#like...hating your insides and wanting them to be prettier

[kamitv]

Thinking about Sukuna who...

Hates you (affectionately).

If you expect the king of curses to ever admit his romantic and blissful emotions of love in regards to you, you'd have to (quite literally) be on the verge of death.

He says it a lot too. "I hate you," in place of saying the opposing three words. When you two first got together you found it odd but at some point, you realized that was his idiotic way of saying he loves you.

He'll always have this mean look on his face but sometimes, and only sometimes, you swear you'll find faint little hearts in his eyes when he looks at you. (Then again you might be delusional because look who the hell you're in love with anyway).

Always fucks you like he's mad at you.

Tying you up, choking you, biting you, scratching you-, oh the list goes on with the number of things this man does to you during sex.

He's so mean to you in bed, being sure to stuff you full of his cock(s) for hours on end until you're left completely ruined, and even then most times he doesn't want to stop. The only reason sex ends with him is simply because he pities your lack of stamina.

That, and it annoys him when you're so fucked-out that the sound of his name leaving your lips is barely over a whiney little whisper. Followed by that is usually the frustratingly small pushes you give him, babbling something about it being 'too much', even though your cunt is always saying quite the opposite.

Aside from that, he fucking loves when you're scratching at his back, leaving bright red marks he finds prettier than the dark tattoos decorating the rest of his muscular body. He'll be sure to admire take a look at them the following morning. Then, whenever said scars begin to heal, he'll be sure to remind you to create new ones for him-- he loves them most when they're fresh.

Requires your full undivided attention no matter what.

The moment your name leaves his lips, Sukuna expects every ounce of your attention on him. He doesn't care what you're doing, you're required to be focused on him whenever he requests your attention.

It's almost like he doesn't even 'request' your attention, he commands it. It's in the way he looks at you; the way he'd tip his head into whatever direction you're looking into just so you can understand the seriousness behind his request-- and yes, sometimes he could be saying something pointless like, "You looked foolish running around in the garden like that earlier," To which you'd happily respond to him with both a smile and a chuckle, "You were watching me?" And then he'd feel caught and cover it up with a roll of his eyes, "I always know your whereabouts, human."

Secretly loves having your eyes on his.

Or, he think he hides his love for the eye contact pretty well...

Though, you see right through all of that rather quickly. The way he always tips your chin up so that he can get a full look at your face all the time, tells you to keep looking at him no matter the situation-- he could be balls deep inside you and watching your eyes roll to the back of your head and yet he still expects them to eventually return to him.

Even when he's not looking at you he tells you to keep your eyes on him. It frightens you sometimes when you watch him look at something else and then you try to do the same only to flinch at the sound of his rough tone hitting your ears seconds later with a swift, "Did I say you could stop looking at me?"

Hates to see you upset.

As much as the man thrives in the displeasure of others, you're probably the only living thing that genuinely irks his nerves to see upset.

Even though he finds your little pouts and huffs of frustration as cute as ever, he only finds such expressions enjoyable when he's the cause of them. And even at that point, he doesn't exactly like seeing you mad with him. Sukuna already feels as though you should hate him as is so whenever you're actually mad at him for something (most likely killing someone after you've requested him not to do so) it makes his heart twinge in unfamiliar ways.

That's typically when he'll decide it's a good time to throw you a very rare, yet much appreciated compliment. A simple, "You look pretty today," somehow always distracts you from whatever it is you're mad about. Which makes him smirk-- he finds it endearing how easy it is to please you. (Though, he only finds it so endearing because he knows only he can bring you such joy so simply).

Has a tendency to treat you more like some kinda pet instead of a partner.

He truly doesn't mean to but it happens naturally for a curse who knows little of what it means to love someone.

Stuff like, "Fetch me another water, woman." "Sit." and, "Stay here." is often slipping from his lips without second thought. And no he doesn't mean to make you feel like a pet, it's simply the way he speaks to everyone and you're no exception.

Well, you weren't an exception until you explained that you don't like it when he speaks to you like you're some kind of dog. To which he teased you, "Yet you enjoy my praises?" Naturally, you were confused so your brows twisted up and he went on to elaborate, "When I call you a, or my 'good girl', you always tell me how it arouses you." Then you're sputtering out an embarrassed little, "T-That's different and you know it!" "It is still something I would say to a dog." He deadpans, like he always does when he's speaking to you. Your eyes roll and he smirks within the split second your gaze isn't on his, "Yes, but I'm talking about the other things you say." Folding those large bulky arms of his across his chest as he stands before you, "Ah, so you mean when I command you?" Sukuna asks for clarification. "Yes," You reply simply with your eyes returning to his Again, he acts clueless, "You told me you loved dominant men." "That's not what I-," Your face is met with your palm and you let out a heavy sigh before giving up on your little explanation, "Y'know what, never mind."

He pretends to have no idea what you were trying to express in that conversation but you later notice the difference in the way he talks you.

Knows you have a not-so-secret thing for his thighs.

And how can anyone blame you? He often covers them up, of course, but when you first found out he had such slutty tattoos decorating his upper thigh, you couldn't help but he enamored by them.

Though, when Sukuna caught wind of this, he instructs you to ride those same thighs you find 'slutty' and audibly describe to him in detail what it is you like about his thighs so much. So when you're prettily sitting atop him with little to no clothes, safe for the lingerie set he had made for you, all he can do is stare at you with that cocky ass smile of his, ignoring his aching cock whilst he listens to your whiney descriptions of how attractive you find his tattoos.

Loves bickering with you.

He’ll admit this one. Sukuna can’t get enough of getting on your nerves in a teasing manner.

Flicking your forehead mid conversation just to watch your brows twitch and your face twist up, cutting you off as you’re talking just to watch the way you shut yourself up or sometimes keep talking over him as if to compete with him, and disagrees with most of what you say just because.

“The sky is so beautiful today, ‘Kuna, look!�� You once exclaimed as you enjoyed a rather peaceful walk with the curse, your arms wrapped snuggly around one of his. He barely spares the sky a glance before grumbling a response to you, “It looks horrid.” “Sukuna,” You huff in that scolding tone he seems to adore so much. Biting back a smirk, “Woman.” With a little groan, you give his bulky arm a nudge with your head, “Can’t you be serious just this once?” “I am being serious,” Sukuna deadpans before looking down at you and meeting your gaze— feeling proud to find your eyes are already on his. You’ve got this pout on your face now, “What’s so ‘horrid’ about the sky? Hm?” Words are flying past his lips faster than he intends to, almost like second nature as he takes in the features of the only human to have every captured his attention, “It doesn’t look like you.” “I-,” You’re smiling immediately, “What?” “Nothing.” Oh how you adore when he does that — compliment you and then get all shy about it, his eyes darting elsewhere, “Awww, Kuna-“ “I’ll kill you, brat,” Sukuna cuts you off crisply as he tugs you further along the long path you’re headed down. “You love mee,” You reply in a nagging tone, flashing the man the brightest smile you can muster. And of course, he’ll never deny that but he also refuses to say those three words to you so, instead, he’s smirking slightly before responding with an expected command of, “Silence, human.”

Will never admit to being jealous.

Despite it being so obvious— he’ll always deny it when you ask.

He walked in on Uraume showing you how to properly prepare a meal one time and decided to nudge his personal chef out of the way just to show you himself. Muttering something about it being ‘easier’ if he shows you himself.

Sukuna often threatens those who have their eyes on you for any longer than five seconds at a time, even if you’re literally talking to them. And yes, yes he’s counting every second.

Has the most degrading nicknames for you.

“Whore.”

His “cockhungry slut.”

“Needy bi-“ He got hit for trying this one out without your permission.

“Brat.”

“Stupid woman.”

“Foolish human.”

But when he does say something affectionate— it typically consists of; “angel”, “perfect”, “beautiful”, “heaven in his hands”, y’know, the usual.

Finds his emotions only ever confusing him when you're around.

His heart feels strange in his chest when you give him small touches.

He can’t stop his breath from hitching in intimate moments when you’re running your fingertips along his jawline and studying his face closely.

You kissed the tip of his nose one time and whispered something about how handsome he was and Sukuna swears he’s never felt the need to protect and savor something more in his life.

If he were ever to lose you, he’d wreak havoc on the rest of the earth until you’re miraculously reborn, of age, into this world once more. (His words, not mine)

Loves your tits more than any other part of your body.

Sukuna likes playing with them for some odd reason. Like a big baby with a sensory video, flash your tits at the man and he can’t think of anything else aside from the soft flesh he’s toying with in his palms.

And he has two pairs of hands so he makes use of them quite often. Approaching you from behind, grabbing your waist with one set of hands and your breasts with the other— he’ll grope your tits and lean down to your ear to whisper about how soft and perfect you are for him.

Dislikes when you make him speechless.

And you do it often too. Each time he sees you, he only feels his words fading over and over again.

The first time he saw you in a red and black kimono constructed specifically for your figure, he felt all thoughts and words leaving him and the only thing on his body still working properly was his cock(s).

You notice how every time you call the curse ‘handsome’ he goes quiet for a moment longer than normal. He’ll stare at you like you’d said something foreign for a few minutes before muttering something along the lines of, “Stop telling me things I’m already aware of, brat.” But, his face is shaded a different hue of red and his eyes wander elsewhere for just a second.

Has and would kill anyone for you or because of you.

This, you have to scold him about. In the beginning of your relationship with the king of curses, he would dispose of people as if their lives had no true value— all for the sake of you.

You had to beg the man for months straight to let go of that sinful habit of his and almost did. The only difference in his killings now versus then is that you don’t know about them. Or, he trues to make sure you don’t know (he’s not that good at keeping things from you).

Is happiest when you call him certain names.

“My lord” “My king” “‘Kuna” “Handsome” but he’ll never admit to his preference for these nicknames over other ones you may call him.

A/N: lmk if there are any errors — this isn’t proofread!

[munsonsmixtapes]

Just a Little Touch

perv!eddie x innocent!plus size!reader

summary: Eddie touches you and you decide that it's far better than masturbation.

cw: MDNI (18+) masturbation, fingering

you can find part one here!

You haven't seen Eddie since you masturbated for the first time. You’ve honestly been avoiding him since you don’t want to admit that he had been part of your late night fantasies every night since. He’s perfect for it as you imagine him as the person who’s doing all the touching. It’s his fingers that are inside you. It’s his voice that encourages you with every pump of your fingers, telling you how pretty you look. 

Now that you’ve started, you can’t seem to stop. You’ve been getting yourself off every night and you’re not sure why you hadn’t before. It definitely helps with your feelings towards Eddie and you’re so tired afterwards that it’s so easy for you to go to sleep afterwards. It’s a win-win in your book.

Eddie hates that you’ve been asleep every time that he’s walked past your trailer the past few nights. He’s been working later at the car shop since someone quit and even though he’s making more money, he hates that he has to miss seeing his pretty girl through her window. It’s his favorite part of the day and he’s wondering if being employee of the month for the third consecutive year is even worth it anymore. 

But tonight, he’s lucky because he just so happens to walk past your window when he hears a loud moan coming from it. He peeps inside and sure enough, his favorite show is on. And you’re even prettier than before, as your back arches off the bed. Your hard nipples are poking through your thin tank top and Eddie feels drool pooling in his mouth as he thinks about how badly he wants to suck on them. 

He seems to black out when he goes through with what he does next because one second, he’s outside, and the next, he’s crawling through your window. He drops to the floor with a loud thud and you’re pulled out of your trance, the moan that was about to spill from your mouth dying on your lips. 

You immediately pull your hand from your paintes and stare at Eddie who’s already staring back at you in horror. He clearly didn’t think this through. He goes to leave when he sees how startled you are, but you get onto your knees on the bed and grab onto him, preventing him from going any further. 

You turn him around to face you and slowly inch your slick covered fingers towards his mouth. He’s quick to open up and an involuntary moan falls from his lips as the slick drips onto his tongue. He licks and sucks on your fingers slowly, trying to savor the flavor as it’s easily the best thing he’s ever tasted.

You pull your fingers from his mouth with a loud pop and before you can register what’s happening, Eddie is pushing you down onto the bed, pinning you to it with his hands. His mouth finds yours in a hot kiss as one of his hands trails down to your sopping wet panties. 

“Has anyone touched you like this?” Eddie asks against your lips and all you can do is whine in response. 

“No,” you finally tell him and Eddie pulls back with a devilish grin.

“Do you want me to?” Truth be told, he’s never done this, but he’s read enough smut to know exactly how it’s done. Okay, and maybe he did some research as a form of manifestation that you’d let him. And clearly it worked because here he is. 

“God, yes,” you breathe and Eddie smiles even wider as his fingers move back and forth across your slit causing another whine to fall from your lips. 

“Eddie, please,” you beg and Eddie loves the sound of that. It’s even better than he imagined and now he thinks he’s going to have to hear it every day in order to survive. Somehow, he doesn’t think you’d have a problem with that. 

He watches your face as he slowly pushes his fingers inside of you, a loud escaping you already and he’s barely down anything. Oh, he’s going to have so much fun with this. 

You’re already soaked and all he can think about is licking his own fingers clean after he’s given you as many orgasms that you can manage and then he’s going to eat you out, fully intending on cleaning out every bit of slick from you because he’s only gotten one taste and he needs, craves more.

His fingers pick up the pace, moving a little faster, but that doesn’t seem to be good enough for you. He’s not going hard or deep enough. You want to feel his rings, the cold metal inside you. You want him to stretch you out to prepare you for his massive cock that he’s inevitably going to pound into you over and over until you can’t take it anymore. 

“Harder,” you demand. “Faster.” 

“As you wish, princess,” he nods and does exactly as he’s asked. He goes as hard and fast as he can, making sure to fit all of his fingers inside you since he’s sure that’s what you want. You grab onto his arms and give his biceps a squeeze, holding onto him for dear live as he fucks you with just his fingers. 

“Eddie, oh my god,” you moan and Eddie’s sure he’s going to come just from hearing it. He watches your back arch as you moan again, your nipples on full display through your very thin t-shirt. God, you really are going to become a full course meal for him and fuck is he starving. 

You’re reaching your orgasm but Eddie isn’t going to let up. He wants to see just how many times he can make you come from just his fingers. And you come with his fingers still inside of you, pumping as fast and hard as they can go. Your back arches again as you throw your head back. This orgasm is far better than any of the ones you were able to give yourself and now  you’re convinced that you’re going to have to have him do this exact thing before you go to bed every night. Because there’s no way you can go back to masturbating when Eddie’s just given you the best orgasm of your life. 

You look absolutely spent so Eddie removes his fingers and hovers them over your mouth and he moans as you lick and suck on them, removing every last drop of your slip from his digits. And once you’re done, he removes his fingers slowly then places himself on top of you, kissing you until you’re both breathless as he tells you that you’re his good girl. Yeah, there’s no way that either of you can sleep now.

[crazychaoticizzy]

Just the Tip

CONTENT: 18+, MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, morning sex, dom/sub/switch reader and character depending on which one you’re reading, my knowledge on some of these characters is limited since i’m new to the fandom so they may be mischaracterized, the most basic concept but it’s something ✨

WORD COUNT: 573

MASTERLIST

“C’mon, baby… Just the tip, I swear.”

You both knew he was lying. He didn’t do just the tip. You knew that, and yet you still obliged him in the early morning.

“Just for a bit. I have a meeting today,” you mumble. You bury your face further into your pillow as he climbs on top of you. Now that you’d said it, you realized how much you didn’t want to go to that business meeting.

“I know, baby. I swear this time it’ll really be just the tip.”

You hum as he pushes your panties aside. His fingers briefly glide against your folds before he replaces them with his cock.

For a moment, he abides by his promise and only puts in the tip. He ruts into you and moans in your ear before pushing more of himself in. You’re too tired to notice entirely, although you can feel it. You don’t comment on it, though, even knowing that you should. You excuse it by convincing yourself just a little bit of indulgence wouldn’t hurt anyone.

It isn’t long until his hips meet yours. Your mouth falls open in a surprises moan when he pulls out almost completely and shoved himself back inside. Your eyes shoot open, and you look up at him with a questioning gaze.

“Oops.” The stupid smirk on his face tells you this is definitely not and oops situation, but you can’t find it in yourself to argue. Especially not after he begins a fast pace.

It looks like that meeting will have to wait. What a shame…

Jean Kirstein, Eren Yeager, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Toji Fushiguro, Ryoumen Sukuna, Roy Mustang, Portgas D. Ace

There was no sound prettier than the sound of your boyfriend’s voice, still groggy with sleep as he holds onto your hips for dear life.

Just the tip. That’s what he’d promised you. But Jesus Christ, the way your walls stretched and squeezed around just the tip made him delirious. You’d barely given him anything and his eyes were already rolled to the back of his head.

He whines and whimpers in your ear, pleading, begging for you to let him put more of himself inside.

“Baby… Baby, please… I know you’re busy today but I need-”

With the way he moans in your ear, his hands twisted in the sheets and leaving bruises on your hips, it would just be cruel to say no, wouldn’t it?

Armin Arlert, Reiner Braun, Choso Kamo, Sanji Vinsmoke

Sometimes you find yourself hating how coy he can be. How fucking clever he is infuriates you, especially when it’s early in the morning and the only thing you want is for him to not follow what you said.

You moaned his name, long and drawn out, as you tried moving your hips back to push more of him inside you.

But he keeps his hands on your hips, preventing you from moving any further. He tuts and shakes his head, barely moving the tip in and out.

“We can’t get too carried away. We both have things to do today,” he whispered, his voice still raspy and thick with sleep.

You groan, attempting to move your hips again. When he resists, you give up. “Please,” you beg.

He chuckles. You think for a moment that he’ll give in to your pleas and screw you until you’re a mess beneath him, but he only kisses your cheek and pulls away.

It leaves you feeling empty and upset, even with the promise of a proper fucking when the two of you return to work.

Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman, Kento Nanami

this has been in the drafts since at least February sorry about that guys hope y’all enjoyed 💜

[drunkinyourbenz]

୨ৎ sweet girl. b.e

୨ৎ roommate!billie eilish x fem!reader

୨ৎ genre: smut

୨ৎ content: SUB TOP BILLIE EVERYONE CHEER !! umm praise kink, begging, she's so so so desperate and lowkey a loser but we love her for it, oral (r recieving), anyway i love this so much please please please read it, possibly gonna have another part (or many)

୨ৎ note: you're welcome <3 (this fic serves as an apology for the angst fic i posted the other day) happy new year my loves <3

billie was your roommate, and she had been for a little over a year now. you got along well, and if you were asked, you'd probably say you were friends. she was easy to talk to and easy to live with.

she did tend to get jealous whenever you had your hookups, which happened a lot more often than you'd like to admit. you were single, but people always showed momentary interest in you at the parties you went to.

you always assumed her dislike towards the people you hooked up with was just annoyance at the noise or something; you never thought much of it. what you didn't know was that she had the biggest crush on you, and wanted nothing more than to drag you away from the many hookups and keep you all to herself.

everyone who knew billie knew she was obsessed with you. she wasn’t subtle about it, you were just infuriatingly oblivious. her eyes always landed on you, whether you were in class together, having a movie night, or simply in passing. she didn’t think she’d ever had a crush so…all-consuming before. and with how oblivious you were, it was honestly infuriating.

but she didn't do anything impulsive—somehow. she wanted everything that happened between the two of you to be perfect.

a shift in the trajectory of your relationship with her seemed to be approaching, however. you'd been at a party—something that didn't surprise her. you were… making the most of your college years, to say the least.

when you got home, she took one look at the outfit you wore—taking in the way the fabric hung from your body and the way your makeup looked so immaculate despite having been at a party for hours. her mind ran wild as she looked you up and down.

she felt like a lovesick fool, and for a moment, she understood why her friends called her a loser.

she was so caught up in taking in your gorgeous appearance when she saw you walk past towards your room, that it took her a moment to comprehend who was following you.

a girl. some girl from the party. maybe a sorority girl, maybe someone from one of your classes, maybe someone you'd only just met. either way, she hated it. she hated that you were so blind that you couldn't see what was right in front of you—her.

you and the girl were such an odd pairing together, billie thought. you were way out of her league. sure, the girl was pretty, but there was pretty and then there was you pretty. in billie’s mind, no one was prettier than you.

your new hookup's prettiness aside, she clearly didn't care about you. she was there to fuck and then leave, and billie hated that. you could so easily get any girl you wanted, and you could get them to treat you right. but for a reason billie couldn't quite understand, you preferred these meaningless hookups.

billie's eyes trailed behind you as you led the girl into your room. you knew you were going to get a pretty average hookup out of her, but a hookup nonetheless.

just as you closed your door and the girl sat down on your bed, billie reopened the door and walked inside. what came out of her mouth was a blatant lie, but the girl didn't know that.

"hey, sorry girl. we actually have guests coming over, you might have to leave." her voice was dripping with fake politeness as she sent the girl a deceivingly sweet smile.

the girl left pretty quickly, sending you a slightly dirty look at the fact that the hookup she'd hoped for wouldn't be happening.

you heard her slam the door on the way out, and rolled your eyes. that attitude merely proved that you hadn't really lost anything.

you weren't super upset, because you knew the hookup wouldn't be all that good anyway, but you were still horny, so you were slightly frustrated at billie for interrupting.

you turned to billie and raised an eyebrow. both of you know that the excuse she spilled was absolutely a lie, guests were a rarity for the two of you.

"well, that was a lie. what was that for?”.

billie simply shrugged, “didn't like her vibe.”

you scoffed at that, “that's for me to decide. it's my hookup.”

billie rolled her eyes belligerently, “sure, but the hookup wouldn't have even been all that. plenty of other pretty girls who could touch you better.”

when she spoke, you raised an eyebrow. “oh? such as?”

nervousness flashed behind her eyes for a moment, before she spoke with an air of finality. “me.”

you blink slowly in surprise at her blunt response, and once her answer sinks in, i feel heat rise to my cheeks. every little thing is adding up, the lingering looks and the soft touches and the—oh. it made sense suddenly. billie had a crush on you, you realised. you spoke again slowly, watching her carefully. "...you...think you could fuck me better...?”

she swallowed, a slight blush on her face as she nodded. “i know i could.”

a small smirk makes it's way into your lips, “prove it, then.”

billie’s eyes lit up, as if she were a child on christmas who had just been gifted her dream present. she stepped slightly closer to you, “thought you'd never ask.”

there was a long moment where the two of you just stared at each other, and then you leaned in and pressed your lips to hers. the moment you let your tongue enter her mouth, you felt her practically melt in your arms.

her breath caught in her throat as you kissed her, her hands moving to grip your shoulders tightly. as you'd suspected, the dominant act melted away the moment you made your move. she whimpered softly against your lips, parting them willingly as your tongue explored her mouth "fuck…”

when the two of you stepped back and tripped onto your bed, she broke the kiss reluctantly, her breath coming in soft pants. she looked at you, her eyes hazy with desire, her hair already slightly messy, and her lips parted. “holy shit,” she muttered, although more to herself than you.

with a shaky breath, she looked at you, trying to cling to the last bit of composure she had left but failing miserable. her desperation was crystal clear, she wanted—no, needed to make you feel good. she let her hands fumble with the hem of your top, her actions affected by her intense desire, coming across as rushed and messy. “i’ve imagined this so many times…”

your lips twisted into a smirk, letting your hand drift to her cheek. “yeah, baby? what’ve you imagined?”

a soft whine left her lips, and you could’ve sworn the sound altered your brain chemistry. her words came out in a shy whisper “...your hands in my hair while i…”

your lips twitched up into a sly smile at her shyness, and you watched as she trailed off. you knew what she was going to say, of course, you just wanted to hear her say it. “hm? while you what, sweet girl? use your words, don’t be shy…”

her cheeks heated up at your words, and she looked down for a moment. you could tell that her heart was practically racing out of her chest. she seemed to contemplate for a while, wondering whether to tell you or to just melt into the floorboards and never be seen again.

when she eventually spoke, the words came out in a rush. “while i eat you out. i’ve imagined it so many times, touched myself thinking about it…”

you found yourself smiling again—oh, she was adorable. such a confident, cocky personality, reduced to a desperate blushing mess just because of…you.

