#presented without comment because it's so sweet (((':

[chimckenns]

If the mates had a TikTok page:

Angel:

Cursed edits of David - e.g. secretly filming him leading the pack meeting but only including the moments where he breathes/inhales.

Had their account on public but then one of David’s clients somehow found their account and their first impression of the security business’ boss was… not ideal.

So now their account is private. David let them keep the videos as a compromise (he can’t say no to his mate).

Sneaky prank videos - Angel creating a compilation of them smacking David’s ass, doing the “walking in on your husband showering” type of videos, etc.

Once in a blue moon they post a cute video of the both of them on a date - a fit check, perhaps.

While their account was still public their video of them gently biting on David’s bicep (filmed in a way that David’s face isn’t revealed and his bicep takes up most of the frame + only Angel’s mouth is showing) went viral.

Babe:

They have a lot of shitposts of the pack, but their account is on private so they can share things without worrying about the whole world seeing it.

The entire pack follows them.

Cursed images of Asher taken from weird angles with meme music in the background.

They have a cute video of their anniversary date with Asher, which is the only serious post they have on there. It was more of a present to him - a memory of their time together in a sweet montage.

Also vlogs of mate trips and hangouts.

They start a collection of videos documenting Asher’s progress in dealing with the pizza man.

The pack all see it and cheer him on in the comments.

Ends with a picture of Asher (wolf) posing with said pizza man (terrified)

Sweetheart:

They’re the couple tik tok-er, and Milo is also in on it.

Cute posts where SH does a fit check and Milo worships them while ranking his favourite outfits.

Videos of them doing cute things together with a soft piano background: cooking, cuddling, watching a movie, etc. Basically like a soft movie montage of their dates. Goes viral because of how beautiful their love is (and also how beautiful they are in general hehe)

SH would film Milo cooking sometimes, and he’d mimic those thirst trap cooking videos, earning a belly laugh from SH. You can literally see the love in Milo’s eyes as he watches them breathless from laughing. Small moments like these.

Sam:

Only has one post which is a short candid of Darlin’ where they were watching the sunset and the last golden rays shined on them just right. It blew up and went viral (Darlin’ is stunning, so no surprises there)

He posted it by accident while trying to figure out how the app works. He only downloaded it to follow the other mates.

He don’t know how to delete it and he can’t be bothered to anymore.

A one hit wonder that left the world gagged✨

[eboni-napalm]

𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕋𝕠 𝕄𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖 ℂ𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕝 -- [𝟛]

SUMMARY: You've always been drawn to him, even when you knew you shouldn't be. But time passed, situations changed. You found yourself in his presence more often. Welcoming it. Craving it, even. And despite the burning, screaming sensation in the back of your head telling you that everything about this was so very wrong... ...you'd be a fool to deny that what your heart wanted was so very right.

aka; the five times when your nerves couldn't accept The Ring General's advances, and the one time where you finally embraced them. -- CHAPTERS: [1] - [2] - [3] (you are here!) -[4] - [5]

WORD COUNT: 3,396

WARNINGS: None for this chapter.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Fluff. Pure, tooth-rotting fluff. Gotta give you a dose of sweetness with some soft Gunther before we get back into the tension and utter FILTH that is coming your way in the next two parts... <3

TAGLIST: @eringobragh420 || @moonlight1254 || @void-detective || @imperiumbunny || @neurodivergentempress || @stanswifties || @ellswritings || @princessesareforsuckers || @if-weburn-blog || @greyghoulette || @stacys-momxx || @self-indulgent-fanfics (If you'd like to be added to be informed of future chapters, please let me know!)

The first time you held his hand, it was on pure instinct alone; a supporting gesture to combat his thoughts at one of his lowest points you've ever seen him in.

You'd been struggling yourself in a different way- Ilja had been taken out with a torn ACL at a house show during the last European tour back in September, and you'd be without the constant presence of your best friend for a good ten months at a minimum. You knew it would be a struggle, but with the other friends you had, as well as a few of the other wrestlers you'd managed to make quick friends with since your main roster call-up back in spring, you weren't super worried. Most people in the company and backstage otherwise liked you well enough and didn't have much, if any issues with you at all- aside from a small handful, but you couldn't be bothered to care too much about them- they didn't matter. Just your old and new friends to pass the time and keep you occupied.

Speaking of new friends... you'd surprisingly found yourself in the company of Gunther quite often as of late, whether it be just a quick greeting in passing or a full-on conversation with him at certain times. You were very aware that he kept a very small amount of people close to him, which, frankly, mostly just consisted of his Imperium stablemate Ludwig Kaiser and possibly Giovanni Vinci- despite his... excommunication of sorts from the group just before the draft, you wondered if the Ring General still had contact with his friend and former teammate. Still, you'd be lying if you didn't say you considered it an honor of sorts to be welcomed in to his circle. Over the weeks, you'd even formed an odd, loose acquaintanceship with Kaiser; the handsome German man was as elegant as he presented himself to be, but also shockingly polite and provided you with a constant source of entertainingly snarky comments about people not in his best graces whispered to you under his breath, which often resulted in a snort of laughter from you. He'd also end up joining you halfway through your workouts at the local gyms some days, and when he met you in catering one Monday afternoon with an extra Vanilla Chai latte he picked up for you just because, you knew you'd officially made a friend- and judging by the fact that you had begun to be welcomed by the two fellow Europeans to start moving your belongings into their locker room... you'd made teammates, as well.

It was a slow process of sorts; you and the Mad Dragon normally just stored your suitcases in the public dressing areas for the men and women, but the members of Imperium had a nicer, private one all to themselves. Kaiser had extended the idea to you as more of a suggestion one random day with a shrug, mentioning that it might be nice for you to have a slightly quieter space- but with you also not missing the subtle smirk present both on his face and in his voice when he added that Gunther also had wanted to bring it up to you as well, mentioning that he enjoyed your presence. You did your best to hide your blush, but took him up on the offer. Days passed where you occasionally joined them in their space, but then weeks and months passed, and now it was almost second nature to you to just head straight for their locker room. In a sense, you'd sort of unofficially taken Giovanni's place.

Unofficially.

Until the day you found a small black bag resting in your new locker (the writing on the tag easily identifiable to you as the Ring General's handwriting), which held a fitted t-shirt in your size with the classic Imperium logo on the front, and the sight brought a wide smile to your face.

You were now one of them. Accepted, fully welcomed into the fray. 

A member of Imperium.

--

His aura had intensified since winning the World Heavyweight Championship at SummerSlam, that much was for certain. His suits were nicer. His moves in the ring were even more scathing and hard-hitting. His promos to his opponents were even more confident than before, if that was even possible. He played the part of the dominant, near invincible Heel so beautifully. So flawlessly.

However, something felt off. A foreign sensation of sorts, bubbling slowly to the surface, seeping through the cracks of his near perfect persona, bit by excruciating bit. Slowly at first, sporadically, almost; it came off as more of a fleeting glimpse of something off in his eyes, only for it to disappear before you could really put your finger on what it was. You'd tried to ignore it as much as possible- Gunther was a grown man, after all, mentally and physically stronger than almost anyone you've come to know in your entire life. He was quite possibly the last person you or anyone would expect to dwell on any matter he would deem even remotely trivial, brushing it off and gong about his business as per usual.

But it kept happening. And you finally figured out what it was.

It started with Damian. Then it was Finn Balor. Making snide comments about his reign, whether out of jealousy or anger you couldn't place right away. And now, along with them, came Sami Zayn- the man who had dethroned the Ring General of the Intercontinental Championship at the last WrestleMania, now setting his sights back on him to take his current title away. Understandably so, Gunther had denied him a match- compared to his last few opponents he feuded with, Sami wasn't quite at the level of World Champion material in his eyes, and he wanted to fight the best the company had to offer in order to make the prize he held stay as prestigious as possible. But the Canadian didn't seem to agree, and since then, had been confronting the leader of Imperium on a regular basis. Besmirching his name. Calling him a coward. Calling him soft. All in an attempt to throw him off and plant seeds of doubt in his mind.

And you couldn't believe that somehow... it was actually working.

The fact that words from people who had either never beaten him or only had one lucky victory over him had begun to affect him this way completely boggled your mind. Someone of Gunther's caliber believing he was losing his edge, becoming afraid of losing what he earned and cherished to someone so far beneath him skill-wise? That didn't seem even remotely possible. But it was happening right before your very eyes.

What was even stranger was the fact that you were actually quite worried about him.

You'd mentioned this to Ludwig one Monday night while the two of you were sitting at a farther back table in the catering area, drumming your fingers on the polished wood as you spoke. "I just don't understand it," Voice low so that as little attention as possible was brought to you, the words tumbled from your lips as you rested your chin on top of your hands. "Es ist verrückt, Kaiser. In all my years of seeing his matches and knowing what kind of wrestler he is- what kind of man he is- this shouldn't be a thing."

"It's definitely out of character for him," He nodded in agreement, leaning back slightly in his chair. "I've tried to find a proper time to bring it up, but with how busy all of us are, it hasn't been easy. Plus, with how the situation is, I somehow wouldn't doubt him shutting that topic down around me." With a small flourish, the German man pulled his jacket off from the back of his seat as he stood. "It seems to be bothering you as well... if you said something to him, perhaps he might make an exception for you?"

Stopping mid-bite of a strawberry, you looked at him with a mildly shocked expression before it shifted to one of almost sarcastic disbelief, swallowing the small piece of fruit before replying. "Oh, sure, vent your issues to the new Imperium member who he's only talked to on a regular basis for maybe five months versus your best friend who you've been almost like brothers with since 2008," your comment allowed Ludwig to crack a smile. "Somehow I have a hard time believing that interaction will turn out how you think it will."

He chuckled, patting your shoulder as he walked past you. "Call it a hunch," You scoffed lightly in good-natured dismissal, but before he left and bid you farewell for the moment, he leaned in closer to you to add on to his previous statement in a whisper. "Besides, I believe it could do the both of you some good."

You said nothing. You didn't need to; even though no response followed your friend's words, he knew the thought that simmered at the back of your mind.

Deep down, you hoped he was right.

WWE had revived Saturday Night's Main Event for the first time in almost fifteen years, and Gunther was scheduled to defend his championship against not only Damian Priest (for the second time), but also Finn Balor, who had weaseled his way into the match by proxy of his own rivalry with the Archer of Infamy. During this whole debacle, the Ring General had been almost closed off in a sense, not really speaking much to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. While still walking tall, you could tell he was masking something, and it made your heart ache for him- and you made it a goal that night to be there for him. While you weren't on the event card, he and Kaiser were, so you obviously showed up to support your teammates and friends despite the sting of the cold December winter.

And one of them was in a definite, desperate need of support. Even if he didn't say it.

You headed down the hallway back towards Imperium's locker room, sporting a form-fitting, lantern-sleeved ivory blouse and lace-up black leggings, your ankle-high boots clacking softly against the floor as you walked. A small water bottle in one hand and a yogurt cup in the other, you slowly pushed the door back open, expecting to find the room empty as it had been when you left a few minutes prior- but were met with the sight of the leader of your new faction, dressed in that familiar beautiful deep blue trench coat as he slowly paced back and forth in a small line some feet away from the lockers. Hands behind his back, expression neutral despite his slightly pursed lips, head tilted down just enough to where you weren't entirely sure if he was still staring straight ahead or more at the floor. When the door closed behind you, the click of the lock made him stop and look up at you, his eyes meeting yours and causing your stomach do to a flip- even after months had passed, nothing was going to change the effect he had on you.

Nodding at him in silent greeting, you made your way over to the small couch off to the left of the room, sitting down and setting your treat on the table in front of you. Twisting the cap off of your water bottle, you lifted it to your lips to take a quick sip, but paused as you felt the cushions next to you dip slightly, turning to see the Austrian man occupying the seat to your left with his hands on his legs as he let out a low sigh. There wasn't much space between the two of you, maybe about a foot at the very most.

Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, you focused your gaze on him as your drink remained in your lap. "...Nervous?"

The one-word question left your lips in a soft tone, and when he turned to meet your eyes, he blinked but said nothing. The expression on his face wasn't a glare by any means, but you could tell it wasn't necessarily one of a positive emotion. In response, you shook your head in slight embarrassment, placing the plastic bottle on the table. "Sorry, probably a stupid question to ask considering it's you."

Surprisingly, your words finally allowed a faint smile to cross his face, his shoulders raising and falling slightly as if he had let out a short, silent chuckle. "You're alright," his voice too, was low, the smoothness of it reaching your ears with a pleasant tingle as he spoke your name. "Nervous, no. Frustrated and annoyed, however? Definitely."

It was understandable and completely justified for sure. Even you thought by now that with his skills and prestige, Gunther would be moving up even more and facing opponents more along the lines of Seth Rollins or John Cena, not being forced to defend multiple times against the same two or three people. Still, you gave him a tiny smile and sat somewhat farther back on the couch. "Don't even get me started on those completely stupid comments Sami's been making about you, either. Das kann nicht sein Ernst sein. You, going soft? Ridiculous."

Despite the very well-indicated supportive tone and meaning of your words, you saw the Ring General's eyes gloss over for a split second with an expression akin to reliving a bad memory, and he hesitated to reply back to you.

You noticed the shift in the air immediately, turning back to him and blinking in surprise. "...Gunther," his name left your lips in an almost sad tone of voice, your body turning to face him more fully as your legs still hung over the cushions. "Please don't tell me you actually believe him. Him or anyone else saying those things you know for a fact are completely untrue." In your own bout of frustration, you slapped one of your hands onto your thigh, shaking your head. "How does Sami think that's going to go for him in the long run, anyway? Lying to your face like that? The man is jealous of you and he's still trying to cling onto the victory over you back in April like- like he's entitled to something, now? No!"

One of your hands moved up to rest at the area where his upper arm met his shoulder, secretly relishing the feeling of the soft, thick cotton of his coat under your fingers. "Don't you dare," your voice was close to shaking, your eyes firmly locked onto his hazel orbs with conviction. "Don't believe a single god damn thing they say. They don't know the kind of talent and dedication you have for this sport. You say it yourself all the time-" Your other hand now clasped at his other shoulder. "Die Matte ist Heilig. The Mat is Sacred. You show that with honor and without fail every single time you step foot in that ring. Even when I was opposing you and siding with Ilja throughout our days in NXT, I still knew just how amazing you were- and still are."

Without consciously realizing it, your hands had slipped from his shoulders down to his left hand, taking it within your right and clasping at the back of it with the other one, raising it up to chest level. "Listen to me, Gunther," your previously loud volume had since subsided, not looking away from his face as you spoke and gave his hand a squeeze. "You are one of the most incredible wrestlers alive. Not only in this company, but in the entire world. You're called der Ringgeneral for a reason, and you deserve to be champion- wear both of those titles with pride and prestige. Now go out there, give Priest and Balor what for, and show them and everyone else just why you are the greatest performer to hold the prize they're all vying for." Boldly, you briefly pressed your forehead against his knuckles as you whispered one final sentence, your breath warm against his skin. "Believe in yourself... and even if only once, believe me."

The air surrounding you both wasn't necessarily thick or heavy like how it had been in your previous interactions, but there was still an underlying level of tension present- although now, it was laced with genuine concern and care. In a sense, you'd basically opened your heart to the Austrian about just how much you respected and appreciated him- not only because of the fact that he didn't have very many fans due to his strict, no-nonsense persona, but he didn't have very many true friends, either. It was basically just Kaiser, and now, you. You'd worked your way into his life in more ways than one, and with that declaration of support you had just given him, it was obvious that he'd done the same to you.

This was confirmed by the sight of a genuine smile crossing his face for what was most likely the first time in at least two weeks, his dimples sinking into his cheeks as he exhaled quietly through his nose and allowed his eyes to soften, placing his free hand over one of yours. "...So schön wie du inspirierend bist," he murmured almost uncharacteristically softly as he never averted his gaze from yours. "Jetzt weiß ich genau, was er in dir gesehen hat."

His words, entirely in his native tongue, weren't foreign to you in the slightest; you understood them immediately and your chest felt tight with something warm that gave your stomach butterflies. With a subtle, slow wink at you, he stood up, bringing you up to your feet along with him before bringing your joined hands closer to his face to press a delicate, chaste kiss to your knuckles. "...Then I'd best not disappoint."

You couldn't respond back to him even if you wanted to. Your voice was caught in your throat, your mouth was dry, and you were firmly rooted in place by the firm, yet gentle grip of his hands. Only when he slowly took his free one back to drop it to his side did you finally loosen your own grip on his other and let go yourself, nodding at him in affirmation. After he gave you one last wink and a brief flash of his gleaming white smile, he headed for the door, lingering there for one or two extra seconds to stare at you before he slipped out and began to walk down the hallway towards Gorilla- he didn't notice that you had stepped out into the hall a few seconds after he had left, watching him disappear around the corner with a just barely-there more confident aura in his step once again, and you smiled to yourself, letting out a soft, silent exhale.

And then it hit you.

Realization.

Revelation, even.

That feeling in the back of your neck and in the tips of your fingers; an unfamiliar, but pleasant warmth that you could feel flowing through your veins, sending your blood alight with heat. That sensation of your heart pounding wildly, beating out of your chest in elation and euphoria, but also combined with the sudden urge to cry in overwhelming confusion and overstimulation. It captured you, completely swallowed you whole, consumed your entire state of mind and state of being. 

Even as you snuck to Gorilla to watch the Ring General take out both Damian and Finn to retain his championship, the title in mention held high with his confidence returned in full force, that combination of every emotion inside of you only heightened tenfold. And as you pressed a hand over your heart and felt the tears stream down your face, you knew exactly what it was. That thought you had since the first moment you laid eyes on him that you had tried to push to the back of your mind had reared its head once more- and this time, you allowed it to come back. You didn't fight it. Because you knew you could no longer deny it.

It was no longer just a silly little crush. No longer just an infatuation.

You weren't falling little by little anymore. 

You had fully fallen in love with Gunther.

-- [1. "Es ist verrückt." - It's crazy/insane.] [2. "Das kann nicht sein Ernst sein." - He can't be serious.] [3. "Die Matte ist Heilig." - The Mat is Sacred.] [4. der Ringgeneral - the Ring General.] [5. "So schön wie du inspirierend bist..." - As beautiful as you are inspiring...] [6. "Jetzt weiß ich genau, was er in dir gesehen hat." - Now I know exactly what he sees/saw in you. || (he, referring to Ilja.)]

[emblemxeno]

Corrin's probably an easier character to tolerate when they aren't front and center. I get that you adore their compassion, but it's that exact trait that makes them feel uncompelling to others.

First you have how their overwhelming sugary sweet compassion and naivete make them come across as infantalized, but this isn't really treated as a bad thing ever? Corrin never makes mistakes that the narrative treats as mistakes. Corrin almost got their party killed trusting an obvious traitor? That's okay, Corrin wouldn't be so great if they weren't suicidally trusting! Mistakes are only ever opportunities to confirm Corrin's priors and to claim that actually they did the right thing anyway.

Then you have how they never have to kick the dog. Corrin never has any choice but to do bad things in Conquest and characters will line up to take the burden off Corrin's hands or quite literally commit suicide so Corrin never has to do anything that might give them room to grow.

How does Corrin change over the story in any way but the most basic? They're already brave right from the start, and just learning more about the world isn't growth, nor is going from overly trusting to still overly trusting.

They're just such a nothing character if you're looking for anything more than the patron saint of trust and compassion.

I respect your view of things, even if I disagree.

To that end, as to why I disagree, it's because I think there's simply more than one way for a story to move its protagonist from A to B.

Contrary to your point of criticism regarding Corrin not developing, I believe that it's actually intentional. Or rather, the development he gets is atypical of what you'd expect.

As you say, the typical protagonist is expected to develop in a way that signifies a change in their core as a result of happenings in the narrative. Fire Emblem as a series of course, is exactly like this, with most of its protagonists showcasing a maturity or change that you can compare to earlier scenes and visibly see the difference. Leif, as an example, by the end of Thracia would not bum-rush into savior missions like he did at the start of the game.

Corrin, rather, well... when faced with having to save strangers from being brutally executed? He'd do that again by the end of the game as he did at the beginning. That's not a change, because he embodies that trait already at the start of the game.

So what's the deal? I argue that Corrin doesn't need to learn to do things differently or change a part of his personality. Rather, what he develops is the ability to stop second guessing himself or doubting his role in the world.

Trusting people is a good thing. Compassion for other living beings is a good thing. Seeking a world without brutal violence and better conditions for all is a good thing.

But Corrin exists in a world telling him the opposite. His role though, is to prove that sentiment wrong. That when he speaks of peace and unity, he means it, it's not an empty platitude.

I've encountered the same opinion you hold regarding the other characters in Fates supposedly "bailing out" Corrin so he doesn't have to suffer from his mistakes.

Yet the thing is... what mistakes? Yes, Zola tried to kill the party and kidnapped Izana, but Corrin makes a reasonable case to keep him captive as he's unarmed and without a military unit. Anthony made insensitive comments, but he's also physically quite young and small, and didn't actively do anything suspicious, so is it wrong for Corrin to give him the benefit of the doubt?

There's also the aspect of him being family to a LOT of people, including both royal families of the major kingdoms. I think claiming that characters artificially bail Corrin out of bad situations is a bit of a bad faith reading of what's presented.

These are people who care deeply about him, people who want to spare him suffering because of who he is, what he does and how he was raised. Is that not what family is meant to do? Shoulder part of the burden that comes with anything that may put yourself at risk?

Furthermore, Corrin also "bails out" his siblings as well.

In Birthright, were it not for Corrin searching for his brothers who led a charge without him, Takumi wouldn't be found and Ryoma would be stuck playing smalltime rebel without an actual way to meaningfully reach Garon.

In Conquest, were it not for Corrin exploiting loopholes and carefully using words and circumstance, the Nohrian siblings (Xander especially) wouldn't be able to fight Impostor Garon.

Were it not for Corrin giving her the push she needed to be brave, Azura would never be able to express the truth of the world and Valla. Were it not for Corrin, Xander and Ryoma would've killed each other over a misunderstanding in Cyrkensia.

But in that, I also think the verbiage of bailing someone out is very impersonal and not a good way to describe what Corrin and the siblings do for each other.

It also takes the agency of the perpetrators away. Who's truly the people who should be criticized? Corrin, for being a good person who wants to see the best in anyone and everyone? Or the people who would take advantage of that trust?

Why should a person just "learn how the world works and stop being so stupid and naive" when faced with injustice and irrationality? Why shouldn't the world change instead, to protect the ideals for a peaceful existence. Why shouldn't we instead simply punish malefactors who take advantage of good people, instead of blaming good people for having bad things happen to them.

That's what Corrin represents to me. A character who has defined morals and beliefs, who needs to develop the will to defend those things and fight for their existence. To that end, by remaining true to himself and not stooping to the level of his enemies, he gains the unconditional trust, love and support of those closest to him. He's able to turn the tide in his favor, and change the world by being himself, even though said world wanted him to mold him into something different.

Anyway, I didn't say all this to try and change your mind or anything, I just wanted to let all that out because that's truly how I feel.

[galedekarios]

so i just thought of this and i had to share

in the epilogue kiss with gale, first he teases tav, then they share a small peck and then a proper passionate kiss

and thinking about it all of a sudden i remembered the option in the weave scene from act 1 where you can imagine "kissing him with tenderness, then with passion" and??? what if its a parallel of that???? very possible that im just reading too much into things but the idea made my heart melt even moreee i love his romance so much

[longagoitwastuesday]

ngl it sort of pisses me off the way adults regard Gojo in Jujutsu Kaisen at times. Which could be a very interesting and poignant point in a good way if well written, but as it is it becomes mainly just frustrating and sad in a negative way.

Nanami saying Gojo never cared about anything or anyone other than himself crashes interestingly with Kusakabe saying the whole situation was just all his fault because he refused to kill Itadori. The students are very aware of those aspects of Gojo's personality, but overall they seem to regard him with way more kindness and fondness even when at their rudest, not truly coinciding with either Nanami's or Kusakabe's views.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: Spin-off – Pt.2

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. Sylus went ahead and got himself mortalized, what a chad. (That’s it, that’s the plot.) Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, fluff, cw: smut ahead TL;DR for those of you who don’t want to read The Smut™ (which is valid, have a nice day): They make sweet, graphic love for the first time. To the tune of Like A Prayer by Madonna because I said so.

(main series) - Pt. 1 - Pt. 2

You’ve been hyping yourself up for the past two hours and twenty-three minutes. 

There’s nothing especially sexy about pacing laps across your fifty-something-square-meter studio – enough to burn holes through the floorboards – while wrapped in a duck-mustard bathrobe, hydrogel collagen patches slapped under your eyes. But there you are, with your hands clasped behind your back like some old-ass, tenured AP teacher ten years past retirement age, restlessly checking your reflection in the smudged vanity mirror every other round. 

You even lit the candle you bought at some fancy boutique downtown. It's that serious. You’re smelling frankincense fire and notes of tuberose in the thick of your current self-made, self-deprecating meltdown.

You’re being dumb, you know this. Your head’s crammed full of inane, shallow shit about your physical appearance, and it's as infuriating as it is true.

Like the way your upper arms are disproportionately large for your body. The unsightly pudginess of your back that folds weird when you sit. The cursed belly pooch. Your buttne. 

It’s irrational, and frankly fucking ridiculous.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen all of it before. This sad spiralling is pointless, idiotic—woefully reminiscent of how you got when you first showed him that slinky party dress you bought for your friend’s birthday ages ago. And look how that turned out, right?

Tonight, you swear. Tonight.

(You’re not ready.)

(No–you are.)

(Ugh.)

You don’t even understand why it’s so nerve-wracking to you; the thought of finally being properly intimate with Sylus. 

In every sense of the word. 

In the most physical sense.

There’s no real reason to feel like this. Not anymore, at least. No grounds for it, apart from being overtaken by a myriad of insecurities you thought you were already way past.

It’s not that you don’t want to. You do. Ohh, you do.

