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chubby-bun-bun · 6 months ago

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untitled (part 4)

The man you stumbled into is bleeding out. And he's distractingly pretty.

nav: one, two, three, four (current), five, six or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, mentions of blood, fluff, you panic bc of his lethal face card, valid reaction tbh, 10/10 would do the same

Interacting directly with a beautiful man reduces you to an idiot, you realize.

You’ve met attractive men before—had crushes on such men. They weren’t necessarily easy on the eyes, but there was always something they said, did, or had that made you feel some type of way about them. The seventh-grade classmate who shushed your chattering peers during your presentation. The corner store clerk with pretty hands. The college senior who made you feel welcome at your acquaintance party. The tall guy who unknowingly saved you from getting squished by the sardine-packed commuters on the train.

Sure, your next interactions with them made you hyper-aware of their presence for a time—hanging on to their every word and unknowingly seeking them out in the room. But you think you remained fairly casual and blasé with them, as you do with most things.

Unlike right now.

As your mind begins to clear, you register that you’re stripped down to just your base layer. In the middle of winter. Your puffer jacket lies damp on the ground, and your sweater—now sporting huge splotches of blood—is folded haphazardly against the man’s abdomen. (You try not to let the sight of the dark liquid summon the remains of your dinner.)

Your gaze flickers between his ruined shirt and your clasped hands, cupped by his much larger, warmer ones. When you look up, you’re taken aback to find his intense garnet eyes already locked on you.

“Are you alright?” he asks, the deep, velvety timbre of his voice compelling you to straighten up unconsciously.

“Yes,” you splutter, air barely making it past your throat. Then, your eyes widen. “Are you alright?” you stress, gesturing wildly to the concerning state of his abdominal area.

He chuckles. “Never been better.”

You gape at him. “But you’re bleeding!”

He glances down at his bloodied clothes. “It appears so.”

You like to think you have a good head on your shoulders. You always stay on the correct side of the sidewalk. You tidy up your table as much as you can at food joints. You try to abide by city recycling guidelines to make life easier for sanitation workers. And you’re decently vigilant, thanks to the countless true crime documentaries you’ve crammed into your brain.

But alas, it seems a beautiful man is all it takes for common sense to call it a day.

“Okay, so I actually won some groceries earlier, and I think I have some first-aid supplies in there,” you babble, missing the knowing glint in his eyes. “My house is just a little further down the street. If you want, I can treat your wound there?”

He’s still holding your hands. You realize your palms must be clammy from cold sweat—and his blood. You politely pull your hands back with a laugh you hope sounds natural. (It doesn’t.)

“Oh wait, you probably need a hospital,” you blurt, mentally berating yourself for not considering this first. You start fishing for your phone in your jeans pocket. “I can call the emergency hotline for Akso Hospital. I work there. Um, I can even ride with you in the ambulance if you’d like?”

The man laughs, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“I appreciate the help, sweetie, but you shouldn’t be so quick to give out personal information to people you just met.”

Heat creeps up your neck. He’s right. You’re basically handing him a free pass to rob your place. What if he’s a serial killer?

As you feel yourself spiraling further, he begins to stand, grabbing your dropped jacket as he rises. You instinctively lean back, mouth agape at his towering height and the fact that he just stood up—quite gracefully—despite clutching his wound mere moments ago.

“I’ll have your sweater washed and dry-cleaned,” he says, folding the soiled fabrics neatly into compact squares. “Know that your assistance back there is much appreciated.”

“Oh—! It was nothing. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

A single snowflake lands on your face and you blink, nose twitching at the gentle melting sensation. Looking up, you notice the sky is now a beautiful backdrop of powdery snow, falling softly around you.

“It’s getting late,” he observes, also gazing up at the scenery. “Let me walk you home.”

Before you can protest, he drapes his coat over your shoulders. You’re immediately overwhelmed by the scent of fresh linen and something distinctly masculine that has you instinctively relaxing into the warm confines of the comically oversized garment.

“But aren’t you cold?” you ask, unknowingly tucking yourself further into his coat.

“No,” he responds with a hint of laughter, pressing a hand to your back to gently guide you toward the park entrance.

The short walk to your house is surprisingly comfortable. Aside from occasionally fumbling over your words and avoiding his gaze (his face is distractingly handsome, and his impressive height and physique make you strangely self-conscious), you manage a decent conversation.

You learn he was taking a casual stroll when he had a “squabble” with some old business partners. You can only stare at the back of his head at this revelation. What kind of squabble leads to a wound like that? And how is he acting so fine now? If it weren’t for the bloodstain on his expensive-looking high-neck top, you’d think you hallucinated the whole thing.

You also learn he’s visiting the city on a business trip. After hearing this, the rest of the walk is filled with you recommending your favorite places: the food spots you’re yet to use your lifetime vouchers for, the cat café with the snooty caracal you love petting, and the old arcade where you’ve won most of your plushie collection. (You make sure to share with him a few secret tricks for mastering the darn two-pronged claw machine.)

Belatedly, it dawns on you that such activities might hold little interest for a man like him. Flustered, you open your mouth to undo the torrent of nonsense you’ve been spouting, when he suddenly stops and turns to face you.

“Your recommendations are duly noted,” he says, eyes glowing with amusement. “I’ll be sure to try them sometime.”

You’ve arrived at your house. You're surprised by the unexpected pang of disappointment you feel.

“Thank you for walking me home,” you murmur, suddenly feeling shy.

He hands over your now-drier puffer jacket. “It was my pleasure. Now go inside before you turn into an icicle.”

“Oh—your coat,” you exclaim, beginning to shrug it off. But he stops you with a raised hand.

“Keep it,” he tells you. “I’ll get it back when I return your sweater.”

You hesitate. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Then, as if recalling a secret you’re not privy to, he smiles softly. “I trust it’ll be in safe hands. You seem exceptional at caring for things.”

Before you can unpack his words, he turns and starts walking toward the main road.

“Wait! What’s your name?” You can't believe you haven't asked till now.

He pauses before glancing over his shoulder.

“Sylus,” he finally says.

“Sylus,” you repeat, liking the way it rolls off your tongue. “It’s a pretty name.”

Your hand flies to your mouth, eyes widening in horror. Why not tell him he’s hot while you’re at it, doofus?

As you fumble for an apology and prepare to sentence yourself to a blabbermouth timeout, he chuckles.

“Indeed it is.”

You can’t quite put your finger on it, but there’s a trace of melancholy in his voice that stays with you.

With a wave, he walks into the snowy dark, his figure gradually fading.

And that’s when it hits you.

How did he know which house was yours?

note: seeing the love this series has gotten has been surprising! the comments, reblog captions, and tags you leave are honestly hilarious and i had a blast reading through them 💞

nav: one, two, three, four (current), five, six or: read on ao3

tag list: @thepotatoislost, @xxfaithlynxx, @browneyedgirl22, @vorfreudevortex

check out my other works!

#ori.writes #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #sylus #sylus fluff

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ur-local-wizard · 4 months ago

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Ruin You

Mattheo Riddle, an incubus, is used to getting his way. But when he falls for you --the one girl immune to his charms -- and learns of your innocence, he's overcome with the want to ruin you for anyone else.

MDNI! characters are adults, corruption kink, praise, fingering, unprotected piv, semi-public sex, creampie, loss of virginity, friends to lovers, incubus!mattheo x fem!reader, I am not responsible for your media consumption.

w/c: 1.6k

in response to this request!

nav masterlist au list

a/n: first smut ever!! I hope this lives up to all the expectations! <3

Seduction came to Mattheo Riddle as if it was his mother tongue – natural, unhurried. He knew exactly what to say, how to say it, and the way to angle his smirk just right to make people weak in the knees. His smile was devastating, his voice rich and deep, his touch always featherlight yet never failing to leave a scorching heat behind. He thrived off sexual innuendos, his existence woven into every fantasy and every intimate thought that flitted through every mind.

But you seemed to be immune to his charms.

Remaining blissfully ignorant to his attempts, you somehow escaped every interaction with the demon entirely untouched by the sin that dripped from his lips. It was confusing, infuriating, yet somehow intoxicating; only serving to make him thirst for more.

“You know,” he purred, leaning closer to where you sat in the common room. “If you ever need help with anything, I’m here. You only have to ask.”

You blinked up at him, and a wholesome smile spread across your lips. “That’s so sweet of you, Matty. You’re such a good friend.”

He nearly choked on his own spit at your response. Friend? He was a literal demon of temptation and desire, and yet you thought his actions were friendly?

His flirtations only escalated after that. Every smirk, wink, lingering touch, was only met with a beaming smile or polite nod. You were a puzzle, a challenge. He wanted to figure you out – to understand how to get his message across. And yet he found himself drawn to you in other ways; ones that weren’t driven solely by physical need.

Then he heard the rumors.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He was just drinking at a party like usual, when he heard Pansy’s voice. “Y/n’s a virgin? Makes sense I guess. But with a face like that, I expected more,” he heard her say.

He felt the world tilt for a moment, and not from the alcohol he was drinking. Everything in him was screaming, the depraved part of him clawing at the edges of his restraint. A virgin. Pure. Untouched.

His body ached at the thought, and the demonic part of him longed to find you and corrupt you, defile you. But the last thing he wanted was for you to see him as he was – a monster, a predator, a creature of hunger and lust. He wanted you desperately, needed you even, but he would never force anything on you.

For the first time in his life, Mattheo Riddle was at a complete loss for what to do.

Although it was difficult, Mattheo tried to distance himself after that revelation. He told himself that it was for your own good, that you were better off without him, that he would ruin you if he got too close.

But the more he resisted, the more unbearable the distance from you became. He still heard your laugh echoing throughout the corridors, still caught glimpses of you in the Great Hall, still felt the echo of your innocent touches that lingered, their memory like a brand seared into his skin.

However, you noticed the change in his behavior almost instantly, and began to wonder if you’d done something wrong.

“Matty?” You asked one day, your voice soft and uncertain. You’d caught him just after curfew, when everyone was meant to be heading to their dorms. “Are you mad at me? Have I done something?”

Mattheo’s fists clenched at his sides, not able to stand the way your doe eyes were filled with guilt and concern. No fear, no anger, no suspicion, just pure and genuine worry. It broke his heart, and he had to look away. “No angel, you didn’t do anything.”

You tilted your head in confusion, and your brows furrowing. “Then why have you been avoiding me?”

His mouth floundered as he searched for something to say. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t scare you? That wouldn’t hurt you? Yet he couldn’t bring himself to lie either. “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, giving a non-answer while shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Then explain it to me,” you said, looking up at him expectantly.

Finally, his eyes meet yours. You stood firm, gaze unwavering, arms crossed over your chest. The sight of you, so determined, so concerned, made him snap.

“You drive me mad, you know that? Every time you smile at me, every goddamn touch, makes me go absolutely insane. I want you so bad… I wanna ruin you for anyone else.

“So? Who said I didn’t feel the same way, Matty?”

He stared at you in utter disbelief. “But all the hints I threw-”

“Yeah, I get those now,” you grumble. “After I realize you share the same feelings. I just… didn’t want to assume.”

He scoffs and takes a step closer. “So you want this too?”

As soon as you nod, he’s on you. His lips crashed against yours, desperate and hungry, his fingers tangling in your hair, tugging lightly, as he backed you against the wall. One hand slid to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him, and you could feel his desire pressing against you. The kiss was fervent, full of pent-up desire, yet beneath the urgency there was tenderness.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered between kisses, his breath hot on your skin. “I’ve wanted this for so long. You’re so fucking perfect.”

His hands were warm as they slid under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head. Your bra was next, falling away to meet your shirt, and you should have been mortified of being so exposed in the common room. But you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Not when his touch ignited something within you that you never knew was there, not when his lips brushed against your ear, whispering sweet praises that made your stomach tighten with need.

His own shirt was next, falling into the growing pile of clothes forgotten on the floor. Hands finding your hips, he spun you around, and you immediately braced yourself against the wall. The stone was hard and cold against your hands, and the cold air of the common room caused your nipples to pebble. His touch drifted down your back, before slipping under your skirt to rub against your core. Letting out a gasp of surprise, your hips jolted towards his touch, earning a soothing hum from the man behind you.

“I’ll be gentle, okay? So fucking gentle,” he murmured as he moved your panties to the side. Two fingers slipped inside your cunt with ease, earning a whine from you.

“Fuck. You're so tight. So wet,” he groaned as he curled his fingers, hitting that spongy spot that made you see stars. “I really am the only one to touch you like this? Gonna be the first and last, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you moaned, head falling forward as a knot started to form in your belly.

His fingers picked up their pace, pumping and curling just right, just enough to drive you dangerously close to the edge. “I want you to promise, angel. Promise me I’ll be the only one to ever see this beautiful pussy of yours.”

You nodded enthusiastically, but that didn't satisfy him. Right as you were about to finish, he tore his hand away from you, leaving you teetering on the brink. The loss and emptiness made you whimper, but when you heard him unbuckling his belt, anticipation replaced the frustration. The suspense made you tense, your thighs pressing together in search of relief.

The head of his cock brushed against your entrance, teasing, but he didn't move. “I want to hear you say it. Promise me, angel.”

“I promise,” you whined, growing impatient from the loss of sensation. You wanted him desperately.

That was all he needed to hear, his hips surging forward, thrusting into you with one swift motion. A choked gasp escaped your lips, the stretch making you wince. He stilled, letting you adjust, though his grip on your hips tightened like he was barely holding himself back.

“So fucking perfect,” he groaned, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. Your fingers curled against the wall, and when you started to squirm, he took that as a hint to move. His first thrust was slow, gentle. It was your first time after all. But eventually his restraint snapped. His rhythm was deep and deliberate, fucking into you as if this was the last thing he'd ever do.

One hand snaked around your body to rub tight circles on your clit that made your knees buckle. He caught you, keeping you upright as his pace never faltered.

“Feel so good. Like you were made for me,” he moans, his voice raw.

His continued ministrations made pressure build once again, white-hot pleasure beginning to curl insistently in your stomach. You could feel it, the inevitable, and his increasingly erratic movements were a tell-tale sign that he was close too.

“Come for me,” he whispered, coaxing you. “Prove to me how perfectly you were made for me.”

Pleasure crashed over you, blinding and all-consuming. You tightened and fluttered around him, eliciting a guttural moan from deep within his throat. He followed soon after, burying himself deep with a groan.

For a moment, neither of you moved, lost in the shock of what had just happened. Then he pulled out and turned you around, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“You did perfect, just like I knew you would.”

©ur-local-wizard translating, republishing, copying, or claiming my work as yours is not permitted. all my work belongs to me and me only. thank you!

tag list: @mattyriddlesbitch @sturniolover13 @thereeallink @voidangxls @riddleswhcre @riddleshire

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bluntzah · 2 months ago

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COME & SEE ME FOR ONCE ੈ♡˳

♫ sza — 2AM. nav ; m.list.

word count. 1.9k

warnings. mentions of unhealthy relationships, sexual + graphic content, please review all warnings before proceeding. i’m not responsible for what you choose to engage or interact with.

summary. you support hamzah’s media hustle, but his constant absence hurts. when he leaves again mid-fuck, you’re left wondering if love is enough when you always come last to this motherfucker.

Your boyfriend is a busy man. Hamzah dedicates a lot of his time to filming for YouTube, constantly creating content, brainstorming ideas, and bringing them to life. From the beginning, you knew what you were signing up for. He made it clear that he takes his YouTube career seriously. Of course you supported it. You always backed Hamzah in whatever he chose to do: if he likes it, you loved it. That was all that mattered to you.

There was never a moment you didn’t have Hamzah’s back. No matter what he needed, you were there. If he ever forgot something important: whether at your place or his: off filming something with Mandy and Martin, you’d step in without hesitation. Sometimes that meant driving across town in the middle of your own busy day, retracing his steps to find whatever he left behind. Other times, it meant calling in a favor from a friend, asking them to go out of their way just to make sure he had what he needed to keep filming.