“good girl. see, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” you watched as her eyes practically lit up at the praise, and you made a mental note to praise her more—after all, she was such a sweet girl, how could you not? you looked at her for a moment before continuing, “so…you want to eat me out?”

at those words, her head snapped up and she nodded eagerly with wide, pleading eyes. she was so focused on the prospect of tasting you that she was totally unaware of the way she was inching closer, her hands already moving to unbutton your jeans. “please…let me?”

you hummed softly, taking in her utterly desperate form, before speaking in a soft, teasing voice. “how much do you want it…?”

yet another whine slipped from her lips, the sound so sweet you felt as if you could listen to it for hours. “please, need it so bad. need to taste you, please, please, please. wanted this for so long, please…”

and when she begged so sweetly, how could you ever say no? “go ahead, baby.”

her eyes lit up, and she wasted no time in pushing your jeans down, hooking her fingers in the waistband of your underwear and looking up at you with a silent question in her eyes. you nodded, and she eagerly slipped your underwear down your thighs. her eyes widen at the sight,

“fuck, oh my god. you’re beautiful.” the words came out in a soft, reverent murmur as she used her hands to gently push your thighs further apart.

she leaned in close, pressing a few soft opened mouthed kisses to your inner thighs as she looked up at you. she let her tongue find your folds, and you heard her instantly moan at the taste.

she sucked your clit into her mouth, looking up at you with an absolutely adoring look in her eyes. the total devotion in her eyes made you feel something…unfamiliar. and god, she was right, it was so much better than your hookups.

her arms wrapped around your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer to her as she continued to eat you out like it was her last meal. she shifted so that one of your legs was hooked over her shoulder to give her better access. she was doing so well, how wet you were and your moans were proof of that. your fingers tangled in her hair, tugging softly and eliciting another string of moans from her.

while she was licking and sucking at your clit, her sweet moans sent vibrations against your cunt.

you moaned softly. you already figured out that she loves praise, and you intended to make her feel good as well, considering she was doing so well for you. "good girl…”

billie looked up at you, your arousal dripping from her mouth, her eyes glazed with desire. she moaned against your pussy, the vibrations causing your legs to shake and your hands to tug her hair slightly harder. she started to pleasure you with renewed enthusiasm, determined to make you lose control.

it didn't take much longer for her to make you fall apart on her mouth, and she eagerly lapped everything up. she was like a starved woman and she was going to make sure she got every last drop. after a minute, she finally dragged herself away from your pussy, looking up at you with your juices dripping from her mouth.

she looked up at you, her eyes practically sparkling. “do you feel good? did i do good for you?”

those words in that pleading and adoring tone almost made you cum all over again. you smiled down at her, your hand moving to cup her cheek softly.

“yeah, my sweet girl. you did so good for me.”

୨ৎ taglist: @47lake @st0nerlesb0 @n0vabug @darkside-0f-the-sun @asterisk-eyes

[lheslie]

Mohawk mark x reader wife Let's say Mark and the reader had a little girl and funny enough Mark got attached to her and wanted to have lots of girls, because he's such a great dad hehehehe because I always imagined that Mohawk Mark would be better with girls than the boys Also, because Mark fell in love with the reader while she was pregnant.

Mohawk Mark X Wife Reader: Daughters

THIS IS SO REAL, I LOVE THIS.

Warning: Fluff

It all started when the vassals asked for an heir. Mark didn't want an offspring because it would be a pain as he wanted your time and attention, but the throne needed an heir, so Mark had to ensure it was secured for his bloodline.

So you both decided to have one child, just one that was it.

But damn, Mark was watching you riding a Yoga ball and exercising your belly, he just saw your curvy ass.

Maybe seeing you pregnant wasn't bad at all, in fact, you became prettier in his eyes, whenever you pouted and complained about his love and affection made him fall for you even more, he thought that your belly bulge was hot, it was like telling the whole galaxy that you were his and his alone.

He made sure everything that you've ever craved was there, and even the craziest requests you've asked him to were met.

Although he hates your morning sickness and bad temper, it was all worth it when he saw your belly bulge and especially your exercising with the Yoga ball.

"Damn, I love seeing you exercise your ass." He said sipping some Soda.

"Mark..." You whined.

"My bad that ass is what got you pregnant too." He said laughing.

He loves holding your belly and talking to the baby inside.

"Once you're born, you're going to help me conquer multiple planets." He declared.

"Mark, they'd still be an infant." You laughed.

"Yeah, but I'm going to show them to the whole world like in the movie Lion King; you know that'd be cool."

Nine months later, you gave birth to a beautiful daughter; Mark was with you, holding your hand.

The doctor handed Mark your daughter.

The baby comes in his arms, holding Mark's finger.

He never thought you could make something so tiny, so fragile, and adorable.

After having your firstborn, Mark carried your daughter around, flying in the air as he rocked her to sleep.

"Mark, be careful she might fall." You worried.

"I'll be fine, I'd kill thousands before they even lay a finger on her." He looks at your daughter lovingly as she giggles at the sight of her father.

He gives her a kiss on the cheek she giggles even more.

"I want more." He said looking at his daughter.

"What?" You looked at him shocked.

"I want more." He repeats.

He places your daughter in the crib as he leaves them with the wet nurse he assigned to look after your child.

He carries you to the bedroom.

"We need more." He strips off his clothes.

"MARK-" You squealed as he started giving you kisses.

A few years later, you have no idea how you've given birth to 5 beautiful daughters.

They were all their father's favorite, and with your guidance, they turned into lovely ladies.

But that's whenever you're not around, they cause chaos with their father.

Mark loves carrying your little daughters around, running around with them playing tag.

He would make them an entire castle filled with toys, slides, and little Barbie houses and give them unicorns.

The castle is a full fortress that would protect his daughters from any incoming attack.

One time, his daughters tied his Mohawk and gave him a makeover, forcing him to attend a tea party with tutu wings and a mini tiara.

You were giggling, looking at a rugged man in pink, getting his nails done while someone was pouring him tea, while he complained to his kids about how he wanted to conquer a planet, but you didn't let him.

Mark would hold extravagant balls each birthday for his daughters, and they even have crown jewelry on their closets.

Mark would give them everything they'd ever want, Jewelry, Designer clothing, and money.

Mark is weak for his daughter's lovely pleas as they ask for more luxurious jewelry.

Mark would conquer planets for his daughters.

No one could sway Mark's mind except for you and his daughters.

He would personally love to teach his daughters how to fight and conquer planets.

He even bought them on the battlefield on the backlines, though, to ensure their safety.

Mark would also make statues to show planets his daughter's beauty.

If any man ever attempted to court your daughter, consider them dead, as no one is worthy to marry his daughter.

He'll threaten and even kill those who would even attempt to do so.

He'll still see his kids as little babies walking around, he can never see them growing up.

So when they do, he'll have the biggest heartache.

You sometimes look at him and wonder if he was the one who gave birth to all of the kids because he cried harder when they left for college, and you had to comfort him through it.

Your kids never knew that he cried because he can never show his little princesses that he's weak.

He only wants them to see his strong side so they can always remember that they can always rely on their father.

[rafesbows]

ooh okay could u write rafe who always solves any fight with the reader with sex, and this time she's putting her foot down and insisting that they talk it out, but he seduces her and she caves eventually, like always

"rafe, we need to talk."

you stand your ground, arms crossed, trying not to let the way he’s looking at you mess with your resolve.

rafe leans against the counter, head tilting as he watches you, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. "we are talking."

you exhale sharply. "i mean really talk. not—" you motion between the two of you, "—whatever it is we always do instead."

"whatever it is we always do?" he echoes, stepping closer. his voice dips, smooth, teasing. "you mean me making you feel good?"

you roll your eyes, ignoring the way your body betrays you when he crowds your space. "i mean you avoiding conversations by distracting me."

his hands find your hips, tugging you forward until you're flush against him. "can you blame me?" he murmurs, lips grazing your jaw. "you're so much prettier when you're not mad at me."

"rafe—"

"shh, baby." he kisses the corner of your mouth, feather-light. "why waste time arguing when i could be making you feel so much better?"

you want to keep fighting. you really do. but then his hands are slipping under your shirt, fingers warm and familiar, and suddenly talking doesn't seem so important anymore.

"this isn't fair," you mumble as he lifts you onto the counter, spreading your thighs apart.

"never said i fight fair." his grin is smug as he kisses you, deep and slow, like he already knows he's won.

his hands grip your thighs, keeping them spread as he presses himself between them, his touch lazy but intentional. "see?" he murmurs against your lips, his fingers tracing soft circles over your bare skin. "this is way better than arguing."

"rafe, we—" your words cut off as his lips trail lower, his mouth grazing the pulse at your throat. he’s barely even started, and your body is already reacting, heat pooling in your stomach, breath hitching when he squeezes your waist.

"what was that, baby?" his voice is nothing but smug amusement, hands sliding under your shirt, thumbs brushing over your ribs. "you were saying something about talking?"

"you're impossible," you breathe, but there's no real conviction behind it.

"but you love it," he counters, lips ghosting over your collarbone. "love how i always know exactly what you need."

you hate how easy it is for him to break down your resolve, to make you forget why you were even mad in the first place. especially when his hands are slipping under your shorts, his fingers finding exactly where you need him most.

"rafe," you gasp, hips jerking into his touch.

he hums, lips twitching. "s’what i thought."

his fingers work you open with a lazy precision, like he’s got all the time in the world. his smirk is damn near cocky when he watches your lips part, a breathy moan slipping out as he circles your clit with slow, teasing strokes.

"not so chatty now, huh?" he taunts, dragging his mouth down the column of your throat.

your hands grip his arms, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you try to hold onto your last shred of resolve. "we—" you gasp when he slips a finger inside, curling it just right. "we were supposed to talk about this."

"mhm," he murmurs absentmindedly, adding another finger, his palm pressing against your sensitive bud as he pumps them in and out at a torturous pace. "we can talk after, baby. promise."

but you both know that’s a lie.

your head falls back against the couch, legs trembling as he works you closer to the edge. he watches you unravel, eyes dark, lips curling as he leans in, his voice a low whisper against your ear.

"feels so much better than fighting, doesn’t it?"

you nod, barely, but it’s enough for him to know he’s got you.

he pulls his fingers out, dragging them through your slick folds before bringing them to his lips, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum. "knew you’d see it my way," he grins, unzipping his jeans.

"c’mon, baby," he coaxes, tugging your shorts down in one smooth motion. "lemme remind you why you never stay mad at me for long."

@ rafesbows

[kingconia]

TWISTED WONDERLAND'S HOUSEWARDENS WITH A READER, WHO IS INSPIRED BY THE PROTAGONIST FROM THEIR STORIES

A/N: I didn't add Kalim or Jamil, because I feel their storyline is too much Aladdin & Jafar inspired already to do anything else with them.

Riddle Rosehearts. ❤️

— That was definitely a dislike from the first sight. He predicted you to be his future reason of headache as soon as the mirror sent you to the Heartslabyul;

— Riddle sees you as an air-headed fool, who only asks too many unnecessary things, daring to question the wishes of the Red Queen, instead of serving to your dorm as a proper student would do;

— You, from the other side, struggle with understanding what makes Riddle hate you so much. You were nothing but kind towards him, always suggesting to eat some sweets together, and trying to ask him to take a break from his studies to hang out with you or others;

— When he overhears that your signature spell makes you others to tell you the truth, Riddle is... Intimidated. He is afraid that you will use is against him, and so, he starts ignoring you more often.

•

”Housewarden acts like an asshole towards you, though.”

Riddle doesn't even need to think twice to recognise a loud voice of Ace Trappola, another troublemaker in his form. He knows that he should just give him a punishment and leave for a lesson, but instead, he hides in the nearest bush, waiting to hear the rest of the conversation.

”Oh, Ace. You are being rude,” you mutter softly, sighing at your classmate. ”Perhaps, a housewarden doesn't like me, but this feeling is not necessarily mutual.”

Riddle raises his brows in surprise. Why, though? He is aware that his attitude is nothing but awful when it comes to you. He doesn't have a proper reason for that, either.

”You should, really,” Ace rolls his eyes. ”Dude has a problem with you liking white. And what else? Being nice?”

That isn't true. He is fine with you liking white—though, he admittedly got frustrated when you asked him on your first day why painting roses red, if they are prettier when they are white—and being nice. He just considers you too naive for this world.

”I think, you are... Misjudging him.”

That is right, Riddle mutters mentally. Tell him, Y/n.

”I think, the reason why housewarden is so... Let's say, annoyed by me, it is because I am everything he grew up hating and being restricted with. And it is harder, when something you should never be interested in, is nice and interesting. I think, housewarden is just confused.”

He feels his cheeks blushing furiously.

What did you say—

”And I think you are just being delusional,” Ace chuckles, patting your shoulder softly. ”Now, please, let's get out of here. I want to find Deuce.”

Riddle listens to the sound of your rushing steps, but he can't care less about it now. All he can do, is to recite your words, again and again.

Does he really think you as a nice and interesting?

Yes.

Does it make him hate you even more?

No, but he wishes it could work this way.

Until now, though, he merely returns to his studies. Maybe, you can be honest with yourself and everyone, but this kind of thing is not for him at all.

Leona Kingscholar. 💛

— Leona didn't notice you at first. Honestly, never planned too, until you started to cling to him in some idiotic attempts to be... What? Friends?;

— You remind him so much of Cheka, but he actually likes his nephew deep inside. And your presence is absolutely insufferable;

— You are too childish and annoying, and all you do is sway your tail as you try to befriend him, while pretending that you actually like him. Leona knows you have ulterior motives. Stop lying to him!

— He finds it stupid how someone so moronic as you managed to pull out such an interesting signature spell. Manipulating dreams of others? How cruel.

•

”Stop doing that,” Leona hisses, digging in your wrist as you try to touch his hair. ”I am seriously going to kill you, if you keep doing this. Do you hear that?!

A few weeks ago—approximately since you figured out your magic—Leona started saw dreams. Very colourful ones, cheerful even. And each, with the same meaning: he becomes the king, and his family and people adores him.

He hates it.

And he hates you for doing that.

Because, of course, he doesn't need your fucking pity. Your condescension. Your gifts. He doesn't need to be mocked!

”Ah? Leona-sama, what is it?” You blink, confused.

”What is your problem, huh?” He hastily jumps on his legs, towering on you. ”Don't you have anything to do? Go and mind your business, brat!”

Your lostness shifts in sadness. You are not scared of him, you are never are—another proof that you don't take him seriously—but you dare to look at him like that. As a kicked puppy.

”What did I do?”

”Stop sending me these stupid dreams! I don't need your pity, do you hear me?!” He yells, still gripping your wrist tightly. ”Go and dream of your family or something, instead, would you?”

”I... I am sorry,” you mumble, and your eyes dart on the floor.

Leona closes his mouth, when realisation dawns on him. You don't have a family to dream about; you are an orphan. Yours, the previous crown family, were killed by his great predecessors.

He doesn't know why he feels bad, when you picked the fight first.

”I will never bother you again, Leona-sama. I apologise.“ You repeat, and your voice suddenly sounds numb.

That is not the sight of you he, or anyone else, was used to. Not a single emotion on your face. You just snatch your wrist from his hold, before leaving him alone as he asked to.

”You are such a jerk,” Ruggie whistles from behind, appearing almost from nowhere.

”Shut up.”

”You know that they can't send any control dreams, right?” He continues, hands on his hips.

”What?” Leona unwillingly turns head on his vice.

”Dunno, but they only can adjust if it is going to be nightmare or a good dream,” Ruggie yawns. ”They are just a first-year, so... It is your brain that decides where is where for now.”

Fuck.

Leona hisses furiously.

He is so fucked up.

Azul Ashengrotto. 🩵

— Oh, so this is love? He notices you in the crowd of other students, as you flinch from loud voices from dynamics, clearly knowing very little of this world, and he is amused. Someone is clearly more social awkward than he is;

— Azul thinks you don't like him that much, though, because you only wave at him, and when he once tried to speak, you merely nodded and smile all the time without answering him properly;

— It is until twins tell him that you don't have a voice. You were brought to this world completely mute, because of the family curse, and though you hear everything, your only way to communicate with others is writing. Or a sign language;

— But if anything gods blessed you is your magic. Everything you touch turns to gold, and that is actually the main reason why you were kept isolated over years. Azul is over heels for you now...

•

”I am glad that you took time to accept my invitation, Y/n.”

Azul locks his hands together, looking at you with unhidden excitement. He is always too nervous in your company—luckily, you can't read a room—but today is a special day.

You smile at him, instead of answering.

”The reason why I asked you to came here, it is because I have a deal for you,” he continues carefully, weighing his every word. ”Do you see that?”

He points with his finger at the middle of the table. There is very beautiful necklace with pearls and a little seashell, looking quite normal and mundane. You nod again.

”That is something that could break your curse,” he explains, enjoying the way your eyes widen in the poor shock. ”Yes, yes, you heard me right. With that, you could speak easily.”

Azul can't help but soften as you tear up instantly. There is a whole minute, when he fights an urge to give it to you for free, but... He built his reputation too long to break it so easily.

”But, of course, I will need something from you in return.”

You tilt your head in question.

”I...”

I need you to love me.

”...I need you to use your power for my business when it will be required.”

And with that, Azul quickly shoves another contract to you. You blink a few times, but there is no back thoughts in your head. Quickly, as if afraid that he will change his mind, you took the pen, and leave your signature on all places, where it was needed.

Ah... Angelwish, why are you so naive! It kills him! What if he tried to use you? You didn't even read a contract! You really should be glad that Azul loves you so much.

Before he realises that, you are already putting a necklace on yourself.

One second, two. Three.

You are staring at him.

”Well?” He asks, anxiously.

”A... Azul?”

His heart drops.

Your voice is amazing. And hearing you saying his name is even better than he expected. He blushes.

”Azul... Thank you?”

”S-sure.”

Seems, like it is his turn to be speechless...

Vil Schoenheit. 💜

— He originally had nothing against you... Until other students didn't start to call you the most beautiful person in the world, following you everywhere obsessively, and suggesting you to become the next housewarden;

— Vil now officially hates you. Each time you come to him ends up with short anger impulses that he hardly hides from you, and he wishes you could just disappear;

— He is quite... Cruel with you. He wants you to change your dorm, actually, so he desperately pushes you to the edge by giving you impossible tasks to fullfil, and turning others against you;

— And he thinks your signature spell, speaking and controlling animals is another proof that you should leave Pomefiore for Savanaclaw.

•

“I don't think you are stupid, un petit entraîneur.”

Vil narrows his eyes, leaning slightly forward from his balcony. The sight of his vice speaking with you—hunter's interest in you was his another concern—annoys him instantly.

”What do you mean, Rook?” There is a big cat in your lap, clearly another of your minions.

”You know that our dear housewarden wants you out of here,” he murmurs, moving closer to you. ”A fair exchange with Savanaclaw, I would say. He doesn't like you here.”

You sigh.

”I figured it out, trust me. He made it very clear by always putting me in dangerous situations and giving me outdated products for skin, making me look like a fool in front of others.”

You don't mention how he makes you clean dark and messy rooms of other students.

”Yet, you are not willing to give up?” Rook touches the strand of your hair curiously.

”You know, I actually liked him a lot,” you admit suddenly, patting the cat behind its ear. ”Vil was the world for me. I was so amazed by him. By how collected he was, how hard he worked. I was excited to become his student... I wished to show him what he is worthy of. That others see his hard work.”

Vil's breath hitches. He remembers you mentioning that you were his fan, but he punished you for this remark; he didn't need to be so violently degraded. But... Was it a truth, then?

”...It is in the past now. I witnessed his true colours, and I will not tolerate it,” your smile twists in something more vicious, a ghostly fondness leaving your pretty face. ”He doesn't need to be scared of me being better anymore. Because I am going to be so much worse.”

He shudders as he hears that, your voice cold, and eyes gleaming dangerously. And as if Rook addresses him, he sighs suddenly, with the strange excitement in his voice:

”Oh, mon doux karma. What had you done?”

Idia Shroud. 💙

— From the minute you open your mouth in his presence , Idia knows he will hate you desperately... It is not serious, though;

— You are unbelievably loud, and too cheerful, and too proud, and you are so self-centred? Also, a fucking bimbo. Idia has no idea why everyone so into you, and what you are even doing in Ignihyde! Go away!

— You annoy him so much, and he actually hates the way you try to befriend him and make him more normie! Stop be like that! You are not welcome!

— Idia is absolutely not impressed that your signature spell is an instant tactics creation. Fuck you, by the way.

•

“You do know, that doors exist, right?” Idia hisses, not even stopping his game to spare you some attention.

”I do!” You say, climbing through the window with a loud thud.

”Then, why don't you use them, idiot?!”

Idia has no the slightest idea why anyone, let alone you of all people—he means, since you genuinely think that it is healthy to spend all your time outside of the room—would want to become his friend. But here you are. Trying to befriend him for a month already.

”Because you never open the door, Idia-sama,” you shrug easily.

”Take a hint, maybe.”

You close the window behind yourself, taking place behind his chair. Putting elbows on it, you hum thoughtfully, glancing from Idia to the screen of the computer, where the game flashes on. Another few minutes, and familiar yelps fill the room:

”Shit!”

Game over.

”Idia-sama,” you frown, ”maybe, I can help you?”

Idia snickers, rubbing his tired eyes. As if.

”Have you ever played this game, even?”

”No,” you murmur shyly, scratching the back of your neck. ”But I am good at tactics. And it is combat game, correct?”

Idia ponders for a while. That is surprising, because... You are actually absolutely correct. For once.

”Sit down, first year,” Idia exclaims, suddenly excited. ”I am going to teach you how to play this game.”

You smile widely, doing as it was told.

Finally, you cracked the code! And they said you weren't for this dorm...

Malleus Draconia. 💚

— Of course, he missed you as the new student at first, since he forgot to arrive at the orientation day. But it is not that long as he starts hearing others praising you, Lilia especially;

— You are quickly becoming the part of the school life as everyone loves you, and calling you ’the heart of the school’. And while Malleus wants to befriend you, too... He also can't help but feel envious of how easy it is for you. The socialization;

— You are quick to fall asleep everywhere, much like Silver. And since Malleus can't find courage to speak to you, he wanders around, when you are asleep at the strangest places, instead;

— When the first overblot incident happens, your signature spell kicks in. To everyone's horror, it is absolutely terrifying. Your magic is about thorns. Thorns, that wrap around Riddle's weakened body, when he touches you. He almost dies. And the same thing happens with Ace, who accidentally brushes your skin. Now... Everyone shun you away.

•

”Hello, Malleus-sama,” you mutter, eyes sleepy as you look around. ”I apologise.”

Malleus doesn't quite mind you falling asleep in the class, where his gargoyle's researches are going currently. He is the only member, anyway. But he nods.

”I had never seen you here before,” he notices in a poor attempt of the small talk.

You shrug.

”There is no other students here. And it is better for me not to show up around them.”

What a familiar thinking process... Somehow, he finds it easier: to approach you know, when you are not everyone's favourite anymore.

”I see. You can stay, then. I am not welcomed by them either, so no one is going to enter this classroom.”

You offer him a smile. It is short, strained at the edges, but still sweet. Malleus thinks he understands how you so easily charmed others in the last months; you are much like sunshine, when you are happy. It is a shame you are not, anymore.

”You know, Malleus-sama, I always wanted to become your friend,” you admit suddenly, making him open his eyes in surprise. ”And, I think, you wanted to be mine friend, too.”

You? Why would someone like you want to have him as your friend?

”And why would you think that?”

You fold arms on your chest slowly.