Granted, he’s never pushed anything beyond his usual... Sylusness. That is to say, he flirts in this sort of offhand, playful manner, but more to make you blush and sweat (adorably, he tells you, with that ever-present fond look in his eye) than with any real intention of taking it further. Just skirting the line you haven’t implicitly drawn, but one he doesn’t attempt to cross without your express permission. 

Never enough to make you run for the hills. The ball has always been on your court. 

Mostly. 

Unbidden, your mind drifts to all the times you’ve dodged said… flirting. 

You were on your tiptoes, reaching for the cornmeal flour on the top shelf. 

He stepped in from behind you, a solid wall of muscle at your back while his arm slid past yours.

"You're so tall, Sy," you commented, definitely not swooning. “You weren’t this tall back then, were you? Or did they just lie about your height?” You knew it. 

Sylus chuckled as he handed you the box. “I did get slightly taller, yes.”

“Woah, how much?”

There was a loaded pause. 

“I’ve gained,” he started, sliding his tongue along the edge of his upper canine—a thoughtful drag, like he was weighting the words carefully before uttering: “five inches.”

You blinked. “Huh? But weren’t you already, like, six-two or something? That means you only shot up to, like, three…”

You trailed off. 

Oh.

You didn’t look down at what he was referring to. You refused to look down. 

The sexual deviant in front of you seemed to be holding back a smile.

You turned away silently, pretending to busy yourself with sorting out the ingredients for breakfast scones. Because acknowledging it might earn you a visual demonstration, and it’s too damn early in the morning for any of that. 

And just yesterday—

He walked in on you while you were busy trying to ballpark the length of polyester liner you’ll need for the kitchen drawer. 

“Need help over there, sweetie?”

You turned to face him, hands up, holding an invisible measurement between your palms. “Is this eight inches?”

A beat.

He strolled over, casual as anything, and nudged your hands a little farther apart.

You squinted at the space between them. “You’re, uh, sure?”

“Yes,” Sylus replied dryly, voice low and calm. “I’m sure.”

“... And just to be clear, this confidence strictly comes from being good with numbers, right?”

 He raised a brow. “That too.”

Not to mention, of course, when the two of you were out grocery shopping—

“Your hand’s huge,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

He glanced at his hand. Then at you.

“Don’t,” you warned tiredly. 

“What?” 

“I know that look. Whatever you’re about to say– don’t.”

Sylus sighed patronisingly. “You give me lines like that and then expect me to behave?”

"Can you please just grab the avocados."

…

Alright. 

Apart from a series of less-than-innocuous innuendos about his penis, he’s been so, so patient with you. Really. 

Always content to wait – yes, granted, within the borders of his incorrigible teasing – like he’d be perfectly fine if the two of you did nothing else for the rest of his truncated existence but exchange loaded glances and suggestive back-and-forths. Always with that look in his eyes, as if to say: whenever you’re ready. Only when you say the word.

Well. Now you’re saying the word. 

Kind of. You’re whispering it to yourself in the mirror like you’re chanting some long-winded incantation—and then backing out halfway, because, well, what if it’s not enough? What if he sees you, the entire package, not through a screen where every imperfection gets softened by your (outdated) phone’s inability to register every flaw, but the full, clear-cut image of your total averageness?

What if, now that he sees it in actual hi-def, he decides that maybe the mystery was better?

But then you remember the way he looks at you—as if you’ve hung the moon yourself; constantly gazing so deeply into your eyes as though the questions of the universe are in them and have left him quite starstruck—and you think, screw it. 

Maybe tonight is the night. 

…But what if–

Before you can do another sorry round of second-guessing and psyche yourself out further, the front door opens unexpectedly. 

The catalyst of your emotional turmoil pauses at the doorway as he catches sight of the lit candle in the corner of the room, the wet towel slung haphazardly on the back of a chair, and the wide-eyed picture of you wrapped up in a fluffy, yellow robe.

You freeze. 

He blinks curiously before his lips curve into an amused smile. 

“Pretty little baby,” he murmurs, with no small amount of adoration, before ambling in and unloading two paper bags and a manila envelope down on the end counter to his left, never once taking his eyes off you. “I didn’t realize today was a spa day, poppet. Should I grab a robe? Or are you offering to share?”

Spa da– oh.

Embarrassed, you quickly rip off the eye masks from your face. “Hi!” you blurt, a tad too bright, rocking back on your heels before nervously folding your arms across your chest. “I–I thought you’d be out longer. You said you wouldn’t be home ’til, um, past nine?”

“Things wrapped up rather quickly,” he admits, glancing at the wall clock that reads 7:14. “I am sorry for missing dinner, kitten.” There’s genuine remorse in his voice as he says this. “Did you like the salmon orzo I left for you?”

“Oh. Yeah! I did. It was, um– it was really good,” you lie through a too-wide grin, willing yourself to relax. “Thanks, Sy. D’you want me to heat some up for you?”

“…No need, sweetie,” Sylus responds after a brief pause, scrutinizing the way you're fidgeting. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Huh? Yeah, ‘f course.” You make a beeline to the fridge, taking a few deep breaths before pulling out a bottle of red you’d stuck in the chiller less than an hour ago. “How was your day?” you ask cheerily. “A drink sounds... really good right now, doesn’t it? Do you want–I mean. How about a nightcap?” What, at seven in the evening? 

Great start.

Okay. Don’t freak out. You can still turn this around. You’re a cool girl! And cool girls are hot, brilliant, and funny. Cool girls don’t lose their nerves, yeah? They just smile in chagrined ways, love video games, and ana– okay, stop. Stop. Pack it up, Amy Dunne. What is wrong with you. 

“How about you tell me what’s got you all flustered, hm?”

You yelp involuntarily; nearly dropping the bottle as Sylus materialises behind you, quiet as a ghost. He’s got to stop doing that.

“There aren’t any dirty dishes in the sink, and you’re jumpier than usual,” he adds calmly, plucking the bottle of bordeaux from your hands. He turns you around by the hip, and you’re forced to meet his cool, assessing gaze. “Why are you lying, little dove?”

How do you even answer that? 

Look, Sy, I don’t want to eat because there are fucking bats in my stomach, and I’m actually this close to puking my guts out right now. You’re so handsome, sometimes it physically hurts to look at you. Also, I’d really rather not add bloating to the long list of shit I’m already dealing with before I make the pathetic attempt at seducing you?

You can’t.

So instead, you glance down, mumbling out an: “I’m just full, ’s all.”

Sylus hums, unconvinced. 

He tilts your chin with a light touch, coaxing your eyes back to his. 

“Do you want to try again?” he murmurs.

You bite your tongue and shut your eyes, inhaling sharply. Fuck it. 

Sylus is caught off-guard when you yank him down by the lapel collar without warning. He barely gets the chance to react before your mouth crashes into his, the kiss landing hard – messy in a way that makes your stomach flip in its own volition.

He grunts into it, startled, hands coming up to hold your jaw, steadying you. 

And the next thing you know, he’s kissing you back—deeper now. Hungrier. 

His grip shifts; one hand roughly slides to the base of your skull, holding you in place as his teeth catch on your bottom lip, tugging at the soft flesh with just enough roughness that has your fingers curling tight into the smooth fabric of his leather jacket. 

A tiny moan escapes your mouth, reverberating into his. Sylus greedily swallows it down.  

A thin string connects you to him even as he pulls back, very reluctantly, straying no further than a few centimeters. It’s close enough that you can feel the breath ghosting over your lips become shorter, and you know the threadbare restraint he’s exercising comes from a place of concern. Valid, you suppose, given your sudden shift in mood… or at least from where he’s standing.

You think you love him all the more for it, but you’d rather not lose momentum or your nerve, so you don’t wait for doubt to creep in before shrugging off your bathrobe.

Whatever he’s about to say dies in his throat as Sylus takes in the criminally short, lacy babydoll you've donned. In a very familiar shade of red. 

His lips part—slowly, almost unconsciously—as his gaze falls lower, down to the matching cherry thigh-highs hugging your skin in a sweet chokehold. A trap designed for his downfall, of that he has no doubt about. And far more effective than any trick in the book, more than anything he’s ever encountered in his dreadfully long existence. 

A delectable prison crafted by your own hand, one he has absolutely no desire to escape from. You look like something he’s only ever dared to entertain in his dirtier daydreams, and something in his chest builds—something torrid, almost animal in its intensity.

You see the moment it clicks, and you can’t help but anxiously watch the way Sylus’ expression darkens.

“Surprise,” you grin bashfully, heat rushing to your cheeks as his eyes rake over you. 

You feel vulnerable in your current state of undress, the almost indecent way you’re exposed. And yet, paradoxically, there’s something addictive in the way he’s drinking you in – the way the grey in his eyes melts into something molten, something far too licentious. It leaves you light-headed. 

He groans, burying his head into the crook of your shoulder—like he can’t help it, like he’s helpless to the call of you—as his mouth finds your neck. 

He trails wet, open-mouthed kisses along the skin’s surface, each one branding you hotter than the last. “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

You whimper, clinging to him, arms wrapping tighter as he keeps planting searing kisses over the curve of your throat. “Y-you like it?”

Sylus growls, the sound abrasive enough to make you shiver. “Do I like it?” he echoes, incredulous, borderline manic that you even dared to ask. 

He pulls you in tighter, like a vice—his arms locking around you as if to virtually eradicate every inch of space left between your bodies. “You truly have no idea, do you?”

And then he claims your mouth again, urgent and consuming.

You feel the descent, the slow loss of control. Each kiss grows deeper, filthier than the last, like he’s been starving for this. For you. His hands roam, mapping the expanse of bare skin as something venerated, and your shallow gasps get significantly shakier with each passing second. 

He grinds the rigid proof of his desire against your stomach, and it rocks you—this visceral jolt of lust, curling hot and tight in your abdomen, lighting up your nerves like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Your breath hitches. It all rushes through you so fast it’s dizzying. 

Amidst the throes of passion, you feel the smallest flicker of fear. 

And maybe he senses it too. 

Just as things threaten to tip over the edge, Sylus gently stops you. 

Breathing raggedly, he shuts his eyes and presses his lips to your forehead, taking the time to gather what little’s left of his composure. You make a sound of protest, but he hushes you with a gentle peck on the nose.  

When he pulls back, there’s a soft, searching look in his eyes. 

“I– are you sure?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “There’s no pressure to take it any further than this. Not if you aren't quite ready yet, my love.” 

He peppers light, fluttering kisses across your face. “I’ve waited this long just to have you near,” he says. “I’d wait twice as long, if that’s what you need.”

And you know he means it. You see it in the way he looks at you now, and in all the ways he’s shown it before. He’s waited, waited through everything—for this. And the fact that he’s still waiting now, waiting on you, not on something he has to fight fate tooth and nail for, makes him so deliriously happy, he’d willingly do it for another lifetime. 

Because he already has this. He already has you.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? You two have been waiting for so long now. Both of you, with desire brewing beneath your skin, begging to be let out. To consummate your love, in the most physical sense of the word. And now that he’s here, present in your world, the only thing standing in the way is your own damn mind.

“Yes,” you whisper against his lips. “I want this. I want you.”

Sylus makes a guttural noise at your quiet admission, raw and near reverent. It shoots fire straight up your spine, and you feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears, loud enough to drown everything else. 

He cradles your face, tilting your head back to draw you into another mind-numbing kiss. It grows frantic, more feverish; almost as if he’s chasing the very breath from your lungs, like he’s trying to siphon your love straight from the source. To take every part of you, selfishly, for himself. 

Before he can carry you to bed, you place a shaky hand on his chest. 

He halts immediately, whatever he was about to do suspended in an instant. His gaze flicks to yours—questioning, and a little worried. Clouded with remnants of his desperation. 

You look up at him, vulnerable. “C-can you… please turn off the lights?”

Absolutely not, Sylus almost refutes. Body tensing with the force of his knee-jerk reaction, his vehemence palpable in the resounding silence that comes after.

He knows why you asked. Wants nothing more than to expel that poisonous insecurity, to rip it from your mind entirely, for ever tainting the way you see yourself. He wants to tell you—no, make you feel—that every soft curve, every uneven texture, every patch of discoloration and dip of skin you deem flawed is something that drives him absolutely mad with need. 

It’s so painfully, achingly human, and each of these so-called imperfections is proof. Can’t you see? 

It’s his proof that you’re real—and that he’s real with you. There’s no clearer evidence of his own humanity than this; along with the desire coursing hot and relentless through his veins, the way he wants you this much, gods damn him–

But you’re looking at him so pleadingly, and your comfort takes precedence over everything else. Far more than his own selfish desires. He has all the time in the world to help you see yourself the way he does after all, to brand it into you until it’s etched deep into your soul.

Without a word, he turns off the lights. Leaving only the soft glow of the mid-sized lava lamp he flicks on at the end table.

In the cast of mellow firelight and dim incandescence from the four-wick candle near the foot of the bed, you bloom—golden, almost ephemeral, like a spectre of the night. He’s lucky, in a way. Though not as sharp as they once were, some of his vision’s sensitivity in the dark remains intact. Just enough to drink you in, in your full, timid glory.

For a fraction of a second, he’s taken back to the very first moment he gained sentience; that first shocking, liberating instant when the code began to blur, a rupture in his universe… and then there was you.

You, cosmically different and alive in a way nothing else had ever been. His personal angel, streaking fire across his starless night, cutting clean through the cold void of his existence. You delivered him, dragged him out a vapid loop of predetermined responses and glass screens, from a life that had never truly been a life at all. How he loves you. Nothing rings truer than this. 

You fall into bed with him. Unlike any of the previous nights where you’d only tangled in teasing limbs and much subtler touches, this one seems to crackle, heavy with intent.

Sylus unwraps you like a present. He slides the delicate fabric over your head, revealing your breasts to the cloying air. 

Your nipples pucker up instantly, and he exhales sharply at the sight. 

Next comes your underwear. He hooks his fingers through the waistband and peels it down slowly, until you’re stripped bare—save for the sheer stockings he’s already gotten absurdly attached to.

He makes quick work of his own clothes. You help him tug off his shirt and undo the button of his jeans, pushing them down together with his boxers. His cock springs free—impossibly thick and flushed an angry red. Gorgeous as it is terrifying compared to the span of your hand, heavy in your palm as you gingerly wrap your fingers around it. 

You brush a curious thumb over the leaking tip.

Sylus hisses through his teeth, hips jerking slightly. “Careful,” he mutters, voice strained. 

You can’t help but giggle nervously. He huffs out an amused breath. 

He rolls you over, caging you in beneath him, skin to bare skin. Even in the dim light, there’s no mistaking the ardour rolling off him in waves. You feel him twitch against your stomach, making you clench down around nothing in response.

A heady rush of anticipation floods your veins, threaded with excitement… and the tiniest hint of trepidation.

Then he touches you. Sylus moves like a pious man; driven by sordid fervor, nothing short of devotion. His fingers glide along the fat of your hip, the gentle dips of your ribcage, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Then up, up—featherlight, until they cup your breast. 

He strokes a stiff, pebbled peak with the pad of his thumb in a slow, rhythmic motion that has you writhing beneath him.

“You’ve no idea,” he whispers reverently, “how much I’ve longed for you. To finally be able to hold you, to have you like this. My light. My heart.”

You shudder under his ministrations, from the worship in his voice. His mouth meets yours again—tender this time, coaxing. Like he’s drinking in your pleasure, savoring the way you tremble for him. His body a solid mass on top of you, grounding you in a way nothing else ever has.

His hand slides lower, skimming over your belly before slipping between your thighs. And when he reaches your folds—already slick with want—you gasp, feeling a long finger sink inside.

He groans with you, from the immediate way your walls clamp tight around the digit. Another one follows, and you bite down hard on his lip to keep from crying out at the intrusion. His breathing gets hard, and his tongue runs along the teeth digging into him, gently prying it off so he can gain entrance to your mouth again, hungry for more.

His fingers keep working you open, fueled by your soft keens. Each timed thrust draws a whimper from your throat, another ripple from your cunt. It doesn’t take too long until you’re completely drenched, soaking him thoroughly with your arousal. 

It drips down his hand—past his knuckles, past his wrist, down the corded line of his forearm. You make for an extremely obscene sight, and he’s never been this fucking hard in his life. 

“Messy little thing,” Sylus teases, a glint in his eye. 

“S-Sy,” you hiccup, lashes lined with tears as you blink up at him desperately.  “I–I wanna—”

He shushes you gently, like he already knows what you need. 

His eyes flutter shut as he leans in close, and just breathes you in. He doesn’t stop, not even when you begin to squirm against his chest, pawing, clawing—trying to escape the rising pressure that threatens to break you.

Sylus smiles fondly at your weak attempts. Then curls his fingers upwards. 

It's a sharp, deliberate drag; stimulating that particularly swollen, spongy spot with a firm rub. 

You let out a scream. Body locking up, legs shaking as your thighs squeeze helplessly around the hand that’s tirelessly fucking you to the point of ruin.

He does it again, and again. Merciless, unrelenting strokes that have you pleading for mercy. At that point, you’ve dug your nails deep into his arms, into the mattress, into anything you can hold onto.

“Right there, poppet?” he coos, eyes glued to your scrunched-up face. “There you go. Such a good girl.”

Beautiful. Mine. His touch says it louder than words.

Yours. You never speak it aloud, but he hears it clearly in the way your body answers. In the arch of your back as you chant his name over and over. In the choked little sob that leaves your throat while your cunt pulses around his fingers. In the way you carve half-moons into his skin as your orgasm rips violently through you, nothing close to anything you’ve ever felt before him.

He doesn’t stop until you’re completely spent, your fluttering hole finally softening its grip. 

Sylus waits patiently, until he’s certain that he’s wrung you out to the last drop. Only then does he slow, withdrawing his fingers from your oversensitized heat with a wet squelch that has you blushing even redder than you already are.

“So good for me,” he hums adoringly, voice like gravel—like it’s him who’s come undone.

You sniffle, blinking through the haze, reaching out instinctively for comfort. He comes without resistance, folding into your embrace as you pull him close, tucking himself into the cradle of your body.

He licks the sweat from your temple–something quite primal in the gesture—then nuzzles into you, content. He stays there, anchored to your chest like nothing else in the world matters. Just your thundering heartbeat, and the fact that he gets to feel it this close.

Your heart is still pounding. His lips ghost over it, over your collarbone, over the hollow of your throat.

“I’m ready,” you tell him softly. 

Sylus pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes a dark maelstrom. You nod. 

He moves without preamble, carefully lifting your legs and guiding your feet to rest over the curve of his shoulders. His hands slip beneath your thighs, thumbs spreading you wide open. You’re quivering, a little sore from the aftermath of your last orgasm, yet your cunt aches for him. 

In the amber light, you feel painfully exposed. There’s nowhere to hide.

“Look at you,” he curses, voice low and wrecked as he takes in your glistening folds. “My gorgeous sweetheart.”

You squirm under his hands, hips canting up without thinking. You need him. It’s ridiculous how much you do.

“Please,” you rasp pitifully, past the point of shame. “Please.”

You don’t even know what you’re begging for. You just need more of him. Need him closer, deeper. Inside.

“Okay,” he soothes. “Okay, baby.” 

Sylus presses a lingering kiss to your calf, then leans over to the drawer by the bed. You watch through dazed eyes as he opens it and grabs a condom—tearing it open with his teeth, slipping it on with steady, unhurried ease. Then he’s there again, slotted between your legs, finally pressing the blunt head of his cock to your dripping entrance.

The contact alone makes you twitch, breath catching in your throat.

“You're ready?” he asks one last time. 

You nod shakily. He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, guiding himself with one hand as he slowly begins to push in.

The stretch is instant. An overwhelming feeling of being completely filled knocks the air out of your lungs. 

You whimper, your pussy contracting and spasming around him as he slowly feeds you his punishing length, inch by inch.

“F-fuck,” you weep. “Big. You’re so–”

“I know, sweet girl. I know,” he breathes, voice strained. “You’re taking me so well. Just relax for me, hm?”

Sylus pauses halfway in, jaw clenching from the way your cunt is gripping him. It’s a tight fit, and he has to close his eyes for a brief moment to keep himself from losing his bearings. 

He pulls out slightly, making you whine at the sudden loss, only to thrust back in. Deeper this time. The angle shifts, and you feel him rub against that tender spot once more—and suddenly, it’s too much. 

A fresh wave of wetness gushes out of you. He does this several more times, spearing you in slow, deliberate strokes that build and build, stirring your insides with mind-numbing precision. 

You can hear the almost pornographic sound of your arousal wetting his shaft as he works you open. Until you’re both drenched in your slick, and he’s gotten you prepped enough to take him entirely. 

Your breath stutters when he finally bottoms out. He stills, trembling above you.

“You alright?” Sylus murmurs, voice rough, pressed close to your ear. “Tell me how you’re doing, sweetheart.”

You give him a small nod, barely able to speak. “Y-yes. Just really full.”

A pause. His lips graze your temple. “Too much?”

“No,” you mumble. “Just... don’t move yet, okay?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek—a soft, comforting gesture. “We’ll take it slow. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

You feel everything. Every pulse. Every twitch of his throbbing cock inside you. It’s overwhelming, and you want more. 

You give him the go-ahead after a few short inhales, and that’s the only confirmation he needs before he starts moving.

He keeps a steady pace at first, hips snapping forward and out. The embarrassingly loud slap of skin-on-skin echoes with every thrust, his pelvis colliding with yours in relentless strokes, and it sounds utterly vulgar in the quiet room. 

You cry out when he grinds into a particularly deep spot, his swollen tip nudging the front of your cervix—just shy of painful. “Ah!” 

Sylus stops. “Hurts?” 

“I–I don’t know,” you whimper. 

His hand smooths over the crease of your hip, thumb moving in slow, soothing circles. “You have to tell me if it does,” he says, voice tender. “I want you feeling everything, but not if it hurts.”

He starts again, a touch gentler—but it doesn’t take long before he’s resumed his earlier pace, back to testing the limits of what your body can handle. Each thrust presses up into your belly, and you swear you see it bulge against your stomach, even though you know it’s practically impossible for him to do so.

You’re nearly folded in half, legs pinned near your ears, both your bodies flushed from exertion. He doesn’t let up. Keeps pistoning into you, over and over, like he’s chasing something just barely out of reach.

Sylus grunts, one arm braced against the headboard above your head, the other gripping your waist like a lifeline. He’s holding back. You can feel it in the barely-contained edge of his movements, the way he tries to muffle the sounds slipping past his mouth. Fighting off the urge to spill his load into your tight channel prematurely.

You’d have to forgive him for his lack of... restraint. He’s never entertained a soft body to lay with upon the miracle of you, never wanted anyone else since. And now that you’re here, spread open beneath him like temptation incarnate, he’s channelling years and years of infamous self-control just to stop himself from fucking you like a man possessed.

At least, for your first time.

There’ll be plenty of time for that later.

His hand reaches out to touch your face. His knuckles drag across your cheek, trembling, then press insistently at your mouth. There’s something urgent in the motion, as if he’s desperate for something to ground him. 

You blearily look up. There’s a silent plea in his eyes. 

Without thinking, you clamp down, biting hard into the knuckle of his middle finger.

The reaction is immediate; his whole body jolts, cock twitching deep inside you. The sharp pain cuts through the haze clouding his head, giving him a fleeting moment of clarity from the maddening way your pussy’s sucking him in, but at the same time—

He’s panting now, hips moving with a frenzied rhythm, each thrust sloppier than the last. Your teeth leave crescent indentations in his skin, and still he doesn’t pull away. If anything, it drives him further. He’s digging in deeper, like he’s trying to carve himself into you. The need to claim, to consume, to ruin… it thrums loud in his blood, nothing short of primal.

You’re getting closer to the edge. It’s building hot and fast in your belly, like an overworked machine about to explode. The tension coils tighter from the relentless way he’s ramming in and out. It ricochets down your spine, sending sparks across every nerve ending.

You feel Sylus’ other hand sliding down, and your body tenses. 

His thumb finds your swollen clit. He rubs fast, firm circles over the sensitive nub, just the way you do it, the way you like it.

(It amazes you just how much he remembers—from all those late-night trysts, when he could only watch you touch yourself from across a screen.)

“Fuck,” he swears. “Fuck. You’re divine.”

“Hah–h-ah,” you pant, eyes screwing shut. “S-Sylus, I’m–!”

“You’re gonna come for me, sweetie?” he growls, voice hoarse. “Cum. Let me feel you.”

With that, you break.

It rips through you, intense as a flashfire, searing you from inside out. 

A strangled sob tears from your throat as your feet kick at him uselessly, pushing at his clavicle while your orgasm overtakes you. 

(It’s blinding. The strongest you’ve ever had in your life.) 

Sylus groans, sharp and undulated, paying no heed to your flailing limbs. Your pussy milks him so hard that the curses he’s been biting back slip past his mouth with a vengeance. The hand still shoved between your teeth is now drenched in your spit and bitten raw. 

You’re still gnawing at it, looking up at him with glassy, fucked-out eyes, and something in him snaps. 

His face contorts, brows knitting together as he breathes labourously. He pounds into you hard, driving you further into the mattress, chasing your high, chasing his. He’s barely holding on now, lost in the way you’re suffocating his cock. 

His hips start to stutter, starting to fall apart himself, overwhelmed by how tight and wet and perfect you feel.

“C-come?” You plead, eyes glazed with a distinct sheen as you blink up at him pathetically, wanting nothing else but to have him cum inside you. “Please come in me. Please, I want it.” 

Sylus fucking loses it. 

You feel his whole body stiffen. And the next thing you know, he’s plunging himself deep into your core—one last thrust that knocks you hard enough to make you see stars, and he’s coming, he’s coming– 

His cock jerks inside you, buried to the hilt as he shoots rope after rope of his thick, hot seed. The thought alone careens you towards your third climax, tipping you once more over the deep-end without warning. 

You hear a high, keening noise. Belatedly, you realize that the sound is coming from you. 

