too) or if he should continue to wander around and find something more suitable.

he glances at the price. seven hundred yen for one, what a deal. as his eyes wander around to the quality of the rice and ingredients being used, he finds himself gravitating to the line.

with a hand in his track suit pocket, atsumu counts up a total of two thousand yen— enough for two onigiris and a drink for himself. he mouths what his order would be quietly, tired eyes glued to the printed menu. the wait from the person in front makes his eyes peel away slowly, honey brown eyes sliding down to see the smaller one in front of him. just as he does, atsumus eyes turn wide and he’s paused from shock.

holy shit. it was you.

you struggle to find extra bucks for a drink, cheeks a little flustered from the embarrassment of taking too long. giving up on finding the money, you sigh shakily and look up at the cashier, an apologetic smile displaying your nervous features.

“shit, uhm, you can put down the green tea bottle, actually.” you mumble out, pulling out eight hundred yen and gently handing it to the hands of the cashier. “keep the change.”

just as you were about to step out of the line and wait for your order, atsumu speaks up, his voice coming out louder than what he expected.

“i can get you that ..!”

with rapid blinks, you turn on your heel to face the blonde, recognizing him almost immediately, panic engulfing your eyes.

inarizakis setter, atsumu miya … how embarrassing this was for you.

“what ..? no, it’s fine, seriously—” without giving you any time to finish your sentence fully, atsumu pushes past you, his right hand slamming down his two thousand yen on the counter while the other sticks up two fingers. there’s an oddly determined look on his face, which only makes you cringe slightly.

“two kimchi onigiri and one oi ocha !” there are now three fingers sticking up and the cashier hesitantly nods, tapping on her screen and giving atsumu his receipt. the blonde steps out of the way as he receives the bottle, looking down at you and handing the cold drink over. as you were going to take the bottle away from his hands, miya snatches it away, a smug grin growing on his lips.

“if i give you this,” he teasingly shakes the bottle, lifting it up so it was just out of your reach. “you need’ta gimme yer number.”

“what.” you deadpan, irritation hinting at your voice.

“your number.” the blonde repeats, lips tugging up as he sees your face turn into a rosy pink. there’s a pretty smile that grazes your features, and atsumu swears that he feels his heart skip a beat.

“… fine.” you sigh out, looking around for something to write on. there’s a napkin dispenser and you slip one out, finding a pen by the counter to write your number on.

“you’re lucky i like the number seven.” you grin out, scribbling your number on the paper. at your words, atsumus terrifying combination of pride and ego inflates, straightening his posture to make sure the bold number was to be shown. you place the pen down on the counter of the onigiri stall and fold up the pale napkin, handing it over to the blonde. “let me treat you sometime. it’s only fair.”

a little stunned, atsumu simply accepts the napkin and nods. he swears he wanted to kiss you right then and there, take you out and spend all of his money (and maybe ‘samus too) just to see you smile over and over again.

with a breathy exhale, he nods with calloused fingers rolling the corners of the napkin. he’d like that. he likes that idea a lot. to go out with you in casual atmosphere with your carefree smile shining all for him.

“yeah, i’d like that.”

you smile politely, and atsumu feels his ears burn red. adrenaline thoughts get interrupted by the call of his orders. two onigiris, neatly wrapped in plastic, await for grabs. as he watches you take your drink and onigiri, the surrounding feels all too warm as he hears you ask where the two of you should sit. his heart thumps in his chest as you look around the stadium, trying to find a seat for two.

gosh, so sorry, ‘samu. you’re gonna have to buy your own onigiri this time.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyu x you #atsumu miya #miya atsumu #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu miya x you #atsumu x reader #atsumu x you #atlas writes !

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strlingsav · 6 months

Text

Memories

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— Meeting your ex leads you to reminiscing.

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

Thanks to @mykneeshurt for helping me out of my rut with this one 🫶🏻

It wasn't your wisest decision; you'd been careful thus far in the grieving process not to use poor coping mechanisms to get you through bad days, but the anonymity and seclusion of the downtown bar brought you a bit of peace. More than yoga or journaling- especially after the first sip of your drink.

You hated to admit it felt good. Even if you sat in silence and merely stared down the liquid in your glass, your brain was finally empty. You didn't want to sit with your feelings anymore, you wanted to get drunk and pretend they didn't exist.

You even contemplated trying a cigarette. Another poor decision surely wouldn't lead you any deeper into your already darkened abyss. The bearded man to your right, with one hand around a beer and the other holding a smouldering stick, made it look serene- cathartic, even. A flat expression and dull eyes, you envied his lack of awareness.

You stuck out like a sore thumb, though. You didn't meld with the horde of middle-aged men, or blue-collar workers crowded around a pool table. Your legs were crossed on the barstool, hair neatly done and makeup on your face- if it wasn't smudged yet.

It made it easy for him to spot you. As if he couldn't find you in a sea of people anyway, your appearance drew in his gaze immediately. His heart dropped to his stomach, a rapid increase in his pulse that throbbed in his throat.

He hadn't seen you for years. Not since you left, since he left. A scarred wound sat in his chest, reopened when you texted him, now raw and bleeding as he watched you. His saliva dried in his mouth, breath catching in his throat when your head turned to meet his eyes, and he swore he watched your lips turn to a small smile.

He wondered if your smile meant you were happy to see him- or whether it was a polite show of acknowledgement. Though rather than turning your back to him, you faced him, resting your jaw in your hand. He sauntered over, his pulse still thumping against his ribs, his hands suddenly clammy and warm- like he wasn't a seasoned soldier.

Sliding in next to you, an arms' length apart, he faced forward, still not yet able to fully find your eyes; eyes he'd missed for years.

Your text came as a shock, though he couldn't deny he'd been reluctantly praying you'd reach out, change your mind, give him a second chance. It was vague, a reminder of who you were, as if he'd ever forget your name and number, and an invitation to the bar you'd made yourself comfortable in. He couldn't say no.

He said your name- a greeting, rolling off his tongue like you'd never left.

"Simon," You nodded. "Thanks for meeting me."

He finally turned his head, his black eyes finding yours with hesitation. You swallowed, nearly succumbing to the nostalgia and breaking into tears, but held strong when he nodded in response and you heard his voice for the first time in a long time.

"Surprised to hear from you. Everythin' alright? You doin' well?" He asked, still nonchalantly peering around even though he was nearly salivating at the smell of you. Still the same- his favourite scent, mixed with your addictive pheromones. It made his stomach churn.

"Yeah," You nodded shortly. "Just needed a friend. How have you been?"

"We friends now?" A hint of humour in his tone made you scoff.

"I needed someone I know- someone who knows me." Your eyes softened as you watched him, suddenly feeling guilty for inviting him.

"Knew you years ago," He started. "Not sure I know you now."

"I'm the same person, Simon," You scoffed again. "Just older."

"And married." He had been stealing glances at your hand, eyeing the tan line looped around your ring finger. He tried not to let his jealousy be as obviously apparent as it felt, swallowing harshly.

Your fingers immediately reached the absence of a silver band, massaging slowly for comfort like you'd always done.

"Separated," You admitted. "A few months now."

He watched your eyes begin to water, feeling resentful of the man who got to marry you- the man you chose over him and were so emotional about now. Though your tears weren't for the man you'd recently left behind- you'd finally come face to face with the man you'd always wanted.

"Still holdin' on?" He asked.

You shook your head, still holding the invisible ring in your fingers. "It's been over for a long time, just finally did something about it."