You supported your boyfriend more than anything in the world. His passion, his grind: you admired it, stood by that shit alongside him, never ever asked him to slow down. But that didn’t mean his absence didn’t sting sometimes.

On nights out with your girlfriends: dressed up, laughing, dancing at the club — you’d catch their boyfriends with them. Arms wrapped around their waists, sharing drinks, stealing kisses between freaky ass songs.

And then there was you sipping your drink alone, smiling through it, but feeling disappointed. Not because you doubted his love, but because you wished, once in a fuckin’ blue moon, he had the time to be there. To pull you close, to make memories outside of his hustle.

You knew exactly what you were signing up for: he made it clear from the start. And you accepted it, with your chest. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt sometimes, even just a little. That being said, every moment you do get with him, you hold onto like it’s gold. Just like now, this moment you’re in, making it count.

It’s a Saturday. You’re beneath Hamzah in his warm sheets, his body pressed close in missionary. Each deep thrust has his cock sliding in and out of you, your squishy walls gripping him greedily.

You love every second of it. After a long week of barely seeing your boyfriend, with him pulled in every direction but yours, having him this close making you feel so good feels like oxygen. So you take full advantage: hooking one leg around his waist, your heel pressing into his lower back, urging him so much deeper.

“Mm—missed you so much… missed your cock so bad,” you breathe out, lips parted and trembling. Your hand finds Hamzah’s, the one wrapped around your throat, and you guide it downward, over your collarbone, until it cups your breast.

“Work, baby… y’know that,” Hamzah murmurs, he gently brushes a strand of hair from your face. Needing nothing in the way of your beauty, needing to see the way your eyes slowly go cross from how good he’s making you feel. Especially after a week without him inside you — it had been pure torture.

“I know…” you whimper, hips rolling up in a desperate plea for more. “Just miss you. Feels like we’re never this close anymore…” You’re not sure if it’s the way you’re so drunk on his dick or the raw honesty slipping from your lips, but something in your voice makes Hamzah pause. His thrusts slow, then stop completely, buried deep inside you.

He went unmoving for a minute — clearly caught in some thought. You were just about to ask what was on his mind when, without a breath, he moved. He flipped the two of you over, his back hitting the mattress, and you landing on top. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you, positioning you exactly where he wanted.

“What…” you start to ask, but he cuts you off with action instead of words. His cock presses against your soaked folds, lining himself up before guiding you down onto him. You don’t resist at all, clutching his shoulders, the muscle of his meat beneath your fingers as you slowly sink onto him, taking him in, the stretch as delicious as the way he fills you.

He was stretching you so deeply, that your head began to fall against his shoulder, a soft moan running out your lips. “Nah, don’t drift,” he murmured, wrapping an arm tighter around your waist. “You just said we’re never this close… and you’re right. So let me feel you all close like this.”

You lifted your head, only for him to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. The kind of hug you’d normally hate from anyone else, the kind that made you feel caged. But with Hamzah, in this angle, it felt different. His tip brushed your g-spot just right, making you shiver.

He fucked up into you, syncing his thrusts with your bounces. Yes, yes, yes. You needed this so desperately, especially after the week you’d had. The way he hit that perfect spot perfectly sent a spurt of euphoria through you, as the pleasure made your eye twitch shut. You missed this, missed him. Missed the way your bodies fit so perfectly as he moved inside you, hitting every spot just right. Even his soft whimpers, those deep moans had you seeing stars: they were incredibly sexy.

You’d been craving this, aching shitless for it. That beautiful heat between you was everything… until Hamzah’s phone rang from the desk: it began buzzing once. He didn’t move. You opened your mouth to ask, but he silenced you with a kiss, his hand sliding up to pinch your breast just right, drawing a soft gasp from your lips he swallowed whole.

The second time it rang, your eyes flicked toward it again. Hamzah gently turned your face back to him, brushing your jaw. Focus on him. On how good he was making you feel. And you did — rolling your hips to meet his, lips parted as dirty moans slipped through your teeth.

By the third ring, your patience cracked. “Just answer the fuckin’ call,” you muttered, frustrated as you lifted yourself off him and swung your legs over the bed.

It’s not that you wanted to be a bitch for the fuck of it, but you seen the way his phone, and that call, started to circle his mind. That was the whole reason you kept looking over, because his lifting of his hips into you slowed and he started to dissociate slightly. You rather him take the damn call than think of something else while he’s inside you. You’re not fuckin’ with it.

If it’s on his mind that much, then let him take the damn call. The fact that he doesn’t even protest just proves your point even more.

You started slipping on your panties, one foot through the hole after the other. Hamzah grabbed his phone, sliding his thumb across the screen to accept the call, bringing it to his ear. One hand rested on his hip, his bare ass cheeks and back turned toward you.

You grabbed Hamzah’s old shirt and slipped it on, not bothering with a bra. This was your boyfriend’s house, and the only company besides you was him and his cats.

Hamzah kept talking on the phone, brown eyes moving to you every few seconds. He held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he peeled off the condom, tossed it in the trash, and reached for the boxers he’d flung on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, I’ll be there in like five or six minutes,” he said, slipping them on.

You almost wanted to roll your eyes: of course the one rare moment you two had alone had to be interrupted.

A voice was heard on the other end, followed by the sound of clicking. Hamzah set his phone down on the bed, grabbing his pants and stepping into them. “I’ll make it up to you soon, baby—swear on my life,” he said with guilt. “Martin lost some footage for a video due in a few days, and we’ve got to reshoot it.”

He pulled on his socks, then slid into his shoes as he sat at the edge of the bed. You moved toward him until you were right behind him. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck, then another, and another.

He let himself melt into you, leaning into the presses of your lips as they brushed over his skin. A tickle went through him when you kissed just over his pulse, the spot so sensitive it made him tilt his head. His nose brushed yours before he moved closer, until his mouth found your bottom lip, catching it between his own and giving it a suck before releasing it with a pull.

“I’ll make it up to you. Promise.” he repeated, but deep down, you knew he wouldn’t. The cycle would just keep repeating itself. He couldn’t even give you a full hour before something or someone else pulled him away. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, not by far. It had been the routine most of the times you two had been together. It was frustrating.

“You aren’t.” You said. Hamzah blinked a couple of times, clearly confused. “What?” he asked, and this time, you almost wanted to shout it at him. You were sure you talked clearly with no stutter.

“I said.” You take a deep breath. “You aren’t. You aren’t gonna make shit up. This is like, what? The hundredth time this happened? You and Martin just film shit and don’t save it or something?” You know this is going to annoy him. He’s told you many times what he does for work and what packages come with it. But it’s just so frustrating to stay silent.

“Don’t start with that,” Hamzah muttered as he grabbed his shirt and pulled it on. “I told you—” But you cut him off, already knowing what was coming next. “Yes, I know, you warned me about what I was getting into,” you rolled your eyes. “But it’s so hard when I just want to spend time with my boyfriend, and he’s always caught up with something. Or when we finally do get time together, it feels half assed. What, Martin gives you an hour to push your dick inside me, and then it’s straight back to filming?”

When you finally stopped talking, you let out a quiet huff, arms crossing over your chest out of instinct. “Are you done?” Hamzah asked, clearly referring to your rant. The way he said it made your blood boil even more: like he wasn’t taking a single word you said seriously.

You rolled your eyes and looked away. It always felt like he wasn’t really listening: your words going in one ear and right out the other.

When he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, mumbling a casual “Bye, babe,” you didn’t say a word. You didn’t even glance at him. The only sound was the jingle of his keys as he walked out the door, leaving you there, barely covered in his shirt, lying alone in his bed, while he just… left.

#🍋‍🟩🪴bluntzah!masterlist.#hamzah angst #hamzahthefantastic #slushy noobz #hamzah imagines #hamzah x y/n #hamzah x reader #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #hamzahsmut

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celestie0 · 7 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch.5 child's play

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 5/x

ᰔ words. 4.8k

a/n. helloo my ihm friends! long time no see. hope you're all doing well and thank you so much to everyone who sent me kind messages about the whole ihm gojo ex wife thing haha. i really appreciate it :) i feel more confident about my writing decisions now, and that's all thanks to you guys! anyways, i will be posting shorter chapters for ihm going forward, so sorry if some chapters have slightly abrupt endings or stuff like that. i guess my goal is to post shorter chapters but more frequently! we'll see how it works out. anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter and see you at the bottom!!

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Ever since admitting your mother into hospice, things have been calmer inside your mind. After passing the initial wave of agony that came with no longer hearing her voice down the hall or seeing her silhouette in her bedroom as you walked past it, you realized that…a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. No longer setting alarms at the height of every other hour to remind your mother to take her medication, no longer viewing every interaction you had with her as some form of study you needed to jot down in a binder for her neurologist’s records, and no longer driving her to all of her chemotherapy appointments, only to leave them feeling like you purposefully just took your mother to a place where they sucked all the life out of her in exchange for the slim promise of giving it all back to her someday.

Maybe it was evident in the way your shoulders felt less tense as you rolled them back, tilting your neck to the side and no longer feeling the painful strain that tugs a wince onto your face. The other day, you caught yourself humming a song as you drove to work. Your skin, usually feeling cracked and dry from stress and exhaustion, now has a slight plumpness to it like before. A more youthful glow, like the version of yourself you were before your mother became sick. The version of you that so quickly deteriorated, and one you didn’t even know still existed somewhere within you.

There has also been time for hobbies. Rarest of occasions, you find yourself sauteing some yellow and white peaches in a saucepan over medium heat in Gojo’s kitchen, humming that song once again that’s been stuck in your head. The sundress you’re wearing matches the pink of the syrup that pools at the bottom of the pan, and you feel like you’re living your cottage core dreams in this brief moment of reprieve you’ve allowed yourself to fall into.

The sound of slippers tapping down onto the hardwood floor startles you out of your gleeful trance, and you turn your neck to the right to see a pajama-clad messy-haired Gojo shuffling his feet across the open area into the kitchen with a dark black mug in his hand.

“Why aren’t you dressed??” you ask him in a panic.

“I’ll get dressed later,” he tells you dismissively as he grabs the glass pitcher of coffee from where the coffee machine was nestled up against one of the counter corners.

“You’re stressing me out. Your mom told us to be there in two hours,” you say, putting your hands on your hips in disapproval as you hear the sizzle of the peaches in the saucepan.

He entirely ignores you, choosing to instead drag his gaze down the form of your body. “Woooow, twice this month I get to see you in a cute dress,” he comments, pouring coffee into his mug but his eyes are still on you, “lucky me.”

“Oh Shut. Up,” you sneer at him with a harsh roll of your eyes, “your fake flattery might work on the lonely middle-aged women you seduce to make a living, but it won’t work on me.”

His shoulders push back before he slumps them slightly, his brow lifting with confusion. “It’s not fake though? I mean it. You look really nice right now.”

You point an accusatory sugar-syrup coated wooden spatula at him. “You’ve just been conditioned by the patriarchy to get a boner at the sight of a woman in a kitchen.”

“What–...no–...why do you always have to say stuff like that whenever I compliment you? Can’t you just accept it?”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I refuse to be flattered by an insolent man like you.”

He sighs, setting his coffee mug down on the counter, and you watch the way the fringe of his hair hangs over his forehead as he gazes into the contents, swirling it around with a loose grip on the handle. “Is this how it’s going to be everyday? I try to be nice, and you–...well, you know, are you.”

“Well who else should I be?”

His eyes lift up to meet yours, the slightest of a cheeky grin on his face as his eyes wander down the form of you again. “I don’t know. Someone a little…softer? Like, you’ve got this really pretty dress on, and then you’re telling me off about patriarchy-induced boners. It’s a little, uh, contradictory?”

You gasp. “You’re trying to control me. I knew it. You are poisoned by the patriarchy.”

“What?”

Your eyes narrow at him. “You have this image of a perfect and cute little wife, who’s gonna wear pretty dresses all the time, and bake stuff in the kitchen, and get all blushy when you tell her she looks beautiful, and you expect her to have this soft little personality that never argues with you or disagrees with you…ALL BECAUSE OF THE PATRIARCHY!!!”

“...I–...Okay, you’ve lost me.”

You let out a hmph! noise. “Can’t even discern his own brainwashing. Sad.”

“All of this just because I tried to tell you that you look nice?”

“I know what your ulterior motives are, you creep.”

His eyes spark a little at that, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a cheeky grin as he sets the coffee mug down onto the marble counter and he straightens his spine. You blink, watching with confusion as he crosses the distance between the two of you, to where you’re taking a small few steps backwards until your lower back presses against the edge of the island countertop. He cages you into the surface with his frame, followed by the palms of his hands sliding over the marble on both sides of you, and you feel his forearms press against the curve of your waist as he traps you in with no way out.

“S-Satoru,” you stutter, looking up at him with wide eyes, “what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he says, his voice deeper with a nonchalance that has you shiver, his gaze dropping to your lips when you part them slightly.

“T-The patriar–” you squeak out, but he suddenly dips his head down to kiss you.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes immediately closing when he moves his lips against yours, one of his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him and your hesitation is something that only lasts a brief second before you find yourself kissing him back. Some noise leaves his throat, deep and raw and sounding pleasantly surprised as he captures your lips more fervidly now, his hands smoothing down to hold your hips and his teeth slightly nip at your bottom lip.

You grab a fistful of his shirt, unsure of whether you want to pull him closer to you or push him away, but the moan that you mumble against his lips only makes his grip on your hips even stronger, fingers digging into the softness through the thin fabric of your dress.

The oven suddenly starts beeping, startling you and you pull away from the kiss with a gasp, eyes rounded as you look up at him, but his are lidded and dilated as his gaze remains glued to your lips.

With a heaving chest, you try to push him away by a weak fist to his sternum but he’s unrelenting.

“You taste sweet,” he says, like some comment he noted in his head but accidentally voiced out loud.

“I–...” you inhale sharply, “I just ate three macerated peaches.”

“Uh-huh,” he barely acknowledges before leaning in to get another taste, but you push him away harsher this time.

His hands let go of your hips entirely, finally breaking out of that kiss-induced trance he was in, but he still remains close to you in proximity, so much so to where you can feel the heat from his body. It’s comforting almost, radiating through the soft cotton of his long sleeve shirt, and you find yourself subconsciously leaning towards him before you snap out of it too, and rock your weight back against the island countertop.

You cross your arms over your chest, hoping the flush to your cheeks isn’t showing. “Oh okay so we just casually kiss now?”

He shoves his hands into his plaid pajama pant pockets, leaning away from you slightly. “For as long as I can get away with it, yeah.”

“You are breaking the rules.”

“You never said no kissing.”

“I said no touching.”

“Ehhh kissing isn’t really touching, though, is it?”

“You sound stupid.”

“I always sound stupid to you.”

The oven starts beeping again, and you realize it’s long been preheated to the setting you had placed earlier. You slip away from him with haste, feeling his gaze on you as you press a button on the oven to turn the alarm off, and you stare at the handle for a moment or two to calm the beating of your heart down.

Your eyes catch sight of something on the side of the fridge. A little magnet made of rubber that has the word London on it as well as the design of the Westminster Cathedral with golden accents. You recall that Gojo went on a trip to London recently, and that he didn’t bring you back any souvenirs from there like he did for your other neighbors. And you want to pretend, you want to shove it down, that incessantly childish feeling that wonders why he didn’t bring you anything back. You want to continue to pretend like it doesn’t hurt your feelings. Something so miniscule and small. But you–...well, you can’t.

You spin around to face him. “Do you hate me?” you bluntly ask.

He blinks at you. “Huh?”

“Do you, what, I don’t know, think I’m annoying or something?”

He shrugs with his hands still in his pockets. “I mean, yeah, I do think you’re annoying sometimes. But in a silly way. Like we’re just pals horsin’ around, y’know?”

You snarl at him, putting your hands on your hips and narrowing your gaze until he’s hardly even visible anymore. “No. I actually find you annoying. Like, wanna-run-you-over-with-a-bus annoying. You just have horrendous social awareness and think that everyone loves you.”