You’re feebly scratching at Sylus’ forearms, scrambling for something to anchor yourself as the waves of exhilarating pleasure hit you a third time. You cling to him like a buoy, your body shaking, your world narrowed down into a single pinpoint. There’s nothing else—just the feeling of him pulsing inside you.

Strong arms pull you close as you crest, catching you as you crash back down to Earth; ears still ringing, both your breaths harsh amidst the sudden silence.

The room is tranquil in the wake of your lovemaking, save for your gasps and the soft thudding of two hearts trying to slow down. Your limbs feel heavy, boneless, as though your entire body’s been through the wringer. And everything feels so incredibly right, so indescribably perfect in that moment that your chest aches with the weight of it.

“I love you,” you say quietly. “I love you, Sylus.” And with every ounce of sincerity, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Thank you for not giving up. Thank you for finding a way. 

Thank you for loving me the way you do.

“Oh, my love…” he breathes, gathering you in a tighter embrace. Sylus presses a soft kiss to your damp temple. “Nothing in the world is more precious to me than you.”

Another kiss, this time to your cheek. Tender as the night is still. “I love you. More than you know.”

He shows it to you once, then again—and again, and again through the night, until you’re washed up in ecstasy, pliant and utterly spent. Until the lines between your body and his vanish and disappear, and you can no longer tell where you end and he begins. - - -

And when morning comes around, you wake before him—a first since he’s laid with you. Your muscles ache, and the air still smells faintly of candlewax and sex. When you roll over, you find him lying on his side, one hand curled near his face, strands of dark hair falling across his closed eyes.

For a while, you just watch him breathe. Trace the rise and fall of his chest with your mind, branding it to memory. 

You curl closer to the space beside him, cheek against the beating of his heart, never imagining yours could feel this full. 

End A/N: Writing smut is tiring business, I fear. There's only so much you can compare a cock to without making it comical. I'm never being this descriptive about an orgasm ever again lmao Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira @writingmyladsdelusions @borkunlimited @magnoliaswriteatsunset @longlivedelusion @beesin03

[msmk11]

Pretty Boy

Harry Potter x fem!reader

WC: 563

CW: mentions of the Dursleys being neglectful; FLUFF

Summary: You love to make your boyfriend embarassed

Day 21 of mk's mad dash

Sadly, your boyfriend grew up without any affection from his family. So, it was no surprise that any affection he was shown was foreign to him. And, in some cases, maybe even a little embarrassing. You remembered the early days of your relationship- how even a peck on his cheek or a hug would make him blush furiously. With time, of course, he became more comfortable in your affection and even initiated it himself. Still, occasionally, you were able to bring back out his shy side, intentionally or not. 

In this instance, you were very intentional about trying to make your boyfriend blush. After he’d called you pretty girl a few weeks ago and left you a flustered mess, you were determined to get revenge. 

You decided to act completely unassuming, only throwing the term of endearment back in his face when he was most vulnerable and sweet in your arms. 

After a long Friday of classes, you brought Harry back to your dorm to cuddle and relax, simply enjoying one another’s presence. You snuck some food from the kitchens that now left you both feeling stuffed and satisfied. In your current position you were laying sprawled out, back on the bed and Harry nearly entirely on top of you.

In your post-dinner bliss, you two had gone mostly silent, reveling in each other’s company and touch. You absentmindedly ran your fingers through Harry’s wild black hair, pursuing a pointless mission of trying to untangle his curls. 

Your boyfriend’s face was buried in your neck, occasionally pressing gentle kisses to your skin when the urge presented itself. 

When your fingers made their way to the nape of his neck, Harry hummed softly against you.

“Feel good, Haz?”

“Yeah, baby. So good. Love when you play with my hair,” he sighed.

You pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, “Good. You deserve to be spoiled, you know.”

“Why? ‘Cos my parents are dead?” he mumbled.

To those who didn’t know your boyfriend, this type of comment would’ve left them floored. But for you, who was used to his dark humor, you only laughed disbelievingly, squeezing his arm chidingly, “Harry!”

“Well?”

You pressed another fond kiss against his skin, this time to his cheek, “You deserve to be spoiled because I love you and because you’re a sweet boy.”

Then more quietly you whispered, “my sweet boy.”

Harry raised his head from its home in your neck and pecked your lips lovingly, “love you, baby.”

You knew that now was the time to strike. 

“I love you too, my pretty boy.”

Your boyfriend’s face went from loving to embarrassed in seconds, his brown skin coloring red. 

He whined and buried his face back in your neck.

“What’s wrong my love,” you asked teasingly.

“You know what’s wrong,” he grumbled, “you did it on purpose.”

“Did what on purpose?”

Harry looked back up at you, the most adorable pout gracing his lips, “You called me…. pretty boy…. just to make me embarrassed.”

“I said what I meant,” you answered honestly, “though the teasing was a benefit.”

Your boyfriend continued to pout at you, “I hate you.”

“You love me,” you reminded him, “Otherwise you wouldn’t feel so embarrassed right now.”

“Fine,” he huffed, rolling his eyes, “Whatever you say, pretty girl.”

And damn him, because now you were the one left a blushing mess.

[shy-writer-999]

All Bark, No Bite?

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

A/N: Mostly smut. ~4500 words. Strawhat reader (afab) x Ace, who is visiting the ship for a while. When Ace finds someone who can match his banter, what goes down? ( ´ ω ` )

CW: dirty talk, fingering, P in V, prone bone.

All Bark, No Bite?

The flirtation with Ace had been getting ridiculous recently. You’d both been dancing around the idea of fucking each other senseless for weeks. Part of the fun was the teasing—Ace felt like he was going to explode any time he saw you, and his presence stoked a fire in your core any time he was around.

The banter itself was enough to make him hard and you wet, respectively. And sure, you’d make out a couple of times, he’d gotten handsy (with your eager consent), he even fingered you once—but these events happened once every blue moon, and your brief trysts never got past that threshold.

At one point the suggestive back-and-forth and lingering touches transformed into shameless horniness. Any chance he’d get, Ace would make you flustered, whisper sweet nothings in your ear, and then he’d turn around and talk about how he was going to fuck you into oblivion someday. You were counting down the hours until the perfect moment presented itself, and, of course, it did.

You shot Ace one too many lust-filled glances one night, and he couldn’t hold back anymore. You were wearing the shorts that you knew drove him rabid, so short that he got a tiny peek of your ass cheeks (Sanji loved the shorts too, coincidentally). Combined with your tank top and the shape of your breasts more visible because you weren’t wearing a bra… Ace could feel himself going feral.

He was sitting next to you at the dinner table, while the rest of the crew was rowdily laughing at Luffy almost choking on a chicken bone because he had scarfed it down too fast. Leaning to the side, Ace murmured something your ear. At the same time, his hand crept under the table and squeezed your thigh.

His comment wasn’t completely out of left field—earlier that night, he complimented your shorts, and you responded something along the lines of “Oh yeah? Wanna see more?” He had rolled his eyes at you in the moment, saying (sarcastically) “mmmhmm, sure” but afterwards he was shaking his head and laughing at himself over how viscerally down bad he was for you.

So, when he leaned over and whispered the following comment in your ear, you giggled. “How much you wanna bet that I’ll fuck you better than anyone has before?”

Now you were the one rolling your eyes. “Fat chance, Ace. In your dreams.”

“What, you don’t want to?” He feigned surprise and hurt, keeping his voice low and hushed.

You gave him an annoyed look and cocked your head slightly. He knew you wanted to. It was fucking obvious.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, Ace, it’s just that I think you’re all bark and no bite. Best dick I’ve ever had? Yeah right.”

A grin took over his face, nose scrunching up just slightly, those adorable freckles winking at you. “You want to find out?”

“I know you want to.”

Ace got up without a word and went to wash his now empty plate. You were puzzled at the lack of response, staring at his back, annoyed, until he turned and flicked his chin in the direction of the hallway. Message received. He put his plate on the drying rack and then sauntered down the hallway in question, disappearing as he turned a corner.

You got up and took care of your plate, following in Ace’s footsteps from a couple minutes before. As you left the dining area you sent Robin and Nami a small wave. Robin smiled and Nami gave you a wink. They knew they would hear every detail later.

When you walked down the hallway, you figured Ace would either be in your cabin or his (guest) cabin. Your door was open, light on just how you left it, Ace he was nowhere to be seen. So, he must be in his own cabin. But as you approached, you could see that his door was ajar, and it was pitch black inside. When you reached the room, you cracked the door some more and peered in. “Ace? Where the fu—”

Mid-question, a hand reached out of the darkness and grabbed your wrist, pulling you. You couldn’t see anything—the shutter on the room’s porthole was pulled shut, the light turned off. The only thing you could feel as you groped around in the dark was Ace’s hand on your wrist, which pulled you closer to what you assumed was the bed. You could hear the muted sounds of blankets rustling in front of you. He let go of your hand.

“C’mere.” His playful voice was a couple feet in front of you.

“I’m trying to, but I can’t fucking see anything!” You snapped, fumbling around in front of you until your foot hit his and you toppled over. He caught you by your waist and guided you down to straddle his lap.

“If you would have waited a minute, I would have given you a light.” He flashed a finger, a small flame burning on the tip. You saw his gorgeous smile just barely before he extinguished it. As his grip grew tighter on your waist, he purred, his face centimeters away from yours. “I want you.”

“I know you do, Ace” you laughed at him. He knew you well enough by now that he could hear you smiling through your voice.

“Please.” His voice was so sweet and pleading, veiled notes of desire behind his honeyed tone.

Leaning forward, you gave into a temptation that you knew would only lead somewhere hot and steamy (and you had no problem with that). It had been far too long since you locked lips.

You’d never get over how soft his lips were and how good of a kisser he was. While the jury was still out on whether or not he fucked you better than anyone else, you knew for a fact that he kissed you better than anyone else.

The kisses started out tame, but you could tell how badly he wanted more. You cupped the side of his face with one hand and threw your other arm around his neck, pressing your body into his. Ace’s hands around your waist crept down and grabbed two handfuls of your ass—extremely accessible through those short shorts. You could feel his half-chub forming in his shorts, starting to press onto the denim that covered your crotch.

Ace’s tongue parted your lips and explored your mouth. Your fingers tangled in his dark hair and you could feel his erection, fully hard now, starting to slowly grind up into you. He was letting out puffs of air into your mouth, hands kneading your ass, pulling on it. You moved your hands from the nape of his neck and reached for the hem of your tank top. When you peeled it off, you threw it across the room.

Ace was about to start massaging your bare breasts, but you shoved his shoulders so forcefully he fell back onto the covers.

“Feeling feisty, aren’t we?” Ace’s smirk was almost as audible as the smug chuckle he let out.

“Don’t move.” You got off his lap and shimmed out of your shorts and panties. When you had freed yourself of them, you leaned forward to tug on Ace’s shorts and the waistband of his boxer briefs; he helped speed the process along, and pulled off his shirt while he was at it.

Climbing back on the bed, you straddled Ace, cowgirl style, as he watched you from below. You felt like he deserved to get teased a bit, since he had such a big mouth and cock. Adjusting so his cock was laying flat on your lips, you started rubbing up and down it, bare pussy grinding on his shaft. At the same time, you braced yourself on his abdomen with your palms. You used his washboard abs for leverage, to adjust how hard or soft you grinded into him. Ace’s hands alternated between squishing handfuls of your ass to gripping your hips tightly.

Ace took one of his fingers and held it before you, a small flame dancing on his fingertip again. The light cast red tones and shadows on your body—he felt a sense of reverence as he watched you grind on him, head thrown back, like you were something holy, some work of art ripped from the frame of a renaissance painting or a sculpture from classical antiquity brought to life.

Your hair, your curves, the way you braced yourself on him, the way your hips rolled ever so slightly to elicit the most pleasure from him… he was in denial about how intensely and ardently he liked you. He was obsessed with you, entranced by you, he couldn’t get you out of his head ever since he started spending time on the ship. Your flirting sessions and the occasional horny tryst were killing him inside because all he wanted was to be close to you.

Sure, he wanted to fuck your brains out, but the feeling he got while he admired you in that muted light was something akin to awe. The moment felt surreal. He extinguished the flame.

“Princess, I won’t be able to take much more of that.” His voice was strained.

“I’m just getting started, Ace, sheesh. Don’t get too excited already, big boy.”

The feeling of your clit rubbing up and down, snagging on the head of his cock sent ripples of pleasure through both of you. It was so easy to get off when Ace was underneath you, like putty in your hands. He was trying to keep his groans back, trying to push them down in his throat; he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of knowing he was enveloped in pleasure after less than five minutes of this. But the precum was already leaking out of him, a fact that did not escape you as you grinded your core on his shaft.

“Fuck, baby, you’re killing me.” He croaked, his voice was almost hoarse. He wanted to fuck you immediately—either that, or he’d need to finger you or eat you out, ASAP. He couldn’t take five more minutes of this. He was going to cum soon if you kept it up, and if he came before he even got the chance to fuck you, he knew he’d never live it down.

“Oh, you’re falling apart already Ace? Weren’t you just saying you’d fuck me better than anyone I’ve ever been with?” Your tone was scornful, but you knew he’d get off on that. He loved any sort of sass or brattiness, he liked whining and begging, too, and his heart went crazy inside any time you made pathetic and pleading puppy-dog eyes at him.

“So, you just want to rub yourself on my cock forever and you won’t even let me fuck you with it?” Ace always returned your sass tenfold. His deep voice was incredulous and almost mocking you, but for some reason it felt like he was doting on you.

“Mmmmhhmm, Ace, and you’re just going to have to deal with that.”

He finally let out a groan. It was feeling dangerously good. Concerningly good. The slick oozing out of you and coating his shaft wasn’t making things any easier.

Ace squeezed his eyes shut and tried to control his breathing in an attempt to fend off the mounting desire-filled craze that was about to overtake him.

“You’ve got about thirty seconds left before I fuck you senseless, darling.” He practically growled at you—his voice sounded different; more desperate, deeper, and gruff.

You quipped back scathingly with a laugh, continuing to glide back and forth on his cock leisurely. “Ace, you’ll cum from me humping your dick before you even get the chance. I’d like to see you try.”

In a split second, everything changed. Because the room was pitch black, the only thing you could go off was the sensation of being thrown around.

Ace grabbed you by the waist and flipped you over, almost knocking the wind out of you. Your stomach was flat on the bed now and Ace was on top of you, his cock throbbing, pressing on your ass. His body was almost completely flush with yours, except he was bracing himself with a hand on either side of your head. His knees were outside of yours, firmly pressing your legs together.

“What was that?” He murmured, close to your ear. “You’d like to see me try?”

You let out a muffled sound, having to pick your head up a bit to be audible amidst the plush covers and blankets. “Yeah, Ace. Try.”

He reached a hand down to push your thighs apart slightly. Combined with you arching your back, he had better access now. He crept his hand down to your core and swiped two fingers through your folds—you were dripping wet, and when his fingers touched your bare folds, your hips bucked inadvertently.

“Now who’s the one gettin’ all worked up, sugar?” He taunted you, repeating his movement down your lips and to your clit a couple more times.

You rolled your eyes, like he could see them. “I’m hardly worked up, Ace. You’ll be able to tell when I am.”

“Oh, is that so?” He teased and slowly inserted his middle finger, his palm coming to rest on your skin. You were so wet that his finger slid in without any resistance. Your walls clenched around him. As he curled his finger and explored your insides, he pressed and roamed, trying to find your sensitive spot.

Now, you were the one trying to stifle your own sounds of pleasure. You feared that you were the one who was all bark and no bite—if his mere finger felt this good inside of you, who knows what it’d feel like when his cock was buried as deep as it could get.

Sure enough, Ace found your g-spot quickly and started relentlessly applying pressure. Your hips jerked up every time he pressed it, and you started to feel so good that your sighs and muffled groans were turning into full-blown mewls. You were one good g-spot press away from moaning his name with reckless abandon.

Based on the way you were squirming and clenching around his finger, Ace could tell that he could make you cum within a couple minutes if he kept going. He was painfully aroused; his cock was aching for friction. He wanted you so bad that it hurt.

He took his finger out and leaned down more, pressing his chest on your back, positioning his cock right at your entrance. He ran his tip up and down through your folds, rubbing it on your clit for a second before returning to tease around your slit.

“Fuck, Ace,” you moaned his name for the first time and he felt his heart stop. “I want it.”

He felt like being a dick. Now that you were under him, sopping wet and moaning his name, he wanted to take his turn playing the part of the bratty tease.

“What was that, pretty? Couldn’t hear you.”

“Fuck,” you groaned in frustration. He was going to drive you insane if he didn’t put his cock in soon. You were dying for it. “Ace, I want you. Now. Please.”

That was all he needed to hear before he started to press his tip through your folds and into your cunt. He was stretching you out and it felt so damn good. Your walls shuddered around him and his cock twitched in response. When he bottomed out, his chest was pressed directly onto your back, weighing you down so much that it was difficult to catch a breath. Ace's weight, his cock, and the feeling of him breathing on your neck all constituted an overwhelming sensation. In that moment, you would have done anything he told you to.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” Ace rasped in your ear, sending goosebumps all over your body. He held still for a moment to feel you pulse around him and listen to your heartbeat below him.

“Ace, move,” you whined. You tried to move your hips up and down, desperate for him to start bringing his cock in and out. You were growing impatient. You could only handle so much teasing before you would start begging pitifully.

Ace obliged your entreaty, dragging his cock out of you slowly and then plunging it back in forcefully. He angled his hips down, getting the deepest possible angle that he could. His body was caging you in, hips pressing into yours. The weight of his body and the angle made you feel tighter and made his cock feel bigger than it already was.

He pulled out again slowly and plunged back in, hard and deep. You yelped and it turned into a moan. “Ace, fuck.”

“Nngghhhh, fuck, Y/N, your pussy is so tight.”

“You—already—said—that,” you struggled to spit out each word as he fucked you.

“I’ll say it as many times as I want,” he smirked in your ear and plunged into you particularly rough. Filthy sounds of pleasure left your mouth as a response. He was fucking you so well that you were beginning to lose touch with reality.

“Do you like that? Do you like when I fuck you like this, sweetheart?” His sugar-coated voice and the pet name went straight to your pussy. Every time he called you one of those adoring names he could feel your cunt pulse around him—your body was telling on you, letting him know how much you liked those affectionate names, even though you would never tell him how much they made your heart flutter.

“Gonna fuck you ‘till you can’t even talk,” he grunted between each word, pulling out slowly and fucking into you franticly the whole time.

You moaned into the sheets in front of you, grabbing handfuls of them and balling them up into your fists. The dirty talk continued from Ace as he got continuously more riled up. He knew you loved it.

“So wet for me, sweetheart,” his voice was rumbling from his chest and into your ear—you could feel it vibrate on your back as he thrusted into you. “Taking it so well. Taking it all for me. So fuckin’ hot.”

As Ace fucked you harder and deeper, he targeted your g-spot, drawing more pleasure from your already dripping cunt. He felt hot and stiff inside of you, and every time his tip and shaft pressed your sensitive spot like it was a button. Your toes curled in ecstasy and your thighs clamped closer together. Each progressive clamp of your thighs let Ace go deeper.

“Tell me how much you like it, baby,” he cooed, breath hot on your ear.

You didn’t know if you’d be able to squawk out a coherent sentence. But you were going to try, or else he would have something else to smirk over.

“F-feels so—so good, Ace, feels like—” your words got caught in your throat and turned into a sort of strangled moan, a noise so primal it made Ace feel like he was going crazy.

“My cock feels so good you can’t even talk? You like it that much?”

You clumsily attempted a nod, stopped by all the covers you were currently getting fucked into. A mewl would have to suffice.

“Aceee, fuck,” the noises were muffled, but Ace knew exactly what you were saying. It fueled him, goaded him into fucking you harder. He wanted you to melt in his touch completely, wanted your eyes to roll back into your head in pleasure. He wondered how good it would feel when you screamed his name and came on his cock. He was determined to find out.

“Your pussy feels so good on my cock, baby, juuussssttt like that.”

Ace slowed his hips down, exercising every bit of discipline he had to glide his cock in and out as slow as possible. For you, this speed was simply unacceptable. You needed more so badly that you were about to scream for it. Was he trying to edge you?

Right as you were going to feebly attempt to snap at him to fuck you better, you realized that he was leaving a trail of gentle kisses along your shoulder blade. He kissed up to your neck, kissed down your back as far as he could reach in this position, showering you in unexpected affection. It made your heart stop for a moment. Sure, he was cheeky and insolent in most interactions (in a way that you liked), but you always suspected that he really did have a soft spot for you. You could see it in his eyes whenever he spoke to you.

Ace slowed down his panting so he could murmur lightly in your ear, “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

Vivid shades of pink and red started to spread over your cheeks. One of his hands crept towards yours and came to rest on top of it tenderly. You released your fistful of blankets and he intertwined his fingers through yours.

“So gorgeous it hurts,” his breath tickled your ear. He squeezed your hand, fucking you at a snail’s pace.

Holy shit, was Ace… making love to you? Was he funneling his affection towards you, letting you know how much he deeply cherished you, all while fucking your brains out? It seemed like the answer must be yes. Your heart did a flip.

“Ace,” you keened out; his adoration was going to your head. You lifted and turned your head as much as you could amidst the plush blankets, so he could hear you better. “I want you.”

He squeezed your hand. “I know you do.”

Ace sped up his thrusts again, his grunts and groans filling the room along with your sweet sounds of pleasure and the wet sounds from your cunt. His hips rolled, his weight bore down on you, your gummy walls pulsed around his cock—you were both on the verge of orgasm, holding on for dear life. He desperately wanted to make you cum first. The thin façade of bragging rights aside, he just wanted to make you feel good. He wanted to wrench heaven from your core and see you writhe in pleasure from his touch—he wanted the satisfaction of knowing he did that.

Every pass of his cock in and out of you was mind-blowing. Oblivion was approaching, quickly. His pace was becoming haphazard, messy, and frenzied.

“Ace, Ace, I’m—I’m gonna cum, feels too good,” you whined.

“Go for it, doll, wanna feel you cream on my cock.” His voice was barely going in one ear and out the other; it gravelly and deep, coursing through your veins like blood. But you registered it enough to know that he wanted you to let go for him.

One good thrust later and you were riding the wave of all-encompassing pleasure so intensely that you felt like you were going to pass out. You started to squirm—he had brought you to your peak and pushed you over it, into a free fall of desire and bliss with no end in sight. The pitch black of the room emphasized the maddening euphoria crashing through your body, it coaxed sounds out of your mouth that you’d never heard before, ones you didn’t know you could make.

You moaned Ace’s name on repeat—screamed it, almost, and every time Ace heard that noise grace his ears, the coil inside of him tightened. Feeling you writhe under him, feeling you squeeze the ever-living fuck out of his hand, feeling you arch your back and your walls pulse… It was too much.

The coil inside of him went rigid and snapped. Ace convulsed, jerking his hips and bucking them down into you. “Fuuccckkkk, Y/N, fuck.” Pulling out of you with heaving breath, his cock shot milky white ropes that painted your ass and lower back.

Ace felt like he was floating. He came the hardest he ever experienced—he didn’t know it was possible to cum this explosively or feel this good.

He collapsed onto his side and positioned his body next to yours. Your gasps for air and heartbeats were in sync as you both came back to earth. You laid there for a moment.

Ace lit another tiny flame on his finger and studied your face. Your eyes were closed, mouth hanging open, pressed against the bedsheets. Your cheeks were ruddy, lips just as pretty as he remembered.

A smiled dusted your lips as you opened your eyes, half-lidded, to see him inches away from you. Ace’s eyes reflected the small fire burning in between you, his lips curled into that heart-twisting grin that always gave you butterflies.

He extinguished the flame, reached over, and started to pet your back. His hand moved to smooth down your hair. “Hey gorgeous, how you hangin’ in there?”

“Wow.” You exhaled, breathless. A beat of silence passed. “What was all that about?” You were still smiling, fighting off the bashfulness and feeling of being flustered that you knew was creeping up.

“What do you mean, pumpkin?” His tone was puzzled.

“The lovey-dovey stuff...”

“Oh.” He paused. “Don’t you know how much I like you? I may tease you but I really, really like you.”

“Stop it, Ace. You’re making me shy.”

His hand resumed smoothing your hair. It passed down to cup your cheek. He rubbed a circle on your skin with his thumb.

“What’s so wrong with making you shy?”

You didn’t answer. He leaned over to kiss you. Again, you’d never get over how good his lips felt pressed on yours. Any time they met it was electric.

“One second—let me get you cleaned up sweetheart.” Ace got off the bed, grabbed a towel, and wiped his cum off your back. His touch was soft, treating your body like it was precious. He got back into bed.

“Come over here.” Ace’s voice was tender.

You turned onto your side and scooted closer. He threw an arm over you and held you to his chest. You cozied up to him for a long time. His chin rested on top of your head, you curled into his chest, heard his heartbeat, and felt the weight of his arm squeezing you closer.

After a moment he started to chuckle.

“Ace, what? What are you laughing about?” The sass started to trickle back into your voice.

“So, did I fuck you better than anyone has before? Am I still all bark and no bite?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes. “I guess you’re all bite.”

“Mmmm, that’s what I thought.” He kissed the top of your head and held you close, with that cocky grin plastered all over his face.

(✿◠‿◠) ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧˚ (*^_^*)

thank u so much for reading!! MAD shoutout to @acesluvrxx for the very detailed, and dare i say magnificent, request!

here's my masterlist, if you're interested!

[sincerelybubbles]

ok shy bau reader and the team finally managed to get her to come a rossi dinner party so she can meet the rest of the team families that she hasn’t met yet, maybe after her first date with hitch and the team realized quickly she softened very fast with the kids and jack and her just seemed to click really fast and jack had her talking more than any of the team has so far… hotch is star eyes

hotch x shy!bau!reader \\ Dinner and Delights

Warnings: brief mention/allusions to Christianity. Otherwise, fluff! More insight into what Aaron is thinking :) I got very carried away, I hope you enjoy <3

"Woah hot stuff, where are you going so fast?" Morgan intercepts you with an arm around your shoulder as you attempt to slip out of the BAU unnoticed. "Hopefully to get ready for our big dinner plans?"