Simon nodded thoughtfully. Still, the lump of anger sat in his throat, but it was mostly jealousy. Seeing your face again reminded him of the memories he'd pushed down into his chest cavity and burned with whiskey and beer. He didn't need to be reminded that you'd walked away- he didn't even want to entertain the idea of another man touching you.

"You wanna talk about it?" His voice dripped with disinterest and reluctance. It made you chuckle.

"No," You grinned. "I'd rather drink about it."

"That I can do."

His fingers lifted as he ordered a drink, and another for you, while you smiled softly. Truthfully, your feelings for Simon had never faded. Even at the courthouse with your ex-husband, a part of you was still overseas with Simon. Though your decision to leave Simon wasn't easy, you'd suffered too much loss to stay and risk even more.

You'd settled down, naively accepted your ex-husband's proposal, and chose to leave him after nearly two years of marriage- another difficult decision, though not nearly as difficult as saying goodbye to Simon.

The more alcohol in your system, the more you began to remember; every fight, every kiss, every time he touched you. It wrapped around your heart, nostalgia-filled daydreams that evoked warmth in your stomach and pliability in your body. Hours passed before you realized that your speech was slower, and your gaze was fuzzy as your eyes locked in on Simon.

Your hand reached his arm- an innocent gesture at first, though his eyes narrowed at you, feeling your touch for the first time in years.

"Do I look the same?" You teased, rocking side to side, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Or do I have more wrinkles?"

He shook his head, face stoic and serious. "Still just as beautiful."

Your heart leapt, though you were speechless. Awkwardly searching for an appropriate response, you pursed your lips.

Simon tensed. "Sorry- didn't mean to-"

Your eyebrows furrowed. "It's okay. It's just been a while since I've heard that."

Simon paused, watching your body language.

"Thank you, Simon. I missed you."

The latter slipped out- a sharp jolt ran through your body as you sat up straight.

"Think you're drunk," He huffed.

You nodded, letting out a short chuckle. "I am. Doesn't mean I didn't miss you. We dated once, remember?"

He pursed his lips. "Could never forget."

After a few moments of quiet reflection, a stinging sensation in your eyes at Simon's vulnerability, you sighed.

"You always were a good man," You huffed. "Can't say I don't regret leaving." You peered up at him, suddenly very aware that you'd finally spilled your feelings to him.

"Why did you?" He asked, cocking his head.

"I was scared," You shrugged. "Of losing you."

He squinted, before nodding. He accepted your answer, even if it didn't quite fit together in his head. He was relieved to know he hadn't done anything to push you away, that maybe there was a chance he could have you again.

"Well, I think I'll head home," You smiled.

"Let me drive you," He offered.

Your eyes met briefly, before you nodded and followed him out to his vehicle. You'd begun to fall asleep in the car- snoring lightly as Simon drove beneath streetlights and overpasses. He realized he didn't know where you lived, not since you'd moved out. Against his better judgement, he decided not to wake you, but to take you back home; to his home.

He even wrapped his arms around you, lifted you from the car while you stirred in his grasp. Peering down at you, his heart clenched at your soft, sleeping face. The feel of your body in his hands again, smooth flesh against his calloused skin.

He let you take his bed; fresh sheets he hadn't slept in in months. Without crossing anymore boundaries, he left you to sleep beneath his duvet and stumbled off to the couch.

You woke not long after, immediately recognizing the bedroom you'd been put in. The same sheets, same decor; it was like you'd been transported back a few years. Only Simon wasn't beside you, and your framed photographs were no longer resting on the nightside table.

You stood to your feet, slowly, cautiously moving around the room, trying your hardest not to give in and search through his things in hopes of finding a trace of yourself there. You left the room, wandering down the familiar hallway to the living room where he was lain on the same beige couch you'd bought together.

You held back a smile- an arm strewn across his face, harsh exhales you knew meant he was still trying to lull himself to sleep. As you neared, he sat up suddenly.

"Sorry," You whispered. "I didn't mean to bother you."

He shook his head, dismissing your apology. "Y'fell asleep," He said. "Didn't know where you lived."

"It's fine." You peered around the room. Just the same but entirely different- it wasn't yours anymore. "Feels strange being here."

"'M sure," He nodded.

You watched from your position on the wall, arms crossed while he situated himself.

"Everything feels so familiar," You sighed.

He was silent, watching you take in the surroundings. It made his heart soften; a bit of resentment having melted and now replaced with desire at seeing you back where you belonged. In your shared home, with him.

"Brings back memories," He nodded.

Your cheeks reddened at the thought of memories; particularly the ones where your late nights ended in slow sex on the very couch you sat on. Staring up at the ceiling, Simon's hands roaming your body, the TV light flashing across your naked bodies.

"We had good times together," You said, turning to meet his eyes.

"Still can," He breathed.

You sighed softly; it was a mouth-watering offer, however innocent he meant it, that brought your pulse between your thighs and warmed your abdomen. But you weren't sure. You hadn't seen Simon in years, hadn't talked in years, you wondered if trying again would only hurt more than the initial breakup.

"I'm not sure it's a good idea," You sighed again.

He stood to his feet, moving closer to you.

"You texted me," He said. "Had to be a reason."

"I told you, I needed a friend-"

"Bullshit," He scoffed. "You want more than a friend, love." He neared you, so close his chest nearly touched yours. His hand gently landed on your waist, slowly pulling you closer to him. He shut his eyes, inhaling shakily at the feel of your body against his again. "Think you want me to touch you again."

"Simon-" You started, your eyes flickering to his lips.

"That's it," He smirked, nearly unnoticeably. "Missed hearin' you say my name sweetheart. Missed a lot about you, if 'm bein' honest," He pushed his face into your neck, earning a broken exhale from you when he planted soft lips on your jugular.

"Simon, please," You breathed, your reluctant hands finding his biceps while he continued to wrap himself around you like a boa constrictor.

"Don't beg for me 'less you mean it, sweetheart."

He met your eyes, waiting for you to confirm or deny; your teeth clenched your bottom lip, letting it fall as you whispered another light plea. It was quiet and held no conviction behind it, only pure lust that drove it from the back of your throat.

He pressed his lips against yours, tight fingers holding onto your waist, his other hand gliding up to your jaw. Long fingers spread the length of your throat, forcing your lips against his, waiting to hear the moans he'd missed so badly.

You couldn't help but grind yourself against him- arousal was already flooding through you just while his tongue slid into your mouth, but you needed more.

You began to lift his shirt over his head, while he grabbed it at the neck and disposed of it within seconds. Your blouse, expensive and delicate, was pulled apart at the buttons by Simon's calloused hands, which dove down to cup your breasts and squeeze with fervour.

"Missed your body," He whispered into your neck, tugging your bra down your body to reveal your breasts.

"I missed your touch," You whispered against his jaw, your lip quivering at the nostalgia. "God- I missed you touching me."

He lifted you suddenly, strong hands carrying you to the beige couch- it was like your first time all over again. Goosebumps spreading across your skin, Simon's smell invading your senses. You were breathless, emotional, overwhelmed.

He tugged your jeans down your hips, pulling your panties off as you shuffled out of them. He wasted no time burying his face between your soft thighs, rough hands holding them apart while his tongue slid against your clit.

You gasped sharply, your back lifting off the couch to meet his lips, to grind yourself against his mouth. He'd always been over-eager when it came to your pleasure, though his tongue glided against you, encircling your clit with a level of attentiveness you'd not received in years.