“You actually don’t like me?” he asks, like he can’t even believe that someone wouldn’t.

“Yes,” you say, “now get out of my way.” You make an attempt to push past him, purposefully knocking your shoulder into him to assert dominance but he is unfortunately much bigger than you and so all it does is make you stumble ungracefully from the recoil.

He quickly grabs your arm to steady you, and you glare up at him before yanking yourself away and then step backwards until your back hits the fridge.

He studies your demeanor for a second before taking a deep inhale, and then lets it all go in a heaving sigh. “What do I have to do to get you to lighten up a bit?” he asks.

“You really want to know?” you sneer at him.

“Yes,” he says with a slight hint of frustration in his tone.

You cross your arms. “Pay for the fucking fence.”

He blinks at you, confusion replacing whatever frustration was previously decorating his tone. “What?”

“The fence,” you reiterate with a step forwards towards him, “the one I built six months ago. The one where you laughed in my face when I told you to help pay for it.”

He leans forward. “Yeah. Because I never wanted that fence built. Like I said, it fucked up the roots on my avocado tree. You should’ve asked me before building it. In fact, it’s illegal to build a fence without joint consent of both neighboring property owne–”

“Oh my god, okay, see? This is why I can’t stand you,” you snarl at him and make another move to get past him but he easily steps in front of you to keep you from going anywhere.

With a sigh, he relents. “Fine, I’ll pay for the fence.”

You try to keep the twitching muscles of your face still as you resolutely stare up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. Through a strained tone, you say, “No. I don’t want you to pay for it anymore.”

He lifts a brow, utterly bewildered at this point. “Huh?”

“Now it just feels like pity. And I don’t want your pity money.”

“Two seconds ago, you did.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. That was two seconds ago.”

“So…let me get this straight, you don’t want me to pitch in?”

“No. I want you to have wanted to pitch in SIX MONTHS AGO.”

“Okay but what the fuck am I supposed to do about that now?”

“NOTHING!!!” you finally snap at him, the shrill to your voice startling him slightly to where you see his shoulders jump, and his eyes are now rounded blue as he looks at you. “There’s nothing you can do about it, there’s nothing you can do to get me to ‘lighten up’ or ‘act softer’ or whatever the fuck kind of damage control you aim to achieve with me due to your pestering incessant need to be liked by every fucking person you come across. So just deal with the fact that I hate you and let me do it in peace.”

He’s silent for what feels like a long time as he blinks at you, his bottom lip pushing up slightly in a way that suggests he’s almost impressed by your little outburst, then he takes a step forward, and in that one large stride, he’s closed any distance between the two of you. Your back is up against the frigid steel of the fridge, your heels tucked under the warm rubber at the foot of it, and you’re looking up at Gojo as he towers over you, his hands still annoyingly and relaxedly shoved into his pockets.

“Do you think it’s gonna be a problem that I think you’re kinda hot when you’re mad?” he asks you.

A small puff of air leaves your lips, like you just can’t believe the audacity, but also having him this close to you suddenly made it a little harder to breathe. “C–...Can you just be fucking serious for one second?”

His head dips down, the fringe of his hair tickling your forehead, tip of his nose slightly brushing against yours, but his gaze never falls to your lips. “You think I’m not being stupid fuckin’ serious when I say that you’re hot?”

“S–” your breath hitches in your throat, and his gaze finally falls to the lick you pass over your lips, “Satoru–”

Like God himself answered to your (cognitively dissonant) prayers, the bell rings, and Gojo leans himself away from you, straightening his spine so he can glance over his shoulder towards the door, a slight look of irritation on his face through the furrow of his brow.

You blink up at him. “A–...Are you expecting someone?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “No. Don’t think so.” He sighs before shuffling around the kitchen island and across the dining hall towards the entryway of the house, and you peer at the sight from across the hall.

When he opens the door, you see Sana standing outside, dressed in mom jeans and a t-shirt with her black Coach purse slung around her shoulder, arms crossed, and you barely register the fact that she looks pissed.

“Sana?” Gojo says, “what’s up.”

She entirely ignores him when she catches sight of you, pushing right past him and into the family room that you were currently finding solace in.

“You,” she points at you, storming right up to your personal space, “what the hell did you say to Juno when you were babysitting her?!”

“H-Huh??” you squeak out, taking a step backwards. “What are you talking about?”

“You told her to fight kids at school?!” she snarls at you, and your eyes widen.

“What?” you say, your face twisting with confusion, “I–...I never said that. I just said that she should stand up for herself if she needs to.”

Sana inhales deeply with rage, leaning back and jutting her hip out as she crosses her arms again. “Yeah, well, I had to pick her up early from school today because the principal called and told me she shoved a little girl on the playground during recess, and now she’s facing suspension.”

Gojo approaches suddenly from your periphery, standing in front of you as he faces Sana. You stand on your tiptoes to peer at her over his shoulder. “What? Why would Juno do something like that?

You hear Sana start to tap her foot impatiently against the hardwood floor, and then she turns her head away from Gojo as a slight hmph! noise leaves her throat. “The why is irrelevant.”

You poke your head out from behind Gojo and glare at her, but then Gojo turns around suddenly to look at you.

“y/n,” he says, “what’s going on?”

“I–” you start, glancing at Sana again who now has a solemn look on her face with pursed lips. You glance back at Gojo, who’s looking at you with confusion and anticipation. A heat spreads down your neck from the attention of the both of them on you, and you’re not sure what the smart thing to say is, so you figure you’ll just tell the truth as it is. “...I just didn’t want her getting bullied and thinking she can’t stick up for herself.”

At that, you see Gojo’s shoulders stiffen. “Bullied?” he repeats after you, then quickly turns towards Sana, “what does she mean, bullied? Juno’s getting bullied at school?”

Sana faces him full-on, raising a stern pointed finger between the two of them “No. Satoru. Stop. You always do this. This has nothing to do with you, so don’t even start. It’s not a big deal, let’s not make it one.”

“The fuck do you mean it’s not a big deal? She’s getting bullied at school, and you want her to just suck it up?” he asks, venom dripping from his tone.

“It’s for her benefit!” Sana exclaims. “Jun and I have spent months trying to get her into this school! We don’t want her getting kicked out.”

“Y’know, I’m–” you stutter, “I’m gonna–...I’m just gonna go upstairs,” you say, “this seems like a family matter. I think you guys should probably just settle this on your ow–”

“No,” Gojo says, pointing to the couch that you were standing in front of, “sit down.”

You sit.

Gojo turns to face Sana again, and although you can’t see his face, you imagine he’s pissed off from the way Sana’s shoulders drop slightly and her sharp expression is cut into a more sheepish one.

“Who cares if Juno is suspended for sticking up for herself? It’s the teachers’ fault for not making sure she’s safe,” he says.

“Shoving other kids is not the solution.”

“Well if you fuck around, then you find out. Kids are too soft these days.”

“This is not the 90s, Satoru.”

You watch the back and forth between the two of them for the better part of an entire minute, feeling uneasy in the hostile environment of the room, but there’s a sense of underlying familiarity between the two, one that is recognizable amongst family. And you feel rather foreign, but then remember that, technically speaking, now that you’re married to Gojo, this is your family too.

Amongst the arguing of the adults, none of you noticed that Juno had gotten out of the car in the driveway and was now standing in the doorframe of the front entrance. She looks scared and guilty, fidgeting with her fingers in front of her, and you notice her scrapes and bruises that you tended to last week were now mostly healed.

Gojo catches sight of her, and you see his shoulders relax. “Juno, c’mere.”

With the permission, she instantly runs towards him and into his arms from where he was crouched down to the floor in order to welcome her, and then she starts sobbing.

“I’m–hic,” she cries, “I’m so–hic–I’m so sowwyyy Uncle Toru…I’m–hic–I’m sorry mommyyyy.”

You see Sana sigh and she makes a move to brush Juno’s tear-dampened hair out of her face when Gojo pulls her away from his shoulder by a delicate hold of her bony little shoulders.

“Juno. Listen. If people are being mean to you, then you do exactly as your auntie y/n said. You stand up for yourself. And if that doesn’t work, then you cuss at them and threaten to shove their faces into the dirt until they run away with their tails between their legs. Do you understand me?” Gojo tells her.

Sana gives you a pointed look.

“Oh, I–” you put your hands up in front of you, “I didn’t say any of that last part.”

“Do you understand me?” Gojo repeats again, and Juno nods her head slowly before she falls back into him and soaks his shirt with tears. “I’m soowwwwwyyyyyy.”

Gojo pats her back a few times to comfort her, and your heart breaks for the little girl. It’s bad enough to be bullied at school, but then to be reprimanded by your mother the one time you stand up for yourself…you can imagine how emotionally exhausting that would be for a five-year-old.

Juno sniffles, rubbing her snot all over the cotton of Gojo’s shirt, and then pulls her face away to rub at her eye with a weakly closed fist. “I–hic–I just…I just wanted him to feel–hic–the same hurt.”

“Huh? Who?” Gojo asks.

“The boy,” Juno says, “the one that shoved me today.”

“It was a boy?!?!?!” Gojo yells. “Alright. That’s it. I’m grabbing my bat.”

“Satoru.” Sana deadpans.

Sana and Gojo continue to bicker about the ethics of threatening five-year-old boys with baseball bats, going back and forth about how Gojo wasn’t actually going to do anything but just wanted to instill fear (he’s lying), while Sana isn’t exactly sold on a single pacifist thing that he says, and you sigh, because you realize you’ve become invested in one of, what you feel like will become many, of their family quarrels.

Juno sneaks around Gojo’s legs and comes up to you while the arguing is taking place in the background, and she gently taps your knee as you’re seated on the couch. “Auntie y/n,” she whispers.

You rub an eye crustie from her face and then hold her hand in yours. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Mm? For what?”

She smiles at you, her cheeks pink and flush from crying but rounded now in glee. “My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that, sweetheart?”

Why wouldn’t Sana and Jun be on normal talking terms? What does Juno mean that it’s been a long time? What exactly was going on at home?

“Juno,” Sana’s voice interrupts your thoughts, her arms crossed across her chest, “c’mon. Let’s go.” She points a stern finger at Gojo. “Seriously. I mean it. No baseball bats or rodent traps involved. I’ll talk to the teachers and sort something out.” She glances at you, that strict look on her face now dissolving into one of pure exhaustion. One you can imagine only a mother can face. “See you later at dinner, you two.”

Juno runs up to her mom and grabs onto her outreached hand, and you see Gojo ruffle her hair as she walks past him, her giggles ringing in the air, and then he sees them out the door.

The air is awkward, at least to you, the second he closes the door, and when he turns around to face you, your body stiffens up.

He leans back onto the front door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks,” he says, “for telling Juno to stick up for herself.”

You blink at him. “Well. I don’t feel too great about it at the moment, to be honest.”

He sighs. “I just think that Jun and Sana are raising her to be…kinda meek. I wish they’d teach her to be more confident and take up space.”

“Mhm,” you nod. Because you agree. Little girls need to learn how to be that way at a young age, because the world is seldom very kind to them.

“Well, what you said to her is what I would’ve said to her anyways,” he says.

You roll your eyes, standing up from the couch and heading back into the kitchen to presume your work on your peach cobbler. “I never told her to shove kids’ faces into the dirt. But, uh, sure, I guess so.”

You see Gojo enter the kitchen too in your periphery, but you don’t give him any glance or look or attention. From what you can see as you stir around your macerated peaches in a Pyrex bowl, he’s leaning against the island counter about three feet away from you, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s watching you. A slight warmth radiates in your cheeks, but you attempt to ignore the nerves by being hypnotized by the pink syrup that pools at the bottom of the bowl.

My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.

An unsettling feeling takes over your senses. It could be the past few years you’ve spent walking on eggshells around your mother, or the way you’ve become so keen to her energy as a way of staying on top of any shift in her symptoms, any single sign of disease progression, any clue that she wasn’t getting better. Any clue that she wasn’t doing okay. And you feel a sense of dread, because that skill, you realize, has now made you aware of similar circumstances in the people around you.

Not to mention, you are a child of divorce. You know what that fear feels like.

You just want to know if Juno feels safe at home.

“Hey, um…” you start, turning slightly to finally face Gojo, your eyes hesitantly flickering up to meet his gaze, “when was the last time you saw your brother-in-law? And with Sana?”

He raises a brow at you. “I just saw them last weekend for one of Juno’s dance recitals.”

“Ah…I see,” you say. You purse your lips together.

Right. Kids say things all the time. They believe in Santa Claus and think that blueberry pancakes are called blubbery pancakes. And they sometimes read too into things, and they sometimes read too little. Surely, things must be okay. Maybe Sana and Jun had had a little argument with some stubbornly thawing cold shoulders, a demeanor that was noticed by their child, and now things have resumed to normal. That was normal. Part of every family. “That’s good to know…”

You turn away from Gojo to stare back down into the bowl of macerated peaches again. With a furrowed brow, you close your eyes tightly to try to shake the chilly feeling in your bones, and you feel better when you open them again. The slightly numb sensation in your hand dissipates and you have enough dexterity to mix the peaches around in the bowl.

“I wonder what news they want to share with us over dinner,” you say, to quell the awkward silence.

“Hm?” Gojo hums, and you see him turn around face the counter now, hovering over the bowl of raw crumble topping you had mixed together, prodding at it with the wooden spoon. “Oh, they’re moving.”

Your head snaps to look at him. “W-What?”

“Yeah,” he nonchalantly affirms, scooping up a spoonful of the crumble. “They wanted to up-size, and move a little closer to the school that Juno’s at. I found them a nice place about an hour from here on the outskirts of the city. They just signed the papers a couple weeks ago.” And then he shoves the spoon into his mouth.

“Oh…wow,” you say. “Okay…”

“Damn,” Gojo says with surprise laced in his tone, "this is really good.” He’s staring into the bowl in awe and then scoops up some more crumble with a spoon.

You blink at him, irritated that he’s eating all your ingredients without even asking, and before you’ve even finished your dessert. It’s like he was born to piss you off.

You walk up to him and yank the bowl away, “Gimme that.” Then you pull it into the divot of your waist possessively and glare at him.

He sighs, and then says something out loud that you’re sure he meant to keep in his head:

“I’ll get used to it.”

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. it feels so strange to post such a short chapter bahaha hopefully the ending isn't too abrupt. but hope you enjoyed! i'm so sorry ab the slow burn in this series aaa but i can try to assure you that it'll all be worth it hopefully lol i'm really excited for what i have planned for this series!! alsooo sorry if there are errors or anything, i'm trying to spend less time editing since it really stalls me n leads to writer's block lol. hope to see you in the next one :) much love! - ellie

➸ take me to chapter six!

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riddlemelater · 2 months ago

Text

As Above, So Below - M.R

Masterlist | Nav

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

summary: It was supposed to be simple—just sex, no strings, no expectations. Mattheo didn’t do attachments, and you weren’t looking to fix him. But the lines are starting to blur, and neither of you are willing to admit it.

wordcount: 4.2k

warnings: fem!reader, smidge of alcohol use, suggestive content, slight emotional manipulation, toxic fwb relationship, slowburn angst.

If you haven't already, you can find part one here

a/n: Thank you for all the love on part one! I've toyed with this for a few days and decided to make it a three-part series. The final chapter will be up soon <3

As always, all likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ✯

“Nott!” You grinned, arms spreading wide in mock surprise as he approached. “Do my eyes deceive me, or are you actually gracing us with your presence for once?”

Your brow arched teasingly as he mirrored your grin, a bottle of firewhisky clutched in one hand— no doubt smuggled in by the seventh-years, who, according to rumour, had taken to selling booze and cigarettes to the rest of the castle.

Pansy was perched on the armrest beside Draco, one hand wrapped around a drink and the other tangled possessively in the hair at the nape of his neck, her not-so-subtle way of marking territory. Enzo had disappeared the moment he arrived, a blur of brown hair and flirty compliments. And Blaise was already occupied with a Ravenclaw girl, probably discussing something no one else understood.