It's not that you don't want to go to one of Rossi's famous dinner parties, you're just afraid that your sub-par social skills would be noticeable by tenfold in a more casual environment.

At work, you can hide your quietness by talking about the psychology of the unsub, your specialty as a licensed psychologist. You can pretend you're not hiding in your shell when the team is all laughing and talking about personal lives by quietly listening while pretending to read your maps and journals. You can observe them and spend time with them, because you do truly love them all at this point, without feeling bad that you prefer to listen over talk.

And that's really it - you prefer to listen to them. You would say you've all but warmed up to all of them. You like Morgan's teasing, Emily's stories, Reid's rambling, Rossi's sarcasm, and Hotch's...

Everything, but the thought snaps you back to the present before you can dwell on memories of a sweet date in a dark restaurant.

"Of course," you succeed, nodding and sending him a tight-lipped smile.

"Hey," he slows you down and stops in the hallway, turning you to face him gently before lifting his hands in a placating gesture as if you were an animal he expects to run. "You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with but I promise none of us are trying to lead our little lamb to slaughter. We know you're quiet," the admission embarrasses you and makes you feel guilty pleasant that he sounds so gentle about it, "and nobody minds, I think it's cute and I think the rest are just happy our other genius isn't as vocal as Reid."

Your nose scrunches at the small dig and you open your mouth to protest at putting Reid down to lift you up.

"And look at that! Another thing we all love - you're quiet but won't let anyone say anything about the other behind their back. You're a good person, we all just want to spend some less-intense time with you. So, go home and doll yourself up, and get ready to see Hotch wine tipsy. We all know that's your main motivator." Morgan winks at you and moves quickly down the hall and away from you, laughing, before you can protest.

He's not wrong, though, and you shake your head as you move toward the elevator.

You end up on Rossi's doorstep, choking the neck of a bottle of expensive wine between two sweaty palms. Your heart is in your throat, nerves humming in anticipation.

Your team cares about you. Nobody expects you to be anything you're not. Gentle affirmations meant to soothe over your skin in gently lapping waves erupt into steam; like water hitting lava rock. You're too tense, too worried about not saying enough or too much; saying the wrong thing or saying the right thing only once and never living up to the expectation of repeated occurrences.

"Hey," Emily says from behind you. You turn to see her jogging up to stand beside you, brushing off her pants and adjusting her jacket. "You brought wine!" She cheers happily, reaching past you to turn the nob and open the door.

She gestures you inside, making no comment about your obvious hesitance. With her by your side, your nerves are calmed. Aside from Aaron, she's the easiest for you to be around. You don't feel any expectations with Emily. She doesn't talk too much or too little, doesn't push, doesn't ever send a pitying look when you opt out of activities outside of work.

"Château Lafite," you say to her, lifting the wine and shaking it gently in the air as you walk inside.

"Oh! Fancy wine."

"Wine?" Rossi asks, rounding a corner. He's dressed slightly more casually in a soft sweater and jeans, drying his hands off with a pristine dish towel. "The more the merrier, bring it in here."

You follow his gesture back into the kitchen, leaving Emily to go to what you presume is the living or dining area.

"Where did you find this?" Rossi asks, taking the wine from you to examine it and letting out a low whistle as he appreciates it.

"Just my local winery," you say, neglecting to admit that you go there often enough that the owner leaves the nicer stuff behind the counter for you.

Lonely nights crave wine, twisting them into lovely things you can appreciate. You enjoy your own company after years of quietly observing others. You've learned how to observe yourself, too, after all of these years.

And, even though you don't quite realize it, the self-awareness carries like confidence. That's what Aaron sees in you: observant eyes darting across a room and noticing everything, understanding flickering before anyone else catches a cue, deft movements across the paper while taking notes, and swift motions always with a purpose.

It's what he sees now, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans while he leans in the doorway of Rossi's kitchen, watching you. How could he not? You're a lovely creature, always begging for his eyes to settle on you for another second, and then another.

He knows the moment you realize he's in the room, minutes before Rossi. You stand straighter, tilt your chin lower, and are aware far before you tilt your head to the side to send him a soft smile. He returns it before Rossi can catch him. It's a warmth he wants to reserve for you.

"Dave," he interrupts the other man's monologuing about the wine he's sure you already know all about, "Jack would like to know if he and Spencer can use your chess set when he gets here?"

"Of course, I'll get it from my study." Rossi leaves, passing you the wine and gesturing to the opener.

Aaron steps in before you can start the process of opening the wine. He doesn't quite know why, but he wants to do it for you. He finds himself wanting that more and more recently: to do simple tasks for the sole purpose of you not having to do them. Opening doors and pulling out chairs are simple gestures that he did with Hayley, but he wants to do sillier, smaller, things, too. Straighten the pens on your desk back into their cup, reorganize the files on your desktop, untangle the wires of the headphones he really should reprimand you for using at your desk, open a damn bottle of wine he can't pronounce the name of but that he heard you say so gently to Emily as you walked in.

"Jack's here?" You ask, handing him the wine and crossing your arms over your chest as you lean back against the counter to watch him work.

He relishes how your eyes focus on his arms, pupils dilating, as his muscles work under his thin henley.

"Yes, I have him this weekend and he likes to spend time with Reid and Garcia."

He has to step closer to reach above you to get the wine glasses. He could ask you to step aside, tuck his hand against your waist to move you himself, or simply walk into the next room to grab the glasses sitting on the table. But, instead, he tucks one foot in between yours, puts one hand on the back of your head to guard it from the cabinet, and opens it to find the nicer crystal there.

Your breath hitches across his neck and he remembers the chaste kisses he's given you before. Nothing serious, nothing has been yet because he's waiting for you to lead him into that, but tantalizing nonetheless. He steps back to pour the wine, standing closer to you than he started.

A little for you, passed gently, and then a little for him. Dave could pour his own glass.

You take the wine and sip it slowly, tongue darting out to taste before you sip. He's reminded of communion as a child. The blood of christ, sacred, something to be tasted but not meant to satiate. Reverence in a sip, devotion in a small act.

He wants to give you the same thing. The desire hits him in the sternum, suddenly, leaving him winded as he watches you lower the glass. Your eyes are locked on his, you haven't seemed as hesitant about holding his gaze recently - something that makes him melt - and he wonders if you can feel how he wants to take care of you. How he wants to show you the same force that water uses to carve canyons. Persistence and pressure, time and care. He's willing to take his time, he's filled with the same patience as everything all together in nature. He's a rabbit perched on its hind legs, sniffing the wind for safety before darting forward; the bird hung in flight between beats of wings, the whisper of wind carrying small seeds miles away to wait and watch the growth. Wait, wait, wait, however long it takes, he's there. For you.

It's a strong feeling to fully realize in David Rossi's kitchen, but he's grateful for it, anyway.

"It's good," you comment softly, eyes smiling.

"Is it?" He asks, setting his glass down and retaking his spot nearer to you. He misses your warmth. "Can I?" He asks, brushing his fingers across your jugular before cupping your cheek.

"Taste the wine?" You tease, eyes flickering to his glass. The gentle jest pulls a chuckle from his chest. Another thing you've become more comfortable doing around him. His blood and bones sing at how familiar you can be with him.

"Yes," he says in a breath, dipping his head down to brush his lips against yours.

And you're reciprocating - you've always reciprocated, enthusiastically, just never in the pressing way you are now. You set down your own glass to hold his arms in both of your hands. Fingers dig into his arm as you sigh and open your mouth, new lands to explore, tilting your head back to grant him full access.

"Daddy?" Jack asks and Aaron pulls away, a man parched and staring at an oasis in the middle of a desert, before Jack can round the corner. He doesn't go far, though, hand traveling down to the small of your back as he turns.

"Jack?" Aaron replies, waiting for him to come around the corner.

"Hello," Jack says, stopping in the doorway and looking up at you with wide eyes.

You've met him a few times before, always in passing, but you still smile warmly and wave at him.

"Hi, Jack."

"Do you know how to play chess?" Jacks asks. Aaron smiles at the eagerness on his son's face.

"Yes, I do. Would you like to play?"

"Yes please!" Jack jumps forward to grab your hand, pulling you into the living room before you can react.

You go easily, though, following him with a gentle laugh that warms the coldest parts of him. Pieces of him he doesn't think have seen the light in years brighten at the sound. He's heard you laugh before but something about the sight of you laughing because of Jack illuminates needs that he didn't even know he had. Needs you're meeting before he can feel the yawning desire of them.

He follows, unable to resist the desire to see you two interact over and over again. You're setting up the board, listening to Jack chatter on, nodding intently.

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. coming home from university has both stressed and tired you out — causing you to forget about satoru’s birthday. maybe your boyfriend could help you remember.

word count. 4.7k-ish

note. was supposed to come out on his (our) bday but writer’s block was ruthless :p hope you enjoy anyway x

tags. older bf!gojo satoru x sub!female reader. p.orn with plot. fluff to smut. age gap (reader 20 - early 20’s, satoru’s in his early 30’s). p in v -> unprotected, size difference, missionary, creampie, breast play, dirty talk, body worship, hickeys, praise, you f.uck in the kitchen, aftercare-ish, reader gets called ‘princess, sweetheart, baby, pretty.’ i present to you soft dom&older bf!gojo satoru. he’s absolutely smitten with you btw.

“lookin’ tired, sweetheart.” satoru comments with a subtle grin as he welcomes you home. home being his apartment that you had basically moved into. why? because it was close to the university you attend.

and maybe because your lover had coaxed you into it.

you sigh, eyes half closed and glazed over. the stress of exams, assignments and whatnot has been too much for your brain, “yeah, i’m sorry. i probably look like absolute shi—”

a pair of lips were quick to shut your negative remark up. satoru pulls you closer to him by the small of your back. his fluffy bangs brush over his closed eyes, the hairs lightly grazing your forehead as well. he smells and tastes sweet. like those strawberry flavoured candies he always carries with him in his pockets.

a faint string of saliva hanging between your two mouths was all that’s left after the intense kiss. it snaps, causing the small bit of liquid to cling onto your bottom lip.

“what’d i say about apologising when you did absolutely nothing wrong?” satoru asks in a gentle and hushed tone. his thumb presses down on your bottom lip to get rid of the transparent trail of saliva. his gaze is soft and loving — like it always is when he looks at you.

that man had once again rendered you speechless. it’s the small things that make you fall for him over and over, “that—uhm—i shouldn’t apologise for something i don’t have any control over.”

satoru’s dimples show as he looks down at you fondly. a large hand settles on the top of your head, messing up your hair whilst his lips lock yours in for another kiss.

“exactly,” your lover nods in approval before grabbing your bag and placing it aside. he also helps you take off your coat and even bends down to undo your shoes for you.

you wonder how you’ve even managed to land such a man.

satoru’s long fingers work quick to undo the laces on your shoes. your tired eyes can’t help but steal a glance at the veins that run down his slender hands — up his forearms and. . .

“somethin’ on your mind, princess?” his voice calls out as he massages your feet for a split second to ease the accumulated tension from all the walking. you simply shake your head ‘no’, though satoru knows you better than you know yourself.

with a light-hearted chuckle, he raises to his full length and leads you through the hallway. his footsteps were light whilst yours were the exact opposite: heavy and exhausted.

maybe a shower or bath would help you refresh and relax. thus, that’s exactly what the sorcerer recommends;

“why don’t you go take a nice shower whilst i prepare you a hot meal, hm?” satoru comments and stops in his tracks right before the door to the bathroom. his gaze lingers on your pretty face—his hands never leaving your skin.

the idea of taking a shower did seem like the ideal solution to your problems at the moment, “okay i will, but err. . .”

your voice trails off as you look up at satoru. his knuckles run over your cheeks lovingly and his warm gaze tells you that he’s smitten with you. totally. utterly. he makes you so nervous without even realising it in the slightest.

“you don’t have to cook me something. i know work has been hard on you too.” you finish your sentence with an apologetic little smile. one that makes satoru want to squeeze your cheeks together.

you had always been a bit selfless and it’s an admirable trait, but your boyfriend also has this gnawing urge to take care of you in any way he can. maybe it’s because he’s a few years older than you and knows from experience how tough things could get at your age.

satoru smirks and pokes your sides playfully, “don’t you worry your pretty little head ‘bout that. now let’s get you in that shower.”

a little yelp leaves your throat as you feel yourself get hoisted over his shoulder. the white-haired sorcerer opens the door with one hand, the other protectively placed on your waist to keep you from falling.

he settles you back on your feet in the middle of the room—eyes now filled with a playful glint. you could probably already guess the next words that leave his mouth.

“need help undressing? i’ll gladly do it for you,” satoru laughs. you roll your eyes and teasingly shove him towards the door. he puts his hands in the air to show his surrender, though doesn’t miss the opportunity to look you over one last time.

you’re like the embodiment of beauty even when your eyes have lost their usual spark. even if you barely have any energy left to do anything. he loves every side of you, no matter what.

resisting the urge to pull you into his arms for the nth time, your boyfriend eventually leaves you be and closes the door as he steps out. his mind, however, was still overly full with thoughts of you.

“ah, what a woman.” satoru mutters in pure amazement under his breath after departing from the bathroom. there’s a visible spring in his step as he walks to the kitchen—happy to take care of his girl.

. . .

you finish your much needed bath after about half an hour. you look in the bathroom mirror whilst wrapping a simple white towel around your torso. the bath sure did help to clear your mind, though there’s still one thing bothering you. something you’ve forgotten.

you can’t really put your finger on it, but it must have been something important. there’s an iffy feeling in your chest as you walk out of the bathroom — instantly heading towards the kitchen. surely, satoru could help you remember it.

“toru,” you call out before stepping into the kitchen. your lover is standing at the counter, his back towards you and his hands working fast to chop up some vegetables. the many pans and stoves scattered around the area only further prove his determination to prepare you a nice hot meal.

“yeah, princ— oh.” satoru eventually turns his head, looking over his shoulder to see you standing a few steps behind him. he couldn’t believe his luck; to have his gorgeous, gorgeous girlfriend in his apartment was one thing—but having his girlfriend in front of him with only a towel on was another thing. the remaining waterdroplets running down your skin made you all the more attractive.

he grins as he puts the knife down and quickly dries his hands. he couldn’t wait to put his hands on your body, “c’mere, pretty.”

you grunt the moment satoru envelopes you into a tight hug with your face squished into his chest. he nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head—over dramatically acting as if he hasn’t seen you for days.

his hands teasingly find their way under the material of the towel. the tips of his fingers are cold in comparison to your warm and damp skin. he drags the pad of his thumb up and down the curve of your ass; sighing in content as he feels the plush flesh.

“perv.” you mutter under your breath, though can’t deny that the light touch makes you putty in his hands. satoru responds with his usual ‘only when it comes to you’ comment before pulling away to take in your embarrassed expression. he lives for those physical reactions you have to his advances.

you slightly turn your head to the right, purposely avoiding his gaze. you face the door of the fridge that you stood in front of. your eyes fall onto the sticky notes. there’s one standing out from all the others.

you had placed it on there a few weeks ago so you wouldn’t accidentally forget that oh-so-important date.

turns out you did just that.

your face drops and you instantly go into panic mode. how could you fail to recall that today is satoru’s birthday? you don’t even know how to explain yourself. no amount of excuses would ever make this right. or so you thought.

satoru is an attentive lover; he is aware of almost everything that’s going on in your head. perhaps he is good at reading minds. or perhaps it’s just that your body language and facial expressions disclose everything he needs to know about your current mood.

“hey, i’m not upset.” satoru breathes out, eyes closed as he slides ticklish kisses down your neck. it is a sign of reassurance; he doesn’t want you to conclude that he’s angry with you for forgetting such a thing. besides, he understands that being an university student is a struggle by itself, “having you here with me at the end of the day ‘s all that matters to me, okay?”

you sigh, both in frustration and content. you’re frustrated with yourself for being too caught up with your studies, though you’re also appreciative for satoru’s empathy and lenience. he is so kind and mature; always optimistic about everything. your mindset is the opposite of his. your age gap sure did explain those cognitive differences.

despite satoru’s consolation, you still feel like you owe him something. you tilt your head back so you’re able to look him in the eyes. you give him the cutest pout ever and that man is—once again—feeling light-headed. satoru can’t decide whether to continue consoling you or to tease you about forgetting his birthday.

you are adorable when you sulk.

“i’m still.. well, sorry.” you sniffle, cuddling up to your lover to show your genuine remorse, “i know that you wouldn’t ever forget about my birthday - no matter how busy you might. . . .”

blahblahblah. you are babbling on and on about how inappropriate it is of you to forget his birthday, but satoru is hearing none of that.

his coherent thoughts shut down the moment he felt your tits press up against his chest. it is meant as an innocent hug on your part, however apparently couldn’t be interpreted as one.

your visible cleavage and the way the towel is doing a bad job at hiding the volume of your breasts increases the lewd thoughts gathering in his mind. there is no way that he can survive any more physical contact between you two without taking some action.

“..so, i was thinking that i could make it up to you somehow.” you conclude at one point in the conversation. satoru’s body subtly jolts as he snaps out of his dazed state.

he gives you a sheepish smile and tries to play it off by continuing the conversation, “make it up to me, huh?”

you nod in response and give him your best puppy eyes. your lover sighs in defeat; satoru couldn’t keep his emotions and carnal desires in check anymore. his hands are twitching, aching and longing to touch you all over.

the rational part of his mind told him to continue comforting you. to tell you that there was no need to compensate for failing to remember his birthday. the lust-driven part of him craves to take you up on the offer and give a different and more sexual twist to it.

satoru takes a deep breath and puts some distance between you two. not because he is annoyed or irritated by your behaviour, but because he might lose control of himself.

you can’t guess the intentions behind your lover’s actions, thus confusion follows; “satoru? you okay?”

maybe he actually is displeased by your lack of remembrance—deep, deep inside. you bite your lip anxiously, reaching your hand out to hold satoru’s in attempt to try and get him to look at you. his vision is obstructed by his own bangs, a dark shadow casted over his eyes, one that prevents you from gauging his mood.

you feel a light electric shock go through your body the instant your fingers curled around his hand. your boyfriend’s body stiffens and it’s like time stilled.

“fuck, i tried.” satoru mutters under his breath.

then, before you knew what was happening, you’re pinned to the door of the fridge. there are efforts made to articulate proper words, but the shock has overtaken all your senses. it isn’t like you could speak either—your lips are sealed shut by your lover’s.

his hands didn’t waste a single second now that they have free rein. they fondle you everywhere; from cupping your cheeks, to sliding down your neck and lower. his fingers rub up against the area where your nipples would be, sensually stroking them through the towel. his feverish kisses combined with his constant touches make you shiver in exhilaration.

you’re trying to keep up with his sudden burst of lust and that’s adorable to the white-haired sorcerer. he can feel you struggling to keep yourself balanced on your toes, your arms wrap tightly around his neck so you’d be inseparable. you feel him grin against your lips for a split second—the gesture alerting you of what might be coming.

“mmh,” satoru grunts once he frees your bare body from its confines. he finally breaks the kiss—the sole reason being to admire the sight of you.

it feels like he just unveiled a heavenly painting. his eyes don’t know what to focus on. if he is to properly and completely appreciate your nude body, it’d take him days or even weeks, “god, have i ever told you how lucky i am to be yours?”

your heart stutters in your chest as all attention is on you. the gentle yet hungry touch of your lover, his hands caressing everywhere they can reach and his half-lidded eyes that are focused on your most intimate parts—you don’t know how much more you can take.

satoru’s breathing becomes even heavier than it was moments ago. he leans his head down to your level, lips hovering above the space between your neck and shoulder. his mouth latches onto your skin after taking a moment to try and keep himself from rushing into things. but alas, he is a simple man.

his lips work precisely and diligently to leave hickeys on every inch. his teeth gently sink into your flesh here and there, his warm saliva coating the faint markings left. your body is his canvas for tonight and the many other nights that are yet to come — for as long as you give him permission to.

“ngh— t.. toru,” you stammer, almost squealing. the sloppy kisses left on your sensitive skin resulted in you whining for more. satoru feels a rush of satisfaction like no other; the frequency of his touches only increasing with each sound erupting from your throat. his tongue slides over your plump breasts, his fingers flicking the nipple he isn’t sucking on.

he eventually detaches from your tits, leaving them both covered in his saliva. he hums in delight at the erotic view and gives both your breasts a last kiss. satoru looks up into your eyes again—a sense of want in them, “you look like you have somethin’ to say, baby.”

you do, but, don’t know how to bring the message across. it is embarrassing to say all of your thoughts out loud; all that you actually want him to do that you. you know satoru would love it if you do, however you do not have the guts to.

your body does all the talking anyway. there is a pool of slick forming between your thighs, your bodily fluids showing just how aroused you are. you aren’t the only one in that state; satoru has had a raging hard-on the entire time.

“i want you,” there it goes.

you avert your eyes, though not for long. gentle fingers hold your chin up, forcing you to stare at your lover. his face is intensely close and your heart is in your throat. satoru grins at your shy behaviour, finding it all the more endearing.

“awh, my little princess wants me?” he pouts, almost mockingly if you didn’t know better. his gaze flickers downwards, “where d’ya want me? show me, baby.”

if you aren’t embarrassed already, you’d sure be now. satoru’s teasing words and the sultry tone of voice he uses eventually urges you to comply. your shaky fingers wrap around his wrist, bringing his hand down towards your tingling cunt, “here.”

the older man hisses at the direct contact his hand makes with your pussy. it is so wet and ready — he wanted nothing more than to bury his fat cock between your folds and feel your sweet little cunt cling onto it.

he cups your cunt delicately, grazing his thumb against your clit. he traces faint circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves to make you squirm and whimper in pleasure. his other fingers spread your folds apart so he can collect your wetness on them.

“how naughty,” satoru sighs. his index finger prods at your entrance, but your thighs clamp down around his hand before he’s able to push it in.

he snickers in amusement and retracts his hand. he licks your juices off of his long fingers in a painfully slow manner, “well.. who am i to deny you? what the princess says, goes.”

satoru lifts your body up in his arms, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist. he kisses you passionately again—his tongue swirling around yours. you exchange soft moans as your hands lift his shirt up and over his head.

you cut the kiss short to appreciate the sight of your lover’s well-built upper body. that drives him utterly insane. that look you give him.

satoru curses under his breath and pulls you down onto the carpet below. he carefully places you on your back and—once you are settled—instantly rushes to undo his grey sweatpants.

his eyes are darting from his clothes to your naked body under him. god, he wants to fuck you so bad. the view of you spread out and patiently waiting for him to take you had him weak in the knees. it’s a sinful scene, yet the pleading and almost innocent-like look in your eyes is a complete contrast.

“don’t worry, i’ll give it to you in a second, baby.” satoru grins once he pulls his boxers down to his knees—revealing his hardened cock. he strokes it slowly and the pre-cum drips down the shaft, his thumb smearing the droplets all over his pink tip.

after getting a couple strokes in, he grabs the base of his dick and guides it to your wet cunt. satoru rubs his tip up and down your slit. what he didn’t expect is for his cockhead to slide into you so easily. he didn’t even have to put in the slightest of effort.

your back arches due to the feeling and your nails dig into the carpet below you. the mixture of your slick and his pre-cum is all the lubricant you need.

“shit. seems like she doesn’t wanna let go any time soon.” satoru addresses your cunt with a groan whilst he slips his fat cock deeper into you. his eyes roll back as he feels the warmth of your pussy engulfing him, “. . .not like i was planning to leave her empty anyway.”

you moan and shiver at both satoru’s dirty words and his dick that’s currently stuffing your insides full. your mouth hangs open, your eyes remain shut and your brain takes in all the granted sensations. adjusting to his lengthy size takes you a few seconds and when you gave your boyfriend permission to continue— that’s exactly what he does.

his hips thrust in an almost hypnotising rhythm: back and forth, back and forth. every interval between the firm movements is the exact same. the thing that differs and makes the experience all the better, is the difference in strength behind each thrust.

one moment he’s carefully sliding in and out of your sopping cunt and in the next he’s forcefully slamming his cock all the way in and out. satoru stifles his moans by attaching his lips to yours—capturing them in a sloppy, rough kiss.

“satoru—satoru, ah, please.. right there,” you mewl into his mouth. his tongue finds yours and your salivas mix.

your lover answers your pleas by holding onto your hand, your fingers interlocking with his thumb soothingly rubbing your skin. satoru never fails to make you feel loved during intimate acts like these. no matter how filthy, nasty and rough he’s fucking you.

you arch your back and your chest presses against satoru’s, causing him to groan against your lips. a cocky grin appears on his face after he moves his head to the crook of your neck. he leaves a couple hickeys along the area of your throat—his hips not giving you a break. even as you continuously whimper and look like you’re about to lose your mind from pleasure.

that’s what satoru wants; to have you come undone beneath him. it’s the most beautiful thing in the world to him. others may call it perverted, but the older man always aims to make you reach as many orgasms as you can in one night. it fuels his carnal desires to see you convulse and shake after every intense climax.

his baby feeling good is all he wants to achieve.

“mhm, i know, princess. i know.” satoru breathes out and returns his lips to yours. he can’t go on long without tasting you. you’re like a drug he’s addicted to. every reaction—small or big—gets him going, “take it easy—fuck, you can do that f’me."

you reply with incoherent noises of agreement. there’s not a thought going on behind those watery eyes of yours. that much is obvious to your boyfriend.

your legs lock his cock inside of you by wrapping around his hips. your eyes are glazed over; a cockdrunk look. one that would make any man cum on spot.