”You are always here, when I am sleeping,” Malleus feels blush touching the tips of his pointy ears. You elaborate. ”I am not sure people realise, but I sleep too much not only because I am lazy, but also because I feel surroundings better like this. I remember everything I hear in my sleep, and I do feel if someone is around.”

Ah. So, that is the secret of yours. And he wondered how you master in all your classes, when you sleep all the time...

”...I see,” Malleus mutters, ashamed. ”I apologise, then.”

He reminiscences of how often he whispered you some nonsense when you slept—childish complaints about how he hates you for being so easily loved by others, random poems that came to his mind as he sat down by your side, stories from his childhood—and feels like disappearing in the shame wouldn't be that bad.

”You know, Malleus-sama, you and I... We are not so different. We both do what we have to do to keep our loved ones to ourselves,” you sit down on the couch beside him slowly. ”But it leads only to one thing.”

Malleus gazes at you curiously as you suddenly curl on his lap, much like a cat. Your eyes met as he helps you to settle more comfortably.

”To destiny?” He asks aloud, tilting his head.

”To pain.”

There is a beat of silence in which your smile suddenly appears to be more bitter, less serene. Malleus doesn't know what happened with you in details, and how awfully these changes in your reputation affected on you, but he can say that it was hard.

”Now, if you don't mind, and I believe, you don't, Malleus-sama, I would like to dream a little bit.” You warn him, already closing your eyes, not really waiting for the answer.

Still, Malleus nods. Though that is not something you can see.

”Sleep, then... Beastie,” he sighs, patting your hair gently.

You snicker, before your breath slows down, alarming that you completely drifted off.

Malleus stares at you openly now.

Ah, who would've thought? He had finally made a friend.

Part two with Leona & Vil is here.

[i-dared-myself]

Not so Subtle

Stray Kids x reader

Requested by anonymous: Hii^^ i love reading your works they are just so good♡ and i was wondering, completely up to you if you want to do it, if you could maybe do a skz ninth member reader one where reader is "secretly"  dating felix:))

The hardest part of dating was keeping it a secret. Obviously. As an idol, it was very difficult to have relationships, and anything was done to prevent dating scandals.

Dating a member from your group was even more so hush-hush. It just wasn’t done. 

Which was why you had to keep your relationship with Felix a secret. You both understood what had to be done, and all measures were taken to prevent anyone from discovering your relationship.

Date nights were rushed and hidden. It was less of a date night and more of a let’s hide in your room and hold hands night.

That was as far as you had gotten with him. Holding hands. You hadn’t yet kissed, too scared of someone walking in.

You have been dating Felix for three weeks and haven’t kissed him yet. And it’s not like you can go to anyone for dating advice, because who would you go to? What would even you ask them?

So you sit there on a Saturday night, afraid of asking your own boyfriend to hang out. You know he was sitting in his room alone, based on the picture he had just sent you. 

It was him in his hoodie, making a heart at the camera. You take a photo, mimicking his pose and sending it.

Then you wander down the hallway, knocking on his door. 

He opens it, eyes widening. “Uh- Hey. Seungmin’s out with Jisung. Do you need something?”

You clear your throat awkwardly. “I mean… It would be nice to hang out.”

Felix’s expression shifts to one of understanding, and he opens the door wider for you. You hurry inside and he shuts it quickly behind you.

You grin and hop onto his bed. “What were you doing?”

“Watching a show,” he responds, sitting next to you on the bed. His hands twitch, but he folds them into his lap. “Do you… want to watch it with me?”

You nod eagerly. “Yeah.”

He returns your excitement as he brings his phone out, bringing up the show he had been in the midst of. He explains it to you and you barely listen, more so focused on the joy in his eyes as he describes it.

Felix presses play and leans against the headboard to watch it. You stare at it for a minute before reaching out, entwining your hands together. In your peripheral vision you catch a smile grow on his face.

“Who’s that?” you whisper as a man shows up on screen. 

“That’s the love interest,” Felix softly replies, even though there’s no one else in the room. 

You watch it for another couple of seconds. “He’s not as pretty as you.”

His face flushes before his hand squeezes yours. “You’re prettier.”

You look up at him, mouth going dry. His gaze is hooded, lashes fluttering. 

“Yeah?” You shift closer to him, taking on his freckles. There’s so prominent when you’re this near him.

“So pretty,” Felix murmurs. His head dips down, lips slanting over yours.

It’s everything you’ve dreamed of. Sweet and soft, and just so Felix that it makes your chest hurt. You return it and loop your arms around his neck.

The door bangs open and you fly away from him with a squeak. Felix’s face goes red and he grabs a pillow, smothering you with it for some reason.

“What are you doing?” Jisung stands in the doorway, Seungmin hovering just behind him. Both of their expressions are a mix of surprise and… something else.

“Just… watching a show.” Felix smiles at them, although it comes off as forced.

You let out a muffled scream. He’s still attempting to kill you with the pillow and spots are dancing in your vision.

“Felix!” Seungmin snaps. “She can’t breathe!”

Felix gasps and flings the pillow away. It happens to hit Jisung directly in the face and he dramatically collapses.

“Are you okay?” Felix desperately asks, shaking you by the shoulders.

You force a smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good.” Felix lays you down on the bed, stroking your face affectionately. “I- I would hate to hurt you.”

You melt into his touch, leaning into his hand. “You would never.”

Seungmin coughs, breaking the tension. “Uh, Jisung! I hope you’re not hurt!”

You and Felix both jump away from each other, realizing you’re not alone. 

Jisung blinks at Seungmin before his mouth forms an ‘O’ of understanding. You don’t know what passes between them, but Jisung is suddenly groaning.

“Seungmin!” Jisung grabs the other man’s shirt and yanks him close. His fists crinkle the fabric and Seungmin’s face screws up in horror. “I- I’m so glad you were here to save me!”

Seungmin glances at you and Felix, his jaw setting before he reaches down to Jisung’s cheek, cupping it delicately. “I… I’m glad you aren’t hurt.”

Jisung sniffles. “Oh, Seungmin! What would I do without you?”

Seungmin’s lips peel back in disgust before he smoothes his expression out. He looks down at Jisung blandly. “Let’s go and… be alone.”

Felix frowns. “What are you two doing?”

Jisung glances over. “Seungmin’s going to… check me for bruises. You two stay here. We’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

You panic. “Why would we be worried about someone bothering us? There’s nothing happening!”

“Right!” Seungmin hoists Jisung to his feet, forcing him down the hall. “And we’re leaving now!”

Felix shuts his bedroom door and presses his back to it with a relieved sigh. “They didn’t catch on.”

You return to the bed. “Do you think Jisung’s hurt?”

“He’s fine,” Felix assures you. “They were acting weird, though.”

You lace your fingers with his, gently tugging him to the bed. “Yeah, they were. I wonder what that was about.”

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

It’s move night. Everyone is gathering in the living room around the television, and popcorn has been made.

The group chat had even voted on a film earlier, so there was no need for an hour of arguing. The evening will go by pleasantly with no troubles or bumps in the road.

You stand uncertainty. You’re not sure where you should sit. There’s an available space next to Felix on the couch… but would that be too obvious?

“Sit down!” Changbin exclaims. He waves his hands at you. “You’re in the way! I can’t see the tv!”

You scoot to the side, moving to settle in the spot near Jeongin on the floor.

Then you stumble over something, sending you tumbling straight into Felix’s lap. His face lights up a bright red and you scramble to get away, but you get tangled up in the blanket.

“Oops,” Minho drawls, dragging his leg back from where it had tripped you. “Well I guess you’re sitting there now.”

You calm your racing heart and try and slip off his lap, but Hyunjin swoops in.

Hyunjin stretches out on the rest of the couch. When you gawk at him, he lifts his gaze to your face, raising a single eyebrow.

“What?” Hyunjin demands. “I pulled my ankle at training today and need the extra space.”

“Just sit down so we can start the movie!” Jeongin groans. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day!”

You recline, allowing his chest to rest against your back. Your entire body is tense with the anticipation of Chanbin leaping up and announcing that the two of you must be dating if you’re this close.

Chan walks over, adjusting the blanket you’re tucked under. He smiles softly at you and Felix before nodding to Jeongin. “Start the movie.”

Jeongin lets out a little cry of excitement as he presses play.

Felix’s hand works its way to your thigh, resting there. He doesn’t move it, keeping it there as a comforting gesture more than anything.

You take his other hand and position it on your leg. You catch a flicker of a smile grow on his face before he squashes it down.

Jisung sighs and turns around, reaching for the blanket. “I’m cold.”

It whooshes away, exposing Felix’s hands. You feel lightheaded as everyone’s eyes narrow in on them.

“I- W-We can explain!” you stammer as Felix yanks away. “I- We-“

Minho gasps and rolls away from Chan. “Stop touching me! I know your hands are cold in this freezing house, but keep them to yourself!”

Hyunjin clears his throat. “You may hold my hands to keep yours warm. It’s what a friend would do.”

“Thank you, Minho.” Chan reluctantly takes Minho’s hand in his. 

“That’s what we were doing!” Felix yells. He winces before bringing his voice down a level. “I mean, my hands were cold so I was warming them.”

“Ah.” Seungmin nods. “That makes total sense.”

Jeongin sighs. “Can I unpause it yet?”

“Go ahead.” Jisung sheepishly returns the blanket to you and Felix. You fold it over your bodies and snuggle back into your boyfriend.

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

“Okay!” Chan shouts, racing into the kitchen. Everyone else is there, cooking, chatting, or just hanging out. “Who the hell bought a bunch of condoms? Someone forgot to put them away and they ended up in the background for a photo that was posted!”

Everyone stares at him blankly. He stares, gaze intense. His phone is still clutched tightly in his hand and his eyebrows are knitted together.

You feel a drop of sweat roll down your neck.

“Well?” Chan prompts.

Jeongin steps forward, gaze cast downwards shamefully. “I- It was me. I’m sorry.”

“You?” Chan says in surprise. “Really?”

You and Felix exchange confused looks. 

Hyunjin also takes a step to the front. “And me. They’re mine too.”

Seungmin crosses his arms. “Oh, I want to hear this story.”

Hyunjin shoots him a filthy expression. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“I disagree,” Changbin interjects. “I think it’s really needed.”

“I uh-“ Jeongin swallows. “I asked him for help on how to open them.”

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose. “You did what?”

“I was always using scissors and would cut a hole in them.” Jeongin’s lips thin grimly. “They’re not very effective that way.”

“Yeah, so I showed him how to open them properly,” Hyunjin says. “So we bought a bunch of them so he could practise.”

Jisung appears as if he’s holding back laughter. Minho also seems to be struggling from beside him.

Chan shifts between legs. “Okay then. Uh, dismissed.”

You and Felix both discretely slip away to panic with each other. It’s a miracle Hyunjin and Jeongin had also owned condoms.

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

The difficult thing about members dating is when everyone else knows. 

They have the decency to pretend that they don’t, though. It’s so hard when you and Felix are so obvious, however.

Chan sighs and rubs at his face. “I can’t do this much longer. When are they going to just come out with it?”

Changbin shrugs. “I have no idea. It feels like it’s been going on forever.”

“I even made up that whole condom story to try and get them to confess,” Chan mournfully confesses. “But nothing.

Seungmin scoffs. “I had to go off to private with Jisung. They probably think we made out or something.”

“I had to get all soft and hold his hand.” Minho points at Chan. “In front of everyone. You don’t have it that bad.”

“I had to take the blow for the condoms!” Hyunjin shrieks. 

Jeongin puffs his chest out. “So did I! I say we just tell them that we know.”

Jisung shakes his head. “No! If they haven’t told us yet, it’s probably for a reason!”

“Like what? They know that we’re not worried about proper image. Besides, we can keep a secret.” Seungmin pulls out his ohone and scrolls mindlessly.

“Guys?” You hover unsurely in the doorway, Felix right behind you. “We have something to tell you.”

“Thank goodness,” Jeongin mutters quietly. Seungmin laughs silently beside him. 

Felix places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, giving you the courage you need.

“We’re dating.” You suck in a breath as you wait for their reactions.

Minho purses his lips. “What? Oh, the scandal,” he drones, voice flat.

Felix weaves his fingers through yours and pulls you flush to his side. “It’s true. We’ve been dating for almost two months now. We’re happy and really like each other.”

Chan stands, expression serious. “We have something to confess too.”

“Yeah?” you anxiously ask.

“We’ve known the whole time,” Chan admits. 

“The entire time,” Hyunjin agrees. “Like, we knew the day that you became a couple. You both had those stupid smiles on your faces.”

You let out a heavy breath. “Okay, great. Good to know.”

Felix furrows his brow. “The whole time, really?”

“Really.” Changbin pats his arm as he walks by, uninterested in the conversation.

Seungmin trails after him, scowling. “Now shut up when you giggle over your shows together. It’s annoying.”

Taglist (Open):

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret @hansmic @imeverycliche

[halovians]

࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 — 𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒆 + 𝒅𝒓. 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐. ˒ ⊹

cw fem reader / threesome / aventurine x f!reader x ratio / i wrote this directly into tumblr drafts; it is not proofread. proceed w caution EL O EL / usage of petnames (darling, sweetheart) / mentions of mindbreak / degradation and dirty talk / dacryphilia / light choking / teasing / oral (m!receiving) / spit-roast

love, oak! just a lil drabble. aven and veritas have me in a chokehold i fear.

i constantly think about how being in a relationship w both veritas ratio and aventurine would be...

i think, purposefully or not, things turn a little bit competitive with the two of them. who can take you out on the better date, who buys you the best gifts—and most importantly: who satisfies you the most.

and it’s not that they necessarily hate eachother so much they want to one-up the other (on the contrary; they like having you in common. being at your beck and call is what they live for, to your eternal surprise), they just find it fun. and it's the kind of fun they indulge in every night, making a symphony out of your sweet moans and pleasure-soaked whimpers.

this just happened to be one of those nights.

"look 't her. so depraved. our good girl, eh, ratio?"

"shut it, aventurine. i don't want to hear you talking when there's something much prettier to listen to right here."

seated on veritas's lap, he grasps your hips in his large hands as he guides you onto his thick length. a long moan falls from your lips as you feel the tip breach your dripping cunt, followed by a pleasant ache and stretch as he pulls your hips flush to his.

a warm breath ghosts the shell of your ear. aventurine crowds you from behind, the blazing heat of his chest pressing against your back. his hands ghost up your sides, leaving gooseflesh in their wake as they make their way up your body. he cups your tits, massaging the supple flesh and rolling your nipples, adding to the orchestra of stimulation the two men were making you feel.

"i suppose i can agree with you on that. she sounds just so delightful, doesn't she? makes me wanna break her—" a breathy whimper leaves you as aventurine licks up the skin of your neck, leaving a blazing trail of wetness as he kisses the shell of your ear. he continues in a soft whisper, "—yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

ratio holds your hips tightly, denying you the pleasure of grinding down against him. his smile is serpentine as he looks up at you. "go on—answer him, darling. would you like us to fuck you until you can't even remember your own name?"

ratio's golden eyes narrow, watching your every move. the way you squeeze your eyes shut, bottom lip taken between your teeth as you stifle a sob. he can't help himself—his hips buck slightly, drawing another breathy moan from your throat.

"she just clenched so nicely around me. i think she would like that. what do you think, aventurine?" ratio's voice drips with sultry honey as he speaks. his hands cup the globes of your ass, slowly coaxing you to move along his length. the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls is maddening, and you pulse around him in response as he forces you back down. his tip hits that spongy little spot inside you, bringing tears to line your pretty eyes, making your mascara run as droplets drip down your face.

aventurine pauses mouthing along your neck to smile. there's nothing pleasant in that grin though—only the feral need to please you, to take you in the palm of his hand and mold you to his liking. right now, he'd like nothing more than for you to be his pretty little cockslut, taking him and ratio until they had nothing left to give you.

"i think so too," aventurine responds. his hand grabs your face, squishing your cheeks together as he forces you to meet his gaze. there's so much love and adoration for you in those beautiful cerulean and lavender eyes, mixed with a cruel hunger that glimmers as he leans in, tongue peeking out to lick away the salty tears that run down your cheeks. "god, sweetheart. you look so pretty like this. is ratio's cock satisfying enough for you? is he making you feel good?"

you nod fervently, mouth falling open in a moan as aventurine's hand snakes down to play with your clit while ratio works you up and down his cock. they work in perfect tandem; of course, they've done this a million times before. ratio and aventurine have perfected the art of pleasing you.

"use your words, darling. am i making you feel good?" ratio hisses between gritted teeth. he's obviously feeling good too, if the way his cock twitches inside you is any indication. aventurine lets your face go in favor of letting it drift down, holding your neck gently. a promise, you think. it sends a thrilling feeling down your spine, your nerves alight with electricity as you try to roll your hips down against ratio. the hand around your neck tightens a fraction, the hand on your clit pausing, drifting away and caressing the sensitive skin of your thighs as aventurine waits for your response.

"yes, yes!" you cry out, desperate for any sort of friction. your hips buck fruitlessly. "feels s'good, veri!"

you're rewarded with aventurine's fingers deftly working at your clit again as ratio bucks his hips, fucking up into you. his pace isn't fast, but he hits you so deeply it sends your entire being into a frenzy. you can feel your stomach tighten, a telltale sign of what's to come.

"atta girl. you're taking him like a champ, aren't ya? don't forget about me, though. you can take more, surely?" aventurine drawls.

aventurine nods to ratio and suddenly you're being manhandled, forced onto your knees. you can feel ratio behind you while aventurine greets your face with a sanguine smile. you bite down the whimper that fights to escape you at the lack of stimulation—you were so close. with the way aventurine's smile is slowly poisoned with a smug satisfaction, he knows it too.

"hi, sweetheart." aventurine says as he unbuckles his belt with a clink. he pushes the fabric of his pants and boxers down, his cock obscenely slapping against his abdomen as its freed. he's already leaking pre; despite his put-together demeanor, you know he's desperate for you. you smile at him as he languidly pumps his cock.

you watch as aventurine seems to have a silent conversation with ratio. it lasts only a heartbeat—he looks back down at you as he brings his tip to your lips. your tongue darts out, running along the head, down the length of him, drawing a pretty moan from aventurine that makes your stomach do flips. as your lips close around him, you feel ratio push into you again, a lewd squelch sounding as he sinks into you.

they work you in tandem, aventurine holding your face as he guides your mouth on his cock, ratio fucking into you from behind. you're already close again. you can feel it.

"she loves this," ratio notes, a hint of smugness in his voice. "she's absolutely drooling around me. feel good, darling?"

of course, you can't respond. aventurine fucks your mouth gently, his eyebrows furrowed as he groans. you can see every twitch of his abs, the roll of his muscles as he fights down the pleasure your lips bring him.

"oh yeah. she’s definitely enjoying herself. don’t tire yourself out too fast though, i can go all night." aventurine smirks.

it feels like ratio’s thrusts grow a bit more punishing. his large hands grip the fat of your ass tightly as he says, "worry about yourself. i lasted longer than you last time, remember? not to worry though. i won’t stop until our darling is completely satisfied. isn’t that right?"

aventurine’s hips stutter slightly as you moan around his cock. "let’s see who makes her cum the most then, shall we?"

"fine then. we shall."

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

[elliesfreckle]

over & out | radio au |

▶• ılıılıılılıılıılı. 0

previous | next

📟 : record two 𖣠 white noise and wrong stars

⏯ synopsis : you’re a voice on the other side of the radio. she’s your wrong frequency — a mistake. a fortune, maybe, at the edge of a devastated world. you never told her your name. she never asked what you looked like. but when the nights get colder, in a world full of silence, you keep talking.

⏯ pairing : ellie williams & fem!reader

⏯ content warning : swearing; canon tlou after outbreak world; idk and prob edit it later

⏯ word count : 4.7k

⏯ a/n : HELLO we did it! today is the day! i have passed (away) the exam (two more left)! wont say much 'cause i died while proofreading, editing and uploading this shi on tumblr. and im REALLY sorry if there are so many stupid mistakes that you'll ban me forever. trust me i hate being perfectly literate in my native language while writing english like a 9 year old boy. but! i have to thank you all for how gently you embraced this idea and for your support. special shoutout to @losing-it-lately youre SO SWEET, and i loved that crazy night talk.

promise ill learn how to make posts prettier, maybe even create a masterlist and a playlist. flirty reminder that your reblogs and comments feed my soul

also if you wanna be tagged in the next chapter, let me know. for now, enjoy ♡

The one constant thing about the broadcast room in the Great Falls quarantine zone is that it’s freezing cold no matter what. This chill has been dwelling deep inside your bones for years. Not the kind that bites, but the kind that settles over your skin like a breath held too long.

And yet, sometimes you keep forgetting to bring a threadbare sweater on your night shifts. Like tonight. But there are nights in which you don’t need any of it, because the world you’re forced to live in doesn’t let you feel comfort too often. It wants you to keep in mind that given life is fragile, and might be taken back whenever the world pleases. Your blood runs cold every time the sent patrols go silent.

Like tonight, again.

Outside the narrow window, evening fades away and coming night stretches wide and endless, clinging to window frame like wet lining. The air has that strange, waiting stillness—too quiet, too heavy—that lingers in your lungs and makes it hard to breathe. Crickets hum faintly in the grass (you can hear them even from your radio cell on the highest floor), but even they sound unsure, like something’s pressing down on them from above. Birds are hovering in the low sky, almost bruising tree crowns with their angled wings. Their calls warn you. A bug cracks with all its tiny power into the glass of the windowpane, attracted by the lamp’s light. You flinch.

The pine trees don’t move. Not yet.

They stand stiff and dark against the horizon, their needles limp in the air, knowing what’s coming.

You can feel it too—not in sound, but in pressure, like something biding just beyond the edge of hearing. For days, the weather’s been thick with it—heat that doesn’t lift even after sunset, that makes the floors sweat and tempers run short. Checking the weather is one of your responsibilities too—radio signals are capricious with changes in the air, and with years it became a sense, not a science. You’ve learned that from the specific shapes of clouds—or their absence, the shade that sun has at the dawn; you’ve been watching birds and stray cats, as they are the first early harbingers of storms. You like to think they share sacred knowledge with you. Leaving your post on grey mornings, you can tell if it’s going to rain just by looking at the dew. And that definitely won’t be modest to claim that you have some skills in handling forecasting tools. Smartass, they call you.

So now you keep thinking the sky will crack open and bleed it all out.

But it doesn’t. Not yet.

The radio crackles softly beside you, calming like an old friend, warming like embers popping in a dying fire. Yes, in four walls of the radio station there is still cold.

And still no sign of the patrol.

You lean forward, elbow on the desk, the familiar ache of exhaustion in your shoulders. Something’s telling you it’s going to be a long shift. The transmission button is worn smooth, paint rubbed away years ago by hands just like yours, probably older. The headset squeezes your head—a relic that somehow survived the outbreak. You forgive it the discomfort. Most nights. You adjust it out of habit—the ear padding still crooked from the last shift.

You press the button down.

“This is Homebase calling AA40B. Do you copy?” A heartbeat-long pause. “AA40B, check-in, you’re two hours overdue. Report your position.”

You count to five. Then ten. Dead air. This is the first radio term you ever learned—not from a book, not from a manual, but in the heavy silence beside someone older, more practiced. You must’ve been sixteen. Maybe younger. Watching, listening and realizing that sometimes, absence speaks louder than any broadcast.

Dead air means something has gone wrong. Someone important, who never spoke through the white noise again.

It stays with you—static coiling around your ribs, slow and taut like wire. You’ve never forgotten the weight of it, because now it’s here again.

Flipping to a fresh page in the logbook, you scribble the call sign again, even though the page already looks like a graveyard of unanswered calls:

18:04 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — Received scheduled check-in from AA40B. Background static, but no incidents reported.

18:15 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — Attempted contact with AA40B. Negative. Assumed out of range unit. Logged for follow-up.

18:24 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — Logged inactivity. Next scheduled check-in ???