With Enzo and Blaise gone, and Pansy otherwise occupied with Draco, you were alone— and you really didn't want to be, not tonight. You kept your gaze away from the couch where Pansy and Draco were entwined, but you couldn’t stop the sting that followed. It wasn't like you were jealous; you were truly happy for Pansy, even if it only lasted another week till they were off-again.

But since Mattheo had pulled away, discarded you like a toy he'd grown bored of, you couldn't stop noticing the empty space he used to fill, like something had shifted when you weren’t paying attention.

It didn't make sense. It was supposed to be easy, casual. Yet, it had been a week since you'd last seen him, and it felt like the days dragged on and the silence grew denser. Worst of all, you were beginning to notice the emptiness where his presence used to be. Like it wasn't the absence of company that bothered you, but the absence of him.

The weight of it had started to creep up on you, and you weren't ready to accept it. But just as you began to stew, your eyes landed on Theo heading your way. Looking every bit out of place as he weaved between sweaty bodies toward you. It was a relief, almost, like Salazar himself had taken pity on your predicament. Talking to people who didn't look through you, who didn't leave you questioning everything after showing a rare moment of softness in the hidden corners of the castle.

“Believe it or not, even I get bored of solitude sometimes,” Theo quipped, coming to a halt beside you and surveying the chaos descending on the Slytherin Common Room.

“Careful Nott, that almost sounded sociable.”

Theo huffed a laugh under his breath, nudging your shoulder with his and leaning down as if he was telling you a secret. “Don’t tell anyone, I have a reputation to uphold.” He winked playfully, then lifted his eyes and cast them around the room, as if he was already regretting showing up.

You smirked, taking a sip from your drink. “Of course, of course. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you actually enjoy human interaction.” Your eyes rolled amusedly, and you couldn't help but giggle at his serious expression.

It was strange how easy it was to laugh with someone, how easy it could be. Stranger still that you hadn’t done much of it lately— not since Mattheo had stopped looking at you entirely.

“Exactly.” Theo’s lips curled at the edge, and there was a softness to it, a rarity for a boy who was so often emotionally reserved. “Though I’ve been known to make exceptions. From time to time.”

Before you could muster a reply, you felt it— a flicker of something, the weight of a stare. You didn’t want to look up. You already knew what you’d find, those familiar brown eyes locked on you. Waiting, watching like a predator. And that old, familiar ache pulled at you again— the one you'd tried to bury deep down, tried to snuff out altogether.

And yet, one look your way and you'd crumble, feeling him pull you back in, like always.

Across the room, half-shrouded in shadow, Mattheo was watching you. He leaned back against the wall, a drink in hand, and surrounded by a handful of loud, familiar faces, but his attention was locked on you, like the rest of the party didn’t exist.

Jaw tight, eyes dark and unreadable— which was curious, considering since your last encounter, he’d been avoiding you like the plague.

Not a glance in the corridors. Not a single sarcastic remark during breakfast. Not even a hidden brush of his fingers against yours in passing— normally his subtle, deliberate way to remind you he was still there.

But now? His stare burned through the haze of sweat and alcohol— bore right into your own gaze, and it was fierce enough to make you look away first.

“Do you want to go sit? Away from this.” Theo gestured awkwardly toward Pansy and Draco, locked in a steamy make-out session everyone could do without seeing. Though he hadn’t seemed to notice Mattheo staring, at least.

“Please.” You nodded sharply, grimacing at the sight, “Before I’m sick, preferably.”

Theo snorted in agreement. “Get a room, Malfoy, for Salazar’s sake!” he muttered, already heading toward a mercifully empty couch across the room.

You didn’t notice the way Mattheo’s eyes lingered on you, even after you’d turned away. Nor the way his knuckles tensed and turned white around his glass. If you had, maybe you’d have understood why he hadn’t touched you since that night.

The couch was tucked away in one of the far corners. Far enough away from the crowd that Theo noticeably relaxed, sinking down next to you with a contented sigh. Your free hand ran across the dark green leather contemplatively, tracing over the seams with your fingertips— an absent motion, more about distraction than interest.

If Theo noticed you'd pulled away, he didn't mention it. Just sat there beside you quietly, and watched the room with that unreadable, slow-blinking gaze of his.

“If I had to endure five more minutes of that,” you muttered finally, nodding towards Pansy and Draco, “I’d have hexed them both into the middle of next week.”

A lopsided grin tugged at his lips, and wordlessly, Theo offered you the bottle of firewhiskey, "To your self-restraint. Truly remarkable."

You took a swig and passed the bottle back, wincing as the burn hit your throat. “To yours. I thought you only emerged from your dorm once on a blue moon.”

He chuckled, lifting the bottle in a mock toast— like in that muggle film Gatsby. “I was feeling generous,” he said, settling back with a lazy smile. “Figured I'd grace you lot with my company. Just this once.”

You bit back a grin. “Let me guess— Enzo begged, you caved, the rest is history?"

“Worse.” He sighed, overly dramatic. “Apparently, being the quiet one isn’t allowed anymore. I’ve been labelled as antisocial by Blaise,” he raised his hands, fingers curling into exaggerated air quotes.

“Ah. Damage control, I see.” You snorted into your drink.

Theo hummed, amused, and leant back fully into the couch, his legs stretching out as though he planned to stay and keep you company for a while longer. Not that you minded— Theo was actually quite pleasant to talk to. Plus, he didn’t have his tongue shoved down anyone’s throat, which already put him leagues ahead of Pansy, for the moment anyway.

You followed suit, settling into the comfortable silence, head tilting back against the couch lazily— just in time to catch movement in the corner of your eye.

Mattheo.

He'd moved from where you'd first spotted him, closer, but only just. A cigarette hanging from his mouth, jaw tightly wound. But it was his gaze you noticed, locked onto you— as though he hadn't blinked since you'd looked away.

Your breath hitched before you could stop yourself from reacting. For a moment, everything around you melted, blurring together until all that remained was the weight of Mattheo’s cold glare.

He wasn't smiling. His signature smirk was gone too, replaced with a tension in his jaw that made your stomach wrench. Though he wasn't doing anything, really— except watching.

Until he wasn't.

Because a moment later, someone else stepped into your line of sight— some girl, you didn't know her name, all legs and fluttering lashes, wrapping her hand around his bicep like it belonged there.

And Mattheo didn't stop her. Didn't say a word, didn't shrug her off like you’d expected. Like you’d secretly hoped.

He just let her lean in close, lips brushing against his ear, then he smirked. A slow, deliberate curl at the corner of his mouth like she'd said something worth hearing. Even worse— like he knew you were watching.

And you watched, for a moment too long, as she fawned over him and his arm snuck around her waist, pulling her closer with the same arms that had been wrapped around you just a few days ago.

Your jaw tightened faintly, and you averted your eyes like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t just felt something cold, and strangely like jealousy, settle in your chest.

She was pretty, gorgeous even. Tall legs, flawless skin, dark, pin-straight hair that shimmered when the light hit it. You couldn't deny that she was beautiful. But it wasn't about her looks, or even her at all. It was about the way Mattheo let her get that close— how his arm curled around her waist with the same easy, practised touch you'd grown attached to.

It wasn't supposed to matter, whatever it was between you had never come with promises, yet, as you turned away your chest tightened. The bitter taste of something you refused to name caught at the back of your throat.

It didn’t mean anything. It never had. You told yourself that firmly. It was just strange, seeing him with someone else. That’s all— a lie.

You hadn’t realised you’d gone quiet until Theo had glanced over, his brows lifting subtly — like he knew something was wrong, but he couldn't place it.

Instead, he simply nudged the firewhiskey back into your hand, the edge of another lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “Careful,” he said lightly, “with a face like that, they’ll think I’m boring you to tears. Blaise won’t be happy with me.”

You knew what he was doing—knew he understood something had caused you to stiffen beside him—and it felt like he knew that something took the shape of his curly-haired best friend, even if he didn’t say so.

Nevertheless, it was an out and you were more than grateful he’d offered it without questions.

So you nodded, gave yourself a shake, and took another swig from the bottle. Forced your eyes anywhere but that side of the room—because you had no real reason to be looking. Not anymore. Right?

You weren’t exactly sure when the party started to wind down. Maybe it was somewhere between finishing off Theo’s bottle of firewhiskey and the quiet moment you stopped pretending you weren’t looking. When your resolve wore thin and curiosity, or something dangerously close to it, got the better of you.

Mattheo was long gone by then. So was she. And you loathed the fact that you even noticed his absence in the first place.

You hated yourself for wondering where he’d taken her. Hated even more the vividness of your imagination— picturing the smug tilt of his head when he grinned, the way he’d press her onto the nearest surface like he so often did with you.

You wondered if he had brought her to your place, the forgotten classroom with the creaky hinges and the couch he’d transfigured from two battered desks. If she were beneath him now, tangled and exchanging the same heat and desire you'd once shared. If her moans caught in the same space where yours used to echo.

You didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to think of her at all. But Mattheo Riddle had found a way to burrow under your skin, like the ghost of a bruise you kept pressing just to feel the sting.

Eventually, Theo had coaxed you from the couch with a wry smile and a tug of your wrist. “You’re going to sulk a hole through the cushions.” He’d said, and you had no choice but to let him spin you around and lead you toward the crowd.

Which worked for a while. Theo's easy company was a welcome distraction, but your mind kept wandering back to the far side of the room, to Mattheo watching you like you were the only person he could see. And when Theo spun you around in some ridiculous attempt at dancing, he was still grinning, unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

It was nice, you supposed. Nice to pretend that everything was normal, nice to forget the curly-haired boy who was so far out of reach, caught up in someone else's arms.

But then Enzo had come barrelling in, one arm slung around Theo and the other around you. He reeked of firewhiskey and the faintest hint of women's perfume, “We’re carrying this on in the dorm,” he’d announced, “you’re both coming, right?”

Enzo's head flickered between you both, a drunken smile resting on his lips and evident in his eyes. But to Enzo’s dismay, you’d only stepped back and shook your head. Made some poor excuse about being tired and wanting your own bed, not because you couldn’t stand the idea of walking into their dorm and seeing Mattheo’s empty bed— or worse, not empty at all.

No. Definitely not because of that.

Mustering up a reassuring smile, you waved the two boys off, watching them disappear up the stairs to the boys' dormitories— Theo practically holding Enzo up by his shoulders. Then you turned and made your way to your own dorm. Alone.

The stairs to the girls' dormitories were unexpectedly quiet, the only sound a faint thrum of fading music drifting up from the common room—remnants of the party still echoing, a few stragglers lingering below, reluctant to call it a night. Most of the house had clearly taken the festivities elsewhere—likely the Room of Requirement—or slipped away with someone for the rest of the evening.

Even Pansy, unsurprisingly. You tried not to look as you entered your shared dorm, but her bed was front and centre and hard to miss— curtains drawn tight, the faint shape of two bodies curled together casting shadows behind the fabric like something smug and deliberate.

At least they’d had the decency to perform a silencing charm this time. Small mercies.

You climbed into bed, pulling the covers over you like it might block out the noise in your head. Told yourself it didn't matter where Mattheo had gone, or who he'd gone with. But even as you closed your eyes, you felt the dull ache of it all, that hollow feeling that only seemed to grow the more you denied it. Still, you insisted you didn’t care.

Said it to yourself again.

And again.

Until your eyes finally fluttered shut and you slipped into a dead, restless sleep.

✯ ✯ ✯

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual end of day chaos— clinking silverware, floating candles gently crackling, the low hum of conversation rising and falling like a tide. You kept your gaze fixed on the table as you slid onto the bench beside Pansy, forcing your face into something neutral and greeted her quietly.

Mattheo was already there. Across the table and a few seats down. Subconsciously, you had checked before you took your seat, debating on skipping dinner altogether if you were forced to sit too close.

He didn’t spare a glance toward you. Just carried on talking to Blaise and Enzo like you didn’t exist. And the worst part? You couldn’t blame him for it, because he’d told you, time and time again, that it meant nothing.

You picked at your dinner with little appetite, aware of every movement he made— every tilt of his goblet, every time he raked a hand through his curls. You tried to convince yourself you weren’t watching, but you felt it the second his eyes finally flickered in your direction.

“Eat,” Pansy’s voice broke through the haze, her manicured fingers nudging your plate closer while she glared at you pointedly. “You look like you’ve been raised by dementors.”

You gave a weak laugh, stabbed at some roast potatoes on your plate, and made a point of meeting her eyes as you chewed. “Thanks, that's exactly the look I was going for."

Pansy only rolled her eyes, but there was no bite to it. Just concern— carefully disguised under a thick layer of disdain, like everything with Pansy. She leaned in, glancing quickly to make sure no one was watching, then speared a piece of roast chicken with her fork and murmured quietly in your ear.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said, “but if you think no one has noticed something’s going on with you two, then you're thicker than Goyle.”

You stiffened, chewing slower as the weight of her words sunk in. You opened your mouth to brush it off, but nothing came out. Instead, your thoughts skittered nervously, grasping at any excuse, any lie you could tell. But there was nothing you could say, not even to yourself.

Pansy didn’t push. Just bumped her knee against yours underneath the table, a small sign that she was there for you. That she noticed. And for the first time all day, the knot in your chest loosened just enough to let you breathe.

Across the table, Mattheo laughed at something Blaise had said. Your fork paused halfway to your mouth at the sound. That laugh— careless, familiar, slicing you open in front of everyone.

You didn’t look at him, but you felt him. No matter how much you denied it.

The way the air shifted when he moved in his seat, or how his voice sank into your skin like smoke. His presence seemed impossible to ignore, even when you were trying to pretend to be wholly unbothered by it.

"You know," Pansy said contemplatively, pointing her fork at you lazily, "You could give Draco a run for his money with how much you're brooding." She raised an eyebrow, her voice dropping to a quiet, almost bored tone, but her eyes flickered with that unmistakable sharpness Pansy exuded. "Look, all I’m saying is— if you’re going to spiral, at least let it be over someone who deserves you.”

You weren’t sure what stung more—her assumption, or the fact that you couldn’t disagree. Your fingers wrapped around your goblet, its cool surface doing little to soothe the heat crawling under your skin. The tension in the air seemed to tighten, matching the pressure in your chest. Like you couldn’t escape the heaviness in your head, that weight of knowing Mattheo was there, and that he didn’t look at you. That he didn’t care to.

The sound of his laughter reached your ears again. You didn’t dare turn to look. You couldn’t.

But your eyes flickered toward the corner of the table where his tousled curls gleamed under the candlelight anyway. The way his shoulders relaxed as he leaned back, the way his hand moved lazily over his goblet, everything about him was so effortless, like nothing mattered.

And still, you tried to ignore the way your heart twisted.

✯ ✯ ✯

It continued on like this for a few weeks— Mattheo carried on finding new girls to warm his bed while you threw yourself into your studies.

December loomed, and the professors were handing out assignments like sweets at Honeydukes, prepping everyone for the winter examination diet. In a way, it made things easier. Burying yourself in a quiet corner of the library gave you the perfect excuse to avoid Mattheo altogether.

The one place Mattheo Riddle would never set foot in— willingly— was the library.

With your friends just as snowed under with Herbology reports and Transfiguration research papers, it was the perfect time to slip under the radar.

Early mornings in the library had become comforting, a part of your daily ritual. You started leaving the common room before most Slytherins had even opened their eyes, disappearing amongst the towering shelves and the scent of fresh parchment, surrounded only by neurotic seventh-year Ravenclaw’s studying for their N.E.W.T.S, and the scratch of quills on parchment.

The castle felt different at that hour. Quieter. No chattering of students, or laughter echoing off the stone walls— just the distant creak of windows in the winter breeze, and the flicker of fire light cracking and burning softly.

You preferred it that way. No questions or worried glances, no reason to pretend you were picking up the pieces of something that was never there to begin with. Just solitude, which was rare to come by at the best of times.