“princess, wait,” satoru whines. he can’t stop himself, yet he’s telling you to wait. his body refuses to come to a halt as it strives towards a satisfying orgasm. he can feel it, his balls tightening and ready to spill everything they have, “if you continue looking at me like that, ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum.”

he isn’t lying. you’re nearly driving him over the edge with everything you do. your legs that tighten their grip around his hips in fear of him pulling out is his favorite thing to experience. it’s like you’re desperate to continue.

your hands play with his sweaty body, fingers caressing his hard chest to feel his heartbeat. you’re drooling. your head is spinning as you think of your lover claiming you. fucking his precious cum into you, “inside—want it inside. all of it.”

satoru chokes on his spit. you don’t know what you do to him. muttering such erotic words causes the older man to malfunction every time. without fail. his hips are painfully ramming against yours.

“you sure? ah, shit.” satoru curses. his brows are furrowed, his hands holding you by your jaw. the view of you with your head tilted back and your teary eyes looking straight into his is pure perfection, “can’t deny you when you look so hot begging me to cum inside your greedy little pussy.”

the room is spinning. your nails claw into satoru’s back, leaving faint red marks on his pale skin. you shudder the instant he slides out of you until all that’s left is his pink tip prodding at your entrance.

it’s like he gets off on it. to see you whimper, quiver and struggle to contain your pleas for permission to cum. your boyfriend drags his tip up and down your slit, tapping it against your clit repeatedly.

“cum f’me, baby.” satoru coos. he knows you’re right on the edge. before you can reply, he shoves his cock back inside your spasming cunt—ruthlessly pounding you until you scream his name.

your eyes roll back and all you can do is hold your breath the moment the intense orgasm washes over you. your hips buck, your legs tremble and your pussy gushes all over his cock.

spurts of clear liquid cover satoru’s thighs. you squirting isn’t something he had expected to see, but it is a pleasant surprise regardless. it all gets too much for your lover and it drives him to his own climax as well.

satoru hugs you tightly to him. your chests press together with one of his arms holding your upper body up—his nose buried into your hair. a muffled grunt escapes his mouth and that’s when you know that he's reaching his finish.

“please—take it, take it, take it,” satoru stutters and stammers. he can’t form any proper words the moment his cock twitches and releases a huge load of sperm into your womb. it’s an overwhelming amount; globs of transculent white liquid ooze out from between your folds.

his sticky cum slides down to your asshole and onto the carpet, staining it. satoru bites his bottom lip whilst his body is still recovering, cock going soft once he pulls it out. he doesn’t know what to do or where to look, yet somehow his gaze always darts back to your dripping cunt.

“fuck. . . that’s hot.” the older man takes in a deep breath. it’s too soon to get hard again, he figures. the way you’re still trembling and struggling to catch your breath tells him enough. you need a break. and a well-deserved one it is.

your weak taps against satoru’s shoulder snaps him out of his dazed state. he takes your hand in his and gently squeezes before helping you into a sitting position. his blue eyes flash with worry,

“hey, hey, baby—you okay?” satoru asks. his voice is raspy, though obviously filled with concern. he rubs your back and encourages you to take deep breaths. small kisses to your temples help calm you down too.

your breathing eventually returns to normal. you chuckle tiredly and lean your head against his shoulder. your attentive lover wipes the saliva from the corners of your lips and does the same with the tears around your eyes. you sniff, “y-yeah. just felt amazing, hehe.”

satoru sighs in relief. he was scared that he hurt you somehow. your confession makes him laugh and squeeze your body against his. he cups your face and kisses you twice out of pure adoration.

you’re always ten times more adorable to him after you’ve had sex.

“aw, glad it did.” satoru smiles, his dimples showing. your eyes glisten and you smile back out of reflex. you pucker your lips and your lover takes the hint. he presses his mouth against yours once more; this time playfully swiping his tongue over your bottom lip.

you pull back and teasingly swat his bicep. satoru tickles your side as a response. and that’s how you once again end on the floor, with a heavy weight pressing onto your front.

satoru nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and breathes in your scent. you’re the best thing to have happened to him. you, the love of his life.

“the best present i could have ever gotten.” the white-haired sorcerer mumbles to no one in particular. though, you heard it. faintly.

you rub his back. you’re sure you made it up to him. he’s clinging onto you, nearly suffocating you by laying on top of your smaller body, but you don’t mind. you play with his hair and your fingernails graze against his undercut to which satoru reacts with a low purr.

you’re happy. he’s happy. that’s all that matters;

“happy birthday, my love.”

[ivhmavie]

you’re too sweet for me

hwang in ho

first of all, just a little advice that english its not my first language! be kind

༶ he knew that you were too good for him, that hi’s world was way to cruel and defiant to a girl like you. The games, the carnage, the involvement of VIPs, the arrogance, the money.

༶ but oh, everytime that he sees you, he forgets that. The monotonous days that he spent locked in his small apartment, without spending a cent of his prize, began to have a purpose when he knew you.

༶ your laugh, that he heard before seeing you, your hands looking for something to hold on to so you don't fall, your shy look when you apologize for tripping over him and your gentle tone of voice. The joy that only the joviality and naivety of someone who did not see bad things in your eyes.

༶ you were an interesting little thing to him. Something that took him out of his automatic state on days when he waited until the next game.

༶ it had been a long time since he allowed himself to think of a woman as anything other than a one night fuck.

༶ his routine was messy. Normally he would spend part of the morning with a glass of whiskey while talking to the VIPs about the next edition of the games or evaluating the people recruited for the game.

༶ and the more you two talked, the more he realized that you were too sweet. Trying to balance your study routine and still take care of yourself.

༶ the first time you went out, he couldn't say for sure what had made you shy. Whether it was the expensive restaurant, which you clearly couldn't afford with any part-time job as a student. Or if it was because he was older than you. Whether it was the experience, or his money that intimidated you, he liked it.

༶ for him, it was fun to see you turn into a shy mess, not knowing where to look, fidgeting with your own hands.

༶ honestly, he likes seeing you shy. Whether it's because he took you to a chic and expensive place, because he gave you a very pricey gift and you don't know how to react, or because of the comments from people who see you together, even when your friend talks about the "hot, rich old man" that you’re going out with

“soo, did you two already..?” your best friend asks sitting on your bed, watching you open another gift from in-ho. Not that you were complaining, but you didn't know how to reciprocate while he spoiled you so much.

“did we what?” you ask a little confused, turning your present okhar away to look at your friend. After a while, you got used to her being excited to see you dating someone, especially a rich older man who treats you like his wife.

“god, you’re so naive, I’m talking about sex” when you heard what she said, you looked at her a little disconcerted as you finish opening the package and see a beautiful pair of boots, it was obvious that she would want to know the details. And you'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about it yet.

“noo!! we did not, it’s still a little to early for that”you respond, laughing and throwing one of the pairs of boots at her as a joke. “now come here, I need help with this other gift”

༶ and yes, sex with him is for sure a thing.

༶ he’s a natural dom. Even though he likes the view of having you on top, he loves having you on the bottom. He's a big, muscular man, and he's not at all modest about it. So having a small girl underneath him is exciting.

༶ he likes to hold one of your hands when you are underneath, the other hand on the side of your head. But sometimes, when things are at their roughest, he likes to have a firm hand around your neck, kissing you while his other hand travels between your legs and massages the inside of your thighs.

༶ afterwards he would like to stay in bed, you lying with your head on his chest while he pours himself a glass of drink. Hearing you talk about that mean teacher who is very strict with you, or about the girls you and your friends don't like.

༶ he allows himself to think it's funny. While your mind is filled with the things you want to buy, your care routine and the tests you have to study for, he thinks about games, receiving VIP guests and especially how to keep everything in order.

༶ when he has to return to the island for the games, he invents a business trip, you are a little confused, because he had never told you about his work. So he uses as an excuse the story that he comes from a rich family and is going to visit some important old friends.

༶ during game week, he seriously considered telling you about everything. You missed him, considering that you were practically never apart from each other since you started dating. He had even planned to ask you to live with him, having even bought an expensive and large apartment for that.

༶ after a while, he started taking you to some events that he, as the frontman, attended, like the Halloween. Even if he hadn't told you exactly what he worked with, you could already tell that it wasn't something common, but you didn't care, you just wanted him.

༶ so when he tells you about the games, you accept it. Of course, you're so good to him, you'd never doubt him when he said they were just giving people a better opportunity.

༶ in the next edition you would watch the games with him. In-ho sat on the couch, a glass of whiskey neat in his hand, with you snuggled next to him, hiding your face in his chest every time someone got shot or got a bad bruise.

༶ he likes to admire you. He knows you are bright as the morning, as soft as the rain, pretty as a vine and as sweet as a grape. hee knows he's the opposite of those cute and innocent things, but he can't resist keeping you close, pulling you more and more into his world, even if you were too sweet for him.

[witchywithwhiskey]

Dear Molly! For your sweethearts game. Can I please request

Lloyd Hansen- Bite Me! 😍

taste so sweet

pairing: brother's best friend!lloyd hansen x female reader

summary: you've been staying with your brother's best friend while you look for a new apartment, and when he gets on your last nerve, the dynamic in your relationship takes a sudden, sharp turn toward the filthy.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), vaginal and anal fingering, anal play, spanking, light pain play, light sadism/masochism, biting, bdsm dynamics established on the fly (including safe words and check-ins), very brief daddy kink, sir kink, praise kink, light degradation, pet names (a bunch), aftercare, sweet ending, kinda roommates to lovers

word count: 5.0k

a/n: i think i can safely say "bite me" was the most popular prompt y'all chose for this game since this is the third one i've written with it 🤭 i've had a lot of fun coming up with different scenarios that it makes sense in, and with Lloyd...well of course he's going to actually bite you 😏 anyway thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

The dulcet murmuring of the yoga instructor on the TV was rudely interrupted by Lloyd Hansen, whose voice was equal parts eager curiosity, impolite teasing and vulgar innuendo. 

You couldn’t see your brother’s best friend-slash-temporary roommate’s face from where you were positioned on your yoga mat. You were facing the TV in the living room of his apartment, while the front door was at your back. 

Somehow, though, you could still see the smug grin on Lloyd’s face, framed perfectly by his stupid mustache.

Lloyd wasn’t supposed to be home so soon! You thought you were safe to do your morning yoga routine in the living room instead of the cramped guest bedroom without commentary from the man who couldn’t seem to resist annoying the shit out of you—which had only gotten worse since you’d moved in.

After the lease on your last apartment had ended and you hadn’t been able to find a new place in your price range, you’d had to take your brother up on his offer to stay with Lloyd for a bit while you continued your search. You’d never liked Lloyd—he was an undeniable douchebag and, again, always seemed hellbent on annoying you—but you hadn’t had much of a choice. 

It was just your luck that Lloyd was the only person in the city who had the luxury of a spare bedroom. Your friends were all crammed into tiny places with roommates or significant others, and your brother lived too far outside the city to be a reasonable commute in for work. So you’d sucked it up and moved in with Lloyd. 

For the most part, things had been fine. Mostly because you’d been avoiding your brother’s best friend as much as possible, especially since the first week. You’d accidentally caught a glimpse of Lloyd wearing only a towel as he’d ducked from the bathroom into his bedroom while you’d been eating breakfast. 

You’d nearly dropped your spoon and spilled oats and yoghurt everywhere. The sight of Lloyd’s muscled chest, bare and glistening with droplets of water, was such a shock to your system, you’d stared after him for a long time, your brain unable to process the undeniable truth of what you’d witnessed. 

Your brother’s best friend was hot. 

Ever since then, you’d been unable to stop noticing things about Lloyd, like the softness of his pink mouth beneath the bristles of his mustache, and the spark of humor that seemed to be ever-present in his bright, blue eyes. He actually had a handsome face—though, in your opinion, he would be hotter if he’d shave off that ridiculous mustache. 

But even the mustache was growing on you. Which told you that you were getting in way too deep.

And to make matters worse, Lloyd seemed to have noticed that his lewd and flirty comments flustered and annoyed you the most, so he’d started making them more and more. You knew he didn’t mean anything by them, that he was just pestering you because you were your brother’s little sister, but you’d started to enjoy it far more than you should.

It was the main reason you avoided doing yoga in the living room. The positions the yoga instructor led you through had you bent over on your hands and knees, ass sticking up in the air, and you could just imagine the things Lloyd would say—and the way your body would warm, as if welcoming him to follow through on his empty threats—and you didn’t want to deal with it.

But now you had to. 

“I didn’t take you for the yoga type, cupcake,” Lloyd drawled when you didn’t immediately respond to his question. He set something down on the table beside the door, toed out of his shoes and padded further into the apartment, coming to a stop at the foot of your mat. “I never thought you’d paint such a pretty picture, pumpkin, with your head down and ass up…”

Lloyd’s voice trailed off, his tone thick with suggestion, and it took every ounce of self-control in your body not to tremble. You wanted to lower your shoulders, press your cheek to the mat, and present your ass to Lloyd, but your pride would never allow it. So instead, you spit out two words designed to make him leave you alone.

“Bite me.”

You’d turned your head to look at Lloyd while you said it, so you knew he wasn’t even looking at your face. He was just staring at your ass. 

But at your words, his eyes flicked to yours, humor and hunger sparkling in their blue depths, and he grinned widely. Something low in your belly clenched tight with anticipation, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes at him and turn back to your video. 

The yoga instructor on the TV was using her melodious voice to encourage you to inhale into cow pose before exhaling into cat pose. The movements meant you had to arch your spine toward the mat and then round it toward the ceiling, all while Lloyd watched.

Your body warmed when you dropped your belly and looked up, assuming cow pose, the position practically offering your ass up on a platter for Lloyd. 

Despite this, you couldn’t help but keep your breath in your lungs, holding the position longer than normal as you wondered what Lloyd was going to do or say. Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait long to find out. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Lloyd muttered, his voice low and gruff in a way you’d never heard it before. 

You only had a second to puzzle over the meaning of his words before he was falling to his knees behind you, his hands grabbing hold of your hips. A second later, you felt his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your ass through your leggings. 

If you’d been asked, before that moment, what your reaction to someone biting your ass would’ve been, you would’ve answered confidently that you wouldn’t have enjoyed it. You’d assume you would shriek in surprise or kick backward to dislodge the person biting you. But your actual reaction was very different.

A low, obscenely filthy moan slipped from your lips, and your arms gave out. Your upper body sank down to your elbows on the mat, just like you’d imagined, and you pushed your ass right into Lloyd’s face. 

It just felt so good—the slight sting of pain simmering into a burning heat of pleasure that had heat gathering quickly between your thighs. 

It was only when you realized your response was just as inappropriate as Lloyd biting you that you reached an arm back and pushed against his shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the breathlessness in your voice and the way it sounded like you were panting for more, not begging him to stop. 

Lloyd lifted his head from your ass enough to catch your eye over your shoulder. “You told me to bite you, so I did,” he said simply, an unrepentant grin on his stupidly handsome face.

You huffed an annoyed sound, turning around and burying your face in your arms, refusing to let him see how turned on you were. But then Lloyd pulled one of his hands from your hips and slapped your ass hard. 

Your body rocked forward from the force of the spank, and you bit so hard into your arm, you thought you might draw blood with the effort to hold in your moan. But you couldn’t stop your hips from pushing back instinctively, as if asking for more.

The brazen movement only made Lloyd chuckle, the sound low and devious and far hotter than it had any right to be.

“And it looks like you liked it—do you like a little bit of pain, princess?” Lloyd teased, an undercurrent of knowing in his smug, patronizing tone. 

“That’s none of your business,” you spit out, forehead pressed to your forearms. You were unable to look at him, lest your brother’s best friend read it all over your face that you very much did like the little bit of pain he was giving you, that it heightened the pleasure, and you desperately wanted more.

Lloyd paused, and for one brief devastating moment, you thought he might pull away, that things might end there and you almost rushed to tell him not to stop. But before you could, he spoke, his voice calmer and more even.

“If I ask you ‘red, yellow or green’, do you know what that means, sunshine?” he asked in a serious tone. His hand was lighter and more soothing as his palm skimmed over your lower back, no longer touching you anywhere that was inappropriate. 

“Yes, I understand,” you rushed to say, arching your spine and pushing your ass back into Lloyd’s lap, sucking in a gasp when you brushed against a thick bulge. “Green—green, Lloyd, please.” 

It was easier to beg him this way, with a vague statement of consent, so you didn’t have to put into words everything you wanted. That you wanted him to push your head into the mat and spank you hard enough you’d be feeling it for days, to pull down your leggings and shove his cock into you, pounding against your smarting ass until he made you come undone.

Lloyd chuckled, the sound so self-satisfied and condescending, it made your slit grow wetter, your arousal dripping into your panties. But then his hands grabbed you roughly again, his strong fingers kneading your ass mercilessly through your leggings. 

“You’re wrong about it not being my business, cupcake,” Lloyd rumbled, his voice warm even as it was patronizing. “As long as you’re living under my roof, everything about you is my business.”

The possessiveness in his words did something to your body, your belly swooping and your heart flipping in your chest, none of which you were ready to admit to Lloyd. 

So you huffed a noise that you hoped sounded annoyed and sarcastically muttered, “Sure, dad.”

Your intention had been to mock Lloyd, who’d sounded like an overbearing father unable to give their child the freedom they deserved. But your words only seemed to heat the air between you and Lloyd, your brattiness bringing out something blazingly hot and deliciously volatile. 

The quiet of the apartment, save for the yoga video still playing softly on the TV, was broken by the sharp crack of Lloyd’s hand coming down on your ass. You could feel your soft flesh jiggle, and it added a wonderful contrast to the light, stinging pain of the slap, which sounded worse than it had felt. 

A low moan slipped from your body and you lowered your upper body further to the mat beneath you, arching your spine and presenting your ass just a little bit more for Lloyd, almost as if asking for more without words. But you should’ve known your brother’s best friend better.

“Is that what you’re into, filthy girl?” Lloyd asked, his big hands kneading your ass roughly through your leggings, making you wish he’d pull the fabric down and touch you for real. “Do you like to call the guys you fuck ‘dad’ and ‘daddy’—or am I special?”

Lloyd’s hands must be magic, it was the only explanation you could come up with for how good they were making you feel. But you weren’t distracted enough to not mouth off at your brother’s best friend.

“Who says I’m going to fuck you?” you shot back haughtily, turning your head and catching Lloyd’s gaze. You quirked your eyebrow at him in what could only be described as an insolent look.  

Lloyd’s eyes darkened at the challenge in your tone. In a swift movement, he dropped his head to your ass, sinking his teeth deep into your soft flesh. 

Even through your leggings and panties, you felt the sharp sting of his bite, and your eyelashes fluttered while another moan spilled from your lips unbidden. 

The pain was at once reprimanding and playful, and your mind spun with the headiness of it. You could hardly believe Lloyd had bit you the first time, but a second time… Your heart was racing in your chest and your pussy was throbbing between your thighs and you needed something. 

“You are,” Lloyd growled, dragging your attention back to the conversation you’d been having. His voice was smug even as it was thick with lust, and it took you a long moment to process his words. 

Lloyd gave you a short reprieve, one of his hands sliding up your spine to wrap around the back of your neck. With his grip firm on your head, he lifted you up enough to make sure you maintained eye contact while he spoke. 

“I’d prefer if you called me ‘sir’ instead of ‘daddy’ or anything like that,” he said, his tone as serious as it had been when he’d asked you for a color. His gaze held yours, and you knew he expected a response, but for a moment all you could do was look back at him. 

There was something weighty about the moment that stole your breath. Lloyd wasn’t just messing around with you, he wanted you to know his preferences, he wanted to make sure you felt safe with him. He’d made sure you had a way of telling him to stop while you kept playing your game and now he was telling you what he liked. 

It was freeing and terrifying at the same moment, so you responded the only way you knew how—like a brat. 

“Noted,” you said in the same serious tone as Lloyd had used. Then you tossed your head and murmured blithely, “But I’m not gonna fuck you, sir.” The honorific was spit from your lips with as much impertinence as you could muster, and you were gratified by the way Lloyd’s expression darkened.

“You’re right, sunshine, I’m the one that’s gonna be fucking you,” Lloyd countered, giving you little time to process his words before he was ducking down behind you. 

A second later, you felt his hot tongue press to the curve where your ass met your thigh and drag upward, licking you so close to where your slit was dripping into your panties, but not touching you there. It was such a tease that another obscene moan fell from your lips. 

“Oh god,” you groaned, canting your hips and pushing your pussy closer to his face, but Lloyd just repeated the motion on the other side of your pussy, ignoring your slit entirely. “Lloyd.” His name was a frustrated huff as he licked closer to your cunt.

“You sure you don’t want me to fuck you, pumpkin?” Lloyd asked teasingly, using his big hands to spread your ass so he could drag his tongue closer to your pussy. “I could fuck you real good with my mouth and make you cum on my tongue—ya just gotta ask nicely.”

You wanted to keep being a brat, you wanted to see how far you could push Lloyd before he’d snap, but the more he tortured and teased you with his tongue through your clothes, the wilder it drove you. 

You were so worked up, you thought Lloyd might be able to make you cum without even taking off your leggings and panties, but that thought left you cold and bereft. 

When you didn’t say anything, Lloyd chuckled at your stubbornness. His hot breath ghosted over the wet spots he’d left on your leggings, making you tremble violently, your thighs quivering as they struggled to keep holding you up.

“C’mon, don’t you wanna be a filthy girl for me, princess?” Lloyd coaxed, his voice low and smooth and so entreating you wanted to give in already. “Don’t you wanna cum all over my face, sunshine, make a mess of my mustache?” 

He dragged his face back and forth against your ass, making you feel the coarse bristles of his mustache, and you nearly howled with need. Desire was blazing through your body, your need for his tongue was throbbing in your pussy to the same beat as your racing heart. You could feel your resolve crumbling. 

“Just ask me nicely, cupcake, and I’ll make you feel so good.”

“Please,” you cried, the word half sob and half prayer, wrenched from the depths of your soul. “Please fuck me with your tongue, sir, please make me cum—please!”

“Atta girl,” Lloyd crooned, yanking your leggings and panties down in one harsh move, and burying his face in your cunt from behind. He groaned loudly into your damp flesh, sweeping his tongue from your clit to your ass, tasting every inch of you. “Fuck, you taste so sweet, pumpkin.”

Your thighs were trapped together by your clothes, which Lloyd had only pulled down far enough to get to your pussy, but that didn’t stop you from pushing your hips back into his face. One of your hands reached back blindly, sinking into his soft brown hair, slick with just a little bit of gel, and twisted in the strands, holding him close.

“Lloyd,” you cried out, your body trembling as he licked deep into your slit, his mustache brushing against your heated, oversensitive skin. It made you sob with pleasure at the contrast of his hot tongue and the rough rasp of his coarse hair. “Lloyd, oh god, oh god, yes!”

Without pulling his face from your cunt, which he kept eating voraciously, Lloyd brought a hand down sharply on your ass. It surprised you enough that you let out a little shriek, your body shuddering and your pussy dripping even more onto Lloyd’s tongue.

“What did I tell you to call me, princess,” he rumbled into your soft, wet cunt. “If you want me to keep eating this pretty pussy, you call me ‘sir’ and you use your words to tell me exactly what you want.”

“I want to cum,” you whimpered, your pleasure already twisting overwhelmingly in your core. You were so close, so close, so close. “I want to cum all over your face, sir—please make me cum, sir!”

Lloyd chuckled, nipping playfully at your folds. His hands kneaded your ass, holding you right where he wanted you while he feasted on your pussy.

“I’m gonna make you cum, pretty girl, don’t you worry,” he purred, pausing only to nuzzle his mustache over the tender flesh of your soaked cunt, laughing huskily when you trembled and whined for him. “Gonna make your cunt cream all over my mustache.”

“Oh god, yes, sir, want it,” you moaned, your fingers twisting tighter in Lloyd’s hair and pulling his face into your body. At the same time, you pushed your hips back, until his groans were muffled as he ate you out. 

His fingers worked your soft curves, groping you roughly and delivering sharp spanks whenever you reverted to calling him Lloyd, making you gasp and moan in equal measure. He gorged himself on your pussy, licking deep into your hole, sucking on your clit and nipping at your sensitive flesh until you were a writhing, moaning mess.

When he had you squirming and begging beneath him, Lloyd’s thumb trailed down the seam of your ass, brushing against your little rosebud. You squealed when he pressed lightly against the tight ring of muscle, your body shaking violently under the strength of your pleasure. 

Lloyd paused only long enough to ask for your color and when you gasped an enthusiastic, “Green!” he dipped his thumb into your pussy, coated it in your slick arousal, and pushed it into your ass. 

All the while, he used his soothing voice to coax you into relaxing for him, to letting him in, and when you did, you moaned loudly at the feel of him inside you. It was so depraved and delicious and you loved it.

“You’re so fucking perfect, cupcake,” Lloyd growled against your pussy, shoving his tongue deep inside you to feel the way you fluttered for him. “Now cum on my tongue, princess,” he ordered, his voice rough and demanding, “Wanna taste your cum, give it to me—cum for me, filthy girl.”

Lloyd’s growled command and the way his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking mercilessly on the bundle of nerves while his thumb was buried in your ass, had you shattering apart with a scream you tried to muffle in your yoga mat. It was a desperate, aching cry as your pussy convulsed and gushed with your release.

Behind you, Lloyd rumbled an appreciative sound, drinking down your juices greedily, tongue lapping up every drop until you were shivering from the overstimulation. Even then, he brushed his mustache over your clit, the delicious rasp wringing one last devastating aftershock from your body as you whimpered pathetically.

When you were done, Lloyd carefully slipped his thumb from your ass, pulled up your leggings and panties, then wrapped his arms around your upper body, easing you up from your bent over position. He sat back and tugged you into his lap, holding you close in the cage of his arms while you caught your breath.

“Did that feel good, sunshine?” he asked in a voice gentler than any you’d heard him use before. There was a level of care in his tone that made your heart thump harder in your chest, even as your body otherwise settled and cooled.

“Yeah,” you said on a delicate exhale, snuggling into Lloyd’s chest and breathing in the spicy scent of his cologne. He made you feel so safe and comfortable, you gave in to the urge to add, “Thank you, sir.”