20:02 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — No response.

Silence. It is always about silence at the end. You’ve faced the same ends of different stories too many times. However, you’re just a radio operator, aren’t you? A messenger. The one whose face people barely remember. They know you for your voice. They hate you for it; they hate to hear it in moments of another acknowledgement of things going wrong. But this is not your fault, right? You receive news—then you report. Bad news—report. No news? Report. So you file the report like always. No sirens. No raised voices. Just protocol, neat and quiet. Loss isn’t rare enough to stop the day. Or night. Collateral damage, they call it. Lives.

The last entry in the logbook is smudged—ink dragged by the heel of your palm in a moment of distraction. You underline the status. Twice. You want to breathe, really breathe. Tear off the headset, heavy and too tight; let your pulse settle in open air, feel your shoulders drop for once. Shake off the weight of duty.

But protocol says stay.

So you do.

Anchored in your chair (as old as the headset), waiting for something. Or nothing.

The clock on the wall is old, its plastic yellowed with age, but it still ticks with rude efficiency. Every second lands like a drop of water in an empty basin.

You count minutes by it — minutes left until the next scheduled check-in. The last one for the night. The one you’re not expecting to go any differently.

A small glass jar sits near the base of the radio, filled with dried wildflowers you picked earlier that summer. Yarrow, tansy, bluebells gone brittle in the heat. It doesn’t belong here—not among the grey buttons, frayed wires, and institutional gloom—but you brought it anyway. Something to look at while the hours crawl.

You clear your throat. You don’t bother sounding official anymore.

“This is Homebase. Again. Check-in.” You swirl a faded yellow petal in your fingers. Squeeze it until your fingertips are covered with its sticky powder. “I repeat—AA40B, answer my call. Report the situation. Have you got any troubles? This is channel ninety-four point seven, if you’re suddenly unaware. Be advised, Lisa, if you don’t respond your mother will fucking murder me. Slowly.”

You let the words trail off, resting your fingers lightly on the worn edge of the desk.

The kind of joke born from routine.

Lisa and you had planned to grab dinner after her shift next week—you weren’t close; maybe you would’ve been. It was supposed to be the first. A small thing. And now just…undone. Silence folds back over the room like a heavy blanket. Your peripheral vision catches something alike with a flick of lightning far away. Just a second that might be a play of your overwhelmed mind. Just a second. Then—

Click.

Soft; barely there. But unmistakable—not static. Not interference.

Someone pressed something.

Your body reacts before your mind does—a tightening in the chest, a shift in the gut. The way this familiar frequency is talking to you now: you can recognize its hiss among the thousands of others. And this one is totally different. Something unusual is happening.

This isn’t protocol, isn’t your patrol.

And there’s no call sign.

Just a breath, maybe. A small, ambient shuffle of noise—a movement. Someone is there. And then, at last—a voice cuts through. You will think about it many times later; you’ll try to replay this moment like an old tape, always returning to the second she spoke to you. You will lie for that voice. And you will—

“Who the hell is Lisa? And…who the hell are you?”

A beat. Long pause. The silence stretches, tense, uncertain. She’s close to the mic. No headset, no filter. Unmistakably not Lisa. But someone who’s used to surviving, not asking questions.

The voice doesn’t match anything you were expecting—sharp and low, with a slow drawl that sounds like it's been roughened by time and too many cold mornings. She doesn't sound scared, but she sure as hell sounds like someone who’s ready to pull a knife if you so much as breathe wrong. And as for your breathe…it’s more than wrong. Something about her makes you sit up straighter. You glance down at the console, thumb hovering over the mic: 94.7.

That should be right. That’s the patrol’s frequency; it has been for months. You double-check the band anyway, twisting the dial just enough to hear the edge of the next channel before snapping it back.

How the hell—?

Maybe the storm’s fucking up with the signals. That happens sometimes. Reflections bouncing off mountains. Electromagnetic interference. Whatever excuse science likes to throw at you when something strange happens in the middle of the goddamn night.

Your understanding of fate is called science.

“Are you ghosting me now?” Your stomach dips with another question from her. You forgot to reply. Do you really have to do it? Probably not. But damn—curiosity and boredom are louder than reason. And you want it. Badly.

You clear your throat, shift your weight in the creaky chair, and press the button.

“Uhm…Hello.” Suddenly, you don’t know what to say. You—the person who spent years talking to strangers over the radio—and now you’re mute. “I’m here. But you’re not supposed to be on this channel, are you?”

A soft scrape of fabric brushes the mic—like something is shifting on the other edge. Another pause. You can hear the smile in her voice before she even speaks.

“Nope. Definitely not.”

Her voice sounds younger now, almost smug. The way she says it—calm, sure, like she has a knife in one hand and her finger on the trigger with the other, makes your pulse skip. Calm. Dry. Like she’s holding back either a laugh or a warning. On the edge of your mind you wonder how old she is. Could you be peers? Some people define age by looking at someone’s palms. Your trained hearing doesn’t require watching to see things.

You pull a thin blanket tighter around your shoulders; you keep it here special for night shifts and instead of forgotten jackets. Moths ate through its fabric; holes stare at you like frightened eyes or twisted mouths.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of the low hum of the equipment, the way twilight sky is fading navy, and your lamp is the only source of light. There’s no one else in the room: just you, just her. And the strange, thin thread of static connecting your two points of the map.

She doesn’t break the silence again, allowing you to take your time and think. Lead the dialogue or end it. She gives you choice.

You don’t even know her name.

But somehow, in this moment, that feels like the least important part.

“So…first of all, I must ask: do you need any urgent help?”

The question comes out too formal, like you’re reading off protocol.

“Do I sound like I need help?” The mic chuckles faintly with the sound of her voice. You knew the answer, but you had to ask. Just in case.

“Right now I’m not sure if I should answer at all,” you say. Does she hear the smile curving in the corners of your lips? “You’re not in danger, looking for signal to save you?”

“Save me? No way.” Her tone dips low, husky at the edges. A pause. There’s a smirk—quick and barbed—but it doesn’t soften fully. You figure out that she speaks like someone who’s used to being heard but never really listened to; that happens to people who don’t speak much.

Each of her words clipped just enough to sound in control, laced with amusement sharp around it. There’s warmth in it, sure, but distant warmth, like fire through glass. You catch the tail end of a sigh. “I’m fine. No danger. And even if I were, what’d you do? Send a helicopter?”

This. Even in her irony, something stays braced, like she’s talking with her back still against the wall.

You huff a soft laugh. Involuntary. You better think on what the hell you are even doing. You better think twice before the answer. But you choose to play her game.

“Just a helicopter? I have a whole rescue team for losers like you.” probably you don’t think even once, replying.

“Enjoy saving losers?” She baits.

“I’m here daily for it.” You bite.

She doesn’t miss a beat.

“What ‘bout nights?”

You lean back slightly, flexing your aching fingers. The headset hums with a tiny echo of her voice and some static. There’s a rhythm forming here—and it isn’t protocol. You’re treading on thin ice. Almost dancing.

You glance at the faint, flickering bulb above you—the only company in this concrete box you’ve half-started calling home. The air smells like warm dust and coil-burned wire. Silence is hovering, like she’s waiting for you to laugh or shoot back some banter, because she has no idea how long it’s been since anyone spoke to you like that.

Your finger lingers over the transmit button. You press it, slower this time.

“Nights are for ghosts and dead batteries,” you realize how desperate that must’ve sounded, and add, “You fit right in.”

The girl scoffs. You’re not sure if she’s smiling or offended. Or just listening. A low crackle fills the space between you. If you close your eyes, will she remain on the border of your signal? Or will she vanish into the white noise?

You don’t want to know, so your eyes are open. Surreal night.

The connection falls quiet again. That particular silence that means someone is thinking. You interrupt it with another question:

“How did you catch this frequency?”

The response comes, broken and crackling:

“By random? I was—”

The rest is swallowed by static. Not loud, but needling. Noise spilling through the line like wind through the flung open window.

You wait, leaning toward the console, squinting as if that might help decipher the pattern in the interference. You try again, more precisely this time.

“Take on the headset. Your sound is shit.”

A pause. Some fumbling on her end. You hear what might be a soft grunt, the clang of something metal.

“Didn’t think it’d make any difference,” she mutters, half-off mic. “Hold on… I don’t see any— Oh. Here it is. Looks terrible.”

Only God knows what’s going on over there. Something to do with wires and dust, maybe. There is a clumsy thud, then a hiss, then the faintest muttered curse. Whatever it is—they’re putting up one hell of a fight. You smirk silently.

Finally, a low rustle, then—click.

“Well. Fine. Do you hear me now?”

And just like that, you do. You almost regret the suggestion.

Her voice lands crisp, close—like it’s suddenly right behind your ear, not scattered across states. The line is clear enough to catch the curve of her vowels, the scrape of dry amusement under the words.

Oh, you do.

It’s the kind of voice that makes you forget the question. The kind that holds back more than it gives—something low, a little rough, but sharpened and steady, like she’s watching you through the wire and dares you to blink first.

So you blink. Swallow.

“Yes.”

No more, no less. You decide to keep your freaky thoughts to yourself.

She hums, then moves: now you can hear it perfectly well, trying to imagine this natural movement. You fail.

A shift in your seat, the chair creaks. The room suddenly feels smaller. Warmer?

She’s the first to speak.

“What’s with your, how did you call it, AA40C?”

You correct her out of habit—and to buy time.

“Forty-B.”

A beat. Your ink-stained finger hovers the transmit button a moment too long. The clock mocks you—shame prickles beneath your collar. You’d completely lost track of time. And of the patrol.

“I can’t share this information with someone from beyond.”

You hesitate to call her a stranger. You must be losing your fucking mind. You add a half-smile into the mic, though she can’t see it. The words aren’t harsh, but there is a line in them—clear, official, practiced. One you’ve been taught to hold. You almost feel like apologizing—which is absurd. Unfamiliar. Not like you.

Her reply is quick, clipped.

“Fair enough.”

But something in her tone curls at the edge. Like she’s testing you, just to see how far the signal stretches. It’s not like she’s interested in all your military secrets, but like she has some interest in you. Or you’re just fantasizing things.

Her voice lingers in the headset—that grainy warmth, half static, half smirk. She doesn’t let it drop.

“Where are you talking from then?”

You freeze for a breath. The words are simple, innocent-sounding, but they land sharp. You’re not supposed to—

“I can’t—“

“Jesus. C'mon.” A scoff, close to the mic. Her voice crackles at the edges. “Such coincidences happen once in a lifetime. Ain’t you curious?”

You are, and this is the problem.

You hesitate, eyes fixed on the dull glow of the frequency dial. You’ve followed protocol a hundred times before. But it doesn’t feel like protocol—not anymore. You tell yourself it’s fine. Montana’s a big place. Nobody would guess.

“Ugh… Montana.”

There’s a bit of silence on the other end, then a click of her tongue.

“That’s it?”

“What?”

“Girl, you're so fucking paranoid.”

You huff through your nose—not quite a laugh. She’s not wrong. You hadn’t realized how tight you were holding the line—like names could unravel something if spoken too clearly.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” you answer, steadier than you feel. “It’s safer. For both of us.”

“Let it be.”

There’s a shift in her tone that might come with leaning back, chin tilted, daring you.

“Then you can call me…” A beat. A mock-dramatic sigh. “Damn Jackson.”

You blink at the console, then laugh before you can stop it. It catches in your throat. The name drops like a pebble in a well. Small, almost casual. Echoing. You know the name. Most do. A settlement too far south. Rumored to be peaceful. Overgrown with good soil and better people. Rumored, at least.

You let yourself savor the answer. Like you need to place her somewhere on a map just to stay grounded. Small details start to shape her features in your mind.

“Jackson’s not even a state, dumbass.”

“Wyoming doesn’t sound cool at all.”

Her voice flattens with false seriousness. You imagine a shrug. A smirk, maybe. Something self-aware but distant—like she’s drawing lines in the sand just to rub them out a moment later.

The words slip out without thinking.

“It kinda does.”

Are you still talking about names?

You slightly frown, eyes scanning your table, though there’s nothing to see. You raise an eyebrow.

“And why would you tell me your place?”

“It’s not really mine, is it?” A pause. “Just a name.”

You bite your lip. She’s still playing. Still keeping her real cards hidden, just like you. But the word Jackson settles into your memory heavy. Like it matters.

Like you’ll be writing it down later, in a space not meant for records.

There’s a lull again. Not awkward—just stretched thin. Like neither of you wants to admit the conversation has no more ground to stand on.

You glance at the clock. It’s later than you’d thought. Your logbook lies open beside you, the last line still unfinished.

“You should go,” you say, your voice barely above a breath.

You don’t add what you’ve begun to notice—how her breathing has slowed between sentences, how the edges of her voice soften, just slightly, like the weight of the night is finally catching up to her.

She’s clearly not home.

Not even on watch. Just… out there.

Wherever she is, it’s not where she’s supposed to be. You hear it in the way she pauses more often now; in how the static doesn’t quite hide her quiet exhale. The kind people let out only when they’ve been running too long.

She’s lost. For now.

And somehow, you don’t want to keep her any longer. Not out of duty—but because something in you wants her to rest. Just a few hours. Just until dawn.

Even if you’ll never know where she lays her head.

Even if she never calls again.

“You gonna report me?”

It’s half a joke. Maybe.

You answer before thinking.

“Not if you promise not to show up again.”

Do you want her to show up again? That’s another question. The one you’re not going to think on.

“Harsh.” You hear her shift—maybe the creak of a table beneath her elbow. “Guess I’ll just get lost then.”

Her tone is light, but something flickers underneath.

You hesitate, then add—

“Batteries don’t last forever anyway.”

That earns you a breath of static shaped like a laugh.

“Neither do ghosts.”

The silence that follows is different. Not quite goodbye. Just long enough to say something without needing words. The button waits beneath your touch, untouched. You sigh.

“Well, Jackson. Over and out?”

You try to make it sound casual, like it doesn’t matter if she answers.

But she snorts — soft, amused.

“What does that mean?”

“Uhmm… it’s like ‘bye’ in radio slang. Some kind of etiquette.”

Another pause. This one warmer.

“Then over and out, Montana.”

You smile—not that she can see it. But feel, maybe.

Your hand slips from the button. You expect silence. Expect her to vanish into space, like she was never there.

But then, you remember something:

“Oh. Wait.”

There’s a second you think she’s gone. You hold your breath, unintentionally. Your knuckles brush the edge of the transmitter, hesitating. Her voice comes through quiet, no louder than an exhale.

“Yeah?”

“Storm’s coming. Stay safe.”

You wait—half-expecting her to follow it with a joke, or some snide comment about the clear skies.

But she doesn’t. You wonder if she hears it too—that strange pressure in the air. That breathless weight.

Her answer is simple.

“I will.”

And somehow… that’s enough.

The line goes quiet. Not with a pop or sudden crackle—just…softer. As if her breath was still caught in the waves of signals, and then even that lets go. An act of disappearing without curtain call.

You don’t realize how much noise she’d brought with her until it’s gone.

Now there’s only the faint hum of the equipment; the low buzz in your skull, and underneath it—a hush that finally feels real. It presses against your ribs. Wraps around the base of your neck. Heavy, still. Known.

You lean back slowly, letting the weight of it all settle in. Shoulders drop, the holey blanket slips onto the floor—loud in the absence of her voice. Your body reminds you that it’s late. That your eyes sting. You haven’t moved for too long. And you sit there, still, another minute, or maybe more. You don’t know why.

You haven’t touched the dial since she stopped talking. Since that sharp and guarded voice cut through the wrong frequency and landed in your hands like something not meant to be held.

You should log it.

You should log everything.

You reach for the journal and stare at it for a long time. The pen dangles on a piece of string, tied to the corner of the desk. You’ve lost too many not to do it this way. It hovers in your hand. No idea what to write. A few entries above, your own writing stares back at you—neat, all-caps block letters. You draw a line underneath it, slow, deliberate. Then glance back at the console, the frequency is still open. But she’s gone. You press the pen to the paper.

20:27 — Unknown signal —

You pause, biting your lip. Hell. No words come. You don’t write what she said. Or what you said back. Instead, you cross this line out and turn to the next page. A blank one, cleaner. Further from truth.

20:28 — atmospheric interference — ghost frequency spill. No contact established.

You underline it once; like that will make it true. Then you flip the page, just in case someone else reads it in the morning.

You know it’s not procedure. But you also know how it works: unofficial frequencies are monitored sometimes. If the others find out you spoke to someone from another city—someone who shouldn’t have been there—they’ll shut it down. Change the band. Pull your shift. Maybe worse.

You close the book and push it at the edge of the desk. Your fingers tingle, thumb is awkwardly ink-stained as before. You don’t bother to wipe it. Just tilt your head back and close your eyes.

The silence hums, her voice lingering in your mind—

and it’s yours to keep.

Ellie doesn’t remember the walk back.

Morning mist obscures the sound of her steps, hides her uneven silhouette. She’s smoke, a breath of wind in the ferns. She’s at the edge of there and nowhere.

By the time she’s near the gates behind the west trail, the trees whisper above, restless with the wind that hadn’t been there an hour ago. She swears it wasn't. Light spills over the treeline—pale and uncertain, like it’s not sure it should be here yet.

Jackson's lights bloom like low, tired fireflies. The gates creak open just past dawn. Someone nods to Ellie from the watchtower. She lifts a hand, doesn’t stop walking.

As she reaches home, the door groans as she pushes it open. Inside, the air is still—cooler than outside. Ellie doesn’t bother turning on the light. Her shoes leave dark shapes on the floor, soles soaked from dirt. She shrugs off the backpack, peels off the outer jacket, and kicks at her converse until one tumbles sideways and stays that way. No sign of Joel. She doesn’t check. The weight of everything settles in the quiet. The shirt—one of her favorites—clings to her back, damp with sweat and dust. She scratches at her wrist, smearing a thin line of dried mud. She’ll shower later. Maybe. Exhaustion pulls her to the ground.

She has a couple of hours before they will need her.

Ellie sinks onto the couch like the bones have gone out of her. Face-down, arm tucked under her head, too tired to change. Her knuckles sting a little—a scraped corner from earlier—but it barely registers. Her brain floats somewhere shallow. Not asleep. Not fully awake. Just drifting.

She blinks once. Twice. Between those blinks, a voice brushes the edge of her thoughts, like a skipped page in a journal. It’s not clear at first—just a wordless shape, like a whisper behind closed doors. But then it forms: “you’re not supposed to be on this channel, are you?”

Ellie doesn’t smile. But she doesn’t not smile either.

She hears it before she sees it—the soft tap-tap-tap on the glass. That type of rain that starts tentative, as if asking permission. She turns her head, watches the droplets race each other down the pane.

Ellie exhales, low and long, and lets her eyes close.

The storm came after all.

[damiansgoodgirll]

i had to take screenshots of the request cause it wouldn’t let me work on it 😭 anyway i hope you like it 🩷

damian priest x reader

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

‼️insecure reader, angst, fluff, soft damian‼️

NOTHING COMPARES

you knew what you were getting into when you started dating damian priest.

he was charming, confident, and a literal superstar. everywhere he went, people admired him. fans, wrestlers, interviewers, women. especially women. he was surrounded by them constantly - gorgeous, toned, powerful female wrestlers who could easily match his energy. they were strong, confident, and comfortable in the spotlight - something you were not - they understood his world in a way that you never could.

and tonight, that bitter insecurity was eating you alive.

you were curled up in the hotel bed, clutching a pillow as you stared at your phone screen. damian’s tag team match was playing live and your stomach twisted the moment you saw who he was paired with : liv morgan.

she was everything you weren’t. blonde, fit, talented, absolutely beautiful. she was fun and outgoing, the kind of person who could instantly click with anyone - a big contrast to your shy and silent personality. liv and damian had always been close and you had told yourself that it didn’t bother you.

but watching them now? it did bother you.

they worked perfectly together, feeding off each other’s energy. even the audience started to like their team and you couldn’t help but feel jealous. they looked good together, moving in sync like they had been tag partners for years. you tried to remind yourself that it was just work, but when they won the match and liv threw herself into damian’s arms something snapped inside of you.

he caught her easily, laughing as he spun her around like they’ve been doing that for years.

the crowd loved it. the commentators ate it up. and you? you felt like you were going to be sick.

liv clung to him, her hands touching his naked and sweaty chest from lingering on his arms, pressing against his side like she belonged there. you knew she was single. you also knew she was flirty and you knew that she was well aware of how admired and wanted she was by every single man inside the arena. and damian - he was friendly, funny, kind, someone who didn’t push people away so he didn’t push her away.

you shut off your phone, threw it somewhere distant in the room and turned onto your side, squeezing your eyes shut. your chest felt tight, your face hot with frustration.

it wasn’t fair. you knew damian loved you, but that didn’t mean you liked seeing another woman throw herself at him in front of thousands of people. it didn’t mean you liked how easily she fit into his world and you didn’t, how much better she looked by his side than you ever would.

you wiped at your eyes, only to feel fresh tears spill over.

you hated feeling like this.

you’ve spent years trying to fight your insecurities. you’ve spent years convincing yourself that you were worthy of someone like damian. someone special like him when you were just so ordinary. you’ve spent years asking yourself why he chose you when he could have easily had someone prettier, someone like him.

when the hotel door clicked open, you held your breath and stayed still, pretending to be asleep. you didn’t want to talk about it. you didn’t want to hear him say it was nothing, that you were overreacting - you’ve heard that before, basically all your life - people denying your insecurities so much that you ended up pretending they never existed.

the room was silent for a moment but then you heard damian’s footsteps. they were slow, careful. he was trying not to wake you. you heard him quickly change from his work clothes to something comfier and cozier. he tried to be as silent as possible, thinking you were sleeping - but he knew better.

the bed dipped as he sat down beside you, his fingers brushing over your shoulder.

“baby…” he murmured, voice soft.

you stayed quiet.

he shifted, leaning down “i know you’re awake.”

you swallowed hard, trying to keep your breathing steady. maybe if you didn’t move, he would let it go.

but then his hand slid down your arm, fingers gentle as he tugged at the blanket. “what’s wrong?”

you shook your head “nothing, i’m just tired.”

“mi amor…” his voice was even softer now, like he already knew what was going on. in those past years he got to know you and he already knew that you were lying to him. he leaned over, pressing a kiss to your temple “talk to me.”

you clenched your jaw. you didn’t want to talk. you didn’t want to be the insecure girlfriend who got jealous over something that probably meant nothing.

but damian wasn’t stupid.

he sighed, moving so he was lying beside you, his chest pressed against your back. his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close.

“was it the match?” he asked as if he already knew.

you stiffened.

he exhaled, his breath warm against your skin “mami…” he murmured, his voice tinged with guilt “you know i only love you, right?”

you swallowed the lump in your throat. you knew “i know.”

“then why are you upset?”

you hesitated, your fingers gripping the pillow tighter “because…” your voice cracked “because she looks better next to you than i do.”

you couldn’t help but feel that way.

his entire body tensed.

“what?” his voice was soft but full of confusion.

you felt humiliated saying it out loud. you should have kept your mouth shut.

“she’s-…” you took a shaky breath “she’s beautiful. she’s fit. she’s a wrestler and she belongs in your world, damian. and i don’t”

his grip on you tightened instantly.

“mi amor, don’t say that…” he shifted so you were on your back, his face hovering over yours. there was a frown on his lips, his dark eyes scanning your face like he was searching for something.

you looked away “it’s true.”

“no, it’s not” he said firmly “it’s the biggest fucking lie i’ve ever heard.”

you bit your lip, but he wasn’t letting this go. he cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek, wiping away the lingering dampness from your earlier tears.