Your footsteps were soft against the elegant Slytherin carpets, padding down the girls' stairs tiredly— a small stack of textbooks under one arm, and your bag hanging off your shoulder. The common room was still half-cloaked in darkness, the only light coming from the soft green haze curling in through the windows that looked out into the depths of the Black Lake.

You didn’t expect anyone to be awake. Let alone him.

But there he was, slipping through the entrance like sin wrapped in silk, the heavy stone walls sealing back together behind him as quickly as they had parted. His shirt was untucked at the bottom, tie loose, hair messier than usual. Like someone had dragged their hands through it. The thought made something coil tight in your stomach, twisting uncomfortably.

You were frozen at the foot of the stairs, fingers gripping onto your textbooks like they could shield you from him. You didn’t even want to know what your face looked like.

He cleared his throat, blinking up at you from the doorway like he hadn’t expected to see you either. His eyes sweeping over you in that lazy, unreadable way of his, but something about the way his jaw clenched made it hard to believe he felt nothing.

“Library?” he asked, voice hoarse from disuse. Or maybe from something else, that little voice in your head chimed in, unhelpfully.

You nodded, skimming right past the question tugging at your mind, like how he always seemed to know where to find you.

“Before all the good seats are gone.” Your voice came out steadier than you were expecting, a sick sense of pride swelling in your chest. Like you were beating him at his own game.

He nodded, as though he understood exactly what you meant— but still, he didn't move.

You should’ve left then. You told yourself to. But it seemed Mattheo had dug his claws in deeper than you’d realised, and your body ignored the urge to slip past him without another word.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, hands shoved into his pockets, his usual air of nonchalance about him.

And then, as if deciding something internally, he stepped closer. One step. Then another. And another. Until finally, he was close enough that you could smell him— smoke and amber like always.

You didn’t say a word when he reached you. Still perched on the final step, you were nearly level with him— but he still felt taller, somehow—and you watched him through tired eyes.

His hand came up slowly, as if reaching for something delicate— his fingers brushing along your jaw. But his touch didn’t feel familiar, not like it was tinged with the usual lust or haste. It was gentle. Soft.

Then his lips found yours—slow, unannounced, but so deliberate it stole the breath from your lungs. His hand cupped your cheek like he might break you, that simple touch causing your knees to weaken.

It felt as though he needed something only you could give. Like he knew you’d give him it, even when you shouldn’t.

This means nothing. You knew that. And yet, you kissed him back. You always did.

When he finally pulled away, your breaths were shallow and uneven, but he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you for a second too long, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Something that reminded you of that defenceless look in his eyes in his post-fuck haze.

Something that just felt real.

Then he stepped back— eyes flickering to the floor then back to you. As if he was about to say something, anything, that would make it all okay.

But he didn’t. He just exhaled, nodded once more and disappeared up the stairs, like he hadn’t been the one who came to you at all.

You stared at the spot where he’d just stood, frozen once more. The faint taste of him still fresh on your parted lips, the lingering smell of amber and cigarette smoke that curled around you.

And just like always, he left you with nothing but silence.

©️riddlemelater 2025.

#mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle fanfic #hogwarts era #my writing #draco x pansy #lorenzo berkshire #theodore nott #slytherin boys #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson

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httpsserene · 4 months ago

Note

Me agian lmak

Can I pretty please get the one from the kink list (breeding kink)

With max, pierre,lance, alex and mick

Love you 🫶🫶🫶

🧽🪣 would you like a complimentary car wash? — send me any five (5) drivers and one (1) kink from this list, and i will rank the drivers in order of who i think is most to least likely to participate/avoid, or love/hate that kink !!! each driver will have a small blurb written xxx

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. i tried my best with this one, i feel like it kind of does not eat :( happy 3k bianca xxx

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

𝐦𝐭𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 fem!bipoc!reader x mv. 1 | pg. 10 | ls. 18 | aa. 23 | ms.47 cw under the cut.

refrences to marriage, pregnancy, starting a family, baby trapping, gold digging, and more. mick has a bit of a menty b about the seriousness of pregnancy. less smutty and more focused on internal monolgue.

𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭

Pierre’s breeding kink is severe. It wasn’t as prominent with his past girlfriends—but with you, it’s like he can’t erase the thought of getting you pregnant out of his head whenever you have sex. Sometimes, he catches himself agonizing over the fact that he didn’t finish inside you, because he thinks he’s wasted an opportunity to knock you up. He hasn’t discussed this with you, though—mostly because he’s afraid that you’ll think he’s more of a weirdo than you already know he is. You’re the one who goads him into fucking you harder by begging him to fill you up, so is it his fault? It’s a miracle that you haven’t ended up pregnant from the amount of unprotected sex you two are participating in and he knows it’s disgusting to even briefly think about wanting your contraception to fail. He thinks it’s that extreme because he’s always wanted a gaggle of children, a bunch of mini-you’s and mini-him’s running around. He’s not insane enough to have you carry five of his children if you don’t want to—surrogacy and adoption are always options, too.

Max does not have a breeding kink. If he looks at you interacting with his nephews and thinks that you’re going to be the best mother to his children, that’s not proof of his so-called “breeding kink.” If he thinks he’d be thrilled to have you hand him a positive pregnancy test right now, that’s not proof of his so-called “breeding kink.” If he cradles your stomach delicately as he slowly grinds into you from behind, mumbling into your shoulder about how he can’t wait to put a baby in you, that might be a breeding kink. And, if he pretends that he’s cumming inside of you even though he’s using protection, that might be a breeding kink. Max isn’t ready to be a dad but, he knows you’d look like even more of a goddess if you were pregnant. He has dreams of you waddling around the apartment with a rounded belly, always startling awake from them drenched in sweat and rock hard.

Alex wants to start a family with you, but he just doesn’t have a fetish about impregnating you. He thinks the term “breeding kink” is a little bizarre, sounding too animalistic for his taste. If you’re the one with the kink for being bred, Alex would try his best to satisfy that urge for you, but he’s going to sound a little awkward while doing it—there’s no way he’s going to make the phrase “I’m going to knock you up” sound attractive. His tone always comes across as unsure, the two of you pausing mid-fuck to stare at each other in silence before collapsing into hysterical laughter at just how corny that was. He thinks it’s better to continue his usual dialogue of compliments and praise, instead of trying and failing to see the allure of an impregnation kink.

If there were a kink for being sexually unattracted to impregnating you, Lance would have it. It probably stems from pregnancy scares with his exes, where the elation of possibly becoming a parent was tainted by what was an attempt to baby-trap him. It doesn’t matter what precautions the two of you take during sex, Lance wouldn’t even insinuate that he’s going to breed you—he’s traumatized, and that would ruin the pleasure of sex with you. It’s not that he thinks you’re like the women in his past who were gold diggers–he knows that you’re dating him because you love him and you aren’t chasing after his wealth. But please, save the breeding kink until after the two of you have been married for a few years.

Mick is too respectful to have a breeding kink. He thinks it’s demeaning of him to be sexually aroused by impregnating you. Matter of fact, he thinks any variation of “I want to get you pregnant” said by anyone should be considered a threat if they're not serious about it. He doesn’t understand the psychology of it—are those who have the kink aware of the commitment that is having a child, let alone the risks and difficulties of pregnancy? If people did, he thinks a lot less of them would have a breeding kink—not that he’s mansplaining, he’s just trying to be a gentleman. Do you know what Mick finds attractive? He finds being able to have an uninterrupted night of sleep with his beautiful girlfriend attractive—being well-rested and childfree, turns him on. He’s young, you’re young—these years should be spent cherishing each other before he’s mentally prepared to start taking the breeding roleplay seriously.

𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x black!reader #f1 x poc!reader #max verstappen x reader #pierre gasly x reader #lance stroll x reader #alex albon x reader #mick schumacher x reader #max verstappen smut #pierre gasly smut #lance stroll smut #alex albon smut #mick schumacher smut #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 smut #⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1 #httpss :// 3k vday celly.

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russellbee · 1 month ago

Text

MEETCUTESNYC LESTAPPEN VER. (MV1, CL16)

charles leclerc x driver!childhood friend!reader x max verstappen (no team or gender specified) summary. you, max, and charles are approached by the meetcutesnyc instagram account, and this is how it goes. (1k) warnings. should be none!! andi's note!! obviously this is not the oscar fic i was working on but i keep seeing these reels on ig and i got inspired :) — if you don't know what i'm talking about the account is meetcutesnyc & they go up to couples and ask them how they met, etc.

nav+masterlist

meetcutesnyc Sports Rivals

["Excuse me." You, Max, and Charles all look up at the sound of his voice. Max has a blank look on his face, expecting a fan interaction, while you and Charles both look a little spooked. "Are you two a couple?" The person behind the camera gestures to you and Charles.

Max snorts, "All three of us, actually." You roll your eyes as Charles nods. "That's awesome. Would you guys mind telling me the story of how you all met?" Charles visibly lightens up, and he nods eagerly.

"I will tell the story."

The camera cuts, and now you're all standing along the edge of the sidewalk with Charles in the middle. "I met them both in karting when I was seven, but they met when they were younger. They hated each other, and at first, I played the mediator, for a while, actually. But then, Max really started to get on my nerves." Charles laughs a bit, his cheeks turning rosy. "So we," He gestures to you and him, "Became his number one haters. He was our enemy." Max rolls his eyes at 'enemy' before interjecting.

"I was their enemy because I was better, of course." You and Charles both begin speaking over each other, arguing about your skills. Max just laughs as you both go on. Eventually, Charles calms down enough to continue. "Then, it was 20, uh, 2015. They come up to me and say that they went out on a date with Max— him of all people! I was outraged. First, he got an F1 seat, then he got my crush, too? Oh, it was horrible. It destroyed me."

You shake your head, an amused smile on your face, "He's being dramatic, he literally asked me out the next day." Charles gasps. "I am telling the story, let me continue."

"So, I learn of this and then I go to Max and tell him about my feelings for them. Then Max just goes 'oh I like you too if you're cool with that'. I was shocked! Who wouldn't be? So, the next day I go up to them and I ask them if they want to go out on a date with me and Max. Obviously, they said yes. And now we are here, many years later."

"What's the secret to ten years together?" Max's face scrunches up in response and he turns toward the two of you. "Has it really been ten years?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Before they can start bickering, you answer the the original question. "We work together so it's really easy to see each other, but when we don't that's a little hard, obviously; being on different teams and all. But, I think our rivalry keeps things going, even during the off-season, we're arguing or joking about something that happened 13 years ago."

"Racing against each other definitely makes it very interesting. Adds some fun to everything, I think." Max teases, his eyebrows raised. "It's also just nice in the summer; we go on vacation and don't do anything. We just enjoy our time together," Charles adds.

"And what are your names?"

"Charles." "Max." "Y/n."

"Thank you." You wave toward the camera, and the video ends.]

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user charles and y/n being the original max haters...yeah i could've guessed that lol

user the funniest part is they're like his biggest defenders now 😭😭 user the verstappen hater to max defender pipeline is in fact very real, no one can resist his charm ↳ user loser cat dad charm ↳ user user duh ofc user gax rivalry at the end of 2024...where he mentioned how y/n and charles would do anything to defend max...uh huh, yeah cool

user charles being so excited to tell their story 😖 he just knows everyone will eat it up

user and i did. i've watched this video 30 times now and it just keeps getting cuter

user "adds some fun to everything" oh yeah i'm sure it does max 😼

user never forget las vegas 2023...i have those pictures saved to a special pinterest board that i look at every day ↳ user and las vegas 2024...i can't wait for november, las vegas has become their number one race for being insanely hot in public user max always needs to add an innuendo if he's in an interview with either of them 💀

user i was today years old when i learned they've been dating for ten years...i thought this was a recent thing

user you and max apparently 😭 user it's been recent publically, but everyone kinda assumed they've been dating for a while just bc of the way they act

user playing the y/n champagne pour edit on my tv while i watch lestappen interviews on my phone

user #1 y/n edit, good choice user every time i see anything related to any of them, i'm opening my camera roll to watch the edits i've saved

user max looked so offended when the guy didn't realize all three of them were dating 💀 how obvious does he think their relationship is

user literally everyone knew before they announced it lmao ↳ user how do you think they look to an outsider tho? not everyone's an f1 fan ↳ user never forget ted kravitz interviewing y/n pre-silverstone 2022 where they jokingly said they were gonna crash into charles for 'leaking their relationship' and then having to do damage control later when they actually (accidentally) crashed ↳ user user watching those interviews seasons later actually had me crying 😭 literally no one would believe them

user watching this makes me wonder how the grid deals with third-wheeling them all the time, it must get tiring at a certain point

user they seem so fun to be around tho, they're always bickering 🥲 user please tell me you've seen those compilations on yt of clips of the grid being annoyed/rolling their eyes at them whenever they're around 🙏🙏 ↳ user OMG??? i'm about to run to youtube i need to see this

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mysticalx · 1 month ago

Text

Attraction

pairing : harry james potter x fem! reader [coz i love him ;)] warnings : none that i could think of. but there is lots of fluff! a/n : hello! wc : 0.9k nav : series masterlist

A certain inexplicable gravity one feels towards the other. It is often subtle and steady.

“Sorry for being late, Professor.” The doors of their Potions classrooms bellowed open and closed with the same crash. The culprit in question was a fellow classmate visibly out of breath and definitely out of luck as parchments of her book begin spilling out, ruining her already soiled day. Ten points were taken from Gryffindor that day and despite Harry mentally groaning at the 12-year -old girl like any other student who was late, their was something inexplicable about that particular eve which stuck in his mind.

It wasn’t until the October of their third year that Harry saw the girl again, only this time she was a part of the Quidditch team. A keeper. She had changed quite a lot - both in demeanor and appearance, Harry noted. Primarily, she was exceptionally perceptive and agile, dodging the quaffles with extreme swiftness so much so that the absence of the injured Oliver wasn’t felt much. It was as if any hint of her prior clumsiness was wiped off. Apart from the subtle hello and exchange of pleasantries, there wasn’t any noteworthy moment between the two. And though Harry wanted to talk to her, their interactions were limited to slight acknowledgements and nods in the Great Hall. He didn’t mind it though.

“Harry!!” Her voice was the last thing he heard after the terrible memory of his mother’s screaming as he fell off his broom and plunged into unconsciousness. The next time he sees her, it isn’t just a simple nod and smile, instead her expression morphs into that of worry as she moves in line to walk along him.

“How have you been? It doesn’t hurt much does it?”

“I wasn’t injured thankfully. Pretty tough isn’t it?” He tries to shrug it off with his signature sass but her frown deepens.

“I am not talking about the fall silly. It’s the dementors. Apparently they suck all the good memories out of a person and I can’t even imagine how it must have been to face them. Not once but twice.” They had talked about the match loss, his broom breaking, his physical injuries and some had even mocked him for being the lone person to have fainted on the train. No one had yet talked about how emotionally shaken he was and had ever so conveniently downplayed his trauma.

“I heard from Professor Lupin that this helps.” And so when she passed him a chocolate bar, some sort of dam broke. He didn’t want the girl to see him cry in their first conversation and so while accepting the chocolate with unstable hands, he quickly muttered a small “Thank you” and just like that disappeared in the sea of students. It was much later that he realized how dumbfounded she must have been and ever so deeply wished that she had heard his meek appreciation. He thanked her properly the next time they met.

“Was she dancing?” The thought was incredulous but not entirely unbelievable for the footsteps marked with her name moved in great harmony at the same spot in the corridor. He was planning to use the secret passage to sneak into Hogsmeade but upon spotting her name inside the castle, he decided to meet her first. Upon reaching the corridor, he realized she wasn’t dancing but rather pacing back and forth furiously as if racking her brain hard enough to figure something out.

Upon seeing him, she brightened for a second but then dejectedly dragged her feet towards him.

“I forgot to get the slip signed.” She whined eliciting a laugh out of him which he later regretted when his foot got stomped.