His hand ran up your stomach, softly squeezing your breasts, while the other massaged the pliable flesh of your thighs. He missed having you spread out for him, vulnerable beneath him. Your thighs over his shoulders, your expression of pleasure illuminated by the TV; he'd always been driven by your enthusiastic moans.

"Pussy tastes so fuckin' good, sweetheart," He said, his voice hoarse with restraint. "Just as good as I remember."

You exhaled a whine, a gush of arousal spreading through every limb as he continued his methodical massage. You felt his fingers breach your pussy, slowly but surely stretching you out around him, a strained exhale leaving his mouth.

"Fuck," He whispered, leaning forward to connect his lips to your clit once more.

"Yes, Simon," You breathed into the silence. "Shit- you know just how I like it," You gasped.

His fingers curled inside you, his tongue still flicking quickly over your clit. He'd tasted you so many times, watched you come undone on his tongue- he could pinpoint the moment you were close to cumming. Your pussy fluttering around his fingers, squeezing so tight he nearly couldn't move them, your body writhing with pleasure, lips frozen in a gasp.

He'd been grinding into the softness of the couch, attempting to relieve some of the painful arousal. With each stroke of his fingers, his hips jerked forward, imagining himself deep inside you, your juices coating his cock.

When you came on his fingers, his eyes had flickered to your face, watching you combust with firework-like pleasure, galaxies clouding your vision while he watched with awe.

You exhaled, sitting up to make eye contact with him- he crawled over you like a hungry animal, one hand undoing the belt constricting his pants while the other held himself above you.

"Missed the taste of you," He whispered, his lips inches from yours. "Bein' inside you."

His voice was shaky with desire, a painful erection he wanted to bury inside you only throbbing when you'd chew on your bottom lip.

"I want you inside me," You said in return, watching his eyes close as he digested your words.

"Christ-" He scoffed. "You miss my cock, love? Miss havin' it deep inside you?"

His fingers wrapped around your throat again, watching you nod enthusiastically.

"I do- always have," You breathed. "Please," You whispered, another plea that nearly made him cum right there.

He yanked his pants down his hips, his impressive erection momentarily exposed before he gripped your thigh and yanked it to his waist. You felt the soft head of his cock gently probe your pussy before sliding in- smooth and quick, before he was buried to the hilt, connected so perfectly like you were made for him.

His head dropped, a low groan of satisfaction escaping him before he adjusted his hips and looked up at you.

"Fuckin' hell," He shook his head, situating his hands so he could dive closer, press his body against yours. "Stay right there," He insisted.

You tightened your thighs around his hips, your hands gripping onto the bulging muscles of his back, flexing and moving as he fought his impending orgasm. Your fingernails inadvertently scraped against his skin- you knew he loved it, knew it sent him over the edge.

He moved, a thrust that was uncertain and haphazard, but intentional enough to make your lips part. He was so deep, his pubic bone grinding against your clit- it sent a shiver up your spine.

"Too tight," he mumbled against your mouth. "So fuckin' wet."

He began thrusting, harsh and poignant, grinding into you. Your body rocked with each movement, finding yourself bouncing your hips back to meet him halfway. He'd begun to perspire, sweat dotting his forehead, his lips parted as he huffed.

"Simon," You murmured, pressing your lips to his neck as he thrusted into you.

"Tell me it's mine," He grunted. "This cunt is mine- you're mine."

Your eyes met- even if he'd insisted while inside you, you both knew it was true. You were his, he was yours, no matter the outcome.

"I'm yours," You nodded, "All yours."

He kissed you again, forceful and passionate, his thrusts becoming harder and faster, your stomach tightening as he rubbed against your clit.

Another orgasm overtook you- in turn, he began to reach his peak, desperately searching your eyes, watching you gasp and moan on his cock, struggle to breathe while he pounded into you.

"'M close, love," He breathed.

"Cum inside me," You spat out, clinging to him with all four limbs while he wrapped a hand around your throat.

His thrusts grew sloppy, slow- a long, low grunt from his mouth let you know he was cumming; burying his cock as deep as possible, hips jutting forward with every jolt of pleasure. He groaned into your mouth, a sloppy kiss as you felt his warm cum coat your walls. He exhaled, sitting back, slowly easing out of you while his cum began to drip down your ass. He used a finger to push it back inside you, a sly grin over his lips as he did, and helped you sit up.

A quick clean-up, change of clothes and a glass of water later, the two of you settled in your old bed, your old room. His arm tangled over your side, holding you against his body like you'd escape in his sleep, and you fell asleep with him- like it always should've been.

#cod mw2 #simon riley #ghost x reader #cod mwii #ghost smut #mwii #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #strlingsavwrites #call of duty

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 5 months

Text

The not so Princely Prince Charming

A/n: @d3vilstower thank you sm for requesting this, this was such a good idea and I hope I was able to write it in a satisfying way!

Warnings: Angst, yelling, smoking, smut, fingering(f receiving), oral(f receiving), creampie, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You met Slash in high school. He was an introvert, always keeping to himself at the back of the class, though he was also a trouble maker. He’d fall asleep in class, his grades were dogshit and he respected pretty much no one and only had a few friends he barely hung around. Yet you saw something so indescribably perfect about him.

Since you were known as a good kid, getting good grades, being nice to everyone, you were often sat next to the ‘bad’ kids in hopes that your good behaviour would rub off on them. Of course this never worked but if it got you a seat next to Slash you were more than happy to comply.

Whenever he fell asleep you put your sweater under his head to use as a pillow. You’d write extra notes and give them to him, whether he used them or not didn’t matter, you just wanted a reason to talk to him.

Occasionally the teacher would call on him when he was sleeping in an attempt to embarrass him. He’d wake up all groggy, you’d write the answer on a slip of paper and discreetly show it to him. This infuriated the teachers, neither you nor Slash cared.

Slowly he grew fond of you. Not in the sense that he was starting to find you attractive, he’d just never had someone treat him like that and the initial lust was morphing to a deeper connection.

He started bringing you snacks and he’d keep track of your favourite ones so he’d remember which ones to grab next time he was out.

Then he started sticking around you between classes, since he preferred to be alone he managed to get you away from your friends so it could just be you two. It didn’t always work and sometimes you’d drag him to sit at a table and actually eat with you and your friends rather than smoke out by the benches in the field.

It was a codependence thing at first. He wasn’t good at being around people and you were, the extrovert adopts the introvert situation.

Your friends weren’t all too happy to be sharing a table with Slash, with his big hair and crunchy clothes. He just didn’t fit in and they didn’t think he was the best for you, and they told you so to your face in front of him.

You always brushed them off, saying something about how you were just friends. And you kept that line when they called you to talk about it while Slash was between your thighs, struggling to hold back moans as he ate you out like a man starved.

Slash only came over when you were home alone because your parents were conservative, they hated the whole rock movement and sheltered you from it as best they could. Luckily, Slash showed you every part of it, even educating you on parts that he didn’t particularly care for because he didn’t want to shelter you either.

While you didn’t tell your parents who you were dating, you did tell them you met a guy. Of course they wanted to meet him right away and get to know him, make sure he was the right match for you, or rather them.

You knew they’d never accept him but you wanted him to meet your parents. Slash had helped you distance yourself from the lifestyle your parents had raised you in but deep down you still felt the need to have their approval. So you planned a dinner.

You brought Slash over after school, it took some convincing since he didn’t care too much to meet your parents but now you were at your front door, holding his hand tightly as you rang the doorbell for your parents to answer.

Your dad opened the door with a smile that quickly faded as he eyed the man beside you. “And this is him?” He asked, looking to you for confirmation. Slash also looked at you with an expression that just read ‘I told you so’. You ignored him.