“you do belong in my world” he softly said “you are my world.”

you let out a shaky breath.

he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, slow and lingering. his hand trailed down, resting over your heart “you don’t see yourself the way i do and that hurts me…” he whispered “but you are the most beautiful woman in the world to me. no one - no one - compares to you.”

you wanted to believe him.

he pressed another kiss against your lips, his fingers trailing along your jaw “you’re mine…” he murmured, voice rough with emotion “and i’m yours. no one else.”

a small, broken sound slipped out of you before you could stop it. damian caught it instantly, pulling you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you so tightly it almost hurt - but you didn’t care. you clung to him, burying your face against his neck as the last of your insecurities melted into quiet sniffles.

he ran his fingers through your hair, murmuring soft reassurances against your skin.

“i would never trade what we have for anything…”he whispered. “not for liv. not for anyone.”

you nodded against him, your body finally relaxing.

you knew your insecurities wouldn’t disappear overnight. you would still have moments where doubt crept in, where you felt like you weren’t enough.

but damian - he would always be there, holding you through them. reminding you that, to him, you were everything.

“te amo…” he softly whispered against your neck as you laid on his chest “nothing compares to you mi amor, i love you so much mami” - and in that moment you believed him.

—————————————-

@rripleyfan 🩷

[httpscomorg]

Normally bubbly reader overhears/gets told something Logan says and it ruins her

Don't Want Happiness

Logan x Reader

1103 words. A bunch of comfort. Reader hides real emotions. Caring Logan. That's it, just comfort.

You’re a ray of fucking sunshine.

Everyone loves you, and everyone loves that you love everyone.

Except Logan.

He fucking hates it. He hates the way you skip around the halls, the way you hum as you make dinner, the way your eyes fucking light up to the stupidest shit. And the thing that he hated most. That made his blood fucking boil… Was the big ass smile that falls onto your lips every damned time you passed him in the hallways. He doesn’t smile back of course, he only continues on his way and rolls his eyes as he passes you.

“I mean how can she be so fucking happy all the damned time? Then she gives me this dumbass smile every time she fucking sees me.” You stopped around the corner of the living room, hiding behind the wall to hear what they were saying. “I mean Y/N fucking smiled last week after she hurt herself, she was covered in blood and acted like it was nothing but she ended up with third degree fucking burns.” You rub your arm a little, embarrassment creeping up your cheek and you clench the little bag of cookies that you had gotten for movie night in your fist before taking a deep breath and heading into the room. All eyes land on you and some of them smile.

“Heyyy, what’s goin’ on?” You put on your best smile, taking a plastic tray of cookies out of the paper bag in your hand. Some cookies you decorated personally for everyone.

You hand out the cookies, each of them different, and you’re fine until you get to the last one. It had Wolverine on it. He was wearing his little mask and you added little candy hearts onto it to make it look prettier. You hand it to Logan, and he huffs before reaching out and taking it.

“Anyone want any milk?” You ask, a smile still plastered on your face as Storm and Scott raise their hands, taking a bite into their cookie and you chuckle a little when Storms eyes roll and she gives you a thumbs up. She always loves your cookies.

As you enter the kitchen, you hear Scott speak to Logan. “I just don’t understand why that makes you hate her man. She’s happy.” He shrugs. “Why would you wanna change that?”

You walk back in before he can answer, but you see him lean over and whisper something to Scott as you hand the two milk glasses out.

It hurt, but obviously you weren’t gonna take it to heart. Right?

Wrong. Everyone notices it. The way your smile isn’t nearly as big as it normally is, the way you aren’t giving out random sweet treats to your friends, and the way you don’t hum while you’re cooking. But not one single person tries to talk to you, to see what’s wrong.

You make your way to the kitchen, thankful that another teacher has already put on coffee, and it was almost done brewing. But there were no other teachers in the lounge. Fine by you, means you didn’t have to smile at all. You move to the cupboards, taking out your favourite mug and placing it on the counter, then you jump when another mug hits the counter right next to you, a hand attached to it, you follow the hand, arm and then look up to the person's face. Logan. You sigh and groan on the inside but try to throw him a smile anyway. Except, instead of the normal scowl you would receive any other time, it was a confused look, his eyebrow cocked as if you just make the ugliest face known to man. But you ignore the look, moving around him to pour coffee in your mug as his eyes follow you, and you add what you like to your coffee.

“Hey.” Holy shit the devil speaks.

“Hey.” You respond meekly. The only conversation you’ve genuinely had with him.

“What’s goin’ on?” What?

“What do you mean?”

“You’re acting weird. Quiet.” You shrug, opening the fridge and taking out a snack and tossing it on the counter before looking for something else, just wanting to keep yourself busy as he questions you, but then you stiffen, two arms turning you and wrapping around you as Logan drowns you in a hug. You don’t even mean for it to happen when a tear falls down your cheek, and you lean into him as his hand rubs up and down your back.

And it was actually nice. But that asshole is the reason you’re sad. So you step back, wanting to melt into him but holding back.

“Didn’t you want me to be more quiet?” You mumble, him still holding onto you by loosely keeping his hands on your waist.

“What’re you talking about?”

“I heard what you were telling Scott and the others yesterday.” You see his face contort into confusion, and you want to punch him in the nose for acting confused.

“I think you heard it wrong.” He takes another step closer to you, and you’re sure he wants to hug you again, but you cross your arms, waiting for an explanation.

“Scott was saying you hate me… and you hate me being happy and-” You cut yourself off as your throat knots, biting your lip and tearing skin.

“I don’t hate you, I already told Scott that.”

“Then what did you whisper in his ear when I walked in?”

“Exactly that…” His voice becomes more urgent as he tries to stay patient with you. “That I never said I hated you. I just don’t like the way you act.”

“Because I’m happy?” You lift your shoulders, as if you’re offended.

“You’re not happy. Don’t lie to me.” Another tear falls down your cheek. “You can smile all you want, and be as sweet as your fucking cookies, but I know you’re not always a complete ray of fucking sunshine.” He tells you, once again trying to bring you into another hug, but you accept it this time.

“So you don’t hate me?” You sounded horrible, your voice cracking from the knot in your throat.

“No sweetheart, I could never hate you. But if you’re ever having a bad day, don’t just smile at me please.” He tells you. “Nothing will ever hurt you more than a fake smile.” He holds you a little tighter as tears continue trickling down your face.

“And don’t you ever smile again when you’re covered in blood and burnt, it was hot, but you looked like a psychopath.”

[comet-forgot-you]

g!p student reader sharing an apartment with max and secretly crushing on her but max has a bf and he sleep overs often which drives r insane bcs whenever hes staying she can hear them fucking in the middle of the night and hearing max's moans makes her go absolutely crazy.

also r hates max's bf and the morning after she confronts him in front of max and makes fun of his small dick lmfao 😭 it ends up with "who has bigger dick challenge"

(bonus points if r and max get a chance to fuck and r is like super proud and cocky that she won and finally confesses her feelings)

hmmm. this was the hardest thing i’ve ever written guys in not gonna lie.

smut. 18+ pls

do not repost for any reason.

you hated the thin walls of your apartment. you hated when max had her boyfriend over. you hated him even more. you hated that you could hear max’s pretty moans, moans that would sound so much prettier if they were caused by you. you hated the fact that just hearing those pretty moans had you cock hardening slightly. you were jealous of him. you were jealous that he got to fuck max and you didnt. you hated that she was with him. you knew you treated her better than he ever could, and you knew you could fuck max better than he ever could.

seeing them the next morning was so much worse. seeing the sleepy smile max wore when she sees you, wrapping her arms around your frame, telling you good morning. you tried to be cool about it, he would leave soon anyways.

of course he didnt. he stayed longer than you wanted, he always did, though. you always wanted him gone the moment he stepped into yours and max’s shared apartment. but you guess he had gotten comfortable around you, comfortable enough to talk down towards max. he talked about her like he owned her, treating her like she was below him. it made your blood boil, your hatred for him only growing.

you could see the uncomfortable look on max’s face as he spoke to her and her attempt at creating space between the two of them. “come on max, why do you keep moving away? you act like you weren’t all up on my dick last night, c’mon,” he tugs at her shoulder, attempting to pull her closer to him.

your jaw clenches, fingers gripping the counter you leaned against. max lets out a fake laugh, her body tense as he pulls her closer to you. “max,” your voice booms from the kitchen and she turns her attention to you, nodding her head slightly in acknowledgment. “can we talk?” she looks over at her boyfriend hesitantly before pushing herself off of the couch. he grabs her wrist tightly.

“im sure you two can talk from here, yeah?” max glances up to you and your eyebrows furrow.

“i’ll be quick,” max mutters quietly, her eyes wide.

“no, its fine. he can listen if he really wants to,” you push yourself away from the counter, making your way to the living room. “he needs to leave, and he needs to leave now.” he scoffs at your words, letting go of max’s wrist.

“the fuck’s your problem?” he asks in disbelief.

“my problem? you’re my fucking problem. you treat max like shit and i don’t appreciate it. so get the fuck out of my house and don’t come back.” he looks to max, as if asking her if she was really letting this happen. max doesn’t meet his eyes, scooting closer towards you.

“really, max? you’re gonna let her kick me out?” he scoffs when max doesnt respond, glaring up at you. “you’re just jealous that i’m fucking her, huh?” you’re disgusted with his words, you know its true, but you’d never admit it to him.

“fuck no. i know damn well i’d fuck her better than you ever could. you’re dick’s too small, bet you can’t even make her cum, can you?” you can see the rage building inside of him, his eyes narrowing.

“shut up, bitch.” you fight the smile that tries to tug its way onto your lips.

“what, you know its true.” he stands from the couch, standing in front of you.

“shut up, i’ll fucking kill you,” his voice is filled with anger, and his breath stinks. you jerk your head away, trying to get out of the way of his breath.

“yeah your breath definitely smells like ‘i cant make a girl cum.’ get the fuck out of my house.” he glances over at max once again before rolling his eyes, making his way out of your apartment. “fucking dick,” you mumble, plopping yourself down on the couch, finally able to relax now that he was gone.

max is still for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. “are you?” she asks. you lift your head to look at her.

“am i what?” a smile tugs at the corner on max’s lips.

“are you jealous that he fucked me and you didn’t?” she straddles your lap and heat rushes through your body before it settle in your core. your hands find her hips instinctively as she shuffles to find a comfortable position on your lap. “you know,” she whispers, toying with the baby hairs on the back of your neck, “if you wanted to fuck me, you could’ve just asked,” her breath fans across your face, its a large difference from her boyfriend’s and you welcome it gladly.

you’re almost certain max can feel your cock as it grows in your loose shorts. normally, you’d be embarrassed, but you can’t find it in you to care at this point, you just needed to feel max wrapped around your cock.

“you had a boyfriend, i was being respectful, but god do these thin ass walls make it hard to stay respectful.” max brings her bottom lip between her teeth, her hands moving to cup your face softly.

“i just wanted you,” her lips are on yours the moment the words leave her mouth. you groan against her lips at the feeling. you should’ve done this sooner, you’re an idiot. max pulls back slightly, her forehead resting against yours. “i hoped you would listen, thats why i put on a little bit of performance. you really think he could have me moaning like that?”

you smile lazily, thumb rubbing just underneath the waistband of her panties. “god, you know how hard it is to keep my dick in my pants when you run around wearing just these?” you let the waistband snap against her skin and she arches against you, her hips jerking against your cock.

if you weren’t hard before, you were now.

you pull the panties to the side, running your fingers through her wetness. “so fucking wet,” you groan. max lets out a moan the second the pads of your fingers graze against her clit.

“oh my god, please,” she whimpers out, her hips bucking in an attempt to relieve the ache between her thighs. you wanted nothing more than to alleviate the ache between yours, but you had a point to prove.

you could fuck her better than he ever could.

your fingers prod at her entrance, forcing pretty sounds out of her. “you want my fingers, max? want me to show you just how much better i csn fuck you than he can?” she nods, stuttering out quiet ‘yes’’ like it was a prayer. thats all you need before you sink your fingers into her needy cunt. her warmth welcomes you, greedily sucking your fingers in.

the moment you curl them, mac is letting out pretty sounds, much prettier than the ones she forced out for your attention. your cock strains in your shorts, growing harder at the feeling of her wrapped around your fingers.

you needed to feel her wrapped around your cock, you weren’t sure if you could wait long enough. her pretty noises, the way her walls squeezed your fingers tightly, you weren’t sure you’d be able to get her off without cumming in your boxers.

your fingers fuck in and out of her at a steady pace, your free hand finding its way under max’s large t-shirt. the second your fingers meet her nipples, you’re teasing her about her lack of bra, toying with the sensitive buds.

amber’s whines fill the space between you two, her hips bucking into your palm to further her pleasure. “just wanted you to use me,” she whispers quietly. “wanted you to fuck me so good, wanted your cock so bad. can i have it? pretty please?”

you nearly fucking came.

she sure new how to make you just as needy for her as she was for you. “gonna have to cum on my fingers first, max. gotta prove you can take my cock, can you do that?” max whines out at your denial.

“please? just want your cock, want you to fill me up,” her impatience would be the death of you and you were finding it increasingly difficult yo stand your ground.

“no, max. gotta cum on my fingers first.”

your fingers scissor in and out of her, thumb starting the rub gentle patterns against her clit. her walls pulse against your fingers as her orgasm approaches. max’s whines fill your shared living room, and you almost feel bad for your neighbors.

almost. not really though.

not when her cunts sucks you in deeper as her orgasm washes over you, her cum coating your fingers as it does. her forehead rests against your own as she attempts to catch her breath. you’re quick to break the moment, your cock begging for attention.

you snap the waistband of her panties again, rubbing the stinging skin gently. “off, now.” max hesitates for a moment, still trying go ride out her high. you smack the fat of her ass and max hisses, hips jerking against your cock. she rubs against it so perfectly, moans falling from both of your lips. “please,” you whimper out.

max is quick to stand, pulling her panties off her body. you do the same with your own, your clothing pooling around your ankles, your cock slapping against your stomach the second its free from the prison of your boxers. amber’s eyes widen at the length, hesitantly straddling your lap once more.

“what, don’t think you can take it?” max’s eyes widen and she shakes her head quickly.

“nono, i can take it. please, i can take it,” she pleads. you tap her hip, signaling for her to sit up. she does so and before you even have a chance, her hand is wrapping around your cock.

the pressure against your cock nearly has you breaking, but you have to hold off, you need to hold off. max positions your cock at her entrance, her warm cunt just barely out of reach. max sinks down slightly, the tip of your dick making contact with her soaked cunt.

you cant help the desperate whine that leaves your lips. it takes everything in you not to slam her down on your cock completely, your grip on her hips becoming bruisingly tight.

max slowly sinks down on your cock, her warm cunt welcoming you so effortlessly. it takes every bit of self control that you have to keep yourself from cumming.

she feels so fucking good wrapped around your dick. her cunt swallows you whole, her warmth around your cock sends a shiver down your spine, breathing labored. “fuck max.”

you give her a second, a second you need just as much as she does. moments pass until max is lifting herself off of your cock, sinking back down on it slowly. moans fall from both of your lips, the pleasure coursing through both of your systems.

“so fucking,” max hisses out, a moan cutting her off. “so fucking big,” your eyes move to where the two of you meet, watching as her greedy cunt sucks you in. you cant keep it in anymore, forcing her to pick up ner pace.

your guide her to ride your dick, her walls squeezing around you. her loud moans only spurred you on even further, your determination to fuck her better than he ever could being the only thing keeping you from cumming. you will fuck her better than he could ever imagine.

you pull her shirt off her tits, taking her hardened nipples into your mouth. max whines, tangling her fingers in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. your hands fell back to her hips, guiding her to ride your cock even faster, your thumb moving to rub tight circles against her pulsing clit.

“so good,” she whines out, moans falling from her lips. theyre so much better, so much more genuine than the ones you had listened to through the walls. “so fucking good.”

“yeah? better than him?” she nods, tugging your head to her neglected nipple. you cant help but smile at her affirmation, teeth grazing her nipples slightly.

she arches into you, desperate whines falling from her lips. you’re close, she’s close. “need you, fuck, need you to cum inside me, please,” her words are quiet, desperate plea. she says it like shes never needed something more in her life, and who were you to deny her.

“okay, okay,” you whisper against her tit. with the way max’s cunt squeezes around you, her filthy moans filling your ears, its not long before you’re unable to ward your orgasm off. “gonna cum now, max,” you whisper out. max nods, her own orgasm reaching its peak.

you’re orgasm washes over you, pumping her full of your cum, max’s own orgasm washing over her, milking your cock. her movements on your dick slow, the sound of her quiet whimpers as your dick twitches inside of her make you ready for another round.

“fucked you better than he ever could,” you mumble, guiding her hips to rock against your dick. “one more.”

[ankababy]

A Home (part 27)

Part 1 Part 26 Part 28

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

Lies, lies, more lies, still lying. Niragi MIGHT seem out of character at first, but that’s because he’s lying, being out of character on purpose. Boys :(

You blinked. Once. Twice. His words clawed down your spine and left you stiff, frozen, heart clenching.

It hurt.

“You don’t even see without your glasses, Niragi.”

His jaw tensed. That tick in his cheek that used to signal danger. He stepped closer again, slow like he was keeping himself from lunging, from doing something worse. You didn’t back down.

“You don’t get to just say that. You think you can say that and I’ll just—what? Fold? Go soft again?”

He still didn’t answer. Not really. Just stared, just watched, like if he stared hard enough, you’d come undone all over again. But you wouldn’t. Not tonight.

Not again.

“After what you did?” You took a step forward this time. The hallway felt smaller. Tighter. “You think you get to say you’re beautiful and that’s it? That’s all it takes?”

Still nothing.

You laughed, but it was bitter, ugly. “You’re sick.”

He licked his lips slowly, then tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “So what, you’re all grown up now? You learned to bite back?”

The coldness in his voice made your stomach twist. He didn’t even sound angry. He just sounded—empty. Like it didn’t even matter. Like you were the only thing keeping his voice attached to his body.

“You think just ‘cause you scream a little louder now, you’re not soft anymore?”

You clenched your jaw. “I’m not the girl who begged you to stop.”

He scoffed. “Sure you are. You’re just a little prettier when you cry now.”

Your hand twitched. You wanted to hit him. Or maybe you wanted him to hit you. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Your heart beat so fast you thought you might faint.

“I hate you.” you whispered, lying.

“I know.” he said, and something in his voice cracked. “That’s not gonna stop me.”

He was staring at your lips.

You looked away.

“I’m not doing this again.” you said. “You want to manipulate me again? You want to tear me down just to rebuild me how you like?”

He didn’t answer.

“You’re hollow, Niragi. A shell. You don’t care about anyone. You didn’t even care about Akira. You made me—”

“I do care.” he cut in, and it was almost a growl. “You’re the only one I fucking care about.”

That stopped you. You hated how it stopped you.

“I’m not good.” he said. “You want someone good? Go back to your little doctor. At least he pretends better than I do.”

You didn’t move.

“So talk to me.” he said, voice low. “Just talk.”

You hated him.

You hated how your chest cracked open when he begged. You hated how you still loved the boy behind the monster. You hated how even now, after everything, a part of you ached to understand him.

“…Fine.” you breathed, exhausted. “Fine.”

Just the promise of your voice was enough to keep him from blowing his own brains out.

You stood still for a moment, just breathing, letting everything he’d just said settle in your bones. It didn’t feel good—none of this did. But it did feel. That was the problem. That was the poison in your chest.

And he looked at you like he was about to beg again, and maybe that’s what broke you.

“My room.” you said quietly, and turned. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t wait to see if he followed.

But of course he did.

Of course Niragi followed you like a starved, rabid dog, head buzzing, teeth clenched, hands fists in his pockets like it was the only way to stop them from reaching out, clawing at you, burying in your flesh. His steps were silent behind you—predator silent—but inside, he was chaos.

He was frantic.

Wild.

Desperate.

Every step behind you dragged something ugly and bloody up his throat. If he could’ve unzipped his skin and handed you his entire ribcage, he would’ve. He would’ve crawled on broken glass and used his teeth to bite through his own wrist if you said it’d make you look at him for two more seconds.

The moment you opened the door to your room and stepped inside, he hovered behind you.

You turned to look at him as you let the door swing shut. He was staring, blank-faced, but those eyes—red around the edges, exhausted, and bottomless. Bottomless in the way that meant if you fell into them, you wouldn’t hit the ground. You’d just keep falling. Forever.

“You gonna come in or stand there like a creep?” you asked softly, almost teasing, and maybe that was cruel.

But Niragi stepped in without a word.

And now you were both inside.

Now there was no one else. No hallway. No militants. No walls between you.

Just you, and him.

He stood there, like if you asked him to sit, he’d drop to his knees instead. Like if you said his name sweet enough, he’d collapse.

God, he was pathetic.

It wasn’t love. Not the kind other people understood. Not soft or clean. It was a sickness. It was rot. It was obsession chewing through his ribs and using your name as oxygen. You lived in his bloodstream, in every violent impulse, in every nightmare and every fantasy alike.

He wanted to grab you by the shoulders and slam you into the wall and scream that he didn’t know how to be gentle but he’d rip his heart out if you wanted it.

He wanted to beg.

He wanted to bleed.

He wanted to taste the skin behind your knees and press his mouth to your collarbone just to see if you’d whimper. He wanted to burn the scent of that doctor off your skin with his teeth and replace it with his fucking fingerprints.

But all he did was stand there.

Watching.

Waiting.

“Sit.” you said, finally. You nodded at the bed.

He obeyed like it was instinct.

“You look like you’re gonna explode.” you whispered.

He swallowed. “I might.”

You nodded, slowly. And said nothing.

Maybe he really was just some kind of broken animal that only ever learned how to bite.

His eyes locked to yours like it physically hurt to look away.

He shut the fuck up for once in his life.

“I can’t do this.” you said. “I can’t do this if it’s going to be like this.”

You didn’t yell. That almost made it worse. Your voice was calm. Raw, but calm. Like something final was being carved out of your lungs.

“You don’t get to treat people like this, Niragi. You don’t get to destroy things, then act like it never happened just because you’re afraid of being left alone.” You stopped walking for a second, stared at him. “I don’t care how messed up you are. I don’t care how much it hurts. If you’re just going to drag me into the dark with you, I don’t want it.”

And still, he said nothing. He sat on the edge of your bed like a statue of himself. A hollow version.

You were walking around. Your feet were bare, silent against the floor.

“You know what this is, Niragi?” you asked, gesturing between the two of you. “It’s not love. It’s not even close. It’s pain. You hurt, so you make other people hurt, and then you call it something romantic when they stay. That’s not love. That’s—That’s fear. That’s you trying to glue pieces of yourself back together using me.”

That hit him.

Good.

You didn’t stop.

“I don’t want it if it means waking up in the middle of the night wondering if you’re gonna snap again. I don’t want it if I have to wonder how far you’d go to keep me. If I’m just one more thing you’re scared of losing, not a person. Not a choice.”

Niragi’s fists trembled against his knees. He looked down. His mouth opened once, closed again.

“Because I’m not yours.” you said, quieter now. “And if you can’t look at me and understand that—I mean really understand that—then this thing between us is already dead.”

He could taste the iron in his mouth, feel the edges of your sentences scraping bone.

And fuck, you were right.

He knew you were right.

But it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter.

Because he couldn’t love you the right way.

He didn’t know how.

All he knew how to do was break and bite and ruin. That’s what he was made for. That’s what people like him were good at.

But still—he wanted you. God, he wanted you.

He wanted to scream. Tear the room apart. Grab you and beg, press his face to your stomach and cry like a fucking child. He wanted to dig his nails into your back and kiss your mouth until it bruised and give you everything he was, even if all he was now was dirt and blood and ash.

But he couldn’t.

So he sat.

Burning.

Sick.

Obsessed.

Obsessed in the way that made his ribs tighten every time you looked away. Obsessed like he’d bite the face off anyone who touched you. Obsessed like he’d carve open his own wrists just to show you the parts of him no one else was allowed to see.

You were his religion.

His hallucination.

His fucking fever dream.