“Why don’t you contact your parents and get it signed then?” He said while trying to soothe his leg. He wasn’t finding her that much likable anymore.

“Do you think it’s that easy? They are aurors and sometimes it’s weeks before I get to talk to them again. Welp I don’t think we can help it now, let’s just enjoy the chocolates they get us.”

“What if I tell you there is a way we can go?” He would neither forget the way her eyes lighted up nor the bone crushing hug he was later engulfed into. She was likable, he concluded.

“Even the lovesick look mirrors James.” Siris said amused as Harry handed over the Butterbeer to her.

“It's like watching him spring back to life.” Remus agreed. Harry was now flaunting the froth moustache as she laughed hysterically.

“Five galleons they get married.” Sirius sneered.

“I am not betting against them.”

“Tsk tsk. Such a spoilsport. Well since you are here, buy me some firewhisky.” Sirius muttered.

“No.”

“I cannot possibly go as a dog.” Sirius was exasperated.

“Then go as Sirius Black.” Remus was now walking away.

“I can see the chirp in your feet.”

“Yes you can.”

to be continued....

#harry potter x reader #harry potter series #harry james potter #hp fandom #hp fanfic #hjp #no beta we die like fred #no use of y/n #golden trio era #harry potter #harry james potter x reader

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lxkeee · 1 year ago

Text

HEAVEN AND BACK!

—CHAPTER THREE

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Alastor's Mom! Angel! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: Romance, love at first sight.

Warnings: none.

Notes: sorry it took awhile, I got lazy lmfao. Also, I listened to caramelldansen when writing this.

CH. ONE | CH. TWO | CH. FOUR | NAV.

It has been a few days since Alastor's mother decided to stay at the hotel, the woman fits right in perfectly with the sinners in the hotel.

Almost.

The angelic woman couldn't get a chance to get to know better hell's very own King, Lucifer.

As Alastor always tries to come in between her and the man.

Is this what Adam called "Cock blocking?" She heard the man say that before and before Adam could explain it to her, Emily explained that it's something where 'You try to talk to someone but somehow there's something or someone stopping you from doing so?' that's what the girl said but did also tell her to not use that term.

How strange.

She sighs, running a hand through her [h/c] locks, careful not to accidentally scratch her own deer antlers. The woman is currently in her 'demon' form, large deer like antlers that are on top of her head, she made sure not to wear bright colors and instead chose to wear something on the darker shades of red, her wings are hidden while her halo was transformed into a golden necklace that hung around her neck.

She rests a leg on top of her other leg as she sits on one of the many cushioned chairs of the hotel, she looks down from the second floor balcony, getting a good view of the hotel's lobby.

“Pray tell, what really brings you here in hell oh dear mother of mine?” Alastor asked beside her, standing beside the seat she sat on, his hand holding his cane-like microphone, he looked at his mother with a grin, though, a confused look in his eyes. He knows his mother, he got his personality from her after all.

Like mother, like son.

[Y/n] giggled, “Overseeing this hotel's progress, isn't that an enough reason to be here?” she answers, eyes closed with a gentle smile on her face. Her eyes opened to see her son's disbelief smile.

Alastor tilted his head slightly, grin widening, “I doubt that is the reason, I was so sure that the celestial realm denied Charlie's plans so,” he says, pausing a bit as he hummed to himself as if he was thinking, “—I was rather surprised that heaven decided to change their minds.” he says with a smirk.

He knows she's hiding something.

[Y/n] can't help but let the sides of her lips twitch upwards to a slight smirk. Clever boy. She thought to herself.

With a defeated sigh, she chuckled after, “There is a reason but heaven cannot disclose that yet. That is the only thing I can tell you.” she explained before raising an eyebrow at him, “Is that an enough reason?”

Alastor tilted his head slightly, his smile widened, humming as he thought to himself, “Hmm... I supposed that is an enough reason and I should stop bothering my mother about it.” he says with a smirk.

[Y/n] playfully rolls her eyes at her son, eyes fixated down below to the lobby of the hotel, [e/c] eyes focused on a certain blond fallen angel who's currently drinking a glass of wine at the bar area.

“Enough of that, I would like to ask you why do you keep on trying to stop me from interacting with him?” She asked, head turning away from the scene below and once more looked at Alastor whose smile had slightly lowered in annoyance, a small scoff leaving past his lips.

“Do I really need to give you a reason, dear mother of mine?” Alastor asked, tilting his head, his voice sounding almost a grimace thinking about the shorter man making moves on her.

[Y/n] just raises her eyebrow at him, a small hum escaping her lips, “Please do.”

Alastor hums, dark red eyes looking down on the folks currently in the lobby, “He's a man, mother. In fact, he's the king of hell. I don't trust him.” he grumbles, the smile on his face is gone and is now replaced with a small frown.

[Y/n]'s face softened, she knows her son's disapproval in men, especially if said men have an interest in her. Her last marriage was a failure and filled with pain and Alastor was by her side through it all.

She can understand why he hesitates, why he tries to put distance between her and the men that come to her life.

"Alastor, sweetheart. Don't worry about me,” She says softly, a small gentle smile on her face. Her eyes closing and opening as she glanced at the people down below, her smile widened as she saw sinners mingled with one another.

She's glad. She's glad that there are souls who are willing to try and earn redemption.

And she's here to guide them.

Alastor looked at his mother, his usual grin now back on his face.

“Besides, the man seems nice. It must be lonely being the first fallen angel.” she says softly, she can't imagine the pain Lucifer must've dealt with. She read about him when she was in heaven, she was curious about the first fallen angel and the heavenly libraries were filled with eons and eons of information and she read everything she can about him. Sera even warned her in case she turns to heresy and Sera made sure to remind her to keep her loyalty to heaven and avoid getting influenced by him.

Alastor hums, “I suppose,” he says with a small nod before giving his mother a side eye, “Though, I don't think I'll be comfortable with the possibility of calling him...” he paused and gave a small gag, “—father.” he says with disgust.

[Y/n] chuckles, “Me? Marrying the king of hell? What an ambitious dream would that be.” she says with a small laugh, flicking her hand sassily.

“I just want to be his friend, the man seems like he hasn't formed any meaningful relationships during his life.” she says with a small giggle and Alastor had to fight back from laughing, “Indeed, he has not.” he agrees with a small chuckle.

“Don't be mean, I didn't raise you like that.” [Y/n] chuckles, elbowing her son on his side which made Alastor let a small grunt before pouting at her, “Apologies.” he says, tone clearly not genuine which [Y/n] can clearly tell.

She sighs exasperatedly.

Alastor chuckles his eyes closing before opening once more to look at his beloved mother, “Oh and another thing,” he spoke, [Y/n] looked at him a quirked eyebrow, a small hum escaping her lips, “Hmm?”

“I would like to express my gratitude in what you have down to the hotel's garden, you've brought life to this godforsaken place. I am sure these sinners haven't seen any kind of greenery ever since they have died.” Alastor grins, his eyes darkened from amusement over the misery of these loathsome sinners.

[Y/n] chuckles, though, questioning where she went wrong in raising him.

“It was nothing, I thought the hotel needed a little green that's all! All of these reds are hurting my eyes.” she says glancing at Alastor with a judgemental look in her eyes.

Alastor just rolls his eyes at her which earned him another harsh elbow to the sides.

Lucifer was admiring the lush garden of the hotel's backyard, he has never seen such greenery before—he did but it was eons ago when he was still divine, but it was eons ago and has already forgotten what it looked like—a large willow tree at the side just by the door to the hotel, the once dried up fountain at the center is now back and running, multiple plants surrounded the area and grass, good heavens, he doesn't remember when was the last time he touched grass.

He doesn't know when was the last time you touched grass, dear reader. Go out sometimes, it'll be good for you.

What was he thinking again? Ah, grass.

‘I broke the fourth wall? You're just seeing things, sweetheart.’ he thought in amusement, eyes staring off somewhere as if looking at something... Or someone.

He just chuckled in amusement before walking towards one of the bushes of roses, the heels of his shoes clicked against the pebbled pathway and he stopped in front of a bush of white roses, the fragrance of the flower immediately filling his nose.

It's been so long. He forgot what roses smell like.

Lucifer's eyes sparkled in awe, his wine red like eyes filled with wonder, his right gloved hand gently caressing the petal of a white rose, feeling its softness—just one of the few species of flowers that bloomed in hell for the first time.

“Do you like it?” a feminine voice spoke out—a voice familiar to Lucifer, a voice belonging to a certain radio demon's mother, the silkiness of her voice—it made Lucifer shudder, “I thought the garden looked bare, I thought some greenery would fix it.” [Y/n] chuckles softly.

Lucifer turns around and sees [Y/n] standing behind him, her hands behind her back. The red knee length dress hugged her curves perfectly—it stole Lucifer's breath away, she's gorgeous.

He chuckles, placing his right hand back to his cane, “Indeed, it has been quite long since I've seen such beautiful flowers.” he says, his voice filled with longing and a hint of sadness that [Y/n] didn't fail to notice but decided not to point it out, “They are lovely, I am grateful for being presented with another opportunity to see such beautiful flowers.” he spoke softly, irises glancing at the flowers briefly before looking back at the taller woman.

[Y/n] chuckles softly, “It's a pleasure,” she says with a small smile, taking slow steps as she walked by his side.

“It was fun growing them and an honor to give the princess of hell her own garden of flowers.” she says with a slight chuckle.

“And with that, I am forever grateful.” Lucifer says with a small smile, eyes shining briefly and for once, it's not dull.

[Y/n] was glad to see the shine on his beautiful eyes, and also seeing a genuine smile on the man's face.

After all, you're never fully dressed without a smile.

“You are most absolutely welcome, sweetheart.” she says with a grin, amusement dancing in her eyes as the rosy spots on the man's cheeks seem to redden even more.

“Ex-excuse m-me?!” he stammers, the endearment catching him off guard, it has been quite some time since someone called him something so... Affectionate.

[Y/n] tilted her head slightly, a feigned confusion on her face. Who knew the king of hell is quite easy to tease?

“Hmm? Is something the matter?” she asked softly, a hint of playfulness in her voice, “Is the nickname not to your liking? Would you prefer darling instead?” she asked teasingly.

Lucifer has never been more flustered in his entire existence.

“Are you normally this mischievous?” he asked, his hand covering his face while his other hand gripped into his cane.

“Usually I'm more.” she answered honestly with mischief on her lips.

“Of course, you're the mother of a certain radio demon.” he said with an exaggerated sigh making [Y/n] chuckle.

“Speaking of him, where is he? He usually stays by your side.” he deadpans, his hand that was covering his face lowered back to hold his cane, he's been wanting to interact with this woman properly ever since he met her but that damn radio demon kept her away.

[Y/n] hums, “I am not entirely sure, I'm sure he is somewhere around the hotel.” she says with a hum in her voice, glancing at the side to see a certain demonic shadow quickly leaving.

This damn brat, she'll teach him a lesson later.

Lucifer just hums, thank Satan. He can't stand that demon and his annoying grin.

Finally recomposing himself, he grins at her.

“Well then, I hope everyone in the hotel is treating you well? I haven't gotten the chance to ask you as a certain someone kept getting in the way.” he says with a small smile but his voice strained a little when he mentioned a certain someone.

[Y/n] hums softly, leaning down slightly to reach the rose bush, her hand gently caressing the petal of a white rose, “Everyone has been nice so far, I'm glad you asked.” she says cheerfully.

“I'm glad.” he says with grin.

“I am glad too.” she said softly with a grin.

Maybe, hell isn't too bad.

Both of them thought at the same time.

TAGLIST:

@adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata @kouyoumarryme @sxgacxbe @kooidoom @yukichan67 @apple-pop @akiralovespenguins @storydays @kaurochika @amphiroxx @lil-writer-523 @punching-pentagrams @moonlovers34 @h3110kitty0 @bethleeham @hcneyiced @ashleygryffindor @ghostdoodlen @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @cupidsgift @shilladodo

#lxkeee updates #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lxkeee hazbin hotel masterlist #lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer magne #“HEAVEN AND BACK”#lxkeee writes #lucifer morningstar x reader fluff #lucifer x you #Lucifer x you fluff #love at first sight

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angstywaifu · 3 months ago

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Black Dahlia - 44. Unexpected Reunion

Summary: Dahlia's Squad and Bodhi are dragged into their first assessment for RSC. Land Nav. And just her luck she'd end up with not one, but two people she would like to be as far away from as possible. A/N: This is going up while I'm travelling for a week away for my birthday, so not sure if I will have reception or time to check my phone before I don't have it. But I can't wait to come back and see your comments and asks! Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Links |

My eyes fly open, jolting back as someone moves something away from my face. I squint at the bright morning light, shielding my eyes I look up to see our RSC teacher Professor Lee backing away as he approaches Liz who lies on the ground next to me. My head feels foggy as I sit up and take in my surroundings. We’re in the middle of the forest, somewhere definitely close to Basgiath as the foliage is similar.

”Let me guess, RSC?” I ask Proth as I reach out to him.

I feel agreement flow through the bond. “Yes, something I hope you can over come quickly. A waste of time if you ask me.”

”Why is it a waste of time?” I ask, as I push off the ground, dusting grass and dirt off my flight leathers.

”You only need it if you don’t stay seated. Or we somehow get separated, which has never happened.” He growls in annoyance.

Noted. Don’t leave my dragon. Something that’s already been drilled into us. Though you never know what could happen. I look to my left seeing Kai, Austin and Bodhi waking up as well. My eyes widening as I take in the squad next to ours. You have to be kidding me. Dain and I lock eyes, both of ours narrowing at each other. Great. On top of being stuck out here for up to two days, I had to spend it with him. And work with him. Movement next to him catches my eyes and I can’t help but smile slightly at Imogen who pokes her head around him as she assesses the area. I hadn’t had much to do with her, but the interactions I did have with her were good. I could see myself getting along with her.

”Well, look who we have here. Haven’t seen you two in a long time.” A deep, but somewhat familiar voice drawls.

I turn my head to see two squads of infantry cadets, my blood running cold as I recognise the one speaking to Dain and I. Despite how much time had passed, there was no denying who stood in front of me. Ethan Caldwell. The boy who had thrown that rock in that clearing. The actual reason my mother was dead. This day was just getting better and better.

”See you took after your father in infantry.” Dain says through pursed lips.

Dain and Ethan were never close, always butting heads as kids. So I know his displeasure is not due to what happened that day. But mine definitely is. He was my friend up until that point. At least I thought he was.

”As did you two. Though I’m honestly surprised after that little incident.” He drawls as he turns his attention to me.

My hands tighten into fists, my nails digging into the palms of my hands as I stare at him. I would enjoy nothing more than running him through with one of my daggers, but I don’t think it would go down to well if I took out a cadet from another quadrant in front of two Professors.

”Everything ok?” Liz asks as she steps closer to me.

”Fucking fantastic.” I growl out as I hold Ethan’s stare.

”You sure? You look like you want to murder him.” Bodhi adds as my squad gather behind me.

”Trust me, that’s not even the start of what I want to do to him.” I say as I tear my gaze from Ethan and look at Bodhi.

There’s no denying the worry in Bodhi’s eyes as he looks at me. But he clearly understands this is something I can’t talk about right now. And honestly didn’t entirely want to. Though there was no stopping Ethan from spilling what he was referring to. I just had to hope that he kept is damn mouth shut.

”What the last thing you guys remember?” Kai asks as two healers cadets walk around handing out a small ration and water. Which I’m thankful for seeing as I hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday and it was now the morning.

”Walking to dinner from the gym with Dahlia.” Austin says as she opens her water skin.

”Yeah, the last thing I remember is heading there with Kai.” Liz adds.

Seems we were all taken after we left the gym. They had definitely been watching and waiting. Maybe that’s where Garrick and Xaden ended up? No, third years didn’t go through this. Their equivalent was being sent to an outpost to assist.