“Yes, dad, this is my boyfriend.” You said with a bright smile. Your dad let out a heavy sigh and grudgingly reached his hand out for Slash to shake.

“Well, I’m glad that I’m meeting you, Saul.” You took note of how he phrased it.

“Slash, sir.” Your boyfriend corrected him. By your fathers expression you could tell he didn’t like that.

“You’re Saul tonight.” He stated and walked back into the house. Slash looked to you again, you looked back at him with a soft smile and pulled him into your home.

Dinner went worse than you expected. Slash had tried to remain civil, he was polite and didn’t speak unless he was spoken to. It was your parents that did everything in their power to tick him off, complaining about degenerate kids who did nothing but cause trouble.

You’ll never forget that night. Not the way they yelled at Slash nor the way he yelled back. It was like something snapped in him. You’d seen him upset before but nothing compared to this, he’d always been so soft spoken with you, sweet and compassionate. This was totally different.

You were sobbing and ran upstairs to your room, Slash followed suit. He slammed the door behind himself and locked it. You stared blankly at him, tears streaming down your cheeks while he threw some of your clothes into a bag.

“W-what are you doing?” You asked, voice shaky and weak.

“Packing.” He said in a firm tone, his voice raised.

“Why?”

“We’re fucking leaving!” He yelled, tossing the bag to you. It landed in your lap with a thud. Slash came over and held a hand out for you to take. “Now come on.” You hesitated. Could you really just pack up and leave your family?

Your parents started banging on your door, demanding to get in but you ignored them. Slash sat next to you, his hands on either of your shoulders. “Look, I’m not gonna up and leave you because you don’t want to come with me.” You sniffled softly as he said this and he wiped the tears from your cheeks. “I’d just rather you come with me than be stuck with them.” You nodded in understanding.

Slash pulled you closer, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. “I love you.” You mumbled. Slash stuttered in his movements for a second before squeezing you gently.

“I love you too.” He kissed the top of your head.

After that night your parents forbid you from seeing him anymore, even going as far as to tell your friends to keep an eye on you which you didn’t know about. You found out after bringing Slash over to eat lunch with you and your friends, that night it started an argument between you and your parents.

They made you switch schools so you wouldn’t have as much easy access to your relationship. They gave you strict schedules filled with extracurriculars to keep you busy and away from Slash. You still found your ways together, late at night you’d sneak out with him just to wander around.

As time progressed you drifted apart. It was no one's fault, the both of you simply happened to leave it. Maybe it was too hard on you, maybe his feelings for you faded. You never forgot him.

You found another man, one your parents approved of. You said you loved him, told everyone and yourself that, but he was just a cheap filler for the cavity left by Slash.

You watched from afar as Slash’s band took off, hearing about all his relationships, the things he got up to. You bought every magazine Guns N’ Roses was featured in, bought posters and their albums. Anything to bring little bits of Slash back into your life.

The man you met proposed to you with your whole family watching, of course you couldn’t say no. You wanted to, oh how badly you wished you could’ve told him and everyone else off for ruining your chance at love.

He never approved of your little ‘hobby’ as he called it. Always making jokes that seemed to cross a line every time. But you couldn’t say anything about it. This was the life your family wanted for you, a good man with a good paying job to support you and your soon to be family.

Your mother was happiest about this and helped you plan the wedding, which was really just her planning everything while you sat pretty for her, fake smile and all.

The wedding neared and you dreaded every day of it. You started getting rid of all your Guns N’ Roses things, knowing there was no use in keeping any of it anymore. You got into a routine of making three meals a day, getting a glass of whiskey ready for your soon to be husband every day after he got home from work.

You walked up the aisle in a dress you never liked, between families you never wanted, to a husband you never loved.

The priest went over the whole ordeal, asking for the vows. You’d memorised what your mother had written up for you. She needed this day to be perfect for her own little fantasy.

“And do you, Y/n L/n, take H/n L/n to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The priest asked. All eyes now on you as you stood at the end of the chapel, white wedding dress adorned as if you were innocent a day after you met Slash. You knew you should say it, it’s what everyone wanted.

You glanced at your parents and saw the fury in their eyes. You looked up to your fiance, his eyes sharing a similar glower. If you said yes now he’d never forgive you, you’d regret it every day of your life.

You shook your head, dropping the bouquet of pristine flowers in your hands and ran down the aisle, holding your dress up to keep from tripping over it. Everyone called for you to come back, a few even standing to run after you. Hands reached out for you, all of which you managed to avoid with the adrenaline rushing through you in the moment.

The grand doors opened and the cool air hit you. Right outside was a fancy black car you couldn’t forget even if you tried. Slash stepped out of the driver's side and stared at you, eyes wandering up and down your body in pure admiration for your beauty. “That dress looks like shit on you.” He said. You smiled, tears streaming down your cheeks as you ran to the car, quickly getting in the passenger seat.

Slash got back in, his arms going around you and pulling you in for a kiss. All those feelings you’d been trying to leave behind rushing back to you as his hands roamed your body, tugging at the uncomfortable wedding dress you’d been put in, plush lips meshing so perfectly with yours.

Your mother calling your name from the chapel doors is what caught your attention and you pulled away from Slash. “Drive.” You ordered.

“What?” Slash asked, caught off guard from the sudden loss of contact.

“Drive!” You repeated as your mother neared the car. Slash wasted no time in getting you out of there, ignoring the speed limit as he drove.

“Could you slow down?” You asked, reaching for his hand to get his attention. “You’re gonna get pulled over.” Slash shook his head.

“Don’t care, I can pay off a ticket.” You looked over to him and it really hit you. He came back for you. This was Slash. The boy you’d seen falling asleep in class, who got you snacks and followed you around because he didn’t know where else to go. The kid who gave you your first cigarette and laughed when you started coughing. Who held you when you cried.

Except now he was Slash, guitarist of big band Guns N’ Roses, travelling the world and fulfilling his dreams.

“Why’d you come?” You finally asked. You needed an answer after everything. He never tried to contact you. You never tried to contact him either.

His eyes flickered to you then back to the road. “Because I love you.” He said as if it was just yesterday you said that to each other for the first time. “I saw it in the papers that you were getting married to some guy, even in that picture I could see you didn’t want to be there.”

You held his arm close, clinging to it as he drove, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Thank you.” He kissed the top of your head and kept driving.

“Where are we going?” You asked when you realised you didn’t know where you were.

“My place.” He said simply. “Your family doesn’t know where I live.” You smiled and kissed his cheek.

You’d seen pictures of his house before. At night you’d think of what it would be like to live there with him. When you closed your eyes you could almost pretend he was holding you in that house, that smell of musky cologne and cigarettes washing away all your worries. Then you’d open them and still be stuck living this life you never wanted.

His house was much bigger in person. In a rich neighbourhood, surrounded by forestry. He drove up the long driveway and parked the car, getting out before you so he could open the door for you. He reached for your hand to help you out but you waved it off. “I can get out by myself.” You reminded him, he just smiled lovingly at you and held the door open.

His arm went around your waist, holding you close as he guided you into the house. As soon as the door closed he was on you again, lips crashing together, hands groping each other.

Your hands lost in his hair, tugging on it and pulling him in just as you used to, now with more need than before. Slash pulled at your dress until it ripped, tearing it off of you bit by bit. “Stupid fucking dress.” He grumbled in your ear. “Should’ve been me standing there with you.” He kissed down your neck, over your bare chest after he flung your bra away.