And hearing you say “I don’t want it” felt like choking on glass and swallowing every shard just to keep your voice inside him.

And yet he deserved it. That was the most disgusting part of it all. He knew he deserved it. But it still made him want to burn the whole world down. Just so you wouldn’t leave.

You were right in front of him now, standing between his knees. He didn’t lift his head at first. He just stared at your legs. At your bare feet. The towel you’d dropped earlier was forgotten on the floor somewhere, and he could see the soft line of your stomach rising and falling.

Then he looked up.

And those eyes—god, those eyes.

Dark. Shiny. Something haunted hiding in the corners, but still beautiful enough to make your breath catch. They were violent eyes, terrifying eyes, but somehow they still made you want to crawl into his lap and let him fuck you dumb until the world didn’t exist.

And for a moment—for just a heartbeat—you wanted to lean down.

You wanted to kiss him.

To forget everything. To throw all the warnings out and fall.

But you didn’t.

You clenched your jaw instead. You crossed your arms tight around your chest, your fingers biting into your sides. Your feet refused to move. You stayed planted. Because you knew.

You knew who he was.

You knew what he did.

You knew what he’d do again.

He wasn’t a good person.

He wasn’t safe.

You’d seen blood on his hands, not once, but always. You’d heard the screams in the night. You knew the rumors. You knew.

And still—there was something inside you that hurt at the sight of him now.

Not because he looked sad. Not because he was broken.

But because you wanted him anyway.

“I’m not a toy.” you said, voice lower. “You don’t get to pick me up and break me and pick me up again. You don’t get to look at me like that and say nothing. You don’t get to love me in this… sick way, Niragi. That’s not love.”

His tongue clicked against his teeth, and his fingers twitched like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the shape of it.

He stared up at you. So quiet. So still.

And you knew that quiet in him wasn’t peace. It was something worse.

“I see you.” you whispered, stepping in just half an inch closer. “You’re not fooling me.”

But Chishiya fooled you, Y/N.

And still, he said nothing. His knuckles were white. His shoulders locked in place.

He wanted to grab you.

He wanted to drag you into his chest and hold you so tight it bruised. He wanted to bite you again, leave something on your neck so everyone knew. He wanted to tear a hole in the floor and bury you in it, just to make sure no one else got near. He wanted to take a scalpel and carve his name into your ribs. He wanted to kneel at your feet and beg for something he couldn’t even name. He wanted to rip his own face off just to show you how ugly he was under all of it.

But instead… he just looked. Looked at you like a dying thing.

Because he was.

He was dying.

He didn’t have the words to fix this. Didn’t have the skills. Didn’t even have the right to ask. But fuck if his chest didn’t hurt. Like a nail was hammered through the center of it.

He wanted you.

Bad.

Ugly.

Starving.

Like an infection that spread, like a sickness that couldn’t be cured.

You swallowed. You knew what you were standing in front of.

Not a boy.

Not even a man.

A monster.

With a beautiful face. A broken body. And a soul full of teeth.

You knew.

And still, your chest ached.

You stepped away. A shift in your breath, a retreat in your chest, and the slow spin of your body as you turned from him, putting your back to his eyes, his shadow. You didn’t know what you were going to say next, but your heart was slamming against your ribs and your mouth moved anyway—

“I can’t keep doing this with you, Niragi. I can’t keep pretending like—”

And then his fingers wrapped around your wrist. Tight.

You didn’t move. You didn’t look back at him. Not yet.

He stood up. Stepped closer.

“I’ll change.” he said.

Simple.

Firm.

Bullshit.

You blinked hard. “Niragi—”

“I will.” he bit.

Your fingers twitched in his grip, and he didn’t let go. His touch wasn’t tender. It wasn’t soft. It was real. Raw. And still trembling with something violent.

“You think I don’t know what I did?” he asked. “You think I don’t know I fucking ruined you? I do. I know. I know exactly what I did and I’ve done worse and I’m not saying I’m a good man—”

“Because you’re not.” you snapped, turning your head just enough for your voice to hit him. “You’re not a good man, Niragi. You’re cruel. You’re violent. You made me—” You couldn’t finish the sentence. The words caught fire in your throat.

He stepped closer. Still holding your wrist. “Yeah. I did. I’m a bad man. I’ve always been a bad man. But you—” He paused. His jaw twitched. “You’re the first thing that’s ever made me think maybe I didn’t have to be.”

Was that true, Niragi?

You scoffed. It was almost a laugh. Bitter and broken and more sad than angry. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. You’re soft. And good. And you looked at me like I was more than some fuckin’ animal in a cage. Do you know what that does to someone like me?”

You turned your head fully now. Met his eyes.

And god, they looked so human when they shouldn’t have.

“You think that makes it okay?” you asked. “That you saw something beautiful and ripped it apart because you didn’t know how to hold it?”

His face cracked then. Just a flicker. The ugly truth bubbling under that beautiful bone structure.

“You think I wanted to fuck it up?” he hissed. “You think I wanted to lose you? I don’t even know how to want things without ruining them. I’m not like the doctor. I don’t know how to lie pretty and hold your hand and pretend I’m not fucked in the head. I only know how to take.”

“You took everything.” you whispered.

He dropped your wrist. Just like that. It fell back to your side like the weight of it hurt him.

“I’m gonna get you back anyway.”

“That’s not how this works.”

He tilted his head. That grin tugging at his mouth wasn’t happy. “Isn’t it?”

You hated that he still got to you. That even now, you could feel your heart trying to beat for him. Still.

“I’ll change.” he said again. Slower this time.

“You can’t just say that and expect me to believe it.”

“I don’t expect you to believe it.” He stepped forward again. “I expect you to see it.”

Another beat.

“I’m gonna show you.”

His voice dropped.

“One way or another.”

You didn’t know what he meant. And you didn’t ask. Because even now, your heart stuttered. Even now, his voice—rough, ruined, real—felt like something you didn’t want to admit you missed.

You were tired. Not just the kind that crawled behind your eyes, but the kind that lived in your chest. The kind of tired that felt bone-deep. The kind that made you vulnerable. And god, he knew it.

He always knew.

“Y/N.” Niragi said, softer now. Like he’d peeled off the skin of the monster and slipped into something more bearable.

“Don’t.” you warned. It was so quiet.

“I know I’m not the one you should be trusting.” he said. “I know I’ve done everything in my power to make sure you don’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.”

You didn’t answer.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? The trying.

He’d say anything. He would. You knew he would.

Because Niragi didn’t love with his heart—he loved with his teeth.

And still… Still.

“You remember that first time?” he said, and god, you knew it was a trap. A perfect trap. “The first time you looked at me? When I woke up?” He scoffed a little, smile crooked. “You looked at me like you saw me. Like I could be something else.”

“I was stupid then.” you muttered. But it was weak. Not real.

“No.” he said, shaking his head. “You weren’t. You were hopeful. That’s what I liked about you. You had this… light. And I didn’t even want to kill it.”

Your breath hitched.

God.

What a line.

“Niragi…”

“You don’t have to say anything.” he interrupted, taking one more step, close enough now that you could feel the heat coming off of him. “I just wanted to talk. I miss your voice. That’s all.”

“You miss my voice?” you asked, skeptically.

He tilted his head. “I miss a lot of things. But your voice—yeah. That one hurts the most.”

That shut you up.

Because god, how could he do that? Say the exact thing you needed to hear. With the exact tone.

And it worked.

It always worked.

You exhaled. Shoulders heavy. Face tipping back toward him like gravity just liked him more than you.

“I’m mad at you.” you whispered. It was your last shield.

“I know.” he said. His voice didn’t waver. “You should be.”

Then he stepped closer again—barely inches between you—and reached out slowly, like he was testing the water before jumping in. His hand brushed your elbow. Barely.

“And I know I shouldn’t want this,” he murmured. “but you look at me like that and I forget what I did.”

That was it. The collapse. The warmth in his voice. The hollowed-out guilt that still felt like an apology. That addicting contrast—rage and ruin and affection all in one beautiful, cruel boy.

So when he touched your cheek next, when his thumb grazed just under your eye and you didn’t pull away—

You knew.

You folded.

Oh, Y/N.

You broke your own rules for him. Again.

Because even if it was manipulation—even if every word was laced with intention, and control, and strategy—even if his mouth was a lie and his eyes were a trap—he still made you feel wanted. And that had always been your weakness.

You leaned into his touch. Just a little. And he smiled like he won something. Because he had.

You.

Again.

“I’m sorry.” Niragi said. It came out too fast. Too clean. Like he had it on hand, rehearsed in the mirror for the hundredth time since you left him standing in his own rot.

You blinked. “Sorry for what, exactly?”

His eyes flicked up. Calculating.

Which crime?

Which thing was safe to admit? Which version of himself was palatable enough for your forgiveness?

He smiled like it hurt. Like he knew the answer.

“All of it.”

Oh, how convenient.

So clean. So non-specific. So Niragi.

“That narrows it down.” you said flatly, voice heavy with sarcasm.

But still, you didn’t pull away. Because even if his mouth was full of lies, his hands were warm. And your skin was lonely.

He stepped closer, like you hadn’t just poked a hole in his performance. Like if he closed the distance, the cracks in the scene would blur.

“I fucked up.” he said. “Okay? I lost you. And I hated it. I hated the quiet, I hated not knowing what room you were in, hated wondering if you were laughing with someone else. I missed your voice. Your eyes. The way you get all fidgety when you’re nervous.” he went on, and god, he had the details down. “I missed the sound of you walking down the hall. Missed your shampoo on my shirts.”

Your lips parted like you wanted to interrupt. But nothing came out.

“And I know.” he said, brushing your cheek again, thumb warm. “I know I don’t deserve you. I know I’m too far gone and too fucked up and too everything you don’t need.”

Another beat.

“But I want you anyway.”

Of course he did.

You were soft. Beautiful. You loved too much. You were a prize to a boy who never won anything real in his life.

And this? This was the chase.

And Niragi never lost the chase.

So yes, he was saying everything right.

Every “sorry.” Every “I miss you.” Every beautifully polished half-truth stitched together into something that almost looked like sincerity.

But beneath it? It was rot.

He didn’t want redemption. He didn’t want healing. He wanted you. Back under his thumb. Back in reach. Back where he could taste that sweet little gasp you made when he brushed too close. Where he could feel wanted.

Niragi didn’t apologize because he meant it. He apologized because it was a tool. Because manipulation in his mouth sounded like affection in someone else’s. And he knew your heart was soft enough to believe it.

“I would do anything.” he said. “Anything, just to have you back. Say it. Say what you want me to be and I’ll be it.”

You looked at him long and hard. Felt that ugly tug in your chest. That need. And you almost folded again.

God, Y/N.

You were right there.

But you looked at his mouth. You remembered the lies that spilled out of it like silk. So you lifted an eyebrow and said, “You’d be anything, huh?”

He nodded, that spark of confidence flaring behind his eyes again.

“Well,” you said dryly. “how about honest?”

That made him pause.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for the mask to slip, just slightly.

He forced a smile. “I’m trying.”

Sure you are.

But the damage was already done. He saw the way your lip quivered. He saw the way your arms didn’t cross, the way you didn’t move away, the way you let him stay close.

That was enough for him.

Because Niragi never needed truth. He just needed access. And god, you were giving it to him.

He had studied you. Watched every soft edge you tried to hide. Memorized the cadence of your voice when you were scared, angry, heartbroken. Knew what made you tick and what made you crumble.

So—he knew how to do this.

Knew exactly when to soften his tone, when to look away like he was ashamed (he wasn’t), when to touch you like you were something he couldn’t believe was real.

He’d walked into this room with nothing but a sick desperation and a plan.

And now here you were.

So close.

And folding.

Just like he knew you would.

Because Niragi was a fucking predator, and you were warmth and vulnerability. You wanted to stand tall. But you wanted him to be better just a little bit more.

So he fed that.

Fed your hope.

“You’re the only thing I ever gave a shit about.” he whispered, voice calm. “You know that, right?”

And your heart twitched. Because you did want to believe that. You wanted to believe this broken boy was broken just enough to change.

But god—he was good.

Too good.

Smart enough to know just how much remorse to fake, how much vulnerability to weaponize, how much truth to bury beneath something pretty.

“I don’t sleep.” he said. “Not really. Not since you left. My head’s loud, you know? It’s always loud. But when you were next to me… fuck—at least I felt something good.”

You turned your head, just slightly. Your lip trembled. That was all he needed.

“You make me better. You always did. You make me feel like someone real.”

God.

That one almost made you cry.

Because you wanted to feel like you mattered. Like your love did something.

“You’re the smartest person I know.” you whispered, eyes fluttering. “That’s the problem. You know what to say.”

He grinned. Just a flicker of it. Like a wolf spotting a limp.

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean.”

And that—that was the worst part. Because it sounded true. He said it soft. Measured. Like someone who just couldn’t lie to you even if he tried.

You turned your face again. “You don’t mean any of this. You just want control.”

“No.” he said. “I want you.” Then softer, closer: “I need you.”

And maybe it was pathetic. Maybe it was twisted. Maybe it was all a game to him.

But his voice cracked just right. And his hands were so warm.

You stood there, trying to hold on to your strength. To the truths Kuina told you. To the way your heart ached for something real. But Niragi knew your balance. He knew exactly how long to stay quiet, exactly when to inch closer. And god—he knew how to watch you fall.

Manipulation, for Niragi, was art.

And baby, he just got his masterpiece back.

“You’re the only thing that ever felt good here.” he said, voice low, dripping with the kind of sweetness that felt like honey—warm, golden… and so sticky you might not ever get it off. “You know that, right?”

Oh wow. A monster with feelings. Give him a medal.

But his eyes? Soft, lips parted like every word cost him blood. He looked at you like he might die if you pulled away again.

And you wanted to believe it.

Because wasn’t that what you always wanted? To be the exception. The one that made the villain feel like a person again.

“You’re it.” he whispered. “You’ve always been it for me. Even when I didn’t know how to say it right. Even when I messed everything up.”

A beat passed. Then another.

You knew what was coming next before he even said it.

And still, your breath caught when he did.

“…Can I kiss you?”

Four little words.

Simple. Bare.

Deadly.

Fuck off, you knew better. But the ache in your chest was already moving forward, taking your body with it.

And when his hand slid around your jaw, tilting your head toward him, your eyes fluttered shut like he’d flipped a switch in you.

And when his lips touched yours—it wasn’t gentle.

No, it was desperate.

It was a kiss that said I’m sorry and I need you and don’t go all at once.

His mouth crushed against yours with the kind of hunger that had been starving for days. And it made sense—he was. For this. For you.

For control.

Your fingers clutched his shirt without meaning to, needing something to hold onto, something to brace against the pull of it all. His hand slid to the small of your back, dragging you closer.

You were kissing him like you missed him. Like you hated him. Like he ruined you and you still wanted him anyway.

Because maybe he did.

And maybe you did.

~

You woke up alone.

Again.

Which would be fine if you hadn’t gone to sleep thinking—idiotically, embarrassingly—that he might still be here in the morning. That maybe this time, after he kissed you like a man begging for oxygen, after he whispered he’d change, that he’d do better, that he’d be better—he might actually stay.

But no. Of course not.

You blinked up at the ceiling of your room. Big bed. Silky sheets. What a joke. Hatter’s idea of spoiling you. Keep the princess comfy so she doesn’t notice the blood in the water. And you played along, didn’t you? Sleeping on cloud-soft pillows while pretending last night didn’t happen the way it did.

God. You were such a fucking idiot.

Niragi was all heat in the moment—hands, mouth, voice—but give him time and it was all ashes. He kissed you like he meant it. Whispered like he wanted to be someone else. Someone better.

But he wasn’t.

You knew that. You knew it. But for those three seconds—those cursed, beautiful, venomous seconds—you let yourself believe him.

Stupid. So fucking stupid.

You sat up, hair a mess, heart worse. The mirror across the room caught your reflection and you wanted to smash it. Not because you looked bad—no, you looked like a dream. Soft skin, big eyes, that little helpless pout Niragi always loved. You looked like a girl worth destroying things for. That was the problem.

They all saw it. Saw you and mistook softness for salvation.

And what did you do? You let them.

You rubbed at your eyes like it might scrub off the night before. It didn’t. You could still feel his hands on your waist, still hear the quiet desperation in his voice, the way it cracked when he said your name like a prayer. And fuck you, but part of you missed him already.

The bastard.

He hurt people for you. Akira didn’t deserve what Niragi and Chishiya did to him. And what did you do? You stopped talking to them for a whole week. Wow. Real spine there.

But last night? Last night Niragi looked like he might shatter without you. Looked like he’d fall to his knees and beg if you so much as breathed the right way. And that’s what always got you. Not the violence. Not the threats. Not the fire.

It was the fear in his eyes.

The way he looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling off the edge.

And you liked that. You hated it, but you liked it. It made you feel real. Important. Like maybe all the blood on your hands meant something if it kept someone from drowning.

So you let him kiss you. You let him lie.

And now you were alone. Again.

He said he’d change.

Yeah. And maybe Chishiya would grow a conscience.

Speaking of, he would probably show up soon. Chishiya always had a sixth sense for when Niragi fucked up. Like a predator smelling blood. Let you pretend he wasn’t lying through his teeth.

You knew the truth, but you still wanted what he gave you. The warmth. The softness. The illusion.

You could forgive almost anything, couldn’t you?

Hell, maybe you deserved what was happening to you.

Because somewhere deep down, you didn’t want to let go of either of them. Not really. Not Niragi, with his burn-the-world love. Not Chishiya, with his beautifully constructed lies.

They needed you.

And god help you, you needed them too.

Just not like this.

You exhaled, slow and shaky, and stared out the window. Sunlight filtered in. Maybe you’d get up. Maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe today you’d pretend to believe someone again. Maybe you’d keep breaking your own heart just to feel something.

~

Niragi lit the cigarette with shaking hands.

Didn’t mean to. Didn’t think he’d shake at all, honestly, but there it was—the faint tremble, the twitch of his fingers as the lighter sparked, flame catching like it fucking knew he needed the hit.

His balcony was quiet. Too quiet. Early morning mist still clung to the edges of the Beach.

He dragged hard on the cigarette and exhaled.

His knuckles were still bruised.

He didn’t even think about it. Not really. One second he saw the way Akira looked at you and the next there was blood on his hands.

He felt it.

Jealousy. Rage. Panic.

Because what if you looked back?

What if you smiled at that little bug?

What if you chose someone soft?

And what did that make Niragi?

Fucked.

That’s what.

He took another drag, this one deeper. Not that he was sorry. Not really. But you didn’t look at Niragi the same after that. Your eyes had been cold. Not angry. Not even afraid. Just disappointed.

He could handle anything else. You could scream at him. Spit in his face. Slap him, even. He wanted that. Needed the heat of it. But that look?

He almost fucking begged.

Instead, he kissed you.

Because that was what he could do. That was what he had. Hands, lips, heat—he could kiss you until you forgot why you were mad. He could whisper that he’d change. That he wanted to change. That he’d do anything, anything for you. That if you just gave him one more second of closeness, he could be good.

Whatever the fuck “good” even meant.

But the truth? The truth was last night wasn’t about change. It was about getting you back.

And not even all of you. Just a piece. Just enough to touch. To taste. To feel like he existed somewhere outside the chaos in his own skull. You were the only thing that ever made him feel real. And that was the sick part. Because it wasn’t even about you being perfect. Or kind. Or soft. You were, all of that, but it wasn’t the reason he crawled back to you over and over.

It was because you were the only one. There was nobody like you. There would never be.

He leaned his elbows on the railing and stared down at the Beach below. Some drunk bastard was yelling. Two people fucking behind a curtain. A girl crying on the stairs. This place was a circus, and somehow, he still managed to be the worst of the bunch.

But not to you.

He never wanted to be that to you.

He didn’t know how to fix it. Didn’t even know if he wanted to fix it. He was rot, inside and out, and every time he tried to put himself back together it just looked like a more charming kind of monster.

But he couldn’t let you go.

He wouldn’t.

Even if he didn’t deserve you. Even if the only thing he was good at was ruining everything he touched. He’d always come back. Always kiss your skin like an apology. Always beg with his body because he didn’t have the words.

Fucking pathetic.

A desperate, broken thing standing on a balcony too high off the ground, thinking too much about what he’d do if you left for good.

He’d burn the place down, probably.

Or just himself.

He finished the cigarette and flicked the butt off the edge, watching it fall like a dead star. Smoke clung to his shirt. His skin. His soul.

But he didn’t hate you. That was the one clean thing he had left. The one thing that didn’t rot when he touched it.

You. You, with your fucking sad eyes and sweet voice and stupid, stupid heart.

He didn’t know if he could change.

But he knew this: you kissed him last night.

And for a second, he wasn’t in hell.

He lit another cigarette.

Now that you were back, getting clean from smoking suddenly wasn’t that important, was it?

Didn’t even wait a minute. Just sparked the next one like he was trying to choke himself out with the smoke. Like maybe if he inhaled fast enough, he wouldn’t have to feel anything else.

Didn’t work. Never fucking did.

Because underneath the nicotine and adrenaline, underneath the black clothes and last night—you were still there. In his head. Under his skin. Sweet and soft and carved into the inside of his fucking skull.

He couldn’t get rid of you.

And god, he didn’t want to.

Because the truth—the kind of truth he’d never admit, not to you, not to anyone—was this:

He worshipped you.

Not loved. Not wanted. Not desired. Those were too clean, too normal. He worshipped you like a sinner worships a god they know will never love them back. Like something holy he could never touch without dirtying.

And still he touched you. Still he kissed you like his mouth was the only part of him that could tell the truth.

Change was a word he used to get your hands on him again. A performance. A script he repeated every time you pulled away. But what he meant—what lived under the bullshit, under the manipulation, the theatrics, the violence—was simpler:

Don’t leave me.

That was all it ever was.

He’d kill for you. Burn the Beach down for you. Ruin himself for you. And the worst part? You never even asked for that. You never wanted him to fall in love like that. You just existed—warm, kind, too good for this hell—and he fell apart around you.

It was disgusting.

He was disgusting.

There were nights he’d sit alone and think about the way you looked at Chishiya. The quiet, hesitant softness in your eyes. The way you wanted to trust him. Niragi wanted to cut that look off your face. He wanted to rip the elegance out of Chishiya’s mouth, wanted to grind his pretty lies into dust and scream He doesn’t fucking see you like I do.

Because he didn’t.

No one did.

Not like Niragi.

Niragi? He saw everything. The dark parts. The pain. The parts of you that screamed at night and stitched yourself back together by morning. He saw you.

And he fucking loved you for it.

He loved every inch of your broken, bleeding, impossibly soft heart. And not the way people were supposed to love. Not in a way you could take out into the daylight. It was uglier than that. More desperate. Like you were oxygen and he was already halfway drowned.

Because without you? There was nothing. Not the Beach. Not the games. Not the drugs or the sex or the fire or the power. Without you, he was just a monster with a gun and no reason to stop pulling the trigger.

You gave him a reason.

And maybe that was crueler than anything he’d ever done.

Because you cared. Even when you shouldn’t. Even when he hurt people. Even when he hurt you. You still saw the broken little boy underneath the sadist. You still believed, in that dumb, brave little heart of yours, that he could be saved.

He pressed his forehead to the railing, cigarette dangling from his mouth, and exhaled.

He needed you more than he needed to breathe. That your smile—just the ghost of it—was the only thing that kept him from putting a bullet in his own head. That when you touched him, even just your fingers brushing his arm, he felt alive.

And he didn’t deserve that.

He didn’t deserve you.

But he’d take you anyway.

Rip you out of heaven and keep you in his hands even if he crushed you by accident. Because that’s what he did. He ruined things. And he’d ruin you too. And maybe you already knew that. Maybe that’s why you pulled away, why your eyes looked so fucking sad lately. Maybe you were starting to see the truth:

He wasn’t going to change.