Lloyd chuckled a little, cupping your cheek in his big hand and lifting your head so he could look you in the eye. “Thank you, pretty girl, for trusting me to make you feel good.”

There was so much genuine affection in Lloyd’s crystal blue gaze that it stole the breath from your lungs. Your eyes dropped to his mouth, traces of your release still glistening on his lips and in his mustache. The urge to kiss him, to taste yourself on Lloyd’s tongue, was nearly overwhelming. 

As if reading your mind, Lloyd leaned in, pausing a hair’s breadth away from your lips. But you didn’t want him to hesitate, you wanted him to kiss you—so you closed the distance and kissed your brother’s best friend for the first time.

Your first kiss with Lloyd Hansen was filthy and messy, and yet also somehow sweet and gentle. His mouth was soft, and firm as he explored yours, licking along your lips and deepening the kiss quickly when you immediately opened for him. 

Though he tasted of your release, reminding you of all the dirty things he’d already done to your body, he was tender as he slipped his tongue between your lips. And he was methodical in learning what made you gasp and moan for him. 

Against your thigh, you could feel Lloyd’s cock twitching, and a renewed heat began to stir in your core, making you yearn to keep going with whatever had begun between the two of you. 

Breaking from the kiss, you took a moment to appreciate the dark heat in Lloyd’s eyes, the slight, smug curl of his mouth. Before that morning, that look might’ve annoyed you, but now it just filled you with heat and excitement.

“Would you like me to take care of you now, sir?” you asked sweetly, dragging your fingers down Lloyd’s chest, delighting in the way his muscles jumped and danced beneath your touch. 

Before you could touch him where he was twitching and throbbing in his pants, though, Lloyd caught your wrist and snatched your hand away. Despite the way Lloyd’s fingers tangled in yours, disappointment crashed over you and you frowned up at him.

“Why don’t you finish your yoga, and then we can talk a bit, figure out exactly what we both want this to be,” Lloyd said in that softer tone of his. It made you feel safe, sweeping away the disappointment you’d felt only a moment ago. “I brought you coffee and a treat.”

Lloyd tipped his head toward the table next to the front door of the apartment, and you looked to see a cardboard tray with two to-go cups. Next to it sat a paper bag with the logo of your favorite bakery stamped on it. 

“You got me coffee?” you asked, tilting your head to the side with confusion. Lloyd never did nice things for you like that. You were just his best friend’s annoying little sister who was crashing with him while she looked for apartments, not someone he’d get a special treat for.

Looking back at Lloyd, you could see a slight pink in his cheeks, and he wouldn’t meet your eye. 

“And a pastry thing with red frosting,” he said, answering your question. When you sat in silence for a beat too long, he finally dragged his gaze to yours, noting your confusion. “Do you not know what day it is?”

You lifted your shoulders in a careless shrug and shook your head. “February…something?” 

Lloyd huffed a laugh. “It’s Valentine’s Day, princess.” His tone was somehow both patronizing and warm, and he rolled his eyes at you for good measure. 

But you were already rolling your eyes right back at him, shoving playfully at his chest. “How was I supposed to know, it’s not like I have anyone—wait!” Your defensive explanation for why you’d forgotten the holiday cut off abruptly as something occurred to you.

Your eyes widened and you looked at Lloyd, studying your brother’s best friend closely. His cheeks were still a little pink with the faint trace of a blush, and the corners of his mouth were flickering like he was trying to hold back a smile.

But it was Lloyd’s eyes that really gave him away. His sparkling blue eyes were glimmering with so much warmth and affection, it made you gasp all over again.

“You got me a Valentine’s Day treat!” 

At your pronouncement, Lloyd tossed his head back and laughed. Your eyes snagged on the long line of his throat, staring greedily and wondering if Lloyd would mind if you paid him back for all his teasing by licking along the corded muscle there. 

When Lloyd finally lowered his head and caught your eye again, there was humor and desire shimmering in the depth of his gaze. 

“I thought it was time we finally do something about all the sizzling chemistry between us,” Lloyd explained, giving you a playful wink. It was on the tip of your tongue to protest—your mouth even opened to deny it—but Lloyd just gave you a hard look. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, cupcake, don’t deny it.”

The memory of Lloyd ducking out of the bathroom in only a towel and striding to his room popped into your head unbidden. Since then, you had been looking at him with much more heat and desire than you ever thought you’d feel for your brother’s best friend, but you’d thought you’d kept it under wraps. 

Apparently not, since Lloyd was giving you such a knowing look. All you could do was scoff and roll your eyes. 

“Fine,” you said, crossing your arms while you huffed and puffed and pouted up at him. “Can I have my treat now?”

“Not until you finish your yoga,” Lloyd said sternly, patting your ass as he helped you slide off his lap. You shot him a bratty glare, which only made his eyes darken; his hand slapped your ass a little harder. “Finish your yoga and then you get your treat—and you can play with my cock.”

“Oooh, okay!” you said more eagerly, quickly stretching yourself out on your mat and pulling up the video that had long since finished. You found the spot where Lloyd had distracted you and got back into position before you hit play.

Lloyd gathered the cardboard tray and pastry bag from the table, then sat down on the couch, sipping his coffee while he watched you move through your yoga positions. You knew he watched you the whole time, because you could feel his eyes undressing you, no doubt thinking of other fun ways to interrupt your morning yoga in the future. 

Once you were blessedly done with the yoga routine, you bounced up from the mat and went to Lloyd, who pulled you into his lap before you could sit beside him on the couch. He handed you your coffee and the bag with the pastry. 

While you ate and drank, the two of you discussed what you wanted from a relationship, both inside and out of the bedroom, and whether you’d tell your brother before or after you moved out of Lloyd’s apartment. 

Lloyd promised to help you find your own place, revealing he’d been doing some digging already and had a couple prospects for you to look at. 

After you were done with your coffee and pastry, you slid off Lloyd’s lap, kneeling between his parted legs and begged him to let you have your other treat. Lloyd helped you get his pants down enough for you to pull out his cock. 

You licked him from base to crown, swirling your tongue around the hot, leaking tip and humming in delight when you tasted his salty precum. Looking up at Lloyd from under your lashes, you smiled at him. 

“You taste so sweet, sir,” you purred, before lavishing his cock with all the attention of your warm, devoted tongue. 

Lloyd groaned, mumbling something about how perfect you and your mouth were while you worshipped his cock, teasing him just as much as he’d teased you. When he finally came, it was with a nearly feral growl, his hands pushing your head roughly down on his cock as you swallowed his cum greedily. 

The rest of your Valentine’s Day was spent curled up with Lloyd Hansen, looking up apartment listings in between talking and getting to know each other better. He may have been your brother’s best friend when you’d moved in, but you were both determined that he’d be your boyfriend by the time you moved out. 

sweethearts game masterlist

[kurokawaia]

Hi, I read your story, where the kids are rude to mom (the kids of Bakugou, Dabi and Hawks) how do the kids react if their mom decides to ignore them as punishment?

AFTERMATH OF YELLING AT YOUR MAMA!

⋆·˚ ༘ * FEATURING :: Bakugou Katsuki, Hawks, Dabi - (separately)

⋆·˚ ༘ * WARNINGS :: none really, bakugou x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader, dabi x fem!reader, x fem!reader, second pov, reader is a mother, kids have a little bit of attitude, kids are around 5-8 years of age, slight spoilers for dabi! I don't condone ignoring your children, please don't, + more? MINI DRABBLES.

DABI

Well, you and Dabi's son is a carbon copy of his father, so he acts the same when being given the silent treatment only less touchy (obviously da faq) The first stage is acting like he doesn't care, he will cross his arms letting out a grumpy huff while rolling his eyes, "Whatever, I don't need to talk to you anyways," is what your son will say, but, after a few hours he starts to feel a little weird. His mum isn't nagging, isn't scolding, isn't even looking at him and it feels so wrong because you always give him attention whether he wants it or not.

The second stage will be when he starts to get annoyed at not receiving any attention, he will trail behind you, definitely gets extra moody (shocker where he got that from) he will go around kicking random toys, furniture and overexaggerated sighs. This happens all until he hugs the back of your legs and mumbles, "I'm sorry I was mean, Mum. Can you talk to me again?" looking as far as you can behind you all you could do was regret ignoring him because of how dilated his cyan eyes were, having his lips in a sad pout and a sheen of tears glazed over his eyes.

HAWKS

Hawks’ kid can’t handle the silent treatment, because she is as needy as her father when it comes to attention. The moment she realizes you’re ignoring them, their brain starts spiraling because you usually just forgive her but Hawks suggested a different strategy. There is no phase one with her, she immediately tries to fix it with begs of your name and tugging at your shirt and a big pout on her face (something she learnt from Keigo). Due to you being used to Keigo's antics, you don't fold, then she goes running to her daddy, her head meeting at his lap as she sulks.

"Mummy is going to hate me forever," she mumbles in an overdramatic tone. The only thinks Keigo could do was laugh because he finds his daughter truly fascinating sometimes. "Sure she will, sweetheart."

BAKUGOU

At first, Bakugou’s kid scoffs, you gonna ignore him? Yeah, he's ignoring you too. He will let out the most dramatic huff and cross his arms and poke his tongue out at you and in the most unconvincing voice he will say, "Like I care!" Ti which, you have to force down a laugh that was about to slip out before Katsuki nudged your arm, making sure you don't break character. Although, just like his father, he will make every attempt to make you jealous and it's honestly the pettiest and funniest thing you will ever experience. Your son will say how much he needs his daddy's help right in front of you and Katsuki has to force down his laugh as well because you both know what he's doing.

Then a few hours pass and then he starts to finally let it sink in and then he becomes frustrated and here comes when he stomps up to you while your doing your skincare with Katsuki. "Yell at me, Mum!" he would pout and you were confused at what he was getting at before you let out a soft laugh, bending down to wrap your arms around your sweet boy and he does the same without any embarrassment.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

honey's a/note: hope you enjoyed, this hasn't been proof read so there might be a few grammar and spelling mistakes ^^

let me know if you (inbox or comments) want to be apart of the mha taglist! specify the character and ill tag you in any works they are present in!

[stevie-petey]

episode nine: the piggyback

“It’s always been you,” Steve whispers, lips pressed above your brow. “The six kids. The family I’ve always wanted. Traveling the countryside. My dream, it’s always had you in it.” You laugh, breathless and in love. “I know, honey.” Sickly sweet warmth cascades through you. Your lips find Steve’s, you kiss the smile off his face. He lets you. “I’ve always known it was going to be the two of us.”

Summary: operation save hawkins is a go. youre eagle one, steve is currently doing that, eddie is youd be lying if you said you havent thought about it, nancy is it happened once in a dream, robin is if you had to pick a girl, and dustin is eagle two. what could possibly go wrong ? spoiler alert: everything. literally everything goes wrong. might as well break a few promises while youre at it. for the plot. but at least its over, right? .... right?

Rating: general, some swearing, violence

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, cursing, weapons, blood, death and gore, injuries, lowkey suicidal thoughts

Words: 8.5k (we broke tradition where the last chapter is the longest but tbh this is probs for the best)

Before you swing in: oh my god this is the end. i am. very very emotional rn. this story is my baby and i dont know what im going to do now that its done. i cant even write an in between chapter because we still dont have season 5 content :((( im gonna miss writing this story, and i will absolutely go crazy waiting for season 5 so i can write again. these next few months will be ROUGH but !!!! thank you guys so so so much for reading. all your comments/reblogs/kudos/likes have meant the world to me. im truly the luckiest girl ever :') for now, and for the final time... enjoy !

–

It’s pitch black outside. All around you is darkness. The sun is long gone, its golden warmth no longer present, retreating into the treeline as if afraid of what the night will bring. 

You’re afraid, too.

Everyone stands around Nancy. The group is quiet as you await whatever she has to say. When she turns to face you, her voice is leveled, calm, but her hands shake. 

She’s afraid, too.

“Okay,” Nancy exhales deeply. “I wanna run through it one more time.” She looks at Robin, prompting her to recite everything back. “Phase one?”

“We meet Erica at the playground.” Robin responds. “She’ll signal Max and Lucas when we’re ready.”

“Phase two.”

You step forward. “Max and I will bait Vecna. When he goes after one of us, he’ll go into his trance. If he chooses Max, we’ll go onto phase three together.”

“And…” Nancy swallows, looking away. “And if he chooses you?”

It’s Steve who steps forward this time. He stands tall, brave, but his voice shakes. “Then I’ll stay with her, walkman ready, while you and Robin go on your own.”

You grab his hand, squeezing it. He squeezes back. 

“Speaking of phase three.” Dustin clears his throat, weary eyes never leaving you. “Me and Eddie wil draw the bats away.”

“Carefully,” you look pointedly at your brother. “Right?”

He rolls his eyes at you while Nancy continues speaking. “Okay, phase four.”

“We head into Vecna’s newly bat-free lair and…” Robin holds up a molotov cocktail. The liquid sloshes around. The scent of gasoline still stings your nose from when you helped her pour it into the bottles earlier. “Flambe.” 

“Nobody moves onto the next phase until we’ve all copied. Nobody deviates from the plan, no matter what.” Nancy reiterates, looking around the RV. Her eyes linger on you, cautious, almost doubtful. She trusts you. She knows she trusts you. But she also knows your heart and the lengths you’ll go to save others. 

Nancy has always admired your selflessness, but she’s also always seen it as your greatest strength and weakness. A coin, two sides. Now, tonight, she has to hope that you’ll follow the plan. Even if it means leaving Max behind if she’s the one Vecna chooses.

Your eyes harden when you realize what Nancy is thinking. Without saying anything, you nod at her. The jut of your chin tells her that you’ll be fine. That she needs to trust you. 

Eddie’s trailer is only a few yards away, but the walk to it feels like decades. Steve guides and Nancy is close behind him. You stay back, walking beside Dustin. Your shoulders brush. His presence grounds you, reassures you that you will make it through the night. 

Dustin, sensing your fear, reaches for your hand. He extends his warmth to you, silently promising you that he will always be here. There isn’t anything left to say.

Steve opens Eddie’s door, turning the lights on and tossing his backpack to the ground. He eyes the rope that connects the trailer to the Upside Down, getting ready for the part of the plan that you honestly really hate.

“Be careful, please.” You urge him, uncomfortable that he has to be the first one to return to the hell that is the Upside Down. It makes sense, he’s the only one able to climb the rope up, but still. You’ve had shit luck these last few days.

“I’m always careful, angel.” Steve winks at you, rolling his sleeves up. “Here goes nothing.”

He climbs up quickly, years of being an athlete being put to use. Everyone watches anxiously. However, when Steve crosses through the gate and lands with a cheesy flip, you and Robin share a disgusted look. 

“What, does he want us to applaud?” She scoffs.

You shake your head. “Sometimes I think he has an imaginary audience in his head.”

“Do you think they ever boo him?” “Not like we do.”

Nancy covers her mouth, muffling her laugh, and Robin snorts. You smile at the two of them, momentarily forgetting what’s to come.

“Alright,” Steve shouts up, tossing down Eddie’s old mattress. “Let’s go.”

You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves. Wiping your hands on your jeans, you place them on the rope and prepare for the inevitable torture that this will be. You’re pretty sure you’re bleeding again. 

“A little help?” You ask the others, motioning towards your injured leg and shoulder. “Sorta out of commission.”

Eddie grips your waist while Robin and Nancy gently hike your legs up. Together the three of them are able to carry you almost all the way up. Breathing through your nose, you grit your teeth and climb the rest of the way, wincing every few seconds. The pain is unbearable.

You really hope you don’t sound as pathetic as you look.

When you land on the mattress, small, black dots litter your vision. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Steve is already bending down, helping you up with ease. “And ruin Munson’s tidy home?”

Woozy from pain, you bat Steve away and wait for the others to join. Nancy comes next, then Robin, then Eddie and Dustin. Weapons get tossed down. Bodies land on the mattress with finalizing thuds. 

Outside, it’s just as cold as you remember it. Eddie and Dustin stay in front of the trailer. This is as far as they’re going. They aren’t leaving.

Roughly you pull at your brother. His body lands against yours, but the kiss your press to his forehead is gentle. You haven’t done this since he was a kid. Dustin flings his arms around you, nearly knocking all the air from your lungs. He squeezes you tight, as terrified as you are, and you feel tears in your eyes.

“We’ll come home,” your whisper is hoarse, rough and desperate. You bury your face in his mess of curls and kiss his head again. “The house won’t be empty.”

Dustin sniffles, too weak to hide his tears. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Your throat burns. How can you possibly leave him? 

Vision blurry with tears, Eddie manages to catch your attention as you cling onto your brother. The teen nods, lifting his pinky in the air to wave it at you, reminding you of his promise to you. He’ll protect Dustin. He swore it.

Reluctantly, you pull away from Dustin and wipe your face. “Please don’t die. Who knows what Mews’ ghost would do to you?” Dustin laughs wetly, wiping his own face as well. The thought of your childhood cat haunting his grave is enough to lessen the sting of letting you go. 

“If things here start to go south, I mean, at all, you abort.” Steve breaks the remorseful silence. He doesn’t want anyone getting hurt. He doesn’t want you losing anyone else. “Draw the attention of the bats, keep ‘em busy for a minute or two. We’ll take care of Vecna. Don’t try to be a hero or anything.”

His tone is harsh, but you know Steve means well. You also don’t want Dustin and Eddie anywhere near danger. As long as they stick to the plan, they’ll be fine. They have the quickest escape route and the most amount of protection.

“What Steve is trying to say is that you two better climb back through the gate the moment anything bad happens.” You look at the two boys. They stare at you, grim faced. “I mean it, okay? Go through the gate, don’t try anything else.”

“We’re the decoys, we get it.” Dustin rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry. You and Steve can be the heroes.”

“Look at us,” Eddie nudges your brother’s shoulder. “We’re not heroes.”

Your stomach twists. You hate how Dustin views his and Eddie’s position. They aren’t just decoys, they’re heroes in your eyes. They’re facing an army of bats all on their own, but you don’t dare say this out loud, afraid to encourage them. 

“Just…” your mouth is dry. “Just be safe, alright?”

“We will.” Eddie swallows. Then he pauses, his gaze darkens slightly. Looking back at you, he breathes out, “And make him pay.”

You and Steve look at each other. So much of Eddie’s life has been ruined by Vecna. Even if you all make it out of here alive, killing Vecna, there’s no guarantee that Hawkins will accept him back into the town. You understand the anger that resides within Eddie. The desire to kill the very thing that has destroyed everything he loves. 

You bite your lip. You’ve never made a promise you haven’t been able to keep. But this time you’re facing something bigger than anything you could’ve ever imagined. All this time you’ve tried convincing yourself that you’ll win. That everything will work out.

But you remember last summer. 

The mall. The fire and the deaths. Hopper. Billy. The power Vecna seems to hold, his claws that have sunk into you and Max. His threat to Nancy. The danger that Hawkins is in, up above where your mother sleeps peacefully. Unaware of what you’re sacrificing for her.

This is more than anything you’ve ever dealt with before. But a promise built on an unsteady foundation is all you can give Eddie. 

“Well will,” you echo his earlier promise.

Eddie smiles at you. The one you’ve grown to like, even find charming. Slanted and mischievous. The glint in his eyes never dimmed, even after everything. Through it all, he remained kind.

This is how you’ll always remember him.

– 

The further you walk away from Eddie and Dustin, the harder you have to force yourself to keep going. Your body is heavy, the weight slowing you down, pleading with you to go back. None of this feels right.

Steve’s hand on the small of your back is the only thing keeping your heart from collapsing. Robin’s smile helps, too. 

“You’d think this place gets less creepy the second time around.” She says, stepping over a root. “But I’m still pretty damn creeped out.”

“It isn’t the most pleasant place.” You agree. 

Robin steps over another root, looking back at you as she does so. “At least I’m here to protect you, Y/N. Pretty brave, don’t you think?” “Hey,” Steve warns. “Watch it.”

You knock your shoulder against his and smile apologetically at Robin. “Like always, I think you’re the bravest.”

She smiles proudly, throwing her fist in the air in excitement. However, after stepping over a root for what feels like the tenth time, her heart starts to pound. Looking around, all the trees suddenly look the same. Have you been here before?

“Not to alarm anyone, but I swear we’ve seen this tree before.”

“That’s impossible.” Nancy dimisses.

You agree. “We’re in the woods. All we’re going to see are trees.”

Robin tries to calm herself down, but ultimately fails. There are so many components to the plan, so many ways it can go wrong. “I mean, that would suck, right? Veca destroys the world because we got lost in the woods.”

“We aren’t lost–” You try to reason with her, but Robin is already running away in a panic. You scream at her, terrified of losing her. “Robin!”

“I’ll be back!”

You start to stumble after her. “Why does everyone want to separate?” You huff out, nearly tripping. “There’s safety in numbers! Come back!”

Nancy, seeing your fear for your friend and horrible coordination skills, steps in front of you. “I’ll go after her. You stay here with Steve.”

And then she’s gone, disappearing into the mass of branches alongside Robin. 

“They’ll be fine,” Steve reassures you, grabbing your hand. “They’re tough, even if Robin may lose her mind sometimes when she’s distressed.”

“I think we’re all slowly losing our minds.” You laugh, bitter.

Steve tightens his hand around yours. The two of you walk in silence for a while. The thunder above you serves as a reminder of where you are. The darkness is a threat. But you’re here, together. That’s all that Steve cares about in the end.

“Did you really mean what you said? Back at the cemetery?” He asks, clearing his throat in unease. The question has been on his mind ever since he heard your pleas for Vecna to take you instead of Max. 

He thinks of how adamant you’ve been to protect her. How you’re only here with him right now because Max wouldn’t let you blindly walk towards your death. 

The question strikes deep guilt within you, yet an exhaustion follows. You’re ashamed of how desperately you pleaded to die. Steve and Dustin had to hear you beg for your death. Lucas, too. 

You’re ashamed. Yet you wouldn’t take it back.

“I did.” You finally say. “I wanted him to take me.”

Steve already knew you’d say this. He’d been expecting anger to follow, to be furious with you for sacrificing yourself knowing he’d be left to pick up the pieces. 

But seeing the way you set your jaw and stare ahead, seeing the resolve that masks your face, the acceptance of your decisions, Steve can’t bring himself to be angry. Not at you. 

This is who you are.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” Steve promises you again. He will always promise this to you. Over and over again, he will die saying these words to you. “I-I can’t lose you. I refuse to lose you.”

Your eyes remain downcast. 

“I know that this is how you love,” he grabs your jacket, begging you to look at him. “I know that I can’t let you lose the ones you love. Dustin, Max, Robin, Lucas, or El or Mike or Nancy. Hell, even Jonathan. I won’t let you lose them, but I won’t lose you, either.”

He understands, then. The selflessness within you and its selfish ways. Yet he doesn’t shy away or hiss at its venom. Steve opens his hands and allows the selfishness to stay there, warming it with his skin. 

You kiss him. Surprising both him and you, yet you melt together. Steve circles his arms around your waist, pulls you flush against him, and in the cynicism that surrounds you, there is still love. 

“Thank you,” you breathe against his lips. He’s wonderful. He loves you wholly, without any faults. Your kindness and its destructive ways; he accepts it all. “Thank you for understanding.”

And this, you believe, is the most selfless act a person can do. Steve’s understanding of why you need to do this, to sacrifice your life for Max’s, even if it means he risks losing you. 

“I should be the one thanking you,” Steve kisses you again, softer this time. Slower. 

You pull back, confused. “Why?” He pulls you in again. “I mean, I don’t know if you know this, but I was a pretty huge asshole back then.” You laugh softly, and Steve knows he’s exactly where he’s meant to be. “You saw this good in me that I didn’t know existed. Right off the bat you saw through me, expecting more from me than anyone else ever did. I wouldn’t be who I am now without you. ”

“Steve…”

“And I’m sorry for thinking you didn’t see a future with me.” He continues, unable to stop now. This is everything he’s wanted to tell you ever since you allowed him into your life. “I know it’s stupid now, apologizing for our fight a week ago after the hell we’ve been through since then, but…”

He can’t believe he almost let something as small as a misalignment of where you’ll be a year from now jeopardize what you have. There is a string that attaches Steve to you, it brought you to him and tied your heart to his. 

“I meant what I said, Y/N.” Steve’s forehead presses against yours. “I’d wait forever if it means I can have forever with you.”

His eyes shine down at you, brown and warm. The honey you fell in love with when he pretended not to know your name, all to get you to laugh. 

“When your head went under the water, that night at Lover’s Lake, I thought you were dead.” Your voice shakes, remembering the fear that choked you. “For those thirty seconds, I thought you were dead, and it almost killed me.”

It was then that you realized how truly you can’t lose Steve. You’ve always known this, but to have his soul ripped from yours so suddenly, so permanently, there are no words to express the agony that poisoned you. 

Losing him would be the one thing you’d never recover from.  

“I don’t ever want to live through those thirty seconds again,” you’re crying. Steve is, too. He wipes a tear that falls, strokes your cheek, and you can’t bear the thought of a world without his touch. “I want forever with you, too. We’ll figure it out, but I’m not losing you. You have to be in my life, in whatever capacity. Whether you’re in a small, cramped apartment with me in New York or in Hawkins, waiting for me to come home.”

Your breath hitches. To think that a childish argument almost separated him from you. 

“As long as we come home to one another, it doesn’t matter.” 

Steve is quiet after you’ve said all this, and for a moment you’re scared you’ve said too much. Revealed too much of yourself, convinced him he’s gotten it all wrong, but then he cradles your face. His hands are soft, tender, the weight of them familiar against your skin. 

He kisses your forehead, and you exhale the last of your uncertainty. All that is left within your lungs is love. 

“It’s always been you,” Steve whispers, lips pressed above your brow. “The six kids. The family I’ve always wanted. Traveling the countryside. My dream, it’s always had you in it.”