He cupped your chest, kissing, sucking and pinching your nipples, your back pressed against the door as he slid down your body. He looked up at you as he took off your panties and garters, watching every reaction you had as he started licking between your folds, tongue flicking your clit and dipping into you.

His hands held your thighs in a tight grip, one hand letting go so he could finger you and get you ready for him. Your hands were still in his hair, holding his head to your cunt as your hips buckled. Your legs were weak and you couldn’t care less, you were finally getting what you’d been craving for years.

Slash could feel when you were close, how your gummy walls fluttered around his talented fingers. He sucked on your needy clit, tongue flicking it repeatedly until you called out his name, a string of curses following it.

Slash got out of his clothes in a lustful haste to have more of you. He stood and grabbed you, pulling you tight to him as his lips met yours again. You pulled at each other, Slash picked you up and your legs wrapped around him. He stumbled over to a table, pushing into you and starting with an already brutal pace.

You bit his neck and he stumbled back, pushing you up against a wall when he regained his balance. He fucked into you like a mutt who’d found a bitch in heat. Loud moans left you while Slash’s grunts and groans rang in your ears.

He took a step back and nearly toppled over but managed to get you over to the couch. His face was in the crook of your neck, thumb rubbing your clit while his other arm held you to him, hips snapping into you harshly.

You moaned out his name, nails digging into his back. That knot came back in your gut. “Fuck! Slash-Slash, ‘m-’m close.” You whined, clawing at his arms. Slash sat up, lifting your hips over his and grabbing your arms, your knees hooked over his shoulders as he fucked you.

“Been waiting to see that pretty face cumming for so long.” He mumbled through gritted teeth. “Bet he never made you feel as good as I can, hm? Always pretended it was me with you, didn’t you?” You nodded, eyes rolling back as you came around his cock.

After being apart for so many years you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t process anything that was happening other than shocks of pleasure rocketing through you over and over again, Slash’s pretty fucked out face looking down at you when his eyes weren’t shut our rolling back.

Slash was barely conscious himself but he wasn’t done. Both of you were crying from the overstimulation, the couch was ruined and Slash had lost any sense of rhythm a while ago, only focusing on cumming again. Cum was smeared over your ass, his hips and abdomen as well. The room filled with the sound of wet skin and whining.

Finally Slash’s hips came to a halt as he came again, this time he let himself doing, laying his whole weight on you. You were both breathing heavy, hearts pounding.

After a moment you heard Slash sniffling. He moved up and lazily kissed your cheek, that was all he could manage. “I love you.” He whispered in your ear. “And no one’s gonna take you from me again, alright?” You nodded weakly.

You stayed there on the couch for the night. It was a mess, you were sticky and gross, so were Slash and the couch. Neither of you had the energy to move or clean up in the moment, even if you wanted to you found yourself asleep before you could make up your mind.

You awoke the next morning in a bed, all cleaned up and in clean clothes. Not your clothes but Slash’s. A band tee that was a few sizes too big for you and the panties you’d had on the day before.

Slash wasn’t with you but you heard music coming from downstairs and figured that’s where he was. You started getting out of bed but your knees buckled and you had to sit down again.

The bedroom door opened and your favourite boy came in with a bed table full of food. “You’re up.” He said with a smile. He came over and sat next to you on the bed.

“You learned how to cook?” You asked, seeing the small feast. Slash laughed and shook his head.

“No, I ordered out.” You smiled and leaned your head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you and started eating, giving you a few bites here and there when he saw you weren’t eating. “Not hungry?”

You shook your head. “Just tired.” You said, kissing his cheek. Slash nodded but continued to give you bites, still wanting to make sure you ate.

You talked about everything that’s been going on in your separate lives, catching each other up on everything. Slash constantly assured you you wouldn’t have to go back to anyone, that you’d be safe with him and he wasn’t going to let anyone take you away from him.

Finally you had that happily ever after you’d been looking for, that prince in not so shiny boots with a guitar instead of a sword, a tour bus as his trusty steed. You didn’t care, he was yours at last and he finally had his perfect girl under his arm.

#guns n roses #guns n roses fanfic #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses smut #gnr #slash #guns n roses imagine #slash guns n roses #guns n roses fluff #slash fic #slash fanfiction #slash gnr #slash smut #slash angst #slash fluff

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kitty-tea · 7 months

Text

Teaching the teacher a lesson

Remus Lupin x teacher!reader

Sorry I couldn’t come up with a better title. Also there’s straight up BDSM in this, so don’t read if you’re a minor I guess.

Summary: you get a job as a teacher where you see your old teacher crush, Remus Lupin, and you couldn’t be any happier. He, however notices how much you’ve changed.

Warnings: smut, 18+ only, nsfw, age gap, awkward sexual tension, mutual pining, teacher crush, dacryphilia kink, bdsm elements, dom/sub, teasing

Link to masterlist

The first day of school was just so (not) wonderful for Remus Lupin. He’d give anything to be able to shut himself in his classroom and not have to supervise the cafeteria during lunch.

He awkwardly shifted his weight on both legs as he scanned the room to make sure none of the students misbehaved. Instead of misbehaving students, his eyes landed on you next to a table nearby, having a conversation with the younger kids. You were kneeling down to their level, probably oblivious to how your ass was sticking out in that tight pencil skirt.

Stop it! She’s your former student! He told himself that even though you were an adult, it was still inappropriate for him to have these thoughts about you, but another part of him wouldn’t listen.

Before he transferred to working with the primary school kids, the last time he’d seen you was the year you graduated before going to university.

From what he could remember about you, you were kind of a brat. More than any student, he’d constantly go on about rules you broke whether it was sitting on top of desks (or his desk specifically,) not wearing your uniform properly, not calling him by his last name, and you even threw paper planes at him!

Remus didn’t fail to notice how much you changed after all those years. He couldn’t believe he recognized you. He could see the makeup you wore enhancing your features, and those glasses you liked to ditch were now complimenting your face shape. Instead of your long hair messily hanging past your shoulders, you had it up in a neat high bun, making you look like a sophisticated young woman. He also noticed under your skirt and blouse that you put on a little weight, filling out some curves on your body.

He hoped you did not just catch him involuntarily looking at you as you smiled and waved at him.

“Hi Remus.” Your heels clicked behind you on the polished floor as you walked over to where he was. He cringed at the sound of your voice using his first name. Oh great. You never used to smile at him unless you were in on a prank.

“I didn’t know you taught at this school.” You were standing so close to him that he was able to hear you clearly over the noise of students chattering.

“I transferred after you graduated.” He stated, not returning your smile. He turned towards the students, so that he wouldn’t have to face you.

“What year do you teach?” You asked.

“I teach the youngest students.” He answered. He hoped you’d go away soon so that he could go back to moping in his own thoughts.

“So do I!” You replied a little too happily for his liking. He grimaced at the feeling in his stomach as his eyes met yours. He did not want to think about how they went to your lips which now had lip balm on them instead of them being chapped, along with the perfume you started wearing.

He also wished that what he suspected wasn’t true, that you weren’t supervising lunchtime with him. “What are you doing here?” He asked just to confirm it.

“I’m on lunch duty with you. I feel so much more at ease knowing that I’m coworkers with my old teacher.” You said.

His heart dropped out of his chest.

For the rest of lunch, he spent his time standing in the corner staring off or staying close to the kids, so that it looked like he was busy talking to them and not trying to ignore you (he was.)