He wasn’t capable of it.

But he’d lie. He’d lie until his throat bled. He’d beg on his knees. He’d crawl through glass. He’d do anything to get you to stay.

Because in the end, Niragi was nothing but a desperate fucker on a balcony with a half-burned cigarette and a mouth full of ash, praying to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d come back.

And if you didn’t?

He’d burn.

And take the whole Beach with him.

~

Three soft taps on Chishiya’s door.

Polite. Almost shy.

Like you hadn’t stood in front of that door for five straight minutes trying to decide if this was the right thing to do. As if that mattered anymore. As if anything made sense now.

Your knuckles lingered against the wood, just for a second. Just long enough to feel the pulse in your fingers, the nerves jangling beneath your skin like a warning.

You should’ve turned around. You should’ve gone to Kuina’s room. Or Hatter’s. Or anywhere that wasn’t here.

But of course, you didn’t.

Because you were the kind of girl who wanted to fix things. Even when they were built to be broken. Even when the person behind the door had blood on his hands and sugar in his voice.

Chishiya opened it like he was expecting you.

He always did.

“Hi.” you said softly.

A heartbeat of silence passed. He tilted his head, like he was trying to decide what version of himself to be for you tonight. His eyes flicked over your face, your mouth, your hands. Not because he didn’t know you. But because he knew exactly how to make you feel seen.

He stepped aside. “Come in.”

Like it was nothing. Like you hadn’t kissed him yesterday with shaking hands and watery eyes and a heart caught between betrayal and yearning.

You stepped inside.

The door clicked shut behind you. Trapped. Not physically—but you felt it all the same.

You turned to him, tried to smile. “I just… I wanted to talk. Again. About Akira.”

He didn’t sigh. Didn’t roll his eyes. Just looked at you. Patient. Open. The perfect performance of concern.

“Still bothering you?” he asked, voice smooth, low.

You nodded. “I keep thinking about what happened to him. What you did.”

Chishiya’s face didn’t change. Not even a twitch.

“He wasn’t innocent.” Chishiya said simply.

That again.

You wrapped your arms around yourself. “You said he did bad things.”

He nodded. Calm. Controlled. “He did.”

You hesitated. “But what things?”

A pause.

This was the part where he should’ve told the truth.

He didn’t.

“He wasn’t who you thought he was. He was working against Hatter. Trading information. Selling people out to other groups. I didn’t want to tell you yesterday because I knew it would hurt you.”

Liar.

It came so easily. So clean. And god, you wanted to believe it. Wanted it so bad your heart ached from how tightly you clung to the thread of it.

“That’s not what Kuina said.”

Chishiya blinked. Just once. “Kuina doesn’t know everything.”

You looked down at the floor. It was too much. The space between you. The way he could lie without blinking, without sweating, without caring. And still, your heart pulled toward him. Because yesterday, after you confronted him, after your voice cracked and your hands trembled—

Kissiiiiiing.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It had been dark, needy, electric in the worst way.

But it felt like something real.

And now here you were. Still hoping for the real thing.

“I don’t want people getting hurt because of me.” you whispered.

“You didn’t do anything.” he said.

“But—”

“You’re not responsible for how people feel about you. Or what they do because of it.” His voice softened. “You can’t control that.”

You swallowed hard. “I just… I want it to stop. The lying. The killing. I can’t—”

And then his hand brushed your cheek. Gentle.

What he said wasn’t true.

You knew that.

And yet, you leaned into his touch.

Because sometimes a lie that feels good is better than a truth that kills you.

And Chishiya knew that. Of course he did.

He wasn’t going to stop lying.

Not ever.

Because if he told the truth—really told it—you’d leave.

And Chishiya Shuntaro didn’t lose things he wanted.

No matter the cost.

He didn’t say anything sweet. Never did. Not his style. You wouldn’t get baby or darling or I’m sorry, please don’t go out of him. Chishiya didn’t do apologies. He did soft, calculated lies with just enough emotional weight to make them stick in your chest.

“I don’t know what you want from me.” you said, too quietly.

“I want you to be okay.”

Simple. Clean. Not too much. Not too little. Exactly what you needed to hear.

You searched his face for something real. Some crack in the armor. But there was nothing. Just that soft, sleepy-eyed gaze that made you feel like the only person in the world.

“You don’t even care.” you whispered. “Do you?”

He tilted his head, watching you. “Of course I care.”

“But you let Niragi—”

“You blame me for what Niragi does?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you said.

He nodded, like he understood. Like he forgave you. “You’re upset. That’s fair.”

You hated how calm he was. Hated how right he sounded even when you knew—deep down—you were being lied to. Hand-fed comfort from a man who had killed someone you cared about. A boy who didn’t deserve to die. And yet, here you were.

Chishiya stepped back. The warmth of his hand gone instantly. Like he was never even touching you at all.

“You came here to make things right.” he said. “But what does that look like to you?”

You blinked. “I don’t know. Honesty, maybe.”

“Honesty.” he repeated. And then, softly—cruelly: “People lie all the time. You do too.”

You stared at him. “I’ve never lied to you.”

Every micro-expression. Every breath you tried to hold in. He saw you like no one else did—and he didn’t even need to say he missed you. He didn’t need to get on his knees and beg.

He just stood there. Quiet and cruel and undeniably yours.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, small and shaky. “This isn’t normal.”

“No.” he said. “But nothing here is.”

“People die here.”

“I’m aware.”

“You killed someone.”

“I kept you safe.”

You flinched. “From what? From a boy who liked me?”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. Didn’t apologize. Because Chishiya didn’t regret it. Not for a fucking second. He regretted that you saw it. He regretted that it made you look at him different. That it made your voice shake when you spoke to him now.

But Akira? Dead weight. A threat to the calm, stable grip he had on you.

Because whether you knew it or not, Chishiya had never wanted anyone before. Not like this.

He didn’t even know he was capable of it.

He’d used people, played them, watched them like ants. He saw their moves before they made them. Saw right through them. And for most of his life, he’d been fine with that. Detached. Floating.

Until you. You—with your stupid, soft eyes and your stubborn morals and your ridiculous, impossible kindness—you cracked something in him. And he hated it. He hated the flutter in his chest when you knocked on his door. Hated the way his hands got warm when you touched him. Hated the ache that bloomed behind his ribs when you walked away.

He hated it.

But he couldn’t stop.

So no, he wasn’t sweet. He wasn’t desperate.

He just knew how to make you stay.

“You don’t have to believe me.” he said. “You don’t even have to trust me.”

You looked up at him. Searching. Always searching.

“I just want to know if you’re mine.” he said.

You froze.

The silence hung between you like a noose.

And he watched you. Calm. Patient. Waiting for the answer he already knew. Because despite everything—despite the lies and the blood and the cold, calculated cruelty—your body was leaning toward him. Your heart was still on the fucking table.

Your voice came out fragile, too small: “…I don’t want to be anyone’s.”

Chishiya nodded once. “Fair.”

Then he stepped forward again, slow and sure, until your back were almost touching the wall.

“But if you were.” he murmured, “you’d be mine.”

You didn’t stop him when he kissed you.

Because the scariest part wasn’t the manipulation. Wasn’t the lies. Wasn’t the coldness behind his touch.

It was how good it felt to be wanted by someone who never wanted anything.

He didn’t rush. He pressed his mouth to yours with the kind of stillness that made your pulse spike, the kind of confidence that said: You came to me. You always come to me.

And fuck, he was right.

You kissed him back.

Even though you shouldn’t. Even though there were bodies behind him—real people, with names and histories, people who were dead now—and you still kissed him like he was something holy.

Because it felt good.

It felt so fucking good to be wanted like this. Not as a weakness, not as a plaything. But like he saw something in you no one else did. Like you were some rare, tragic little miracle in this shithole world, and he was the only one smart enough to hold on tight.

His hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your head just slightly, just so he could kiss you deeper. He still didn’t touch you like a lover. He touched you like he was studying the architecture of your heartbreak. Like he wanted to memorize the exact angle of your suffering.

Your breath caught.

Because beneath all that coldness—beneath the silence and the lies—was something. Something real. You felt it. In the way his mouth lingered against yours like he didn’t want to pull away. In the way his thumb traced the soft skin beneath your eye, where you’d cried hours ago. In the way he leaned in closer, lips parting slightly, your teeth almost grazing.

You were so soft with him. So stupidly, recklessly soft.

And he loved it.

He didn’t show it. Didn’t say a fucking word. But he did something else.

He kissed lower.

You gasped—barely—but he heard it. You felt his mouth drag down, just slightly, from the corner of your lips to the line of your jaw, then down to the place where your pulse thudded, frantic and hot, just beneath your skin.

Chishiya kissed your neck. Slow. Unapologetic.

And then he bit.

Not hard. Not cruel. Just enough to make you feel it. To leave a mark. His lips closed around your skin and sucked, slow and deep, and you could already feel the bruise blooming beneath the surface.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. You didn’t push him away.

(AN: guys idk if he wears a jacket or a hoodie, if I write one of them just know I think of that white fuck he wears okay?)

You tilted your head and let him.

And god, it felt—it felt like punishment and prayer and pleasure all at once. Like maybe if he hurt you gently enough, it would balance the rest out. Like maybe this was how he said I feel it too without saying a fucking word.

Because he did.

He felt it.

Chishiya had never had a crush before. Not this bone-deep ache that made him want to destroy anyone who touched you. Not this gut-twisting hunger to be the one you ran to when the world went to shit. Not this—

Longing.

That was the word for it.

He wanted you in ways he didn’t understand. Didn’t like. It wasn’t just physical. He wanted to belong to you. Wanted you to look at him like he mattered. Like he wasn’t just some cold bastard with too many deaths on his hands.

He wanted you to choose him. Even if you shouldn’t.

And so, he marked you. Right there on the curve of your throat, where everyone could see it.

Where Niragi would see it.

Where Kuina would.

Where the Beach would.

He pulled back finally, lips pink, eyes dark, watching the slow realization settle in your eyes. You touched the bruise with trembling fingers.

You looked so sad.

God, your sad fucking eyes.

That crushed little look like you knew what you were doing. Like you knew you should walk out right now and never come back. Like your heart was breaking for him—and for yourself too.

“You didn’t have to do that.” you said, softly.

Chishiya just looked at you. Didn’t say sorry. Didn’t explain. But his hand brushed your wrist as you touched the mark, his fingers ghosting over your skin.

“You wanted to feel wanted.” he said finally, voice low. “Now you do.”

And fuck you—he was right.

You did.

Even if it was wrong. Even if it hurt. Even if it meant dragging yourself through this hell with a liar’s mouth on your skin and a bruise blooming just below your collarbone.

You didn’t walk away. You stayed. Because the truth was simple.

You liked him.

You felt too much. And so did he. Even if he’d never say it.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, heartbroken, lips parted like maybe—just maybe—something kind would come out of his mouth. Something sweet. Something real.

But Chishiya didn’t do sweet.

Oh, you could feel it—he was thrilled.

Not the kind of happiness you could see. No smiles. No bright eyes. Nothing soft. Just the sick, simmering satisfaction of a man who had just checkmated the entire board.

You gave him a problem—your suspicion, your heartbreak, trembling little “I want honesty”—and he’d solved it. Not by confessing. Not by apologizing. By fucking kissing you. By biting into your skin like it was his. He didn’t even need to ask, that was the worst part.

You should have slapped him. You should have turned around, ripped open the door, and told Kuina everything. You should have screamed at him and made him pay for what he did to Akira. What he did to you.

But instead? You leaned in. Your hands curled into the front of his hoodie, gripping the soft fabric.

You kissed him.

Not out of lust. Not even entirely out of longing.

You wanted him to need you.

You wanted him to burn for you.

And he did.

The second your lips met his again, he made a sound so small, so low, it barely registered—but it was there. Like the tightest breath of relief, pulled from somewhere deep inside. Like the itch in his bones finally eased.

You kissed him soft this time. Your lips slow. Searching. Almost sad. And he let you. He didn’t rush it. He didn’t deepen it. He just stood there, letting you pour every drop of doubt, grief, love, into the shape of your mouth against his.

And behind that silence? He was gloating. Not in a loud, arrogant way. No, Chishiya’s satisfaction was quiet. Hidden under layers of calm, behind that stare. But it was there. Thick in the air.

Because he had you.

Again.

Still.

And god, the control of it. The elegance of it. This wasn’t Niragi’s kind of victory—bloody and loud and furious. No. Chishiya’s wins were clean, undetectable, undeniable.

He didn’t need to beg for you. Didn’t need to cry or yell or break. He just needed to exist. And you came back. You always did.

Your lips were pink when you pulled away. Your cheeks flushed. And the hickey—god, the hickey—was darkening already.

You looked wrecked.

And he looked so fucking pleased.

Not with you. With himself. Because this was all going according to plan. You, soft and trembling. Him, untouched. Collected.

But under that—under the surface, in the quietest, darkest place inside him—he was obsessed. With your voice. With your fucking mouth. With your loyalty, fragile and stupid as it was. With the fact that he was the one you came to. Not Niragi. Not Hatter. Him.

The only person in this whole godforsaken hellscape who’d never said “I love you.”

And still had you by the throat. Without lifting a finger.

You stepped back. Not much. Just enough to give yourself space to breathe. Space to think. But even that felt like a betrayal. Your hands dropped from his hoodie. And god, they missed it already.

“I should go.” you whispered. Your voice barely made it out. It was cracked. Small. Still soft. You always were. “I just… I needed to know.” you said, looking down. “If you still felt it. Or if I was just—if I imagined all of it.”

You didn’t cry.

But it felt like you should’ve.

Because you still loved him.

You shouldn’t. You knew better now. You saw what he was—how he lied like it was breathing, how he played you like it was nothing, how he twisted every truth into a weapon he could aim back at your chest. You knew.

But love doesn’t give a fuck about knowing.

You loved him anyway. Because he kissed you like he knew you. Because he looked at you like you were something worth keeping alive. Because he didn’t scream, didn’t panic, didn’t beg—he stayed. Always stayed. Right where you could find him.

Even if he’d ruined everything.

Even if he’d lied about Akira.

“I just want things to be okay again.” you said.

And maybe that was your fatal flaw. Always wanting okay. Always trying to patch holes in a ship that was already sunk. Always loving people who didn’t know how to love you back.

But you were still here. Still standing in front of him like your heart hadn’t been shot out of your chest.

“Things will be okay.” he said quietly.

A simple lie. Soft. Easy. Perfectly cut to fit your shape.

And fuck, you wanted to believe it.

Your hand twitched at your side. Like you were about to reach for him again. Like you couldn’t help it. But instead, you turned. And you walked toward the door. You didn’t slam it. Didn’t cry. Just left with love still clinging to your bones, like a ghost that wouldn’t go.

Chishiya watched you leave. Didn’t stop you, didn’t move. But behind that stillness, he was burning. Quietly. Beautifully. The kind of slow, obsessive, controlled fire that ate through everything in its path.

Okay, total lie. He controlled none of this. Control the situation? Sure. Control himself, his feelings? Eeeeh…

~

Your door was cracked open.

Not wide. Just enough to unsettle you.

You’d closed it when you left. You were sure.

Your heart, already fragile from Chishiya’s fingerprints, gave a quiet stutter as you pushed it open. The air in your room had changed—warmer, thicker. It smelled like smoke and cologne.

Sitting on the edge of your bed. Legs spread, elbows on his knees, a cigarette dying between two fingers, smoke curling lazy and thick into the ceiling.

Niragi.

“Hi, sweetheart.” he said, voice low. Smooth. Too calm. “Miss me?”

You weren’t ready for this. Not now. Not right after Chishiya’s mouth had been on yours, not with your brain still swimming and your heart beating itself raw against your ribs.

But you were soft. So fucking soft. So you didn’t scream, or shove him, or tell him to get the fuck out. You stepped inside, slow. Cautious. Confused.

“…What are you doing here, Niragi?”

“You were with him, right?” he said, and he didn’t say the name, didn’t have to.

He didn’t sound angry. Not yet. He sounded… curious. And that was worse. Because Niragi was smart. Too smart. Everyone underestimated him because he acted like a psycho and shot people for fun—but he knew. He watched. He read people like books, tore them apart.

You sat on the edge of the bed beside him, leaving a few inches between you. Small, shaky, but there.

“Niragi,” you said quietly. “I just wanted to talk to him. I wanted to fix things. You and I—we haven’t even—”

He laughed. A short, breathless thing.

“You always want to fix things.” he said, turning toward you. “You think this place is made for fixing?” And then, softer: “You think he loves you?”

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t know.

All you knew was that you kissed Chishiya like he was the last safe place on earth—and left feeling more lost than when you arrived.

But you looked at Niragi now. And for all his madness, all his obsession and violence and chaos—there was something real in his eyes. Something wild. Something desperate.

He was smart enough to play it cool, but underneath? He was burning. You could feel it. He was a powder keg in a pretty body. Explosive with need. Drenched in love he didn’t know how to carry.

“I’m not mad.” he said, tilting his head. “Okay? I’m not mad.”

Liar.

“But it’s driving me fucking crazy that he touched you. That you let him. That you’re confused.”

His hand reached out and rested against your knee.

“You don’t have to be confused, baby.”

Your breath hitched.

“You just have to choose me.”

You looked at him, at this boy made of teeth and fire and fragile need, and you felt everything and nothing all at once.

Confused. Warm. Sick. Wanted.

Loved.

God, he loved you.

Wrongly. Violently. Obsessively.

But completely.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” Your voice came out small. Honest.

“I do.” he said, without missing a beat. “I know what you need. I know what he is. I know what I am. And I know—I know—you still fucking love me.”

He was right.

Somehow.

Love wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to taste like blood and smoke and someone else’s mouth still on your lips. It wasn’t supposed to rip you in half.

But it did.

“What the fuck is that?” he asked, voice low.

You blinked, eyes wide. Then your fingers—hesitant, slow—came up to your collarbone. You brushed over the hickey.

“Is that from him?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. You looked away, that was enough.

He stood up so fast the mattress shook. Walked away like he couldn’t stand the sight of you for a second—but only made it three steps before he turned around.

“You let that cold, dead-eyed snake put his mouth on you?” he asked. Quiet. Too quiet.

Not screaming. Not yet.

But it was coming.

Still, you didn’t speak. Because what could you say? You didn’t want to lie. And he wouldn’t believe it anyway.

And yeah. You let him. You let Chishiya. Because you were weak, and lost, and wanted to be wanted. And Chishiya knew how to make you feel like the center of the universe without ever saying a word.

“You know what’s fucking crazy?” he said, looking right at you. “I could’ve killed that little freak the second he touched you. I wanted to. Still do.” He stepped closer. “But I didn’t. Because I thought maybe—maybe—I could show you something different. Not… sweet. I’m not fucking sweet. But I thought if I tried…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Because even saying that much tasted like weakness. And weakness was death in this place.

He stopped in front of you. Looked down at your soft, small frame, your hands still protectively curled around your own collarbone like you were trying to hide what had already been done.

And that’s when it hit him.

You weren’t trying to flaunt the hickey.

You weren’t trying to show off the kiss or the boy or the moment that had happened before him.

You were trying to shield it.

From him.

From his rage.

From what he might do.

And god help him— It hurt. It hurt in a way he didn’t have words for.

Because you looked scared. Not terrified. Not of your life. But scared of him. Scared that he’d lash out. Scared that this would snap something in him that could never be put back together. And not because you were afraid for you. But because you were afraid of what he’d do to someone else.

“You think I’m gonna lose my shit?” he said, voice dull now. Almost hollow. “You think I’m gonna put a bullet in his mouth just because he got there first?”

You swallowed. Didn’t meet his eyes.

He sat down beside you again. And for once, he didn’t say something cruel to cover the pain. Didn’t call you a slut. Didn’t throw Chishiya’s name like a knife.

He just looked at your face.

That sweet, tired, aching face.

He wanted to touch you.

Not to own you. Not to fuck you. Not even to mark you.

He just wanted to feel you.

Because you were the only thing in this godforsaken world that wasn’t poison to him. Even when you let other men kiss you.

You were his only clean thing. And he was too broken to say that. Too broken to be the boyfriend you deserved. Too full of guns and ghosts and smoke and rage.

But he felt it. God, he felt it. And he fucking hated how much.

“You look tired, baby.” Soft. Too soft for a man like him.

Your head turned, just a little. Surprised.

And he smiled. Not his usual cocky shit-eating grin. Not teeth and threat. Just a smile. Small. Like maybe—maybe—he meant it.

His smile was so beautiful.

“Yeah.” you said, voice thin. Honest. “I guess I am.”

He hummed. Stared straight ahead.

Like he hadn’t just committed psychological warfare yesterday. Like he hadn’t ripped a man’s thigh to shreds last week for getting too close to you. Like he was just a guy. Just a boy with tired eyes and too many bruises.

“You never rest.” he said. “Even when you’re alone. Even when you’re safe.”

You didn’t say anything.

Because how the fuck did he know that?

“You ever think about letting someone take care of you?” He looked at you with such pretty eyes. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself, angel.” he went on, voice low, slow, dangerous in its quiet. “You don’t have to fix everybody. Not me. Not Chishiya. Not this fucked-up place. You’re not a glue stick. You’re not a band-aid.”

“But I like helping.” you said, small. “I want to.”

Of course you did. You were you. Sweet. Soft. Delusional in the best, most heartbreaking way. And god, he loved it.

He leaned closer. His shoulder bumped yours.

“Then help me.” he said. “Stay with me. Let me be close. Let me feel you, baby.”

His hand came up, slow, delicate, and brushed your hair back from your face. Not with greed. Not with heat. Just with that hunger. The kind that hurt to hold in.

And Niragi—violent, obsessive Niragi—felt something awful bloom in his chest.

It was feeling.

Real, sick, aching feeling.

And he hated it. But he needed it. He needed you.

He looked at your face again. Your soft lashes. Your sad little mouth. Your hands.

And fuck, he fell harder. Like gravity just doubled in this room.

He was close enough to see the hickey again, the bruise from someone else’s mouth—and for the first time, it didn’t send rage through his spine.

It just made him want to make his own.

Quiet. Private. Just for you.

“I can be better.” he whispered, nose brushing yours. “For you, I can.”

You didn’t pull away. Didn’t believe him, either. But you wanted to. And he could see that wanting in your eyes.

You were so confused. So soft. So fucking sweet even now.

And he was drunk on it.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore.” Your voice was small. Raw.

Niragi didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just stared. At your mouth. At the tremble there.

He knows who you are. You’re his.

“I try so hard to stay good. I try to… to hold on to it. To the part of me that isn’t broken yet.”

Don’t hold on. Let it break. He’ll keep the pieces. He’ll lick the fucking pieces clean.

You looked down at your lap. Twisted your fingers. “I keep thinking if I help people, if I just love enough, everything will make sense.”

You don’t have to love everyone. Just love him. Just fucking love him.

You looked at him, and the pain in your eyes almost killed him. “But it doesn’t. It doesn’t make sense. People still die. People still lie. And I… I let things happen I shouldn’t.”

His jaw tensed. He wanted to ask. Wanted to scream what did he do to you, wanted to take Chishiya’s little smirk and beat it off his face.

But he didn’t. He stayed still. Because you were trusting him. Finally. Bleeding truth right into his hands. And he liked the blood.

“I let people use me.” you whispered. “I let them talk their way back into my heart. Even when I know better.”

He’s already in your heart. He built it. He planted himself in there like a weed. Good luck ripping him out, baby.

“And I miss things that hurt me.” You didn’t have to say it. You didn’t have to name him. Niragi already knew.

You miss him. You miss his fire. His teeth. His fucked-up way of loving you. You miss it. And he’ll give you more. He’ll burn for you. He’ll set himself on fire if it makes you stay.

“Do you ever wish you could be… different?”

He laughed once, short. Bitter.

Different? No. Better for you? Yes.

His voice came quiet. “Only when I look at you.”