”Sorry for the abrupt change in scenery, but welcome to your first land navigation exercise of the year.” Professor Lee starts as his eyes scan us. “In the last two weeks, we have hopefully taught you how to read a map and survive. And now you get to put those skills to the test, and seeing how well you can adapt to working with other cadets you have never worked with before.”

Two squads of infantry, two quads of riders, two healers and a scribe. All of whom have never worked together. This was going to be interesting.

”For this exercise there will be two maps, two teams, but you will work together as one cohesive unit. Aetos, your squad-”

”Which one?” Dain and I say perfectly in sync as we cut off the Infantry Captain, causing all the riders to look at us in shock. Almost surprised with how in sync we’d been, even down to the tone in our voice. Perks of being twins I guess.

”Of course they sent you two together. Second squad-”

”Which one?” We both ask again in sync, Dain turning to glare at me as Bodhi and Imogen snicker behind both of us.

”You’re both second squads?” She asks, looking annoyed.

Professor Lee chuckles as he steps forward with two maps clutched in his hand. “Yes and both from the same wing. Dahlia, you’ll be with third squad.” A blonde haired infantry cadet raises his hands. Thank the gods I wasn’t with paired with Ethan. I step forward and take the map from Lee. “And Dain you’ll be with second squad.”

“Excellent. We’ll see you all tomorrow afternoon.” The infantry captain says before turning and walking away from us with Lee and leaving us on our own.

”Oh, and just to make it more fun, there are other groups out here with you.” Lee adds as he turns back to us. “You are also not allowed to mount your dragons. But they are hunting the other groups, and their dragons are hunting you. Best work together so you don’t die.”

And with that, we’re on our own. The infantry, healer and scribe cadets look pale now Lee has mentioned the role our dragons are playing in this. Two days to find our extraction point and not get burnt my another dragon. Oh and add the fact I’ve got Dain and Ethan to deal with. What could go wrong? Oh wait, everything.

”Did he just say we could die?” The scribe squeaks out as they clutch their satchel.

”Sure did. Kinda part of being around dragons.” Imogen says with a smile, though it does nothing to ease the now petrified scribe.

”Don’t listen to her. You’ll be fine.” Dain says as he tries to ease the scribe’s nerves.

”Don’t sugar coat it Dain. You know very well how deadly dragon fire can be.” Ethan snickers as he eyes Dain and I.

”Pretty sure we all do. So lets get to work and get moving.” Bodhi says sternly, ending the conversation. I’d almost swear he was innistic with how he could read situations.

”Good idea. Dain give me your map.” I say as I hold out my hand towards him.

”You have your own map. You don’t need mine.” He tells me as he puffs out his chest.

”Well aware, but I wouldn’t put it past them to give us different maps or do something to confuse us.” I tell him as I cock my head at him.

He grumbles but quickly hands his map to me so I can lay them out next to each other. We all gather around to assess the two maps, and it’s immediately clear our maps are completely different. Our extraction points are in the same spot, but the markings and layout of the maps are completely different.

”Well look at that, you were somehow right.” Ethan says smugly as he looks up at me.

”Yeah, she generally is. Without her we wouldn’t have won war games last year.” Austin snaps at him, causing him to glare at her.

Great we were already at each others throats. This was going so well.

”Let’s figure out where we are and get moving then.” The blonde squad leader from infantry commands as he cuts off the bickering that was definitely about to start, all of us nodding in agreement. We needed to win this.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601 @thegiftofacreativemind @fanfictionjunkie1112 @mysticalfuncollectorus @ohlookitsasinglepoeceofpopcorn @emoravenwolf

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #the fourth wing #fourth wing imagine #garrick tavis #garrick tavis imagine #the empyrean #fourth wing x reader #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis x oc #garrick tavis x dahlia aetos #dahlia aetos #dain aetos #bodhi durran #imogen cardulo

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honeydippedfiction · 1 month ago

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Hi girlie, congrats on 1k!! Could you do ‘"You can do better than that, baby. I want (him/her/them/ everyone) to know you're mine."’ with Luke Hughes please!!

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

"You can do better than that, baby. I want (him/her/them/ everyone) to know you're mine."

Luke Hughes x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The house on Washtenaw Avenue was packed, its walls vibrating with the beat of early 2000s throwback hits and the hum of too many voices speaking at once. Outside, the air was sharp with late fall chill, but inside, sweat clung to the backs of necks and drinks were already spilling down the fronts of faded Wolverine T-shirts. It was a classic Friday night at the University of Michigan—and the hockey team knew how to throw a party.

Y/N stood in the kitchen, a plastic cup of ginger ale in hand, her gold hoops glinting every time she turned her head. Her soft brown curls were pulled up into a loose puff, edges laid to perfection, her deep brown skin glowing under the warm kitchen lights. She looked like she didn’t belong in a place so chaotic—too put-together, too grounded, too magnetic. Which is probably why half the guys in the room, including a few from the Michigan hockey team, kept circling like moths drawn to a flame.

She didn’t seem to notice.

Ethan, one of Luke’s sophomore teammates—tall, cocky, and annoyingly charming—leaned in closer than necessary as he cracked a joke about the team’s last skate drill. Y/N laughed, not because she was flirting, but because she was polite. She was like that—warm and welcoming in a way that made people feel comfortable around her.

AJ joined a moment later, adding something crass about Coach’s pregame speeches that had Y/N rolling her eyes but still smiling. A few of the boys nearby elbowed each other, clearly entertained, not just by the conversation, but by how close they could get to her before Luke inevitably noticed.

It didn’t take long.

From across the living room, Luke Hughes had been watching the interaction unfold with a clenched jaw and a white-knuckled grip on his solo cup. He was usually the calm one among his friends—cool-headed, composed even under pressure—but seeing his teammates hovering around his girlfriend like she was fair game had his blood simmering.

She was his.

And they knew it.

Luke wasn’t stupid. He knew Ethan, AJ, and even Matty weren’t interested in Y/N for real. They were doing it to get under his skin. Testing him. Poking the bear. But still—Y/N was laughing. She was brushing her hand over her shoulder, casually stepping sideways when one of them leaned too far into her space. She didn’t push them away. She didn’t call them out. And maybe she didn’t realize what was happening.

But Luke did.

He handed his half-finished drink to a freshman and made his way through the crowd. A few people called out to him—teammates, friends, some random guy from one of his business electives—but he ignored them, his eyes trained on the kitchen like a missile locked onto its target.

He slid in behind Y/N without a word, slipping his arm around her waist like it was second nature.

She jumped a little, surprised. “Luke—hey.”

He didn’t return her smile.

“Can we talk?” he said, his voice low, barely audible over the music.

She blinked. “Now?”

“Yeah. Now.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing around the room. The energy was light, the conversation still flowing, but Luke's tone was off—tight, serious. She could feel the tension radiating off his body. Without asking any more questions, she let him take her hand, fingers lacing easily with his.

He didn’t say a word as he led her out of the kitchen, past the makeshift beer pong table, through the crowd of half-drunk undergrads, and down the hallway toward the bathroom. She had to pick her way around bodies pressed against walls, dancing and swaying in time with the music. She followed him anyway.

He opened the door to the small bathroom and gently tugged her inside before closing it behind them. The sudden silence was startling. The bass still thudded faintly through the walls, but in here, it felt like a completely different world.

Y/N leaned against the closed door, crossing her arms. “Okay… what was that about?”

Luke ran a hand through his thick brown hair, pacing once before leaning over the sink with both hands braced on the counter.

“You seriously didn’t notice?” he asked, voice sharp but controlled.

“Notice what?” she said slowly.

He looked up at her then—his blue eyes intense, stormy. “The way Ethan and AJ were all over you. Laughing too hard, standing too close. And Matty? He couldn’t stop staring. You didn’t think that was on purpose?”

Y/N frowned. “I mean… they were just talking.”

“They were flirting.”

“They were not—”

“They were,” he cut her off, stepping toward her now, his voice quieter but no less firm. “And they were doing it to get to me. You don’t see it because you’re too nice. Too… open.”

She tilted her head, trying to read him. “So you’re mad because other guys were talking to me?”

“I’m mad because they were my teammates,” he snapped, then took a breath, lowering his voice again. “They know we’re together. They know how I feel about you. And they’re still willing to push the line. That’s not just disrespectful to you—it’s disrespectful to me.”

Y/N let out a slow breath, processing. “You think I was encouraging it?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, babe, that’s not what I’m saying. I know you weren’t. But you didn’t shut it down either. You didn’t see what they were doing.”

“Maybe not,” she admitted. “Because I trust the people you surround yourself with. I didn’t think your teammates would act like that—like I’m some prize to win if they push the right buttons.”

Luke’s shoulders tensed again, guilt flashing across his face. “That’s what they were doing. And it drove me crazy.”

There was a beat of silence between them. Not angry—just heavy. Honest.

“I’m yours, Luke,” she said finally, her voice soft but unwavering. “You don’t have to claim me. I claimed you a long time ago. They don’t matter.”

Luke’s expression shifted, a spark igniting in his eyes. “Still want everyone to know it, though.”

Y/N felt her heartbeat quicken. She knew that look—the heat in his eyes, the shift in his voice. She knew what it meant.

She pushed off the door and stepped closer to him. “You want to stake your claim?”

He closed the distance between them in one step, his hands cupping her jaw, thumb brushing over her cheek. “Want everyone to know exactly who you belong to.”

Her breath hitched, skin tingling with goosebumps as his fingers slid into her hair. She could see the desire burning in his eyes, his gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips and back again. He leaned in slowly, giving her time to back away if she wanted to.

She didn’t.

He kissed her softly, his mouth gentle against hers, testing, teasing. She kissed him back, her hand sliding over his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. She’d missed this—missed the warmth of his body against hers.

Luke made a low sound in the back of his throat, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers as he backed her up against the wall. His hands moved down her body, tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her hip. She could feel the heat of his skin through her shirt, the hard length of him pressed against her stomach.

“Luke,” she breathed against his mouth, her body aching for him.

She wanted him to touch her, needed him to. His hand slid under her shirt, fingers teasing the edge of her bra. He kissed down her neck, his teeth scraping over her skin, sending shivers down her spine. “God, Luke. Please.”

His hands gripped the backs of her thighs, lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, moaning as he pressed her back into the wall. She could feel how hard he was, the length of him rubbing against her through their clothes. His mouth moved down to her neck, teeth scraping over her skin. She tilted her head to the side, giving him better access. He sucked on her pulse point, hard enough to leave a mark. She moaned, her hips rocking against him. “Fuck, baby. I want you so bad.” He set her down on the counter, his hand going straight between her legs. She gasped as his fingers brushed over her, teasing her through her skirt.

He kissed her again, his tongue sliding into her mouth as he pushed her shorts down. She lifted her hips to help him, breaking the kiss to pull her shirt off. He groaned when he saw she wasn’t wearing a bra. “Fuck. I missed you so much.” His mouth closed over one nipple, sucking and biting as his hand moved over her pussy again. She moaned, hips bucking up into his touch. “Oh God, Luke.”

His fingers dipped inside her, curling up to rub against that spot. Her head fell back against the mirror, eyes slipping shut as he fingered her. His mouth moved to her other breast, tongue swirling around her nipple. She was so wet, so ready for him. Her hips moved with his fingers, her breath coming in short gasps. “Luke. Luke, please.” She needed him inside her. Needed to feel him. He kissed her again, his fingers still working her pussy. “Not yet, baby. Not yet.” He added another finger, stretching her, filling her.

He knew exactly how to touch her, exactly where to rub. She was close, so close. She gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. He obliged, pulling off his shirt before going back to her breasts. She ran her hands down his chest, his abs, feeling the hard muscles under her fingers. His skin was hot, burning against her palms. She traced his v-lines, following them down to his pants. Her fingers worked at his belt, pulling it open before going for his button and zipper. She reached inside, wrapping her hand around his hard length. He groaned, his hips bucking into her touch. She stroked him, thumb brushing over the tip.

“You keep that up and I won’t last long,” he said, his voice low and strained.

“I want you inside me.” She let go of him long enough to lift her skirt. He pulled off the rest of his clothes before standing between her legs again. He kissed her, his hand moving back down to her pussy, fingers dipping inside once more. She moaned into his mouth, hips arching up. “Please, Luke. Fuck me.”

He smiled against her lips. “Whatever you want, baby.”

He gripped her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the counter. She wrapped her legs around him as he lined himself up with her entrance. He pushed into her slowly, filling her inch by inch. She bit her lip, moaning softly as he stretched her. “Oh God. Luke.” He kept going until he was fully sheathed inside her. They both breathed heavily, adjusting to the feel of each other. He pulled out before pushing back in, setting a slow, steady pace. She clung to him, her nails digging into his skin as he took her. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he said against her ear.

He was smug, taking his time to angle his hips, finding that spot that always caused her to scratch down his back as he pounded into her.

“Oh fuck Luke, right there,” she moaned.

Luke smirked against her skin and kissed her deeply. “You can do better than that baby, I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”

He picked up the pace, fucking her hard and deep, his hips slapping against hers. She could feel him hitting that spot with every thrust, sending waves of pleasure through her body. She moaned his name, her head falling back against the mirror. “God Luke, you feel so good.”

“That’s it baby, let them hear you,” he encouraged, his voice husky with desire. He gripped her hips tighter, pulling her closer with every thrust. “Who’s fucking you this good, baby? Hmm?” He took one of her legs and lifted it higher, making her feel him even deeper. She screamed, her entire body tensing up as the pleasure built. “God you, Luke! You!” Her nails raked down his back, leaving long red scratches in their wake. He hissed in pleasure and pain as his hips snapped against hers.

The sound of their skin slapping filled the room along with her moans and his heavy breaths. “Who’s fucking you this good, baby? Hmm?” he said, pulling her bottom lip with his teeth. “Come on, don’t be shy, say it.”

The noise that came out of her mouth was somewhere between a scream and a sob. “My boyfriend! My boyfriend is fucking me.” Her back arched off the counter, head pressing into the mirror.

He knew at the end of the day she was his. He just needed everyone to know that, and the best way to do that was to fuck her so good that everyone heard her screaming his name.

He was the one balls deep in her pussy. No one else. And God he loved it.

Her moans were getting louder as he felt her pussy clamp down around him. He knew she was close, but he didn’t stop. He couldn't.

“Say my name baby.” His voice was low, but it held so much authority you were almost scared not to do it.

“Luke! Oh my god! Luke!” He smirked as he felt himself get close.

“That’s right baby. Tell them who’s fucking you.” He moved faster, hitting that spot deep inside her.

“Who’s making you feel so good?”

“Luke! Luke! Fuck! Please!” She was screaming as he continued to fuck her as hard as he could. His grip on her hip tightened, making her scream even more.

He knew he was leaving marks on her hips, but he didn't care. She didn’t either. Her eyes were rolling back in her head as she got closer to her orgasm. His thrusts were getting more and more erratic as he got closer as well.

“Say it. Say it baby. Say you’re mine.” He was breathing hard as he waited for her to finally give in.

She screamed his name as you came, your pussy clenching around his dick so tightly he almost lost it right then and there. But he wasn’t done with her yet, and neither was she. She screamed his name over and over as he continued to thrust into her.

“Luke! Oh my god! Please!” He smirked as she begged.

“What do you want, baby?” He was starting to sound out of breath. The grip on her leg was still firm, but she could tell he was starting to get tired.

She felt him slam into her a few more times as her screams and moans got louder and louder. “You. Just you. Oh my god Luke.” His eyes fluttered shut as he felt his orgasm building.

“You’re mine.” He stated, his voice husky as he was close.

“Yes! Yes!” You moaned. He smirked again.

“Mine. All mine.” She felt him push deeper as he came. His hand tightened on her hip as he filled her, both of you breathing hard as she tried to get her breath back. Luke was the first one to speak as he pulled out. She was trying to clean herself up with the help of paper towels from the dispenser.

“You look so fucking hot with my cum dripping down your legs.” She blushed at his words, but she knew they were true.