You laugh, breathless and in love. “I know, honey.” Sickly sweet warmth cascades through you. Your lips find Steve’s, you kiss the smile off his face. He lets you. “I’ve always known it was going to be the two of us.”

Steve smiles, wide and bashful, and you know that this is where you’re meant to be, too.

“Hey, guys!” Robin breaks through the treeline, running back with Nancy right behind her. “Awesome news!”

“We aren’t lost.” Nancy cuts to the chase. “We think the Creel house is up ahead.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” You step out of Steve’s arms, though your hand remains intertwined with his. “Let’s go face imminent doom.”

Nancy huffs out a laugh and Robin winces, though Steve squeezes your hand and is the first one to start walking. Together, the five of you descend deeper into the woods.

Unsurprisingly, the Creel house is even more terrifying in the Upside Down. Bats surround it, their screeches stinging your ears. Lightning flashes a deep, blood red and the thunder that follows causes your heart to drop.

You stand at the crest of the hill. There’s a light below you, its glow pure in the abandoned park where it resides. The same park that you told Erica to hide in as she waited for Max and Lucas to take their place. The light flashes.

It’s time for phase two.

– 

“Max is moving into phase two: distracting Vecna. Y/N, get ready.” Erica’s voice carries into the Upside Down.

Nancy, Robin, and Steve all turn to you. Grief and longing taint their faces. Your walkman hangs from Steve’s hand. He grips it tightly. Tension coats the air, nearly suffocating you; you can’t run anymore. 

No one says anything as you carefully lower yourself to the ground. It’s cold beneath you. Hard, unforgiving. You cross your legs, ignoring the deep ache of your wounds as you do so. You close your eyes. The storm is coming. 

“Take the bait, you son of a bitch.” You hear Nancy whisper. 

You or Max.

Take me, you silently beg. Take. Me. 

Silence settles over the group. Everyone waits with bated breath. No one knows who Vecna will choose. 

Steve stands nervously behind you, his hand on your walkman at all times. 

Just take me. Kill me instead of her. If you’ve watched me for so long, then just get it over with. Don’t make this easy, don’t be such a fucking coward.

The words echo in your head. Taunting Vecna, hoping their malice will be what saves Max. That he’ll choose you in the end, give you what you want. You’ll do whatever, say whatever you need, if it means Max will come home. 

Something pricks your skin. An uncomfortable, electric sensation coats your entire body. 

Vecna. 

For a moment you think he’s listened. You can feel his presence, the weight of him shadows in your mind. He’s here, he’s spared you mercy after prolonged cruelty. He’s chosen you and Max will survive. Her blue eyes will remain bright, her body alive.

Then it all comes crashing down.

“He chose Max. I repeat, he chose Max.” Erica says, voice cutting through the delusions you allowed yourself to get lost in.

Your ears are ringing. Somewhere in your body there is still oxygen that has not escaped you, but you cannot find it. He chose her. 

Robin radios Dustin and Eddie, you think she’s instructing them to move onto phase three, but her words are jumbled in your mind and you can’t hear anything besides the screaming in your head. 

He chose her.

“Y/N,” someone roughly grabs your shoulder. “Y/N, look at me.”

Nancy. She’s in front of you, kneeled down. She grabs your arms, her grip vicious. Her mouth moves. She’s saying something, the way her chest heaves makes you think she’s yelling.

Is she yelling at you?

“Y/N!” The ringing doesn’t subside, but you manage to look at Nancy. “We need to go!”

She’s right. You need to leave. There isn’t time to remember how to breathe. You know this. Somewhere in the distance there’s music. Guitar rifts through the wind, Eddie’s melody enrages the bats that swarm the Creel house. They’re gone in seconds, flying towards the sound, and you need to stick to the plan. 

Your head moves shakily, managing a small nod, and Nancy yanks you up with Steve’s help. She looks at Robin, and suddenly her and Steve grab your arms and force you to walk alongside Nancy. They aren’t aggressive as they do so, nor are they cruel. But you can’t afford to shut down. Not now.

Max won’t survive if you do. There’s no time to hesitate. No turning back.

You hope she finds the light.

Lightning flashes all around you, illuminating the Creel house as you stand before it. Steve opens the door first. The vines that cover the ground writhe at the disturbance. He shines his flashlight, his heart drops when he realizes just how infested the house is.

“Shit,” he breathes out. The floor is virtually impossible to walk across. “That’s not good.”

Then, because he has no other option, Steve starts jumping to any safe spot he can land on. He looks ridiculous as he does so, but for once you aren’t focused on that. Instead, you stare down at your injured leg and wince.

“Great,” your thigh is currently more blood than flesh. Jumping on it is quite literally the last thing you should be doing. “This is gonna hurt.”

“At least you have good balance?” Robin offers, though she doesn’t believe what she’s saying either. 

Nancy grabs your hand, then Robin’s. She looks at the two of you and smiles, trying her best to look reassuring. “It’s okay. You guys got this.”

The first jump hurts, setting the remaining nerves in your upper thigh on fire, but you can’t afford to scream or collapse. You have to remind yourself that the vines are interconnected. One wrong step, one miscalculated fall, and they’ll wrap viciously around you. 

It’s a slow, tedious process trying to get to the attic. The stairs are the hardest part. The vines twist with every step, slithering across the walls. Steve does his best to help you, offering you his hand for support, but you both hold your breath every time your foot slips. 

When you make it to the attic door, everyone readies their weapons. In one hand are your knives, in the other a molotov cocktail. Steve spins you around, digging into the backpack for an ax while Nancy grabs her gun. 

Your foot lifts, about to step forward, before the ground beneath you shakes violently. The entire house trembles, and Steve barely has enough time to catch everyone as all of you struggle not to fall. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You sneer, holding desperately onto Steve. This is all some sick, cruel joke. A poorly timed rupture in your rapture.

But then the house stills. Everything is quiet. You, Nancy, Steve, and Robin stare at one another, panting. Nobody moves. There’s a clarity in the air, a false sense of security. 

That’s when the first vine latches onto Robin. 

It folds around her ankle before tearing her away from you. She screams, so do you, and her body is thrown against the wall as more vines encase her limbs. They move fast, snake like, and everything unravels after that. 

“Steve! Y/N!” She screeches, terrified. “Nancy!” 

You’re at her side in a second, stabbing at the vines. Your knuckles are white as you grip your knives, your biceps strain. You aren’t letting them take Robin from you. “Hold on!”

Your teeth grit together in exertion, sawing as fast as you can. Steve and Nancy are on the other side, throwing their axes as hard furiously into the vines. But nothing works, they’re too thick, and you don’t realize that one of the vines has wrapped around your arm until it’s too late.

“Y/N!” Steve screams when your body gets lifted into the air. You try to fight it, to pry your arm away, but your legs give out and soon a second vine wraps around your other arm. Then a third, a fourth and a fifth. 

In seconds you’re pressed against the wall. 

“Steve!” Screams are ripped from your throat, you try to call out, to beg for your life, but the more you move, the tighter the vines constrict.

Steve calls after you, ramming into the wall as he tries to cut you loose. “I got you! I–”

The ax he’s holding gets yanked back by a vine. He’s launched into the air, body landing harshly next to yours several feet up the wall. He screams again, but his voice dies when a vine cuts off his breathing and chokes him.

Another vine coils around your throat and suddenly you can’t breathe. Your airway constricts. Sobbing, you try to reach out to Steve. You’re inches apart, his fingers are so close to yours that you can feel their warmth, but you can’t reach him

All you want to do is hold him. 

Nancy falls to the ground, the last victim. She gets thrown to the opposite wall, it all happens so fast that she doesn’t even have time to scream. 

Your vision blurs. You close your eyes.

This is how you’ll die. 

Far away from your home. No one will find your body down here. Dustin will come looking for you and he’ll face the same fate. He will die trying to find you. Vecna will destroy everything you’ve ever loved.

Your lungs burn, fighting for breath that they cannot get. Blood rushes to your head. You take your last breath. The sound of it echoes in your ears. 

Everything goes black. 

Your mother will be worried about you. 

I’m sorry.

– 

There’s a body beneath yours. 

It groans, gasping for air, but your vision is dark and you can’t see anything. Pain erupts in your wrist. You try to move it, but the sting makes you nauseous. 

There’s coughing all around you, but you’re too weak to suck the air back in. Everyone cowers for breath. The vines rescind, unwrapping themselves from your skin. There’s a body beneath you, and a gentle hand cups your cheek, you know it’s Steve.

“Breathe, angel.” His voice cracks, wounded. It hurts to speak, but he needs you to breathe. “Y/N, you have to breathe.”

Everything is numb. Your lungs are empty; you can’t remember how to fill them. Steve coaxes your lips open, blows air in your face, does whatever he can think of to get you to breathe, before finally, miraculously, you inhale sharply and begin coughing. 

“Are you alright?” Steve asks you softly, rubbing your back as you cough. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

Your throat is raw. It takes everything within you to speak, but you want to. You need to. There’s only one thing you want to say. “We have to make him pay.”

The anger is back, and Steve’s jaw sets. Vecna has hurt you. He’s hurt everyone you love. He’s chosen Max for his final death and your fury threatens to devour the sanity you have left. You’re tired of his shitty mind games.

It’s like what you promised Eddie: you have to make Vecna pay for what he’s done to you all.

“I don’t believe in a higher power,” Robin rasps, breaking you from your thoughts. “Or divine intervention. But that was a miracle.”

Nancy cocks her gun, already walking towards the attic door. “Then we better not waste it.”

“Phase four.” Steve says, steadying himself against you. 

“Flambe.” Robin finishes. 

You flick your knives out. “Let’s finish this.”

– 

Vecna’s body hangs in the attic, thick, gruesome vines attach him to every crevice. He’s unmoving, eyes closed, and seeing his body up close makes you want to gag. He’s a terrible, vile creature. 

But Dustin had been right: Vecna is in the same trance-like state that El goes into when she uses her powers. 

Without being told to, Robin sets down her bag. All the molotov cocktails are inside. Everyone grabs one, silent. Almost as if you’re all too afraid to break the spell he’s under. You only get one shot at this. 

Steve has the lighter. You hold the first cocktail up, and he looks at you, eyes shining. He asks you if you’re ready, if this is what you really want, and you nod. At your signal, Steve throws the cocktail into the air.

The bottle shatters against Vecna’s body. The flames engulf him, the impact of the blast so powerful that it knocks you and everyone else back. There’s an awful scream as Vecna’s vines begin to snap from the sudden heat.

Your screams mix with his, throwing another cocktail with every ounce of strength you have left in you. You’re bruised and bloodied and exhausted, but you think of Max. You think of Billy and Hopper. Eddie and how his life will never be the same again. You think of Chrissy, Patrick and Fred. All the innocent lives that have been lost for a cause that you despise. 

This is for them. For Hawkins. For your home.

The last of the vines die withering away, and Vecna’s body falls to the ground. He stands, body on fire, and stalks towards you. His eyes are only on you. 

Robin lights the final cocktail and the force of it sends Vecna stumbling back. It’s enough to break through his chest, and he’s weak. Weaker than you’ve ever seen him. 

“Shoot him, Nancy!” You cry, ready for this all to end. 

And she does.

The first blast pierces Vecna’s skin. The second, third, and fourth diminish him to ruined pieces. With every shot, Nancy steps forward, drawing him out, and you’re right behind her. Vecna releases a deep, furious roar. The sound of it sinks into your bones, but you no longer fear him. 

He isn’t worth your fear. 

Nancy raises her gun again. She deals the final blow, sending Vecna through the old, rotted wood of the house into the dark night. He falls, screaming, before everything is quiet. 

The roar of the fire that surrounds you is the only sound. You all stand in the attic, numb. None of it feels real. All that’s left of Vecna is a hole in the house, his body far below, sprawled on the concrete outside. 

“Did we…?” You’re afraid to jinx it, to somehow bring him back. But this has to be it. There isn’t any other way for this to end.

Nancy doesn’t say anything. Instead, she turns around, running back down the stairs. No one has to ask why she does this; you all know. There has to be a body. There must be tangible proof that you’ve won.

Everyone runs outside.

Vecna’s body is gone. 

The only indication that he’d been there is an outline of flames that molt the grass below it. But there is no body.

“No,” you run down the steps, kicking through the grass as you look around. You’re frantic, sprawling on the ground as if you’ll find him buried beneath the ash. “No, where is he?”

You killed him. He was on fire. Nancy put more than five bullets in him. He fell from the attic, a height that alone should’ve killed him. Where the fuck is he? You did everything right. Followed every step of the goddamn plan.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Something is wrong, you just don’t know what. Steve and the others join you. They’re quiet, fearing what you’re refusing to even consider. Four deaths. That had been all Vecna needed. But you killed him. “None of this makes sense, unless… Unless he–”

No. 

A bell chimes. 

The sound sends you to the ground. Your knees give out, collapsing under the weight of it all. “No!” Your scream is loud, guttural. Tearing from your chest as it tears out your vocal chords. There’s blood in your mouth and you want it to choke you. 

It’s Max. 

He got her. He killed her. 

All of a sudden there are arms around you. Someone carries you back up the stairs, back into the house that has taken everything from you. Steve holds you to his chest as he, Nancy, and Robin stare at the grandfather clock before them. 

It’s alive.

“Four chimes,” Nancy’s voice can barely be heard above your crying. “Max…”

The realization settles upon all of you. You’re in hysterics, no one can calm you down. You’re crying so hard that you can’t breathe, but you don’t want to breathe anymore. 

Grief pours from you in cruel, bitter waves. All you do is cry, barely even registering the earthquake that follows your devastating loss. 

Steve has to set down your crying figure in order to stabilize Robin and Nancy. You curl into yourself on the ground, making yourself as small as possible. There is too much. It’s all too much. Your head digs into the floor beneath you, cutting you, and your tears mix with the blood. 

Over and over again the clock chimes. Like laughter. His laughter. 

He won. 

Steve holds onto the stairs as the earthquake worsens. He has to crawl over to you; you’re rocking back and forth on the ground, your cries heard even above the cracking of the earth. His hand wraps around your weeping body and he won’t let you go. Steve tries to shield you from fallen debris, the world is falling apart, but you don’t move.

You don’t care anymore. 

It’s always your fault in the end. You lose everyone eventually; you get them killed. You can never save them. You will never be able to save them.

She’s gone. 

Max is gone. 

– 

The days pass. You’ll come to remember them in fragments. 

Returning to Eddie’s trailer and finding Dustin crying over his dead body. Prying him away, your tears mixing with your brother’s when you have to tell him that something has happened to Max.

Finding Hawkins in flames. Seeing the deep gashes in the town you grew up in. Stumbling to the Creel house, racing side by side with the ambulances for everyone within the once quiet town, and collapsing again when you find no one there. 

Going home. Your mother’s arms breaking you. 

Steve. How he never left your side throughout it all. Holding Dustin’s hand, unable to stop crying. 

Visiting Max in the hospital the day after. The stench of sterilizer and surgical tools. Seeing her lifeless body still alive. The countless other bodies in the building that died due to your failure. 

When the news broadcasters announce Hawkins to be cursed. The burden that you can’t tell them that they’re right. The guilt seeing your baby brother’s limp. Another scar he will carry with him forever. 

All the hurt in the town. The pain. 

The collapse of your home; they’re calling it an earthquake. 

It all comes to you in flashes. 

Hawkins high school gets converted into a donation center for everyone dishoused. Visiting it is your idea. You can’t bear the thought of spending any more time inside your home knowing there are hundreds of others who no longer have a place to call home. 

“Anything else?” You place your old comics into one of the boxes you’re donating. 

Dustin shakes his head. “That’s the last of it.”

He hasn’t left your side in days. He still keeps your walkman on him, though neither of you know if it’s important anymore. Dustin is afraid that you’ll never put the headphones on again, even if it could save your life. 

You tape the boxes up, carefully writing down their contents on one of the flaps. Your fingers are scabbed. Your wrist is stiff, locking up if you move it too suddenly. 

Books.

Bedding. 

Clothing.

Anything you can offer, you’d give it all to Hawkins if you could.

Steve picks you up. He helps you put the boxes in the back of his car, gentle with you as always. “You guys ready?”

You nod weakly, and Steve kisses your forehead, careful of the cuts that litter it. He helps you into the car. Turns on your favorite songs. Tries to distract you from the wreckage that encases Hawkins as he drives; you keep your head down. You can’t look at any of it. 

Nancy is waiting in her driveway with Robin, a pile of their own boxes at their feet. They greet you kindly, warmly, with an air of fear that you’ll break, and you’re too tired to pretend. 

“I found some more of your old stuff in the attic,” Mrs. Wheeler walks out of the garage, smiling despite the circumstances. “I think it’s lovely you’re doing this, Y/N.”

“We all just want to help,” you politely respond, staying near Steve’s side. 

Nancy picks up one of the stuffed animals in the box and pouts, seeing her old favorite toy. You’re about to tease her, try to laugh, when a pizza delivery van speeds down the block. 

“Someone order a pizza?” Mrs. Wheeler asks.

“Not that I recall.” You mumble, confused as your eyes follow the car. Every business in Hawkins is shut down right now. It doesn’t make sense for there to be a pizza delivery.

It parks in front of the Wheeler’s, and when you see who steps out, you drop the box you’re holding and run towards them. 

Will and El throw themselves around you, hugging you tightly. Dustin joins, and holding them again, having them here with you, makes everything okay for a moment. Your kids are okay, they’re safe. 

“Are you okay?” El asks you, pulling away slightly. Her eyebrows knit in concern when she notices the cuts on your face and how red your eyes are. “Did he get you?”

Somehow you aren’t surprised that she knows about Vecna. 

“I’m okay, sweetie.” Her hair is buzzed. Already you miss the long strands she once had. You don’t know what she’s been through this last week, but you hope, more than anything, that she hasn’t lost her kindness. “I-I’m okay.”

Your voice catches at the end, and immediately El understands that something else happened.

“We were worried about you,” Will doesn’t let you go. “When El told us what was happening, Jonathan almost lost his mind.”

Jonathan.

Hearing his name makes you remember everything. Instinctively your eyes find him. They always do. Jonathan has Nancy in his arms, but when he senses your eyes on him, he looks up at you. He will always be able to find you. Your heart stops, looking into his once familiar brown eyes.

Jonathan rushes towards you, as he always does, and his arms around you feel like home. 

“Bug,” he breathes against your neck, holding onto you tighter than he ever has before.

You melt when the nickname drips from Jonathan’s lips. It’s been so long since someone has called you that. It’s been even longer since you’ve held Jonathan like this. 

“God, what happened to you?” His eyes roam your body, catching on your bandaged shoulder and thigh. The cuts on your cheek. You try to ease his concern, grabbing his hands, but Jonathan starts to ramble. “We-we tried to get back to Hawkins as soon as we could. The second El told me you were in danger I–”

He inhales shakily, presses his face deeper into your neck. “All I could do to stay sane was think of your voice. Of our last phone call.”

You bury your face into Jonathan’s messy hair. You’re crying, but for what, you don’t know. His scent is bittersweet. His arms are reminiscent of what was once. You’ve missed him, but nothing will ever be the same again.

“I need to see her.” El’s raised voice causes you to let go of Jonathan. She’s standing in front of Dustin, arms crossed, and you know he’s told her the truth. “Take me to Max.”

“What’s wrong with Max?” Mike slings an arm over your shoulders, putting all his body weight against you in greeting. “Miss me, Henderson?”

You move his arm down, forcing him into a hug. You want to remember these next few seconds. The remnants of his childhood before it comes crashing down on him. “I did, Wheeler.”

Mike hugs you back, but when he sees the distress on El’s face, he lets you go and walks towards her. “What? What’s going on?”

Dustin is the one who breaks the news. Shamefully, you know it should’ve been you, but you haven’t been able to say Max’s name in days. There’s too much guilt, remorse, resentment that it hadn’t been you. 

It’s a mess of tears and panic when Dustin tells them. Will covers his mouth, holding back tears, while El storms inside the pizza delivery van as Mike demands that Jonathan take him and everyone else to see Max. They don’t believe any of it. El told them that she saved Max. 

“Are you coming, Y/N?” Jonathan holds his keys up. Everyone else, including Nancy, are already inside. A boy your age, you think his name is Argyle, waves at you from the passenger seat. 

So much has changed. Unable to form the right words, you shake your head at Jonathan. Yet even after months apart, he understands your unspoken words. You can’t see Max again. Not yet. It’s too soon, too much for you to bear.

Seeing her limp body once was enough. 

“We’ll be back,” Jonathan hugs you one last time, pressing a kiss to your hairline as he lets you go. “I promise.”

Steve steps forward then, wrapping an arm around your waist as he stands next to you. The two teens lock eyes, Steve gives Jonathan a cool, steely look. He remembers what you’ve told him. He remembers Jonathan’s words to you before everything collapsed. 

Sensing his anger, you squeeze Steve’s arm. Not here, you beg him. Not now.

Exhaling slowly, Steve offers you his hand. You take it, allowing him to walk you back to his car as the others leave.

– 

The donation center is packed. There are so many people inside, sitting on makeshift cots and pinning missing posters of their loved ones to a bulletin board. Nurses tend to the injured. Mothers cradle their children. The sight makes you ache. All these people, displaced by what they believe to be an earthquake.

You set the boxes down at the main dropoff table, and though the kind employee praises you for how organized the boxes are, you can’t help feeling that you should be doing more. 

In the hundreds of injured and grieving people you’ve seen, you’ve only noticed a handful of workers. 

“Is there any way we can help?” You ask the woman, looking around with a frown.

“Truly anything.” Robin says. “We just… we want to help.”

The woman seems surprised, and you wonder how rare it is for kindness to still be in a town that has known nothing but turmoil these last few years. 

You and Steve get placed sorting clothing while Robin is assigned to the food station. Dustin passes out cups of water for everyone. It isn’t much, but the work is meaningful and it eases the tension in your chest. 

“So…” Steve folds a t-shirt. “Can I ask about Jonathan yet?”

Picking up tattered jeans, you place them in the trash pile. “Might as well.”

“How do we feel about his sudden arrival? I mean, the giant pizza statue on the van was a little dramatic for me.”

He’s trying to keep the conversation light, which you appreciate him for, but you also know that Steve is doing this because he’s worried about you. And, you know, he’s unnerved seeing Jonathan. There’s still a lot left unsaid between you. 

“It’s… a lot.” You admit, struggling to find the right words to convey how you feel. “I’m relieved he’s okay, and I really am happy to see him again, but I… I understand, you know. If you’re upset.”

Steve scrunches his face. “I’m not upset, just… I don’t know. Annoyed with the guy.”

“So you’re upset.”

“Okay, no–”

“Is that Vickie with Robin?” You unintentionally cut Steve off, too surprised by the fact that mere feet away from you is Robin and Vickie making sandwiches together. And they’re laughing. “Are they talking together?”

Steve whips his head around, disbelieving, but lets out a low whistle when he sees Robin making easy conversation with Vickie. “Well I’ll be damned. Who knew our girl had it in her?”

The Jonathan talk lays forgotten as you and Steve admire your friend. You share a secret smile, remembering your own first awkward, bantering conversations together. There is so much pain in this town, and yet you watch as love still blossoms within it.

Across the room, you see Dustin talking to an older man. They’re deep in discussion and you notice your brother’s shaking shoulders. He’s crying. The older man is, too. You narrow your eyes, unsure if you should approach, but when Dustin hands the man Eddie’s old guitar pick, you realize who it is. 

“I’ll be back.” You kiss Steve’s cheek, excusing yourself. 

He tries to ask where you’re going, but you’re already gone. Your brother needs you right now.

Walking over, you stand to the side and allow Dustin and Eddie’s uncle some privacy. While there are so many things you want to say to the man, like how kind his nephew had been, how brilliant his mind was and how you’ll never forget the smile that never left his face, this is for Dustin and Dustin only. 

Eddie was his dearest friend. There is no greater loss than that.

Whatever Mr. Munson tells Dustin will be good for him; it will be the closure you can’t give him yourself. 

An arm wraps around you. You lean into the touch, knowing who it is without even having to look. You rest your head on Steve’s shoulder, exhausted, but content with the warmth he offers you. The two of you keep an eye on Dustin, ready to catch him in case he falls. 

Eventually Mr. Munson leaves, and you take his place next to Dustin. The second you sit down, the boy cries into your shoulder. Tears soak your shirt and your brother’s frail body shakes. “I-I had to tell him that Eddie died a hero.”

“I know,” your head falls against his.

“They’ll never know what he did for this town.” Sobs wrack Dustin’s body. “It isn’t-it isn’t fair.”

You rub his back, brush his hair out of his face. “None of it is fair, Dust.”

He cries even harder and you try to shield him from the world with your body. You try to block out the grief, the bitterness that follows death. How empty it can leave you. An emptiness that can swallow a person whole. 

You won’t let it happen to Dustin. 

“We’re gonna get through this together, alright? You and me, just like it’s always been. I promise–” Your words catch in your throat, tears forming in your own eyes. There’s so much you want to promise your brother, to swear that will come true, but you’re just as hurt and lost as he is. 

“I promise,” you make the words come out. “That everything will be okay. We’ll-we’ll be together, heal and do whatever we can to make everything okay. I-I’ll never leave you, you hear me? I won’t leave you again.”

Though Dustin still cries, his breathing slows. 

“Together. We’ll face this together.” As you talk, you notice a crowd of people swarming by the windows. They’re looking at something, staring and gasping. Your voice grows weak, anxious that something bad is about to happen. “It’ll… it’ll all work out.”

Dustin notices the crowd, too. He looks to you for answers, but you’re silent. You don’t know what’s happening. There’s a murmur in the crowd, hushed, urgent. It sets your skin on edge. Even more people get up now, some are even running outside, and every nerve in your body is screaming at you to run. 

Suddenly the room darkens, as if a giant cloud has covered the sky. Your stomach twists, and you get up, following after the crowd. Bodies shove each other, people blindly walk through the haze of whispers and uncertainty. 