Your heart on the other hand, leapt out of your chest as your eyes landed on Mr. Lupin, or Remus as you started calling him. You had the biggest crush on him for years ever since he became your teacher. It’s not like you tried denying your inappropriate attraction towards him by acting out and misbehaving when he was around you in what you now realized was an immature way to get his attention.

You knew you’d gone too far with your antics, so you thought you could redeem yourself in his eyes by starting to act cordial with him on your first day teaching.

You understood that your crush on your former teacher turned coworker definitely didn’t go away as you felt a dull ache and a warm spot forming in your panties.

You were an adult now, it wasn’t technically illegal to flirt with older men, but it was obviously unprofessional for you to flirt with another teacher that used to teach you, and one who was much older than you.

You had known Remus for years. You weren’t clueless. You saw the way his eyes struggled to keep themselves from wandering all over your body. After years of crushing on him, it was exciting for you to see him try to hide his growing attraction towards you as an adult.

After saying goodbye to your students for the day, you went over what you’d say to Remus in your head. You wanted to sincerely apologize to him for all that you put him through in addition to proposing a new start with him, this time as coworkers not student and teacher.

It wasn’t hard for you to find his classroom since it was next to yours and it had “Mr. Lupin Room 3C” written on a card taped to the door.

It didn’t take long for a gruff voice to reply with “come in” muffled by the wood after you knocked on it.

As you opened the door, the familiar feelings of your literal school-girl crush fluttered in your chest.

“What are you doing here?” He didn’t sound angry, just tired.

“I-” your words got stuck in your throat as he looked up from where he sat hunched down behind his desk. He certainly looked older than the last time you saw him before finishing school, but he was no less handsome in your eyes in that brown suit he used to wear when you were his student. Suddenly, you felt like the same immature student again, being asked to explain yourself as you nervously played with the hem of your sleeves.

“I just wanted to say hello.” You tried speaking again.

“You already have. During lunchtime.” You saw him grinding his jaw as his eyes raked over your body. He cleared his throat before standing up to grab his satchel and walk to the door, where you happened to be.

“Okay, I just wanted to say I’m sorry, then.” Your breath hitched in your throat as you realized how close he was standing in front of you. It seemed that you weren’t the only one either. He brushed his fingers through his brown hair, making you wish you could brush your fingers through them instead.

“For what?” He asked bemusedly.

“For being so annoying and giving you a hard time in school. I thought maybe we could start over?” You said hurriedly, blushing and looking at your high heels which were almost touching his loafers.

You bit your lip as you gazed into his eyes, hopeful he’d take up in your proposal. He looked down at your hand which you extended, as if considering the possibility.

“Nice try.” Your mouth hung open at his blank words and you didn’t know what to say.

“Excuse me?” Your hopes for starting a professional and cordial relationship with him were now ruined.

“Apologies are more than just words. You of all people should know that since I was the one who taught you that. Goodbye.” You gave him the same dirty look you used to give him as he turned his back towards you, leaving you alone in his classroom.

That was the first of your interactions with him in that school year. Being two teachers who taught students of the same year, you were often assigned together for most school related activities like yard duty, supervising lunch, and the field trips… you couldn’t stop the dull aching heat between your thighs as you both would have to sit on the same bench on the bus rides.

It was even worse when you were fidgeting in your seat one time, when all the sudden, the bus ran over a huge bump causing you to tumble on top of Remus with his knee under your skirt, between your legs. You had grasped onto his shoulders for stability and he had grabbed your waist when his eyes had widened as he realized where his knee had touched you. You were too frozen to where you couldn’t stop staring at his lips that were close enough to yours that if you leaned in a millimeter more, you’d kiss him.

“Sorry.” You let out an exhale which was interrupted as you realized how good your pussy felt when you rubbed it against his thigh in an attempt to get off of him.

You were thankful that your students were young and innocent enough not to suspect anything, not to jump to conclusions if they saw you in your compromising position.

For the rest of the bus ride, you tried not to think about how your new coworker had accidentally turned you on.

It wasn’t like Remus would ever try to deny your flirting. You knew this because he never actively pushed you away. Every time you’d pass by him, you’d give his shoulder or arm a little brush where you’d catch his hungry gaze on you.

You were alone in the teachers’ lounge, the rest of the staff having gone home already.

Even in heels, you still weren’t tall enough to reach for the folders that were on the top shelf, so you did what anybody would do and positioned yourself on the table so that your knees would hold your weight up.

A shiver went up your spine as you felt a presence behind you.

“Need help?” Remus’ husky voice made its way to your ear.

You were glad your back was turned to him so that he couldn’t see how red your cheeks had gotten. You were also glad that he didn’t wait for you to answer him as he reached above your head, making his weight shift onto your ass where you could’ve sworn you felt a bulge.

“That wasn’t so bad was it?” You could’ve sworn he was smirking behind you as he set the empty folders next to you.

You turned around, hoping that he’d backed up to give you enough space to get off, but what you didn’t expect was for his hands to be on your waist, blocking you.

“What do you say?” He raised his eyebrows at you.

“Thank you.” You put your hand on his shoulder to use as leverage to get yourself down from the table.

“Wow. Seems you aren’t such a brat anymore.” He laughed.

“What does that supposed to mean?” You thought you had grown past your immature teenage self, but apparently you had let Remus get under your skin with his backhanded compliment.

“There she is.” He scoffed. “With that same fucking attitude that did no good. You’re not so high and mighty now just because you’re a teacher.”

You didn’t know if your face was red from anger, embarrassment, or something else.

“Don’t act like I haven’t been nice to you.” You countered back heatedly.

“Too nice.” His voice had gotten lower.

“Anyways,” you tried to ignore the tingling feeling in your stomach that erupted as you saw him gazing at your lips with the lack of distance between you. “I actually tried showing you how much I changed.”

He scoffed again.

“By being nice? You know flirting won’t get you anywhere.”

You realized he just admitted to you straight up that he caught onto your flirting.

“Don’t act as if you haven’t changed the way you used to look at me. I saw you checking me out on the first day of school.” This was your way of probing at him.

“What?! I-”

“It’s okay to stare. I know because I used to do it to you… Not that I stopped.” You purred, running your fingers lightly along his firm chest.

Remus grunted at the pleasurable sensation. You were driving him crazy, and not like how you used to when you were his student. Speaking of which, he kept reminding himself that what he was letting you do to him was unprofessional and inappropriate, but on the other hand, he didn’t want to stop you.

“I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to fuck the hot teacher.” Your lips were so almost touching his earlobe.

“Stop it.” He grabbed your wrists.

“Or else what? How are you gonna punish me?” You licked your lips. “Except you can’t. Because I’m the teacher.”

He realized you had a point as he let go of your wrists.

“How about this? It’s getting late, so I’ll order some food for us.” You suggested. Please say yes. You wished Remus could read your mind.

“You don’t have to do that for me.” He waved you off as he moved to grab his cardigan off the chair.

“Please. It’s the least I could do for you.” Remus felt a sliver of guilt at rejecting your proposal as you looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. “And… I want to.”

After Remus had reluctantly taken up on your offer, you had ordered take out on your phone. By the time the food arrived, you were still fighting over who was going to pay. You insisted you pay because it was your idea and you wanted to do him a favor while he didn’t really have a counterargument other than he really wanted to pay. This led to him shoving cash into the driver’s hands and shutting the door before you had a chance to do anything.

“You did all that with your hands?” You rolled your eyes and laughed while nervously twirling a strand of hair around your finger.

“I can do other things with my hands too.”

Remus was unaware of how suggestive what he said was until you looked from his eyes to his crotch while licking your lips.