You smiled. Tired. God, you were so tired. And so sweet. Even like this. Even torn in five directions and covered in everyone else’s fingerprints. You were still trying to love. Still trying to make sense of it all.

“I’m just tired of being everyone’s lifeline.” you said. “No one ever asks if I’m okay. They just need me. And I let them.”

He needs you. He needs you. But he’ll ask. He’ll check. He’ll watch. He’ll obsess. He’ll memorize your every blink until he knows what it means when you twitch in your sleep.

“You make me feel safe.” you said, almost shy.

That one hit him like a sledgehammer to the ribs. Because he knew it wasn’t true. But you believed it. Or maybe you just needed to say it. Needed it to be real. And that was worse.

You’re his. You trust him. You chose him. After everything, after that fucker Chishiya, you came back to him.

Your head dropped against his shoulder.

And Niragi just sat there. Still. Breathing hard. Staring at the wall.

His hand came up, hesitant, slow. And he wrapped it around your waist. Not like a boyfriend. Not like a lover. Like a man holding onto the edge of the world. Because you were the edge. And he was so close to falling off.

Don’t leave. Don’t ever fucking leave. He’ll be good. He’ll fake it. He’ll learn it. Just stay. Just be here. Just keep talking to him like he’s someone worth talking to.

You exhaled. Soft. Calm. “Thank you for listening.”

And he almost said it.

Almost.

I love you.

But it caught in his throat and turned to smoke.

So he just held you tighter.

And thought it louder.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

“You need anything?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Water? Food?”

You blinked at him. Slow, surprised.

Because since when did Niragi ask what you needed?

Not tell. Not demand. Not twist your arm.

Ask.

Soft.

Gentle, even.

“You don’t have to go.” you murmured. “I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” he said. “You don’t have to be strong with me all the time.”

God, say thank you. Cry in front of him. Let him clean up the mess he made and call it love. Let him be your fucking hero just for a second.

You smiled at him. Soft. Stupid. Hopeful. Like maybe you thought he meant it. Like maybe this was the turning point. And he liked that look. That sparkle in your eye that hadn’t fully died yet.

He’d die before he let anyone else put it out.

“I just want to take care of you.” he said, and meant none of it, and meant all of it.

He wants to chain you to his bed and feed you from his hand. He wants to peel the skin off anyone who makes you cry. He wants to wrap himself around your ribs and stay there, choking the air out of your lungs but calling it protection.

You laid your head against him again. And he rested his chin on your hair. Like he wasn’t rotting inside. Because oh, Niragi was sick. He was sick in ways language couldn’t hold. Sick in ways even he couldn’t understand. Twisted and blackened and barely human in the ways that counted.

He didn’t know how to love. He barely knew how to want without destruction riding shotgun.

This wasn’t affection.

This wasn’t devotion.

It was consumption. Worship in the most feral, unholy sense.

He wanted to carve his name into you. Dig it into your soul so no one else could ever touch you without bleeding for it. He wanted you on your knees, crying his name, begging him to be good.

And he wanted to fail at it.

Because deep down, he didn’t believe he could be good.

And he wanted you to stay anyway.

He wanted you to cry in his arms and still say, “It’s okay.” He wanted to ruin you just slow enough that you wouldn’t notice.

So when you whispered, “I’m glad I’m not alone.” he smiled. A sweet, tragic little smile. And didn’t say anything about the hollow in his gut. The part of him screaming, You don’t deserve this. You’re poison. You’re going to kill her soul.

“You should sleep.” Niragi murmured, voice barely there.

You didn’t move. Just kept sitting there, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. You felt warm. Maybe too warm.

He brushed your arm gently with his fingers. Idle. Soothing. Like he hadn’t nearly ripped the head off a man last week. Like this was who he’d always been—gentle, protective, safe.

You don’t even know what you’ve done, letting him this close. He’ll rot everything you are. But fuck—if you tell him to stop, he’ll cry and kiss your knees and promise you the world. Then do it all again.

You exhaled, slowly.

The moment had teeth in it. You could feel them. Right there beneath the softness. But you didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Because… what was the point?

“You make it feel less lonely.” you whispered. “You always know the right thing to say.”

He leaned down and kissed your hair.

That light, perfect kiss.

The kind of kiss that could make you forget who he was.

He wants you to think he’s good. That’s all. Just long enough to fall harder. Just long enough to be his in every fucked-up, irreversible way.

You swallowed. Something twisted in your gut. You didn’t know what. Couldn’t name it. It wasn’t fear. Not quite. Just a voice. Far away. Saying, this isn’t right. But your heart answered back: but it feels good.

Niragi’s hand slid down your arm once more. Then he stood.

And just like that, the bed felt colder.

“I’ll let you sleep.” he said. “Don’t worry. I’m not going far.”

He’ll never be far again. Even if he’s not in the room, he’ll be in your head. He’ll be in Chishiya’s head. He’ll be everywhere.

He turned at the door, eyes trailing over you.

And you smiled at him. Just a little. Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? Smile at monsters and hope they don’t bite.

“I’ll see you.” you said softly.

He grinned.

“Bet on it.”

Then he was gone.

The door clicked shut. And the silence settled like a wet sheet over your skin.

You stared at the ceiling. Alone again.

But not alone.

No, never really alone.

He was still here. His fingerprints were still in your hair, in your chest, wrapped around your lungs like ivy.

And you…you felt off.

Like the sweetness was rotting at the edges. Like maybe you’d swallowed something sharp and didn’t feel it yet.

Your body curled tighter. Searching for that warmth again.

And all you found was him.

Even when he wasn’t there.

Even when you knew something was wrong.

You were just too fucked over him to stop.

~

Tonight, Niragi’s head was full of you.

Of your voice, your trembling, trusting voice. The way you’d looked at him like maybe—maybe—you didn’t see the devil sitting across from you. Maybe you saw something soft. Something worth keeping.

God, he’d fake softness forever if it meant he got that look again.

He hadn’t told you the truth. Not even close. He’d left the ugliest parts of himself in the dark, behind the door, behind a pretty face and a few gentle touches like he was some kind of angel.

But he felt it.

He felt it, and it was so big it was making him nauseous.

His skin buzzed. His chest felt too tight.

He couldn’t stop replaying the way your fingers curled into his shirt, like you didn’t want him to leave.

And wasn’t that something?

Wasn’t that fucking everything?

He lit a cigarette and stepped out into the hallway from his room, couldn’t stop himself from grinning as he walked. He wasn’t thinking about the next game. He wasn’t thinking about Chishiya, or the other guys who looked at you too long, or the fact that he’d tortured an innocent boy in the last week just for saying your name too sweet.

No.

He was thinking about your sleepy smile. The way your voice caught when you told him you felt safe. He was thinking about your perfume. Your shampoo. How you still smelled like a life.

And how he was gonna keep that smell. Bottle it. Drown in it.

He turned the corner too fast, smirking, lost in it—

And passed Kuina.

She didn’t say a word. Didn’t break her pace. Just kept walking.

But her eyes narrowed, flicking up and down his body.

Because Niragi?

That bastard was smiling.

Not the usual shark-grin. Not the “I just stabbed someone in the spine” grin. Not even his “watch me fuck with the world” smirk.

No. This was different.

Quiet. Self-satisfied.

Content.

And it made no sense.

Not from him.

Not from the walking trauma response with a gun over his shoulder.

Kuina’s stomach turned.

Because she knew what that kind of smile meant.

It meant he got something.

And if Niragi got something, someone else lost something.

She didn’t stop to ask. Didn’t call him out. They weren’t friends. She hated him. Everyone did.

But her chest clenched. Her gut twisted.

Because there was only one person soft enough, kind enough to let a smile like that exist on his face.

You.

Fuck.

(AN: guys I know Y/N’s deep in it again, but just again, she WILL get back up. She’ll be fine I promise. I know the boys are horrible but this is their only tool to keep her)

@lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mocchii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess @onyxmango @bluerthanvelvet444 @risingofjupiter @enhasrii @potato-vagina @cherryyserenade @l5byrinth @soaplickerrr @sillyenemyarcade @miellette @sk1ndx0 @stopcallingmeimovedon

[number1jeonginstan]

Part of my Valentine's Day Collab!

A/N: First installment, I hope y'all enjoy it!! I ended up re-writing this twice because I hated it the first two times...

Pairing: Bf!Lee Know x Reader

Warnings: Unprotected sex (who am I without it?), having sex in public (kinda....), oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, cumming inside, use of a vibrator.

“What if we try something new?” Minho asked as you put you got out of the shower, trying to find an outfit to wear your your dinner date. 

It was your first Valentine’s together, and you wanted to make it special, especially because he was always busy with work. 

“And what would that be?” you asked as you placed your complied outfit onto your shared bed, only to see him lying down with something silver in his hands. 

He showed you the small device with a grin spread across his face. “Think about it, you walking around with this touching that cute little clit of yours” 

“Minho” you exasperated, before putting on your dress in front of him. “Come on baby, you look so pretty, just think how much prettier you would be if I could control you” 

You turned around to hear shuffling, allowing him to zip up your dress. He kissed your shoulder, then your neck in the process, eliciting a small whimper from your mouth. 

“Please kitten, for me” he whispered into your ear. Who were you to say no to your boyfriend when he asked so politely? 

“Fine, if and only if you let me ride you tonight” you grinned. 

“Face or cock, I don’t mind, as long as it’s with you” he giggled back before spinning you around, throwing you onto the bed, and pulling down your underwear. 

He placed the bullet vibrator right on your clit before pulling your underwear back on. “Be a good girl and hold that for me tonight” 

“Yes sir!” 

It took you another forty-five minutes to do your makeup, the entire time, Lee Know was watching you. He pretended to read a book, splayed out on the bed in his dress shirt and slacks. 

As you were putting on your lipstick, he decided to have a little bit of fun. Taking the remote out of his pocket and setting it on the medium setting. 

You jerked, your lipstick slowly cascading off the corner of your lips, causing you to groan. “Lee Minho, what the actual fuck” you whined, taking a tissue to try and take it off before it dried down fully. 

“What kitten, I was just testing it out. Plus, I don’t know why you insist on wearing lipstick anyways, you know it’s going to end up on my cock at the end of the night” 

“You are so crude” you giggled, throwing one of your brushes at him in retaliation. 

“You love it though, but seriously baby, let’s get going I don’t want to miss our reservation” he chuckled, slowly making his way off his bed and behind you at your vanity. 

He watched you through the mirror as you adjusted your lipstick, admiring how beautiful you looked. How dolled up you would get just for him, it’s like he’s the luckiest man in the world. 

“Let’s get going” you grinned, grabbing your purse as the two of you headed out the door, bidding a farewell to Soonie, Doongie, and Dori, giving them all mandatory pats before heading to his car.

As he drove, one of his hands gripped the wheel while the other gripped your thigh, your eyes trailing every single one of his veins. 

The restaurant wasn’t far away, but the ride was pleasant. The low hum of the music in the background as you stared out the window, the heat of his hand filled all your senses. 

As the two of you arrived, he slowly parked the car, removing his hand from your thigh only to fidget with the remote in front of him, turning it on to the lowest setting. 

“How does it feel baby?” he asked as the two of you arrived at the restaurant.

“It’s nice” you giggled, the light hum on your clit giving you a bit of pleasure, but not enough for it to be noticeable. 

You finally understood why he had told you to dress so nicely. It was the restaurant he had been raving about.

“And what if I do this?” he grinned as he turned it all the way up, causing you to cover your mouth to hold back a scream before he turned it off completely.

“Minho, if you do that again, I don’t think I will be able to make it out of this car” you whined as you heard his chuckle.

“What if that’s exactly what I want?” 

“Then we shouldn’t have gone on a date and could have just stayed home” you muttered “I got all pretty for nothing” 

“Fine, if you want to show your cute little self off, let’s go” he grinned, quickly getting out of the car and opening the door for you, holding out his hand.

“Wow, what a gentleman” you giggled, taking his hand and walking to the front of the restaurant with him.

“This place is beautiful” you grinned, taking in the restaurant, fresh jasmines and plants rid the walls. He decided to take you on a sushi date, a place that he was recommended ten times over by Jisung and his girlfriend. 

“It truly is” Minho replied looking at you and not even taking in the place surrounding him. He walked up to the host stand, stating “We have a reservation for two, under the name Lee Know” 

The hostess simply nodded, guiding the two of you to a more secluded area, filled with individual rooms. 

As the two of you sat down, watching the hostess leave you quickly whispered “This must have cost a fortune” 

He replied with a simple “Anything for you” causing a soft blush to kiss your cheeks. 

You zoned out for a second, taking in the room. But before you could fully process it, he turned up the remote in his hand, causing you to moan out loud. 

“Fuck Min, you have to give me some type of warning” you whined as the vibrator kept the medium pace. “What if someone hears?” you whined

“Then they will hear how good I make you feel” he giggled before ringing the bell on the desk, informing that the two of you were ready for your first course as explained by the hostess before she left.

“Ready for the first course?” he asked, waiting for your response. “Yes please” you responded, not noticing the subtle grin on his face.

It only took a few minutes for the food to arrive, the waiter bringing it in before closing the door once again. 

 On the plate was cut-up tuna, each piece having a good amount of fat, laid on a bed of roasted asparagus and pomegranate aioli paired with a glass of 2022 Louis Latour Puligny-Montrachet. 

“Take a bite” he grinned, taking a sip of the wine placed in front of him. As you did, a moan escaped your lips. Each flavor complements the last, the taste exploding in your mouth. 

“This is so good” you grin, holding out a bite on your fork for Minho to taste. He sensually took a bit, groaning at the taste as well. 

As the two of you took a few more bites, savoring the food as the two of you talked about work and the crazy things happening between your co-workers, you could feel yourself slowly getting wet for some reason. 

The vibrator wasn’t even turned on, but your pussy was clenching around thin air. You played it off as the thought of Minho in front of you and nothing else, but little did you know he had planned the whole thing.

“Are you ready for the second course?” he asked, taking sight of your thighs pressed together, taking note of how they already started to kick in. 

“Of course” you gleaned, wondering what course they were going to bring out next, and how it was going to top the last one the two of you had just eaten. 

“Oysters?” you looked a bit puzzled as the waiter brought a tray with two plates of pasta and oysters, placing them in front of the two of you as well as two glasses of red wine. 

“Just enjoy baby” Lee Know grinned, taking a sip of the wine, you following suit. The sweet nectar covered your tongue, causing you to moan out loud. 

“Wow, Minho this is delicious, where is this from?” you pondered taking another sip. 

“If you like it, I’ll buy you a bottle, just enjoy the food in front of you” 

You took his suggestion, tasting one of the oysters before taking a bite of your pasta. “I think this might be better than the last” You grinned before taking another bite. 

“I’m glad kitten” he followed suit, taking a bite. “We should do this more often” he grinned, taking in your contempt face. It was nice to finally spend time with you, especially in public. 

“I agree” you hummed, taking the sight of his relaxed body. 

As the two of you talked some more, the food slowly disappeared, but you barely noticed, too immersed in your conversation with Minho, that was until he turned on the vibrator, causing you to squeak. 

“I told you I would do it when you least expected it” he chuckled, but you could barely register what he was saying. Even though the setting was so low, it felt ten times better than it did an hour prior. 

“Minho, fuck I’m going to cum” you whined as the vibrator pushed against your cunt perfectly. 

He turned off the vibrator just before you were going to reach your high, ignoring your whines and pleas, forgetting the two of you were in a public setting, where the waiter could come check up on you at any time. 

He ignored it before crawling underneath the table, his face nuzzling between your thighs, kissing up them. “Such a pretty looking cunt” he whined against your cunt.

Before you knew it, his face was in front of your cunt. He quickly pulled down your panties, licking stripes against your cunt as he turned the vibrator onto a medium setting. 

“Fuck Minho” you groaned, trying to push his head away, but he wouldn’t let you. He looked straight up at you, with hooded eyes before pushing one of his long fingers in you. 

“We can’t do this” you whined, clenching around his finger “There are people here” 

He didn’t care, ignoring you and going back to kissing your thighs as his fingers continued to squelch inside of you, your hand covering your mouth in an attempt to hide your moans. 

You cried as his fingers continued to abuse your soaking wet cunt. “What did we eat today?” he giggled before diving back into your pussy, his tongue pressing the vibrator harder against your clit. 

“Fish and oysters” you whimpered, the feeling becoming to be too much. 

“And what are those?” he grinned, pulling his face away from your pussy to look directly at you, your juices dripping down his chin. 

“Aphrodisiacs” you gasped as you came on his fingers.

 You had learned about them months prior when the boy’s girlfriends and you were playing a game of truth and dare. Felix’s girlfriend had admitted that he had made her eat oysters and fish before having sex one night, and it was some of the best sex they had ever had. 

“Good girl, you got it already” he replied, kissing your lips.

He slowly removed his fingers from your cunt, taking out the vibrator as well before stashing it away in his pocket. 

“Now, think you can be quiet for me and cum on my cock?” he questioned, bringing your hand down to his dress pants and rubbing it along his already hard cock. 

You nodded, allowing him to pick you up and place you on the table. He watched in awe of your body, your chest heaving as he pulled down, his already hard cock free of the confines of his pants and boxers. 

“Fuck kitten, you look so pretty like this” he grinned, slowly dragging his cock along the lips of your pussy, watching the way his pre-cum smears onto it. 

“Please Sir” you whined, begging for him to insert his cock into you. “Are you sure that you want my cock kitten? As you said, anyone can come in here and see me fucking you” 

“I don’t care anymore sir, please I need you inside of me” you whined, taking hold of his cock and pushing the tip inside of you. 

“Fuck kitten, you are so wet” he whined before slowly pushing his entire cock inside of you. 

“Look at you taking my cock like a little whore, do you want that waiter to see you like this? He was eyeing you up ever since we got in here. I bet he’s imagining how good you would look like this on his cock, but who’s little whore are you?” he groaned, slightly slapping your face.

He could feel your cunt get tighter at the thought of someone walking in. 

“I’m your whore sir” you moaned as his thrusts got harder, the tip of his cock hitting deep inside of your cervix. 

He couldn’t stop, the way your cunt was squeezing his cock, the way you were whining underneath him. He loved every second of it, never wanting to leave your warm wet little pussy. 

“There we go kitten, keep taking my cock inside your tight little cunny like a good girl” He whispered in your ear as he slowly lifted your legs, pressing deeper inside of you if that was even possible. 

You could feel yourself getting close, all of your senses slowly diminishing. Before you could cum, you heard the sound of the bell going off. The same bell that signifies the two of you were ready for the next course, the same bell that brought the waiter to your private room. 

“You better cum baby, don’t want the waiter to see you all fucked up like this do we?” he grinned. 

It was the push you needed to cum with a silent scream around his cock, your walls squeezing him in. 

It only took him a few more thrusts to cum inside of you, his hot release covering your walls. 

You quickly tried to come down from your high, trying to pull your underwear up, but before you could, Minho pushed his fingers inside of you. 

“Just making sure it doesn’t go anywhere” he giggled, before making himself look decent again. 

Right as the two of you sat back down, the waiter walked in. 

“Can I get you anything else sir?” the waiter asked, trying not to stare at the way your cheeks were flushed and your dress was a bit askew. 

“I think we can get the check, we have dinner at home” he chuckled before licking his fingers that had just been pushed inside of you only seconds prior. 

[minjiarchive]

only yours | jiu x fem!reader

i hope you missed me...

warnings: mommy kink, degradation, humiliation, slapping (just really rough sex lol)

your arms feel weak as you pushed against her chest, only managing a poor attempt to create distance. every muscle in your body ached, trembling from exhaustion, bruised and overstimulated. her hands, steady and firm, caught your wrists easily, pinning them back down against the rough surface of the mattress.

“where do you think you're going?” minji says, a mocking chuckle escaping her lips. “you're so cute, baby. as if you didn’t just beg me to ruin you with please, mommy...”

humiliation floods through you like a tidal wave. you shook your head weakly, tears pooling in your eyes as you try to turn your face away from her piercing gaze.

“i didn't mean it,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of her pounding into you. “i hate this. i hate you…”

the slap came fast, the sharp crack echoing off the walls. your head snaps to the side, the sting of her palm blooming across your cheek, leaving you gasping.

“liar,” minji grips your jaw firmly, forcing you to look at her, her expression a mix of amusement and something much darker.

“you need me so fucking much.”

you try to shake your head, the tears spilling over now, but her grip didn’t loosen. she leans in closer, her lips brushing against your ear as she purrs, her voice soft but dripping with mockery.

“don't ever lie to mommy. you begged me—mommy, please—like the desperate little slut you are. and now that i've given my spoiled brat what she wanted...”

her other hand trails down your body, her thumb grazing over your hardened nipple, making you flinch under her touch. the pain was sharp, but the humiliation of her words cut deeper.

“fuck... mommy, don't,” you whimper, your voice cracking. “please—”

she silences you with another slap, lighter this time, but enough to make your head spin. “yeah? you like that?”

you bite your lip, trying to hold back the sob that threatened to escape. every part of you wanted to resist, to push her away and deny her words. but the weight of her presence, the way she looks at you like she owned every part of you, broke something inside.

and her smirk widens, clearly pleased at your reaction but not enough, “come on, pretty girl. show me how much you love being filled up.”

your face burns with shame, but the words tumble out, your voice shaky and broken. “i l-love being filled by you, mommy.”

her eyes gleam with satisfaction as she releases your jaw, letting her hand trail down to your throat, resting there just enough to remind you of her power.

“such a good girl,” she praises softly, sounding almost tender now. “see? that wasn’t so hard, was it? you're so much prettier when you just lay there and take it.”

before you could catch your breath, she shifts again, pressing the strap back against you. the slick sound of it dragging along your sweat-coated skin made you gasp. minji's grip tightens on your hips as she slid the strap back into you, slow and deliberate.

the sound was obscene. every wet thrust echoing through the bedroom. and your body consumed in embarrassment, the sheer volume making it impossible to ignore how soaked you were.

“do you hear that?” minji teased. “god, you’re so wet it’s embarrassing. bet the other girls could hear how hard i'm stretching you out.”

your body arches under her as she set a relentless pace, each thrust accompanied by that humiliating, wet slap. “n-no, they… they can’t…” you tried to protest despite the whine that fought to slip out.

her breathy laugh snapping through the air, “oh? is that what you really think, baby?”

your eyes start to well up again, the humiliation crashing over you in waves. “mommy, please…” tears streaming down onto the sheets. “please, no more…”

but she doesn't stop though. if anything, your begging only spurrs her on. her hands dug into your hips, pulling you back onto the strap with each thrust, making sure you felt every inch. “aw too much?” she repeats, her tone full of tease. “but isn't this what you got wet over? thinking about mommy making you take every inch of me?”

the wet, smacking sounds only grew louder, each one making your face blaze hotter. you could barely keep your voice down, your whimpers and moans slipping out faster. she leans down, her breath hot against your ear as she growls.

“are you gonna cum for mommy, hm? gonna let mommy cum inside of your pretty little pussy?”

with every part of you in a deep haze under her spell, you struggle to breathe out. “n–no i can’t…”

“please?” her tone almost said in a way to mock you. “you'll be filled for days, baby. i'll open the door for everyone else to hear how much you belong to me, would you like that instead?”

your heart races at the threat, your mind reeling from the thought of the members hearing—seeing. “no! please, mommy, don’t…” you stumble out in a desperate rush.

“aw, poor baby. not knowing what she needs from mommy.” her smirk returning as she kisses your bruised lips.

minji picks up her pace, the strap driving into you harder and faster. “that's it,” she coos, “cry a little louder for me. let them hear how much you love being mine.”

your sobs turning into broken cries as you give into her completely, to her humiliation, and the overwhelming pleasure that leaves you at her mercy.

and minji doesn't stop—not until you were utterly spent, your mind clouded with the dizziness of the feeling. only then did she pull you into her arms, holding you gently as if to remind you that, you were hers.