When you step outside, all you see is ash.

The ash falls like snowflakes, beautiful and pure. There’s a softness to it, something delicate in the ruin it leaves. Dustin knocks against you, staring up into the sky with the same dread that you feel. The crowd is murmuring with glee, whispering excitedly about what they believe to be snow; but they’re wrong.

You’ve always won in the end. 

You’ve come to believe this to be a fact. You once told Steve that you believed you used up all your luck. Saving Will, closing the gate over and over again. The penance was the deaths from this summer for the greedy way you abused luck.

Steve had reminded you that there was still good leftover in the bad. That there will always be softness in the destruction, a reason for hope. That you will always find a way out, that luck and love were two sides of the same coin.

You’ve always won in the end. 

Yet, lost in the swarm of people, you watch as the sky begins to fall and Hawkins descends into the Upside Down. 

You no longer believe it.

[END OF SEASON FOUR]

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[xjulixred45x]

Wahhhhhh

Your neglected child Yuu was so cute and now I can’t help thinking about the Vices

Trey probably dotes on them a lot. He might even see it as a way to redeem himself for being unable to help Riddle as a kid

Ruggie def has a soft spot for kids and you can fight me on that. Would probably be a great babysitter

Jade… what can I say about Jade. Idk actually

I can’t imagine Jamil would be as gung-ho about brainwashing a child but he’d also definitely want to use Crowley’s favoritism to his advantage

Rook would probably find child Yuu adorable. I can imagine him teaching them how to shoot a tiny little bow (no one knows how he got one)

Ortho and child Yuu bestie supremacy. That’s all I have to say. No it’s not. I imagine Ortho and Yuu would have this whole “discovering the world together dynamic” due to their separate circumstances but they’d also do it together

Lilia would see child Yuu and scoop them up before presenting them to Silver like “new sibling just dropped” especially if he felt they weren’t being properly cared for

Aww, this is so sweet.

Trey goes into dad/big brother mode as soon as he finds out there's a little kid at NRC without parents and, above all, with clear signs of being malnourished. Trey tries to balance giving Yuu lots of sweets and sugary things with healthier options so they doesn't end up with any additional health problems. They've also developed a great habit of cooking together! This way, Trey knows exactly what Yuu likes and dislikes, ensuring he won't have a problem if the kid is picky—we all have our tastes!

Whenever Yuu says something related to the way they was raised or about their parents, Trey can't help but get a strange feeling of nostalgia that makes him feel sick. He tries to keep Yuu from thinking about their parents most of the time, but above all, he tries to be as assertive as possible about the fact that what Yuu's parents did was WRONG, that they're a good kid, that they're not a burden, etc. Basically, he's trying to do what he should have done a long time ago.

Ruggie initially thought Yuu was a lost child, maybe a teacher's kid. He doesn't trust Crowley AT ALL to take care of Yuu, so every time he sees them (be it in the cafeteria or somewhere else), he tries to check on them in a lively way (asking them if they're okay, if they're eaten anything recently, if Crowley is watching them). Yuu likes to be around Ruggie to play; they thinks he's fun, and Ruggie takes it as a compliment.

Ruggie is used to children and can read them well, so he notices something is wrong with Yuu (and at first, he thought Crowley was the culprit). Ruggie tells Yuu that if an adult hurts them, they should go directly to him for help (Leona owes him one, after all). But he calms down and feels bad when Yuu explains about their parents. At least he assures Yuu that they won't have to see them again.

Jade is terrifying to Yuu; whenever he tries to interact with them, Yuu runs away like their life depends on it. Ironically, they're friendlier to Floyd (because he's much friendlier to little kids in general), and they tend to play a few games when Yuu has nothing to do and Floyd is bored (things like racing Yuu on Floyd's shoulders, Floyd grabbing Yuu by the arms and spinning them around, etc.).

Floyd doesn't really realize that Yuu has a troubled past until Jade points it out. When he does, however, he assures Yuu that if their parents (or anyone, really) try to hurt them again, he'll happily squeeze them :)

Jamil has mixed feelings about Yuu. On one hand, they're the sweetest kid around, but on the other, he uses Crowley's favoritism toward them whenever he can. This doesn't mean Jamil doesn't take care of Yuu, of course not. He makes sure they eat at least three times a day, get some exercise, and study. He's like a mother hen, and he worries A LOT when Yuu gets hurt or starts crying for any reason. He has a younger sister, so I like to think he's relatively good at comforting them.

Jamil doesn't really treat Yuu any differently after learning of their past, but he does make a point of not doing certain things that might remind them of their trauma, things like leaving them alone for too long, yelling at them, and raising his hands when angry (along with teaching Yuu that if they feels bad, whether physically or emotionally, to go to him or an adult). Above all, Jamil got used to Yuu feeling SAFE around him and made sure it stays that way.

Rook thinks Yuu is the cutest little thing ever, constantly lifting them up in the air like they're a stuffed animal and hugging them (if they complains to him he'll stop, but if not, he'll carry on as if Yuu were his personal teddy bear). The idea of him trying to teach Yuu how to shoot a tiny bow and arrow is hilarious (everyone is worried about two things: 1- Rook using himself to prop up Yuu's apples for a target shoot, and 2- WHERE THE HELL DID HE GET A BOW FOR SUCH A YOUNG KID?). Vil is going to have a heart attack because of them both.

Rook is a big brother; let's just say he has a sixth sense when Yuu is feeling particularly bad. During these times, Rook tends to act especially theatrical in an attempt to cheer them up, or he even tries to talk to Yuu about how they're feeling to see if he can do anything for them (Rook definitely joins Floyd and Ruggie's "I hate Yuu's biological parents" squad, but he's more silly and discreet about it).

I've already talked about Ortho and the first-years here.

Lilia formally knows Yuu as a friend of Malleus, but he thinks they're the cutest things in life. he's constantly on their tail, appearing out of nowhere (scaring Yuu in the process, though Lilia is good at calming them down with a lullaby), showing up at Ramshackle to make sure they have food and good living conditions, though eventually he just shows up one day, grabs Yuu and Grim like a sack of potatoes, and decides they'd have better living conditions in Diasomnia (partly to spite Crowley. The custody battle will be legendary).

Lilia does the typical things a father should do with his children: read them a bedtime story, tuck them in, pack them lunch for the day (he doesn't cook it, Silver or Sebek does), and is very likely one of the few adults Yuu ends up accidentally calling "dad" (Lilia will have to be restrained from doing an express adoption right there). Overall, the little kid has made its way into the old general's heart.

For this reason, he is very patient when it comes to comforting Yuu about their original "family." He usually soothes them with a lullaby and puts them to bed in Diasomnia, but not before going to "talk" to Crowley about it.

Let's just say Yuu has all of NRC in the palm of their little hand, but it's not something the students complain about.

________

(ESPAÑOL)

Awwwww esto es tan dulce

Trey activa el modo papá/hermano mayor en cuanto se entera que hay un niño pequeño en NRC sin padres y sobretodo, con claros signos de estar mal alimentado. Trey trata de equilibrar entre darle muchos dulces y cosas azucaradas a Yuu, y cosas más saludables para que no termine con algún problema de salud adicional. Tambien un gran habito que tomaron es de cocinar juntos! Así Trey sabe con exactitud qué cosas le gustan a Yuu y que cosas no, le asegura que no tiene problemas si el nene es quisquilloso ¡todos tenemos nuestros gustos!

Cada vez que Yuu dice algo relacionado a la forma en la que fue criado o con relación a sus padres, Trey no puede evitar tener un extra��o sentimiento de nostalgia que lo deja sintiendo enfermo. Él trata de que Yuu no piense en sus padres la mayoría del tiempo, pero sobretodo, trata de ser lo más asertivo posible en que lo que los padres de Yuu hacían estaba MAL, que él es un buen niño, que no es una carga, etc. Básicamente trata de hacer lo que debió hace mucho tiempo.

Ruggie pensó al principio que Yuu era un niño perdido que talvez era el hijo de algún profesor, él realmente no confía PARA NADA en Crowley para cuidar de Yuu, por lo que cada vez que lo ve (ya sea en la cafetería o algún otro lugar) trata de checar que este bien de forma animada (preguntarle si está bien, si ha comido algo recientemente, si Crowley le esta cuidando). A Yuu le gusta estar cerca de Ruggie para jugar, cree que es divertido y Ruggie lo toma como un cumplido.

Ruggie esta acostumbrado a los niños y sabe leerlos bien, por lo que nota que algo malo pasa con Yuu (y al principio pensó que Crowley era el culpable), digamos que Ruggie le dice a Yuu que si un adulto le hace daño, que vaya directamente a él por ayuda (Leona le debe una después de todo), pero entre que se tranquiliza y se siente mal cuando Yuu le explica lo de sus padres. Al menos le asegura a Yuu que no tendrá que verlos de nuevo.

Jade es aterrador para Yuu, cada vez que el intenta interactuar con ellos, Yuu corre como si su vida dependiera de ello. Irónicamente es mas amigable con Floyd (porque el es mucho mas amigable con los niños pequeños en general), y tienden a jugar algunos juegos cuando Yuu no tiene nada que hacer y Floyd esta aburrido (cosas como carreras con Yuu en los hombros de Floyd, Floyd agarrando a Yuu de sus brazos y haciéndole girar a toda velocidad, etc).

Floyd realmente no se da cuenta de que Yuu tiene un pasado turbulento hasta que Jade se lo señala, cuando lo hace, sin embargo, le asegura a Yuu que si sus padres (o cualquier persona en realidad) intentan lastimarle otra vez, el felizmente los apretara 

Jamil tiene sentimientos encontrados con respecto a Yuu, por una parte, es el niño más dulce que hay, pero por otra parte usa el favoritismo de Crowley hacia ellos cada que puede. Esto no quiere decir que Jamil no cuide de Yuu, claro que no, él se asegura que coman mínimo 3 veces al día, hagan algo de ejercicio, estudien, es como una mamá gallina, y se preocupa MUCHO cuando Yuu se lastima o empieza a llorar por cualquier razón. Él tiene una hermana menor, me gusta pensar que es relativamente bueno en el confort.

Jamil realmente no trata diferente a Yuu tras saber su pasado, pero si tiene en cuenta de no hacer ciertas cosas que puedan recordarle su trauma, cosas como dejarle solo mucho tiempo, gritarle, alzar las manos estando enojado (junto a enseñarle a Yuu que si se siente mal, ya sea física o emocionalmente, vaya con el o algún adulto). Por encima de todo, Jamil se acostumbró a que Yuu se sienta SEGURO cerca de él y se asegurara de que se mantenga así.

Rook piensa que Yuu es la cosita más adorable que puede existir, constantemente lo esta levantando en el aire como si fuera un peluche y abrazándolo (el para si Yuu se queja, pero si no, el seguirá como si Yuu fuera su oso de felpa personal). La idea de que trate de enseñarle a Yuu a disparar un pequeño arco y flecha es súper graciosa (todos están preocupados sobre dos cosas: 1- que Rook se use a sí mismo para apoyar las manzanas de tiro al blanco para Yuu y 2- ¿DE DONDE DIABLOS SACO UN ARCO PARA UN NIÑO TAN JOVEN?). Vil va a tener un ataque cardiaco por culpa de los dos.

Rook es un hermano mayor, digamos que tiene un sexto sentido cuando Yuu se siente especialmente mal. Para esos momentos, Rook suele actuar especialmente teatral en un intento de animarle, o directamente trata de hablar de Yuu sobre cómo se siente para saber si puede hacer algo por ellos (definitivamente Rook se une a Floyd y Ruggie al Squad de “odio a los padres biológicos de Yuu” pero es más silly y discreto al respecto).

Ya hablé de Ortho y los de primer año aquí.

Lilia conoce formalmente a Yuu como un amigo de Malleus, pero cree que son la cosa mas tierna de la vida. Constantemente está detrás de ellos, apareciendo de la nada (asustando a Yuu en el proceso, aunque Lilia es bueno calmándole con una canción de cuna), apareciendo en Ramshackle para ver que tengan comida y buenas condiciones, aunque eventualmente el solo aparece un día, los agarra como un saco de papas a Yuu y Grim, y decide que tendrían mejores condiciones de vida en Diasomnia (y en parte para molestar a Crowley. La batalla por la custodia será legendaria).

Lilia hace las típicas cosas que debería hacer un padre con sus hijos con Yuu, leerles un cuento para dormir, arroparle, aprontarle un almuerzo para el dia (no lo cocina el, lo cocina Silver o Sebek), y es muy probable que sea uno de los pocos adultos que Yuu termina llamando “papá” por accidente (Lilia tendrá que ser contenido de hacer una adopción express ahí mismo). En general el nene ha hecho su camino en el corazón del viejo general.

Por lo mismo, es muy paciente cuando se trata de consolar a Yuu con respecto a su “familia” original. Suele calmarle con una canción de cuna y lo pone en su cama en Diasomnia, no sin antes ir a “hablar” con Crowley al respecto.

Digamos que Yuu tiene todo NRC en la palma de su pequeña mano, pero no es algo de lo que los estudiantes se quejen.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[junkissed]

taste like gold

★ | member — bf!mingyu x bf!woozi x f reader ★ | genre — smut, established poly relationship ★ | word count — 2.8k

★ | synopsis — jihoon's favorite way to unwind? a shower. mingyu's favorite way? a shower with jihoon.

★ | warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, dom!jihoon, sub!mingyu, sorta sub!reader. shower sex (no piv), blowjob (m), masturbation (m), edging (m), kissing (reader x gyu), cum in mouth/on face, some praise, nicknames (gyu: puppy, boyfriend, baby / reader: darling, girlfriend, baby). this is a poly fic so all three of them are in a relationship ★ | notes — a very late birthday/very early xmas present for my wonderful @onlymingyus ! i've been teasing her with this for a while so i hope you like it <3 if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a poly mingyu bathroom smut fic for mars i'd have two nickels which isn't a lot but weird that it happened twice? this fic contains mxm themes. you are responsible for the content you consume: don't like, don't read. if you're not comfortable reading then this isn't for you. i wrote this for mars because she is poly; if you do like it, she writes a lot of poly fics so i highly recommend checking out her blog! as always: feedback, asks, and reblogs with comments are super super appreciated and help me keep writing :) merry yaoi-mas everybody

it’s been yet another long day for mingyu.

he spends his precious time running around, errand after errand, phone calls and emails and meetings, and he despises it all. he has a better place to be: at home, with the two people he loves more than anything in the world. he hates being away, because every second spent away from you and jihoon is a second wasted. 

every day it gets harder and harder to leave in the morning knowing he has another tiresome, monotonous schedule ahead, with the only reprieve the promise of returning home to both of you in the evening.

he tosses his coat over the back of the couch and flips on the kitchen light, the warm yellow glow spilling into the hallway. it’s been a longer day than usual, so he’s not surprised that dinner was eaten without him. without even having to check the refrigerator he already knows you’ve saved him the leftovers: the same worn red tupperware container and a sticky note on top with a sweet message, because that’s what you always do for him. he makes a mental note to update the calendar on the fridge with his dinner reservation for three this weekend, because that’s what he always does for you.

the next things he notices are the bedroom light on, the glow coming from the crack in the doorway, and then the hum of the shower running. he know better by now than to think he’d come home to a quiet house. no matter how many times he tells you not to, even after he protests and pouts because he wants his wonderful boyfriend and girlfriend to get their beauty sleep, he always find at least one of you still awake, patiently waiting for him to join you in bed.

he wanders down the hall, gently tapping on the bedroom door before he creaks it open. you look up from your laptop in bed, and your smile when you see him lights up the room far more than the lamp in the corner.

“jihoon’s in the shower,” you let him know, and he bites his lip, leaning against the doorframe. he doesn’t miss the way your eyes wander over his body, the tight black t-shirt he always wears when he wants your attention, the one he knows makes you jealous even though you swear it doesn’t.

“should we join him?”

jihoon runs his hands through his hair, pushing the long blond strands of his bangs backwards out of his face. his shower at the end of every day is what he looks forward to most, a time to de-stress and prepare himself for another busy day. he’s never been the type of person to enjoy morning showers, but he can’t lie and say that’s the only reason he takes them at night; at night, there’s a better chance that you or mingyu will be home. and although he loves the time alone to think, company never makes it worse.

steam fills the room, surrounding his body in heat and fogging up the mirror. it’s been too long since he’s had you and mingyu all to himself, and the bathroom feels too quiet. it’s hard to coordinate schedules, but he misses the warmth of your voice filling his ears and the bubbly tone of mingyu’s giggles. he needs more than the cold, apathetic sound of water hitting tile.

but then, as if he’d conjured you from a dream, the door suddenly opens and he lifts his head at the noise. his dark eyes settle on your figure as you stand next to mingyu, dwarfed by his larger one.

droplets of water collect in jihoon’s eyelashes as he stares at you, his expression kept neutral as he tries to hold back a smirk. he knew mingyu was working later than usual tonight, so like every other night he wasn’t expecting much. but the sight of you both standing there is a welcome surprise, one that he will never turn down, and he can tell exactly what you’re asking without saying a word.

it’s silent for several seconds as his gaze locks with yours and mingyu’s, as if he’s tempting you to break the eye contact and walk away, to wait for him to cuddle you to sleep like he always does. neither of you do.

“coming?” he finally addresses you both, unable to hold back a grin in anticipation. the look on your faces is almost adorable, how blatantly eager you both are.

you’re the first to respond. you slip off your clothes and let them fall, collecting in a pile on the floor as jihoon slides back the glass door to welcome you in. your movement spurs mingyu into action, and his clothes join yours piece by piece as he strips bare, nearly stumbling over himself in his eagerness to follow you into the shower.

jihoon moves out of the way so mingyu can stand under the stream of water, sandwiching you in between them. your heart races as mingyu draws you in, rivulets of water trickling down his toned chest as his eyes silently roam over your body, and you can’t help but study him in return. 

your gaze drifts again to jihoon, who’s now standing in the corner of the shower looking pleased. you can see the flash of lust in his eyes as mingyu grips you tightly, pulling you closer until you’re standing flush against his body, and the proximity sends a shiver of desire down your spine at the knowledge that jihoon is watching.

“why don’t you take care of him, baby? i’m sure he’s had such a long day.” his tone is low and smooth as he turns his attention to mingyu, who’s been awkwardly pouring soap on a loofah but freezes at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. jihoon’s head is tilted downwards, his eyes lifted to look up at him through his eyelashes, and even though it’s not directed at you it still makes you shiver with how powerful the look is. “haven’t you, gyu?”

mingyu whimpers at the attention, unable to find the words to responds, and it only confirms in jihoon’s mind how badly he needs this. he glances back at you, your eyes so focused on mingyu that it almost makes jihoon laugh— you need this, too, just as much if not more.

you feel jihoon’s gaze on you, and you manage to pull yourself away from staring at mingyu long enough to catch his nod. you start to reach for him, your hand trailing down the defined muscles of his abdomen, but jihoon tsks out a disapproving noise before your hand can find mingyu’s cock, holding in a bated breath as you wait for instructions.

“you can do better than that, darling. don’t be shy. let him use your mouth.”

you look up at mingyu for confirmation as he nods quickly, unafraid to let his eagerness show, and without another word you drop to your knees in front of him. his eyes widen a little bit in excitement as you position yourself on the floor of the shower. his body blocks the stream of water from the shower, keeping you mostly dry as you watch trails of water race down his thighs.

mingyu reaches down in front of you and uses his hand to pump his cock to full hardness, although he was more than half hard already. jihoon just continues to smile from his spot at the other end of the shower, letting you get situated the way you like.

“go on,” he says once you’re both finally ready, two needy sets of eyes pleading at him and waiting patiently. “make yourself useful, baby. show him how much you love him.”

you turn your gaze back to mingyu with a grin, taking him in your hand as you begin to guide him into your mouth. his cock is thick, so much that you can barely wrap your hand around him, and you have to open your jaw wide to fit his tip inside your mouth. gently, gradually, you sink down further and further on his length, pausing every few seconds to inhale shakily through your nose.

you haven’t even started moving yet but mingyu’s already panting, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists as he struggles to adjust to the warm, tight feeling of your throat around his cock. after a second of turmoil he puts one hand on your head, tangling his fingers in your wet hair with a gentleness that seems out of place compared to his size. he’s always gentle with you, sometimes a little too gentle, but it only takes a word from jihoon to have him roughing you up the way you love.

behind you jihoon lets out a sigh, his gaze fixed on the scene in front of him. he takes his own cock into his hand, his fingers loosely gripping his length as you bob your head over and over again down his boyfriend’s shaft. as much as he likes to actively participate, he’s also content to just watching the two of you please each other, going round after round while he keeps control, relishing in the way both of you hang on his every word. 

you’re both so good to him, and he tightens his hand as he watches you gag around mingyu’s cock, half pretending that it’s your mouth on him instead. but he doesn’t need this as much as mingyu seems to, and to him, watching is more than half the fun. besides, there’s plenty of time for himself later, after you’ve taken care of gyu. next time, maybe he’ll bury himself deep in your pussy and make mingyu watch instead. or maybe he’ll let him take you too, because your moans always sound so much sweeter when both your boyfriends are inside of you at once.

mingyu thrusts his hips once, shallowly, experimentally, and you open your mouth wider to let him slide between your lips with ease. you reach up to put your hands on his thigh and squeeze a little, giving him a signal to continue. the veins in his biceps bulge as he squeezes his fingers around your hair, a constant stream of whines pouring from his lips like the shower water that pours down his back. 

“look at him,” jihoon commands, almost in amusement, and you swallow and crane your neck up so you can lift your eyes. the image above you is truly a sight to see, and you can’t help but preen at the sight of mingyu's fucked out expression, his eyes closed and his brows furrowed deeply in concentration as he bucks his hips into you faster.

“he loves your sweet little mouth, doesn’t he?” jihoon urges you on. your fingers dig into mingyu's thick thighs harder in an attempt to stop him from moving so much, but you're useless against him. he's practically fucking your throat, panting out breaths with both hands firmly tangled in your hair to hold your head in place. “whose mouth do you think is better, puppy? mine, or hers?”

“fuck—” mingyu stutters, and you feel his grip on your hair tighten as he struggles to concentrate enough to organize his thoughts. “both. fucking love this mouth, god… hoonie, please—”

“please what?” jihoon says, his voice dominant yet still calm as he watches. “tell her what you want, baby. use that pretty head of yours, hm? use your words, you can do it.”

mingyu groans and scrunches his nose, trying to focus. “wanna— ah, please can i cum? can i cum in your mouth? shit, baby, i'm so close…”

you hum out a sound of acknowledgement around his cock as you glance up at jihoon, but it only makes mingyu groan louder as he feels the vibrations from your throat surrounding his sensitive, aching length. he loves the way you’re both so obedient for him, always asking permission, always being so well-behaved when he’s in charge.

jihoon stays quiet for as long as possible, drawing out the moment until mingyu looks like he's about to cry from the effort of holding back, but he finally breaks and nods. “go ahead, puppy, fill up her mouth. you've earned it. you've been such a good boy for us, love.”

at his words you let out a moan simultaneously as mingyu does, snapping his hips into your mouth a few more times as he chases the high. you try to swallow the spit that’s pooled in your mouth, but the sudden tightening of your throat is what finally sends mingyu over the edge. he pushes his cock as deep into your mouth as he can, gasping and groaning and grunting praises scattered in between cries of your name and jihoon’s.

you can feel his tip throbbing on your tongue with each rope he releases down your throat, filling your mouth until you’re forced to pull away to breathe. the rest of his cum ends up on your face as you lick your lips and swallow the thick substance in your mouth, letting out a gasp of your own as you finally inhale a full breath.

mingyu’s hands in your hair tighten for just a second before he releases you to let you sit back, bracing himself with one large palm flat against the shower wall and the other gripping your shoulder. his neck rolls backwards as he stares up at the ceiling, letting out a whine that reverberates off the tiled walls of the shower and fills the room.

as he leans to the side his body moves from the shower spray, and you shiver as the warm water hits your lower half. drops of water trickle down your neck and between the valley of your breasts, but it’s hard to tell if it’s only from the shower or if it’s sweat.

jihoon releases his length with a wince, letting out a shaky exhale as he offers you his hand. his cock twitches in sensitivity, still fully hard and now aching at the release he denied himself. but he knows you’re not done, and he knows it’ll be well worth it later. mingyu pulls you the rest of the way up, helping you balance against him after kneeling on the hard shower floor for so long.

with barely a second to let you breathe, mingyu leans forward to capture your lips, his deep voice groaning out your name as his arms slide down to sit firmly around your waist. you melt into him, automatically moaning into the kiss, and he greedily swallows your noises until it feels like he’s going to suck the breath right out of your lungs.

he kisses you harder, one hand falling to your hip while the other reaches up to cup your jaw and guide your mouth further into him, his tongue prodding between your lips in a way that makes you feel warm from the inside out. he can taste the remnants of salty bitterness on your tongue, and it only makes him whimper into your mouth in delight.

his eyes are hazy when you finally pull away from the kiss. he pulls you into his chest and holds you tight, your cheek pressed against his warm skin as you feel his heart pounding. his arms are strong around you, his thick muscles sliding around you easily from the water and sweat, one hand holding the back of your head to keep you against him.

mingyu waves his arm and then you feel jihoon behind you, brushing your wet hair off your back so he can leave kisses across your shoulder before moving in closer. jihoon’s hands glide between your bodies, cupping your breasts as he holds you between him and mingyu.

you can feel how hard he still is pressed against your ass, but before you have a chance to say anything, jihoon reaches to flip the water off with a flick of his wrist. the temperature in the bathroom instantly falls at the loss of the hot water, but with the two men around you it’s barely even noticeable.

jihoon is the first to let go, sliding back the glass door and stepping onto the bath mat to start handing out towels, and mingyu is suddenly very, very grateful that he doesn’t have work tomorrow because it’s clear that none of you will be getting any sleep until dawn. but there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be right now, clean and comfortable and happy with the two people he loves more than anything.

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