“I’d love to know what other things.” You said, making Remus swallow loudly at how low and seductive your voice sounded.

You both ate across the table from each other in an awkward silence, each of you mentally coming up with topics to discuss preferably away from whatever it is you were talking about earlier. Remus needed to find a way to cool down from the sexual tension from earlier.

“How was your life after you graduated?” Remus was the first to talk.

“It was a bit boring really. All I did was study in university, and didn't really go out much.” You said before shoving an entire dumpling in your mouth with your chopsticks. Remus couldn’t control the corner of his mouth as it turned upwards. You looked silly, like a cartoon chipmunk.

“How have you been?” You asked once you had swallowed your food.

“Alright.” He shrugged.

“Really? There’s got to be more. Haven’t you gone on any dates?” Remus’ eyes widened at your inquiries of his relationship status as he felt the tip of your shoes dipping under the hem of his trouser leg.

“No, actually.” He was able to compose himself enough to draw out a steady response as he tried to ignore how much his dick was starting to ache and the fact that he noticed you had taken off your shoe making him feel the soft nylon covering your foot gliding upward.

“That’s a shame. Any woman would be lucky to have you.”

And I want that woman to be me, you thought.

While you enjoyed this little game you were playing with Remus, you didn’t like that it usually led to nowhere. You knew he wanted you as much as you wanted him. It was that obvious. You knew you were terrible at hiding your feelings for someone whenever you had a crush, but this time, with Remus you didn’t care. He wasn’t your teacher anymore, you were both adults, and you were equals. Something sparked within you every time you saw him get flustered around you. You wanted to keep that spark going. Even if it was a boring day where all the students had the day off for professional development day, leaving the school campus occupied by no one but the staff.

In addition to the staff meeting being extremely long, you could tell it was going to be extremely boring even though this was only your first year of teaching at the school.

You cursed yourself for waking up an hour later than you intended to, leaving you barely enough time to do anything other than throw on your clothes. You couldn’t prepare any breakfast for yourself or stop by a cafe, so you were left with lazily braiding your hair on the bus ride while mentally coming up with how you would apologize to everyone.

Clutching your book bag against the side of your body, you swung the door open to the staff room. Multiple eyes met yours, some glaring, others just blank, as if they were expecting you to be the type of young teacher to slack off.

“I’m so sorry I’m late!” You apologized awkwardly as you tucked some hair behind your ear, being afraid to face the older staff whom you thought would silently berate you on your tardiness with their scowls.

“Nothing to worry about.” Your boss, Dumbledore was standing in front of the table with his hands folded in front of him. “Remus was kind enough to save a seat for you.”

True to his word, Remus was sitting next to an empty seat. He was looking at you with a smirk like it was meant only for you to see. You gave him a small nod in acknowledgment as you smoothed out your skirt underneath you and sat down on the chair.

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the meeting resumed. You reached into your book bag and took out your notepad before absentmindedly scribbling down whatever came up that you thought would be important enough for later.

You had no idea how long you’d been writing for when you suddenly became aware of the large hand that was on your knee. You looked to your right, expecting Remus to be glancing at you, but he looked just as bored as half of the people in the room did, looking straight ahead. You had to look down again to make sure it was really the same hand that was connected to his body.

You squeezed your legs together in an attempt to sooth that dull ache that got stronger each time Remus decided to move his hand just a tad higher until you sucked in a breath as you saw it disappear under your skirt. Remus on the other hand looked unfazed as he used his impressive strength to push your legs apart with one hand. It’s not like you were resisting as he rubbed circles along the exposed skin.

You bit your lip as you felt the tip of his calloused finger trace along the lace edge of your panties. You started to squirm in the damp spot that was forming dangerously close to where his fingers were.

It was as if in that moment, every other person in the room beside you and Remus were pushed to the back of your mind. You were still aware of their presence, it’s just that you didn’t care. You still had enough self awareness to try and keep the expression on your face neutral no matter how badly you wanted to scream as you felt the blunt end of Remus’ fingernail teasing the swollen nub above the dampness of the cotton. That overwhelmingly pleasurable sensation he was imposing on you felt so wrong in a place like this and so good. Your mind was in that zone between wanting him to stop and wanting him to keep going. You wondered how the small movements of his fingers could be so precise and so impactful at the same time.

You could feel the pleasure escalating directly onto your clit as you held your breath, desperately hoping no one else at this dreadful meeting was paying attention to you except for Remus. More than anything, you changed your mind and decided you wanted him to continue pleasuring you like this to distract you. You’d have to be quiet, you told yourself.

Being quiet just got harder because you felt his fingers move inside of your panties, coating themselves along your throbbing pussy.

There was no going back for you. You kept your head down, too aware of how red your face had become, as you gripped the armrests of your chair.

Meanwhile Remus continued to rub tight circles on your clit, this time, it was like you felt the grooves of his fingerprint on the oversensitive bundle of nerves, and the experience of having someone else do it to you felt different and so much more exciting than doing it to yourself.

You could tell Remus was experienced as he knew the exact spots to touch you to make you feel like you were on the edge, but not quite over it.

You didn’t have to look at him to know that son of a bitch knew you were hating and loving this moment and what he was doing to you.

“Is she okay?” You heard some of the older teachers ask. You didn’t think they were talking about you, so you chose not to reply.

That was when Remus pulled his fingers out, and with that same hand, he set it on your shoulder. “You alright?” He asked gently. That was when you were brought out of your trance, not realizing how loudly you were panting.

You were mortified when you turned to look at him and could see your juices on his fingers, still wet and glistening under the lighting. You wished your chair would just swallow you up.

You heard Dumbledore chuckle from the front of the room. You thought he was mocking you for not paying attention, but you didn’t care. You wanted to leave, and it looked as if he answered your prayers. “Perhaps the meeting is getting a little too boring for some of us. Not to worry, there is a lunch break coming up.” He said.

Lunch? That’s right. Your stomach started to grumble when you realized you hadn’t eaten anything since waking up, nor did you bring anything to eat. That left you with drinking from the water fountain outside as your only option.

You heard footsteps behind you as you took a sip from the fountain.

“Have you got any idea how much of a compromising position you’re in?” You heard Remus’ voice and you could swear he was staring at your ass.

“Now I do.” You stood up straight as you met his eyes. “Especially after the little stunt you pulled.”

“What stunt?” He smirked. He knew what you were referring to. “Oh. Yes, the one where I embarrassed you, reminding you of the slut you are?”

You gasped. You never in a million years thought you’d hear someone who used to be in a position of power over you straight up call you a slut (except for in your fantasies) and it turned you on when he did.

“Is that what you wanted? Did you want me to finish the job too?” He said in that low, husky voice as he stepped closer to you. You weakly nodded as you looked up, only to quickly look back down at the intensity of his stare. “Use your words.” You felt the backs of his fingers brush against your heated cheek as he used them to bring your face up, forcing you to look at him.

“I… I want this… I want you.” You whispered, looking deep into his eyes hoping he’d get the point.

“Are you sure?” Now it was his turn to look shy. He was scratching his light brown stubble and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you. We could go back to how things were before and pretend nothing between us happened.” He was lying of course. He would never be able to pretend nothing happened between you two.

“Remus, please kiss me.” You grabbed onto his shoulders. You were hopelessly turned on, and there was no going back for either of you.

He turned his head away from you, making you worried that he was rejecting you only for him to say, “We need to make sure the door to my classroom is locked first.”

As soon as the door to the classroom was locked, Remus had you pinned against it with his hands on your hips.