She was in a skirt and her panties were ripped in half. There was no way she could walk around without everyone noticing. He smirked, knowing exactly what she was thinking. He took his finger and gathered some of the cum on her thigh. She watched in awe as he brought it to her lips. She opened her mouth, letting him put the cum in her mouth. He smirked at the sight. His girlfriend was a little slut for him.

“Maybe this will teach you to stop leading all those guys on.” She looked at him with confusion.

“I wasn’t leading anyone on. They were just being nice.” She was confused. Luke sighed, running his hand through his hair.

“Baby. You’re fucking hot as hell. You were flirting with my teammates. Of course, I got jealous.”

She laughed as he helped her up. “Luke. You’re the only guy I see. Besides, they were just doing it to rile you up.” He laughed, kissing her forehead.

“I know. But I couldn’t let them think they had a chance.”

She laughed, shaking your head. “Okay, caveman.” He smirked, kissing her deeply.

“Caveman or not. You’re mine.” She kissed him back as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Yours.” He grinned, kissing her again.

“I love you.” She smiled as she looked into his eyes. He smiled back.

“I love you too, babe.”

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pleasantlycrazyworld · 9 months ago

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An: This was requested, but i lost the request! I hope you like it if you do please like, comment, and reblog it helps keep me motivated when you all interact with my work <3 Reader should be gender neutral please lmk if I missed something and it isn't I'll relabel it! I imagined this with worst!Logan, but it could be any Logan

Logan is clingy

After losing so many people he cared for and loved, he clings to the things he cares about now. At first, he was never clingy. He didn't want to get attached, but now that you are together and he has allowed himself to fall in love, he fell hard and fast.

He wants to make sure you're okay and safe at all times. He doesn't mean to sound pushy or possessive, but he just wants to make sure you are safe, especially if he's not with you. It doesn't matter if it's the grocery store or your job he just wants to know where you'll be in case he has to save you. He lost too much in life, and he isn't ready to lose you anytime soon.

Your alarm went off way too early for Logan's liking this morning. He knew you were going to be getting up and leaving him for work and for some reason he just couldn't accept that this morning.

He groaned slightly and clinged to you tighter as he felt you starting to get up. "Lo, baby, I have to get up." You kissed his head and tried to get out of his arms again but was met with a stronger force pulling you back into his chest. "Why? You don't even like your job," he said with his voice laced with sleep and sarcasm. You turned and checked to see what time it was before deciding that you had a few extra minutes to give him love before having to really leave. You could go without breakfast if it meant getting to lay in bed a little longer.

He smiled, knowing he won when he felt you relax in his arms again. He kissed your shoulder before falling back into a deep sleep. When you started to hear his soft snores and you just sighed, maybe you'll just call in today...

Tagging:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@chaimshelii

@aoi-targaryen

#logan howlett #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x male reader #logan howlett x gn reader #wolverine imagine #wolverine x reader #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #worst!logan x reader

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bluntzah · 2 months ago

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THE PURGE ੈ♡˳

♫ hole — PETALS. nav ; m.list.

౨�� ྀ word count. 2.7k

౨౿ ྀ pairing. brother’s bsf!hamzah x fem!reader.

౨౿ ྀ warnings. mentions of blowjobs, very detailed description & foul language. please review all warnings before proceeding. i’m not responsible for what you choose to engage or interact with.

౨౿ ྀ summary. your brother plans a prank to scare you with help from his best friend, hamzah, but you flip the damn script. what was meant to scare you turns into a insane, fucked moment, one that risks exposing the secret you and hamzah have been hiding all along.

“We’re gonna get her sooooo good,” your brother said with a grin, giving a thumbs up toward Hamzah, who was trying to keep the camera hidden: almost like saying: She can’t see it from here. “m’not entirely convinced she’ll fall for this prank,” Hamzah muttered as he walked over and took the mask from your brother. “She’s kind of slow when it comes to life or death situations.”

“True,” your brother muttered, pulling the mask over his face. The plastic stretched slightly as it slid into place, transforming his familiar features into something more creepy. Hamzah caught the edge of the mask’s hollow eyes, making them look even more weird.

Ever since you’d accidentally snapped the arm off your brother’s glasses and flat out refused to pay for a replacement, he’d been planning over a way to get even. He wasn’t out for revenge exactly, just a good scare. Something to remind you not to mess with his shit again.

Hamzah had casually mentioned that you watched ‘The Purge’ last night, dropping it into conversation like it was nothing. But the moment the words hit his ear, your brother’s head snapped toward him.

“How the fuck do you know that?” each word dripping with suspicion. Hamzah froze for a moment. “Heard it when I was leaving yesterday.” Just like that, your brother’s gaze stayed for another second, long enough to make Hamzah feel the fuck out of it, before he gave a small grunt and looked away.

The breath Hamzah let out was as though he’d been underwater and had finally broken the damn surface. The relief that washed over his face was instant. His shoulders dropped slightly, and his fingers unclenched from the edge of the couch. He was lucky, seriously lucky that Hamzah actually came over yesterday to hang out with his best friend before slipping off to your room. If he hadn’t, that quick little lie would've crumbled the second he decided to push further.

Your brother was already plotting something. So, later that day, he dragged Hamzah along with him to a sketchy party store. They came back with cheap masks, but weirdly identical to the ones from The Purge.

You had gone to pick up the food your brother purposefully assigned to you, all part of his little prank. He needed time, after all. Time for him and Hamzah to finalize their plan, throw on the all black outfits, and run out to grab the masks.

And because your brother knew you better than you'd like to admit, he ordered from that one spot located near all your favorite stores. He counted on you getting distracted, staying longer than necessary, just like you always did.

It had become a habit, one that annoyed him more times than he could count. But today, it worked perfectly in his favor.

Hamzah had played ‘The Purge’ broadcast sound on the living room TV, strategically chosen, since it would be the first thing you’d hear the moment you walked through the door.

They had every detail planned out: Hamzah would be the first person you’d see, standing silently in a corner, hidden behind his mask. The second you bolted in fear toward your bedroom, your brother would be waiting for part two of the prank. Both of them closing in on you until you were so terrified you’d start crying: that’s exactly how your brother imagined it going, and exactly how he instructed Hamzah to carry it out.

“What if she tries to run out the door?” Hamzah asked, imagining the door still slightly open when you catch sight of him and run the other way. “Grab her? We’re grown men, Hamzah. She’s a little fuckin’ girl,” your brother annoyingly muttered as he jabbed the volume up button on the remote. “I give you permission to touch her if that makes you feel better, or whatever,” he added with a shrug.

Hamzah nearly laughed at the phrase “little fuckin’ girl,” considering you were only a year younger. And when your brother said, “I’ll give you permission to touch her,” stupidly unaware that Hamzah had already done far more than just touching you.

“Stick to the plan,” your brother said, adjusting his mask. “That bitch is gonna learn not to break my stuff and then act like she doesn’t have to pay for it.” Hamzah pulled on his own mask: the one he’d specifically chosen, the one your brother had called ‘creepy as fuck,’ which was exactly the vibe they were aiming for.

It wasn’t until then that Hamzah noticed your car pulling into the driveway, visible through the porch camera. Your brother quickly jogged to your room, and as soon as Hamzah heard your door shut, he moved to his usual spot in the living room — tucked away in the far corner hidden by the window. It was the perfect place to stay out of sight.

Hamzah heard the sound of your car door shutting, followed by the rustling of bags. He nearly rolled his eyes. Of fuckin’ course, you’d gotten more than just the food. Your brother had called it perfectly. Sure enough, you walked up with four extra bags from different stores. One of them was from a clothing shop, and Hamzah had to stop himself from grinning at the thought: he couldn’t wait to ask you to try everything on for him later.

He heard your keys jingling first, then the creak of the door opening. Luckily, you didn’t notice Hamzah right away, too focused on getting all the bags inside without anything spilling or tearing open. “Got your shit!” you called out, not even bothering to unpack.

You dropped the bags where they landed and turned toward the living room. Only to freeze, eyes going wide the moment you saw him. Or rather, the masked figure you thought was a stranger.

For a singular second, panic flashed across your face as Hamzah stood there, having to chase you to your room — the one place you were supposed to run to. But to his surprise, you let out a quiet sigh. A sigh of relief. Hamzah took a step forward, bracing himself for the sprint he thought was coming. But you didn’t move. You just stood there, frozen in place.

You bite the inside of your cheek, shaking your head as you step toward Hamzah. You slowly close the distance until you’re standing right in front of him: so close that your nose brushes against the cold surface of his mask.

“Cute,” you muttered. “Watching The Purge while you fucked me into my bed last night gave you the idea, hm?” You hummed, knowing full well what you were doing. Even though you couldn’t see his face, Hamzah’s neck flushed red. He had a weird way of blushing, and this was definitely it. You’d made a point the night before to mention how hot the girls in the movie looked in those “KISS ME” masks. And sure enough, that’s exactly the one he was wearing now.

Hamzah prayed on anything and everything that your brother hadn’t heard a word. And as if the universe decided to mock him, the TV kicked on right then:

“This is your Emergency Broadcast System announcing the commencement of the first, official Purge. Sanctioned by the New Founding Fathers. A nationwide experiment of violence and crime is now in effect for twelve hours. All crime, including murder, is legal.”

You glanced over your shoulder when the broadcast started playing, but that was all. A blink, then your eyes were back on Hamzah.

He was still frozen. Not because the plan called for him to chase you into your room but because he physically couldn’t move. He couldn’t risk your brother seeing just how hard he was for his sister, how your casual teasing about last night made his heart pound like a drum.

You turned back with a sweet smile, reached up, and gently lifted his mask: just enough to see his face one last time before you slowly dropped to your knees.

“Your brother…” Hamzah finally managed to say. You shrugged, completely unbothered. “What about him?” Hamzah nearly choked on a gasp as your fingers started trailing along his belt.

“He’s… in your room,” he muttered, guilt creeping in. He knew damn well that if your brother found out he threw the whole prank by giving in to you, he’d probably slam Hamzah’s head into the nearest wall. You looked up at him through your lashes, innocent and dangerous all at once. “Why is he in my room?”

You began unzipping Hamzah’s pants, making his eyes flick toward your bedroom door: closed, but far too close for comfort. He knew your brother, his best friend, was waiting just behind it. “We were… uh… doing a prank,” he mumbled, trying to focus. You hummed, encouraging him to go on.

“Thought we’d scare you… after you broke your brother’s glasses…” His words trailed off, dissolving into silence as your fingers brushed against him through the thin fabric of his boxers. He inhaled, chest rising with the struggle it took not to make a sound.

“And you agreed to help him?” you asked with mock disappointment. Hamzah nodded, a little breathlessly. You shook your head slowly. “That’s so mean.” Just as the words left your mouth, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down, his dick springing free the moment it was released.

“Your brother—” “Then you better stay the fuck silent unless you want him to hear you,” you cut him off instantly, eyes locked dead on his. After all, they were the ones who planned this whole prank, now it was just about to blow up right in their faces.

Hamzah doesn’t protest. How could he? He doesn’t want you to stop. Who would? You’re on your knees, lashes fluttering as you look up at him, and now all he can think about is the heat of your mouth.

His cock throbs, just inches from your face, the tip already dripping with pre-cum. You lick your lips, hunger written all over your expression, desperate for the smallest taste.

You wrap your hand around his cock, your fingers not quite able to meet around him. You stick out your pink tongue and swipe up the drip of pre-cum, savoring the salty sweet taste, not givin’ a fuck at the slight bitterness that hits your tongue.

A soft hum escapes you: you like it. You part your lips and take the tip into your mouth. “Easy… mm… m’sensitive,” Hamzah stuttered, his voice shaky as his hand found its way into your hair, fingers curling. He loved the way your warm, wet mouth wrapped around him, how he could feel your saliva with every movement. Your tongue swirled around the head, gathering more pre-cum, like you were smacking on every drop.

You began to gently suck on his tip, and the reaction was instant: he twitched in your mouth, jaw tightening. “Mm,” he barely managed, biting down on the inside of his cheek to stay quiet. He was doing everything he could not to make a sound, everything. But it was nearly impossible with the only noise in the room being the sirens from the ‘Purge’ broadcast from the TV, the prank long gone from his mind.

You take him deeper, your lips stretching wide to fit his size. The head of his dick presses against the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex. Your eyes begin to water, tears welling up at the corners and slowly spilling over onto your puffy cheeks.

Forcing your jaw to relax, you push him impossibly deeper until your nose buries itself in his abs. "Sohh guhd," you try to say around him, but it comes out muffled and garbled, sending vibrations down his dick.

You arch your neck, pressing your throat and chin against him, creating the perfect angle for him to start face-fucking you. He grabs a handful of your hair, using it as force to snap his hips forward, driving his dick out and in, in and out of your mouth.

You pullback, lips sliding off his dick with a wet pop. A string of saliva stretches from your mouth to his meat as you gasp for air, your chest heaving as you look up at him through watery eyes.

Snatching the white mask with the grotesque smiling mouth from where you had perched it up on his head, you secured it back over Hamzah's face. You drop back down to your knees, wrapping your lips around him again, immediately picking up speed. Your head bobs faster, creating a wet sound as your mouth stretches around his thickness. Saliva bubbles at the corners of your lips, making the blowjob all the more messy.

Your cheeks hollow as you suck harder, creating the tightest seal with your lips. You watch in a trance as the masked Hamzah throws his head back, stretching his strong neck. You swirl your tongue around him, feeling every throbbing vein, sending trembles down his overstimulated body.

"Squeeze me right here, please squeeze... Mhm!" Hamzah's eyes roll back as he starts to lose control, his hands gripping your head tightly as he fucks your mouth. He knows that if his best friend walked in right now, he would be met with a beating. The sight of you on your knees, taking his cock so deeply down your throat that tears stream down your face, would enrage him. However, Hamzah can't stop, and neither can you.

You love the taste of him, love the way his cock throbs and twitches against your tongue and throat. Each movement brings him closer to the edge, and you can feel it building with every suck and swallow. His approaching orgasm is obvious in the way his dick pulses and jerks in your mouth.

His cock bulges noticeably before releasing the first hot spurt of cum directly into your throat. You gag slightly as the first wave hits you, immediately forcing you to swallow. The taste is amazing - creamy and salty, flooding your mouth and coating your pink tongue.

Hamzah quickly grabs the pillow from beside you on the couch, pressing it firmly against his face. He bites down hard, muffling his loudest moan. You stand up gracefully, carefully placing the pillow back where it belongs. Hamzah's breathing is heavy, rising and falling rapidly as he recovers from the mind blowing orgasm you just gave him.

He quickly pulls up his boxers and zips his pants, attempting to compose himself as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, you storm towards your bedroom, slamming the door open with a loud bang.

There was silence before Hamzah heard your brother’s frustrated voice. “How the hell did you know? Did Hamzah say something? Hamzah! What the fu—” but he was quickly interrupted by you. “Hamzah didn’t tell me anything. You and his height aren’t exactly hard to notice, dumbass.”

The next time the two of you came out of your room, Hamzah overheard your brother mutter, “You’re fuckin’ irritating.” You just shrugged, offering a small smile. “I don’t know, Hamzah doesn’t seem to find me irritating.” The only reason you said that was to get a reaction from Hamzah, knowing he was still recovering from the aftershocks of what you had just done. With your brother also in the room now, he couldn’t fully relax.

“The fuck are you talking about?” Your brother’s gaze immediately shifted to Hamzah, who quickly flushed and shrugged nervously, a slight panic evident in the back of his neck.

“I just mean,” you continued, “he doesn’t seem upset that the plan didn’t go as planned… right, Hamzah? You’re not mad?” Hamzah caught the playfulness in your eyes, recognizing the smile tugging at your lips as you recalled the moment you had taken care of him, made him feel so good.

“Whatever,” your brother muttered, signaling Hamzah to follow him as he began heading back toward his room. Hamzah let your brother walk ahead for a moment, then jogged over to you quickly, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before running to catch up with your brother.

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