“My God, you’re so beautiful.” He let out an exhale as his thumb traced your bottom lip, making you shiver both at the words and physical contact.

You’d never felt more alive than when he finally crashed his lips onto yours.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Remus asked, looking into your eyes for any sign of doubt.

You nodded. “I’m on the pill and I’m clean. Do you trust me?”

“I trust you.” You’ve been a prankster and a nuisance, but you’d never lie about something as serious as this.

Everything around you started to become a blur as Remus continued to kiss you while walking you to where his desk was until your ass was planted against it.

“Look at you.” His eyes glided up and down your body like a wolf checking out his next meal. “Is my needy slut not satisfied? Does she want more?” Fuck, he really hit the nail on the head with that one.

Remus took a seat on his chair before he patted his thigh. You took a gulp before turning around, but not before he put his hand on your lower back, stopping you. “Not so fast.”

You looked to him behind you, and raised your eyebrows in confusion.

“You don’t deserve to sit on a throne like a Princess. Bad girls like you need the right discipline.” You didn’t need for him to explain to you that you understood how this was going to work.

You were in a position of obedience. You took a deep breath as you placed yourself on his lap, chest and torso pressed against his lower body.

“That’s better.” Remus chuckled from above you as he ran his finger along the skin of your inner thigh. It then felt like only a moment before his entire hand wrapped around it with his thumb lightly tracing along your clothed pussy. You let out a soft moan as you raised your ass up in an attempt to grind against his fingers before he pulled them away.

“You’ve completely soaked through your panties. Such a needy, little slut.” He said in response to how your body reacted to his touch. “Here’s what I’ll do.” He started to say as he gathered your hands behind your back. You heard the sound of fabric shuffling and you felt something smooth around your wrists, which you guessed was a necktie. “How about I teach this slut a lesson, and if she’s a good girl, I’ll give her a special reward?”

“What reward? What do you mean?” Your demanding questions came out in a way that made you sound whiny as you squirmed on his lap.

Remus knew if he continued letting you move around on his lap, his erection would only get more unbearable to the point of not being able to contain himself, and that’s not what he wanted. He needed you to understand that he was the one in control, and you were only under his mercy.

He couldn’t help admiring the plumpness of your ass that was covered by the thin material of your panties as he lifted your skirt. He could even see the damp spot on the gusset that he had been looking forward to committing to his memory.

“Ow!” You shut your eyes as you felt a sharp slap on your skin.

“That’s what you get.” He whispered in your ear. Something about his voice sounded different. Maybe feral. It only reminded you of how much you wanted to see this side of him more often, growling in your ear, making you feel like a small prey he deserved to feast on.

“Think you can be quiet?” He asked as he slid his thumb inside your panties where it found your swollen lips.

“Yes.” You bit your lip in an attempt to hold back another scream this time as he delivered a second spank to your bottom.

“I don’t think so.” He scoffed harshly as he yanked your panties down your legs and bunched up the piece of fabric soaked with your juices into a ball before quickly forcing it into your mouth. “There. I won’t have such a hard time getting you to shut up.”

This was it. You were silenced. You were nothing but a toy to him, stuffed with no way to talk back. You couldn’t be happier with how it was, you were under his control as he used your body in ways you craved to be used.

“Don’t worry, Beautiful. I’ll take good care of you.” He soothingly stroked his long fingers over your scalp, undoing your braid and making your hair fall around your face.

With his other hand, he pushed your legs apart, exposing your warm, wet cunt to the dry air. Your body stiffened at the sharp contrast. God, you so desperately wanted him to insert something into your aching hole already! You didn’t care if it was his fingers or his cock, you needed to be filled up good and full until-

Your thoughts were interrupted as another spank, this time harsher than the others, was inflicted on the raw skin you were sure already had red welts forming there. You would’ve been pleased if that were the case. You wanted to be marked as his.

Another spank landed on the other side of your ass.

In contrast to the pain on your ass, the pleasurable sensation of his fingers dragging along your folds was enough to make you moan so loudly even the make-shift gag couldn’t muffle it completely. You bucked your hips up in an attempt to get his fingers into you deeper, but he pulled them away too fast for you. You felt tears stream down your face accompanied by pathetic sobs.

“This is what you get for being a bad girl.” With each word that he growled, each slap on your ass, the ache only grew deeper inside your cunt, reminding you how much you needed him.

Just as you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, the spanking was replaced by his large hand softly rubbing circles on the raw skin. By the time he was done, your legs were shaking as much as your breaths. This was only the beginning.

You stood on shaky legs that would’ve fallen had it not been for the assistance of the desk behind your or Remus holding your hips in place.

“I just wanted to see how beautiful you look, crying, before I bend you over my desk.” He gently brushed the tears under your eyes with his thumb. If it weren’t for the situation you were in, one could mistake the look on Remus’ face as sympathetic.

As quick as he was to show his gentle side, he roughly turned you around and pushed your back forward. With your hands still tied behind your back, you weren’t able to catch yourself as the force of your chest slamming on top of the desk knocked the breath out of you.

“Aww, does my crybaby slut want it now?” He cooed into your ear as he brushed some hair back. “Has she got no more tears left in her eyes? Why don’t I check on that cunt? I’m sure it’s weeping more than your eyes have in your life.”

Why was he being such a tease? If he wanted to tease you, you would’ve rather have him tease you with his fingers not his taunting words.

Another sob ripped through your shaking body as his finger curled inside of you.

“Fucking hell, I can’t do this anymore.” You heard him whisper to himself behind you. You wanted to smirk as you heard the sound of the belt and zipper being undone.

It was as if your pussy could finally breathe in relief as the smooth tip of his cock found your entrance and soon after, the entire length was able to slide in, making not only your pussy feel full, but also your belly.

“Fuck! You’re so wet.” Remus grunted as he held onto your shoulder, pressing it against the hardwood. You didn’t mind the pain on your shoulder that was accompanied by each thrust. Pleasure was the only thing that mattered to you.

You’d gotten to the point where you realized you could no longer rely on your fingers or your toys to make you feel full and pleasured the same way Remus was making you feel. You were his dependent whore, that’s how you’d come to see it. And you loved it. You loved every thrust and every time his cock would hit the right places, the tightness inside you became stronger until you felt it explode (or it was combined with Remus spilling himself inside you,) making you sob loudly. You needed a moment to collect yourself.

“Did you also cum?” He asked as soon as he caught his breath. You nodded. “You’re so irresistible you don’t know how hard it is to keep myself from spilling inside you so fast.”

You felt him tug on the tie around your wrists, pulling your body against his chest.

“You were such a good girl. I’m so proud of you.” He smiled at you, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. Yes, this moment was the proudest you’d ever seen him being of you.

You didn’t realize how stiff your jaw had become until he took out your bunched up panties from your mouth, and put them in his back pocket.

“I haven’t got a spare… it’s so sticky down there.” Your weak protest was shut with a smirk on his lips.

“Too bad. Deal with it. Let it be a reminder of the dirty whore you are.” He said, encircling his arms around your body to untie your wrists. You brought them to your sides, bending them back and forth, relieved to be freed.

Once the two of you had fixed yourselves back to decency, you heard your stomach rumbling, reminding you of the lack of food you’d eaten.

“Would you… like to come over to my place after we’re done with the meeting? You must be starving. I can cook for you or get some takeout, whatever you want. You don’t have to. I just mean, if it’s something you’d want to do with me.”

Now it was your turn to make him shut up as you pressed your lips onto his cheek. “I’d love to.”

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